Chapter 1: Capture
Chapter Text
The moment Tom Marvolo Riddle’s dead body crashed down on the debris-strewn floor of the Great Hall, Harry Potter dared to hope that he was free. The thought had been fleeting, like an easing of a held breath. He found himself reminiscing that moment often, not out of some attempt to relive a triumphant moment, but the opposite. It reminded him of how foolish and naive it had been to ever assume that things would get easier for him. Sure, the evil bastard who had been hunting him down for most of his life was dead, but that didn’t mean fate was finished with him… or whatever sadist supernatural entity had it out for him.
The Statute of Secrecy shattered apart when the truth of their existence became revealed in such a spectacular fashion, it would take obliviating the population of the planet to fix. As it happened, the revelation of magic being real wasn’t the biggest shock. When the Chitauri invaded New York, they all discovered that they weren’t alone in the universe. Humans weren’t the only sentient beings in the cosmos… and wizards weren’t the only ones who could use magic. In the course of only a few years, everything changed. Very suddenly, the war against Voldemort paled in comparison to the threats that lurked out in Space. Entire armies of aliens, vengeful gods and powerful artefacts that completely eclipsed anything they could achieve with their wands. Their new enemies could tear open portals in the sky .
Rather than having his perfect ending, retiring to a peaceful life where he no longer had to fight in any battles, Harry Potter found himself right back in the front lines. In the years after the war, he dedicated his time to researching rare magical artefacts after he ended up consulting on so many cases, he figured he might as well make it his career. It suited him far better than the Auror Office ever did. Studying objects felt much less stressful than hunting down dark wizards. Yet, two years ago when the Statute shattered, he found himself thrust back into the spotlight. He acted as a consultant to global superpowers, working tirelessly to bridge the gap between both societies so that they could work together as one.
So far, all his progress had brought him migraines and a half-hearted drinking problem.
Phone held against his shoulder, sandwiched against his cheek, Harry fumbled with his hotel room keycard as he tried to open the door. As it was, he juggled too many tasks at once. One task, listening to the voice on the phone in his ear, was taking priority.
“I don’t know what else we can do, Harry.” The female voice said out of the speaker squashed against his ear. “You’re giving them undeniable proof that it’s possible for magicals and muggles to co-exist, but they just don’t listen.”
Harry managed to unlock the door as Hermione Granger ranted in his ear. He sighed, transferring the phone to his hand now that he managed to enter his room. He elbowed the light switch as he ended up in the bedroom.
“They’re listening. They’re just threatened that revolutionising their way of life will actually change things and nothing scares wizards more than change.”
“That and they will never admit that the wizarding world is the backward one rather than the world without magic.”
Hermione’s remark made him snort as he headed over to the large bed that dominated the rather luxurious bedroom in his suite. The New York skyline shimmered and twinkled before him through the huge windows.
“We expected this… you expected this. That’s why we’re sorting this out ourselves and not waiting for the old timers to catch up.”
He heard her sigh on the other end of the phone and could almost also hear her smile at his half-compliment.
“I expected that they’d turn on us the moment they overruled Kingsley and I was right. He was the only buffer protecting us from the old families who felt threatened from the upstarts.”
“They’re a minority. Loud and obnoxious, yes, but we still have the greater influence where it matters. They know that you’re breathing down their necks.”
“Change can’t happen quickly enough. The world is moving too fast for them to adapt and it’s making them irrational. Just please don’t let this set-back detract from the work you’ve been doing. You’re making incredible progress. I know you don’t like using your influence, but it’s getting results. The world media loves you.”
Harry frowned, looking out the window. He didn’t like being a political mouthpiece, but his frustrations with how immovable his own superiors were had him stuck. He and Hermione were the dangerous element the moment they went public about changing relations between their people and the greater population of muggles. It was as if they all just forgot that their saviours weren’t perfect pureblood paragons, embracing all things magical. Wizardkind was just too scared to crawl out from its bubble of safety.
A headache manifested in full swing by the time he was rounding up their conversation.
“I’m keeping you from your family,” Harry said heavily. “Keep me in the loop, yeah? Give my love to your parents.”
“Of course… and good luck tomorrow. Send me pictures.”
Wishing his dearest friend a good night, he ended the call and dropped down on the bed, sitting in a slump for a moment before undoing his tie. Another irritation that came with meeting with important muggles was having to wear a suit whenever he went about his business. He felt like an imposter, dressed to impress, but Hermione and others had remarked that he wore the look well.
Yawning, Harry peeled himself off the bed, walking himself over to the window. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, looking down at the traffic thirty stories below. He’d since had his vision corrected, paying for expensive surgery that made sure he wasn’t caught out without glasses. He could see his destination for the following day from the window, the top of the Avengers Tower gleaming above the older, more traditional sky-scrapers of Manhattan. While keeping himself distracted on the phone with his closest friend, he managed to forget momentarily that he had quite the historic day planned ahead. He had certainly come a very, very long way from being the boy under the stairs. Using his public image to advocate the changes he and Hermione dreamed of bringing to life came with side effects. He got the personal attention of organisations who considered him a potential threat to national security.
It’s just a casual conversation, he’d been assured from his liaison with the Avengers and Stark Industries. You’re the expert in this field and they need an expert.
It didn’t matter if he wasn’t the focus. He would still be in the same room as some of the Avengers. While he rubbed shoulders with heroes, Hermione would be enjoying a day with her parents in sunny Australia, having a well-earned holiday away from the chaos of her political career. As for their friends still in the UK, they would all be fast asleep. Harry sighed at the thought of how differently their lives had ended up. Ron had a very successful career in the Auror office, married to Luna with a child on the way. Hermione was on track to be the youngest Minister of Magic and, as for Harry, he somehow managed to be a renowned expert on fighting dark magic.
Deciding that he very much needed to get some sleep as well, he turned away from the shimmering skyline of New York City. Sighing to himself, he cast a weary gaze over his overtly plush accommodations. The expensive suite hadn’t been his first choice, preferring to stick to a more modest way of living. Yet he’d been assured that appearances mattered in the new social circles he was entering. Appearing before a man like Tony Stark in a crumpled suit having spent a restless night in some hostel wasn’t going to present the best image. So he relented, allowing his assistant to take the reins and sort out all his arrangements on his behalf.
His life transcended all his expectations for his future. During the war against Voldemort and his supporters, Harry never deluded himself with thoughts of the future as he came to terms with the reality that he wouldn’t live to see eighteen. After the war, he’d been so overwhelmed with the endless possibilities, he just packed a bag and travelled the world. It felt, for a time, that he found his step. He visited magical communities all over the world, enjoying the anonymity the further he went from the UK. He eventually returned, full of new experiences, and took up a comfortable role as an consultant with the International Confederation of Wizards.
Any hopes for a quiet life, isolated on a remote island in the middle of an azure paradise, had been dashed when the ICW named him as the wizard to represent them in the United Nations. As successful as he was acting as a consultant to muggles, many saw him as a revolutionary, moving things too quickly. They distrusted the muggle leaders, believing that it was only a matter of time before they expected magic to solve all their problems.
Unfortunately, they weren’t wrong to be cynical. Harry now had to deal with the immense pressure of being the magical expert to the world . The official position he held was ‘magical consultant to the World Security Council’. It was a joke, really, as he hadn’t even finished his magical education. In terms of his power, however, there was no denying any more. He was the strongest wizard living in their current times.
The one heralded as the ‘Modern Merlin’ yawned as he stepped out the shower in his ensuite. He dried himself with his wand and donned his sleepwear. The mirror demisted as he approached it, his magic responding to his needs instinctively without even a mental incantation. A tired twenty-seven year old wizard blinked in the mirror, scowling at himself as he ran his hand over his chin, feeling the bristle. Those who knew him as a child would barely recognise the adult he’d become. Gone were the large, round glasses. No longer skinny and short, he stood with broad shoulders and a lean physique at just shy of six feet. He’d since adopted a shorter hairstyle, though it still stuck up at the back. Rather than looking messy, however, it looked purposefully unkempt. His famous scar had faded to a pinkish silver hue over the years, no longer as prominent as it used to be.
When Harry returned to the bedroom, he headed to where he left his phone. A smile stretched up his left cheek as he saw he had a message from Hermione. He opened it, finding a rare selfie of his best friend as she flashed the beautiful sea behind her, rubbing it in. Harry gave the windows a slightly baleful look. New York in November was bitterly cold. Melbourne didn’t have the same issue.
Alarm set, Harry finally climbed into the ridiculously large bed. He didn’t switch off the light beside the bed, still unable to face total darkness when alone. His private phobia turned the shadows into stalking terrors that haunted him in the restless moments before falling into his dreams. His exhaustion carried him quickly into a deep sleep, nestled comfortably under expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, weighed down with a plump duvet.
The rattle in the ventilation shaft behind the wall of the bedroom didn’t wake him. Nor did the soft click as the light beside his head switched off along with the rest of the electricity in the room. Oblivious, his rest went undisturbed even as intrusive fumes rolled into the room from the ventilation. What eventually stirred him from his dreamless sleep was a skipping sensation in his chest as he struggled to draw breath.
His eyes opened at once, hearing the warning wheeze in his throat as he heaved in a desperate breath. Warnings blared into life as he struggled to throw off the covers. He could smell the fumes at once, hands scrambling towards the bedside table blindly. In his blind panic, he couldn’t think. The darkness threw him off as he tried to get out of bed and snatch his wand. He misjudged it, his body crumpling and he dropped hard to the floor.
His mouth gaped wide as he tried to breathe. He clawed at his throat, all too aware that he was suffocating. There was gas in the room, suffocating him. Whatever it was, it had quickly worked on incapacitating him. Harry knew he had seconds left of consciousness, recognising the signs of asphyxiation. He strained to reach up for the bedside counter. He could see, just in the dark, the protruding handle of his wand. The precious time he had left, he needed to get away from the gas. If he just got his wand and cast a bubblehead charm…
It was the most silent assassination attempt he’d been a victim of. Eerie silence fell on him as he wheezed, barely conscious, trying to roll over and reach up. Each movement weakened him further, dragging him closer and closer to the faint that he knew was the purpose of the gas he’d inhaled.
His fingers grasped for his wand clumsily. It then rolled away from him, landing on the carpet. Harry pushed himself towards it.
A crash sounded in his room. Harry rolled over, trying to shout out. He didn’t have any breath to manage a sound. His eyes were wide as light spilled from the hallway and, in his dwindling vision, he saw silhouettes enter. All strength had zapped out of him, leaving him without even the energy to struggle for breath. His eyelids drooped down. He blacked out briefly.
Hands suddenly seized him by the back of his t-shirt and dragged him roughly over the carpet. His eyes slid open to slits, light dancing in his vision… white, red, white… then something pressed hard against his face. Cold air tickled his throat before a painful spasm in his chest had him heaving in air desperately. He feebly tried to shift under the weight that held him down, seeing shadows amid the pulsing light.
“Breathe.” A voice demanded. It wasn’t pitched up in panic or soft with concern. It was harsh and cold.
Turning his head, he tried to use the last of his energy to thank his saviours. As he did, the lights glinted off the black lenses of masks that covered their faces. Gas masks… black, faceless, and protected from the toxic fumes that filled the room… then they took the air away from him, leaving him to wheeze and struggle to breathe.
They weren’t there to help him.
Hands snatched his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back. Harry feebly struggled.
“N-no… no… get off…”
Hands gripped him under his shoulders, pulling him up to his knees. He hung forwards, head dropped down, peering up into the light that spilled from the hallway. He mustered up a breath, trying to call for help. He was rapidly losing consciousness, his adrenaline not enough to keep him from teetering. He briefly caught a glimpse of a large, plastic sack being laid out in front of him, a bag that was horribly large enough to store a body. He had a vague understanding for its purpose before his eyelids slid shut with inevitable finality.
Being knocked unconscious was hardly a new experience for Harry. Each experience carried its own unique brand of the sensation. A rapid plunge into darkness or a gradual fade to grey. What tended to be the same, however, was the return to awareness. Most of the time, it was gentle. Senses returned, one-by-one, along with the realisation that he was safe and comfortable, either tucked up in a bed in the Hospital Wing or in a private room at St Mungo’s. His hospital visits thankfully became less frequent as the number of remaining Death Eaters and glory hunters dwindled. He still found himself the target of an errant curse more often than the usual wizard.
The sensation he currently experienced was new as he slowly regained consciousness. Everything was muffled as if he was underwater. Light and sound pulsed in odd, discordant waves. Sometimes in sync, sometimes separate. In their split form, they made little sense, just frazzles of sense without meaning. Light swept over like a torch beam seeking out through the darkness, but Harry couldn’t be found. He had no idea where he was, lingering and lost in the depths of his unconscious mind. That faint tendril of awareness was taut, tense, as he knew out of instinct stronger than his conscious mind could conceive that he was in danger. It only grew as the pulses of sound and light became more frequent, blending together, pulling him up slowly through the murky muted sleep he’d been forced into.
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An electronic beeping stood out clearly amid the muffled sounds fuzzing in his ears. The rush of blood was in sync, the rhythm of his heart both inside and outside his body. His body… and with that thought, he became aware of himself… and the pain aching in his chest and shoulders. Discomfort built up with every passing second. He yearned to move and shift from the state he was in. Willing himself through the sluggishness, his breath rattled in his throat with a low groan. His eyelids twitched open, light streaming in. His muscles flinched, his arms spasming where he very suddenly realised that the reason he wasn’t moving was because he couldn’t.
A cloying chemical scent ravaged his nostrils as he sucked in a shocked, horrified breath. Waking up fully, his eyes peeled open. Blurs of greyish blue merged together around him. Relying on his other senses, he followed the sounds around him. The source of the beeping was behind his head. A low droning sound came from overhead, some sort of ventilation system. Harry squinted and blinked, trying to focus. He dipped his gaze downwards, seeing his chest and body arranged upon a padded table. The source of his discomfort. He gasped as primal fear clanged around in his head, pulling his arms in an effort to get free from the restraints pinning his wrists in place. He flicked his gaze left and right, seeing the rests on either side of the surface his back rested upon. His arms were taut against them, unable to twist at his shoulders or bend his elbows.
Harry strained forwards, hearing leather creaking around him. A strap across his chest was keeping him flat against the padded surface under his back. Another pressed tight against his thighs, stopping him from rising even an inch. All he could move were his hands, feet and head. He dropped his head back, discovering a headrest. Turning his head to the side, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Wherever he was, it was clinical, something he could gauge from the disinfectant that hung heavy on the sterile air. He tried twisting his legs, watching his feet wiggle uselessly as he tried to pull at the toughened straps locked around his ankles.
Harry then noticed grey lines poking up from the collar of his shirt. He followed them up, straining his head around to see some medical equipment stationed next to him. He blinked, squinting, making out something that he’d only seen on medical shows like the one his Aunt used to like.
He strained his head around, but from what he could see, he was alone. He caught sight of a stainless steel trolley on the other side of the table he was bound upon. Horror whined in the back of his head as he could see instruments laid out, metal shining in the single lamp that was angled above Harry’s head, illuminating him but little else. He was starting to put it together, slowly shaking his head.
This is a nightmare… I’m having a nightmare.
Above him on his left, he caught sight of a suspended sack of clear fluids. Following the clear plastic tubes down, he discovered that his left arm was rigged up to the bag. A cannula had been inserted into his vein while he’d been unconscious. He groaned under his breath as he fought to twist his arm in an effort to dislodge the intruding instrument. The restraints were far too tight for him to manage any movement, the leather biting cruelly into his limb.
“Think, think,” Harry muttered under his breath, forcing himself still. “How did I get here? What happened?”
His last memories were murky, but sharp details told him enough of an alarming story. He recalled the cloying fumes that tickled down his throat, initially waking him up. The alarm that warned him of a gas leak, sounding too late as he flopped bonelessly on the carpeted floor. He then vividly remembered everything bleeding with red, heavy footfalls crashing around him and hands… hands grasping him and rolling him on his stomach before he passed out from whatever he’d inhaled.
He’d been abducted, that much was obvious. The usual kidnapping threat that he faced involved magic yet from what he could tell, there wasn’t a single spark of magic present aside from his own. Some sort of nerve agent had clearly been pumped into his hotel room to incapacitate him before making the grab. He hadn’t even been able to get his wand before collapsing. Whoever was responsible for his abduction, they were professionals who knew precisely how to neutralise a wizard without fuss.
Harry then looked down at his imprisoned form. His captors hadn’t dressed him out of his sleepwear. They clearly drugged him to knock him out fully, transporting him to wherever the hell he was. How long he’d been unconscious and how far they had travelled… he didn’t have a clue. Gritting his teeth, Harry made another effort to break the leather belts secured tightly in place. Being so expertly restrained without heavy manacles or chains was humbling. The belts weren’t even locked, just buckled tightly against his skin. Try as he might, he wasn’t humanly strong enough to break free.
A door then opened. Footsteps clattered along with a snippet of aborted conversation cut short. There was a click and the panels set in the ceiling suddenly glowed brighter. Harry blinked in the light, dazzled as a smooth male voice spoke as people entered the room
“I hope you will understand why we felt it necessary to take all precautions, Potter. You are a dangerous individual, after all.”
His head instantly snapped over at the comment. Harry squinted a little in the fierce glow of the sterile lights. His muscles tensed under the so-called ‘precautions’. Harry fixed his attention on the man who had spoken. Dressed in a simple business suit, nothing about his smart appearance gave away who he was or who he was working for. He appeared to be in his forties at Harry’s best guess. His bald scalp and glasses gave nothing particular away.
Behind him, two more men followed, wearing characteristic long, white coats over their smart attire. Harry’s heart skipped into a faster pace at the sight of them. He didn’t need to possess a genius level of intellect to work out why they were wearing lab coats, not when he appeared to be an unwilling subject in a clinical environment. He turned his attention back to the leader, the one evidently in charge. He approached, drawing close, and stopped when he was level with Harry’s shoulders, passing a curious look over to the monitors rigged up to him.
“You’ve certainly gone to a lot of effort,” Harry said, his voice slightly raspy from where he’d nearly suffocated in the gassing. “It isn’t every day that I end up kidnapped by professionals.”
The man smiled, leaning over him.
“Oh, you have no idea. We essentially wrote the rule book on how to make people… disappear… and as for containing extraordinary individuals such as yourself?”
“Gassing me in my sleep, you mean?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” The man said idly, lightly resting the tips of his fingers at the edge of the armrest of the treatment bed. Ominously, the two men in the lab coats waited at the doorway, not approaching. Their presence was a threat in itself. Harry looked back at the leader.
“Yeah, it did. Congratulations. Now are you going to tell me what you want from me?”
The man just smiled at his anger, blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in just how scared Harry truly was.
“You present a problem and one that must be removed. Your assassination would solve things, but dead, you give us nothing. Alive, you provide us with an opportunity.”
“W-what? What are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?”
“We have quite the history, but that’s not your concern right now. Our organisation has infiltrated the very heart of the world’s superpowers. We have affiliates in every security agency in the US and even in the White House itself. Yet, our reach hasn’t quite breached your governments. At least, not yet…”
Harry let out a laugh. “And you really think I’m going to help you with that?”
“Not willingly, no.”
Searching his captor’s gaze, Harry could read the self-indulgent thoughts blazing behind his dark eyes. The bastard appeared to be relishing in the power he currently held over Harry while he was bound and helpless on the table. Harry recognised the dark glint, that psychotic unhinged gleam of someone taking too much enjoyment from another’s suffering - whether current or in the future.
“Ah I see. Well… I hate to burst your bubble, but even if you managed to torture me to the brink and remake me into a brainwashed minion, I’d still be unable to give you what you want. My people will see the signs of mind-control in an instant and have me detained indefinitely. What you plan to achieve over a systematic programme of torture, psychological manipulation and conditioning, we can achieve with a single spell. A curse that I’ve been able to overcome since I was fourteen, in actual fact, so brainwashing will be a huge waste of time.”
Harry caught a twitch in the corner of the man’s eye so he kept pushing.
“Unless you want information about our security measures? Well, I’m happy to tell you whatever you want to know. I would have to, of course, teach you the fundamentals of magic for you to even comprehend what I tell you. Even then, the knowledge will be worthless to you when you don’t have a spark of magic to make any of it useful.”
“What about the Avengers’ security measures?” The man cut in the moment Harry took a long enough breath. Harry narrowed his eyes at him, causing the man to laugh. “Oh, we know that you are a person of interest to them and that there are plans for you to work together.”
The man dramatically sighed, straightening as he removed his glasses. He took a cloth from his pocket, polishing the frames. Harry glanced between him and the lingering lab attendants at the far end.
“We will find a use for you, Mr Potter. If you end up not proving lucrative as an asset for our programme here in the United States, then I’m sure another cell within HYDRA will be interested in your potential. There is much to learn about magic, as you quite rightly pointed out.”
Hydra.
Harry zoned in on the word that the man offered. He said it as if Harry should know its significance, which wasn’t great news for him. If their organisation was so wide-spread, just what had Harry ended up messed in. He figured he should have known that tangling with superheroes would gain him new enemies as well as allies.
The man appeared to be satisfied that he got his points across as he turned away from Harry, striding over to the door to leave. As he passed the pair in the lab coats, he paused mid-stride.
“We’ll need a full genetic model so take as many samples as you can, then move onto category three tests. Short bursts with double length for recovery.”
Harry tensed at the order, having no clue what it meant for him. The man said nothing else as he slid out the door, disappearing from view before the door shut behind him, leaving Harry at the mercy of the two men in lab coats. Both shared looks, saying nothing as they made their way towards where a trolley had been set up to the right of Harry, the tray adorned with surgical tools waiting. Harry flinched as one stooped down, only to retrieve a box of blue latex gloves. The other approached, his impassive, unremarkable face one of a man in his thirties. His goatee had been neatly trimmed, likely distracting from his weak chin. The other straightened as he pulled on his gloves, looking Harry up and down as if he wasn’t a person at all.
He turned for the tray, his back to Harry as Goatee moved to stand level with Harry’s head. Giving Harry the barest of glances, he looked up to study the monitors behind him. Harry squirmed in place, watching with bated breath.
“This will be much less unpleasant if you cooperate, Potter.”
Goatee turned his impassive brown eyes down to where Harry was strapped in place, meeting his eyes. Harry huffed out a breath, eyes darting between the two men. He noticed the other man had taken a pair of stainless steel scissors from the tray. Unlike Goatee, he was older, in his late fifties at Harry’s best guess. He already had snapped on a surgical face mask as well as the gloves. A lit torch was fixed to the frames of his glasses much like that of a dentist as he edged towards Harry’s midriff with the scissors.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked automatically, cringing as much as he could away from the scissors.
“Due to the nature of our tests, we need to remove your clothes.”
In answer, the masked man grasped the hem of Harry’s shirt and made no delay in cutting up the centre. Harry strained against the straps, his eyes starting to burn with outrage and humiliation.
“What the Hell for?” Harry demanded, his voice raised.
“Perhaps it would be best to gag him?” The masked man mused from where his head was bowed over Harry’s abdomen as he cut away his shirt. Harry gasped as his bare skin was exposed with each snip of the scissors.
“Vocal answers are preferred,” Goatee admitted, then moved closer to Harry’s face, making him look over. “Cooperate with us, Potter. Unless you want to go through this experience muzzled like a dog?”
Pressing his lips together, Harry turned his face upwards to the ceiling. It was impossible to ignore the impassive way his shirt was peeled away like wrapping and discarded in the wastebin. His jogging bottoms were next, cut away and discarded. Left in just his boxers, Harry’s breathing had since turned erratic, bordering on hyperventilating. Goatee had since fetched himself a pair of gloves and a mask, hiding that silly facial hair that almost looked like an attempt to match Tony Stark.
“I need to take a swab,” Goatee announced as he set up his station next to Harry’s head. A tray rested a few inches from the head rest. Harry rolled his head to see a small clear plastic pot filled with some liquid. “I’m just scraping the insides of your cheeks.”
It didn’t take Harry long to decide to cooperate even though he hated himself for it. Lectures from various experts had trained him to be smart in such a situation and preserve himself for as long as he can. He even remained still when the older man prepared him for a blood test. All the while, the heart monitor raced behind him.
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Harry, deeply uncomfortable with needles at the best of times, was very distressed when his blood was drawn against his will. Plastic tubes filled with the dark red liquid, his precious blood with all its magical properties, due to be analysed in a lab. Sweat had started to pool under his neck, slickening the tops of his shoulders.
Goatee started to look at his eyes with a small torch, then looked into his ears. He even ventured a look into Harry’s mouth properly to quickly assess his dental health. All the while, the other man prepared, dampening a wad of gauze with something from a glass bottle. He fixed the moist wad of cloth in a pair of long tweezers and started to wipe it over the skin over Harry’s left pectoral.
Harry thrashed as he pieced together what was about to happen. His skin went cold where the alcohol sterilised, evaporating quickly. Goatee then pressed a gloved hand down on Harry’s shoulder.
“Please keep still,” the man said quietly, “we have to do this, but if we make clean cuts, it will hurt less.”
Harry stilled, staring past the glasses and the torch that had been angled upwards. He then glanced over as the older man swapped the tweezers for a scalpel. He even angled the blade up to the light to check the sharpness.
“No, no!” Harry shouted as the man brought the blade over to his chest. “What… what are you doing?”
“We are only taking a very small sample.”
Regardless of what Goatee said, it still hurt. The older man sliced through Harry’s skin, the fierce burn forcing him to flinch. The blade cut deeper at his reaction, forcing a cry out from Harry. Blood slicked down over his skin. Harry clenched his hands into fists as there was another cut next to the first. He couldn’t even feel the blade, just the stinging and the heat burning at the wound. He had the sense that there was another cut, but it was lost amid the stinging. Harry was panting as the older man swapped the scalpel for the gauze again, stemming some of the bleeding. Using the same pair of tweezers, he then dug them into the site.
“AH!” Harry yelled, bucking against the straps just as the man removed what he was after. Harry stared in horror at the bloody slither of skin that the man had removed from Harry’s chest. Shaped like an arrow head, a very narrow triangle, it soon disappeared from view as the man went to contain the sample.
Another scar for the collection.
The pain pulled Harry into a dazed state. He stared absently at a corner in the room, trying to detach himself from the touch of the fingers roaming his body. Their words drifted around him, some reaching him, some passing him by. He had a general sense that they were documenting his anatomy, measuring him and looking for abnormalities. They had a small camera that they used for his scars and he had a lot of them.
The sack of fluids attached to the IV line in his arm was replaced then both men took themselves to the back of the room, hunched over the workbench with their backs to Harry. He could see that they were recording their findings, murmuring quietly between each other. Harry lifted his weary head, seeing the dressings on his chest. His head fell back.
Vision swimming as the shock swept over him in waves, Harry tried to pull himself out of the dissociation and focus. They had left him alone for a brief reprieve and he had to use the opportunity. He tensed once more against the belts mercilessly cutting into his bare skin. At the lack of any give, his eyes burned with tears of frustration. How could he be so helpless? He was supposed to be the most powerful wizard of his generation, yet without a wand, he was just a man. A helpless, vulnerable human.
His magic had to do something. It had flared up in the past, though accidental bouts were very infrequent past the hormonal disaster of puberty.
He was out of time. Both men had finished their writing, returning to work on Harry. They left their instruments, moving instead to the apparatus behind Harry. He strained his head backwards as Goatee wheeled one of the devices forwards. Harry didn’t recognise it, but a strong flare of foreboding set an icy weight of dread in his stomach. There were dials on the front and wires running out. Harry’s chest stilled as the older man moved over him, leaning over his face, sleeves brushing over Harry’s cheeks as he attached sticky pads to his temples.
Harry’s sharp hearing made out a high-pitched whine coming from the device. He looked over, catching the eye of Goatee as the man hesitated briefly before he adjusted the dials at the front. The whine increased in volume and, as it did, the lights overhead flickered.
Harry cottoned on, looking between the device and the cables that the man unravelled, revealing the exposed wires at the end.
“So much for this being less unpleasant if I cooperate,” Harry spat out as the other man attached separate wires to the pads attached to his temples. “What? No questions? You’re just jumping straight into the torture?”
“This isn’t part of your interrogation,” Goatee informed him coolly, “but part of our tests to monitor your responses when in an elevated level of distress.”
Harry didn’t get the chance to respond as something rubbery was shoved into his mouth and past his teeth. He choked and struggled, ultimately losing the brief fight as the other man looped the back of the rubber bite around the back of Harry’s head so he couldn’t dislodge it. Fear joined the whining of the electricity building in the device. If he was being given something to bite down on, what was due to happen next was bound to be agonising.
He tried to stare at Goatee, tried to make the bastard look at him as he prepared to inflict pain upon him. The man didn’t look at him, not even as he grasped what appeared to be the lever that activated the current.
The second the electricity struck, Harry’s world became engulfed in cold fire. His back arched involuntarily, all muscles clenched, turning him into a rigid, fleshy statue. Eyes rolling back, a strangled yell squeezed out of him before he was too consumed with the current to manage anything past his locked jaw. Cold agony blazed through every nerve, every part of him under assault. Unlike the wicked intent that powered the Cruciatus Curse, the energy that seared through him was horribly detached, cold and unforgiving. No bargaining, no begging, nothing would spare him from the electricity treating him like a mere obstacle in its way.
It lasted only a few seconds. His back banged down against the bed when the electricity switched off. Fingers wrenched the rubbery bite out from his mouth so he could heave in lungfuls of air where he was starved of oxygen. Coughing and choking on bitter spit, Harry glared past a screen of tears. His skin had erupted into goosepimples all over, his fingers twitching where the current still was yet to pass through him fully.
“He can take eight hundred,” the older scientist remarked where he adjusted the dials, “put the bite back in.”
Harry growled when Goatee touched his face, moving to force the rubber back into his mouth. Primal fear shrieked through him, the most basic of fear that all creatures shared. A fear of pain. Harry thrashed violently, almost against his own control. The monitors behind him fizzed with static briefly, in sync with the wild rush of Harry’s desperate magic as he heard the men preparing to hurt him again.
He screamed the second time. Unable to stop himself from falling into the basic instincts of an animal in terrible agony. Convulsing and fighting against the straps that trapped him in a world of cold pain, Harry let out as much sound as he could to vent the torment. His fingernails dug into the leather as he rocked his head back. Again, it was over in seconds.
So began the horrible pattern. Bursts of ice-cold agony, followed by stillness, then again… and again…
When he felt the straps loosening across his chest, he stared out blankly, unable to recall how and when he passed out. A light seared across his vision. He blinked, looking up at a pale face behind a mask, brown eyes darting in an erratic pattern. The rubber piece was knocked out of his mouth as his head pitched forwards. His body creaked as his spine was bent forwards, body forced up into a sitting position where he coughed and wheezed wetly. His breath tasted like copper.
He didn’t have the strength to move his own body as hands lifted his arms from the bed, freed from the restraints. He stared off, head full of broken thoughts, as his arms were fed through sleeves. White cloth wiped over his mouth, coming away red where he’d coughed up blood. He barely felt a thing as a thin gown came around his body, tied in place at his back. Nor did he feel his own legs as they were liberated, moved about like the limbs of a doll while his damp underwear was removed and disposed of.
His eyelids drooped when stronger grips took him under his arms, peeling him off the bed. His feet folded when they touched cold tiles, knees bending like rubber. He couldn’t straighten them, muscles paralysed. His head swung downwards, chin resting against his chest. He stared downwards, watching as a dribble of his own drool soaked the grey cloth.
“How is he still awake…?”
Words and sounds started to make sense. Harry’s leg twitched, causing him to stumble towards the side. His eyes widened, taking in the dimensions of a corridor in front of him. Harry blinked slowly, a groan crackling through his throat as he recovered slowly. The people holding him upright pulled his arms back, bending him forwards as they dragged him over the cold floor.
Anger sparked through Harry’s sluggish brain, his eyes burning as the reality knitted his thoughts together. He forced his legs into movement, feet slapping on the tiles as he made an effort to fight against the force taking him away.
“Y-you… fucking… bastards…” Harry gasped out as he tried to slow the pace, his arms not cooperating as well as his legs. “You’ll pay for this.”
Pink tinged spittle flew from his mouth as he spat angrily, reduced to a primal, beastial version of himself while hurt and afraid. He struggled as the pace quickened, moving him with more urgency as he healed. They swung him violently to the right suddenly, a rushing sound preluding a door retracting into the wall. The dim grey dimension were swallowed by dull darkness as he was pitched into a dark space.
Without warning, they threw him into the unknown. Harry’s arms didn’t have the strength to stop his fall. Weightless for a heart-stopping second, gravity delivered him downwards. Rather than meet the cruel, hard floor, he thudded hard on a pliant surface. Harry lay still, winded and dazed. His legs writhed weakly, toenails scratching on the mattress under him. He yelled wordlessly as hands seized his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back. He couldn’t stop them as loops of nylon passed his fingers, coming to rest at his wrists. A device at his back whirred before the nylon around his wrists tightened, dragging them inwards where they were fastened together.
