Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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August 7^th

Harry sits on the edge of a bed, pristine white cotton sheets creased beneath her.

She sits with wand in hand and eyes resolutely trained on the dark corners of the room. Unlikely as it is that a dementor would be lurking there, the oddity of the night imposes on her nerves and keeps her in a constant state of fight or flight.  

She thinks she’s made a mistake coming here – no, she knows she’s made a mistake. But in the moment, between the Dementors and the Dursleys and everything in between, any ideas of where she could go was given little thought. She presses her lips together and moves her gaze to the light beneath the door.

On the other side of the unfamiliar door, beyond the kitchen and the living room are two other bedrooms. Grateful as she is to Stark for giving her a place to sleep, just the mere knowledge that those two bedrooms belong to her soulmates makes her skin itch.

She blinks.

Eyes wide and bright green even in the dark shift towards the ceiling; eyes it suspiciously. She has been reassured by Stark that his AI does not have cameras in any of the bedrooms or bathrooms in his tower. Still, she asks the AI to not record or respond to anything that goes on wherever she may be.

She grits her teeth and twists her neck. If they had caught something magical on camera then that would mean Harry had directly violated the International Statute of Secrecy. She’s sure that the Ministry would just Obliviate the Avengers memories and get rid of the recordings like they did to uncle Vernon’s sister but, something in her feels as if she would receive a terrible reception if the Prophet headlines were anything to go by.

She needed to get rid of any recordings immediately. Though, she doubts it’ll be easy to achieve.

She breathes deeply. Blinks back tears and presses hand over bruised thigh. Stares at the envelope beside her. The light beneath the door shifts with shadow.

Harry snatches the envelope up, strides to the closet, which is about the same size as Dudley’s second bedroom, shuts the door tightly behind her and turns the light on. She steels her breath and tries to peel open the Ministry seal without breaking it; it breaks anyway.

Dear Ms. Potter,

The Ministry has received intelligence that at 6:23 this evening you performed a Patronus Charm in the presence of a muggle. As a clear violation for the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As you have already received official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12^th.

Hoping you are well,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper use of magic office

Ministry of Magic

Harry reads the letter twice.

She lowers the letter numb and icy, hands shaking. There is only one thought that echoes through her mind like an agonizing scream in the silence of mountains. She is expelled from Hogwarts. It’s over, simple as that. She’s never going back.

A choked gasp and the feel as if someone has encaged her body, tightening, restricting any movement makes her grip the soft carpeted floor. Harry doesn’t even realize she’s fallen down until the soft carpet is registered in her hands. There’s a loud crack outside the closet that has Harry stumbling upright picking up fallen wand and tripping into the bedroom. There is no one visible in sight; she then sees a brown barn owl fluttering dazed outside the window having just collided into it. She runs towards the window and clumsily unlatches it sliding it open allowing the owl to fly in.

The owl shakes its feathers, sticks out its leg, to which small roll of parchment is attached. The owl takes off as soon as Harry pulls off the letter. She almost half expects this second letter to say that she will be stripped of her wand and sent to Azkaban. Hands shaking, she unravels the letter, where written hastily in blotchy black ink is:

Harry,

Dumbledore’s just arrived at the Ministry; he’s trying to sort everything out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANYMORE MAGIC.

Arthur Weasley.

Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s trying to sort everything out? She hasn’t heard a single slip of news about Voldemort from anyone, even Dumbledore then suddenly she’s attacked and he’s… trying to sort it all out. How much power did Dumbledore have at the Ministry? Who would even believe him now, after he’s backed up her claims that Voldemort is back, she’s seen the headlines.

Dumbledore: Is he daft or is he dangerous?

Does he even have enough power to keep her from being expelled?

Another owl flies in. This one is as black as night, elegant and graceful; it does a lap around the room before releasing the parchment in its talons at just the right moment for it to smack her in the face. Hedwig hoots disdainfully at the other owl from her perch in her cage. Harry glances at the parchment immediately recognizing Sirius’ handwriting.

Arthur’s just told us what’s happened.

Don’t leave the house again. Whatever you do.

Harry exhales and pinches her mouth shut. She never thought there would be a day where she’s disappointed to receive a letter from her godfather. That’s it? Don’t leave the Dursleys? It’s too late for that. She’s already left and they don’t even know it. Wasn’t anybody going to say ‘well done’ for single handedly fighting off two Dementors and saving her cousin? Wasn’t anybody going to say ‘we’re glad you’re safe, we’ll be there soon.’ Mr. Weasley and Sirius act as if she’s badly misbehaved and are saving the telling-off’s until they could ascertain how much damage she’s produced.

They are such inadequate responses for everything that’s happened that night. Harry grabs both letters and flips them back and forth, searches every inch of the parchment as if words will appear by the will of her gaze alone. But no matter how hard she looks there are no more words.

She crumples the letters in hand and throws them to the ground. Gathering her own parchment and quill she begins to her own letter. If no one will send her anything on what’s happened. Nothing on what’s happened with the Dementors, Mrs. Figg, the people following her, or how Dumbledore intended to sort everything out then she would have to come up with her own plan.

She’ll be damned before she lets herself sit and wait around for instructions.

This is her future.

This is her home they are trying to expel her from.

The only home she’s ever known.

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August 8^th

Harry sits at the breakfast table surrounded by the Avengers.

Before her is an assortment of breakfast foods. Everything she can imagine and more, much like meals served at the Great Hall in Hogwarts; she expects nothing less of Stark. But it makes her uncomfortable, makes her push the meager fruit on her plate around with a fork and stare unseeingly at the juices oozing together.

“You okay, kid?”

Harry looks up and into the eyes of Clint seated across from her. She blinks and smiles and feels exhausted, she barely got any sleep the other night, but answers, “I’m fine.”

“Listen, Harry,” Stark speaks up and gains everyone’s attention. “With what’s happened at your... Uh,” He clears his throat as if something particularly nasty has lodged itself there. “Guardian’s house, we have evidence now. Visual proof that if you ever –”

Harry understands where he’s going. Had been warned that this might happen. She steels herself and understands that this is something she has to do, no matter how much she detests to.

