52The world tasted of chaos, and Clint had long grown used to it.
Clint nocked an arrow, drew it back, released it. And left it to the wind.
He repeated the cycle, turning the fast-flying blurs of Chitauri ships into plummeting heaps of metal.
Beyond the songs of madness, sticking out like a sore thumb was the roar of a revving engine. Potter's revving engine.
As he reigned in the skies with his bow, Clint kept a tab on Potter and his bike.
Clint had never seen the model. It wore a fresh new layer of black paint to hide its outdated parts. Outdated they were, but worn out, they weren't. Even Clint acknowledged the newest motorcycles would have a hard time keeping up with Potter's speed.
Clint nocked an arrow.
Harry Potter had been under S.H.I.E.L.D. observation for weeks. Almost a month. According to the last discussion he had with Phil, they'd made little progress. It was hard to come by. Trying to corner a person capable of instantaneous teleportation was a lost battle from the start.
Clint learned that in contradiction to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s first impression of him, Potter was rather harmless (despite his... stunt of causing a citywide power outage.) Potter acted like a tourist. He explored the city, tried out the various cuisines, talked with citizens, bought souvenirs. He drove without a valid license and a helmet. But it's not like the police cars ever noticed.
There was a more serious crime, Potter had committed. Technically. Thanks to a McDonald's security camera, they'd caught him transfiguring Japanese currency to American under the shadow of his wallet. Odd thing was, he accurately converted the bills.
"A good show of morals," Clint replied when Phil had told him.
Either way, Clint didn't trust the guy. Didn't want to.
After Loki, Clint was far from a fan of magic.
Loki's harmed and killed with magic. Toyed with the minds of him and others, using them as puppets tied to a string.
Magic was dangerous.
And yet—it wasn't. It was a tool.
Clint's lived enough to know there wasn't only right or wrong.
Releasing three arrows, Clint didn't bother to see if they hit their mark as the following sounds of nearby crashes were enough of an indicator.
"Cap, twelve arriving on your left," Clint said into the comms. From above, he watched Potter speed through the streets before raising a golden shield with an air-splitting snap of his fingers, separating off a pair of stray teenagers from a nasty wave of gunfire.
Potter moved fluidly. He looked as if he'd done this many times before.
Phil had admitted to him that from what he observed, Potter might've been a soldier.
Clint believed him.
A Chitauri, claws dug deep into the pillar of a building, leaped, lunging downward at Potter, who rode on unaware.
By the time the Chitauri took its next breath, it had an arrow in its head, sending its limp body crashing against the concrete.
Clint watched Potter go.
He nocked another arrow.
Clint didn't want to trust magic—or whatever it was that Potter did, and for a reason.
But he could try.
Under the gunfire of the Chitauri, Steve dove behind the cover of a car, his shield tucked close to his chest. His heartbeat drummed in his ear.
The sound of approaching footsteps and the crunching of gravel sent Steve rolling out from behind the car. A laser flew past his ear. He flung his shield, hurling it into a flurry of Chitauri as he clenched his fist and punched one who dared to step too close.
Steve took in a deep breath. He scouted the street, catching his rebounding shield without much of a glance, to find the absence of any lingering Chitauri.
Steve began running off to find more. He didn't get far before he came to a stop when a familiar engine rumbled in his ears. He peered over his shoulder.
It'd been only five minutes since Steve's seen the motorbike rider. And yet here he was.
"You look quite lonely over here," Harry said, pulling up to Steve's side on his motorbike and leaning forward to rest his forearms on the handles. "Fancy a ride?"
"Yeah, thanks," Steve replied, hopping onto the back of the bike before it lurched forward at a speed it couldn't have reached without some acceleration. The wind caught his hair. The chaos of the sky and earth became blurred and left behind.
"I must say, those were some impressive moves you did there, lad," Harry complimented. "You've a nice command of that shield."
"Thank you," Steve replied. "This is the first time in a while that I've gotten a chance to really stretch."
Harry's voice cut through the raw wind. "We share that in common."
Steve started, "If you don't mind me asking, weren't you just here?"
