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Chapter Text

Chapter One

New York’s first snow of the year was fluttering through the air, swirling in an icy breeze and melting on tire-warmed streets.  Tucked into a warm café, Harry’s gloved hands wrapped around a hot mug of tea.  He hunched over the steaming drink, staring blankly at the grains of wood on the table before him.  It was coming up on two years now – two years of being here, alone.

Harry reached up to rub the scar that had come to dictate so much of his childhood.  Even though the war was long gone, it sometimes ached with a phantom pain – as if the very scar tissue could remember the terror of The War.  Harry sighed, and pulled his thoughts away from such memories.  There was no use in dwelling on the past.  From what he could tell, his past didn’t even exist here – wherever here was.

“Mind if I join you?”

Harry jumped, spilling hot tea across his hands and table.  With a muttered curse, Harry pulled off the wet, knit gloves that were now burning his skin, and turned to face the stranger.  An apologetic man towered over him, snatching napkins from the table dispenser and offering a handful to him.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” said the man.  Harry waved it away.

“It’s no problem.  I was just… distracted,” Harry mumbled, mopping up the spilt tea.  Quietly, the man joined in, drying the far side of the table and tossing the used napkins in the nearby trash.

“Let me get you another tea – black was it?”

“Oh, it’s fine – “ Harry began, but the man just nodded and made his way to the counter.  Harry took a deep breath and realized his fingers were shaking.  He wasn’t used to being approached any more.  Here he wasn’t famous – he was just a stranger, carrying a set of vivid scars that scared most people away.  Suddenly self-conscious, Harry glanced at his missing finger.  He certainly wasn’t the type strangers started conversation with.

The stranger, however, was returning with a new mug in one hand.  Harry tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace.  The stranger wasn’t deterred.  He set the tea in front of Harry and reached out a hand.  “I’m Steve.”

“Harry,” he replied, hesitating for a moment before offering his mangled hand to shake.  If the man thought anything of it, he said nothing.  The man’s eyes did not linger or stare at the long thin scar crossing the left side of his face either.  Steve took the seat across from him and Harry carefully wrapped his hands around a hot mug once more.

They sat in silence for a short while, each nursing a drink and their own thoughts.  Harry studied the stranger.  He was tall, broad shouldered, and handsome.  He had Malfoy-blond hair cut short and left unstyled.  His blue eyes were clear and his posture relaxed.  Steve gave off an almost Hufflepuff-ish comforting calm. Harry wondered what brought the man to his table.  

Across the room, a redheaded woman lingered in the open doorway as she exchanged partings with the stout man at the counter.  A cold breeze reached across the room.  Harry shivered, huddling down further in his ragged coat.  Steve’s gaze turned back from the street outside and frowned.

“You look cold.”  Steve himself should’ve been cold – dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, with only a yellow scarf to keep him warm  – but he didn’t seem to have so much as a goose bump from the sudden chill.

Harry shrugged.  He hadn’t been able to acquire many things here.  He had arrived in the middle of New York with two galleons on his person and not a single identifying document.  Unable to get a real job, he had done odd tasks, and found himself in and out of shelters.  His coat was thick and patched, acquired from a Goodwill sale’s rack and certainly not in its prime.  Harry huddled over his steaming tea for a moment, but Steve didn’t push any further.

When it seemed they were about to lapse into another silence, Harry bit the bullet.  Meeting Steve’s eyes, he chose to be blunt. “Why did you come over here?”

Steve did not appear to be the slightest bit fazed. “You reminded me of someone I once knew.”

Harry’s brow furrowed.  “I did?”  Without thinking, Harry’s fingers reached up to brush across the raised burn scar peeking out from beneath his scarf.

Steve smiled, his eyes gazing off in a fond memory.  “We served together in the war.”

Harry’s eyes widened.  “The War?”  He couldn’t prevent hope from swelling in his chest.  Had this man fought Voldemort too?  Were there others – ?

“We fought in Germany together.”

Harry’s heart sank as fast as it rose.  His shoulders slumped slightly even as he nodded and took another sip of tea.  Of course it was a muggle war.  He knew better than to entertain such foolish hopes.

“Where did you serve?” Steve asked.  Harry bit the inside of his lip, as he thought for a moment.  Often, he told the small lie that he served in Iraq.  It matched the American muggle timeline, but with Steve he felt the strangest urge to tell the truth.  Avoiding both the lies and the truth, Harry just shrugged.

“I didn’t serve – not in the traditional sense.”  He gazed into his tea, a heavy frown settling across his features as his mind fell back to the War.  “What about you?” he asked, trying to drag his mind away from memories.

“Army,” Steve said.  “And now…” he shrugged with a sheepish smile.  Harry looked at him again, puzzled.  “I’m part of the Avengers.”  Harry froze.

He had seen the Avengers in actions just a one month before when central New York City was attacked – giant Beasts had flown across the sky, and for the first time since coming into this world, Harry had thought it might be as magical and deadly as his own.

Despite his lack of a wand, Harry had turned to face the Beasts.  Someone needed to protect the city. He’d barely had time to run through his options when six strange figures suddenly appeared, leaping into the fight.  Some massive, some well armed, the six quickly proved to be fierce warriors and they appeared to have a plan.  With the city defended, Harry had turned to the civilians.  Screaming and fleeing, the muggles sought safety in buildings only to find them collapsing; they fled to the streets only to be greeted by bullets and flames.  They needed a safe space to hide.

Harry met Steve’s eyes steadily, his voice suddenly hard.  “So tell me, truly.  Why are you here?”

Steve did not flinch nor look away.  Instead he leaned back in his chair, taking up a relaxed stance.  “Just minutes after the portal closed and the Chitauri were defeated, we were notified about a massive quantity of unknown energy coming from Grand Central Station.  When we arrived, do you know what we found?”  Harry said nothing.

“The station was packed with civilians who were scared, but otherwise unharmed.  And while the buildings around the station had suffered severe structural damage - some had even collapsed – the Station was completely unharmed.  You wouldn’t happen to know why that was, would you?”

“Why would you ask me?” Harry hedged with a shrug.

“Well, with energy like that, we were a bit wary.  We kept an eye out incase that same strange energy happened again, and at first we saw nothing.  Rescue efforts and city cleanup kept everyone busy.  But then we thought – maybe we’re looking too big.  Maybe this energy can happen in smaller amounts.  So we looked again.  What do you think we found?”  By this point, Harry’s fingers were white around his cup of tea and his jaw was clenched shut.

“We found this energy has been happening frequently – almost continually – at an incredibly small level,” Steve continued.  “And I don’t think it will surprise you to hear that we found it is coming from you.”

Harry let out his breath slowly and leaned back.  He tapped the edge of his mug before meeting Steve’s eyes.  “I assume,” he said in a deliberately casual tone.  “That you did not come alone.”  Steve nodded, equally controlled.  A think tension settled between them.  “And, as you have been cordial towards me, I assume there is also something you want.”

“We would like to understand what you did.”

“And?”

“And, potentially, we would like to help you out.”  At this, Harry blinked, then his eyes narrowed with suspicion.  The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up in a grin.  “It is clear that regardless of whatever your talent is, you’ve been struggling to make ends meet.  And whatever you did in Grand Central Station, you saved a lot of lives.  We’d like to repay you.”

“Who, exactly, is this we you keep referring to?”

This time Steve really did smile, a wide and genuine grin.  “That would be the Avengers.  A few of us are here,” Harry followed his glance towards the stout man by the door.  “But perhaps you would like a chance to meet us all?  We could discuss this further somewhere a bit more private.”

Harry hesitated.  Their interest in his “energy” could very easily turn dangerous.  He had no intention of becoming a lab rat.  But, they had only seen the helpful, protective side of magic so far.  It was possible that they truly were approaching him in a friendly and respectful (albeit curious and cautious) manner.  It was also true that, with the snow beginning to fall, he could use some help.  He did not want to face another winter on the streets.

“If I agree to speak with you, and your team, I will want a few things in return,” Harry said carefully.

Steve folded his hands and fixed him with an attentive stare.  “What are your terms?”

“I retain the right to not answer questions.  There may be topics I will not or cannot answer.”  Steve nodded slowly.  “I will, however, do my best to explain my actions during the attack in a thorough and comprehensible way.”

“And the other terms?” Steve asked, his face carefully neutral.

“For my explanation and cooperation, I would like a place to stay during this winter.  It does not have to be fancy lodgings, but it should have solid walls, a roof, and be reasonably safe.  This will also fulfill any obligation you or your team feels to thank me for protecting Grand Central Station.”

“And?”

“That is all.”

Steve paused a moment, and Harry suddenly something small was sitting in his ear.  He wondered how many people were listening in on their conversation.  “The team is amenable.  We will meet those terms, providing lodgings for you during this winter, and respecting your right to refuse to answer questions during any discussions of your talents or actions during the invasion.”

Harry stood and offered his hand to shake.  “Then, Steve, shall we go meet your team?”

~~~

The meeting space turned out to be a conference room in Avenger’s Tower.  Gathered around a large oval table, Harry settled into a comfortably plush leather chair and let his gaze take in the five Avengers sitting around him.  Despite their casual clothes, they exuded a sense of danger.  Introductions were brief and to the point.  Only one Avenger, Thor, was absent.

All eyes turned to Steve to open the meeting.  He stood.  “Harry has set forth two terms for our meeting today.  First, he asks that we respect his right to avoid questions he feels unable or unwilling to answer.  Second, he requests that in recompense for both his participation in discussion of his talents and for his protection of Grand Central Station that he be afforded lodgings during the winter months this year.”  Steve looked around the Avengers.  “Is that agreeable to everyone?”

Those around the table nodded.  “Very well.”  Eyes turned to Harry.  They got straight to business.  “Would you explain how you protected Grand Central Station during the Chitauri invasion?”

Harry took a deep breath.  He knew the Statute of Secrecy didn’t exist here.  He hadn’t been able to find a single trace of the wizarding world – or any other wizard for that matter – since he’d arrived here.  Yet, he remained uncertain what he wished to reveal to the muggles.  He clasped his hands before him.  He would begin simply and elaborate from there.  No use revealing things he would later regret.

“Since the Beasts – Chutauri, sorry – were being dealt with, it seemed the best thing for me to do would be to protect the mu - civilians.  Neither the buildings nor streets appeared safe.  So I chose a central, large, well-known space to focus on; I couldn't make all buildings structurally sound.  I went to Grand Station – to the roof – and made it safe.”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his explanation.  She crossed her leg under the table and leaned back in her chair.  “Care to elaborate?” she drawled.

Harry tried to think of the best way to explain it.  They had spoken about ‘energy’.  He would use that term and try to avoid the hassle of calling it magic.  These people would accept incredible things, but the talents they knew all came from science.  “You know I have an unusual energy.” He paused, considering how to phrase it.  “I asked – no, directed – the energy to protect the building.  I made it protect.”

“How?” Stark interjected impatiently.

“The energy… it can do many things.  For small things, I can use words or thoughts, but for big things there needs to be… bigger directions.”  Harry paused for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his chest absently.  He suddenly realized that, in this world without magic, there wouldn’t be a pre-existing hatred and fear of blood magic.  He decided to run with it.  “I used a rune to tell it the energy to do, and I used blood to make it powerful enough to protect the whole building.”

“Blood?” Stark prompted again, an impatient edge to his curiosity.  Across from him, Bruce Banner seemed thoughtful, as if his scientific mind was already calculating reasons that blood might be able to strengthen an energy field.

Harry rubbed his chest harder, feeling it ache at the memory.  “I carved the rune into my skin,” he admitted.  The combination of sacrifice, blood, and runic ritual had amplified his magic far beyond anything he’d felt in this place.  Harry recalled how he had struggled with it, the sudden power writhing in his grasp and seeking to escape.

Gears seemed to be whirring behind Stark’s eyes.  His fingers twitched and at one point he pulled up a holographic screen before a cough and pointed look from Steve made him close it again.

“How did you learn how to direct your energy?” asked Bruce.

“I had teachers.” Harry offered, vaguely.  Discussing school would prove confusing if he also had to admit he was the only one who could do such things here. “And I experimented,” he added, covering his bases.

“There are others with this energy?” Clint asked. Like Natasha, his voice betrayed nothing but mild interest, but his eyes fixed on Harry with an intensity that seemed shrewdly calculating.   Harry trod carefully, aware that both what he said and left out would be noticed.

“There have been a few people who have known about and understood the energy I have,” Harry told him with a casual air he was certain fooled no one in the room.  “It may be a question to skip for now.”  Steve nodded, and a glance around the table ensured the others let it drop too.

“What do you usually use the energy for,” Natasha asked, turning smoothly to a new area of inquiry, “when you are using much less energy?”

“Smaller things,” Harry offered with a shrug, then a mischievous smile quirked at the edges of his lips.  “Would you like me to show you?” Tony leaned forward eagerly, though the others watched more warily.

“If it is safe to do so,” Bruce replied.  Natasha uncrossed her legs, sitting straighter.  He was sure weapons would emerge at the slightest sense of a threat.

Harry nodded.  “Well, sometimes I create a light.”  He snapped his fingers and Natasha twitched.  A small white light hovered above his palm.  “I can patch my coat.”  Brushing his hand over a small rip, he watched as the threads wove back together, leaving a closed but rough seam on the fabric.  Harry considered what other innocent magic he could illustrate for them.  “And I can warm things, like myself or a blanket or my tea – for a while.”  Passing his hand over the water cup beside him, Harry watched eyes around the table widen as wisps of steam suddenly emerged from the previously lukewarm liquid.

“How long have you had this ability?” asked Tony.

“I was born with this ability,” Harry admitted.  “However, I did not start to learn how to use it until I was eleven.”

“That was when you met your teachers?”  Bruce clarified and prompted.  Harry nodded, but did not speak.  He had already closed that topic.

“With this sort of energy, there are many who would employ you.  Why are you living on the streets?”  The constant intensity of Natasha set Harry on edge, but he had been through more painful interrogations than this.  He considered what he was willing to divulge.

He had already told Steve – and by extension, the team – that he had fought.  “I worked with a group for a while,” he admitted.  “They have since… disbanded.”

That was putting it lightly.  The Order had fallen.  A fragmented web of allies had been all the support he and his friends had as they ran.  And now, in this place, they were all gone.  Harry danced around his words, trying to craft a careful story of a war that, on this earth, had never existed.

“Who employs you now?”

“Two days ago, that was Howard Briggs & Sons Construction Crew.  Before that, the SkyRise Builders Company.  Odd jobs really.”  His lips twitched briefly into a smile.  He knew what she’d meant.  At her unimpressed stare, he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not employed like that.  As you seem to have picked up on whatever tech you use to monitor energy, things have been low key.  I stick to day-to-day stuff these days.”

“Why?” Tony pushed.  He leaned forward, his voice entirely unlike the impersonal calm of Natasha.  “I know several organizations that would hire you in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sick of fighting.”  Harry sighed.  “Look, I don’t know what you intend with all this, aside from satiating curiosity –“ he chose to leave out the concern they might try to do more than just ask questions. “- but I’m not going to fight for you, or against you.  I did my fighting and I’m done.”  He ran a hand through his hair tiredly.  He had seen so much death and destruction, the inhumane torturing of muggles and wizards alike…  “All I did was protect some civilians when it was needed.”

“Not everyone would’ve done that,” Steve said, his quiet baritone entering conversation for the first time since they’d begun.

Harry smirked, trying to break the heaviness that had settled in the room.  “You guys looked a bit preoccupied.”

Tony snorted.  “Now,” he said abruptly, and Harry had the strange sense that some sort of test had been passed.  “About those lodgings.  You said solid walls, a roof, and relative safety, correct?”  Harry nodded somewhat suspiciously.

“Good.  I have Pepper preparing a room for you.  You mentioned you carved some sort of rune into yourself when you were bubble-wrapping Grand Central.  Sounds quite bloody.”  The abrupt change of topic and rapid-fire of his speech was slightly overwhelming.  “I noticed you rubbing your chest.  Do you need medical attention?  Bruce here’s a doctor, lovely chap.”

Harry blinked.  “I am fine,” he said, absently reaching back up to press on his chest.  It ached, but was in the process of healing.

“Very well.  Shall we?”  Tony gestured towards the door, but Harry did not move.

“I believe what Tony is trying to say,” Bruce cut in smoothly, a smile in his tone, “is that he has prepared a room for you to use in this tower.”

“Can’t get any safer,” Tony bragged with a cocky grin.  Harry wasn’t sure what to say.

“Surely you – who just saved hundreds of civilians single handedly in a stunt so ridiculously moral it makes Mr. Spangles here look bad – wouldn’t expect us to offer you the tin-roofed shack you seemed to be suggesting?”

Harry glanced at the other Avengers.  None of them appeared surprised.  He glanced at Tony again.  “I am not interested in fighting,” he repeated.

“No job interviews, understood.”

“And I do not intend to be the subject of scientific study.  My powers are my own.”

“Not a lab rat.  Got it.”  Harry frowned at the man’s flippant attitude.

“It’s just a room?” he questioned.

“Just a room.”  Harry narrowed his eyes, considering it.  Being in Avengers Tower was either a sign of great honor, or great mistrust.  Harry had the suspicion it was both.  But, he had not told them about apparition and he knew it was possible (although utterly exhausting) here without his wand.  He would be able to flee if he remained on guard.  And should things go well, it truly was an amazing opportunity.  To spend a winter safely out of the snow and in a building known for its luxuries and extravagant wealth...  There would be no black mold or cockroaches here.  Harry looked back at Tony, and nodded: “Lead the way.”

~~~

Harry’s room was right in the heart of the Avengers’ territory.   The Avengers appeared to have multiple floors just for them.  At the top was Tony’s Penthouse.  Clint and Natasha and Thor had rooms on the floor below, and Bruce and Steve (and now Harry) had rooms one more floor down.  In passing, Tony mentioned several more floors had been recently renovated and turned into specialized training spaces, and three more were laboratories for Tony and Bruce.

A large common area which Tony introduced as the Avenger’s Lounge, filled the north half of Bruce and Steve’s floor.  A hallway led into the southern half.  On the left was Steve’s suite, on the right Bruce, and at the end were two small doors.  Tony gestured towards the one with an empty placard.

“We moved the library down a few floors when Bruce and Steve ran out of room.  It’s a bit small but…” he opened the door, and Harry couldn’t help but be impressed.

A double bed sat along the sidewall, decked out in crisp blue linens.  The far wall was completely made of windows.  The other sidewall held a simple wooden desk sandwiched between a small closet space and an open door revealing a bathroom.  It was about the size Dudley’s room had been, and Harry understood it was probably incredibly small in comparison to the rest of the tower, but he grinned.  It was wonderful.

“Now, I know it’s rather bare, and the bathroom is kinda quirky since it’s a relatively recent addition, but –“

Harry cut him off.  “No Mr. Stark.  This is wonderful.”

As if only just remembering where his guest had been living, Tony closed his mouth with a sort of embarrassed grin.  “Well then, I will leave you to settle in.  Dinner is in an hour or so – we generally eat in the commons down here.”

Harry nodded and Tony left.  Harry left the door open, feeling uncertainty rising with a vengeance in his chest.  Was this intended to be a temporary home for him? Was this a gilded cage?  Was it the Avenger’s way to meet the agreements of their bargain while maintaining surveillance on him and his unusual ‘energy’?  Perhaps more ominously was the chance they simply waiting to get a better understanding of what he was capable of before they tried to restrain and contain him.

Harry shook his head.  He would take advantage of this opportunity.  The agreement said the Avengers would provide lodgings.  It did not say Harry must live in them.  He would stay for now and enjoy the luxuries they offered, keeping his belongings nearby just in case.  For now, he planned to take advantage of the shower.  

Locking the bathroom door, Harry examined the tiny room.  Pale green walls and white tiles created a simple but pleasing space.  A small ornamental bamboo plant perched on the counter beside a bar of soap.  The shower itself was composed of more white tiles with accent marks of forest green and a frosted glass door.  Dropping his backpack in the corner, Harry turned the faucet and began shedding layers.  

He had arrived in this world at the end of a long, drawn-out magical war.  At age 21 he had seen more horrors than he wanted to remember and the battles had left him riddled with scars.  Only 23 now, Harry found it hard to look at his body.  When clothed, it was only the missing finger that drew his attention from time to time, but in front of the large bathroom mirror he found himself confronted with injuries he preferred to forget.  Turning away from his reflection, Harry’s couldn’t help but look at the still-healing wound in the center of his chest.  He had cut the scar open three different times now, repeating the ritual to protect and shield.  The first time was at Hogwarts, and it had healed almost immediately after the ritual was completed.  Now almost several weeks had passed and the rune remained in a scabbing phase, itching and vividly red at the edges.  It worried him.  Looking away, Harry stepped into the shower and closed his eyes.

He had not had such a luxury in days.  A local shelter could offer such options once or twice a week, but it did not cater to the ‘chronically homeless’ as they called people like him who continually skated between temporary, low-paying jobs and unemployment.  He found a small shampoo bottle on a ledge in the shower and enjoyed the sensation of scrubbing the grime from his hair.  It was the same untamable rats’ nest it had always been.  A dab of conditioner helped sort out some of the worst knots and tangles.  Opening the body wash, Harry took a deep breath and reveled in the soothing smell of peppermint.  Even the soaps in the tower felt expensive.  He scrubbed every inch of his body three times over before he truly felt free of dirt and grime.  Looking around, he found a razor and shaving cream waiting for him as well.  With a smile, Harry continued to clean up.

Even after he was scrubbed and shaved, Harry lingered beneath the warm water.   He closed his eyes and sighed.  

A sharp knock on the bathroom door made him jump.  Turning off the water, Harry reached for a towel.  Steve’s voice came from the other side of the door.  “I heard your shower going and realized I wasn’t sure if you had clean clothes yet.  I can show you the laundry if you want.  I brought you a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, just in case.”

Harry’s eyes widened at his thoughtfulness.  “Thank you,” he called back.  “I appreciate that.”

Similar to his showering, cleaning his clothes had remained somewhat difficult while on the street.  Cleaning charms kept both him and his clothes from being too unpleasant, but it did not provide the same sensation of being truly clean; it couldn’t replace good old soap and water.  Toweling dry, Harry listened as Steve’s footsteps retreated and heard his outer bedroom door close.

Cautiously, Harry unlocked the bathroom door and peered out at an empty room.  A small pile of clothes sat folded neatly on the desk, well within arms reach.  Scooping them up, Harry wondered how he might close the wall of windows.  While it was a beautiful (and very high) view, it did leave him feeling rather exposed.

Steve had provided a pair of black sweatpants and a blue t-shirt.  Harry fished a pair of boxers from his bag and hit them with another cleaning charm.  Tugging on his clothes, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his reflection.  What was most likely a form-fitting t-shirt on Steve hung loose and baggy on his thin frame, and sweatpants that surely fit Steve’s long legs reminded him far too much of Dudley’s old cast offs.  Rolling the waistband over a few times, Harry resigned himself to letting the hems drag on the floor.  He was too grateful for the clean clothes to truly care, although the short sleeves and v-neck of the shirt showed off scars he hadn’t revealed in quite a while.

Pulling his backpack over his shoulders and opting to go barefoot until he had clean socks, Harry toweled his hair dry one last time.  Steve’s room was mere feet from his and Harry hoped to take him up on that laundry offer.

A short knock later, and Steve showed Harry the room beside his.  “You’re free to use this whenever,” he said as he opened the door.  The room was about the size of his bathroom and it shared similar touches of affluence.  Two sleek, silver washing machines stood beside two equally shiny dryers.  Their circular interiors glowed with pale blue lights and the one busy dryer was turning over clothes in complete silence.

Steve opened a washer door for him, and a short melody rang out through the room as the electronic screen lit up.  Steve chuckled.  “That’s Tony for you,” he smiled.  “Never does anything halfway.”

Slowly, Harry took off his backpack and unzipped the top.  While there was a mild expansion charm on the bag, it was barely noticeable.  Harry found magic much more difficult to do in this world – possibly a product of this universe, or possibly just because of his lack of a wand.  In any regards, it was nothing like Hermione’s beaded bag; he had fit maybe two extra shirts into the expanded space.  Pulling his clothes from his pack, Harry realized just how worn they were.  His jeans had stains and small tears here and there.  His shirts were faded and worn at the seams.  His jacket was worst of all – but he shoved it into the washer all the same.  Steve made no comments, and for that Harry was grateful.  Everything about the Avengers and their home so far made it clear that money was no issue for the group.  Even the casual clothes he’d been lent were high quality, sitting soft upon his skin.

As Harry shut the washer door, a voice suddenly sounded from the doorway.  Harry whirled around, setting his back towards the wall and his eyes on the newcomer.  Clint, who was leaning against the doorframe, raised his hands in a pacifying gesture.  Steve, who had taken a step back at Harry’s startled response purposefully relaxed his shoulders and nodded in Clint’s directions.

“Detergent’s in the cupboard,” Clint repeated calmly.  Harry wished he could prevent the embarrassed flush spreading across his face at his overreaction.  He reached for the indicated cupboard without turning his back on the men.  “Bit jumpy today?” Clint asked with a grin.

Harry didn’t dignify him with a response.  Clint didn’t seem bothered.  “Quite the set you’ve got,” he continued.  Harry, recapping the bottle of detergent, glanced at him in confusion.  Steve was sending Clint a discouraging frown, but Clint shrugged and nodded towards Harry.  “Your scars,” he explained. They hadn’t seen anything but his hand and face at the meeting.  “Something did a number on you.”

Harry set the detergent back in the cupboard with a bit more force than was needed.  Yanking on his backpack, he started the washer.  “What of it,” he snapped, refusing to give into the futile impulse to hide his arms.  He refused to be ashamed.

Steve sighed, “Lay off it, Clint.  It’s day one.”

Clint took another glance at Harry, looking from the wide scars wrapping around his arms to the mangled mess of his left hand.  “Sorry,” he offered.  “Came out a bit worse than I meant it to.”  Harry shrugged off the apology, not sure what to make of the man.

“Dinner is in fifteen,” Clint said.  “Tony ordered pizza.”  He headed back down the hallway and disappeared into the common area.  Harry glanced at Steve, whose blue eyes gazed steadily back.

“Care to comment?” Harry snapped.

Steve held his gaze calmly.  “No,” he said.  “Those are your stories to tell, and to keep.”

Harry looked away, rubbing a hand across his left arm where his largest scar ran from his outer wrist over his forearm and disappeared underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.  Small dots outlined the scar, showing where muggle stitches and staples had held his skin together as they waited for backup and medical support.  Harry shoved the waiting memories further back in his mind.  He would not dwell on memories of a world long gone.  Steve must’ve noticed his darkening expression, for he turned towards the doorway.

“Care to join me in the communal room?  If Tony’s bringing pizza, you will want an early slice.   Some of us tend to eat a great deal.”  Harry didn’t quite understand the laugh beneath his tone, but he followed all the same.

The common area was a massive space.  The far two walls were almost entirely composed of floor-to-ceiling windows. The wall to his right though had smaller windows with shades ready to slide down over them.  A massive TV screen dominated the center of the wall, and in a semi-circle facing the screen was a collection of soft leather couches and a low, glass table.  The couch area was set lower in the floor with a short twisting stair leading down on either side.

Behind the couches a dining table stood on the higher level, just outside a large kitchen space.  A long granite countertop lined with barstools divided the kitchen from the rest of the room. Scattered tastefully throughout the communal space were cozy chairs and a few small tables.  Harry was sure Tony’s tower would impress him many more times in the coming days.

Steve headed towards the couches.  Harry followed, settling into the corner of a couch facing the elevator and hallway.  Harry had no intention of sitting with his back to any of the Avengers yet.  Not when he had yet to ascertain their motivation behind offering him this new ‘home.’  If Steve noted his slightly paranoid actions, he said nothing of it.  Instead, he leaned back on the couch across from him, and Harry had to marvel at how comfortable he appeared.  Even in familiar settings, Harry had a hard time letting himself relax.

Before the silence could descend into awkwardness or conversation, the elevator doors opened.  Bruce stepped out and walked over to join them.  His eyes lingered a moment on Harry, but he turned to Steve instead.  “JARVIS said something about dinner?”

“Clint said Tony ordered pizza.”

Bruce chuckled.  “Of course.”  He sat down by Steve and glanced at Harry again.  Harry felt his toes curl anxiously around the hem of his too-large sweatpants.  He lifted his chin defiantly; he refused to be cowed.  He had grown used to covering his scars in this world, but back home he had paid them little mind.  He refused to take any other approach now.  After a moment's pause, Bruce looked away politely.

“Was Tony down in the lab?” Steve asked.  Harry set his hands on his legs, and tried to appear a bit less on edge.  He wasn’t sure he was having any success.

“A while ago,” Bruce shrugged.  “Went up for something and I think he got sidetracked with a new suit feature he’s hammering out details on.”

Clint and Natasha walked into the room just before the elevator slid open once more. Tony swaggered out beside a man carrying an enormous stack of pizza boxes.

Clint must’ve seen the gob-smacked look on Harry’s face, because he was grinning as he stage-whispered, “Don’t expect left-overs kid.  You’ve never seen someone eat until you see Bruce and Steve go at it.”

Harry felt his eyebrows rise in spite of himself.  He glanced back at the incredibly muscular Steve and the more compact but nothing-less-than-fit Bruce.  Bruce blushed bright red, but smiled.  “Elevated metabolism,” he muttered.  Harry remained as confused as before, but didn’t ask for clarification.  For all he knew, it was a sensitive topic seeing how Bruce reacted to Clint’s jibe.

“Alright!” Tony said, as the man finished setting out the pizza boxes and returned to the elevator.  “Here’s what we’ve got.”  He gestured at the stacks of boxes lined up on the kitchen counter.  “Five-Cheese for the simpletons, Margarita over here by the Barbecue Chicken, Hawaiian's next to Meat Lovers, then there's Veggie, Thai, and Taco-inspired... and that awesome pesto-sauce one's on the far end.  Remember to use paper plates because it’s my night to clean dishes and I intend to do no such thing.”

With that, Stark snatched a plate and headed straight for the “awesome pesto-sauce one” at the end.  At a more sedate pace, the rest of the Avengers moseyed over to the line.  Harry lingered behind.  What with the Dursley’s approach to feeding Harry, the cultural differences of the wizarding world, and being on the run during the war, Harry hadn’t actually had many varieties of pizza before.  Something must’ve shown on his face, because Bruce handed him a plate with some advice.

“Can't go wrong with the Five Cheese from this place, but I think vegetarian’s the best.  You're not gluten-free are you?”

“Uh, no.” Harry stammered.  "I'd go for a water though.  Where're the cups?"

“Above the sink.”

“Thanks.”  Setting his plate back for a moment, Harry walked around to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.  With his back half-turned, he watched the Avengers settle back into the couches, chatting with an air of comfort and familiarity Harry suddenly envied.

He hadn’t had companionship like that since –

He looked away.  Harry took a slice of the cheese and a small slice of the intriguing Thai-inspired pizza before hesitantly joining the group at the table.

Natasha watched Harry thoughtfully.  “Trying something new?”

Harry glanced up, wiping the grease off his fingers.  He felt the eyes of other Avengers turn towards him.  Not all of them had caught the context of her question.  He shrugged.

“New to New York Pizza?!” Tony exclaimed dramatically.  Harry grimaced, but didn’t know if he wanted to correct the man.  “No one makes it like we do here!”  

“How’d you manage that?” Bruce asked curiously.  “Even Steve here's had the traditional New York style pizza before, and there are pizza shops everywhere now."

Harry frowned at that.  “Even Steve?” he repeated questioningly.  Bruce didn’t seem to get his confusion, but Natasha did.

“What, exactly, do you know about the Avengers,” she asked, wiping her own fingers delicately as she set her empty plate on the table.

“Uh, I saw you fight the Beasts,” Harry offered.  “I know you’re a group that formed to protect against other threats like that.”  At their listening silence, Harry continued.  “You uh, each have a different fighting style.  Clint used arrows.  You preferred guns and martial arts,” he said, nodding towards Natasha.  “Steve has a shield? And also used martial arts I think?  Thor fought with a hammer, someone else transformed and another person was a robot that can fly?  I didn’t get to see it all,” he admitted.  Trying to protect Grand Central had taken every last shred of his attention.  He knew as little about them as they did about him.  For a moment, no one seemed to know where to start.

“Well,” said Tony, clapping his hands together.  “Bruce here was the big green guy, and I am not a robot. It’s the Iron Man suit!  Although, it is not made of iron –“

“It might also be important to know that Steve, Mr. Captain America, was on ice for some seventy years,” Clint said.

“And Natasha was a Russian Spy,” Tony chirped back in.

Bruce looked at Harry’s wide eyes, and seemed to take pity on him.  “Maybe it would help to offer this information in a more… organized manner?”

“Oh!” Tony exclaimed.  The others turned to him, warily.  “The video file!” he said, as though that explained it all.  And, apparently it did.  The Avengers nodded slowly, and Bruce seemed rather impressed.

“The video would actually be really helpful.  It’s a pretty basic overview and doesn’t require clearance like files do.”

Tony rolled his eyes, as if the mere possibility that it wasn’t a great idea was ridiculous. “Grab more pizza if you want.  JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?” Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.  He glanced around, but the voice seemed to come from nowhere at all.

“That’s JARVIS, Tony’s AI system,” Bruce murmured.  At Harry’s blank look, he clarified.  “JARVIS is like a really intelligent computer.”

“Please set up the video in the Avengers File A16 and run it in the Avengers’ Lounge.”

“Preparing video, sir.”

“Perfect.”  Tony turned back to the group.  “Seriously, grab more pizza before we settle in.”  Clint rushed to grab another two pieces before Bruce and Steve could get their second heaping plates.  Harry took another bite of his slice.  He wondered if this was something he could learn to make.

As they settled back onto the couches, Tony called on JARVIS and the nearest lights flipped off.  The screens above the windows facing them rolled down as well.  The television turned on.

A familiar scene filled the majority of the screen – Chitauri pouring in through a hole in the sky, and six individuals stepping forward to fight them.  A small box stood on the right side of the screen.  It contained a photograph of Natasha and a short paragraph.  Instead of the sounds of fighting, a single voice spoke over the silenced footage.  “Natasha Romanova, known as the Black Widow, was born in Stalingrad, Russia.  Trained as a spy, martial artist, and sniper, she brings unique skills to the Avengers Initiative.  She is a world-class athlete, gymnast, and aerialist and has mastered multiple styles of martial arts.  She has extensive espionage training and experience.  Enhanced by bioengineering, she heals quickly and is resistant to most diseases.  In the field, note her tactical expertise and the adaptability of her fighting style.”

Harry watched with interest as the camera focused explicitly on Natasha’s fighting.  Her martial arts skills were astonishing, and she used a mixture of physical strength, guns, and knives to kill and subdue the Chitauri attackers.  The camera drew away from Natasha as the box on the right changed to an image of Steve.

“Born in New York City in 1925, Steve Rogers suffered from several health concerns as a child, and was initially denied enlistment in the US Army.  He later participated in the Super-Soldier Project as a test subject.  Experiments proved successful and Captain Rogers played a key role in both troop morale and leadership during WWII.  At the end of the war, a plane wreck left Captain Rogers frozen in ocean ice.  His body was recovered and thawed in 2019.  Enhancements from the Super Soldier Serum account for Captain Rogers' survival, as well as his continued strength, agility, stamina, and regenerative capabilities.  In the field, note his reliance on physical strength and his skills in protective, defensive, and command situations.”

And on it went.  Harry watched closely as Bruce’s transformations were demonstrated, and Stark’s riches were explained as the wealth of an inventor of both weaponry and green energy.  As the camera focused on Clint’s form, perched upon a rooftop, Harry got a run down of his time in the circus and his stint partnering with Natasha before the Avengers began.  A man named Thor was briefly introduced as a warrior from Asgard who wielded a hammer.  As the narration came to a close, the footage of the fight shifted to fill the entire screen.  Harry flinched as the sound turned on.

Suddenly, the distance afforded by monotonous narration was stripped away.  Full-color explosions blasted across the screen and gunfire filled the air.  Bricks and mortar rained from unstable buildings, and people fled through the streets.  Harry could smell the ash and smoke.  Suddenly it was as if he couldn’t breathe.

“That’s a good place to pause.”  Steve’s voice broke through the chaos and Harry wrenched his eyes from the screen.  The image froze moments later, and silence fell on the room.  The lights turned back on.  “Anyone up for ice cream?” Steve asked, clearly diverting attention from where Harry was struggling to find his breath.

“We have triple chocolate fudge!” Tony said a bit too brightly, leaping to his feet and heading to the kitchen.  Bruce wandered back towards the nearly empty pizza boxes and helped himself to another plate.

“Sounds good to me,” Natasha shrugged, picking up her plate as she too wandered towards the kitchen counter.

“Any more of the butter pecan?” Clint asked.

In a moment, it was only Harry and Steve seated on the couches.  Harry’s hands were clenched white-knuckled on his knees.  He focused on relaxing his hands as he took a few slow breaths.  He tried to pretend Steve wasn’t there.  He felt incredibly stupid, reacting like that to a film.  If anyone should’ve been upset by it, it was the men and women who’d actually been fighting.

As his breathing returned to normal, Harry clasped his hands in his lap.  Steve met his eye and Harry battled back a blush of embarrassment.  Steve looked neither pitying nor judgmental.  “We all have those sometimes,” he said quietly.  “Would you like to join us for ice cream?”

“Going to turn over my laundry first,” Harry said.  Steve nodded, and Harry quickly slipped away towards the laundry where he could finish collecting himself in private.

When he returned, Harry found himself quickly seated on a barstool with a small bowl of chocolate truffle ice cream in his hands.  Five bites in, Tony turned to Harry.  “So kid, you’ve heard our stories.  What about you?  Where’re you from?”  There was an intensity underlying the question that made Harry’s stomach knot.  He knew the more he said about himself, the quicker things could fall apart.  He, his world, his friends… his entire life had never happened here.  As innocent at the question was, it felt like the first tug on a string that could unravel everything.

“I was born in England.”

“Where in England?”

“Surrey.”  No birth certificate, no school records, he thought.  This was going nowhere good.

“Alright.  Any siblings?”

“No.”

“Best friends? Love interest?  Come on kid!” Tony laughed, “Tell me about yourself.”  Harry’s fingers tightened around his spoon.

“There is not much to tell, sir.” Harry tried to keep his voice light and casual.

“Of course there is.  A kid like you… you look like you’ve been through hell!”  At this point the others had grown quieter, noting the tension radiating from Harry’s frame.  Tony pushed onwards though.  “You must have loads of stories to tell.”

“I was born in Surrey, raised by my aunt and uncle.  I met a teacher when I was eleven.  I ended up in a … war of sorts.”

“War of sorts?” Clint echoed, curiously.  Harry grimaced.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“And we will respect that,” Steve said firmly, fixing a strong eye on Stark.  Tony moved to open his mouth again, so Steve reiterated his point.  “We are not going to badger Harry about the war.”

Tony huffed and grumbled, but relented nonetheless.  Harry felt a warm surge of gratitude towards the super soldier.  “Fine, fine.  I won’t pester the new kid…  Sure JARVIS can fill me in anyways…”

“JARVIS?” Harry asked Steve quietly.  “I thought that was his computer?”

Steve nodded.  “Sort of.  JARVIS is artificial intelligence, so… sort of like a super computer?  He is present throughout the entire building.  That’s how he can do things like turn the lights on and off and set up the TV.”

Harry frowned.  “So… he is like the building’s consciousness?”  He had a sudden thought of Riddle’s soul fragment in the diary.

“I guess?  I’m kinda new to the whole technology thing myself.”  Steve smiled sheepishly, and Harry suddenly recalled that he’d spent over seventy years in ice.

“That must’ve been a shock,” Harry empathized.  “Where I grew up, we didn’t really use technology.  This stuff’s pretty new to me too.”  If Steve was surprised, he hid it well.  “What else can this JARVIS do?”

Tony, who’d been listening, chose that moment to chime back in.  Leaning across the counter with a glass of whiskey (which had apparently replaced his empty mug of ice cream), he grinned proudly.  “He ordered our pizza, and can book a hotel.  He can search through any database, and can communicate, or facilitate communication, with anyone in the world.  He monitors the energy use of the building, and computes complex mathematical equations...  He can do just about anything short of physically manipulating things.”

“Woah.  And you… created him?”  Tony smile widened even further as he nodded with pride.  The computer acted like a sentient ward, with additional research features.  Harry had never heard of anything like it before.  And the more he thought about it, the more worrisome it began to sound.

“He monitors energy?”

“How else do you think we found you?” Tony laughed, taking another sip of his drink.  Harry suddenly felt rather queasy.

“JARVIS led you to me,” his voice sounded distant to his own ears.  Natasha’s eyes zeroed in on him once more.  Tony seemed to finally realize that might not be welcome news to Harry.

“Yeah, well, without him you’d still be on the street.  How else could we thank you?”

Harry’s ears were ringing.  He listened to the others, their voices oddly distorted.  If JARVIS tracked him… could sense his ‘energy’… his room suddenly looked far less like a gift and far more like a lab rat’s cage.  Were they taking readings right now?  He had used a cleaning charm earlier.  Had JARVIS recorded that too?

Harry was pulling on his backpack before he’d even made a conscious decision to leave.  Of course it was too good to be true.  Unfortunately, his clothes were still in the laundry.  Steve stood as Harry left.  Natasha’s brown eyes followed him, calculating.  Dry or not, he needed to grab his clothes and leave.  If they had found him before…  Harry’s mind whirred through the possibilities.  He could aparate from the tower, buy himself some distance.  He’d then limit his use of magic until he was well away from New York – out of the country maybe, if he could manage it.

Harry yanked open the dryer door and began stuffing clothes into his backpack.  Only as he struggled to zip the bag shut did he recall he was wearing borrowed clothes.  Reaching up to tug off the shirt, he was paused by a familiar voice.  “Keep it.”

Turning slowly, shirt part way off his shoulders and revealing a massive burn scar on his side, Harry faced Steve.  The man watched him with gentle eyes and a calm body.  “If you need to go, no one will stop you, but you are free to let your clothes finish drying first.”

Harry hovered there, one hand clutching his bag, the other slowly tugging the shirt back down over his chest.  

“It is true,” Steve continued, “that JARVIS tracks energy, and that he is how we found you.  We do not mean you any harm.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the man distrustfully.  “He monitors energy,” Harry stated.

Steve nodded silently, waiting for Harry to continue.  Every muscle in Harry’s body was tensed, ready to flee.  Yet, Harry hesitated.

“Why?” he began, looking at the soldier who had been nothing but kind to him.  “Why did you offer me a room here?”  His hands trembled with the effort of staying put when every part of him said to run.  But a larger part of him wanted answers.

“I can’t speak for Tony, although I suspect it has to do with his insatiable curiosity.”  Steve sighed.  “You are unique.  I won’t deny he wants to know more about you.  But he doesn't hurt people unprovoked.”

“JARVIS is a monitoring system.” Harry repeated.

“Yes, that is part of what he does.  You are not here as an experiment, Harry.  We owe you.  Curious though we might be, we did not invite you here to take advantage of you.”

Harry wavered.

“You are free to go at any time, Harry,” Steve reiterated.  “But, at least let your clothing dry.  Get a good night’s rest if you can.  Take advantage of a night off the streets.”

“I could walk out of here – out the front door – and you would do nothing to stop me, and nothing to hunt me down again?”  Harry couldn’t keep the blatant distrust out of his voice.

“That is correct,” Steve replied, still leaning a shoulder casually against the doorframe.

“And no other Avenger or related person or agency would try to stop me or hunt me?”  Harry specified, trying to think of a loophole that the seemingly honest man might take.

Steve sighed, but nodded.  “That is correct.”

Harry took a deep breath.  If it wasn’t a trap, it was an incredibly good opportunity.  He didn’t want to squander if unnecessarily.  And, even if it was a trap, feigning compliance might create a stealthier opportunity to escape and buy him more time. Harry set his backpack down against his legs.

“I think, then, that I would like to finish drying my clothes,” he stated.  Opening his backpack, Harry kept an eye on Steve, watching him warily as if expecting the man to leap forward and restrain him at any moment.  Slowly, Harry re-loaded the dryer and let it start again.  Shouldering his pack, Harry stared at Steve.  The man stepped aside, and walked back towards the common area.  Behind him, Harry slipped into his room without another word.

Harry leaned against the closed door and stared at the bedroom before him.  JARVIS was there, just as he was in every part of the house.  Harry wondered if there were cameras in the room, but he couldn’t see them.  He knew any cameras would be only the newest and highest tech with Tony, and he – with his limited knowledge of technology – had absolutely no idea how to spot them.  Between the potential cameras, the tiny turn-lock on the door, the huge wall of windows, and the lounge full of highly trained fighters just down the hall, Harry felt incredibly vulnerable.  In two strides he sat atop his bed with his back wedged into the corner.  He situated his backpack beside him where he could watch all of the room at once.

Outside, the sky was dark.  He could faintly see snow falling, illuminated by the glow of street lamps and neon signs below.  He was grateful to not be out on the street, renewing warming charms every thirty minutes and huddling somewhere out of the wind or waiting for a bed at the Mission.  Harry let his eyes travel around the small room.  In the dim light, he could just make out the dark of his empty closet space and desk beside it.

Harry stood, walking over to the desk.  It wasn’t attached to anything.  Carefully, he moved it in front of the door and checked the lock.  It wouldn’t hold any of the Avengers out, but it would make enough noise to wake him, even if it didn’t slow them down.

He returned to the corner, pulling his knees up before him.  He reached into his bag, and pulled out a small slip of paper.  He smiled at the faded, frozen photograph.  It was the sole remnant he had from his world. Despite the darkness of the room, he could see Ron and Hermione smiling back at him, their arms over his shoulders.  They had each had a copy, carried in their pockets like a good luck amulet.  He held it gently, touching only the edges.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

In silence, he stared at the image.  In his mind's eye, he could see the image as it used to be – the way Hermione had thrown her arms around each of them before they’d turned once more to face the camera with smiles full of love.  Over and over it had repeated, the hugs, the smiles, the hugs, the smiles…

He did not know how long he sat, lost in his thoughts and looking at the photograph.   Only when his eyes kept drooping and he was afraid he might drop it did Harry slip the picture back into his bag.  He resumed his silent watch, wary and fighting sleep.  But in the silence of the tower, and the dark of the night, he eventually lost that battle and his eyes drifted shut.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two:

Harry found himself in muggle London; fog hung thick and heavy in the afternoon air. A sense of desperation tinged the town. Beside him stood a gigantic black dog. “You should go,” he told Sirius. “It’s not safe here.” The dog looked around and cocked his head to the side, as if to say ‘so what?’

They walked on. Through the mist Harry could see the familiar buildings of downtown New York. At the end of the street stood Number 12 Grimmauld Place. “Good, let’s get you home,” Harry smiled, reaching down to scratch Snuffles on the head. As they approached, the doors swung open. Ron and Hermione greeted them as they stepped across the threshold.

“Thank goodness! You’re just in time!” said Hermione, throwing her arms around his neck. Harry breathed in the soft scent of her shampoo.

“Gotta hurry,” Ron said beside them. Hermione let go, and Harry found himself in the middle of the Great Hall.

“Where’s Sirius?” he asked, turning around. But he was alone. “Ron? Hermione?” His voice echoed in the empty room. He looked up, and the sky was a dark sunset streaked with red. “Sirius!”

Suddenly, something exploded. The ground shook. Students began pouring out of the small chamber at the back of the hall. Another explosion reverberated through the cavernous room and the sound of gunfire filled the air. Dust and debris began to fall from the ceiling. The students started to scream.

The growing crowd surged towards the oak doors, seeking escape through the Entrance Hall and the open front gates. The doors wouldn’t open. Yet another explosion sounded. Harry’s ears were ringing. The ceiling began to break. Ron suddenly appeared amongst the crowd, but was swallowed in the chaos before Harry could even call his name. With the terrible screech of scraping rocks, the ceiling wrenched open and Harry could see Death Eaters pouring out of a hole in the sky.

Voldemort descended slowly from the ceiling, floating down gently as his robes billowed around him. Harry reached for his wand – but it wasn’t there.

“Harry Potter,” he hissed. “The Boy-Who-Lived has come to die.”*

Death Eaters were swarming into the castle. The doors still would not budge. Students were screaming. Spells were flashing, yet Voldemort had eyes only for him. The bodies of students fell all around them. A redheaded girl lay still upon the ground.

Voldemort raised his wand. Harry had to do something! His hands were scrabbling at his chest, wrenching open his robes – a knife was in his hands. He had no other choice –

There was a loud knocking on his door.

“Sir,” an unfamiliar voice sounded in the darkness. “I am sensing distress.”

Harry pulled himself from his nightmare, shoving himself upright and trying to re-orient himself to his surroundings. He was sitting in a bed; it was dark outside. “Do you require assistance?” the voice continued – neither threatening nor familiar.

“Stop,” Harry mumbled, a hand rising to grip his hair. He fumbled for glasses. The knocking sound came again, and Harry could make out a strange bedroom. He was in Avengers Tower, he remembered. Yanking himself out of the tangle of sheets, he rubbed his eyes and stumbled blearily towards the door. He tugged at his shirt to straighten it, only to find it clinging to his skin. Glancing down, he froze. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Shit.” Something wet and dark was spreading across his chest, which ached and burned more than usual. The knock sounded again.

“Not right now!” he snapped. “Where’s the light?” His hands moved to search for a light switch on the wall, but the lights came on before he found it. Blood was seeping slowly through the t-shirt he’d borrowed. Glancing back at the bed, he found the tell tale signs of blood on the pale green linens. “Dammit.”

“Do you require assistance?” the voice asked again, and Harry recalled it was a computer system – JARVIS – speaking from the walls.

“No! No,” Harry said quickly. He pulled up his shirt. It was as he suspected. The rune on his chest was ripped back open. Bright red scratches surrounded the inflamed wound, and even as he glanced at it, blood dripped down his chest. He yanked the shirt back down to absorb the blood and hide the cuts.

Harry glanced towards his backpack, but knew without searching that he was out of first aid supplies. He hadn’t replenished the gauze pads after it reached the scabbing stage. Harry took a deep breath, and tried not to panic.

A knock sounded at the door once more, far quieter than before. Harry looked around for something to wear to cover up the bloodstain spreading across his chest. He quickly pulled his jacket from the top of his backpack. Scooting the desk out of the way, Harry made sure the jacket was hiding everything before opening the door.

Steve stood in the hallway, dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top. Clearly he had just gotten out of bed. “What do you want?” Harry snapped, a bit harsher than he intended.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Steve replied, unfazed.

“Well, I am.” Harry moved to shut the door.

“My sensors indicate Mr. Potter has need of minor medical assistance.” Harry froze, partially turned away. He gritted his teeth at the clear invasion of his privacy.

“I am fine,” he growled.

“I can show you where the first aid kit is,” Steve said. “Since you’re in a guest room, I know there isn’t one in your quarters yet.”

Harry hesitated. Realistically, the game was already up. JARVIS could probably tell everyone what was wrong anyways, and Harry had no first aid supplies of his own. Tugging the zipper of his jacket all the way to the top, Harry turned back to Steve with gritted teeth. He nodded once and stepped into the hallway.

“It’s in the kitchen,” Steve said, leading the way. Harry’s chest burned as the t-shirt rubbed against the open wound. When he moved his shoulders, the skin stretched and pulled. Harry tried not to flinch as he wrapped his arms around his torso to lessen the movement.

When they reached the kitchen space, Steve reached above the refrigerator and opened a small cabinet. Pulling out a black bag, he set it on the counter between them. “It’s a pretty thorough kit,” he said, unzipping it. “It sees some rather frequent use around here.”

Harry glanced at the myriad of items inside. Gauze pads and bandaids were only the beginning. He glimpsed ace wraps and tweezers and steri-strips amongst other items too hidden to be distinguished yet. Harry reached for the gauze pads.

Steve stared at his bloody fingers and raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine.” Harry repeated reflexively.

Snatching a gauze pad, Harry hesitated. It had already bled through his shirt and some parts of his sheets. Grabbing another gauze pad he refused to look at Steve. Rummaging through the bag a bit further he found adhesive tape to hold the bandages in place.

“Do you need any help?” Steve asked quietly.

Harry shook his head, feeling his face burn with shame. Turning on his heel, he hurried back to his room.

Beneath his jacket, the shirt was rather ruined. Harry grimaced at the prospect of having to eventually tell Steve what had happened to the borrowed clothing. Harry set the jacket safely on his bed and checked it over. There was only a small amount of blood staining the inner fabric. Leaving it there for the time being, Harry took his supplies to the restroom and locked the door. Gently, he stripped off the t-shirt. Running water in the sink, he set the shirt aside as the water warmed. He reached into the shower to grab a washcloth. Carefully, he began to wipe off the blood that had smeared across his chest. The wound itself was still trickling blood, so he held one edge of the washcloth at the base of the rune to absorb it.

Harry glanced at the mirror. The rune, Algiz, blazed upon his chest, almost as raw as when he had first made it – although much shallower by now. The edges were warm and slightly inflamed. Harry grimaced at the idea of an infection starting. He should’ve looked for an anti-biotic cream to put on as well, but he certainly wasn’t going back to ask for one. Maybe he could sneak some from first aid kit later on.

Plugging the sink, he set the t-shirt to soak in soapy water and pulled a gauze pad out of the first packet. Placing it over the rune, he watched as a few dots of blood slowly soaked through. Harry layered the second pad on top and reached for the tape. Ripping off a piece with his teeth, he secured the bandage with practiced ease, holding it steady with the heel of his hand as his fingers placed the tape. A few more pieces of tape secured the white square, and Harry turned his attention to the sink where he scrubbed at the shirt with a bar of soap.

The shirt was dark blue. There was a reasonable amount of hope that the bloodstain would not be noticeable after washing since the blood had not dried. The sink water had turned a murky brown, so Harry drained it and began scrubbing the shirt beneath hot running water, watching it wring out increasingly pale pink. A familiar warm, metallic scent began to fill the bathroom. Harry set the shirt aside and set to scrubbing the washcloth. In the mirror, he could see one faint dot of blood slowly spreading to the top of the bandage.

When everything was washed, and the sink cleaned up, Harry set Steve’s shirt on a hanger in the shower and draped the washcloth over the faucet to dry. Pulling on a black long-sleeved shirt, Harry examined his bed and jacket. The jacket would easily hide the blood until it was next washed. The sheets however… Harry carefully re-made his bed and looked it over. The blood was only noticeable on the two inner sheets. So long as no one changed his bed (which, he assumed they probably wouldn’t do?) it wouldn’t be noticed. The comforter concealed everything.

Harry sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. This was not how he anticipated the night would go. He wondered how much JARVIS knew or saw. He sure hoped Stark had the decency to not put cameras in the bedrooms. He eyed the walls warily and wondered idly if his magic could fry such technology, but had no desire to draw that sort of attention to himself unless absolutely necessary.

Harry stared across the room. The clock above the desk read 5am. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, and he had no desire to run into another Avenger. He was grateful for the bed and what was, at least on the surface, the offering of free room and board in a beautiful space, but he felt trapped. The computer system could very well be monitoring his every move, and he had neither access to that information nor any knowledge on how it would be used. He didn’t know their intentions, and despite their kindness, Harry couldn’t shake the fear that it could all be a trap.

Harry suddenly reached for his boots, lacing up the worn leather before grabbing his bag. He was going on a walk. Certainly, if it was truly the home they said they were providing him, they should have no trouble letting him out. Although, it was also possible that their plan necessitated him thinking he was free to go around unmonitored so, being allowed to leave temporarily was not a promise of safety but…

He shook his head. Those thoughts could be dealt with later. Slipping out his door, Harry walked to the common room area, looking for the stairs. He always preferred stairs if possible. Despite being so many stories up, Harry couldn’t quite shake the fear that his magic might accidentally destroy technology at any time. He did not want that to occur while he was stuck in a metal box hundreds of feet above the ground.

As he glanced around for some sort of door to the stairs, he was met with an unexpected pair of blue eyes. Steve sat in an armchair by the window, holding what appeared to be tea. A small notebook lay in his lap.

“Do you, uh, happen to know where the stairs are?” Harry asked after a moment’s pause. Steve nodded and gestured towards a small door on the far wall. “Thanks.”

“Are you leaving?” Steve asked. His voice held a decidedly neutral tone.

“Just going for a walk,” Harry said. He eyed Steve warily. “You said I was free to go at any time,” he half questioned, half challenged.

Steve nodded again. “That is true, although I am glad it sounds like you will return. I have enjoyed meeting you.”

Harry nodded, uncertain how to respond. He had liked Steve so far. The man had been nothing but kind and respectful toward him and his privacy. “Is, uh, there anything I need to know in order to get back in?” It was an extremely high-tech building after all, and the home of some very high-ranking individuals.

“That’s a good question. JARVIS?” Steve asked.

“Yes Mr. Rogers?”

“Is Harry set up to get back into this level of the tower? Or are there protocols that we need to go through first?”

“Mr. Stark has already coded Mr. Harry Potter in to access this floor, as well as the training floors.” Harry blinked. He was invited to use their training floors? A distrustful part of him wondered if this was another ruse to try to take data on his magic.

“Thank you,” Harry said. As untrusting as he was, Harry did try to be polite.

“Would Mr. Potter like me to escort him out of the building so he may take his morning walk?” JARVIS asked. Harry glanced at Steve, but his expression gave no hint of a trick or a trap.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry nodded, “That would be appreciated, Mr. JARVIS.”

JARVIS led Harry down the stairs to the first floor, pointing out a ground level restroom and the proper elevator to use when he returned. JARVIS then bid Harry a polite farewell as he stepped out the door.

Because he’d held onto his backpack almost constantly since arriving at the tower, Harry was fairly certain no tracking devices had been placed on him, but he paused two streets down all the same. Sitting momentarily at a bus stop, Harry dug through his pack, reaching out with his magic for any signs of technology amongst his clothes and belongings. It wasn’t a spell, per-say, more like using magic as a sixth sense. It took a lot of concentration to do it purposefully, but Harry held the hunch that the ‘sixth sense’ was likely responsible for the way tech glitched when around a magic user too long.

Finding nothing in his bag, Harry closed his eyes briefly and turned his attention to himself. He reached out with his magic and looked for the feel of tech anywhere on his person. He felt nothing but his own self and magic. Letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, Harry smiled faintly. Nothing was for certain, but he felt a bit more secure in the knowledge that at least the Avengers hadn’t bugged his things. Shouldering his pack once more, flinching just slightly as it tugged at his slowly healing chest, Harry set off down the street. The thin snowfall from yesterday was slowly beginning to melt. The city was awakening, and the grey light of morning was creeping over New York. It was almost sunrise.

~~~

Back in the tower, Tony wandered down to the Avengers Lounge and poured himself a mug of black coffee. “Yo, Spangles. Seen the new kid yet today?”

“Yes,” said Steve, resigning himself to the end of his quiet morning – so much for peaceful sketching and a nice cup of tea. “You just missed him.”

“He left?”

“He took a walk,” Steve corrected.

“It’s what, 6 in the morning?” Tony exclaimed, glancing at his watch.   “Is he coming back?”

“He left a bit earlier than that,” Steve said idly. “I believe he plans to return.”

“Why is he up at this hour anyways?”

Steve shrugged, content to allow Harry his privacy.

“JARVIS,” Tony barked. “Update me on the Potter kid.”

Steve sighed. “This is exactly what he’s worried about,” he muttered, taking another sip of tea. He wanted nothing to do with this.

“Mr. Potter fell asleep just after 2 a.m. last night. His sleeping became disturbed around 3am, and he awoke in a distressed state at 4:17. Mr. Rogers knocked at his door, having been woken by noises emitted during Mr. Potter’s sleep. Mr. Potter required medical attention – “

“What? How?” Tony interrupted, walking around the kitchen counter to join Steve by the window.

If JARVIS could sigh in annoyance, he probably would have. “As I was saying… Mr. Potter scratched himself during his nightmare. Repeated scratching removed scabbing and reopened a chest wound, which bled through his shirt and sheets. Mr. Potter and Mr. Rogers accessed the first aid supplies in the kitchen and Mr. Potter returned to his room where he cleaned and bandaged the cut before attempting to wash his shirt in his sink.”

“You really have camera’s everywhere, don’t you Stark,” Steve muttered, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Only for guests. Never know when you’ll need them.” He turned back to JARVIS. “Okay. What of his energy? Anything on that front?”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “Don’t you think this sort of close monitoring might, I don’t know, make him want to leave?”

Tony brushed it off. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Anyways, his energy is way too cool not to learn more about. Did you see how he patched his coat? And heated his tea? Plus, protection on that scale? The sheer variety of things he can do…!”

Steve shook his head. “I do not want to be involved in breaching his privacy. He is clearly already worried about this. I do not believe it is wise to make his fears reality.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony shrugged. “JARVIS,” he said as Steve stood and gathered his things. “Update.”

“Mr. Potter demonstrated a short burst of energy just after showering yesterday afternoon. He has displayed no more energy in the tower.”

“What about outside of it?” JARVIS took a moment, seeming to run quickly through data.

“Mr. Potter demonstrated energy shortly after leaving the tower.”

“Do you have any footage?” Steve could hear Tony ask as he left the room. Frowning deeply, Steve returned to his bedroom and set his things down on his desk. He wanted to return to the calm of earlier, as he sat and drank tea alone, but having seen both Harry and Tony this morning… his thoughts kept turning. Harry was terrified of being closely observed. He was wary, untrusting, and intensely private. Tony had incredible amounts of surveillance available and no regard for how that was likely to impact Harry. Steve rubbed his brow and sighed.

~~~

The sun was well above the horizon by the time Harry turned back towards the Avengers’ tower. He had spent the morning wandering downtown, pausing to sit a while in a small park. He idly watched passersby and enjoyed the antics of ever-present pigeons. While they were nothing like owls, Harry had grown to feel an amused sort of fondness for the rotund and persistent birds. While he watched, Harry felt his stomach begin to awaken. He pushed the feeling away at first, familiar with the constant ache. Then, he realized he didn’t need to be hungry.

So far, it appeared that food was included in his lodgings. Harry stood, running a hand through his wild hair. He should probably head back and see. If food was included, there was no need for him to ignore his hunger. And if it wasn’t, then Harry needed to work on finding another job. His last job had been a two-week construction gig, helping clean up the city.

Having no documents made him cheap, temporary, and expendable labor. But having a city recently torn down had made construction jobs plentiful. Harry figured he could get another job like that if he asked the right people. Although roads were now clear and most business were at least partially open, a great deal of work remained to be done.

When Harry reappeared in the tower, it was almost 9 o’clock. JARVIS was quick to greet him and lead him back to the staircase. The computer did not ask nosey questions about why he preferred to hike up seemingly endless floors and Harry was also glad the AI made no comment on his sweating and panting when he reached the top.

His quiet entrance, however, was met with four pairs of eyes. “Uh, G’morning,” Harry said with an awkward wave. Steve offered him a small smile.

“We’re having pancakes, if you want to join,” Bruce said, piling yet another pancake onto a heaping stack. Harry wondered briefly if that was a serving platter or someone’s plate. As it was passed over to Steve, Harry realized it was the latter. Harry bit back a grin. He’d seen how much pizza they could put away.

“Uh, sure. That’d be lovely, thanks.” Harry wandered over to join them. Running a hand through his hair, he realized just how shabby he looked next to them. He blended in fair enough on the street because of the diversity in people’s dress. Here in the tower, they all wore casual clothes but the material was clearly of high quality. Harry’s cotton shirt was fraying at the collar and although once black it was now clearly more of a dark grey. His jeans retained stains even after the washing, and several places had been stitched up with novice fingers. Harry fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he hovered in the periphery. As Bruce handed Clint and Natasha somewhat smaller plates, Harry stepped forward. The Avengers were gathering at a dining table that stood near the window. Tony wasn’t around yet, and Harry wondered if he’d join them for breakfast.

Awkwardly, Harry turned to Bruce. “Hey,” he began quietly. “I was just wondering… I don’t think it came up yet…” Harry stumbled over his words, trying to find the right way to put it. “But, uh, I’m… not sure how to pay for my food?”

Bruce glanced at him, a slight frown creasing his brow. “No need, Harry,” he told him, flipping a pancake into another plate. “I highly doubt Tony expects that. Consider it part of your winter agreement.”

Harry frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure there is a fund for the Avengers to pay for lodgings and food and such, but I don’t contribute to anything…”

Bruce laughed, his eyes kind. “Tony has more money than he knows what to do with. The thought of you paying for food here won’t even cross his mind.” Harry nodded. Bruce handed him a plate. “If you want, feel free to ask him. But eat first. Let me know if you want more – I noticed you didn’t eat a lot yesterday.”

Harry glanced at his three large pancakes and smiled. “This is plenty. Thank you.” Bruce nodded towards the dining table, and Harry went to join them.

As Harry was pouring syrup over his pancakes, Tony sauntered into the room. Taking a plate of blueberry pancakes, he took his seat at the table, quickly followed by Bruce who was carrying an enormous pile of pancakes for himself. Harry tried not to fidget as he recalled Tony’s questioning over desert last night.

“So, plans for today?” Tony asked abruptly from the head of the table. There was a general rumbling. Bruce mentioned a lab and Steve said something about a run. Natasha shrugged and raised an eyebrow noncommittally, and Clint grunted something that sounded like “hunting supplies” through a large bite of pancakes.

“You Harry?” Tony asked. Harry shrugged. Tony frowned for a moment then asked, “Do you have a job?”

Harry felt his face flush at the insult lurking below the query. “Uh, no. Not currently.” Harry fiddled with his silverware. “Had a few jobs doing construction here and there recently,” he added, somewhat defensively.

“Was that all under the table?” Harry glanced up. “You see,” Tony continued, stabbing another bite of pancakes on his fork. “I haven’t found anything on you. And if I can’t find it, it isn’t there.” Natasha seemed rather interested in that revelation. Harry had a terrible inkling where this was going, but allowed his expression to remain confused.

“You didn’t find any what on me?”

“Papers, Potter,” Tony said sharply. “Papers. You know, from employment, or hospitals, or schooling, or hell, even a birth certificate. And I’ve got to say, it’s a bit suspicious to find that some kid with unusual energy – who showed up in New York City just in time to save a building full of people within eyesight of SHIELD – has with no paper trail at all.”

Harry’s set down his silverware with deliberate movements. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I do not have any papers, sir. You are correct. However,” Harry struggled to keep his voice calm. He wasn’t surprised, but it hurt to hear the man accusing him of having planned things out – as if he saved those civilians only for his own selfish plans. “I was not the one who sought you out. If you are threatened by my lack of paperwork and whatever dangers you fear that may indicate, might I remind you who brought me into this space?” Harry’s face was deceptively calm, but there was a harsh bite to his words. “Might I remind you that until I protected Grand Central Station you had no knowledge of me? That I was doing nothing of any interest and I have certainly never been a threat to you?”

Harry met Tony’s eyes. “I am not a threat to you, and I will not be one unless you become a threat to me.” His expression was hard as stone. “I appreciate your offer of a room, but if it is a gilded cage I will have to decline.”

