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Chapter Text

When Nicholas J. Fury took over as Director of SHIELD, there were a few things his predecessor had never explained to him. Mostly because REDACTED.

So, the new Director Fury had a few orders of business he had to take care of upon assuming the mantle. One of them being introducing himself to the various governments and other organizations that SHIELD wanted to play nice with.

Of course, he couldn’t possibly visit all of them himself, which was why he was sitting with his new deputy and head agent, Phil Coulson and Maria Hill, respectively, and divvying them up.

The next set of organizations on the list drew a bark of disbelief from him.

Coulson looked at him inquisitively. “What is it?”

“Tell me this is a prank,” Fury said, sliding the sheet over to him.

“Everyone’s too terrified of you to prank you, Director,” Coulson said, with a hint of amusement, but he took the paper.

“That little shit, Barton, isn’t,” Fury muttered. Coulson smiled indulgently at the name of the newbie agent he’d brought in a few weeks ago. Fury was right; Barton wasn’t the least bit intimidated, but he knew the archer wouldn’t risk pissing off the director until he’d proved himself.

“No, I don’t think this is a prank,” Coulson said mildly, passing the paper back.

“Fuck,” said Fury.

“Who exactly do we have to talk to?” Hill asked, a bit warily.

“The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards,” Fury read off of the paper. “And the Minister of Magic in Britain, and the President of… someplace that likes acronyms almost as much as we do.”

“Wizards,” Hill said hesitantly.

“Wizards,” Coulson confirmed, looking almost pleased.

“Wizards,” Fury parroted with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to take the… Supreme Mugwump, but the other two-“

“Minister of Magic!” Coulson exclaimed, raising his hand to call dibs. Hill glared at him.

“Move a little faster next time, Hill,” Fury said, handing her the very thin file detailing how to contact the President of MACUSA. She sighed in resignation. Coulson was still grinning triumphantly.

“Don’t go all fanboy on the wizards, will ya, Coulson?” Fury ordered, sliding his file across the table.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Phillip J. Coulson was a very ordinary looking man, on first glance. Even on second glance, people didn’t generally notice anything remarkable about him. It was an ability that served him very well in his current position.

Coulson himself wouldn’t have said that he was anything extraordinary, but he wasn’t one to brag.

But the truth was, Phillip J. Coulson was intimately connected to the Wizarding World. Of course, he had always adhered very strictly to the Statute of Secrecy, so no one knew. (Although he’d barely contained his excitement when he’d read the paper Director Fury had passed him.) And Agent Phil Coulson was most certainly not what the Ministry of Magic was expecting from a muggle organization.

Phil shook hands with Minister Shacklebolt, and Head Auror Potter, and then, with a weary sigh, said, “You don’t happen to have any Firewhiskey, do you? It’s been a long day.”

Minister Shacklebolt appeared taken aback, but Auror Potter laughed, and with a quick flick of her wand, tumblers appeared in front of each of them.

“Thank you,” Phil said gratefully, taking his.

“I apologize,” the Minister said. “We were unaware that there were any wizards in SHIELD.”

“Oh, there aren’t any. I’m a squib,” he clarified, sipping his whiskey. “And can I say, Auror Potter, I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“People usually are,” Auror Potter said, mouth twisting wryly over her glass.

Phil, immediately seeing he’d not said something right, spoke quickly.

“No, I mean, not just that, um… I subscribe to the Quibbler?”

Auror Potter blinked at him in surprise. The Quibbler remained the only publication that reported her doings accurately, and it was the only one that the auror would give private interviews to.

“I didn’t know the Quibbler had gone international,” she said, finally.

“A few years ago,” Phil shrugged. “Right around when the daughter took over.”

“Huh,” said the auror, considering the agent, and she gave him a small smile. “Call me Harry.”

“Phil,” said Phil, smiling back.

“Well,” said Minister Shacklebolt, eyes twinkling, “I believe this does save us a lot of time. I assume you are already familiar with Ministry policies?”

“Oh, yes,” Phil said, “MACUSA’s even stricter than the Ministry on that front.”

“You could say that again,” said Harry, rolling her eyes. “A witch can barely cross the street over there without getting a fine.”

“That was entirely your fault, Potter,” Minister Shacklebolt glanced at her admonishingly, and Harry took a sip of her Firewhiskey defiantly. Phil glanced between them, curious, but didn’t inquire.

Harry then swished her wand, and a slim file appeared in the air in front of her. She snagged it, and handed it to Phil.

“This is the current list of suspects at large that we’d like you to keep an eye out for,” she explained, as Phil curiously flipped open the manila folder. “It’s a copy of a file we have here, and will reflect any updates we make. The tab on the side will turn red if any changes have been made.”

Phil nodded absentmindedly, giving the profiles a cursory glance.

“And you’ll need one of these-,” she dug a blank business card out of her robes, “-if there’s ever a need to get in touch me quickly. It’s got a very clever variant of the Protean charm on it. It’ll send me a message on my own card, and you don’t even need a wand, just say my name, your message, and then your own name.”

He took the card reverently.

“The work of Ms. Granger, I presume?”

“The very one,” Harry beamed at him appreciatively. “I think I’ll enjoy working with you, Phil.”

“Likewise, Harry.”

Chapter Text

It was a while before Phil actually saw Harry in person again.

There was one incident where her Aurors had stumbled across some members of an international terrorist group SHIELD was after, and his card had heated up in his pocket, displaying an address where they could retrieve the incapacitated criminals.

The retrieval had gone perfectly, but he hadn't seen the witch anywhere.

Almost a year after their initial meeting, he got a call from Barton.

"Coulson, I've got a sitch," Barton said, without preamble.

"When do you not?"

"Awww, Coulson," Clint groaned down the line. Phil's lips twitched.

"All right, what is it?"

"You know the job I'm on right now?"

"Budapest, yes, I'm your handler Barton. We're coming in for your extraction at oh-seven-hundred. What's wrong?"

"I, uh, may have picked up a plus one."

There was a pause.

"Right. Who is she?"

"I didn't say they were a she," Clint said grumpily. Phil waited.

"Natalia Romanova," he admitted.

"Black Widow," Phil stated blankly.

"Yuuup, that's the one."

Phil sighed, and plunked his head in his hand.

"C'mon Coulson, she's good, she wants to change. You gave me a chance, and I shot you first."

"Barely. It was a flesh wound."

"I wasn't shootin' to kill, just maim, or injure." Phil could hear Clint's grin in his voice.

"What else?" He insisted. "Don't tell me there's nothing else, I know there's something."

Clint grew quiet for a moment.

"Someone's doing some weird cultish ritual shit, boss. We found a couple bodies. Kids. It's not pretty."

"Okay," Phil said heavily. "Sit tight. We'll be there in a few hours."

"We? You bringing Melinda?"

"Yes, Barton, I'm bringing Agent May."

"Yes!"

"Keep yourself out of trouble until we're there."

"I'll try, boss."

Phil smiled faintly and shook his head as he hung up.

"Barton in over his head again?" called a voice from the cockpit of the jet. Phil strode in, and sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"As usual," he said to Agent May, as she corrected their course to Budapest. "Serial ritualistic murders. And he's recruited the Black Widow."

His statement drew a laugh from the other agent.

"I don't envy you explaining this one to the director."

"Neither do I," Phil said, ruefully.

They arrived in Budapest two hours and forty-five minutes later, and quickly located the hotel room where Barton had sequestered himself with the Black Widow. Barton jumped up as soon as they entered. Phil nodded at him, and he sat back down.

Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow, was sitting in the chair by the desk, facing them, arms and legs crossed protectively, and her gaze flicking between Phil and May.

"I'm Agent Phil Coulson, Ms. Romanova," Phil said. "Would you like to tell me why you're here?"

She was very good; her face gave absolutely nothing away.

"There is red in my ledger," she said evenly. "I want to wipe it out."

It was a good answer, but Phil caught Barton's slight shifting from the corner of his eye.

"Try again," he told the turncoat assassin. A small widening of her eyes was all the sign that he'd caught her off guard.

Surprising him, she briefly glanced at Barton first, who nodded minutely, before replying.

"The little girls," she said, barest hint of an accent bleeding through. May tensed next to Phil. "It was wrong. They should have been children."

"But you were a product of the Red Room yourself," Phil prompted, digging for more.

"That is a reason to support it?"

"You took it all down yourself," May said, stating it just as Phil realized it himself. Romanova's mouth tightened briefly.

"I had help, but… he is gone, now."

Phil briefly wondered what she'd meant by that, but he'd already made up his mind.

"Then welcome to SHIELD, Agent Romanova."

"Yes!" Barton crowed, fist punching the air.

Romanova and May simultaneously rolled their eyes, and Phil knew he'd made the right choice.

"So then, cult ritual?"

Barton and Romanova led them to a dilapidated warehouse in an abandoned industrial park next to the Danube*. The giant metal sliding door made no noise as it slid open on rusted rails. Phil exchanged a glance with May.