"I've already cleared a few streets. I decided to round back." Harry guided them through a barrage of abandoned cars without much of a stumble. "I'm quite good at this."
A Chitauri lunged at them from the rear and Steve didn't hesitate to strike it in the face with his fist. "Fighting aliens?"
Humming, Harry answered, "That too."
"Then what?"
Harry laughed and the world laughed with him. "Adapting to chaos."
"Really?" Steve asked. "We share that in common."
Harry chuckled.
With a screech of tires, Harry took a sharp turn down an alley for them to look up and see as eight Chitauri descended on them. Harry clicked his tongue. An invisible force, thin as glass, propelled upward, shoving the Chitauri away with enough force to send them ramming into the walls.
Steve's eyes widened. Harry continued to drive through and out of the alley without much of a glance to the side. Did Harry use some sort of new invention? He only used a cue.
"So, alien invasions." Harry's voice cut Steve out of his thoughts as he asked, "You do this often?"
"Fortunately, no. This happens to be a first," Steve answered, glancing up at the wormhole.
Harry rolled his shoulders. "Don't worry, you get used to it," he hummed.
Steve blinked, bewildered. "Is that a reference?"
"Is it?" Harry peered over his shoulder, head tilted.
Steve opened his mouth to reply but a rain of gunfire upon them interrupted him. Harry brought up a hand. A golden shield materialized in front of them as Harry swerved to a stop.
"Ugly buggers, aren't they?"
Along the street, lingered five, ten, twenty, around thirty Chitauri.
"This is my stop." Steve swung his leg over the motorbike and stepped off. "I appreciate the ride."
"Do have fun, Cap."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head.
Harry smiled. He extended a hand, the day's pandemonium reflecting in his green eyes as he said, "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced. Harry Potter, it's a pleasure."
A wave of gunfire struck against the golden shield, and Steve turned to hurl his own, hitting one, two, four Chitauri in one quick succession.
Harry whistled.
Steve turned back around, caught his shield, and shook Harry's hand. "Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Harry."
It's almost therapeutic, fighting was.
With a click of Harry's tongue, spells of forgotten colors flared off from the very whisper of his magic.
The Chitauri stood no chance.
Harry didn't like aliens all that much (despite being one himself.) The warmongering ones, anyway.
These past years, Harry had been trying to avoid conflict. It's difficult. Trouble sang to him, and Harry didn't know what he could do other than answer its calls.
An enormous shadow cast over him as he drove. Harry looked up. A Leviathan, previously sailing through the air without a hitch, began descending upon him. Harry narrowed his eyes. What once was his new friend Bruce, stood a large green man on top of the Leviathan, tearing into it like a hot knife through butter.
Harry lifted a hand to his nape. He cracked his neck. One moment of displaced air later found him not under the body of a recently deceased alien and instead, in a different part of Manhattan.
His magic breathed. Thrill pulsed like a very heartbeat through his bones as the sound of the engine fell beneath his focus.
As easy as breathing, Harry lifted his hand and yanked.
Like tendrils, his magic plucked Chitauri out of the sky, whipping them to the floor faster than they could register. It's second nature. To wave up shields and conjure threads of flame and call out stars from their hiding place.
Fighting slimy slugs was—wasn't the most desirable situation.
But this?
He almost laughed at how adventure always seemed to find him.
And then his magic stilled.
Under the high of battle, solemn words filled the comms, and Harry's gaze lifted to the sky. Harry pursed his lips.
Would it be appalling for Harry to admit he missed the thrill of war?
(And as Harry watched Stark, alone and aware, accompany a nuke through the wormhole to save the many lives of here, Harry knew the answer to be, and to always be, yes.)
Stark had survived.
Plummeting from the sky, Bruce had caught the man and roughly rolled him out onto the road.
The motorbike's engine died.
Harry watched as Thor tore off Stark's iron mask.
A whisper of wind, marked by Death's foul breath, fell by Harry's ear to tell him it wasn't yet Stark's time.
Harry's heart twisted.
Woken from Bruce's roar, Stark gasped and with wide eyes, looked around frantically in his unmoving suit. "What the hell?"
It was a curse for Harry to find those a slave to fate.
"What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me," Stark choked out.