“No.” She cuts him off, soft but firm.

They turn to her surprised.

“No? What do you mean no?”

Harry tightens her grip around her fork and inhales heavily, repeats the words she practiced all night, “With all due respect, I know and understand that you’re concerned but this is my business and my business alone.”

“I don’t understand.” Dr. Banner inputs staring at her in disbelief. “They abused you and you’re just going to let them get away it?”

She grits teeth and shows composure, “As I said –”

“Harry, you can’t do this.” Bucky turns to her imploring. “We have evidence that can put them away for abuse. I’m sure Stark is more than willing to provide the lawyers. Don’t you want that?”

Harry feels like there are razor blades cutting into soft flesh of her trachea as she forces the yes down.

She wants to scream it; wants to scream: yes of course I want that. But she can’t. Because no matter how much she hates it, not matter much she loathes the Dursleys they serve a purpose.

An echo of her mother’s voice presses between her shoulder blades like a hand resting comfortably there.

Be brave, my sweet girl

Harry bites her tongue, hard, just as Mr. Adler clears his throat.

“Hamish.” Stark greets surprised, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Do we have a meeting today?”

“No, we do not, Mr. Stark.” Mr. Adler smiles amicably and walks closer to the table. “I am sorry for the early intrusion but it appears we are on a strict time limit. This is for you.”

Mr. Adler places a manila envelope before Stark who immediately picks it up and opens it.

“What is it?” Maria asks eyeing Mr. Adler distrustfully.

Stark clenches his jaw and looks to Harry incredulously, “It’s a lawsuit. From Harry.”

“What?” Steve looks between Tony and Harry. “What’s going on, Harry?”

Harry presses lips together, curls hands into fists on her lap until her nails bite into the skin of her palms, “As I said, this is my business and my business alone. I would like for you to delete all recordings you’ve taken of Number 4 Privet Drive, without my consent or knowledge or I will follow through with the lawsuit, Mr. Stark.”

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Harry walks out; Mr. Adler and a resounding surprised silence following in her footsteps.

They don’t get very far.

She stops just before the elevators at the desperate call of her name. Echoed twice in familiar tones she’s heard too many times over the past few days. Mr. Adler slows to a stop beside her, flickers his gaze to the two men determinedly approaching her and levels her with a look.

“I’ll be at the diner.” He says quietly and turns polite forced smile to Bucky and Steve before he enters the open elevator.

Harry breathes out anxiousness, breathes in faux courage and faces her soulmates.

“Why are you doing this?” It is Steve who asks her this, not Bucky to her surprise.

For a moment she panics, she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t think they would take a repeat of earlier words too well but they are the only words she’s practiced. They are the only words she could think of to justify her actions.

It is her business.

They know nothing about her. None of them know anything about her.

But they are her soulmates. Both blue eyed and broad shouldered, both expressing an innate concern, for her of all things. Their concern is practically tangible, like she can reach out with nimble fingers and wind her hands through the air and into their hearts.

She thinks that maybe they deserve a semblance of truth.

“They’re my relatives and I hate them. I’m sure no one abhors them as much as I do…” She bites her lip, clenches her hands, opens her mouth and says. “But, they’re the only blood relatives I have left.”

She looks between the both of them and continues.

“I know you don’t understand and I don’t fully understand either,” She pauses and forces the words out. “But this is my decision and I hope you can come to respect it. Just as I have respected your decision of the contract and the terms that I have conceded to.”

Harry presses lips together and breathes in deeply. Turns without looking at their faces, doesn’t think she can bear to see their expressions and walks into the open elevator.

– But Petunia took you. She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother’s sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you, to protect you. –

The doors close and she exhales calm and measured and she doesn’t know if she’s doing the right thing.

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“I feel like I’ve made a mistake.” Harry twists her fingers together nervously. “Have I made a mistake?”

Mr. Adler pauses in cutting his eggs and looks to her sternly, “You are doing the right thing, Ms. Potter.”

Harry breathes deeply, once; twice. Tries to believe what Mr. Adler says but looks of betrayal and deprecation across the Avengers faces flash through her mind. They know now, they know about the abuse. And for the first time, having people know and side with her, having people want the Dursleys gone as much as she and she, going against what every atom of her desires to do, pushes them away, says: no, I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.

Says: place me back into the belly of the beast.

But she does not want to go back. Not now, not ever.

Screams on the inside: I don’t want to face them alone. I don’t want to be there any longer. Help me.

But her mouth stays shut, voice caught on its way out her mouth. Lips stitched together with bloody twine coated in lies.

“Do you know what happens to people who break the Statute of Secrecy?”

Harry moves her gaze from the table top to Mr. Adler. She is too afraid to ask but the answer is clear in her eyes.

“A simple Obliviate to the muggles would normally suffice, a warning or two to the Wizard or Witch, perhaps a fine. But with how you’ve been regarded by the Prophet and in the Ministry lately, well, best case scenario: they take away your wand and you are banished from entering any magical community around the world. Forced thereby to live as a muggle.”

Harry’s heart skips in uneven timorous patterns.

She holds her wand gingerly between her hands beneath the table and tries to fight off the anxiety threatening to spill over like an overflown bathtub. They cannot take away her wand. She’ll refuse; she’ll run away and live alone in some small town if she has to.

She cannot give up her magic, it’s her lifeline.

It’s her strongest connection to her parents.

Her mouth feels dry like someone’s stuffed cotton balls inside that stick to the roof of her mouth. She hates to ask but she must so she croaks out weakly, “… and the worst case scenario?”

Mr. Adler smiles grimly, “Azkaban.”

Harry thinks about the Dementors, she thinks about the videos, she thinks that they won’t send her there, right? She’s a child, she didn’t know any better. Its self-defense what was she supposed to do? Lay down her wand and be kissed by the Dementor?

“But that should be for extreme cases and there are exceptions to the current laws, of course.” Mr. Adler interrupts catching the overflow of emotions on her face. “What had happened in Little Whinging with your cousin should be considered self-defense in which case your offense will be null and void. I’ll give you papers and books to look over and study on so you’re prepared for your trial. But the video tapes…”

He trails off and Harry can practically feel the unsaid words settle uncomfortably in the space around them. There is no exception for the tapes; you will be prosecuted should they get out.