Silence fell across the table as Harry and Tony held eyes.

It was Steve who broke the tension. “Why don’t we put this on pause until everyone has time to think it through.” At this, Steve sent Tony a meaningful glance that Harry could not decipher. “Perhaps this could continue in the afternoon.”

“I’d much prefer to eat breakfast in a slightly less… volatile atmosphere.” Eyes turned to Bruce and quickly noted the faint green in his eyes.

“So,” Natasha said quickly. “Sounds like there’s quite a bit planned for today. Someone want to show Potter around?”

“I’d like to go to the gym first,” Steve said. “But I will certainly be around later in the day.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. He looked at his partially eaten plate, but couldn’t stomach the thought of more food. “May I be excused?” There was a general nod or two and Harry slipped around to the kitchen.

As he opened a cupboard randomly, Clint called over, “Tupperware is in the third on the bottom left.” Harry pulled out a small container for his pancakes, washed his dish, and hurried to his room. As he left, he could hear a quiet conversation start up at the table behind him.

~~~

Steve knocked upon Harry’s door. He heard quiet footsteps then the door slid open. Harry looked up at him with guarded eyes.

“I’m going to the gym,” Steve said. “I wanted to check in first. I didn’t know if you wanted to borrow a book or something to keep yourself busy.”

Harry smiled. “I don’t know what you’ve got, but a book might be nice.”

“Would you like to look through my shelf?”

Harry nodded. Steve’s presence was so different from Tony’s constant pushing and prying. Harry was beginning to feel at ease with the blond soldier. He followed into Steve’s room, allowing himself to leave his backpack behind.

Steve’s room was actually several. They stood in a living room of sorts with a desk, couch, table, and chair. A small kitchenette was built into the far corner and two closed doors led elsewhere. The small notebook he’d seen Steve carrying earlier sat closed on the desk. Up close, Harry could tell the journal was for art, not writing. Steve gestured at the books lining the shelf above his desk.

“I don’t have a lot here. There’s more in the library downstairs…” Harry peered through the titles. The old-style bindings on a few brought a wistful expression to Harry’s face. How he missed wizarding libraries. The titles on Steve’s shelf were all unfamiliar.  

“Is there one you recommend?”

“Well,” Steve pulled down a thin blue book, handing it to Harry. “I doubt you’ll like all of it, but it’s a collection of poetry, so there is a lot to choose from.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t ever really bothered with poetry. In fact, so much of his reading had focused on research and fighting that he wasn’t sure he’d read a creative book in years. “That sounds good. Thank you. You’ve been more than kind.”

“No problem kid.”

Harry laughed. “I’m really not that much of a kid.”

Steve raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “You can’t be more than, what, nineteen?”

Harry rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “23. I’m actually 23.”

“Well, I’m either 25 or 95 depending whether or not the between years count.”

Harry smiled. “Fair point. Which do you prefer?” he asked curiously. “Do you count the between years?”

Steve paused. “In some ways, they count a great deal. All of this,” he gestured vaguely as if to encompass the entire modern world. “It’s all so… different. In some ways I still feel very out of place. Yet, I don’t fit with my generation either.”

Harry nodded quietly. “It’s a kinda crazy world here, isn’t it?” His voice was soft, and for a moment he seemed intimately familiar with the time-and-culture shock that Steve felt so alone in. “Any ways,” he said, the moment falling away. “Thank you for the book; I won’t hold you up. Enjoy the gym, Steve.” With that, Harry was out the door disappearing back into his room.

Steve watched him go. There was certainly a story behind their newest floor mate.

~~~

By eleven Harry was sitting against the window-wall of his bedroom, poetry book lying face down beside him. His forehead was pressed against the glass as he gazed unseeingly at the city below.

What was he doing here? Sure, he’d used a rune to protect a building, but these were superheroes. There had been a time, in another world, where the word hero had been placed upon his shoulders, but here… Harry sighed, his breath briefly fogging up the glass. He had no wand. His magic was limited. He got tired if he used too many spells in a row, and big feats of magic were impossible without a wand. This was a muggle world, and he was not a muggle hero. He wasn’t even a very good muggle. He couldn’t hold down a job. Technology still tripped him up. He didn’t have any friends...

Swallowing hard, he snorted scornfully. He was nothing here. To think Tony feared he was a threat – Harry rolled his eyes. Being a threat assumed he had allies and connections of some sort. Here, he had nothing.

He placed a hand upon the glass, pressing it flat as if it were the only barrier between he and his home. I miss you, he thought, closing his eyes against the tears. I miss you so much.

Minutes passed and Harry began to lose track of time. With a sigh, he lowered himself to lie on the floor, knees pulled up towards his chest, one hand still brushing the glass. Out the window he could see gulls circling below the clouds. If he took off his glasses, he could almost pretend they were owls and he was lying on his bed back in Gryffindor Tower, staring out across the grounds.

~~~

A quiet knock upon his door jolted Harry from thoughts. Rising, he resituated his glasses and opened the door. Steve was outside with his hair slightly damp from a shower. “Care to join me for lunch?” he asked. “I can show you around the tower after if you’d like.”

Harry nodded quietly. He glanced at his backpack, leaning against the bed. He wanted to trust Steve, but it was Tony’s tower. Retreating briefly, Harry shoved on his shoes and shouldered his bag.

“I’m fixing a sandwich,” Steve told him as they walked to the kitchen. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I have pancakes left from breakfast,” he said. He pulled the box from the fridge and hopped onto a kitchen barstool as Steve pulled out items for his lunch. Harry picked at his cold pancakes while quietly marveling at the sheer quantity of food Steve could fit on his sub.

They ate in companionable silence. The pancakes were not nearly as enjoyable chilled and slightly mushy from the morning’s syrup, but Harry did not complain. He wasn’t one to waste food, and it was his own fault for not hanging around to finish breakfast in the first place.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how it was possible, but he finished his pancake at the same time Steve completed his triple-stuffed foot-long sub. Harry attempted to not stare, and was quick to rise and offer to clean their dishes. Steve acquiesced.

“Since JARVIS mentioned that you have access to the training rooms, I wanted to offer you a tour.”

Harry picked up a towel to dry the dishes. Part of him was incredibly curious what the Avengers’ training rooms would look like. The only training facilities he’d every seen were wizarding ones. Not that these would be normal muggle training rooms. Harry knew they would be world-class, one-of-a-kind facilities. Yet, the training floors were for the Avengers – they were for fighters. And Harry was done fighting.

“No thanks.” Harry turned to put their dishes and utensils in their proper drawers. He could feel Steve’s quiet gaze.

“Okay,” Steve said. “There are a variety of things on the training floors, including a spot for meditation, an indoor pool, and an indoor jogging path. If you change your mind, or even just get curious, you are welcome to use them.”

Harry nodded. He knew Steve thought it was strange he didn’t even want to see the training facilities, but he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be a fighter again. He wasn’t ready to use magic beneath JARVIS’ watchful monitoring systems. He wasn’t ready to go back to the routines he knew so well from back home.

~~~

After lunch, Steve went down to the gym and Harry found himself with a mug of tea, sitting in the corner of the lounge where the two window walls met. He had Steve’s poetry book set safely away from his tea. After damaging Steve’s shirt, Harry certainly didn’t want to damage his book too.

The poetry itself was interesting. There were some he had no interest in, their language far too flowery or formatted for his taste. But others caught his eye, making his read them again and again. He was re-reading one such poem, when he heard the elevator chime. Looking up, he found Tony Stark striding through the doors.

“Hey, Potter,” he called with a nod of his head. “We’ve got a conversation to finish.” Harry carefully closed his book and set it in his lap. Tony sauntered over to the kitchen, casually pouring himself a glass of water, before heading over to the corner where Harry sat. He was just flipping the other wooden chair around to sit backwards in it, when the elevator opened once more, and Steve stepped out, sweaty from his run. Seeing the duo seated to talk, Steve walked over to the kitchen himself to fill a glass of water. He leaned against the wall, watching.

“So,” Tony said, speaking in what was starting to seem like his typical abrupt fashion. “You want answers.”

Harry met his gaze steadily. If they were going for abrupt, Harry could match that. “Why did you offer me a room here when there are other ways to fulfill our arrangement?”

“You are interesting.” The statement was so quick and so blunt that Harry scoffed. “No, really. The energy you produce or use or whatever, it’s one of a kind. I mean,” an air of arrogance swept into Stark’s tone. “ It’s not like I haven’t seen similar energies, but yours is different. Of course the scientist in me wants answers.”

Harry felt a chill go down his spine. When he spoke, his voice was hard. “You offer me a cage where your computer takes readings and analyzes data.”

From his post against the wall, Steve noted that Tony had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “I did not invite you here to treat you like an experiment.”

“Then why?” Harry pushed. “Why the Avengers’ Tower of all places?”

“Because you saved a good chunk of New Yorkers!” Tony exclaimed exasperatedly, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry looked taken aback. “You single-handedly set up a powerful, formerly-unknown form of protection that saved hundreds of lives! The Avengers are able to eliminate forces like the Chitauri, but we don’t have a way to effectively protect civilians while we fight. Don’t you think that might be a useful talent to have around?!”

“So you want to recruit me.”

Tony raised his hands in exasperation. “Truly, I don’t know you, kid. No one seems to. But –“ He continued, before Harry take offense to that statement. “I – we want to thank you, and maybe by letting you stay here this winter we can get to know you, or what you do, or what your plans are. Yes, I am incredibly curious, but I’m not evil.” Tony sounded truly hurt by Harry’s accusations. “I am not going to drag you to a lab or start experimenting on you. This is honestly a safe place for you to stay.”

Harry looked a bit taken aback. A cautious but thoughtful expression crossed his face. He glanced at Steve, who stood within both men’s eyesight, before eying Stark again. The man seemed honest enough; at least he admitted to his curiosity. “What about JARVIS?” Harry asked. “What is his role in all this?”

“He’s just the AI. He monitors the building, can be right helpful in a pinch, and is free to answer most of questions you might have.”

“He monitors energy,” Harry pushed.

“Yes, which means he does record data on any energy in the building – the lights, the water heater, the oven -”

“And me.”

Tony nodded. For a long moment, Harry stared at him, his eyes hard and his jaw set. Then he sighed. “What do you plan to do with this data?”

Tony shrugged. “Nothing yet. It’s seriously just part of JARVIS’ normal system functioning. Nothing fancy has been set up to study you individually, although,” Tony glanced briefly at Steve. “It is true that your data can be separated from the larger collection of numbers. It’s a unique energy signature after all.”

Harry sat silently. He wasn’t sure what to think. Tony sounded honest. Steve had been nothing but kind. The Avengers as a whole had been generally welcoming towards him, and they were superheros after all. Hopefully, the claims Tony made about not experimenting on him were accurate reflections of their moral code. Harry tapped his fingers on his thigh, uncertain.

“And if this doesn’t work,” Harry said finally. “Am I free to leave?”

Across the room, Tony could see a small frown cross Steve’s face. It appeared to be a familiar question. Tony wondered what experience Harry had with captivity. “You may leave at any time. I can get you another place to stay if you can’t stand it here. I have the money. You are not a prisoner, and you don’t need to choose between the street and this room. There are other options.”

Harry looked shocked by that offer. Something in Tony’s chest clenched. Steve looked vaguely worried.

“I think,” Harry began quietly. “That I would like to stay here awhile longer?” he said, glancing back at Steve. The super soldier was quickly becoming the closet thing he’d had to a friendly acquaintance in a long time – not that that was saying much. “But, I really appreciate that offer. I may take you up on it.” Tony nodded.

“Right,” said Tony. “I’ll be in the lab. See you at dinner.” He left as abruptly as he had arrived.

Glancing at Steve, Harry tried to find something to say, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. “I –“ Harry ran a hand through his wild hair. “I’m going for a walk.” Then, without pausing for Steve to respond, Harry headed down the stairs he’d climbed just hours earlier. He needed to get out, get moving, and have the space to think things through.

~~~

Hitting the sidewalk for the second time that day, Harry wove briskly through the busy streets. If he were home, he would’ve grabbed a broom and taken to the skies. Harry shook away the thought. “Past is past,” he reminded himself, crossing another street. He wasn’t sure where he was headed; he just needed to be somewhere else.

Without thinking, Harry’s feet led him to a familiar haunt. Harry smiled at the little park bench, partially covered with decaying leaves and snow. Gently he brushed off a spot, and sat down. The cold of the metal seat slowly numbed his legs, but Harry paid it no mind. Leaning back, Harry stared up at the bare branches and grey sky above him. The sounds of the city filled his senses and he breathed deeply, taking in the scent of concrete and exhaust and snow. This was where he had first arrived – startled and alone, still wounded from the battle. It was here, that he first realized he might not be dead, and that something had gone incredibly wrong. Harry took another deep breath. Somehow, when things became too confusing, he ended up back on this bench, listening to the city.

Closing his eyes, Harry wrapped his arms around the backpack he’d settled on his lap. The cold was beginning to seep through the back of his ragged coat. He cast a small warming charm over himself before sighing. He’d spent several memorable nights on this bench. Just down the block was the community clinic where he’d gotten medical supplies and refused to go to the hospital. He’d bandaged himself up best that he could, and returned to the bench as if waiting. In some ways, he supposed he still was.

I miss you.

“You’d get a right kick out of this, Ron,” Harry muttered. “Trust me to always do the unexplainable.” It was a familiar, one-sided discussion and he chuckled without mirth. He opened his eyes as something cold landed on his cheek. Snow had begun to fall.

“You’d figure something out, ‘Mione. But I just don’t know where to start.” He sighed. “There’s nothing for me here.”

He lapsed into silence, memories of long-lost friends floating through his mind. Steve seems like a nice bloke, Ron would’ve said, peering over the old chessboard he always lugged around.

The Avengers might be just what you need, Hermione would offer somewhat cryptically. She always saw something he hadn’t noticed yet.

“How so?” Harry puzzled.

Harry, She would’ve sighed, with that expression of complete exasperation she always wore when she saw he or Ron were being particularly thick headed about something. Steve has been offering you friendship. Tony practically offered you an interview. You’ve been alone for two years, drifting about, doing nothing –

“They’re warriors, ‘Mione,” Harry protested. “I’m not fighting again.”

What are you afraid of? Ginny had asked him that once, floating around the quidditch pitch in the starlight. He preparing to run off to war; she trying to keep their fingers intertwined. He had gone off to war, and the war had come to her, and the next time he saw Ginny her mother was cradling her lifeless body.

Harry leaned forward, shaking his head to rid him of such thoughts. He rested his elbows on his knees and watched the passersby. He didn’t want to fight – certainly that was reasonable! He had been fighting his whole life. He had seen the destruction and horror of war. He did not want to go there again. He was in a world where he had no ties and no obligations. Maybe it was selfish, but he refused to return to those horrors once more.

Standing suddenly, Harry had to pause a moment to let the blood flow back to his stiff legs. He’d had enough of thinking. He resumed walking with no particular destination in mind. He cast another warming charm and tucked his scarf more tightly around his throat. He walked until the sounds of the city and the sensations of the crowds and the shuffling of the pedestrians were the only things on his mind. He walked until he could feel his heels preparing to blister. Only then did he turn towards the tower. The scar winding around his arm ached; he supposed it would start snowing again soon.

~~~

When Harry returned to the tower, the Avengers were gathering again in the lounge. Chinese take-out arrived shortly, a mountain of boxes piled beside what appeared to be a glorified trough filled with rice. Harry enjoyed a quiet meal listening to their chatter and banter. He missed having friendships like that. They lingered in lounge after eating, relaxing together in the common area and doing nothing much. Natasha and Bruce played a round of chess while Steve sat nearby, sketchpad in hand. Harry curled up in a chair by the window-wall with the poetry book open in his lap again. He didn’t have anything else to keep him busy, and he was starting to really appreciate some of the pieces. After a while, Clint reappeared from wherever he’d disappeared to. He perched on a seat near the windows as well.

A sudden scraping sound made Harry look up. Clint was sharpening a knife. Harry’s eyes fixed on the blade. It was a small knife with a wide blade and slightly rounded tip. He wasn’t sure where he’d seen one like that before. The hilt was black and the blade was quickly gaining a sharp, wet edge that shone in the light.

Clint noticed his gaze. “You enjoy hunting, Harry?”

“I’ve never been. Do you hunt often?”

“Every once in a while,” Clint replied, looking back down at his knife. “It’s been while now. My skinning knife’s gotten real dull.”

Clint said something else, but Harry didn't process it. It was as if static had suddenly filled his ears. The knife’s edge glinted in the light, and the world seemed to tilt before his eyes. Harry took a quiet breath and wrenched his gaze away from the knife. He was with the muggles, it was 2020, and everything was okay. He forced himself to listen to the end of Clint’s explanation – something about going hunting with friends early in the morning. Harry nodded, “That sounds nice.”

He looked back at his poetry book, but the words wouldn’t focus in his eyes. His ears seemed only to hear the steady scraping of Clint’s knife against the sharpening stone. Harry forced himself to wait – not draw attention. He waited until Clint put aside the knife, before quietly closing his book. He nodded to Clint and glanced briefly at the others. Tony had joined them at some point, and seemed to be chatting over a glass of whiskey. Harry walked towards his room. Steve was laughing at something Natasha said. Harry entered his room and locked the door behind him.

He was not going to panic. He refused to panic. He put his hands on his head and tried to focus on breathing. “It’s okay. You’re with the muggles. It’s 2020. You’re okay. You’re with the muggles. It’s 2020. You’re okay,” he whispered, repeating the mantra over and over again. “You’re with the muggles. It’s 2020. Everything’s okay.”

Only, it didn’t feel okay. He felt… volatile - like his magic might spring from him at any moment, like he couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to be seen, but he didn’t want to be in his room. His breaths were getting faster despite how hard he tried to slow them down. He felt trapped –

“I am sensing distress.” JARVIS’ voice spoke from the walls. “May I be of assistance?”

Harry opened his mouth to say no, but paused. “JARVIS,” he began, trying to think about his phrasing despite the panic clouding his mind. “In the training areas – is there anywhere that’s reinforced? An extra safe room?”

JARVIS paused. Harry wasn’t sure he’d made any sense. Then JARVIS replied. “On the twenty first floor, there is a room designed for intensive battle practice – including the use of small scale weaponry. Does that meet your requirements?”

“I think so,” Harry said, starting to get a better grip on his breathing. “Could you help me find it?”

Harry hadn’t even set down his backpack since arriving in his room. He’d known he needed to leave. “Head to the forty first floor,” JARVIS instructed. Stepping back into the hallway, Harry headed for the stairs.

“Going out again, Harry?” Steve asked, a quiet concern underlying his tone.

“Uh – yeah. I think,” Harry hedged. “Back in a bit.”

A frown crossed Steve’s face, but he nodded. A few others sent him glances, but they let him go without further words. Harry slipped through the door and hurried down the stairs. He reached the forty first floor and looked around. “The door is on your right.”

A large metal door stood in a blank wall to his right. The wall extended the entire width of the floor and appeared to also be made of some type of metal. Harry didn’t even glance at what lay to his right. He opened the door, and stepped inside.

“To secure the room, press the button to the right of the door.” Harry did so. The green light he’d seen above the door suddenly turned red. The door locked with a clang that echoed around the room.

He turned to survey the space. The room was massive. It stood more twice as tall as the average building story. Jutting shapes on the far wall seemed to create a rock wall leading up to the thick beams crisscrossing the ceiling. Scattered throughout the room were various items, all the worse for wear. A couch, a boulder, a bunker, a broken car… It was a mock-battle field. Bright florescent lights were deep set in the ceiling and covered by thick, presumably bullet-proof, glass. The Room of Requirement had created many such spaces for he, Ron, and Hermione to practice, but this was something else.

Harry took let out a breath of relief. The memories so close to the surface had him almost vibrating with emotion. His magic seems to simmer just barely in control. Finally, he had found a place to let off steam. But, that would mean using magic. And clearly JARVIS had access to this room as well. Harry tugged at his hair in frustration.

He longed for the comfort of losing himself in training, but he didn’t know if he could trust Tony. And, without his wand, what could he really do?

Have you tried, yet? Hermione would’ve scolded him, jabbing a pointed finger in his direction. Don’t you dare give up before you try.

But to do wandless magic… “I don’t have any books,” he protested.

Ron would’ve laughed. As if you ever did anything by the book. Do something, you know, Harry-ish. Make shit happen - nothing goes by the rules with you.

Could he really learn wandless magic though? And – even if he could – could he risk doing so beneath JARVIS’ watchful eye?

They already found you in New York, Hermione would rationalize. Clearly JARVIS can monitor much further away than just this tower.

Where else will you find a facility like this, boy? Mad-Eye would knock him upside the head for ignoring this opportunity.

“I’m just blowing off steam,” he tried to placate himself. Training didn’t mean he wanted to fight or go to war.

People also train to defend, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to help squeezing in a last word.

The image of the skinning knife flashed through his mind again. Harry tossed his backpack on the ground. He knew what he had to do.

Just as they had in the room of requirement, Harry jogged a full lap of the room first. The image of the knife danced behind his eyes. He jogged a second lap for good measure, thinking. If he were going to learn how to protect – to stop the horrors of war from happening again – he needed to master wandless magic. He could do major ritual work like when he carved the rune into his chest, but to defend others in a practical manner he needed spells.

Harry looked around the room. He knew this was being recorded, but he couldn’t afford to care right now. Hermione would’ve been right – this was his chance to experiment, to really push himself where he was safe. No passersby would see; no civilians would stumble into things and get hurt. He was in a locked training room meant to withstand some of the strongest people on earth. His fumbling through intermediate spell work would not damage it. He took a deep breath, and walked to the center of the room.

He already knew he could do simple spells: lumos, a warming charm, small-scale reparo. What he wanted to know is if he could use any useful, protective magic. Reaching out a hand, Harry took a deep breath, and spoke. “Accio backpack.” His backpack gave a twitch. Harry glared. “Accio backpack,” he hissed. The backpack gave a jolting hop. He had to do better than this. “Accio backpack!” he demanded, eyes flashing with anger at himself, at his situation, at the War –

The backpack jerked, and hopped, and shuddered. Harry stared at it, his mind firmly focused on the spell. He needed to do this. He needed to know he could protect them, could pull them away from harm. It lurched into the air, wobbling. Harry waited, his attention unwavering. Uncertain and slow, the backpack floated towards Harry, and bumped into his outstretched hands. Harry held it, grinning. Sweat had begun to bead upon his brow, but he felt a new sort of energy spark to life inside him. Harry opened his bag and pulled his shirts and jeans from inside it. Jogging around the room, he tossed the various articles of clothing around the room before returning to the center space. He reached out a hand. “Accio blue jeans!” he cried, and his faded blue jeans lurched awkwardly into the air. One by one, he called his clothing back towards him. They lurched and trembled at first, reluctantly arriving inch by inch. Some dragged themselves upon the ground. But when he summoned the final shirt it did appear to arrive a bit quicker. Harry set them back out, and started again.

Over and over, Harry called his clothing to him until his arms were shaking and his shirt was damp with sweat. Yet, they continued to move slowly. There was less and less trembling or hesitation, but no item would arrive in time if called like this in a fight. Harry looked at his clothes. His entire body ached. “Again,” he told himself. “One more try.”

Spreading out his clothes he walked slowly back to the center of the room, and began again.   Blue jeans wandered over, his red shirt seemed to drift in the air. He focused his mind on his demand for speed, his need of the item, and finally the green shirt seemed to pick up the pace, but it wasn’t enough. “Accio jeans,” he called again, yanking the pair from their perch upon the run-down car. Suddenly, Harry had an idea.

After calling over the last item of clothing, Harry repacked his bag. Carefully, he took the small photograph from the front pocket of his backpack. Gently, he walked over and placed the picture on top of the short brick wall. Returning to the center of the room, he took a moment to collect himself. Perhaps, without a wand, his intent was even more important. Advanced spells like the Patronus Charm or Cruciatus Curse relied almost entirely upon the emotions of the caster. Harry thought about the Summoning Spell and how it fed off the need the castor felt for the item. Harry focused on the photography and held his friends firmly in his mind. He needed them. He needed them here. He needed that picture as his only remaining link to his world. He needed it in his hands, safe. Harry took a breath and closed his eyes, feeling the need become a painful ache in his chest. Then, when he felt his might burst or cry or shatter, he lifted his arm and called it to him.

“Accio.” A rustle of paper sped through the air. Harry opened his eyes just in time to see the picture hurl itself into his outstretched hand. Carefully, he held it in his palm checking for damage. He smiled gently at the image of his friends as they once were. He blinked as his eyes suddenly burned, then grabbed a pair of jeans from the pile at his feet. He needed to replicate this until he could call anything to him at any time. With jeans in the across the room, Harry dug for that same sense of need, and tried again.

“Accio,” he murmured. The jeans practically leapt into his hand. Again and again, he set out his things and called them to himself. “I won’t fail you again.”

~~~

Back in the lounge, the clock was inching towards eleven. “Is the kid seriously still out walking?” Natasha asked, part way through a new game of chess with Tony. The defeated Bruce was enjoying a beer beside them. “Like, I know he’s seen stuff, but he looks like a strong wind could blow him over.” Steve glanced out at the falling snow and frowned.

“JARVIS?” Tony asked. “Is the kid back?”

“Mr. Potter has not left since he returned at 4:21 p.m. this afternoon,” JARVIS replied.

“Huh,” Tony said, sending a sideways glance at Steve. “Where’s he been?”

“Mr. Potter is currently in the locked training chamber.” Tony’s eyes widened. Steve looked equally surprised.

“Has he been there the whole time?” Bruce asked. Harry had left the common area hours ago.

“Yes.” JARVIS replied. “He appears to be emitting energy of a moderate level in frequent short bursts.”

Clint sheathed his knives – the rest of his collection had come out for a cleaning earlier in the evening – and joined them by the couches.

“What is he doing?” Tony wondered. “JARVIS, show me.”

A small holographic screen appeared showing the familiar training room. Harry stood in the center, arm outstretched. As they watched, a pair of jeans jerked out from behind a far boulder and sped to his outstretched hand. A brief flick of Harry’s wrist sent a shirt speeding towards him from a hiding place in the other corner. A small pile of clothes sat by the backpack at his feet. Harry folded the shirt and set it down with the others. He appeared to pause, taking a deep breath.

It suddenly became clear just how exhausted the kid was. Sweat had drenched through his shirt, and his hand shook as he reached up to wipe his brow. He rolled his shoulders then looked around the room, clearly thinking of something. Tossing his jeans around the far side of the room, Harry returned to his place once more and lifted a hand. Listening closely, the watching crowd could just make out a faint word spoken before all three jeans leapt into his arms. Harry laughed.

A genuine smile spread across his face as he held up the jeans. He tossed several shirts out and did it again. He held up the shirts, looking utterly relieved and shocked all at once. “Look at that.” he said to the empty room. “Look at that!” He laughed.

“Mione would be fucking jealous.” He smiled, idly reaching up to remove his glasses and clean them on the edge of his shirt. Harry lapsed into silence, staring down at the glasses in his hands. In the lounge, Stark closed the hologram with a short beep.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he said absently, before turning to look at the others.

Clint grinned. He turned towards Natasha. “I think you owe me.”

“That wasn’t necessarily magic!” Natasha protested.

Tony, meanwhile, seemed about to burst with enthusiasm. “I can’t wait to see –“

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. His stern voice paused everyone in their tracks. “Consider carefully what you discussed with Harry today.” Every eye was on him – Tony looked putout, the others curious. “Harry practicing like that was a demonstration of trust. Do not damage that.”

Tony sighed. “Fine,” he pouted. “I suppose I will just ignore the potentially revolutionary data JARVIS has collected this evening?”

“That would be wise,” Steve said, his voice deeply serious. “He has made it clear that he does not wish to be the object of any scientific study.” Steve paused a moment. “He also initially seemed to avoid the training floors – he declined a tour.”

“Maybe he just wanted space.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t think so. He seemed conflicted.”

Before they could analyze that any further, the door to the stairwell opened.

Every eye turned to the door. An exhausted Harry stared back, hand still resting on the door handle. “Hi guys.”

“Out late?” Natasha asked, her face betraying nothing.

“I guess,” Harry hedged.

“Looks like quite the walk,” Clint chimed in.

Harry flushed, but grinned. “Yeah, I suppose it was.” He stepped more fully into the room. “Think I'm gonna shower and sleep. Night guys.” He offered them a tiny wave, before hurrying to his room and shutting the door. The Avengers looked around.

“He looks happier,” Bruce said. All around the room, heads nodded. They’d like to see him look like that more often.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Scraping sounds filled the silence. Clint was perched upon a barstool sharpening his knife. “Want to go hunting?” he asked. Harry nodded despite a growing sense of foreboding. Clint rose; Harry followed him out the door.

They stepped into the forbidden forest. Dark shadows shrouded the trees. The only sound was Harry’s footsteps crunching on the dry pine needles layering the forest floor. “Shhh!” Clint said, taking an arrow from his bow. A werewolf howled. Out of the darkness appeared two figures.

“Go!” Clint hissed in his ear. Ron now stood in his place, arrow notched and aimed. “Go!” he said again, loosing an arrow. It thudded deep into a Death Eater’s forehead. Harry turned to disapparate –

He was seeing through Voldemort’s eyes. He sat in the Headmaster’s chair in the ruins of the Great Hall. Mr. Weasley lay on the ground before him, blood trickling from his nose and lip. Thick black ropes bound him, and a ring of Death Eater’s stood watching.

“We will try again,” he hissed. “Where is Potter?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head, “I do not know!” he cried. Tears and snot and blood were smeared across his face. His thin, greying hair was wild and slightly matted. He trembled where he lay.

Harry gestured towards McNair, a smile twisting his pale face. McNair knew what was required; a silver knife appeared in his hands.

“Start with the toes,” Harry instructed, wrapping his long, pale fingers around the Headmaster’s armrests, leaning forward in anticipation. His voice took on a mocking sing-song quality: “Arthur, I’m waiting.”

McNair wrenched Arthur’s foot into his hand. A hoarse yell escaped Mr. Weasley’s lips. The silver knife jerked down –

Harry awoke to a scream strangled by both his hands pressed against his mouth. He stumbled blindly into the bathroom and fell to his knees, retching.

“Do you require assistance, Mr. Potter?” JARVIS asked.

“No! No.” Harry replied, coughing and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m fine,” he gasped, before throwing up once more. Leaning over the toilet, he grimaced as the nausea turned to dry heaves that made his entire chest ache with their intensity. When he finally sat back, he found tears running down his face. His whole body trembled.

“Are you sure you require no assistance?” JARVIS asked again.

“Yeah,” he said, swiping roughly at his tears with the back of his hands. “I’m okay.” He stood up shakily and flushed the toilet. “What time is it?” he asked as an after thought.

“3:12 a.m.” JARVIS replied promptly. Harry supposed it wasn’t his worst night of sleep.

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

Harry tugged absently at his sweaty hair, before squirting toothpaste onto a brush. He scrubbed at his teeth, staring into the mirror at his green eyes and strong nose. He touched the scars that ran across his face “It wasn’t you,” he whispered, but his hands shook and even the peppermint toothpaste made his stomach lurch. He turned on the shower and stripped. Under near-burning water he scrubbed his skin bright red. He couldn’t scrub the images from his head.

Toweling dry with rough hands, Harry slapped the cleanest of the two gauze pads back over the healing rune on his chest and used a slight sticking charm to keep the tape adhesive. Yanking his last clean shirt over his head and tugging on jeans, he grabbed his book and left the room. Harry was in the kitchen, reaching for a mug, when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Harry froze, turning to stare at the man sitting by the window. Steve looked back at him with tired eyes. Harry finished selecting his mug. “There’s hot water in the kettle,” Steve said. Harry helped himself to chamomile tea.

“May I join you?” he asked. Steve nodded. Harry took the seat beside him. For a while, all they did was watch the sleeping city below. The snow had stopped falling, and everything was quiet, lightly dusted in white. Harry noticed the sketchbook was back in Steve’s hands. “Do you draw a lot?”

Steve shrugged, eyes still lost in the distance. “It helps with the memories some times. Being here…” his voice trailed away. Harry waited.

“It’s all so different,” Steve admitted finally. “But for me, it’s only been a year.”

“It’s disorienting,” Harry agreed. “Waking up to find yourself somewhere you don’t know – some moments it feels normal, and then you turn around and some random detail reminds you this isn’t the world you knew.” Steve’s eyes turned slowly from the skyline to Harry’s face.

“That’s it exactly,” Steve told him quietly. His eyes studied Harry’s face with a newfound question, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he gestured towards the tea. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Harry shook his head. “You?”

“No,” Steve said. They lapsed into silence. Steve turned back to his sketchpad, and Harry sipped his tea. He was almost lost in his thoughts when Steve spoke. “When I close my eyes, I feel the plane crash,” his voice was so quiet it was hard to hear. “Some nights I fear if I sleep I will wake up in another century, with all that I know lost behind me.”

Harry watched him as his blue eyes turned back to the skyline. Hesitantly, Harry reached out a gentle hand. Steve’s hand opened, grasping his tightly for the briefest second before letting go. Harry stared into his tea.

“I remember the War,” he admitted quietly. Harry could feel Steve’s blue eyes fix upon him. Harry turned the mug in his hands. “Tonight - “ He broke off, uncertain how to continue. Steve waited, and silence fell once more.

By the time Harry next spoke, Steve had picked up his pencil again. “My friend’s father was like a father to me. He was captured. They wanted information.” Harry looked away. “I saw –“ His voice broke and he took a shuddering breath. He stared out at the sky without seeing it.

“Clint was cleaning knives this evening,” Harry said suddenly, regaining a more distant tone. Steve listened patiently. Harry pulled his legs up to his chest, curling his toes around the edge of the chair. “Mr. Weasley wouldn’t – “ His eyes shone brightly and he blinked hard. “They thought it would make him talk.” Minutes passed before Harry spoke again. He reached up to rub his forehead, hiding his face from Steve.

“They cut skin off his feet. He didn’t even know – he wouldn’t tell, but he didn’t even know.”

Steve rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder as they both stared blankly out at the clouds. “There is evil in this world,” Steve said in a rough voice. “Unspeakable evil, and yet… we live.”

Harry breathed deeply, pulling himself back under control. Steve sat quietly beside him. Silence fell as they drifted into their own thoughts. After a while, Harry leaned against the back of his chair. The clouds were so thick he couldn’t see a single star. Steve returned to his sketchpad. If a tear fell, neither of them acknowledged it. After a while, Harry opened the poetry book and began to read.

When he found Pablo Neruda’s poem, he paused. He read it four times. His eyes catching and repeating words and lines. …came through the sky to kill children / and the blood of children ran through the streets / without fuss, like children's blood…

Harry stood. Steve looked up at him curiously. “Mind if I make breakfast?” Harry asked abruptly. Steve gestured him forward.

“Go ahead.”

He couldn’t sit any more. Harry shut the book a bit harder than he meant to and strode to the kitchen. Many times, when the downtime at camp or in hiding brought memories and fears too close to the surface, Harry had begun to cook. Falling easily into old habits, he pulled ingredients from the Avengers’ well-stocked cupboards and pointed out to himself how nice it was to have such choices.

Muffin batter soon formed in mixing bowls and a spot of flour dusted his shirt. Harry folded blue berries into another mix as the oven trilled out its ready status. Sliding in muffin tins, Harry turned towards the counter and contemplated the next mix. He’d seen how his floormates ate; two batches of muffins would not be enough.

As Harry set the first muffins out to cool, Steve migrated over towards the kitchen barstools. It was nearing 6 a.m., and the others would wake soon.

“Want an omelet?” Harry offered as he set aside the last mix and turned towards the sink.

Steve smiled. “Sure.”

“What do you like?”

“I eat whatever,” Steve laughed. “But if you’ve got cheese and ham or some sort of vegetable that’d be great.”

  ~~~

It was to the smell of warm muffins and omelets that the other Avengers wandered into the dining area. “Damn kid, you a chef or something?” Clint exclaimed, snagging a cinnamon muffin from the cooling racks.

Harry laughed, sliding an omelet off the pan and passing the plate to Steve. “What would you like?”

The orders were fast, but Harry’s cooking was efficient. Finishing another omelet, Harry passed a plate to Natasha before starting seconds for Steve. Those blue eyes were too easy to read. Tony still hadn’t shown up, but Bruce had mentioned something about him occasionally pulling all nighters in the lab, so Harry decided not to wait. After making seconds for both Steve and Bruce, Harry snagged a blueberry and a banana nut muffin for himself and joined them at the table.

When Clint rose, ready to go hunting, Steve rose with him. They paused for a moment at the edge of the commons and Clint’s eyes darted briefly back towards the table. Harry wondered if Steve was mentioning their discussion earlier, before deciding he didn’t mind. If Clint never mentioned a skinning knife again, he didn’t care what personal information was shared.

When breakfast came to a close – Tony had shown up briefly to steal a large plate of blueberry muffins – Natasha shooed Harry away from the kitchen, claiming the cook never had to do the dishes. Harry lingered.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Bruce asked as he polished off the last few morsels on his plate.

“At my Aunt and Uncle’s.”

“You’re Aunt must’ve been a great cook.”

Harry couldn’t help but scoff. At Bruce’s confused expression Harry instantly regretted it. Natasha’s sharp eyes appeared ready to catch any information he let slip – intentional or not. Harry shrugged at the unasked question. “They didn’t like me much,” he said in the cavalier tone he always fell into when talking about his relatives. “Cooking was just a way to make me more useful to them.”

Natasha’s eyes were curious, but Harry didn’t think any more of his rubbish childhood needed to be revealed right then. He passed Bruce’s empty plate to Natasha who was washing. “Thanks for doing the dishes,” he said in parting. Only when he headed towards his room did Harry realize he’d felt comfortable enough to leave his bag in his room the entire morning.

~~~

Inevitably, Harry found himself escaping the tower before long. The others had disappeared off to various activities and Harry had little desire to sit idly with his thoughts.

Outside the street was cold, but drying. Tugging the zipper all the way to his chin, Harry dug his fingers deep into his pockets and kept his head down. He really needed to acquire some winter wear – gloves especially, but a hat would be nice. He thought about the money he’d saved so carefully. He had about forty dollars left from his last job, and it seemed that Tony wouldn’t ask him to pay for meals at the tower. He certainly didn’t want to waste money, but if meals were more certain he could afford to spend a bit. Decided, Harry let his feet take a familiar path down towards the mission and the Goodwill that stood three buildings down.

The shop’s doors swung open with a blast of warmth. Harry hurried inside, stomping the slush off his boots as he crossed the entry mats. Racks upon racks of clothes greeted him; a small sign indicated that the blue tags were 50% off today. “Good morning!” chirped a woman at the cash register. Harry nodded towards her, before heading towards the nearest rack of gloves.

Items like gloves and scarves and hats were displayed in tiny racks at the end of rows of clothes, so Harry wandered most of the store as he looked for something both warm and cheap. Far too many gloves were the simple knit things he already owned. They were okay, but if the wind was strong or they got wet, the cold pieced through them like they weren’t there at all. When his fingers grew stiff with the cold, the scars around his missing finger ached all the way to the bone.

As he searched, a thick knit hat with a fluffy lining caught his eye. He picked it up, but focused on his quest for gloves that would truly ward off the cold. Finally, as he poked through yet another rack of knitted gloves, he spotted them. The lined leather gloves fit easily over his hands. Their worn palms spoke to a working life before they ended up at the second hand store, but there were no holes. He checked the price tag. By some miracle the 7.99 price tag was blue. Harry grinned, tossing the other gloves back on the rack. He hurried to the check out. This was worth the dent in his wallet.

Declining a bag, Harry left the store with warm hands and a covered head. He tucked his scarf more securely around his neck and focused a warming charm on only the interior of his jacket and his double-layer of socks.

Harry lost track of time as he walked, feet slogging through the well-trampled slush of the sidewalk. He realized he should probably be looking for a job, not just freeloading through the winter and messing around, but part of him just felt so tired. What was the point in a job if he had room and board? That would keep him alive. And he didn’t really need anything more than that.

You’re moping, Hermione would’ve said. Harry knew it was true, but he didn’t know how to stop it. There was nothing for him here. There was no point to him being alive, but Harry was scared that if he died he would just wake up somewhere new again. Was this part of the cursed prophecy? This inability to die properly?

Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge his thoughts. He looked around. His feet had brought him back to the bench, but today he did not sit. “You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself sharply.

You can find a purpose here, in this world, too.

“How? With them?” He knew that’s what they’d say. Ron would never turn down the opportunity to train with such excellent fighters, and Hermione wouldn’t be able to let all the opportunities the Avengers represented pass by.

“But I don’t want to fight,” Harry argued, moving to sit on the bench after all.

But you know you can’t sit back and watch people get hurt. Harry sighed. Hermione would say something pushy (but entirely too accurate) about his ‘saving people thing.’ Ron would wait for the lecture to end, and then tell him:

We both know you will step up if something’s going wrong, but this isn’t our world. You need to know what you can do in this world. You need to be prepared.    

He’d see the strategy in it. Even if Harry didn’t use a spell, Ron always thought they should know it just in case. He was the one who eventually convinced Hermione to look into some of the darker things, like blood magic, saying they had to know the magic their enemies were using. And here, where his magic was so much harder to use, Ron would push even harder for him to train and explore. You need to know your limits so you don’t do anything stupid.

Harry rubbed a hand across his face tiredly. He knew he couldn’t watch people get hurt. And, living with the Avengers, he felt increasingly aware of all the dangers facing the people in this world. Even though they didn’t talk to him directly about it, he caught bits and pieces in their discussions, and he couldn’t ignore the reason they were constantly training.

He’d shown himself it was possible to do real magic here. With a bit of tweaking, intermediate charms like Accio worked. With more practice, he knew other intermediate spells could be re-learned. What type of person would he be if he turned away from the opportunity of Tony’s training room, of knowing the Avengers, of the strange interest Tony had in using Harry’s skills to protect civilians?

Standing abruptly, Harry headed back to the tower. There was a training area waiting for him. He wasn’t going to fight, but he wasn’t going to be unprepared either. He knew people were suffering here, just as they were back home. He could not honor the deceased if he was ignoring the living.

~~~

In the tower, Harry went straight to the forty-first floor. The green light was on, so Harry slipped inside. He ditched his pack on the floor and hit the button. The lock clanged shut, and Harry looked around. Summoning had worked well yesterday… he jogged around the room before returning to the open space in the middle. He gathered himself for a moment and summoned his backpack from the door. It flew to his hand. Harry grinned. Opening his pack, he looked for something he didn’t care too much about. He grabbed a sock with a hole in the heel and tossed it in front of him.

Summoning allowed him to gather resources quickly, pull people out of harms way, or bring threats towards him and away from others. Banishing complimented that. At times, banishing charms allowed him to push people out of harms way, remove weapons from the hands of enemies, or simply shove people or objects out of the way.

To use the summoning charm here, he needed to focus on his need for the object. Harry stared at his sock, pondering the banishing charm. Perhaps disgust with the object would work? Or fear? Hatred? He wondered if multiple emotions could produce the same result.

Focusing this time on disgust with the sock, Harry gestured away from himself. “Depulso.”

The garment twitched. Harry tried again. It rolled over.

So, maybe not disgust. Fear was quite difficult to conjure when looking at a sock. Harry tried not to laugh as he envisioned a Weasley prank gone wrong – sock attacks, or socks with fangs. Perhaps a strangling sock or one that drank blood. Harry couldn’t help but snort. “How the hell is a sock supposed to be frightening?”

He paused, as a sudden image of a diary, tea cup and ring came to mind. “Well fuck.”

Ordinary objects had become frightening before. Looking at the sock with new eyes, Harry imagined a horcrux, and reached deeply for the fear and anger the soul fragments inspired.

“Depulso!” Harry swiped his arm away from him and the sock scurried towards the wall. He summoned it back and tried again. Focusing on the fear-driven desire to send it as far away as it could go, Harry whispered the charm again, and again, and again. The sock lurched and scooted. It scuttled and skidded. Each time it moved faster, and Harry’s eyes hardened. He remembered the locket contaminating their friendship. He recalled the ring’s poison slowly killing his mentor. He saw Riddle emerging from the diary, Ginny fading away on the stone floor below.

“Depulso!” And finally, the sock took flight. It hit the wall so hard it hovered for a moment, before falling to the ground. The anger didn’t leave him– the fear and pain the horcruxs’ had brought was so close to the surface now. Harry turned towards the pile of bricks. They went scattering aside. He turned to the scorched couch. With a flick of his wrist, it slammed backwards, skidding across the floor to a boulder with a crash. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked around the suddenly silent room. He was panting lightly, sweat darkening his shirt. Stretching a hand behind him, he summoned the sock back to him and tossed it onto his bag. He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was shaking. Slowly, he sat down.

Thinking of the horcruxes was effective, but not practical. In a fight, that much emotion would cloud his head, and in day-to-day life it was just ridiculous. What if all he wanted was to close a door lazily or send a pillow across the room?

He needed to draw upon emotion without all the memories weighing it down – like how he eventually came to create a Patronus charm without any particular memory, just the intense feeling of family and love.

Harry picked up the sock again. Setting it in front of him he took a deep breath. He did not want the sock here. He focused on that single feeling. “Depulso.” The sock moved towards the boulder that loomed behind it. It was moving a bit sluggishly; Harry summoned it back. “Depulso,” he said again.

Harry practiced until the sock fled at the mere flick of his hand. He added other socks, and banished them all as well. He planted his feet and summoned the heavy couch back over, before using both hands in gesture to send the couch screeching back towards the wall. He practiced until his whole body was quivering with the effort and the sock he summoned back slowed to a crawl.

“Get over here,” he said impatiently, beckoning the sock with his fingers. It gave a final twitch, and jumped into his hand. Harry folded the sock with its match before setting it back into his bag. Harry looked at the couch, which was now tipped over by the far wall, before sitting where he stood.

He was ridiculously tired and all he’d done was two fourth year charms. Before, he’d cast them naturally and silently, mid-discussion in the battlefield. He had cast them over and over in class, and then had the energy to not only go to two more practical classes but also to spend hours flying around the Quidditch pitch. Now the simple spells took intense concentration and left him shaking, sweaty, and exhausted. He felt… weakened.

He had always assumed that he could protect others. It was his responsibility to defend them – the wizarding world. It’d been a weight he bore most of his life, but one he had never truly considered dropping. And, yet here, it seemed possible that he wouldn’t be able to protect and defend. Sure he could learn more spells than he’d expected, the last two days had shown him that, but… Harry pulled on his hair so hard it hurt.

What if he couldn’t protect them? What if he tried, and he failed?

Mate, even Hogwarts wasn’t built in a day.

Harry closed his eyes. It was only day two. Already he’d moved from objects barely twitching at him to things flying across the room. With more time, perhaps it would become less tiring. 

He shoved himself to his feet, swaying for a moment. Apparently he was even more exhausted than he’d realized. Slugging his backpack over his shoulders, Harry wandered to the door. He hoped they didn’t mind that he had rearranged the couch and brick pile. He didn’t have the energy to put things back right now.

The lock clunked open and Harry stepped into the hall – and ran face first into Tony Stark.

Harry stumbled back a step, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the wall. Tony held his ground, his brown eyes entirely too calm. Harry felt a sudden anger flare in his chest. Why was Tony waiting outside the training room for him?

“Gathering data?” he asked, his voice far sharper than he intended. Tony raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“I was here to see if you wanted dinner.” Harry blinked. Dinner?

“I know how time can run away from you when you’re focused,” Stark continued. “I’ve a nasty habit of missing meals myself. Thought, since you missed lunch, I’d at least poke my head in to invite you.”

Harry felt himself flush. The man had come to offer him a meal and he’d as good as accused him of breaking his word. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly taking a great interest in his scruffy boots. “I would like dinner. I just… think I’ll wash up first.”

Stark nodded, heading towards the elevator for a moment, before joining Harry in the stairs. By the time they’d walked up one floor, Harry’s feet felt like lead.

“Not too fond of elevators, eh?”

Harry shrugged. “Not my favorite,” he offered vaguely. If the man thought he had a phobia, so be it. In a way, perhaps it was.

“Seems like you’ve been giving yourself quite the work out,” Tony commented after a beat of silence.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him. Tony was entirely too curious, but his explanations earlier had made sense when he said having Harry stay at the tower was a way to get to know him, and maybe see where things went ‘job’ wise after that. And, Tony had been the one to offer him lodgings far nicer than he’d expected. All aside, he supposed he owed the man. “I guess so.” Harry tried to think what to say that would sound a bit less rude. “I’ve been trying some things out.”

Stark nodded, and opened the door to the lounge. If the others thought anything of his exhausted appearance, they didn’t comment. Harry slipped into his room, and looked at his bag. He really should’ve thought things through more. He didn’t have a clean shirt left. He’d worn the black one yesterday, used the red one to sleep in, and was wearing his green one now. He supposed the red one wasn’t too bad, although he tended to sweat a bit when he had nightmares – suddenly Harry remembered the dark blue shirt he’d washed and hung in the shower. He’d moved it to the towel rack when he showered the other night. While he could make out the stain if he looked closely, it blended in pretty well with the dark blue fabric. Plus, it was certainly well washed. Gathering the rest of his clothes, Harry proceeded to the bathroom and started a shower.

Stripping out of his sweaty shirt, Harry eyed the gauze pad taped to his chest. Carefully, he peeled it off and examined the wound below. He hadn’t retrieved more gauze pads from the medical kit yet, reusing the gauze pads instead. It hadn’t bled through to the second pad much, so he’d made do. Now though, he knew he would have to access the kit again. The gauze pad really wasn’t usable any more, and judging by the redness of the wound he shouldn’t have let himself reuse the bandages in the first place.

Harry pressed at the edges of the cut gently, and hissed in pain. His chest had felt a bit sore all day, and now he knew why. The edges of the rune were puffy and warm to the touch. He would get some antibiotic cream from the kit tonight, but he didn’t want to get supplies when others were around. He was starting to feel more comfortable with the Avengers, but he wasn’t about to broadcast his vulnerabilities. Already, Steve and JARVIS seemed to know. Harry would just keep a close eye on the cuts – he’d had infections before and he certainly didn’t want it to get out of hand.

Stepping into the shower, Harry washed quickly. He was sure to carefully soap the rune as well. When he reached the center of the rune where all the branches of the cuts came together, he felt stars burst across his vision. It was the deepest part of the rune, and clearly it was not as healed as it had initially appeared. Harry’s gentle scrubbing broke the scab that was trying to form. Blood began to run down his chest, mixing pale pink with the water below. Harry tried to touch it again, only to find his vision black and his hands pressed against the wall to keep him upright.

He turned his back to the spray, and the agony of the rune dulled to a steady burn. He needed to get cleaned up and join them for dinner. He didn’t have time for this.

Rinsing the rest of the soapsuds from his hair, Harry turned off the water and fumbled for a towel. Drying off, he grimaced at the white fabric. It would stain.

Blood was still trickling slowly down his chest. It wasn’t bleeding much, but the wet of his skin allowed the blood to be far messier than needed. Pressing a washcloth to his chest, Harry dried the rest of himself one-handedly before stepping from the stall and struggling into his jeans.

He’d already tossed the gauze pad into the trash, so he pulled off a strand of toilet paper and used his free hand to fold it into a flat square. Swapping it with the washcloth, Harry pressed the makeshift bandage against the center of the rune. He knew the toilet paper would stick to the wound as it tried to scab, yet it would keep the blood off his clothes until he had the chance to access the med kit. Glancing around, he wondered how he could secure it.

When the bathroom yielded no tape, Harry attempted a mild sticking charm. It held well enough but left Harry leaning heavily against the counter. He had used far more magic in the last two days than he had since he’d arrived in this world - Chitauri invasion excluded.

Grimacing, Harry put on Steve’s shirt. It was a T-shirt, which he’d been avoiding wearing during the day since it showed so many scars, but his long-sleeved shirts were too sweaty to be worn to dinner. Harry jammed socks on his feet and ditched his backpack by his bed. He’d deal with … everything… later.

When Harry arrived, the dining table was already laden with food and plates were being passed around. Clint had returned from his trip, and the Avengers were all seated at the table. Taking the empty seat between Natasha and Bruce, Harry looked at the unfamiliar food around him. Rice and beans and dishes of meat filled the table. Chips and various sauces filled the spaces between platters.

“Clint requested Mexican tonight,” Bruce said, offering a platter of rice and beans.

“Cool,” Harry exclaimed. While Hogwart’s dishes were spectacular, they remained traditional western-European food – typically British at that. And with the Dursley’s view of ‘foreigners’… Harry eagerly took tiny portions of everything on the table.

“Indecisive?” Bruce asked.

Harry laughed. “I’ve never had Mexican food before.” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“How long have you been in the States?” she asked.

Harry didn’t notice Tony’s suddenly interested expression. “Just a year or so,” he said, spearing some beef on his fork. “Didn’t have this sort of food back home.”

“You’ve spent most of your life in England?” she asked conversationally. “What brought you to the states?”

Harry shrugged, with a smile that seemed to laugh at an unknown joke. “I don’t know. Looking for adventure, I suppose.” In the barest sense of the word, it was sort of true – this was, perhaps, that ‘next great adventure’ Dumbledore had told him of so long ago.

“Did you find it?” Natasha asked. Harry glanced up from his beans, but she looked so casually interested he had a hard time taking offense to her prying.

“In a round-about way, perhaps. I ended up here, didn’t I?” He laughed, and then spoke more seriously. “Things didn’t really go as planned.”

“Have you spent all of your time here in New York?” Bruce asked curiously. “Or have you traveled around the country some?”

“Just here,” Harry said. “Didn’t really have the money for travel.” He hadn’t the will for it either once he realized just where he had ended up – how entirely removed he was from everything he’d ever known. “It’s a nice city,” he said absently.

“What about the people back home?” Tony asked. He smirked; “Got a lady waiting on you? Folks pestering you to come home?”

Harry bit back a grimace and shook his head, pushing his food around his plate. “No one’s waiting on me.”

They let the subject drop, and Harry was relieved the twenty-questions were over. Bruce turned to Clint, who said his hunting trip went well. He’d sent his friend home with two fat ducks and a snow goose. They’d go out again in a few weeks, but for now he said he’d focus on training at the range or downstairs.   Harry wondered idly what the archer’s training consisted of, but he didn’t ask. Instead he nudged food around his plate without much of an appetite.   He’d eaten a fair portion of his dinner, but was too tired to finish it. He supposed he’d put it in a tupperware for later again.

They were all slowing down when Tony suddenly turned to Harry. “Is that Steve’s shirt?” he blurted out.

Harry blushed all the way to his ears. He glanced at Steve, who looked unconcerned. “I need to do laundry,” he muttered.

“You don’t have things somewhere else you need to bring to the tower, do you?” Tony asked. Harry shook his head. Tony let the topic drop just as suddenly as he began it.

By the time the conversation finally lulled and they began to clear the table, Harry could barely keep his eyes open. His magic was depleted and he felt cold. Reaching to take his plate, he noticed the scars on his arms had turned a purplish pink with the chill. They stood out vividly on his thin arms. Avoiding the others’ eyes, Harry scraped his meal into a plastic and placed it in the fridge. He scrubbed his plate mechanically before turning back towards his room.

“We’re watching a movie tonight. Want to join?” Steve asked with a small smile. Harry hesitated. His bed was calling, but... Impulsively, Harry nodded, and followed Steve to the couches.

“So, what’ll it be tonight?” Tony asked, sprawled on the couch facing the large TV screen. “Something new? Something old? But none of that girly crap Clint likes,” Tony added as an after thought. Clint looked slightly put out, but unsurprised.

“What about –“ Steve began.

“If it’s not from at least 1960s, I don’t want to hear it.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Horror?” Natasha asked. This time it was Bruce’s turn to sigh.  

“Seriously?”

Harry let his body sink back into the soft leather of the couch as they bickered like siblings. He had a feeling Stark already had a movie picked out, and that everyone knew it. It sounded like old arguments repeated for tradition’s sake.

Eventually, they settled on something, and JARVIS set up the screen. Bruce wandered to the kitchen saying something about popcorn. The lights dimmed, and the movie began. A woman’s whisper filled the room. Harry eyed the black screen curiously, until finally a golden title filled the screen: the Lord of the Rings. Apparently fantasy or adventure seemed to be one of the few genres they could agree upon.  

Bruce had barely managed to return with the popcorn before a battle had begun upon the screen. The sound of swords filled the room, but before Harry could fall into the story Natasha muttered something under her breath. He watched as Clint elbowed her playfully. “Geez, it’s too early to critique the fight scenes!”

Harry grinned, Tony hushed them, and the movie went on. The music was truly wonderful, but Harry had a hard time following the story. His eyes kept drooping closed. He pulled his legs up, curling into the back of the couch and leaning his head into the soft leather. Steve sat beside him and Harry had the oddest sense that he was safe there. It had been a long time since he felt safe falling asleep, but maybe he was just too tired to care. Harry felt weary all the way down to his bones.

A Dumbledore-like man rode onto the screen. Harry laughed at his plain grey hat and robes. “Not nearly enough purple,” he muttered sleepily. His eyes slowly closed as fireworks exploded above a celebrating crowd. He liked this happy movie he decided as he drifted into sleep.

On the other half of the couch, Steve glanced at the young man dozing beside him. One arm was tucked against his chest, the other wrapped loosely around his legs. Steve caught Natasha’s eyes across the table and she smirked. Whatever the kid was doing in the training room, he’d certainly worn himself out. Turning back to the screen, Steve settled in to enjoy the film.

Harry fidgeted, reaching up to scratch idly at his chest. On the screen, the wizard rushed back to the hobbit house in frantic search of Frodo and the ring. A small crease formed on Harry’s brow.

He was in the Headmaster’s office, of all places. “Would you like a lemon drop?” Dumbledore asked. Harry smiled, but declined.

“It is so good to see you, sir!” he exclaimed. “But, what are we doing here?” On his perch, Fawkes burst into flames. Dumbledore didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out the ring.

Harry reached out – but Dumbledore was suddenly wearing it, black decay racing up his arm. “No!” Harry exclaimed. He wanted to lunge across the desk, to wrench it from his fingers, to stop the poison – but for some reason, he couldn’t move. Snape appeared.

“You’ve got to help him,” he told the professor. “He’s dying!”

Snape sneered, and turned his back on him. He raised his wand. “Avada Kedavra,” he intoned.

Harry wanted to scream, but he couldn’t make a sound. “Come, Potter,” Snape said. He handed Harry the resurrection stone. “We must go.” He took Harry by the arm and aparated.

They were in the graveyard. Harry could hear the sounds of a loud party in Little Hangleton’s town square. “The Dark Lord is waiting,” Snape said.

A snake slithered from behind a headstone. “My precious,” it hissed, rearing back to strike.

Harry turned, stumbling through the dark graveyard. He could hear the snake laughing behind him. He could hear screams in the town square. A dragon of flame soared through the air. It banked left, and turned into the smoky black cloaks of dementors. Harry reached for his wand, but it wasn’t there.

He couldn’t do that spell without his wand! The dementors fell upon the town. He could; see the dementors feasting. The townspeople scattered, crying out in terror. Soulless bodies fell and lay still upon the ground. He needed to protect them – he scratched at his chest, suddenly remembering. If he could get close enough –

Hands suddenly gripped his wrists. He cried out, fighting to pull away.

"Harry!” a voice called. “Harry.”

He struggled, but the hands held him down. He was staring at blue eyes.

Suddenly the lights came on.

Harry stopped moving. Somehow, he could hear his own voice speaking beside him. “It’s okay. You’re with the muggles. It’s 2020. You’re okay. You’re with the muggles. It’s 2020. You’re okay.” He looked around.

He was on the couch; Steve’s hands were wrapped around his wrists. Slowly, Steve sat back, relaxing his hold. Harry gingerly pulled his hands away, rubbing at his wrists. He felt incredibly disoriented. His own voice was still on repeat. He put a hand to his ears. “Stop,” he muttered. The voice ended.

“That was JARVIS,” Tony explained. “I guess he thought it’d be helpful.” Harry looked down at his hands, only to see blood on his fingers again.   He reached slowly up to his chest. Sure enough, he could feel the warm damp of blood through his t-shirt.

Harry clenched his hands in his lap. He didn’t know what to do. This was not the same as some random person on the street seeing his nightmares. It was not like Ron or Hermione either. He didn’t say anything.

“Can I help you clean that up?” Bruce asked. “I’m a bit concerned that it still isn’t healed.”

“He’s a doctor,” Clint chimed in. Harry picked at his nails.

“I’d rather do it myself,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s healing very well,” Steve said quietly beside him. “He may have some ideas of how to help it heal better, or stay closed at night.” He tactfully didn’t add when you try to rip it open in your sleep but Harry could hear it hanging unstated in the air.

“He’s helped all of us at some point or another,” Natasha added. “Go on, he’ll get you fixed up.”

Harry glanced at Bruce, realizing he didn’t really have a choice. Jamming his hands in his pocket, Harry stood up. Bruce looked towards the elevator, before turning to the stairs. “Let’s go to my lab,” he said. “I have everything there.”

Harry hesitated, eyeing the scientist with the same wary suspicion he’d turned on Tony. Bruce seemed to get it.

“No tests,” he promised. There was a lightness in his tone, but no laughter in his eyes. He gestured towards the stairs and Harry followed.

“Well shit,” Clint said as soon as the door was firmly shut.

Natasha nodded.

“I mean,” Clint looked at Steve. “I heard what you said this morning, but… what’s that kid been involved in?”

Steve shrugged looking equally bewildered, but Tony appeared thoughtful. “That’s just it though,” Tony said. “What could a British kid like him – who says he’s been in Britain for the last twenty some years – have been involved in? There is no war in Britain. And if he served in the British military, he’d have some damn paperwork.”

Natasha frowned, leaning back thoughtfully. “That’s been on my mind too,” she admitted. “I don’t doubt he’s seen some shit,” she said quickly. “And I don’t get the feeling that he’s any threat – at least not currently. But, where in the world was he? And, with no papers, who was he working with?”

Steve hadn’t gotten the feeling that Harry was lying to him, but even he had to admit the story just didn’t make sense.

“He’s described it as a ‘sort of’ war,” Clint mused, adding his own thoughts to the analysis. “So it probably isn’t official, and it’s possibly something underground between small factions. Though,” he added after a moment. “The definition also leaves room for things like repeated skirmishes, rebellions, or attempted coups.”

Steve sighed heavily. “While I feel Harry has been honest with us, it’s true there are many things he has not shared. Then again, would any of us share our stories easily with strangers?”

~~~

Four floors down, Harry was seated on a cold stainless steel counter, trying not to fidget as Bruce pulled on latex-free gloves. “Would it be easier to lift or remove your shirt?” he asked. Harry fiddled with the edge of his shirt, before pulling it over his head. He grimaced with pain as the wound on his chest was twisted and pulled. He looked down at his chest and found it once more smeared with blood. He took the edge of his t-shirt and began trying to wipe it off.

“Here, why don’t we use a clean towel instead?” Bruce suggested, offering Harry a damp towel. Harry took it quietly and resumed wiping the blood off his chest. As his chest became cleaner, the inflamed red of the cuts became increasingly apparent. Bruce looked through his medical cabinet, pulling out various items and setting them on the table beside Harry who was still stubbornly avoiding his eyes.

“I’d like to flush out the wound before we bandage it. Fingernails can introduce many different germs to an injury.” Harry sat there, silent and resigned. “Do you need a localized anesthetic first?”

Harry shook his head, not even sure what that meant. Bruce nodded, clearly used to his friends going without such things. “Alright, I’ve got some sterile water I’m going to squirt into the cuts. Do you want to hold some towels beneath it or do you want me to do that?”

Harry accepted the white towels without complaint. Bruce uncapped the sterile water and filled a large syringe. “It might hurt a bit,” he warned, uncertain of Harry’s pain tolerance. Harry nodded and he began to flush out the wound. A small hiss of pain escaped before Harry clenched his jaw shut. His knuckles turned white where he clutched the towel to his chest and dark spots flashed in his vision. Harry took a deep breath and tried not to move as Bruce thoroughly cleaned the rune. When he finished, Harry had to consciously unclench his arms in order to hand back the wet towel.

“That was the hard part,” Bruce continued. His straight-forward explanations seemed to calm Harry’s nerves. “We can’t suture it because it’s far too old, but if you ever… do this again, it should have stitches afterwards, okay?” Harry nodded tightly. He hadn’t expected it to heal so slowly here.

“It’s also looking a bit infected around the edges. Nothing too bad,” he continued quickly. “But we should keep an eye on it to be safe. I have some cream that can help fight infections. Would you like to put it on, or would you like me to?” Harry reached out a hand, and Bruce handed him gloves. “Put those on first. We want to keep that wound clean.”

Harry snapped on the gloves and offered his hand again. Bruce gave him a small packet, and Harry began smearing the anti-biotic cream over the wound. While he did so, Bruce prepared some bandages.

“Let’s put this gauze pad over the cuts. Want to hold it in place?” He waited for Harry’s gloved hand to replace his. “And it looks like you’ve been using adhesive tape, but I don’t want to agitate the area around the wound any further, so I have a roll of gauze we can wrap around your chest to hold it in place.” Harry nodded again and Bruce offered an end for him to hold in place. “It might be easier to do this part while you are standing.” Harry hopped down to the chilly concrete floor. Bruce began to wind the gauze around his chest.  Harry noted gratefully that the man said nothing about his scars. When he was done, Bruce cut the gauze and taped the tail end down.

“When you next shower or need to change the bandages, put this on it again,” he handed Harry a small handful of the anti-biotic cream packets and a few gauze pads. “And make use of the medical kit in the kitchen – using toilet paper like that can make things worse.” Harry nodded.

“Do you want to put your shirt back on, or…?” Harry looked at the bloodstained shirt and grimaced. “I’d offer you a clean shirt, but mine are all up in my room.” He paused for a moment, putting the last of the medical supplies away. “Do you have a clean shirt for tonight?”

Harry hesitated, before shaking his head no.

“Alright. We should get you one to borrow. Do you want one of mine? I’m sure Steve would lend you one again if you prefer.”

Harry shrugged. He still didn’t know what to say. It was so humiliating to have strangers see him like this. He felt vulnerable, and he was furious with himself for getting into this situation to start with.

Bruce shut the medical cabinet and tossed his gloves in the trash.   “You know,” he said as Harry threw away his own gloves. “The rest of us have nightmares too. And flashbacks,” he offered as an after thought. When Harry was silent, he added: “No one in this tower would judge you for that.”

Harry tried to smile, but it came out a grimace. He followed Bruce back to the stairs, t-shirt clenched in a fist by his side. When they got back to the commons, he could feel their eyes on his mutilated body. He did not look at them. When Bruce handed him a button up shirt, he buttoned it to the very top and pulled the sleeves over his hands. Following Bruce back to the commons he found the movie still paused and the others still seated.

“Ready?” Tony asked with a smile, as if nothing had gone wrong and nothing sat awkwardly between them. Natasha passed Bruce the popcorn, and Steve nodded towards Harry’s empty seat. He sat down quietly.

“JARVIS?” Tony prompted, and the movie resumed. Harry curled into the couch, his legs drawn close to his aching chest and his eyes wide. No part of him wanted to sleep again after that humiliating experience. Behind him, Steve slung an arm casually over the back of the couch. On the screen, the Hobbits entered an inn and ordered drinks. Harry was determined to get through this movie as if nothing had ever gone wrong.

It quickly became clear though, that this was not going to be an easy film to watch. Harry felt his arms wrap tighter around his knees as the Dumbledore-like wizard lay atop a tower. He pressed his chin into his kneecaps when the dementor-like creatures swooped down upon the four hobbits. When Frodo stepped forth to take the ring to Mordor, Harry was absolutely certain that this was not the movie for him. As the ring tempted the swordsman and he turned upon his hobbit friend, Harry couldn’t help but recall how the locket had manipulated them during those lonely months on the run.

Harry bit gently at the inside of his cheek, grounding himself in the present moment. He ran his fingers over the seams of the leather arm of the couch. He was in the Avenger’s tower. It was 2020, and he was safe. The horcruxes were long gone, and he was as far removed from that world as he could be.

Frodo gasped on screen as a massive beast stabbed him in a room full of skeletons. Harry flinched as he bit his lip harder than intended. When the Dumbledore-man fell from the bridge Harry wasn’t sure he could stay in the room. Turning away from the movie screen Harry stared at the glass table the couches were circled around. He heard Frodo screaming behind him, an eerie sad song playing from surround-sound speakers. Harry forced his eyes to examine the way the metal carefully wrapped around the thick glass tabletop and crisscrossed beneath it. He noted the way the circular glass had a frosted edge and he counted six table legs. He was in the Avenger’s Tower, in 2020, in a world of muggles. Dumbeldore was not falling from the tower. Harry wasn’t stuck frozen and stationary. He wasn’t on the tower, where Malfoy struggled to find his nerve and Snape raised his wand. He could remember Belatrix’s laugh and the flash of green light. He could hear Fawkes’ grief-song in his memory and see the white-marble of the tomb of his mentor.

He reached a hand absently towards his chest, only to have Steve reach out and gently touch his shoulder. His blue eyes met Harry’s wide green ones. Harry took a deep breath. It’s 2020. You’re with the muggles. You’re… safe. And Dumbledore is dead.

Harry waited until the memories had passed, and he was fully in the present on the couch in the Avengers’ tower, before turning his eyes back to the film. The characters were in boats, sailing down a river. Harry loosened his arms from their clenched position around his knees and tried focus on how entirely different this story was from his own life. For one thing, he’d only ever seen one sword. But the way the ring turned them against each other… the way bodies fell and screamed…

Then the black-robed orcs arrived, swords flying. Harry bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. Not real, not real, not real, not real. But the swordsman kept fighting, even with an arrow stabbed through his chest. He rose again and again – and all Harry could think of was Mad Eye, wand blazing, with twenty death eaters closing in and no way out. Harry looked away again as the music slowed. He could taste the iron of blood in his mouth. The gurgling, gasping sounds of death spilled from the speakers.

“ I have failed you all.” The swordsman’s voice filled the room in painful, panted breaths.

“No,” said the Ranger. “You fought bravely.”

Harry’s fingers dug into his legs. His eyes drifted through the glass table to focus on the black boots across from him. They were clean black leather, with black laces woven through small silver eyelets. The harsh panting sounds stopped. You’re in the muggle world. He reminded himself. Your world is gone. No one is dying – they’re already dead. He wasn’t sure his mantra was very reassuring.

“Would you like to go to bed?” Steve whispered quietly. Harry stared at his blue eyes. Was this cowardice? He could see the flash of Moody’s spell fire in his mind, a memory playing side-by-side with his thoughts. Grief tugged so hard at his stomach he felt nauseous.

Steve pulled him up as Frodo began to paddle away. “Of course you are!” Sam called from the screen. “And I’m coming with you!” Harry refused to look, focusing instead on the soft of carpet poking through the holes in his socks and the promise of silence in his room.

“It’s okay to not feel okay,” Steve told him quietly as they paused by Harry’s door. Harry did not meet his eyes.

