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Fight the Good Fight HP/Avengers (MCU) Fusion verse.

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spartan303 said:
Not to antagonize but I take it you are one of those who believe in the Harry Potter no limit Fallacy? Just want to make sure I know where you're coming from.
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Magic in HPverse has many, many limits, but the Imperious is shown to destroy minds mostly instead of being thrown off. So unless you have some innate weirdness, I'd figure most people can't throw it off at all. It took Barty Jr. years to break his dad's use of Imperious on him and (IIRC) those are the only two known cases of people actually throwing it off. Harry is pretty obviously 'special protagonist' and I'd definitely believe that Voldemort, Dumbledore and the real Moody could throw it off, but that's like three out of an entire cast and two of the most powerful wizards in HP.

In HP, I doubt that any Muggle is 'innately' special enough to throw it off. Otherwise Deatheaters would know enough to not use it like candy on them.
 
Arthur Hansen said:
Magic in HPverse has many, many limits, but the Imperious is shown to destroy minds mostly instead of being thrown off. So unless you have some innate weirdness, I'd figure most people can't throw it off at all. It took Barty Jr. years to break his dad's use of Imperious on him and (IIRC) those are the only two known cases of people actually throwing it off. Harry is pretty obviously 'special protagonist' and I'd definitely believe that Voldemort, Dumbledore and the real Moody could throw it off, but that's like three out of an entire cast and two of the most powerful wizards in HP.

In HP, I doubt that any Muggle is 'innately' special enough to throw it off. Otherwise Deatheaters would know enough to not use it like candy on them.
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That's an interesting take on this. I'll definitely give it some thought. On a somewhat related note I remember how there were places like the Leaky Cauldron that had muggle repellent charms and notice me not charms on them and yet muggles would still occasionally enter the establishment and would have to be obliviated before being shown out. My thinking on those spells is that they're not necessarily very powerful but are effective enough because the Muggle in question doesn't know his or her mind are under attack and being subverted. Those particular 'special cases' are ones with the will and mental capacity to fight off its effects even if they're unaware they're under attack in the first place. One thing I do remember is that Will and intent seem to be key for these spells to work. Granted these spells are orders of magnitude lower than an Imperious but this gives one alot of room to play with.:)
 
A minor note: I noticed you consistently misspelled "Wizengamot" as "Wizemgamont" in this latest chapter.
 
So, you want to write a story where magic will interact with advanced technology. How you already mapped out how all these interactions will work? Is magic in your story conceptual, aka Obliviate works on AI? Or is it a one-trick-pony, where every spell can do one thing and only one thing and the slightest difference requires a different spell? Or are you going to try to dodge these questions by focusing on character interaction and simply use whatever seems convenient at the moment like Rowling?
 
Zealot said:
So, you want to write a story where magic will interact with advanced technology. How you already mapped out how all these interactions will work? Is magic in your story conceptual, aka Obliviate works on AI? Or is it a one-trick-pony, where every spell can do one thing and only one thing and the slightest difference requires a different spell? Or are you going to try to dodge these questions by focusing on character interaction and simply use whatever seems convenient at the moment like Rowling?
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The Plot is more or less mapped out. There are a few things we're leaving open till we actually 'get there'. But the final villain and the plot will be left are decided. And the story will be left open enough for a possible second story. Things will be resolved...but so too will it leave the door open for future problems.

As far as magic goes, the power is in the versatility in it. Magicals like Harry and incredibly powerful and versatile but, and this is the big thing many Harry Potter fanboys will not like, there are limits to what they can do. Powerful but limited will be the theme for them here. Will an Obliviate work on Tony Stark in Ironman armor? Yep. Will it work on Jarvis? Nope. Will it work on Steve Rogers? Unknown. Being a Super Soldier changes things. No one has ever tried to use spells on one before...as far as they know.

Can Magic and technology work together? Under the right circumstances....yes they can and produce effects that are more wondrous...and horrible than anyone can predict. But by and large they tend to clash rather spectacularly.

Samantha and I will try to answer these questions as best we can. But Characters, and Plot remain the main focus. Some of those answers will not make some people happy. and they most definitely will not be 'convenient' by any stretch. Harry Potter and the Wizarding worlds luck will quite literally run out on them.
 
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    • A/N: Sorry for the long delay in updating. Things have taken a turn for the busy here. Soon I'll be redeploying back to the States so naturally things just got busy. As for Independence-Day, she is now a proud college graduate, so naturally things got busy for her recently too. But thankfully we managed to squeak this out in the meantime. So please don't be stingy with those reviews.:D


    *******

    Chapter 3

    Contact.




    The Minister of Magic's office was a small yet elegant room; much like the atrium itself, it was predominately obsidian in color but with a white marble fireplace connected to the minister's private floo network, with long sash windows looking out onto the atrium several levels below. The rest of the room was decorated with awards and portraits denoting the most notable men and women who'd held the office in the past, but none more important than the portrait near the door. Along that wall was their link to the muggle world; a painting of a man in a wig who was currently 'in', sat in a chair gazing at the five men in the office with interest.

    The current Minister of Magic, one Kingsley Shacklebolt, sat behind his desk and read the parchment in his hands with a grim expression. It had been four years since Kingsley had taken leadership of Wizarding Britain and those years had not been kind to him. Permanent age lines were beginning to form between his eyebrows and around his eyes, reminders of the incredible stress unloaded on the man and the countless hours of work and sleep. Though he was still a large man, as he'd always been, his face had begun to hollow out, the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones a little darker, his robes hanging a little looser around the middle and through the shoulders. It seemed as though the job was very slowly beginning to suck the vigor right out of him, and while the changes seemed slight, just the hints of what was to come, to Harry the differences were profound.

    This Kingsley Shacklebolt did not laugh anymore, nor did he seem to find much enjoyment in anything. The hours he pulled at the ministry cut into every aspect of his life, leaving room for nothing else. All that was left to him was his duty to his people and the personal honor and integrity which he led by. Harry honestly didn't know how he did it; he was the proverbial Atlas holding the weight of Wizarding Britain on his shoulders, and he bore that weight with a proud but silent dignity Harry could only admire.