“It’s best to not get the Ministry involved with the Avengers, don’t you think?”

Harry nods her head heavily and thinks that she will do anything to get rid of the tapes if it means she gets to keep her wand and be a part of the Wizarding World.

It is silent for a few moments as Mr. Adler eats. Harry turns to look out the window and catches sight of Clint. She watches Clint watch her and wonders whose idea it was to send him. Wonders why it’s not Bucky or Steve.

“Have you told anyone where you are?”

“No.” She says and fights the guilt that rises.

“Are you going to?”

Harry snorts, turns her gaze away from Clint and to Mr. Adler, “Doubtful. Mrs. Figg has probably told them that the Dursleys have locked me in my room or kept me in the house. I haven’t received any other letters, not even one asking how I am.”

She doesn’t say it out loud but she certainly feels it. They don’t deserve to know where she is.

Mr. Adler searches her face as if he’s looking for something and whatever he finds makes him consider his next words carefully, “You should, at the very least, ask them when they will retrieve you. I imagine that if they go to Number Four Privet Drive and do not find you there, you will be in more trouble than you desire.”

Harry’s lips twist down and for a second scathingly thinks, good. Let them run around with their heads cut off like chickens searching for her. After the summer she’s had they deserve it.

“Compromise.” Mr. Adler opens his arms, palms faced up and looks meaningfully at her. “Meet them somewhere in the middle. Do it discretely and you’ll get to keep all your secrets.”

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Steve feels conflicted.

Feels like the only emotion he’s felt since being dug up from the ice is conflicted.

He sits in one of Starks labs with his gaze locked firmly on the floor. Sam, a constant presence of comfort and friendship, sits beside him discussing with the others the lawsuit.

The goddamn fucking lawsuit.

It feels unreal. It feels like everything is moving in slow-motion around him and sound is muffled to humming buzz in the back of his mind. The only thing he can concentrate on is the floor beneath his feet; he can’t even feel his own body.

His mind just keeps going back to the seven deadbolt locks on the outside of her door, the cat flap big enough for a plate to fit through, her one bag and impersonalized walls.

To everything unseen inside that house and how there were no pictures of Harry and how she looked like a stranger in a house she grew up in. Wonders why she’s doing this, even after she explained.

The light flickers and the projection re-starts. Steve catches glimpses in the polished floor. Harry’s head bangs on the window, a shout, meaty hands grabbing furiously at her neck, strangling, struggling.

Clenches his hands and closes his eyes. Feels Bucky shift uneasily, fumingly quietly in the corner of the room opposite to him. They can’t watch it over and over and over like the others.

“There’s nothing I can do.” Tony’s voice breaks through the strange atmosphere around him. All the noise and feeling comes rushing back as fast as a wave breaks in the ocean.

“There has to be something, Tony.” Bruce exclaims. This is the most Steve’s seen of Bruce lose his temper aside from the Helicarrier and scepter.

“Well there isn’t. I’ve checked, my lawyers have checked. The lawsuit is iron clad the best thing to do is follow through. She knows and Hamish knows that if they pursue this then the media will be all over it. Steve and Barnes’ soulmarks will get out; Harry’s life will be completely changed in ways no one is even thinking of. I mean – this is why I hired Hamish in the first place he’s the best of the best. It’s easier to agree to her requests.” He pauses fiddling with something. “She isn’t even asking for much, just to delete the videos and any copies or back-ups in front of her and she’ll drop the charges.”

“She’s isn’t asking for much?” Sam reiterates scoffing. “Her family, no – sorry, those people have abused her for who knows how long and we have the evidence to put them away and you want to delete them?”

“You think I want to delete them!” Tony bursts in anger and everybody stops. “You think that this isn’t a hard decision for me? This is hard and I wish she wasn’t doing this but she is.”

Steve frowns and catches Bucky’s gaze.

– this is my decision and I hope you can come to respect it –

“Do it.” He says.

– just as I have respected your decision of the contract and the terms that I have conceded to –

“It’s what she wants.”

Bucky stares at him. Something unreadable in his expression, something Steve’s never seen before, not since he’s known him. His chest feels tight and his stomach is in knots. He doesn’t even pay attention to Sam or Bruce or anyone trying to talk to him, asking him why. Why isn’t he fighting?

He just stares at Bucky’s unreadable expression and stalks out the lab.

Steve finds himself on the balcony in the upper level of the tower gripping the railing tightly in his hands. Stares down into the sea of people below, all bright colored and all wrong.

Everything is wrong.

Moves his gaze to the diner across the street that he never goes into and knows just knows that Harry is in there. He can’t seem to get her words out of his head and the railing underneath his hands groan a little as the pressure of his grip increases.

“Pretty sure Stark won’t like having to replace a railing this high.” Bucky says behind him and Steve can hear all the emotions in his voice. The pent up frustration, the anger, the sadness, it makes his shoulders tense.

“Pretty sure he can afford it.”

They’re silent for a moment and Steve lets go of the railing and turns to Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t beat around the bush. Never has, never will, Steve supposes, so Bucky asks him out right.

“Don’t you care?” Steve can’t read a single miniscule expression on Bucky’s face. “Don’t you care about her?”

He clenches his hands.

“Of course I do.” Steve says, shaking his head as if it can shake away his feelings. “I do care about Harry. I especially care for her safety… but this is what she wants, Bucky. You heard her.”

“Screw what she wants!” Bucky says stepping forward. The anger finally showing on his face. “She’s fifteen; she doesn’t know what she wants. Those people probably fucked enough with her mind to make sure that she never tells anyone.”

“Even still, who are we to make decisions for her?”

“We’re her soulmates. That’s who we are.”

Bucky walks away and Steve feels… he doesn’t know what he feels. He just knows that it hurts.

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Clint enters the elevator with Harry.

She looks at him curiously in the blurry reflection of the doors. He leans comfortably against wall ankles crossed, one hand curled around the wrist of the other. Sees his eyes bore into the side of her head as if his gaze alone will shoot an arrow that will pierce her skull and spill her thoughts; a fountain of blood red thoughts that he can cup his palms under and collect into his hands, peer into her mind.