Harry's heart loosened.
Something small in his chest thrummed as he blinked in surprise.
Oh.
Harry had almost forgotten how it felt to love humanity.
So, Shawarma.
Compared to the chaos of their day, Shawarma had been the only peaceful event.
Half-dead but still able, Tony had brought them to where he remembered the restaurant to be, only for them to find it in shambles.
Tony shrugged. He began to approach the crooked door when Harry stopped to give the restaurant one long calculating look. Tony asked, "What? Not a fan of shawarma?"
Harry didn't bother to reply. For the next thirteen seconds, Harry decided to completely chuck logic and reason through the window, as he regularly did. Harry snapped his fingers.
From the floor, shattered glass shivered before mending itself together into its former spotless pane, and soon after, it fitted itself back into the window frame. Splintered tables repaired themselves. A convenient wind swept out the dust followed by shards of fallen light bulbs fitting together and ascending to their places in the ceiling.
As a finale, the crooked door straightened.
Tony stared blankly. Okay, what couldn't this guy do?
As if reading his mind, Harry didn't spare him a glance as he walked past him and into the restaurant, a smug smile on his lips.
Everyone filed in through the door.
As they ate, Tony continued poking at Harry with questions with the goal of learning of the magician's many mysterious mysteries.
Harry chose to ignore him.
Smart move. But it was a move Tony didn't like nonetheless.
Tony poked him a fourth time before—
"Tomorrow morning, you could wake up as a ferret and no one would ever know it was me," Harry threatened nonchalantly, wiping his mouth with a tissue and not bothering to look up.
Save for Tony and Harry, everyone had stifled a laugh.
Not Thor though.
Thor just laughed.
"I've to attend Loki's trial, Stark," Thor replied when Tony began proposing the idea of hosting an after alien invasion party. Thor took a swing of his glass of water.
"Which will be, what," Tony reasoned, handing the card machine back to the waitress, "two, three days? I'm sure you can spare the time for a little get-together. I have quality liquor. Plus a quality karaoke machine."
Natasha stared at him. "Stark, you have parties almost weekly."
"And I hear you all don't." Tony leaned back in his chair and gestured out with his hands as he said, "See how nice I am, offering to host a party for my co-workers?"
Clint scoffed. Shaking his head, he finished his meal as everyone else already did.
They rose from their seats, bellies full. Walking out of the restaurant, Tony, with the bribery of high-quality drinks, gourmet food, and karaoke, managed to rope in everyone for his little celebration that would take place a few days after today.
Everyone meant everyone minus one.
"Hey, magic man!"
Harry, who'd begun walking over to his parked motorbike, paused, then continued walking until he reached it. "Yes, Stark?"
The way Harry's shoulders dropped told Tony he was holding back a sigh. Tony smiled. "Do you know how to use Google Maps or do you already know how to get to Stark Tower?"
Harry peered over his shoulder. He held Tony's gaze. "I'm afraid I won't be attending your party if that's what you're really asking."
"Why not?" Tony asked.
"I've not explored the entirety of New York City yet."
"You've got a couple of days to do that," Tony reasoned, shrugging.
Harry's eye twitched.
Tony hummed before asking, "How about a compromise? What say you?"
Turning around, Harry crossed his arms and leaned back onto his motorbike. "Remind me again what exactly there is to compromise?"
Steve stepped forward. He interjected, "Stark, don't force him."
"Since when did you get so friendly with the magician, Cap?" Tony asked before returning to the original subject with, "About that compromise. How about this, I'll order some British cuisine. Snacks you enjoy, say, I don't know, treacle tart?"
Harry tilted his head. "Hmm, and how do you know that?"
Tony replied, "That's not important."
"Whoa, whoa. Can't you give the guy a bit of privacy, Stark?" Clint asked.
"Say that to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s face and then we'll talk, Legolas."
Harry and Steve blinked. They exchanged confused looks at the nickname.
Harry perked an eyebrow.
Steve shrugged.
"So, how about it?" Tony bargained, "If you attend, I'll have the world's best treacle tart, just for you."
"I'm flattered. Your persistence is admirably annoying," Harry replied. A pause. "I'll consider it."