The majority of the warehouse was empty, with some old shelving units back up against one wall, creating a large open space in the middle. There wasn't anything there, that Phil could see.

In front of him, Barton's shoulders dropped.

"Damn. They were here, the bodies, I mean, right there." He pointed to the center of the open space. There was nothing there now. Not a single thing to suggest anything had ever happened there. The cement floor was clean, practically sparklingly so. Phil's eyes narrowed at it.

"What exactly did they look like? What made you think it was a cult ritual?"

"There were three of 'em. Looked like street kids; their clothes were all ratty. They were laid flat on their backs, but their hands were all linked, so they were making a circle, sort of, and there were weird symbols drawn all over… in blood." Barton shuddered a little, looking around as if he expected them to pop out.

"I believe you, Barton, but it is difficult that we have nothing to go on here."

"My phone died the second I got in here, or I would've taken pictures," Barton muttered resentfully.

"Could you draw the symbols you saw?" May asked abruptly.

"Yes," Romanova and Barton said, eerily in sync.

"Great," May said with relief. "Let's go, then, this place is making my spine itch."

Back at the hotel again, Barton handed Phil the sheet of paper that he and Romanova had labored over, recreating on it all the symbols they'd seen at the warehouse. Phil glanced over it, not recognizing anything he'd come across before, and frowned. May, peering over his shoulder, shook her head.

"I got nothing, Coulson. We'd better send it back in to analytics."

Phil wanted to agree with her, but there was something telling him not to. He'd missed something. Something that had to do with the clean floor, the quiet door, and Barton's dead phone.

"Oh," Romanova said suddenly, taking the paper back. "There was also this."

Phil watched as she drew a line, a circle, and then, a triangle.

"Hmmm, haven't seen that before, either. Coulson?" May turned to him.

Phil let out a long breath, reached into his inner coat pocket, and pulled out a blank business card.

"It means I need to call in a friend."

Chapter Text

Harry, in the middle of a meeting, felt her pocket start burning. She shifted awkwardly to get some space between her body and her robes, and drew an irritated glance from Fredricks, the Head Unspeakable. She pointedly ignored it.

The moment the Department Heads meeting was over, she was out the door and down the hall, headed back to her office, steps quick and purposeful. Phil hadn't ever used the Protean-charmed business card to contact her before. As she entered the offices of the DMLE, one of the Aurors stood as if to get her attention, and then, upon seeing her expression, promptly sat back down.

Finally sequestered in her (rather messy) office, she pulled out the previously blank business card.

Harry, it now read.

Fovam Square, Budapest, 10 am tomorrow. Hallows symbol found on bodies.

Phil

Harry slumped back in her seat, and fiddled with the corner of the card for a minute, deep in thought. Then she shook her head, jumped up, and flung open her office door.

"Draco!" she shouted.

The man in question leapt to his feet, and sauntered into her office. He very leisurely took a seat, and waited, brow upraised.

"I'm taking a case," Harry said.

"And you're bringing me on, too? Excellent choice."

"No, I'm taking Ron."

"Pardon?" Draco said icily. "I thought I just heard you say-"

"Malfoy, I'm leaving you in charge of the department while I'm gone," Harry cut him off. Draco blinked at her in surprise, and then gathered himself.

"Did you just call me Malfoy? I'm wounded, Harry, I thought we were friends."

"Draco," she emphasized, looking at him seriously. "I wouldn't trust my department to anyone else."

"Oh, alright then," Draco said, mollified. "But you'd better bring me back a souvenir."

Harry smiled. "Sure. Send Ron in, when you see him?"

"Anything for you, oh Savior!" Draco flourished a bow as he left.

Harry rolled her eyes at him, and bent to scribble a note, and find her owl.

At precisely nine fifty the next morning, a wizard and a witch silently and invisibly appeared in an alley near Fovam Square, Budapest.

After looking round to make sure passers-by were not looking their direction, Harry whipped the Cloak off of herself and Ron, and stuffed it back into her moleskine bag.

"Shall we get a coffee? I've not had any yet," Ron said, yawning into his hand.

"Merlin, yes," Harry agreed. It was only an hour's time difference, but she had gone into the office early to make sure things were organized for Draco.

They exited the alley, and, conveniently finding themselves next to a little cafe, they were very soon gratefully sipping espressos.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice came from behind Ron, who spluttered at the agent's quiet approach.

"We were early, Phil," Harry reassured him. "Have a seat."

Phil grabbed a little chair from the next table, and joined them.

"Phil Coulson," he said, holding his hand out to Ron.

"Ron Weasley." Ron shook Phil's hand genially. Phil looked a little flustered at meeting another member of the famous 'Golden Trio', but he rallied quickly.

"What did you find, then?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point. Phil's hand went to his suit pocket, and then he paused.

"You've put up some, ah…"

"Yes, I've a few charms up, go ahead," Harry confirmed.

"When'd you do that?" Ron said, glancing around. "Oh, never mind." Harry smiled at him over her coffee cup, and he grumbled good-naturedly. Phil pulled the sheet of paper with the symbols on it out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Ron and Harry leaned over it, glancing over the drawings.

"Harry…" Ron said slowly, his eyes caught on one in particular. "You didn't say this was about the Hallows."

"I was hoping it was a mistake," Harry said to Ron, and glanced at Phil.

"No," Phil shook his head, "Romanova said it was carved into all three of the bodies. No mistake."

Harry nodded jerkily, twisting a strand of her black hair. She was staring at the paper, gaze unfocused.

"We'll need Hermione on this one, Harry. Not that it says much, but these aren't any runes I recognize."

"I thought we might; I sent her an owl last night," Harry admitted, still with a glazed look in her green eyes. "Do you mind if I take this?"

"No, go ahead, we've got a digital copy already," Phil waved his hand at the paper.

"That's the, ah, thing with the computers?"

"Yes, Ron," said Harry, laughing at his ignorance of muggle terms. Ron looked a little abashed, but also pleased with himself for having got Harry distracted from the Hallows.

Phil didn't really want to interrupt the mood, but they did have a job to do.

"Would you like to see where my agents found these? You might find something we missed."

"Yes, I suppose we ought to have a look," Harry said resignedly. "Lead the way, Phil!"

Barton had been waiting in the car, and he got out as they approached.

"Barton, these are Aurors Potter and Weasley," Phil said, introducing them. "Potter, Weasley, this is Agent Barton, he called in the bodies."

"Is that a quiver?" Ron asked as he shook Barton's hand, looking curiously at the arrow fletchings peeking out from behind Barton's back.

"Sure is," Barton said, with a self-satisfied smile.

"That's a very odd choice of weapon," Harry said, with a bemused smile, as they got in the car.

"I grew up doin' it," Barton shrugged. "I'm the best." He didn't say it as if he was bragging, although he could have; he was the best SHIELD had, with a bow and any other long-range weapon.

The rest of the ride, Barton described what he and Romanova had seen in the warehouse to the two Aurors. Ron scribbled notes as quickly as he could with a pen, as Harry asked minute questions about the placement of the runes.

(The muggle invention of pens had become very popular recently, although wizards had taken to using other materials, such as wood, or glass, to make them with, since plastic was notoriously difficult to enchant.)

Phil pulled up next to another car, in an alley with a view of the warehouse. May and Romanova stepped out as they did.

"Anything?"

"No movement," May reported.

"Good. Potter, Weasley, this is May, and Romanova." They nodded at each other. "I'll be taking them in," Phil continued. "Their… department will be taking over this case."

Two of the three agents being left behind were very good at concealing their desire for more information. Phil turned away from Barton's frown and headed toward the warehouse.

"What do they know?" Harry asked, as Phil slid the warehouse door open for her. She looked at the silent rusty rails with the same skepticism that Phil had the day before.

"Nothing except what you've heard me tell them," Phil said, following them inside.

"Hmmm," said Harry, seeming to get distracted, bee-lining for the open space in the middle of the warehouse. Ron was already skirting the perimeter, wand up, scanning for something.

Phil followed Harry, now crouched to look at the clean concrete.

"You saw this, didn't you?" she said, tapping the floor thoughtfully.

He nodded. "It… shimmers."

"Must have been a hell of a spell," Ron called, making his way to them. "They had containment wards up."

"That'll make this easier. Let's see what they were containing, then," Harry smirked, and took a few steps back. Phil and Ron followed suit, both of them moving a bit farther away. Harry drew her wand and began walking a small circle, muttering something as she did. She stopped once she'd gone full circle, and made one final gesture with her wand.

Images of light sprung up from the floor, and the runes that Barton and Romanova had drawn rose up arranged in circles. The light formed the images of the bodies, too, with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, and in the middle was a small round object that resembled a ring.

"I suppose we know what they're after, then," Harry said quietly.

"Merlin," said Ron, expressively.

"What is it, exactly?" Phil asked, leaning closer to get a better look at the ring.