He breaks the silence first.

“I had an older brother.”

Harry bites the inside of her cheek and glances curiously over her shoulder to meet his gaze. Sharp arrows pierce her skull but no blood red thoughts spill.

“I say had because I don’t know if he’s alive or not but,” He shrugs nonchalant but Harry can tell he feels anything but. “He was still my brother you know?”

No, she doesn’t know, not really. Harry doesn’t really have any family related to her by blood other than the Dursleys and even then her feelings towards them are anything but familial love. Harry lowers her gaze and turns back around. She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to say something.

“When we were little and lived with our parents they used to beat the shit out of us.”

Harry tenses at his confession. His voice is blank, his gaze is blank but his hand tightens around his wrist and his jaw clenches.

Harry stares perplexed at the floor. This cannot possibly what they sent him to her for. Clint alone doesn’t seem like the type to willingly open up to anyone immediately nor does he seem like the type to do so if someone told him too. Harry presses her lips together and refuses to be backed into a corner.

“Are you…” Harry faces him, squares her shoulders and doesn’t let herself be intimidated. She’s faced much more intimidating things. “Are you telling me this so that we… bond? So that I tell you things? Things about the Dursleys?”

Clint smiles at that.

“No,” He scoffs and shakes his head. “That’s not my style. And no one told me to tell you anything. I’m just letting you know, kid, that I know what it’s like. And if you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, but if you do… then I just want you to know that there’s someone here who gets it.”

Unsaid words rest heavy on her tongue as she looks at him. Fourteen years waiting to be released. Idly, she thinks that the elevator is moving abnormally slow.

“Did you fight back?” Her words are so quiet she thinks that she didn’t really speak them as much as she mouthed them, his gaze is focused on her lips and at the end of her question he looks back into her eyes.

His smile twists.

“We ran away. To the circus.” He pauses contemplatively. “It was good there, for a while. Then… some things happened, found myself out of home and no brother around. I decided after that to not really rely on anyone. Don’t need anyone if you have yourself, right?”

Harry doesn’t speak.

“There’s no shame in running away, Harry. Sometimes, it saves your life.”

The elevator slows to a stop and the doors open but neither Harry nor Clint moves.

Jarvis speaks smooth and crisp, “Ms. Potter, Sir has asked you to join him in Lab A. He has agreed to your terms and conditions and is ready to delete all videos taken without your knowledge and permission at Number Four Privet Drive.”

Harry breathes out and feels the tightened band around her throat and around her heart disappear.

Relief, she thinks.

Pure, unadulterated, relief.

Now all she has to worry about is her hearing.

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Harry finds herself standing in the closet in the bedroom after Stark deleted the videos.

She finds herself standing there because it’s almost the same size as Dudley’s second bedroom and that fact alone gives a little comfort in an unfamiliar place – as fucked up as it sounds.

She finds herself standing in the closet staring at what used to be empty space. Empty space that is now covered with more clothing than Harry can imagine. Clothing for a girl it looks like, a teenage girl.

Harry hesitates by a maroon long sleeved top, where taped to the sleeve is a rectangular card.

Harry – it says on the front. She quickly glances at the clothes once more and flips the card over.

An apology for the videos.

- Tony

“What?” Harry breathes out confused.

“Stark likes to go all out.” Is said suddenly behind her and Harry jumps turning around with her hand on her heart.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Bucky smiles crookedly. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.” Harry returns the smile and gestures to the clothing. “This can’t all be for me.”

“I think it is.” Bucky glances at the clothes before looking at her.

“Why?” Harry lifts the card and confusedly searches the clothes as if an answer might present itself hidden in the soft lush fibers. “I threatened him with a lawsuit and he didn’t – he didn’t have to apologize. Deleting the videos was enough. Why would he - ?”

“Steve says,” Bucky begins, at length. “Stark gives gifts of a grand gesture because he doesn’t really know how to express what he wants to say… or his emotions.”

Harry snorts, “Who really does?”

Harry bites her lip and gazes at the card. Can’t seem to take her eyes off it. No one’s really given her as anything as grand as this. Of course, she’s received things wonderful things from friends but no one’s ever really given her clothes – new clothes. Which actually look like they’ll fit her come to think of it.

She assumes that because everyone has always known her for wearing big baggy boys clothing (not knowing they were Dudley’s hand-me-downs) that that was the type of clothing she likes. It’s oddly perceptive of Stark and she’s… touched.

“You busy?” Bucky asks stepping out of the closet.

She follows placing the card down delicately on the desk, “No. Did you want something?”

“I was wondering,” His right shoulder lifts up in a half-hearted shrug. “I mean – if you would like to watch a movie out in the living room. I’m trying to catch up on what I’ve missed when I was… well, I could use some company.”

Harry twists her hands together and shifts her weight from foot to foot, “Um, sure. I wouldn’t mind watching a movie right now.”

A slow smile spreads across Bucky’s face. Unconsciously, she thinks, uncontrolled because she’s seen him smile once before only it didn’t look like any of the other smiles she’s seen. She saw the way his lips stretch into a smile but the smile meant nothing. Didn’t reach any part of him.

This – this smile of his, right there. It’s genuine, it means something, it reaches a part of him.

She doesn’t know what it means.

Harry follows him out into the living room a shadow of herself. Half her mind occupied by thoughts of Stark and his gifts and the other half occupied by thoughts of why Bucky was doing this. Why was he putting so much effort into getting to know her?

“Have you seen To Kill A Mockingbird? Sam says it’s good but I think his opinion shouldn’t be taken verbatim. His taste in music is awful no matter what he says so I don’t know about his taste in movies.”

Harry is drawn back to the present with his question, “No. I don’t really watch movies or tv shows.”

Bucky raises a disbelieving eyebrow as he sits down, “In this day and age I kind of find that hard to believe, Harry. Everybody always seems to talk about some kind of tv show or movie.”

“That’s true I suppose.” She falls back onto the couch, ignores the way her body aches and throbs with the movement and focuses her gaze on the tv just as Jarvis brings up the movie. “I’ll rephrase… I wasn’t really allowed to watch television.”