~~~

When Steve returned to the lounge, the credits were rolling and no one was watching. Instead, they were looking to Bruce. “So,” Clint was saying. “How was it?”

Bruce grimaced. “It’s not too bad now, but it must have been incredibly deep initially.”

As he spoke, Tony was drawing up a hologram. Steve frowned at yet another invasion of Harry’s privacy, but looked nonetheless. It was silent footage of Bruce tending to Harry’s wound. The rune was as long as a hand, palm to fingertip.   It was composed of one straight line with two straight branches forking off at either side, like a trident or a Y.

“It showed some signs of infection, so we cleaned it up and put some cream on it,” Bruce explained. “But what concerns me is that it’s barely healed. The battle was almost a month ago now. I would guess that this was not the first time he reopened it in his sleep.”

“No,” Steve found himself saying before he thought better of it. “It happened his first night here.” Tony nodded, recalling JARVIS’ account of that night.

Bruce nodded. “It would seem to be an ongoing issue.”

“Do you think the battle impacted him that much?” Clint asked.

“Or whatever else he’s gone through,” Natasha suggested. “Look at him – that was hardly the first time he’s been injured in a fight.”

The others nodded. Perched upon the counter top with bloodstained shirt in his hands, it became clear just how scarred the kid was. The thick scar on his arm they’d already seen was still the most severe wound, tracing from wrist to shoulder, but other scars covered his body – burns and slashes and punctures.

“Got a lot of questions about that kid,” Natasha muttered.

“There’s not much but questions around this kid,” Clint said with a laugh. Steve couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Harry leaned against the locked bedroom door, contemplating what to do. He glanced at the bed; he did not want to sleep. He glanced at the shower; he knew he shouldn’t change his bandages yet. He certainly didn’t have the energy for visiting the training floors again, and he did not want to return to the lounge where the Avengers still sat. Harry picked up his only other option, and sat down at his desk with the poetry book. He was not going to sleep tonight. He scratched idly at his chest. No, not tonight.

He let the book fall lap to the poem he’d been reading all day: The Diameter Of The Bomb. He knew words without looking. He traced the title with his finger as the poem repeated in his head. … and the solitary man mourning her death / at the distant shores of a country far across the sea / includes the entire world in the circle…*

He stared out at the window. Snow drifted gently past the tower. He was the solitary man, mourning the war of a whole nother world. Was it okay to mourn something that, to anyone on this earth, had never happened? …includes the entire world in that circle… a circle with no end and no God.*

He knew the others sought answers. He knew it was expected he would provide those answers at some point. But how could he explain he had flashbacks to a war that never occurred? How could he explain he mourned friends who never existed here? They told him they would not experiment on him and his magic, and he was beginning to believe that. But would that change if they knew he was from a different world?

What if they thought him insane? He had no evidence aside from his magic, which was no evidence at all considering how many other unique individuals they knew. He felt trapped: he couldn’t possibly explain the truth, but they were certain to unravel the lies. What with JARVIS and two trained spies, he was relieved they hadn’t confronted him already.

Sitting in silence, Harry heard Bruce’s door open down the hall. Perhaps the others were settling into sleep. It was nearing midnight. He knew he should rest, but he feared the memories that were bound to haunt him.

Gesturing towards his backpack, Harry summoned his photograph. He held it close, as he had so many nights before. “I miss you,” he whispered, staring at their smiles. In the dim light he could almost believe they were moving again, looking at each other, and leaning in to share a few silent words and a smile. The solitary man mourning in a foreign world includes the entire universe in that circle.

Setting the photo down, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. The floor had gone quiet. He could no longer hear Bruce getting ready for bed next door, nor could he hear the low murmur of voices in the common area. Harry wondered if anyone was still up. It was nearing one a.m. He should do laundry again.

When he took his backpack to the laundry room, he found the lights were off in the lounge. Opening the washer, he realized he should wash the bed sheets and try to remove the bloodstains. After retrieving said sheets and starting a second load, Harry wandered to the kitchen and fiddled with the coffee maker. He was exhausted, but he had to stay awake.

Two hours later, Harry was sitting with his fourth up of black coffee, staring blankly at out the window. With the common area dark, he had an unobstructed view of the sky.  It was as if nothing stood between him and the vast openness. Dense clouds hung low over the city and not a star could be seen.

“You said they were waiting.” He felt a strange bitterness well up beneath all the exhaustion. Luna had spoken with such simple sincerity: It’s not like I won’t get to see her again someday. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn’t you?* “But it didn’t work.” He’d been ready for the ‘next great adventure,’ but somehow he’d ended up here, even further from those he loved and missed so deeply.

The photograph was in his hands again. Already the edges were worn and frayed, despite the gentleness with which he carried it. Harry opened the book and tried to read.

Words and phrases leapt up at him as he read through now-familiar poems. Yusef Komunyakaa wrote of the Vietnam Memorial: I go down the 58,022 names, half-expecting to find my own… Harry shut the book and drained the rest of his coffee. He stood. It felt as though he drowning beneath the guilt and grief. He needed – he didn’t know what he needed. Months ago he would be half way through a bottle of whiskey, but that had done him no good.

Harry shuffled to the sink, washing the mug with trembling hands. His body was abuzz with caffeine and exhaustion. He could go for a walk, but he couldn’t see the point. Nothing was going to change. He was here; they were not. There was no going back; there was no way to know what was happening. Had the war ended? Who had survived?

Harry dried his mug. He had laundry he’d forgotten to change over. Harry moved mechanically, starting the two dryers before stepping back. He watched them turn. He felt so heavy. Perhaps he should sleep, but now his body was practically vibrating with caffeine. Harry laughed, startling himself with the sudden sound. He clasped a hand to his mouth, remembering those sleeping in the rooms nearby. He walked back to the commons. He just wanted to escape his own mind.

Aimlessly, Harry opened the kitchen cupboards. A bag of chocolate chips gave him an idea. It was a bit before 3 a.m. but as long as he was quiet, it shouldn’t be a problem…

“Uh, JARVIS?” he whispered into the empty room.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” the AI responded. Of course, computers did not sleep.

“I was wondering… would I be allowed to make some cookies?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. You may access any part of the kitchen. Do you require recipes?”

Harry frowned. “Not yet, I don’t think… Is that something you can do?”

“Yes,” JARVIS replied. “I can access any information that is available on the internet.”

“Oh.” Harry considered that for a moment. “I don’t think I realized recipes were online. That sounds really useful though. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Harry returned to the cupboards, pulling out sugars and flours, melting butter in the warming oven and pulling out a mixing bowl. He took a deep breath and tried to let himself settle into the comforting routine of baking. He would set the thoughts aside for now, focusing instead on measuring and stirring, whisking and folding. He kept moving; he needed to create some space and pull himself out from under the suffocating thoughts.

Scooping out chocolate chip cookies onto parchment paper, Harry set the first batches in the oven and turned to a second measuring bowl. A warm loaf of bread would be a good morning food… since it was 3:00 he’d use the rosemary he’d found in the spice cabinet. That recipe took four hours to bake and would be ready right on time. He refused to acknowledge that rosemary was an herb of remembrance used to honor the dead.

For the hell of it, Harry started some rosemary shortbread cookies once he set the bread to rising. And, as the last chocolate cookies were cooling on the rack, he cleaned the bowl for a batch of simple vanilla butter cookies. As long as he kept mixing and baking, the thoughts seemed to lighten in their intensity.

By the time Steve wandered into the commons, the room practically become a bakery.  Three types of cookies were piled high on serving plates and a batch of muffins cooled on racks. Cinnamon rolls waited on parchment paper for their turn in the oven, two loaves of bread were ready to slice, and the rosemary bread was on it's second rising. Harry had rolled Bruce’s borrowed shirt up to his elbows and flour powdered his arms. Apparently he’d wiped his face once or twice if the flour smudges were anything to go by. Steve grinned.

“Morning,” Harry offered.

“You’ve been busy,” Steve replied.  He wondered if the kid had another nightmare, or had foregone sleep entirely. Judging by the poetry book resting on the table and the tiny amount of coffee left in the pot, Steve leaned towards the latter.

“Are you headed out?” Harry asked, eying his tennis shoes and sweats.

“Yeah, going to run and then hit the gym. Might have to cut it short to make it back in time for the feast though.”

Harry laughed. “Rosemary bread will be done around 7. I can make sure to set something aside for you if you’re worried – anything in particular you like?”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Although,” he added as an after thought, “if a cinnamon roll or two managed to stash themselves away for me, I wouldn’t say no.”

Harry grinned. “Have a good run.” Steve nodded, heading out.

Things started to pick up after Steve left. Clint wandered over around 5:30 looking equally surprised. “Damn kid, fancy yourself a chef or something?”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. “Help yourself,” he said, scoring the top of a loaf of wheat bread that was ready for the oven. “I hope you don’t mind my taking over the kitchen space.”

“Mind?” Clint laughed. “This looks delicious.” He snagged a cookie on his way to the coffee. Grabbing the pot to pour himself a cup, Clint paused. “Hey Harry, you didn’t actually drink all of this yourself, did you?”

Harry glanced over as he slid the loaf into the oven. “Um, possibly?”

Clint looked him up and down. “You’re like, what, a buck thirty soaking wet? Where’s your body supposed to put three cups of coffee?”

“Four,” Harry corrected before he caught himself.

Clint rolled his eyes. “That’s not helping your case.”

Harry smiled embarrassedly. “Here, let me make some more.”

Clint poured the remaining coffee into his mug and let Harry start the next pot while he reached for the milk. “How long’ve you been up, anyways?” Clint asked, taking a seat on a barstool. Natasha was walking over to join them, putting her hair up and eyeing the bakery with an impressed expression.

“Uh, a while,” Harry hedged.

“You didn’t sleep.” Natasha said it with such certainty that Harry didn’t bother with denials. Clint raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “Stress baking and trembling hands? He’s had too much coffee and too little sleep.”

Harry sprinkled flour on the counter and began kneading another lump of dough. The cinnamon mixture was in a bowl beside him and his melted butter was ready. He sectioned off the dough and began layering what would become his cinnamon twist bread.

“You really know your way around a kitchen, don’t you?” Harry nodded absently. “Where’s the recipes?” Harry gestured towards his head with a slight smile. Clint snorted. “Mind if I grab a cinnamon roll?”

“Please,” Harry said as he began to twist the dough. “I am relying on you all eating a good amount. JARVIS said he didn’t think it’d go to waste here.”

“Not with these boys,” Natasha laughed, taking a rosemary cookie herself.

Harry smiled, but he felt the exhaustion weighing on his chest. Their playful banter was kind, but Harry’s brain was having a hard time keeping up. Sprinkling the last of the cinnamon atop his loaf, he set it aside and checked on the wheat bread. He glanced at the coffee pot. He could feel the caffeine in his system, but the exhaustion hovered around the edges of his mind. He didn’t know how he’d keep himself busy today. He didn’t feel up to much more socializing, and yet he had two more loaves trapping him in the kitchen until they were baked, and breakfast hadn’t even begun. He set a few cinnamon rolls and cookies on a plate for Steve. He shook his head. The social stuff would distract him, keep him awake, and help him focus on other things. It was a good thing.

Putting a smile on his face, Harry began the task of washing all his bowls and implements. Bruce wandered in and Tony arrived shortly after Bruce asked JARVIS to let him know breakfast was delightful and "the most important meal of the day - even for superhero Iron Men - so get down here."  Harry had just set the Rosemary loaves in the oven and set the cinnamon bread out to cool when Steve stepped out of the elevator. Harry’s eyes widened as he took in the soldier’s appearance.

The man was drenched. The gentle snowfall had turn into a steady rain, and Steve had run who-knows-how-many miles in the downpour. Steve waved, heading straight to his room. The group started moving towards the dining table as Harry searched for a good knife to use on the cinnamon twist bread. From the table, Clint called over to Harry, “Hey, is your picture?”

Harry fumbled with the knife. “Don’t touch it!” he snapped.

Clint set it down gently. “Sorry, kid. Just wanted to move it off the table.”

Harry walked over, wiping his hands vigorously with a kitchen towel. His picture was lying atop the poetry book. He reached out and took it gently. “Sorry,” he said. “These are my friends.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t realize,” Clint said.

“No, I shouldn’t’ve snapped. It’s just the only photo I have.”

“Who are they?” Clint asked, his voice cautious as if he was unsure whether Harry would answer or snap at him.

Harry looked back at his photo and smiled. “That’s Ron and that’s Hermione.”

“They look really happy,” Natasha said.

“We were.” He supposed he owed an explanation, after being so rude. “We were staying with Ron’s family, before they went into hiding,” he told them, staring at the photograph. “Ron’s mum had kept badgering Moody until we got a day off training. We just spent the day messing around.” He smiled at the memory, carefully slipping the photo back into the book.

“How old were you guys?” Natasha inquired.

“Seventeen.” They’d been adults, but looking back they just seemed like kids. He'd thought he knew what they were getting into when they ran off after the horcruxes. Nothing could’ve prepared them for what the war became.

“And you were already training?”

Harry shrugged, not sure how much more he wanted to talk about it. He moved to set the book to the chair by the window. “Sorta started when I was fifteen, depending how you look at it.  11 if you want to be really pessimistic.” He moved back to the kitchen to fix his own plate. The others were sitting down with their bread and toast and cinnamon rolls. He poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Who taught you?” Natasha asked, wondering how far she could push the conversation.

Harry hesitated, setting a slice of rosemary bread on his plate. He headed back towards the table. “Mad-Eye Moody,” he said at last. Then he smiled. “Damned good fighter and paranoid as hell.”  

Natasha reached for the butter, wondering how long her luck would hold. The kid’s exhaustion seemed to be helping him open up and she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity when she saw it. “And this was in Britain?”

Harry ripped off the edge of his bread and fiddled with it briefly before shrugging. He knew they wouldn’t find the war in their Britain, but he couldn’t realistically lie and pretend he fought in some other war. They’d see right through that. The more he talked, the sooner everything would fall apart. He knew they had to have questions, and he was relieved they’d given him this much space so far, but…

Steve took the empty seat beside him. Harry glanced over glad to see the soldier. He’d clearly found the plate Harry’d set aside for him. “Good run?” Harry asked, effectively closing the conversation.

Steve nodded, taking a rather large bite of cinnamon roll. “I’ll head down to the gym after breakfast.” Harry nodded. Bruce chimed in, something about joining Stark in his lab on something. The scientific terms went well above Harry’s head. Clint and Natasha were headed to a training facility somewhere else. Harry nibbled at his slice of bread and sipped his coffee. He could almost hear the caffeine buzz in his ears.

He was finishing his slice when they began clearing the table. A significant dent had been made in his cooking, but there remained a sizeable amount of left overs – mostly cookies. From the way people kept reaching for them though, he supposed they too would soon disappear.

“Are you going to eat anything else?” Bruce asked, a slight sense of concern in his tone. Harry glanced up. He’d finished his slice of bread and was now content to simply drink his coffee.

“I’m good,” he said. The buzz of caffeine and the weight of exhaustion seemed to outweigh out any hunger might be feeling. “Thanks though.”

Bruce nodded then picked up Harry’s plate with his own. Harry was suddenly too tired to protest. He knew if he sat much longer, he’d begin to doze. He pushed himself to his feet, draining the last of his mug. He shuddered as the caffeine hit his fairly empty stomach. He rubbed his forehead, and sighed. When he picked up his empty mug, he found Steve staring at him.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said, before Steve could say anything. The man had the oddest Hermione-esque expression on his face, as if he was concerned but knew Harry wasn’t going to listen to a word he said. “I’m fine,” he added, defensively.

Steve raised a silent eyebrow at this, but said nothing. Passing his mug to Bruce who was washing dishes, Harry picked up the book and fetched his clothes and sheets from the laundry. In his room he stripped off Bruce’s floury shirt and made his bed. He checked the bandages on his chest, and pulled on his black shirt. He contemplated his clothes. Folding them, he glanced at the closet, before putting them back into his backpack. Tugging on his boots, he pulled on his hat and gloves and tucked his scarf into his coat.

He slipped down the stairs without so much as a wave. He planned to keep going and keep busy and keep all of his worries away, but five blocks into his walk, he wasn’t so sure he could manage that. His limbs felt heavy.

Harry trudged on. The briefly clear skies didn’t last. It began to rain. Harry tugged his hat further down until it covered his ears and the hem rested just above his eyebrows. He pulled up his hood. The drizzle quickly became a downpour. He could feel dampness seep down through the seams of his coat and the patch on his shoulder. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and kept his eyes on the ground. His head was beginning to feel pleasantly fuzzy, like it was both too fast and too tired to form coherent thoughts. He sank into the buzzing white noise and let his feet carry him.

He was passing a café when the thunder struck. The streets were sparse. People in dark coats and umbrella’s hurried by with heads down and their bags clutched close to their chest. They called taxis from the curbs, water rushing down the street-sides. An empty bench sat beneath a shop overhang. Harry walked over and sat down.

He watched the rain pour with muted sense of detachment. Thunder cracked occasionally and he thought he saw a flash of lightning once, but between the streetlights and hurried passersby he couldn’t be sure. The cold was starting to penetrate his bones. He tried to cast a warming charm, but nothing happened. He acknowledged his low magical reserves with a nonchalance made possible only by exhaustion. He stared blankly at the cars and busses and taxis. Time began to pass him by.

A bedraggled pigeon joined him, hopping around the sidewalk by his feet in search of food. “Sorry I don’t have anything.”

The pigeon pecked at a bakery wrapper and an old straw before taking flight. Harry leaned back against the wall behind him. The pouring rain was rather soothing. It pattered on the sidewalk and whizzed beneath car tires. It fell in loud, heavy drips from the store overhangs. Harry realized he’d closed his eyes. Looking around again, he watched the rain roll down the slope of the streets and rush towards the gutters. He imagined the rainwater flooding down into the tunnels, and the roar it’d make in the pipes. He imagined it slipping and sliding on years worth of grime until it landed with a thump on a pile of rat bones. He remembered the Chamber of Secrets and its catacomb of pipes and tunnels and the redheaded girl lying still on the ground.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It was still pouring. He felt like stone, completely frozen. He reached for a warming charm, and again came up empty. Slowly he reached his stiff fingers up to check his scarf. It had come loose, so he pulled it close around his neck and tucked it in to his jacket.

When the thunder next hit, it was right above him. The noise filled his ears and he didn’t need to count before he saw lightning. Rain pounded on the streets. Stiffly, Harry got to his feet. The buzz of caffeine had dulled to a faint tingle in his limbs. He turned towards the tower.

 ~~~

When he entered Avengers Tower, Harry contemplated taking the elevator. He didn’t have the magic for a simple warming charm; surely there was no reason to take the stairs. His body ached, be it from exertion or exhaustion or cold. Biting his lip, he pushed the call button.

It’s going to be fine, he reminded himself with Hermione-esque logic. Your magical reserves are too low to spontaneously wreck havoc.

That’s not even how magic works, mate. Ron would’ve rolled his eyes, gesturing to the clearly absent danger. There was no threat here to provoke accidental magic. Harry gripped the hand rail with white knuckles and tried to breathe evenly. White numbers ticked higher as the elevator shot upwards.

When he reached his floor, Harry found his breath shaky. Prying his hand from the rail, he stepped forward as the door slid open – only to hesitate on the threshold of the lounge.

The Avengers had gathered around the dining table, but that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks. Amongst them, stood an unfamiliar figure. Seated at the table was a large man with long blonde hair.  

Before Harry could slip away to his room, the elevator doors slipped shut with a quiet snick and the eyes of the table fell upon him.

“That was a long walk,” Tony said. Harry stared, uncertain what to say.

“Go,” Tony said with a small shooing motion. “Put on something dry. We’re having shawarma for dinner. You look like you need a good meal.”

Harry nodded, turning to his room on numb legs. In the bathroom he stripped mechanically, drying himself with a towel. Even the bandage around his chest was damp, but he figured he could change it later. Pulling on dry boxers and jeans, Harry reached for his other long sleeved shirt only to find the rain had soaked through the first few layers of his backpack as well.

Frantically he dug through his things until he found the poetry book. He let out a sigh of relief. The book lay in the middle of his pack, safely sandwiched by dry clothes with the photograph protected inside. At a more sedate pace, he sorted through his things and pulled out the damp items. As he turned to pile the damp clothing with the rain-soaked ones he’d already shed, something caught in the corner of his eye.

Turning, Harry found his closet door was open and the interior was filled end-to-end with various items of clothing. Harry stared. His first thought was that this might not be his room any more. Were they giving it to the new man dining with them? But no, certainly they would’ve mentioned something when he went to change. Warily, Harry pulled on a dry t-shirt and jeans from his pack and then gathered up his wet clothes. He stopped at the laundry to shove his clothes in a dryer before approaching the dining area. There was an empty seat between Steve and Clint, across from the new man. He sat down quietly. He would inquire about the clothes later.

“Harry, good of you to join us!” said Tony from the head of the table, smirking. “Meet the last of our little crew, Thor Odinson.” The man stood, reaching a hand across the table.

“Thor,” Tony continued. “This is Harry Potter.”

Harry stood, as well. He reached out and offered his own mangled hand to shake. Although it was impossible not to notice the difference between their hands – Harry’s thin and scarred, Thor’s muscular and unblemished – Thor did not stare.

“What brings you here to Tony Stark’s Tower, young Potter?” Thor asked, taking his seat. He had the loudest indoor voice Harry had ever heard and seemed completely oblivious to his own volume.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He paused for a moment, he thoughts gathering at an exhausted pace. “Mr. Stark offered me lodgings for winter.”

Thor turned to Tony, eyebrows raised.

“What young Potter’s left out,” Tony said, eyeing Harry sternly. “Is the unique energy he wields and the fact that while we were all fighting the Chitauri, he secured Grand Central Station and saved hundreds of lives.”

Thor looked back at Harry, a new appreciation in his eyes. “So you are the source of the energy they spoke of. I had duties in Asgard and did not learn what was discovered here. I am glad to see you have joined us.”

“Uh, not really joined…” Harry said. “Just lodgings… here.” Thor opened his mouth, but a glance from Tony had him thoughtfully pause. He nodded.

“Very well Harry Potter. My apologies.” He looked to the food before them and Harry’s empty plate. “But join us now! We shall feast and regal each other with out battle stories. I see you have many.”

Harry felt his stomach clench so hard he was nauseous.

“Thor, let’s lay off the battle stories for now, yeah?” Steve interjected. “In Midgard we often wait a while before sharing those tales.”

Thor looked surprised. “But surely you too welcome new friends with great tales and boastings?”

“Nah,” said Tony, surprisingly stepping in to help give Harry some space. “We wait at least until the second date for that.”

Thor still looked slightly bewildered as Clint passed Harry the platter of shawarma. He set a small serving on his plate before taking a curious bite.

“Is it also like this in your realm, young Potter?” Harry choked. Grabbing a napkin, he coughed on the food lodged in his throat. With watering eyes he reached for his drink.

“What do you mean?” he rasped.

“In your realm, do you also wait before you boast with friends?”

Clint watched curiously, and Natasha seemed to find a puzzle piece slipping into place. Harry meanwhile felt his whole body go cold. “I am from Earth,” he said, trying to appear unperturbed.

Thor frowned. “You are not of this realm,” he stated as if the fact were as plain as the table before him. “Why do you not claim your home realm?”

Harry stared. He could feel a drop of rainwater drip from his hair and slide down the back of his neck. His fingers turned white around his silverware as his pulse pounded in his ears. There was no way to avoid this.

He opened his mouth, before shutting it once again. What was he supposed to say?

They waited, every eye upon him – waiting for an answer, waiting for a lie, waiting for him to say anything.

“I – “ he took a breath. “It’s not - “ He looked around, struggling.

Thor tilted his head, “You know the name of your realm, yes?”

“Earth. I am from Earth,” he repeated. “Just – not this one.” His voice trailed off so quietly those beside him had to strain to hear him.

“Another Earth?” Clint asked.

“I – “ Harry ran a hand through his hair. His head pounded with fatigue. He closed his eyes, trying to find his words. “I don’t know why it happened,” he said finally. “We were… fighting. And something went wrong. I ended up here.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t believe there is any way back to my world.” A short silence followed his words.

“Another Earth?” Thor said finally. “Then you come from beyond the nine realms.” He looked apologetic. “I fear even Hiemdall could not take you there.”

Harry nodded, staring at his plate.

“Not from this Earth?” Tony said, apparently still processing that fact. “Where are you from?”

“Earth,” Harry said. “Just… a different one? I’ve been thinking of it as a different dimension, but who knows. It’s similar, but it was 2002 when I left, and 2018 when I arrived here. And, a community of people with my… energy lived in my world.”

“Others like you?”

Harry nodded. “A whole community. The teachers I told you about – I went to a school for people like me. But here, there is no one.”

“And the war?” Bruce asked carefully.

“May we eat first?” There was a general nod, and Harry looked away. It was time for an explanation, but he had no idea what he was supposed to say. If only he had more time – and more sleep – before he had to explain it.

~~~

When the dinner platters were clear and even Thor and Steve looked like they’d had enough to eat, Harry pushed the last of his dinner around his plate. He felt the eyes of the group slowly land back upon him. Harry let out a small sigh, and wiped his hands on his napkin. It was time to explain, but he wasn’t sure he was ready.

On the one hand, the Avengers had taken his powers very well so far. If JARVIS reported data from Harry’s times in the training room, no one had approached him on it. They did not treat him like something to be studied, but rather like someone to befriend. He felt… welcome in their home.

On the other hand, to talk plainly of magic and prophecy… It wasn’t likely that they would think him insane since it was Thor who revealed he was from another world, but Harry had no clue how they would react. Sitting within arms reach of some of the most dangerous people in the world was not how he wanted to broach a delicate topic.

Standing, Harry took his plate to the kitchen and began slowly scraping his left overs into a tupperware. They remained seated, seeming to realize he needed the space. Closing the fridge door, Harry turned to meet their eyes. He sighed. “You want to know about the war.”

They waited quietly, although Bruce nodded encouragingly. Thor looked slightly lost, but quite interested. Harry ran a hand through his almost-dry hair before rubbing the back of his neck. He would begin with the basics. “Few people had powers like mine. People like me – we kept ourselves hidden, and lots of people feared what would happen if other people knew about our powers.

“In Britain, people with powers were divided into three groups: the Ministry, and two secret organizations called the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters.” Harry kept his voice detached as if he were giving a history lecture or reading from a book. In some ways, being so exhausted made it easier to say. “It was kind of like the World Wars here. Our war had two parts. In the 70s a man called Lord Voldemort rose to power leading the Death Eaters. They wanted to purge impure people from our society – people who had powers but one or both of their parents didn’t. He thought people without powers were below us. In 1981, Lord Voldemort was defeated and many of his followers were put in prison.”

The Avengers didn’t need to know about the prophecy or his role in the war. He certainly wasn’t going to talk about that right now – not before he saw their reactions to the basic facts. He kept talking, looking at the dining table instead of meeting any of their eyes. His voice was calm and measured. “In 1995 Voldemort returned, gathered his followers, and started to regain power. He infiltrated the Ministry and it fell over the next two years. The Order of the Phoenix, which had disbanded after the First War ended, regrouped in 1995 as well and battled with Death Eaters. It was pretty much continual skirmishes over the next seven years. In 2002 we had a mission to destroy something that was keeping Voldemort alive. Things went wrong and I ended up here.” He looked away briefly, before concluding. “I do not know how, or if, the war ended.”

For a moment, they were all quiet. Harry lifted his chin and met their eyes.

“So you ended up in New York?” Clint asked. Harry nodded. “Would explain your lack of papers,” he mused.

“All of your friends, your family,” Steve said and Harry was suddenly reminded that he was not the only person who had arrived in a strange place completely alone.

“What could’ve caused that sort of massive transportation?” Tony mused, his brain already chewing on the new puzzle. Harry chose not to reply. He was not ready to tell them about his walk to death.

“Your powers,” said Natasha, eyes calculating once more. “Are they the same as they were in the other dimension?”

Harry shook his head. “They’re much weaker. I’ve sort of been trying things out.”

“In the training rooms?” Bruce asked.

Harry hesitated, but if Tony had been waiting for him outside he supposed the rest of the team probably knew too. And, being so sweaty after a ‘walk ‘had probably been a rather easy lie to see through as well. “Yeah. JARVIS said it was a pretty safe room? So even if things go wrong there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tony smirked. “That room can handle anything.” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Almost anything,” Tony corrected with a sulking frown.

“What’ve you been doing since you arrived in New York?” Natasha asked, ignoring Tony’s boasts completely.

“Odd jobs,” Harry said with an embarrassed shrug. “Been in and out of shelters. Haven’t really figured anything out yet.”

“Hard to get a job with no papers,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, I was dumped here in the middle of a battle. Scared the shit out of a doctor at the community health center.” He laughed shortly. “Didn’t know it was another dimension or whatnot, so I couldn’t risk going to a hospital.   Had two galleons on me and practically nothing else. Not the easiest move.”

“Galleons?” Bruce asked.

“Foreign currency.” Harry stretched his shoulders, flinching slightly as his wound stretched too. He tried to stifle a yawn.

“It’s getting late,” Bruce remarked, picking up his plate and heading towards the sink. Harry couldn’t help a small smile. Bruce and Steve seemed to just know when he needed the heavy conversation to end. He knew this wouldn’t be the last of the discussion, but he was grateful for the reprieve none the less.

“Uh uh,” interjected Steve. “It’s Tony’s turn tonight. Don’t let him weasel his way out of doing the dishes again.”

“Hey!” Tony complained, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Who is paying for your rooms?”

“Fury,” Natasha remarked, smirking as she set her plate in front of Tony. Harry smiled.

“I’m gonna turn in for the night,” he told Bruce, who was setting his dishes down on the counter. Bruce nodded, and Harry slipped away. He hoped for a deep, dreamless sleep before the follow up questions that were sure to come.

~~~

Half an hour later found the Avengers two stories higher, gathered around a large table. Tony’s front room was not their typical meeting area, but with Harry staying in the guest room they couldn’t use the lounge.

“This isn’t just a social visit,” Clint stated. Thor shook his head.

“I come bearing news. I have traveled through the lands of Asgard and the ice of Jotunheim in search of Fenrir, son of Loki. I have heard nothing but a rumor.” Thor placed his hammer upon the table and leaned forward heavily. “I fear he may be headed to Midgard.”

“Loki has a son?” Clint’s gaze was furious.

“Aye,” Thor said with a sigh. “My brother Loki has several children, three of which are jotuns. Hel and Jormungand are content within their homes, but Fenrir has wrecked havoc in every land he has lived. The great swordsman Tyr once bound him, but he has since escaped. We do not yet know how.”

Steve crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “What makes you so sure he is coming here?”

“I am not certain,” Thor said. “It is but a rumor, yet…” he paused, before worriedly reaching a hand up to stroke his beard. “My brother surely told his children the many stories of the realms. I fear his wolf-son may seek the same power and freedom in your realm that Loki did so recently.”

“More aliens. That’ll be easy.” Tony leaned back on the hind legs of his chair. “JARVIS make note that we’re going to need more scotch.”

“We need a plan,” Steve said, taking a tone of command. “We’ve dealt with Loki before, there are some things we can prepare for.”

“We need to find out what Fenrir wants from Earth,” Bruce added. “There is some research I can do.”

“Fury will need to be informed,” Natasha said. The others nodded. “And met with as soon as possible. If this Asguardian –“

“Jotun,” Thor interrupted.

“If this Jotun is coming to Earth, it’ll take more than just the Avengers to stop him.”

Tony suddenly looked thoughtful. He brought up a holograph on the table in front of him. “Hey, Thor. Does this symbol mean anything to you?”

He rotated the projection. Harry’s image stared blankly off to the side, visible from the waist up. It was a frozen image of the night before; his shirt was off and he was holding the bloody t-shirt clenched in one hand. Thor looked startled for a moment, recognizing the man he’d met at dinner.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “He carved Algiz into his own chest?”

“Yes,” Steve replied.

“What does it mean?” Natasha leaned forward, eager to learn more about the closed-off young man.

“It means,” Thor replied, his voice full of respect. “Young Potter is both truly brave, and truly reckless.” The table was quiet for a moment, waiting for Thor to elaborate. He obliged. “Runes can be powered by many things, but to be carved into the flesh is a potent sacrifice. If young Potter had lost control, Algiz would have taken everything – killing him to protect what he was protecting.”

“Grand Central Station,” Clint provided. Thor nodded.

“The seidr use runes for many things and in many ways, but I have only known a few in all my centuries who have carved them into the flesh. And fewer have survived.” They looked at Harry again, a new respect in their eyes.

“Those sort of runes – you say they are powerful,” Tony continued. Steve had a feeling he knew where he was headed. “Could Harry be useful in defeating Fenrir?”

“He’s a kid,” Steve exclaimed.

“We haven’t even seen if he can fight,” interjected Natasha.

Tony ignored them and turned to Thor. “Could he be of use?”

“It is possible,” Thor replied. “I do not know the runes like my father does.”

“Then it’s decided,” Tony declared. “I’m not saying he should be involved,” he explained, raising a hand before the others could interrupt again. “I was thinking something a bit more subtle. We don’t know if he will be of any use. We don’t even know what Fenrir wants, or if he is coming here for sure. However…”

“We need to know what Harry is capable of,” Natasha declared, completing his sentence. Steve nodded slowly; he could see the wisdom in that.

“He has been opening up more lately,” Steve admitted. “But it is hard for him to talk about his war.”

“We will need to encourage him to open up quite a bit more and quite a bit faster.” Natasha turned to Steve and Bruce. “You share his floor, and he seems most comfortable with you right now.”

“I wont lie to him,” Steve quickly objected.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t expect you to, Spangles.”

“Just try to be available more – create situations where things are likely to come up.” Natasha advised. “Ask questions, hell offer information about your own life and he will likely feel compelled to return the gesture.” Bruce was nodding.

“If he ends up being useful, we’re going to fill him in anyways.” Clint added. “And if what happened during the Chitauri’s attack was anything to go by, we will probably want him in some protective manner if he is able to repeat that rune thing. We’re not saying to betray his trust, Cap, just… befriend him a bit more purposefully.”

Steve looked hesitant, but he nodded once.

“We need to gather information about Fenrir and Loki’s other children,” Tony said, quickly creating a new file on his private server. “And we will all need to sit down with you Thor and hear it from you too.”

“I can visit the library,” Bruce suggested.

“Invite Harry,” Natasha advised.   “See what a small trip might stir up in discussion.” Bruce nodded.

“And I will train.” Steve declared. “Clint, Natasha, up to a full morning?” Clint smiled.

“Been a few days,” he said. “We need to get you back in shape.”

“I must return to Asgard,” said Thor. “I will return as soon as I have word. Speak to Fury and begin to prepare. If Fenrir does come, he brings destruction like nothing you have seen.”

~~~

Just below them, in the small guest bedroom, Harry had fallen into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning, a grimace pinched his face and his legs tangled in the sheets. Every once in a while, a small keening sound issued from his throat.

He was in Diagon Alley. No one else was in sight. Along side him, the shop fronts stood singed and broken. Broken glass and rubble filled the street. A lingering scent of decay hung heavy in the air as he passed what was once the Magical Menagerie pet shop. A buzzard startled from its meal, perching on what remained of the roof and waiting for him to pass.

Figures began to emerge from the rubble. A woman limped one-legged through the empty window of Flourish and Blotts. A small child sat up from where he had been sprawled with empty eyes. A man reached out, his lower body pinned beneath a large slab of stone. “You were late,” he rasped.

“Where were you?” cried another woman, stumbling down the street with blood matting her short hair.

The ghost of a small child hovered amongst the rubble. “Mom?” he whimpered. “Mom?"

Harry began to run. The dead and wounded began to multiply. He had to step around the corpses littering the street. They called out as he ran. “Why didn’t you help us? Why didn’t you save us?”

As he sprinted towards Gringotts, two final figures stopped him in his tracks. Standing atop the marble stairs stood Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnegan. Trembling, he felt his knees give out beneath him.

“We needed you,” Lavender said quietly. “We needed you to protect us.”

Harry reached towards his chest, only to find it unmarked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Why didn’t you come?” Seamus asked, confusion and hurt etched upon his face.

“I didn’t know,” Harry whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“Where were you?”

Harry awoke disoriented, his chest tight. He lay in bed, sheets tangled about his legs and his clothes damp with sweat. Disentangling himself, he walked towards the bathroom.

Robotically Harry turned on the shower and stripped. Beneath the water, he turned the heat all the way up and turned his back to the spray. It burned, turning the back of his bandage in to a painfully hot compress. Harry clenched his hands in his hair. The images of the alleyway kept playing through his mind. They had arrived too late – the carnage was over. Bodies littered the street – broken, soulless, dying, dead. Harry tugged repetitively at his hair trying to focus on the pain of his body instead of the ache in his heart. It was like he couldn’t breath. The steam of the shower was sticking in his throat, as if he was swallowing the air instead of breathing it. Sinking to his knees, he curled up at the bottom of the shower and put his head in his hands.

He could still smell it – the stench of blood and death under a sweltering August sun. His breaths came in harsh pants and stars flashed before his eyes. The children he’d seen – searching through the rubble for anyone left alive… he’d shoved aside a shattered door, struggling inside the apothecary. Toxic fumes filled the air; shattered glass and fallen vials spilling potion ingredients across the room. A woman was slumped in the back corner, blood pooled around her severed arm. An infant was clutching at her breast. She had no pulse. Harry pried the child from her mother’s body, noticing the babe's wheezing breaths. Harry struggled back into the fresh air of the street, but the child had gone still. In the sunlight, he could see the blue of her tiny fingers and face. He felt for a pulse. He held the child to his chest, staring blankly ahead of him.

Slowly, Harry became aware of a voice speaking quietly in the room. “You are safe, Mr. Potter. You are with the muggles. It is 2020. You are okay. You are safe. You are with the muggles. It is 2020, and you are okay.” Harry tried to steady his breathing. He could feel the ache of the boiling water blasting against his shoulders. He took deep breaths, grounding himself in the hard tile floors beneath his knees and the feel of his fingers pulling at his hair.

“I’m with the muggles. It’s 2020. It’s in the past,” he panted. “It’s the past.”

Slowly, he reached behind himself and lowered the temperature of the water. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Potter?” JARVIS asked, ceasing his repetition of Harry’s mantra.

“I will be,” he said. Getting to his feet, Harry reached for the edge of his bandage and began to unwind the sodden gauze. Dropping it to the shower floor, he gently peeled the gauze pads from his chest. He didn’t look at the rune. Blankly, he stared at the shower wall and picked up the peppermint body wash. He scrubbed his hair and body, flinching as the peppermint stung his chest wound. He rinsed off then stood with his face beneath the spray. When the water passed both ears it almost seemed to drown out his thoughts.

Turning off the water, he toweled off. Glancing vaguely at the gauze pads and antibiotic ointment he’d set on the bathroom counter, he walked back to the bedroom. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt without bothering to dress the wound. It stung a bit as the cotton shirt rubbed against the open skin. You should hurt.

He walked down the hall. The lounge was empty and dark. He sat in the corner with his back to the room. He didn’t care if he was attacked right then. They hadn’t been able to defend themselves. They hadn’t been prepared. He stared blankly out at the night sky. He could see stars for the first time since arriving in the tower. His eyes fell upon the Dog Star.

Harry was still sitting there, staring at the sky, when Bruce turned on the kitchen light three hours later.

“Woah, Harry, didn’t see you there!” Bruce laughed, pulling the coffee beans from the cupboard. Harry turned. He watched Bruce meet his eyes, but he felt a thousand miles away.

“You okay there, Harry?” Bruce asked, setting the coffee down. Harry nodded. He didn’t really feel anything at all. Bruce fiddled with the coffee maker. Harry gazed at him, feeling rather hollow. Vaguely, he knew he ought to snap out of it. Every once in a while he had moods like this. Ron used to sit beside him in the quiet. Hermione would give him a gentle hug and pull him over until he leaned against her and rested his head upon her shoulder.

He was alone now though and he needed to snap out of it. On the streets sometimes he’d sat for an entire day with no motivation or reason to move. He had trudged through entire weeks like that, but he couldn’t let that happen here. Harry sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. He walked to the kitchen counter and sat on a barstool. Bruce offered him a mug, and he took it silently.

“Tea or coffee?” Harry shrugged. Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee before taking Harry’s mug. “Room for cream?” he asked. Harry shook his head. Quietly he took the offered mug and wrapped his fingers around the heating ceramic. The mug slowly became hot beneath his fingers. He clenched them a bit tighter, holding on to the pain. He needed to wake up.

“I’m planning on heading to the library today.” Bruce spoke conversationally, as if Harry’s silence was completely normal. “I realized last night there are some books I need that we don’t have yet. Have you spent much time in the local library?

Harry nodded. He’d spent many days taking advantage of the warmth and safety of a few different New York libraries, perusing old newspapers and catching up on the times.

“If you’d like, I’d enjoy some company,” Bruce offered. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been, so you may know your way around better than I.”

Harry shrugged; he had little better to do.

“What shall we make for breakfast today? Something fancy, or shall we leave them to their cereal and pop tarts.”

“Pop tarts?” Harry asked, his voice rough. He wasn’t sure he knew what those were.

Bruce laughed. “Thor adores them. It is really quite amusing.”

Harry nodded. He’d probably see ‘pop tarts’ soon then.

“What do you say, eggs and hashbrowns?” Harry shrugged. “Want to join or watch?” Bruce asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. Harry shrugged again. It felt like the words were stuck somewhere in his chest. He could tell Bruce knew he wasn’t doing great. “Alright, you enjoy that coffee. Let’s see… you’re a bit more of a cook than I, but I think I’ve got these pretty well figured out.” He set a bag of potatoes on the counter. Harry offered his hand. Bruce handed him a cutting board and a vegetable peeler while pulling another out for himself. “Let’s get these peeled and shredded, shall we?”

They worked in relative silence for a while, before Bruce looked back at Harry. “Mind some music?” Harry shook his head. “JARVIS, care to turn on a radio?”

“My pleasure, Dr. Banner. Do you have a genre preference this morning?”

“I don’t care. You Harry?” Harry shook his head. “Surprise us JARVIS.”

“As you wish, Dr. Banner.” A guitar filled the room, followed by a lilting fiddle and a southern drawl.

“Bet you didn’t have this growing up,” Bruce said with a chuckle.

Harry shook his head, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

~~~

That was how Steve found them, fixing hash browns in a frying pan, listening to the sound of a country radio. Steve raised an eyebrow. “Never pegged you for country music, Bruce.”

Harry smiled, having slowly come out of the haze with Bruce’s company. “I think JARVIS wanted to introduce me to classic American tunes.”

Steve looked unimpressed. “Really? Well I can think of a few things more ‘classic’ than Dierks Bentley.”

The song changed mid-word, and a gravely voice called out above a strumming guitar. Bruce chuckled. “Can’t argue with Johnny Cash.”

Steve gave a small huff as he took a seat next to Harry. Bruce put the kettle on for him. He was just about to say something else, when the elevator opened and Tony strode out, followed much more sedately by Clint and Natasha.

“Right, breakfast. Got lots to do today folks,” Tony said, striding over to the coffee machine. Harry was a bit startled by the unusual rush, but didn’t comment. None of the others appeared surprised in the least. “Thor wont be joining us this morning,” Tony announced.

Harry brought the hashbrowns over to the table, followed by Bruce with the scrambled eggs. Harry and the Avengers tucked into their meal with minimal discussion. Within no time, Clint and Natasha were cleaning their plates, and Steve mentioned joining them in the training rooms. Tony hurried off to his lab, and Bruce promised to join him shortly with books. Harry felt out of place – clearly something had come up. He did not ask. Certainly if it was something he should know, they would’ve told him.

As he helped Bruce wash the last of the dishes, he told him quietly, “If you guys need me out of the way sometimes, just let me know, okay? I can make myself scarce.”

Bruce looked a bit surprised for a moment, perhaps not realizing Harry would catch on. Then he nodded. “Some stuff’s come up,” he admitted vaguely. “I appreciate your offer.”

“I get it,” Harry said. “Sometimes the fewer folk who know, the safer everyone else is.”

Bruce nodded, wondering once not for the first time what sort of role Harry had played in his war.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, making Bruce look up in surprise. “I forgot to ask Tony!”

“About what?”

“These clothes,” Harry explained. “They showed up in my room and I don’t know what to do with them. I think someone might’ve put them in the wrong place?”

Bruce paused for a moment, and then began laughing. Harry stared at him, slightly affronted. “Harry!” Bruce exclaimed. “Those clothes are for you!”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s Tony. As soon as he noticed you were borrowing clothes of course he’d go out and buy you a new wardrobe.”

“But… how will I pay him back?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, setting the last of the dishes back into the cupboard. “It’s Tony. He has so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it. This sort of thing – it’s just how he is.” Harry felt a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of having received such an unexpected, and expensive, gift.

“You should know,” Bruce continued, heading towards his rooms. “There was a time Pepper said he couldn’t put an ice rink in his house. Three weeks later there was an ice rink in his Malibu home. Money and Tony… he just doesn’t think twice.” He glanced at Harry who was still looking rather worried.

“Don’t stress it kid,” Bruce advised. “Thank him, and roll with it. He’ll probably brush it off as nothing. It’s just him. Why don’t you go get anything you need and meet me in ten? We’ll go check out the library, ‘kay?”

Harry nodded, still thinking. Back in his room he gazed at the closet of new clothes. They were his size. Harry sighed. Tony Stark was something else.

~~~

The library they went to was a familiar place. Dark wood bookshelves lined the walls and broad windows lit open space. Slipping off his gloves, Harry followed Bruce curiously as he made his way through the shelves. Though he may not have visited recently, the man clearly knew where he was headed and what he was looking for. He paused when he came to the world mythology section. Harry looked curiously at the texts. He had visited this library many times, but mythology was never something he’d had much interest in. Perusing the shelves, Harry was pulling down a book with a totem pole printed on its spine, when he caught a glimpse of the cover of Bruce’s book. Harry stared.

There, on the cover, was a circle of runes. Harry set back his book, walking over curiously. He examined the shelf before them. Nordic Myths and Legends read one book. Tales of the Northern Lands; Vikings through the Ages; The Rise and Fall of the Norse Gods; Nordic Lore… Harry reached slowly for a book with a title written in runes: The Elder Futhark Explained.

“Something catch your eye?” Bruce asked. There was an undercurrent to his tone that Harry didn’t recognize. He didn’t respond. Flipping open the book, he skimmed through the table of contents. A History of the Runes; Freyr’s Aett; Hiemdall’s Aett; Tyr’s Aett; Casting the Runes; Using the Runes; Tailsmans and Bind Runes… Harry flipped to the introduction hesitant and excited all at once. Did wizarding books exist in this word? He could feel Bruce watching him.

“Is it - ” Bruce glanced around the empty shelves before continuing quietly, “the same as yours?”

Harry knew exactly what he was referring to, and his hand rose unbidden to touch his chest where his rune itched against the fabric of his shirt. He nodded sharply.

“Do you know much about norse mythology?” Bruce asked, opening his book again as they spoke.

“Some,” Harry replied. “Mostly just runes. Why?”

“I recently got a new puzzle from Tony,” Bruce explained. “And I am determined to win.” He smirked. “I’m looking for some books to help me out, but I figure if you already know it, well… why not use all my resources?”

Harry laughed at the sly look in Bruce’s eye. “Makes sense to me,” he said. “What, exactly, are you looking for?”

Bruce put back his book and contemplated the shelves again as he spoke. “I want information on Loki’s children, but I don’t know much about them at all.”

Harry turned to the shelves as well. “Hmmm. The best sources are the original ones I think,” he said, pulling down translations of the Prose and Poetic Eddas. “If you can find it in Old Norse that’s even better – more exact than a translation. There are other original sources, but that’s where I’d start.”

Bruce took the offered books, piling them in his arms. “You read Old Norse?”

Harry shrugged. “Pretty well by now, but I still read with a dictionary at my side.”

Bruce looked mildly impressed. “How’d you learn that?”

“Old Norse was part of curriculum. I didn’t study it in school, but when we needed to learn runes, a friend helped me work through her books.”

Bruce nodded, tactfully not pushing for any more information than he provided. “Anything else you’d recommend?”

Harry scanned the shelves. “Not that’s jumping out at me… There are a few things that might be useful… I’d love to get my hands on the Huld Manuscript, but things like that probably wouldn’t be in a public library like this.” Bruce looked thoughtful.

“Well, I’ll check these out. Thanks for the recommendations. I didn’t have a clue where to start.” Harry smiled, fishing his library card out of his backpack. Since runic magic clearly worked here, he was excited at the prospect of seeing what he could do now that he had the poems to reference again.

~~~

When Bruce joined Tony in the lab, he found the man surrounded by several holographic screens, an open Stark Pad and a phone. “How was the kid?” he asked without looking up from his work.

“Better than expected,” Bruce replied, clearing a spot on a table to toss down his books. “Apparently, he reads Old Norse and possibly some other languages.”

“Hmm.” Tony closed a screen and opened two more.

“As in, young Harry can read the sources, in the original language.”

Tony looked up at that, letting out a short whistle. “Damn.” He walked over to glance at Bruce’s books.

“Think those’ll give us some answers?” He eyed the texts suspiciously. “JARVIS could’ve accessed those.”

“True, the Eddas are online, but JARVIS wouldn’t have taken Harry to the library, and therefore wouldn’t have learned he studied Old Norse in school, nor would he have seen the way Harry looked at that book on ancient runes.” Bruce met Tony’s eye. “The kid knows this stuff.”

“And during this enlightening discussion, Harry didn’t start realizing this has to do with Mister Hammer man and his troublesome brother?”

“I told him you’d given me a puzzle – accurate enough. Played it off as friendly rivalries. If you can hold up your end of it…”

Tony grinned a bit too enthusiastically. “A game of wits, you say?”

~~~

It was lunchtime. Bruce had disappeared into the labs after they returned from the library, and Harry was alone on the floor, staring at the refrigerator. He was extraordinarily hungry – which was strange, since he hadn’t had much of an appetite since… a long time. Harry wasn’t sure when he’d last been so hungry, and it was slightly disconcerting.

Opening the fridge he peered inside. Seeing they had all the fixings for a sandwich, he began to pull out the odds and ends he would need. As he contemplated a third type of meat, Harry decided he was probably shopping with his eyes instead of his stomach, and closed the door.

Prepping the sandwich, Harry felt steadily hungrier. Adding a finishing dollop of mustard, Harry set it on his plate and considered putting everything away. His stomach gave an unusually vigorous twinge of hunger and Harry decided that the clean up could wait a few minutes.

Standing behind the counter, Harry devoured his meal. Part of him expected to feel full half way through. That was not the case; as he finished his last bite, he had the strangest urge to lick his fingers. And as he washed up and put away the food supplies, he actually considered making another sandwich. He promptly squished the thought, already concerned that he might feel nauseous any moment now.

But when things were put away and he fixed himself a cup of peppermint tea, he realized he was not nauseous. He didn’t feel any discomfort at all. Eating the largest meal in weeks, Harry didn’t even quite feel full yet. Harry leaned his elbows on the counter, and frowned.

Why was he so hungry?

Now that he thought of it, he’d finished all of his breakfast too: an entire plate of hashbrowns and eggs. He hadn’t paid it much thought, he’d been so focused on the Avengers and their unusual rush, but he had even finished at the same pace that they did. Harry’s frown deepened.

Well, no matter. He would simply take more notice of his eating for a while and see if it was anything more than a fluke. He knew he typically ate light, so perhaps things were just catching up with him.

Picking up his library book, Harry headed for his familiar table by the windows and settled in with his tea. He was curious how this muggle book about ancient runes would compare with wizarding texts. They both used the same runic poems, but at first glance seemed rather different.

Cracking the book open to the introduction, he began again from the start, reading at a much more leisurely pace than he had at the library and idly wishing he had something to take notes with. The idea of using runes was incredibly appealing. Runes allowed the caster to focus and amplify their magic. They could also act similar to wards, allowing the caster to anchor the magic to a place or object. The protective uses of runes… well, after the thoughts that had consumed him that morning, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself into researching the potential uses of runes in this world.

“Uh, JARVIS?” he asked, going out on a limb.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“There doesn’t happen to be writing paper around somewhere? I was hoping to take some notes…”

“There are no communal writing supplies on this floor.” JARVIS replied. “Shall I request some be brought to you?”

“Oh no, no. I’m fine JARVIS. Thanks.”

“Very well, Mr. Potter."

Steve always seemed to have something to draw or write with. Maybe he could ask him where to get paper. Harry turned back to his book. He’d been thinking about exploring protego in the training room next. Before he’d arrived here, he and Ron had been considering how a bindrune might be used like a portable protego for muggles. With that in mind, he returned to his book. He had the feeling he would be reading it multiple times.

That was how Steve found him later that afternoon. A very sweaty Steve stepped out of the elevator grinning. It had been a fun and challenging training session. Glimpsing Harry across the room, he called out a greeting but received no response. Harry was hunched over something at his table by the window. Walking over, Steve found Harry staring deeply at a book, thumb between his teeth and a furrow in his brow. “Hey Harry,” Steve tried again, making sure he wasn’t in the kid’s blind spot.

Harry jumped, glancing over at Steve. “Hey.”

“I’m going to go get cleaned up, just wanted to let you know I was on the floor now.”

Harry nodded, his eyes slipping back to his book. Steve could see a short segment of poetry amongst the prose, and a few lines of a foreign language. Before he could turn to leave, Harry appeared to remember something.

“Oh, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know if there’s any paper I could borrow? I was hoping to take some notes.”

Steve nodded, “Sure. I reckon I have a blank notebook tucked away in my room somewhere – if not, I can grab you one easily enough.”

“Thanks.”

Steve smiled. It was neat to see another side of the young man. He’d been reading the poetry book repeatedly, but often appeared more distracted than anything. Observing him in such a focused state, he reminded him of Tony more than anything – blocking out his surroundings and focusing narrowly on the research at hand. Steve wondered what said research was. He knew Bruce planned to take Harry to the library when they met with Thor last night, but he hadn’t expected Harry to have his own research as well. Curious, Steve retreated to shower and change, leaving Harry to his work.

When Steve next appeared, notebook and pencil in hand, Harry was tapping the table with a distant look in his eyes. “Sól ... er skýja skjöldr,” he muttered. “Sky shield. Shield.” He clicked his tongue in thought. “If multiplied, it might reverse Nyd … gif hi his hlystaþ æror …”

When Steve set the notebook down on the table Harry almost jumped out of his chair. “Steve!” he said, eyes wide.

“Bit lost in thought?”

Harry took a breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I found a notebook for you.” Steve gestured towards said spiral.

“Thanks.” Harry picked it up, flipping it open and setting it beside his book.

“What’re you working on, anyways?” asked Steve, taking the seat across from Harry. Seeing Steve apparently settle in for conversation, Harry shut his book and showed him.

“Bruce and I went to the library today,” he divulged. “I’d never thought to go to the mythology section before, but I found this!” Harry handed the book to Steve, who took it curiously.

“What’s it about?” he asked, though looking at the runic title and knowing what Bruce and the team were preparing for he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Ancient runes. I never thought there’d be books like that here!” Harry exclaimed. “I mean, it’s different, but…” Harry shrugged, not seeming all that bothered by whatever differences he noticed between the dimensions. “It’s got the same runic poems, so it’s absolutely great.”

“Are these runes like what you used with the Chitauri?” Steve asked. Although he had seen the footage of Harry’s rune being patched up by Bruce, Steve referred back to the official discussion they’d had.

Harry nodded and a serious air fell over the two. “That’s part of it. The stuff with the Beasts was… more extreme than the usual stuff. But, since I know runes work here, I want to explore what else I can do with them.   I learned in a rather… sporadic way so I have all these gaps, but there are a ton of possibilities when it comes to runes. My friends’ brother was absolutely brilliant. The things he and Hermione could come up with…” Harry smiled fondly.

“I am glad to hear you found this book then.”

“Yeah, me too.” Harry grinned. “And thanks for the notebook. It helps to see things written out.”

Steve nodded. “You planning to read for the rest of the day?”

Harry paused, thinking. “I’m not sure… I was thinking to go back to that room again. Keep trying new stuff.”

“The room might get a bit more use in the next few weeks.”

“Makes sense.” Steve couldn’t help the twitch of an eyebrow at how casually Harry said that. Harry caught his expression. “Something came up, right?” Harry clarified. “There’s been a new sense of purpose today.” Steve had to admit the kid was perceptive. “If it were me, I’d be training and making plans. Don’t let me get in your way, okay? Like I told Bruce, just let me know when you need me to make myself sparse for a while.”

Steve looked far less reassured than Bruce had. Harry contemplated his reaction. He didn’t think the soldier was paranoid enough to think he was an enemy. Everything about the man so far had been caring and kind – not wary and distant. “I can tell you’re… hesitant,” Harry ventured. “But I don’t think I understand why.”

Steve clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “You have fought in a war,” Steve said, his face serious. “You have experience in battles. The last time conflict came to New York, you got involved.”

Harry pursed his lips, guessing where this was headed.

“If conflict comes again, would you truly stay out of the way?”

Harry let out a huff of breath. “I’ve fought. I did my duty.” Even to his ears, those words sounded wrong. “Hell, I gave my life for my people. This is not my world. These are not my people.” Why did the words feel sour on his tongue? “I am done fighting.”

He could almost hear Ron scoff at that. Even if you saw people in danger? Even if people were dying? Come on mate, you know yourself better than that.

Steve took a different approach. “Then why are you training?”

Harry paused. He could’ve bluffed his way through with Ron, but he felt a strange honesty in response to Steve’s question: Because I need to know I can protect them. Instead of saying that, he said nothing. Steve seemed to take his silence as answer enough.

“You’ve already risked your life once,” Steve said. “I’m not saying I’m not grateful, or that it wasn’t the right thing to do,” he added quickly. “I’m just pointing it out – if you thought people were in danger, would you really do nothing?”

Harry glared – not angry with Steve, but angry with himself, angry at feeling so confused. He never wanted to see battle again, but could he really stay away? The first time the opportunity arose in this world, he’d jumped right in without a plan and without hesitation. Just like he always had.

Steve stood up. “So keep training.”