Fingers then threaded through his hair, wrenching his head upwards. He blinked blearily upwards at a dim shape of light coming from somewhere above him.
“Drink water from the spout and use the drain for your waste… or don’t. We can keep you alive whether you want it or not. Up to you how dignified you want to spend the rest of your miserable life.”
Harry snarled, pushing his knees into the mattress. Before he could attempt any form of defence, they dropped him back down. He wrung his wrists against the toughened restraints, unable to move his arms where they were pinned. He struggled to get up, twisting at his waist just as he was left in the dark space. With a hiss, the door sealed him inside.
Silence.
Or at least, it was silent until Harry’s horrified breath gusted past his lips. His eyes searched the gloom, shivering where his nerves were yet to recover. He tried to move his arms, fear making his breath hitch again. Slumping forwards against the padded surface under him, Harry did his utmost to not succumb to despair. Pain quaked in his body, his face stinging where there were electrical burns at his temples. His chest hurt where skin had been cruelly peeled away.
He soon lost hold of the scrap of wild desperation that kept him conscious.
Chapter 2: Sokovia
Chapter Text
It had been a moment of fierce pride when Harry told her that he received a personal invite from Tony Stark of all people. He had mumbled it on the phone, causing Hermione to ask him to repeat. He’d been embarrassed, as he always was whenever his fame landed him in more and more ridiculous situations. For once, however, he wasn’t getting special treatment over his historic victory over Lord Voldemort. Instead, the world-famous investor and entrepreneur (former weapons mogul) had sought out Harry as an expert on magical artefacts. Harry forwarded her the email that had been sent from the CEO of Stark Industries herself, Pepper Potts. She had even shed a few tears upon reading that Stark had actually read Harry’s research, the projects that he had pursued when he decided to go against the world’s expectations of their magical hero.
Harry had joked about sending Stark a signed copy of his book on magical resonance. The whole thing had been a source of excitement and pride. It gave Harry a chance to step out of politics for a while, acting as a consultant for the non-magical security agencies to ensure protection for all. He had been a roaring success, charming the pants off anyone he came into contact with.
He’d become a victim of his own success. Never, in all Hermione’s wildest dreams, did she expect to get a call from Tony Stark to give her the news that Harry had been abducted.
“Everything points to HYDRA,” Stark had said to her, his voice clipped and fast as if his tongue couldn’t quite keep up with his thought processes. “That’s why I had Romanov pull her strings to get Potter’s contacts from the SHIELD database. Your number came up top, Miss Granger.”
“Call me Hermione, please,” she had murmured, stunned as she had paced outside on the veranda at her parents’ house in Melbourne. “Does that mean Harry’s phone wasn’t left behind in his hotel room?”
“They picked the place clean. It was a professional job… didn’t leave a single hair or a fingerprint. We have the best guys on the case who have had contact with these bastards before. They know what holes they hide in and we’re going to flush them out.”
A minute after the call, Hermione arranged a portkey to go to New York. If the Avengers were out for the hunt, she wasn’t going to let them search for Harry without her. She had to liaise with MACUSA and get the Aurors on the case. The second she raised the alarm that Harry Potter was missing, she’d be lighting a fuse on an international disaster. Yet, it had to be done. The best chance they had at finding Harry was working together and sharing resources, muggle and magical.
Rather than Harry being the first mage showing up at the Avengers’ Tower with a visitor’s pass, it was Hermione. She made her entrance, dressed in a tailored business suit with serious heels to set the right impression. Her robes were staying at home. Under her blazer, she had her wand holstered. At the security desk, she had to reveal to the guards that she was armed and had a licence to carry her wand in muggle places. Her Ministry pass granted approval, attracting all sorts of attention as few witches declared themselves in public.
Ten years working in the Ministry, powering her way through the ranks and bossing around people older and more experienced than she was, had earned her a ‘no nonsense’ attitude. She knew she was intimidating, often bossy, and abrasive to those who rankled her up the wrong way. Unfortunately for them, she was a true Gryffindor and didn’t take prisoners. Their way of life had to modernise before they were left in the dust. She would drag the magical world into the light, kicking and screaming if she had to. They simply could no longer stick their heads in the sand when magic no longer was the most powerful force in the universe.
After her initial meeting with a handful of the Avengers, she’d left hopeful that they would track HYDRA down. Her first impressions had been good, though she wasn’t too appreciative of Stark’s condescending attitude when he presumed that she wouldn’t understand Gamma radiation. She let drop that she had a couple of degrees herself, even if she wasn’t a PhD in Physics. She had noticed a few hidden smiles when she put him in his place, notably from his CEO, Pepper Potts.
Then a month passed.
Then she had the first Christmas without Harry since the war.
Then she experienced New Year's Eve in New York, alone.
Her hopes dwindled as the snows of January melted. The Ministry were calling for her to return. She’d seen the obituaries starting already as the magical world lost their hope for their greatest hero. She couldn’t give up.
Her suitcase had been packed when she got the call. Usually, she would ignore calls from ‘Withheld Numbers’, but since dealing with superheroes, she made exceptions. Her decision was wise when a serious voice spoke on the other side, not giving her a chance to speak.
“We have something.”
The voice belonged to Natasha Romanoff, ex-KGB and former SHIELD agent. One of the Avengers who Hermione got along with like a house on fire.
“Where can we meet?” Hermione asked, eyeing her suitcase.
“I’m already in the hotel bar. They just brought over your gin and tonic.”
Hermione joined her ten minutes later, spotting the spy sitting at a window seat. Her hair, dark red, was cut at her shoulders and curled naturally. She lounged back, face turned to the window, a dark blue file waiting at the table in front of her. She reached forwards, pushing the high-necked gin glass towards the empty seat opposite her.
“How did you know where I was staying?” Hermione asked the spy in way of greeting. Natasha turned her pale, pretty face towards her, lips curling in a wry smile. She didn’t answer of course, just slashing her glance pointedly at the seat. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering ‘spies’ under her breath as she settled down. She narrowed her eyes at the file, seeing the CIA logo on the file just brazenly left for all to see.
Natasha wasted no time opening the file, turning it so Hermione could see. The first document showed a section of map with a red cross marking a location. There were smaller marks in blue, but the main cross had her attention. Hermione scanned the map quickly, locating the cross at once.
“Sokovia?”
Natasha nodded, still smiling wryly. She picked up her own drink, a bloody mary right down to the pickled onion.
“Sokovia,” she confirmed. Hermione frowned, pushing the top sheet aside, seeing a sheet of figures – accounts of some sorts. She glossed over it, moving that to the side as well. There were then some grainy pictures of military vehicles, including a cargo aircraft and what clearly appeared to be weapons.
“What am I looking at?”
“When you fund a large, private army, it’s pretty hard to hide. You need weapons, you need transport and you need people… easy enough – if you have the money. I asked a favour from a contact in Langley, an analyst who searches for suspicious money transfers… and here you have a very suspicious amount of money moving between several accounts, all to one in Sokovia. So… we followed the money.”
Hermione let out a disbelieving money. “That’s it? You just followed the money.”
“Espionage sometimes is a bunch of number crunching,” Natasha said after she sipped her drink, “there has also been a lot of activity around Sokovia’s capital Novi Grad. Tensions are high there with a lot of civil unrest, but these… are American.” Natasha tapped her finger on the vehicles, “and these… are old munitions from Stark Industries.”
“Stark…” Hermione looked up at her. “Does he know?”
“He does now and he’s pissed, but Stark Industries haven’t manufactured weapons for years now since… well… you know. We don’t know how these ended up in Sokovia, but we have a feeling we know why. HYDRA are painting America and Tony as the enemy of the people. It’s what they do… cause war and profit off it.”
Hermione picked up her drink, taking a large gulp. “And what does this have to do with Harry?”
“This level of funding suggests that HYDRA has a large base on Sokovian soil. If they can smuggle military-grade vehicles and equipment into the country, they can also smuggle people. He’ll be there… and we’re already planning on raiding the place as we think our stolen alien tech is there too.”
Natasha’s eyes gleamed dangerously as she closed the file with a snap. Hermione stared at it, her heart racing.
Sokovia…
“By ‘we’ do you mean…?”
“The whole team,” Natasha said, smiling, “and our jet is kinda roomy so… if you fancy a completely unsanctioned raid on a secret facility on international soil, there’s room for one more.”
In… one, two, three, four, five…
Hold… one, two, three, four, five…
Out… one, two, three, four, five…
Soft breathing, slow and methodical, was the only sound in his silent and still world. It became his focus, the centre of gravity where the world revolved. Time itself was measured in each steady, calm breath. Five seconds for in, five seconds to hold, five seconds for out. Just as he learned once, somewhere, was the best way to calm himself and keep unhelpful panic at bay.
That was the enemy. The state he had to avoid at all costs. It would be all too easy to succumb to his primitive instinct of sheer terror. Instead, he locked himself, mind and body, in a state of controlled calm. His mind, absent of the terrors he could inflict upon himself, was instead a calm landscape of nothingness. Just the slow sound of his breathing and the obsessive focus of counting.
Sometimes, he’d remind himself that what he was doing was actually dangerous. Disassociation wasn’t always a return trip. He could end up stuck in his mind. When such moments of brief clarity broke through his focus, he allowed himself to take stock of reality before sinking back into his calmed, fugue state.
His reality was simple in its cruel design. All around him were four walls. They were grey and seamless, painted concrete that he could chip at with his nails. Then there was the door, fashioned to fit in flush with the wall on his left. It was made from a heavy metal, painted grey like the walls. There was a hatch at the bottom which opened to deliver trays of food. Above the door, there was a small camera, the black fixture of modern design with a constant red light that hadn’t dimmed.
Opposite him, there was a stainless steel toilet and a sink. There he was granted a few commodities like a bar of soap, a grey towel and toilet paper. Whenever he used the facilities, he had an audience watching through the camera.
He currently sat upon the only other object in the room. A narrow bed with a metal frame bolted into the floor. There was a single, sad pillow, grey sheets and a coarse woolen blanket. They were the only sources of comfort that were soft and not cruel.
Lastly, the most crucial aspect of his reality was Harry Potter himself.
Dressed in grey scrubs, he blended in with his environment, appearing like the perfect prisoner. He’d been left unrestrained, able to set up a slightly more comfortable position for him to take, tucked into the furthest corner from the camera. The pillow served as a buffer against the wall which he leaned against, breathing deeply and methodically. His bare forearms were littered with bruises and abrasions, his face in no better condition. His knuckles were scabbed from where he attempted to fight the guards, punching and kicking as a way to fight back in place of his magic.
One of the first things his captors did to him upon arriving at the research facility in Sokovia was contain his magic. Locked in a cell, deprived of all his most basic human rights, with a collar locked around his throat like an animal, the weight was a constant reminder that he’d been rendered powerless. Restrictive and made from toughened nylon, it sat tight enough for it to be impossible for him to pull over his head and remove. The locking device proved beyond him to break and then there was the plastic compartment at the back where an electromagnetic interfered with his natural magic enough to make him unable to use his magic without a wand. How they discovered how to knock out magic, he didn’t want to imagine. The device also doubled up as a shock collar, a setting that Harry hadn't been keen to test with any futile escape attempts.
His environment was meticulously controlled. The guards always had masks on, making it impossible to seek out a friendly face. They had no names and no faces, just gruff voices barking orders in a mixture of German and English. His meals were delivered in spotless stainless steel trays, always provided with plastic cutlery. His initial refusal to eat resulted in a brutal beating, the bruises still healing under his shirt. The only glimpse he had out of the cell had been when they dragged him out to a room down the bleak corridor where he’d been forced to strip off and shower in front of an audience of masked guards. It had been two weeks since he regained consciousness after being ferried across the planet and he didn’t have a hope of escape.
Cranking his head up half an inch, Harry started to focus on his surroundings. From the creak in his neck, he hadn’t moved for several hours. Stretching out from his place on the bed, he went to stand and give himself a little physical exercise. All he could really do was pace around the small world and perhaps do some press-ups. He started pacing, moving in a small circle as he did laps of his cell.
His cell was sound-proofed and he had no warning before the startling hiss that the door made as air entered his cell from outside. Harry had no time to back away from the door before two guards piled inside. Even though Harry raised his hands placatingly, they still removed their stun batons from their belts and advanced. Very swiftly, they had him under their control. One gripped him by the back of his collar, the other had his arm twisted behind him.
Then the man in charge entered. His black leather coat rustled as he stepped in, his hands behind his back as he bowed his head politely in greeting. Harry gritted his teeth and turned his head sharply away. Anger had already set his blood rushing to his face, hands itching where he wished he could fight back… do anything to rage against his cage. Instead, he had nothing. If he tried to fight, all he would get is a broken arm for his trouble.
“I have given you five days, Potter,” the man commented smoothly. “Five days to make your decision. I hope, for your sake, that you will make the right one.”
His voice was frustratingly pleasant and melodious, accented with its clear German lilt. He didn’t smile as he surveyed Harry, trapped as he was in the grip of his guards. His cool, pale blue eyes were curious, the one in particular behind his monocle was piercing with interest.
Harry lifted his chin up, meeting the eyes of the man in front of him.
“I think what you and I consider to be the ‘right’ choice is very different,” he said, his voice oddly calm as he stared at the HYDRA leader.
Not long after Harry had woken from stasis after being smuggled across the planet, he met the man who had been behind his entire abduction. Barely able to hold his eyes open, the man introduced himself to Harry, Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker, loyal servant to HYDRA, Chief of Operations at the Research Facility, and… a full-blooded Nazi. Capital ‘N’ and all.
The Baron’s brows furrowed, pushing against his monocle as he paced away moving to circle Harry. There wasn’t much room, so he stopped at Harry’s right, eyes narrowing as he looked at him, clearly weighing whether or not to lie.
“I anticipated your stubbornness,” Strucker said, turning sharply to pace back in front of Harry, “and your idealism. In fact, I would have been disappointed if you made this easy.”
Harry considered the man carefully. His powerlessness was painfully clear, unable to muster up a spark of magic in his defence. The guard holding him in an arm lock adjusted his grip, sending a pang of pain through Harry’s contorted joints. Harry let out a gasp as if on command.
“Why bother with giving me a choice in the first place then?” Harry said, his voice tight, his nose wrinkled with hate. “If your big plan was to force me into cooperation, why waste any time at all?”
“I have not wasted any time in ensuring you are fully aware of your situation,” Strucker said, moving to pace back in front of him. His hands were still clutched together at his back. “Now that you know what we want from you, you must realise that you have very few options but to cooperate.”
Harry tensed as the man took a step towards him. He drew his head back instinctively, but couldn’t go anywhere while the guard at his back had a firm grip on the collar. It pressed against Harry’s neck, threatening to strangle if necessary.
“You plan to make my life a living Hell if I don’t work with you,” Harry said angrily. “Torture me into compliance, right? Pain is a pretty good motivator, I’ll give you that. Your buddies in America gave me quite the introduction.”
Strucker laughed airily, a smile twisting up his frustratingly handsome face. His eyes remained as cold as chips of ice as he looked up and down Harry’s frame. He stood a few inches taller than Harry, purposefully standing straight and imposing.
“For all the people to have a limited imagination, I never expected you to possess one. I have far more effective methods at my disposal, ones that you will discover to be more persuasive. After all, it isn’t pain that makes torture effective. It is fear.”
Dread pooled inside Harry as he stared into the man’s cold eyes. The very fear he spoke of was like a buzzing sound in his head, an incessantly infuriating presence that was impossible to shake. It lingered behind his thoughts, leaving him with only the option of mediation to calm it. He knew fear. It had been so familiar to him, it was ingrained in his very soul. It was there in his constant paranoia, present in the involuntary flinches he still made. It very much was with him in that cell.
“If you even think for one second that you can educate me on fear, then frankly you can go fuck yourself.”
Harry tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, but his body shook with the force of his anger. The fear buzzed in his mind, but he mastered it. He would not be controlled.
Rather than provoke the man in front of him, his words appeared to achieve the exact opposite of his intent. Strucker’s eyes gleamed with intense interest, almost appearing hungry. His smile stretched, flashing perfect teeth.
“So I take it that you do not give your consent to help me with my research?” The man drawled, his sick excitement shining from his eyes. He didn’t even bother hiding it. Harry’s stomach twisted. He was in the hands of a true sadist.
In answer, he said nothing. He wasn’t let off lightly for his defiance. Nursing several new bruises and a couple of electrical burns from the guards’ stun baton, Harry tucked himself back in his corner of his cell once he was alone once again. Taking a deep breath, he started to reforge his occlumency barriers. Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he willed his thoughts back under control before he could spiral down through vivid memories of what he’d already been subjected to while in HYDRA’s captivity.
Letting out a long, forced breath, Harry slipped a sly look over to the camera. As bleak as his situation seemed, it was a vast improvement to how things had been. His cell, while extremely secure and depressing, was worlds above the black box they kept him in before. He wasn’t restrained 24/7, not starved or force-fed, not dragged out for routine interrogations or poked with needles. For all intents and purposes, his facilities were pretty much like a maximum security prison, only he hadn’t committed any crimes. The lighter measures used against him provided some faint trickle of hope in an otherwise utterly desolate situation.
Despite the masks his guards wore, he knew that there were people under them. And people always make mistakes.
Turning his back to the camera, he ran his tongue over his lips, wincing where his face was already starting to swell. He barely registered the beatings any longer, acutely aware that they were pulling their punches. Painful blows, but not crippling ones, enough to teach him a lesson… though he never learned. He refused to go all the way with cooperating, keeping them on their toes. The second he became predictable, he made things easy for them. Harry had always been a nightmare for people in positions of authority for a reason. He recognised the power people held over him and rebelled against it.
Strucker believed he had the upper hand. He believed he had disarmed Harry through blocking his magic. In reality, the collar was rather unnecessary. Harry had no control over his magic without a wand. Wandless magic took decades to master and Harry was still in his twenties. While there were practitioners of magic that could harness natural magic with their hands alone, Harry wasn’t one of them. He channelled the energy inside him and, while that made him stronger than a sorcerer, he was pretty useless without a conduit.
Yet HYDRA mistakenly believed him to be harmless without magic. Harry had wiles and wits outside his skill as a wizard. He survived a war not on the basis of how powerful a wizard he was. It wasn’t as if he defeated Voldemort in a duel to the death. His magic was a weapon, but it didn’t form who he was as a warrior.
Harry ran his hands up his arms, studying the wall beside the bed. He’d marked the wall beside the head of the bed with his nail, scratching a line for each day/night cycle he spent in that cell. He lost a lot of time while being transported into Europe from America in a coma, a journey that took days to smuggle him out as human cargo. The days he spent being interrogated in the secure bunker in the States left him with a catalogue of marks on his body where he could even remember the line of questioning that they came from. He would have died in that place if not for Von Strucker, a simple fact that Harry hated with every fibre of his being.
Frowning at the thought, he climbed back up onto the bed. It wasn’t a mystery to him why he was in Sokovia. The irony still filled him with dark amusement. The whole reason he ended up getting involved with the Avengers was because they needed his help to track down magical alien technology. It appeared he found what they were looking for, only HYDRA got to him first. He wasn’t the only magical weapon being held in the secure facility. In fact, he could feel it. The resonance bled through the many walls separating him from it. He didn’t need Strucker to tell him in so many words what he wished Harry to study. He’d seen enough pictures of Loki’s Sceptre and heard plenty from Dr Selvig about its otherworldly powers. His heart clenched with dread at the thought of being exposed to an artefact that could control minds. He just had to hope that his own defences would suffice.
His thoughts soon slowed down to a standstill as he marshalled up his occlumency defences. Staring off blankly, he laid back on the bunk, providing his captors with a very boring video feed to watch.
Unknown to him, a small group observed the live feed with great interest. Gathered in the control room where the security camera feeds fed through to multiple screens, the video of the meditating wizard was the centre of attention. Technology, advanced and old, flashed and whirred around them, merging into a functional system that kept systems at the old military fort operational. Powering the more sophisticated systems was a particular artefact suspended in a stasis field, taking up a dominant position in the central command. A few engineers worked in the background, keeping busy as the Operations Commander observed his latest acquisition closely.
Baron Von Strucker was not alone where he stood ramrod straight, monocle catching the lights of the screens. Lingering with a healthy dose of ennui was a young man with grey-blonde hair, absently staring where he was evidently very bored of the slow proceedings. Close to Strucker’s elbow was a young woman with long red-brown hair, her stillness ethereal and unnatural. Her fingers twirled absently at her sides.
“This is your choice, my dear,” Strucker softly addressed the young woman. Her gaze did not move from the screen, fixated on the man resting in his cell, seemingly doing very little at all. “Potter will not be like the others you have practiced with. He has powers of his own.”
“I thought those powers were under control,” the young man cut in, his Eastern European accent drawling. His disinterest melted away, concern pulling his brows down. He straightened from where he lounged against a pillar. “I’m going in with her.”
“Pietro-,” the young woman’s eyes briefly slid from the screen to glance at the other.
“No, Wanda. If there’s any risk, we are staying together. He is with the Avengers.” He pointed at the screen. “He is dangerous.”
“It is brotherly of you to worry, my son, but Wanda is the real danger, not Potter. I only warn that his defences will be stronger… and far more of a challenge.”
Pietro scowled, not convinced, as he folded his arms. He stepped up to Strucker’s other side, sniffing with derision as he glowered at the video. He tapped at his arms, impatient and tense.
“I want to speak to him first,” Wanda said calmly, “before I do your work for you. If my powers are magical in nature, he may be able to help me control what I can do.”
“Potter has been far from cooperative.”
Dark eyes glimmered as Wanda stared intently at the monitors. The feed flickered a little.
“Was that before or after he was tortured?”
Strucker’s brow lowered over his monocle. Pietro stiffened, hearing the cold undertone in his sister’s voice.
“Our methods have not bothered you before,” he said with a suspicious side-glance, “perhaps it is too much to ask this of you. I often forget how young you are.”
“No, I will speak to the wizard… but I make no promises about what I will get from him.”
She turned from the monitors, meeting her brother’s gaze levelly. He inclined his head, understanding her thoughts without needing anything else expressed. The uncanny link between twins allowed them to communicate silently and swiftly. Strucker surveyed them both, his face impassive, but he then wordlessly nodded his agreement. Wanda moved swiftly from his side, her boots clanking on the metal gangway once she moved to leave the command centre. Strucker simply continued to watch the screens, making it clear that whatever transpired between her and the wizard, he would be watching very closely.
None of the guards stopped her as she pushed out through the heavy doors. Snow flurried in front of her face as she took the outside route across the battlements to the east wing where the Baron kept his assets secured. It was too easy to forget that she and Pietro had once been subjects within the cells themselves. Only they had agreed to be there.
Pietro met her at the security gate, smirking, grey-blue eyes inviting a comment. Wanda rolled her eyes. His skills made him no less crucial to HYDRA than her own, though he made them more wary as he was impossible to pin down. Being able to move closer to the speed of light than the speed of sound made him a powerful weapon… and very unpredictable.
Except for Wanda. She knew her twin brother as well as she knew herself.
“I know what you are thinking, Pietro,” she warned as they descended the spiral stairs together, her voice echoing down the shaft. “I can handle it.”
“Lying to Strucker is one thing, but to me?”
“We aren’t responsible for holding him here… and if I can find a more humane way to get information from him…”
Pietro laughed darkly, lifting a brow at her. “So you’re also lying to yourself?”
“It is better than torture ,” she spat angrily, “and besides, he is on their side as you said. I shouldn’t even care about his treatment, not when he works with Stark.”
An ominous red glow surrounded her as they reached the checkpoint for the detention cells. The faceless commander at the door wordlessly swiped his card over the locks. Neither twins spoke as they stepped inside, though they suppressed shivers. Outside, despite the snow and frigid weather, it felt somehow warmer than in the cells. The chill that ebbed out of the grey walls and metal floors felt colder than the icy weather. Wanda gave her brother a pointed look. He sighed, a flash of disappointment appearing on his face, before he disappeared faster than a blink.
As always, being apart from her brother felt like something had been wrenched out of her. It hurt physically, but Wanda had learned to live with pain. She even learned to embrace it. It crackled around her finger tips, blood red and hungry, as she stalked down the corridor, her eyes shimmering red with her power as she took in the numbers stamped on the metal doors. Briefly, she stopped outside the room where she had been contained as her body adjusted to her powers. Her own pain lingered in the space beyond, almost forgotten.
She came to a stop outside the wizard’s cell, looking upwards to where a camera watched the corridor. Waiting for the guard watching to open the cell, she lightly extended her awareness. All the cells were lined with lead, a precaution that appeared to work as her energy struggled to get a read through the metal. She could sense another presence, murky and distorted, but that was it.
When the door hissed open, her heart skipped. Seeing the room on the video feed dragged up her own memories of the cells, being there in person… it felt different. Her skin erupted in goosebumps. Feelings that weren’t her own washed over her like a bitter wind, forcing out a shocked gasp. The feelings had a source. At her sudden arrival, the occupant of the cell clambered off the bunk. He backed up from the door, all the way to the wall, hands raised in preparation to defend himself. Skittish fear burned off him, tinging the air with a strange aroma of hot metal.
Wanda’s power swirled inside her, energised. She took one step inside, assuring herself that she was indeed the danger. She wasn’t the one in the cage.
The door didn’t shut behind her. If the wizard attempted an escape, he’d be put down with a shock from his collar. Her gaze honed in on the device that kept him trapped, the sight of it making her stomach twist with something close to guilt. She didn’t get any closer, careful to show him her empty hands. Her power fizzled out, the red light turning to formless mist.
She looked up at his face, the horrible twisting in her stomach getting worse. His handsome features were marred by various bruises, including one that darkened at his lower lip. Black hair flopped over his forehead, just concealing an intricate scar that he was apparently famous for. Intense green eyes watched her warily, not blinking. He stood with his left side facing her, curled in a little where he appeared to be shielding an injury. Concern flared through her, unbidden.
“Who the Hell are you?”
She didn’t expect him to speak. His voice was loud, angry and gravelly with hostility. Wanda had been around enough violent people to know that she wasn’t in a room with a docile, harmless prisoner. His hands were grazed and scratched where he fought with his guards every day. Just because she was unarmed and female didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try to attack her.
“I am the one who is going to persuade you to work with us,” she said, sounding far more confident than she felt, “using this.”
She raised her hand, calling forth her power. It sang through her as it always did, so eager to be used, so hungry. The moment the red light gleamed around her fingers, the wizard’s eyes went wide with utter shock. Wanda smiled, zoning in on his eyes. It was always easiest to reach the mind through the windows to the soul. Her magic spread outwards, thin spider-web like tendrils gleaming in the room, reaching for the cornered wizard.
He raised his own hands, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head away. Her power seethed with impatience, taking form. Ignoring his hands, she reached in, extending her own towards him. Caught up in her power, he helplessly dragged forwards on his toes, breathing heavily.
The wizard opened his eyes, turning his head around slowly. His gaze found hers.
“I know Dark magic when I see it. Go ahead, then. Try to persuade me.”
The clear tone of his British accent caught her off-guard. That and the raw, caustic hatred that dripped from each word. His hands had balled into fists, jaw tense where he was bracing himself. Wanda hesitated, then reached further, exploring down the chasm where his mind should be open for her to breach. There was the barest feeling of vertigo before she found herself crashing against an impenetrable wall of faultless obsidian. She recoiled back, blinking as she saw that the wall was in fact his pupils. He blocked her out.
“Trying to get into my mind?” He taunted, nostrils flaring a little. “I don’t know what foul magic you possess, but you need more than brute power to break in.”
With a flex of her hand, she pulled him closer. He grimaced as she dragged him over the floor. The hot metallic scent grew stronger. Trying once more, she pushed with more force. The wizard flinched at her assault. At the sight of the pain she was inflicting, she lost her grip. He dropped down onto the floor, hands clapping over his eyes.
Wanda stared at him, her mouth agape. Her heart hurt as her magic faded away, dissolving as if it had never been there at all. He pushed himself back from her, keeping his hands over his eyes. His back hit the wall and he stayed there, keeping his distance from her, she realised. Silence stretched on. Conflicting feelings swirled around Wanda’s thoughts. Overhead, she knew the camera was broadcasting everything. Strucker would expect results.
“Is it magic?” She found herself asking, her voice sounding oddly weak as it broke the silence. “What I can do… is it magic? The same as what your kind possesses?”
Her boots sounded too loud as she approached him. He lowered his hands warily from his face, his green eyes striking her and causing her to stop in her tracks. Confusion creased his brow for a moment before his mouth then formed a small ‘o’ shape. He used the wall behind him to help himself back onto his feet. His legs, she noticed, were shaking.
“I’ve never seen a witch use magic like that without a wand, but yes, it’s most certainly magic what you are doing. Dark magic. I can feel it… even with this fucking collar on.” He angrily grabbed the collar, pulling at it. He released it, then glared up at the camera. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a witch or not. You are with them and I am not helping them. Not while I am still sane enough to make a fucking choice of my own free will.”
He swiped his arm under his nose. Wanda followed the motion, startled when she saw a stripe of blood on his bare arm.
She did that. She made his nose bleed.
Pietro had been right. She was lying to herself.
“You owe Tony Stark this much? To endure torture for him?” She asked, incredulous. The wizard, Potter, recoiled as if struck.
“What? What has Stark got to do with this?”
“You work for him, for Stark Industries,” she spat out the name, seeing it vividly through her thoughts, printed on the side of the rocket, “for the Avengers -.”
“You think I’d let myself get tortured over some bloke I’ve never even met?” Potter asked, now just as incredulous as she was. “I hadn’t even signed a contract or agreed to anything before they abducted me from my fucking hotel.”
He then pushed himself from the wall. A drop of blood glistened at his nose as he moved cautiously towards his bed. Wanda felt frankly ill at the sight of the blood. She hadn’t meant to inflict harm, just enter his mind and… and what? Nothing about what she planned had good intentions and the wizard saw right through her. He rested his hand on the wall, his eyes never moving from her.
“Do what you came here to do,” he said tightly, his fingers curling as his hand balled into a fist, “rip into my mind and see for yourself that I don’t know a fucking thing about Stark or the Avengers.”
If she didn’t try again, Strucker would doubt her. He was watching every move, judging every hesitation. She couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t let her doubts waver. Even if the wizard wasn’t directly in Stark’s pocket, he was still on their side, still helping the machine of war. She flexed her fingers, calling forth the magic once more. The rush flooded her, chasing away her doubts.
Rather than encounter resistance, her mind soared past the barriers, plummeting into a cascade of vibrant thoughts and memories. Never had she encountered a mind like it, surging and swirling around her intrusion. Golden light sparked through the darkness, igniting like synapses, showing her the cortex of his consciousness. Enthused, she dug in deeper, red tendrils snaking through the swirling mass, only they pushed through, seeking no memories, no fears… impossibly, Potter was manipulating his own thoughts, turning his own mindscape against her.
Then he controlled the direction, taking her towards a rush of bright, searing light. She then found herself reliving memories as if they were her own.
Pale faces behind blue, surgical masks… cold fingers crawling over clammy skin, pressing down, pushing in needles, tightening the straps that bit into the flesh unforgivingly… rubber scraped over her teeth, choking and restrictive, pushing down her tongue as tears swam in her eyes…
Words tumbled around her, a clear question cutting through the confusion.
“What project did you work on for Stark?”
She tried to shake her head, tried to speak, but her breath choked where the rubber caused her to gag.
“How did you come to know Dr Selvig?”
“Are the British magicals in league with SHIELD?”
“Are you and Granger planning to campaign for leadership?”
More questions fired through, growing louder and louder. With it, icy fire shot through her nerves, electricity sparking through the air.
Then came the fear… the terror… because she didn’t have the answers, she wasn’t what they thought… and they didn’t believe her. They were going to keep hurting her…
She was going to die all alone…
Her own fear pulled her back from his mind.
Stumbling back, she nearly lost her balance. A hand snapped out, catching her wrist. She blinked, finding Potter right in front of her, holding her wrist. His mouth was set in a firm line as he released her at once. In the corridor, Wanda could hear the boots of the guards racing down. Potter didn’t move even though he could clearly hear the guards.
Then Pietro appeared between her and Potter. With a hard shove, he pushed the older man back from Wanda with force. Potter staggered back, alarmed and shocked, unable to get his arms up in time to shield himself before Pietro struck him in the stomach.
“Pietro, no!”
With one hand pinning the wizard against the wall, Pietro held the other fist in front of his face threateningly. Confused, angry and pained, Potter glared at his attacker, his eyes darting between him and the open door, likely trying to work out where he had come from. When the guards appeared, they held back as Wanda raised a hand at them, signalling them to stay. Potter breathed heavily, the drop of blood hanging from his nose finally dropping to stain his shirt.