She can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into the side of her face but she resolutely keeps her eyes on the tv.

“There was a tv in the kitchen but I was only really allowed to turn it on in the mornings and even then it had to be on the news channel and the volume either on low or mute.” She looks at him then. There’s an unrecognizable look on his face. “I didn’t mind really, I find books to be more entertaining.”

She shifts her eyes back to the tv, “Besides, now it just means I get to watch them for the first with my soulmates who haven’t seen them either.”

She can’t be sure but she thinks that out of the corner of her eye she sees him smile again. Softer this time.

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August 9^th

Harry feels her insecurity weigh heavy in her chest. Feels as if someone’s tied rocks around her heart and thrown it into the river to watch it sink to the bottom.

It doesn’t sit right with her.

This novel feeling is peculiar; makes her feel like she doesn’t know what to feel anymore. Just a mess of emotions all bleeding into each other surmounting itself into whatever it is she feels now.

She steals a glance at Steve from the corner of her eye. They sit in silence watching some awful show that aunt Petunia adores which Harry tries her best to ignore. She’s fairly certain that Steve is not paying attention to it either. They are both, rather indiscreetly, observing each other.

Harry opens her mouth then shuts it.

Furrows her brows and doesn’t really know how to say it.

“You don’t have to hang out with me.” She says finally and thinks that it is not exactly what she wants to say but its good enough, for now. Steve flicks an unreadable look at her. Harry clarifies, “I just mean, don’t you have something more interesting to do? You can leave anytime. I was just going to -” Harry flicks her gaze around the room searching for an answer, “Read a book.”

Steve raises his eyebrows briefly, “If you want me gone, Harry, just say so. Personally, I don’t really have anything pressing to get to. Besides, if anyone needs me then Jarvis will notify me.”

She studies Steve for a long moment. Then she returns to mostly just trying to use the power of her mind to will her injuries to heal faster.

She doesn’t tell Steve to leave.

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Bucky joins them later.

He pauses in the threshold of the room and flickers his gaze between the two of them before he smiles hesitantly and moves to sit on a chair nearby.

Harry watches Steve sit straighter, watches him watch Bucky with hope and love overflowing clearly in his eyes. Watches as their eyes meet.

Moves her gaze away because the exchange of their looks is something that shouldn’t been seen by outsiders. Because it is untainted love that’s lasted nearly a century.

And she’s nothing but an outsider.

Her heart feels like it’s sinking now. Swallowed into the dark abyss of the sea.

“Ms. Potter,” Jarvis addresses her and she automatically looks up. “Mr. Adler has just dropped off a parcel of reading material for you. Says it’s quite important that you study it.”

Harry grimaces. She has no doubt that it’s the papers or notes and books Mr. Adler promised her of the Wizarding Laws and whatever else he thinks she needs to study and what he thinks is likely to happen at her hearing.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll go and get them now.”

She flashes a smile at her soulmates and can’t help but feel relieved when she leaves.

Ignores the feelings and what they might mean.

.

.

After hours of reading Harry makes the mistake of falling asleep in the common living room.

Sitting on the floor, upper body bent over the coffee table, her head pillowed by a thick tome, charmed so that the average muggle wouldn’t pay it any mind.

She dreams –

She dreams of the graveyard.

Of the night Voldemort came back.

Only it doesn’t really feel like a dream, nor does it feel entirely like a memory. It almost feels… real.

Feels like she’s living it all over again.

“I’d almost forgotten.” Voldemort turns to her, eyes as red as the blood that drips down her arm. “Our most esteemed guest: Harriet Potter. Here you are standing on the bones of my father. I would introduce you but word has it you’re almost as famous as me these days.”

He smiles. Paper thin lips formed from new skin still stretched into shark-like smile. Full of teeth glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

“This isn’t real.” She says and her voice betrays her fears.

“Isn’t it?” He mocks. “I believe that this is quite real indeed, Harry.”

“No. No.” She shakes her head, tears moving in curved pattern with each denial. “This can’t be real, this isn’t how it happened.”

The stone scythe is moved away from her with a wave of Voldemort’s wand. The sudden lack of confinement has her falling to the ground.

“Shall we duel, Harry?”

Harry breathes heavily and looks around. The graveyard seems darker than all the times she dreamt of it before. There is no Wormtail present, there are no Death Eaters watching. There is only her and Voldemort.

“Pick up your wand, Harry. I’d like to see the extent of your magic. Are you really as special as the rumors say you are or are they just that – rumors?” He laughs low and dark. “Has Dumbledore failed the Wizarding World, hiding behind a mere child believing you to be the… savior?”

Harry bares her teeth.

“You cannot save this world from me, Harry.”

Lunges for her wand as it appears in front of her. Stands and raises it, but is too slow.

Voldemort is already waving his wand in a terrifyingly familiar movement. She knows the words that will spill from his mouth, closes her eyes and waits –

"Crucio!"

Harry wakes with a scream, gasping and choking on her own breath.

Someone has her arms in a vice grip and is holding her down. She can’t see past the blur of tears clouding her eyes and instinctively fights back. She thinks someone is trying to talk to her, to call her name but sound is muffled like someone’s placed earmuffs over her ears when she was asleep and no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t breathe.

She hits, whoever it is, with her knee to their stomach and they finally let her go.

She crawls backwards breaths coming out is short panicked hiccups and she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes until she sees stars. Tries to control her breathing and looks up and into the slightly blurred faces of Clint and Natasha.

Clint is on his knees, arms out, palms faced upwards, look on his face like he’s approaching a wild and terrified animal.

“Hey.” He says softly.

Natasha is standing, feet shoulder width apart, arms by her sides, face turned concentrated to the table – turned to her book.

“You okay, kid?”

“I’m fine.” She says and feels anything but. Her voice is hoarse like she’s spent hours screaming under the Cruciatus Curse.

She stumbles onto shaky legs, rushes to the book and snaps it shut gathering it up in her arms, holding it close to her chest. Stares into Natasha’s eyes – curiously focused on her and the book clutched in her arms – before looking into Clint’s.