"That is the Resurrection Stone," Harry glared at it.

"It's also supposed to be lost in the Forbidden Forest," Ron added helpfully.

"I see. Well, it looks like they found a quicker way to get it than combing through an entire forest," Phil pointed out.

"True," Harry agreed, and waved her wand again, dissipating the images. She turned to face Phil. "I hate to ask, but… will you keep an eye out around here?"

"Of course," he said. Harry looked relieved.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. "We'll let you know the moment we find something."

Ron laughed as he offered his elbow to Harry. "More like as soon as 'Mione finds something."

Harry smiled brilliantly at Phil, who found himself smiling back involuntarily, and then, with a noise like a hand clap, they vanished.

Phil stood smiling at the empty space for a second before recollecting himself.

He had a team to debrief.

Chapter Text

His agents were waiting for him, appearing as deceptively casual as they could in an abandoned alley. How Barton managed to do it from the roof of an SUV was a mystery, though.

"Let me guess," Barton spoke before Phil could get a word out. "You could tell us, but then you'd have to kill us."

"That's a slight exaggeration, but they would make sure you forgot it," Phil sighed. "Potter and Weasley represent a secret, highly specialized group of people."

"So, they wouldn't kill me?" Barton pressed.

"They were not SHIELD," Romanova pointed out, ignoring Barton, her face unreadable.

"Yes," said Phil. "And I probably shouldn't have even told you that much. We're on surveillance until they get back."

"They left? How?" May said, surprised. Phil gave her a look. "Right," she waved a hand at him. "Classified."

"Sorry, May."

"Cool," Barton said, after a moment of silence. "I'll go find a perch, then. Coming, Nat?"

The Black Widow lazily pushed away from the wall she was leaning on. Phil tossed Barton the keys to one of the cars, and the two drove off.

"I suppose I'm surprised there still is anything that's classified to me," May said, watching Phil carefully.

Phil's mouth pursed before he answered. It was highly likely that he'd get clearance to tell them about the wizarding world, with the way this case was going, but he didn't have it at the moment.

"It's currently restricted to myself, Hill, and Fury. We're not authorized to disclose anything to anyone else… yet."

"Alright, then, I won't bother you about it." She paused. "Are you sure we trust her?" May tilted her head toward the direction Romanova and Barton had headed.

"I trust Barton," Phil said shortly.

"And?"

Phil's fingers fidgeted, and he crossed his arms to stop them.

"Barton trusts her, and until I trust her myself, I can depend on his."

May shook her head. "You're really something else, Phil."

He smiled. "I do my best, Melinda."

Ron had cleanly apparated them into the Ministry without a stumble, and they headed to the lift, squishing in with the crowd returning from their lunch break.

(While the rest of the Ministry's employees had to use the Floo, or the various odd entrances hidden around muggle London, Aurors had a specially warded room off the Atrium that they could apparate into and out of. It was the envy of every other department.)

"Figure Hermione's worked through lunch again?" Ron asked as he punched the button for her floor.

"Of course she did," Harry snorted. "We'll make it a working lunch."

Sure enough, when they cautiously peeked into Hermione's office, the third of their trio was still diligently slaving over some paperwork, and did not even notice when they walked in and stood directly in front of her desk.

"Shall we stop by my office and see how Draco is getting on before we get lunch?" Harry asked loudly, with a mischievous smile.

Hermione abruptly jerked up, upsetting the stack of paperwork next to her, and groaned in disappointment as it toppled over.

"Harry!" she cried out indignantly, but Harry had already directed her wand at the stack, and it reformed in a neat pile on her desk.

"She did get you, 'Mione," Ron said, with a chuckle.

"What time is it?" Hermione sighed wearily, rubbing her forehead.

"Past lunch," Harry told her. "Let's go, we're getting food."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest, but Ron caught her eye and shook his head with wide eyes, making a motion with his hand to say nothing. She grabbed her purse and stood.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, I don't care. Ron, you pick," Harry said dismissively, leading the way.

"I always pick the same place, you know."

"Do you?"

"Yes, he does. Are we not stopping by your office?" Hermione asked as they walked past the turn that would have taken them there.

"No. Why?" Harry asked.

"No reason," Hermione coughed.

"Merlin, just ask the stupid blonde prat out already! You've been flying circles round each other for ages!"

"I… what?"

"Ron has a point, Hermione," Harry said. "If he won't wizard up and ask, you had better, or Ron and I will resort to just locking you two in a broom closet."

"Oh," Hermione said, looking a bit shaken up by her friends' exclamations. "You think?"

"Yes, we think," Harry patted her on the shoulder consolingly. "But maybe wait until after you've helped us with our case?"

"Research?" Hermione perked up at the thought.

"Loads of it," Harry promised her, stepping into the empty lift.

"Yeah," said Ron, as the lift clanked its way down, "and while we're talking about the case, Harry, perhaps you tell us about Agent Phil."

"Phil?" Hermione asked curiously, with a horrible, horrible gleam in her eye reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley. Harry groaned and threw her head back.

"Phil," Ron continued with glee. "He hardly looked at me the entire time."

"Is that so?"

"He's quite fit, too."

Harry most emphatically tried not to blush, and failed horribly. Luckily, they'd reached the Atrium, and she escaped through the opening doors, followed by her friends' laughter.

As it turned out, Ron did always pick the same place. Nando's, specifically, in muggle London. It was DMLE protocol, actually, if they were discussing cases outside the office, to do it in a muggle area. It was much easier to ensure nobody was eavesdropping on Auror business that way. The three high-profile war heroes especially, if seen together, were always bothered by well-wishers, fans, and busybodies. (Harry only made that mistake one time.)

Hermione managed to hold out until after they'd ordered their food before demanding to see what they'd got. Harry passed her the paper silently, and waited as she perused it, expression growing more troubled.

"Summoning the Hallows? This is very, very Dark stuff," Hermione stated, finally looking up from the runes.

"That's the ticket," said Ron. Harry snorted.

"For some reason, I don't feel like we're winning a prize here."

"We'll start at Hogwarts," Hermione tapped the runes with a finger decisively. "I don't think the library will have anything on this ritual, but it'll be a good place to start."

"Must we?" Ron asked, as Harry groaned and slid down in her seat. Hermione glared at them.

"Alright, alright," Harry conceded. "We won't let you face the mobs alone."

"I knew you wouldn't. Besides, there's a Quidditch game tomorrow. Slytherin and Ravenclaw. We can get in and out without anyone the wiser," she said triumphantly, as their food arrived.

"Better knock your wand on that one," Ron said, tucking into his chicken. "Things never work out that easy for us."

"I wish you weren't right," Hermione admitted, watching Ron fit a truly impressive amount of food in his mouth. "Now, Harry. What's this I hear about someone called Phil?"

Harry promptly emulated Ron.

"He surprised me," Natasha said.

"Who, Coulson?" Clint asked, jogging up the next flight of stairs in the stairwell. Natasha kept pace behind him. "Yeah, he does that. Dude pulls off the 'mild mannered Clark Kent' act better than anyone I know."

He stopped at the next floor and pulled open the exit door, wincing when it screeched on its hinges. The floor they entered was bare; some makeshift two-by-four walls, and plastic sheeting stirring gently as the breeze wafted through was all that was there. Natasha trailed Clint as he strode quickly through the construction.

"It just… feels too easy."

Clint looked back at her. "Oh, it won't be. He'll test you."

"Did you pass?"

"Hell, no. I failed," Clint laughed. "But he wanted me to, or something. I'm not sure. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Natasha frowned, and raised an eyebrow, seeming unconvinced. Clint finally found what he was looking for-a window with an unobstructed view of the warehouse. He settled down in position, and she joined him.

"Did you notice Coulson kept looking at Potter?"

"You were the one in the car with them," Natasha replied evenly.

"Thought she was wearing contacts, at first. Never seen anyone with eyes that green."

"They were very green."

"She kept looking at him, too."

"You are a child," Natasha accused, but her lips curled up as she said it. Clint laughed.

A knock sounded on a basement door. No particular movement was heard, and the witch that had knocked crossed her arms and glared at the door. She leaned down, and put her ear to the door. Still, nothing could be heard, and the witch sighed in frustration.

The door suddenly whipped open, and she nearly fell into the man standing on the other side. She caught herself on the frame, and looked up, frightened, at his menacing visage.

"What do you want?"

"Is my brother down there?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.

"He's busy," the wizard snapped, and his eyes flashed at her dangerously. "We have much work to do. If you want to make yourself useful, you could fix us dinner."

He shut the door firmly before she could protest.

"What have you got into?" she whispered, left staring forlornly at the Imperturbed door.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe there's nothing here!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing the last book aside, startling Harry awake. They were surrounded by a modest pile of books, on the floor in the Restricted Section. Harry had finished skimming through her assigned stack and had taken the opportunity to briefly shut her eyes. Apparently, it hadn't been so brief, since Hermione had gone through the three books she'd had remaining when Harry had first drifted off.