    During the second war with Voldemort, Harry had worked with the proud Auror on several occasions and had come away favorably impressed. But since taking over the Ministry, Kingsley had performed above and beyond the call of duty and in doing so, had become one of Harry's heroes. Now though, he seemed to sink into himself just a little more so, the shadows of exhaustion around his eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth growing steadily darker and more pronounced by the second. Harry's gut clenched and roiled unpleasantly, feeling guilty that he was the cause of even further suffering.
    Kingsley slowly lowered the note of parchment with a sense of resigned weariness. He folded it gingerly and returned it to Harry. It was Hermione's letter, and while Harry had been hesitant to share it with anyone outside their main group, ultimately he had to make Kingsley understand the seriousness of the situation. So after the pleasantries had been over with Harry had reluctantly handed over the letter to the Minister. It was likely Hermione would have approved of Harry's actions but it still felt like a betrayal of her trust.

    "Minister?" Arthur Weasley asked with a perplexed expression. As the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office this particular situation somehow fell into his purview. As a result he had been summoned to this meeting more as a formality than for any real contribution he could provide.

    Seated next to him was Elliot McMillan, former Unspeakable, now head of the Department of Mysteries and Hermione's immediate boss. An older man of indeterminate years, though appeared in his mid-sixties, his platinum silver hair and thick moustache were flicked with with specs of black and cut short, to almost muggle military regulation. He was of average height, with a thin, wiry build but he exuded a sense of calm detachment and supreme confidence coupled with a severe no nonsense personality and sharp, hawk like eyes. To Harry, McMillan looked like he would be more comfortable on the saddle of a horse, like a Muggle cowboy than sitting here in Wizarding robes.Yet Harry was somewhat apprehensive about the man. Of all the people in this room he felt he had a decent grasping of their personalities, McMillan was the wild card.

    Harry had never really had any dealing with McMillan. All he really had on the man were a few things Hermione and Arthur Weasley said about him. McMillan was a tough boss, strict though fair minded. He ran his department with an unprecedented efficiency, of which he had pioneered, such as it hadn't seen in ages, and had no trouble hiring Muggleborns and Half-bloods in positions usually held by Purebloods.

    What's more, he had no problems giving those positions of power and responsibility within his department, so long as it got things done. The man certainly had no problems stepping on toes or pissing people off if it got him what he needed either. Politically, the man was a bit of an enigma. He had resigned in disgust after Voldemort's 'new order' had taken over. Even now, he hadn't shown even a hint of the pro-pureblood supremacy still rampant in Wizarding society, despite being from a very prominent and powerful pureblood family. But at the same time, he had been very adamant in his opposition to many of Kingsley's policies to the point of borderline insubordination.

    Standing behind and between him and Arthur Weasley stood John Dawlish, and off to the left against the wall near the fireplace stood Harry and Ron.

    "Is this all that's coming?" Ron asked as he noted the people in the room.

    Arthur snorted, "One would think the Wizengamot would send a representative to this meeting. Or do they not consider this important?"
    Kingsley rubbed his tired, blood-shot eyes. "They're not coming, Arthur, and good riddance. I told them I would brief them in the morning. Everyone who is coming is here, so let's get to it then, shall we?"

    Everyone nodded and murmured their assent.

    "All right then," Kingsley began, "I have called this meeting concerning the recent actions of the Death Eaters."

    Dawlish and Harry exchanged glances. Harry had given him a quick briefing on what he had learned on the way up to the meeting with the minister so that his boss didn't get blindsided.

    Arthur Weasley's face was pinched with obvious worry. "What happened? Was there an attack?"

    Kingsley shook his head, "Nothing of the sort, Arthur. The Death Eaters are gone."

    "Gone?" Arthur asked with obvious surprise. "Where did they go? And why?"

    Kingsley turned to look at Harry, "Harry?"

    Harry nodded and took in their expectant faces looking at him, "The Death Eaters left for the United States yesterday morning, specifically for New York City. As for why; they believe they've found something that will help them turn the tide in their favor here. They've gone in force to get it."

    McMillan raised an eyebrow. "And how have you come by this information, Auror Potter?"

    "I have a source that's close to the Death Eaters. They contacted me a few hours ago with the details."

    McMillan blinked in surprise as did Arthur Weasley and the Minister. Dawlish didn't react, but gave Harry a level look devoid of emotion. He was already
    aware of Harry's source, if not who it was.

    "And who is the source of yours, Auror Potter?" McMillan asked.

    "I'm afraid I cannot reveal that information. My source has a cover that must be maintained. And the ministry has more holes in it than a block of Swiss cheese. Revealing that information will only ensure my source is killed."

    Kingsley regarded Harry with approval. "Has this been verified?"

    Harry shook his head. "I have no independent verification of this information, but I trust my source."

    Arthur shared a look with Kingsley before turning to face Harry. "While I don't doubt that's true, Harry, we need to know if this is reliable. We shouldn't rush into action without verifying it."

    "It's reliable. I trust it implicitly," Harry said with more of an edge to his voice than he meant. He didn't have the heart to tell Arthur, nor Ron, that his source was Lucius Malfoy, a man they both detested and despised. Harry wasn't sure he could handle the looks of betrayal and hurt when they learned that little fact.

    "Look, as fascinating as this tangent we're on is, can someone bottom line this for me?" McMillan asked, impatient.

    Harry looked McMillan directly in the eyes and decided to give it to him straight.

    "Sometime in the 40's, the Muggles created some sort of miracle potion called the 'Super Soldier Serum'. It was designed to enhance everything about its subject from strength, to mental acuity, to their very potential, and then realize that potential. It enhances…well everything."

    "How do you know about this?"

    "Hermione recently made this discovery. I'm not exactly sure how, but she did. She went into meticulous detail about what she found."

    McMillan leaned forward with a look of consternation on his face, as if he had just heard something profoundly disturbing. "So the Muggles created this potion and you think the Death Eaters are after it?"

    "That's exactly what I think."

    "And the Death Eaters think it might be able to increase their magical power, make them some sort of Super Wizards?"

    "Yes."

    McMillan closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "It's the Magica Portentia problem all over again."
    Harry and Ron traded confused looks but Arthur and Kingsley were nodding gravely.