“I’m fine.”

She says once more, quieter this time, and doesn’t know who she’s trying to convince. Them or herself.

.

.

Later, she hides in the bedroom and watches the light shift beneath the door.

She’s sure the others know. Clint and Natasha don’t seem like the type to keep secrets if the secret may hurt someone – physically. Harry contemplates this thought, then decides that they wouldn’t do this with a civilian, another spy or team member? That’s up for debate.

She watches the dust particles float languidly by before dropping her gaze back down to the book. As tedious as it is reading the thick book she has to do it. It could help when her hearing comes not to mention the extra information wouldn’t hurt.

But still, she flips another page over, the process is killing her.

She stops at a series of highlighted words.

• Dementor

Species information:

Sentience – Sentient

Native range – Azkaban

Height of average adult – 3 meters

Mortality – Amortal

Affiliation – Ministry of Magic

Ministry of Magic Classification – Non-being

There’s picture on the opposite side that takes up the whole page. A magical picture of a Dementor floating. Harry frowns as its black cloak billows with some unseen force.

There’s a small p.876 scribbled in the margin next to Dementor. Harry rubs her thumb over dark ink and feels the groves the nib left behind on the old parchment. Flicks her eyes back to the words: Affiliation – Ministry of Magic and quickly flips to page 876 and comes across another highlight. This time it is two sentences.

• Dementors, employed by the British Ministry of Magic to guard the prison of Azkaban and its inhabitants. Under Ministry control Dementors are restricted to Azkaban prison and Azkaban prison alone unless instructed otherwise.

“No fucking way.” Harry breathes out slowly and traces the words with her fingertips.

“No fucking way what?”

Harry’s head snaps up at the question and stares wide-eyed at Sam standing in the doorway of the room. She snaps the book shut and disturbs the dust particles that still cling to the old book.

“Nothing.” She smiles, all teeth and for once it doesn’t feel forced.

“Okay.” He glances around the room. “Mind if I come in?”

“No, please.” Harry clears her throat and shoves the book under one of the pillows. “I didn’t hear you open the door.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I did knock but I guess you were too engrossed in your book.” Sam grins and pulls a chair from the desk nearby placing it in front of her.

“More like trying not to fall asleep. History, terribly boring.”

“History’s not that bad.” Sam counters.

“You should see my teacher. He’s been teaching for so long he’s practically ghost.” Harry’s lips quirk into a humorous smile. Sam chuckles and Harry glances towards the closed door. “So, was there something you needed?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders and leans his forearms on his knees, “Just wanted to see how you were?”

Oh.

Harry smiles, humorless this time, “I was wondering when someone was going to say something. I’m a little surprised it took this long actually. Didn’t take anyone very long to try and help with the Dursleys.”

“Not all of us are well adjusted people. We don’t want you getting hurt anymore because someone said something tactless.”

Harry tilts her head, “How very honest of you.”

“I’m an honest man.”

Harry waits a beat before she speaks.

“You don’t have to worry though. Nor does anyone else. I’m fine.”

“That’s not what it seemed like.” Harry moves to speak but Sam seemingly knowing what she might say cuts her off. “Now, I’m not saying that I know what you’re going through but I just wanted to express not just my but our concern for you.”

“Concern?” Harry raises and eyebrow.

“Yes. Haven’t you had anyone concerned for you?”

“Yes, of course.” Harry snaps a little too curt. She clears her throat and looks away. “I have friends who are concerned.”

Harry looks to Hedwig’s empty perch and to the only letters she’s received all summer stuffed in the pocket of her jeans on the floor. Letters that only tell her to not leave the house.

“No adults.”

She thinks of Sirius. She thinks of his offer to live with him in third year and how her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest with joy. She thinks of letters telling her to not leave the house.

“Yes, of course.” She says again, subdued this time.

Sam speaks hesitantly, face morphed into realization, “Nobody knows anything, do they? About the Dursleys?”

Harry flickers her gaze to him, “Why should they? I have other pressing things in my life than the Dursleys. Besides,” She shrugs uncaringly. “It’s really only for a month out of the entire year now.”

“Why do you keep everyone at arm’s length, Harry?” Sam looks at her curiously. “Is it because you’re afraid of getting hurt?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

.

.

Sirius, she writes.

I need to know what’s happening. Why won’t anyone write me?

As I have received no news about my upcoming hearing or when you’ll come and get me. If you’ll come and get me I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands as the date draws near.

I’m at the Leaky Cauldron and will stay there unless someone comes for me.

Please come for me.

I miss you.

- Harry

.

.

.

August 10^th

Harry doesn’t know how to say goodbye.

Doesn’t really like saying goodbye. It always seems so final.

The only people she’d ever want to say goodbye to is the Dursleys.

So she hovers uncomfortably in the common living at lunch knowing that everyone comes out searching for food around this time. Sure enough Dr. Banner and Sam are in the kitchen cooking something. Clint is watching a bird documentary on tv and Natasha sits at the table reading a book.

She walks closer to the kitchen and catches Natasha’s eye. Natasha smiles kindly and Harry returns it but she can’t help but feel that there’s something hidden in Natasha’s smile.

“Hey, Harry.” Sam greets as he cuts some vegetables. “You joining us for lunch?”

“Uh, yeah maybe.” She flashes him a smile and nods her head in Clint’s direction. “Does he purposely watch bird documentaries this loud because he knows it bothers Mr. Stark?”

“What?” Sam chokes out a laugh and Dr. Banner turns to her.

“How’d you know Tony doesn’t like birds?” Dr. Banner asks her tossing garlic into what Harry realizes is stir fry. She had to look up and learn healthier dishes when aunt Petunia started forcing Dudley and uncle Vernon to diet.

“Jarvis told me. He said Mr. Stark wouldn’t really like it if brought Hedwig in but I told him Hedwig is very well behaved.” Harry says sitting down on one of the high chairs for the kitchen island.

“Who’s Hedwig?” Bucky asks walking in with Steve in tow.

“My owl.”

They all look at her. Even Clint perks up, jumping over the back of the sofa to join them. And although Natasha doesn’t show it Harry can tell she’s listening.