He went to his room, leaving Harry sitting by the window with those unexpected words ringing through his head.

~~~

Harry did not rush off to training though. He sat for a moment with his books and new journal, before realizing he was hungry again. Fixing himself another sandwich and a fresh cup of tea, Harry brought his books to the dining table with him. He had a theory about creating a bindrune with Sowulo and Naudiz. If the rune Sowulo had been referred to as shield-like, and was such a positive rune… he jotted messy sketches along the corner of his notes. Potentially, he could twist the emphasis of Naudiz from being one of hardship, to one of growing through hardship. Need constricts the heart, but can bring help and healing if heeded in time.  If the positive and supportive emphasis of Sowulo the nemesis of ice could put Naudiz’s focus on help and healing… he struck a line beneath his idea: an absorbing or reflective shield - turn negatives (threats) into positives (power or defense).

It was an exciting idea, but it was complicated. A rune like Naudiz was not positive on its own, and Sowulo wasn’t particularly defensive. However, runes like Algiz were so defensive they were violent (grimly wounding; it burns the blood of those who would lay hands upon it). That was too risky to use beside an already-negative rune like Naudiz. Harry frowned, crossing out yet another sketch. Balancing the runes properly would take a great deal of time and effort. It was not a pairing he knew from before, so he was working from scratch, though he was quite certain it would work – if he could figure it out.

Harry was a few pages into his journal - and no closer to a workable rune – when the Avengers began arriving for dinner. Harry had glanced up when Natasha arrived, but since she was content to sit by the kitchen counter, he was content to continue thinking. It wasn’t until Bruce sat down across from him that he set down his pencil and closed his books.

“It looks like your afternoon has been productive,” Bruce commented.

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me to the library,” Harry replied, closing his journal. He realized he had really spread out around the table – he hadn’t even remembered to pause and put away his sandwich plate. “Any luck on your readings?”

“Some.” Bruce shrugged. “I’d welcome your thoughts if you want to chat more some time.”

“Alright.” Harry stood. “Know what’s for dinner?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said with a smile. “Tony mentioned wanting onion rings this morning, but you never know with him.”

Harry just shook his head, heading towards his room. He needed to speak with Tony and thank him for his clothes. They had been tasteful – plain shirts and jeans like he preferred, but of high quality fabrics and just his size. He wondered how the man had managed that, but decided not to ask. He also decided not to think too much on the undergarments that had shown up in the closet drawer next to a few dozen new socks.

Setting his books on his desk, Harry glanced at the backpack he’d left sitting by his bed. He no longer felt like he needed to carry it around the tower with him. He supposed that was a good sign. He was growing fond of the others. As sudden and surprising as meeting them had been, he was glad that it had happened. He still wasn’t entirely certain he knew why they’d invited him to stay at their tower of all places, but Steve and Tony had now both alluded to making use of his talents. Harry wasn’t sure what he thought of that, so perhaps it was for the best they had been vague. He was sick of fighting, but he was also realizing he still wanted to be ready to defend.

Setting those thoughts aside, Harry rejoined the Avengers in the lounge. Tony had arrived while he was in his room, bringing with him a rather large quantity of burgers and fries. Harry joined them at the table and eagerly took a burger. For some reason, he was still hungry. Bruce gave him a rather approving look as he tucked into his plate. Whether it was hunger or true preference, he felt that a hamburger and onion rings might be one of his favorite meals.

Deciding to try a few fries, he gestured to Steve. “Could you pass me the ketchup?”

But before Steve could move, the ketchup bottle had soared into Harry’s outstretched hand. The table stopped talking, and a puzzle piece finally connected in Harry’s mind. Hermione had read it to him in the midst of a particularly harsh scolding: provide hearty meals every two to four hours until thirty six hours have passed or such time as their core has been restored. Harry stared at the bottle in his hands.

“A bit impatient are we?” Tony drawled. Harry looked up to find every eye on him. He smiled sheepishly.

“I guess I’ve been hungry today. Might’ve over done it earlier.”

“Training?” Clint asked.

“Just figuring things out,” Harry shrugged. “I haven’t really had the space to before.”

“Worked up an appetite finally?” Steve reached for an onion ring as they talked.

Harry laughed. “I guess. Don’t know how I forgot. Last time I overdid it, Hermione near about killed me herself. Lecture of the century – she even outdid Mrs. Weasley feeding me that week.”

“So using your energy requires you to eat more than the meager amounts you typically consume?” Natasha summarized looking entirely unimpressed.

“Sometimes.” Harry shrugged. “Without knowing how things work here, it’s possible it requires more food than before.” Harry frowned at that idea. In the wizarding world, magic was drawn primarily from the individual’s core, but the body was also constantly absorbing ambient magic from the world around it.   Only by using an extraordinary amount of magic did one’s magical core become depleted. If that wasn’t the case here though, and magic was entirely based in Harry’s own core it could explain why it was so exhausting to use intermediate or advanced spells.

“Well, eat up kid.” Clint said, passing him another burger. The unstated implications of the comment surprised Harry. Was that yet another vague suggestion that his powers might be of use to them? Harry took the offered burger and added it to his plate.

In the end, dinner was as quick a meal as breakfast had been. Soon Tony was standing, taking his plate to the kitchen. “I’m gonna head back to the lab.” He glanced at Bruce, who rose as well.

“I need to head out tonight,” Natasha said, finishing the last of her drink.

Clint turned to Steve. “Up to more?” There was look in his eye that spoke to an intense competition resuming in the gyms below.

Steve smirked. “Are you?”

“I’ll do dishes,” Harry offered. It was testament to the intensity of their new focus that no one offered even the emptiest words of protest. Harry finished his burger as he watched them disperse.

He had to admit, part of him was growing curious about whatever it was that had grabbed their attention so thoroughly. Harry shook his head, taking his plates to the sink. This was not his world and it was not his battle. Whatever was going on, he was going to stay clear of it. He’d done his share of fighting. If he had a second life, he was not going to spend it at war.

With that in mind, Harry set to washing the dishes. He was going to spend his evening ignoring any mild curiosity he might have towards the Avenger’s current work and doing nothing at all pertaining to fighting. He wasn’t going to think about fighting or defense at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five:

Harry was in a library. Sunlight filtered through the windows and the gentle whispering of patrons filled the air. Hermione leaned over, reaching across him for a different tome. “Have you found anything on bindrunes yet?” she asked, flipping open to the index.

“Just an idea,” he said, looking at the spiral open in front of him. “I haven’t figured out how to balance them yet.”

“Well, you better hurry.”

Harry glanced at her. “Why?”

She reached for another book, setting it atop the first and appearing every bit as intense as when she was studying for her OWLs or trying to reverse the curse on Ron’s leg. “You’re running out of time.”

“Time?” Harry was confused. He set down his pencil, but she never once paused. Her fingers drifted down the page as her eyes skimmed quickly back and forth.

“They’re coming,” she muttered.

“What -?”

A shadow fell across the room. The large windows had gone dark, as if something had suddenly covered the sun. Hermione muttered lumos and kept reading.

“Hermione…” he said, rising to his feet. “We should go.”

“Not now, Harry.”

“Hermione…” He shifted into a wary stance, pulling out his wand. Around them, people were staring at the windows, looking around in confusion. Something massive and metal dove past the windows. “Hermione!”

She didn’t budge. As another shape passed, Harry could suddenly make out the massive Chitauri flying through the streets. Harry reached for her shoulder. An explosive crash rattled the building. Harry gripped her arm, pulling her away –

She was bleeding. Blood dripped from her eyes and ears and nose and mouth. He reached for his wand, but she pushed his hand aside.

“Have you made your decision?”

“What?” he gasped, trying to think of a spell that could save her. Another crash reverberated through the library. Chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling.

Her grip on his wrist tightened. “Your decision.” She repeated. Her face changed and Harry was staring at stranger, their features shifting from one face to the next. Her grip on his wrist never faltered. “Are you going to let me die?”

Harry awoke with a start. He put a hand to his chest to steady his breathing, only to gasp at the burning pain that motion provoked. He sat for a moment, trying to calm his breaths. Standing, he stumbled to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Staring into the mirror, he met his wide green eyes.

“Its not my fault,” he whispered. The words hung hollow and defensive in the air. He looked away from his reflection. “It’s not my fault,” he repeated.

You’re a selfish coward.

Harry pulled off his sweaty shirt with more force than strictly necessary. As he threw it towards the clothesbasket, his chest gave another sharp twinge. He grimaced. He hadn’t bothered to cover the rune yesterday, and he didn’t bother to cover it now. Was he a coward to not want to fight? Was he being selfish to not try harder – to want to avoid finding out exactly how much he could do here in this dimension, and what sort of help he might be able to offer?

He sat on the tile floor, leaning his bare back against the cupboard beneath the sink. He knew it had nothing to do with whether this was his world or not – whether he knew these people or not. That didn’t matter. He had fought for countless people whom he had never met. So why did he hesitate?

Sure, he had not been given an explicit invitation from the Avengers, but the pieces were adding up. If he proved to be useful to them, they seemed likely to make use of his skills. It was true, also, that he didn’t know the extent of what he could do in this dimension, and that magic was harder to perform here. But, he had already proven (to himself and others) that he was capable of creating a very strong defensive ward. It was not a question of if he could be of use, but rather how, and to what extent?

So that left the reality of it. Harry ran a hand through his wild hair and clenched his eyes shut. He was a coward. That was all it was. He had seen the horrors of war and he was running from it. This selfish fear would end up costing people their lives – again.

For a moment, Harry thought he would cry. But instead of helpless grief, a wave of frustrated anger welled up inside him. He could not accept that of himself – he refused to be a coward. He refused to be so selfish. Standing quickly, Harry grabbed his journal and runic text from his desk. He pulled the clothes out of his backpack and dumped them on the rumpled bed. Shoving his books into the bag, he strode from his room and took the stairs at a jog.

He walked straight to the training room and slammed his fist over the locking button. Pulling his books from his bag, he felt around for his pocketknife. Taking the armful of things to the center of the room, he stuck a pencil behind his ear, lay the books on the ground, and set the knife out beside him. He was going to figure out this bindrune now.

He had already been close to a first attempt, and it took only a few minutes to lightly sketch the design into its finished form. To test it, he would need an item to ward, and something to ‘attack’ it with.

“JARVIS?” Harry asked. “Are there any tennis balls or anything similar to that in here?”

“Additional training equipment can be found in the cupboard.” As JARVIS spoke, a small section of wall slid open beside the door. Grabbing a few tennis balls, Harry walked to the broken-down car that served as yet another piece of the mock-battle area. Setting the tennis balls aside, he set the journal on the hood of the car and held the knife in his hand. He took a deep breath, before making a small cut on his arm. With the tip of the blade, he drew the bindrune atop the hood of the car, chanting quietly: “Af skaða kemur vernd…” From harm comes protection. “…Af skaða kemur vernd...”

He drew the final lines, and let one drop of blood fall into the center of the rune. There was a sudden flash of light, and then silence.

In the lab six floors down, Bruce and Tony looked at each other. “JARVIS, what the fuck was that?”

“Episky,” Harry muttered, feeling the cut begin to dry. Even minor cuts didn’t heal well here; his spell had stopped the bleeding but did nothing to increase healing. Picking up his journal, Harry set it with his things, then picked up a tennis ball. The goal was for the rune to turn the energy of something harmful into a protective result. The problem was that Harry wasn’t entirely certain what that would look like.

Standing cautiously behind one of the large boulders spread around the room, Harry threw the ball towards the truck.

Harry dove behind the boulder as a dozen tennis balls came speeding back at him.

Peering at the car again, Harry realized he should probably get to work on that protego charm. Who knew what the bindrune would do if he sent something more dangerous, or threw the ball with a more harmful intent.

Walking to the other side of the training room, he set his mind to the shielding charm. “Protego.” A light blue mist appeared before him. Harry smiled. It seemed he was getting the hang of things more quickly. “Protego,” he repeated. He’d get back to the rune as soon as he had a decent shield ready.

~~~

In the lab below, Tony and Bruce stood transfixed behind a large monitor. “Where did the other balls come from?” Tony repeated. “Things don’t materialize out of thin air!”

Bruce, on the other hand, was staring at Harry. The kid was standing barefoot and shirtless in a pair of black sweatpants.   He wondered what had inspired the midnight training session. As Harry dispelled yet another thin shield of energy, Bruce noted the rune in his chest was uncovered once more. He frowned.

“JARVIS,” Tony barked, pacing behind the transparent screen. “Pull up the footage from whatever made the power flicker.”

The screen switched, and Harry stood by the old car. He was leaning over the hood, looking a bit malnourished without his shirt on, and holding a knife in one hand. He was tracing the knife over the hood of the car.

“Is that another rune?” Tony asked.

“It’s not one I’ve seen before,” Bruce replied, reaching for the texts he’d retrieved from the library. “No, it’s not one of these, but it does share some similar features…”

“Hmm.” Tony flipped the screen back to the present footage. Harry was still creating and dispelling a pale energy for some reason. “Keep an eye on things JARVIS,” Tony said, turning back to a screen full of numbers.

“I always do,” JARVIS replied.

Bruce gave the screen one last look, before looking back to his own screen of text. He was curious what Harry would do next.

~~~

Wiping his brow, Harry found his arm was about as sweaty as his forehead. Making a face, he wiped his hands on his sweatpants and picked up the tennis balls that had been flung around the room. Returning to stand behind the boulder once more, Harry thought about his next test of the rune. When thrown mildly with a curious intent, the runic warding had retaliated with a small multiplication and redirection of the threat. The redirection had not been specific, which was worrying. If the ball had been a dangerous object – like a bullet or knife – such a messy retaliation could hurt anyone nearby.

Choosing to test a slightly more aggressive approach, Harry aimed his throw at the windshield, hoping to dent it. A loud crack! sounded and Harry whipped up a shield charm just in time. Two dozen tennis balls exploded away from the car. Once the clamor quieted, and the balls came to a halt, Harry peered around the boulder. A small crack had formed at the base of the windshield. It had not been a completely successful shield either this time.

Taking a breath, Harry picked up five tennis balls and aimed at the crack in the glass. He hurled the balls in rapid succession before diving behind the rock once more and huddling beneath a strong protego!

Tennis balls seemed to fill the room – multiplied both by the number he had thrown, and by the aggression of his attack. Cautiously, Harry approached the truck. The crack had spiraled across the windshield as if a brick had connected with the glass. Nothing else was damaged. Around the room, tennis balls were still rolling across the floor. Slowly, thinking only of his desire to gently rest his hand upon the hood of the car, Harry reached out his hand.

For a moment, he felt the static of a ward. Then his hand passed through to rest upon the cool metal. So the bindrune was reading intentions accurately. It was nowhere near effective or safe enough to use though. Summoning his bag, Harry reached for a shirt, only to remember he’d left them in his bedroom.

Walking back to the hidden cupboard in the wall, Harry looked for some sort of rag. Sure enough, a small pile of towels was tucked into the corner next to a few water bottles. Taking one of each, Harry returned to the car and began to scrub off the rune. “Fara,” he told it. “You are released.”

This time there was no burst of light. A small wisp of steam rose from the hood of the car and dispersed in the air. Harry leaned against the car and gazed around. Way too many tennis balls were scattered across the room. Harry sighed. Perhaps it was time for some more spell practice. Instead of summoning some hundred tennis balls to come speeding towards his face, Harry swished his hand through the air: “Wingardium Leviosa.”  Then, as if he were conducting an orchestra, he brought the floating yellow spheres one by one over to the cupboard. There was no way they would fit. Harry sighed. He filled the shelves before attempting to corral the rest of the tennis balls into some semblance of a pile against the wall.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes Mr. Potter.”

“Do you happen to know the time?”

“It’s is now 6:12 am, Mr. Potter.” Harry ran a hand through his hair again. He’d been so angry at himself that he hadn’t been thinking. He’d rushed down without even putting on a shirt. The others would be gathering for breakfast soon. Though, if they ate as fast as they had yesterday they would be done quickly. Harry looked back at the room. He was tired. He was sweaty. He had already tested a bindrune, re-learned protego, and attempted both episky and wingardium leviosa. He’d done his job.

The voice from his dream echoed in his mind: ‘Are you going to let me die?’

Harry clenched his jaw. He would not be selfish. He would not turn away from training like some coward. He strode over to the car and its broken windshield. “Reparo.” The windshield creaked beneath his hands. He glared at it, forcing his magic into the glass. Bit by bit, the shards returned to their places. Slowly, they melded back together.

Harry could feel his arms shaking as he turned to the car’s slashed tires. This was another spell he had to know, just as essential as depulso or episky. Resting a hand upon a front tire, he spoke: “Reparo.” The rubber melted back together, but the tire remained flat. He watched as even the mended seam disappear. He walked to the next tire, attempting to inflate the wheel as well. What if he needed to repair a vehicle so people could go to safety? A half dozen bodies littering the street, they’d been slow to outrun the dementors’ kiss... Harry shoved magic behind the spell. They needed to escape – The tire burst, sending him tumbling backwards. He stumbled to the fourth tire. Muggles completely unaware in the street beyond… Incanting more carefully, Harry sought to a middle ground. The gash in the tire slowly fused closed, but it remained a flattened blob around the hubcap.

Harry clenched his teeth. That wasn’t good enough! Moving to stand, Harry felt his knees give out beneath him. He leaned his forehead against the car door for a moment, before struggling to his feet. Are you going to let me die? An entire family that could’ve been spared if only they got out in time…

He would just eat more for breakfast. This exhaustion was just weakness. He was fine. He was being lazy. Stopping was the selfish response. He pulled his body towards the front of the car, his hands braced upon the hood. Reaching one hand out towards the truck’s smashed headlights, he whispered “reparo,” and slumped to the floor.

~~~

It was seven o-clock when Bruce finally managed to pull Tony out of the lab for a quick breakfast. “We need to talk to Natasha any way,” he argued, before persuasively adding: “And, there’s coffee.”

“Just for a moment,” Tony finally agreed.

They found the team eating cereal with an oddly noticeable empty space. Harry had only been there a few days, but when they sat down, Bruce could see Steve glance at the seat too. “Is he sleeping in?” Steve asked, aware that Harry had been up well before dawn every morning so far.

“In the locked training room,” Bruce replied, reaching for the milk. Natasha raised her eyebrows.

“Bit early don’t you think?” asked Clint. They could all guess why. But before any more could be said, JARVIS’s voice cut in.

“Sir, Mr. Potter has collapsed in the training room.”

The group exchanged glances.

“Well shit.”

“Do you detect any injuries?” Bruce asked, rising to his feet. Steve nodded towards the elevator. The other’s held back; having five people help was rather excessive.

“No injuries detected, Dr. Banner.”

The door closed behind them. “What the hell is he doing in there?” Clint asked.

“He seems to be training,” Tony said, opening his phone and pulling up footage. Clint and Natasha watched in silence as Harry drew a shimmering shield around him. Tony flipped forward, and they all stared as Harry threw a tennis ball at the broken car, only to have a dozen more fly back at him. “And what that is,” Tony continued, “I don’t know.”

~~~

Harry came round to someone touching his throat. He threw himself backwards, his back slamming against something hard and metal.  His eyes flew to his attackers. Bruce was kneeling a few feet from him, Steve standing nearby. Harry looked around. He was in the training room. He raised a hand cautiously to his throat where he’d felt fingers press.

“I was checking your pulse,” Bruce explained. “You passed out.”

Harry rubbed his throat. He could feel the anxious tingling of adrenaline coursing through his veins. An irrational part of him wanted to flee. It felt like someone was pressing on his throat. He went to tug at his shirt collar, only to remember he was shirtless. There was nothing choking him. He forced himself to lower his hand.

“Do you know why you passed out?” Bruce asked, making no move to come nearer. Harry was still pressed against the car, his entire body tense.

Harry stared at him, thinking back. He recalled reaching for the headlight – the need to be better, to be stronger, to not be so selfish…  

Several moments passed, and Bruce began to worry Harry couldn’t, or wouldn’t, respond. As Bruce began to contemplate potential next steps, Harry finally moved. Barely more than a twitch, he nodded once.

“Why did you pass out?” Bruce let the question hang in the air. When Bruce had bandaged his chest, Harry hadn’t said a word. Bruce wondered if this would be the same. The silence stretched on between them. Steve shifted, and Harry’s eyes snapped to him. Steve uncrossed his arms, letting his hands rest visible and unthreatening at his side.

Harry’s eyes returned to Bruce. He opened his mouth, before reaching a hand back to his throat. There was nothing there. His hand kept rubbing his throat anyways. “I – “ his voice was raspy. He cleared his throat, rubbing at it more vigorously before seeming to collect himself. He set his hand back down. “I am fine.”

“You collapsed.” Bruce restated. Harry contemplated standing up, but the mere thought was exhausting. He stayed where he was.

“Harry,” Steve spoke quietly. “We are concerned.” Eyes flicking back to Bruce again, Harry’s hand rose unbidden to rub at his throat. “Is your neck okay?” Steve asked.

Harry yanked his arm back to his lap. “Yes.”

Bruce sighed. “I understand you don’t want to talk about it. Has this happened before?” Harry hesitated, before nodding. “Okay. What do you need to take care of yourself now?”

“I’m fine.” Harry reiterated, suddenly struggling to his feet. He needed to get out of there. He knew he didn’t have the magic or energy to defend himself, and as kind as Steve and Bruce had been, he didn’t feel safe.

Steve stepped forward to offer assistance, only to find Harry’s hand rise warningly. “Don’t,” he growled. Steve took a step back, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“I am fine,” Harry ground out, standing on his feet once more with a hand steadying him against the car.

“Okay,” said Bruce. “Will you join us for breakfast then?”

Harry wanted nothing more than to hide in his room for the foreseeable future, but he knew skipping breakfast would be a weakness. Harry could not afford to look vulnerable – not when he felt so weak. Harry also knew eating was necessary to rebuilding his depleted core. He’d over done it again – pushed his pathetic body beyond what it was capable of and refused to heed any of the warning signs. And he certainly hadn’t eaten enough since the last time he exhausted himself – instead, he’d avoided sleeping and food. Harry glowered when Steve offered a hand again. On shaking legs, Harry followed them out of the room and towards the elevator.

“I know you prefer stairs…” Bruce began.

“It’s fine.” Harry didn’t have the energy to light a candle, let alone destroy an elevator. It would be fine. That logic didn’t quite convince his body to relax though, and he held his breath for the entirety of the short trip.

To Harry’s mortification, when the elevator doors opened Natasha, Clint, and Tony all turned to look at him. Harry wished his body would stop trembling. He headed to his room to get dressed, leaving a very worried looking Steve behind him.

“That looks infected,” Natasha whispered. Clint nodded. The undressed wound on Harry’s chest had been a vivid, swollen red.

“It is getting worse,” Bruce commented quietly, returning to his seat at the table.

“He seems unlikely to accept help at the moment,” Steve said, reaching for milk to add to his cereal.

“That’s an understatement.” Bruce looked worried, and that worried everyone else.

Moments later, Harry joined them having hastily thrown on a shirt. “Cereal?” Clint offered. Harry nodded, taking the box with shaking hands. He could feel their eyes on him, and he hated how weak he was. It was fourth-year spell practice and a single bindrune; it should not be that hard. Lifting the milk, Harry cursed as it slipped through his fingers. Clint’s hand reached out, righting it quickly. Harry’s jaw was clenched as he tried to mop up the spill with his napkin. Steve offered his, and Harry took it without a word. No one spoke, uncertain of how to approach the clearly struggling man.

Harry stared at the sopping wet napkins and his still trembling hands. Without another word he stood up and walked back to his room. He shut the door behind him, stripped off his clothes, stepped into the shower and sank to his knees. Beneath the warm spray of water, Harry curled up in a ball. He clenched his hair in his fists and felt his chest constrict. If he wasn’t magically exhausted, he was certain something would’ve exploded. The guilt – he couldn’t breathe.

He held himself still and small with his eyes clenched shut. He knelt in the shower’s stream until all he could hear was rushing water and his jagged breath. His mind just wouldn’t stop.

~~~

Staring at each other over partially eaten bowls of cereal, the Avengers exchanged concerned looks. “He doesn’t seem very stable,” Natasha stated, twirling her spoon through cereal. “With the powers he has, does that make him a threat?”

“No.” Steve’s voice was unexpectedly quick. Even he seemed a bit surprised by his fast response. He cleared his throat before elaborating. “He seems to internalize things. When he has spoken sharply, it’s when he’s been vulnerable – as if he doesn’t feel safe. Discussions I’ve had with him indicate he’d be a bigger risk to himself than to others.”

“Do you think he’s a risk to himself?” Clint asked. Steve looked uncertain.

“He is not caring for himself,” Bruce replied. “He is choosing to not treat his wound, and he has seriously exhausted himself twice while training, which also implies a level of deliberate ill-will towards himself. Or at least, he’s not caring to be safe.”

Natasha tapped her spoon against the side of her bowl before setting it aside. “Is it wise for him to remain in the tower, what with other things starting?”

“Yes.” It was Tony who cut in this time. “With his powers – sure he’s a mess, but I think he may be incredibly useful in the near future.”

“If necessary, I think he would sacrifice himself to protect others,” Steve added, looking rather uncomfortable with that fact. “His lack of self-care would only feed his willingness to take risks.”

“But with his power,” Natasha pressed on, making sure they had all considered this fully, “If he gets out of control or attacks, would we be able to take him down?”

Every eye turned to her. She met them with a steady gaze, her question waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” Stark replied. “He hasn’t demonstrated anything we can’t stop.”

  ~~~

When Harry emerged from beneath the shower’s spray, he was freezing cold. Shutting off the tap, he reached blindly for a towel. Without bothering to brush his teeth or even dry his hair, Harry pulled on boxers and fell into bed. He slept straight through the next nine hours. When he awoke, the sun was setting.

Shoving two pairs of socks on his cold feet, Harry tugged on jeans and a sweatshirt from the clothes Tony had provided. He shuffled into the kitchen and pulled food from the fridge. He didn’t pay much mind to what he put on his plate, which was how Steve found him sitting at the kitchen counter, munching on a massive sandwich with a pickle, an orange, two slices of cheese, a piece of grilled chicken, and half a head of broccoli on the side. Harry barely paused his eating long enough to glance at Steve. Steve sat down beside him with a cup of chamomile tea.

“Gave me a scare this morning,” Steve said, as Harry drew towards the end of his plate.

“Sorry about that.”

Steve watched Harry slow, nibbling his slice of cheddar cheese at a more sedate pace. Steve had never seen the kid eat so much. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Harry shrugged. “Over did it,” he mumbled. Steve nodded. After last night’s dinner discussion he had begun to assume that. It was nice to have it confirmed though. Walking into the room and seeing Harry collapsed on the ground was not a sight he cared to repeat.

“Do you need anything else to eat?” Steve asked. Harry seemed to consider the offer, before shaking his head.

“I really shouldn’t take so much food. I’m not even paying for it.”

“Eat,” Steve said. There was a tone of command in his voice that Harry hadn’t heard before. “Your health is important.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that. As he finished the last piece of broccoli, Harry contemplated the fridge. Somehow, he was still famished. But he feared his stomach would rebel, as it had done so many times before when faced with unexpectedly large meals. “No,” he found himself saying. “Perhaps in a little while though.”

“Alright. Dinner’s in a little while.” Steve appeared to hesitate for a moment, before asking, “Why are you training?” He had asked the question the day before, but the context was different now. He wasn’t proving a point; he sounded genuinely curious. Harry stared at his plate, contemplating his answer. He could shrug it off. He could lie and he wasn’t training or that it was all for the sake of curiosity. But when he opened his mouth, he was startled to hear the truth come out.

“I need to protect them.”

“Who?”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He picked up his plate and walked around to the sink. Steve waited silently. Harry scrubbed his plate with a bit more vigor than was necessary. Steve sipped his tea. He kept his eyes on Harry, showing the question remained.

Harry dried the plate slowly, before turning to set it back in the cupboard. He paused with his back turned, and leaned against the counter. He did not see Clint appear in the lounge behind them.

“You know how Thor said I was from another world?” Steve made a sound of agreement. “In my world…” Harry’s voice trailed off for a moment. His fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “I told you I fought,” he said, beginning again with common ground. Steve waited. Clint stood quiet at the edge of the room.

“It was a bit more than that,” Harry finally admitted. His fingers were clenched so hard around the counter they were white. He swallowed hard. How could he explain anything without talking about prophecies and magic? He didn’t know how to explain that – and he was sure that scientists like Bruce and Tony wouldn’t accept the idea of magic.

Harry had to simplify it down to the barest of basics. “Voldemort – I was the one who had to kill him. It was my… duty. And I took too long.” It had taken them three years after destroying the sixth horcrux to realize that Harry was one as well. If they had figured it out sooner – if he had sacrificed himself earlier – so many lives would have been saved. So many unnecessary deaths could have been prevented.

He couldn’t face Steve. It was his fault. He had been stupid and slow and then, even once they knew, he had been selfish and sought to find another way out – some way to remove the horcrux while surviving. All those months of useless research, leaving hundreds to die in raids and skirmishes that could have been prevented…

“What do you mean you took too long?”

Harry just shook his head. “Forget about it.” He turned. Closing the cupboard he caught sight of Clint standing by the elevator. Harry grimaced. He headed back towards his room. He didn’t want to talk about his failures any longer.

Clint and Steve exchanged frowns. Whatever his war had involved, it appeared to be more than the simple work of a soldier. And whatever occurred, he was clearly carrying a great deal of guilt.

~~~

The next time Harry appeared, he walked straight to his corner seat, opened his rune book and began taking notes. He needed to refine his bindrune. The multiplying and redirecting response to an attack was a good start, but it needed to have a target or it would hurt innocent bystanders. He also needed to strengthen the shield-like qualities of the bindrune. Flipping through the book, he scanned rune poems and skimmed the author’s assessment of each rune’s meaning. Perhaps, the muggle author had made a connection that he hadn’t considered yet.

Clint and Steve shared yet another frown as they watched Harry absorb himself in his book, keeping his back in the corner where his eyes could flick up to scan the room. He was on edge and there was an almost obsessive intensity to his work. Despite his morning rest, the kid did not appear to be taking much of a break.

When dinner arrived though – another order out from Tony – Harry closed his book and joined them. He filled his plate and mimicked the others as they enjoyed several Korean barbeque dishes.

“Harry,” Bruce caught his attention as they stood to clean up. “You wanted to know when we needed space?”

Harry nodded, his face suddenly serious. “I will be gone. Any time frame or should I stay gone?”

Bruce looked slightly taken aback at the implications of that statement. “We’re not kicking you out, Harry.” Harry just nodded, waiting for more clarification. “It’s just a meeting.”

“Got it. I’ll be back around midnight?”

“That’s a bit late,” Bruce protested. “You need rest – “

“I’m fine,” Harry interrupted. “I need to go to the library. It closes around 10:30?”

Bruce nodded. “Much more reasonable.”

“I will collect my things.”

Once Harry disappeared down the staircase with his backpack, Steve turned to Bruce.

“You didn’t think he’d leave,” Bruce said before Steve could start. Steve smiled sheepishly.

“I thought he would want to be involved.”

“I think he wants to avoid the fight,” Bruce admitted. “I think he fears fighting.” There was a note of empathy in his tone that made Steve curious.

“You think he is afraid?”

“Not of being hurt,” Bruce speculated. “But perhaps because of what a fight entails.”

Steve nodded slowly. “We have only ever seen him defend,” he mused. Bruce did not appear at all surprised by that comment.

“Sir,” JARVIS’ voice interrupted the room. “Mr. Fury awaits you in the debriefing room.”

“On our way,” Tony replied. The Avengers joined him in the elevator. “Let me know when Potter’s left the building.”

“Mr. Potter is predicted to exit in ten minutes,” JARVIS replied. Tony nodded absently.

“And when he returns, let us know.”

“Very well, Sir.”

~~~

Harry did not return until well after eleven p.m. He carried himself straight past Steve reading on the couch, and Natasha and Bruce pouring over a rather competitive chess game. He headed straight to the kitchen to make a sandwich and then sat himself at the dining table with his back to the wall. He spread his books around him as he ate. The original rune book was now among a much greater collection. Natasha glanced meaningfully at Steve, who stood slowly and made his way to the kitchen for some tea.

With a new cup, he took the seat across from Harry at the dining table and pulled out his sketchbook. Aside from a quick glance at Steve, Harry paid him no mind. He flicked through books, jotting notes and sketches in his journal as he worked.

Steve turned to a new page, sketching Harry’s focused face this time – his thumb between his teeth, a concentrated furrow in his brow, and his bright eyes honed in on a foreign text while one hand traced words with his fingertips.

As Steve finished his tea, he interrupted Harry’s silence. “Is that more runes?”

Harry glanced up then nodded as he returned to the text.

Steve gestured towards Harry’s journal. “That looks different from the other runes I’ve seen.”

Harry glanced up again, a slightly annoyed frown crossing his face. “It’s a bindrune,” he said as if that explained everything.

“What’s a bindrune?”

Harry set down his pencil, clearly realizing this was going to be more of a discussion than he’d hoped. “A bindrune combines different runes to achieve a desired affect,” he defined in bookish tones.

Steve thought it over. “Putting runes together to make it do what you want? How does that work?”

Harry didn’t want to lose any more time on his research, but it was not Steve’s fault he knew nothing about runes. Of course he would be curious. “Each rune has its own… purpose, for lack of a better word. By combining runes you can make the purpose more specific, or change the traditional emphasis of a rune.”

“What’s that one supposed to do?”

Harry glanced at his journal. “This one is supposed to be a shield but it’s done a rather poor job so far. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing in the training room? Testing runes?”

“Today,” Harry replied vaguely. “I tried a rough draft of this one, but it didn’t quite work.”

“Why?”

Harry wondered if this was how Hermione felt when he and Ron asked too many questions. “Well, it’s a combination of two runes – Sowulo, the sun, and Naudiz, or need. What I want is to use Sowulo to amplify a secondary nature of Naudiz. On its own, Naudiz speaks to hardship and suffering, but it also is about the growth and healing that can come from hardship – the idea that hardship can make you stronger, or that being aware of your needs can help you preventatively.” Harry had adopted a Hermione-esque tone as he gave Steve a crash course in runic magic. “Sowulo, on the other hand, is an incredibly positive rune – all about strength and hope. It’s also called the sun-shield, so I was hoping to draw on that analogy of being a ‘shield’ as well. But it doesn’t have enough focus in its defense, nor enough strength in its shield –“ Harry paused, seeming to have grasped a sudden idea. He grabbed one of his books and flipped through its pages.

Steve watched him work, cautious to interrupt and still pondering the implications of his work. It appeared as though Harry was creating new ways of channeling his energy. Steve watched Harry pause on an image of the rune he had seen upon Harry’s chest. But as Harry read the poems, his frowned deepened. He pushed the book away.

“What happened when you tested this bindrune?” Steve asked without comment on Harry’s sudden and fruitless idea.

Harry appeared a bit distracted by the question. He blinked then closed his book again. “Well, I drew the rune –“

“How? With pencil?” Steve had the impression drawing a rune involved much more than that.

Harry frowned. “With blood –“

“Do you need -” Steve gestured vaguely towards Harry’s chest. “- medical supplies?”

Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. Just a tiny cut.” He held up his hand where a thin cut was scabbing. “There are a few other ways,” he continued, “but I don’t have access to them right now.”

“What do you need?” Tony had joined them, slipping into the seat beside Steve with a suddenness that gave no room to protest or change subjects.

Harry looked rather thrown off guard. “I don’t have the money – “

“And I have too much,” Tony said with a shrug. “Seriously, you do cool things. I’d like that to continue.” He grinned at Harry as if it were truly that simple. Harry considered it.

“There are a few things, but the simplest is oils or pastes. For what I’m working on Fennel or Flax Seed would be useful. Something with Juniper or Horehound could also work. I suppose the easiest to get would be Rosemary though, and that works alright…”

“JARVIS?”

“List compiled,” JARVIS replied.

Tony grinned. “Done,” he told Harry. Harry blinked.

“I haven’t even managed to thank you for the clothes yet, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, it’s Tony,” he replied, waving off his thanks. “Like I said, too much money to care about.”

“And the food – I haven’t paid for any of that –“

Tony waved it off yet again.

“To purchase things just for my tinkering –“

“Your tinkering,” Tony interrupted, “seems very much like the sort of thing that might end up saving lives. I’ve seen you do some amazing stuff kid. Who am I to get in the way of you doing that again?”

Harry swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that again. A hand rose unbidden to his chest, which ached now every time he moved. Just brushing against the injury sent a sharp, hot flare of pain though his body.

“Okay kid?” Steve asked quietly, and Harry realized he’d clenched his eyes shut.  

“I’m fine.”

Neither Steve nor Tony looked convinced, but they didn’t push it. “So,” Tony said instead. “What did this bindrune do?” He’d seen the footage – although Harry certainly didn’t need to know that – and was curious how Harry would describe it.

“Well,” Harry began, his voice adopting a rapid tone once more, “the bindrune multiplied and repelled the threat, turning an attack into a defense. The bindrune’s reaction varied according to intent, which was good. But, the bindrune wasn’t focused.” Harry frowned, glancing back at his notes. “If a real weapon was used, the binedrune could hurt anyone nearby. It was also a weak shield; the area it was protecting got damaged anyways.”

Tony looked fascinated. “How do you propose to solve that?”

“That’s the problem.” Harry gestured towards the piles of books. “It’s not just about the runes I used. It’s also about their orientation to each other, their proportions and ratios… Maybe I could use a circular layout with multiple Sowulo runes to draw upon the shield aspect and the strength of the sun, or maybe a smaller Naudiz would lessen the likelihood of harm coming to anyone behind the shield. But, maybe it needs a whole nother rune to be added in the equation…” Harry flicked through his notes, which were now full of sketches. “And even once that’s done, I still have to hammer out the words to use.” Harry stood, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s so many factors and I don’t even have any useful books!” he exclaimed. “This is just muggle jibberish! No practical research at all!” His gestures were becoming flustered as the impossibility of the task weighed upon him. “Without Hermione –“ He cut himself off with a frustrated wave of his hands. At once, every book on the table leapt closed with a snap!  

Suddenly, Natasha’s gun was in her hands, fixed squarely at Harry’s chest. With a crack! he disappeared.

“Sir.” JARVIS’ voice broke the still silence that had fallen over the room. “Director Fury has returned to the briefing room.”

“Tell him… we’ll be right there,” said Tony still staring at the spot where Harry had just disappeared. “JARVIS,” Tony said after a moment. “Did you detect Harry’s energy just now? Is he still in the tower? Are you picking up readings anywhere else in the city or surrounding area?”

“Yes, Sir. Mr. Potter’s energy registered just moments ago by a small downtown park.”

“I’ll go,” Steve offered.

Bruce nodded. “He’s taken well to you.”

“JARVIS, send Steve the coordinates.” Tony looked to the others. “Let’s go see what Fury wants.”

~~~

Steve took his motorbike through the wet streets of midnight New York. JARVIS spoke in his earpiece, leading him across town to a park that was little more than trees and a swing set. Steve looked around. A thin figure with wild black hair sat on a bench across the street. Steve parked his bike and walked over.

Harry sat on the bench with his head bowed, hands loosely grasped in front of him. He did not look up until Steve sat down beside him – a mere flicker of eyes glancing up from beneath his fringe.   Steve stared at the bare trees in the park across from them. He didn’t know what so say, so he waited.

After a while, Harry looked up too, gazing absently at the swing set and the way the streetlamps made the wet, plastic seats shine. Steve snuck glances out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise barely moved. They sat and stared at the park like cold statues. Harry wasn’t wearing his coat or shoes – just the sweatshirt and jeans he’d been wearing at the dining table. Everything he owned was back at the tower. Steve hoped that meant he planned to return. One jumpy reaction from Natasha did not mean she, or the team, wanted him gone.

Steve was still considering this, when Harry finally spoke.

“This is where I arrived,” he said suddenly. It took Steve a moment to realize what he was referring to. “I opened my eyes and I was in a city, on a bench. It was dark, and quiet, and I could hear cars. Not a second before it was war – the noise, the smell…” Harry lapsed back into silence. Steve contemplated his next words.

“I awoke in a room,” he offered, matching a story with a story. “I was in a bed. It was sunny. I could hear the radio. But it was fake. I fought my way outside only to find myself in a busy street. There were all these signs, billboards, cars… things I’d never seen before. And it felt like only minutes had passed since the crash – since the war. But it was decades.”

Harry turned to look at him, his green eyes wide. For a second, there was a strangely fragile expression on his face, but it passed as quickly as it came. His expression closed off and he turned away. Steve wondered if he had said something wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what. But before he attempted to backtrack, Harry spoke again.

“I tried to find the others,” he said, sharing his story in halting fragments. “I aparated – like tonight, when I left – but it wasn’t easy like back home.  I thought something was wrong with me. I looked everywhere. But I couldn’t find them. I couldn’t find anyone.” Steve watched Harry from the corner of his eye; saw the way his jaw tightened and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“They gave me the case files,” Steve admitted, “of the men and women I’d served with – all marked deceased. Except for Peggy. She’s almost one hundred. Sometimes she remembers me when I visit. But just last year we were in our twenties. We were going to go dancing.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, before offering a sad smile to Steve. “There is no one here.” His voice cracked.

“I know,” Steve replied. And Harry knew that he did know. He glanced again at the supersoldier. “You don’t have to be alone.” Harry looked away.

“I don’t know what I can do here,” he confessed.

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve’s voice was strong, an intensity underlying his words. “You don’t have to be alone.”

This time, when Harry met Steve’s gaze, he smiled. A tentative hope filled his eyes. “My energy…” Harry said quietly. “Back home we call it magic, and people like me are wizards.”

Steve recognized the words for the offering they were. He smiled.

They sat together a while longer. A companionable silence fell between the two. Harry sighed and moved to lean against the back of the bench. As the tension left his body, Steve could tell Harry was exhausted once more.

“Aparating around here,” Harry admitted, “is so much harder than back home.” He let his eyes close as he tilted his head towards the dark sky. Steve smiled at yet another show of trust.

“Despite Natasha’s reaction, I know we would all like for you to continue to stay with us,” Steve said, broaching the topic in his straightforward way.

“I understand being twitchy.” Harry smiled. He opened his eyes as it began to rain. “They threw me a surprise birthday once and I almost blew up the room.” He laughed fondly at the memory. “Ms. Weasley managed to save the cake though, so it turned out alright.”

The rain was steadily worsening; Harry’s sweatshirt was quickly becoming drenched. When a sudden crack of thunder raced through the city, Steve smiled: “Thor’s returned.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, rain running in rivulets down his face.

“He travels by lighting,” Steve said, as if that explained everything.   “Would you like to return to the tower with me?” Glancing past Steve, Harry could see a motorbike waiting with two helmets.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, slightly surprised by his own desire to return. “I would appreciate the lift.”

The wind battered them as Harry wrapped tired arms around Steve. He had not thought twice before aparating away from Natasha and the gun, but in retrospect it was a terrible decision. He’d only partially recovered from the morning’s overexertion; he was lucky he hadn’t splinched himself.   Harry leaned his helmeted head against Steve’s back as they wove through city streets.

Idly, he muttered, “The last motorbike I rode could fly.”

“Really?” Harry jumped as Steve’s voice suddenly appeared in his ear. “The helmets have a com system,” Steve explained.

“It’s actually how Hagrid dropped me off at my relatives house, the night my parents died.” Harry told him. “Gave me some crazy dreams as a kid – flying through the night on a motorbike. Didn’t know magic existed back then.”

Steve chuckled. “My first bike ride was more mundane, I believe.”

Harry closed his eyes. The rain was falling in buckets from the sky. He could feel it plastering his clothes to his skin. His shivered as the cold air rushed past, seeming to blow right through him and frost his very bones. By the time Steve pulled into the tower’s garage Harry wasn’t sure he could move his fingers any more.   He clambered awkwardly off the bike and handed back his helmet.

“Can you warm yourself up?” Steve asked. Harry flicked his fingers, but the warming charm had no affect. He’d only begun to recover his magical core when he aparated, and it seemed he was back to square one. Harry shook his head. “Right. Let’s get you inside.”

Harry followed after him, feeling clumsy and numb. Across the garage, they entered an elevator where he leaned against the wall tiredly.

“Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS’ voice seemed to appear right beside them. Harry didn’t have the energy to flinch. “You are requested to join the meeting in the briefing room as soon as you are presentable.”

Steve nodded. “Understood.”

Harry looked at his socks. “You shouldn’t have joined me when you had a meeting,” he said. “I was alright.”

“True,” Steve said, watching the floor numbers rise. “But you are my friend.”

Harry looked up. His green eyes bored into the back of Steve’s head. Neither said anything until they had reached their floor. Walking towards their rooms in silence, Harry paused as Steve opened his.

“Friend,” he replied, offering his hand. Steve clasped it firmly in his own, offering a warm smile.

As Steve disappeared into his room, Harry continued down the hall. Even before the door finished closing behind him, Harry was stripping out of his wet clothes and pulling on dry sweats. Tugging on thick, clean socks, Harry rolled his tired body beneath the covers and closed his eyes. He was asleep before he thought to turn out the light.

~~~

 “Glad you could join us Cap.”

Steve took his seat at the table, glancing at the others somewhat apprehensively. They had not anticipated the follow up meeting to be so soon. Nor had they expected Thor to return so quickly.

Natasha turned to him, speaking tightly. “Loki has escaped.”

Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered to Clint. The man wore a mask of barely controlled fury. A little more than a month ago Loki had controlled Clint’s mind, turning him against the team and stripping him of his freewill. Steve looked at Thor, who had promised Loki was safely imprisoned in Asgard. Thor’s eyes were hard; he stood behind his chair, mjölnir in hand.

“Well,” Tony was snapping at Thor. “It seems pretty clear to me what Fenrir wants now.”

“We do not yet know –“ Thor attempted to argue, but Tony cut him off.

“Fenrir’s god-knows-where and his father just happens to escape prison?”

“Sit down, Stark,” commanded Fury. “SHIELD is putting every resource towards finding and detaining Fenrir and Loki, which –“ he held up a hand as Tony opened his mouth once more “- is why I am here. I need Natasha and Clint for this assignment, and I need the rest of you to be ready. We do not know what they seek, but I am certain they will not be easily dissuaded.”

The Avengers exchanged grim looks. They recalled fighting Loki all too clearly. To fight his son as well… Fury turned to Steve.

“What have we learned about Potter?”

Steve crossed his arms, shaking his head. “He is not ready to fight.”

Tony scoffed. “At all,” he muttered.

“But he might defend,” Natasha cut in. “He definitely has powers.”

“Though we’re not entirely sure what they are yet,” Clint pointed out. “What we’ve seen has been… diverse.”

“Keep watching him,” Fury ordered. “We need every resource at our dispense right now.” There were grim nods all around the table. Potter had been illustrating fascinating abilities, but he was also struggling greatly. They would not force him into a fight he was not ready for – physically, or emotionally. And, at this point, he was too emotionally volatile to be trusted in the field.

“I must return to Asgard,” Thor said at last, stepping back with a nod to the room.

“Again?” Steve couldn’t help but ask; Thor looked unusually tired. Steve knew traveling between realms wore on him.

“I must speak with my father. He may have wisdom to share regarding Loki and his children.” Steve lifted a hand in farewell as Thor strode from the room.

“Natasha, Clint, stay behind,” Fury ordered, effectively dismissing the team. Steve rose, and walked to the elevator with Tony and Bruce.

“Do we have any idea what Fenrir wants?” he asked. Tony and Bruce shared a look.

“We have a few theories. None of them are good.”

Steve grasped his hands together, adopting the comfortable military stance he fell into in times of worry. “Then we better prepare.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Six:

“The boy who lived has come to die,” Voldemort hissed, his pale face twisting into a lipless smile. Harry stepped forward – the elder wand at his side, the stone in his fist, the cloak around his shoulders. He was ready. Ron and Fleur were somewhere in the forest beside him, ready to strike the final blow. Voldemort raised his wand –

“Avada Kedavra!” A familiar jet of green light flashed through the air. There was a heartbeat of silence… Harry opened his eyes.

A car horn sounded.  A driver gestured crudely out their window. A child was laughed as she was pushed on the swing set across the road. Harry was sitting on a bench.  A heavy weight dropped through his stomach; it was as if all air had been kicked from his lungs. He took in his surroundings with wide eyes. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the shadowed ceiling above him. He could still feel that terrible weight knotting his stomach and constricting his chest. In the dark room, lying completely still, he could feel every ounce of his aloneness – every molecule of separation from his world. Harry pushed himself up with leaden arms.

Robotically, Harry leaned down to pick up the hoodie he’d tossed over his backpack. He groaned as the movement pulled at his torso. When he slid the hoodie over his head, the zipper grazed against his chest wound and Harry saw stars. Gasping, Harry waited for the wave of literally blinding pain to pass. When his head cleared, he carefully unzipped the hoodie and held the sides well away from his chest. He hastened to the bathroom to get a better look.

Flipping on the light, Harry gazed into the mirror. He looked like a mess. Ever wild, his hair stood out in sharp contrast to his pale face. A shimmer of sweat lingered on his skin. What really concerned him though, was the bright red rune in the center of his chest. It was no longer simply warm, red skin. It was raised and hot. Swelling stretched the skin painfully around the scab and – to his horror – puss appeared to be peeking out of the small rip his zipper had made in the scab. Harry reached up tentatively to touch it. The pain of his own hand knocked the wind out of him, but he pressed gently on the edges of the cut all the same. Thick yellow puss oozed from the wound. Harry felt tears sting at his eyes.

He stared at his chest. He hadn’t intended –

Didn’t you? Ron would’ve been pissed, his voice rising as he stepped right up to Harry’s face. You knew exactly what could happen if you didn’t take care of it!

Harry leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. The antibiotic cream (which he hadn’t been using) wouldn’t do shit at this point. The tiny fleck of red that appeared to be streaking away from the wound made him most nervous. He couldn’t ignore it any more. Just because he wasn’t sure he deserved to heal, didn’t mean he wanted to hospitalize himself. He’d just started to find some good things in this world.

Carefully, he zipped his hoodie up, hiding the rune. He took a deep breath, grimacing as the zipper rubbed on his chest when he inhaled. He knew he should get help. But, he didn’t want to tell anyone what he’d so stupidly done. He hadn’t bandaged it because he didn’t deserve it. Did he deserve medical care now? He pushed the thoughts aside. Forcefully, he turned off the lights and grabbed his runic texts. He could deal with it later. With that, he headed to the lounge.

However, the lounge was not as empty as he’d assumed. As he turned towards the kitchen, he froze. Sitting at the kitchen counter, staring blankly into his mug was Steve. The soldier appeared completely lost in his own thoughts.

Clearing his throat softly, Harry walked on the other side of the counter, reaching for the kettle to start some tea. Steve slowly shifted, raising his eyes to look at Harry.

“Rough night?” Harry asked conversationally. Steve nodded, a vacant look in his eyes. Harry thought of all the times Steve had been there for him lately. Hesitantly, he attempted to repay the favor. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Steve did not reply, turning back to look at his tea. Harry turned to the cupboard, pulling out a Slytherin-green mug before snagging an earl grey tea bag from the basket. It wasn’t until the kettle whistled that Steve spoke.

“I grew up with a friend – a brother – Bucky. We served together. There was mission, on a train.” His voice was so deep and quiet it was hard to make out. Harry fixed his tea, waiting for Steve to finish. “I couldn’t save him.”

The heaviness of that statement settled between them like a thick fog. Harry tugged at his tea bag, watching it bob up and down in the water. He glanced at Steve who stared unseeingly into his own mug.

“I’m not really one to talk,” Harry said quietly. “And I’m not sure if the pain ever stops, but…” he tugged at the tea bag’s string, fiddling with the grey tag. “I have a feeling you did nothing less than everything in your power to save him.”

Steve said nothing. Harry waited, unsure if he’d said something wrong. “He fell,” Steve finally spoke. “I couldn’t reach him in time.”

Harry let that hang between them, the heavy truth of loss that could not be lessened. “To friends and brothers?” Harry offered a hesitant toast of tea. Steve’s lips quirked with the hint of a sad smile.

“To friends and brothers,” he replied. They drank their tea in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Harry sipped slowly, wishing he had a pain relief potion or some sort of muggle medicine. Even without moving, his chest burned. He knew if he said something, Steve would try to help, but Harry’s mouth felt like it had been sealed shut. He poured himself some more tea. His chest throbbed at the movement.

“What woke you so early?” Steve asked, breaking the silence.

“Dreams,” Harry replied with a thoughtless shrug. He blinked hard as his hoodie once more scraped along his wound. When he opened his eyes, Steve was staring at him with concern.

“Harry,” Steve began. He left the sentence hanging unfinished in the air.

Harry knew he should say something. He had made a bad choice in ignoring the injury, and now he knew he needed help. He could feel the sticky smear of puss on his chest. He knew he had to say something –

Harry opened his mouth, and closed it once again. He took a sip of tea and bit his lip. He could say it – he could ask for help. The man already knew he was injured, but the mortification of telling Steve he’d made himself worse, the vulnerability of admitting he needed help… during the war he’d come to rely upon Ron and Hermione. They’d treated each other’s wounds. After Madam Pomfrey was killed, he trusted them (and only them) to see his weaknesses and patch him up. But they weren’t here. And he had no potions, no ingredients, and… he needed to ask for help.

Steve waited in his slow patient way. Harry finally lifted a hand, and gestured towards his chest. “I –“ he began, searching awkwardly for the words. “I messed up.”

Steve nodded. “What do you need?”

The relief that swept through him at Steve’s simple acceptance was astounding. There was no coddling, no demands to see his injury or rush to take away his control, just a quiet question and a trust that Harry would know what he needed to do.

“I think,” Harry blushed, struggling to appear strong, “I need help with – well…” He took a deep breath, staring somewhere to the left of Steve’s head. “It’s infected,” he admitted. “And I need to – “ He could feel his whole body radiate shame at what he needed to ask. “I need help cleaning it,” he blurted, words rushing out on a single rapid breath.

Steve nodded once more. “Would you like me to help, or would you prefer Dr. Banner’s help?”

Harry could feel the shame staining even his neck bright red. He forced the answer out, still staring off at the wall behind Steve. “I think I might pass out when I clear out the puss.” If Steve looked anything other than utterly calm, Harry couldn’t tell. From the corner of his eye, Steve’s body appeared relaxed and unfazed.

“May I get Dr. Banner?” Steve asked. “He has more medical knowledge than I do.”

Harry absolutely did not want another person to know what was wrong, but he also couldn’t very well put Steve on the spot to help him fix his mistake. Harry nodded sharply, and Steve rose. Harry looked back at his tea, unable to look at Steve.

He stood by the counter as Steve walked to Bruce’s room. He heard the man knock, and a few moments later the door opened. Quiet, low voices sounded, then the door closed again. Steve returned to the kitchen; soon after, a sleep-tousled Bruce joined them. He had pulled on his usual brown slacks and a purple, buttoned shirt. He rubbed his eyes as he walked over.

“Steve said you wanted me to take a look at your chest injury?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “It’s uh, infected. And I need… some help cleaning it.” He spoke, staring at his mug as if the pottery would be the one helping him.

“May I take a look?” Bruce asked. Steve had settled once more into his seat at the counter, but Harry had already revealed all his cards. It didn’t really matter anymore if Steve saw or not. Hesitantly, Harry reached for the zipper on his hoodie, and pulled it down. He glanced at his chest as he did so. The puss had leaked further from the cut, probably jostled by his movements now that he was awake. He glanced at Bruce, who had a frown on his face.

“I’m glad you said something.” Bruce walked around the counter for a closer look. “That,” Bruce said, pointing at the tiny fleck of red seeming to inch away from his cuts, “could become dangerous.”

Harry bit his lip, staring at the wall as Bruce looked more closely at the wound. “We need to clean this up – get the puss out of there and find some antibiotics for you to take. It will be easiest to clean up in my lab again, if you are okay with that?”

Harry nodded, zipping the hoodie back up again.

“Would it be alright if Steve joins us?” Bruce asked, glancing thoughtfully at Steve over Harry’s bowed head. “It might be helpful to have another set of hands.”

“Okay,” Harry replied quietly.

They took the stairs this time. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to subtly push the hoodie away so it would stop touching his chest. When they reached the lab, Bruce gestured Harry towards a table covered with books.

“Let me just set these aside…” Harry could see bookmarks and sticky-notes dotting the mythological texts. He picked up a few, glancing at titles as he handed them to Bruce who was piling them on a neighboring counter.

“How’s the research going?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” Bruce replied, setting the last texts precariously atop the pile. “I’ve found several different translations of the Eddas where Tyr chains Fenrir, but I haven’t found too many other references yet. Why don’t you hop up here?”

“Have you read about Angerboda?” Harry asked, sitting on the edge of the tabletop.

Bruce was pulling things out of his medical cabinet. “Angerboda?” he asked.

“Yeah, I came across a reference to her when I was reading. She’s the mother of Fenrir and Loki’s other jotun children.”

“We will have to exchange notes sometime soon,” Bruce replied. “Would you prefer to unzip or remove your hoodie?” Harry unzipped it, hesitated, and then took it off. He figured he didn’t need to ruin any more good clothes, and cleaning wounds often got messy.

He hunched in on himself, uncomfortably bare and exposed between the two men. Steve, standing slightly behind them, had a good glimpse of his back and Harry clenched his jaw. Steve didn’t comment.

“Alright. We’re going to need to remove the puss first,” Bruce said, pulling on gloves. “Are you alright with me doing that, or would you like to try first? I know it will be quite painful.”

Harry stared at the wound. He had already tried to do that himself, standing in front of the mirror. He lightly touched the edge of the wound, and saw the dark spots appear in the edges of his vision. “I think,” Harry admitted quietly, “that I might need your help.”

“Okay.” Bruce had a small, clean towel in his gloved hands and the bottle of sterile water on the counter. “Would you like a local anesthetic?”

Harry shook his head, still uncertain what that was but knowing he just wanted to get it over with. “Are you sure, Harry?” Steve asked. “It will be painful.”

Harry shook his head again. “I’m fine.” No one looked convinced, but they accepted his decision. Harry took a deep breath. He needed to lie down – to be on his back, exposed, between both men. He knew it was reasonable, but every muscle in his body rebelled. He sat there, frozen, until Steve’s hand gently rested on his shoulder. Harry flinched.

“Would you prefer to sit?” Steve asked. Harry nodded, looking at his knees.

“Alright.” Bruce handed him a towel to hold beneath the wound again. “I’m going to try to remove the puss,” Bruce explained. “That means we need to clear out this scab again.” When Bruce’s hand touched his chest, Harry couldn’t help the gasp of pain that slipped from his lips. His grip around the towel tightened. He clenched his jaw as Bruce’s steady fingers began to push at the inflamed flesh. He could see dark spots blooming in his vision and hear panting breaths in his ears.

“Breathe,” said a low voice behind him. “Easy now, in and out.” Harry tried to listen to Steve as his entire vision went black. His whole world narrowed to the pain at the center of his chest and the heavy pressing of hands. “In and out,” the voice continued slowly. “In and out…” Harry could hear his breath hitching, panting through clenched teeth. He had taken the cruciatus curse, he reminded himself. He could take this too.

Harry could feel something warm and wet trailing down his chest. Little spots of light and color were flickering in front of his eyes.  Steve's hands rested on his shoulders, steadying him. The pressure on his chest left for a moment, before the hands returned to press once more. A white-hot pain flashed through his body. Harry flinched, jerking away.

“Stop,” he heard himself pant. “Stop.” He jerked away, violently shaking off their hands.

“Hey, hey.”

Harry turned towards the gentle voice, trying to focus through the pain. He could hear something rattling above him. He stared into blue eyes; Steve was standing beside him, hands raised peacefully and voice calm.

"You’re okay,” Steve was saying. “We can stop whenever you need.”

Harry looked around, the pain beginning to dull to a deep, throbbing ache. His hands were pressed against his chest, which he realized was smeared with blood. The rune was once more bleeding freely. Bruce must’ve removed the puss, he realized, holding a bloody hand in front of him. 

“It’s okay,” Steve reiterated. “Take your time. You’re safe.”

Looking slowly around, Harry realized what the rattling noise was. All sorts of implements and bottles were vibrating on their counters or within their shelves. Trying very hard not to look panicked, Bruce was eyeing the chemical bottles with considerable concern. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to slow his frantic panting.

“I’m okay,” he muttered. “I’m fine,” he said, more to reassure himself than anyone else. “I’m okay.” Slowly, the rattling stopped. He tried to unclench his arms from around his chest.

He’d made a mess. Small dots and smears of blood marred his jeans and the table. Some of the sterile water had been spilled. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking towards Bruce’s shoes.

“It’s alright. Why don’t we finish getting you cleaned up? The hard part’s all done.” Harry resituated himself on the edge of the table, staring straight ahead. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. At least when it was Ron and Hermione they’d all seen each other’s worst – delirious with pain, screaming from nightmares, catatonic with grief… With them he’d felt safe, secure. With Bruce and Steve… Harry only felt weak.

“Would you like to hold the towel again while we flush it out?” Robotically, Harry accepted another towel and clutched it against his stomach. The sterile water brought the dark spots right back to his vision, but the pain wasn’t as all consuming as when Bruce had pushed the puss from the wound. Harry gritted his teeth.

“All done,” Bruce said. “Would you like to gently pat your chest dry?” Harry took the offered towel. Bruce retrieved gauze pads and antibiotic cream. “Want to put on the cream again, Harry?” Harry nodded, accepting the gloves and cream in silence. He dabbed it on the wound, feeling detached.  “Good. Let’s wrap it up. Would you hold this in place for me?” Harry did so, pressing against the wound until the pain jolted through him again. He was so angry with himself – for having freaked out, for having gotten himself into this position to start with –

“Hey,” Steve said, reaching a gentle hand out to Harry’s. “Gentle, okay?” Steve was easing back on Harry’s hand, which Harry realized was pressing painfully hard against his chest.

“Steve, can you help me pass this around a few times?” Bruce asked as he began to wrap the gauze around Harry’s chest, holding the bandages in place. “You are going to need to keep this covered Harry,” Bruce said, voice gentle but firm. “The only time it should be unwrapped is during a shower. And every time you re-wrap it you should reapply the antibiotic cream. I also have an antibiotic medication I’d like you to take twice a day for the next seven days. That should help combat this infection.” He tucked the tail end of the gauze into the bandages. “Do you think you can do that?”

Harry nodded blankly.

“Do you know why you chose not to bandage it?” Steve asked as Harry reached for his hoodie. Harry pulled it on and zipped it up, covering the white bandages beneath. Harry shrugged; Steve waited.

“Why don’t you two go ahead?” Bruce said. “I’m going to clean up.”

Harry took the offer of privacy for what it was, joining Steve in the stairs again. As they climbed back up to the lounge floor, he could feel Steve waiting for a reply.

“You know the, uh, people you couldn’t help?” Harry said finally. “Do you ever feel like… you don’t deserve to get better? Since they didn’t?”

Steve let out a slow, measured breath. There was a short pause before he answered: “Yes.”

“That’s why,” Harry explained. “They didn’t get better. Why should I?”

“Harry –“

“I know it’s not… rational. But… it also makes sense, doesn’t it.”

They were nearing the lounge, so when Steve paused on the landing Harry stopped as well. “It makes sense, Harry. But … it’s like what you told me.” Harry tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what it was Steve wanted him to recall. “I’m not sure if the pain ever stops, but I have a feeling you did nothing less than everything you could to save them. And Harry – “ Steve paused, and Harry glanced up to meet his eyes. “You’re here. As painful as that is, you do deserve to be here.”

Harry took a shaky breath and blinked hard. He had nothing to say to that. They took the rest of the stairs in silence, Steve’s words echoing through Harry’s mind: as painful as that is, you do deserve to be here.

~~~  

Breakfast wasn’t a sit down meal that morning. Tony was somewhere in the labs, Natasha and Clint were ‘away’ according to Steve, and Bruce only made the briefest of entrances to grab food for he and Tony to eat in the labs. Steve himself disappeared quickly for a run and presumably a trip to the gym. So, Harry took his antibiotic, poured himself a bowl of cereal, and settled in with his books. He was going to ignore the mess that was the morning events and immerse himself in runic studies. He had a few ideas for fixing the bindrune. He just needed to fiddle with it until he had a workable second draft. The hours passed easily to the sound of pages turning and a pencil scratching.

It was almost one o’ clock by the time Harry was interrupted. Books and mugs and snack plates surrounded him. In fact, he was munching somewhat absent-mindedly on a carrot when Steve stepped out of the elevator, his hair damp from a shower and his shield in hand. Harry glanced up and smiled. “Back for lunch?” he asked.

Steve nodded, grinning as he raided the fridge and crafted his sandwich. “I was wondering,” Steve said, pulling Harry from his books, “If you’d like to come down to the gym with me after I eat?”

“For what?” The words slipped out before Harry’s brain could catch up. But surely he didn’t mean… Harry eyed Steve’s bulging muscles with slight trepidation. Even playing quiddich he’d been tiny, light, and agile as opposed to strong and powerful. Heck, even when fighting death eaters his style had always leaned towards dodging and spell work. He had never been good at any muggle sports – not when he was in grade school, and certainly not now.

“Well,” Steve said as he pulled out a chair at the table. Harry hastily moved a few books out of his way. “I figure since you’ve been doing a lot of training with your magic, maybe you’d like to do some other stuff.”

It sounded like a terrible idea, but Harry attempted to maintain a neutral expression. He had, at one point, done some physical training with Moody, but as a whole the Wizarding world (Death Eaters and Aurors alike) tended to place a rather low value on physical fitness. Sure, if it came down to it, wizards would fight with their bare hands, but most aparated away before that was necessary. Even muggleborns – after seven years in wizarding schools and society – tended to prefer spells and potions to outright muggle brawls.

“I…” Harry quickly reworded his concerns. “What sort of stuff are you thinking of?” He wondered if it was clear just how hesitant he was at the idea of working out with Captain America. He was underweight, under trained, and naturally scrawny. Steve was anything but.

“I don’t know what you’re interested in, or what you enjoy. My own training is a lot of running, boxing, and martial arts. What sort of training do you do?”

Harry straightened the books in front of him. “Well, um…” He fiddled with his pencil and closed his notebook anxiously.

Steve seemed to realize his own assumption. “Have you had any training?”

“Not really – not like yours,” Harry muttered. “The wizarding world relies on magic too much – why learn to fight with your hands if you can attack with spell work, or disappear before anyone gets too close?”

Steve looked thoughtful. “That makes sense. But, what if you are unable to do magic? How do you defend yourself then?”

Harry shrugged. “Not well.” That had actually been the reason they picked up any muggle fighting. The risk of being disarmed or caught off guard, or needing to escape… “We tried to learn a bit,” he offered, “But we were on the run, and none of us actually knew how to fight like muggles – like non-magical people. Mad-Eye spent a little time on it, but… we tended to focus on wandless magic and dodging and stuff instead.” Harry fiddle with the edge of his shirt. “I saw what you and Natasha are able to do – I don’t think I’d be any use to you.”

Steve thought about that for a moment, taking the time to eat some more of his sandwich. “Can you use magic to fight in close-range situations?” Harry nodded slowly. “So it sounds like your training focuses on dodging – so, speed and agility work – as opposed to strength training or martial arts.” Harry nodded. “Okay,” Steve continued, unfazed. “Want to go to the gym with me in a bit?”

Harry looked around the table. At this point he had a workable second draft of the bindrune. He didn’t need to spend the rest of the day staggering through texts and pouring over old runic poems and sketches. He glanced back at Steve – at least the man had already done his actual work out. Harry nodded and tried not to appear quite as hesitant as he felt. “Sure.”