    "What's 'Magica portentia'?" Ron asked.

    "The Magica Portentia project," McMillan began, "Was a joint attempt by the Department of Mysteries and the best Medi-Witches and Wizards at St. Mungo's of the time to create a cure for the Squib problem. In the past eighty years or so Wizarding Britain and Wizarding Europe have seen a large increase in Squib births, predominantly in Pureblood families. These families were desperate to do anything to hide the shame of it more than any true desire to help their offspring, but a few of the families, mine included, attempted to find a cure for their condition."

    Harry felt his skin crawl as McMillan began his explanation. "Since I've never heard about this cure, I'm going to assume it never worked."

    McMillan shook his head. "No, Mister Potter, it did not, but not for the reasons you think. While the project had noble intentions early on and early tests were very encouraging, word go out, as it always does. Initially it was praised by the Ministry and the people at large for helping those in need. It won international acclaim by the ICW and brought with it a lot of prestige internationally. Many of those families with Squibs offered political and financial support. For the first time since Grindelwald, the Wizarding world was united behind something completely."

    "What went wrong?" Harry asked, despite himself, he was completely fascinated by the tale.

    "What else? Pureblood politics. The goals of the project began to change. It became less about doing something noble and more about their own self
    interests. Squibs stopped being the focus of the research, instead being supplanted by Purebloods."

    Arthur added his own two cents: "They perverted the project, Harry. It became less and less about curing the Squibs condition and more to do with enhancing Pureblood power and supremacy. Most, if not all, of the Pureblood aristocrats who supported it began to quietly wonder whether helping squibs was as important as increasing their own power."

    McMillan shot Arthur an annoyed glance at being interrupted but continued on. "Arthur is essentially correct. A cabal of families used their influence to seize control of the project. They removed the witches and wizards who created the potion and replaced them with ones far less capable, but more loyal to their vision. They used the Squibs as test subjects, lying to them about the nature of the potion they were taking. Most of them were killed, but those that survived suffered crippling conditions as their meager magical cores were corrupted beyond any hope of repair. The damage done was…horrific. Think of a low level Cruciatus curse: the pain is excruciating, it burrows right down to the bones and lingers. Now imagine being forced to live with that for every waking minute of your life. That's what happened to the ones lucky enough to survive."

    "The Prophet ran with story and public support dried up overnight. International acclaim turned to international ridicule and condemnation. The potion and all research material were discontinued as a political embarrassment when it proved to be a total failure. It was moved to the vaults of the Department of Mysteries where it remained till the first war when Voldemort and his Death Eaters went after it. I destroyed it myself in the ensuing struggle."
    Harry remembered Miss Fig and sighed sadly. How different would her life had been if the potion had worked out, if things had gone according to plan? The entire Wizarding world would have been completely different.

    Ron looked to his father with a quizzical expression. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this, dad?"

    Arthur shrugged, "It was before your time, son. Before mine even. It's not a secret by any stretch. Honestly, Ron, it just never came up."

    "Nor should it," McMillan interjected, but with a voice hinted a deep personal pain on the subject. "No one likes to talk about our society's greatest failure. And now you tell us that the Muggles somehow succeeded where we failed," McMillan said looking up. "I find that a little hard to believe."

    "In truth, so do I," Harry said. As he did so, he traded a look with Ron and shrugged apologetically. "But what's important is that the Death Eaters believe it. And we need to act on it too."

    "There is no way I can sell this to the Wizengamot, Harry." Kingsley stated

    Harry grinned, "It's better to ask for forgiveness than for permission."

    Kingsley grimaced. "Relations with the Americans have improved since I took over, particularly since the Malfoy family began expanding their influence over there. Economically, they're still one of the wealthiest families in the wizarding community, and politically they have excellent, far-reaching connections. It's been helpful, despite the Malfoy's reputation. However, it cannot be understated the damage Ministers Fudge and Scrimgeour caused us with their appalling foreign policies. This could start an international incident and damage our already shaky relations with the Yanks."

    Harry could sympathize, but such concerns were above his pay grade. "We'll need the ability to operate in the States, with our authority as Aurors intact."
    Kingsley shook his head, "There is no way they're going to go for that, Harry."

    "Then use Malfoy—"

    Arthur interrupted angrily, "Harry are you out of your mind!?"

    Ron gave Harry a disturbed look. "Yeah, Mate, I'm with my dad on this one. The last thing we need to do is give Lucius Malfoy a chance to weasel his way back into the Ministry's good graces. This is the opening he's been looking for."

    Harry returned Ron's disturbed look with an intense one of his own. "Then use it. Nothing is more important than this. We have a real chance to end the Death Eater threat once and for all. We take it."

    Harry looked to Kingsley. "If they get this serum and it actually does what they believe it does, can we take that risk? Hermione was very clear on what it did to that one Muggle. It turned Steve Rogers from a frail, sickly, 6 stones asthmatic into a super human wrecking ball and a symbol the Muggle world rallied behind. The Death Eaters must be very confident it can do even more for them."

    Kinsley's eyed Harry sharply. "What was that name again?"

    "Steve Rogers," Ron supplied. "Hermione said they called him 'Captain America'. Stupid name really."

    "The same Captain America that led the Avengers in New York?" Kingsley asked.

    Harry came up short at the question. "It can't be the same guy, can it? I mean he'd be in his nineties."

    Kingsley reached into his desk and pulled out, of all things, a Muggle newspaper, the New York Times, and then a copy of the Daily Prophet. Whereas the Prophet's picture showed the team of 'Avengers' standing back to back in a circle, the Muggle one went into far more detail and dedicated an entire page to each specific member. Page 1 was dedicated to Captain America, without his helmet on; he was covered in grime and dirt from the battle, with a few scrapes and bruises on his face as he stared at the devastation around him.

    Kingsley put them side by side. "I try to keep informed what's going on in the Muggle world. At least to some extent, more so than any of my counter parts ever did. Read the Muggle paper."

    Harry grabbed the paper and began reading slowly and intently. He frowned first in apparent confusion before his eyes widened slightly in amazement. Ten minutes later he set the paper down on Kinsley's desk with trembling hands.