“I’m sorry. Your what?”

“…My owl. I have a pet owl.” Harry takes their expressions in. “It’s not that strange.”

“How do you have a pet owl?” Clint asks incredulously. “I’m pretty sure you need a license to own an owl in the UK.”

“Uh, she found me.” Harry blurts out nervously. She probably shouldn’t have brought up Hedwig and there was no way in hell was she telling them that her half-giant friend named Hagrid bought it for her eleventh birthday.

“She found you?” Steve asks skeptically.

“Yes, she found me and just didn’t seem to want to leave.” Harry coughs awkwardly. “She’s really quite… obedient.”

“I would like to see this owl.” Clint says abruptly lips stretching into a slow grin. “Do you think I could borrow your owl?”

Harry furrows her brows not at all liking what might be stirring up in Clint’s mind concerning Hedwig, “Um, she left. I sent her somewhere.”

“Where to?” Sam asks interestedly.

“My friends.” Harry pauses a flush surfacing on her cheeks. “I actually – I have to… go. I mean – what I mean is I have to leave the tower.”

“What? Why?” Bucky asks instantly stilling his movements. Steve unconsciously looks towards him concernedly.

“Well I start school soon, obviously, I am only fifteen. I usually stay with friends before we all go to school together.”

“Where’s your school?” Natasha asks appearing beside Clint.

“Scotland. We take a train there. Since it’s so far from the Dursleys I usually stay there during Christmas break and only return for summer. Even then I spend most of my summer with my friends.” Harry amicably explains.

She’s wary of Natasha. Natasha seems to be the only one who realizes that Harry has more to her than abused child.

“Well that explains a lot.” Sam says turning to Natasha. “Doesn’t it, Nat?”

“What… what does it explain exactly?” Harry asks eyes flickering from person to person curiously.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Harry.” Dr. Banner says and dishes up a bowl of stir fry. “Here, eat. You could use it. I hope you like stir fry; it’s about the only thing we can cook without screwing up.”

“Oh, thanks.” Harry mumbles and takes the bowl of stir fry.

“When are you planning on leaving?” Sam asks and she looks to him just to see him turn away from Steve and Bucky.

“This evening.” Harry states spearing noodles with her fork.

“So soon?” Dr. Banner asks a tense line in his smile.

Harry can see out of the corners of her eyes everybody watching Steve and Bucky who are uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yes. My best friend’s father will be picking me up. I called them this morning so we’re meeting at a designated place.” Harry explains twirling the noodles around her fork.

“You just gonna leave here without a way to contact you?” Clint asks teasingly but Harry can sense the underlying tone beneath it.

Harry’s hand spasms around the bowl at the question. She’s been dreading that particular question. She had wondered earlier exactly how on earth it would sound like when she explains that they’d have to send handwritten letters carried by her owl. Fucking ridiculous is what it sounds when she says it out loud. And she has said it out loud, in the mirror, turning red with embarrassment every time she tried to phrase it differently.

“Mr. Adler.” Is what Harry settles for in the end. “He’ll be able to forward anything you want to tell me. At least for the first few weeks I’m back at school. The teachers don’t really like us using technology. Actually, it’s basically an anti-technology school.”

“Why’s that?” Natasha asks eyebrow raised as she casually leans against the counter.

“My school feels as if technology these days serves as a distraction from our school work.” Harry surprisingly doesn’t stumble on the lies flowing from her mouth. “There’s specific allotted time to use technology but it’s not very often. My school would like to have us think for ourselves rather than look things up on Google.”

“That’s kinda smart.” Dr. Banner says contemplatively. “Kid’s these days do spend too much time online.”

Harry grins winningly at Dr. Banner and thinks that she’s getting quite good at lying.

She isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

She isn’t sure she wants to know.

.

.

“You’re a strange little robot.” Harry says as she slips the final folded paper lily into place. “I’ve never met a robot before so I suppose you’re my first.”

The robot whizzes happily, claw opening and closing in an expression of what Harry assumes might it’s equivalent of a grin.

“Off you go then… Dum-E.” Harry winces at the robots name. “Go find your… creator?” Dum-E’s claw freezes and it beeps despondently in low tones. “Father? I don’t know whatever you prefer him to be. Just go back to Tony. I don’t want him thinking I’ve kidnapped you or something.”

Dum-E lets out several beeps in succession and slowly rolls out the door covered in various colorful folded paper flowers just as Bucky walks through. He raises an eyebrow in inquiry and glances back at Dum-E.

“Just making friendly with the neighborhood robots.” Harry smiles winningly and Bucky’s lips quirk into a smile.

He huffs a soft laugh, “I don’t think Stark would appreciate that you’ve covered his robot in paper flowers.”

Harry half-heartedly shrugs and walks to the sofa Bucky following in her wake, “He probably shouldn’t have sent it to watch me then.”

“Watch you?” Bucky asks slightly tense and distracted when he notices her bag packed and ready to go by the door.

“I think he was… concerned. After my, you know,” Harry waves her hand awkwardly in the air. “My nightmare.”

“Oh.” Bucky grips a notebook tightly in his hands and doesn’t look at her. But the expression on his face makes it seem like he’s come to a conclusion. “I have them too… nightmares.”

Harry shifts a little uncomfortably and asks very hesitantly, “What about?”

“Just things I’ve done.” Bucky pauses his shoulders tense, presses his lips together for a moment. “People I’ve killed.”

Harry’s breath hitches. She knows about people who’ve killed, Merlin there’s one out there in the world trying avidly to kill her right now. Although, she suspiciously hasn’t heard anything about Voldemort in a long while. This is a thought that makes her terribly anxious.

Harry opens her mouth, closes it, and then breathes out, “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Harry.” Bucky laughs lowly, every sound coated with sadness. “It is my fault. I pulled the trigger, I killed them. I’m the monster.”

He turns to her, eyes cold. And she notices for the first time how imposing his figure is. It’s as if suddenly he’s filled the room and instilled a sense of terror in her like she’s prey. She’s never realized how before he would make himself small, make himself unassuming up until this very moment.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks voice small and quiet.

His jaw clenches, “You deserve to know. Before you go, you deserve to know what I am.”