As Harry mounted his motorbike, Natasha approached. "Mr. Potter," she spoke up.
Grabbing his attention, he replied, "Just Harry's fine. What is it, lass?"
Natasha answered, a stern expression catching her face, "Fury will want a talk with you."
"Fury?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"The scary guy with the eyepatch," Tony explained.
Harry stared at him.
"The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve added helpfully.
"Oh—" Recognition flickered over Harry's face. "Bloody hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. I've never met the man, Fury, was it? He wears an eyepatch... Is he a pirate?"
Tony replied, amusement dancing in his eyes, "As a matter of fact, he is."
"I'd bring you in," Natasha started, head tilting, "but that doesn't seem like it would go too well."
Harry hummed. Drumming his fingers against the bike's handles, Harry clicked his tongue in thought before he sighed. "I suppose I should stop putting it off."
There wasn't an owl in the sidecar anymore.
Instead, there was a snowy owl hovering outside the helicarrier's windows, an envelope held by the curl of its claws.
And it wasn't just any owl. But an owl who belonged to one very special troublesome individual Nick would be better off forgetting about. He ran a hand down his face. Considering they'd never caught Potter using an electrical device, this answered one of their many questions.
Nick weighed his options.
An agent interjected hesitantly, "Should I open the window panel, sir?"
Nick's eye narrowed. "Open it," he replied.
The agent strode over to the window and unhitched the latch. They held it open.
The owl tilted its head, wings flapping before it swooped down and entered through the window. Attracting the bewildered stares of the many agents in the room, it flew toward him.
Nick lifted his arm.
Without a sound, the owl perched itself on it. Curious yellow eyes stared at him. Raising its claw to extend the envelope, Nick took it.
On the front, inked in roughly with a tool not resembling a pen's work was his last name.
Nick turned the envelope over. Once, twice. Fastening the envelope was a beautiful red wax seal, detailed with the symbol of a line through a circle within a triangle. Nick had never seen this symbol. It's not surprising. To be fair, Nick had never seen someone like Potter.
The owl tilted its head.
Nick considered denying the owl its freedom—considered on telling the agent to lock the window. He decided against it. The relationship between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Potter was neutral as both parties had yet to make a hostile move. Keeping Potter's pet hostage might not be the best idea.
The owl flew off his arm, heading for the window until it swooped down to snatch half of an agent's lunch before exiting the helicarrier.
Nick handed off the envelope to an Agent. "Leave it closed. Have it inspected and photographed in the lab. Crossmatch the wax seal," he ordered.
"Yes, sir."
According to the media, as reported by his agents, the world marked and identified Potter as an Avenger. Which he goddamn wasn't.
Nick admitted he did consider Potter as a possible candidate for the Avengers Initiative after his little magic show with Phil. The blank spaces in his files and his lack of existence stopped him. Potter's performance and display of morals during the invasion, as captured by the surviving security camera feeds, was commendable. He proved to be powerful.
Nick wondered if he should consider it again.
Turning on his heel, Nick began making his way over to the lab. Its doors opened automatically.
The agent stood by the lightbox, typing into their computer on the side. At Nick's appearance, they stood, straightened, and said, "I found there to be no hazards. There were also no matches with the wax seal."
Nick dismissed the agent. He picked up the envelope and took out his pocket knife. He sliced the top open.
Inside was a letter.
Nick could hardly call it one as it was more a note than a letter. He slipped it out and raised an eyebrow.
Using a bird for mail delivery, wax seals, and now parchment paper? What era did Potter live in?
Inspecting the neatly folded piece of parchment, Nick placed down the envelope. He stifled a sigh as he unfolded the note.
It said only two things.
I'll see you soon. Do remember to prepare a nice pot of tea.
Nick really, really hated this guy.
X
aaaaaAAAAHHHHHH
Originally, I planned for 3 chapters. Extended it to 5. Last chapter's notes, I talked about filling the white spaces. The first version I'd written and planned to upload had the bare minimum. Only one scene in this chapter was in the first version lol. Hope you all enjoy I'm going straight to bed and I got a law class teams meeting in 5 hours oop