    "It's the same man. The Prophet doesn't even have half of this information," Harry said, his voice weak. "But how is that possible?"

    Ron picked up the paper and began reading in earnest. A few minutes later, he too was slowly lowering it as well, his expression mirroring Harry's.

    "Blimey, that's not possible, is it?" Ron swallowed heavily past a suddenly dry mouth. "How does a bloke look that good in his nineties?"

    Kingsley shrugged. "No one seems to know. Not even the Muggle papers can adequately explain it, and none of the Avengers are talking. But it's clear to even the Muggles it's the same man."

    Harry took a deep breath to rally himself. This was unlike anything he had expected. "All the more reason we can't allow them to get this serum. We have to go to the States and stop them before they get it. I don't want to run the risk of them being right, do you?"

    "No we can't." Kingsley sighed gravely. He turned to look at John Dawlish who had remained quite during the proceedings. "Besides Harry and Ron, obviously, how many Aurors can you spare?"

    Dawlish frowned for a second, "The Auror department isn't as large as it once was, we're still rebuilding. I can spare maybe three Aurors, four at most. Anything else—"

    "My entire team." Harry interrupted.

    "Seven Aurors are out of the question, Harry." Dawlish answered instantly but with a look that was 'long-suffering'. The man clearly anticipated Harry would do this.

    "But the threat isn't here anymore. The DMLE can handle things here while my team goes to the States and takes care of the Death Eaters."

    "And what about the Americans?" Dawlish asked. "Do you really believe they're going to give you the kind of latitude I do? Despite the propaganda you might hear in the Prophet or in other circles, I assure you the American Wardens are every bit as capable as our Aurors."

    "I don't care if they are or not. This is our problem and we need to fix it before it causes us future problems." Harry shrugged. "We'll figure something out. Either way we need to make this happen now."

    McMillan spoke up with his own opinion. "I tend to be in agreement, Minister. I don't know if this Muggle potion works, but if it does we can't let the Death Eaters have it, the kind of damage they could cause would be horrific."

    "And what if you're wrong and it doesn't work?" Dawlish asked.

    "Then we still lose anyway, if they cause an international incident, especially if the Americans don't take us seriously with us sending only 3 or 4 Aurors. A full team would be needed to show that we're taking the situation with the appropriate gravity." McMillan answered.

    Dawlish sighed but nodded in acquiescence.

    "Are we in agreement, then?" Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt asked.

    Everyone nodded.

    "Then I'll make the arrangements," Kingsley stated. "Harry, take who you need with you. Whatever it takes."

    "Yes, Minister."

    "Minister, I'd also like an Unspeakable on that team. If by chance the Muggles did succeed in creating a potion that can enhance magical potential, I think it would be wise to get a sample of it for study and see if we can figure out how they did it."

    "Agreed. Who did you have in mind?" Shacklebolt asked.

    "Miss Granger is already on the ground and is aware of the situation. She'll join the team once they make it to the States."

    Harry bristled, "She's on sabbatical."

    McMillan shot Harry a frustrated look. "Not anymore she's not. She's been on sabbatical for over a year. I can barely afford to lose anyone for more than a month, let alone a whole year. It's not fair to my people that they have to pick up her slack. If she hasn't patched things up with her parents by now, then it's not likely to happen any time soon. I need my most promising witch on this and she already is. If this is too much for her than I'll be forced to let her go. End of story."

    Harry fumed, but didn't say anything because he knew McMillan was, at least partially, right. Hermione was the best and her help would be invaluable.
    Minister Shacklebolt cleared his throat to get their attention, his mouth twisted into a grimace, as if he had just bitten into something tart. "I'll summon Lucius Malfoy to the Ministry on urgent business and speak to the American Minister. We'll get it arranged. For now prep your team and be ready to depart on a moment's notice, Harry."

    Harry and Ron departed the minister's office intent for their own. Neither would be getting any sleep tonight.





    *****



    Quinjet 087 Heading Northbound.
    60 miles south of Sudbury, Canada.

    The puffy white clouds created mountains in the sky, serene and quiet, when a wide-winged plane shot out through the vapor, almost too quick for the human eye to follow. The clouds swirled and undulated, breaking apart and shifting at the disturbance. Seconds later, a clap of thunder broke through the silence, unnatural and solitary. By then, no one was around to hear it.

    There were eight people inside the next generation jet. Ensconced by its armored body, they were strapped securely in their seats, exchanging glances or ignoring one another entirely. The high-pitched whine of the Quinjet's supersonic jet engines eventually gave way to a dull roar that settled into the background as the jet slowed to subsonic flight smoothly. This had gone almost unnoticed by the passengers, one of whom, the leader, calmly turned to the forward facing window and gazed out into the sky.

    The setting sun seemed to drown in the horizon, its rays of light glimmering in the encroaching darkness of the clouds as the pale moon began to brighten. Twilight was upon them and soon night would fall, the clouds holding the promise of a peaceful night with twinkling stars and good visibility.

    Night would conceal their insertion and, with good visibility, would ensure they wouldn't need night vision equipment. Of course, that also worked in the other way as well. Still, it was a beautiful sight and one he so rarely got to see. The last time he had enjoyed such a view was the night before the attack on Hydra's launch facility with the person who mattered most to him in this life, Peggy Carter. He didn't enjoy the sight now.

    Captain Steve Rogers' watch broke through the relative quiet with an attention grabbing and irritating beep. He looked down to see the time, killed the alarm and then slapped the quick release of his four point harness. He stood, and stretched to work out any kinks or lingering soreness from the day's intense physical training. Naturally, there was none.

    "We're fifteen minutes from the drop zone, Captain," the pilot's voice said over the PA.

    "Acknowledged," Captain Rogers replied. He turned to the eight people on the jet with him, "You heard the man, we're fifteen minutes out. Conduct final checks of weapons and equipment."

    "Roger that, sir. STRIKE you head the Cap," Agent Brock Rumlow said.

    The team went to work checking their equipment and weapons and then that of their team mates. It was quick, crisp and efficient; like a well-oiled machine that left little doubt this was a well trained and experienced team.

    "Secure channel three," Captain Rogers said as he thumbed his throat mike.