For the first time since arriving at Stark’s building anger rises as swiftly as it did back in Little Whinging. Harry scoffs.

“What you are? Or what you believe you are? What they made you believe you are?” She asks bitingly. He looks at her intensely but she cannot read his face and she does not care to either. “HYDRA made you do those things, Bucky. You weren’t you and anyone who thinks otherwise is a colossal idiot.”

She pauses frustration building up in her. The very reason for his sudden confession of being, in his own words, a monster rings clearly in her head.

“If you think that by telling me this you’re going to push or chase me away, then you’re wrong. If you think that by telling me this I’ll never want to see you again and live my life how you think I should live my life, then you’re wrong.” Harry sighs an unexplainable feeling reaching its crescendo in her chest. “I’ve met monsters before, Bucky. I know monsters inherently. Believe me when I say that you are not one of them.”

.

.

Harry’s arms are folded over warm metal railing. She tilts her head up to the setting sun and feels the warmth seep into her skin, the cool breeze of dusk weave invisible hands through her hair.

Chases freedom on her tongue and thinks Icarus.

She wants to fashion her dreams and aspirations on wooden boards with delicate feathers to carry her far. Held steadfast by wax hardened into stone. Spread her colossal wings and fly –

Into the sun.

Fall into the ambiguous conflict below. Her death would be cheered by those in denial, by those who whisper the Dark Lords name reverently.

Harry’s impeding hearing weighs heavy on her shoulders. It’s almost too easy to forget about it all staying in Stark’s building. Nothing here reminds her of her life, not the furniture, not the food, not the people. It’s like living in a bubble, encompassing her in everything muggle.

Harry breathes out slowly and watches the people down below. There’s a fairly large crowd and a gaggle of reporters. A stage is set up and Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner walk on. She’d almost forgotten, she had overheard that the reporters had wanted interviews with avengers on what they’re lives are like now, about where the Winter Soldier is and their reason for being in England. She wonders what they’ll say.

“Hey.”

Harry straightens and looks back.

Steve stands, hands in pockets, leaning against the door.

“Hi.” She replies, tucks unruly curl behind her ear and turns to face him leaning her back against the railing. She glances down over her shoulder; Stark is waving enthusiastically to the crowd. “Didn’t want to join?”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head, “No. Definitely not. Uh – I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.”

She nods her head understandingly. However brief it was being interviewed by Rita Skeeter last year she definitely never ever wanted to do it again. Most especially if other reporters twisted the things she might say like Skeeter had done.

“And the others?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder, “Natasha and Clint don’t really like the limelight. They’re spies first; drawing attention to themselves kind of goes against everything they know. Natasha’s actually still trying to navigate the murky waters that are the press ever since Capitol Hill. Sam’s not actually an Avenger and Bucky – well, uh – the, uh, press… don’t really like him.”

“Right.” She says shortly and cringes. Wonders if she’s always been this awkward or if it’s just all bottled up and saved especially for moments when she’s with her soulmates.

They stand in silence for a moment and it’s not uncomfortable but Harry feels the need to fill the silence with something anyway.

“Thank you.”

Steve’s head tilts inquisitively at her words.

“For backing me – backing my decision up.” She continues. Captures her bottom lip between teeth as Steve’s jaw clenches and his expression darkens. “I know that it must not have been easy for you –”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Harry opens her mouth but nothing but dead air comes out.

Steve sighs, “I get that they’re your blood relatives but with the way they treated you they don’t deserve to be called family.”

“I don’t call them family.” Harry smiles emptily.

Steve must see something in her expression. Something she doesn’t even realize she’s showing because his next words strike something in her that feels like lightning has shot from the sky piercing through to her heart.

“You do have a family, Harry.” He says. “You have one now. You have us.”

Harry crosses her arms and presses them close to her chest, huffs a soft laugh, “You don’t even know me. None of you do.”

“Don’t have to. You’re our soulmate.”

She digs nails into her arms, “What does that matter, Steve. What does us being soulmates have anything to do with being… family or even… liking each other for that matter?”

A breeze rolls softly by and collects all the breath of her lungs. She struggles to get it back, to breathe life back into her. There’s a thick knot at the bottom of her throat like someone’s reached down and dropped pennies there wishing for her to say something, but it doesn’t come true.

“You don’t like me.” She says. Steve looks ready to protest but she cuts him off. “I know you don’t. I can see it.” She looks away, breathes heavily. “I can see it in the way you look at me, the way you hold yourself around me, the way look between me and Bucky and the way he is around me and I get it, I do. I know you think that I don’t understand but you’re wrong.”

She looks back to him.

“But you don’t understand and you don’t even know that you don’t understand.”

“I – I don’t know… what you mean.” Steve shakes his head confused as if the mere movement is place all his thoughts into the correct order.

A small sad smile tugs at her lips, “The Bucky you know and the Bucky that’s here are entirely different from each other. And I know you love him and that you know everything about him but he’s changed. And you hold him – his past self, in such high regard that he feels suffocated. And that’s why he found me, why he looked for me.”

Harry presses her arms closer and her ribs start to ache.

“I’m a fresh start. Someone to get to know the new him – the him that’s different from who he used be.” She laughs and melancholy coats every decibel. “I don’t even think he knows that he’s using me as a tester.”

“… A tester?” He asks cautiously.

“To see if I like this new him. To know that if I accept him as he is now then surely his other soulmate, the one he really loves, will accept him too.” She sighs shakily and hates the way her body betrays her. “That’s why he seeks me out, why he’s spending so much time around me. It’s because of this, that you don’t like me.”

“That’s…” He shakes his head and swallows thickly. “Harry that’s not – that’s not what’s happening.”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

Harry presses her lips together and pushes off the railing. Walks closer to him, “You’re right. I do have a family and we’re not a prefect family. We argue and we lie, but in the end we’re there for each other. But you aren’t my family, Steve. Not you, not Bucky, not any of the Avengers because if I didn’t have your name, Bucky’s name on my wrists then I would mean… nothing to you.”

Looks him in the eyes.

“Just another face in the crowd.”

Walks away with her heart buried deep. It’s better this way.

.