“Touch my sister again and I will break every bone in your body before you can blink.”
The threat came out as a low growl, surprising Wanda with its vitriol. Potter’s eyes moved to Wanda, then back to Pietro. His face then twisted, horror and disgust playing on his features before he turned his face away, sighing out.
“He wasn’t going to hurt me,” Wanda said before her brother did something he would regret. She approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I hurt him.”
Pietro bared his teeth, glaring at Potter before he let go and stepped back, panting with anger. Potter pulled his shirt sleeve straight, his jaw tensing and untensing where he was struggling to hold back his own temper.
“I don’t know who you are, but if you’re with HYDRA, then you’re not getting a thing from me,” Potter spat out, hand ghosting over where Pietro had punched him. “The only way I’ll be contributing to the sick science going on here is as a test subject… and from what I can see, I won’t be the first.”
His glare settled on Wanda, “and for what it’s worth, I wish I never even heard the name Tony Stark for all the pain it’s brought me.”
He wiped at his nose again, blood smearing. Wanda could no longer ignore the guilt gripping at her. She grasped Pietro’s arm, pulling lightly. He glanced over, nodding. Her heart skipped in her chest, knowing that she was leaving without anything useful, but she couldn’t stay there any longer. Not while his memories were burning like beacons in her mind. The anguish ate at her, breaking her resolve piece by piece. Nothing could make her ignore the fact that the prisoner was an innocent man.
Backing out of the cell, she tore her gaze away from the wizard with his piercing green eyes. Pietro said nothing as he left with her. When the door slid shut, the pair of them were left to look down the corridor where their journey began. Holding Pietro’s hand, Wanda made a decision.
She wasn’t going back there… no matter what Strucker wanted.
Chapter 3: The Sceptre
Chapter Text
Once he was blessedly alone again, Harry collapsed on the bunk, his head pounding after the vicious attack he received. The last time he encountered something so invasive and violent in his own mind, it had been as a result of being an unwilling host of Lord Voldemort’s soul. It left him thoroughly shaken, still processing the impossible use of magic that had just been demonstrated right in front of his eyes. The way that girl wove magic with her fingertips, as if it had a sentience of its own, made his skin crawl. It wasn’t natural… and the cruel way it burrowed into his head like worms gnawing at rock…
Then there was the boy, her twin. He knew the second he looked into the younger man’s eyes that he was the girl’s twin. The fierce protectiveness that burned in his blue eyes stopped Harry from fighting back. That and the impossible way he just appeared out of thin air without apparating.
The pair had been enhanced, that much was certain. From how Harry had his own genetics analysed and studied thoroughly, he knew HYDRA were involved in human experimentation. To witness that they had made progress, that they had given someone magical powers and superhuman powers, it made him fully appreciate what sort of horror he had wound up involved in. Even Voldemort never experimented on others… just himself.
A name etched into the pages of magical history sprung to Harry’s mind as he tried to coax the pain out of his head. Ekridis, the last lord of Azkaban. He lured muggle sailors to the doomed island where he experimented on them, conducting evil acts of darkest magic to bring about the first dementors. Harry didn’t wish to compare the brother and sister to dementors, but he knew that absolutely no good could come out of messing with the natural forces of magic. He felt how discordant the girl’s magic was, how wrong…
He couldn’t become a part of something like that.
His encounter with the enhanced witch at least proved that his mental shields were nothing to scoff at. It had been a while since he’d had them tested. Her inexperience allowed him the advantage, manipulating the memories that she could access. His control would have made Severus Snape proud, if the man had been capable of the feeling. The pain was fading at least, leaving Harry with a snuffly nose where the attack triggered a nose bleed. Harry scowled, reaching around the back of his neck where the bulky device attached to his collar dug in uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been able to put up more of a defence if he didn’t have a shock collar locked around his throat. The magnet didn’t appear to affect his mental magic.
Unless that was what caused him the pain and the nosebleed.
He looked over to the camera, unnerved if that was the case. Being cut off from his magic didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Physically, he didn’t feel any effects, just emotional ones. Being collared delivered its own unique brand of pain that he didn’t know he could experience until he felt his humanity being ripped from him. It had been the first and only time during his captivity that he wept when he’d been held down so they could clasp it around his throat.
Harry rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. Throwing his memories of torture at the witch had uncovered others that he kept down. Strucker had been very clear from the start that Harry wasn’t going anywhere after being smuggled into the Research Base under the noses of all the many different intelligence bodies actively searching for him. He was their prisoner, their pet wizard in an unbreakable cage, and now he had goaded them into using him as a test subject as well. It was only a matter of time before Strucker thrust him into the same room as the alien technology he’d been brought in to study.
Once no guards arrived to deliver any meals, he gathered that he was being punished for how he acted before. Being deprived of food didn’t bother him so he fell into an agitated sleep. When the lights went out, Harry was left in a heavy darkness. Nightmares crawled out of his tormented subconscious, his traumas – old and new – blended together. Memories of torture became knitted together with a high, cold laugh as a pair of merciless red eyes watched his suffering from a distance, enjoying his desperate cries as they hurt him again and again.
The hiss of the depressuring climate of his cell yanked him clear from his dreams. His eyes were instantly open, staring into the brightening light of his room. His reflexes fired him into action, pushing his elbows down into the bunk to sit himself up. Blanket and sheet dropped from him as he then kicked the covers clear from his legs so he could dart off the bed if needs be. His fingers gripped the undersheet tightly as he blinked rapidly to clear the sleep away from his vision.
His eyes widened as he took in the figures. One guard entered with a combat rifle slung over his shoulder; a handgun holstered at his hip. The weapons weren’t what surprised Harry. It was how he could see the guard’s face. He didn’t wear a mask, allowing Harry to see how the man wasn’t that much older than he was, his eyes hazel in colour and purposefully not making contact with Harry’s. Behind him, another guard entered with more caution. He wore a mask over his mouth and nose, but wore no goggles.
He held up a small device, a remote control of some description. Harry recognised it, instantly moving himself into the corner.
“You stand over there and face the wall,” the man ordered, his voice muffled behind the mask. He gestured with the device that controlled the electromagnet at the back of Harry’s neck. The same device could also trigger an electric shock, one that was particularly painful if prolonged. Harry quaked with humiliation as he forced himself into obedience, his face pulsing where his blood surged in response.
The guard with the rifle moved in as Harry turned his back to them both, facing the wall as told. He tilted his head a little so he could watch out of the corner of his eye. As he reached Harry, he shoved his back, pushing him against the wall. Harry shuffled forwards and gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as the man grasped Harry’s wrists and placed his arms so his hands were flat against the surface.
His neck straightened as he heard footsteps behind him, coming from the corridor beyond. He tried to turn to get a better look, but the man pinning him against the wall moved to block his view. He pushed down harder on his wrists, sensing how Harry braced to move. He then forced his legs between Harry’s, kicking them to make him stand with his legs apart. Harry strained against him, alarm making him buck against the very vulnerable position he was in. He glanced over in the direction of the camera, his heart quickening in pace.
“Good. Hold him still.”
Harry frowned at the unfamiliar voice, trying to see who else had entered the small space. The guard behind him forced Harry’s arms up higher and further apart. Harry struggled as he was manhandled further.
Pain pummelled into his neck, lighting up his nerves. Harry yelled at the sudden shock, his body convulsing against the weight holding him down. The shock was brief, lasting only a second, but pain lingered, smouldering in his muscles.
“The Baron offered you the chance to work with us willingly, Mr Potter, but alas, your pesky morals have placed you in quite the unpleasant position.”
Harry let out a sharp breath, pressing his forehead against the wall.
“I don’t think it was my morals that put me here,” he said dryly, tensing against the firm grip of the guard pinning him.
“It gives me little pleasure to force you into this,” the smooth-talker continued, “yet we have the means to do it.”
Harry listened, hearing something out in the corridor. His heartbeat quickened, recognising the sound of wheels. His throat tightened, his imagination going into overdrive. He saw the glinting instruments in his mind, the scalpels, the forceps, the needles…
“This is your last resort after that girl failed to get into my head?” Harry forced out, fear setting his tongue loose. “I rather feel like we’re going back to square one here.”
“Your mental fortitude is impressive, but you are still only human.”
The man appeared at Harry’s side, making him look over. He appeared to be just an ordinary middle-aged man with a drab grey coat over his shirt and unassuming grey trousers. What caught Harry’s attention was the syringe in his hands. Pinned against the wall like a bug, Harry couldn’t squirm away as the man got a good grip on the back of his head and pulled his neck straight so he could inject him.
He flinched as the needle went in, powerless to stop it from happening just as with all the other times. He had too much experience of being dosed with drugs against his will during his time being interrogated by HYDRA’s agents in America. He wasn’t left waiting for long to find out what had been plunged into his bloodstream. After a matter of seconds, he was fully slumped against the wall, strength sapped from his limbs. The guard peeled him off, his body boneless as he was dragged backwards. Harry stared blankly upwards as he was effortlessly lifted up and deposited on a pliant surface that rattled under his weight.
The man who sedated him came over, his face absent emotion as he helped arrange Harry’s body on the gurney. Harry offered no resistance, only capable of moving his hands to grip the railings on either side. When the surface under him jerked into movement, Harry’s eyelids slid closed.
His awareness dwindled away, all his focus limited to the touch of his hands and the vibrations he felt through the metal rails. He couldn’t feel if he was standing or laying, just moving backwards and shaking from the motion. Light filtered past his eyelids, sound rushing over him without meaning. Words he didn’t understand dropped from mouths unseen. He cared little, only keeping his hold on the solid objects in his hands. As long as he held on, he couldn’t be lost.
Losing all sense of time, he lay in his state of blissful unawareness. He could have been drifting for hours. All he knew, when he suddenly became aware that he was still, was that he was gradually coming out of the sedative state. Consciousness trickled in slowly, like cold water dripping down his back. It pulsed in waves, stomach clenching with nausea, as hands guided him to a sitting position. He didn’t resist as a cup touched his lip and he drank thirstily from the offered vessel, water sliding down his throat. He didn’t even open his eyes as someone touched his ears, speaking in light, clipped tones. Words made it through to him, simple instructions that were easy to follow. He forgot what they were when they laid him back down.
He opened his eyes, breathing out a long exhale. A dull greyish brown ceiling came into focus. Frowning, he puzzled at the brickwork and how it sloped in a curve like the ceiling of a wine cellar. His fingers twitched, no longer grasping the railings. They were flat on a cotton sheet that had been laid under him. Groaning, he lifted one shaking arm, resting his fingers lightly on his face. He caught himself checking for his glasses. He hadn’t worn them in… he couldn’t remember when.
Blinking, his vision adjusted to the low lighting. The source of light came from lower down. He looked over, seeing strips of light around the edge of the floor. He reached for the railing next to him, grasping hold so he could roll himself over. He became instantly aware of lightness around his neck. Gasping, he touched his throat.
The collar was gone.
“Subject is regaining consciousness.”
Harry jumped at the voice, head snapping up to the source where he could see a speaker screwed into the corner. A camera joined it, the red LED signalling that he was being recorded. Harry followed the wall down, making out a sealed metal door. He didn’t recognise the room he was in.
“Commencing test two-oh-three. Subject: Harry Potter.”
“What…?” Harry muttered in response to his name, confusion rolling over his thoughts. What test? What was going on?
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, able to think a little more clearly. Turning away from the door, he studied the gurney he’d been set up upon. He had a vague recollection of being sedated and put upon the surface, but everything else was a blur.
Fucking drugs, he thought angrily, running his hand down his face again. A shimmering light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, he looked over, instantly freezing with horror. Shock had his blood draining from his face as his eyes clapped over the very real sight of the alien sceptre. His access to it had been limited to photographs and graining video footage. Second-hand witness accounts didn’t do it justice. The eerie pulsing light contained in the heart of the blue crystal appeared like a heartbeat.
Harry could see the stasis field surrounding the sceptre where it was kept upright in a cradle. He had no idea what sort of technology was responsible, but the power the sceptre possessed appeared to be contained. Harry then looked past the sceptre to the back wall. His jaw set as he met the gaze of his own reflection. A mirrored surface took up much of the wall, one that Harry very much suspected was a two-way mirror.
He shifted himself down the length of the gurney, trying to work out how to get off the damn thing. Ungainly, he managed to get his legs over the rails and dropped down onto the floor. He was still very unsteady, having to grip onto the gurney behind him when his legs threatened to crumble. His bare feet touched the stone floor. He looked down, mildly surprised to find the stone slightly warm underfoot.
Shooting a furtive glance at the mirror, he took stock of his appearance. It was the first time seeing himself since his last trip to the showers. His hair was a horrible mess, as usual, stuck up in all directions. He could see the dark scrub of his unshaven chin and jaw, making him appear very unkempt. Shakily, he took a step away from the means of how he arrived in the testing chamber. Warily, he eyed the sceptre and the crystal.
“You can’t be this desperate,” Harry raised his voice, addressing the room and his invisible audience in one. “You plan to expose me to this thing and just hope for something to happen?”
The sceptre’s crystal brightened in response. Harry looked over at once, holding his breath. The stasis field still held, but Harry had every belief that the object reacted to his voice. He knew from discussions with Dr Selvig that the sceptre carried some sort of alien intelligence along with its self-contained power source. Fear spiked through Harry as he looked between the sceptre and the mirror, fear for himself.
Harry could feel sweat forming at the back of his neck. He had no choice but to be a part of a test. Again, they were experimenting on him, not harvesting DNA like before but using him as a lab rat. Just like a lab rat, he had no way out of his maze other than forwards. He swallowed, eyes starting to dart around in the hunt for an exit. The door at the back appeared just as impenetrable as the one in his cell. That left the mirror and he doubted he’d get very far with trying to smash the glass.
He looked back at the sceptre.
“Lowering field in five… four…”
“Wait, what?!”
Panicked, Harry staggered over to the mirror.
“Three… two… one…”
Harry froze when the field came down. A buzz he hadn’t been aware of petered out, the shimmering field disappearing. He stared at the crystal, waiting for the onslaught to crash into his mind. Harry tentatively searched outwards with all his senses, including his magical awareness which had only heightened with age.
After a couple seconds passed and he was relatively unscathed, Harry took a tentative step towards it. The power contained only a few feet away was unlike anything he’d felt before. It didn’t carry that merciless intent he felt from the witch, nor did it feel particularly hungry or malignant. If he had to put a word to it, he’d say that it felt… curious. He tilted his head to the side, reaching inwards towards his own magical core. Warmth bloomed inside him as he coaxed his magic, feeling the energy that kept him alive.
“In the wise words of Arthur Weasley, never trust an object if you can’t see where it keeps its brain… except… I can see your brain, magical sceptre,” Harry spoke to himself as he squared up to the artefact. He felt the magic wash over him in response to his words. Harry’s eyes widened. It was listening. “Strange… you are definitely magical in nature, aren’t you? I am, too… a wizard… but what are you ?”
It responded, pulsing brightly. Harry frowned, looking closer. The blue shell around the crystal mottled, turning clear in patches where he could suddenly see a bright yellow glow within. There was something inside… a smaller crystal.
Stone.
The word resonated in his head. Harry’s knees nearly gave out as the alien force suddenly pushed against his mental defences.
He stared at the crystal, feeling the air around him start to grow colder. Around him, the light dimmed, the walls fading into shadow, as his focus narrowed in on the pulsing stone. His breath puffed out of him slowly, misting where the air cooled dramatically. Harry could feel the magic in the air, changing the surroundings, manipulating what he could see and what he couldn’t. It pressed on his mind, but didn’t attempt to break through. Harry groaned under the weight.
“Okay, okay… easy. You want in, right?”
The collar must have been the cause of the pain he experienced while resisting the witch as there was no pain without it. Instead, it felt as the air around his head was tightening around his skull. Deeply uncomfortable, but not painful, not yet at least. It felt more like having a cold, sinuses blocked.
Harry let out a breath, glancing up to the mirror, knowing that he had Strucker’s full attention beyond. He then let his mental defences ease, letting the magical presence in.
It slammed into him, throwing him back a pace. Taken by surprise, Harry dropped down. As he did, he ended up somewhere entirely different. His backside crunched as it came into contact with dry twigs and dead leaves. The damp scent of earth reached his nostrils. A horrified gasp rattled out of him as he looked up with wide, confused eyes. The grey walls were gone, the mirror and the camera… all gone. He sat on the forest floor with trees as his audience, standing silent and dispassionately.
He knew where he was.
The sceptre had disappeared along with the rest of the HYDRA base, leaving Harry alone in the Forbidden Forest. A cool breeze ruffled his hair and shirt, the chill making him shiver.
“What are you showing me…?” Harry muttered, very aware that what he was seeing wasn’t real. He could feel it covered his mind, forcing him to see and experience a vision against his will. His gaze was pulled downwards. In the gloom, he could make out an object that didn’t belong amid the forest litter. A black shape, cut into sharp angles… large enough to fit in his palm…
Harry stilled, swallowing as stared ahead in horror as the shape rose up from the leaf litter in front of him. It slowly came over to him, its sides catching the faint light. He could see the diagram carved on the surface, a triangular symbol, intersected by a line through the centre and a circle contained within.
“What…?”
His breath misted in front of him, the vision too real for his liking. The dreadful silence was just like it had been when he walked on his own… to his death. Only he was without the spectres of his loved ones, lending him calm comfort as he believed that with each step, he was getting closer to them. His eyes burned at the memory, his heart aching. Grief and anger rioted inside him.
“Why are you showing me this?” He demanded, angered.
Harry scrambled to his feet. He could even feel the twigs and leaves between his toes. Cold wind rustled his hair and shirt as he approached the Resurrection Stone hovering in front of him. He instinctively reached out a hand to take it.
A twig snapped behind him. His neck then prickled, his magic warning him. Harry wheeled around.
“No…” He breathed out, horror flooding him.
Red eyes gleamed out of a white, skull-like face. Black robes hung from his thin, tall body while long fingers caressed the wand he coveted. A wand that never belonged to him. The Elder Wand.
“Harry Potter… the Boy Who Lived…”
Harry took a step back, nearly tripping, his heart racing in terror. His voice… even his voice was too real. The same rasp, the same coldness… the same cruelty. His lungs appeared to forget how to function. Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he stared with abject terror.
Harry took another step, trying to get away. Voldemort just smiled at him, watching with cold amusement. Then his smile vanished. He moved, becoming as formless as shadow before he manifested right in front of Harry. Yelling in terror, Harry backed away, but Voldemort was right there. Their faces were inches apart.
“Have you come to die?”
It’s not real!
The thought blared through Harry’s mind as he stared, terrified out of his mind. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly in response to the question. Battling against the fear, he forced himself to rationalise. Voldemort was dead. Harry made sure of that. All his horcruxes were destroyed, his body burned, ashes cast out to the North Sea.
Everything going on around him, it was an illusion. Voldemort, the forest, the stone… it was all coming from him. It was his mind… and he was the one in control.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Mustering up the titanic force of his will, he worked against the layers of alien magic that he could suddenly feel with clarity. All he needed to do was pull away the screen, dismiss the illusion, and return to his senses.
Warmth swept over him and he gasped out as he staggered forwards. Eyes open, Harry found himself back in the room. He was staring at himself, his reflection. Sweat slicked over his face, dampening his shirt. Next to him, the sceptre pulsed, seemingly innocent. Harry heaved in a deep breath, his lungs filling once more. He doubled over, shakily resting his hands on his knees as he breathed. A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead to the floor.
He wiped at his face, glaring up past his fringe to the mirror. Whatever just happened, it didn’t appear to be enough. They were still watching him, expecting more results. He straightened, anger and outrage beginning to break from the surface. His lip twitched with the force of the emotions, unsettled and unstable.
“What do you want from me?” He demanded. “Waiting for that thing to do your work for you?” Harry threw his arm behind him, gesturing at the sceptre. “I hope you fuckers are taking notes as it drives me insane!”
Pressure clamped down around his head again. Harry groaned loudly, slapping a hand on his forehead. He turned around, looking at the sceptre, the yellow light twinkling behind the blue crystal casing.
“No, no, I’m not letting you back in after that ,” Harry spat angrily, “I have magic of my own.”
Magic that was currently being very useless without means of a wand. Harry didn’t voice his weakness, instead pushing himself away from the mirror. He winced against the pressure as it increased. He kept his mental defences up, keeping his wand hand raised as if he could do anything with it while empty.
“Restoring stasis field…”
Letting out a breath of relief at those words, Harry slowly sunk down to his knees. He watched absently as the shimmering field returned around the sceptre, containing whatever unearthly power it possessed. Thoroughly shaken, Harry just knelt there. He rested a hand on the floor in front of him, his arm shaking. A concealed door next to the mirror clicked open, swinging inwards. Harry tensed at the sight of Strucker as he swept inside, his leather coat fanning out as he strode right towards him. Behind him followed the man who sedated Harry in his cell.
Head twitching a little, Harry lifted his chin, glaring openly at Strucker as he moved to stand over him.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Harry asked tightly.
“It is certainly a start,” Strucker said, unabashed at the venom tainting Harry’s voice. He waved over to his companion. “You have given List here plenty to work from.”
‘List’ crouched down to join Harry on his level. Wielding a tablet, his fingers danced on the screen, entering something into the device as his eyes darted eagerly between the screen and Harry’s face.
“Indeed, indeed… while it is of course regrettable that we must take this route, our work takes precedent. I will need to compile my readings and organise the data before we commence again.”
Harry stared at the man, hoping that his hearing had been playing a trick on him. His jaw went slack for a second.
“A-again?” Harry’s voice stumbled on the word, fear driving through his veins like ice.
“Why of course. Repetitions are necessary to produce the best data.”
Aghast, Harry looked over to the sceptre, his skin prickling into goosebumps. He shook his head.
“Unless you agree to work with us,” Strucker said, taking advantage of Harry’s dismay. “Providing us willingly of your insights would be immensely more convenient… or we can harvest live reactions between you and the artefact until you exhaust your usefulness.”
Harry had never been threatened so dispassionately. His defiance had whittled him down to this. HYDRA had lost their patience. Either he’d give them something or they’d bleed him dry. The road still ended the same way.
One road, unfortunately, was longer than the other. For him to stand a chance of finding a way out, he had to hold on for as long as possible. One way, he’d keep his health and his sanity. The other… he didn’t know how long he would last. If they kept exposing him to the artefact, it would break him eventually, turning him into a puppet as it had done to Dr Selvig and others in Loki’s hands. He felt suddenly so very naive, believing that he could outsmart his captors. Frustrating them with his resistance only forced their hand.
It was only going to end one way and he’d been foolish to think he could escape it by being annoying.
“What do you want from me?” Harry asked resignedly, rolling his shoulders back to look right up at Strucker. His stomach twisted at the sight of Strucker’s triumphant smile.
“For now simply your compliance. We’ll let you have a shower, something to eat and fresh clothes first. Perhaps lighter treatment too if you cooperate with us.”
Face flaming, Harry hated how interested he was at the prospect of being treated more fairly. It was a testament to how effective they were in reducing him down to such a state where he craved simple human treatment. It had been days since he’d bathed, definitely over twenty four hours since he ate… and he was painfully aware that his clothes were grubby. Especially when he had to sleep in the clothes.
“Alright, you win,” Harry said quietly.
With every lurch of turbulence, Hermione felt keenly reminded why she stuck to magical transportation especially when travelling internationally. A portkey, even if sanctioned across all the respective Ministries, wouldn’t suffice. It would take far too long for the International Confederation to vote. Instead, she agreed to travel onboard the aptly named ‘quinjet’ as it had five jets… five very powerful jets. Hermione made a point to not look out the window and be reminded of the speed at which they were travelling.
She couldn’t help but think about how thrilled Harry would be in the same situation, being a speed freak himself.
Natasha’s remark about the jet being ‘roomy’ had been rather exaggerated. Though much larger than a standard aircraft, there were few places to snatch a moment of privacy. Hermione avoided the cockpit, sliding instead into the galley where, of course, Tony Stark had a state-of-the-art coffee maker for communal use. She gripped the side-board for support as another shake of turbulence shook the craft. Sucking in a breath, she cautiously went to fetch herself a flask of coffee. As she grabbed a clean flask, she heard a light footstep behind her. Hermione peeked over her shoulder, smirking a little.
“No doubt you heard me approach the coffee machine?” She asked the spy at her back. Natasha moved so silently, Hermione didn’t hear her until she was right at her side. Her footstep had been a courtesy.
“That and I needed an excuse to get away from the obligatory dick measuring between Tony and Steve. We all know who will really win the contest.”
Hermione choked on her laugh, her face flaming in response. She elbowed the button on the machine, letting it make its magic as she backed away. Confronted by a fully outfitted Black Widow, Hermione felt immensely inadequate in her practical gear that she borrowed before getting onboard the aircraft. She at least was glad she didn’t have to dress in a suit as close-fitting as Natasha’s. It hardly looked comfortable.
“And who would that be?” Hermione asked. Natasha’s playful smile made her smile in return.
“Bruce, of course,” she quipped before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “and that’s before going green.”
Grateful for the comic relief, Hermione laughed as the rich aroma of very expensive coffee flooded the contained space. It didn’t take long for the scent to attract the other caffeine addicts onboard. Hermione instinctively shrunk to take more of a backseat as the big personalities gathered in the small space. She’d become used to Tony as he’d been her first introduction into the world of superheroes. Steve Rogers, however… and Thor. She was on a plane with a bonafide Norse god…
Hermione just filled her flask before the bulk of Captain America cast her in his shadow. It took a lot for her to not be intimidated, trying to focus instead on the kind uptilt of his mouth and genuinely kind eyes. She just had to distract herself from how he’d been enhanced to be so unstoppable, he could drop out of a plane without a parachute.
“Mind if we talk a moment, Hermione?”
His manners settled between modern and old, however Hermione had at least managed to get him to stop calling her Miss Granger. She nodded in response, worried about what he had to say to her in private. None of the other Avengers looked concerned. Natasha gave her an encouraging smile… and a wink.
Steve had to duck as they moved out of the galley, the small confines not practical for a man of his large stature. He led her towards the back. The armoury was considerably colder than the rest of the craft, wider and much more airy. She couldn’t hold back the shudder when she saw all their gear prepared, including Iron Man’s suit and Captain America’s shield.
This is really happening.
“Never stops feeling crazy,” Steve said as he stopped, leaning his shoulder against the unit that held his gear. He lifted up a finger, circling it to encompass their surroundings. “All of this, the plane, the tech… I’ve been awake for three years and it’s not enough time to wrap my head around it all. Not by a long shot.”
His arm dropped back down to his side, his smile still kind.
“How much time did they give you to catch up before sending you back out?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious as she paced towards him, trying to ignore how she had to raise her voice over the sound of the jets. Steve let out a scoffing laugh, rolling his eyes.
“A couple of months,” he said, then shrugged, “but to be honest, I did more catching up after everything in New York. It makes a huge difference having the right people behind you and with you… and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”
He switched from conversational to serious so quickly, Hermione almost had whiplash.
“I was under the impression that SHIELD already had me vetted… along with Harry. However, he was the one they chose to approach.”
“This has nothing to do with SHIELD,” Steve said, holding eye contact, “this is about the team. It’s about you knowing that you can trust us.”
Hermione didn’t expect that. She adjusted her hold on her coffee flask, blinking.
“I wouldn’t have gotten on a plane with you all if I didn’t trust you,” she said after a second. Steve’s smile quirked up his face before his mouth settled back into a serious line.
“Being onboard a plane is different to a combat situation, but I get your point. I just want you to know that you can rely on us to support. Our objectives are aligned, but your man is our priority. We’re getting him out of there.”
My… man?
“I… appreciate that, though it’s really not necessary to reassure me.”
“It is… because I know how things go down on a rescue mission when the target is someone close to you. Harry is the mission, I swear that, and that’s why I hope you can stay focused if another one of our team gets to him first. Trust us that we will do everything for him.”
Hermione searched the man’s face, confused initially as to why he felt the need to assure her. Then she went over his words. Heat rushed up to her face. He was actually being sly in a nice way. He wanted to make sure that she didn’t rush to Harry’s side the moment he was found. He was asking her to trust him, trust the team, and not put her personal investment first.
Honestly, she was impressed. If she had any doubts about his leadership of the Avengers, they were instantly dismissed.
“I know my role is critical to the whole operation,” Hermione said, holding his gaze, “and if any of the strike teams reaches Harry, I won’t leave my position. Not unless I’m needed.”
“That’s fair,” Steve said, his shoulders dropping where he was visibly relieved. Had he really been that worried? He then took a step forwards, reaching for her. His hand gently rested on her shoulder. “We’ll be reaching our LZ in under an hour.”
“LZ?” Hermione blurted, her face getting hotter.
“Landing Zone,” Steve smiled sheepishly, “and don’t worry about cramming in some shut-eye. We’ll get better beds on the ground… and no turbulence.”
“That’s a relief,” Hermione said, then smiled at Captain America of all people, “and thanks for talking with me.”
“You’re welcome – let’s head back, hopefully Stark’s distracted enough to give us some peace…”
Steve’s hand left her shoulder and he gestured, his manners overriding as he wished for her to go first. Hermione smiled, but only for a moment. As she passed him, all the stress returned. She had a team of superheroes with her, muggles who were willing to do much more than her own people. Surety settled in when she returned to the galley, finding Natasha alone with Clint where they were chatting quietly before she and Steve arrived.
“All good?” Natasha asked, her eyes darting between them both.
“All good,” Hermione confirmed.
Chapter 4: Conflicts and Camaraderie
Summary:
The prelude to the big raid
Chapter Text
Harry waited with intense apprehension as voices surrounded him. A blend of Russian, German and jargon left him alone in the epicentre of activity, sitting still in the midst as two of the research team prepared their apparatus. He held his breath at the tugging around his head. Deft fingers continued to work on the device fitted in place, tightening it so it sat flush against his temples, the edge settling over his brows. The cold metal pressed in, making him feel more claustrophobic than ever.
That he felt claustrophobic in such a vast space was an achievement in itself. He’d never been in a place quite like it. With the dimensions of a hanger, or several, the huge subterranean vault stood large enough to fit a quidditch pitch inside at least. The reason for the scale of the room was apparent upon entry. Dominating the space was a titanic alien leviathan, suspended on chains and encased in alien metal. The ghoulish head was well preserved despite belonging to a beast that had died three years ago. Its lips were shrunken back, exposing glistening teeth that were the size of a person each.
It wasn’t the only item of HYDRA’s haul. Loki’s sceptre had its pride of place among other pilfered alien artefacts kept on display behind status fields. More alien corpses were stored in cryo tubes, stacked against the wall like a macabre statue display. More technology lay upon workbenches, the complex inner workings of chitauri weaponry picked apart so that HYDRA could utilise their deadly effectiveness for their own evil gains.
That part of the huge research lab wasn’t the one dedicated to magic. Harry soon discovered that he was one of the artefacts now logged in HYDRA’s collection. It appeared they hadn’t been idle in uncovering secrets of the arcane. They came close to discovering magic before the alien invasion, finding creatures that had no place amongst muggles. Harry was positive he’d seen the skeleton of a house elf among the bones set up for study. He’d been kept back from looking too closely, especially when he raged at them upon finding that they had his wand on display along with everything else.
Now it was his turn. Set up on a platform under sterile lights, he occupied a solid metal chair bolted into the ground. The reason for his claustrophobia were the solid cuffs of metal clasped around his wrists, binding him to the arms of the seat. His legs were in a similar predicament, ankles locked in place. His heart raced erratically, the rhythm distant beeps of a heart monitor keeping up with him. Across from him, Doctor List had set up his research station, monitors all in place to provide him with live readings.
He did not watch alone. Standing off to the side, arms crossed, was Strucker. The Baron had assured that there was nothing for Harry to worry about. Wanda had sat in the same seat to be analysed in the same way, he’d been told, though he didn’t point out that the female Maximoff twin was a volunteer like her brother. Harry had been threatened into compliance, forced through fear to put himself at their mercy and study him like one of the many stolen artefacts kept in that place.
His gaze frequently fluttered over to the sceptre. It had been five days since he’d been exposed before it. In those days, he agonised over why it had shown him such a vision. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the sceptre had been trying to give him a message rather than terrorise the shit out of him. It had done something to him, though. His magic felt like a caged lion after being poked at through the bars. He’d never felt more aware of the energy inside him, throbbing in his very blood. He felt powerful, which made him all the more trapped as his magic was hopelessly contained under his skin and the thrall of a fucking magnet. Though at present, his magic sang in his veins, unhindered by the collar. It just had nowhere to go.
“It may interest you to know that much of your own work with Dr Selvig inspired the development of this equipment, Harry.”