    "Channel three secure," A feminine voice replied. Looking across from him, Cap looked up and into the eyes of the only female on the Quinjet, Natasha Romanoff, who had become a sort of constant companion of his since the events in New York. She returned his glance with a steady one of her own, unruffled and patient, as always.

    "Secure," Rumlow reported. The rest of team STRIKE reported in the affirmative.

    "Alright Rumlow, you're on." Cap nodded to the other agent.

    A man in his mid-thirties of medium height with a runner's build, dark raven black hair and eyes, he seemed unassuming and average at first glance. But behind the calm exterior was a world class martial artist and top rate agent. A man Steve Rogers was quickly coming to rely on.

    Rumlow moved to a monitor on the corner of the Quinjet and activated a display.

    "Our mission is to intercept a weapons deal at the River Valley rock quarry in Canada. Forty eight hours ago, a shipment of weapons bound for a SHIELD R&D facility were stolen when armed gunmen attacked a government storage facility housing them in New York. They killed at least six NYPD and two SHIELD personnel on site just as they were conducting the transfer."

    "What kind of weapons?" Agent Romanoff asked.

    Rumlow took a deep breath and gave a pained look. "Chitauri plasma weapons."

    "You're kidding me," Cap exhaled in disbelief.

    "Wish I was, Cap," Rumlow answered.

    Steve sighed and motioned for Rumlow to continue.

    "Agent Barton arrived on scene during the attack and tried to render assistance but there were too many of them. He sounded the alarm at HQ and called for backup but the attackers soon escaped with their cargo. Barton pursued alone and without backup. From there the attackers proceeded north into Canada. SHIELD contacted the Canadian government and got clearance for this operation. Currently, Canadian federal and local authorities are quietly securing a perimeter around the quarry. Agent Barton is currently on site in an elevated fixed position monitoring them. For the time being they remain unaware of his presence."

    Natasha frowned. "The warehouse attack happened two days ago. He's been pursuing them alone this whole time?"

    Rumlow nodded. "Correct."

    Cap nodded in appraisal. "Impressive. But he's gotta be exhausted."

    Natasha nodded ever so slightly in agreement but didn't say anything. If she seemed worried she hid it well as Steve couldn't see a trace of it on her impassive features and her body language gave nothing away. She was tough, Nat, cool and efficient to the point of unemotional. It had been unnerving, at first, but Cap was slowly getting used to Natasha's cool exterior and no-nonsense attitude.

    Rumlow smirked. "Barton's stubborn like that, only a fool would bet against him"

    Cap returned Rumlow's smirk with one of his own. "Never said I was." Steve's face turned serious. "What do we know about the attackers? Numbers? Ordinance? Motivations?"

    Rumlow pulled up another screen. "We don't have ID on most of these guys but from what we can gather, they're most likely mercenaries. But they're led by this man, William Cross, former CIA turned rouge, goes by the code name 'Crossfire'. Expert in infiltration and extraction, martial arts, explosives, weapons and counter terrorist tactics. He led six Ops in Afghanistan to take down high level financers for the Taliban and their arms dealers, all successful. Prior to that he had over a dozen OPs in eastern Europe."

    Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I seriously doubt that."

    "You'd be right, Agent Romanoff. Someone at CIA got suspicious and started quietly looking into his past operations. What they found was that Cross had been taking out what would become his competition before throwing his hat into being an arms dealer. He sold weapons and classified intel to the highest bidder. He is accredited with single handedly destroying CIA operations and sources in Afghanistan with the intel he compromised, not to mention the weapons designs he sold."

    Steve raised an eyebrow in concern. "Advanced weapons development?"

    Rumlow nodded in acquiescence. "The guys got a taste for 'exotic' weaponry judging by the stuff he developed for the CIA."

    "What kind of 'exotic weaponry' are we talking about?" Cap asked.

    "Sonic and ultrasonic weaponry are among most noted by the CIA but as we can see his tastes have since branched out. Our standard ear protection should suffice for this operation."

    Steve didn't like the hint of doubt he caught in Rumlow's voice but decided not to press. SHIELD's ear protection had proven more than sufficient in the past against various stun and sonic weapons. Of course, they had never taken on anyone who specialized in those weapons either. And they were already utilizing the best protection SHIELD had.

    Natasha studied the data with a clinical eye. "This reeks of black marketers. These guys must be expecting a huge pay off if they're willing to kill six law enforcement officers and two SHIELD agents in broad daylight just to make out with that much hardware."

    Rumlow nodded and pulled up another set of images. "Intel isn't clear yet but we do suspect black market. Ever since New York, we've heard rumors of interested parties looking to get their hands on these weapons and willing to pay obscene amounts of money for them. Foreign terrorists groups mostly, but one or two of the more well-funded domestic nutjobs have also been making noises. Now the Army, FBI, SHIELD and Homeland Security were quick to lock down Manhattan after the attack but a number of alien weapons have turned up missing. There is also the very real possibility some of those weapons may never have been accounted for in the first place. It was sheer chaos down there for the first few hours before the lockdown. People could have made off with any number of weapons. Five Chitauri weapons recently turned up in an Al Qaeda training camp a Seal Team raided a week ago and no one had a clue they were there."

    "Any idea on prospective buyers?" Steve asked.

    Rumlow snorted. "Too many to count, Cap. People took notice what happened in New York. Everyone wants to get their hands on these weapons for their own ends. But there hasn't been any chatter on the matter, meaning this deal was likely pre-arranged ahead of time."

    "Weapons? Equipment?"

    "Terrorists are equipped with a mixture of weapons, H&K 416s, to G36Cs. Armor piercing rounds, ACOG and CCO scopes, GEN III PVS 14 night vision goggles, dragon skin body armor, and MITCH tactical helmets. These guys are outfitted with enough gear to take on a small army. Not to mention three full crates of Chitauri weapons."

    "I thought Chitauri weapons couldn't be reactivated. Why would anyone go to the trouble?"

    Natasha shook her head. "Not true. Case 'Item 47'; A Chitauri weapon was recovered by two civilians, Benny Pollack and Claire Wise. Rather than turn it in the two decided to start robbing banks with it. They did pretty well until they were caught by Jasper Sitwell. The two are now special agents of SHIELD and part of the reverse engineering teams. If only to keep them out of trouble." Her lips thinned and she added, "These two 'Special Ed cases' are why I am a strongadvocate for birth control."