Steve grinned, and Harry wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

~~~

Far too quickly for Harry’s comfort, he found himself following Steve down to the training floor just below the one he’d been using lately. Standing awkward and knobby-kneed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Harry looked around the world-class fitness center with a frown. There was an indoor track, a boxing ring, a complete weight lifting room, sparring dummies and punching bags... Noticing his hesitation, Steve ushered Harry inside. Steve was far too enthusiastic for Harry’s taste.

“You do realize, I’ve been picked last for every muggle team in my life,” Harry said blandly.

“Muggle?” Steve asked, leading him towards a rather empty looking corner.

“Non magical,” Harry offered again, peering around. He still wasn’t entirely sure what ‘training’ with Steve would entail.

“Kid, don’t worry about it.” Steve laughed. “I was scrawny too, you know.” At Harry’s doubtful expression and blatant sweep of eyes, Steve laughed harder. “You know, before the serum. Small, scrawny and asthmatic. Don’t worry about it.”

“And did you get better without serum magic?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

“I was thinking something fun and agile perhaps?” Steve said, blatantly avoiding Harry’s question and soothing none of his nerves.

Harry sighed, following Steve with only slightly dragging feet. He really couldn’t imagine a muggle sport he would do well in. Dudley and his friends had caught and beat him far more times than he had escaped.

So it was with great reluctance, that Harry followed Steve across the room and into the more or less empty corner. The floor was covered by a thick blue mat and the corner walls were similarly padded. Harry mimicked Steve as he shed his shoes. “So, Mr. America, what’s the plan?”

Steve smiled. “Let’s spar.”

“Spar,” Harry repeated blankly. “Like, a fist fight.”

“Well, if that’s how you fight,” Steve replied.

“Steve. I do magic. It’s like – “ Harry searched his mind for a fitting analogy. “It’s like asking a sniper to compete in swimming.”

Steve shrugged. “Then show me what you do.”

“Magic? In here?” Harry glanced around the room hesitantly. He didn’t want to spar in the first place, but he also felt a bit ashamed admitting that. “Magic and tech don’t always mix well,” he said, trying to weasel out of the fight with his pride in tact.

“There’s not much tech here.” That was unfortunately true. Harry supposed the only tech was JARVIS and the clock.

“So… practice can mean a few things where I’m from.” Harry still wasn’t sure he wanted to do this. While using magic didn’t sound nearly as bad as fighting Steve like a muggle, he didn’t really want to fight either. “Sometimes we played with color spells, just marking hits with blotches of color. Other times we just used a few spells like blocking, repelling, stunning...”

Steve reached casually down to stretch his legs as he responded. “Since I don’t know what the colors would really signify – since I haven’t seen you fight with spells – why don’t you just use some sort of limited repertoire?”

It was strange, hashing out a mock fight with someone who didn’t know magic. Harry nodded. From what he’d been gathering recently, the man (and team) seemed to want to know what he was capable of. Not that Harry had any desire to truly fight ever again. Absently, Harry brushed a finger across his forehead. His chest wound twinged at the movement and Harry was reminded that he’d also have to take that into account as they sparred. He would focus on defense; he didn’t want to fight in this world. He just needed to know he could defend. And, he did need to practice protego in a more active environment.

Steve stepped into the center of the matted practice area and Harry took a deep breath, sensing the magic inside him. The large meals and rest had done him well. He could feel his magic waiting, ready.

“Anything else we should clarify?” he asked Steve.

Steve stepped forward, joining him in the center of the large matted area. “No injuries greater than bruises, yeah?” Harry nodded. Steve’s knees bent as he assumed a fighting position. Harry raised his hands, ready. Steve moved, and they began to circle. Steve moved forward with a sharp jab. Harry ducked, sending up his arms to block with a whispered “protego”. Steve’s arm hit the white shield and bounced back without any sign of pain. Harry wondered if his shield was weak, the punch reserved, or Steve had an unusual tolerance for pain.

Steve kicked and Harry blocked with another protego. Two more attacks in swift succession left Harry ducking and retreating, before circling back. Steve didn’t pause, launching another combination attack that was stronger than the first. He was testing Harry’s abilities, slowly increasing his own attacks as he watched what Harry could do. Spinning, Steve moved forward again. He switched seamlessly from one attack to another, a straightforward but powerful approach that led Harry to dodge and shield repeatedly, stepping back towards the wall. His left hand twitched, itching to attack instead of defend, but Harry held himself back. He didn’t want to fight. He wouldn’t do that anymore –

A moment’s delay was all it took for a punch to land. Harry went flying, slamming into the padded wall. He felt the wind leave his chest in a pained grunt. Reaching up, he clutched his chest and turned towards Steve, who stood with his hands at his side, making no move to continue.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. Harry nodded, still holding his chest. He pushed himself to his feet. “Why were you holding back?” Steve asked.

“I wasn’t.” Harry’s reply was quick and a bit too defensive. Steve leveled his gaze at him and Harry looked away.

“You didn’t attack,” Steve stated. “That wasn’t a fight.”

Harry shook his head. “I said I’d spar,” Harry bit back. Steve looked rather taken aback at the sudden debate of semantics.

“To spar is to practice fight.”

“Which we did.”

“You didn’t attack,” Steve repeated. He did not sound upset, but a heavy layer of curiosity lay beneath his words.  

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s go again,” he snapped. They returned to the center of the padded mats. Again, it was Steve who threw the first punch and Harry who was defending. He blocked and dodged, avoiding feet and hands several moves longer than before. The attacks were stronger and faster; Harry dodged and blocked and retreated. “Come on Harry,” Steve exclaimed. Harry gritted his teeth and dodged another blow towards his head. “Fight!”

Harry blocked a kick and took a step back – only to meet the wall. Steve wasn’t stopping. “How can you defend others when you’re too busy dodging attacks?”

Are you going to let me die?

In a split-second decision, Harry dodged a left hook and pushed outward with both hands: “Depulso!” Steve flew across the room, his body colliding with a set of free weights and a practice dumbie before landing amongst a row of punching bags. Harry stood frozen on the mats, arms out stretched, eyes wide.

For a moment Steve didn’t move. Harry was certain his heart stopped. Then he heard a small groan, and watched as Steve slowly picked himself up. Harry stood bolted to the floor as Steve returned to the mats.

“Nice work,” Steve said, offering his hand.

Harry stepped back, an irrationally strong anger suddenly flaring in his chest. He could feel the magic gathering in his arms, ready to be expelled – ready to break or shatter or explode. He turned away.

“Harry?” Steve’s voice was questioning, but Harry didn’t look at him. “What’s up?”

Harry clenched his fists, still looking at the opposite corner of the room, facing away from Steve. Everything was wrong. He could’ve hurt Steve – but he hadn’t. He couldn’t have protected anyone fighting like he was, but he could’ve hurt Steve, or others... He felt conflicted and tricked. His magic moved restlessly through his body and that more than anything put him on edge.

“I’m okay,” Steve said, attempting to guess at the problem. Harry tugged agitatedly at his hair.

“Why are we sparring?” Harry snapped, whirling around to face Steve. “What is the point of this? Why do you want me to fight?”

Steve looked rather taken aback by the anger in Harry’s voice. “I knew you’d been training. I thought you might want a partner, and… I suppose I was curious.”

“Well I am done fighting!” Harry was almost yelling, gesturing furiously and aimlessly with his hands. “I’m done!”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t realize – I am still not sure I realize,” he admitted. “Why did this upset you?”

Harry turned away from Steve. Done fighting? Ron would’ve raised an eyebrow at that. Haven’t heard that one before. Harry reached up to his forehead, running his fingers over the one scar he bothered to glamour. Harry sighed, the frightened anger leaving as quickly as it came. He wasn’t sure how to explain without broaching topics he never, ever wanted to speak of.

Harry stared across the room. “It’s like: fine, I agree I don’t really want to sit back and watch people get hurt, but why should I have to fight?” He knew it didn’t explain the deep terror he felt at the mere idea of wielding his power against another. But watching Steve fly across the room – knowing what he’d done in the past – touching the runes hidden beneath his glamour… Harry clenched his hands at his side. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t trust that anything would be left standing when it was over.

“I apologize for pushing you,” Steve said. “I didn’t understand. Can you explain what you are training for then?”

Harry glanced back to Steve again, trying to force his tense body into a casual tone and posture. “I’ve been experimenting to see if I can use intermediate magic, now that I don’t have a wand. I’ve also been working on defensive runes.” Harry rubbed absently at his chest, which was newly sore after their sparing. He sighed. “I know you guys want to know what I can do and if I can be useful, but… I just... can’t do the whole combat thing again. I can set up wards. I can try to keep civilians safe. I just… I can’t fight again.”

Steve nodded, looking like he was trying to understand. Harry wondered how much of a coward Steve must take him for now. But he would rather be deemed a coward than a monster, and he felt more like a monster than anything else. “Sparring seems like a rather poor choice then,” Steve said finally. “Do you like dodging games?”

Harry blinked. Steve still wanted to train with him?

“You used a lot of dodging when we sparred,” Steve said with a shrug. “Seemed like something you probably enjoy. And it’s defensive.”

Harry had been thinking about how he could practice dodging on his own. He especially wanted to practice protego in a more challenging environment. “Okay.”

And that was how Harry found himself in the simulation room playing what amounted to a one-sided game of laser tag with JARVIS. Harry laughed as he dodged yet another blue bolt of light and rolled away from two others. It reminded him of quiddich practice and bludgers. A quick protego blocked another quick volley approaching from the left while he focused on the red light approaching on his right. He did not notice the newcomer joining Steve in the corner.

“Kid’s light on his feet,” remarked Clint, watching as Harry darted away from yet another volley. “How many times has he been hit?”

“Twice so far.”

“You’re joking. Is that time accurate?” he asked, gesturing past Steve to the timer.

“Yeah, it’s been almost six minutes.”

“That’s… impressive.” Clint eyed the way Harry moved, almost sensing the lights before he turned to see them, dodging or deflecting attacks from all four directions. “JARVIS, can you add some heat to this?”

“Yes, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS replied. The rate of the light show seemed to pick up, more and more attacks coming from multiple directions. Harry spun and dodged and blocked even faster. Two more hits landed, one on his shoulder and another on his ankle. Harry blocked a sudden attack from all four directions with a dome-like shield, but as he spun back towards the next attack, he dropped the shield and threw himself to the ground.

“Stop!” he shouted at JARVIS as another bolt of green light left him flinging himself to the left. “Stop!”

Suddenly the light flooded the room and the projectors shut off. Harry glanced shakily around the room. “Is everything alright?” JARVIS inquired, his voice taking on a moderately concerned tone.

“Don’t – Don’t use green lights, okay?” Harry replied, looking around the room. He paused when his eyes landed on Steve, who had been joined by Clint at some point.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” replied JARVIS. Harry headed over to the two men, wiping sweat from his brow.

“You’ve got good reflexes,” Clint stated, handing Harry a towel.

Harry wiped the sweat off his face and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Is this what you’ve been up to this afternoon?”

Harry shrugged. “More or less,” he hedged, uninterested in discussing the rather spectacular failure of sparring with Steve. Thankfully, Steve did not correct his omission.

“Ended kinda abruptly,” Clint commented as they headed towards the door. Harry shrugged again. “What’s with green light?” Clint continued, when Harry didn’t answer the initial prompt.

Harry hesitated, fiddling with the towel in his hands. “Back home,” he said finally, “the energy that killed people was a green light.”

The two men exchanged glances behind Harry. Before they could say more, JARVIS interrupted. “The Avengers have been requested.”

Tony’s voice broke through the speakers: “Suit up. Meet on the roof in five.”

Harry fiddled with the towel in his hands. He wanted to ask when they’d be back, but knew it was pointless. Part of him wanted to tell them to stay safe, but it sounded too anxious. Instead, he felt strangely flippant words slip from his throat: “Don’t be late for dinner.”

“Dinner,” Steve replied, accepting the odd promise. Clint nodded. Harry watched them disappear into the elevator, shooting up towards their rooms to change and regroup. Harry headed more sedately up the stairs. They were superheroes. They would be fine. Still, it felt uncomfortable and strange returning to his books, knowing his… friends were about to risk their lives once again.

Ten minutes later, Harry was pacing by the dining table. “JARVIS?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“There isn’t any news coverage of whatever the Avengers are doing right now, is there?” Maybe he could watch, make sure they were okay –

“No, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh, okay.” He stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “That’s okay.” He looked at the runic texts he should be reading though, but he just didn’t have the focus. He thought about going for a walk, but he had no way to be notified when they returned and if they were safe. He wanted to be around incase there was word, or if they needed him for anything. They had said they might find him useful…

He needed to be productive, but he didn’t want to get distracted. Harry ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t focus enough to read, he didn’t want to leave the tower, and he didn’t want to hide himself away in the training room… He had, however, been planning to practice apparition soon. And, small jumps were the best way to start…

Turning on his heel, he appeared in his bedroom. He paused, panting from both the terrible twist-and-pull of apparition and the sheer amount energy he’d just spent. A second jump did not seem wise just yet.

He would fix dinner; Steve said he would be back – and he could stretch his magic while he did so. Aparating was too exhausting, but perhaps if he practiced, magic would become easier with time?

Gesturing to the fridge, he summoned some frozen chicken and set it in the sink to defrost. He had hours to kill, and nowhere near enough to do. A mixing bowl floated hesitantly from the cupboards and a bag of flour bumped along behind it trailing powdery white dust. A fresh loaf of bread never went amiss.

~~~

Hours passed as Harry waited for the Avengers to return. Soon, the kitchen counters were overflowing with bowls and plates and platters in varying states of completion. A few plates of cookies had been moved to the dining table to make more room for the pot of beef stew and a bowl of mashed potatoes. There were two salads and some roasted vegetables beside a platter of homemade mac and cheese… Two loaves of bread cooled on a wooden board and a third loaf was rising in the oven.

When the elevator doors finally opened, the Avengers were met with a strange sight. An eclectic feast awaited them on the counter, a small library was strewn around the couches, and the dishes in the sink were scrubbing themselves with no one in sight.

A slight crack! sounded to their right. Natasha and Clint had their weapons trained on the intruder before they’d even fully turned around. The dishes by the sink fell with a crash. The intruder stared wide-eyed at the Avengers behind a shimmering blue shield.

“Harry?” Steve asked. Clint lowered his bow slightly. Natasha and Harry held eyes for a moment, before she too lowered her gun. Harry’s shield gently shivered, before dissolving. Harry was standing among the couches, his runic texts spread out all around him.

“Bored were you?” asked Tony, breaking the tension with a raise of his eyebrows and a vague glance around the room. Harry offered a small smile and shrug. A kitchen timer sounded, and Harry cautiously approached. The group moved aside and watched as Harry slipped into the mess of the kitchen to peer into the oven. Pulling on hot-mitts, he set the loaf with the others and turned the oven off. Moving to the sink, Harry leaned down to pick up the items that had fallen during the surprise of their meeting. “Reparo.” He returned the dishes to ‘dirty’ pile before facing the Avengers.

“Kept yourself busy, huh kid.” Clint’s voice was light and playful, but Harry could see scratches and bruises on all but Bruce, who was currently without a shirt. He looked the team over: they appeared more or less okay. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Steve said dinner,” Harry said, brushing aside the elephant in the room; the chaotic mess made it a bit too clear that he had been worrying. “The way you guys eat, I thought you might be hungry.”

Thor laughed, his voice booming through the room. “’Tis a masterful feast, young Potter.”

“But I also checked with Jarvis about tupperware and containers. I was waiting for the bread to finish before putting things away.” It’s okay if you don’t want to eat it, hung in the air. The team looked tired and worn. It was also eleven thirty at night. Harry did not question their adventure, but he felt it might not have gone well. He wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation. He and the others had always debriefed missions back home, but he wasn’t one of them here. To keep his anxious hands busy, Harry started scrubbing dishes.

“This looks wonderful, Harry,” Steve said. “Let’s sit and eat. We have much to discuss.”

Harry looked up curiously, setting yet another mixing bowl to the side. Idly he charmed the towel to help dry once again. At Natasha’s questioning look, Harry smiled. “My current theory holds that using ma – my energy more often for little things will make it easier to use in general.”

“By energy, you mean magic.” Natasha replied. Harry’s eyes flickered to Steve, but otherwise gave no indication he had heard her.

“Leave it for now,” Steve said, moving towards the dining table. “Mind if I switch some of the platters around?” Steve asked.

“Oh, no, go for it,” Harry said, setting aside the last dish and pulling the drain in the sink. “I just needed somewhere to set them. I assume you’d prefer dinner foods to cookies right now.” With the Avengers helping to set the table and lay out food, Harry quickly found himself seated with the team.

They passed dishes quietly, serving themselves full plates and delving in with quiet thanks and compliments. Harry filled his plate. Despite having already eaten dinner, he was once again ravenous. It was only once the superheroes had managed to take the edge off their hunger that the promised discussion began. Interestingly, it was Natasha who took the reigns.

“Potter,” Harry set down his fork and focused his attention on her. “You’ve indicated an interest in helping defend civilians, yes?” Harry nodded slowly, wondering where this was headed. “Steve has informed us you have no desire to be in any fighting situation, but you have shown abilities protecting spaces and people with various shielding techniques. Would you be willing to work with us in this capacity?”

Harry felt his stomach clench. “What happened today?”

The stony faces that greeted his question did nothing to quell the flashes of memories lingering at the edges of his thoughts.   “A small town was… destroyed,” Bruce replied.

Harry nodded solemnly. “Where I am capable of helping, I will.”

“What do you know of Fenrir?” Harry glanced at Bruce.

“The wolf of destruction?” At Bruce’s nod, Harry frowned. “Not a great deal… Fenrir is the child of Loki and Angerboda. It’s said that he is Destruction itself, and when he was announced before the Aesir he assumed the form of a wolf. Temporarily he was chained and contained by Tyr the Swordsman. The myths say his freedom will come at Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods.”

Thor nodded, reaching for another leg of chicken. “Fenrir is indeed my brother’s son, and he had escaped his fetters. However, this is no Ragnarok as your books speak of. He brings destruction, but he is no world-ender.”

“Yet,” Harry heard Clint mutter.

“And he is… here?” Harry asked.

“Indeed,” Thor replied. “He has come to Midgard, although we are not certain for what purpose. It is possible that my brother Loki has traveled to Midgard beside him, and has a mischievous end. Fenrir is not one for strategy.”

“That’s why we’d like to see what you can do,” Steve cut in. “Fenrir is –“

“Absolutely insane,” Tony cut in. “He didn’t focus on us. He just wanted to destroy as much as he could.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Fenrir is like a forest fire. How did it end today?”

Clint scowled. “Loki whisked him away,” he snarled.

“Eye of Hawk,” Thor interrupted. “We are not yet certain that it was my brother who disappeared with the wolf.”

Harry could already feel his mind turning. A destructive force as strong as Fenrir… The idea of fire was perhaps not a bad one. If the problem was his lack of focus on specific targets… Harry was half way out of his seat before he caught himself. The eyes of the table were on him. Harry blushed. “I was just thinking…” he summoned his notebook from the couches. “Fenrir is a being of destruction – you say one major problem is his lack of focus on you? The way he just wants to destroy anything?” Harry thumbed through the pages of his spiral. “It’s like fiendfyre. I’m wondering about containment or parameters…”

“If you are to join us in a fight,” Bruce interrupted his musings, “we cannot guarantee your safety.”

Harry shrugged him away. “I know.” Harry reached behind him to summon the pencil as well. “Not to be pushy Tony, but did any of the oils JARVIS ordered arrive?”

“Harry,” Steve’s voice was commanding. Harry looked up, tilting his head to the side.

“What?”

“Before you delve into research, I want to make sure you’re really with us. Are you willing to join us the next time we’re called out and fight with us? I know there are parts of fighting you are… struggling with.”

Harry lifted his chin and met Steve’s eyes firmly. “I would love it if I never saw a fight again in my life. But -“ his eyes flashed, and his expression hardened. “I’m not going to let some Greyback 2.0 run free terrorizing people. If this is supposed to be my world now, I owe it just as much as my last one.”

“Greyback 2.0?” Clint repeated.

“Fenris Greyback,” Harry spat the name like a curse, “loved to watch things break. He thought children were the best targets.” Harry’s smile was absolutely feral. “We dissuaded him of that notion.” Natasha wondered how much remained of the body.

Steve nodded. “Then, I think it would be best if we spend time training together so we are ready to collaborate in the field. We will need to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Harry heard the prompt for what it was, and he remembered all to well Natasha’s earlier comment. Harry sighed. “I’ve been using two terms for the same thing,” he said. No one batted an eye so he assumed Steve had told them. “The energy you sensed is what my people called magic. I am a wizard. You’ve seen me using wandless magic and runes.”

“Wizard like magic wand and pointy hat?” Tony asked with a laugh.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, unfazed. “My wand didn’t make it here with me, so I’m re-learning a lot. It’s getting easier than I expected; I think that may be another difference between our worlds. But yes, we had magical creatures and wizards’ robes and potions and flying broomsticks and all that. I, however, don’t have anything but my powers here.”

Tony blinked. Natasha’s face was unreadable as ever, and Thor seemed to take all magic things in stride as if he knew them from the start. “The intricacies of my old world are not so important now, as little applies here.”

“Very well.” Clint finished the last of his plate. “But before anything is set, we’re going to need to see you in action - ” He glanced at their tired expressions. “ – tomorrow. Fury will want to talk with you too.” He stood up. “Thanks for the meal, kid.”

Harry smiled. “My pleasure.”

The team disbanded soon after that, and thankfully the others chipped in to wash dishes and put away left overs. Harry retreated to his room. As he locked his bedroom door, he realized he needed some time to process the new change of events. He had agreed to fight with the Avengers by protecting and shielding civilians. Harry kicked out of his clothes and slipped under the covers. What had he gotten himself into? His mind raced, but his heart didn’t seem to care.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven 

The forest was dark. Harry was taking down the tent. Ron scuffed out their fire before beginning the familiar process of hiding any evidence they'd stayed there. “Ready?” Harry asked, stuffing the last of their camping equipment back into their beaded bag.

Ron took the offered bag: “Always.” They turned on the spot.

Avery Manor was the second largest death eater hideout. Ron looked at Harry, raising his hand to his forehead. Harry mimicked the gesture. “Hryðjuverka,” he whispered. A wave of heat ran through his body. His heart beat faster; his mouth spread into a wide, feral grin.

With a ground-quaking boom the pair brought down the wards and demolished the gates. They strode through the wreckage with wands raised high.

The first death eater to appear was thrown so hard against the manor’s walls that his head caved in. The next one, Harry eviscerated. The third, Ron caught in a skin-shredding curse that turned the wizard into a mess of ear splitting screams. As they breached the front doors a woman cried out in terror. Harry could feel his face contorting in a wide-eyed smile. He could hear himself laugh as he ripped the throat from another cloaked figure. Arterial blood sprayed across his chest. He shoved the corpse aside. Black boots stomped across stone floors; the wand grew slick in his bloodied hand. Another robed figure darted into view. Harry raised his wand, laughing.

When he woke, he could still hear the laughter.

Harry yanked himself from the bed. His chest bandage needed to be changed, but he didn’t want a shower right then. Instead, he shoved his arms into a hoodie and fled the dark room and phantom laughter.

At the edge of the short hallway, looking out into the lounge, he realized he must’ve barely gone to sleep. Clint and Steve were talking quietly on the couches and Natasha was fixing a cup of tea. She gazed at Harry, hovering in the doorway, and nodded towards the kitchen barstools. Harry walked over shakily.

“Tea?” she asked. Harry blinked; she didn’t seem the type. She laughed dryly. “I won’t poison it.”

“Oh, no –“ Harry fumbled with his words, embarrassed by his poor manners. “Tea is great, thanks.”

She poured him a cup of peppermint tea and Harry wondered how many other things she’d noticed over his days with them. She passed it to him wordlessly before leaning against the counter, apparently settling in beside him.

Harry glanced at the clock. He hadn’t gone to sleep any more than an hour ago. He should’ve checked the time before he left his room.

Natasha watched him, taking in his rumpled hair and pale face. The partially open zipper of his hoodie revealed the tell-tale sign of white bandages and she recalled what Bruce had mentioned about the puss he had cleaned from Harry’s chest and his continued refusal of pain killers or anesthetics. She thought about the rune he’d carved to protect Grand Central Station and everyone inside, and the look of awe and respect on Thor’s face as he described the great risk and sacrifice of Harry’s actions. She watched the scrawny young man sip his tea, and wondered once more about him joining their team. Fury had certainly been pushing for it, enthusiastic about having magical powers on board, but she had waited – unsure. He was a kid, somewhat broken by his war, with powers no one knew the scope of.

Yet, watching him stare just past his tea with a look of terrible greif and regret in his eyes, she started to see also the horrors he must have inflicted on others in his war. She watched the way his hands shook around his mug and the tightness at the corners of his mouth and the tension in his shoulders. He reminder her of some of the girls in the Red Room – before they broke or hardened, when they were still somewhat new to the terrors, still struggling to work through what they had done and would do and would be made to do.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, breaking the silence between them. He glanced up, but offered no words. She continued. “The way you talk about fighting… you’ve done stuff – stuff you wish you hadn’t.” She knew she was stepping out on a limb, entering delicate territory as a virtual stranger. “You’re not the only one, you know?” She glanced at the men playing Scrabble. “Sure, maybe Steve hasn’t screwed up too bad, and maybe not Thor, but the rest of us…” she let it hang there, watching how his green eyes flickered up to hers, hesitating and hopeful, with a tinge of shame on his face.

His lips flattened into a thin line, before he lifted his tea once more. She let the topic drop. The opening was there now, for whenever he needed it. She drained the last of her tea. “Do you play chess?” she asked. Harry hesitated then smiled.

“I’ve never been much good,” he said. “But I do enjoy it.”

They set up the board on the dining table. “My friend, Ron, he had this chess set he carried everywhere with him,” Harry admitted as she took her first move. “Even when we were on the run he made time for chess.”

“On the run?” she asked. Harry moved his first pawn.

“Yeah, during our seventh year. We dropped out of school and went hunting for these… artifacts that Voldemort needed. The Ministry had fallen; I was Undesirable Number One.” He laughed, a rough and bitter sound.

“Why you?” She moved her knight into position.

“Why not?” he deflected, shifting his bishop. Despite having revealed magic, he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain the prophecy or his role in the war. It wasn’t exactly a success story.

She was undeterred. “I can think of many reasons a kid who hadn’t even completed school wouldn’t be sent on a mission to defeat a dark lord.”

Harry grimaced. She moved her rook. “Things were… different for me.” Harry contemplated how to explain it. He was never going back to his world, there was no statute of secrecy, and they were supposed to start being more like a team. But it was one of the worst parts of his life – the prophecy, and how he had taken so long and failed so many. And he barely knew her.

“Undesirable Number One is not a title earned lightly,” she pointed out.

Harry sighed. He supposed she probably deserved the truth. He watched Natasha place her knight. He starred at the board blankly, picking up his bishop.

“There was this prophecy,” he said finally. “It probably sounds stupid, but back home prophecies were taken really seriously. In short, I was the only one who could kill Voldemort.”

She didn’t respond for a while, opting instead to study the chessboard with more intensity than was probably necessary against his intermediate skills. When she did speak, it wasn’t quite the question he had expected. “How did they know you were the one?”

Harry’s hand rose unbidden to the lighting bolt scar. No longer the most prominent mark on his face, it remained a visible reminder of the fame and weight he had carried in his world. Sometimes, in spite of all he lost, it was a relief to no longer shoulder all of that. Here, the strange scar meant nothing.

“When I was one, Voldemort murdered my parents and tried to kill me. His curse rebounded and that ended the first war. Because I was the only person known to have ever survived the killing curse, and the fact it seemed to defeat Voldemort… People thought I was supposed to be their savior.” His voice was bitter and his eyes were tired.

“That’s a lot for a teenager to carry,” Natasha said lightly, taking her turn.

Harry snorted. “I was raised by muggles – non-magicals. And they absolutely hated magic, right? So you can imagine my surprise when, on my eleventh birthday, this man shows up saying not only am I a wizard, but I am the savior of the wizarding world! I go to get my school supplies and everyone shakes my hand. I –“ Harry paused, shaking his head. “It was quite a shock.”

“Sounds worse than Steve.” Harry glanced up, confused. Natasha laughed. “When he took the serum, he went from being a scrawny nobody, to the prize pet of the United States’ Military. They actually had him do shows for a while, to boost troop morale.” Harry glanced over at the strong blond playing scrabble with Clint. He couldn’t imagine the serious, steady man in theatre. “Yeah, that didn’t last too long.”

“How’d he get out of it?”

“Disobeyed orders and went to rescue his friend. The successful mission, for which he was later pardoned, got him sent into combat like he wanted.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. He could imagine Steve bending all of Hell and Earth to save a friend. “Friends are like that,” he found himself saying. “Take crazy risks and stubborn as hell.”

Natasha played her final move. “Checkmate.”

Harry grinned. “Good to know I can still lose a chess match.” He began to clear the board. “I played Ron for years. Never did manage to beat him. Then again… he beat Professor McGonagall’s chessboard when he was eleven, so… didn’t stand much of a chance.”

“Sounds like a smart man, your friend.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a wistful smile on his face. “He was.”

Natasha headed for bed soon after; Clint and Steve were not far behind. Harry puttered around the kitchen, washing mugs and tidying up before he too returned to his room.  Perhaps now he could get some real sleep.

  ~~~

Harry dreamt of screams and blood and vacant eyes. A furious laughter sounded throughout it all. When he woke, he was in a tangle of sheets, damp with sweat. Pulling on his sweatshirt and hiding himself under its hood, Harry fled once more to the lounge. He sat by the window and stared out at the slowly lightening sky. His arms wrapped around his torso and his jaw was clenched tight.

Behind him, the small stove light was on and Harry could make out his faint reflection in the window before him. Reaching up to his forehead, he looked at the blank skin and felt the ridges of hidden scars. He dug his fingers in for a moment – as if he might rip it off or scratch it away. He closed his eyes instead, pressing his arms closer to his chest. He didn’t deserve to be here; he didn’t deserve this second chance.

“It’s the only way,” Ron had said once when they were first beginning their research, and Harry had agreed with him. They turned through books even Hermione had never opened, and poured through parts of the Black library and Knockturn Alley that they’d once viewed with horror. They still viewed it with horror, but that didn’t stop them.

“Was it necessary?” Harry recalled the dark twist of those spells, the way they pulled at his core and tilted his world just the slightest amount – left him feeling both off-kilter and exhilarated. And when it ended and they’d washed the blood from their clothes, he had retched and retched, barely eating for days.

A hollowness had grown in their eyes; weeks passed without a true smile. During those last months it was as if he’d been stripped down, whittled away until only grief and rage and desperation remained. He was sinew on bone, skeletal determination – and it was then he knew there was no way but his death, no point in further research. They made their final plans, met the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest, and he had marched to slaughter with Ron and Fleur flanking him in the shadows.

He didn’t even know if it had worked. He stared at his reflection in the dark glass and focused on his green eyes. He hadn’t turned into Tom. He had courted demons, but he was here – he had sacrificed his life. Wasn’t that the exact opposite of anything Riddle would’ve done?

He hadn’t become Riddle, had he?

Wrenching himself from the chair, Harry retrieved his books and settled around the dining table. He would protect people; he was not like Riddle. He could figure out a bindrune – he’d seen ones like it before and certainly he could figure it out again. He would defend people here – he would not kill. He would not be like Riddle.

That was how Tony found him, flipping through books and sketching out new bindrunes, when he swung by on his way back from the lab at 5:30 in the morning.

“There you go, kid,” Tony called, tossing a box onto the table.

Harry jumped. “What’s this?”

“Said you needed some stuff,” Tony said with a shrug, making a beeline towards the coffee maker.

Harry took the box eagerly. Breaking the tape with his pen, Harry shifted through the contents. Five large bottles of essential oils were tucked securely among packing peanuts. Harry took them out, reading their labels: Fennel, Flax Seed, Juniper Berry, Horehound, and Rosemary. He beamed at Tony. “This is … wow. Thank you!”

Tony brushed it of. “Told you kid, I want to see you do neat things.” Harry stood, gathering his stuff. He had two different bindrunes to try and – “Kid, after breakfast, okay?” Harry paused. “After last night, you think you’re getting away without training with us? You’ll have a hard time convincing Clint of that. I’m sure he’s got a fitness routine already worked out for you.” Harry tried valiantly not to blush as Tony’s eyes glanced up and down his scrawny frame. “Breakfast first.”

~~~

The topic of training didn’t even wait until after breakfast. They were settled around the table eating blueberry pancakes – which, apparently, was about the only thing Tony could cook – when Clint turned to Harry: “So, since we’re going to be working together, I for one would like to hear about your experience fighting.”

Harry chewed slowly, pushing back the nauseous feeling that seemed to arrive whenever he recalled fighting. Swallowing, he reached for his orange juice, buying time. They needed to know what skills he had. He could explain that.

“Well,” he began, setting down his orange juice and glancing around at the team. Even Thor had joined them for breakfast this morning. Apparently he chose to stay the night, after the fight yesterday. “It was different than what I’ve seen of your fighting. I never learned muggle fighting – like martial arts or muggle weaponry. I’ve used a sword and knife, but that was just strange circumstances, and –“

“No,” Clint interrupted. “Not weaponry. I want to know about the type of fighting. Did you work alone or with a team? Did you use guerrilla tactics or was it conventional warfare? Was it total-war? Did you conduct raids? Start with that. We need an image of what kind of fighting experience you’ve had.”

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly bone dry. His fingers wrapped tightly around his glass. Images danced at the edges of his mind. “I –“ He glanced around, eyes wide, seeking out the comfort of calm blue. Steve met his gaze. The conversation was unavoidable, and reasonable. He took a shaky breath.

“Uh,” he started, ineloquently. “I don’t know the terms. Fast fighting, mostly. Responding to attacks in places like shopping centers and neighborhoods. And attacking their bases when we found them – taking down wards and storming the place at night.” Harry blinked back the gruesome images. The rest of the Avengers sat around the table, but Harry focused on the soldier who had been such a steady presence recently.

“We took more prisoners at the start – interrogation and jail, before Mad-Eye died. Interrogation got… rougher over the years. The Death Eaters used torture as entertainment.” Harry rubbed a trembling hand across his brow. Distantly, he was surprised by how matter of fact his words were. “Mostly it was just a few of us working as a team –two to six, depending. But the bigger battles – at Hogwarts –“ Harry cut himself off, suddenly unable to continue. He swallowed hard, his eyes stinging fiercely. He stared at his orange juice. The silence of the Avengers waiting told him more than anything else that they thought these facts were important.

Harry waited for the stinging sensation to fade, and his chin to stop twitching. He took another few breaths. “The Order organized about a hundred people at Hogwarts, mainly students.” A flash of red hair on cobblestone. “Death Eaters brought giants and werewolves.” The thunder and fire of falling wards. “But mostly humans.” Harry found his hand in his hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t know what else to say. The castle fell.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, before Clint responded. “So, it sounds like most of your fighting experience was small-group raids and skirmishes. Neither side had the resources for total, nor conventional, warfare.  And, since you said students fought, I assume there was a lack of formally trained fighters?"  Harry nodded.   "It sounds like it was primarily skirmishes and raids.  The brief, frequent and hard to predict fighting would've been used to instill fear in the other side.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, before nodding again. “I’m not sure what else is useful… magic is quite a bit different here.

“Well,” said Natasha, “What do you think will be applicable now?”

Harry fiddled with his fork, thinking back to the fighting he had seen with the Chitauri. “I’ve always relied on spellwork and runes,” he admitted with a shrug. “I don’t have the resources to learn healing or potions – I’ve always needed books for that, and I doubt this world has the ingredients anyways. Spellwork is more intuitive for me, and I have a fairly solid grasp of basic runes.” He glanced at Clint who appeared to have taken the role of his ‘trainer’. “In a defensive position, I think I would be most useful shielding civilians and protecting specific locations. If I can figure out a few more spells I might be able to slip under the radar doing that.”

Tony appeared intrigued, but it was Thor who spoke. “You hide in plain sight, like my brother?”

“Well, not completely – I don’t have my cloak here. But, with a silencing spell and disillusionment charm I could get around fairly well – especially if others were distracted in a fight. I could try a notice-me-not charm, but that’s more complex. Without a wand… I’m not sure.”

“Something to practice then,” Clint said, seemingly adding it to a mental list. “Steve mentioned you have little experience with non-magical fighting?”

“Like, none,” Harry admitted, fiddling with his fork. “Physical fitness was not… necessary in the wizarding world. I mean, with quiddich I guess we ran laps and stuff, but…” Clint’s frown was not reassuring. Harry looked down at his plate, fighting back a blush. “With your style of fighting, I’m probably worse than the average civilian.”

Steve interrupted before Clint could push further in that regard. “But we don’t need you to fight in our style. How have the runes been coming?”

Harry picked up the notebook he’d set on the floor beneath his chair. He flipped through the pages. “I’ve two more drafts I want to try. I’m trying to refine the retaliation of the bindrune and strengthen its shield. I know that Algiz works, and there are a few other traditional ones I know but they’re less useful for protection – light, silencing, fire, the feeling of hope and calm… I’d rather avoid repeating the whole Chitauri thing if I can.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “It doesn’t heal like it used to.”

The team let that settle between them for a moment, taking the time to eat and think. “Well,” Tony said. “I for one would like to see those two bindrunes today. Are they ready to be used?”

Harry nodded. “It should be safe enough to watch. It’s an experiment, though…” He shrugged, but none of the Avengers appeared too concerned.

“Finish up then,” Clint said, taking up his role as unofficial Harry-trainer once more. “Let’s go try those runes, then I want to see you in the gym and run you through some paces.”

Harry took another bite of pancake. He wasn’t particularly hungry any more, but it was like George used to say: Eat up. We don’t want you snacking on the snitch again!

~~~

In no time, Harry found himself within the locked training room with a large audience hovering behind him. Opening his notebook, he considered the first bindrune – a circle of Sowulo’s surrounding a moderately sized Naudiz. He contemplated the five essential oils and the paintbrush Steve had handed him. All of the oils had protective elements, but each were subtly different in the type of protection they offered. Flaxseed leaned towards protection from poverty, where as horehound protected from attacks on the mind and Fennel focused on protection from ill health. Rosemary had a wider range of uses, but that tended to dilute its power. Juniper Berry would offer the purest protection on its own – protecting from magic, evil, storms, and physical danger. Taking that bottle in hand, he walked back to the broken car.

He placed his hand upon the windshield, which was damaged again – likely from the Avenger’s recent practices. “Reparo.” The others stood behind him by the door, but he could feel their curious eyes. Setting his notebook on the hood of the car, Harry took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He shoved aside his nerves and narrowed his thoughts to just the car and the essential oil and the rune he was about to draw.

“Vernda og verja,” he whispered, dipping a paintbrush into the bottle and drawing the first line. “Protect and defend.” Chanting quietly, he envisioned the rune growing into a bright, strong shield. He imagined it standing strong against a threat, and a retaliation that was specific. Protect bystanders, he thought as he chanted. Hurt none but those who hurt you. He drew the rune with careful, measured strokes of the brush. As he completed the last line, he let out a small huff of air and willed the rune complete.

A bright light pulsed suddenly from the rune, before going still. Harry capped the bottle and set them both aside. With carefully gentle thoughts, he reached around the rune and picked up his notebook. A slight static seemed to flit around his hands briefly, but the rune once more recognized him as a neutral party. Closing the notebook he backed away and set his things behind the boulder. The others were still watching from the wall. Harry picked up a tennis ball.

“Uh, I don’t have a clue what it’s going to do,” he warned them. “I am going to take cover behind this rock.” He left it there, unwilling to directly imply that some of the strongest people in the world might want to take cover from a tennis ball. Still, if the tennis ball morphed into knives things could get ugly real quick. Thankfully, it appeared that the Avengers were not too proud to take his advice. The watching fighters found spots around the room to hide and watch.

When they appeared settled, Harry took the tennis ball and lobbed it curiously towards the rune. He held his hand at the ready – prepared to shield or dodge as needed. But the tennis ball merely bumped against an invisible boundary and dropped to the ground. It rolled away, a small whisper of yellow fuzz on hard floor. Harry frowned thoughtfully. The ward might be much weaker than the other, or more delicately sensitive to intent. The tennis ball had been tossed with no ill will in mind.

Taking up another tennis ball, he focused his mind on breaking the windshield. With a much stronger throw, he lobbed a second tennis ball at the car.

The resulting pulse of energy sent Harry flying behind his rock. He barely pulled up a shield before five not-so-round tennis balls hurtled around the rock and dived straight towards his chest. The projectiles slammed against his shield with a loud thud! before falling to the ground. Despite their yellow fuzzy exterior, the ex-tennis balls clattered ominously to the ground. Slowly, Harry dropped his shield. When the items made no move to attack again, he reached down carefully and picked one up. They were certainly no longer tennis balls.

Under a deceptively fuzzy yellow coat, the rubber of the tennis ball had been replaced by something hard and pointed. Running his finger across the edge of the triangular item, he found it was not sharp, but that did little to reassure him. An attack at that speed would have easily plunged the dull, pointed objects into his flesh. “Damn,” he muttered. He peered back around the rock to stare at the innocent-looking rune. It was almost invisible, clear liquid shining faintly on the hood of the car.

“You okay?” Steve’s voice came from across the room, his head popping up over the brick wall.

“Y-yeah,” Harry replied. He picked up the rest of the ex-tennis balls and walked up to the rune. It clearly recognized harmful intent. “Did anyone else get targeted?”

The chorus of ‘no’ made Harry smile. He examined the car carefully. There was no sign of damage, but he hadn’t been able to see if the ball made contact with the car or not and a tennis ball wouldn’t necessarily leave any mark. He examined the fuzzy yellow items in his hands. He could try throwing one of them. If they hit, they would leave a mark of some sort. However, after the rune altered the shape of the tennis balls, Harry was a bit wary of starting with an already dangerous shape. He fiddled with the projectile.

“What’s next?” asked Tony, piping up from behind a nearby boulder. Bruce was apparently hiding with him, as his head was peering around the edge as well.

“Not sure,” Harry said, eyeing the yellow shape thoughtfully. “It definitely notices the difference between hostile and neutral intent, and it did a good job of targeting me specifically, but one repetition is hardly a sound experiment.”

“Again?” Bruce asked.

“That’s the question,” Harry replied. “Tennis balls or one of these things? But if it’s responses are an intensification as well as a magnification of the initial attack, I’m not certain I want to dodge whatever the fuck it turns this sharp thing into.”

“What did it make?” Clint was perched atop the brick wall by Steve.

Harry tossed him a hunk of ex-tennis ball. Clint turned it over in his hands, letting out a low whistle. “Yeah, what is this going to become?”

Steve hefted his shield, which he’d brought down to the training room as well. “Would you like me to do the honors?” he asked.

At Harry’s concerned expression, Clint elaborated: “I’ve yet to see something that shield can’t block.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Make sure when you throw it you intend to harm the car. A key part of the ward is reading the intent behind an action. I focused on the idea of breaking the windshield.”

Steve nodded. Clint handed him the pointed ex-tennis ball. Harry ducked behind his rock, but peered around the edge. Steve nodded towards a neighboring rock, and Clint moved away. Steve lifted his shield then threw the yellow lump as hard as he could. Harry’s eyes widened as he watched the blur of yellow pelt towards the car. A burst of light shot through the room like lightning. A boom! reverberated between the reinforced walls, and dozens of tiny things exploded away from the car and raced towards Steve who was huddled behind the wall and beneath his shield. It sounded as if a bucket of marbles had been dropped on a tin roof. When the sharp pinging finally stopped, Harry stepped from behind the boulder. Steve stood from beneath his shield. All around him tiny, shining objects littered the floor. Clint was holding one such item up to the light by the time Harry had walked over.

“Arrow heads,” Clint said with an awed expression. He was turning it in his hand, a smile twisting his lips. “May I – could I keep these?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. “I guess. If you want.” He was looking at Steve. “Are you okay?”

Steve nodded, reaching down to pull one small arrowhead from his shoe. “Barely a scratch.”

“These are beautifully made,” Clint continued, stooping to pick up more. “Perfectly formed obsidian… Absolutely wonderful.”

Harry smiled. Glancing an eye over the mess he estimated some thirty arrowheads were littering the floor.   He walked back towards the car; it had not been damaged in the slightest. “Anyone else get hit?” he asked for the sake of checking. As expected, a chorus of no’s came from around the room. Harry nodded down at the rune, impressed. For a first test, it was really rather impressive. There were many other things he wanted to try with it – different elements and intents; see if he could trick the rune or find a weak spot. But for now, that was enough. Placing his hands over the bindrune he waited for the static energy to read his neutral intent and allow him to pass. Pressing his palms to the rune his whispered, “Fara, you are released.”

With a puff of steam and the faint scent of juniper berries, the rune disappeared.

“Damn kid,” Tony was saying, stalking over to look at the hood of the car. “That was impressive.”

~~~

By the time lunch rolled around, Harry was exhausted. He had tried the other rune (with a bit less success, as it protected the car without any form of retaliation), demonstrated the shield charm in another mock battle with Steve, and engaged in another round of laser-tag with JARVIS. He’d subsequently been drug off to the gym with Clint. If Harry had been feeling confident after showing his magic that was quickly beaten out of him by a grueling two-hour fitness test with Clint.

His mile time was nothing more than average. Using dumbbells, he’d found himself barely lifting fifteens and he ended his bench press reps struggling with an empty bar. He managed one pull up and twenty two push-ups and was generally a complete failure in everything related to strength. It was only when Clint asked him to run through the ladders and demonstrate other fleet-footed activities that Harry showed anything approaching skill. Sweaty and thoroughly embarrassed, Harry couldn’t have been more relieved when Clint called it quits. Dragging himself up the stairs, Harry was happy to see the lounge was empty as he made his way to the shower.

He had never been anything but quick and good at dodging. He’d learned that early on at the Dursleys. He could out run Dudley and dodge Petunia’s frying pan, and even sometimes out-run and out-dodge Vernon’s angry rampages. He had never been able to fight back, and as Harry stepped beneath the shower’s spray, he was surprised to feel a familiar sense of shame welling up in his chest. After entering the wizarding world and discovering his role as ‘savior’ and the wonderful, powerful feeling he got when he accessed his magic, he had found the summer became almost unbearable. He had never felt as vulnerable as he did during those long weeks trapped at the mercy of the Dursleys.

Harry shook his head. That didn’t matter here. Vernon was long dead and Dudley was far-gone. Even Petunia’s sharp words couldn’t reach him here if he refused to remember them. But Harry couldn’t help but feel the others were … he wasn’t sure. Disappointed in him? Worried? Did they regret asking him to help with defense? Were they afraid they would end up with one more person to protect? Harry tugged at his hair in frustration.

He was not used to being weak. He didn’t want to leave others to pull his weight, and he certainly did not want to risk being the weak link – the person on the team others had to look out for, the one who put the whole group at risk.

He would simply have to improve. There was nothing else to it. Sure, he would never be as strong or powerful as any of the Avengers, but… as fake-Mad-Eye Moody had told him: play to your strengths. He knew his weakness. He would have to adjust so that no one could use his lack of physical strength against him.

Grabbing the shampoo, Harry turned his mind towards the new problem. His bindrune was well underway; he could do with a new project. You can’t defend others when you’re too busy dodging attacks. He had learned to attack once, but there had to be another way. Rinsing off he reached for a towel. There appeared to be a good deal of thinking and reading in his future. Which sounded lovely. Perhaps he could work from his bed today, and let his aching muscles rest.

~~~

Flopped in his bed, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a fresh bandage around his chest, Harry stared at his notebook. He had hoped to find a solution, but instead he was staring down at a rather complicated to-do list: disillusionment charm, silencing charm, protective talisman for muggles, further assess current bindrunes, improve physical fitness – running?, practice apparition, test distance of summoning, strengthen banishing, ... he left plenty of space to add more things, but already he felt rather overwhelmed. The list would’ve been fairly straightforward in his world. Most of it wouldn’t have taken a second thought. He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

A knock at the door startled Harry from his thoughts. Frowning slightly, he pushed himself to his feet and headed towards the closet. Tugging a new shirt over his head, Harry opened the door.

Thor was standing in the hall. A small book was cradled gently in his wide hands. He smiled. “Young Potter!” Thor greeted enthusiastically. “I brought a book you might have use for.”

Harry took the offered item hesitantly. The binding was older than even the antique manuscripts he’d read in the forbidden sections of wizarding libraries. Gently he opened the plain leather cover. He couldn’t help but gasp as he read the title. “Thor…”

“’Tis the only such text I have with me,” the large man continued apologetically. “I had not anticipated fighting alongside a talented seidr.”

“No, Thor, this…” Harry stared at the book, barely believing his eyes. Wisdom from Mirmir’s Well by the Alfather* himself. “Thank you,” Harry breathed.

“I do not know how fluently you read the ancient script,” Thor said, pulling another book from his pocket. “But I’ve a small dictionary. Lady Jane suggested it when she heard of my offering to you.”

Harry smiled. “A dictionary would be very helpful. Thank you, Thor. Seriously. This… Thank you.”

The god smiled, a blush darkening his cheeks. “I am no master of the runic mysteries, but should you wish to air your thoughts with a friend… I would be honored to do so.”

“I will take you up on that.” Thor laughed in his easy, booming way, before nodding once. He turned back towards the lounge and Harry looked at his books once more. He made his way back to his bed, quietly nudging the door shut behind him. Setting the well-worn dictionary on his left, Harry carefully opened to the first page and began to read. I know that I hung on a windy tree, nine long nights…**

  ~~~

Two hours later, Harry was still wading slowly through the Alfather’s poetic text. JARVIS interrupted in a quiet tone, “Mr. Potter, Director Fury would like to speak with you.”

“Okay.” Gently, he closed the book. “Where do I need to go?”

Setting the texts on the bed stand, Harry moved towards the closet. Slipping out of his sweats and into a new pair of jeans (curtsey of Tony), Harry listened to JARVIS’ instructions. There was a meeting room on the thirty fourth floor where Director Fury would be waiting for him. Grabbing a sweater instead of his typical hoodie, Harry tugged on his boots and headed out the door. He didn’t exactly have formal clothing, but he figured dressing even slightly nicer was proper procedure for a secretive government agency’s sort-of interview.

Harry jogged down the stairs and followed JARVIS’ directions to a small office door. Taking a breath, he knocked. After a few moments, a voice bid him enter.

The room was empty save for one man standing by the large window. He was dressed entirely in black, wearing a leather jacket, an eye patch, and an expression of such severity that he simultaneously reminded Harry of several different people and appeared entirely unlike anyone he’d ever met. Harry thought Bill would’ve appreciated his jacket.

“Close the door.”

A strange electrical pulse shivered across the walls. The room was locking itself down, Harry realized, just as Moody had warded every meeting space with at least five different spells before saying hello. Harry had to consciously choose not to smile. He reckoned the stern man would not appreciate his reminiscing.

“So,” Director Fury began, turning towards Harry. He rest his palms flat upon the desk between them. “You wish to join the Avengers.”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets in an attempt to avoid nervously running his fingers through his hair. “Well, uh, it hasn’t been put quite like that…”

Fury raised an eyebrow. Harry took it as his sign to ramble on. “Like, I’m all good on helping with defense and getting civilians out of the way, but I’m hardly a fighter like, well, any of them.” Harry shifted nervously on his feet. He hadn’t really thought about ‘helping out’ being the same as ‘joining the Avengers’. Sure, when they had left to fight it had felt surreal and nerve-wracking to sit on the sidelines waiting for them to return, wondering if they would return, but… to join somehow felt like a whole lot more than he was ready for.

Fury’s expression was hard to read. His face was neutral and unwelcoming, and when he spoke his words were direct: “We both know that’s not true.”

Harry had to pause for a moment to realize what Fury was contesting.

“You fight,” Fury said. “And you are no mere soldier.” Harry wondered how much Fury truly knew, and how much was educated bluffing. Harry tried to school his expression to something less of an open-book, but doubted he looked like anything other than a deer caught in the headlights.

“I –“ Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He supposed it was useless to lie at this point. “I don’t want to fight,” he admitted instead.

“I’ve been informed,” Fury acknowledged. “And to be honest, I don’t think you’d pass the psych eval. That’s why I’d like to bring you in through less formal channels.” It was Harry’s turn to raise his brow. Less formal sounded a whole lot like not-quite-legal.

Fury smiled like a snake, all hard-eyes and teeth. “Let’s think of it like… probation of a sorts. You have clearance for what is immediately relevant regarding Fenrir and Loki. You train with the Avengers and serve in a defensive position only. You will continue to explore and explain your powers to your teammates and you will get 15% of Avengers’ pay.”

Harry blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “That sounds like: keep doing what you’re doing, with an additional pay check. What’s the catch?”

Fury leaned back, folding his arms across his chest and holding Harry’s gaze for far longer than was comfortable. Harry suddenly wondered if there were ‘enhanced’ muggles who could read minds – and if Fury was one of them. He had never mastered occlumency – possibly because of the soul fragment that had been wedged in his mind, and possibly due to simple inadequacy. Before Harry could fall too far down the rabbit hole, Fury appeared to make up his mind.

“There is not a true ‘catch’ as you say, think of it rather as mutually beneficial arrangements. You receive a substantial income – more than enough to keep you off the streets when this is over – and your housing here at the Tower will be extended if this business with Fenrir continues past your winter agreement. The Avengers and SHIELD – the agency that they fall under – will learn about your powers, benefit from your tactical and defensive knowledge, and have a powerful ally assisting in the protection of civilians, which will do wonders for the public image.”

Harry pursed his lips, thinking it over. The idea of a government agency learning about his powers made him nervous. Part of him may have known that the Avengers would not keep his magic a secret, but … he felt almost nauseous at the realization that not only did this stranger have in-depth knowledge on him, but a whole government agency had access to information he had, perhaps naively, thought he was sharing with… friends.

Still, at this point – having met the Avengers, learned about Fenrir, and admitted to himself that he still wanted to protect people… would he really be able to say no? If he didn’t agree to this informal attachment with the Avengers, he wouldn’t be able to help. But, didn’t he want to stay out of the fighting?

Harry rubbed a hand across his forehead, feeling both the lightning bolt and the glamoured rune. He had been central to a war already. He had been the prophesied one, the savior, Undesirable Number One, the liar… He had stained fields with blood, given his own life, led friends to their deaths, and lost himself to the madness of grief. Did he truly want to get anywhere near battle? Was he capable of anything else?

The silence stretched on, and Fury watched him with calculating eyes. Harry wondered what Fury saw – a weapon? a child? a warrior? a broken man? He knew the man was waiting for his decision.

You and your saving people thing! Hermione had once exclaimed. He remembered how they bent over the Daily Prophet during fifth and sixth year, scanning for any hint of the disappearances or unusual deaths that were reported in the fine print. He recalled their desperate search for information, and the terrible sense of powerlessness that came with being forcefully kept in the dark. And what had come from being in the dark? Harry grimaced.

We need to gather as much information as possible, Ron always said, pouring over newspapers, listening PotterWatch, and taking notes in his journal. His strategic planning had come to rival Hermione’s studious research in its intensity and dedication. Where will you get a better picture of things than from the Avengers, who have Loki’s own brother on the team?

But the idea of them knowing all about his magic…

“Who has access to my file?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Myself, the Avengers, and a few elite personnel. The files of enhanced individuals are highly classified.”

“Will I, at any time, be required to participate in any tests or experiments?”

Fury shook his head.

“When this situation with Fenrir and Loki is resolved, will I be free to break ties with all Avengers and SHIELD personnel?” Fury nodded. “What will happen to my file?”   Harry continued.

“Your file would be kept. Its security clearance would continue to be of the highest level.”

Harry stared at him, unable to read anything in Fury’s expression. He did not trust what the man said was true, but he was starting to see there was no real alternative.   The Avengers had already reported their findings to Fury. SHIELD already had a file on him. Already, there was the risk of being followed or forcibly retained or tested upon. That didn’t diminish with a refusal to work for them. In fact, that risk might only increase if he turned down the offer.

But, most importantly, Harry knew he would end up in the fight one way or another. He didn’t have the ability to just sit aside and let others fight for him. And, if he worked with the team, he would have information on his side and possibly six other people at his back. Looking back, he supposed it had never truly been a question of whether he would join or not. And, the less-than-over-the-counter agreement would at least put some money in his hands.

Harry nodded once. “I’m in.”

Fury smiled. “Welcome to the team, Mr. Potter.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

After unofficially joining the Avengers, Harry found his days fell into a schedule of training, research, and meals. He continued to wake well before dawn, shaken out of bed with another nightmare or memory. More and more often, he spent the hours before dawn exploring further uses for bindrunes, or practicing spells. Occasionally, Thor would be seated near him offering a sounding board for his thoughts and humble insight that revealed far more knowledge of runes than he would admit. “’Tis my brothers’ expertise,” he would say, prefacing new ideas with a self-depreciating disclaimer.

By the time other Avengers arrived for breakfast Harry’s hands would be dotted with ink, books spread all around him. Drawn in by the smells of bacon or omelets, Harry would clean up and join them, hurrying to finish breakfast before Clint drug him towards the training areas.

While Clint ran him through his paces, Steve and Natasha disappeared with own personalized routines. Steve often returned with a gym bag slung over his shoulders and one hand casually unwrapping his knuckles. As for Harry, Clint was focusing on agility and stamina, emphasizing avoiding, hiding from, and escaping threats. Harry was simply relieved that no one was expecting him to learn muggle boxing or some such thing. They did continue to work on improving his physical strength, but it was a minor note in the scope of their three hours of training.

Afterwards, Harry delved back into his books and magic. By this point in the day, Thor was generally out of the Tower on business Harry wasn’t fully privy too. Harry had finally finished testing the protective bindrune, and he’d begun working on the disillusionment charm. Being disillusioned was no problem, it was staying disillusioned that was the challenge. Lunch arrived sooner than expected most days, and then he found himself drug towards the training floors once more, this time with a handful of other Avengers beside him. They practiced in varying groups, like how the chasers and beaters had worked in different combinations to strengthen their teamwork. By the time evening came, Harry found sleep came easy despite the restlessness of his dreams.

Five days after not-officially-joining the Avengers, Harry found himself sprawled on the couch leafing through the Alfather’s text once more. He was resting after another rigorous training with Clint. He had one bindrune finished – with some minor adjustments and the fine-tuning of his herbal mixture, the bindrune had proven capable of securing a small building. As relieving as that success was, Harry continued to return to his initial assessment of Fenrir. He was like fiendfyre. Protecting isolated buildings was fine and dandy, but it would leave far too much exposed to the jotun’s wrath.

Reading back through Odin’s stanzas alluding to the dual-nature of thuriaz, Harry nibbled on the end of his pen. There had to be a way to contain the wolf’s rampage – to block entire sections of city or contain him within a corridor or cage… Harry was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice Stark’s entrance until the man flopped down on the armchair beside him.

“So, Potter,” he said, a wide smirk already in place. “You ready to thank me?”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Tony rolled his eyes, before tossing a black bag at Harry’s head. He jerked his arms up in surprise, barely avoiding a solid thump on the nose. “A gift,” Tony said, pulling himself back to his feet. Harry opened the bag curiously as Stark walked towards the kitchen and coffee.

The bag contained black clothing, made with a rough, thick material. “Your suit,” Tony called without bothering to glance back. “Like the standard uniform – just spiffed up a little.”

Harry held up the shirt, feeling himself grin as he took in the golden pentagram embossed on the left side of the chest. “I’m not that kind of wizard, Stark,” he said, for what felt like hundredth time.

“Psh,” Tony said, coffee firmly in hand. He leaned against the counter with a Cheshire grin. “You’ll adapt. It’s also got a few other features – tool belt is altered to fit essential oils instead of guns, front of the shirt can be opened if needed (can’t just cut through Kevlar, you know), and the knife holsters match the smaller knives you prefer.”

Harry picked up the belt in question, running his fingers over the thick leather stitching. He was impressed. Curiously, he picked up the boots, eyeing their sturdy, practical nature with appreciation. The suit was everything he could’ve wanted – practical, simple, and without any of the dazzle of Tony or Steve’s uniforms.

“I wanted to add a pointed hat,” Stark continued. “Sparkly and golden and everything, but Coulson refused to sign off on it.” He sighed dramatically.

“This is perfect, Tony. Thank you.” Tony shrugged him off, downing the rest of his coffee in one long gulp.

“Don’t take too much care. I’m going to make the next one way more fun.”

Harry laughed, folding the suit carefully and setting it back in the bag. Stark ditched the dirty mug in the sink before striding back towards the elevator, doubtlessly intent on disappearing back into the lab where he’d been spending the majority of the past few days. Harry was just about to resituate himself amongst his books when JARVIS’ voice interrupted them both.

“The Avenger’s have been requested,” the AI informed them. Harry felt a chill run through his limbs. He met Tony’s eyes.

“No time like the present,” Tony said, glancing at Harry’s bagged uniform. Then, with a gesture presumably towards JARVIS, he sent his voice over the intercoms. “Suit up. Meet on the roof in ten.”

Pulling out his phone, Tony disappeared into the elevator. Harry could hear JARVIS begin briefing him as the elevator doors closed. Harry grabbed the bag and abandoned his books, striding down the hall to his room.

A heavy sort of calm seemed to settle in his bones as he changed – it was like standing at the entrance to the Third Task’s maze, the calm before the starting bell rung. He wasn’t really prepared, but he wasn’t surprised and he wasn’t backing out. Harry was in it, for better or for worse.

The heavy black shirt and Kevlar vest fit snugly over his bandaged chest. Harry stretched, feeling the fabric flex and bend with the movement. Yanking on the pants and boots, Harry wrapped the belt around his waist, securing the oils and his paintbrushes in the pockets beside the knives. He secured another two knives in his boot and on his forearm. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned and jogged briskly towards the stairs.

The others reached the roof just as he did. Clint was already in the process of starting up the quinjet. Tony was in his suit, faceplate up, striding across the pavement with Steve and Natasha. Bruce and Thor were boarding the jet. Harry pulled himself aboard after them. As they took their seats, Natasha joined Clint in the cockpit. Steve took command.

“Fenrir has been spotted in Ohio, a bit south of Toledo.” Harry mimicked the others as they buckled up. “It’s rural – local reports of missing livestock have gone through the roof this past week. Two kids and an elderly man also disappeared. It’s unclear if that’s connected, but probability is high.” Beneath their feet, the engine roared. The jet began to move. Steve gestured for them to turn on their coms to better communicate during take off. “The way civilian homes are spread out will be both a blessing and a curse. Fewer civilians are likely to be in the line of fire, but those that are will be harder to protect. Harry, Thor, your first task will be to find and secure shelter and get civilians to safety.”

Harry nodded. They had practiced these orders many times and in multiple different scenarios over the past week. Thor – the one best able to transport Harry and predict the jotuns’ moves – would help Harry choose (and get to) a building to ward. Clint would be perched up high, relaying observations through coms and fighting at a distance. Steve and Natasha would be on the ground, and Tony would be the middleman – adjusting as needed between ground and air support. Bruce would be in the quinjet, coordinating communications between the team, local authorities, and medical professionals until his ‘unique skill set’ was needed.

Harry gazed around the jet. There was a quiet intensity to their movements as they checked weapons and armor and re-hashed plans. Harry quietly readjusted his comm. The object felt strange around his ear, but the other’s voices came through so clearly they might as well have been sitting across the dining table from each other. Despite the rumbling engine, every word was accounted for – even when two or more were talking at once.

Harry ran his fingers across the small bottles of oil sitting snugly at his hip. A tingle of nerves swept through his limbs. There was a familiarity to this – walking into conflict was nothing new. Yet, there was a strange novelty to it as well. Gone were his wizards robes and the comforting weight of his holstered wand. Absent were the friends and comrades he had known before – Hermione’s lips pressed into a firm line, her hair bound back in a bushy ponytail; Ron’s hard eyes meeting his, pale fingers gripping tight around his wand; Bill’s scarred face narrowed in focus, calloused hands repetitively checking and securing his warding kit. The Avengers he sat with now were more professional than they had ever been – no half-mad gleam in their eye, no lust for vengeance or revenge, no semi-suicidal willingness to leap into battle half-educated and whole-hearted. For once, Harry was removed from the battle he would join. Loki and Fenrir weren’t enemies he’d grown up with, gone to school with, partnered with in class…

Harry settled his hands in his lap and pushed the past behind him. Everything about this battle was new and muggle – as exceptional as said muggles might be. He glanced at the clouds whizzing by faster than anything he’d ever achieved on a broom, before turning away and finding Steve’s eye. The shield lay ready in his hands; he met Harry’s gaze. If Steve was looking for something, he seemed to find it, for he gave Harry a small nod and half-smile.

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

“Always,” Harry replied, the words coming from a familiar script. Idly he reached up and brushed a hand across his forehead. That was behind him; he was not going to fight again. He tapped the lids of his essential oils once more and ran through the bindrunes in his mind. It wasn’t the ideal containment plan he had hoped to create, but he could offer civilians somewhere safe to hide.

The jet began to drop. Glancing out the window Harry watched farmland speed into view. Around him, the Avengers settled. There was a calm professionalism in their expressions and the way their hands stilled on their weapons. He knew he didn’t possess the steady confidence they portrayed, but he was ready. As the jet slowed, Thor offered his arm to Harry. Wrapping his arms around Thor’s waist, Harry nodded. The door opened and the god of thunder stepped into the air.

Flying with Thor was unlike any form of flying Harry had ever experienced. It lacked the maneuverability and independence of a broomstick, the rickety rattle of the sidecar on Hagrid’s motorbike, the rise and fall of a Hippogriff, and the bony seat of a thestral. Instead, it was a bone-crushing side hug and a chest-full of trust. Harry clung to Thor like a boa constrictor, clutching his waist as they sped through the air. It was from that rather terrifying vantage point that Harry finally caught sight of Fenrir.

The wolf was massive, and… growing? Perhaps that was how he had remained under the radar for the week between attacks. With every step, the beast seemed to swell; enormous feet padded forward, kiddy-pool sized indents in the snow behind him. The sharp tip of canines protruded from his closed mouth, which opened when he noticed Thor’s approach. A thunder-like roar split the chilly air. Harry stumbled as Thor deposited him at the edge of the town. “Go,” Harry said, gesturing towards the wolf. “I’ve got this.”

Thor nodded and took to the sky once more. “Sending civilians your way Harry,” Steve’s voice sounded in his ear. “Three farms are in the immediate path. What building are you headed to?”

Harry glanced around the tiny town, brushing snow from his legs. He frowned absently at the headache growing behind his eyes. Two trucks were parked out front of the general store and a family was seated at the front window, staring wide-eyed down the road. Five more buildings lined the road beyond the store; a church stood apart at the end.

“Church,” Harry replied. Small, slightly isolated, and easily identified, the church would make a good shelter. Turning his back on the roaring wolf, Harry sprinted towards the general store.

A bell chimed as he slammed the door open. “Hey!” he shouted. The man at the counter reached for a gun. “The Avengers are fighting just south of here. Your church has been designated as a the emergency shelter – people will be safe there.”

“That old building?” the storeowner asked, rifle in hand and a confused frown creasing his brow.

“We can’t secure the whole town, but yeah – the church will be safe.” Harry turned back to the street, calling over his shoulder, “Tell the others.”

The next shop was closed, but the two after that had civilians hovering by the windows. In the post office, he found a man taking cover behind the counter and a young woman frantically trying to call home. By the time he made it to the church, he could see civilians hurrying through the street behind him, making their way towards the church. From the fields beyond the town the explosions of a battle could be heard.

“More civilians headed your way,” Natasha announced.

“Shit – repulsors just bounce of this thing. Fuck. Northern barn caught fire.”

“Bruce, what’s the word on state patrol?”

“Local police are sending officers to all homes within 15 miles. They’re sending the locals to emergency shelters in neighboring communities. State patrol will avoid the fight; they are assisting local police.”

“Hey Cap – catch!”

Another explosion rang through the coms as a burst of light flared brightly in the not-so-far distance.

“Shit – headed your way Harry. Status on the shielding?”

Harry wrenched open the pouch at his hip, grabbing his oils and brush. “Five minutes?”

“Make it two.”

Harry turned to the minister who was ushering people inside. “Get everyone inside and do not leave. Fight’s headed this way.”

At a run, he stormed through the snow to the back of the building. Harry reached up, fingers scrabbling for the chain around his neck. He pulled the compass from beneath his shirt and held it steady. He needed to find due-north. Breathing deeply, he waited for the spinning dial to settle before turning to the building and adjusting his position. Uncapping the oil he took another deep breath, noting in the scent of fennel and juniper berry, crisp of snow, and slight smoke from the barn burning a few miles out. The growing headache thudded painfully behind his eyes, but he pushed it aside with another deep breath.

Lifting his brush, Harry faced the wall of the church. “Vernda og verja,” he whispered. Protect and defend. In his mind’s eye, he watched a golden glow descend around the entire church, a wall of magic protecting all within. He drew the rune with careful, measured brushstrokes. Let no harm come to this building or its people. “Vernda og verja,” he repeated, chanting the words soft and strong. As he completed the final stroke, he breathed gently upon the rune. It glowed with a golden light and Harry recapped the oils. He had four more runes to draw.

“Hawkeye, now would be a really good time for one of those explodie-shots…” Tony snarked.

Hurrying to the eastern wall, Harry could see a flash of red zipping across the sky. Even larger than before, the wolf galloped towards town. Harry opened the oils. “Vernda og verja,” he chanted. “Vernda og verja.” Quick strokes of his paintbrush and soon another rune was complete.

“Get inside, now!” he shouted as he returned to the front of the church where the minister still stood in the door. Down the street, a man was sprinting from the general store.

“But-“

“He can open the door himself! Take cover!” Harry hurried the minister inside, reaching for the compass to orient himself. His head pounded with his pulse; his stomach rolled. Harry took in great mouthfuls of snowy air and tried to ignore the strong scent of fennel. This rune would face the south.

“Vernda og verja,” he whispered, trying to tune out the voices shouting over the comms, which had begun to crackle in his ear. “Vernda og verja.” He had to focus on the people within the church, not the lone man struggling towards shelter. It wouldn’t work if he stopped before all five runes were complete –

Harry nearly growled as he forced himself to keep chanting. Protect those within; protect this place from harm. Deftly completing the rune, he watched it heat with a warm golden glow. Two more.

“This isn’t even slowing him!” Clint’s voice shouted in his ear. Static crackled across his words. “Guys, we need another plan.”

The ground shook. The Wolf had reached the edge of town. Harry could see the Avengers flitting around Fenrir like wasps. With a shake of his head, Fenrir slammed his shoulder against the general store; the wall caved like tissue paper. The ground rolled and rubble spread across the street. Harry sprinted for the western wall, stumbling on the trembling earth. “Vernda og verja,” he began again.

“Get that civilian out of here!” Steve shouted. Harry felt his heart lurch, even as his head gave another mighty throb. The man was still in the street.

A clanging sound reverberated through the tiny town as Steve’s shield connected with something immovable. Inside the church, Harry heard someone scream. Protect and defend. He watched the fourth rune turn gold. The fifth rune would anchor the four, multiplying their strength and melding their borders into one united shield. He needed to get to the roof and place the fifth rune at the center point. Glancing around, his eyes landed upon a wooden trellis leaning against the wall. The brown limbs of a climbing plant wove through the wooden supports. In summers, it likely provided a beautiful backdrop to the community garden beneath it. Harry grabbed the trellis and hoped it would hold.