At the use of his first name, Harry’s eyes snapped upon List. It made his skin crawl… the familiarity… but to his great shame, it gave him some comfort. Objects rarely had names and he felt very much like an object.
The said equipment had been correctly fitted in place, the scientists responsible retreating back to their positions at the research station. Harry tested it, trying to move his head… which he couldn’t. The band of metal around his head was anchored at the back to the seat he was bound to. Wires trailed down from the device, tickling his neck. Harry swallowed, fear quaking under his skin, making his magic all the more restless.
“Let me guess. You tested our theory on live subjects?” Harry gritted out, flexing his hands to keep circulation to his fingers.
“Capturing magical species is not easy given how you have perfected hiding your existence over the ages, but yes… we have managed to track down those a little less careful.”
Horrified at the implications that he wasn’t the only wizard to have run afoul of the sinister organisation, Harry looked down properly at the metal bands around his wrists. How many unfortunate souls had sat where he was, studied like a dissected frog under a lens?
“What you identify as magical resonance, we can detect as a high frequency of gamma radiation, but it isn’t a perfect measure. This device is far more precise at picking up higher wavelengths of radiation… radiation that transcends logic and known science.”
“I know what this is, genius. I can feel the runestones against my fucking head. It’s like a needle picking up vibrations. The stones pick up my magic. It’s not rocket science… especially considering the fact that I came up with this idea… and I dropped out of school, so…”
List waved a hand dismissively, turning away from Harry to check his monitors.
“Ah, but you are a revolutionary, the first of your kind to be curious enough to use science to explain magic.”
“I just don’t like following rules,” Harry snarked back, tensing his arms against the rests, hating how trapped he felt, “and I wasn’t curious. I was bored.”
Harry’s eyes darted around, the apprehension building on his anxiety. List had stopped talking to Harry, speaking instead in low tones in German to his senior researchers. They nodded along, gesturing and pointing at different monitors. Whatever they were detecting from Harry, it gave them something to talk about. All the while, Harry focused on not succumbing to a panic attack, keeping his breathing regular and well-paced. It wasn’t easy, especially when in the shadow of a gigantic space whale. His senses then spiked, his eyes shifting over to his right. He couldn’t turn his head with it stuck in the vice-like apparatus.
Pale green eyes met his as Wanda Maximoff glided into his view, her fingers lightly touching at the tips as she paced slowly over to the group of researchers. Her mouth was turned down at the corners as she looked over Harry’s imprisoned state. He caught the trace of her emotions, lingering like a perfume in her wake.
Sympathy… guilt…
“I wonder what your opinion is on Wanda’s abilities,” List addressed Harry once more, his brown eyes glancing momentarily away from his work to look up at Harry. “They are quite miraculous.”
“I wouldn’t refer to human experimentation as ‘miraculous’, but sure…”
“How else would you explain it? One day, a ‘muggle’ as you call it, then suddenly… magic. Seemingly from nowhere.”
“That’s not how magic works,” Harry angrily snipped back, glaring, “if you want my opinion , then I believe she had latent magic to begin with and the sceptre unlocked it. Her brother as well. If either of them have magic in their blood, it would explain why they and only them came away enhanced.”
“But it did not enhance you .”
He now had Strucker’s attention. The leader spoke up. At his voice, a bolt of icy fear jolted down Harry’s spine.
“Maybe it was too busy fucking with my head,” Harry snapped back, but then let out a small sigh, “whatever happened, I’m not in a hurry to try again.”
“That is not for you to decide,” Strucker reminded him, his voice making Harry’s skin crawl. Harry rose to the bait.
“You have no idea what you are playing with. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with magic they do not understand. Our history is littered with arrogant men who think they can play god, only to unleash death and desolation in their wake.”
Wanda’s eyes gleamed in response to his words, catching his attention. He looked at her. Lashing across his own mind, layering over his thoughts, he could suddenly see a memory that wasn’t his own. He could see rubble, the air choked with dust, and in the middle of the chaos, an embedded missile… primed to explode.
Then the image was gone.
Harry could smell the tang of magic, his own magic. From the sudden frantic beeping coming from the equipment rigged up to him, he gathered he just let off a good reading. He let out a bitter laugh.
“I don’t know what the Hell that was, but I guess from that reaction, you agree with me.”
He looked right at her. She lifted her chin in response.
“Yes and our purpose is to remove those arrogant men from their ivory towers.”
“You mean Stark?” Harry tried to shake his head, only he couldn’t. Panic flurried through him at the reminder of his stuck position. Then the image flashed through his head again. He could see the missile, the rubble… and then the lettering stamped on the missile itself.
Stark Industries.
Oh.
“As enlightening as this conversation is, we have work to accomplish. Wanda, if you may, please?”
Harry tensed as she nodded curtly, twirling her wrists as she took a step towards him. She stepped up to the platform, magic already writhing around her fingers as she drew closer. Harry sucked in a nervous breath, very trapped. Warily, he watched her fingers dancing, noting how it was almost as if she was playing with the magic at her fingertips. He could feel it, angry and frenetic, desperate to lash out and inflict harm. He met her eyes, forcing eye contact. She hesitated before bringing her hands to either side of his head.
“I did not intend to hurt you before,” she said, her voice far softer and kinder than it had been. “I will be more careful.”
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his voice tight with fear. The closeness of her magic had his own itching fiercely under his skin. He winced at the discomfort.
“I can feel your magic begging to be released, but you don’t know how to wield it freely.”
Harry stared at her, seeing the sparkles of her red magic swirling in her eyes as they widened. He jerked his head against the resonance detector around his skull.
“You really think I’d still be here if I knew how to use magic like you?” he asked incredulously. “I’ve seen wizards performing simple spells without wands. Lighting candles… that sort of thing. Powerful wizards… and I’m talking of men who were practicing magic for a century. None of them could do what you’re doing. I don’t think even Merlin could… it’s unheard of.”
Her eyes flicked from side to side, staring at him intently. Her magic rushed over him, causing his hairs to stand on end. It didn’t probe his mental barriers as before, only lightly searching and feeling, sensing him out.
“You called my magic ‘ dark ’ before,” she said, her mouth twisting as she stressed the word ‘dark’, “but why?”
Her hands came closer to his face. Her magic then wrapped around his head, pushing through hair, skin and skull. Harry thrashed against the chair and the restraints, groaning loudly at the intrusion. He glared up at her, the pressure building. Somehow, her power was worse than the sceptre. It was vindictive and emotional. Much more human.
Behind her, he could see List and his team reacting energetically to whatever resonance Harry was giving off as he shielded himself.
“You draw your magic from your emotion,” Harry forced out, holding her gaze. He noticed her eyes widening. “The stronger the emotion, the more powerful the magic. I could… feel your anger. It was so strong, I could hardly breathe. I can still feel it… the hate, it’s the source.”
Her fingers twitched and her magic pushed in harder. His lips pulled back in a snarl, his magic fully spicing the air between them. His back was slick with sweat as he tried to fight against the impossible restraints at his wrists, ankles and head.
“Stop struggling. You will only hurt yourself. Those restraints are made to hold enhanced beings,” she said quietly, her eyes fully shining with her unnatural magic.
Harry gasped in a breath, his anger cracking, giving away to his fear. Desperation took over. Tears smarted in his eyes. He saw her mouth turn downwards at the corners again. She shifted on her feet, uncomfortable. From her, he could feel the same emotions as before.
Sympathy… guilt…
He looked past her to where the scientists were eagerly lapping up whatever readings he was producing. His vision was unfocusing under the pressure of maintaining his mental shields. List and Strucker were waiting for Harry to muster up a magical defence out of instinct. What he couldn’t control willingly, they were going to extract from him through force. Just as they’d tried in the bunker where they held him before moving him to Sokovia.
“Whatever you plan to do, just do it,” Harry said to her, keeping his voice quiet, “They want results… and won’t stop until I do something.”
She took in a deep breath, nodding. Harry curled his fingers up to his palms, forming fists. The onslaught came with a cold fury, red magic surging out from Wanda in a pulse. Harry’s back hit the chair, the force of her magic seizing him. Where it couldn’t break into his mind, it broke into his body instead. It rushed into his veins, taking root in his bones, digging into his muscles. He couldn’t hold back the startled shout. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried his best to ride out the savage magic while focusing on his occlumency.
His own magic had ideas of its own. It zipped up from his feet to his head like a bolt of electricity. Heat seared under his eyelids, forcing them open. He glimpsed a bright white light before his vision cleared. Wanda snatched her hands away from where they hovered over his temples as if burned. She staggered back, her eyes wide with astonishment. The scent of hot metal was palpable, stinging Harry’s nostrils.
For the first time in his life, Harry could see his magic manifesting on its own. Tiny sparks of white light glittered in the air between him and Wanda, the remnants of his magical defence pushing her back with raw force. Shocked, Harry met her gaze.
Wanda’s face then took on a gleam of awe as she straightened, looking down at her hands. Behind her, Strucker was moving, his face lit up with a fervour, marching over. Harry paid him little heed, focusing instead on the miniscule motes of magic lingering behind. His magic.
List moved to join, striding past Wanda who was still observing her hands, turning them over slowly. He spoke with her, his words indiscernible. Strucker headed straight for Harry, occupying the space where Wanda had stood.
“To think such power has been concealed amongst us lesser mortals for so many years…”
Harry bared his teeth at the comment, futilely shifting his arms against the cuffs. Anger overruled his shock as he squirmed in place, done with being the test subject of the day.
“There, I did magic. Can you get me the Hell out of this thing now?” Harry growled at the evil Baron as he stood over him.
“Let us not be hasty,” List said, looking over from his conversation with Wanda. “You are still outputting a significant level of resonance.”
Harry stared at List, his breathing growing shorter. In dismay, he stilled as he recounted how he hadn’t even been forced into that chair. He put himself right into that trap, even put his arms in place so that List’s men could lock the bands in place. He put himself in their mercy and now he had no control over what they would do to him while so helpless.
“I’m not in control of my magic,” Harry said, panic entering his voice, “you don’t understand how dangerous this is.”
“I want to understand!” Strucker suddenly exclaimed, mad excitement distorting his features. He jutted his face down at Harry, bending over him so their eyes were level. Harry’s eyes widened, fear causing his breath to hitch. He raised his hand, causing Harry to flinch, but he only rested it on the back of the chair next to Harry’s head.
“You are physically human in every way. Our colleagues in the United States did a good job analysing your genetics. It shouldn’t be possible that you have this… energy source within you. And yet, you and the rest of your kind are born with this magic. I must know why .”
Harry could see Wanda listening in. His mouth had gone dry. He didn’t want to answer the mad Nazi, but the only way the man would leave him alone was if he gave him what he wanted. And Harry very much wanted to get out of the restraints.
“I don’t have the answer to that,” Harry said tightly, his heart wildly racing as he looked between Strucker’s eyes, monocled and otherwise. “ No one does. Do you not think there have been wizards in the past with those sorts of questions? If we once knew where magic came from, that knowledge has been lost. Probably even purged.”
Strucker moved back, steel entering his gaze. He clasped his hands behind his back, surveying Harry for a moment.
“Well then, it appears we have a mystery to solve. Aliens, wizards… even Gods. The world has changed so much over the past three years, but one thing is certain. For us to maintain our stronghold, we have to adapt. We have weaponised what we can from the alien technology in our grasp. Now… we must arm up with magical weapons as well… and knowledge.”
Harry let out a sharp breath, terror crawling through his insides.
“I’m not a weapon,” Harry said, conscious that his lips had numbed.
“No, you are not,” Strucker agreed, surprising him, “I have my attack dogs already. You serve a different purpose. You are our way into an invisible world.”
“I have agreed to tell you what I know… to cooperate ,” Harry’s mouth twisted around the word, “but I can’t perform miracles.”
“What would your leaders give in exchange for you?”
It was a question Harry had been dreading from the moment he fully understood the situation he was in.
“I’ve already been asked that,” Harry said quietly. “Did your friends in America not share notes?”
Strucker smiled, but it was a cold thing.
“They sent me every file. Including the video files of your interrogations.”
It was like the bottom dropped out from Harry’s stomach. He just stared. He knew cameras recorded everything in that room. He couldn’t form words to muster up a response. Strucker continued.
“Pierce and his cell of agents in America suffered significant losses following the exposure of their integration within SHIELD. They became desperate, especially when you entered the picture as a magical consultant to the Avengers no less. I have not worked personally with Sitwell, but his interrogation techniques leave much to be desired. He had no idea what he was dealing with when it came to you, did he?”
Harry frowned at Strucker. During his time with his abductors in America, he didn’t get any names. He had to give them nicknames. Baldy. Bristles. Goatee. Gut.
“But I digress,” Strucker’s smile slid away as he turned back to face Harry again, “my point is that you are a very valuable hostage. Your true value does not lie with your connections to the Avengers, but to how important you are amongst your people. What is it that they call you? The Boy Who Lived? ”
“Bit outdated, but yes,” Harry said as calmly as he could. He could hear the frantic beeps where the heart monitor was still set up. His stress was no secret.
“So answer me, what would your leaders give in exchange for you?”
Strucker crowded in, leaning over him. His hands remained clasped together at his back. Harry met his steely gaze, his body starting to fully ache where he was restrained against such an uncomfortable seat.
“If it’s within reason to give,” Harry said reluctantly, “probably anything.”
“Then we will make use of you while we have you.”
Strucker then smiled again. He backed up a step, glancing back over his shoulder to List and Wanda.
“I wish to see those sparks fly once more. Wanda, if you please?”
Steamed green beans, buttery mashed potato and a pork loin with a reddish sauce steamed in front of Wanda. Set on a chipped plate, her dinner looked appetising enough. There was even a gratuitous sprinkle of black pepper on the potato. Her cutlery sat untouched, the smells of the food making her feel sick.
In the mess hall, raucous chatter was commonplace. Next to her, two technicians were discussing how to repair a fuse box in the east tower. A table back, there was a loud disagreement about the red card given during a football match that Wanda wasn’t aware of. It was all white noise, just static to her, because her full attention was directly ahead. The cause and source of her nausea was the wizard.
He’d been brought to the mess hall for the past few days to receive meals. Always with guards glued to him. He was difficult to look at, with his despondent manner and palpable stress. Wanda could sense his magic like a ringing bell in the room. It made her wonder if she was the same to him.
At that moment, he sat alone with plenty of space around him to keep him separated. He wasn’t unguarded, but at least it appeared he was given some privacy with a guard remaining three feet from him.
Wanda tried to not look at the wizard’s face, tried to not think of him by his name, because it made it so much harder. Instead, she watched his hands as he carefully ate his meal. His wrists were sporting slight bruises that would darken in time. How he could stomach food, she didn’t understand, but he moved almost mechanically.
Her heart ached because she knew, truly knew, that he didn’t deserve to be there. Their enemy was the USA and the Avengers. Potter wasn’t American or an Avenger. He hadn’t done anything wrong, anything to warrant being locked up and tortured. He’d shown her his pain, made her experience his fear while being tortured, just so she could understand that he was a victim. Yet there he sat, meekly eating.
A tear lightly dropped on her cheek, cold and surprising. Wanda brushed it away. Sympathy for enemies never went down well. She tried so hard to not feel for him, but after what she did to him and how he suffered, it was impossible. She forced herself to look at his face. There were marks on his temples, now bruises left behind from the tight equipment that pinned his head in place. Wanda had the vague recollection of struggling herself when put in that chair for them to assess her abilities. Oddly, her memories of that time were foggy.
As if sensing her stare, his green eyes lifted from his meal. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, catching her off guard. She covered her mouth, coughing, getting Pietro’s attention. He quietly asked if she was alright and she waved him off.
It didn’t convince him. Pietro knew she was far from alright. She hadn’t told him what she took part in when summoned down to the research level to assist. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she had done. What line she had crossed.
She lowered her gaze, but it didn’t stop her from seeing the unrestrained hate in Potter’s deep green eyes. He hated her. And he should.
Maybe she should hate herself too.
She got up, confusing and worrying her brother, but she couldn’t stand it. She needed to get away from those eyes that saw far too much. Half-staggering, she managed to make it out of the mess hall, avoiding suspicious guards and staff in her haste to get away. She was barely aware of where she was fleeing to, just that she was putting distance between her and the wizard. She could still feel the lingering taint of his emotions, the faint traces of his thoughts that bled through his mental walls. His fear… and pain… were too much like her own.
She made it out onto the western battlements, the sky long since darkened. The crisp chill of the night helped her to breathe. The cold wind snagged on her hair, chilling her face. Her hands touched icy stone and she looked out to the forest beyond, to the rugged mountains and the wilderness.
All it took was a slight stirring on the wind at her back for her to know that she was suddenly not alone. She didn’t turn to look at her brother. Tears dewed in her eyes, held at bay by her eyelashes.
“Do I need to speak to Strucker?”
Pietro spoke quietly, but Wanda heard him perfectly. She still didn’t turn.
“No.”
“But what he is making you do is upsetting you.”
His hand touched the back of hers, just a featherlight touch. Wanda closed her eyes at the comfort.
“I will speak to Strucker myself,” she said, letting out a long breath as she did, “you do not have to fight my battles, you know.”
“I do when you are too stubborn to fight for yourself.”
Wanda could hear his smirk in his voice. She opened her eyes, turning to look back at him. Half his face was cast in shadow. Her fingers curled instinctively, threading through his. Concern etched what she could see of his face.
“They don’t own us, Wanda,” he murmured, his shoulder nudging hers as he spoke covertly. “If we want to leave, they can’t stop us.”
She hummed thoughtfully in response, looking back out to the darkened mountains.
“Maybe we aren’t prisoners, but I don’t think we are as free as we’re made to believe. I thought… I knew what we were getting ourselves involved with.”
Pietro followed her gaze out. “They can’t catch up with me.”
“You can’t run forever, brother.”
His teeth flashed in a cocky smile, “that’s why I have a powerful sister to help me.”
She bumped his shoulder.
“Be serious.”
“I am,” he said, his smile gone. He reached over, hand going to her shoulder so he could turn her to face him. “If you want to go, I will leave Stucker and his promises in our dust. We don’t need him… not when we have each other.”
She sighed, leaning forwards. Their foreheads met in the middle. Relief rushed through her. It was just what she needed, unconditional support. No intrusive questions, no judgement, just love.
And love always was enough.
The hulking mass of the repurposed Second World War era fortress sat like a blight upon the mountain landscape, grim and grey. Under the pallid light of a winter’s dawn, it appeared colder and more ominous, yellow sickly lights shimmering out from a few windows spotted about the towers. Floodlights still streamed at the walls, the patrolling guards appearing like distant ants from their vantage point as they watched from a high position a mile west.
Seeing the base in person set Hermione blood turning to ice as surely as the bitter weather attempted since stepping off the jet. She had gleaned from the intel that HYDRA managed to amass an army of mercenaries with their ill-gotten blood money, but seeing the numbers in person was something entirely different. There were hundreds, each armed with enhanced weaponry that could decimate in a single shot. They had sentries, patrols, security systems… technology that needed to be bypassed before they could slip in and cause mayhem.
As that was apparently the plan.
When she questioned the wisdom of going in with all guns blazing, Natasha just cleared her throat and nodded pointedly to Dr Banner. Stealth was pretty much out of the window when they had a Hulk on the team. Steve smiled at her in an effort to reassure and told her to just let them do what they do best. They would be the ones picking off the goons with the big guns. It was down to Hermione to be the one infiltrating the base, locating both assets, and reporting back to the Avengers. She had the advantage of being able to breach the defences without the need of blasters and brute force.
Hermione was very good at Apparation and she had Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.
Kitted out in winter combat gear, she hunkered down on her haunches. The early dawn still provided plenty of cover. She didn’t need the Invisibility Cloak yet. Alone for the first time since she agreed to go on the mission, she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. She’d barely slept a wink since they landed despite what Steve said about their outpost having better bunks. The jitters that kept her wide awake and alert were far too similar to the feelings she had on the eve of battle those years ago.
As a way to steady her nerves, she ran through all the details that she’d been briefed on. Natasha and Agent Barton had already scoped out the security, their keen eye and experience lending valuable insight. They picked out her window for her, spying for shift changes on the walls so she could move in while there was activity to disguise any sounds she made when Apparating. Heat maps of the base gave them some idea of the heavily populated areas and energy signals registered high outputs at key locations. One of them had to be the central hub. Hermione had to get as close to the heart of the operation as she could and gather intel. She wasn’t there to hatch a rescue, not yet.
I’m coming for you, Harry. I swear…
Hermione pushed her fingers up past her hood, pressing against her ear where she had the audio receiver inserted. The channel was quiet, but she knew her signal was transmitting. She could feel the buzz of electricity mixing in with her magic. Thankfully, she had enough experience around muggle tech to not short-circuit everything within her vicinity like many purebloods.
Sighing out a puff of misted breath, Hermione stretched herself out of her hunched position under tree cover. Freezing herself while on look-out wouldn’t help anyone and Stark already had his satellites mapping out the landscape far better than she could manage with her eyesight alone. The torturous wait would have to continue… somewhere at least that wasn’t minus ten celsius.
Gripping Harry’s cloak, Hermione Disapparated from the look-out. The unpleasant compression was brief as she impossibly navigated across the distance in a blink. Maintaining her balance, she re-emerged in a dimly lit bunker to the scent of stale tobacco. It was quiet, but that didn’t mean she was alone. Hermione unzipped the front of her coat, checking the time gleaming from the digital clock set up in the kitchenette. Very little in the outpost belonged to the twenty-first century, being very much an old cold war bunker. It served as a decent shelter and HYDRA hadn’t picked up their presence yet.
“You know, I really need to find out how you do that.”
The cool comment came from the kitchen. Acting as if it was completely normal to be around teleporting witches, Tony Stark continued grimacing his way around the coffee he was consuming. He pulled a face, tin mug clanking on the worn out side board.
“Any chance you can zip away and get us some decent coffee?” He asked, pushing the offending coffee vessel away from him. “I knew I should have argued harder on what Cap considers as ‘essential’ supplies.”
Tony pushed himself forwards, presenting her with a casual smile as he purposefully passed the sink and dumped the entire contents of his drink down the drain. He dropped the cup in as well with a definitive clunk and dusted off his hands. His debonair attitude was at odds with the bleak space they occupied. Tony Stark himself very much didn’t belong, though he was out of a tailored suit and dressed more practically. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he kept himself in decent shape despite his reputation for being a playboy – in the past.
He sniffed, rubbing a hand under tired eyes, the veneer of his celebrity dwindling away as he came close to her under the winking lights of the bunker. He squinted up at the offending light fitting, sighing.
“I’d offer to Apparate to my favourite spot in Rome for the best coffee, but they don’t open for another four hours,” Hermione said as she pulled out one of the more reliable looking chairs. She dropped herself with some care into it, but it still creaked warningly. “Magic can’t solve everything.”
“Huh, well, how about a fresh Brazilian roast? Or maybe Guatemala?”
“It’ll be the evening,” Hermione said, poking her wand into her wrist holster. “I’d have better luck coming back with a Caipirinha.”
“Hmm… it may be early for that even for me ,” Tony said, sauntering over.
He shot a frown over his shoulder to where there was a door between the so-called kitchen and the living quarters in the outpost’s bunker. He then rested his hands on the table, giving her a direct and very business-like look.
“Addictions aside, I’m not planning on sleeping and, from one insomniac to another, I can tell you are the same. We have at least five hours to kill so… help me solve instant teleportation as a way to pass the time?”
Hermione debated for a moment to argue that magic didn’t follow the same rules as science. Instead, she met Stark’s gaze, seeing only a fellow intellect seeking out the solution to a puzzle.
Leaning forwards, Hermione Granger began to entertain Tony Stark’s curiosity… and her own.
By the time sunlight filtered down the tunnels to the bunker, the table in front of them was strewn with diagrams as they clashed minds. When the others began to filter in, they muddled around the table, puzzled at the activities of the insomniacs. Dr Banner joined in, fascinated with Hermione’s alchemical notations as she went to illustrate to Tony the basis for Flamel’s discovery of the Philosopher’s Stone. It was one of many tangents.
Steve Rogers cleared his throat, drawing all attention over to him where he was already armoured and ready for deployment.
“Ground team, we leave in ten. Stark?”
“On your signal, Cap. Jarvis will handle things from the sky.”
Hermione felt the mood change like cold water in a bathtub. Nerves returned with a rush. Steve turned sharply to face her.
“Hermione… you give us the signal when you’re in. If anything happens, if you’re made, you let us know and we cover for you.”
She nodded, standing as she pulled Harry’s Invisibility Cloak free. The silver cloth shimmered around her as she shook it loose. She then tapped her ear, checking that the bud in place was working.
“I’ll move to the lookout now and Apparate when I have my opening,” she said, glancing around, seeing the encouragement.
Tony then stepped up to her, putting a hand on her arm.
“Don’t forget that you owe me a coffee.”
Hermione smiled. Throwing the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders, she disappeared from view, causing a few expletives (and for Steve to rebuke ‘Language’). Before her own nerves could stop her, she sought out the impossible space between spaces. Defying all physics, she pushed herself through the fabric of space and time.
Unknown to her, she left behind a silent room.
Clint coughed, breaking the silence.
“We all just saw her go invisible, right?”
Chapter 5: The Raid Begins
Chapter Text
Dreams were rarely a quiet affair for Harry. Fresh terrors accompanied him in the realm of sleep, forcing him to be accommodated again and again with the sound of his own screaming. Sometimes, he’d find himself lost in the chaos of battle, seeing bodies crumpling after the flashes of green cut their strings. It was loud, always chaotic… and always nightmarish.
He feared the silence the most. The dreams that plunged him into a monochrome world of shadow and stillness reminded him of death. That had been the nightmare which the sceptre forced him to relive. The question of why plagued him whenever he could spare a thought. From how much it played in his mind, it was no surprise that he found himself dreaming of the forest. Most of the time, Voldemort was there to meet him, death a promise in his cruel, triumphant smile.
The frighteningly lucid part of him sensed the wrongness of the dream as he walked slowly over the decaying leaves. Dark grey shadows loomed over him as always, the chill settling in… yet there was something wrong. The light bleeding through the canopies overhead wasn’t silvery like moonlight, but red… deep red.
He cupped his hands in front of him where, usually, in his dreams, he held the golden snitch. His memory usually played out, revealing the resurrection stone.
Instead, his fingers and palms were bathed in blood red light, sparkles of ruby red brightening around him, the air coming alive with magic. He lowered his hands, feeling her then. It had been a long time since he shared his dreams with another soul, but he knew intrinsically that his dream had an invader.
He didn’t turn. He just waited. One breath, two… then he heard her footsteps crunch on the leaves and twigs behind him. All outrage he should feel at the invasion of his dreams barely sparked. He was too tired, worn down to his very soul.
“It’s not very polite to invade another person’s dreams without their permission.”
His voice echoed weirdly around him as if he stood in a cavernous vault rather than exposed in a chilly forest full of shadows and ghosts.
“Add this to the rest of my offenses against you. There are already too many.”
Her voice, too, sounded ethereal and unnatural. He jerked his head over his shoulder, seeing her silhouette cast against a glow of deep red light. It unsettled him, the presence of her magic. There was something so very wrong about it, but he couldn’t quite distinguish what it was. Her emotions were violent and dark, but those feelings came from a hurting soul. Her magic… it felt hungry.
Far too sentient for his liking.
“If you aren’t here to torture me in my sleep as well as when I’m awake, then leave me to my nightmares. They do your job well enough.”
At the cold bitterness of his words, the red glow around them dimmed to give way to the shadows. She approached him regardless of his hostility, the dry debris under foot crunching.
“I refused Strucker. I have told him I want no part in their plans for you.”
He slowly turned, finding her closer than he expected. Her face was shadowed, just the vaguest outline all he had to gauge where she was. It was almost completely dark. He sighed, raising his right hand where he suddenly wielded a wand.
“Lumos,” he murmured.
Light the colour of the moon shone out, the brightness drowning out the blood red glow around them. He could see her more clearly, a little surprised at how different she seemed. The hard lines of her cheekbones were softer, the cut of her brow and nose less severe. Her hair hung loose, almost lank, and he saw to his surprise that she wore the same clothes he did. Grey, featureless scrubs.
“If you aren’t invading my dreams on his orders, then why are you here?”
She frowned at his question, her eyes appearing paler than they did in the waking world.
“I could sense you while I was falling asleep… so I reached out and… connected.”
Harry faced her properly, sighing. The only wizard to have invaded his mind and dreams had been Voldemort. The only reason he managed was due to the fact Harry possessed a bit of his soul. He’d heard of dreamwalking before, but there was a whole ritual involved and both parties had to be involved. Everything he thought he knew about magic was already upturned. He struggled to keep up.
“That explains how you are here, not why. You stayed here for a reason. What do you want from me?”
She didn’t flinch at his cold tone, only regarded him curiously. Her pale eyes were fixed upon his own.
“I don’t want anything from you. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
He laughed bitterly. “Great. Well, maybe you can kindly have your existential crisis somewhere that’s not my dream?”
Her hand suddenly snatched around his wrist. The contact took him by surprise. She moved closer again.
“ I may not know what I want, but… that which links us…? I think it is trying to bring us together. Make us talk.”
Harry stared into her eyes, the red light rekindling in her pupils like sparks. He understood immediately what she meant, thoughts fluid within his dream.
“The sceptre?”
She nodded, releasing his arm. Harry sighed again. He hated how she had a point. He had been a lot more aware of her after being exposed to the sceptre himself.
“I’ll agree that whatever’s inside that thing has a mind of its own, but that doesn’t make me trust it. The opposite, in fact.”
“It has changed you… just as it changed me. Your magic… you can wield it. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Harry shook his head, “no, that was accidental magic.”
“Your magic is stronger. I can feel it almost all the time. Perhaps… now you are strong enough… to fight back...”
Her voice started to turn thinner and quieter. Harry watched as the last of the red glow faded against the brilliance of his spell. Behind Wanda, a scene began to manifest. He moved forwards, lightly brushing her aside.
In front of him instead, he saw the clearing. He saw figures mulling around, their voices low and jeering. There, right in front of him, stood the spectre of his nightmares. He raised his wand. Wanda turned, her hoarse gasp nearly drowned out by the high shout that announced across from them.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Green light blazed, but Harry didn’t move. He looked over at Wanda, seeing her shocked face bathed in green light before she and the forest around them vanished.
He stood alone in a vast space of soft white light.
Slowly, he looked heavenward. Above him were distant buttresses, supporting a lofty ceiling. The features assembled themselves before his eyes, forming a pristine train station with a gleaming marble floor. Light bloomed from every space, too brilliant, too perfect. He looked around, confused to find himself suddenly in a different dream.
He closed his eyes, shuttering away the scene. On the other side of his eyelids, he felt the soft light shift and change. As he breathed in, air rushed into his lungs. His fingers twitched, feeling cloth and bed sheets. Waking up from his dream, he pulled himself fully into consciousness, returning to the reality of his continued captivity.
Rolling onto his back, Harry blinked in the dim light of his cell as he woke up. The panels above him were set to a lower light setting while he slept, only to be cranked up in brightness during the majority of the day. Grateful that he didn’t wake to blinding light, he groggily pieced his awareness back together after a very confusing dream. Groaning, he extracted his arms from under the bedsheet and thick woolen blanket. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing against his palms.
Had Wanda really managed to communicate with him through his dream? Or had he dreamt up the whole thing himself?
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, the mattress creaking under him. The sheets fell away, exposing his bare chest. Leaning to the side, he groped around the floor for his shirt. He tugged it on, grimacing at the scratchy touch of the cloth. His living conditions had gone through some improvements, but he still was treated like the stereotypical prisoner in his grey, disposable scrubs. With no means to glean the time, he had no way of knowing if he was expecting company or not. He just had to wait… trapped in a perpetual state of waiting for the abrupt arrival of his guards as they took him away to wherever they wanted him.
Sitting still on the edge of his bunk, he did his best to grasp onto the details of the dream he just had. Instinct told him that it was just as real as when he spoke to Dumbledore’s ghost all those years ago. It may have all been in his head, but it didn’t make it less real. He gripped the blanket under him, trying to understand why the girl bothered to reach out to him. Was it some effort to assuage the guilt she clearly felt towards the unjust captivity forced upon him? Or the experiments?
He had to remind himself that she’d been experimented upon as well. Even if she had agreed to it, it was obvious to him that HYDRA had manipulated the impressionable twins to their cause. They had been misled into believing that what they had signed up for was some campaign against the Avengers. While they were a common enemy, HYDRA had a far more obvious ulterior motive. Harry had been around power-crazed megalomaniacs before to know that HYDRA’s primary goal was very simple. Power.
The lights then brightened. Harry sighed, pushing himself up from the bed. He shuffled over to the toilet to do his business, yawning as he did. If his dream had been a real conversation, then whatever was planned for him, Wanda wouldn’t be involved. He wasn’t sure what to take away from her display of a conscience. Could she be a potential ally to him?