    Steve wanted to protest but decided to save his breath. These weapons were incredibly powerful; it would make sense that a terrorist would want them. What he also found disturbing was that SHIELD wanted them too, rather than just destroying them as they should have been doing.

    "What about the buyers?"

    Rumlow continued with his brief. "Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Canadian Border Services Agency have eyes on them in a local motel. They suspect Middle Eastern buyers but they won't know for sure until they have them in custody. They're waiting on the go word from us before they move in."

    "Good. We have eyes on the drop site?" Steve asked.

    Rumlow pulled an overhead digital map of the area. "We have an AWACs in the area and continuous coverage with a Global Hawk orbiting the site." A tiny blue square was highlighted on a ridge overlooking the main quarry. "This is Barton's position here. As you can see he has a perfect, unobstructed view of the terrain where the deal is going down."

    "The one place you really don't want him if you're an enemy," Natasha said sotto voce, though Steve heard her anyway.

    "Alright, establish communications with Barton and link him in to our channel ASAP. I want to hear things from him. Then send word to Canadian authorities to take down the buyers. Last thing we need is to deal with them showing up midway through the take down."

    Rumlow nodded and went to work coordinating with the co-pilot and establishing a secure link to their ground side agent before he nodded in Caps direction.

    "Barton, comm check, secure." Cap asked.

    "Hawkeye, loud and clear, secure," came the clear and terse reply.

    "What do you see?" Steve asked.

    "I have eyes on the package with over half a dozen gunmen in the immediate vicinity. Another eight establishing security at two entry/exit points into the quarry; a four man team at each checkpoint. Another four are guarding over eight hostages at the main administrative/cafeteria compound. I'm sending the information directly to your tac-map….now."

    On the screen, four red squares highlighted each of the two main roads leading into and out of the quarry, another red square highlighted the main administrative building and finally a red circle in the middle of the quarry next to a river that bisected the quarry. Steve took a few seconds to study the information and then decided on his course of action.

    "Alright, this is how we're going to play this. Rumlow, I want you to split STRIKE into two teams. Team 1 will focus on getting the hostages out safely. Rumlow, that's your game. Team 2 led by Gains with Natasha will setup for the take down at the exchange site. I'll deal with the two entry/exit points then work my way toward the drop site. On my go order we'll hit the admin compound and the drop point simultaneously."

    "You'll be without support." Rumlow noted. "And you'll need to cross 3 miles of rough terrain between the two sites."

    "He's right, Cap," Barton relayed."They're maintaining radio comms between the two points at ten minute intervals, and contact with the admin building at 10 min intervals. You'll need to be quick in your take downs. Also be advised these guys are utilizing specialized ear protection, if you can snag some during the take downs I suggest you do so."

    Steve glanced at the screen for a moment; studying the terrain in detail then shook his head, completely unconcerned. "Shouldn't be a problem."

    3 miles in ten minutes and he wasn't even remotely worried. The team members of STRIKE were shaking their heads with a mixture of awe and jealousy.

    "What's this about ear protection?" Steve asked.

    "Each team is equipped with at least one sonic rifle. Highly focused and directed. It's sorta similar to the sonic cannons Stark developed a few years ago, only miniaturized. Our standard ear protection can protect you from it but only briefly. Sustained fire from these sonic weapons will overwhelm them however. My advice is for everyone to switch out their ear protection at the earliest chance they get."

    "That'll leave the Strike team hitting the drop site very vulnerable," Rumlow noted in deep concern.

    Steve thought on it for a moment before an idea hit him. "I'll snatch the specialized ear protection from the guards at the ECPs and then distribute them to STRIKE 1 once I get on scene. We'll take a few moments to switch out and then we'll proceed to hit our objective. Rumlow, once you've taken down the enemy at the admin building and secure the hostages ensure you also switch out your ear pro. Also secure the sonic weapon if practical. If these weapons have been sold on the black market and our standard hearing protection is vulnerable we'll need to develop countermeasures."

    Rumlow nodded with a bit of relief. It was the best on the spot plan they could make given the circumstances.

    "You might want to hurry, Cap. These guys are starting to get jittery," Barton supplied via the radio.

    "Roger that. Hang tight, Hawkeye, we'll be there shortly."

    "Standing by."

    Steve stood tall and fastened his helmet securely then locked his shield on his back and took a moment to look at his new uniform: a dark navy blue suit with double bands of subdued silver wrapping around the chest and shoulders, with the star interrupting the bands in the center of his chest. The suit was the SHIELD stealth strike suit designed solely for him with reinforced spider-silk fabrics for increased ballistic protection. Utilitarian-looking yet functional and fairly comfortable, it was perfect for black ops. Still, he missed the old Stars and Stripes.

    "One minute from drop point one, Captain."

    "Understood, bring us down to two hundred feet. Once I'm away, make best speed to drop point two. Any word from the Canadian authorities?"

    "Taking the buyers down as we speak, Captain Rogers."

    Steve nodded as he felt the Quinjet quickly lose altitude before finally leveling off; the jet engines going virtually silent as they fell to minimal power while most of the work was done with the twin rotor blades.

    "Coming up on insertion point one, Captain Rogers."

    Steve hit the control lowing the ramp of the Quinjet.

    "Ah, Cap, don't you think you need a chute?" Rumlow asked with a look of bewildered concern on his face.

    Cap walked slowly toward the edge of the ramp before turning back with a smirk, "Don't really need one, but thanks. See you on the ground!"

    And with that he was off, plummeting through the now night sky with the grounding rushing to meet him. He acted on instinct and training as he brought his feet and knees together and kept them loose to absorb and roll with the impact. He did not have to wait long. The ground rushed to meet him, the wind whipping at his face and the feeling of his stomach in his throat. In mere moments, he plummeted more than two hundred feet like a rock and he hit hard, hard enough that it would have shattered bones and ruptured the organs of regular men, killing them or at least severely maiming them.

    He was not a regular man.