The structure shook and swayed. It creaked ominously. A rotten chunk of wood splinted beneath his feet. Harry clung to the fragile frame – the wolf snarled. Another explosion shook the town. The whole structure shivered. Harry threw himself towards the top, his arms scrabbling for purchase on the roof. Knocked off balance, the trellis teetered, before starting to fall. Harry hung from the roof, his legs dangling in the air.

“Is the shielding done?” Bruce’s calm voice came through the static of the Harry’s com.

“Not – not quite,” Harry panted, hauling himself fully onto the shingled roof. “One more piece.” He rubbed at his head. The ache he’d first attributed to stress was quickly reaching new heights. Blinking away stars, Harry reached for the essential oil on his belt.

“He’s headed your way,” Natasha warned. “Finish up.”

Half crawling, half pulling himself up the steep roof, Harry listened for four runes, seeking the space perfectly between them all. A few hundred meters away, Fenrir’s enormous paws ripped through the side of the post office, spraying the street with bricks and mortar. A dizzying pain throbbed through Harry’s head. “Vernda og verja,” he chanted as bright dots flickered across his vision.

Harry’s brush flickered over the roof a few feet behind the bell tower. Sketching the rune up one side of the pointed roof and down the other, he envisioned the golden protection flowing up to and down from the central point in a cycling circle of protective energy. No harm shall befall anyone within these walls. The pain in his skull was swelling, pressure building to blinding heights. The comm in his ear crackled and popped, static growing until the Avenger’s words were entirely unintelligible. Fumbling with his left hand, he wrenched the comm out of his ear. He had to finish this.

The church shuddered with each of Fenrir’s terrible footsteps. Harry drew the final lines of the rune and pulled out his knife. “Vernda og verja,” he growled through teeth gritted in pain. Defend. Defend. Protect all within. Grasping the blade of the knife in his left hand, Harry sliced open his palm and let the blood fall onto the rune. They would be protected. They would be safe. The rune glowed brightly; its golden energy absorbed the blood before it even landed upon the roof. Light flashed, connecting the runes in a lightning-like jump. For a moment, the church was too bright to be seen – a brilliant sun on a grey, snow-covered street. Then it was done – the runes fading away without a trace.

Harry collapsed against the bell tower behind him, cradling his bleeding hand to his chest. The pressure in his head was unbearable. Fenrir howled, and Harry cried out in agony. He clutched at his forehead, fingers scrabbling against scarred skin. His stomach turned. His breaths were fast and shallow. The howling and explosions and blasts began to blur into one wave of sound. Harry cowered away from the chaos, reaching blindly for the door of the bell tower. Wrenching it open, he fell inside, tumbling down a short and narrow stair.

On a small landing, Harry tried to push himself to his knees, gasping through nauseating pain. His vision flickered black. The roar of fighting was so great that even the walls and shielding wards did little to muffle it. Curling into a ball, Harry covered his ears with his knees as his hands clutched at his forehead. It couldn’t be Voldemort - so what was cleaving his head in two? Choking on his own gasping sobs, Harry rocked back and forth in the dusty stairwell and waited for the pain to end.

~~~

Harry was pulled out of his daze gradually.   At one point, the pain had grown so great he screamed before it lessened so suddenly he threw up all over his shoes. After that, the pain simply lingered, a dizzying and nauseating ache that seemed to permeate every part of his being. He lost track of time. He floated in a sea of pain – eyes clenched shut and ears covered.

Something moved near him. Harry was not sure what tipped him off. He tried to open his eyes, only to groan at the light. A quiet voice spoke. Harry slowly eased his knees away from his ears. He recognized that voice. “ –‘s alright, you’re safe now,” Steve’s voice was saying from somewhere to his right. “You’re with the muggles, and you’re safe now,” Steve said, repeating the mantra he’d heard JARVIS recite before. Vaguely, Harry realized the Captain thought he was having a panic attack.

Slowly, Harry lifted his head, hands still pressed to his forehead and eyes clenched shut. Steve’s voice, though a whisper, felt like hammers to his ears. He cleared his throat. His mouth tasted like vomit. Harry wrinkled his nose at the stench. If he didn’t feel so ill, he would’ve been flushed with shame.

“Everyone in the church is safe,” Steve went on. “Your runes worked perfectly – in fact, when Fenrir attacked the church he actually got hurt. Nothing else we threw at him had any affect. He tried twice and got a large gash on his shoulder for his troubles.”

Harry tried to open his eyes again, more slowly this time. He shielded his face with his hands.

“We’re not sure where he went, but he isn’t here any more.”

“T-the man?” Harry choked out, his voice an embarrassing croak.

“Thor got him to the church. He’s safe.” Harry let out a sigh. He straightened up, slowly pulling a hand away from his face, leaving the other to press upon his forehead. Pain continued to throb through his head. Every movement made his stomach clench. The dizziness came in waves.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked as Harry finally leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded in the dim light.

“Just – just a headache.”

“Did you hit your head?” Harry frowned; he didn’t think so… “You have blood on your face.”

“Oh.” Harry offered his cut hand. Steve took it gingerly, inspecting the damage.

“We can fix this up when we get back to the jet. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Harry shook his head, before immediately regretting his action. His spare hand flew to his mouth as his stomach rebelled. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “Shit,” he moaned, willing his stomach to resettle. “Oh hell.”

“Overdid it?”

Harry knew that wasn’t it. Magical exhaustion had never manifested like this before – the mind-splitting headache was far more reminiscent of a horcrux than anything else. But he couldn’t be a horcrux! He had faced Voldemort – taken the killing curse – there was no way…

The thought of having a piece of Voldemort still lurking in his head sent Harry back to his hands and knees, vomiting for an entirely new reason. Harry coughed, dry heaving through another round of panicked breaths and tears. A large hand settled on his back, rubbing gentle circles as Harry wrapped one hand around his stomach and pressed another against his forehead.

“Yeah,” he head Steve say distantly. “I’ve got him. We’ll be down in a bit.”

“Try to take deep breaths,” Steve said, directing his words to Harry this time. “Nice and slow. You’re alright. Everyone is safe. You’re okay.”

Harry forced his mind away from the overwhelming terror that came with the thought of being a horcrux. This was neither the time nor place for that break down. He didn’t even know if it was true. It couldn’t be true, it –

Harry took a deep breath, then another. He focused on the present – the rough wooden stairs beneath his hands, the sour stench of vomit in the air. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaced. He looked at his hands. They were trembling. He was trembling. He was a mess. Sitting back on his heels, Harry glanced at Steve; he looked concerned.

God, he had made a mess of his first fight. “I think I overdid it,” he lied quietly. Steve nodded with a raised eyebrow.

“You think?”

“I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit.”

Harry laughed. His whole body tingled with exhaustion and the lingering, dizzy pain.

“Think you’re up to walking down stairs?”

“Yeah, just –“ Harry struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall as his vision went fuzzy. “Just a moment.”

Steve waited quietly, offering a steadying arm as Harry staggered down the stairs. Harry took it gratefully. They paused a few more times, waiting for dizziness or dry heaves to pass. When they reached the ground floor Harry paused.

His uniform was spattered with vomit. There was a church full of people just beyond the door. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He never seemed to get a dignified end to his adventures. Unconscious his first year, covered in pipe-grime his second, bloodied and considered possibly insane his third, a potential murderer his fourth, distraught and raging his fifth… now vomit covered.

He sighed and reached for the door. It took a moment for anyone to notice him. He was several steps into the room, leaning heavily against Steve, when the woman from the post office gasped. “You’re the one who told us to come here!”

Harry tried to offer a smile, uncertain what she was getting at. Others around the room glanced his way. The owner of the general store was leaning against the wall, gun resting casually at his side. “Is he okay?” he asked Steve in a low, gravely voice.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Just needs some rest.”

Harry felt a deep flush of shame burning all the way to his ears. No one else spoke to them as they walked out the front doors and down the steps. Harry kept his eyes on his toes, watching the churned up snow crunch and slide beneath his black boots. Tony was waiting on the sidewalk, armor on but faceplate up. Harry dragged his eyes away from shoes. He lifted his chin, attempting to appear unashamed.

“The jet’s by the general store. Want a lift?”

Harry shrugged.

“I’ll jog,” Steve said. “Meet you there in two.”

Tony offered a hand and Harry wrapped his arms around his waist. Harry tried not to pay attention to the rubble littering the street around him, the broken shop windows, or the holes that had been blown through walls. As the suit thrust into the air, Harry clenched his eyes shut. He felt as though he’d left his stomach behind. His head rang with the sudden movement, but the wind felt nice in his hair. He left his eyes closed and held on tight. Moments later he was back on the ground, Tony’s arm holding him up as his knees threatened to buckle. “I’m fine,” he found himself saying before throwing up once more.

“Yep,” Tony replied, blatantly unconvinced. “Grab a seat, Gandalf.”

Harry buckled up, resting his throbbing head in his hands. He covered his ears as the engine rumbled to life, and counted the minutes until he could shower and crawl into bed.

~~~

It was only twenty minutes until he was back in his room, shedding clothing in the bathroom and headed for the shower. He left the bathroom light off, stepping under the water in the dark and surrounding himself with the sharp scent of peppermint body wash.

It was quite a bit longer though before he was allowed to roll into bed. Nudged from the shower by JARVIS’ persistent reminders, Harry gently toweled his hair dry and reached for the gauze pads and bandages. Carefully he wrapped the hand Bruce had stitched up on the jet before deftly re-bandaging his chest. Eliminating the last tastes of vomit with the burn of mint mouthwash, Harry left his filthy uniform on the ground behind him and tugged on clean clothes. Barefooted, he made his way back to the lounge.

The other Avengers were already there, dressed-down and part way through debriefing. Director Fury stood at the head of the dining table, frowning.

“Here,” Bruce said, directing Harry to the table. The scientist set a large sandwich before him. “Eat.” Beside him, Steve was already part way through a sandwich of his own.

“I’m not hungry,” Harry mumbled, no longer dangerously nauseous but certainly not ready to eat.

“It’ll help,” Bruce reminded him.

Harry sighed. He had told them it was magical exhaustion and that he ‘overdid it’ when he set up the runes. Harry picked uninterestedly at his plate. At least Bruce had the sense to make the sandwich plain – just turkey and cheese, without sauces or spice.

“What the hell happened out there?” Fury demanded, cutting Stark off mid-word. “Don’t give me excuses. The whole town was destroyed.”

“Without casualties,” Steve pointed out, before taking another bite.

“Nothing could penetrate his hide,” Clint said, twirling an arrow agitatedly.

“He kept growing,” Natasha added. “I’m not sure how or why, but –“

“Legend says –“ Harry started, before cutting himself off. Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Harry wondered if that was a sign to continue or to never, ever cut her off again.

Bruce nudged him. “I mean, Thor would know,” Harry continued, glancing down at his hands, “but some of the legends say that before Fenrir was chained he lived on the outskirts of Asgard and fed off their fear of him, growing larger every day.”

Thor nodded. “He grew to a monstrous size before my father announced he must be contained. I do not know if fear itself can feed him, but he has a magic capable of altering his size.”

“He gets smaller too,” Tony pointed out. “At the end he looked almost like a normal wolf when he ran away.”

“And yet, you all failed to contain him.” Fury’s voice was low and dangerously calm.

“If arrows, repulsors, and bullets couldn’t hurt him, and the shield and hammer barely fazed him, how exactly were we supposed to contain him? At least when he left the town was safe.” Bruce walked back around to the kitchen, fixing another cup of tea.

Fury sighed. “SHIELD will speak with the locals, get word out to police and state patrol and funnel any more clusters of missing persons or livestock straight to us. We need to get a jump on him next time. This is twice he’s leveled a town and walked away unscathed.”

Fury strode to the elevator, leaving the table silent behind him. Harry picked at the edge of his sandwich, a pile of crumbs growing on his plate. Fury was right – Fenrir had to be stopped, and soon. But glancing around the table, he could see the Avengers had no more ideas than he did.

“Well,” Steve said, breaking the silence with a sigh. “We should rest. Regroup in five hours to discuss this further?”

Tony nodded. “I’ll be in the lab.”

Natasha glanced at Clint. “Having some space and distraction, maybe we’ll get some new ideas. Want to spar?” Clint nodded and stood.

Bruce took a seat across from Steve and Harry, cradling a fresh cup of tea. Harry picked at his food and watched the others leave.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Bruce asked quietly. Harry nodded tiredly. “Why don’t you get some rest. You can eat later.”

Harry nodded at that, grateful for the excuse to leave and eager to lie down. His head still ached and he wished more than ever for a pain relief potion. He closed his bedroom door quietly behind him and slid under the covers. But as he lay in bed, his mind refused to rest. What if it was a horcrux? What if the last two years had been a lie? Had he brought Voldemort into this world? And if he was still a horcrux, did that mean Voldemort had become immortal? Tethered to life back home because no one could kill Harry here?

Did that mean he had to do it this time?

Harry clenched his hands in his hair and rolled onto his side. He couldn’t be a horcrux. The lightning bolt scar hadn’t bothered him for years. Why would it start up now? It had to be something else. It had to be.

Harry stared blankly at the wall, willing sleep to claim him.

~~~

Back in the lounge, Bruce poured Steve a cup of tea. Steve took it with a smile. “The kid seemed rather shook up,” Bruce commented, stirring sugar into his own cup.

“Yeah,” Steve held the warm cup in his hands, watching the steam rise. “Thought he was having flashbacks when I first saw him. Had his head between his knees, rocking back and forth, covering his head.”

“He wasn’t?”

“I don’t think so.” Steve said, frowning. “He came out of it easily when he realized I was there. He says it was a headache.”

“Looked worse than any headaches I’ve seen.” Steve nodded. “Did he hit his head? Maybe he should’ve gone to med bay.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “He said he was uninjured, and I didn’t see any cuts except for his hand. The blood on his face appeared to be from that wound, which you tidied up in the quinjet.”

“Then what caused the headache?”

Steve shrugged, sighing. “And what is he holding back?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

He was running through a forest. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky; shadows and trees were almost indistinguishable. Harry crashed through the underbrush - stumbling over roots, ripping through vines, knocking into trees.

“Ron?” he hissed as loud as he dared. “Hermione?”

“Harry!” Ron replied from somewhere up ahead.

A howl tore through the air. “Hermione!” Harry called again, turning in a frantic circle. If they could just find each other again –

Ron appeared at his side, barely visible in the shadowed woods. A yell rang out nearby, terrified and familiar.

“Reducto!” Hermione shouted, hidden in the darkness. “Depulso!”

An inhuman whine, then a snarling growl. Something large stumbled through brush. Harry called out again, “Hermione!”

In an open space by a fallen tree, Harry could suddenly make out a familiar shape, faintly illuminated by the moon. Clutching her leg, Hermione staggered towards them. Ron shoved past, reaching out –

A monster leapt from the shadows, snarling. A glint of claws, the sound of metal – the beast crashed into Hermione, toppling her to the ground. Elongated canines, broad shoulders, her scream –

Hermione’s cry ended in a spray of blood. Part wolf, part man, the figure released her, blood dripping down his chin. Harry reached up – an aborted gesture that left his arm extended, frozen. Greyback laughed, surging to his feet. His flannel shirt was drenched black with blood. He held Hermione up by the scalp, dangling her limp body by a fistful of curls. Her neck was a thin, concave line.

Ron lunged. Harry grabbed his arm and turned on the spot.

Harry awoke in a familiar bed, staring up at a dark ceiling. He reached slowly up to touch his face. His skin was clean: no blood, no tears. He lay still, gazing blankly at the ceiling above him. They hadn’t been able to stop him. They hadn’t been able to save her.

His hands settled above the covers on his chest. Slowly, he rubbed the scar tissue around his missing digit. None of them had escaped that forest intact.

~~~

Harry wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling and rubbing at old scars. It was only when a knock sounded at the door that he was drawn from his musings. “Yeah?” he called quietly.

“It’s time for dinner,” Steve replied. Harry sighed. Slowly, he turned his eyes from the ceiling and pushed the covers back. Mechanically, he placed his feet on the ground and stood, walking to the door.

“How’re you doing?” Steve asked as Harry stepped into the hall. Harry shrugged. Part of him wanted to put on a sociable face, but most of him didn’t have the energy. He rubbed a tired hand over his forehead before reaching back to massage the aching scar tissue of his hand.  

When he joined them at the table and took his usual seat by Steve and Clint, the archer glanced at Harry’s hand with a frown. “Scars bothering you?”

Harry glanced down and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“I’ve got this scar on my knee, it acts up now and again. We’ve got a pretty good scar cream somewhere around here if you end up wanting to try it.”

Harry nodded absently, reaching for the salad and snagging a roll. Dinner settled into quiet conversation. Harry found his appetite had indeed returned after his rest. He took a generous helping of turkey when the platter came around.

As they ate, discussion of the fight resumed. Harry listened with half an ear. Fenrir’s skin had been impenetrable – in some ways he reminded Harry of the Hungarian Horntail. Apparently barely fifteen minutes had passed between the time Harry completed the runes and Steve found him in the stairwell. Harry rubbed his forehead absently. The headache had finally gone, leaving only a shaky exhaustion in its wake. Beneath his fingers, Harry could feel the ridges of his glamoured rune.

Harry jerked his hand back down to his lap. There was another explanation. It wasn’t necessarily a horcrux causing him pain, but the alternative was perhaps just as terrible.

Harry smoothed the napkin on his lap before reaching for another roll. He would not think about that now. He forced his ears back to their discussion. Thor was describing the dwarves’ creation, which had once tethered the great wolf.

The fetter, Thor explained, had been forged from nine impossible things and crafted by the most talented smiths in all the realms. What stronger creation or cleverer trick could the Avengers design?

Harry frowned. They’d all faced impossible odds before. He knew the Avengers would come up with something.

“With enough explosives… could he be killed?” Natasha pondered.

“The explosive arrows and repulsors had no effect,” reminded Bruce.

“There’s been research into under-ocean prisons,” Tony said, tossing another idea into the fray. “Or, what about bartering? That worked before – is there another realm he could be sent to?”

“What would stop his return?” Clint pointed out.

“Could another jotun kill him? Is there a jotun we could convince to fight?”

Harry sighed. With the Hungarian Horntail he just needed a temporary diversion, and in Gringotts they were merely passengers on the dragon’s escape. Surely he had seen a similar situation before? When they fought acromantulas, fire and explosives proved effective. With giants, physical obstacles and multi-person spellwork could bring them down. But Fenrir…

“Wolf of Destruction,” he muttered, rubbing roughly at his hands. “Of Destruction.”

“What’re you thinking, Harry?” Steve asked from beside him, spearing another slice of turkey from the platter.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “He’s unlike anything I’ve ever faced.”

“You can say that again,” Tony muttered, wandering to the kitchen and reaching for the scotch.

“But he’s a creature of Destruction. I think he needs a different approach – I don’t think he can be destroyed by destructive means.”

Thor nodded. “Indeed. It is as the Alfather said – our spears and swords could do him no harm. That is why my brother the trickster traveled to deal with the dwarves.”

“So, a wolf that can’t be destroyed and gets stronger when you’re afraid of it.” Clint leaned back in his chair. “Piece of cake.”

“Feeds off fear –“ Harry paused, setting his fork down slowly. He frowned. “I’ve fought two creatures like that before. I have no idea how it might apply to Fenrir, but…”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Every eye was on him. “In my third year – there’s this thing called a Dementor. They used to guard the prison, until the second war. They feed off of happiness and make you experience the worst moments of your life all over again. If they get close enough, they can steal your soul. The only spell that can fight them is the Patronus Charm, which pretty much gives your happiest memory or emotion a physical form. It scares them off.

“The other creature is called a Boggart. It takes the form of your worst fear. You fight it with the Riddikulus spell, which turns your fear into a joke. A Boggart is defeated by laughter.” Harry looked away, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I… don’t know how it can help with Fenrir, but maybe there’s something like that? Something other than destruction that can fight him?”

When Harry glanced back up, he found Tony gazing at him thoughtfully. Thor hefted Mjolnir into his hands. “I must go speak with my father,” he announced. “You offer great wisdom, young Potter. Perhaps Heimdall has seen or heard of such things – in the nine realms surely there is something Fenrir has feared.”

He strode away briskly. Clint twirled another arrow in his hands.

Natasha smiled. “Wisdom indeed,” she said, inclining her head with a small grin.

“I’m gonna…” Tony mumbled, rising. “JARVIS, does Pepper know I’m back?” He strode towards the elevator, scotch in hand. “I’ll be in the lab,” he called over his shoulder.

Bruce rolled his eyes, rising as well. “Someone has to keep an eye on him when he’s inspired.”

Steve laughed, taking his plates to the sink. Harry moved to help as well. Natasha and Clint rose as well. “Game night?” Clint asked, snagging a beer from the refrigerator.

Natasha shrugged.

“Just so long as we don’t play Trivial Pursuit again,” Steve said with a smile.

“Aww Cap, you’re just guilty of my mad skills.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and Natasha elbowed Clint. “Be nice to the elderly,” she scolded. Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“You knew more than Thor,” Clint objected briefly. “Fine. Fine. What about catchphrase?”

And so it was that Harry found himself seated on the couches engaged in a worryingly aggressive game of catchphrase. The timer beeped steadily and the small electronic device was passed roughly from person to person. As the timer sped, Harry realized the good fortune he’d had in choosing a seat to Steve’s right. Clint nursed a bruised stomach from where the Captain had jabbed him a bit too enthusiastically.

“A game you play on a diamond –“ Clint began. Steve’s eyes widened but he held his tongue. “With a pitcher and catcher –“

“Baseball!” Harry exclaimed. Natasha’s hand snapped up to catch the game flying towards her face.  

“The 38^th president of the United States.”

Steve paused, brow furrowed as he seemed to run through a mental list. 38^th was in his ‘between’ times. Natasha waited. “Gerald Ford,” Steve answered, the faintest hint of a question in his tone. She shoved the quickly-beating toy into Harry’s hands.

“A big US city,” Harry began, frowning at his phrase. It was a sports team, but he wasn’t sure which type of sport.

“New York,” Clint guessed. “Los Angeles. San Francisco. Boston. DC.” Harry shook his head. “Miami. Chicago –“

“Yes. The second word is a male cow - ”   The buzzer sounded.

Clint laughed. “Chicago bulls.”

“Too late!” Steve crowed. “Point to Team Cap!”

“Team Stasha,” Clint reminded. Steve rolled his eyes.

“That makes you Harlint. Or Clary,” he pointed out. Clint just nodded and smiled. Steve sighed.

“Roll with it, Cap,” Natasha advised. “This is one fight you’re not going to win.”

“Let’s go, Grandpa!” Clint pestered. “ Round 2!!”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh as the game carried on. It had been so long since he last felt this relaxed. He had slowly begun to feel comfortable around the team, but after the fight he suddenly felt a newfound acceptance from Clint and Natasha.

“It’s why we have checks and – oh shit, I can’t say that. Uh… fuck.” Clint gestured wildly as he looked for a new clue. “Oh! If you don’t fall over, you kept your…?”

“Balance.”

“Yes! And when not just one person makes decisions, there is a balance…..?”

“Uh…”

Natasha smirked. Harry bit his lip in concentration.  

Clint frowned, then offered the beginning of a catchy tune. “I’ve got the…. !!”

Harry continued to feel stumped. The timer sped up.

“Come on man!”

“Balance… Balance…” Harry ran a hand through his hair.

“You can use it for good or evil!”

“Weapon? Magic? P –“ The buzzer rang once more. Harry smiled sheepishly. “Power,” he said finally. “The balance of power.”

“Point to Team Stasha,” Natasha smirked as she tallied up another point.   “Round 3 is a go.” The ticking began, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. The game was mentally demanding – just what he needed to forget everything else. He wondered if they needed that too. By the gradual relaxing of Steve’s shoulders and the way Natasha’s eyes slowly lost their guarded look, he thought that might be true.

Before Harry knew it, they’d entered into a final round and it was his turn again. He glanced down at his phrase: cease fire.  His fingers hit SKIP before he consciously realized the frantic voice he’d read it in. Water cooler he read, blinking. He took a breath. “A place you set drinks you want to keep chilly.”

He wasn’t the only one to skip words. Steve had skipped every celebrity that had shown up so far. Clint too had glanced at a word that made his whole body tense. He’d hit the SKIP button so firmly no one doubted the sort of memory it must’ve brought up. It made Harry remember the way Steve had told him it’s okay to not be okay, and the way Bruce had said the rest of us have nightmares too. None of them had escaped their battles unscathed. There was comfort in that.

“Team Stasha for the win!” Steve exclaimed as he tossed the game into Clint’s lap moments before the buzzer sounded. Clint rubbed his ribs dramatically. Steve elbowed him with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in Gramps.” Clint grumbled good-naturedly.

“Come on! Up for a game two?”

“Sure, just – “

The blaring of an alarm cut off whatever Natasha was going to say. The four leapt to their feet.

“JARVIS?” Steve called.

“Fenrir has been sighted within the city,” the AI replied.

The command to “suit up” was entirely unnecessary. The four of them were already headed to their respective quarters at a full sprint.

Harry stepped into his room, dreading pulling on his soiled uniform, only to find it newly laundered and folded upon his bed. He blinked, then smiled in fond bewilderment. How Tony managed to take care of everything he didn’t know, but that was a question for another time. Shucking off his sweats and shirt Harry yanked on his uniform, tying his boots tight and buckling the belt of essential oils around his waist.

Harry took the stairs at a sprint. The others were already congregated by the jet. A thin plume of smoke in the distance caught Harry’s eyes.

“Fenrir is in the Lower East Side. Stark, you take the skies. Get Barton a good vantage point. Natasha and I will take the Quinjet over – Bruce will man the jet. Harry –“ Steve’s eyes racked up and down his frame. “Are you up to another rune set so soon?”

Harry nodded sharply. “Definitely.”

Steve looked somewhat unconvinced, but nodded nonetheless. In such a heavily populated area, they would need all the help they could get. “We will drop you in the district. Look over the map with JARVIS to find the best place to set up.” Harry nodded. They had planned for the chance Thor would not be with them, but his absence left a thick tension in the air nonetheless.

The team clambered into the jet, securing comms in their ears. Tony pressed a new comm into Harry’s hand before sliding down his faceplate and pulling Barton to his side. The pair took off with a whirr of repulsors and a gust of wind. The remaining four buckled in as the jet doors thudded shut. Natasha slid into the drivers seat, taking off behind the streak of red that was Tony and Clint. Harry frowned. This was much sooner than they had anticipated. The team had yet to be successful against Fenrir, even with Thor’s help and far more space to work with. Meeting Fenrir in the city, while Thor was visiting his father… Harry forced his mind to focus on the map projected in front of him. The streets were crowded with buildings and civilians and he could only protect one place at a time…

“Oh shit.” Harry turned to see Bruce staring out the front of the plane.

“Looks like the Big Bad Wolf’s coming back from Grandma’s house,” Tony joked over the comms. But even Tony’s voice held a tremor of serious concern. Far below, but getting nearer every second, the towering figure of Fenrir stood upon the Williamsburg Bridge. Cars were scattered across the lanes, the small forms of civilians sprinting towards the shores. Natasha handed the steering wheel to Bruce and walked back towards the hatch.

“New plan,” Steve stated. “Nat and I will try to distract him on the bridge. Bruce, drop Harry off on the west side – Fenrir seems to be headed that way. Secure as many buildings as you can. If he turns around, one of us will take you to the other side to secure that area. Tony –“

“Me and Big Guy’ve got the skies,” Tony confirmed. “And Clint will provide cover from up here. We’ve got it, Cap.”

Steve nodded. His gaze swept over the team once more, before he turned decisively and opened the door. Nat jumped from the plane right behind him.

“Ready Harry?” Bruce asked as he slowed, bringing the plane to a crawl as close to the ground as he could safely hover. Harry took a deep breath and nodded. Moments later, Harry was tumbling to the cement, trying to shake off an eight foot drop. “You okay?” Bruce’s voice asked anxiously in his ear.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got this.” Harry replied. The jet banked left, and Harry got a brief glimpse of Bruce in the drivers seat before he sped up and rose out of sight.

Harry turned his gaze to the chaos around him. Hastily parked cars littered the pavement, abandoned where they’d skidded to a halt. Civilians were rushing through the streets, children wrapped in their arms or tugged along by clutching hands. Frantic shouts filled the air, and from the bridge Harry could hear screams and the wailing of car alarms. The wolf roared. Harry felt the pavement tremble beneath his feet. The ache in his head was returning with a vengeance. Harry felt his stomach roll as he realized just where the pain was coming from. Pressing his palm to the glamoured scar in the center of his forehead, Harry gritted his teeth. He had a job to do.

There was no way he could protect every building that crowded around the base of the bridge. There wasn’t even a distinctive landmark in the immediate area where he could easily gather, contain, and protect the locals. Truly, Harry had no idea how it was going to defend the civilians from Fenrir’s wild rampage. But he had to do something.

Harry reached for the oils strapped snuggly at his hip. With pure Juniper Berry, perhaps he could –

Harry never got to finish his thought, for at that moment Fenrir let out a devastating roar and the civilians began to stampede. A large man knocked Harry aside as he passed. A woman stumbled over him as she dragged her children towards safety. Harry struggled to find his feet among the stream of frantic people.

When he next looked up, Fenrir was running across the bridge. The wolf’s body swelled with each step. The Avengers hovered around him like flies – firing repulsors and bullets and shields to little effect. The bridge rattled to its foundations as the beast’s massive paws smashed holes in the pavement and crumpled cars. Harry’s fingers scrabbled against the twisted pockets of his utility belt, yanking a bottle free. He had already dropped his paintbrush; no doubt it lay beneath a nearby car. He reached uncapped the bottle anyways, dipping a finger inside –

Fenrir howled from the edge of the bridge. Harry’s hand spasmed around the bottle as pain erupted behind his eyes. Black spots scattered across his vision.

The wolf was a mere car length away. Hot air brushed Harry’s face – the putrid stench of a meat-eater’s breath. He was close enough to hear Fenrir’s fur move – coarse and dark, each bristly hair as long as his forearm. The wolf lowered his gaze…

Harry collapsed to his knees, hands clutching his forehead. It was as if something were trying to erupt from beneath his skin. Distantly, Harry could hear voices shouting in his ear. His stomach heaved. The pain kept rising, passing thresholds Harry hadn’t felt since he last faced Voldemort.   His fingers ripped at the rune hidden on his forehead. Warm blood began trickling down the side of his nose. Harry coughed, choking on his own heaving breaths. Someone was crying, making the most horrible whimpering sounds. Harry pressed his hands harder against his head. He could smell skin burning. A high, keening sound filled his ears. His entire body trembled. There was only one solution – he couldn’t. He couldn’t! He couldn’t remember why he couldn’t. All he knew was the white-burning pain that consumed him. His body was twitching, as if writhing beneath the Cruciatus curse. Distantly, he could feel his throat tearing as he screamed. It was emerging from his skin either way, burning and ripping and pulling free –

He could stop this – He wasn’t strong enough –

“Hryðjuverka!” he cried.

The blinding pressure in his head vanished. The terrifying sensation of something shoving its way through his skin ceased. Falling towards the ground, Harry’s bloodied hands slammed against the asphalt. He had opened the doors. The world tilted dangerously, a shivering sensation sweeping through his limbs. He blinked, observing his surroundings with new eyes. Harry was sprawled in the middle of an almost empty street. His own harsh breaths filled his ears. Nothing more than one broken car stood between Harry and Fenrir. The Avengers continued to throw all they had at the wolf; an explosive battle he paid little mind. A strange static filled his right ear. The wolf’s dark eyes found Harry’s, and he growled.

Harry felt a smile stretch unbidden across his face. A harsh laughter bubbled up from his chest. He straightened, swaying slightly; his grin was all teeth. Harry could feel magic thundering through his veins, searing him in its eagerness to escape – to wreck havoc. He raised a hand: “Sectumsempra!“

The blood-red spell flew from Harry’s fingertips just as a flash of lightning filled the air. The energies collided with Fenrir simultaneously. The wolf howled, blood gushing from a singed and gaping cut on his chest. Harry laughed as the yellow swell of fat emerged from beneath black fur.

“Harry –“ a staticy voice spoke in his ear. Another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. Harry watched the bloody laceration slowly knit itself back together.

“Depulso!” Harry cried, shoving forward with both hands. Fenrir skidded back several feet, long claws gouging trenches in the street. His head swung forward, fangs bared. “Reducto!” Fenrir sidestepped the curse. The spell slammed into the bridge, sending enormous chunks of concrete and steel into the river below.

“ – dare not approach –“ scattered words broke through the static. “ – neither reason nor fear –“

Harry ripped the stuttering device from his ear as he strode forward. The wolf stepped forward, a white van crumpling beneath his paw. Something screamed as the metal screeched flat. “Bombarda Maxima!” Fenrir recoiled, one of his sharp fangs cracked to the root. Blood dripped from his open mouth. Growing ever larger, Fenrir lunged. Harry lifted his hand, another battle spell on his lips – only to be stopped by a piercing scream.

Trapped in the backseat of a car, mere feet from Fenrir’s enormous paws, sat a woman. She cowered away from Harry’s gaze, equally terrified of the wizard and the wolf.

An icy clarity swept through him. Glancing back to the van, Harry saw blood oozing from beneath the flattened vehicle. Harry pressed a hand to his forehead where the ancient rune bled freely down his face. His stomach clenched, even as laughter bubbled in his throat.

He had done it again. The vicious joy called to him, urging him to rejoin the wolf. The magic thrumming through his veins longed to break, to destroy. He looked at his blood-covered hands. The laugh burst from his throat before he managed to extinguish it. Slamming a hand over his mouth, Harry met Fenrir’s wild gaze. A joyful rage leapt in his chest. Suddenly, he recognized the revelry of the wolf. Fenrir howled.

Harry disappeared with a loud CRACK!

~~~

Harry appeared in a stumble of limbs. Everything was spinning. Clutching at his head he gasped out, “Friður!”   The magic roaring through his veins suddenly calmed. With a lurch, the off-kilter feeling vanished. Though his head continued to spin, the twisted joy in his chest was gone.

Taking a shuddering breath, Harry took stock of his surroundings. He was staring at the sky. No, Harry realized, he was staring out a window at the sky. He placed his hands flat on the ground, steadying himself. Navy blue carpet pillowed beneath his palms. A familiar bed stood to his left, unmade. To his right was an open door.

He was in Avenger’s Tower, kneeling in his bedroom. Everything was quiet. Where moments ago had been roars and crashes and screams there was naught but the slight buzz of electricity and the quiet hum of filtered air. His own rough breaths were like pounding drums in such stillness.

“Mr. Potter,” JARVIS said. Harry covered his ears. He couldn’t face it yet.

What had he done? His breath caught in harsh gasps. They had sworn …

Harry’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots. Even the memories of Ron and Hermione had nothing to offer him. They never could’ve forgiven him for this.

There are some lines that just can’t be crossed, Hermione had said when Ron first broached the topic. Even just for research – you can’t come back from that.

And he hadn’t, had he. Harry had dabbled in the Dark Arts and it had… tarnished him. The rune on his head no longer bled, yet it remained a red and bloody brand.

You’re different, mate, Ron had finally admitted, whisper-quiet in the tent they shared. We both are.

Harry clenched his eyes shut. Every shift of expression pulled at the drying blood and scabbing skin, reminding him of his shame. Harry’s breath shuddered as he exhaled.

There was something broken in him. Something twisted. After all he had done, was his soul still intact? Or had he splintered, like Riddle had?

It is our choices that show what we truly are.* Dumbledore’s words rattled around his head. His breath, already shallow to begin with, began to quicken. Loud and harsh, Harry gasped for breath as the pressure in his chest gripped tighter. He laced his fingers in his hair, trying to open his chest the way Madame Pomphrey had taught them. You’re safe, he tried to remind himself. You’re with the muggles –

But what had he brought to the muggles? The sound of crumbling cement – Fenrir’s howl – his gaping maw – It didn’t matter that he was safe. Were they safe from him? Terrified eyes flashed before him – a child clinging to her father’s robes – scarlet blood seeping from the crushed white van – Harry tried to calm his breathing. Our choices. Our choices. The words became a mantra wielded by a savage conscience hell-bent on revenge. Our choices show us what we are.

He could hear his breaths, rapid and shallow. He needed to snap out of it, get his breathing to slow and his mind to stop. He stumbled to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet he shoved his hands beneath the icy spray. He splashed his face, leaning over the porcelain sink. Red water ran down the sides where his fists clutched the rim. Pale red drops fell steadily from his chin and nose. He listened to the roar of water. He scrubbed his face. He avoided the mirror.

He did not touch his forehead.

He turned on the shower, stepped into the spray clothes and all. He stripped slowly, letting the force of the showerhead itself peel the blood away from the rune. The stinging spray blasted away the dried blood as well, leading it to bleed again. He scrubbed angrily at his hair, let the smell of fighting wash away. He left his uniform in a sodden heap on the shower floor.

Harry toweled vigorously, the rough sensation of towel on skin yet another attempt at getting clean. He wasn’t clean. He scrubbed his hands in the sink over and over, his naked body drying in the cool air. He pulled the scrub brush from beneath the sink and scrubbed his hands harder. The tap water began to run colder. The bar of soap thinned to a sliver. He still could see blood on his hands.

He scrubbed until the sliver of soap escaped his hands one final time, slipping out of reach as it fled down the drain. Harry stared at his hands, scratched raw by rough bristles. He toweled them off vigorously. When he pulled on sweatpants, it hurt to touch the fabric. Harry hid in a sweatshirt with the hood pulled low over his eyes. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets. He looked at his bedroom – a wide, open space with big windows and thick blankets. He stared at his backpack sitting at the edge of the bed. Harry pulled the still-ready backpack into the bathroom and closed the door. Curled up against the cold tile walls, Harry clutched the pack like a security blanket and tried not to think of anything at all.

Eventually, JARVIS spoke: “Mr. Potter.” Harry didn’t move. “The Avengers have returned.”

Harry held the pack closer to his chest. He wanted to flee. There was nowhere to go. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t deserve to escape.

~~~

For a long time, there was nothing. Whatever the Avengers did when they got back, it did not involve Harry. Harry remained quiet and still on the cold bathroom floor. From time to time, he considered moving. He considered asking Jarvis what the others were doing. He considered dying, and if that would keep other’s safe. He considered reaching a hand up to touch the aching rune, but he didn’t. Harry did not move and time passed slowly.

It was in this way that Steve found him. A quiet knock went unanswered. “Jarvis?” Harry heard Steve ask. “Is Harry in there?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” the AI responded. “Mr. Potter has been in his room since his arrival. He is currently seated on the bathroom floor.”

“May I go in?” the captain asked. Jarvis must have acquiesced, for moments later, Harry heard the quiet opening of a door, steady footsteps, and the gentle turn of the bathroom’s doorknob.

“Harry?” Steve asked, easing open the door. Harry did not move. Steve stepped into the room, quickly catching sight of Harry’s crumpled form. From beneath the big hood, Harry watched Steve step towards him and kneel down.

“Hey.”

Harry remained frozen, staring at Steve with an unreadable expression.

Steve sat down, settling his large form criss-cross on the floor. Another time, Harry might’ve laughed at the pair of them, squished into the bathroom. Harry’s mouth only twitched into a frown. Around Steve were drops of water Harry had shed in his frantic rush to get clean. On the pale counter and cupboards, Harry suddenly noticed streaks of blood he hadn’t bothered to clean up. Steve paid the mess no mind.

“I want to apologize.” Steve said suddenly. His voice was low and soft. Harry’s eyes flickered back towards him. Of all the words he expected, those were not them. “I don’t presume to know what happened out there on the bridge, but you shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Not before we addressed what happened in Ohio.”

“No,” Harry shook his head; his voice was rough and tired. Steve waited, but Harry couldn’t find the words to explain. The silence stretched on and Steve did not attempt to apologize further.

“Fenrir vanished. Again.” Steve said instead. He ran a hand through his hair. “The others are in the lounge. Thor stayed. He doesn’t want to risk being off-world when Fenrir turns up again.” Harry listened to him speak. Steve’s words defrosted something in the center of his chest. Harry wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “Bruce was worried when you disappeared. I was too.” Steve hesitated, and fell silent for a moment. “I am glad you returned to the tower. Jarvis let us know you were okay.”

Harry stared at the ground, his aching hands shoved deep in his pockets. He blinked hard. It didn’t make sense. How could they have worried about him after that? But he heard only sincerity in Steve’s words.

“The others?” Harry finally asked. He knew they had questions. But the numbness he’d built around himself was fragile. He wasn’t sure it would withstand speaking, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it to go – for him to be left vulnerable and raw. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face what he’d done.

“The others … don’t understand.” Steve said slowly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “But if you need some time first…”

Harry shook his head. He took one raw, pink hand from his pocket and pushed himself to his feet. If Steve noticed his tired hands, he didn’t say anything. “No time like the present,” Harry said, attempting a joke. The words felt hollow to his ears.

~~~

Stepping into the lounge, Harry found the Avengers seated around the dining table, tension in their eyes. When he turned to look at Steve, he could read the soldier’s silent question: Are you up for this? Harry wasn’t sure he was, but he stepped towards them nonetheless.

“Decided to grace us with your presence, Gandalf?” Tony snapped from the head of the table. Harry froze, glancing hesitantly around the group.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked, completely ignoring his fellow scientist in favor of staring at the rune blazing raw and red on Harry’s forehead. Harry reached up, self-consciously covering the marks with his hand.

“What is that?” asked Clint, diving bluntly to the core of the issue. Harry stared at the corner of the table, overwhelmed.

“Young Potter carries the Sign of Odin upon his brow.” Thor’s voice was a booming thunder, but there was no malice in his tone. Harry could vaguely recall the strange references he and Ron had stumbled across, mentioning Odin from time to time. However, it was certainly not the first thing he thought of when he considered the rune.

“’Tis a warrior’s rune,” Thor carried on. “One to bless a warrior from harm and strike terror into the hearts of his – or her – enemies.” He paused, frowning. “Yet, I have not seen it drawn with such markings at the center.” He leaned closer and Harry flinched back. Thor raised his hands, taking a step back. “I apologize, young Potter. I mean no offense.”

“Thor,” Natasha interrupted. “Tell me more. What does it mean to be a ‘Warrior of Odin’?”

“Ah, the Berserkers,” Thor said with a fond smile. “Fiercest of warriors are they who paint Ægishjálmr upon their brow. Without armor, they charge into battle. Centuries ago, they donned the skin of wolves and bears and drew the spirit of the predator into their hearts. Fearless, they felt no pain and naught but death itself could slow their assault.” Harry shivered as Thor’s words brought forth memories he wished he could forget.

“So this whole ‘not fighting thing’…?” Tony drawled.  

Harry clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to fight – But he’d broken that promise, hadn’t he. Harry ran a hand through his hair, pulling roughly at the roots. The rune burned on his forehead like a scarlet letter. He turned away. He couldn’t do this right now –

“I think we deserve at least some sort of explanation.”

Harry whirled back to face Tony, a sudden fury rising in his chest. He owed them nothing – except that wasn’t true. Harry opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He wasn’t angry with Tony; he was furious with himself. The words locked themselves in his chest, a pressurized container ready to explode.

Harry hesitated for a moment, suspended in time.

“Really? Nothing?” Tony snarked, raising his brow. “I’d’ve thought –“

The numbness shattered, as if it’d never existed at all.

“Shut up!” Harry snapped; his hands curled into fists at his side. Tony stared back coolly, an angry smirk twisting his face.

Bruce raised a placating hand. “Why don’t we all just –“

“You could’ve stopped him,” Tony spat. “Yet you fled, and –“

“YOU DON’T GET IT!” Harry exploded. The glass in the cupboards began to shake.

“I think –“ Bruce tried again.

“Harry.” Steve’s sharp voice cut through the air. Harry took a sharp breath and turned away. The rattling cupboards stilled to silence.

“You don’t get it,” he tried again, his voice a sharp hiss, though several decibels quieter. “We swore –“ his words tripped over themselves in fragments of disorganized ideas. “It’s –“

“Breathe, Harry,” Steve reminded.

Harry stared at the couches. He wasn’t ready for this conversation after all, but the command to explain hung unstated in the air. Harry pressed a hand to his lips, only to realize he was shaking. “I –“ They were all waiting. He needed to just say it. Thor had already started. He just had to blurt it out.  

“I – it – it’s not –“ He wrung his hands before pulling at the neck of his hoodie. How had it come to this? He was a wreck of a person – explosive and broken.

When someone’s suffered a trauma – Hermione would’ve tried to explain, opting for the technical route as she tried to gently circumvent the real problem.

You’re bonkers, mate, Ron might’ve said, sitting close but not touching yet. But at this point, I think we all are.

They’d kept each other whole – the three of them living like duct tape and glue as the war slowly destroyed them. But here…

“We – the rune –” He started, shoving the words out in a stuttering rush. “It twists things.” The words came from a mouth Harry was no longer in charge of. He stood, watching the train-wreck of an explanation as if from far away. “We stopped – never should’ve in the first place – But we thought it was the only way.” Harry took a ragged breath. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He was making everything worse. This explained nothing. But the truth was buried too deeply to access right now. When he reached for a better explanation, a quiet plea fell from his lips instead: “I didn’t mean to.”

He fled to his room.

No one followed. Harry locked himself in, shoving the desk and bookshelf across the entry. He pulled the blankets from the bed, before hiding behind a second lock. He pressed his back against the bathroom door and let the weight of the blanket pile press over him. He closed his eyes, and finally let himself sob.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed at the Burrow.  Ron was perched on the bed across from him.  “We should swear on it,” Ron said.  Harry took a swig of firewhiskey.

“Never again,” he said.  His voice was clear although it probably should’ve been slurring. 

“Never again,” Ron repeated.  “Now pass me some of that.”

“You shouldn’t’ve done it in the first place!” Hermione exclaimed, pacing through the rows of books bordering Ron’s room.  “Some magics aren’t meant to be known!”  She gestured wildly at the ancient and illegal texts. 

Behind her, dark figures emerged from the shadows.  They swarmed from the depths of the library.  Harry leapt to his feet, dressed in battle robes and wand outstretched.  A skeletal hand yanked Hermione back towards the approaching mob.  “Hermione!”  But she was gone.

Suddenly, the rune burned to life upon his brow.  Blood trickled down the side of his nose and a laugh erupted from his throat.

“You!” Harry turned to find Ron’s wand pointed at him.  His friend’s eyes were like lightning, his face contorted into a mask of fury.  “You’re just like Him!”

Harry tried to tell him he wasn’t.  He tried to end the spell.  But laughter was spilling from his throat and his wand raised of its own volition.  “Avada Kadavra!” Voldemort’s voice sounded from Harry’s throat. A flash of green light collided with Ron’s chest.  Brown eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling.  Harry wanted to scream – but he laughed, and laughed.  He turned towards the doorway where Luna sat turning over tarot cards.

He raised his wand – “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it Harry?” – a flash of green light – Mrs. Weasley lay still in the kitchen – a child crumpled onto flagstone floor, broken bones protruding from his thighs and a hole in his chest –

Harry awoke laughing and choking on tears. Moving to shove himself upright, Harry gasped as he put pressure on his aching hands.  Curling onto his side, half in and half out of his pile of blankets, Harry pressed his knuckles against his teeth and swallowed back his sobs.

“Mr. Potter,” Jarvis’ soft voice broke through the darkness. “I am sensing distress.”

Harry took a shuddering breath, then another. “I’m –“ Harry paused, his aborted attempt of a response hanging in the air.  He was neither fine nor okay. 

“It is 3 am,” Jarvis informed him. “The lounge is currently empty. Captain Rogers is awake in his room if you would like company.  Mr. Banner is also awake in the labs below.”  Harry nodded. He didn’t think he could face Steve and all his kindness right now.  He didn’t deserve the man’s friendship.  Harry wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and fled to the lounge, snagging the poetry book from the table as he went.

Harry bypassed the lights and the teakettle and sat in the far chair by the window.  Wrapped in his blanket, he sat with the book unopened in his hands.  He ran a finger back and forth over the ridges of the binding, staring at the black sky.  He didn’t know how long he sat like that.

The first grey light of dawn pierced the horizon.  Harry heard a soft movement behind him.  He did not turn.  Someone turned on the teakettle, opened a cupboard, uncapped a jar, and poured water.  Light footsteps crossed the carpet.

A mug entered his view.  It was pale yellow; Natasha placed it on the small table next to him before taking a seat on the other side.

“Waiting for sunrise?” she asked.  Harry didn’t respond.  “New day, new start.  Or so the poets say.”

He grimaced.  After a moment’s quiet, he asked, “That stuff you said… Have you ever done anything unforgivable?”

Natasha leaned back, her body relaxing into a confident posture like donning armor.  “Yeah,” she replied.

Harry stared at the plain blue book in his hands.  “What did you do?  After.  What do you do now that it’s done?”

Natasha laughed, a short and hollow sound.  “I go on.” 

Harry let the silence hang between them, waiting for her to elaborate. 

“It doesn’t make it better,” she admitted, a curtness to her tone.  “But I can’t undo the past.”  She turned the mug in her hands and looked out the window.  “I can’t give back their lives, but…” she shrugged, before standing with a false smile.  “Maybe saving the next people can mean something.”

She walked back to the kitchen, the distance stretching their conversation more comfortably between them.

“I killed… a lot of people.”  Harry admitted, his soft voice almost lost in the big room.  He could see Natasha’s reflection in the window, watched her lean a hip casually against the counter, her eyes on him.  He didn’t know what else to say.  What could follow that admission without sounding like an excuse? 

He rubbed a hand across his forehead.  He still hadn’t dressed the wound, and the touch of his fingers re-awoke the burning sensation of unhealed skin.  Pulling at his magic, he found his reserves were still too weak to glamour it.  Lowering his hand, he caught her eyes following its move. 

“Looks painful.”

He glanced at his scratched-and-scrubbed hands and shrugged. 

She sipped her tea.

“I’ve known many people with blood on their hands,” she said suddenly.  “Some who regretted it, some who did not.”  Her lips quirked into a small smile.  “The evil ones were not the ones regretting it.”

Harry looked away, fiddling with his lukewarm tea.  Thor had already started the story for him…  He bit his lip before glancing towards the faintly golden sunrise.  “This rune – it doesn’t just stop physical pain.”

As another silence filled the lounge, Harry found words rising to his lips.  “It … twists… everything.”  He turned the mug in his hands.  “I laughed.  They were dying, and I couldn’t stop laughing.”

There was a soft intake of breath.  Harry glanced up.  Steve stood just inside the lounge, leaning against the wall.  Harry felt the breath leave his lungs.  He was on his feet before he fully realized what had happened.

Steve knew.

But the soldier didn’t seem angry.  Instead, there was a strange furrow to his brow.  Harry didn’t know what it meant.

Harry stood stock-still, frozen in place.  Steve looked uncertain.  Natasha sighed. 

“Sit,” she said.  She filled a glass of water and turned to fiddle with the coffee maker.  “Steve, grab a seat. This isn’t going to work if someone runs away.”

Harry stayed where he was.  He watched as Steve fixed himself a cup of coffee and Natasha walked over to the couches in the lounge.  Steve followed, gesturing quietly for Harry to join them.  Hesitantly, Harry moved to perch on the edge of a couch as well.

For a long moment, no one spoke.  “I – I don’t know what to say,” Harry admitted.

“Maybe,” Natasha advised, “this rune is a good starting place.”

Harry nodded.  “It’s… well, Thor called it sign of Odin’s Warriors, but back home we called it the Helm of Awe – it’s for…”  Harry broke off, tugging rhythmically on the string of his tea bag.  “Hermione,” he said abruptly.  “She was…family.  More than family.”  Harry stared across the room at one of Tony’s abstract paintings.  He’d never paid it any mind before.  The sharp red lines were striking as they cut through a myriad of greys.

“She was killed,” he continued.  The lone splash of green paint felt uncomfortably out of place on the canvas.  “Ron and I – we went astray.”  Harry kept his eyes on the painting; it was overwhelming enough without eye contact.

“Voldemort had taken over the government.  All these skirmishes, and nothing but a body count to show for it.  So… know thy enemy, right?”  Harry chuckled humorlessly.  He wondered how much sense his ramblings made, but he wasn’t sure he had a more organized version in him.  It was taking all he had to force these sentences out.

“And then?” Natasha prompted

Harry shrugged.  “We studied.  Read books even Hermione wouldn’t’ve touched.  And we came across… this.”  He gestured vaguely towards his face.  “To strike fear into the hearts of ones enemies, it said.  Wizards who could fight through mortal wounds… power and aggression…  With the rune, just the two of us – we could take down entire bases on our own.  We could finally put a dent in Voldemort’s forces.  We… well, we did that.  Ron and I took out the base at Avery manor, and the one at Parkinson’s.  We stormed meetings and freed the Hogwarts’ prisoners.  But…”

Harry looked back towards his hands, away from the red lines of paint that felt too much like the blood that seemed to follow him everywhere.  “That sort of magic – it’s illegal for a reason.  It… twists things.  Hollows you out.  When I woke the rune, I couldn’t feel pain, sure, but I couldn’t feel either.  Just this… this twisted joy and rage.”

Harry’s fingers were clenched around his mug. “You stopped though.”  Natasha’s words held no hint of a question.

“There was no point.  We were delaying the inevitable.  And all the bloodshed…”

“My question,” came Tony’s voice, striding through opening elevator doors.  “Is why you used the rune after all that time.”  Harry flinched, whirling around to face the billionaire.  Had he been listening to their conversation with his computer?  He had only just arrived.  “Why keep it hidden?  What’s the significance of carving it into your forehead?  Did someone help you out or did you use a mirror?”  His questions crowded into the room as he approached, waving his free hand to emphasize his words.  “Why get it in the first place if you hate it so much?  Why leave the fight when you were pushing Fenrir back?  Why deviate from the plan?  Why’d you keep something so useful a secret?”  Tony stepped up in to Harry’s space, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Didn’t think we’d appreciate the help?” 

“Tony.”  Steve’s voice was a low warning.  “Back off.”

“No, Spangles.  This is something we need to know.  People were dying out there, and this kid didn’t do his job.   Instead, he ran half-cocked into some confrontation with the wolf, made more progress in defeating him than anyone has so far, and then disappeared entirely.  We need to know why.”

Disappeared entirely.  The words reverberated in Harry’s head.  He’d left his world unexpectedly too, mid-fight, mid-battle.  Had he done his job?  Or left them defenseless, like he had left those on the bridge?  Disappeared entirely.  What had happened to Ron and Fleur when he vanished from that forest?  What happened to Voldemort?  To the wizarding world?  Had he saved them?  Or doomed them? 

“This isn’t the same!” Harry snapped, the words escaping his mouth before he could think twice.  “I didn’t – “  The words were tumbling to escape, arriving chaotically like a pot boiling over.  Two years worth of regret surged to his throat, backed by a Gryffindor’s temper.  “It wasn’t like before –“

“Deep breath,” Natasha murmured, but Harry was already on his feet.

“You don’t know a goddamned thing!” he shouted. 

“Then tell me!”  Tony exclaimed, stepping forward so their faces were inches apart.  “What’s your fucking excuse?”

“There wasn’t anyone left!” Harry shouted, standing close enough to smell Stark’s expensive aftershave.  “They’d taken everything, and I – “ Harry choked on his words, but they burst out of him all the same, a strangled voice cracking in the middle.  “I couldn’t kill him!”   

Harry pulled at his hair, a too familiar fury at its boiling point.  He jerked away from Tony, who was staring with startled eyes.  Yanking harder at his head he huffed out a breath and blinked stinging eyes.  “After they killed Hermione,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “There was no point.  Ron and I – we were too stupid to pull of the kind of magic we’d need to kill Riddle. We’d die, sure.  But we’d be fucked if we didn’t take as many of them with us as we could.” 

Harry turned back to Tony, staring him straight in the eyes. “That’s what this rune is about,” he growled, gesturing at the scabbing wound on his forehead.  “Do you get that now?”  He pressed on stepping right back into Tony’s space.  “We chased them.  And we didn’t care who got in our way.”  The room seemed to vibrate with energy as he snarled: “We dropped as many bodies as we could.”

Tony stood still, his mouth slightly parted as he considered the devastation Harry described.  A tense silence fell, and Harry didn’t back down.  It was Clint who broke the quiet, interjecting from the sideline: “So that’s why you left the bridge?”

Harry nodded.  He took a half-step back, slowly taking stock of his surroundings.  Thor had arrived, along with Bruce.  The full suit of Avengers loitered in the common room.  As he stepped back from Tony, Harry could feel the anger start to dissipate.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”  He avoided looking at Steve.  This wasn’t the sort of wizard he wanted to be.

“Odin’s Warriors are fierce in battle, a force to be reckoned with,” said Thor.  “But they are not without conscience.”  He gazed at Harry.  “Your story is unlike any Berserker I know.”

“I know.”  Harry rubbed at his head, scratching the rune with disgust.  “Everything about it is wrong.”

“Then why use it?” asked Tony, his voice almost subdued. 

“I… didn’t mean to.”  Harry sighed.  “In Ohio, I thought the headache – well, I didn’t know what it was. But on the bridge it was worse.  That’s when I realized it was the rune.” 

“We could hear.”  Harry glanced sharply at Steve.  The soldier was frowning.   “You were in pain.” 

Harry looked away.  He had a sinking feeling what that might have sounded like.  “We swore we’d never use it again,” he admitted. 

“Because of the destruction.”  Natasha appeared just as comfortable as she had when they started the conversation.  “You left the bridge to keep people safe.”

Harry nodded.  “Maybe I could’ve hurt Fenrir,” he said, eyes flickering towards Tony.  “But there were people on that bridge.”

“I don’t understand.”  The quiet words came from the kitchen, where Bruce was carefully avoiding eye contact. “What caused the rune to activate if you didn’t want it to?”

Every eye turned to Harry.

“I don’t know.  It was like it was… waking on its own.”

The quiet admission was greeted with silence.

“It’s – I’d thought – “ Harry stumbled to fill the silence, words tumbling from his mouth as his wrung his hands anxiously.  He flinched as a particularly agitated movement opened a crack on one of his knuckles.  He rubbed the gathering blood hastily on his pant leg.  “I guessed wrong.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “If there’s something you know…” He paused, changing tactics.  “I know it’s hard to talk about, but we need to know.”

They needed to know about the horcruxes.

Harry clenched his eyes shut, turning away from the others.  He wanted to be anywhere else – wanted to put the conversation on hold, indefinitely.  You have to tell them eventually, Hermione would’ve said. 

Come on mate, Ron would say, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder.  I’ve got your back.

Stepping towards the window, he stared straight ahead.  If he fixed his eyes squarely on the clouds, he could almost pretend they were standing by his side again.

“Something similar happened before.  I’d get these terrible headaches, night terrors… Felt similar.   When Voldemort tried to kill me – the first time – the spell went wrong and we had this… connection.  It was called a horcrux.”

Go on.  Hermione would’ve held his hand, grounding him with a supporting grip. 

They just need the basics, Ron would remind.  What else is essential to the team?

“Later, in the war, the connection — I got visions.  It gave us information – what Voldemort was planning, where he was, what he knew…   It’s gone now though.  We were… getting rid of the horcrux when I ended up here.  It’s not an issue.”

The sky was incredibly blue, the morning sunrise almost finished.  It was jarring, knowing he’d walked to his death in a dark forest two years before.  Watched the wand raise, the green light flash –

“How do you know the… what was it, horuks? is gone?”

“Yes.”  His answer was immediate, a single terse word.

“I’m just saying…”

“It’s gone.”

The beat of silence spoke volumes to their doubt, but no one asked again.

“Well,” Tony interjected, his typical flippant attitude wrapped around him once again.  “That was a lovely chat.  Very good.  Thor, pancakes?  Tweetiebird said your Queen Mum sent those amazing berries again?”

Harry remained at the window, listening to the Avengers slowly disperse behind him.  While questions certainly remained, the conversation was closed for now.

A lone set of footsteps approached.  The muscular form of the first Avenger appeared at his side.  They stood in silence, staring out at the clouds without really seeing anything.  Behind them, Clint clattered around the kitchen.  Thor left and returned with the famed berries.  Pancakes browned on a griddle.

“I can’t say I know what you’ve been through,” Steve said quietly.  “But I want you to know there isn’t a single person here who doesn’t understand what you described.  We’ve all sought revenge, at one time or another.”

Harry pursed his lips in a thin imitation of a smile.  He nodded choppily.  Neither of them spoke again.

~~~

It was Bruce who brought over the pancakes – two heaping plates balanced in broad hands – and gently herded them towards the dining table.  Harry took his usual seat quietly, tugging his hood up and burrowing further into the soft shelter of his hoodie.  He kept his head down, the brand-like rune still shamefully on display.

Steve passed him plates and condiments, wordlessly encouraging him to eat more.  Hunched over his plate, Harry knew he should eat, but the food tasted like cardboard. He picked listlessly at the pancakes and fruit while conversation floated around him.

“I fear you were correct,” Thor admitted, spearing another massive chunk of pancakes on his fork.  “’Twas Loki indeed who removed Fenrir from the bridge.”

“Why?” Natasha asked.  “After Harry left, it should’ve been the wolf’s move.”

“Perhaps he was too injured?” Steve offered, replenishing the fruit on his plate.  “The cuts were very deep.”

“It was already healing,” Bruce argued, stirring milk into his tea. 

“Loki is a master manipulator,” Clint cut in.  “What if the healing was an illusion?”

Tony looked confused.  “Why —?”

“Visible injuries are a weakness,” Natasha agreed, nodding thoughtfully.  “It is possible.”

Harry frowned, spearing another grape with his fork.  The look in Fenrir’s eyes…  “He enjoyed it.”

The table’s eyes shifted to Harry. 

“The wolf is known for his destruction,” Steve said, nodding slowly.  “Without Loki’s interference, he surely would have continued.”

“So, what’s Loki up to?” Bruce mused. 

Thor scowled.  “We must find a way to contain or defeat the wolf.  We should return to our earlier thoughts.  If destruction cannot destroy him, then we must find some other way.”

“And Loki?” Clint asked. 

“There isn’t much we can do until we know what he wants, or he faces us in battle,” Natasha said.  “And after the Chitauri incident, I doubt he will face us directly any time soon.”

“Harry…” Steve began hesitantly.  “With your knowledge of runes –“

“I can’t.”  Harry stared at his plate, his hand hands curling into anxious fists.  “I can’t.”

Steve hesitated, before sighing quietly.  An awkward silence swept across the table.  Harry pushed back his chair.  He nodded once, as if to thank Bruce for the meal, before striding away.  Natasha stared after him, noting his shaking hands and tense shoulders with calculating eyes.

“Well,” said Tony, rising abruptly.  “I’ll be in the lab.”

Bruce frowned.  “Harry’s the only one who’s been able to do anything to stop the wolf.”   His voice was almost a whisper.  “Tony was working on med-evacuation suits for civilians… but they’ve been glitchy.”

“You think he’s really out?” asked Clint, eyes flickering towards the hall and Harry’s bedroom.