He wasn’t left waiting for too long when the door hissed open. He managed to wash his hands in time before masked guards entered, gesturing for him to follow them. He obediently moved into place, walking in pace between the two out of his cell. Losing himself in his thoughts, he kept his gaze cast downwards as he absently counted how many paces his cell was from the shower block. There wasn’t much to look at down the corridor where the door to his cell was identical to five others. He was the sole occupant of the dreary dungeon, a place designed for prisoners of war.
Daily showers were a privilege he had to work for, one that he relished even if he sacrificed his pride to receive it. The showers were in desperate need of refurbishment, the tiles cracked in several places while rust gathered around all the pipes. It wasn’t as cold as it should be, positioned close to the boiler room. The guards blocked the only exit while they let Harry have free reign of the space for fifteen minutes. Once he was done, he delivered himself to the guards, his shoes squeaking on the tiles. His collar, damp from the shower, clung uncomfortably to his neck. His hair didn’t help, dripping slowly to keep the damn thing around his throat from drying out properly.
He automatically motioned to head back down to his cell where he’d eat his breakfast, but a hand clamped around his forearm, stopping him. He scowled at the guard.
“No. You go to Doctor.” A thickly accented voice rasped out from behind the mask. “Medical exam.”
Harry didn’t shrug out of the guard’s hold, not resisting as they tugged him in the direction of the security gate. His heart gave a small jump. Being taken away from the detention level spelled bad news for him usually, but it meant he saw more of the premises. Once cleared through security, his guards took hold of his arms and brought him over to the lift. He took extra care in keeping his head down. The more defeated he appeared, the more they would lower their guards. Neither of them spoke as they waited for the lift. Harry glanced over to his left where he saw the guard resting his hand on the handle of his stun baton. He obediently entered the lift when it arrived, having learnt the hard way that fighting back wasn’t always worth it.
The lift, more bleak than his cell, rattled as it ascended due to being built from metal sheets and out-dated electronics. Gears screeched as it came to a jarring halt. Harry didn’t look up as he was jostled out through the doors, his flimsy plimsolls squeaking on the linoleum floor on the upper level. The commons area carried the same feel as a hospital with its plastic flooring, bland corridors and double doors. It even smelled the same, chemicals clinging to the air to convince the nose that the place was clean.
Conversation blurpled from the canteen as Harry and his escort drew near. They passed a few workers, gazes averted purposefully. Harry glanced over to the side as they passed the open doorway. Only a few of the night shift workers were eating at the tables. His gaze went immediately to the window. As views went, it was pleasant enough if he looked beyond the blocky walls and battlements of the old fortress inner defences. Dark grey stone ceased to inspire, but beyond that, he could see snow-capped mountains and an icy pine forest fringing the foothills. The sky had faint patches of blue amid the white and grey, but the leaking yellow from the sunrise was what drew his attention.
He didn’t have long to admire the view as he was marched away down the hallway. His stomach felt achingly empty as it became increasingly apparent that he wasn’t receiving breakfast any time soon. Each step that took him towards the medical rooms had his dread increasing. Was his trip to see Doctor List anything to do with his strange dream encounter with Wanda? He’d been seen for medical treatment after his various sessions, mostly to have his wounds cleaned and dressed. The examinations he received in the bunker had hardly been conducive to his health, successfully distorting his perception of medical treatment likely for the rest of his life… however that was going to pan out.
His heart was racing in a full panicked gallop by the time he was wrenched through one of the open doors of the medical rooms. Set up like a doctor’s surgery, Harry knew better than to be deceived by its innocent appearance. Doctor List was already waiting, sitting at a desk where he appeared to be busy entering information into the computer. The pallid blue light from the screen illuminated his face, making him seem almost sickly. Harry didn’t care if the man was sick. He deserved far worse.
“On the bench, gentlemen.”
List even dared to sound cordial as he gestured over to the elevated examination bench at the side of the room. Harry bit on his lip, trying to hide his fear as he caught sight of a trolley close by. Images fluttered through his mind, scattered memories of polished scalpels waiting on a similar trolley and cold antiseptic chilling his skin. He flinched and briefly struggled when they took him to the bench where there was a sheet of paper covering the rubbery padding. The guard on his right grunted, shoving Harry hard into the bench. He released his arm, slipping his stun baton free from the holster.
“Alright, alright…” Harry straightened, pulling his other arm free to raise both his hands in surrender. “I’m getting on.”
List’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it back, getting up. He met Harry’s gaze and pointed to the bench as if Harry needed further instruction. Gritting his feet, he reluctantly turned and perched on the bench. The guards moved back to give List room.
“Neither of us wants this to become unpleasant, do we?” List asked him, nodding as he eyed Harry’s collar. “We replaced the battery yesterday so it has a full charge.”
“You should have kept this fucking thing off me,” Harry bit out angrily, glaring at him. “I’d be a lot more cooperative if you stop treating me like an animal.”
“It is a necessary precaution.”
“Is it?” Harry challenged. “I mean, aside from it packing a punch, just how effective is the magnet anyway? It’s not like I can use my magic at will without a wand… as I keep saying over and over…”
List frowned briefly, but then sighed.
“We have been researching magic for longer than you have been alive. We know your weaknesses.”
Harry had nothing else to say as the doctor went through the motions of what appeared to be an actual medical examination. He took note of Harry’s blood pressure, his heart rate, checked his blood sugar levels and iron, listened to his lungs, checked his reflexes… all standard things that were alarmingly painless.
Harry broke his silence.
“Is there a point to all this?” He asked. “What are you checking me for?”
List hesitated for a moment as he walked to dispose of his gloves, peeling them from his fingers.
“Changes,” he replied, dropping the crumpled blue gloves into the disposal unit for medical waste. He looked over his shoulder, frowning at Harry. “We did receive a very in depth medical profile from the HYDRA cell in North America where you were held previously, but that data is now irrelevant. Especially now our results from your testing show that you’ve become enhanced.”
Harry widened his eyes. While he knew his magic felt different since being exposed to the sceptre, he didn’t want to confront exactly what that meant. Wanda and Pietro had come away from the sceptre with superhuman abilities. Even if Wanda may have had magic already, her powers weren’t natural. Pietro Maximoff’s speed certainly wasn’t natural. Harry may have come away from the sceptre with his life and relatively unscathed, but under his skin, he did feel… different.
“It is a pity we must switch our methods for something that does not involve Miss Maximoff during our studies. Despite her success with you, she has decided to withdraw from our research together.”
Harry recoiled a little. A chill went down his spine. It wasn’t news to him that Wanda didn’t want to be a part of their experiments. She told him as much in their dream… and that must mean that their dream hadn’t been just a dream. Wanda Maximoff really had managed to invade his dream and communicate with him. Did that mean the rest of their conversation, what she said about how they were linked through the sceptre, was true as well? Thankfully, it appeared that List read his shock as primarily in response to his statement.
“I believe we can continue without her abilities. Now that it is clear our work has yielded successful results, exercising your own abilities in a controlled environment shall suffice. Guaranteed that you will cooperate?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
Harry snorted harshly, “well then, there’s your answer.”
List nodded and drew back. He turned to address the pair of guards waiting within reach.
“Accompany Harry to the cafeteria. I think a cooked breakfast is warranted as a reward.”
Refraining from scoffing loudly at the comment, Harry said nothing, looking away to the side. Humiliation was a constant companion. He just had to focus on the positives. A decent breakfast would make him feel better… and he’d have a chance to look out the window. Perhaps even get a glimpse of Wanda and try to glean whether or not she was an ally to him.
Eager to part from List’s company, Harry obediently went with his guards. Only one grasped his arm, holding in a looser grip than before. Harry didn’t give List the courtesy of a farewell, instead glowering at his feet as they took him to have breakfast. He purposefully didn’t look up as they entered, not even when they pushed him into a seat at the table where the guards took their break. He lifted his gaze a little, glaring at the nearby plastic salt-shaker. It offended him that something so normal could be right there in front of him.
The banality of the cafeteria rubbed metaphorical salt into his situation. The people who shared the space with him were just lab assistants, technicians, maintenance workers… maybe even cleaners. Just normal people on a payroll, just working to put food on the table and support their families. They weren’t evil… just there. Just faces that angled away from Harry as he was brought into their vicinity. They had the luxury of looking away.
A plastic tray bounced down on the table top in front of him. Harry jerked in his seat, startled, head shooting up. The guard standing over him had pulled his mask down, his stubbly face visible. He smirked at Harry, reaching over to his tray and picked up a piece of toast from the plate. He bit into the slice, holding eye contact with Harry as he did, then tossed down the bitten piece onto the place with the rest of his breakfast. Harry sighed at the display, not rising to it as he mechanically picked up his plastic cutlery and ate whatever the guard had rustled up for him from the counter.
He ate everything except for the piece of toast.
The guard responsible closed in from where he had been watching at Harry’s back. He grunted unpleasantly, hand grasping Harry by his shirt at the shoulder and suddenly roughly wrenched him back.
“Finish it,” he snapped in Harry’s ear.
“You finish it,” Harry seethed back.
Something flashed in the corner of Harry’s vision. His gaze zipped towards it out of instinct, looking out towards the large window. If he looked any later, he would have missed the split second as brilliant electric blue lightning arched from the depths of the forest. Forks flashed upwards, unnaturally defying the laws of science. Then before he could doubt his eyes, the rumble of thunder followed. It slammed into the glass and the walls with full kinetic force.
It can’t be…
Shocked, panicked shouts triggered in response. Someone’s breakfast tray clattered to the ground as people leapt to their feet, rushing over to the window. Harry’s view out the window quickly was blocked as those present for their breakfast gathered to see what was going on.
Another percussive boom rattled the walls, coming from a different direction. Harry twisted in his seat, eyes wide. That had been an explosion.
The alarm wailed into life then.
Raised voices barely pierced the alarm as the guards shared their disbelief before following emergency protocols. Attention quickly turned from the window back to Harry. The guard holding him half-dragged him out of the seat. His chair clattered to the ground just as he saw a plume of smoke burst out from the tree line. Harry struggled to get purchase on the ground as he was bodily dragged backwards. He looked up at the strobing red light above them, set next to the speaker where the alarm shrieked. Red alert.
Shoved roughly out of the room, Harry barely managed to stay on his feet amid the throng. He struggled to turn, earning himself a sharp blow to the stomach as his petty guard quickly had company. Armed guards swarmed, garbed in winter camo-gear, as they ran to their positions outside. Words flew around Harry, their meaning evading him. They could be talking in mermish for all he knew.
His guard appeared to be taking him back towards Doctor List as Harry glimpsed the man they just left, running down the corridor. He pushed roughly past the guards, signalling something. In response, more guards pressed into position around Harry, standing guard. The rest of the personnel were heading in the opposite direction. Harry made a half-hearted effort to struggle before he felt as if his arm was about to dislocate. He cried out in pain, a sound that List appeared to hear over the chaos. List shot an icy look at the guard holding him before he moved closer to Harry.
“Lock him down in detention. You know what to do if he gives you trouble.”
Harry had the feeling List gave the order in English so he heard it. He glared as the guards jostled him into motion, but soon released him, leaving just one guiding him with a hand gripped at the back of his collar. Harry knew all too well what would happen to him if he gave them any trouble. Even if they didn't have the remote that controlled his collar, they still had stun batons that were just as effective. They bruised as well as shocked.
List barked some more orders, clearing the way. Harry followed at a quick pace, not that he had much choice. They passed many personnel running in different directions, then as they emerged at a checkpoint, the deafening rattle of gunfire cut off the sound of the alarm. He could hear the engines of vehicles setting off to engage. Harry cringed against himself at the sound, looking out through a checkpoint to see the battlements outside. Turrets were opening fire in the direction of the lightning, a battery of high power rounds ripping into the trees.
There was too much to see, too much activity while also working hard to not trip over his own feet. Harry tripped once, nearly choking when the grip tightened on his collar. He put more focus into moving then.
His guards had him thrust into the waiting lift. List waited outside. Harry struggled to turn and see what was happening, but the guard holding him by the collar shoved him hard against the side of the lift. Harry caught a good look up at the face of his guard, seeing fear vividly in the way his eyes darted around. The rough treatment made sense then. Harry looked past the guard to where List was urgently using the lift controls.
When the doors rattled shut, cutting off the sounds of gunfire and alarm, Harry’s mind sparked into life. He was suddenly alone with just two guards, one holding him against the wall, the other at the doors. He shifted a little, glancing down at the belt of the man who held him in place. He was armed with a baton, but no gun. He then craned his head to see if the other guard had a weapon.
Just a baton as well.
Harry held his breath, ducking his head down. Adrenaline sharpened his focus, shearing through the fears that kept him docile and obedient. The collar was all that kept him under their control, but they needed the remote to activate the shocker. If he could incapacitate them first…
There was little time to form a plan. He had seconds before the lift delivered them down to the basement level where he’d be stuck behind more locked doors. It was his best chance, his only chance.
And the Avengers were laying siege.
The thought struck through him like a hammer ringing out when striking an anvil. It’s all he needed to act. The grip on the collar had eased slightly during the descent, enough to give him an opening.
He swung his elbow back suddenly with as much force as he could. He hit gold, his sharp joint plunging into a soft gut. The guard grunted as he was winded and his hold slipped from Harry altogether. Not giving him a chance to recover, Harry sprung up, twisting around as he did. He went full brutal with his attack, throwing his head forward into a headbutt. The guard didn’t have his mask on.
Light danced in Harry’s vision as his forehead connected. Hard bone struck soft nasal bone. Harry dropped down, knee hitting the metal floor, fingers touching the ground. He sprung back up, light on his feet as the other guard growled something unintelligible behind his mask. He slid his baton from his belt. Harry looked between the men, one with his hands over his face, groaning in pain, the other raising his arm to swing down.
Harry ducked, the baton whistling over his head. He jumped back, finding the wall at once. The lift was a tight space for a fight, but it had an advantage. Harry pushed himself off the wall, throwing himself at the guard with a wordless yell. Not expecting such an attack, the guard stumbled as Harry grabbed his arm, wrestling him back against the other wall.
The guard without the mask lowered his hand, nose bleeding where it looked like Harry had broken it. He spat fresh blood on the floor. With both his hands holding the other guard’s arm back, Harry had to kick out at the man to stop his advance. It wasn’t enough.
When the lift shuddered to a halt, sparks lit up from the tip of a second stun baton. Harry released the masked guard, trying to back away. He swiped his arm up, blocking the baton that came sparking his way. His arm rattled with the impact. He couldn’t stop two.
Pain lit up, pummelling into his side as Maskless got his chance. Harry dropped at once, his muscles under assault from the burst of electricity. It was just a short burst, enough to knock him down. A boot then slammed into his gut, forcing him to curl over.
The doors then rattled open. Harry rolled his head to the side, seeing through burning eyes that the hallway to the cells was deserted.
Maskless loomed over him, blood dripping unpleasantly on Harry’s shirt as he seized Harry by the front of his collar. Harry choked as he was lifted up while the end of the baton was shoved back into his side.
His hoarse yell ripped out of him as pain roared through his body. The awful brutality of the electricity had his limbs locked in spasms. He couldn’t move, paralysed, as his voice soon strangled off. The other guard then joined in. Harry’s vision greyed over.
Sparkles of red flickered over his sight… the shadows of ghostly trees lurked around him…
He tried to heave in air, pain locking his body into a full spasm as he heard venomous words spat at him.
“Stay down, dog.”
The word cut deep. The collar felt tighter as he struggled to breathe. Anger seared through him, hotter and more tangible than the cold electricity that burned him inside and out. He then sucked in a breath, his vision clearing. He could feel the power burning through him, energy that was as alien as it was cruel. He could feel the intrusion and he wanted it out.
So he pushed.
Shouting out at the top of his lungs, he expelled the caustic energy ripping through his nerves. It pulsed out of him, forced out through his skin. White light arched around him, striking the metal walls. It was so bright, it burned his retinas even when he shut his eyes. The guards’ shouts of horror and pain were lost amid the bang as electricity cracked all around them with Harry at the centre. It lasted only a second before it was over and Harry lay limp on the ground.
Two thuds sounded as the guards dropped. Harry heaved in at the air, tasting the ozone. He cracked his eyes open, seeing white sparks floating above his face before they frazzled into nothing. Slowly, he engaged his limbs, pushing his elbows down to creak himself into a sitting position. His shirt was burned where he’d been shocked, his skin no better off from the electrical burns. The pain was a mere itch compared to what he’d just endured. He shook violently, twitching in the aftermath. He blinked, clearing his vision, staring at the motionless forms of the guards that had been electrocuting him only seconds ago.
“Wh-what?” Harry stared and stared but the image didn’t solve itself.
The lift doors tried to crank shut at the inactivity, making him jump violently. One of the guards had fallen half-out, the doors stopping at the blockage and opening again. Harry forced himself into motion, gasping at the cramps that rippled through him. He used the side of the lift to steady himself, breathing heavily as if he’d just run a mile. He nudged the nearest guard with his foot, but the man didn’t stir, head turned from him.
Any emotion he should feel at potentially killing the guards was absent. Numbed to their fate, he tentatively stepped over their limbs. He briefly touched the collar at his neck. The magnet clearly wasn’t enough to contain whatever the hell he just did. Shaking himself, he moved towards the lift door, reaching down to grab the guard’s feet. Before his efforts were discovered, he worked on moving the guards out of the lift. He made himself check for signs of life, finding both alive yet unconscious.
The lift door slid shut, leaving him alone with the pair in the hallway of the detention block. He began to search their uniforms, checking their pockets for any keys that he could use. He unbuckled the utility belt of the nearest guard. Neither had the remote that controlled the collar around his neck. Frustrated, Harry fastened the belt he’d salvaged around his own waist and holstered the baton he’d taken.
Wiping at his face, he considered his next move. One thing he couldn’t do was dawdle in the hallway, not while there were cameras. He abandoned the guards, heading over to the fire escape.
The only way was up.
Muttering a quiet apology to the Potter family, Hermione Granger sought refuge under their heirloom, the Invisibility Cloak. It would have to be one of those moments where asking forgiveness was easier than asking for permission, especially when she was hardly in a position to ask its current owner. Rescuing him with the cloak at her disposal was hopefully enough. Clutching the silky folds in her hands, she sequestered herself in a shadowy nook where light didn’t reach.
Infiltrating the facility was the easy part. She breezed into existence on one of the upper battlements where there were few people guarding the apex of the north tower. The sound of her Apparition had been lost in the wind. From there, she had a clear path into the building, deftly moving without notice. Cushioning charms on the soles of her boots made her footsteps near silent as she crept through the facility like a ghost. Once she found herself a safe spot to hunker down and report, she palmed her wand and cast a muffliato charm to keep herself from being overheard.
“I’m in,” she reported, wincing at how cliche she sounded, “North tower.”
“No signs of activity. Looks good our end.”
Natasha’s voice spoke directly in her ear from the bud that she’d made sure was perfectly lodged in place. Hermione nodded in response before sighing at herself.
“Right.”
“You have five minutes until we reach the perimeter,” Steve spoke next, his voice serious and to the point. “Stay out of sight until we breach.”
“Got it.”
Hermione had to move quickly if she had only five minutes. Taking care on the icy steps, she crept down a spiral staircase, ears pricked for voices. The top level of the tower appeared deserted. Once the air warmed, Hermione hugged the outer wall of the stairwell, holding her wand tightly while keeping the cloak covering her. She paused when she heard the sound of activity. Moving to the edge of the landing, she peeked out to see just another battlement. She needed to go further down.
She knew she reached the right spot when she came across a locked door. The metal was even seized shut tightly from the ice. It was a good sign that the door was in such deplorable condition. No one would be watching it. Magic made short work of the mechanism. Hermione thawed out the hinges, unlocked the door and layered a few lubrication charms to stop any loud creaks from giving her away. The door swung open as if as good as new.
Hoping her good luck would last, she crept down a cold, airy corridor, passing old lookout spots as she followed the curve of the outerwall. Time was counting down. Just as she entered the fringes of panic, she approached an overhang. A sigh of relief escaped her as she had a clear view down to the floor below. She squeezed through an opening, keeping low as she peeked out. Her eyes darted left and right, looking for a way down without Apparating. She caught sight of a metal staircase and moved over, freezing when she suddenly saw a guard lounging at the sentry point, his back to her.
Too close.
Hermione poked her wand out from the folds of the cloak, casting a non-verbal Confundus charm. The guard slumped lower, his shoulder butting against the wall. He’d be too befuddled to notice her if she did make a sound at least. Reaching the metal stairs, she climbed down, holding her wand aloft. Her eyes were wide and alert as she emerged on the operations level. She kept close to the walls, keeping back while she assessed the space beyond. There were monitors and computers, all set up on different workstations. A blend of new age tech and cold war decor mashed together. What she didn’t see was any sight of the sceptre… or Harry.
She could see a position behind large units that she assumed were computer servers. Only a handful of people were at their stations and likely only a couple were even alert. The second she found cover again, she crouched down, tucking herself as much into a hidden vantage point as she could. From her position, she could see what appeared to be a central hub where screens were erected in a curved wall, each showing a different video feed.
“Status, Hermione? ”
Steve again.
“In cover. I think I’ve found their centre of operations.”
“Any sign of Loki’s Sceptre?”
The deep voice wasn’t one Hermione had heard before, but she knew who it was from the cadence of his accent. He would sound right at home in the United Kingdom despite being from very far away.
“No,” she replied, her heart giving a nervous skitter, “but that’s not to say it isn’t here. It will be stored underground to contain the radiation bleed.”
But her thoughts weren’t focused on the sceptre. She searched the monitors that were within her view, desperate to find clues for Harry’s location. Each security feed showed a different angle out outside the fortress, few showed the interior. She then assessed who was monitoring the screens. One man in particular stood before the hub, his arms folded as his face was bathed in pale blue light. Unlike the others in the room, he wasn’t dressed like a security guard or an engineer. His long black leather coat was at odds with the dress code… and then there was the strange monocle glinting in the light.
A small red popup flashed at the main holoscreen. The man’s brows furrowed around his monocle. He unfolded his arms, opening the popup. The screen changed from showing multiple security feeds. Instead, it showed a singular camera feed broadcasting from what looked like an office. A rather unremarkable man was on display, straightening his tie as he cleared his throat.
“You wanted an immediate report, Wolfgang.”
At the use of English, Hermione’s brows rose and she edged forwards, listening intently. The man speaking on the video had a flat, British accent, absent anything noticeably European. The man with the monocle who was addressed as ‘Wolfgang’ didn’t give off any reaction.
“You have already seen to him?”
“Yes and he was less recalcitrant as usual. I believe we are making good progress with his assimilation.”
Hermione held her breath. Could they possibly be talking about Harry? If anyone could be described as ‘recalcitrant’, he was right at the top. Nausea rapidly gripped her. She did not like the sound of ‘assimilation’.
“While that is good news, we do not require cooperation. I care more about results. What are your findings? Can we advance to further tests with Potter?”
A gasp choked out of Hermione. Horror sent her blood turning cold as the confirmation came in the worst possible way.
What have they done to you, Harry?
“We can, yes,” the other man answered from the live feed, “he has recovered substantially…”
Her eyes stung as she pressed against her ear to where the bud linking her to the Avengers sat.
“Harry is here. They are talking about him… about testing on him. We need to get him out of here… please.”
The bud crackled with feedback, though under it, she heard soft cursing. She wasn’t sure who was the source.
“We’re going to get him out, that’s a promise,” Steve said firmly, “stay out of sight.”
She swallowed, nodding before she reminded herself that no one could see her. She cleared her throat, fighting back her tears. Rather than cripple herself with her fears for Harry, she needed to stay focused. He needed her to stay focused. Hate began to fizzle under her skin as she leveled a glare at the monocled bastard who talked so casually about testing on Harry, Her Harry, who had been through so much and was already traumatised before HYDRA abducted him.
“... adequate rest, we can begin,” the man on the feed was saying when Hermione focused back on the here and now.
“Excellent work, List. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, of course. Hail HYDRA.”
The feed blipped out of view before being replaced with the split screen of all the different security feeds. Hermione let out her pent-up breath, her hands shaking with her hate.
“Are we breaking into this joint or what?” Stark’s voice cut through her haze of red as she fought against her need to unleash herself on the bastards.
“Thor? ” Steve asked instead.
There was another crackle, then all the screens in the room briefly glitched with static. The lights flickered at the same time, causing looks of confusion to flash about the room. Across the room, where there were windows looking out at the mountains and forest, a sudden flash of brilliant light lashed up from the treeline.
Lightning.
Thunder slammed into the building with an unnatural fury. Hermione’s ears popped from the concussive boom that followed. More lightning forked upwards.
“Let’s get this party started… not that this is a party. Cap, are you good to go? I'm coming in hot.”
“On it, Tony.”
Hermione watched in awe as the scene in front of her rapidly dissolved into a panic. Screens flared with explosions, the assault unfolding at one side of the fortress at the time. It was coordinated chaos, providing the perfect level of threat to have all alarms raised. When it was clear who was responsible for the sudden fireworks, shouts joined in with the shrill wail of the alarm. The building rocked from a close explosion. That she knew was Stark.
The chatter in her ear soon became distracting. Her gaze never left Monocle, certain from how the staff and guards deferred to him that he was the one in charge. His facade of cool calm began to fray as the fighting out in the valley outside the perimeter of the fortress began to grow more intense. Stress truly presented itself when they reported that the Hulk was on the field, smashing their defences to smithereens. The light banter buzzing in her ear was background noise especially when two young people entered the throng, both dressed in casual clothes.
Something about them arrested Hermione’s full attention. It wasn’t how their clothes didn’t match the surroundings at all or how their youth was very jarring. The male, his platinum blonde hair clearly a style choice, extruded tension as if he was holding himself still with great effort. The female carried about her some sort of aura that had Hermione’s skin prickling. No one so far in the building had sent her senses jangling with threat until she clapped her eyes on the girl. Hermione searched her pretty features, dismayed to see them contorted in an ugly look of hate.
The leader turned sharply to face them, snapping his hands up to beckon them over.
“It’s them,” the girl spat, her voice cutting over the ambient din of distant explosions and shouts. “It’s the Avengers… and Stark.”
Monocle pinched at his nose, stressed and impatient.
“You are both not ready for the field.”
“To Hell with that,” the male snapped angrily, throwing an arm over towards the hub of screens. “Your men are being torn apart out there, Strucker. You need us.”
Strucker.
Hermione banked the name, listening intently. She then interrupted the radio chatter in her ear.
“Does the name ‘Strucker’ mean anything?” She asked, her question causing the banter to drop off. She was fairly positive she heard Steve reprimanding Tony for his language.
“Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker,” Natasha’s cool voice broke the brief silence on the comms. “ He is a big player in HYDRA. Do you have eyes on him?”
“Yes, I do… and two teenagers. They seem… dangerous.”
“Enhanced?” Steve asked. Hermione could hear the background chaos bleeding through his mic.
“It’s possible,” Hermione said, then narrowed her eyes as the pair scowled and moved back, appearing dismissed. “How close are you to getting in?”
“I’m working on it,” Tony said in his clipped way, “there’s some sort of particle field barrier protecting the main building where you’re based, Sabrina. I can try an EMP…”
Hermione tucked the folds of the Cloak around herself, layering her silencing charms on her boots before creeping out from her cubby hole.
“I don’t see a generator up here.”
“I think I have it. Rendezvous at my location when I breach.”
Hermione instinctively felt that taking her eyes off the strange teenagers was a mistake, but they weren’t the mission. She instantly knew that Tony had success when a flurry of alarm had guards rushing over to one sector of the room. Strucker pushed past the gathering group, barking orders in German. Hermione then caught movement in the corner of her eye and looked to the teenagers. They both looked at each other, not speaking, yet somehow communicating. They held hands for a moment, then… then were gone.
She blinked. Still, they had vanished. Did they apparate? Her finger lightly touched her ear.
“About those teenagers. They just… vanished.”
“Enhanced on the field,” Steve said in response to her report. “ Hermione, relocate to Tony’s position. I’m at the East side, heading down. ”
“I’m on my way,” she said, rising from her crouched position. “Where am I heading?”
“Just follow the explosions…? ” Steve suggested. Hermione rolled her eyes, not about to get into a debate about how apparition worked. Without a defined destination, she had to just make do with deliberation and determination. Fortunately for them, Hermione had both in ample spades.
Using the security feeds of the explosions in question right in front of her, she had enough of a lock to work with. Before they could become wise to how they had a witch spying on them, Hermione pulled herself through the tight compression of the impossibly small space between spaces.
Where she arrived wasn’t much less chaotic to the scene she’d just left. Smoke hung thick in the air, circuitry fizzing from broken consoles that were burning from a recent blast. A sweeping glance confirmed that Tony had taken care of any hostiles in the immediate proximity. She tugged the cloak off, coughing as removing the shroud exposed her to the smell of burning plastic.
A heavy metallic clunk behind her had her spinning around. Her wand snapped up, spell ready to cast. The blue glowing eyes of the Iron Man suit surveyed her blankly as he lowered the arm that had a repulsor ready to fire.
“Now we really have to talk about how you can do that.”
Stark’s voice didn’t come from the suit. Instead, it came from a darkened opening that led out the smoldering ruin of what appeared to be where the particle field’s generator had been before Stark blew it. Hermione jumped involuntarily as Tony without the suit stepped out, dressed in the tight practical wear he wore for comfort under the restrictive metal. She scowled at him for making her jump, working quickly to fold Harry’s cloak up tightly enough so she could stow it safely in one of her expanded pockets.
“Another time,” she said briskly, lowering her wand as she took in the carnage. She couldn’t see any bodies, but it didn’t mean that they weren’t hidden under the rubble.
“I think I’ve hit the jackpot,” Tony said, not waiting around as he backed up to where he’d come from. Hermione followed, eyes wide as she took in the high-tech displays lining the walls of the room. “The generator that powered the field was rigged up to the same source that powered the servers over there.” He pointed absently behind him. “Cooling units give them away… but that’s not what interests me. It’s the cables that run to that innocent looking wall.”
He jerked his head over to the wall in question. Rough stone, nothing special, yet Hermione got a strange feeling as she considered it. She moved around Tony, frowning.
“The power source for the particle field has to come from somewhere.”
Tony clapped his hands together, “and you know, I am hoping that this is a secret door that leads us right to the pot of gold.”
He swiftly stepped up to the wall, tapping his knuckles on the stone for effect. He then looked at her, raising a brow as he flashed a cocky grin. With a purposeful push on the wall, something clicked. A partition of the wall depressed.
“Yay,” Tony quietly celebrated, pushing the secret door all the way open.
Hermione stepped in, lighting her wand to shine it down the revealed passageway behind the secret door. The darkened stairwell leading downwards didn’t tell them much, other than confirm that HYDRA were keeping things contained underground.
“Looks like we’re going down,” she announced to Tony, shooting a glance over to him then behind where his suit was standing guard. “Are you staying out of your suit?”
“JARVIS has things covered up here,” Tony said, swiftly moving to head down the stairs with her. “Let’s see what HYDRA has been hoarding down here…”
He brushed past her, showing a lack of patience or wariness. Hermione hesitated. She understood why Steve had spoken to her before the mission, making sure that she was focused. Every part of her felt at war as she battled the desperate need to abandon Tony and search for Harry. Trusting the rest of the team to find him in her stead was overwhelmingly hard, but they were relying on her. Tony Stark, of all people, was relying on her to protect him. As insane as that sounded.
With an impressive display of self-control, she followed Tony down into the hidden vault. When he heard her following footsteps, he stopped abruptly, peering back at her. His expression was hard to read as her wandlight flickered over his features.
“Rogers can be a stick in the mud, but when it comes to getting shit done, there’s no one better. He’ll save the day. It’s sort of what he does. He’s the hero with the capital ‘H’.”
Hermione smiled faintly as she reached him, grateful that he was attempting to put her at ease. She could tell that pep-talks weren’t his forte. He didn’t wait to see if his words had any effect, hurrying on ahead.
“Sounds like someone I know,” Hermione said softly to Tony’s back before she followed him down.
Chapter Text
A full-scale assault on the base was well and truly underway as Harry climbed the cold stairwell. His breath puffed out in clouds of mist as he braced against the chill. His flimsy prisoner garb was a pitiful protection against the frosty climate of Sokovia. His heart bounced urgently, powered onwards with adrenaline as he made it up several flights of stairs. He didn’t know where he was going. All he focused on was going up, hoping that he’d eventually find the roof.
Faded red figures marked the floor numbers at each landing. When he reached the second floor, a powerful explosion boomed close enough for the kinetic force to interrupt Harry’s flight. He grasped hold of the railing, looking upwards as the sounds of the assault outside rumbled through the stone walls.