"Does this mean we can have a break for tea?"

"Honestly, Ron, you just ate lunch an hour ago."

"Lunch was two hours ago, Hermione. That makes it tea time."

Harry cleared her throat loudly before they could escalate. "We could ask Dumbledore's portrait? If there were books about the Hallows here, he might have removed them with the Horcrux books."

"Or even before that," Hermione said, contemplatively, and then she jumped up eagerly, swishing her wand at the books scattered around them, causing them to float back to their places on the shelves. "Come on, then. No time to waste."

McGonagall's office was empty, as the Quidditch match was still ongoing, so they made their way directly to Dumbledore's portrait. He was sitting back in his chair contentedly, eyes closed, humming an opera piece. Harry stepped forward.

"Dumbledore?"

He opened his eyes, smiling genially. "Harry, my dear! How kind of you to visit."

"Right," Harry said, feeling a bit embarrassed. She didn't visit his portrait often, it was true, since it reminded her a little too much of the Mirror of Erised. The portrait of Dumbledore would no more help her with her grief and questions than the mirror had with her parents. It was only a substitute.

"Do you know where any books about the Hallows are?" Hermione asked him, getting straight to the point. "Ones with Dark rituals would be particularly helpful."

"Hermione!" Ron cried, aghast at her forwardness.

"What? That is what we're looking for."

"But-you can't just, ugh," Ron spluttered. Harry kept her eyes on the portrait, where Dumbledore was regarding them gravely, and shaking his head.

"That was Grindelwald's obsession more than mine, I am afraid," he said, with a deep sigh.

"Damn," Ron cursed.

"That's it?" Harry probed. "You can't think of anything else?"

Dumbledore looked directly at her. "Grindelwald had many friends in the old houses."

"Excellent," Hermione said. "Grimmauld Place, then. I've always wanted to dig through those shelves." She promptly turned to leave.

"Completely nutters," Ron muttered under his breath, as he followed her. Harry stood, still meeting Dumbledore's gaze. It was clear there was something else he wanted to say.

"Did you put my wand back?" Dumbledore said at last.

"Yes," Harry said slowly. She could hear Ron and Hermione, by the door, talking while they waited for her.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, and peered over his half-moon glasses. "What is that delightful muggle phrase? Possession is nine tenths of ownership?" He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully, and then, leaning back in his armchair, assumed the same attitude they had walked in on.

She ought to be used to Dumbledore's inability to get anywhere straightforwardly, Harry thought, as she joined the other two.

"What'd he say?" Ron asked, as they descended the gargoyle staircase.

"We're breaking into his grave," Harry sighed. "Again."

Phil was taking his turn on watch with Romanova. It was a long, and mostly silent, vigil. Phil amused himself for a good hour by imagining all the ways he might defend himself if all he had was two packs of donettes.

It would be tricky, but he'd only sacrifice the donettes if he absolutely had to.

When Romanova spoke, he nearly jumped, it was so startling.

"What should I expect from Shield?" she asked, as if inquiring about the weather.

"There is some precedent for this," he told her, after his heart had slowed back down. "A lot of paperwork, and a lie detector test. Skills assessment, as well."

She nodded slowly. It was going to be quite the lie detector, Phil knew, having already spoken with Fury. That conversation had gone well.

("Barton's got us the Black Widow," he'd informed Fury.

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. I'm bringing her in, soon as we're done here."

"Fuck," was the Director's eloquent response. "I need a new lie detector."

"Ten bucks says she'll beat it," Phil had said confidently.

Fury had snorted. "You're on.")

"You brought in Clint," Romanov said, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you make a habit of bringing in unknown assets?"

"I have had a very high success rate," he told her, but he wondered if she was asking for someone. There was only one way to find out.

"The Red Room. Who were you working with?" Phil asked, deciding to play into her hand. Romanova shifted her balance.

"A friend," she said. "They called him the Winter Soldier." Phil concealed his surprise. He only knew that name as a rumor. He'd thought it was made up, a cover for the work of multiple people, a larger coordinated group. Apparently he was mistaken.

"And what did you call him?"

"Yasha," she said quietly, her eyes fixed in the distance, and it was the most emotion Phil had heard come from her yet. If she hadn't already asserted that he'd only been a friend, he would have thought they were lovers. He waited an extra second before he asked, "Why did he leave?"

"It was not his choice," she said, defensively. "They came for him, took him back."

Phil glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head.

"I do not know," she admitted. Phil, disappointed, turned back to the thrilling view of the warehouse.

"Potter and Weasley," Romanova said abruptly, ten minutes later.

"What about them?" Phil asked mildly, curious as to where she was going with this.

"I saw their sticks," she said, and Phil stilled. "When they came for Yasha," she continued, her eyes boring deeply into his. Phil knew she wasn't a Legilimens, but she could play one just fine, if she needed to. "One of them had the same. It… did something to him. To his mind. He was compromised."

"How did you get away?" Phil asked. She should have been obliviated after seeing something like that. Romanova frowned.

"He didn't know I was there," she said, and something like regret passed across her face. Perhaps she wished she had revealed herself; fought for her friend.

This was much bigger than Romanova could possibly know. The Winter Soldier was real, under the control of an unknown group who had a wizard in their employ, and Shield hadn't heard about it. They had a lot of catching up to do. Phil sensed a lot of paperwork in his future.

"Thank you," he told Romanova.

"You will look for him?"

"I'll see what I can do," Phil said, but from him, it was as good as a promise.

Chapter Text

Harry looked down at the tomb wearily. She'd sent Hermione and Ron ahead to Grimmauld without her; she was the only one that could do this task.

So close, the white stone gleamed enticingly, and the pull she felt was especially strong now. Her true wand, the Elder Wand, was calling out to her.

Not that the holly and phoenix feather was no longer hers, necessarily, but it was simply... less.

When she had called the wand from Voldemort, in the heat of battle, it had been like a rush. She had abruptly felt a huge influx of magic, rolling through her. It was complete bliss, and she'd known that she could lose herself in it, very quickly. The jolt of her friends' joyous hugs had broken her focus momentarily, and she'd managed to draw herself back from the wand's allure.

In the Great Hall, after what they were already calling the Final Battle (though it was far from the last; many more skirmishes would be fought over the coming weeks as rogue Death Eaters were rounded up), there was finally a lull in the congratulations.

Harry stood alone at last, body trembling minutely. She was exhausted, and yet still felt as if she were brimming with energy. The Elder Wand was in her hand, knuckles white with the force of her grip.

She'd thought about breaking the wand, as it buzzed beneath her fingers. She'd thought about it for all of half a second, and then the instinctively visceral reaction she'd felt in herself had told her that it would be a very bad idea.

"If it were me, I'd want a little space," Luna had said, appearing suddenly beside her.

"That – that would be nice," Harry had said, dazed.

"I'll distract them," she'd said, and then paused, glancing momentarily at the wand. "You can put it back where it was, for now. It's not time yet."

Harry had nodded slowly, caught by the passing resemblance of Luna's eyes to those of Trelawney's, when she'd made that prophecy right in front of her, in third year. It was gone in a blink, however, and Luna had turned, crying out something about Blibbering Humdingers, whatever those were.

Harry had made her exit.

Now she was back and couldn't help feeling like she'd somehow made a circle.

Harry breathed out slowly and lifted the holly and phoenix feather wand. She'd redone the wards on the tomb herself, the day of the final battle, and it took a mere flick for the stone to slide away.

A murmuring arose from the small crowd of students gathered a few paces behind her. The Quidditch game had finished as she'd walked out, and she'd been unable to avoid the attention. She had managed to get a perimeter ward up before they ventured too close, however, so there wouldn't be any interference.

Without any further internal dithering, she stepped forward to the edge of the tomb, reached down, and took the wand.

Just like the first time, she could feel a wave of power crash over her, but she gritted her teeth. She wouldn't let it sweep her away this time.

If this was what she had to get used to, she resolved, she would do it.

Glancing back at the crowd of students, she silently apologized to McGonagall, and twisted.

Phil awoke to the second beep of the three-beep alert on his communicator. He was immediately wide awake and snagged the receiver from the bedside table.

"Talk to me," he said quickly, glancing over to see Romanova sitting alertly, like she'd never even been asleep.

"It's Barton," May's voice crackled back down the line. Phil sighed. Of course it was Barton.

"Where is he?"

"That's it. I don't know."

A trickle of uneasiness made its way down Phil's spine. "From the top, May," he ordered.

"He went to find a better perch, oh, ten minutes ago? His comm line cut out a few minutes ago. He hasn't opened it up again or given me any signal he's alright." There was a pause. "He should have by now."

Phil knew May; knew her tells and her mannerisms, and he knew this was terrifying her.

"Stay put," he said, in his best reassuring handler voice. "I'm coming to you."