Natasha shrugged and returned to her fruit.  “I’d wait.”

~~~

Harry did not re-emerge from his room.  When lunch came around, Bruce found himself in the kitchen fixing his sandwich in silence.  Tony was still in the workshop, so Bruce fixed him a sandwich as well.  He contemplated making a third plate, but didn’t want to intrude.  Yet as he stopped in his room to pick up a book he’d forgotten, his eyes lingered on the closed door at the end of the hall.  He paused outside, but didn’t knock.

At six thirty, when the team finally had time to gather in one place again, they paused around a dinner table laden with rice and curry.  Bruce helped himself to the pot of tea, which had been set just to the right of his place at the table.  Harry’s seat was empty, a clean plate and silverware set out just in case.  Bruce caught the others glancing at the blank space too, their conversations just a bit quieter than the norm.

Reaching for the rice, he brushed hands with Natasha.  Dragging his eyes from Harry’s spot, he met her gaze.  She tilted her head and he recalled her earlier words.  “I am waiting,” he mumbled.  Sighing heavily, he filled a plate and tried to focus on other matters, but the closed door weighed heavily on his mind.

Tony slipped out first, abandoning his plate just a few minutes in and wandering back to his labs.  Bruce had barely managed to drag him upstairs in the first place.  “Nano tech,” he rambled.  “That could fix the electro regulation errors…”  Bruce rolled his eyes at the barely-touched food Tony’d left behind.  He’d have to take ‘seconds’ with him when he went back down; Tony was too focused to eat right now.

Turning to his own meal, Bruce savored a few more bites before refilling his tea.  He glanced at Natasha.  “He hasn’t been out since.”

She shrugged.  “Would you?”

Bruce let out a long breath and looked away.

When it came time to clean up, Clint surprised him by gathering dishes and joining him at the sink.  They washed and dried in comfortable silence, Clint tucking dishes away on the shelves.  “Nat says to wait.”  Clint ran the towel across another large bowl.  “But the kid’s dealt with things on his own for years.”  Bruce scrubbed at a handful of silverware, waiting for him to continue.  “Just saying, I’m not sure that’s worked out the best for him.”

Bruce nodded, considering his words.  He rinsed the last plate and drained the sink.  Harry’d had plenty of time to cool off…  Clint left the kitchen and Bruce glanced at the refrigerator.  The lounge was empty, the other’s too busy to linger and relax.  He pulled out the plate he’d set aside for Harry and turned purposefully down the hall.  If he was anything like Bruce, the ‘cool off’ time had long passed.  Perhaps he didn’t truly want to be as alone as he was.

Knocking lightly on the door, Bruce was met with silence.  He waited, the still-warm plate growing heavy and awkward in his hand.  He knocked again.  There was a quiet rustle of fabric from within the room, but no footsteps and no voice.  “Jarvis?”  Bruce inquired.

“Mr. Potter is resting by the window.”

“Do you think I could go in?  He hasn’t eaten yet today.”

There was a pause, in which he could make out the faintest of voices beyond the door.  “Go ahead, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce opened the door and peered in. 

Harry was leaning against the window, a messy shock of black hair was all that showed above the dark blue blanket he’d wrapped around himself.  Bruce stepped inside and Harry glanced at him over his shoulder.  Bruce tried not to frown.  Harry’s green eyes were red-rimmed and puffy; the rune on his head had been violently scratched and blood had once more dried in thin streaks down his face.  His eyes were dull and his entire body looked exhausted.

“Brought you dinner,” Bruce said, gently moving aside books to set it on the desk.  Harry didn’t say anything.  Bruce hesitated.  Slowly he walked towards the window.  He paused beside Harry, uncertain.  “May I join you?”  Harry dipped his head in what Bruce could only assume to be an apathetic nod.  He lowered himself to the ground beside him and stared out at the city beyond.

“You know,” Bruce said after a time had passed.  “A lot of what you said was… new to me.  But, I guess part of it made almost too much sense; I know what it’s like to do things in a rage — things you later regret and couldn’t really control at the time.”  He could feel Harry’s gaze leave the city, falling upon his face as he spoke.  “I can’t control the Hulk, but it’s still my fault, what he does.  I’m the one who created him.”  Bruce rubbed his knuckles and grimaced.  “I didn’t think it would turn out this way, but it was my experiments created him.  So, all the damage — it’s on me and the choices I made.”  He laughed, a quiet, self-depreciating sound.  He wrung his hands in his lap and didn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

The silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and tense.  Harry’s breath hitched several times as if preparing to ask a question only to discard it at the last moment.  Bruce took a calming breath and tried to settle into the wait.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity following such a vulnerable admission, Harry appeared to find his question.  “Why did you experiment?”

Bruce chanced a glance at Harry, who was looking at him with a renewed spark of life in his eyes.  He looked exhausted, but more in the present than he’d originally appeared.  “I, uh, wanted to find a way to make stronger soldiers — ones that couldn’t get hurt as easily, who could do outstanding feats, like the way people can do crazy things when their life or the life of those they love are at risk.  I thought it might protect people, or the nation.  Something like that.”

Harry nodded.  “Ron and I talked about ending the war, about being able to save… everyone.  But it was for revenge; we didn’t talk about that.”

“Well, I wasn’t as noble as it sounds.  I tested it on myself,” Bruce shrugged.  “That's because human experimentation is ninety percent red tape and I was impatient, but also… well, if it did work…”  Bruce laughed bitterly.  “Who wouldn’t want to have super powers?” 

After a beat of silence, Harry glanced back out the window.  “Do you remember?” he asked quietly. “What you do when you’re… Hulk?”

Bruce sighed, looking at his hands still twisting in his lap.  “I like to say no, but… I remember more than I want to.  It’s kind of distorted, and I don’t get a lot of the details but… I remember feeling this incredible rage — an inhuman amount of fury and… sometimes I remember people being afraid.”  He looked away.  “The others — they have incredible powers and talents, and the civilians… they feel safe around them.  The others can rescue people and comfort them.  Hulk — they scream.  Sometimes they cry.  It’s a terrible sound.  I wish I didn’t remember.”

Harry shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest, the blanket pulled tight around him.  “I remember it all.”

Bruce said nothing, the silence stretching between them like an offering — of what he wasn’t sure.  To elaborate? To acknowledge that no words could heal that?  The pair of them stared out at the dark winter sky.  The only light came from the streets below. 

“We only killed adults — Death Eaters — but… death doesn’t just affect them.  I still see them, all the time.  The grief, the terror…”  Harry closed his eyes, as if flinching away from the memories even as he spoke.  “We were not… merciful.  We wanted to inspire fear.  And we did.”

It was Bruce’s turn to pause, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to form his question.  “But on the bridge…  You were not cruel.”

“I fled,”  Harry stated, his voice flat and hard.  “I fled.  Who knows what I would have done.”

“You made the choice to run, though.  There was an element of you in control, despite the rune and the Wolf and … everything.  You chose to leave.”

“What if I can’t do that again?” Harry asked, his voice the smallest of whispers.  “What if next time… I do something terrible?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted.  “I don’t know how magic works.  But, I do know a lot is different now, right?”  Harry shrugged.  “No, it is.”  Bruce repeated, his words quickening as the theory settled more firmly into place.  “You’re not seeking revenge.  You didn’t wake the rune on purpose.  Heck, you say even magic itself is different in this world.  You’re not getting lost on some rampage of revenge Harry.  You’re not.  You got away as fast as you could; you avoid fighting at all costs.  You’re not the same person, this isn’t the same situation, and it’s not the same world.  I think - I think there’s a lot to find hope in.”

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes.  “Sure, things are different, but the rune is the same.”  His words came out in an angry whisper, sacrificing volume for venom.  “I turned myself into a monster Bruce.  Where’s the hope in that?”

“Well,” Bruce shrugged, his voice deceptively light.  “From one monster to another, I think things can always change.”

Harry glared, anger rising on his cheeks.  Bruce stood, reminding himself not to take it personally.  “I’m going to head back to the lab.”  He turned towards the door.  “But if you want to talk — at any time, Harry — just let Jarvis know.  I — well, our experiences are vey different, but I consider us friends.  And if you need me…” his voice trailed off.  Harry watched him silently, the anger quickly fading back to an exhausted apathy.  He did not respond, and Bruce walked himself to the door.

Closing it quietly behind him, Bruce took a moment to close his eyes and breathe.  Maybe Natasha was right; Harry just needed space and time.  Hopefully he hadn’t made things worse.  But there was nothing for that now; what was done was done.  He had things waiting for him in the labs, and Tony would need to be reminded to eat soon.  Heading down the hall, Bruce tried not to let the silence of the room behind him weigh on his mind.

~~~

Back in his room, Harry stared blankly out at the sky.  Hope?  What was there to be  hopeful about?  The hope he’d found slowly growing in his chest these past few weeks had just been shattered — no, obliterated.  The rune he’d almost grown to accept and move forward from was suddenly not only active, but out of his control.  His worst mistake was drug out of his past and now threatened everyone around him.  He knew he had acted monstrously before, but now…  he was a monster.  The rune — was it becoming sentient somehow?  What had allowed it to claw like that beneath his skin, forcing him to release it — no, he hadn’t been forced.

Sure, it had felt like the cruciatus curse, it had felt like dying, but he should’ve been happier to die than let it out.  Pain meant nothing; hadn’t he been through enough in his life to take a bit more?  He was weak, and that weakness…

Blood seeped from the crushed van, pooling on the pavement.  A terrified scream pierced through the air —

His weakness had gotten innocent people killed.  How many lives would he take?  Time and time again… enough bodies littered his past to fill dozens of mass graves.  Harry buried his head in his knees, tugging the blanket back over him as anguished sobs pulled at his chest once more.  It felt like he’d been crying for days — even his skin hurt as new tears fell.  His eyes were puffy and sore, his nose was a mess…

He was a monster.  And yet he kept living.  He couldn’t even do that right.  If he tried again — would he come to wreak havoc on another unsuspecting world?  Harry yanked at his hair as the terrifying sense of being completely trapped tightened around his chest.  There was no way out — he couldn’t stop the rune and he couldn’t stop himself.  He couldn’t make it stop.

Harry leaned against the window, letting the cool of the pane seep through the thin blanket and into his skin.  There was nothing he could do.  Closing his eyes he wished for an empty sleep, a time of nothingness, any escape from his thoughts.  He wished he might fall asleep and never wake up.

~~~

Of course, he did wake up.  Drifting in and out of a light doze he watched the night pass in snippets.  The lights slowly dimmed in the street below as shops closed and hours passed.  A star peeked through the thick clouds.  A sliver of moon briefly showed its face before it too slipped away into the dark.  The traffic thinned, then slowly thickened.  The grey light before dawn snuck across the sky.  The first colorful hints of sunrise began to paint the clouds a pale pink.  A knock sounded at his door.  Harry watched the brilliant orb pierce the horizon.  Footsteps walked away.  The sky was blue and gold.  Another knock sounded.  Cars were bumper to bumper and the streets crowded with hundreds of tiny dots of pedestrians hurrying past.  Jarvis spoke.  Harry ignored him.

The door opened.  Harry did not move.  The cold shiver of hair rising on the back of his neck was familiar.  Footsteps crossed behind him towards the desk.  Harry knew he was safe, but he wished he wasn’t.  “You need to eat.”

Harry didn’t reply.  Steps approached.  Steve stood tall beside him.  Harry leaned against the window, wishing the glass could disappear and he could free-fall to the sidewalk below.  Steve spoke.  Harry didn’t listen.

A mug of tea appeared on the carpet beside him along with a bagel on a napkin.  “At least drink.”  Steve said something about hydration.  Harry tried not to listen.  He didn’t want to exist.  If he couldn’t die, maybe he could just stop living.  He wished he could drift into nothingness, a numb sort of void where everything was empty and still.

Steve left, his footsteps quiet on the carpet.  The door shut softly behind him.  Harry closed his eyes.  The salt of tears stung his face and the world distorted in a watery blur once more.

Harry drifted through the second day in silence.  Steve brought water and tea periodically, but aside from occasionally reaching for a drink, Harry barely moved.  Time slipped by in fitful bursts.  Eventually, dusk fell once again.

Harry’s swollen eyes fell on the carpet beside him.  Bruce said there was hope.  Harry couldn’t see it.  But, he also couldn’t see a way out.  Hermione would know what to do.  Somehow, even in the darkest of time, she had hope.  Well, she’s not here, Ron would’ve snapped.  It’s just you now.  So what’re you going to do?

Harry pressed his fingers against his eyes.  There wasn’t anything he could do.

Well, sitting around isn’t going to help anyone, is it.  Harry could imagine Ron, rolling his eyes with a huff, a hand raised in exasperation. You gonna mope around for the rest of your life?

Harry sighed.  He reached down for the mug beside him and found only a tea bag drying at its base.  Behind him, last night’s curry was still waiting on his desk.  Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.  He paused for a moment, leaning against the glass, and waited for his body to get used to his newly elevated position.  Letting the blanket drop behind him, he shuffled over to the desk.  The cold curry lay in a thick, congealed layer atop the drying rice.  He poked at it with the fork.  He should probably eat.  It looked quite unappetizing.  Picking up the plate, he headed to the door.  Zapping it in the microwave would help.

The hallway was dim.  Harry wasn’t sure what time it was.  The lounge ahead was lit though, so someone was probably awake.  When he breached the doorway he saw Clint sitting on the kitchen counter.  Steve and Natasha were on the couches; they glanced over as he entered.

Clint lifted his chin in greeting.  Harry headed to the microwave.  Behind his back, the three Avenger’s exchanged glances.  “Good to see you up,” Clint said.  He gestured towards the couches, cold pizza slice in hand.  “We’re just about to start a game — needed a break.  Wanna join?” 

Harry glanced at his dinner spinning slowly in the microwave, and shrugged. 

“Cool,” Clint grinned.  “Group solitaire tonight.  No one can beat these eyes!”

Harry supposed he should offer a smile, but it was lost somewhere out of reach.  Clint hopped off the counter, not appearing to mind Harry’s apathy in the least, and bounded over to the couches.  Harry followed, curry in hand. 

They settled around the glass table.  Harry leaned back against the corner of his couch.  “Want to observe while you eat?” Natasha offered.  “You’re welcome to join in, but no pressure.”

Harry nodded silently and picked up his fork.  Natasha passed out the decks and the three began to set up their rows of cards, counting six before flipping one over, then five and flip, until each of the seven piles had one card face up on top.  Harry ate robotically.  Clint nearly vibrated in his seat, perched on the very edge of the couch.  He clutched his deck in his hand, eyes scanning the table for openings. 

“Alright,” said Steve.  “Everyone ready?”  Clint and Natasha nodded.  “Okay.  Three, two, one!”  Cards flipped quickly, moving from one pile to the next.  Natasha was the first to put an ace in the center.  Harry wasn’t quite sure of the rules, but found his attention quickly waning.   The trio muttered and exclaimed, cards thwipped into place on the table and shuffled quietly in the decks.  Harry picked at his meal. 

Ginny had loved card games.  She played exploding snap with Dean and Seamus, but also enjoyed muggle classics and was both competitive and chatty as they played.  She wasn’t as obsessed as Ron was with chess, but if she was lounging around, there was a fair chance a deck of cards had found its way into her hands - even if only to shuffle absently as she chatted about other things.  She too would have no patience for his moping.

Shit happens, she’d once said when she found him sitting morosely at the top of the Quidditch stands.  Really bad shit sometimes, sure, but no matter how bad it is, you still have two choices: give up or get up.  Learned that in First year.  She had sat down beside him, looking out at the pitch.  I was the one who wrote in that damned diary.  That’s on me.  I knew enough to know better…  She shrugged.  But I still came back for Second year. 

If she could see him now…

A pity party won’t change anything, she’d say.  Her wisdom was always harsher than Hermione’s, but then she’d wrap her arms around him and hold him close.  He’d breathe in the soft scent of coconut in her hair and the subtle earthiness of her skin.  Let’s find a way out of this hole, yeah?

Harry hadn’t realized he’d started crying again until Steve took the plate from his hands and set it on the empty end of the table.  Clint offered him a blanket from the back of another couch.  Harry clutched it to his chest and pressed his face into his knees.  How though?  How could he find a way out of this?

Natasha pressed a warm mug of tea into his hands.  Harry clutched the dark green ceramic and breathed in the steam.  The soft scents of lavender and rose floated above the warmth of chamomile.  Harry tried to offer her a smile, but the twist of his mouth didn’t quite reach his red-rimmed eyes.  She smiled back all the same.

Hope.  The Avengers certainly had it, if the way they looked at him had any relevance.  They hadn’t walked away — they’d tried to draw him in: bringing him food, keeping him hydrated, inviting him to games and meals…  How they didn’t hate him was beyond Harry, but… they didn’t.  They didn’t even seem afraid or angry any more.  Harry sipped at his tea, curling the blanket around his shoulders.  The trio had started another game. 

Harry watched the cards move, his mind churning.  Hope.  He had always associated Wunjo with hope.  He picked idly at the healing scab of Algiz on his chest.  Joy comes to you who know no sorrow; blessed with gain and plenty, content in a strong community. Wunjo fit so perfectly within Othala too.  Absently, he traced the rune on his wrist.  Othala, home, containing Wunjo, or joy.  Harry smiled softly.  How better would one describe hope?  Harry let his fingers trace the runes gently upon his wrist, never noticing the thin smears of blood left in their wake.

Harry reached up to take another sip of tea, blood-bearing fingers falling away as the rune-bearing wrist lifted the mug to his lips.  “Von,” he muttered, hope.

And with a flash of white light, the world was gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

Everything was quiet.  Tall pines swayed in a cold breeze.  Harry was lying flat on his back, sprawled on damp ground.  The sky, poking through the dense trees, was grey — whether that was with dusk or storm he didn’t know.  Slowly, Harry got to his feet.

He was in a clearing — the same clearing that had haunted so many of his dreams.  The shadows were long and the forest was hushed, as if waiting.  Reaching to his arm, Harry found his wand holster empty.  Glancing around the clearing, he spotted the Elder wand lying on the ground just feet away.  Summoning it silently, he crept forward.  His feet made barely a sound on the wet pine needles.  He wondered if Ron and Fleur remained, watching from the shadows.

Across the clearing, where Voldemort had stood, was nothing but a dense pile of ash.  The edges of the pile were slowly drifting away, carried by the breeze.  Harry stared.  He reached into his pocket.

Sure enough, his fingers brushed against the smooth polish of the resurrection stone.  He lifted a hand to his throat.  The invisibility cloak was clasped at his neck, trailing behind him with a comfortable weight he hadn’t felt for years.

A branch broke; its snap pierced the air like a shot.  Harry whirled around, wand outstretched.

A familiar freckled face stepped from the shadows.  Harry gaped.  War-worn as he was, his childhood friend had not aged a day since he’d last seen him.  Ron gripped Harry’s shoulder before drawing him into a hug.  “It’s over,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.  “He’s gone.”

Wrapping his arms around Ron, Harry squeezed his eyes tight.  His throat clenched with emotion, so he just held him and breathed.  When he opened his eyes, Harry saw another familiar face.  Fleur walked with the purposeful stride that had long replaced her youthful saunter.  She too reached out a hand and grasped his arm.  Harry felt his face twist into a smile that was also a sob. 

“It iz over, ‘Arry,” she said. 

“He’s gone,” Harry whispered.  “He’s really gone.”

Ron squeezed him tight as Fleur nodded.  Harry felt hot tears spilling over as his breaths shuddered in his chest.  He reached one hand up to touch his scar.  He drew away bloody fingers and smiled.  “The horcrux is gone.”  Ron nodded, loosening his grip to lean back and look Harry in the eye.

“I thought you’d —“ Ron’s voice broke off, unable to even speak it.  He shook his head.  “You weren’t moving.  You just lay there.”

Harry clutched Ron’s arm, offering the small comfort he could.  “I’m alright.  I’m here.”

Ron shook his head, laughing with relief and incredulity.  “Potter luck.”

“Come, we must tell ze others,” Fleur said, gesturing back towards the castle.  Harry nodded.  Ron slung an arm around his shoulders, unwilling to let go just yet.  Harry wrapped an his own arm around Ron’s waist, needing the contact just as dearly.  It felt as if years had passed instead of moments.  He had walked to his death, saying farewell to all he still loved, only to find a miracle of second chances.  He pressed himself closer to Ron.  They were all they had left: the last of the Potters, the last of the Weasleys, the last of the Golden Trio.  Ron kept glancing down at him, but Harry was glancing up just as much, trying re-memorize the freckles of his face, the sharp of his jaw, the deep brown of his eyes.  His heart ached with the missing of him.

They walked through the forest in silence, nothing but the crunch of needles and the rustle of leaves to mark their passing.  Eventually they rejoined the path Hagrid had so often trod through the forest, and shortly thereafter they caught sight of the grounds peering through the trees.  When they reached the edge of the forest, Harry paused.

The castle still stood.

Harry gasped, his eyes round as crystal balls. There was Gryffindor Tower, standing tall and unharmed.  There was the Quidditch pitch with its grass smooth and flat, unmarred by the battle of giants and stone knights.  The Astronomy Tower was no longer swaying; the lake was still as a mirror; the front doors were no mere pile of kindling.  “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Ron grinned.  “Thank Merlin for goblin wards.” 

Harry shook his head in wonder, but didn’t ask.  Fleur led them onward, across the rolling grounds and up to the front entrance.  The doors opened at her approach and none other than Professor McGonagall appeared. 

“Professor!” Harry exclaimed.  She looked weary, but her sharp eyes were keen as ever.

“It iz done,” Fleur announced, and from behind McGonagall began a whisper, then a flurry of outbursts, and then a tremendous cheer.  McGonagall stepped aside and Fleur led them in.   

The entry way was jam packed.  Witches and wizards filled the corridor, crowded up the stairs, and spilled from the Great Hall. They were turning to each other, spreading the good news, reaching out towards him, hugging, yelling — the sound was deafening, greater even than the World Cup with its megaphones and whistles, greater than the Tri-Wizard Tournament with its dragons and screams.  Harry stood there in stunned stillness and felt something inside him let go.  The tension of not knowing, the terrifying possibility of losing, the always-fearing who would be next…

“It’s over,” he repeated, his voice barely audible to his own ears.  “We won.”

At some point, the tears would come — the relief and the grief and the excess of every emotion all at once —but for now his eyes were dry, letting it all wash over him like a heavy blanket or a crashing wave. 

“Come on,” Ron said, his arm still around Harry’s shoulders.  “Mum’s probably upstairs.  She won’t let George out of her sight.”

“Mum?” Harry repeated, following along in confusion.  Ron didn’t appear to hear him, simply leading the way through the crowd of people — some of them students, some aurors, some refugees.  Magical people of all walks of life were crowded into the castle as if it had become the last stronghold of the Light.  Ron was gentle but firm as he made their way through the celebrating crowd.  Hands reached out to touch and hug and shake as they passed.  Harry obliged, seeing his own shock reflected back at him in their wide-eyes and smiling tears. 

Eventually, they made it through the crowd and began to pass through more sparsely occupied halls.  Every once in a while, a rolled up blanket or a tucked away trunk would hint to an owner who’d kipped in the hallway.  Harry could only imagine how many people must be in the castle to fill every available room and still need more. 

When they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, she was already sharing a glass of champagne with Sir. Callaway.  “And there’s the Champion of the Light!” she exclaimed as they approached.  “Man of the hour!”

“Sneezewort Yarrow,” Ron said, rolling his eyes with a smile. 

The Fat Lady curtsied as she swung forward on her hinges.  “I swear,” Ron chuckled.  “Ever since Neville started working on castle security, I've made more use of my Herbology OWL that I'd ever thought possible.”

“Nev-?” But before Harry could even question that new tidbit, he heard a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“Harry!”

A blur of red hair was all the warning he got before two strong arms wrapped themselves around him and she pressed her head into his shoulder.  They fit together like puzzle pieces, as they always had.  He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in the faint scent of coconut oil.  “Ginny,” he breathed. 

He pulled back, staring at her face to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.  Ginny met his gaze, her brown eyes shining.  She looked just as he remembered: covered in a dense stippling of summer freckles, her hair just a touch lighter from the sun.  She leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a chaste, but firm, kiss.  Then her joyful relief turned hard with a furrow of brows and a sharp frown.  “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me Potter?  Not ever.”

He nodded, pulling her into another hug.  “I promise.”  Then he laughed.  “I’ve had enough dying for one life time, thanks.”  She grumbled into his chest, arms squeezing tight one more time.

“Hey, inferi-boy!” 

Harry laughed.  “I’m not dead, Fred!”

“Get over here and give the rest of us our hugs.”

“Yeah, quit monopolizing him Gin!”

“Give the rest of us a chance.”

Harry laughed, smiling in wonder as he took in the entire Weasley clan sprawled among the couches by the fire.  Mrs. Weasley opened her arms, and Harry fell into them, finally amongst his family once more.

~~~

Bruce flipped on another light as he entered the lounge, approaching the couches with a rapid pace.  “You say he’s been like this for the last half hour?” 

Clint nodded, frowning.  “He finally came out of his room,” the archer explained, fiddling with a deck of cards.  “He looked real down so we invited him over to watch us play.  He did.  Then he started crying, thus the blanket and tea and all, but then… this.”

“We tried talking to him,” said Steve, still seated on the other end of Harry’s couch.  He shrugged, pulling his legs up to sit criss-cross on the cushions.  “But he hasn’t responded.”

“Jarvis repeated his mantra,” Natasha added. “But this doesn’t appear to be a flashback.”

The four of them stared at their young friend.  Harry sat in the corner of the couch, knees still pulled up to his chest, mug of tea held loosely in his lap.  The blanket was draped over his shoulders and his eyes stared forward, a thousand miles away.

“Where’ve you been?” Harry asked, a note of wonder in his voice.  No one replied.  The four Avengers watched as he smiled.  It was an expression they’d never seen on him before — something terribly loving, and terribly sad.  “I missed you.” 

Bruce sighed heavily.  “I think it’s time to get Tony and Thor.” 

Natasha nodded, her lips pursed.  “Jarvis?  Tell them that they’re needed in the lounge.  Now.”

There was a beat of silence, then Jarvis’ reply: “They are on their way.  I have expressed the need for haste.”

~~~

“Ginny, wait.”  Harry hurried after her.  She laughed as she led him out the portrait hole, her hand tugging enthusiastically at his own.

“We’re not going to have a moment alone soon enough,” she said.  “I just want you to myself, is that too much to ask?”

“Ginny,” Harry tried again.  This didn’t make sense.  But the way she smiled at him made it hard to care. 

“If we stop here we’ll just get interrupted,” she reasoned, continuing to hurry down the hall.  “Let’s go to the tunnel, ok?  All the other spots are too busy these days.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her.  He acquiesced with a nod and she quickened her pace. 

“It’s a wonder reporters haven’t chased you down yet,” she said as they jogged down the stairs.  A child no more than eight spotted him and waved, tugging on his mother’s robes excitedly.  Harry waved back as he rushed by.  “I mean, Britain’s reporters aren’t much these days, but the international ones have been hovering like flies.  That Albrecht is almost as bad as Skeeter.”

Harry couldn’t help the goofy grin on his face.  He let her words wash over him, watching her more than anything in their surroundings.  When they reached the fourth floor and headed west, he nearly ran over a fat cat slinking around the corner.  The feline hissed furiously, and Harry laughed.  He was soaking her in; like a cactus in a rainstorm, he wanted every moment he could get.

When they reached the tunnel’s entrance she flicked out her wand with a familiar twist.  He noticed a long scar on her knuckle, a battle wound from a particularly irritable garden gnome she’d once told him.  She tapped the eighth brick of the twelfth row, and the wall swung inwards.  He let her pull him in and they sat on the floor by the rubble from where the tunnel’d once collapsed.  “We never did bother reopening this passage,” she mused.  “Maybe we should; there’s a lot to rebuild.”

Harry reached out, taking both her hands in his.  “We have plenty of time.”

“A lifetime,” she said. 

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “And would you?” he asked.  “Spend that lifetime with me?”

She pressed her lips to his, her brown eyes open and earnest.  “Always,” she whispered.

~~~

All six Avengers were gathered in the lounge.  It was edging towards midnight, but no one was thinking about bed. 

“It looks to be a runic trance,” Thor mused from where he leaned over Harry’s still form. “There is a bindrune on his wrist.”  He pointed, careful not to touch.

“Why would he do that?” Tony asked.  “Could’ve at least warned us first.”

“I’m not sure he meant to,” Steve interjected.   He was leaned against the kitchen counter, sandwich in hand.  “It was pretty sudden.”

Thor nodded thoughtfully.

“But, I thought magic relied on intent?” Bruce asked, still staring at Harry from his seat on the opposite couch.  He eyed the younger man like a particularly confusing and worrisome puzzle.  “Otherwise any drawing in his notebook would be a fully-working rune, right?”

Natasha crossed her arms, tilting her head as she studied him too.  “What if there was intent, but it wasn’t conscious?  Like, stories of wishes when you use poor phrasing.  You’re granted a wish you never meant to ask for.”

Thor nodded again.  “Perhaps.  I do know that when my brother was young, he often did magic he did not intend.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked, eyes never leaving Harry. 

“And would you?” Harry asked.  His words were soft and hopeful.  He gazed at nothing, a gentle smile on his lips.  “Spend that lifetime with me?”

The group paused, his unanswered proposition hanging in the air like a secret they were never meant to hear.  Awkwardly, the team sat there, intruding on a moment they were neither quite apart of nor quite out of either.

“Emotions,” Thor said finally, resuming the conversation, “often made strange magic with my brother.  One time in a rage, Brother conjured flames!  They lit upon a tapestry Mother had made, and quite a fight ensued.”

“He was upset,” Clint noted.  “I mean — with the rune and Fenrir and all — he certainly had strong emotions.”

Steve nodded.  “And this happened right after he began crying.”

“So, what can we do about it?” Tony asked, his hands gesturing aimlessly. 

Thor shrugged.  “That I do not know.”

~~~

“Ginny.” Harry paused just outside the doorway.  “I - it’s about Hermione.”

“Oh, she should be back by now!”  Harry felt his heart leap, but wished he could calm it.  He didn’t want to hope — “She said the raid on the Knott’s place was successful.  She and Remus are probably making their reports right now.”

Harry’s chest felt fit to explode.  “Can we… can we go meet them?”

“Sure.”  She said it with such a matter-of-fact tone that Harry struggled to believe he’d ever said goodbye.  How could he have buried Remus if Ginny was so certain he was fine?  If Ginny was… here. 

Red hair strewn across cobblestone.  A limp body in his arms.

The image was gone as quickly as it came.  Harry shook his head and glanced back at Ginny.  She was smiling.  She was hurrying down the hall.  And she was very much alive. 

~~~

“But there’s got to be something we can do!”  Tony paced beside the dining table.  He gestured towards Harry, his hands strangely empty of tools.  This wasn’t something he could fix.  “This isn’t right!”

“Of course it’s not right Stark,” Natasha snapped.  “In no way, shape, or form is this okay, but if there isn’t anything to do, then there isn’t anything to do.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to give up?” Tony snarked, running a hand through his hair.  “Well, I’m sorry if I don’t agree with you.”

“She’s not giving up,” Clint interrupted.  “She’s just waiting until we have a plan.  And no,” he continued, shutting down the protest before it could be voiced.  “‘Shake him until he wakes up’ is not a plan.”

Steve stood, standing between them with a pacifying hand raised.  “Let’s put all the ideas on the table.  Perhaps together we can come up with ideas that aren’t likely to cause any sort of magical outbursts.”

Tony pursed his lips.  “Fine.”

Bruce gave a small wave of a hand.  “Could we wash off the rune?  With a wet towel or something?”

“What about something visual?  He’s staring into space.  What if we interrupted that space?” Clint offered.

“He uses essential oils in his work.  Maybe there’s one that… i don’t know, provides clarity?” Steve added.

“I still say we shake him.”

“Okay,” Steve acknowledged patiently.

“What if it’s similar to a flashback?”  Natasha asked.  “Could we use music or other sounds to change his emotional state?”

Thor shrugged, and the listing went on.

~~~

He saw her hair first, the distinctive bushy curls that were never quite tamed by hairbands or spells.  “Hermione!”  The shout left his lips before he even processed the thought.  She turned, a relieved smile lighting her face when she saw him.

“You’re okay,” she exclaimed, looking him up and down as if searching for a hidden truth that would undermine his apparent health.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, taking his own time looking at her.  She looked… good.  She held herself tall, no signs of pain.  The blood on her robes was only old stains and the cut at her temple was an aged scab.  Her cheeks were slightly pink as if she’d hurried to arrive.  She looked so… alive.

Harry blinked.  Of course she was alive.  Why wouldn’t she be?

“It worked,” he said, deciding to ignore the strange thought.  “The killing curse rebounded — I had the strangest dream…”  He paused.  A muscular man offering him tea.  A robot of red and gold.  A gentle man wrapping gauze around his chest.  Harry rubbed his forehead.  “Really weird, but not a vision.  Anyways, the horcrux is gone.  We were right.  When he tried to kill me, the last piece of his soul was destroyed.”

Hermione threw her arms around him and he hugged her just as fiercely.  When she pulled away, they both were smiling.  “We were also successful,” Hermione announced.  Leaning close she whispered, “I’m pretty sure it was last book about horcruxes.  In Britain at least.  We set the library on fire once we found it.”

“But aren’t most books like that protected?”

“Not against fiendfyre.”  Hermione’s grin was all teeth.

Tiny flames darted around the embers for days.  Orange lions and blue-white dragons guarded the ashes of the Hufflepuff commons, preventing anyone from getting close.  When the last of the fiery creatures finally burned out, there was nothing but a few melted pieces of jewelry and thin shards of bone left.

Harry coughed, his breath suddenly caught in his throat.  “Knott should’ve died with his books.  He burned those students alive.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes fierce.  “He’s in the wind, but we’ll find him Harry.  With Voldemort gone, the Death Eaters will have to pay for their crimes.”  Hermione said something else, but Harry had suddenly stopped listening. 

“Wait, ’Mione.  I saw the castle from the forest.  It’s whole — it was never destroyed.”

Hermione paused, a brief flash of confusion on her face.  “I know, Harry,” she said slowly.  “Nothing can get past these wards.”

“Ron said the same thing.  But, then how did Knott set fire to the Hufflepuff dorm?  You knew what I was talking about, so that couldn’t have been part of my dream.”

Hermione eyed him with concern.  “I thought you were talking about Diagon Alley.  He set fire to the shops.”

“But I remember it!”  Harry exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.  “When I got back — The stench, Hermione.  It sunk into everything.  And when we could finally go near the ashes —“ he broke off, staring at the wall, unable to meet her eyes.

“Harry,” she said softly.  “That - that didn’t happen.  Here, let’s go to Hufflepuff.  It’s okay; I’ll show you.  It was just a really bad dream.”

Harry took a deep breath, and then another.  He blinked hard, pushing back the strangely detailed images in his mind.  “Okay.  Okay,” he repeated.  “A dream.”  He rubbed his eyes.  She wrapped an arm around his shoulder.  “It was just a really bad dream.”

~~~

The clock on the stove was nearing one am.  Only the common area lights were on, the hallway and windows both shrouded in the deep dark of night.  Steve scrubbed his hands across his face.  They couldn’t leave Harry alone, trapped in whatever magical spell he was under, but the things he was saying… 

“It bothers you because you’re a good man, Steve.”  Natasha appeared on his left, a mug of coffee in her hands. 

Steve sighed.  “It’s just… he wouldn’t be saying this if he knew we were listening.  Wherever he is thinks he is…”

Natasha bumped her shoulder against his, a subtle comfort.  “I think he’ll understand.”

“If he comes back,” Steve muttered.

Natasha raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

“It’s been more than an hour — almost two.”

Natasha nodded once.  “But,” she said, glancing towards the couch where Thor sat pouring over his father’s books.  “We have Thor here, and if it gets really bad, we can reach out to Asgard, or even that pompous ass in a cloak.”

Steve snorted.  “Dr. Strange would love to know how you describe him.”

She smirked.  “I bet he would.”

Steve glanced down at his own coffee, which had long grown cold.  “Thanks Nat.”  Natasha widened her eyes playfully, as if to say, ‘who me?’  He rolled his eyes.  It was time for a refill.

~~~

Hermione had been right.  The Hufflepuff barrels stood untouched, just past the kitchen.  To be sure, Harry’d reached down to tapped the barrel, twice slow and three times fast.  It had risen and Harry’d stepped inside, peering into the commons beyond.  There was no fire and no ash.  Instead, a few dozen people filled the warmly lit room, celebrating with butterbeer and song.  Harry'd stood there a moment, letting the terror of the dream slowly drift away.  Everything was as it should be.  No fiendfyre had ever touched this place.

Now they were squeezed along what used to be Ravenclaw’s table, the whole Weasley clan gathered together to dine.  The Great Hall was fit to burst; four extra tables were crammed into the magically expanded space.  Even so, they dined in shifts and more tables were crowded into the Entrance Hall behind them.  Remus was seated just beyond Hermione to Harry’s left and Teddy was bouncing on Tonk’s lap, giggling.  Ginny and Ron sat on Harry’s other side.  Even further down, Harry could see Luna and Neville chatting with Charlie.  Harry leaned his head against Ginny’s shoulder, smiling.  His whole family was crowded around him.  Marks of the war were everywhere, but so were the signs of victory.  Relief rejuvenated every face; no one could go too long without a smile.  The castle, which had been so tense for so long, was almost reminiscent of his first year — a place of joy and life.

McGonagall rose from the Headmistress’ chair.  Tapping her glass once, she waited as silence fell. 

“People of Hogwarts,” she began, her voice rising clear and strong through the quiet hall.  “The battle against dark forces has been long.  We have lost so many — loved ones of all ages.  We have fought with our wands and our words and our actions — fought bravely and tirelessly to defy those who would have the wizarding world enslaved, those who would have magical people of mixed blood branded and demoted to second class citizens, those who would attack and alienate entire races of beings just because they are different from us.  We have fought, not because it was easy, but because it was right.  And what a price this fight has cost us.”  She bowed her head and Harry felt himself do the same.  “Let us take a moment, to remember and honor all who lost their lives…”  a clawed fist wrenching back a head of curls, her neck a concave line — two figures writhing in flames, their screams piercing the night until, suddenly, they were silent — the weight of an infant, too still upon his chest.  The images came in snap-shots, one after another.  Harry couldn’t catch his breath — wide fingers pushing at a round stomach, trying to scoop his intestines back in — the jagged edge of rib protruding from her chest — the sprawl of red hair on cobblestone and her vacant brown eyes.  He clutched her body to his chest —

“Breathe,” Ginny whispered, her hand slipping into his.  “Breathe.”

~~~

On the couch, Harry’s breath suddenly hitched.  Short pants escaped his lips and the serene smile that had stretched across his face slipped away, replaced by the tight furrow of his brow and the pinching of his eyes.  Bruce sat up straightened, rubbing away sleep. 

“Do you think he’s coming out of it?” Tony asked as he, too, pushed himself up from where he’d started to doze among the throw pillows.

“I don’t know,” Bruce said.  “It’s a change, at least.”

Thor looked up from the books he’d been pouring over.  “He does not look joyful.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tony rolled his eyes.

Thor did not appear to pay him any mind.  “Young Potter drew Othala and Wunjo — home and joy.  I surmise that he is envisioning home and experiencing joy.  If young Potter is not joyful, perhaps he will soon leave the confines of this spell.”

Bruce leaned closer, but even as he did, Harry’s breaths began to calm and his expression began to smooth. 

“Look,” Steve said, leaning over the back of the couch.  He gestured towards Harry’s arm.  The others leaned in.  There, on his wrist, the bindrune had begun to give off a faint golden glow.  Harry took a deep breath and the light on his wrist began to dim.  He smiled.

~~~

“Our work is not yet done.  But tonight,” McGonagall concluded, a smile finally crossing her face, “is a night to celebrate, because Voldemort is gone!”

The Great Hall gasped as McGonagall said the Dark Lord’s name.

“The taboo is broken!” one wizard cried.  “You-Know-Who is truly dead!”

The Great Hall positively erupted at that pronouncement.  Amidst the celebratory yells and screams, the food appeared.  Harry helped himself to a glass of pumpkin juice, grinning.

“Come on, you self-sacrificing idiot,” Ginny said with a smile, elbowing him in the ribs.  “I suppose you deserve all the celebrations tonight.”

Harry leaned over to press his lips against her cheek.  “It was terrifying,” he admitted quietly in her ear.  “But you know, I’d do it all over again.  To protect this.  And you.”

She met his eyes, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.  “I don’t need you to save me.”

— red hair sprawled across cobblestone —

“I know.”  She’d always been the strong one, a Gryffindor to the marrow of her bones.  He reached for the turkey and loaded his plate —

“I’m missing a finger,” he said, staring down at his hands.

Hermione leaned over beside him.  “Uh, no Harry.  You have all ten…”

“No.  Hermione,” he repeated, his voice strangely distant to his own ears.  “My finger.  It’s gone.”

“Harry,” Ginny began gently.

“I splinched.  In the forest.  When you —“ Harry turned to Hermione.  a concave line.  “No.”  Harry shoved back from the table. 

“Harry —“

The feel of his hands, the familiar absence he was now so used to, did not match what his eyes saw.  He felt the truth come together like a puzzle unavoidably solved.

“No.  It was a bad dream,” he pleaded, his voice cracking.  “It was a dream.”  Her vacant brown eyes, the thick stippling of summer freckles so vivid on cold skin.  “A dream,” he repeated, but his voice was a thin, desperate sound.  He grabbed for her hand.  “Ginny.”

“It’s okay,” she said, crouching beside where he’d fallen to his knees.  The Great Hall around them continued in their revelry.  “It’s all okay.”

“No,” he moaned.  “It’s not.  God, Ginny — I’m so sorry.”

She wrapped her arms around him, confusion written across her face.  “For what, love?”

“I —”  His voice broke, tears falling fast and sudden.  He clung to her, wishing he could will her into reality.  “I never thought Hogwarts would fall.”

“It’s right here,” she said.

“It’s not.  This —,"  He buried his face in her neck, wishing he had more time.  He listened for her heartbeat, pressed his ear against her neck.

She held him tight.  He could feel concern in every line of her body.  "It's okay," she tried to soothe, but he shook his head, hiding his face in her fiery hair.

“Remember when fake-Mad-Eye taught us the Imperious curse?”  He breathed deep, savoring the faint scent of coconut and her, trying to steady his shaking voice.  “The pleasure -- that’s what you have to fight.”  He laughed bitterly, tears leaking unbidden from his eyes.  “I buried you.”  He glanced at the Weasleys and Remus who were laughing over a hearty meal.  He met eyes with Hermione who was frowning at him, concerned.  He glanced at Ron, who'd moved closer - hovering as if uncertain how to help.  “Ron and I — we’re the only ones left.“ Harry closed his eyes.

“I miss you," he whispered into her shoulder.  He feared if he held her any tighter it would hurt. He knew it wasn't real, but he couldn't let her go.  Scarlet hair on cobblestone.  A limp body in his arms.  Vacant brown eyes...

His wrist burned suddenly — a white-hot brand against his bones — and then, Harry opened his eyes.

~~~

Harry came to with a gasp.  His body, which had remained inert for several hours, lurched back against the couch. 

He looked around.  Harry was back in the Avengers’ lounge.  Thor was kneeling at the glass table, surrounded by books.  Tony was blinking rapidly as if he’d just woken up, and Bruce was taking deep breaths and rubbing his shoulder where Tony had whacked him.  Turning his head, Harry found Natasha and Clint at the kitchen counter, and on the other side of his own couch was Steve. 

Harry took a deep breath.  Then another.  The air hitched in his lungs.  Steve shifted closer, his mouth opening hesitantly as if unsure what to say.  Just seconds ago, Harry had been in the Great Hall, had held Ginny, had been home—

Harry buried his face in his knees, pressing his palms against his ears.  His chest constricted, his mouth stretching into a silent cry.  He clenched his eyes shut.

A large hand touched his shoulder.  Harry flinched, before slowly settling as it rubbed gentle circles on his back.  The couch dipped lightly as another figure settled in beside him.  He could sense others near, their stares quiet and concerned.  Harry pressed his hands tighter against his ears until all he could hear was a muffled, ambient rumbling.

Something soft brushed his fingers.  A blanket was tucked around his form.  As it settled around him, the gentle hand resumed its comforting circles.  A knee pressed against his.  Slowly, Harry relaxed his hands.  A soft humming reached his ears.  He pulled the blanket tighter around him, his eyes still shut as if by refusing to look he didn’t have to return.

Yet, he was surrounded by people, comforted by the mismatched team that was slowly becoming something much more than friendly strangers.  Harry burrowed deeper within the blankets.  The rumbling humming was a deep, soothing sound.

Slowly, Harry lifted his head.  Steve and Natasha sat on either side of him; Clint perched at the edge of their couch.  Tony and Bruce had settled back on the couch with Thor who was humming the slow, soothing song. 

Harry took a deep breath.  He had no clue what to say.  How could he possibly articulate the depth of loss - to have regained everything, only to lose it all again?

But the others weren’t asking.  They just sat with him, wrapped him tight in his blanket and pressed their knees against his.  Steve rubbed circles on his back and Thor continued to hum, and Harry sat amongst it all.  Closing his eyes, Harry pushed back sudden tears.  He was not alone — after all these years, he wasn’t the only one in this strange, lonely universe.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

When morning came, and the soft light of dawn began to illuminate the room, it found the Avengers still spread around the lounge in various states of rest.  Harry remained curled up on the couch, his tired eyes drooping but not yet ready to sleep.  Natasha dozed beside him and Steve’s arm had moved to rest around his shoulders at some point.  Harry leaned into him, resting his head upon Steve’s shoulder.

Tony had wandered towards coffee earlier in the night, yet despite his best efforts he now slept at the kitchen counter with a third mug going cold beside him.  Bruce draped a blanket over him before fixing tea.  Clint and Thor muttered quietly at the dining table, hunched over a platter of Pop-Tarts.

“How much did you guys… see?” Harry asked, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Steve sighed.  “You spoke aloud sometimes,” he admitted.  “But your body was still.”

Harry swallowed thickly.  “So.”  He cleared his throat.  “So you didn’t…. see anything?”

Steve shook his head just as a voice spoke beside him: “The rune on your wrist lit up a few times.”

Natasha’s dark eyes blinked up at him from where she was curled into the corner of the couch.  “That’s all though.”

Harry took a breath, thinking.  While he didn’t know what they had heard, he could guess.  And as much as they were offering him time and space, he knew they were full of questions — the sleeping Tony especially.  At the table, Clint and Thor had fallen quiet.

Harry looked down at his fingers, curled around the soft blue blanket.  He fiddled with the seam and searched for a starting point.

“I was back,” he began haltingly.  “Back home, at Hogwarts.  Right - right after the stuff that led me to be here.  I was in the same forest.  The same clearing.”

Steve leaned back, his arm moving from Harry’s shoulders to the back of the couch.  Harry settled into the new space, eyes fixed on his fingers and picking idly at a hangnail.

“The same people — Ron and Fluer joined me.  Said we’d won.  Said everything was over, you know.  The war.  It was Done.”  Harry ran a hand through his hair and huffed.  “Even Hermione —“ He frowned at the sudden stinging in his eyes.  He shook his head.  “Anyways.  Back at the castle — it was still whole.  And the people — they were still there, alive, refugees crowding the halls, but still… strong.  The castle was strong.  And the Weasleys, Ginny…”

Harry wiped roughly at a tear that had darted its way down his cheek.  He snorted bitterly.  “It seemed real.  How ridiculous is that?”

Steve’s hand came to squeeze Harry’s shoulder briefly.  “If I were back in the 40s…” Harry could see him shrug out of the corner of his eyes, wide shoulders rising and falling with a sigh.  “I don’t know what I would do.  What I’d feel.”

Harry nodded, eyes bright. 

“Your rune,” Thor added, his deep voice carrying across the room and stirring Tony from sleep.  “Wunjo and Othala; Joy and Home… is this castle your home?”

Harry nodded.  “The Dursleys… Hogwarts was the first place I ever called home.  And even later, even in the war…”

“And winning the war, ending the war,” Thor continued, “Certainly that brings great joy.”

“Everyone was celebrating — the festivities, the feast, the noise when they first heard He was dead…”

“You seemed trapped there,” Natasha said, stretching her harms above her head and ruffling her hair.  “How did you get out?”

Harry clenched his teeth, his lips pursing in a pained grimace.  “It didn’t add up.  I wanted it to — but then my hands… I’ve been missing this finger for years.  It didn’t add up.  It’s like the imperious curse: you have to reject the comfort, the peace and joy.  Because that’s what’s false.  And it’s better to be in pain and in control of your mind, than in peace and in danger.”

Natasha nodded, picking up her cup of tea.  Harry watched her long calloused fingers curl delicately around the mug.  She met his gaze.  “In the Red Room,” she said, and the whole room seemed to listen closer at the rarely-mentioned topic.  “They played a game, offering a listening ear and gentle touch.  If you went with it — it was a bond we all longed for without knowing.”  A bitter smile quirked her lips. “Some girls fell into that gentleness and safety.  But the pain of knowing it was false — knowing you would never get that sort of bond — it was better to be in pain and in reality, than sink into the lie.  The girls who did never recovered.”

Harry’s hand twitched as if to reach out.  He settled to nod, unable to find words to respond.

“Natasha…” Steve began, before drifting off as well. 

She shrugged with a wry smile and sad eyes.  “It’s past.”

Harry nodded once more, before sliding the blanket from his shoulders.  He stood, stretching.   He couldn’t imagine continuing the conversation any further.  Moving purposefully towards the kitchen, he felt his stomach wake with a ravenous hunger.

“Ready for breakfast?”

“More than ready.”

Bruce laughed, opening the fridge and pulling out the eggs.  “You want to make the omelets while I start pancakes?”  Harry smiled.  Somehow Bruce always knew when the heavy conversations had to end.

~~~

Breakfast was a quiet affair.  Tony, who had woken shortly after the smell of coffee once more filled the air, was seated beside Thor who was filling him in on the morning’s conversation.  Natasha was chatting quietly with Clint at the island, passing plates from the counter to Bruce as he set the table.  Harry found himself at the table, with his hoodie up and his voice absent.  His entire body felt like concrete, like something heavy and grey was pressing him into the ground, like there were no words left inside him and no emotions in his chest.

Harry picked silently at his food, working slowly through his tall stack of pancakes and listening to the voices around him.   Outside, snow fell thick and silent.

“It started last night,” said Bruce, following Harry’s gaze.  “Weather report says it should continue for the next few days.  Sounds like it’ll be quite the blizzard.”

Harry nodded absently, turning his fork in his hands.  The neon lights below were somewhat muted by the haze of snowflakes and overcast skies.  “Do you think…”  Harry’s voice trailed off.  He tilted his head, squinting at the city below.  Standing, he moved to the window, conversation continuing behind him despite curious eyes.  He leaned against the glass.

A strange shadow shifted through the clouds.  Harry strained his ears, but heard nothing but quiet chatter in the densely insulated tower.  His eyes strained, tracking the shadow as if following the ever-elusive snitch.  He longed for his Firebolt.

“What’cha lookin’ at?” Clint called.

Harry placed a hand upon the glass.  Was the shadow larger than before?  The muted neon and swirling flakes distorted the edges of the shape, but…

Natasha joined him at the window, her own brown eyes joining his and surveying the city below.  The shadow was definitely growing larger —

“Guys,” Natasha’s sharp voice silenced the room and set every muscle on guard.  “Suit up.”

The table dispersed in a flurry of movement.  Natasha grabbed Harry’s elbow and pulled him away.  “I’d ask if you’re ready, but you don’t have a choice.  Fenrir’s back.”

Harry stumbled after her, eyes still on the shadow towering over city blocks.  His mind offered up a sound track of screams for the city streets below.  She shoved him down the hallway.  “Get dressed,” she ordered, before turning towards the elevator.

Harry’s feet dragged him to his room.  His fingers fumbled with his clothing, buckling black pants and tugging on his shirt.  He grabbed his discarded tool belt from the bathroom floor—

A roar pierced the air, shaking the building and shuddering in his bones.  Harry’s forehead began to ache.

He cinched his belt and yanked on his shoes. 

The thud of enormous footsteps reverberated through the floor.

He touched the knife at his hip —

There came an explosion of sound.  Harry raced from his room and skidded into the lounge.  Glass and broken furniture littered the room.  A massive black paw swiped back towards the tower.  Tony’s suit of red and gold skidded in front of the wolf, firing electricity and bullets from its hands.  Fenrir turned to bat at Tony instead.  Harry reached for his comm, only to recall how he had abandoned it on the bridge after everything turned to painful static.  He’d be doing this blind.

“JARVIS!” Harry called, running for the stairwell.  “I don’t have a comm.  I’m going to the roof.”  He took the stairs at the double, circling towards the top.  Another shudder ran through the building.  “I’m going to try to keep the building safe!”  He turned another stair, passing Tony’s penthouse floor.  He hit the roof access door with a BANG! and surveyed the space around him. 

The wolf roared again, and Harry saw a green figure clinging to its forehead, hammering at its eyes.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself.  “Landing pad.  Door.  Bee boxes? ok.  Where’s north…”  Following his compass, Harry stepped towards the landing pad only to feel the ground sway beneath his feet.  A blur of red and gold flew by, spiraling as if catapulted by the wolf’s fighting paws. 

Harry wrenched the rosemary from his belt, dipping the tip of the knife into it for the sake of speed.  Harry squinted against the headache pounding behind his eyes.  “This better work…”

Fenrir lunged, chasing the QuinJet with his teeth.  His shoulder rammed against the building —

For a moment, everything seemed to pause.  Harry reached towards the concrete before him, the QuinJet banked left and escaped unscathed, the building shuddered as it had each time before —

and then it began to tilt.

Harry dropped the oil and wrenched up his sleeve.  The building was full of workers.  The streets were crowded with police.  He dug the knife into his arm.  “Standa!” 

Blood and power poured from his wrist.  Harry pressed his forearms together, before taking the form of the rune into his own body.  He raised his arms above his head and dug his feet in firm.

The building swayed.  If the others were still fighting, Harry did not know.  Everything centered down to the raw power writhing in his grasp.  He closed his eyes.  He could sense the entire building beneath him — the structural supports diving deep into the earth, the scientists sprinting down the stairwells, the shattered windows and overturned chairs.  He breathed deep and slow, forcing his mind to focused even further.  Nothing will hurt this place.  If Fenrir’s paws slammed against the building, they did not make contact.  Harry felt his power stretch around every beam and pillar.  This building stands strong. The magic sought out the cracks and breaks in structural supports, welding itself into the material and holding fast.

A sharp pain burst through his skull.  Harry's eyes flew open.  Mere meters away, glared Fenrir’s fearsome face.  On his forehead, the bindrune started bleeding anew.  A second power threatened to destroy the protection Harry had created.  Harry’s magic surged, itching to break free.  Harry clenched his eyes shut.  The stench of the wolf’s breath was overpowering.  Harry tensed his muscles, throwing all of his will behind his rune:  Nothing will hurt this place, he chanted.  This building stands strong.  A dizzying sensation threatened to shake his control.  Distantly he was aware of the wolf howling.  Harry delved deeper into his core, wrapping the magic around his own bones until it too took on the shape of the rune that guided it.  Nothing will hurt this place.  This building stands strong.

The howling stopped.  Harry stood still, deep within his magical core, unaware of the passing time. The magic flowed through the building, down to the earth, and back up the web of the supports.  It cycled through the bindrune carved into his flesh and zapped through the blood drenching his uniform, regathering strength before diving back down the building once more.

Harry lost all awareness of the wolf and the fight, even why he was protecting this tower in the first place.  The magic cycled, and his chant repeated over and over, and the rune blazed bright in his mind.  He might have stayed like that for perpetuity, were it not for a gentle touch upon his shoulder.

At first, Harry thought nothing of it.  Nothing will hurt this place.  This building stands strong.

The touch moved to his back.  Harry stood deeply within his magic, the bind rune blazing in his mind’s eye.  A light tapping distantly registered new his shoulder blades.

Magic hummed around his bones, raw power cycling without end.  A deep rumble sounded somewhere nearby.  A broad surface patted his shoulder and his back in a gentle rhythmic manner.  Deep within his magic, Harry paused.  Nothing will hurt this place, his mind chanted.  But slowly, he stepped further from the magic still held in his iron grip.  This building stands strong.  The deep rumbling sound was nearer. A gentle touch moved to his sternum and back to his shoulders.

Harry pulled his mind slowly from the building, like dragging a feather through molasses.  He peeled open his eyes.  He blinked at the brightness.  The rumbling was coming from a chest directly in front of him.  Harry looked up.  Thor stood beside him, his large hands gently tapping against Harry’s shoulders and back. 

“The fight is over, young Potter,” Thor was rumbling.  “You can come back now.  All is safe.”

Harry listened to him one more time, before the words truly resonated.  “All is safe,” Harry repeated.  Thor nodded, his hands moving to gently rub circles on his back.  Harry focused on the grounding touch.  “All is safe.”  Thor nodded.  Harry took a deep breath, feeling the power still restlessly cycling through his bones.  “Fara,” Harry said, “Fara.  You are released.”

Harry stumbled, his arms falling to his sides as he collapsed against Thor.  “It’s okay,” said Thor.  “You did well.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes, suddenly utterly exhausted.  He looked around, only to find every other member of the Avengers watching.  “Help him up, Thor,” Tony gestured, not unkindly.  “Bruce can patch him up as we fly.”

With an arm under Harry’s arm and steadying his chest, Thor helped him onto the QuinJet.  Harry was slowly becoming away of just how much blood was covering his body.  A glance at his forearm revealed it was still trickling blood.  The dizziness suddenly made a lot more sense.

Thor helped Harry into a chair and the already-vibrating jet leapt into the sky. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, glancing forward to where Steve and Clint were seated as he attempted to help Bruce peel off his shirt.  After a moment, Bruce took out scissors and cut the fabric off him instead.

“The Tower is still standing, somehow,” Clint answered with a wink, “But it’s not structurally sound at all.  We’re evacuating, like everyone else.”

Harry blinked.  He allowed Bruce to move his arm into a more convenient position.

“Tony’s got a place up north,” Steve explained.  “A compound he’s been working on.”

“The Avenger’s Compound,” Tony correct, swinging out of the cockpit with a dramatic swagger.  Behind him, Natasha took the wheel and rolled her eyes.  “It’s in the works, but the living spaces are done enough to be used.  The sound of construction might not be a peaceful as the Tower was, but… it has everything we need for now.”

“And, it’s further from civilians if Fenrir shows up again,” Natasha chipped in from the front.

Harry winced as Bruce began flushing the wound with saline.  Thor sat on his other side with a solemn expression.  Harry found himself slowly leaning against the god, before righting his exhausted frame.  “It is no bother, young Potter,” Thor said.  “You have fought a great battle today.”

Harry sighed, and let his body sink back a bit more comfortably against Thor’s shoulder as Bruce took out the suturing kit.  With a blue mask and purple gloves, Bruce set the small sterile sheet beneath Harry’s arm.  Harry watched with idle fascination as Bruce quietly began muggle healing methods Harry had only seen a few times before.

“This is deep,” Bruce murmured.  “It missed the artery by a hair, but you cut through the muscle at several points and severed a tendon.”  Harry frowned, slowly coming to realize just how potent a sacrifice it was in a world with only muggle healing methods.  “I’m going to put a few internal stitches in first.  They will work their way out as you heal, but you’re going to have to be really careful with this arm for a while.”

Harry nodded, watching through half closed eyes.  “Do you have any medical allergies?”

“Not that I know of?”

“Good. I’m going to use a localized anesthetic for this.  The anesthetic will burn, but it will make everything else much easier.”

The needle Bruce produced was exceptionally long and thin.  Harry watched with wide eyes as Bruce slowly inserted it beneath his skin, inching it along the edges of the cuts and releasing the anesthetic slowly into the skin.  Harry grimaced at the fiery burn, but gritted his teeth and said nothing.  When finally the edges and centers of the cuts had been injected with the fierce liquid, Bruce set the needle away and gently tapped at the wound.

“Does this hurt?”  Harry shook his head.

“It’s like… rubber?” Harry said, voice full of wonder.  Bruce offered a small smile.

“Good.  Alright, I’m going to start with this long one here.”

Harry watched Bruce through half-lidded eyes, reclined in his seat and anchored in place with exhaustion.  The needle and the odd tweezer-like contraption clicked quietly as they worked the thread in and out of his skin.  Slowly, the cuts closed in thin, even lines.  Small black rail-road tracks of stitches tied his flesh closed once more.  Harry closed his eyes as Bruce started on the fourth one.

~~~

When Harry woke up, he was lying in a bed.  The ceiling above him housed a ceiling fan he’d never seen before.  Slowly, he sat up.  The sheets were not the pale green ones of his room at the tower.  As he smoothed the navy blue sheets beneath his hands, the recent events returned to him.  The tower had been attacked.  They’d evacuated on the jet.  Harry lifted his left arm from beneath the covers.  A thick white bandage was wrapped gently around his forearm from wrist to elbow. 

Harry slowly clenched his hand into a fist, only to find his pointer finger didn’t follow, and his middle finger lagged behind.  He tried again.  His pointer finger refused to move.  The breath hitched in his chest.  Harry forced it out, breathing in a measured beat until his heart stoped hurting so much.  He had already lost the little finger on that hand.  What was another one, he tried to tell himself.  But his stomach wouldn’t settle and something in his heart hurt like tears.

Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose.  He had the sense he had been lying in that bed a long while.  He took in his room with curious steps.  The room was larger than his space at the tower, and looked even more barren with the single empty desk and two empty bedside tables.  An open door peered into a bathroom that had a tub as well as shower and a granite counter top with a deep, rectangular sink.  Harry retreated back to the bedroom and looked out the window. 

The room looked out over a well-manicured estate.  The land was covered in snow, but the round figures of shrubs and trees dotted the rolling land, foretelling a beautiful spring.  Harry turned back to the second door, and stepped into the hallway.

He looked down as his bare feet.  He was still wearing his uniform pants with patches of blood dried into the dark fabric.  His shirt had been removed, and a new bandaged was taped over his chest wound.  Lightly, he pressed against the bandage on his forearm.  The burning ache reminded him of all the little black ties Bruce had stitched into his skin.  Harry wondered how long he had been asleep.  He wondered where he was.

A voice sounded down the hall.  Harry walked towards it, his limbs like lead.  Without bothering to test it, he knew his magic was virtually gone.  He’d been exhausted before Fenrir arrived, after —

He didn’t want to think about that.  His stomach rumbled.

The hallway opened up to a large living space lined with couches and a few tables and chairs.  Like the tower, the central couches circled around an enormous TV screen and a kitchen dominated the far wall.  Unlike the tower however, the windows did not over look a crowded city, but instead were a mere floor or two above a sprawling landscape.  A broad, snowy balcony reached out towards the land beyond.

“Hey!  Good to see you up!”  Clint was sprawled in front of the TV, a device of some sort in his hands.   “You hungry?  Cap was just about to start lunch!”

Harry stared for a moment, before nodding. 

“Good to see you, sleepy head.”  Tony patted him on the back as he passed, striding towards the coffee maker.  “Slept through the big reveal and everything.  I’d be offended if you hadn’t just spent half your life force or whatever saving my tower.”  Tony reached up on his tippy-toes to snag a bright red coffee cup from the top of the cupboards.  On the couches, Clint snickered. “As is, I guess I can forgive you for missing the grand tour.”

Harry blinked, exhaustedly processing the fast-paced chatter.  “H-how long was I out?” he finally yawned.

“Day and a half,” Natasha answered, plopping down beside Clint and picking up a second controller.  “Bruce was worried but Thor said you’d be fine.”

“Speaking of Brucie,” Tony piled a plate with grapes and muffins before topping off his coffee a second time.  “Gotta get him his snack, he’s a diva when he’s hungry.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Pot meet kettle,” he muttered.  Tony ignored him, exiting as quickly as he came. 

Steve, was moving about the kitchen, opening cupboards and setting out ingredients.  “You look dead on your feet.”

Harry just blinked.

“Sit down.  There’s plenty of room by Clint and Nat.  Thor didn’t think you’d be up ’til tomorrow.”  Ushered by Steve, Harry found himself sinking into a couch and tucked into a blanket.  His hands went to wrap around it, only for the un-moving pointer finger to catch his eye.  Harry slipped his hand under the soft green fabric and out of sight.

Steve resumed his work in the kitchen, the soft clanking of pots and quiet chopping of vegetables made a soothing background noise to the growing of engines on the TV.  Harry leaned back into the couch and watched brightly colored race cars whirl through an obstacle course, Clint and Natasha hunched competitively over their controllers.  His eyes drifted shut.

~~~

The next day passed in a blur of food and naps, interrupted by the much more purposeful ‘nap’ of a hand surgery preformed by a friend of Tony’s who also happened to be a surgeon.  Dr. Cho was gentle and efficient, suturing the severed tendon in Harry’s wrist and instructing both he and Bruce on a strict regimen of physical therapy for the next two months.  Harry was absolutely forbidden from doing anything more than the exact, prescribed movements Dr. Cho taught them.  Bruce had nodded along quite seriously and taken detailed notes, so Harry assumed he wouldn’t be getting away with anything extra.  Dr. Cho had been quite forceful about the fact that overexertion could undo everything she’d just sown together and destroy any chance he had at full recovery.

Two days later, Harry was both alert and fed.  His backpack, along with a truck load of other Avenger’s items (mostly Tony’s) had been brought over from the tower, allowing him to curl up in a covered corner of the balcony and read beneath a heap of blankets in the frigid winter air.

‘Are you trying to catch a cold?’ Hermione would’ve asked exasperatedly, her hands on her hips.  It’s literally freezing out here!’

“Just getting some air,” Harry told the snowy skies.  Lazy snow flakes continued to fall and the piles of snow just kept getting higher. 

‘Cut a guy a break,’ Ron would’ve snarked back.  ‘We’ve been working all week ‘Mione.  We deserve a chance to breathe.’

‘In this weather?!’  Harry laughed at the memory.  They’d had this argument so many times - him, seeking space in their cramped campground circle, Hermione worried about health and having anyone out of her sight, and Ron stuck in the middle, quietly nudging Harry inside even as he tried to keep Hermione off his back about it.

“I miss you,” Harry whispered.

The book in his gloved hands was open to “The Nutritionist”, but he hadn’t turned the page since he’d sat down.  He didn’t need to look down at the words to re-read them.  Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house / But my hands are always holding tight to the ripcord of believing / A life can be rich like the soil / Can make food of decay / Can turn wound into highway.

“Is that what I’m doing?”  His voice sounded so small.

‘You’re finding a place in this world,’ Hermione would’ve said, shrugging.  ‘I think that’s wonderful.’

‘It’s not like you have to choose.’  Ron always jumped straight to the heart of the issue.  ‘With the seven of us — I’d know.’  Harry tried to smile, but it came out strained.

“I miss you,” he repeated.  Hermione would’ve hugged him, pulled him close and pressed her face against his neck. 

‘Caring about them doesn’t mean you’ve stopped caring about us Harry.’  She’d run her fingers through his hair.  ‘You’ll always care about us, that’s just how it is.  But if you can find a family here…’

‘You deserve to be happy, mate.’ 

Harry blinked back sudden tears.  He ran a gloved finger along the edge of his open book, Andrea Gibson’s words running through his mind.  ‘here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better / but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned /their knees’

“It hurts.”

And this time when he spoke, there was no answer save: ‘I know.’

~~~

When Harry returned indoors, red-nosed and numb-fingered, he was greeted by an empty commons.  “Mr. Potter,” JARVIS spoke.  “Director Fury has called a meeting.  The others are currently gathering in the conference room.  Would you like me to direct you there?”

Harry tugged at the hem of his sweater and glanced at the pile of blankets he’d dumped on the couch.  “Okay.”

One floor and several hallways later, Harry found himself stepping into a sleekly furnished conference room and taking the only empty chair.  Director Fury stood at the head of the table. At the other end of the room, Steve leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.  “We now know for certain it was Loki who has been appearing with the wolf,” he stated.  “We need -“

“It is not known for certain, Captain,” Thor interjected, “what my brother’s motives are.”

“It’s his son!” snapped Clint, leaning over the back of his chair, too agitated to sit.  “Of course he’s helping!”

“We do not know —“

“Hey.”  The single firm word from Director Fury quieted the escalating room.  “What we do know, is that Loki has appeared at each of the fights and participated in Fenrir’s escape, or” he held up a hand, silencing Thor before he could interject once more. “Or, he arrived at the fight and helped to remove Fenrir from the area.  Regardless, we now know Loki is involved and that Loki is able to move the wolf in some manner.”

Natasha rested her chin thoughtfully on her hand.  “There’s also a growing pattern.”

Fury raised an unimpressed brow. 

“Three of the four incidents have involved Harry, and Fenrir has shown increasing interest in him.”

Harry felt his brow furrow.  He felt he’d missed something very important.

“Perhaps it is Ægishjálmr,” mused Thor.  “For the wolf has awoken it in young Potter before.”

Clint, still glaring, nodded.  “The way he froze at the tower.  Once he noticed Harry, he wasn’t interested in anything else at all.”

“Didn’t even bother to be annoyed with the bullets and blasts any more,” Tony chimed in.  “And even if Harry didn’t respond at the time, Fenrir seemed to want him to.”

“Harry did respond,” Natasha interjected.  Every eye turned to her.  Harry stared at her, bewildered by the entire conversation.  “The rune on his forehead started bleeding again when the wolf stopped to stare at Harry.”

Vaguely, Harry remembered the stench of Fenrir’s breath and the rise of a second energy interrupting his own.  “He wanted to… play,” Harry murmured, remembering the leaping feeling in the rune.  “He… wanted Ægishjálmr to wake up so they could…  play is the only word I can think of, but it doesn’t really fit.” 

The room was quiet for a moment.  Fury leaned against the table, eyes boring into Harry.  “If Potter is the link…”

Harry shuddered. 

“Then we need to prepare,” said Steve.  “Fenrir will come to us.  We are in a good location, far from civilians.  We need to lay a trap and find a way to bind the wolf once more.”

Director Fury nodded.  “Thor.  Potter.  Runes are the only things that have had any impact on Fenrir.  Work together.  We need something to stop him in his tracks.  Stark, Banner, we need a working technique to monitor Fenrir’s energy.”