Below him, the door into the fire escape crashed open. Harry shoved himself back from the railing. He gripped his stolen baton and ran for the steps to continue his climb. Movement down the flight below had him looking down. Just as he appeared on the stairs, he spotted who came to pursue him. Their mottled camouflage garb was enough to spur him onwards.
Harry moved at the right moment as a muzzle flash lit up in the corner of his vision. The gun shots were deafening in the stairwell. Harry yelled in alarm, throwing himself to the wall as the bullets cracked against concrete.
They thought he was an intruder.
He wasn’t in a hurry to be cornered and discovered. Harry pushed himself forwards, ducking again as more shots fired from below. Between the explosions outside, the gunfire and the wailing alarm, his ears strained under the battering.
Harry skidded on the next landing. The stairs ended, leading towards a metal door. He soaked in the old cyrillic lettering above the door, understanding none of it. The windows were frosted, but he could see the daunting stripes of bars on the other side.
“Please be unlocked,” Harry muttered under his breath. He slammed himself against the door, hands urgently grasping at the rusted hand-wheel that sealed the exit. The cold metal bit into his hands mercilessly.
Bullets popped from below. Harry threw his arms up in a haste to shield himself. Turning, he let out a groan of dismay as the leading armed guard came into view. Harry recognised the guard. It was one of the few that he’d seen without a mask. The man froze in surprise at the sight of Harry caught in his escape attempt. He recovered from his shock, shouting an order to the men who rushed up behind him.
Desperately, Harry looked around, searching for an escape. What kind of fire escape ended in a dead end? He seized the handles of the hand-wheel again, straining against it. There was a little give as the mechanism had likely seized from lack of use.
“Step away from the door, Potter!”
“ Fuck! ” Harry spat out in response. He looked back over, furious. The only option was for him to fight off the guards. He let go of the door, ripping the baton from the belt he’d acquired. The guard raised his rifle, making Harry laugh humourlessly. Behind him, one of the other guards brought their radio to their mouth.
“Tell the Baron that the asset is loose. East tower exit…”
Harry gritted his teeth, preparing for a messy scrap that would likely end badly for him. Yet he would never be taken back without a fight. His combat skills were better than the average wizard thanks to his attempt at an Auror career. He could dodge, block, punch and kick, yet those skills weren’t much help against three armed men.
“I know you can’t shoot me,” Harry said as the guard reached the landing, facing the barrel of his rifle. “I’m no good to you full of holes.”
The guard smirked, shifting his grip on his rifle.
“You can heal.”
Harry chose to move then. He swept low, darting forwards as he activated the baton. Blue sparks lit up at the tip as he went on the attack. The guard didn’t shoot, as Harry rightly called his bluff. Instead, however, he swung the weapon, butt first. Harry was forced to hop back out of the way, then growled as he swung the baton, aiming for the man’s head.
Another guard moved in on the attack, swapping his rifle for his own baton. Harry backed up all the way to the wall to get away from the threat. He shifted his stance, spotting a target. He drove a vicious kick against the side of the guard’s knee. The man grunted, staggering. Harry sprung up, yelling as he slammed his baton hard against the man’s unshielded head. Harry spun, pivoting just in time as the first guard with his rifle ran in to grab him.
Desperation sent Harry on a mad charge. He ran at the guard and shoved into him. He grabbed hold of the straps of his rifle as the momentum of his tackle pushed them both off down the stairs. The guard hit the ground first, then they rolled in a messy tumble, bodies striking the concrete steps. Each fall forced the breath out of their lungs. At the bottom of the flight, Harry rolled out, sprawling on his back. Several parts of his body smarted, soon to throb with proper pain. He recovered on his side, then lurched himself up to his knees as he heard the guard shout something. He staggered to his feet and bolted for the door on the landing, not caring where it took him. He kicked it open, causing it to swing and crash against the wall. If the guard had reported his escape on the radio, the whole damn facility knew where Harry had escaped to. Panic pushed him into a mindless run down the hallway through the door. He had no idea where he was heading, just that he had to keep moving.
The hallway brought him towards more stairs and the lift shaft. Harry skidded as he slowed, rubber soles squeaking on the concrete. He froze as he saw the lights above the lift doors, indicating that they were in use. Harry didn’t know what to do, drawing up a blank as he started to grasp that he was getting penned in.
“Potter!”
Harry spun around. The guard he pushed down the stairs had caught up and, to his dismay, he hadn’t left his automatic rifle behind. He’d abandoned his mask, leaving Harry with a clear view of his murderous expression. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to hesitate to shoot him to slow him down.
Harry charged for the man, all sense abandoned. The muzzle flared, the gunfire deafening up close. Harry darted to the side, the bullets missing and cracking into the walls and floor. He tried to channel his magic as he ran, his skin searing hot where it raged, furious and unstable. Adrenaline narrowed Harry’s focus. He ignored the gun altogether, swinging low with the baton.
He struck the man in the knee, then straightened, throwing his fist into the man’s unguarded face. The impact jolted up Harry’s arm and into his shoulder, but he didn’t let up his assault. The wild fury of his mad attack gained him the upper hand as the man staggered, dazed from the blow to the face. Snarling, Harry seized hold of the rifle in the man’s hands and ripped it clear from his grip. He tossed the weapon aside, then elbowed him hard in the temple. The blow was meant to knock the man out, but there hadn’t been enough force. It did push the man back, stunned enough for Harry to go back to the baton. He stabbed the button, yelling wordlessly as he drove the sparking end home into the guard’s side.
The man’s shrieks were brief, unconscious after just a second. Harry watched him drop, breathing heavily as he stood over him. He then raised his head, looking around. The walls sported bullet holes. The spread didn’t make sense unless the man had the worst aim of anyone on the planet. Harry then looked down at himself, seeing holes in his shirt and trousers, tears that hadn’t been there before. Harry puffed out a long breath of shock.
Had he deflected the bullets?
He reached up to the collar fastened around his neck. The magnet hadn’t stopped him from frying the guards earlier when they shocked him. Had it stopped working altogether?
Then just as his fingers ghosted over the back of the collar, his neck prickled with dread. He turned, looking back to the lift doors and the main stairwell. His gaze locked on the winking red LED light that he could see from the corner of the room. There was a security camera.
Heavy footfalls thundered from the stairwell.
A high-pitched whine at his neck was the only warning he received. Electricity ripped into him from the charged battery, the assault violent enough to knock him straight down to the ground. His limbs locked up at once, immediately paralysed as his muscles turned rigid like stone. Pain seared through every assaulted nerve, forcing a strangled scream out past his clenched teeth. His vision dulled, senses lost under the white fire as the electrocution went on and on…
And he couldn’t breathe… he couldn’t get away… he couldn’t make it stop…
When the whining buzz ended, taking the pain away with it, Harry heaved in a hoarse breath and coughed violently. His arms and legs weren’t moving properly, stiffened in a full spasm. His neck burned where the device had mercilessly shocked him. He stirred on the ground, hearing the thud of approaching boots. He tried to look up as he found himself hopelessly surrounded. Of course, a unit would be dispatched right to where he was. Strucker would never let him slip through his fingers easily. Harry narrowed his eyes as the closest masked guard tilted his head towards the radio fastened to his weapon’s belt.
“Potter has been neutralised…”
Bitter defeat threatened to break his nerve. He grunted as a foot came down to pin him to the ground, his muscles starting to re-engage only too late. Fury had his magic restless and turbulent under his skin, desperate for release. He looked up, finding the guard above him who held a very familiar remote control in his hand. Harry searched for a possible way out, but if he dared to move, he’d just end up getting shocked again. One guard left his rifle to hang loose as he stepped up to where Harry was pinned, unhooking handcuffs from his belt.
There was a whistling sound from the direction of the fire escape. Something red and blue suddenly flashed as it hurtled down the corridor at a blistering speed. Harry blinked a second later as the resounding clang of metal rang out. The projectile cracked against the wall, then deflected, striking the man with the handcuffs right in the head. The guard pushing Harry into the floor stepped off him as fighting then broke out.
Harry pushed himself off the floor, hearing shouts. He propped himself up on his knees, on all fours, as a guard in front of him found himself the target of a powerful punch before he sailed into the wall, slamming against it with a sickening crunch. Springing after him, light on his feet as he tumbled out from a roll, was a man dressed in a navy blue outfit with a matching skull-tight helmet. He pushed the man aside, seizing the circular shield where it was embedded in the wall and ripped it free. He didn’t stop, moving quickly as he dodged a sudden spray of gunfire. Bullets sparked against the shield as he charged right at the men firing. He kicked the next guard right in the chest with the force of a mule, throwing the man back a few feet. A second blow to the head and the man was out for the count.
Harry could scarcely believe his eyes, blinking rapidly as if to chase away the hallucination. It made no difference as, impossibly, Captain America still stood a few feet away, fighting the armed HYDRA goons like they were out-of-practice. His blows were fast and efficient, incapacitating with finesse.
The guard in charge of the unit, the one with the remote that controlled the collar, stood close by, distracted.
Not stopping to think for a second, Harry seized hold of the advantage. He threw himself at the guard, his shoulder striking first as he went for a messy tackle. His momentum threw him off, spinning him so Harry could make a grab at his wrist. The man growled behind his mask, his finger stabbing down. Agony lit up at once, but the pain wouldn’t stop him, not when he was so focused, so determined. The energy ripping through him felt detached and alien in his veins. He fought through it, his muscles screaming with agony as the power pummelled him inside out, but he was a creature of magic. Electricity had nothing on the power that he possessed inside him.
White bolts of electricity shot around him, the energy forced out just as it had done before in the lift cart. Concrete cracked at the impact and his vision bleached where the light dazzled him. Harry’s hands clenched around the guard’s wrist as the man then shrieked as electricity surged through them both.
The plastic box at the back of the collar then exploded. Sparks showered them, sizzling on their clothes. The second the surge of electricity cut off at the source, Harry collapsed. Static consumed his senses, his hearing lost, vision gone. His nerves were fried, body twitching from the aftermath. The only sense unhindered was his sense of smell. The scent of burnt skin was potent, along with the cloying fumes of melting plastic. Harry couldn’t move even though he became very aware that the device at his neck had caught fire.
A hard impact against the back of his neck jolted Harry’s entire body. The pain sent bolts down his spine and he muffled a scream. The burning pain peaked for a second, making him thrash and twitch violently, then he felt the suffocating presence of the collar peel away. Hands seized him under his armpits and moved him off the man he’d likely just killed, carrying him with ease as if he was stuffed with feathers. The same hands laid him down on the ground with care and rolled him onto his back.
Fingers pushed his face to the side, then Harry felt the same gloved fingers poking at his chest. The fizzing static started to slowly abate, a wailing alarm piercing his hearing. Warmth began to swell through him, familiar and urgent. He recognised it, drawing in a deep breath. His magic… It was free. Harry became aware of his own fingers touching cool concrete then he pressed his hands down on the floor. He opened his eyes, looking up at the face of a man looming over him, dressed head to toe in navy blue.
“Oh…”
Harry managed to breathe out as he realised exactly who was leaning over him.
“Can you hear me?”
The man’s voice was close, urgent and worried. Harry focused on it along with the pair of blue eyes he locked onto. As impossible as it was to find himself with Captain America, Harry had been desensitised to impossible things. He nodded in response to the question. Relief radiated from the man as he moved back a little, his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder.
“Y-you’re Captain America.” Harry stated as he blinked up at the man, trying to engage his poor brain. His eyes then widened, hands shaking as he went to touch his neck. The collar was gone. He tilted his head to the side, seeing it on the floor next to him, the plastic box at the back sizzling where it had blown. “You got it off!”
Energised, Harry then struggled to sit up, ignoring the protesting hurts that ailed him. Captain America helped him upright, his hand supporting him on his shoulder. His blue eyes were narrowed as he scrutinised Harry closely.
“I had to use brute force, but it worked,” he then smiled, looking just as relieved as Harry felt. “I was starting to worry that we were too late to reach you. I heard comms about an evacuation… but then I heard word of you on the loose. Looks like the one I’m here to rescue has done half the job himself.”
Harry let out a weak chuckle, his fingers still brushing over his neck. There were more burns to add to the litany around his neck, but he didn’t care. Being free was all that mattered.
“I didn’t get very far… still needed a rescue,” Harry said faintly, blinking dazedly up at the man who just saved his skin. “This is really happening…”
“Yeah, just sit tight for a moment… get your breath back.”
Harry nodded, grateful for the short break. His head was a mess, barely able to register what just happened. He was also grateful that the superhero hadn’t taken his hand from Harry’s shoulder, giving him that crutch so he could lean against him and recover from the several hundred volts that had just been powering through him like a conduit moments ago. Captain America gave him a quick assessing look, then he brought a finger up to his helmet, touching a spot above his ear.
“I’ve caught up with our wayward wizard… Nat, stay with Banner… try to raise Tony and I’ll stay with the target to get him to evac point… he’s not in shape to make it on foot. Thor?”
Harry shook his head as he forced his thoughts into order. He didn’t have the luxury of spacing out while people were risking their lives for his sake. He met the Captain’s eye and pushed down on the ground to stand. Understanding what he wanted, the man helped him up without a comment, his superior strength very noticeable as he offered a very solid support. He lowered his hand from his ear, his gaze holding Harry up just as much as the strength in his grip.
“Harry? Can I call you ‘Harry’?”
The question stumped Harry for a moment.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured back.
“I recognise a soldier when I see one,” the Captain said seriously, “and while I know you haven’t served in the traditional sense, I know you’ve been in war… from a young age too. So I know that you’ll take me seriously and follow my lead as I’m your best chance out of here.”
Harry kept his gaze fixed on the pair of blue eyes staring back at him with equal focus. He swallowed, his throat burning, just adding to all the other various aches and pains that plagued him. His hands were twitching, still yet to recover. Yet his mind was suddenly utterly clear. The Captain’s serious demeanour helped him.
“You saw your opportunity to escape and made it… even arming yourself in the process,” the Captain continued, nodding down at the belt Harry strapped over his prisoner uniform with the shock baton holstered. “Hermione said you were the strongest person she knows… and I can see why she says that.”
Harry’s blood drained from his face as he saw Captain America’s lips form those precious four syllables. His breath left him just as his hand snapped up to where the Captain was still helping him stand. His magic roiled under his skin in response, charging the air.
“Hermione?” Harry repeated her name, speaking those same four syllables softly. He stared at Rogers more intently, parsing through that barrier to glean the man’s intentions from his surface thoughts. Mild legilimency shouldn’t give him much, but he was suddenly beset with vivid images of his Hermione.
Her wild hair, tamed in a bunch at the back of her head… her eyes bright with determination… her striking figure against a cold sunrise, her attention fixed out at a cold New York skyline…
They were the Captain’s memories of Hermione.
A crackle lit up as his magic lashed out. Rogers released Harry instantly, his eyes wide with surprise and a brief fleeting hint of pain. Harry’s magic had shocked him. A wild laugh managed to escape Harry as he dragged his shaking hands up through his hair.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Harry asked the briefly shocked Captain America. He knew Hermione too well. “Because of course she is… and, um… sorry about that. My magic is pretty unhappy at the moment.”
Rather than appear angered at the display of accidental magic, Rogers appeared almost abashed. He flexed his hand, looking appraisingly at it for a moment, then he nodded at Harry, accepting his apology.
“Considering what I saw you do with your magic against that HYDRA soldier, I got off pretty lightly,” Rogers remarked, his gaze flicking down to where there was a heap of a person close by. Harry followed the gaze, instantly swallowing as he saw the evidence of his successful redirecting of the electricity used to subdue him. “But yes, in answer to your question, Hermione’s on board with the team. I was against it, at first, but I know what it’s like to have someone close to me in HYDRA’s clutches. I made a promise to get you out and I plan to make do on that.”
Harry nodded, understanding what was being said to him, but his head was still spinning. He brought both his hands up to his head, clamping them down on his temples as if to hold his turbulent thoughts in place. He could feel his magic instinctively bolstering him where he was injured. Being shocked multiple times wasn’t healthy as he’d learnt over weeks of being tortured in that particular fashion.
“Okay, okay…” Harry muttered mostly to himself as he refocused. He then looked up, peering at Rogers past his fringe. “If Hermione’s here, then why aren’t you talking to her on your radio?”
Sighing, Rogers paced away, looking down at the scattered guards around them in the hallway.
“She’s with Stark… moving in to retrieve the sceptre that HYDRA stole from us after the invasion three years ago. I think you’re familiar with it.”
“Intimately,” Harry confirmed darkly, lowering his hands as he moved to follow Rogers out of a need to move and focus. “I know where it is… the sceptre. If Hermione and Stark have found it, they’ll be deep in the research bunker. It’s lead-lined… so they’ll be cut off from radio communication.”
Rogers turned, his eyes wide as he took Harry in appraisingly.
“We lost contact about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Well, that’s why then,” Harry said, stopping abruptly before he walked into the solid bulk of muscle. “Look, I get what you were saying about following your lead. I know where I stand and I’m not going to jeopardise this mission over my own pride. I can’t help… not like this.”
Harry bitterly gestured at himself, grimacing as he looked down at the state he was in. His pitiful scrubs were torn and bloodied. As for his physical state, he knew he was in need of medical attention.
“You’ve already helped, Harry,” Rogers said with a friendly smile, clapping him on the shoulder. “But I appreciate your candor. We need to get to the roof and hail Thor from there. He can fly you to safety.”
Harry immediately brightened at the prospect of flying. A grin fought its way to his face.
“In that case, lead the way, Captain Rogers.”
Shock still managed to pierce through her crystal sharp focus as Hermione emerged in the huge vault under the research base. The sheer size of the space took her breath away, but it was the dominating feature of bunker that shocked her. An alien leviathan hung from the ceiling, reminding her of the diplodocus skeleton that stood in pride of place in the front hall of the Natural History Museum in London. The size was on a similar scale, yet the logistics of assembling a skeleton within an ornate hall didn’t apply to how HYDRA managed to stow a massive corpse underground. Especially from all the way from New York.
Both she and Tony were flummoxed at the appearance of the beast, though for different reasons. Her emotions scaled towards the ‘awe’ side of the spectrum wherever Tony was horrorstruck as his eyes widened at the sight, standing frozen in the dead creature’s shadow. She understood as she drew closer. Unlike him, she’d never seen what the beasts were like when fighting them for real. Tony had fought in a battle against them and nearly died in his own heroic act of sending a nuclear warhead to wipe them out.
He quickly recovered from his shock, sharing a look with her that communicated that he was back. Moving with purposeful urgency, he navigated past various workstations. He pointed up ahead rather unnecessarily as they both spotted, at the same time, what they had come for. Right up ahead, set in a cradle, was Loki’s Sceptre. The stasis field around the artefact was blessedly still raised, keeping its otherworldly powers contained.
“I’ll assess the integrity of that field,” Stark said to her, turning his wrist around to activate one of his many devices that controlled his tech. “Do you want to scope out the rest of this place? It looks like our HYDRA friends have a hoarding habit.”
Hermione hummed in agreement, turning her wand to shine over to where she could see other macabre displays, showing skeletons of other creatures. Her senses then caught something familiar, her breath hitching at once. She moved on pure instinct, driven towards the particular chime of magic that struck her deep, right down to her core.
Soulmates never forgot the feeling of each other’s magic, no matter how far apart they ended up. It sang to them… only the song Hermione could clearly sense was one of anguish… even pain.
While Tony was distracted with the sceptre, Hermione found herself drawn to a platform close by. Rather than feel the traces of the sceptre’s alien resonance, Hermione could feel Harry . Her heart thudded in her ears as she stared in horror at a large metal chair affixed to the base of a circular platform. There were restraints set in the arms and legs of the chair, but what divested her attention was the clamps designed to lock around the occupant’s head. Her hand came up to her mouth as she climbed up the step to the platform, her boots clanging on the metal. She knew with as much surety as she knew her own name that Harry had been in that chair. He had suffered… enough for his magic to leave a clear imprint.
Then her senses caught a different trace. She turned, raising her wand as she focused. A trace very different to Harry’s own magic lingered, only it was malignant. It made her hair stand on end in reaction. It was dark magic.
“What did they do to you, my love?” She murmured, her heart aching as she walked around the chair. Just before she went to inspect the head clamps, another spike of Harry’s magic distracted her. She moved on, drawn to him.
But it wasn’t him that she could sense. When she found the source, rage cracked through her composure with a destructive splinter. Her wand flicked up, her magic reacting violently. The bullet-proof glass in the display case in front of her shattered like sugar-glass, the fragments freezing in the air around the frame of the case. They glittered as Hermione thrust her free hand past them, her anger spicing the air around her with a righteous fury. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of Harry’s wand and pulled it free from the clamps that held it in place.
How dare they display his wand like an exhibit in a collection?
His wand hummed under her grip, reacting to her. It felt warm as if it had just been held in Harry’s own grip. Her eyes smarted with tears as she tore herself away. She wasn’t just angry. She was livid. The glass shards rained down, freed from her fury. Wielding both her wand and Harry’s, she stormed over to the work station set up in front of the metal torture chair. She didn’t spare a glance over to Tony, too focused in her own anger. Setting both wands down, she flicked both her fingers up ahead of her to where a holoscreen hung over the workstation. The display blinked to life as she activated it.
Looking for files on HYDRA’s research into Harry didn’t take long. They were already open. Hermione’s hands slammed on the metal lip of the bench in front of her as her eyes latched onto the profile displayed right in front of her. Her stomach warred against her, nausea threatening, but she held herself under control as she absorbed as much as she could from the horrific details that HYDRA had recorded.
She raised a shaking hand, scrolling down past the personal details. The fact that they even used the cheesy photograph SHIELD took of Harry when he visited their offices for the first time with Dr Selvig made her even sicker. For them to have access to that picture meant they had access to all the secure information SHIELD had… but then, they already knew that SHIELD had been compromised.
There were photographs that definitely hadn’t been in SHIELD’s possession. Hermione looked away briefly, but none of them showed Harry’s face in profile, not yet. They were images of his body, cold and detached pictures of scars that documented his life, including a very close up picture of the scar on his forehead.
They had medical records, detailed analysis of his blood. Results for tests on his healing capabilities, then on his magic…
Hermione found video files next, all time-stamped. Her fingers hovered over the more recent ones, but then she went down the list, down to the earliest date. Two days after he’d been reported missing. Closing her eyes, she knew that the Avengers would need all the files, especially if they had information about the HYDRA agents that got to Harry in New York.
When she opened her eyes again, she looked back up through the video files. The software recorded when they were last viewed. Her attention snagged on one that had been watched only an hour ago, one of the videos from December. Steeling herself, she accessed the video file. She needed to see it… to understand what harm had been done for her to help fix it.
A video box opened up. Hermione pinched the edges of the screen with knowledgable ease, expanding the window so she could see the content better. Sound then came from a speaker towards her left, the volume set low, but loud enough for her to hear.
The video showed a sterile looking room, walls and floors pristine. It began to play part-way through the video, causing Hermione to quickly pause. Her heart lurched as she stared at the subject of the video. A seat similar to the one behind her took up the centre of the room, only it was more sophisticated in design with padded panels for some degree of comfort. In place of metal restraints, there were leather straps much like the sort used in psychiatric hospitals. Someone occupied the seat, a very familiar someone. The seat had been positioned so he was sitting up, legs held out straight where they were strapped down. There were tubes and wires running off him, connected to various equipment set up.
Harry wasn’t looking at the camera, which was filming from a higher vantage point in the corner of the room. His attention was elsewhere over to where someone stood just out of sight. Hermione resumed the playback and Harry’s voice spoke out from the speaker.
“... an alien, but the reality is something that no one wants to think about because of the implications. You don’t want to think about it because if you think about the truth, it makes us all pretty small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”
There was a noticeable slur in Harry’s voice. Hermione’s glance took in the clear tubes running down into Harry’s restrained arms, connected up to IV stands where he was clearly being drugged into compliance. She leaned in, feeling a strong swell of dread as she tried to work out why the file had been so recently viewed.
“Humans aren’t the apex species of this universe and that should scare you more than it does, but we’re an arrogant species. We can’t handle that truth… wizards and muggles alike. We can’t put our differences aside and work together to protect our world. We’re such a stupid species that we’ll probably blow ourselves up before the next invasion comes… all because we can never admit that we are weak. Just look at you… you only realised that we’re not alone in the universe three years ago and your priority is how to dominate this planet? Why ?”
Harry then laughed darkly, tipping his head back. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with a drugged haze that made Hermione itch to destroy everything in her proximity.
“Power this… power that… what does it even matter if you’re too dead to use it?”
The person who was the target of Harry’s drugged tirade stepped into view, his bald scalp sheening in the sterile light of the room. Hermione vaguely recognised him from the dossiers of known HYDRA agents. He didn’t appear very impressed with Harry’s rant.
“If you believe that humanity stands no chance, then why side with the Avengers?” The man asked coldly. “Why offer your aid to a planet that you think is doomed?”
“I still think we’re fucked,” Harry said bluntly, “but at least they have the right idea. The only way we stand a chance at fighting back is if we work together-.”
A sudden sound over to where Tony had been working on securing the sceptre distracted Hermione. Her head snapped around as she paused the video. Tony had stumbled back from where he’d been previously absorbed. His back crashed into the workbench behind him, knocking a tray of tools onto the floor with a clatter. Hermione then quickly sensed that they weren’t alone in the bunker.
She snatched the wands from the workstation in front of her, slipping Harry’s wand into her holster as she quickly moved to Tony’s side. Raising her wand, she searched the shadowed edge of the bunker, sensing that cloying taint of dark magic lurking at the edge of her awareness, trying to hide. As she reached Tony, she saw that something was very wrong. His face was ashen, drained with terror as he clutched the desk behind him for dear life.
“Tony?” She reached to touch him, but her hand froze in midair as she caught a reddish spark deep in Tony’s pupils. Her eyes widened and she backed up a step. He was enchanted.
Hermione’s instincts flared and she spun on her heel just as she heard a footstep behind her. Red light flashed in a deep blaze, sending a jolt of fear through Hermione. Expecting the Cruciatus Curse, she reflexively summoned the table to her right. It launched upwards, spilling tools and implements on the floor. Tilting to form a shield, it clanked as the spell struck the metal surface. Tendrils of red radiated outwards, sparking in the air like no magic Hermione had ever seen. Baring her teeth, she sent the table catapulting in the direction of the caster with a strong repulsion charm.
The table flew to the side, deflected away where it crashed into the shadows. Hermione saw the witch then, levitating off the floor by an inch where her power surrounded her in a reddish aura. Her hands were held before her, fingers twirling as red light snaked around each digit. Hermione recognised her. It was the girl from the command room, one of the two twins.
Behind her, Tony dropped down to the floor. Hermione looked over, aghast to see his haunted expression as he then crawled towards the sceptre. He was lost in some sort of trance, likely forced to see some horror in his own mind. Furious at the display of such wicked magic, Hermione raised her wand, advancing. Whoever the girl was, she would be no match for a fully-trained witch with a wand and a thirst for revenge.
“Release him from your spell or I’ll force you!” Hermione shouted as the tip of her wand flared brilliant gold, ready to send an inferno of magic at the girl. “I won’t let you hurt him like you hurt Harry!”
Hermione swung her arm upwards, sweeping her magic out in a wave as she inwardly shaped it into a levitation charm. The various desks and tables set up were caught in the spell, floating upwards, their contents rising up as well. Her magic shimmered where she pulled more objects into her field, dragging each into her control. Her hair blew out from the tie that kept it back, caught in the storm of her fury as she took advancing steps. In front of her, she saw the wide eyes of the girl, glinting as she took in the rising storm of magic. Her gaze then met Hermione’s, understanding flooding those pale green eyes. They then narrowed, hate sharpening her features.
“You are protecting a murderer ,” she spat. “His weapons killed my family!”
Hermione laughed coldly.
“Funny… I wonder if we are talking about the same weapons that are being stocked within the armoury of this building. The same munitions that HYDRA imported from the US illegally to supply their attacks against the free peoples of Sokovia, Bosnia and Serbia… what about those families?”
Her teeth gritted together as she then blasted her arsenal of furniture and tools outwards. The girl went to shield herself as tables and chairs crashed against the walls behind her. Hermione moved in the wake of her repulsion spell, fury making her blast aside the destruction she left, throwing desks against the walls where they crashed and obliterated. Her control was splintering as she advanced, taking in the sight of the girl cowering at the display of her outrage. The menacing red glow of her magic diminished as her arms wrapped around her head.
“Do you even know what HYDRA has done, you stupid girl?” Hermione fumed, her voice ringing out once she stopped destroying inanimate objects. “You think you can judge others while you work for this evil?” She gestured around the bunker. “While you help torture innocent people… while you hurt- ”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him!”
The girl suddenly cried out, dropping her arms from her head. Silence then fell. Hermione stared at her. Only a few feet remained between them. The girl’s breast was heaving, her eyes glistening with tears. Her voice had cracked with resounding hurt. She took a step towards Hermione, raising her hands slowly.
“H-Harry… I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t w-want to… but I didn’t have a choice.”
Hermione held herself back as she took in the tears. More than the tears, she took in the girl’s youth. She was sixteen, at least seventeen, younger than Hermione had been when she’d gone on the run with Harry.
“There is always a choice,” Hermione bit out, but the fire of her rage had lost some of its heat, “not everyone is brave enough to make it.”
“I told him that I wouldn’t help any more,” the girl said shakily, “Strucker… I told him that I wanted no part of… of what he was doing. My brother and I volunteered for this. Whether or not we had the right intentions, we did this willingly, but Harry… he had to be forced. They drugged him and exposed him to the sceptre against his will… and I could feel it. I could feel how scared…”
Her words trailed off, hands pressing over her lips. Hermione closed her eyes, her heart seizing.
“I’m sorry,” the girl then said softly.
In a flash of movement, the girl had company. Appearing as suddenly as if through Apparition, her male twin manifested at her side. The girl choked on a sob, reaching for her brother, clutching him. Hermione stared at them both, torn. A pair of piercing blue eyes glared at her as he tensed threateningly in her direction.
“Pietro, no,” the girl whispered to him, “let’s go… let’s go away from here.”
His eyes widened as he looked at his sister.
“But Stark… he’s right here…”
“I dealt with him… please… I just want to go.”
Before Hermione could make sense of the exchange, the brother’s jaw tensed. Leaving just a puff of disturbed air in his wake, he vanished along with his sister, disappearing just as they had done earlier in the control room. Hermione let out a breath, stunned and overwrought.
Then she remembered that Tony was still right there. Quickly, she turned on her heel where she’d left a significant mess in her rage. Running back where she’d left a path amid the destruction, she dropped down to where Tony had pushed himself into a sitting position. He held his head in his hands, his face pinched with clear pain.
Carefully, she rested a hand on his head. He flinched away from her violently, eyes wide with abject terror. He shook his head, not looking at her, instead staring behind her at seemingly nothing.
“Oh no,” she breathed out, recognising the signs. Mind magic wasn’t her speciality, but she could at least spare him from the waking nightmares he’d been cursed with. She glanced over to the sceptre where it remained. It would have to wait for the moment.
Gently, she wove a stunning charm around Tony’s head to coax him under. He crumpled down, but she made sure he lay slowly, keeping him comfortable. His eyes fluttered shut and the horrible haunted expression smoothed over. She lightly rested her fingers on his temple, sensing the spell still present in his mind.
“Hold on, Tony. I’ll get you to Harry…”
Unravelling the Invisibility Cloak, she swung it over her shoulders, ensuring it covered both her and Tony. Seizing hold of his wrist, she diverted all her focus on the outpost with its terrible coffee. She may not be able to use Apparition to fuel his caffeine addiction, but she could at least teleport him away from the bleak space.
She just had to hope that Steve had made do on his promise.
Delivering them outside the access hatch of the outpost, Hermione made quick work of checking their surroundings for any lurking HYDRA soldiers. She straightened, removing the Cloak.
Hurriedly, she pressed her finger to her ear, catching the tail end of something coming through the radio signal. She said the first word that came to her head to communicate the emergency.
“Mayday… can anyone read me?”
“Hermione!”
“-Are you with Tony?”
“-sceptre.”
“Thor is with Harry-.”
Different voices all spoke at once, but it was the last comment that made Hermione interrupt the stream.
“Thor has Harry?” She asked at once. “Wh-where? I need to bring Tony to Harry right away. I’m at the outpost. I apparated us…”
Her breath puffed out in streams of white mist as looked up just in time to see an arch of lightning bolting overhead. Her breath caught, startled as a streaking red cape followed the forking lightning. Thor shot across the sky with as much speed and volatility as the lightning he wielded. Hermione watched him, alarmed as he took a sudden turn in the air, the sort that would be impossible on a broom.