"Copy that," May said, and Phil heard her stark relief bleeding through the comms.

He looked up, catching Romanova's eye, and she stood immediately. There was a glint in her eye that he recognized, and he didn't have to say a thing to know she understood.

They exited the hotel room in perfect unison.

It was drizzling steadily by the time they reached May, and Phil was glad he'd thought to have his suits charmed to be water-repellent.

"He wanted to see if that rooftop was better," May told them, pointing toward a rooftop to the north. "He cracked a joke approximately one minute after he left, and then I heard nothing. Static on the comms. Whoever it was, they were good enough to get the jump on him."

Phil nodded slowly. They probably wouldn't find anything, if, as he suspected, their Dark wizards had snatched Clint, but it was never wise to assume a crime scene was completely clean.

"Will you be alright here?"

The only sign that Romanova was startled by the question was an extra blink.

"Yes," she said.

"Good. Lead the way, May," Phil said. She did so eagerly, clearly anxious to figure out who had taken Clint.

As he'd feared, there was no physical evidence to be found. May fumed silently as he reached inside his jacket pocket for the business card.

"I don't suppose this means we'll be read in on them yet?" she asked, glaring at the card in his hand, and clearly irritated about the secrets revolving around their mission.

"That's really up to Potter," Phil said, focusing on the blank card. As he spoke her name, however, there was a noise like a gunshot, and a figure in black robes appeared, stumbling, not five meters away. May's hand flew to her gun.

"Merlin's most baggy y-fronts!" Harry cursed colorfully, glaring at the wand in her hand, and then, looking up and noticing them, said cheerfully, "Oh, hello Phil. Agent May."

"What are you, and what the hell," said May, dangerously, "is going on?"

"I'm… not sure, actually," Phil said, slowly. He hadn't even sent his message yet.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure how I ended up here, either," Harry admitted, pushing back her hair. "But as to your other question, Agent May," and she smiled sharply at Phil's second-in-command, "I'm a witch."

"A witch," May said, flatly.

"Yes, that's right," Harry said, smiling.

"You got permission from the Minister?" Phil asked, surprised. Harry coughed guiltily, and he raised an eyebrow at her reproachfully.

"I'm Harry Potter?" She tried, weakly. He only looked at her more sternly. "It'll be fine, Phil, really."

"I'd prefer to not have my agents obliviated," he told her.

"They won't be," Harry said. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

Phil nodded sharply, accepting her reassurance. May was looking back and forth between them, visibly confused. Phil opened his mouth to explain, but she held a finger up.

"Is there anything I need to know right now?" she asked. "Because I'd really rather focus on finding Barton."

"Barton?" Harry asked in surprise. "What happened to your archer?"

"Our ritual killers are Dark wizards," Phil told May, and then, turning to Harry, "and Barton disappeared approximately thirty minutes ago."

"From this location?" asked Harry, her stance becoming more serious. At Phil's nod, she frowned, and began casting spells.

"Dark wizards," May said incredulously, watching as various colored jets of light sprung from Harry's wand. "Really?"

"Welcome to the wizarding world, Agent May."

Chapter Text

"There's nothing here I can trace," Harry said, a minute later. "I can tell you there was a stunner cast, and someone apparated from here, but it's been too long for me to track. Apparition tracking is only good if you can do it within a matter of seconds, otherwise… splinching."

She shuddered, and so did Phil. He hadn't ever been splinched, but he'd heard enough stories about it, and that was more than enough for him.

"What I'd also like to know," Harry continued, "is why I ended up here, and not where I'd intended to go." She frowned at her wand again.

"Where did you mean to go?" Phil asked.

"Home," she said. "It's this bloody wand, I just know it."

"Is it… the wand?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed.

"Is there something I should know?" May asked sharply, obviously feeling left out.

"Er, it's a very powerful, very old wand that's decided it likes me?" Harry told her. It was a pretty good summing up of the situation.

"Is it dangerous?" May asked, eyeing the stick in the witch's hand warily. Phil didn't want to say it, but he was worried as well. The wand had a reputation for a reason.

"No, no," Harry assured them. "I'm just working out the kinks."

"Right," May said slowly, relaxing a little but still looking ready to shoot the wand if it so much as twitched funny in the witch's hand.

"If there's nothing here, we should get back to Romanova," Phil said. He didn't think it was a good idea to hang around the exact location Clint was snatched from. The wizard – or witch – probably wouldn't return to this spot again, so it was pointless to stay, and he didn't want to leave Romanova alone.

"I suppose I'll go with you. I'm not sure I want to try apparating again," Harry said. Phil silently agreed. He trusted the Deathstick about as much as he trusted he could cast a basic first-year Levitation charm.

"Oh, but I should probably – Expecto Patronum."

Phil watched in fascination as the silvery deer sprung from the tip of her wand, alighting on the ground and turning back to Harry expectantly. He'd heard of the Patronus charm, of course, but he hadn't actually seen a corporeal Patronus before.

"Ron and Hermione, please," she told it politely. "Had some minor difficulties with the wand. I'm in Budapest with Coulson. When you find something, head this way."

The deer nodded, and then leapt upwards, swiftly streaking off into the sky.

"What was that?" May asked in awe.

"We call it a Patronus," Harry explained, tucking her wand back inside her robes. "Usually used to ward off dementors – er, big scary cloaked things – but they're also quite useful for sending messages."

"I'm beginning to think being a witch is 'quite useful'," May muttered dryly.

Harry laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

----------

They found Romanova waiting for them, looking every inch as if she were only casually loitering, but that disappeared as soon as she saw them, and she drew to attention.

Phil raised an eyebrow at her, and she responded with a negative shake of her head. He hadn't expected anything to have happened, but he couldn't help hoping for some development.

"Would you mind telling Potter what you told me?" he asked her, and Harry immediately looked alert.

Romanova's eyes narrowed at him, and Phil understood that she felt betrayed by him bringing it up at all, but he was sure Harry would want to hear it, even if it didn't involve their current case. The Widow sighed, finally, and looked at Harry.

"I have seen one of your kind before, a few months ago. He controlled my friend; took his memories," she said. "But I do not know who he was, or who he was working for."

"Description?" Harry asked. Every inch of her had straightened eagerly, fully invested in what Romanova had to say. Phil couldn't say it wasn't attractive.

"He was perhaps two meters tall," Romanova spoke quickly, as if she were reciting. "Olive tone skin, pointed chin, dark hair to his shoulders, goatee."

"Wand?" Harry asked sharply.

"An orangey brown, twisted in the middle," Romanova said. She looked much more relaxed about the interrogation now, although Phil had no idea if her posture was real or affected.

Harry appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, but she snapped out of it a moment later.

"I think I know who it is," she said, "and it's very possible he is behind this case, as well. He's been on the DMLE's radar for years."

She paused, and they all waited.

"His name is Vilmos."

---------

The limp body hitting the floor at her feet made her wince. At second glance, the man didn't appear to be dead, so at least there was that.

"Find out what he knows," Vilmos demanded.

"I need him awake for that," she said tremulously. His eyes flashed with anger, but he cast a muttered Incarcerous, and ropes quickly bound themselves around the muggle.

"Have at him, then," he said. "If he doesn't know anything, knock him back out. If he does… let me know." He smiled viciously, and then swept out of the room, leaving her trembling and staring down at the innocent, unconscious muggle.

"Ennervate," she said quietly, and the man jerked awake. He seemed to feel his restraints, but to her surprise, he didn't struggle against them, instead only watched her assessingly.

"Sorry about this. It won't hurt at all," she said, kneeling next to him.

"Legilimens."

.

.

.

She emerged from his head some minutes later, mind racing. The muggle slumped back on the floor, dazed. She'd said it wouldn't hurt, and she hadn't lied, but it was taxing for both of them.

"Well?" Vilmos asked impatiently. He must have come back while she was digging through the muggle's mind.

She looked up. "He knows nothing of us."

"Nothing?" Disbelief was evident in his tone. She shook her head.

"He is only a muggle Auror," she said, trying to inject as much scorn into her voice as she could. "All he saw was dead bodies."

Vilmos nodded, apparently satisfied, and shot another Stunner at the muggle before leaving. She sank back on her heels and let out a long breath of relief. What Vilmos was doing as foolish, and she did not like it. She was terrible at lying, but she could manage partial truths if they didn't contradict her Vow.

The muggle didn't know anything about what was happening, but she could tell that his superior definitely did, and knew enough to call in someone very high up.

There was no mistaking the woman who was purported to be the true Master of Death.

Chapter Text

“Vilmos?” Phil asked. He’d never heard the name, although that wasn’t too surprising, as he didn’t spend much of his time in the wizarding world.

“He’s a Death Eater,” Harry said.

“The wizarding world basically had a Hitler a few years back; that was the name of his followers,” Phil said quickly, knowing that May and Romanova would have no idea what a Death Eater was. They both nodded in comprehension.