“And we all need to find out how best to support whatever runic work Harry and Thor come up with,” Steve concluded.  “We don’t know when the wolf will return.  We need to be ready.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed.

~~~

That night found Harry in front of his bathroom mirror, leaning forward against the counter.  Ægishjálmr sat, scabbed, in the center of his forehead.  He ran his fingers over it gently, denying the urge to pick the scab.

“So this is what Fenrir wants,” Harry whispered.  His reflection stared back with equally haunted eyes.  He pressed against the rune until a dull ache came to life.  “You did it again, Potter.  Center of the universe,” he could practically hear Snape’s voice hissing in his ear. 

If it weren’t for the rune — for Harry having created the rune — would the Wolf have attacked at the bridge?  Would Fenrir have attacked the tower?  Was Natasha right?  Did Fenrir truly change his plans once he saw the rune in that small town?

What would the price be for this rune?  Would it be like the horcrux - would he have to find a way to rip it out of himself?  Would he have to walk to his death —

A knock sounded on his bedroom door.  Harry tore his eyes away from the mirror.  He had been part-way through rebandaging his arm after a shower.  Quickly he wrapped the gauze around his forearm and secured it with a piece of tape.  The knock sounded again.

Toweling off his hair once more, Harry hurried to the door.  “Yeah?”

Steve stood in the hallway.  “You’ve, uh, been in there a while.  Would you like to help me make dinner?”

Harry smiled.  Caring about them doesn’t mean you’ve stopped caring about us Harry.  “Sure.”  He followed Steve to the kitchen.  “What are we making?”

“Steak and potatoes, and whatever vegetable dishes you want.”

Harry grabbed the bell peppers and onions and started chopping along side Steve.  They worked in silence for a while.  As Steve lay out the rosemary potatoes in the baking pan, he mentioned, “Looked like you took the meeting hard.”

Harry watched him grind salt above the tray.  He poured a half tablespoon of oil into his skillet.  “Nat thinks the wolf is … seeking me out.”

Steve slid the potatoes into the oven and started looking through the spice cupboard.  “It’s okay to be worried,” Steve said, his back still to Harry.  “But I had a feeling it was something else?”

Harry mixed the peppers and onion in the skillet before reaching for the salt.  “Not worried really,” he offered, trading the salt for pepper to grind over the skillet too.  “It’s just…”  He turned the stove on, listening to the clickclickclick before it lit, then watching the blue flames woosh into existence.  Steve put another skillet on the stove and added the steak.  Harry turned to look for the broccoli in the fridge.  “Last time, back home… there was a reason it had to be me, right?  That I had to kill Voldemort.  And now, something that I did, something really bad — now it’s tying me to Fenrir.”  Harry sliced at the broccoli with a bit more vigor than necessary.  Steve turned the steak over in the pan.

“Can I ask,” Steve began, his voice soft.  “What tied you to... Voldamor?”

Harry glanced at the room: Clint playing a video game quietly on the couch, Bruce dozing in a reclining chair.  He scraped the broccoli into a pot of water and set it on the stove.  He considered his options.

Steve would let him drop the topic if he asked.  He could also tell an edited version of the truth.  Or…  Harry rubbed anxiously at the bandage on his forearm.  He’d just started physical therapy and his entire arm was sore.  He could also tell Steve the truth.

“Magic’s crazy, right?” Harry began, reaching back into the fridge for salad ingredients.  “Sometimes it’s so crazy, we hardly understand it, yeah?”  He grabbed a cucumber and started slicing, avoiding Steve’s eyes.  “Voldemort, he was doing this… absolutely crazy magic.  Illegal, dangerous… soul-destroying, literally.  He wanted to live forever, and he didn’t care what it took.”

Harry tossed the cucumber in the bowl and grabbed the carrots.  His fingers worked at a rapid pace.  “He tried to kill me when i was an infant, but it didn’t work.  His soul was unstable because of the magic he’d been doing.  He’d been destroying his soul - breaking it into pieces to try to keep it safe.”

Harry rummaged through the drawers for a cheese grater.  “It’d been broken so many times by killing and this ritual that when he tried to kill me…”  Harry grated the cheese so hard his stitches twinged.  He set it down and leaned against the counter.  “Part of his soul got stuck in me.”

Steve shifted as if trying to think of what to say, but Harry knew if he didn’t get it out, he might never say it.  He forged ahead, eyes staring just beyond the cherry tomatoes.  “To defeat him, we had to find all the pieces of his soul and destroy them.  Eventually we realized part was in me because he still wasn’t dying…”  Harry swallowed hard.  “I tried to avoid it.  I was stupid.”  The words felt like poison on his tongue.  He grimaced, glaring at the memory of it.  “I had to die.”  Harry’s hands gripped the counter so hard they turned white.  “That’s how I ended up here.”

Steve was quiet.  The steak sizzled in the skillet.  Harry picked up the cheese again. 

“So, the bindrune - it reminds you of the soul pieces in how it ties you to the villain.”  Harry blinked hard, the cheese going fuzzy before his eyes.  He nodded.

“You’re not the bad guy,” Clint said, walking over from the couch.  He snatched a cherry tomato and popped it into his mouth.  “You know,” he continued.  “Loki got in my head.  Made me do things.”  Harry shuddered at the idea, but tilted an ear towards Clint all the same.  “Turned me against the team.”  Clint’s voice was light, but his eyes were hard.  “That’s on Loki, not me.”

“But,” Harry shoved the cheese into the salad.  “I did this.  I made Ægishjálmr.”

“Did you make it for this purpose?” Steve asked.  Harry chopped the celery with vigor.

‘No one else blames you, mate,’ Ron had said so many times.  ‘You gotta let this one go.’

Harry noticed the celery becoming watery before he realized he was crying.  This time it was Clint who reached out a hand.   “No one blames you,” he said, grey blue eyes meeting his earnestly.  Harry scrubbed at his face and nodded.  He added the croutons and almonds without talking.

“Thanks.”

The other men just nodded.  “Always.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

That evening found Harry in bed, tangled in blue sheets with his navy comforter kicked to the floor.  A crescent moon shone faintly through the window, magnified by the snowy landscape.  Harry tossed and turned, reaching out to clutch his bandaged arm and draw it to his chest.

He was the dungeons, leaning over a bubbling cauldron.  “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mister Potter?” Harry glanced up, the Potion’s master mere inches from his face.  The mandrake root slipped from his hand —

He lay in a familiar cot, pale striped curtains surrounding his bed.  The clipped heels of the matron sounded on tile floor.  “Drink this.”  A blood-red bottle was thrust into his hands.

A lone eye bobbed to the surface of the mixture, surrounded by tufts of hair and clumps of flesh.  Harry’s stomach rolled.  He tried to give the bottle back, but it refused to leave his hands.  He shook the bottle —

The potion splashed onto his arm.  The bandage soaked cherry red, then scarlet.  Blood dripped from his arm.  He reached out to apply pressure—

He was in a forest.  Blood stained the earth.  “Are you ready?” Ron asked.  Ron’s forehead was bleeding.  Harry reached up to touch his own.  Blood stained his hands. 

“Ron—“

“What?” Ron snapped, his voice tinged with anger and with disgust.  Harry took a step back.  “You want another option?”

“Ron —“

“Think about what happened last time.”  Ron spat.  He turned on his heel.  CRACK! 

Harry was alone in a familiar clearing.  The cloak hung heavy on his shoulders; the resurrection stone pressed against his sweaty palm.  Voldemort stood across from him, wand raised —

“The Boy Who Lived… come to die.”*

Hermione stood behind the Dark Lord.  “There’s no other way,” she pleaded.  “This is the only choice.”

Ginny stood just behind him, one hand pushing him forward.  “You can’t avoid this, Harry.” He turned to her with wild eyes, begging —

“Coward!” screamed voices all around them.  Others, concealed by the trees, laughed and jeered: “You can’t run forever, Potter!”   

“Enough blood’s spilled for you!”

“Selfish!”

The yelling grew and grew.   The rune upon his brow burned fiercely.  Ginny’s eyes were cold and hard.  “I died because of you.”

Harry felt something in his chest break.  He turned to Voldemort and sheathed his wand.  He stepped forward.  The jeering voices reached a fever pitch.  Ginny’s hand left his back. 

Voldemort raised his wand.  “AVADA KA——“

~~~

Harry sat bolt-upright in bed, his chest heaving and dotted with sweat.  He wiped a shaking hand across his brow.  The bindrune stood out like braille beneath his fingers.  It’s the only way…  Tears stained his cheeks.  He shoved himself out of bed, pacing barefooted in a pair of baggy sweatpants.  ‘Can you really justify waiting any longer?’ Hermione’s voice sounded in his ears.  ‘Considering…’ Harry ran an agitated hand through his hair.  He had waited before —

He found himself standing in front of the closet before he stopped to think.  His fingers found the utility belt, found the blade.  He pressed the tip of the knife to his wrist.  His pulse pounded beneath the surface.  He pushed the edge of the bandage out of the way.  Black stitches ran rough against his hand.  He traced the skin above his artery, transfixed.

Last time you tried to find another way out…  Three months of senseless deaths because of his cowardice.

Harry pressed the blade against his skin.  A thrill of electricity ran up his spine as he broke through the epidermis.  He stood frozen, the world hanging on a breath.

‘Harry!’ Ron had yelled the first time he found him with a blade pressed against his wrist.  But later… ‘I’m with you, to the end.’  They had both known what must be done.

Was this another end?

He pressed the blade just a bit deeper, eyes widening at the jolt of entering the fatty tissue.  Was his death part of the solution?  Another step towards the end of the wolf’s ravenous destruction?  Blood pooling beneath a crushed white van… bodies in the street…

‘But not until we’ve exhausted every option.’ 

“Is there time?”  Harry whispered.  He lifted the blade from his wrist.  They’d looked and looked for alternatives —

“It is 5:32 a.m,” JARVIS’ voice broke through the silence.  “Do you require assistance?”

“N-no,” Harry replied, shoving the blade hastily back into its sheath and turning away from the closet.  “No, I’m fine.”  His finger traced the scratch, such a small puncture into his flesh yet holding such terrible indecision.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” the AI replied.  “Mr. Barton is in the common area and Captain Rogers and Ms. Romanoff are in the gym, if you desire company.”

“Thanks.”  Harry stepped into the bathroom, grabbing a bandaid to paste over the cut.  There were still runic options to explore, but… how many more cities would Fenrir level?  Was their connection feeding the wolf, just as it had fed the Dark Lord?

Harry grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor and wiped the small smear of blood off on his black sweatpants.  He could wait a few more hours to make that decision.  He didn’t have to act right now.  In the closet, the knife loomed in his mind like a dozen dementors.  Harry hesitated, then turned.

Hurrying out of the room, he made his way to the common area and snagged a blanket from the couch.  Well bundled, he made his way to the electric kettle and basket of tea. From the tallest chair in the corner, Clint watched over a mug of coffee.  “Late start,” he joked quietly.

Harry offered a strained smile.  “Beauty rest,” he replied.

When his tea was poured, and a bag of peppermint bobbed in his galaxy mug, Harry settled into the recliner beside Clint’s perch.  His blanket curled around him until only his fingers and mug peered out.  Tufts of messy black hair poked out from beneath his hoodie and steam curled gently beneath his nose.

Clint stirred his coffee noisily, despite the fact that the sugar had long since dissolved. Each of the men found something in middle-distance to stare at.  He wondered what had brought Clint to his quiet perch.  Finally, Harry spoke:

“You said it wasn’t my fault.”  He tugged at the tea bag and watched it bob in the darkening water.  “But what if —“

The scratch on his wrist itched.  He’d walked up to that edge once again…  “What if it’s not my fault, but it’s still because of me?”

Clint stirred his coffee and glanced down at the top of Harry’s head.  Harry stared into his mug as if it might hold all the answers.

“Then,” Clint paused as if double-checking his words, before forging on.  “I’d ask: what are you going to do about it?”

Harry nodded.  The agitated energy that had coursed through him ever since his waking seemed to settle in his chest: a heavy burden finally resolved.  That settled it then.  He sipped his tea.  If he had to end it, he wanted to enjoy the moments he had left.

“Fancy a game of cards?”  Clint looked back at him, surprised.  Harry stood, snagging a deck of cards out of the nearby end table.  “I haven’t played in ages.”

Clint followed Harry, jumping gracefully down from his perch.  They settled into a corner table; Harry shuffled the deck with practiced hands.  “Ginny played all the time,” he offered.

Clint recognized the name from one of the many Harry had uttered when caught under his own unintentional spell.  Harry offered the deck and Clint split it quietly.  “Her favorite was exploding snap,” Harry continued, “But I don’t think you have anything like that here.  Want to play Kings in a Corner?” 

His voice was chipper, a sudden departure from the quiet and morose tone Clint had become so accustom to hearing.  Clint took the offered cards with cautious eyes.  The change had seemed to come out of no where, but Clint knew nothing was without cause.

Harry flipped over the first four cards and Clint evaluated his hand.  “She always had a deck on hand,” Harry rambled on.  “Half the time I think she was shuffling just for the sound of it.  Kind of relaxing, you know?”

The stream of personal information made Clint purse his mouth with discomfort.  This wasn’t like Harry at all.  And that shift …

“Morning!” Steve’s cheerful greeting heralded his brisk entrance.  He headed towards the coffee maker, already dressed in Khakis with hair freshly damp from the shower.  “Card game already?”

Harry smiled.  He would miss the Captain.  He wondered if he would have to start over all over again, or if this time he would finally get some peace.  He wondered if he could see his loved ones again.  If he could go home to them in some sort of beyond.  Or maybe there wasn’t anything else, and he could finally rest.

He shook his head of such thoughts, and laid down his next play.  Clint followed up in a sweeping series of moves and an understated win.  Harry let him gather up the cards as he moved to join Steve at the kitchen island. 

“Any plans for today?” Steve asked.  Harry wondered if it would be easier to go through the cuts he already had, break open stitches and hit the artery.  Bruce had said he was close to it.

“Nah,” Harry replied.  “Physical therapy, and some more rune work with Thor, but everything else is up in the air.  What about you?”

Speaking of runes, Harry frowned.  He wondered if Thor could figure something out on his own.  Thor was, after all, a 1,500 year old god… surely he knew the runic arts far better than Harry could ever hope to, despite his modest words.  With Harry out of the way, it might be far easier to capture the wolf.

“I’m going to the gym with Natasha and Clint, and I’ll check on Tony and Bruce.  They haven’t left the lab for anything and someone needs to make sure they’re still alive…”

Harry felt himself smile without even trying.  He kept one ear on the conversation, another swirled with the thoughts in his head.  What if he killed himself too early though, and left the Avengers without runic protection?  What if there was something more he could do to help before he was gone?

Harry set his empty mug in the dish washer as Clint said something to Steve.  He would just have to make a plan first and help Thor find a way to trap the wolf.  Once they had a workable plan, Harry would be able to kill himself without guilt.  He would be able to both help the Avengers stay safe and sever the bond between him and the wolf.  A bond like that … nothing good could come of it.  And if it led him to lose control again…

Harry left Clint and Steve without further comment.  He had runic texts in his bedroom, and time was running out.  He had work to do.

~~~

Hours passed.  Harry sat in the center of his room, surrounded by books and notebook paper.  Runic sketches filled his pages, questions in the margins and frustrated x’s across failed attempts.  Harry flipped once more through the Alfather’s text, searching for a clue.  He ran his fingers beneath familiar words:

“Twice did the Aesir strive to bind, / Twice did they fetters powerless find; / Iron or brass of no avail, / Naught, save through magic, could prevail.”**

A knock sounded at the door.  “Harry?”  Steve called quietly.

Setting his books aside, Harry stepped carefully around his chaos to open the door.

“Dinner’s here.  You haven’t eaten all day…”

“Oh!”  Harry glanced around for the time, before realizing he didn’t have a clock in his room.  “I didn’t mean to.  Dinner sounds wonderful.”  He stepped into the hall, and gently closed the door on his chaotic room.  He already could hear the others chattering in the common area, and smell that dinner had arrived. 

“Are you having any luck with your studies?” Steve asked as they moved towards the heavily laden dining table.

Harry sighed.  “Not yet.”  Stacks of pizza boxes filled the table.  Harry peered around for something with meat.  “I think I’ve found every reference there is to the wolf and both his birth and his binding, but…”  He snagged a piece covered in meats and another weighted with vegetables.

“Ah,” said Thor a few seats down.  “The arrival of the wolf was most unexpected!  Loki’s brood arrived from deep in Jotunheim, in the Iron Wood.  Angerboda, their mother, is a fierce giantess.”

Harry nodded, pausing to finish his first bite.  He cleared his throat.  “I read that Loki’s children assumed their forms when presented to the Aesir in Asgard?”

Thor nodded.  “The serpent, Jörmungandr, has come to girdle the earth.  The youthful and decaying Hel rules now over Helheim, and the wolf Fenrir once roamed the outskirts of Asgard.”

“I’ve mostly been focusing on the passages pertaining to the binding of Fenrir,” Harry admitted.  “Because we know he’s a wolf of destruction, and that seems to be the main idea discussed in earlier passages.”

Thor reached for another slice of pizza, narrowly avoiding knocking over his beer.  Natasha gently scooted it out of harms way.  “The binding took many days, and the efforts of many skilled craftsmen, but ultimately t’was only the dwarves and their magics which held the wolf captive.”

Harry nodded, wiping greasy fingers on the paper napkin at his side.  “I was reading that today.  Iron of brass of no avail, / Naught, save through magic, could prevail.’  And, the description of the fetters themselves… ‘As soft as silk, as light as air, / Yet still of magic powerful most rare.’** I feel like the answer is in there just…I don’t see it.”

“Well, we’re on the right track with magic,” Clint pointed out, reaching awkwardly past Natasha for another slice of pepperoni.  Harry smiled.

“It was so delicate a ribbon we feared Fenrir would not let it be set upon him, for sake of his pride.  Many fierce warriors tried the ribbon before him, proving its mysterious strength.  Yet, by that example did he know of the fetter’s magic, and thus required Tyr’s sacrifice.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms to scratch idly at the itching stitches.  “Iron or brass of no avail,” he muttered. 

“We know repulsors and bullets do nothing,” said Tony from the head of the table.

“Nor the shield,” said Steve.

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

“You mentioned this before,” said Natasha.  Her quiet voice drew every eye and many raised brows.  She rolled her eyes.  “We talked about how nothing could penetrate Fenrir’s flesh and how Odin said no spears or weapons could stop him.”

Harry paused, slowly recalling that conversation.  Somehow it felt as if it had happened years earlier.

“You said,” Natasha continued. “The the wolf reminded you of two beings you fought in your world who could not be destroyed by destructive means.”

Harry’s eyes widened.  “Dementors and Boggarts,” he whispered. He stood, wiping his hands on his sweats and hurrying down the hall.  He burst into his room, grabbing books and papers and pens before hustling back to the common area and dumping it down on the low table at the center of the couches.  He flipped rapidly through the pages of the Alfather’s texts.

“Look here,” he said as Thor sat to join him.  The others migrated over with plates of half-finished pizza and partially-drunk beers.

“It said only magic, right?” Harry could feel his excitement growing and it was as if Hermione was sitting beside him once more.  “And here, it was soft as silk, light as air and that’s the complete opposite of the weapons we’ve been using, right? And you’d never think of an unbreakable chain being light as air, yeah?”  Harry grabbed his second text, flipping to the runic poems.  “I’ve been using the most weapon-like runes there are: Elk sedge grows in the fen,” he recited. “Waxing in the water, grimly wounding; / it burns the blood of those / who would lay hands upon it.***  And just think how similar that rune is to the bindrune the wolf keeps … waking?”  Harry grimaced, but forged ahead. 

“Ægishjálmr is a bindrune to strike terror into the hearts of one’s enemies.”  Harry grabbed a third text, flipping to an ear-marked page.  “Here!  With the Helm of Fear I affrighted men” and here “but harder grow the hearts of men / if that helm they have.”* That’s exactly like the wolf!”

Harry looked up from his excited rant to find Thor frowning, staring deeply at the mess of texts and papers. 

“Then… what do you suggest?” asked Tony.  “How does one destroy something without force or power?”

Harry felt himself deflate.  He still didn’t have an answer.  He stared at the haphazardly placed books and his crossed-out runes.  “Well.  I guess I know what it can’t be…”  He sighed, running a hand through his hair once more.  His wild locks stood on-end, as frazzled as he felt.  He didn’t have time for this.  He needed a solution now.

“What about…” Thor began, before pausing.  He reached for the book with runic poems.  The others watched quietly as he read.  He glanced at Harry, deep in thought.  “I have seen runes trap individuals several times before, and most recently…”  He turned to the book and read: “Joy comes to you who know no sorrow / blessed with gain and plenty, / content in a strong community.”***  He set it down. 

“You mean Harry’s rune,” Clint said, leaning forward eagerly.  “When he was trapped you said it was Home and Joy, and that was the poem for joy, right?”  Thor nodded.  “So… like how one of those creatures you fought Harry, one was with laughter, right?”

“The boggart,” Harry said, nodding slowly. 

“Yeah!” Clint continued.  “You could use the opposite of destruction - stability in a community where you find joy.”

“He has traveled countless realms,” Steve said quietly.  “And you say he has left destruction in them all, yes?”  Thor nodded gravely.  “I doubt he has connection to anyone or anywhere then.”

“Joy…” Harry murmured.  “It might work… It wouldn’t contain him though.  And… the twisted joy of destruction… I worry…”

“Do you have any runes that stop or contain?” Natasha asked, munching on the last crust of her pizza. 

“Isa.” Thor and Harry replied in unison.

“Isa is ice,” Thor explained. 

“Though…”  Harry pulled open the text once more.  “The Icelandic poem does refer to Isa as “a mortal danger”  Yet the Old English one is more poetic with jewel-like and glistening, / fair to be hold, the frozen field.”***

“You used Othala in your spell,” Thor reminded.  Harry reached for pen and paper.  Steve quietly gestured the others towards the table.  In moments, Thor and Harry were alone at the table, bouncing ideas off each other in relative quiet.

“Back to the lab?” Bruce invited Tony.

“We need to inform Fury,” said Natasha.  Steve nodded.

“I’m going to try out the new arrows Tony made, the ones with flares and fireworks.”  Clint smiled.  “They will be an awesome distraction for the wolf!”

The others filtered out of the room, their absence barely noted by the hyper-focused duo.  We’ve got a plan, Harry realized with equal parts excitement and fear.  We’ve almost got this figured out.  He looked up at Thor for a moment, another man who was quickly becoming a friend. 

Hermione’s voice echoed in his ears: ‘Can you justify waiting much longer?’

~~~

That night found Harry de-robed and de-bandaged in the bathroom, steam curling out of the ready-and-waiting shower, his eyes fixed on his wrist.  The black stitches had four more days before removal, making a strangely dotted-bindrune of flesh and thread.  He ran his hand lightly over the two runes: Hagalaz and Algiz.  Hail is the whitest of grains, whirls down from heaven, / is tossed by the wind, and turns to water.***  He wished his own troubles could turn so easily to nourishment.  Would the end of his life be that act of turning danger and damage into life and sustenance?  Was his life that pummeling bane on everything around him?  He didn’t belong in this world.  How gravely had his unexpected arrival damaged this time stream and the people in it?

His thumb moved to press on the newest cut, so small his thumb could more than cover it.  He felt his pulse thrum beneath his hand.  They were close to a working bindrune.  They were close to a working plan.  Furrowing his brow, he felt Ægishjálmr’s scabbing lines flex and pull his skin.  Was he feeding the wolf, even now?  Was he drawing the wolf near like some twisted sort of homing-beacon?  What evil was his bindrune causing as his blood coursed beneath its lines?

He turned and stepped into the shower, scrubbing with more vigor than necessary.  When had he not brought danger to everyone around him?  His hands found the faded lightning bolt scar and scratched it raw.  He scratched open Ægishjálmr and the cut on his wrist. He rubbed vigorously at his stitches and the almost-scarred rune on his chest.  He turned the water up higher, until his skin hurt and his chest felt tight and everything was too much —

He sunk to the bottom of the shower, clutching at his hair.  He pressed his forehead against the floor and closed his eyes.  He resisted the urge to slam his head against the floor.   Even in a whole other world, he was tied to destruction — to the very being causing the destruction.  He felt his breath hitch and shudder.  He had already walked to his death once…

The tears erupted from him without invitation nor apology.  Heavy sobs and coughing breaths tore from his chest.  A torrent of tears blurred with the water running down his face.  He covered his ears. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed that way, just that the water never ran cold and his tears did run dry and that when he stepped from the shower his whole body ached and his head pounded.  He dried himself with shaking hands and pulled on sweatpants as he stumbled into bed.  He curled himself beneath soft blankets and pulled the covers up to his ears.  He closed his eyes and let the darkness of the room hide him.  He lay still and defeated until sleep finally came.

~~~

He stood on the sloping ground of Hogwarts.  The ruins of the castle had long grown cold.  Vines crept at the base of the rubble.  Craters in the once smooth grounds were now filled with water or grass, reclaimed by nature’s indomitable force.  The sky was grey and densely overcast with the perpetual spawning of dementors.  In the corner of his eye, Harry could see the remaining limbs of the Whomping Willow were budding new leaves.  Spring had arrived.

Harry turned, the Black Lake a still mirror on his right, and stepped towards the forest.  A murder of crows called from the branches of conifers; a slight breeze ruffled the needles of the trees.  Harry walked towards the remnants of Hagrid’s shack.  His gaze fell upon a thestral grazing just beyond the old fence line.  Harry turned away, taking the familiar path to the left of the shattered shack. 

The forest was quiet.  Despite the knowledge that Fleur and Ron were somewhere nearby, he was entirely alone.  He held the resurrection stone tight.  The elder wand was holstered on his forearm; the cloak hung heavy at his neck.  He walked on. 

Harry knew he could call up shadows of the dead — but what good would come of them seeing this defeat?  Of seeing the devastation his selfishness had wrought?  Of seeing dark magic upon his brow?  Harry held the stone tight, and motionless.

The path curved and dipped, walking deeper into the heart of the ancient forest.  A spider the size of a dinner plate scuttled up a tree.  Harry kept walking.  The forest grew quieter and quieter.

By the time Harry arrived at the clearing, it was silent.  Across the clearing, Voldemort waited, appearing to be alone.  Doubtless, cronies waited in the shadows of the forest, as did Fleur and Ron.  Harry stepped into the clearing, and Voldemort spoke.

“The Boy Who Lived… come to die.”  The quiet hiss carried clearly across the silent green.  He smiled, a wide mouth of sharp teeth.  His scarlet eyes seemed to liven at the idea of the kill. 

Harry kept his hands at his side, his wand sheathed.  He looked for an emotion, any sense of how he felt in his last moments.  But all he found was a hollow sense of calm.  He knew what had to be done.  His breathing was steady.  His gaze was dull.  There was no alternative.

Voldemort raised his wand.

A flash of green light.

~~~

Harry opened his eyes.  He was curled up in a bed with the blankets pulled up to his ears.  His body felt so heavy he knew he hadn’t moved since lying down.  He stared out the window at the faintly moon-lit snow.  He was alive.

So many weren’t.

Harry reached for a feeling of sorrow, but all he felt was a vast emptiness inside.  He watched snow float gently past the window.  He wondered how high the snow was.  He wondered if it was snowing back home.  He wondered if there was any home left to return to.  A strange ache in his chest and throat reminded him that he would never know.

He didn’t move.  He didn’t cry.  He just stared at the falling snow and let time pass.

Eventually, the grey light of dawn lit the window.  Then, a small yellow light rose between the forested hills.  Harry watched as it inched through the trees. He watched as it emerged above the trees and moved into cloudy skies.  Harry lay still, a concrete shell of a person.  He did not move.

A knock sounded at his door.  Harry did not respond.  Footsteps walked away.  The sun inched higher.

A knock sounded at the door.  Harry did not respond.  A voice spoke.  A voice answered. The knock came again.  The sun was high in the sky.  The doorknob turned.  “Harry?” Steve asked.  Harry forced his head to move until he was staring at the Avenger instead of the sky.  “You missed breakfast.”

You shouldn’t even be alive.

Harry stared at Steve.  Steve frowned.  “Thor was hoping to work with you today.  I know you don’t feel good…”

Harry sat up slowly.  The blanket fell from his shoulders.  He vaguely noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt or any bandages.  He stood.

“I made an extra sandwich for you,” Steve was saying.  Harry pulled on a shirt.  He followed Steve to the common room.  The carpet was soft beneath his bare feet.  “I’ll grab you a tea?” he asked.

Harry sat at the table where Steve left him.  Thor was already seated, surrounded by books.  Everyone else was gone.  A sandwich appeared on a plate beside him.  Tea was set by his hand.  It was peppermint.

“Ah, t’is good to see you, young Potter!” exclaimed Thor.  Harry touched the edge of his mug.  It was hot.  “I have heard you are not well today.”

Harry tugged at the tea bag, watching the water slowly darken.  He shrugged.

“Many a warrior find their mind grows heavy from time to time,” Thor continued.  “There is no shame in the deep contemplation of mortality, or morality.”

Harry tried to smile.  The corner of his mouth twitched once.  He picked up his tea.

“Shall we look to the runes?” Thor asked upon Harry’s continued silence.  Harry nodded.  He had a task to do.  There were things that must be done.  “I have created a bindrune,” Thor said, handing a surprisingly neat and detailed sketch to Harry.  “It is based upon the bindrune which caused your entrapment, yet I have added Isa’s halting strength.”

Harry looked at the rune, his mind slowly waking.  Wunjo and Othala held the central shape, but now Isa formed a pillar of ice straight through the core of the spell.  Harry nodded thoughtfully.  He sketched it again, thinking.  “If…” his voice came out rough with silence.  He cleared his throat.  “If we have a material to physically bind Fenrir, and we engrave this rune on it repetitively… That should create a binding even he can’t break.”

Steve stood abruptly.  “Let’s go see Tony.”

“The Man of Iron will be able to create the most delicate of fetters!” Thor exclaimed.  Harry picked up his sandwich.  Steve smiled to see his appetite awakening.  Harry found himself looking forward to going to the labs; he hadn’t actually been in Tony’s lab before, and yet he had seen so many novel inventions that came from it.

The elevator took them to the basement level and Steve led the way with familiarity.  He had brought many meals down this week when the scientists failed to remember to feed themselves.  Harry paced along beside Thor.  The doors opened as they arrived and Harry looked around in amazement. 

The room was as haphazard as Olivander’s shop, as full of mysterious trinkets as the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and so advanced it seemed to be something other than magical or muggle altogether.  Harry laughed as a small robot trundled up to greet them, chirping and whirring and reaching out with one long metal claw.  Harry leaned down to better greet it, and it gave a joyful trill, dropping a tennis ball at his feet.  Harry handed it back and the robot dropped it again. 

“Is he… playing?” Harry asked in wonder.

“Dummy!” called Tony.  “You had one job.  Get over here!”

Harry watched the robot roll back to Tony.  Harry wondered what Tony was doing.  A blue light made shapes he could move with his fingers.  There were screens and monitors all around, a scattering of keyboards, and what appeared to be disjointed notes and spare parts, but Harry knew better the to touch anything, regardless of how innocuous it seemed. 

“Tony,” Steve gently interrupted his friend.  “We need to bother you for a moment.”

Tony paused, the blue light freezing with him.  He turned an annoyed glance at the group.  “What do you want?”

“Bruce too.”  Steve carefully leaned against an empty office chair.  “Thor and Harry came up with a rune, but we need a binding material.  Considering the myths, they were thinking of something … delicate.”

“Aye,” said Thor.  “Gleipnir was as soft as silk and light as air.  We need a material of similar appearance.”

“But we also need it to be wide enough that the runes can be draw on it,” Harry added, tearing his eye from a screen filled with shifting graphs.

“Hm.”  Tony turned to yet another screen, his fingers flying on a keyboard.  Bruce walked over to join him.

“What about silk?” Bruce asked.  “Or something sheer?”

“I was thinking…” Tony drew up a new file and flipped through a series of images and chemical notes.  “Something more like my new friend.”  He paused on the face of someone masked in blue and red.  “Spider silk.”

Bruce’s eyes widened.  “Do you know the make up of his webs?”

“No.  Not yet.”  Tony pulled up a page of strangely labeled shapes and equations.  “But I’ve broken it down to its chemical components.  I don’t know how it’s all put together, but I don’t need to.  We don’t want something sticky and we don’t want something that expands.  I was thinking…”

“Something more rope like,” Bruce finished, joining Tony on another screen.  Fingers flew over keyboards and their comments became increasingly riddle like, fragments of jargon and scientific terms.  Steve looked to the others and nodded towards the exit.  The three quietly exited the lab, leaving the scientists to their work.

“So,” Thor said as the elevator climbed back to the lounge.  “We have a bindrune and we are soon to have a fetter.  But how shall we know when the wolf does approach?”

Steve sighed, stepping out of the elevator and heading back to the couch.  “We don’t know for sure,” he admitted.  “Tony and Bruce are still trying to develop an algorithm but they haven’t had much luck.  It seems like the wolf’s energy appears and disappears, instead of remaining a steady, predictable pulse.” 

Harry walked past the couches to stand behind the kitchen island.  He turned on the electric kettle.  “Then.  We are left with attracting him ourselves.”

He did not look at Thor and Steve.  He tore an Earl Grey tea from its packet. 

“There is time yet,” reassured Thor, but Steve was quiet, watching Harry with worried eyes.  Harry filled his mug and looked out the window at the dense and untouched snow.

“Let’s hope.”

~~~

But there was no time.  The evening came with five samples from Tony and Bruce.  They crowded around the dining table, passing the strips of rope and testing their strength and texture.  One was sticky.  One broke beneath Steve’s hands.  Two were round enough to make inscribing the runes difficult.  One was perfect - soft and smooth, flat and strong, Harry handed it back to Tony with a tight-lipped smile.  “This one.”

“It’ll be ready by morning,” Tony promised with a grin.  Harry could feel the weight of such little time.  He looked around at the six people he’d come to trust so unexpectedly. 

“We don’t know how to track Fenrir down,” said Clint.  Natasha’s eyes fell on Harry, something unreadable in her expression.

“But we know how to draw him near,” she said.

“Do you think you can control it?” Bruce asked, concern evident in every line of his face.

“I don’t think there’s a choice,” Harry admitted.  “We need to draw the wolf near, activate the binding, and then place the fetters on the wolf.”

“The first thing to do is move to a safe location,” Steve said leaning forward.  “Away from civilians, and far enough away from major buildings and roads.  Tony, is there enough space here on this estate?”

Tony projected a map from his phone, and the team commenced planning.  Harry sat in his chair and tried to soak it all in.  So it was settled.  He had until tomorrow.  Then he and the wolf would never hurt anyone else again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

Harry did not sleep.  He drew and re-drew the rune, filling pages of his journal while curled up in blankets at the far end of the couch.  He rose to refill his tea every time the mug ran dry.  He set down his work only to use the restroom, avoiding his reflection with downcast eyes.  He had a job to do; he needed to stop wasting time.

Natasha found him before dawn did, stepping from the hallway with silent feet.  “Are you okay?”

He searched his chest for some sort of feeling — some desperation or fear or anger —but Harry was remarkably calm.  There was a quiet sort of resolution in his shoulders and a relaxed acceptance in his eyes.  He felt his body, so often tense and agitated, relax. 

Natasha’s eyes stared into his own, searching for something.  He wasn’t sure what she found.  He nodded, offering her a small smile from the corners of his mouth, and set the knife beside his books and papers. 

“Many people feel nervous before battle.”  Her head tilted to the side, her eyes calculating.  “Scared even,” she added, her gaze unwavering.

Harry shrugged.  “That makes sense,” he replied.

She studied him and he sat calmly beneath her gaze.  He wondered if he should pretend to be more agitated about it all.  He reached inside himself for the trembling thrum of anxiety, but came up empty.  The heavy calm was steady and comforting in his chest.  He quirked his lips and raised a brow at her laughingly.  “I’m sorry if I’m not scared enough for you.”

She did not return his light hearted words, but didn’t press any further either. “You are important here, you know,” she told him.  He blinked at the unexpected statement.  She walked back towards the hall leading to her room. 

Harry watched her leave, then turned back to his journal and books.  Did she guess?  How could she know?  And besides, the team had been fine without him for much longer than the short weeks they had known him.  It was much safer for him to go, to remove any chance he was tethering such destruction to this muggle world.

Harry picked up his things and headed towards his own room.  They would gather for breakfast in a half hour, review the last of the plans, and then…

Harry set his books on the desk and carefully organized them into piles: library books, Thor’s books, and books Tony had bought for their research.  He stacked his notes to the side and tidied his space.  He wanted it to be easy for others to empty his room once he was gone.  He opened his closet and took out his uniform.  Slowly, he changed out of his sweats and into the kevlar and combat pants.  He laced his shoes tightly and slipped a spare knife into the hostler of his boot, just in case.  He couldn’t risk loosing things from his belt again.  He rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair.  His wrists were dented and wrinkled with scars; they pulled his skin this way and that.  Some of them were faded, some of them brand new.  He had taken out the stitches just that morning, gently tugging out black string.  He wondered at the pointlessness of having stitched it in the first place if he was only going to open it again.

Harry shook his head of such thoughts and slipped a knife into the sheath on his belt.  He didn’t take any of the essential oils with him.  He would need to make all new oils, something specifically for this spell, focused on love and community instead of protection.  He tapped the empty spot on his belt all the same.

Harry cast a final glance over his room.  His bed was made.  All of his belongings were carefully tucked away and organized, except…  He strode over to his backpack and withdrew a small slip of paper.  He held the photograph in gentle hands.  Ron and Hermione smiled back at him, arms draped over his shoulder.  Harry couldn’t help the tears suddenly gathering in his eyes.  “I miss you,” he whispered.  He closed his eyes tightly, before sliding the picture carefully into his pocket.  “I hope I get to see you soon.”

He left the room without another glance.

~~~

In the kitchen, Harry searched through the cupboards for loose leaf tea.  They couldn’t get new essential oils on such short notice, but Harry had enough potions experience to make a concoction of his own.  He was just pulling down the lavender and chamomile when Steve walked into the room.

“Morning, Harry."  Steve was dressed for the day too, his uniform a bright shock of color in the otherwise neutral space. 

“Hey, you seen Bruce?” asked Clint, stumbling through the doorway and rubbing sleep from his eyes.  The night before had been a long one, and the planning had gone well past midnight.  Clint leaned his bow and arrows against the counter as he slid into a barstool across from Harry.  “He said he would make eggs.”

Harry shook his head.

“Are you cooking?” Steve asked curiously as Harry searched for a mortar and pestle.

“No,” Harry muttered, opening yet another cupboard.  “I’m… aha!”  He pulled out the stone tool with relief.  Steve raised his brows.  “For the oils,” Harry explained, grabbing some dried rose petals and salt from the cupboard.  He mentally checked off the items on the counter, before remembering the sunflower oil.

“Ooh!”  Clint exclaimed, leaning awkwardly over the counter to pour his coffee.  “Explain, how does this work?”

Harry rustled through a final drawer, pulling out a set of measuring spoons.  “I’m making the oil we need for the spellwork today.”  He measured a tablespoon of rose petals into the mortar.  “The rose is for love, and the chamomile and lavender both have aspects of love, healing, and peace.”  He poured in two tablespoons of the later ingredients.  “The salt is for protection,” he added, dumping a teaspoon of kosher salt into the bowl. “And after I grind this together, the sunflower oil will both add an element of joy to the mixture and allow it to stick to the bindings during the spell.”

Natasha slipped into the seat beside him with a steaming mug of tea.  She watched him grind the herbs with an unreadable expression on her face.  He glanced at her, finding at least five weapons visible on her person, knowing that far more likely hid within her hair or thick, black uniform. 

Tony and Bruce were the last to join the breakfast, Thor entering just before them to the smell of coffee and tea.  Cereal and protein bars seemed to be the breakfast of choice.  Nothing to heavy on the stomach, but plenty of calories for the work ahead.

Bruce set down a large bag by the door.  A thin, silvery strand of cord dangled out of the side.  Harry took a deep breath.  The bindings were almost ready.  The oil was ready.  Everyone was dressed and armed.  Breakfast was drawing to a close.  It was almost time.  He looked around the room at his… friends.  With a jolt, he realized how deeply he would miss this. 

Beside him, Clint bumped a friendly shoulder into his.  

“I am so grateful,” Harry admitted.  “Thank you, for letting me stay here.  And, for…”  he searched for the words and came up short.  “everything.”

“Hey now, don’t go getting all sentimental!  It’s only 7 in the morning!” Clint exclaimed.  Harry laughed, forcing the emotions back inside his chest.  It was something bitter, something sad, and something unbelievably warm.  Like home.

“I, uh, need to finish the bindings,” he said, standing abruptly.

“Ah! The fetters have been crafted,” said Thor, rising as well.  He gripped an enormous mug of coffee in his hand and joined Harry at the couches.  Harry set the bag on the center table.  “Most magnificent,” exclaimed Thor, reaching out to run a section of the fetters through his fingers. 

Harry took up a section of the bindings as well.  It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.  Light as a feather, it was soft as a kitten’s fur.  It lay flat in his hand like a ribbon and was so sheer it was almost transparent.  His fingers were distinct and tan beneath the translucent rope. 

“Here,” Tony set something on the table with a small clatter.  “Thought you’d need something particularly tiny for carving into this.”  Harry picked it up.  It was a thin, pencil-like knife with an incredibly small blade. 

“Thank you.  This will work perfectly.”

Tony nodded, then settled unexpectedly into the couch to watch.  He munched quietly on a breakfast burrito, a mug of coffee clutched in his other hand.

The bindings were a massive thing, for the Wolf would be undoubtedly large when first bound.  “Thor, can you help me section this off?”  Together the two of them lifted and folded the fetters into thirteen equal folds — a strong, magical number.  Harry picked up the minuscule blade Tony had brought.  He took a deep breath and let his mind clear. 

Slowly, he traced the rune into the thin material.  “Gleði, heimili og friður,” he whispered.  “Joy, home, and peace.”  He held the runes image in his mind and let his magic fill each rune — each one becoming a small pool of power waiting to be released.  Over and over he inscribed the rune, until each of the thirteen sections was lit with a single shimmering bindrune.

“You’re something else, kid,” Tony said, finishing another cup of coffee.  He stood up.  “Well, Sabrina, guess it’s about time to get going.”

Harry nodded, a strange tension rising for a moment in his chest.  He and Thor set the bindings carefully back into the bag.  It was time.

“Alright,” Steve’s voice broke through the breakfast atmosphere like a gong.  Everyone straightened.  Clint shoved the rest of a protein bar in his mouth and downed the last of his coffee.  Bruce set his empty mug in the sink.

“We went through the plan several times last night,” Steve began.  “We all know our jobs.  Tony and Bruce finished the bindings.  And it’s marked?”  Harry nodded.  “The oil is ready to go?”  Harry nodded, tapping the tightly screwed bottle he had set into his belt at his side.  “We have the comms,” Harry tapped the pocket where he’d set his new device, “and the exploding arrows are ready and tried.”  Clint smiled at that.  He had been exceptionally enthused about the explosive and colorful arrows Tony had designed to increase the distraction of the Wolf.

“Any questions?”

They all glanced at each other.  Each face was set and determined.  They were ready.  Picking up their gear and double checking their weapons, they settled their comms into their ears and dispersed, each heading to their spots, ready to fight.

~~~

Harry’s spot was the front doors.  He settled the bag of fetters onto his shoulder and tapped the bottle of oils at his hip.  He ran a finger over the hilt of the knife and touched the comm in his ear.  “Ready,” he announced.  A chorus of “ready’s” answered him back as he stepped out onto the snowy lawn.

They had no way of knowing how long it would take, but they knew that activating the rune would bring the Wolf.  Harry trudged towards the farthest hill, away from the building and away from the nearest town. 

He wondered if it would be different this time.  It was winter now, not a leaf on any branch.  Even the evergreens were covered in cold, white, snow.  Nothing was growing.  Everything was dormant, waiting, or dead.  He looked back at his trail of footsteps, the only interruption to the pristine snow.  He couldn’t help but feel it was an apt metaphor; he brought nothing but destruction everywhere he went.

He would have to be quick about it.  When the spellwork was done and the bindings were passed off, he would have a window of time with no one to notice him.  The Wolf would still be fighting.  The battle would’ve just begun.

He tapped at the knife at his side.  He looked for fear within himself, any sign that he should turn back or change his mind, but once again he felt only calm.  This was needed.  It was time.

When he reached the far hill, he set down the bag.  The fetters were soft and feather-light in his hands.  He gently pulled out the rope and set it on top of the bag, on top of the snow.  He ran the end through his fingers.  It moved like water, smooth and cool.  He glanced at his wrists.

The scars on his arms were purple with the cold, standing out like snakes on his skin.  He tapped the knife again.  “There isn’t another way.”

He could feel Ron at his side, heavy hand warm on his shoulder.  Hermione stood on his other side, her curly hair tickling his neck in the wind.  She took his hand.

“At the site.  Ready.”  His voice was loud in the white silence.  When the others answered, he almost jumped at how close they seemed.

“Roger that!”

“Ready to go,”

“I’ve got the local police on the line; everyone’s ready.”

Harry took a deep breath.  “Ready?”  Ron asked him. 

“Always,” Harry replied.

He lifted his hand.  He pressed a finger against the rune.  “Hryðjuverka,” he whispered.

Warmth ran through his veins.  The whole world seemed to tilt.  He laughed softly, magic roaring through his veins.  He looked around at the white snow and threw a blasting curse into the nearest tree.  Snow fell in heaps from its branches.  Its bark splintered and moaned.  It listed to the side, and slowly began to fall.  Harry felt giggles rise in his chest.  His face split in a wide grin, he raised his hand —

A rumble came from just beyond the hills.  He paused, destructive impulses abated.  A dark shadow loomed on the horizon.

“Harry,” something was talking in his ear.  His eyes strained to make out the distant figure.

“Fara!  Stop!” another voice shouted.

The figure was emerging from the distance, drawing nearer with great strides.

“The wolf’s here — stop the spell!”

The frantic voices made him giggle.  Where they scared?  How exciting that felt.

“Harry!  Think of them, your family, the people you protect.  Remember that?”  yet another voice pierced through the fog.  “You wanted to protect them!”

Harry paused, his blood thrumming with magic and his eyes drinking in the sight of the Wolf.  He felt the urge to frolic, to destroy.  But no, there was something else, something he was supposed to be doing…

The Wolf crested a far hill; his sharp teeth seemed to smile in the overcast light.  “You said you’d protect them!” The voice - no, Steve’s voice, called in his ear.  Harry shook his head.  His arms thrummed with magic.  He suddenly noticed the blood dripping past his nose and over his lips.  He pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Stop the spell!” called Clint.

The Wolf was loping ever nearer, and suddenly, Harry knew what he had to do.

“Friður!” he cried.

The tilting of the earth and the strange pull towards the Wolf, vanished.  Harry grabbed the coiled bindings at his feet.  He had a job to do.  He could hear Tony’s repulsers firing up overhead.  They would start the attack soon, trying to distract, to buy him time.  He wrenched the oil from his belt and poured it into his hands.  “Ást,” he whispered, love.  He took a steadying breath.  He closed his eyes and reached for Ron and Hermione beside him once more.  He envisioned their hands around his shoulder, their smiles from the photograph.  He patted the pocket where the picture lay hidden. 

“Ást fjölskyldunnar.”  He ran his oiled hands down the rope, fingers rubbing over the runes he had carved mere hours before.  He remembered Ron’s smiles and the way he would sit with him by the fire, bumping shoulders in silence.  The way Hermione would curl up beside him at night when the nightmares sent him lurching awake.  How they held each other against everything.  Hermione’s smile over an open book.  Ron’s tongue poking from his mouth while he focused on chess.  Ginny’s coconut shampoo and their hands intertwined.

He poured more oil on his hands, slipping the rope through his fist even faster.  The sound of explosions and a deep roar filled his ears.  Harry sank deeper into the spell.  “Ást fjölskyldunnar,” he chanted.  His head began to pound.  He remembered Ms. Weasley’s tight hugs and Hagrid’s photo album pressed into his hands.  He held onto the feeling of Hedwig nibbling at his hair and stealing bacon from his plate.  Sirius promising him a place to live, an escape from the Dursley’s.  Remus holding him tight after Sirius died.  The feeling of a patronus bursting out of his wand for the first time.

He had reached the end of the rope.  The hot breath of the Wolf seemed to brush against his face.  The rune was tearing at his skin.  He didn’t have much time —a shield soared past him.  He remembered Steve sitting beside him in the bell tower, trying to make him feel safe.  Bruce’s gentle words as they sat beside the window the day he couldn’t find any reason to live.  Tony’s unexpected gifts, and Clint’s invitations to join in games and conversations.  He remembered Steve sitting beside him in silence, in remembrance, and in understanding.  Natasha’s cryptic understanding words.  He wrenched the knife from his belt and slid the blade down his arm. 

"Ást fjölskyldunnar!” he cried, the feelings so strong in his chest he thought he might burst.  The magic flared a blinding white, then settled brilliant silver glow.  Every rune was on fire with magic.  The fetters shone brightly in his hands.  “It’s done!” he yelled into the static of his comm. 

A whirl of red and gold sped past him, lifting the bindings from his hand.  Tony sped around the Wolf, he and Thor handing the bindings off to each other, speeding around the beast’s legs — Bright lights and bangs exploded around the wolf’s nose; the beast turned his head this way and that, blinded by the lights and deafened by the sounds…

It was time.  He could feel the rune in his forehead surging to the surface, calling to the Wolf.  His head pounded like an army of drums.  He stared at the battle a moment longer, his eyes softening in sudden sadness.  But he knew what he had to do.  He had to sever the final link between the Wolf and this world.

He switched the blade into his left hand, slippery with blood.  He gripped it tightly and closed his eyes.  He wrenched the blade over his wrist, once, then again and again.  He felt hot blood drenching his thigh.  He looked down at the red pulsing from his arms.  His knees gave out beneath him.  He saw a shadow of green and black.

Hands were pressing on his wrists, slipping in his blood.  They gripped him firmly.  “No!” Harry cried, struggling in the stranger’s grip.

The fists tightened.  Something was being said — “Hætta” Harry felt his body lean forward, falling upon the chest of the stranger.  He stared at the churned snow, splattered with red.  His head was splitting with the agony of it all.  “Hætta”  The stranger chanted.  Pale green mist surrounded his dripping wrists. 

“I have to,” he tried to explain, his words a muddled rush.  Harry tried to lift his head, but found everything spinning around him.  He felt so weak.  “Have to.”

The stranger ignored him, the steady chant and firm grip unchanged.  His wrists tingled.  Harry wanted to pull away, but everything was blurring and spinning and jelly-like in his limbs… 

He felt a sudden jerk and a voice yelling, before darkness took him.

~~~

Harry awoke slowly with a realization of softness beneath him and an ache in his arms.  He opened his eyes.  He was in the med bay.  He recognized the room from his surgery — so much stainless steel and white fabric.  A movement beside him drew his gaze to the left.  Steve sat by his bed, one hand on the sheets.  “Hey there,” he said, seeing Harry was awake.

Harry sighed.  “What happened to the Wolf?”

“He’s contained,” Steve told him, taking his hand back and running it through his hair.  “The bindings worked brilliantly.  He is the size of a typical wolf now, bound, and … surprisingly calm.”

Harry nodded.  A quiet passed between them.  “Is everyone okay?” he asked.

“Everyone except you,” Steve replied.

Harry stared down at his wrists.  They were bandaged firmly and ached at the slightest movement.  Whatever numbing may have been used in stitching them up had long worn off.

“How long was I out?”

“Just a few hours.”

Harry looked at the IV taped to his inner elbow.  Blood dripped slowly into his arm.  He wondered how long it would take for that blood to be filled with his magic too.  He reached for that sense of magic within him and found it a mere whisper, tired and withdrawn. 

“Fury will want to talk with you.”

Harry looked up, meeting Steve’s eyes with confusion.

“You did just lead to the capture and containment of a massive world threat.”

Harry snorted.  It wasn’t like he did it on his own. 

When quiet threatened to fall again, Steve cleared his throat.  “You scared us,” he admitted.  “If it weren’t for Loki…”

Harry frowned.  “Loki?”

Steve nodded.  “He saved your life.  We were still fighting the Wolf.  He stopped the bleeding long enough for you to get medical attention.”  He paused, catching and holding Harry’s gaze. “You would’ve died.”

Harry looked back at his hands.

“I just… I know you just woke up but… I just want to know…”  Steve fumbled with his words, wringing his hands in his lap.  “Why?  Why did you try to kill yourself?”

Harry slowly twisted his hands to face palm up, focusing on the pain that radiated from his wrists.  “Where I came from — that prophecy?  The horcruxes — I had to die.  I was tied to Voldemort and the only way Voldemort could die was if I — if the horcrux inside me — was killed.”  Harry felt his toes fidgeting beneath the scratchy blanket.  “So here, when I found the Wolf was…”

Steve took a sudden breath as the pieces clicked into place.  “The wolf was tied to you.  So you thought…?”

Harry nodded.   “I thought… I was tying him to this world.  And I just… I wanted people to be safe.”

Steve reached out, placing a gentle hand on Harry’s leg.  “Admirable as your intentions were… I know emotions can cloud judgement at times.  You never spoke to us — especially Thor — about this.  How could you know there was no other way?  You realize how much we would miss you, right?  You are part of our team.  Part of our… family.”

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes.  He looked up at the ceiling and took a shuddering breath.  “I just… last time I waited too long — all the deaths while I stayed, selfishly, alive…”

“I can’t pretend to know that pain,” Steve offered.  “I didn’t have time to plan diving into that ice, but… if you ever feel you have to plan this again, talk to us.  We understand sacrifice, but there are often so many other solutions.  And this time — this time there was another solution.  Does that make sense?”

Harry blinked rapidly and tried to smile.  It came out like a grimace and a wet huff of air.  “Y-yeah,” he replied.  “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s hand lay heavy and comforting on Harry’s leg, and this time when silence fell, it was comfortable.  A strange warmth filled Harry’s chest.  And he wondered if maybe, maybe here was a home as well.

~~~

Dr. Cho came in not long after to switch the empty blood bag to saline.  She offered him water and said if his vitals were looking okay in another few hours, he could move back to his room.  Harry thought of the precisely organized room he had said goodbye to mere hours earlier and winced. 

Bruce brought a light lunch down at noon.  “Grilled cheese?” he offered, handing both Harry and Steve warm plates.  Harry set his on his lap, picking up the pieces gingerly and with great caution.  His arms ached, but he knew from experience that was likely more to do with how the swelling pulled on the stitches than anything else.

Bruce took a seat beside Steve.  “Glad you’re awake.  Jarvis told us when you woke up, but…”  he sighed heavily.  “It’s been a shit show.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Not the wolf,” Bruce explained, accurately guessing Harry’s thoughts.  “Surprisingly, Fenrir has been the best of all of this.  It’s Loki.”  Harry nodded in understanding.  “It’s all a bit complicated since last time he was here he tried to destroy and conquer the world, but now he shows up, helps to minimize the destruction of the Wolf, and saves your life.  So…”  He sighed again, rubbing his hands across his face.  “Fury and the team are with him now.  Thus far, he’s been cooperating.”

“He’s asked to see you, actually,” Steve mentioned.  “I was in the meeting initially, while Dr. Cho had you in surgery.  He seems quite eager to talk with you.”

“That’s… interesting?” Harry offered.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither,” offered Bruce.  “But I do know I wanted to tell you…”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You scared the shit out of me, kid.”  Harry looked down at his barely-touched sandwich, and felt his stomach turn to stone.  “At first I was angry, but now…”  Harry could feel Bruce’s gaze weighing heavily on his shoulders.  “I’m just worried.  And concerned.  And sad.  And I know you don’t want to hear it all right now so I’ll leave it there.  Just… you’re my friend, Harry.”

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes for yet another time.  He blinked them back, a lump chocking his throat.  He fiddled with the edge of his sandwich.  He sighed, and nodded, unable to find the words.

“It’s alright, kid,” Bruce said, patting his foot.  “Just take care of yourself this time.”

He rose,  “I’ve got to get back to the meeting, though lord knows what they need my opinion for,” Bruce scoffed.  “They’ve asked for you too, Steve.  You okay with that?” he asked Harry.  “Dr. Cho will come in and sit with you for a while.”

Harry nodded, trying to offer a casual smile as the two moved to leave.  Steve paused to look at him one more time.  “See you in a bit,” he offered, and left.

Harry stared at the sandwich cooling on his plate and felt more ashamed than he had since coming to this world.  He pushed the food aside and curled up, facing the wall.  When Dr. Cho joined him, he pretended to be asleep.

~~~

One floor up and on the other side of the building, the team and Director Fury were gathered in a conference room staring at Loki.  Loki reclined in a leather chair at the head of the table, waiting politely for a verdict.  A small smile quirked the edges of his mouth and his dark black hair lay elegantly around his angular face.

“He destroyed New York,” Tony was saying, leaning both arms on the table, the formidable Iron Man suit standing open and waiting behind him.

“Technically, he wasn’t in his right mind —“ interjected Thor.  He too was still dressed for battle, his hammer sitting on the table before him.

“He attacked me!”  Clint exclaimed, waving his bow which had not yet been put away.  There had been no time to change before the ‘captured’ Loki walked with them into the conference room.  Surprisingly, there had been no fight, nor attempted escape.  That alone put the team at odds, uncertain where the sly god stood.

“The damage to New York alone,” pressed Tony, “has to be paid for.”

Natasha propped her feet up on the table, a knife twirling absently in her hand.  “He did help remove Fenrir a few times, which significantly reduced damage.” 

“Was he doing that to help us, or the Wolf?” countered Clint.  Around the room, tensions rose once more.  Bruce felt his heartbeat rise and took a few calming breaths.

“Mind control —“ Thor boomed.

“Enough.”  Director Fury’s voice was not particularly loud, yet the gruff word settled into the room like a boulder.  Conversation ceased.   “Steve, what is your perspective on this?”

Steve sighed, settling into a seat at the table.  He and Bruce had only just re-joined the group.  He looked at Loki.  “The damage to New York and to our team was severe, yet —“ he held up a hand to silence Thor’s outburst before it happened.  “There is also significant evidence that the attack was not done of his free will.  And, in the matter of the Wolf, Loki has limited the Fenrir’s damage — for whatever reason — and saved the life of our teammate.  My question is, what does Loki intend to do now?”

The eyes of the room turned back to Loki.  He straightened his dark green coat and crossed his legs with an innocent smile.  “I want to talk to the runecarver.”

Steve nodded.  Before anyone else could raise protest, he asked, “And after that?”

Loki waved a hand dismissively.  “Who knows?  This planet has little of interest, yet Asgard has closed its gates to me.”  He sighed dramatically.  “Who knows where I shall go next?”

Fury leaned over the table, his one eye meeting Loki’s square on.  “But you will leave.”

Loki raised an arched brow.  “I know when I’m not welcomed,” he intoned, his voice cool and low.

Thor looked slightly put out at the apparent exiling of his brother, but he nodded all the same. 

“Very well,” Fury announced.  “You will get to talk to Harry, if he wants to see you, and then you will leave.”

“I wish to take Fenrir with me.”

“No!”  The chorus of outcries was immediate.  Loki didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.  Thor raised a hand.

“Friends, where could we possibly hope to keep a wolf such as Fenrir?  He is not of this world and to imprison him in a heavily fortified box would be a cruelty.  He is but an animal; his nature is not evil.  It is merely destructive.”

“I will take him to Ngthar,” Loki announced.  “As you have seen, with these bindings he may walk and move about, yet his destructive ways are curbed.  I will give him home there and let him live in peace.”

The team exchanged glances.  Clint was glaring, not trusting a word from Loki’s mouth.  Bruce seemed thoughtful, considering the option.  Tony looked entirely disbelieving, but it was Natasha who spoke: “I think Loki should take the wolf, Fury.  He’s right.  It’s not the wolf’s fault his nature is to destroy.”

Steve nodded. 

“You trust him?” Clint squawked, opened mouthed at her betrayal.

“No,” said Natasha.  “But in this he tells the truth.”

“Steve, take Loki to visit Harry.  We will discuss what will happen to the wolf.”

Steve rose, and Loki followed him, brushing invisible dust from his black pants.  He strode from the room, black boots tapping smartly on the tile floor.

Steve led the way to the elevator.  “What is this Ngthar?” he asked as the doors opened wide.

“A habitable moon that circles the Western Stalix,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.  His fingers were long and elegant.  A single large ring glittered on his right hand.  “It is primarily forest and mountains, with a single earth mass surrounded by a fresh water sea.  Only animals and plants inhabit it, no intelligent life forms as of yet.”

Steve hummed in thought.  The elevator slowed and opened its doors.  “Will you stay there with him?”

Loki’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin and a light flashed through his eyes which Steve did not quite understand.  “Where is this infirmary of yours?”

Steve frowned, but led the way down the hall and across a small courtyard.  In the east wing, the door to the med bay was ajar.  He gestured for Loki to wait.

Harry was sitting up in bed by the time Loki and Steve arrived.  “Harry?” Steve asked, stepping through the door.  “Loki wanted to talk with you.  Is that okay?”

Harry shrugged.  Loki stepped around Steve and walked to the foot of Harry’s bed.

His sharp eyes seemed to evaluate him, from his scruffy hair to his hospital gown to the bandages on his wrists.  Harry fought the urge to hide his arms beneath the sheets.  Just when he began to wonder if Loki had anything to say, the trickster spoke.

“I owe you a great gratitude,” he said at last. 

Harry blinked.  The man before him was every bit as regal as Lord Malfoy, adorned in expensive cloth and tailored clothes.  A single green gem hung from his left ear.  Harry couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.

Loki went on.   “My son, Fenrir, has destroyed every home he ever found and every person he ever met.  He has never known love or peace.  You have given him both.”

Harry met the trickster’s eyes green eyes, a sudden realization sinking into his bones.  He remembered a green mist and hands that refused to let go.  “It hurts, not having a home.”

The trickster didn’t nod, but Harry had the feeling Loki understood that just as deeply as he.  Loki stared at Harry a moment longer, then turned on his heel to go.

“Wait,” Harry exclaimed.  Loki paused, still angled towards the door.  His green jacket shone in the harsh florescent lights.  “I — thank you.  For saving my life.”

Loki inclined his head.  “My debt to you is paid.”

He left before any more could be said on the subject.  Harry picked at the fabric beneath his hands.  It didn’t feel like enough, those small words of thanks.  He felt he owed Loki so much more, but the trickster had said the debt was paid.  He wondered if he’d ever meet the strange, pained god again.

~~~

After Harry had finished his sandwich, Dr Cho checked his vitals and declared him fit to return to his room.  “With supervision,” she added.  “You did just try to kill yourself.  Do you have any sharps in your room?”

She walked with him to the bedroom, looking through his things and gathering the remaining knives from his uniform.  “If you need anything, ask,” she told him.  “We’ll keep checking in on you, and Jarvis has been asked to let us know if you need assistance.  But, I encourage you to ask for help on your own instead of waiting for Jarvis to seek help in a crisis.”

She offered him a pat on his shoulder.  “The others will be down shortly.  I will be back in a moment after I put these sharps away.  Leave the door open please.”

Harry gazed at the piles of books he’d stacked so neatly on his desk.  Walking over to them, he jumbled them up.  Beside him, the memory of Ginny laughed.  No need to make it too easy, huh.  You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

He closed his eyes tightly.  Even now, he could almost smell her coconut shampoo, feel her gentle hand intertwine with his, remember her laughter… He shook his head and turned to his wardrobe.  Might as well get dressed.

In sweats and a hoodie, he padded out to the common room.  Dr Cho entered from the far hallway and inclined her head in his direction.  She took a seat by the table where she could see him, yet also give him space.  Harry sat on a couch and pulled the afghan down around his shoulders.  He picked a deck of cards off the central table and shuffled them absently.

What about the connection, Ægishjálmrm? he wondered.  Will it weaken the bindings?  Will it leave an opening for the Wolf to return?

There’s no way of knowing, Hermione would say, leaning over an open book.  We’ve read through all the sources, and it just isn’t covered. 

Sometimes you’ve got to make the best move, with the pieces you have, Ron would offer, twirling a pawn in his fingers. 

But what if I’m wrong?  What if someone gets hurt?

Almost nothing is 100% sure.  Ron sat beside him as they stared together into the distance.  But folding early is the surest way to lose.

Harry ran his hands through his wild hair, tugging on the roots.  It made his arm burn to move like that.  He returned the cards to the table and curled up against the couch.  If he lived, people might get hurt.  But he wanted to live.  Was that selfish of him?  He had friends and a new… home, here with the team.  He had things that made him happy and people who understood.  But his life and his connection to the Wolf… it risked such death and destruction.

You don’t need to make that choice today, Ginny would offer, curling up by his side and tugging the blanket over the both of them.  Let your worries rest a while.  They’ll still be there when you need them.

Harry smiled, tears finally falling from his eyes.  Oh how he missed them.  He held the blanket close to his chest and wished with all his heart she was with him once again.

~~~

Director Fury was the next to arrive, settling into the couch across from Harry and waking him with a gruff clearing of his throat.

Harry sat up, noticing a few Avenger’s lingering in the kitchen area making food.

“Potter,” Fury began, opening conversation without fanfare.  “You work well with the team.”

Harry blinked, fidgeting in his seat and trying to look attentive.

“Tidy bit of work with the wolf,” Fury nodded.  “But absolute shit at the end.”  Harry looked down at his hands.

“I want you on the team full time, providing —“ Fury continued, a warning in his voice as Harry looked up in shock.  “That you have therapy.  Weekly.  At least.  With a SHEILD therapist.  We can’t have that sort of meltdown on the field again.”

Harry felt his eyes widen.  A place on the team.  A formal place — not just a provisional, just-this-once gig.  Not a ‘winter agreement’.   An actual, permanent place with the team he had come to love like a family.  Harry took a deep breath, his mind churning to process it.

Fury waited, his eye impatient beneath a questioning brow.

“Yes,” Harry said, his words leaving in a rush that surprised even him.  “Yes. I’d love to join the team.  And therapy.  Sure.  Yes.  I’ll do that.”

Fury smiled and offered his hand.  Harry shook it enthusiastically. “Welcome to the team, Potter.”

From the kitchen came a whoop of joy.  Harry looked over to see Clint, fist raised in the air, doing a victory dance around the island.  Steve was grinning by the stove, and even Natasha, perched at the dining table, had a true smile on her face.  Harry blushed.

“CELEBRATION DINNER!” Clint hollered.

Tony poked his head around the corner.  “He said yes?”

“HE SAID YES!” Clint replied.

Thor bounded in laughing.  “Mead for all my friends!  And a feast for the young warrior, Defeater of the Wolf!”

Fury stood, a laugh in his eye, and slipped from the room.  Harry set the blanket back on the couch and joined them in the kitchen.  Bruce put an arm around his shoulder in a comforting hug. 

Harry looked around at his team, the family of warriors he had come to feel at home with, and couldn’t help but beam.  Ginny was right — the worries could wait.  He had a family in this world and it was no longer ‘just for the winter.’ 

“You’ll have to decorate your room!” Tony exclaimed, tablet in hand and stylus far too ready to design.

He had found a purpose in this world, and a place to call home.  Harry hugged Bruce back with all his might as Thor poured the first round of drinks.  Steve caught his eye.  “Welcome to the family,” he said.

Welcome home.