Instinct had her moving back to Tony, throwing herself over him just in time as Thor made impact. His landing sent a seismic boom through the ground, causing the trees nearby to bend and creak at the shockwave. Snow flurried up from the ground, blasting Hermione with a mixture of ice and twigs. Pushing aside her annoyance, Hermione dusted off the twigs as she got back to her feet. Thor’s low voice rumbled as he spoke to a figure that he’d just removed from a close hold to his chest, a passenger that he’d taken along for the ride.
The figure dropped to his knees, hair as black as night.
“Harry!”
His head shot up as she screamed his name so loudly, her throat hurt. His pale face was like a beacon. Thor then helped Harry back to his feet. Hermione held back her heart-wrenching cries as she staggered over the short distance as Harry did the same, his arms reaching for her. Arms that were shaking with the exertion.
When his body collided against her, his legs gave out. His weight carried her down to the ground with him, their knees striking the snow. She wrapped him in her arms at once, gasping as she felt how cold he was, shivering in just a thin layer of clothes. Thor stood over them, his cape rustling on the floor, and he saw Tony where Hermione left him. Harry clung to her as she looked up at Thor, blinking away her tears.
“Could you bring him into the shelter? He’s been cursed. I’ve got Harry.”
“Yes, of course,” Thor said seriously, “was it the sceptre? Did it take his mind like Selvig?”
“No, it’s… different. I’ll explain…”
Thor nodded, his expression briefly conflicted. He hesitated, but turned to assist Tony, leaving Hermione and Harry on the floor, huddled against each other. Harry then had her full attention, the buzzing voices in her ear distracting her. She reached up, taking out the earpiece. She sniffled, pocketing the device before pushing her hand up into Harry’s hair. With her other hand, she reached for where she’d holstered Harry’s wand at her other hip. Carefully, she brought the hand over to her own back where his hands were gripping her jacket. He drew in a breath sharply and his fingers complied on their own, wrapping around the handle.
“Y-you found me.”
His voice was quiet, so tired yet still clear enough to be heard. He raised his head from her shoulder. Even though she’d mentally prepared to see him looking hurt and injured, it still ripped into her like a lance through her chest. His eyes were hooded, sunken from exhaustion. Bruises mottled his skin, purplish at his temples. His face was unshaven, black hair growing into a short beard under his mouth and on his upper lip. What hurt the most were the new scars she could make out on his face, particularly on the sides of his face.
“I had help,” she said softly back, “and now I need your help. We were attacked by a witch and she… did something to Tony.”
He searched her gaze, the familiar set of his jaw tensing as he understood.
“Wanda,” he said tightly, speaking her name without the icy bite of hate she expected. “Alright… help me get to him. I’ll see what I can do.”
He tapped her arm. She helped him up and his arm went over her shoulders, moving in sync as neither spoke about his need for assistance. He was too vulnerable to have his weakness brought into focus, too hurt in ways she wasn’t yet aware of fully. Their heart-felt reunion had to wait while the mission wasn’t yet over.
Notes:
The action scenes with Harry and the guards were very hard to write. I'm sorry if they are crap. I got a bunch of negative comments about Harry being weak and stuff. I wanted to make him realistic rather than make him OP without reason.
Comfort is incoming. Thanks for staying with this fic <3
Chapter 7: Mission Success
Chapter Text
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Harry. His whole introduction to Loki’s sceptre and catching the attention of SHIELD all began when he used his grasp of legilimency and mind magic to help treat physicist Dr Erik Selvig. His grasp of reality had been shattered as a result of Loki’s mind control, leaving him as a patient in a private clinic just outside of Hackney. It only took Harry a single session with him to repair the damage done, but his interest had been truly piqued as the lines between magic and science blurred.
Now two years later, Harry prepared to use the same skills on Tony Stark. He was far from Hackney, far from the conversations with Dr Selvig over cups of black coffee as they unravelled mysteries together with their combined knowledge. Their discoveries brought them strife in their own way, though Harry could never have anticipated that he’d end up as a test subject himself, a direct result of research he started. He’d come around in full circle, breathing in the aroma of stale coffee in a cramped shelter.
Over his shoulders, a foil blanket had been tucked around from his exposure to the cold. He’d allowed some attention to his injuries, sporting gauze and bandages around his neck to cover the burns. Open plastic packets were discarded in the small adjoined kitchen from the raided first aid kit. He huddled in the larger room, standing over the table where Tony Stark had been laid on the surface, still unconscious.
Harry eyed his audience, gripping his recently recovered wand. He hadn’t quite recovered from the fact he was sharing oxygen with an actual norse god. Such trivial matters had been pushed to the side, like his own injuries and poor condition. He looked over to Hermione where she waited at the end of the table, restoring an earpiece back in her ear.
“The sceptre needs retrieving,” she said in her clipped, business-like tone that denoted the seriousness of their enduring situation. “It’s still where we left it. In that vault.”
“Retrieving?” Harry repeated, his voice starting to rasp where his throat hurt.
“It must be brought to Asgard where we can guard it along with the Tesseract.” Thor rumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry closed his eyes. There was too much to unpack in that sentence.
“Anywhere is better than in HYDRA’s hands,” Harry said grimly, then shook his head a little. “Do what you have to do. I… I’ll work on reaching Stark in his mind.”
He reached forward blindly, eyes still closed, his palm touching the top of Stark’s head. He drew in a sharp breath. He could feel Wanda’s magic still present, a hex of a particular malignant nature. He’d felt the touch of her mental magic himself, but it never felt so cruel. Whatever Stark had been forced to relive in his mind, it was meant to torture him.
“Harry?”
He opened his eyes, looking across at Hermione. His breath rolled out. Her hair was loose and wild around her face, her eyes fierce and determined while she held his Invisibility Cloak in one hand, her wand in the other. Instinctive fear seized his heart at the thought of her going back into that place.
“I want to stay with you, more than anything, even take you as far away from here as I possibly can…”
“But you have to do the heroic thing, I get it,” Harry said, laughing softly as he glanced over to where Thor stood, his brows furrowed as he stared down at Stark. “I’ll be okay… just come right back to me. Please.”
She had to squeeze past the table to reach him. When she tugged him into a rough hug, her lips pressed against his mouth, the fierce contact communicating the desperate longing that they hadn’t yet had the chance to relieve. Her burnt gold eyes ranged over his face, the flickers of concern and anger warring in the depths as she mentally catalogued the different marks that he now sported. Harry sighed into her mouth, his forehead touching hers.
When they parted, she looked over her shoulder at Thor, the fire back in her gaze.
“Keep him safe,” she said curtly, then without further ado, she disappeared under the Invisibility Cloak.
“I will do my best,” Thor responded, sounding amused at her bossiness. He paced over to the kitchen and placed his hammer on the counter. It thudded heavily. “A friend speaks very highly of this one, after all.”
Harry raised a brow, confused enough to nearly miss the sound of Hermione apparating. He sighed again, slumping forwards once she had gone. The foil around his shoulders slipped as his exhaustion weighed on him. Thor was with him in a stride, his huge hand grasping his shoulder to prop him up much like how Captain America had.
“Your strength is waning. I am no healer nor seiðr, but I can tell that you are at your limit. Can you help Stark like this?”
“I’m alright,” Harry said, though he knew how unconvincing it was. “Well, I’m not. Er… can you help me in that chair? Next to his head?”
Thor had to move the table with Stark still upon it to free up enough space for Harry to reach the chair against the wall. Once Harry sat down, he felt as if a hundred aches eased all at once. Sighing with relief, he adjusted the foil blanket, though he didn’t think it was still necessary. Harry looked up at Thor as the god of thunder rested both his hands on the table, scrutinising Stark closely again.
“The friend you mentioned. I take it you mean Erik? Dr Selvig?” Harry asked.
“Yes. I… haven’t had a chance to see him since he made his recovery. I understand that you were responsible for treating his mind?”
“Yes, I was,” Harry said softly as he positioned himself closer to Stark, holding his free hand out over his face, flexing his fingers. “I’m going to have to do the same for Stark and enter his mind.”
He brought his wand over Stark’s face, grimacing at the thought of what he was about to do. Hermione’s stunning charm dissipated at his bidding, unshackling Stark from the forced stunned state. Stark gasped awake, his breath hoarse as he suddenly thrashed on the table, causing the plastic and metal to creak. His eyes almost bulged where they blew wide, his pupils fully dilated. Harry kept his hand over his face, sharing a quick look with Thor who looked alarmed.
“Stark?” Thor quickly went to get the man’s attention. He moved closer, trying to get into his vision range, but Stark didn’t appear to see him or Harry. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling as if it was his worst fear come to life. His face drained of colour, his mouth wordlessly opening as his legs started to shuffle as if trying to push himself away.
“Damn, he’s trapped in a nightmare,” Harry said quietly, studying Stark’s eyes. He could see the spark of red deep in his pupils, the seed of Wanda’s curse having taken root. “Curses like this are… parasitic in nature. All Wanda had to do is plant the seed and Stark’s mind is doing the rest. It’s primitive, but very potent. I can lift the curse, but I will need to enter his mind like I did with Erik to help him out of the nightmare.”
“I have seen curses like this before,” Thor said, surprising Harry. He looked up then remembered who he was with. A God. “Illusions designed to torment the victims, drive them into despair and destruction. It is the madness of Helheim.”
Harry hesitated a moment, swallowing at the reference to the Norse hell. Thor wasn’t wrong. Wanda clearly intended to torture Stark with her curse and Harry knew she had a personal vendetta against him. He then waved his wand over Stark’s face, his haunted and horrified expression not changing as he beheld invisible horrors. Removing the curse itself was easy, his own magic snuffing out the malignant kernel. He pulled Wanda’s magic out. Red vapours streamed upwards from Stark’s eyes, drawn to the tip of Harry’s wand. He flicked his wand, sending the dark magic away to dissolve and fade in a wisp of red smoke.
“That’s the curse gone,” Harry said, mostly to himself, “so the good news is that I won’t get trapped in the same spell as Stark. Now I just have to… get him out of the nightmare.”
He lowered his hand down to rest on Stark’s face. It was wrong to touch him, but it made it easier for Harry to gain access. He shuffled forwards on the chair, taking a steadying breath. Stark didn’t even react to his touch, not even as he put a little pressure down to keep his head still. Harry brought the tip of his wand to Stark’s temple, giving Thor one last look before he brought his head right over Stark’s.
“Legilimens.”
The incantation was like a hook. It sunk into Harry’s awareness and then tugged hard, yanking him away from his own mind. Even though he’d mastered the technique years ago, it never took any getting used to. His astral form or whatever anyone called it took a brief trip out from his body and travelled down into the waiting mind that he’d breached. On the outside, he’d appear the same as he did before uttering the spell. Mentally, he tumbled through darkness, pulled on a string until his magic delivered him where he had to go. There were no barriers, no occlumency to jettison him back into his mind. Instead, he slid through a cracked atmosphere, passing debris caught in a gravity-free world.
He crashed down as Stark’s mind helpfully gave him gravity. Harry pushed his hands down to the ground, stilling as he encountered ash between his fingers. He angled his head upwards, breath caught as he beheld a sky of destruction. Mottled blue light radiated from a collapsing star, light morphing around as reality disintegrated. That was just the closest. All above, the sky was a graveyard, yet impossibly he stood on something solid.
Harry quickly checked himself over. His astral form at least didn’t show up in his torn prisoner scrubs and foil blanket. His mental projection wore the pair of jeans and flannel shirt he bought when shopping with Hermione just after the war when they sought some much needed normality. He stepped over the debris, looking around at the haunting sight. The ground was a mess of debris as if he was in the ruins of a city, shattered concrete and metal jutted up around him from broken husks of buildings. It was a fragment, an island adrift in space, other fragments floating in orbit. Overhead, a huge creature roared, distracting him. Harry recognised it, only because HYDRA kept a corpse of the same beast in their research bunker.
He turned away from the monster, climbing over a crumbling wall. Before he dropped down, he then understood what manner of nightmare he’d arrived in. He saw bodies… distinctive bodies. Thor, who he saw moments ago, lay broken on the stone. There was the Hulk, stuck full of spikes, and then when Harry saw a fallen woman with red-hair, he looked away, dropping down. His feet slipped on the loose stone, but he found solid ground and left the graveyard to find what he’d come for. Sitting on a fallen girder was the only living human on the weird island.
Harry approached cautiously. He was the invader in the nightmare, the outlier, but he didn’t want to make the mental torment worse. Stark’s mental projection had his hands gripping his hair, bowed down as he made an effort to shield himself from what was in front of him. Harry made a quick study of the man. His clothes were the same as what he was wearing in reality. He was very clearly in distress, but he was silent where he hunched over. Close to where he sat was the fallen body of Captain America, his shield split in two at his feet.
Crouching down in front of Stark, Harry let out a deep sigh. It was loud enough to jerk Stark out from his misery, his head instantly shooting up at the sound of life. Wide, dark eyes met Harry’s at once, just as fraught with distress as Harry had seen him moments ago. Fear quickly collapsed into confusion as Stark took in Harry's presence, his attire and living appearance at odds with the nightmare.
“As someone who suffers from nightmares regularly, I can appreciate the handiwork with this one,” Harry said with a pointed glance over to where the iconic shield of Captain America lay in pieces.
Stark’s confusion was quickly masked with a cool, collected look as his sharp mind took in exactly who was in front of him. Harry maintained his connection to the dream, anchored so he didn’t end up caught on the tide of calculations and thoughts whirling around Stark’s mind. He wasn’t there to read his mind after all, just help the dreamer out of the dream.
“Might be just me, but nightmares tend to end right after, you know, waking up. Having a hard time doing that part.”
“That’s why I’m here, mate,” Harry flashed him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and not a grimace. “You were cursed… forced into your own mind to mentally beat yourself up with your worst fears. Nasty bit of magic… and cast by someone who has it out for you. We can talk about that when I’m not invading your mind.”
Stark frowned at him, his gaze making sharp flicks between Harry’s eyes before making a dart up to his forehead.
And there was the usual glance.
“Okay… let me just process that for a moment because it sounds like I’m having my own private Matrix moment and I’ve got Harry Potter in my head as my Morpheus…”
“I can run with that reference if it helps,” Harry said with a shrug, distantly glad that he wasn’t ignorant of pop culture like the vast majority of his kind. “We are in a simulation, but it’s coming from you. It’s not, like, a programme or a vision. It is possible to create visions, make others experience them like they are real, but it’s very complex and a faff… to be honest. Mind magic like that takes a very skilled and experienced legilimens to sustain. The only ones I can think of who could manage that are, well, dead. This magic is something different… alien, even. The witch who hexed you gained her powers from the sceptre… the, er, mind-controlling sceptre Loki used to dominate mankind… or tried to, at least.”
Harry ended his spew of word vomit very self-conscious of the nervous momentum he picked up as he went to explain. Stark listened at least, his sharp intellect keeping up without a problem.
“This witch works for HYDRA?”
That wasn’t the take away Harry expected. He blinked thoughtfully.
“Manipulated by them would be more accurate, I’d say, but… yeah, she’s an enemy to you. I can’t work out what she is to me, but that’s neither here nor there. The powers she acquired from the sceptre are dangerous, magical in nature but also something else. The magical side isn’t a problem… as I’m a wizard too. It’s the alien side that worries me and considering what your nightmare consists of, it worries you too.”
Stark rubbed his hands over his face and let out a dry laugh.
“Understatement of the century there, kid.”
“I’m twenty seven.”
“Lucky you… I think I’ve aged about that much in the past three years because of all this going on in my head.”
Stark got up from where he’d been perched, throwing his hands out to encompass the broken world around them and the fallen heroes at their feet. Harry looked upwards to where the leviathan patrolled the dead sky.
“It’s a heavy burden, sure. The weight of the world on your shoulders… the lives of countless people depending on you to get the job done. I get it… and not many people can claim that much seriously, but it’s not your sole burden. Wasn’t that why we got in touch in the first place?”
Harry stepped up to the man, briefly surprised that they were the same in height. Stark looked right at him. Not many people held his eye contact, usually intimidated, but not Tony Stark.
“Technically you are in touch with my CEO.”
“Nice deflection. Luckily, I already was told that you’re an arsehole so I wasn’t offended.”
Stark snorted softly, his expression smoothing to one of relief. He smiled briefly before adopting a serious look. He clapped his hand on Harry’s arm, the contact felt between them both in the dreamscape. It was sign enough that Stark would wake naturally once Harry lifted his connection.
“If that came from SHIELD, it would have been much more colourful than ‘ arse hole’.”
“Oh definitely… but then they were actually HYDRA all along so…”
While Harry trailed off, he started to go through his motions of pulling himself back into his own mind. The hardest part of mind magic was always the occlumency, the reordering of his consciousness and assertion of his reality. He flexed his hand, feeling his wand, detaching himself from Tony’s consciousness.
He didn’t offer a farewell as he severed the link. The abrupt extraction jerked him back in his seat, his head giving a nasty throb. Even his scar twinged with phantom pain, as if he needed reminding of just how much it hurt when he used to experience visions from Voldemort’s demented psyche. His exhaustion fully swept in, his limbs feeling like all the strength had been leaked from his muscles. He sat back, breathing heavily, deaf to the sounds around him as he pieced himself back together.
In… one, two, three, four, five…
Voices buzzed against his ears. Harry opened his eyes, unaware that he’d closed them. Sweat streaked down his face, his hair sticking to his skin unpleasantly. The foil blanket had dropped from his shoulders. He blinked, refocusing, gathering his wits as he saw Tony Stark sitting up on the table, evidence in itself that Harry had been successful.
He didn’t take long getting back to action, soon sliding off the table where he spoke rapidly to someone, likely Thor. Harry barely paid attention, working hard on his occlumency, counting his breaths.
“... just peachy. Had a wizard in my head to help. JARVIS, bring the suit down to Sabrina…”
At the touch of a large hand clasping Harry’s arm, he jerked into full awareness. Harry looked up, startled, finding Thor standing over him, squashed in the small gap between the table and the partition wall.
“I am checking on him…” Thor said, confusing Harry as he blinked up at him before realising that he wasn’t talking to him. “Do you wish to speak to him?”
“Let the man breathe, Thor,” Stark shot from where he’d paced into the kitchen, hunting for something as he became the source of clattering in cupboards. “There are still plenty of HYDRA nutjobs to crack with your hammer. I can take over babysitting our wizard… though I warn you, the coffee here is a war crime.”
“I do not think he needs coffee right now, Stark,” Thor said stiffly, though he straightened and moved to give Harry space. He instead raised his hand, summoning his hammer right to his palm. The handle slammed in place, the force rattling the flimsy partition wall of the kitchen. “I will deal with any remaining forces above.”
Harry didn’t have the chance to respond. Without Thor’s hand to prop him up, he slumped forward. His eyelids dragged shut as he finally passed out.
Privacy hadn’t been a factor when SHIELD’s engineers built the quinjet. Practicality and manoeuvrability ranked higher on their priorities which meant that the front deck of the jet had no separate modules, aside from the washroom at the rear of the aircraft. The armoury in the lower deck could hardly be repurposed as an infirmary, so the injured had to be kept right in the centre of activity in the top deck just behind the cockpit.
Since takeoff, Hermione hadn’t left her place beside Harry. The events of the raid were all blurred in her mind, a hectic mess that she could analyse and reassess another time. She perched on one of the serviceable seats that unfolded next to the infirmary bench that took up the central space. The soothing rise and fall of an operatic aria drifted out from the headphones of another passenger sitting quietly in the main deck. A strange peaceful calm had descended inside the jet, a jarring lull compared to the chaos of the battle they just not only survived but won.
Victory always came at a price. Hermione knew that down in the armoury, that particular price was being urgently discussed by the members of the team that weren’t present in the main deck. The cockpit alarmingly had no visible pilot since Stark had gone down with Steve, Natasha and Thor to discuss their next moves. Hermione found herself determined to stay right where she knew she had to be, holding Harry’s hand as he slept deeply.
While the Avengers made plans about how to deal with the sceptre that they successfully retrieved from HYDRA, she had other priorities. She did her part during the raid, making sure that HYDRA could never use the artefact to further their efforts in human experimentation. Even though she felt certain that the danger was dealt with, the Sokovian Military having taken over matters before they left, she couldn’t shake a feeling that things were far from over. There was the witch she met in the vault with magic unlike anything she’d experienced before, the dark and alien nature of the magic contained within the sceptre and the fact that Baron Von Strucker was unaccounted for. He’d managed to escape during the chaos while their attention was fixed on Harry and the sceptre.
His experiments had escaped as well.
Hermione reached over to where Harry slept soundly on the narrow bench. She pulled up the blanket that covered him to keep him warm while he healed in his sleep. His eyes moved under the lids, a signal that he was deeply under. Careful to not wake him, she settled back, her anger frazzling as she took in once again how there were silvery marks at his temples that hadn’t been there before. There were many more marks hidden from view, but she knew he had them. She’d seen enough from what HYDRA recorded in their research that he’d been subjected to experimentation himself… as well as torture.
Shuffling footsteps made her look over as the other silent passenger in the desk rose from where he hunched under a blanket of his own. He held the blanket around himself, hiding how he was half-dressed, not yet to cover himself fully. He removed a pair of headphones, turning off the Opera he’d been listening to. He looked over, sensing Hermione’s stare, but she didn’t look away.
“He’s still asleep?” Dr Banner asked, nodding over to the sleeping man next to her. She squeezed Harry’s hand instinctively.
“He needs the sleep to heal himself,” she said softly, “but I worry he’s hurt in places that aren’t going to heal so easily. He was with them for two months…”
Banner didn’t move any closer, clinging to the shadow just as much as the blanket around him. Hermione glanced at him, seeing how the lights from the screens over at the cockpit reflected in his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, instead staring at Harry where he was laying still in his sleep. The silence stretched, seconds passing where he just stared without speaking. Hermione didn’t move, unnerved, yet she didn’t reach for her wand. Eventually, Banner let go of the blanket around him to run a hand over his face.
“He’s lucky to have you,” he said once he lowered his hand, turning his gaze to her. “I need to… get dressed.”
He shuffled down towards the back where the washroom was, passing a snoring Clint Barton as he did.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
Hermione’s heart leapt at the soft whisper, stifling her gasp of shock. She tore her gaze from Banner, looking over to Harry where he had one eye peeked open. The green iris caught the light from where daylight faded at the cockpit windows. Hermione held back her response, waiting for Banner to actually leave. Until the door to the washroom shut with a click, she was maintaining Harry’s ruse.
Once clear, she immediately moved from her seat to Harry. Careful not to jostle him, she climbed onto the bench, knees straddling him as she joined her weight to his on the sole infirmary bench. She took a brief moment of pride at how both Harry’s eyes then opened at her brazen display. She leaned over him, one hand pressing on the rail at the side of his head as she hovered her head over his. His breath tickled her skin.
“I, uh, don’t remember ending up here. Are we… on a plane?” Harry whispered to her, not stirring at all from under her. “It’s not very comfortable.”
“We’re on the Avenger’s quinjet, currently flying over France,” she answered, glancing up quickly to the cockpit where their geolocation was on display on one of the monitors tracking their flight path. “It’s been around seven hours since you passed out, if that helps.”
She said nothing else, quietly watching Harry stirring properly. She sat back, giving him a little more space to extract his arms from the blanket. His face scrunched up in dismay when he saw the cannula in the back of his left hand, giving the attached IV line a distrustful look. He didn’t wrench it out of his vein, but Hermione could tell that he debated it. He settled his arms on top of the blanket, opting to not have his movement restricted. There was a deep wariness in his gaze, a skittishness that she knew he was trying to control.
He was afraid.
“You’re safe now,” she murmured to him, heart aching at the sight of his fear. “That is just saline fluids.”
“I don’t like needles,” Harry mumbled back, betraying the briefest flash of distress before he rested his head back. “They… they used a lot on me.”
He raised his right arm, unhindered with an IV line. The blanket dropped from him, exposing his bare arm where he sported noticeable bruises around his wrist. His fingers lightly brushed Hermione’s cheek, staring intently at her as he carefully sought out a strand of her hair and tucked it gently behind her ear.
“Your wand is right here,” she said, reaching for it at the side where she left it next to her own. Harry smiled sleepily, the sight warming her as he closed his eyes.
“You rescued my wand.”
“I wanted to rescue you .”
His smile faded at once, mouth downturning at the corners. His eyes peeked open again, one after the other. They quickly went red at the rims as his hand cupped her cheek. She could feel the tremble of his tired muscles. He let out a soft sigh, looking away as his face pinched with pain. Emotional pain.
“I’m sorry… for putting you through everything,” he said, voice turning thick. Hermione reached for his hand on her face.
“Don’t Harry…”
“They shouldn’t have been able to get to me like that. It shouldn’t have been so easy. I tried, Hermione, I tried to fight back… but I couldn’t stop them from doing those things to me. Th-they cut me off from my magic… and that was worse than any torture they could have devised…”
His eyes had screwed shut, his voice still quiet amid the thrumming of the jet engines and the ambient roar of their travel through the air at high speed. Each word cut through Hermione with horror, but she held strong. She’d seen enough at the base to know what HYDRA did to him.
“You’re not there anymore. It’s over. You survived, my love. You’re right here with me.”
She kissed his palm gently, moving his hand so it was in reach. He gave a shuddering gasp as he controlled his emotions, but she could see the glimmer of tears on his long eyelashes.
“I can feel it, Hermione. The sceptre… I know it’s here.”
He opened his eyes, moisture glistening under them but no tears spilled free. He lowered his hand from her face, giving her a resigned and weary look.
“The others have it secured in the armoury, but you shouldn’t be able to feel it. The stasis field is intact.”
Harry’s jaw tensed, turning his head to the side as if he was trying to listen to something below him.
“I could always feel it,” he said distantly, “even when I was in my cell. Like a faint toothache… annoying and always there.” He looked back at her, confusion creasing between his brows. “You can’t feel it?”
“Not up here, but then your senses are sharper than mine.”
“No, it’s not like sensing magic, it’s… ah, I can’t explain it. On a deeper level… deeper than magic.” He sighed, his resigned expression returning. “They exposed me to it… about a week after I arrived at the base. I refused to help their research so they just shoved me in front of it without any protection. When they threatened to do it again and again, I… agreed to cooperate, but the damage was done.”
Hermione climbed off him then, her heart starting to race as she understood what he was saying. She’d heard what Strucker said, she’d even reach the research notes, so she knew that Harry had been experimented on.
“What did it do to you?”
Harry swallowed at her question, shaking his head a little.
“I don’t really know. My magic feels different… amplified almost… and it’s like I’m connected to the sceptre,” he looked at her, “the girl at the base, the one that cursed Stark, she’s connected to it too. That’s why she has those powers… her brother too.”
“I fought against that witch,” Hermione mused, “her powers were strong but… primitive.”
“Dark, you mean,” Harry clarified as she settled back in the seat next to him. “I’m not sure that darkness comes from the sceptre. She holds onto a lot of hatred and it’s what shapes her magic. If I didn’t know what I was doing with Stark, he’d still be trapped in his mind.”
Hermione met his gaze, understanding the seriousness there. That fact was something they’d keep to themselves.
“HYDRA used the sceptre to enhance their weapons, channeling the unique energy that it supplied. The Avengers knew about their weapons programme, but the human experimentation was a surprise to them. Were those two teenagers the only… subjects?”
“Successful subjects,” Harry said darkly, “and we have to include me as well. My theory is that they had latent magical abilities. Others that went before the sceptre didn’t… ah… do so well. They tested on about a hundred… just… poor people from nearby villages, brought in on the promise of money and food.” He shook his head, eyes burning with a familiar righteous anger. “So much death and for what?”
“It’s not the first time that HYDRA have experimented on people,” Hermione said tightly, bringing his attention back to her, “it’s what they started off as during the second world war… as a science division connected to the Nazi party.”
Harry nodded, “I know. Strucker’s great grandfather was one of the founding members. He took pride in telling me that as if I’d be impressed.”
He then frowned, suddenly sitting up. The motion jostled the IV stand next to him. The blanket dropped from his upper half, revealing that he was still dressed in the torn and bloodied prisoner uniform. Everyone had agreed to not undress him while unconscious.
“Strucker… where is he?”
Hermione bit on her lip for a second before Harry’s laser-focused observation skills zoned in on her tell at once. His eyes widened.
“He got away?” He croaked out, shocked. “ How ?”
His raised voice ended up waking up the other occupant of the top deck that the pair of them had forgotten about. Grunting as he woke up to the loud voices, Clint Barton swing his legs off the seat next to him, scrubbing his hands over his eyes to chase the sleep away. He blearily blinked around for a moment, before looking over to the source of the disruption. He looked between them both, then focused on the awake wizard, pushing himself off the seat, groaning as he did. He stretched his back, causing a loud crack.
“You’re asking about Strucker?” Barton asked, tone serious as he approached, steady on his legs despite the slight turbulence. “Sneaky bastard made away through some tunnel system. Sokovian authorities on the ground are looking for him, but they are next-to useless considering they had a massive HYDRA base right under their noses. Once we make it State-side, we can take a look at the arrests… maybe someone will cough up a location.”
Harry watched the man warily, though Hermione noticed the flicker of recognition. He straightened up a little, placing his hands on either side.
“I take it you don’t know where his chief of research is either then. Dr List?”
“Jeez, we only just got you out,” Barton said with an incredulous laugh, but stopped when Harry shot him a hard, unamused look. Barton cleared his throat awkwardly. “We’ll be right on it, as well as tracking down those super kids as well.”
Hermione grasped Harry’s hand, sensing his temper bristling. She had a feeling that Barton would immediately rub Harry the wrong way and she was right. Harry sighed, glancing side-along at her.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that they got away. A lot was going on,” he said, lifting a hand to touch the bandages around his neck. “I should be thanking you, not questioning you. I’m sorry.” He then looked up at Clint. “You must be Agent Barton?”
“I… er… I’m not really an ‘Agent’ since SHIELD is toast,” Barton stepped over, wearing a noticeably sheepish expression. “You can call me Clint. Most people do.”
“Harry.”
The two men shook hands, the awkward moment smoothed over. As footsteps clanged from the steps at the back, they released hands and looked over. Hermione rose from her seat, moving protectively to stand at Harry’s other side. He eyed her in surprise, then his mouth curled in a wry smile.
Leading the group, Tony strode over to them without any hesitation, his sleeves rolled back. His quick eyes assessed the space, but then crossed without preamble to where Harry sat on the uncomfortable bench.
“JARVIS pinged to say you’re vertical,” he explained in his snappy way, “figured we should check in. Cap, you know, he saved your skin… then we have Romanoff, who you’re better off not knowing…”
Natasha rolled her eyes, catching Hermione’s look. She raised a brow questioningly, checking in with a silent question. Hermione nodded, confirming that they were okay. She then went to join Clint, shooing him away from where he was crowding Harry, muttering something quietly in his ear.
“You’ve met Thor… not that he needs an introduction anyway… and… where’s Bruce?”
Tony continued his very abridged introductions distractedly, turning on the spot when he noticed they were down a member.
“I’m here. Don’t send a search party.”
Appearing dishevelled from the washroom, Bruce Banner joined them, wearing a shirt and jeans, his hair damp from the high-pressure shower installed on the jet. He restored his glasses, shoulders hunched a little as he joined them, hands thrust self-consciously in his pockets. He then noticed that Harry was awake and with them, his interest brightening behind his spectacles. He passed Tony, taking the clearest route to Harry’s side.
“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr Potter,” Bruce said as he shot an assessing look up to the IV stand, checking the drip. “I don’t usually practice as a medical doctor, but I know what I’m doing. I have to admit, you’re… uh… healthier than I was expecting.”
Harry cleared his throat, leaning forwards to watch Bruce, then he looked up at the assembled audience. Hermione could almost feel his awkwardness radiating out of him, but she knew he needed to mentally process everything at his own pace.
“I don’t have any serious injuries, no,” Harry said, his voice subdued, “the fluids are appreciated though.” He raised his hand with the cannula inserted.
“We’ll be across the Atlantic in a couple of hours,” Tony said. “We… discussed downstairs, but our plan is to regroup at the tower. Whether or not you want to join us is up to you. We get it if you want to disappear back home…”
Tony trailed off, looking askance at Hermione briefly. Harry shook his head.
“No,” he said, also glancing up at Hermione, “we’ll decide on how I return another time. It’ll just complicate things to go with the truth and I’d rather not go down that route.”
Hermione caught the confused glances, mostly from Clint. She understood at once what Harry wasn’t saying. The reaction to his return from his disappearance would restrict his freedom considerably, especially if he had to tell them that he’d been experimented on. There was a high chance that the Unspeakables would detain him for examination, something that had to be avoided at all costs. Being Harry Potter hadn’t protected him very well in the past. It wasn’t something they could risk.
“It’s your call,” Steve said with a nod, “anything you need and it’s in our power to give, it’s yours.”