“That’s a good way of putting it – wizard Hitler,” Harry agreed. “Anyway, our wizard Hitler, Voldemort, spent a lot of time in Europe before returning to Britain, most of it in Albania. We’re not sure where exactly he recruited Vilmos, but we know that Vilmos was trying to raise sympathies in the European wizarding communities for Voldemort’s cause. He was moderately successful, but it all fell apart after we took down Voldemort in Britain, and he’s been on the run ever since.”

“Why would he be behind this, though?” May asked.

“Almost a year ago someone tried to break into our wizarding school,” Harry said. “The magical signature matched Vilmos, and we’re pretty sure that he was after this.” She waved her wand in her hand, and Romanova made a slight backwards movement at the motion.

“Doesn’t he already have one of those?” she asked. “Why does he want that one?”

“It’s the Elder Wand,” Harry said, as if that would explain everything, as she twirled the wand slowly between her fingers. She looked reluctant to continue.

“It’s from a children’s story,” Phil said, jumping in. Harry glanced over at him gratefully. “It’s called the Tale of the Three Brothers…”

The Tale of the Three Brothers had been one of Phil’s favorites when he was little, and he knew the entire story by heart. There were several slightly different versions he’d heard over the years, but he tried to tell it as simply as possible.

“Master of Death?” May scoffed when he was done. “Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t think anybody knows for sure,” Harry shrugged. “And besides, the majority of the wizarding world treats it as a bedtime story.”

“But the stone and the cloak are real, too?” Romanova pressed, nodding at the wand in Harry’s hand. Harry’s gaze dropped to it as well.

“Yes,” she said heavily. “They are. I have the Cloak, and once I had the Stone, as well, although I never actually had them all together at once.”

“So, whether or not the Master of Death is a legitimate title, we have a Dark Wizard on the loose with an unknown number of accomplices, who already has in his possession the Resurrection Stone,” Phil said, summarizing partly for himself, but also for the benefit of May and Romanova, who he could tell were both overwhelmed. “And Clint.”

“Well, yes,” Harry said, looking at Phil with her fathomless green eyes. “That does just about sum it up.”

Phil desperately hoped Granger and Weasley found something soon, because they were woefully unprepared.

There was really nothing they could do but wait, and Harry hated it. She wished she’d given Phil and his agents some kind of magical trackers to wear, even though she knew it was likely that Vilmos would have found and disabled them anyway, and it was less likely he’d kill Phil’s agent if he thought he was just a muggle. Best case scenario, he’d keep him to use in his next ritual.

They’d been watching the rain for a few hours as it turned from soft sprinkle to steady drizzle and then back again, when Ron’s voice echoed up from the stairwell.

“Harry!”

“Just up here!” she called back.

Shortly after, Ron appeared at the top of the stairwell, followed by Hermione.

“There you are,” Ron said, spotting them.

“Ron, Hermione,” Harry said, sounding pleased. “Find something already?”

“Found a rumor of something, but it was more than enough,” Hermione said, coming out from behind Ron. “You must be Phil Coulson,” she said, sticking out her hand to Phil, who looked distinctly overwhelmed. Harry nearly laughed, remembering his expression when she’d given him her business card and told him it’d been spelled by Hermione.

“Yes,” he said. “And these are Agents Melinda May and Natalia Romanova.”

“Pleasure,” she said, nodding at them politely. 

“Well?” Harry asked impatiently. “What is it, then?”

Hermione turned, and Harry could tell by her grim expression that it wasn’t exactly good news. 

“He’ll try for the next Hallow tonight.”

“That’s quick,” Phil observed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We can talk logistics in a moment,” she said, brusquely waving him off. “First off, what were you thinking, Harry Potter!”

“Ouch,” Harry heard Ron saying quietly, hanging back by Phil. “Wasn’t sure how upset she was until just now.”

“What was I thinking when, Hermione?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“When you took the wand from Dumbledore’s tomb in front of half the school!”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, that,” Hermione hissed. “McGonagall was very confused – we only said we needed the library, and then she had students coming in saying Harry Potter had broken into Dumbledore’s tomb!”

“I didn’t realize the Quidditch match had ended when I walked out there,” Harry said weakly.

“You should have been more careful in the first place!” Hermione insisted. “McGonagall took care of it; she announced that you’d been updating the wards and enchantments, but you know it’ll be front page of the Prophet tomorrow. Why weren’t you wearing the Cloak in the first place?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, but she couldn’t escape Hermione’s gaze. “It feels odd,” she finally admitted.

It caught Hermione off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like, when I’m wearing it sometimes, I might just… vanish,” Harry said. She wasn’t sure how to explain it, exactly. It was a feeling that had crept up slowly over time. The longer she wore the cloak, the more she felt it, and it was terrifying, because it felt so natural. 

Hermione frowned. “That’s – Harry that’s not normal, why haven’t you mentioned it?”

She looked down at her feet momentarily, and then shrugged. “Didn’t seem important at first. I just stopped wearing it as often.” 

Mostly, she just hadn’t wanted to bother Ron and Hermione. This wasn’t Voldemort or anything, and it had been an easy enough fix.

Hermione had long-suffering look on her face as she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay,” she said. “I’m not mad, I’m –”

“ – just disappointed,” Harry and Ron finished with her, and she glared at them both as they exchanged cheeky grins. 

“I don’t know why I put up with you two,” Hermione grumbled. 

“You love us,” Harry said, patting her shoulder, “it’s alright.”

“Not to mention we’d be dead without you,” Ron added helpfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. “I give up.”

Harry had forgotten about Phil, until he quietly coughed, drawing their attention away from teasing Hermione.

“Sorry,” he said, hardly looking apologetic at all. “But I think you mentioned our suspect would be attempting another ritual tonight?”

Hermione quickly launched into an explanation which mostly went over Harry’s head. She wasn’t sure how much Phil was actually understanding, but it looked like it was more than she got out of it. He was a lot like Hermione, she mused, except he seemed to like to keep an aura of being unflappable at all times. Harry wasn’t above admitting she rather liked it. 

What she did manage to get out of the complex explanation of rune-setting and star alignment, however, was that they had very little time before Vilmos made his next move.

In fact, they most likely had no more than an hour.

Chapter Text

Clint's eyes snapped open as he awoke, too quickly to be natural. His head ached, but he made no noise; his training in this sort of situation was to show no weakness, and gather as much information as possible.

A girl was sitting and watching him passively, a long, thin stick cradled in her hands. Clint met her eyes steadily. The last time he'd been awake, he recalled, she had done something to his head. It sounded impossible, but he'd felt her ruffling in his mind.

"Do not fear me," she said, finally. "I wish to help you."

Clint only narrowed his eyes at her, not believing it at all.

"My brother and I are magic-bound," she continued, "but not to him."

Okay, great, Clint thought. So they didn't like the murderer they were working for.

"That is right," she said, and his mind froze for a beat. She was reading his mind. That wasn't really buying him any points in his book.

"Well, you were not speaking to me," she said. "I will stop now, if you will talk."

Clint watched her for a moment, but he wasn't able to detect any dishonesty. At the very least, he didn't have anything to lose by playing along.

"Okay," he said, hoarsely. "What's the plan?"

She smiled slowly.

The air was tense as they waited.

They'd decided it was most likely that Vilmos would merely apparate straight into the warehouse, and put up his wards without checking outside, but Phil had pointed out that it was always best to err on the side of caution, and so instead of waiting immediately outside the warehouse, they were hiding nearby, still close enough to hear when Vilmos arrived, but far enough that a Homenum Revelio would probably not give them away.

It had been decided that Harry, Granger, and Weasley would throw up anti-apparition wards before they went in after Vilmos and whoever else he had recruited to help him, and May and Romanova would go in with the sole goal of getting Clint and whomever else Vilmos had chosen as victims out. Phil, although he couldn't cast any spells, had a few things up his sleeves that he hoped to be able to use in the fight.

They'd split up, May and Romanova going with Granger, and himself with Harry and Weasley to the other side of the building. It was almost certain that at least one ward would be anti-Muggle, so while Phil would be alright to make it through, May and Romanova needed to be with at least one of the others to make it inside.

A muffled crack heralded the arrival of Vilmos inside the warehouse.

Noises of shuffling came over Phil's comm.

"He's putting up his wards," Harry whispered quietly, close to Phil's ear so that the comm unit would pick it up. They hadn't bothered to give a comm to her, since all of them would probably short out when they went through the wards anyway.

Phil looked up and could see the faintest shimmer on the wall of the warehouse, where there hadn't been before.

"I think he's done," Harry finally concluded, after a long minute. She stepped forward from their hiding place and swept her wand through the air, muttering, "Praevenire movimentum."

"Wards going up on our side," Phil heard May say over the comm.

"Same over here," he told her. "See you inside."

"Copy that," May said, and then there was the soft sound of static.

Phil pulled the useless earpiece out and followed Harry and Weasley.