    He rolled with the impact, careful to spread the jarring force evenly as he rolled into a tumble before springing to his feet, taking a moment to orientate himself before he was off toward his objective at a fast pace. While he had felt the shock and some pain from the punishing impact, it was muted. His body was more durable; capable of enduring far more than just a little fall from height.

    The trees flew by in a blur as he ran, his breath coming is sharp even breaths as the oxygen moved from his lungs into his bloodstream to interact with the serum to explode with extraordinary levels of power. It seemed as if in no time at all, he was on his first objective.

    He slowed to a walk and then lowered himself into a crouch as he silently stalked forward. He tagged all four men, all heavily armed at a small guard shack at the gate. They were lounging around and looking decidedly disinterested and bored, two of them were even fishing out cigarettes. Steve frowned at the lack of discipline but decided to accept this small stroke of luck.

    The less likely they were prepared for anything, the better.

    Steve thumbed his throat mike. "Rumlow, what's your status?"

    "STRIKE 1 is on the ground, proceeding to the admin building. We'll be on site and ready for the take down in 10 minutes."

    "Understood. Natasha, what's your status?"

    "On the ground with STRIKE 2, proceeding to the drop point, ETA 11 minutes."

    Steve nodded at the report, so far things were proceeding smoothly. He waited patiently, crouched in the darkness and invisible to all but the most sensitive night optics as he inched closer and closer to the guard shack and the four unsuspecting guards around it.

    Then he heard exactly what he'd been waiting for.

    "Iron gate, this is guard point 1, negative contacts, all secure."

    "Acknowledged guard point 1, stay on your toes."

    "Roger, Iron gate, Guard point 1 out."

    Steve was up and moving before the final syllable left his mouth. With a swift economy of motion Steve breached the tree line; a sound of snapping branches and heavy thuds guaranteed to draw the startled glances of his quarry.

    Exactly as he hoped it would.

    In one swift motion, he pulled his shield form his back and let it fly. The guards had only started to bring their weapons up and thumb the safeties just as the shield struck the first of them in the head. The shield ricocheted off his head into the face of his buddy five feet away. The shield then ricocheted off of his face into the opening of the guard shack and the guard inside, but Steve was already on his target by then.

    With a solid front kick to the midsection, the guard doubled over, dropping his weapon on reflex as he gasped for breath violently forced from his lungs. The shield exploded through the front glass window into Steve's hands where he twirled the shield for a second before bringing the front of it down onto head of the man kneeling before him. It had taken him less than ten seconds to take down all four of them.

    He moved quickly to secure them to either each other or to hard surfaces that wouldn't break, utilizing zip ties or handcuffs where he could before he moved to disable their primary weapons and side arms. Satisfied he grabbed the radio from the leader of the group, while securing their ear protection and then took off on a sprint toward his second objective.

    "ECP 1 down. Moving to ECP 2." Steve reported.

    "STRIKE 1, five minutes from the admin building. Proceeding as planned. No hostile contacts."

    "STRIKE 2, proceeding to objective, but its slow going. This terrain is really rough, Cap. Revising our ETA to 7 minutes from my mark….mark," Gains reported and Steve couldn't help but frown at that.

    The boreal forests surrounding the quarry was some of the thickest vegetation he'd ever seen. Thick pines converging in such density as to make fast practical movement almost impossible for anyone who wasn't him. Add to that the heavy granite and other rocks from the quarry darting the area and it was amazing that STRIKE was moving as swiftly as they were, but that still left Steve a bit apprehensive.

    Their timetable was already close enough as it was.

    He continued on pushing through the heavy ferns and pines with a speed that would have made an Olympian athlete smile with pride or be green with envy. Occasionally he would jump and swing from an overhanging branch to a nearby bolder before bouncing off into a rolling somersault before springing back up into a run.

    He really had to thank the instructors at SHIELD for introducing him to Parkour. It had become part of his new routine. After his…disappointing performance at New York, he had vowed he would never allow such a lackluster showing on his part to ever happen again. So, two days after the battle, he joined SHIELD in an official capacity and began a vigorous and intensive training program to not just bring him up to speed, but to push the limits of what a super soldier could accomplish. Intensive training in martial arts and parkour were only a part of the routine, but so too was he pushing the envelope of what his mind could accomplish as he studied tactics and strategy of all kinds and updating his education.

    This new world he found himself left him both amazed and confused. The things these people had accomplished and took for granted each day would have made Howard cry with envy back in his day. Many of the diseases and afflictions that were prominent in his time were gone…only to be replaced by new challenges that even now were being worked on. Initially he had felt out of touch with this new world, and for good reason. He was a man out of time and out of his depth, tossed in to a strange world with only hint of commonality with the one he came from. He was literally Rip van Winkle.

    It had left him disorientated and a bit melancholic for all that he had lost…at first. But New York changed things. More specifically, it had changed something within him. He refused to surrender to despair, instead choosing to forge a new path in this life, one which he could be proud of…of what Peggy would be proud of. New York had showed him that despite the strangeness of this new world he was in, that there was still a need for good men and there was still a need for heroes and symbols.

    And he could and would be that man.

    All too soon, he found himself three miles later at the second guard shack. Checking his watch he realized he had a minute to spare. He took a moment to take a look around and immediately noticed something. These guards were far more alert than the last group. He would have to deal with them with a bit more subtlety.

    He crouched and moved slowly from tree to tree, moving swiftly and silently like a panther creeping toward its prey in preparation to pounce. He crept closer and closer to the shack till he was right under it. Listening, watching, waiting.

    "Iron Gate this is guard shack 2, Negative contacts, all is quiet."

    "Roger that ECP 2. No sightings of our buyers yet?"

    "Negative, all is quiet, over."

    "Roger keep an eye out, we're expecting them soon."

    "Understood, wilco. ECP 2 out."

    Steve struck in that instant.

    Diving through the window of the guard shack, he rolled to his feet just as the two shocked guards started to respond. The one nearest to the door received a kick to the lower back just as he started to turn. He flew out the door into his buddy as both went tumbling into the ground in a tangle of bodies. Steve struck the second man, knocking his weapon away and rendering him senseless with a series of well-placed strikes designed to incapacitate a man as quickly as possible.