“ My power to give, you mean,” Tony corrected with a raised brow. He then waved a hand. “Mi casa, su casa. I can host the most recognised wizard on the planet, no sweat. Any dietary requirements, Mr Potter, sir ?”
Harry’s face then flushed, “you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to report back to MACUSA, but that doesn’t mean you have to put me up.”
“Harry…” Hermione muttered his name under her breath. “Let them help.”
Dramatically, he sighed and dropped back down to lay on the bench under him. He threw up his hands.
“ Fine …”
“Great, now that’s sorted, we can maybe celebrate,” Tony said, turning to face Thor where he lurked behind them all, his arms folded as he watched with an air of bemusement. “Thor, you can stick around for a while, right? Maybe partake in a few revels if you can find the time out of your Godly schedule.”
While they discussed loose plans for a party, Hermione returned to her spot at Harry’s side. She noticed Natasha watching, her smile soft as she went to join the conversation, giving them some semblance of privacy. Thankfully, the other Avengers could take a hint and had turned their backs so she could have a moment with her grumpy lover.
She leaned over him, pushing her hand under him so she could tilt him closer. Harry grumbled something and rolled onto his side. He ducked his head down.
“I already owe them so much,” he said softly.
“ We do, Harry, but that’s what heroes do. They help without expecting anything in return. Being selfless is all part of it,” she said, smiling as she kissed him gently on his brow. “Just rest, okay? I know it’s hard to trust… so just trust me.”
He looked up at her, his green eyes appearing dark where his face was shadowed.
“Okay,” he said quietly, then he breathed out a long sigh, “though resting on this thing may be a challenge. Even HYDRA had more comfortable beds.”
“Count yourself lucky,” a dry voice interrupted as Tony sauntered over. “I had to sleep on some old barrels and sacks when they held me in Afghanistan.”
“You were in a cave, Tony,” Natasha pointed out.
Harry then cracked a smile, looking up at Hermione. He’d relinquished his reservations just like that, relaxing back. Trusting her completely, his eyes slid shut as the snippets of voices drifted around them, easing the tension as if it never existed at all.
Chapter 8: At The Tower
Chapter Text
An IV line in his hand had been his limit onboard the quinjet. What Hermione sorted from the first aid kit in the outpost did the job at a pinch. Yet once they landed, his rescuers weren’t content to let him just sleep off the worst of the damage. Begrudgingly, Harry accepted that he was the responsibility of those who had risked their lives to rescue him. If they wanted to check him for any hidden surprises left by HYDRA, it would be poor form for him to refuse. His stubbornness had a time and a place (if ever).
Arriving at the Avengers Tower in style, the quinjet docked smoothly on the designated landing pad. All the details surrounding the procedures for disembarking and securing their cargo had breezed over Harry who had been battling his exhaustion since they crossed the Atlantic. He’d slept through the whole team meeting, only realising that they had arrived in New York when he was nudged gently awake. By the time he regained enough of his faculties to gauge where he was and what was happening, half of the Avengers had already left the jet. Left with Hermione and Dr Banner, he tried to process as much as he could about why they needed to take him straight to the med bay - as Banner referred to it.
Much of what happened next blurred as he stubbornly insisted that he walk himself off the jet. He reached the walkway, only for the sudden sensory onslaught to completely overwhelm him. The chaotic sounds of the city below, the intensity of the surroundings and the realisation of where he was became too much. Next thing he knew, he was laying down in a room he didn’t recognise.
Spared from the lecture he likely deserved for pushing himself too much, he remained horizontal while being examined. The cutting edge technology in Stark’s med bay meant that there were no needles or unwanted touches. Scans lit up over his body, the lights ranging up and down without needles to poke through his skin. The ordeal was entirely painless, though did little to stifle his fears as he could see the equipment lurking at the edges of the room. That he didn’t know what any of it did only cemented his distrust.
He dozed on the reclined examination chair, the seat far more comfortable than the narrow bench he’d slept on the jet. He’d already dressed out of the prison scrubs he’d arrived in, swapping them for a pair of blue jogging bottoms and a white t-shirt. He didn’t know who the clothes belonged to, but the soft cotton was a godsend. He did his best to keep distracted, continuously reminding himself that he was safe, clocking the glass partition wall to his right that looked out over the rest of the complex including the very large living area. Down past his feet was the access to the lab and the operations level where Stark and Rogers had gone with Hermione. He craved her closeness, but he had no real reason to demand that she stay with him. He wasn’t gravely injured… just exhausted and very likely traumatised.
The faint hum of music coming through a pair of headphones left discarded at the desk across from him. Dr Banner sat perched on the edge of his seat, his eyes narrowed as he took in all the results on the holoscreen in front of him. The man carried an aura of weariness, even when animated. He removed his glasses, his sharp dark eyes meeting Harry’s through the holoscreen. He offered a sheepish smile, pushing his wheeled seat back.
“The good news for us is that HYDRA didn’t plant you with anything. You’re clean,” Banner said as he approached, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets. He nodded over to the glass wall. “There’s no reason for you to stay here if you’re up for joining the others.”
Harry glanced over, seeing the view past the walls of glass. The Chrysler building was already lit up as darkness was settling in.
Harry ran his fingers over the soft leather surface of the reclined examination seat, listening to the muffled muted sound of classical music. Banner swept his hand over the seat’s controls, making the back rest raise up so Harry was in a more upright position. Harry didn’t bounce off the seat in a desperation to leave. Instead, he stared off at a point past Banner to where the window gave him a view all the way down to the living area where there was a functional bar, lots of seating and, from what he’d been told, access to private suites.
“I’d rather sleep and forget that the last two months never happened,” he said blankly.
Banner sighed softly, bringing Harry’s attention back. For a man who harboured such a violent alter ego, he possessed a noticeably gentle demeanour. He didn’t touch Harry, but in a way he didn’t have to. He instead rested his hand on the side of the head rest, nodding slowly.
“We know a thing a two about surviving the sort of environment you’ve been held in for, enough to know that the moment you’re away from it, things can… escalate. The human brain is one of nature’s most incredible miracles, but it has its limits. It needs to heal just as much as the rest of you does.”
Harry knew what the doctor meant, having experienced his fair share of trauma. He turned his head over, looking up at the ceiling and the fancy machinery above him that operated the scanners.
“You mean to say that Stark hasn’t invented the cure for trauma?”
“Even a brain and ego his size has problems,” Banner said with a shrug, “but even if we don’t have the tech to help, we can do our part. Tony went through something pretty similar even if he’s flippant about it.”
Harry frowned at the ceiling, recalling how Tony mentioned his captivity on board the quinjet. He knew that the billionaire had gone missing a few years ago after being kidnapped in Afghanistan. The experience greatly changed the weapons mogul, inspiring him to create the Ironman suit in its raw form as a means for his escape. The story impressed Harry when he first read about it… only to be haunted by it when in captivity himself. He had no genius intellect to craft an escape plan from an inventory of weapon parts.
“Trauma’s not the only thing I’m coming away with,” Harry said seriously, closing his eyes briefly. “You don’t have to keep things from me out of fear of triggering some sort of response, Dr Banner. This whole thing began when I made the discovery that the alien resonance of gamma radiation and magic resonance was the same thing. I know I’m churning out more of that radiation than any wizard has any right to be doing.”
He peeked his eyes open, looking across to Banner to see his reaction. There was no wince or hint of discomfort. Instead, he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully for a moment before nodding.
“You are, but it's not a cause for concern. We aren’t talking harmful levels… and it’s not unstable, not like the sort of radiation that I’m familiar with,” he said, jerking his thumb to point at himself. He then smiled. “I have Dr Selvig to thank for linking the alien artefacts to gamma radiation. Funny that he inspired us both in different ways. I read your joint thesis, by the way. The way you describe magical resonance had me rethinking the way we measure gamma radiation as a whole… but I digress.” He backed up and gestured over to the desk. “Let me show you?”
Swinging his legs gingerly off the seat, Harry lowered himself onto his feet. Dr Banner then hesitated mid step, glancing over his shoulder.
“And please, call me Bruce,” he added.
Once he reached the desk, he took up his glasses and restored them in place. Harry curiously followed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously as he glanced back at the glass partition. Then he joined Bruce, his interest snagged on the offered distraction as the man flicked his fingers through the colourful projection of the holoscreen.
He pulled up a litany of different graphs, the corresponding text and figures too much for Harry to absorb in a glance. Harry caught mentions of his own name with the readings, swallowing down the intense rise of discomfort. He had to remind himself that the data was safe… all recorded with his consent.
“You see how these frequencies are barely registering at all?” Bruce commented, pointing out the graphs where the zig-zags were hugging the base line. “If these were peaking, I would be concerned. These levels are the sort that I was exposed to, but you’re barely radiating them at all.”
“It would take more energy to produce them than what I’m naturally able to,” Harry softly thought aloud. He then lifted his own finger to point at the graphs that showed higher levels, only at a more consistent rate. “Then on the lower end of the spectrum… in the magical resonance range…”
“You’re showing stable levels, yes,” Bruce said with a bright look in his eyes, “higher than what your own research showed to be normal for a natural-born witch or wizard, but not dangerous.”
“Higher is a bit of an understatement,” Harry said faintly as he clocked the readings at the side of the graphs. “That’s twice as much resonance.”
“You’re a naturally strong wizard-.”
“Not by that margin,” Harry choked out, moving back. “I should be blowing out lightbulbs if I’m pushing out that much magic right now.”
His voice broke a little with shock as he read the numbers again. While he knew that the sceptre had enhanced his magic, he had no idea of the scale. No wonder his magic felt so uncomfortable the entire time, burning his skin like a rash. His alarm thankfully didn’t have a chance to escalate as the door to the med bay hissed open. He’d been so absorbed in the data, he hadn’t noticed Hermione disappearing from the adjoined room. She now strode into the med bay, still dressed in the same combat gear she’d worn for the raid.
Close on her heels, Tony Stark followed. His sharp eyes darted between Bruce, the holoscreen they were standing over, and then Harry last.
“Harry, you should be resting,” Hermione said at once, looking very much in need of a rest herself. She levelled a reproachful look at Bruce as she crossed her arms. “I thought that much was agreed.”
Harry laughed hollowly as he noticed that he’d been leaning on the desk with a hand for support so he didn’t collapse. His legs ached from the effort to stay vertical.
“A man after my own heart. No rest for the wicked, right?” Stark remarked as he quickened his pace to overtake Hermione to hasten over to Bruce. Concern narrowed his gaze briefly before he caught sight of the holoscreen. He took in the readings with a single glance and his concern smoothed over. “Nothing we need to worry about? No foreign pathogens or a concealed kill switch?”
“I’m clean apparently,” Harry replied dryly, then he looked at Hermione directly, “and I will rest… soon. I promise.”
She nodded, giving him a small, grateful smile. She unfolded her arms and rested her hand on his shoulder, the touch communicating her closeness and protectiveness. He let out a reassuring breath.
“We have the sceptre secured in the lab next door… no stasis fields this time. A fully lead-lined case with no bleed,” she told him, not keeping any details from him. “It’s not here to be studied, but contained… ready for Thor to deliver off-world.”
Harry caught Stark shifting uncomfortably, his mouth downturning in an obvious look of displeasure. He narrowed his eyes at the man, his focus attracting Stark’s gaze at once. He could then sense the lingering tension of a disagreement that the group brought in with them. Not everyone was agreed on the plan to send the sceptre away. Next to him, Bruce then noticed the same tension, his sharp intellect picking up on the same signals.
“Tony?” He asked with clear trepidation.
Stark sniffed, his gaze flickering briefly to Bruce before his brows furrowed a little.
“Right. Off-world as Sabrina said. That’s the plan.”
“Sabrina?” Harry raised a brow at him.
“It’s his thing… the names,” Bruce muttered at his side, then gave Stark a firmer, more assertive look. “We leave the magic to the magicals and the alien tech with the aliens… that was what you said.”
“Yeah, but the thing is, what makes it alien? The science is all the same, no matter the planet, solar system, galaxy… matter is matter, energy is energy… all the same rules apply,” Stark said, punctuating his words sharply as he then stepped up to Harry. “I read your work and I know you agree.”
“If you’re planning on using that to form an argument to study the sceptre, then I’m a hard pass, mate,” Harry said, starting to feel his temper on the rise. He gestured over in the vague direction he imagined them keeping the damn thing. “If you want information about it, I got a front row seat to HYDRA’s experiments and I can fill in your gaps. But if you plan to carry out your own studies on it, we are going to have a problem.”
Tony then smirked at him, breaking the tension. He then lightly patted him on the arm before turning away.
“Sure. I’ll take you up on the offer to share notes. And we’re understood. I’m outvoted and that’s that. Just seems like I’m the only one who cares about protecting the planet…”
Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was too tired to deal with Stark’s theatrics. He moved from the desk, following Stark. He stepped into his path, intercepting him. Stark stopped, giving him an appraising yet impatient look.
“I’m not being difficult without a good reason,” Harry said, injecting calm into his voice. “Even if you had the best intentions with the sceptre, the thing itself can’t be trusted. It’s not a bottomless source of energy, just waiting to be tapped like HYDRA thought. It’s alive. I felt that much the moment they shoved me in front of it. It burrowed into my head like a weevil and I only just managed to push it out. If I hadn’t, well… let’s just say I agreed to cooperate with HYDRA then to avoid having that thing warp me into something twisted like it did to Wanda.”
Harry glanced over to Hermione when he saw her face fall at his words. He then placed his hand on Stark’s shoulder, looking him right in the eyes.
“When something like that scares the shit out of you, you don’t poke at it. You lock it up and you throw away the key. Call me a coward if you want. Accuse me of not using everything for our advantage… but, really… it’s not worth it.”
Fear briefly shone from Stark’s gaze and Harry knew then that they had an understanding. He’d seen for himself what Wanda plucked out from Stark’s subconscious to torment him with. His motivations weren’t selfish, even if they appeared like it on the surface, but came from a vulnerable place deep down. Stark was terrified. As they stared at each other, getting the measure of one another, Harry could tell that Stark was reading him just as intently. Trust wasn’t built up easily, but at least he was listening.
Stark then held out his hand to him, the flash of fear gone to be replaced with something warmer and confident.
“You sure know how to make a strong argument, huh?” He said, his smile quirking back to life. “The sceptre stays in its lock-box. You’ve got my word.”
Harry took his hand, receiving a firm grip as he felt the callouses on the pads of the man’s palm. He imagined Stark was feeling the same on his own skin. The signs of hardship and endurance that didn’t belong to a man of wealth and influence.
Bruce and Hermione joined them, looking visibly stressed. Harry offered them both a sheepish look. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
“Now that you’re done antagonising our host, will you finally get some proper rest?”
They released hands, both chuckling at the same time. Tony shared a look with him, a knowing look from a man who also knew what it was like to have a very bossy woman in his corner.
“I don’t think you can argue with that one,” Tony commented lightly. Harry shook his head.
“Definitely not…”
“Come on, I’ll be a gracious host and show you where Pepper’s put you both up.”
Beyond grateful that he wouldn’t have to spend much more of his energy arguing, Harry let Hermione move in closer, intending to support him in walking out of the med bay. He didn’t protest, lifting his arm to place over her shoulders. She stubbornly bore his weight, ignoring the slight motions that Tony and Bruce made to do the same. One look from her and they smartly didn’t interfere.
Descending down from the med bay, Harry and Hermione followed their host out from the operations level of the complex atop the tower. The stairs led down towards the living quarters, the walls of glass providing an uninterrupted view of the sky line of Manhattan. Night had only just fallen, casting the dark sky with a dusky glow from both the sinking sun and the many lights of New York. The wide open space that served as the main feature of the complex housed an area that was for general relaxing and recreation. Along with a stocked bar, there was plenty of seating and almost every space had been artistically designed and decorated to an exceptional level. The muted, subdued lighting choices lent the whole space a more chilled vibe than the sheer volume of cutting-edge tech built into every inch.
“Where are the others?” Harry asked, struggling to recall if he’d been told what the general movements were of the other Avengers.
“Steve’s dealing with everything we found at the base with Hill. Barton and Romanoff are handling the clean-up. They’ll share enough about what we found in Sokovia with NATO to keep them busy… until you’re ready to debrief with your people first,” Tony said at once, turning to walk backwards as he led them through the empty living space. “Pepper’s keeping the Press off our backs for the moment as well. She flew back from Texas just before we arrived.”
Harry’s insides clenched, shooting a powerful rise of nausea through him. The mention of debriefing made him feel ill. It was a necessity, and he would have the right to not disclose everything, but if all the data and files retrieved from HYDRA were shared with NATO, that meant all the information they recorded about him as well. Videos of his interrogations, reports on his DNA and magic… all of it had been documented.
“So as far as anyone knows, I’m not here?” Harry asked.
“The last thing you need is a media circus. Take it from someone who knows,” Tony said seriously, pointing to himself, “I made the mistake of heading straight into a press conference after Afghanistan and caused myself a whole load of problems. Trust us when it comes to understanding what’s going on up here.” He then pointed to his head. “You need the time to decompress before stepping out in public? No problem. We can order in food.”
They headed through a concealed doorway, the rock wall feature parting to reveal a wood-panelled corridor. The sound muted a little as they entered the narrower space, the distant sounds of the city cut off.
“You can get the tour after some shut eye,” Tony said as he suddenly stopped and slapped his hand down on an access panel. Part of the wooden panelling slid to the side at his touch. “For now, this is you.”
Stark breezed into the room. Harry eased his arm from Hermione, following him in. His appreciative reaction wasn’t feigned as he took in the expansive suite with the enormous queen sized bed. Lights glowed into life automatically at the side panels next to the bed. The blinds slid up from the windows, revealing a stunning view of the city.
“I’ll leave you to it to get settled. If there’s anything you need, just ask JARVIS.”
As Tony went to leave, Hermione followed him. Harry heard her softly thank him as well before bidding him a good night. Harry couldn’t muster up anything else, too tired and too shattered. He leaned on his hands, feeling his way around the soft bed cover to the side before dropping down to sit at the edge. He flopped back, sighing loudly with relief as his body almost melted into the pillowy duvet underneath.
The door slid shut quietly, the peaceful silence dragging out, starting to build in his ears. Hermione was then right there. Her weight joined his, laying back next to him, her leg nudging his as she grabbed hold of his hand. He slid his eyes closed, needing a moment to let everything settle in his mind where he was overwhelmed. Hermione then turned to her side, facing him before resting her head on his shoulder. The sound of her breathing close to his ear soothed him.
“I’m going to look after you for as long as you need,” she whispered. “Nothing is more important to me than you are.”
“I can’t keep you from your work, Hermione,” He murmured, then shifted a little as the various aches and bruises all over him twinged for attention. “The Ministry needs you.”
“I don’t care.”
Her words had him peeling his eyes open, gazing up at the ceiling for a moment before rolling his head to the side to look at her. He had to shift back a little and angle his head down to see her nestled on his shoulder. Their noses brushed.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she said softly, “just tell me what you need.”
“You…” he breathed back, staring at her face half-cast in shadow. “I need you.”
“You don’t have to hold on any longer,” she murmured against his mouth. “Let go…”
She lay on her side next to him, gently lifting his head as she reached back for one of the pillows. She pushed it under his head, then slid her arm underneath both so she could curl against him. Harry rolled his head, staring at her, his vision starting to pulse in and out of focus as his exhaustion started to take over. Her fingers glided through his hair, gently stroking the messy locks. He blinked slowly, darkness creeping in.
“I’m going to be right here,” she said as her soft lips kissed the top of his head.
“S-stay…” Harry managed to breathe out before his eyes slid shut fully. Before he sunk all the way into the full, healing sleep he needed, he heard her whispered response.
“Always.”
After pouring himself perhaps an irresponsible measure of single malt, the resident insomniac in the complex raised the glass to toast the general vicinity. The living area, usually a lot more animated than it currently was, housed just the one. The man who used to have his name on the side of the building had parked himself at the bar, drinking his own whisky. With a dry chuckle, spiced with a healthy layer of self-deprication, he then gave himself a toast.
“No rest for the wicked, indeed.”
Sleepless nights were just something he never found himself able to shake off. Not when he did the vast amount of his critical thinking when the lights went dark. His dear old dad used to burn the midnight oil as well. Perhaps it was something hereditary or perhaps genius came with an inability to slow down long enough to let the brain rest. Whatever the cause, he wasn’t adjusting his sleeping patterns any time soon. Let the early birds get the worm. He couldn’t care less.
What stuck in his mind made it hard to let go and settle. It wound around and around in his head like a minifilm, absent audio and colour. It flickered through his thoughts, playing out that desolation landscape he’d found himself in, alone with broken corpses amid a shattered universe. The cloying taste of defeat and failure was impossible to chase down with the whisky he’d poured out. Throw in a splash of shame and he had himself a winning combination.
Just as he went to swallow down his feelings with another wash of hard liquor, the elevator pinged softly. He set down his glass a little heavily, sighing in relief as the sound could only mean two things.
A drinking partner.
Pepper.
The smart snap of heels on the granite confirmed the latter. He hopped off the barstool, making his general presence known as Pepper made her entrance. She gasped softly at the sight of him obviously drinking alone. He waved before dropping his arm heavily to the side.
“Just in time to save me from myself… and before you ask, I’ve only had the one.”
Pepper waved an impatient hand as she hurried over. She paused, frowning down at her shoes before she kicked them off in the vague direction of… somewhere. Her footsteps padded in a far more subtle pattern, much more suitable when they had magical guests sleeping in the guest wing. Pepper’s perfume enveloped in a precursory embrace before she was right there, planting a kiss on his cheek. Tony sharply turned his face to kiss her back on the lips. She rocked back, startled before she then frowned.
“You’re scattered. You’re waiting for me and drinking alone… and from what I heard from others because you neglected to tell me that you were ‘hit’ as Steve put it-.”
“I only haven’t said yet because, clearly, I’m okay,” Tony interjected, gesturing at himself, “compared to… well… a lot. I got off lightly.”
“From what Thor said, it sounded… pretty bad, Tony,” Pepper cut back, surprising him. Thor had told her? When did that happen? “And if you’re drinking…?”
He sighed as he knew dodging the subject when it came to Pepper was fruitless. Part of him would always feel like it was background noise, right up until it overwhelmed him and slotted into the category of a mental disorder. Because everyone loved collecting those…
Yet he couldn’t rationalise what he experienced in Sokovia as something along the same lines as the PTSD he’d been poorly managing over the past three or so years. First off, he knew that it was early days to make a judgement. Trauma had a habit of worsening as time went by and the mind started to pull unhelpful memories from the bank during the wrong moment. Secondly, he felt in himself better equipped to handle the chaos of the battle and the violence of it. He hadn’t come as close to utter annihilation as he had done while delivering a warhead to Outer Space. Instead, the threat had been within his own head. He’d come very close to being rendered insensate by his own fears… doomed to be trapped in a nightmare.
“I’m still processing,” Tony said after giving himself a couple of seconds to be real with himself. “HYDRA had their own witch, a girl that they turned into a weapon using the sceptre, and she put some… weird magical hoodoo curse on me. I… well… I kinda owe Potter a drink as he’s the one who did the magical mojo to get me out of it. Probably more than a drink as he’s the one we were actually there to save… not the other way around. Pretty embarrassing now that I think about it.”
As he spoke, he walked himself back to the bar and the drink waiting for him. Pepper followed, her radiating concern bolstering him enough to keep talking. He grabbed the glass, shaking his head as he leaned over it. Pepper’s hand rested between his shoulder blades.
“I saw things, Pep,” he said tightly, looking down at the warm-hued liquor in the glass as if it could scrub away what he’d seen. “The witch made me see… everything gone. Everything… as if Loki had succeeded. No planet, no life… nothing. Just a broken world and a pile of broken heroes under the rubble. Out of all the things that could have been used to torture me, that was what she made me see… and, well, it messed me up. I couldn’t think my way out of it, couldn’t wake up or stop seeing what I was seeing, not until I had a wizard pulling me on my feet and giving me a peptalk out of nowhere.”
Tony rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a wry laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He still found it a struggle to believe that Potter had been able to do what he did. It should be reassuring as it was a handy skill to have on their side considering what that witch did. Yet it was unnerving to be on the side of the fence that didn’t have the answers. It made him restless, made him want to crack open that lead-lined case and hunt for the answers himself. It wasn’t in his nature to just let someone else run the show.
“It’s not what I saw that’s got me ‘scattered’ as you called it,” Tony continued, looking over his shoulder at Pepper, meeting her soft gaze. “The mission was a success in that we brought in Potter and the sceptre both, but I can’t help feeling that we’re nowhere near done. I feel like I’m wasting valuable time, especially if there are powers out there that could completely wipe us out. I know what you’ll say and that I have to get used to being in a team, but… maybe it just sucks not being the alpha in the pack at the moment.”
“You’ve always been more than your ego, Tony,” Pepper said, her voice coloured with humour as well as concern.
“Huh, well… tell that to most of the world…”
“A wounded pride can heal, though maybe not overnight. You managed to get over Steve being the more natural leader-.”
“Is he though-?”
“And you’ve accepted your own shortcomings, not very healthily, but you’re human. You don’t need to be the ‘alpha’ to get respect… and I’m pretty certain that the others respect you, even if you fall to a curse… which could happen to anyone, I’m sure.”
Tony scowled, taking a swig of his drink. From what he’d heard about the witch, Wanda, she had a vendetta against him. He was fairly certain that it wouldn’t have happened to just anyone. Yet, begrudgingly, he knew what Pepper was getting through to him.
“Sounds like I’m overthinking as per usual,” he admitted, “and putting myself in the centre of the universe… which, too, is normal. I just… I don’t know, Pep. I got a good look at what HYDRA have been doing, outfitting themselves with alien weaponry and even going down the human experimentation route. We stopped their operations and it’s unlikely that they’ll recover any time soon, but… what if we didn’t stop them in time? And they only went after Potter because I saw the potential of his work as a magical consultant. Why do I get the feel like I’m arming the enemy… again?”
“You’re overthinking,” Pepper said softly, rubbing his back, “so how about this as an idea? Finish your drink down here, then bring up a bottle of something cold, fizzy and decadent.”
“Huh… sounds to me like this is a sleep-over night,” Tony said, interest perking up immediately.
“I bought us a day or two before duty calls, but it’s best that neither of us are out in public. Until we’re ready to release a proper statement about the Avengers’ presence in Sokovia.”
Tony winced, “let’s not let that spoil the mood. You’re offering escapism, after all.”
Pepper kissed him lightly on the jaw, then went to murmur in his ear.
“Only if you give me a foot rub. I’ve been wearing heels since Dallas.”
He smiled, looking over to where she kicked off the offending shoes.
“What will the world say about Ironman being reduced down to massaging sore feet?”
Pepper’s hand then slid down from his back. Her fingers suddenly pinched his butt, forcing out a startled yelp. Pepper then deviously murmured low in his ear.
“They’ll say that Tony Stark knows how to please his CEO.”
Mouth dry, he had nothing witty to say as she then sauntered away from him. The rocking of her hips doing a very good job of driving out pretty much any thought. Hurriedly, he downed the rest of his whisky.
“It’ll bring the Moët!” He called to her as she headed off. She didn’t look back, just offering a wave. It was more than enough for Tony to nearly fall over his own feet in his haste to stock up an ice bucket from the bar.
Scouring through obtained intelligence for valuable information was what Natasha excelled at. A life training in espionage to be a spy that could tip the side in a war meant she joined the dots faster than most. Just as she was capable of harvesting secrets from files and documents, she was just as proficient at extracting secrets from people as well. Such skills meant she had a hardy constitution when it came to handling the darker aspects of their world. She was no stranger to the lengths that people would go when pushed. The organisation that forged her out of blood and hardship didn’t set lines… just like HYDRA, they had no limit to what could be crossed.
Just because she could stomach the violence didn’t mean she was detached from it. It didn’t spark as much of an emotional response as it would for anyone else, even her colleagues who weren’t exactly innocent. But it still crawled in her mind, the constant reminder that the world was full of monsters wearing human skin. She was one herself, just more in control and evolved with a moral compass.
So she shouldered the burden of going through the files that had been procured from Sokovia before clearing the intel that was safe to share. Reports of the countless volunteers that HYDRA managed to entice from the nearby towns told a bleak and sadly familiar story of human experimentation churning out more failures than successes. The reports would be released to NATO to be distributed to the families of those who lost their lives to give closure. The files detailing the two enhanced teenagers they encountered on the field were set aside for the moment. They were an Avenger-level threat… one to be discussed during a debrief with the full team.
That left the files on Harry Potter.
Natasha sat awake in her own private room in the Avengers Tower, feet propped up on the coffee table. Some reality show was the TV, just some fuzz to have on in the background. Open on the table was her secure laptop, the flashdrive with the files plugged in so she could review them privately before anyone else got their eyes on what HYDRA had done to the wizard. A half-eaten pot of vanilla bean ice cream sat in preparation before she went fully into the grizzly details.
It took hours to watch the videos in detail, recording her full analysis as she went through each and every one. She took pauses to eat ice cream and sip some wine before typing up notes. She flicked through the TV channels, giving her mind time to settle and rest before she ended up tearing across the room to her punch bag and bloodied her knuckles on the leather.
What sparked her rage the most wasn’t the torture. Though extensive and methodical, it was nothing she hadn’t seen or experienced herself before. What made her battling with her own darkness was how it all had happened because of them. HYDRA would have never targeted Harry if SHIELD hadn’t brought him in as a consultant. They put that man in harm’s way… and there had to be some accountability to be had there. She had to be accountable. After they took down Pierce and his cohorts in SHIELD, they knew that the remnants of HYDRA had gone underground. They knew that they were dangerous and desperate, ready for retaliation, but never did they think that the target would be someone outside their sphere, about to be let in.
The interrogations were difficult to witness for that reason… knowing that they could have been prevented. Then when they didn’t yield results, they tried to dispose of Harry through sending him to Sokovia as a test subject.
She closed the lid of the laptop, finishing her glass of wine. Her verdict on Hermione Granger being an asset to the team came from a strong sense of respect towards the fellow woman who could hold her own in a battle of minds. Her magic made her nifty on the field, though she wasn’t a soldier or a spy. A hero in her own right, that much was fair, but her strengths lay elsewhere and not in the heat of battle. Not everyone was forged in fire, after all. From what she’d read about Harry Potter, it sounded like much of what happened in his youth when the prime target of the magical terrorist Lord Voldemort came out of sheer survival. He rose to the challenge because it was that or die.
Checking the time, she poured herself another glass of wine. Stepping over to the window, she stared out at the city without really seeing the bright lights. The low buzz of her phone distracted her from her thoughts. Looking over, the screen was lit up. A sigh gusted past her lips as she hesitated before drinking. Taking a sip, she went to check the message. Only a very limited number of people had her current number, most being in the same building.
It was from Clint. She opened it, smiling as he’d sent her a photograph. It was a poor selfie as he’d managed to only capture half his chin in the picture, but he wasn’t the subject. It was the girl next to him, tucked close to his shoulder and sleeping. With her hair in twin braids, Natasha could see her face in the moonlight. Just out of sight, she could see Laura on the girl’s other side with their daughter sleeping between them both.
Then the message.
Lila was asking after Aunty Nat again. C
She put the phone down, her smile twitching as she fought back the stab of jealousy. Having a family was a risk; they all knew that when they started in the business. Barton was just one of those lucky guys that could make it work, putting just that right amount of distance in that made no one question if he had someone back home. He cleverly made himself not interesting enough for others to pry into his private life, never offering up too much… or too little. She knew about his wife and kids, but only because it was up to her to help protect their existence from discovery. Not even Stark knew.
She sent a reply.
Aunty Nat is working.
Taking another sip of wine, she looked back out the window, her thoughts briefly meandering to those in the building she was personally interested in. Harry Potter was business, for the moment. He didn’t occupy her thoughts when she had those moments to herself… someone far further out her reach. Her phone buzzed again.
:(
She rolled her eyes, then Clint sent another message.
Wanna talk about it?
Sighing out of her nose, she set down her wine glass and went to sit on the end of her bed.
Just the usual. People get hurt and we should do better. Give Laura my love.
She tossed her phone on the bed and groaned, finishing off her wine. Having a friend made her feel lonely at the strangest times, especially when should could imagine him carrying Lila to bed, only so he could cuddle up next to his pregnant wife… maybe pepper some kisses down her neck before turning off the light.
Letting out a soft laugh, she shook her head, jealousy and bitterness wrenching in at the thought of such a faraway prospect… romance. Any possibility of having something close was permanently cut out of her life. The Red Room saw to that. But even if she couldn’t have a family, she could have closeness… tenderness… maybe even intimacy.
“In your dreams,” she muttered darkly to herself.
Getting up from the bed, she took herself right back to the sofa and her closed laptop. Setting the glass down, she opened the laptop again and went back to work.
End Of Part One
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