They walked right up to a small door, where they paused while Harry traced a symbol on it, and then tapped her glasses. She had explained to them earlier that she had quite a few enchantments on her glasses, one of which that, when a certain rune was put on a surface, would allow her to look through it. Phil had immediately decided he needed to visit her ocularist and see if he couldn't figure out something similar that he could implement.

For the moment, however, he and Weasley waited while Harry observed whatever was happening inside.

"He's got two accomplices," she murmured. "One helping him set up, and the other watching over your archer and two others."

Phil had speculated that he couldn't have more than one or two people working with him, since the Hallows were not exactly things you shared around. It was nice to be right about something.

"Ready?" Harry asked them. "He's going to know the moment we tear into his ward."

"Don't have to ask me twice," Weasley said.

"Phil?" Harry asked him, expectantly. In response, he pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth. The moment he started chewing, the charm activated, and he became nearly invisible, much like a Disillusionment Charm.

It was a product of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that they had only made for a limited amount of time, but Phil had had the forethought to order an entire case of the stuff. It was incredibly useful. He also had a 'Portable Protego' snap bracelet that would block up to twenty common curses and hexes. He'd given May and Romanova each one as well, although he hoped they wouldn't need it, because Harry had given them her Cloak. There wasn't much of a reason for her to be wearing it, she'd pointed out when they'd protested, since she didn't intend to sneak around at all.

Harry nodded when she saw – or, more accurately, didn't see him, and turned back to the door.

The spell she cast to break through the ward blasted the door inwards right off its hinges. She and Weasley charged forward immediately, but Phil waited a few moments, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

And it was quite a duel he walked into.

Harry was taking on Vilmos, mostly by herself, because Weasley was dueling the other wizard, and Granger had the witch, although they both were also throwing spells at Vilmos occasionally. It was truly amazing to watch the trio fight together, Phil thought, as he made his way as quickly as he could over to Barton, dodging a few poorly aimed spells.

To his surprise, as soon as he knelt next to his archer, his eyes popped open.

"Hey, Coulson, that's weird," Barton said. "I can sorta see you, but only cuz I know you're there."

"How are you awake?" Phil demanded, noticing Vilmos' other two victims, two boys that appeared to be in their early teens, were knocked out.

"The girl, she woke me up," Barton said. "Her and her brother are magically tied to some organization – she couldn't say what they were called – not to the guy doing the actual rituals. They don't like him much, I guess."

"Well, they're doing an excellent job of fighting for him, anyway," Phil pointed out, dryly, although it was useful information, and he wondered if the siblings could be brought to their side, instead. Surely they could find a way to break the bonds, especially if there were loopholes. They'd even left Barton with his bow and arrows.

Barton had opened his mouth to respond, but just then, an arm appeared out of nowhere next to him.

"What the crap!"

"Keep it down, birdbrain," May's voice issued from beneath the Cloak, as Romanova opened it wider, revealing the two of them huddled together. May immediately started checking the two unconscious boys over, one of which started stirring at her touch.

"Coulson, that is him," Romanova said quietly, looking at Vilmos, her accent sharpening. Phil raised an eyebrow, waiting for a little more explanation. "That is who took Yasha."

Phil's eyes widened in comprehension.

"Okay," he said calmly. "This does not change your orders. Understand?"

Romanova didn't look happy, but she set her jaw and nodded. Phil didn't like giving the order, either, but Romanova didn't know how to fight wizards, and her anger wouldn't be enough to help her avoid an Unforgivable.

Satisfied that they had everything under control, Phil moved away from them and began rummaging through his pockets. It was a little difficult to find what he wanted when he was nearly invisible, even to his own eyes, but Phil was pleased that he hadn't forgotten his training.

Taking careful aim, he threw a slim disk across the floor, just as Vilmos moved backward, and stepped right on it. The resulting minor fireworks had the Death Eater shrieking and casting his eyes around, leaving him open to a well-aimed curse from Harry.

Left him open to it, but unfortunately it didn't take him down, and in the meantime, he'd spotted his escaping victims.

"Stop them!" Vilmos shrieked to the sibling witch and wizard. The two exchanged a glance, and then moved their wands in unison.

Phil was too far away to do anything, even if he could've. Instead, he had to watch as first May crumpled beneath a spell, and then Clint. He started back towards them, but his steps were halted by the thick mist that abruptly sprung up from nowhere.

If he'd been visible, he probably wouldn't be able to even see his own hand, and although he could hear some sounds, they were muffled. Quickly, Phil pulled a bottle out of his pocket and unstoppered it.

The sharp wind that rushed through the building nearly knocked him over, but the mist was dissipated.

Looking around, he noted that the playing field hadn't changed much, but the sibling witch and wizard, one of which he was sure had conjured that mist, had taken the opportunity to move next to each other, and there was no longer any sign of Barton, May, Romanova, or the boys they'd had with them. He was glad they'd made it out, but he hoped whatever Barton and May had been hit with wasn't too serious.

Across the room, Harry and Vilmos were circling each other slowly.

"Give it up, Vilmos," he heard Harry say. "You won't be getting the other Hallows anytime soon."

"You think they belong to you," Vilmos sneered. "You were too much of a coward to use them while you had them!"

And then he twisted the ring on his finger three times.

Chapter Text

Natalia had one hand hooked in the back of Clint's tac-vest, dragging him along behind her, and one of the boys Vilmos had kidnapped slung over her shoulder. The curse that had hit Clint had caused his legs to be unable to support his weight. Natalia hoped it wasn't permanent, but at least he was awake. May had been struck totally unconscious.

Luckily, the other boy woke up as the mist had gone up, and she had told him to pick up May. He'd looked to be in a bit of shock at his surroundings but had followed her instructions well enough.

When they reached the SUV, she helped Clint prop himself up against it and laid the Stunned kid down next to him. The other boy, who'd been pulling May, dropped next to him, exhausted.

"What'd I miss?" Clint asked her.

Natalia tried to quickly summarize the most important details: Vilmos had been trying to summon some very powerful artifacts, which would supposedly make him –

"Master of Death?" Clint asked in disbelief. Natalia snorted.

"Yes," she said. It did sound ridiculous.

"Magic is crazy," Clint said, shaking his head.

Natalia frowned at the Cloak still in her hands. There had been something bothering her ever since Potter had explained about the Hallows.

"Are you good here?" she asked Clint, abruptly getting to her feet.

"Yeah, I can shoot if I need to," he said, pulling his bow off his back and peering up at her curiously. "Where you going?"

"To return something," Natalia said, and she flipped the cloak over herself.

There were suddenly a dozen menacing figures in long black robes all around the room.

Phil looked around, heart beating loudly as he recognized quite a few of them as Death Eaters that had been dead a long time. They were still dead, he reminded himself. The stone couldn't truly bring them back. They were just… shades.

And then, one more appeared, striding toward a quickly-paling Harry: Voldemort.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, and as if it were a cue, spells began to fly again.

The shades didn't seem to be able to cast any spells, but they were also unaffected by them. Harry, around whom most of the shades were gathering, appeared to be trying every spell she knew, but the most effect they had was to knock them back a little.

Phil felt rather useless. It didn't appear that anything would work on the apparitions (he didn't have another 'Whirlwind In a Bottle' on him), and anything he might have used to hinder Vilmos would probably be blocked by a shade.

If he could get closer, he thought, he had some shorter-range items that might come in handy, and so he started to maneuver around the shades to try and get a straight shot, when he noticed that Harry had become completely surrounded by the shades.

Weasley had taken over Vilmos' attention, but not completely.

Phil saw it coming.

The shade of Voldemort stepped back for a moment and grinned at Vilmos. Harry's back was to him. Quick as a snake, Vilmos' wand flicked out, throwing a spell into the gap.

Phil didn't even think; he was mere steps away, and he took them as easy as breathing.

The multicolored jet of light hit him directly in the sternum.

He'd been hoping that it wasn't that bad of a curse, that maybe it was mild enough that his snap bracelet would stop it, but he really shouldn't have underestimated the Dark wizard. He had no idea what the curse was, but Phil immediately felt like all the air had disappeared from his lungs, and all his arteries and veins were suddenly on fire. He tried to move, but his muscles were too weak. His Disillusionment gum fell out of his mouth, and he began to fall, unable to stop himself.

Nick was going to hate having to fill out his paperwork, Phil thought as he dropped.

The sound of something hitting the floor drew Harry's attention from the shades of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, only to see that it had been Phil, who was slowly becoming visible.

Looking up, she saw Vilmos' surprise, and she realized that whatever spell Phil had taken had been meant for her. She felt a sudden surge of anger, partially at Phil for being so self-sacrificing, but mostly at Vilmos. Not that she hadn't hated him before, but now it was a little more personal.

She lashed out at the shades that were moving in again, taking some satisfaction in a spell that knocked Voldmort back, and thought desperately for a way to end this quickly.

And quite suddenly, like the flip of a switch, she knew what to do.

The Elder Wand hummed beneath her fingers happily, as, for the first time since she'd claimed it, Harry fully relaxed her guard against it. The returning surge of power she felt from her core was astronomical.

She didn't even need to say a word; a brisk flick of her wrist, and the shades were all thrown back. She stalked towards Vilmos, and as she passed Phil's prone form, Romanova appeared from beneath her Cloak. The spy shoved it at her, and Harry took it automatically, swinging it around her shoulders.

Ron had taken over battling Vilmos, and Hermione the other witch and wizard, but as soon as they saw Harry with two of the Hallows, the siblings moved near each other, grasped hands, and vanished in a bright flash. Harry hardly noticed, focused on Vilmos.

The Dark wizard sneered at her and threw a hex at Ron that sent him stumbling back several paces.

"You think you're better than me, do you?" he hissed, and twisted the ring on his finger again frantically. Behind him, the shades began to form again, but Harry merely shook her head.

"That won't work," she cautioned him, but he only laughed, wild and high, and then began to throw spells at her with a vengeance.

She batted the jets of light away like tiny, insignificant gnats, and then, almost lazily, cast an Expelliarmus.

"No!" Vilmos shrieked as his wand flew out of his hand. "No, you –"

Harry Stunned him before he could say another word.

He fell back to the floor, and she looked down at his hand. The Resurrection Stone twinkled back at her innocently.

"Well done, Harry," Hermione said, coming up next to her. "Those other two got away, but hopefully –"

Hermione's voice seemed to fade out as Harry reached down to tug the ring off of Vilmos' hand, holding her breath as she slid it on her own finger.

She sighed in relief. It was a bit cold, but other than that, she felt nothing unusual from it. Perhaps the whole 'Master of Death' was only a story, after all. She turned back to Hermione to try and pretend she'd been listening the whole time, but something caught her eye.

Phil still hadn't moved. Romanova was kneeling next to him, searching his wrist, and then his neck for a pulse. Harry, with rising numbness, knew that she wouldn't find one. Phil was – he was –

Romanova lifted her hand, and looked directly at her.

Her expression was expectant, but Harry didn't know what she wanted, and just looked back in confusion. One of Romanova's eyebrows arched, and she tilted her head toward Phil in a clear question.

Couldn't she do something about this?

Yes, Harry thought, and she instinctively reached down to her magic, to that place that responded when she used the Elder Wand, that awoke when she wore the Cloak for too long.

She felt a bright flare from the ring on her finger, and then she collapsed against Hermione.

Chapter Text

Phil was in a subway station in New York. At least, that was what it most resembled. The whole place was white and clean, something the subway never was.

He looked down at himself and saw that while he was dressed in his usual suit, the pockets were empty of the things he usually kept stashed in them. It was very disconcerting.

In the strange quiet of the place, his eyes were drawn to the train sitting on the tracks, car doors open and waiting.

Phil stood uncertainly, staring at it. Something about those doors, and the quiet, white interior of the car terrified him, and yet, he had the awful feeling that he was supposed to board it.

With great reluctance, he slowly walked toward the closest car, unable to shake his growing dread. He stopped, a few feet from the entrance, and tried to think. He really didn't want to board this train, but he couldn't think of why.

He glanced around the station again, but there was still no indication of anything. He shrugged and turned back to the car.

Before he could take that fateful step, a small noise distracted him. A quiet, metallic clacking that would have gone unnoticed in the usual bustle of a normal subway station, but here, it was like a gunshot.

He whipped around quickly, uncertain of what to expect.

It was an escalator, and at the bottom of it stood Harry, looking between him and the train with wide eyes.

"Harry?" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Phil," she said, with clear relief. "I'm not too late."

"Late for what?" Phil asked. "Do you know where we are?"

"A subway station, I presume," she said, glancing at the train on the tracks.

"Yes," Phil admitted, "I suppose it looks like one, but it's not. There's something…" He trailed off, trying to remember, and then –

"I'm dead," he said, the words seeming to fall from his mouth like weights. Harry grimaced and shifted, and the movement caught his attention. "How are you here? Are you dead, too? I thought I'd, uh –"

"Taken a spell meant for me?"

Embarrassed, Phil met her reproachful eyes silently.

"I'm not dead," she reassured him. "But you might be."

"So," Phil said slowly, "I also might be alive?"

"Exactly," Harry told him.

"I didn't think that was how death worked," Phil mused, and then, with rising suspicion, he looked sharply at Harry. "What did you do?"

"I'm not sure," she said, and to his horror, her eyes began to fill with tears. He was by her side in a moment, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

"I let the Hallows in, Phil," she said. "I think I'm – I'm –"

"Master of Death," Phil finished for her.

"Yes," she whispered, looking up at him with glistening eyes.

"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" he asked her. Harry frowned.

"It's just, I don't even know what it means," she said, voice cracking. "I saw you, dead, and… well, I didn't really want you dead, and then I just knew there was something I could do about it, so I did and now I'm here."

She took a shaky breath and ran her hands through her hair before continuing, "All I know right now is that I can send you back. If you want."

There was something she wasn't saying, Phil realized, and it was scaring her out of her mind.

"You think you might be stuck here."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged, smiling weakly. "Nobody to ask how this works, is there?"

That was true. If there had ever been a Master of Death before, it wasn't known to the wizarding world in general. 'Master of Death' could mean anything, but Phil didn't think it meant Harry would be stuck here, because…

"The escalator didn't appear until you did," he said, "and it is going up."

Harry turned and looked at the escalator as if she'd just realized it was there.

"So it is," she said, with a short laugh. "Well, then. What'll it be, Phil?"

Phil didn't bother looking back. The mere thought of the silent white interior of the subway car made him shiver.

"Let's go," he said.

She smiled and held out her hand.

Phil blinked awake slowly, his head fuzzy, and wondered how long he'd been out.

Blinking a few times, he saw Ron standing guard over Vilmos, bound and unconscious. The witch and the other wizard who had been with him had, presumably, got away, since he didn't see them anywhere. And Hermione was standing with Harry.

Harry looked dazed, like a breath might knock her over, and she was gripping Hermione's arm so tightly her hand was white with the strain. For the briefest second, she looked straight over at him, her eyes growing suddenly wide with something Phil couldn't decipher.

It was too far away for him to hear what Hermione said when she turned to Ron before disapparating with a sharp crack. Phil looked at the space where they'd been with disappointment. He was remembering the oddest things about the dream he'd just had…

He tried to push himself off the floor and winced. That spell he'd took had looked bad; it was why he'd jumped in front of it, instead of risking it hitting Harry, but honestly, he was surprised he was even able to move.

Natalia's hand entered his field of view, offering an easier way up. Phil took it gratefully and brushed off his suit once he was on his own two feet. It was probably beyond saving, but he'd give it to the SHIELD dry-cleaners anyway. They had a special knack for odd stains.

"I thought I told you to stay with Barton and May," he said to Natalia, not really accusing, just curious.

"I did," Natalia said calmly, "until he could get his bow."

"He look alright?"

"Well enough," she said. "Wobbly legs, but he doesn't need those to shoot."

"Sounds like Jelly-Legs Jinx," Phil mused. "May?"

"Knocked out."

"Right," Phil said. "Well, since you directly disobeyed my orders…" Natalia looked nervous. "You have to make sure Barton actually goes to medical."

She appeared surprised by the lightness of the punishment, which perhaps it was, but Phil wasn't all that upset by what she'd done. He preferred his agents to take initiative. To be fair, however, being assigned to Clint's medical detail was no small task. Phil was ecstatic he could pass it off to someone else.

Another loud crack signaled Hermione's return, who spoke quickly to Ron, and then hurried over to Phil.

"Thank you," she said. "Do you need anything? I've got some potions with me." She gestured at a small beaded bag at her side, which Phil was quite sure was much larger on the inside.

"I've got my own stash," he reassured the witch. "How is Harry?"

"She'll be fine; we're just keeping her under precautionary observation," she reassured him, although it was clear from her expression that she thought it was unlikely they'd be able to keep Harry anywhere for long. Phil wasn't surprised at all.

"Good luck with that," he told Hermione, and then glanced meaningfully over at Vilmos. "You'll send me a report of what happens to him?"

"I'll do you one better," Hermione laughed. "I'll make Harry do it."

He was caught startled for a moment, and then he saw the playfulness in her eyes, and smiled back.

"Harry gave you a card, didn't she?" she asked him. "Can I see it?"

Phil pulled it out of his breast pocket and handed it over, and she tapped it a few times with her wand as he watched curiously.

"There," Hermione said, handing it back. "You can reach me on my card, now, too."

"Thank you," Phil said. He was honored to have a direct line, so to speak, to the Hermione Granger.

"Don't mention it," she said, waving a hand and then, as she turned to walk back to Ron, "I like you, Phil. Do keep in touch."

Phil was left quite speechless.

Chapter Text