    A snap-click cut through Steve's psyche like a knife and he responded instantly. He grabbed the guard and lifted him up then through him through the window into the fourth guard. As before both went down in a tumble of bodies.

    Steve moved quickly and hit the first two guards in succession just as they were starting to recover. He them moved over and quickly disabled the other two. As before he stripped their weapons, gear and ear protection before making a point of firmly securing the four guards.

    "ECP 2 is down. Rumlow, what's your status?"

    "Just got on station, setting up for the take down. Cap, we've got a problem, these guys are talking about killing some of the hostages. I don't know what escalated the situation but it sounds like they mean business. Please advise."

    "Standby. Gains, what's your status?" When he got no reply he tried again. "Gains, what's your status?"

    "Cap, Romanoff. Gains is down. We were moving down a gully to our point when Gains lost his footing and slipped in. He broke his leg and can't continue."

    "Mission takes priority! Leave me and get to the drop site. I'll be okay on my own!" Gains insisted.

    Steve had no choice but to do just that. The mission had been going smoothly up to this point, but it was inevitable that Murphy would strike. The mission, as always, took priority.

    "Rumlow, take them down now. Natasha, take Strike 2 and get to the drop site. What's your ETA?"

    "Two minutes, Cap," Black Widow responded.

    A simultaneous take down was definitely out of the question now.

    "Get there on the double, I'm on my way. Hawkeye, keep us up to date on what's going on. Provide cover when Natasha and Strike get in position. Gains, sit tight, as soon as we're finished up here we'll swing by to get you."

    "Sorry, Cap," Gains grunted through the radio.

    "Nothing to be sorry about, Gains. Things happen."

    "Moving out, Cap," Natasha reported.

    "I'm ready to start putting arrows in bodies, Cap."

    "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

    He took off at a full sprint. Being on a hard packed dirt road, he didn't quite have to worry as much about the rough terrain, meaning he could put everything he had into making it to the drop. When he made it about a third of the way he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire echoing through the night. Just at the same moment the radio he had confiscated blared to life.

    "Everyone report in! What was that! Report!" The demand for information was met with silence.

    "Rumlow, was that you?"

    "Affirmative Cap. Bad guys neutralized at the admin building but we didn't quite get the drop on all of them. A few managed to get a couple of rounds off before we took them down. I take it they heard us?" Steve could almost see the grimace on Rumlow's face at the question.

    "Yep, they heard you, Rumlow." Hawkeye came over the radio. "They're moving to secure their weapons crates. Looks like they're planning to bug out. They're looking a lot more alert now."

    "What's the status on the hostages?" Steve asked.

    "Hostages are secure and unharmed, Cap," Rumlow reported.

    "Cap, they've finished loading the vehicles and are bugging out!" Hawkeye reported.

    "Put some explosive arrows through them and ensure they don't! Natasha, where are you?"

    "Coming up on the drop site now!"

    "Engage, take them down. Hawkeye?"

    Three explosions immediately followed by gunfire answered his call.

    "Trucks neutralized, they're going nowhere. But I'm taking fire. They've got me pinned!" Hawkeye reported.

    As Steve got closer, he could hear the gunfire echo through the radio with Hawkeye.

    More gunfire erupted, this time the more familiar sounding weapons utilized by shield personnel.

    "Engaging!" Romanoff reported.

    As Steve ran he could hear the sound of the firefight intensify and just as he reached the edges of an open field leading toward the center of the quarry, something hit him. Something that hit him with enough force to stagger and stop him in his tracks. A digitized deafening screech slammed into his body as he fell his knees and grabbed his ears. The sound was disorientating and threw off his sense of balance making him feel nauseous and weak. The new ear protection stopped the worst of it, but it didn't leave him completely immune from its effects.

    It lasted for what felt like forever but was over in moments and when it stopped, Steve couldn't hear anything but the ringing in his ears. The night was eerily quiet. Where only moments ago an intense firefight was taking place, now there was just nothing.

    "Natasha, report," Steve gasped out. Nothing. "Natasha?" Silence.

    "Any Strike 2 personnel, report!" Again no one responded. And Steve felt his gut go cold at the thought of Natasha and Strike down.

    "Rumlow, report?"

    "Still here, Cap," Rumlow responded tersely. "My guys are good and the hostages secure. But we all heard something. Was that what I thought it was?"

    Steve's thoughts turned to the pre-mission briefing that Rumlow gave.

    "Ultrasonic blast, high intensity," Steve said. "These new ear pieces block out the worst of it but just barely. Our standard ear-pro however….."

    "Strike 2? Romanoff, Barton?" Rumlow asked.

    "All down," Steve responded.

    "Fuck. All right we'll break down from here and linkup with you."

    "Negative, stay with the hostages. They are your priority. Understood?"

    "…Understood, Cap. Strike 1 will hold this position." Rumlow responded though he didn't sound particularly happy.

    "Get on the horn with the Canadian authorities. Have them collapse their perimeter on to you. Once the hostages have been safely handed over only then will Strike make their way to the drop point."

    "Roger that, Cap," Rumlow responded.

    Steve took off at a run toward the drop point, which he could see quite clearly from the burning vehicles in the distance and a number of shadows running around the flaming trucks. He picked up the pace.

    He stopped and went prone near a small natural forming trench. As he took in the sight of what he was seeing, a number of men were moving the Strike personnel around and were readying weapons clearly intent on executing the helpless agents.

    Steve had no choice but to act before they could. Acting on instinct, he threw his shield at the nearest guy with all his might. The shield flew true, smacking the guy in his helmeted head before ricocheting into one of the burning trucks and then back toward Steve. Four of the men turned and opened fire with a fifth quickly moving out of sight. Steve brought up his vibranium alloy shield as the rounds bounced harmlessly off it. He moved forward quickly, intent on closing the distance rapidly as the enemy continued to waste rounds ineffectively against his shield.

    When he got close, he used his shield to smack away the rifle from the nearest mercenary before sending a solid jab to his abdomen then an uppercut with his shield. The man was knocked backward like a rag doll, bonelessly twisting in the air before coming to land ten feet away with a solid thud. He was among them now, intermixed in their ad hoc formation. He was moving so fast they were unsure of their ability to fire at him without hitting their comrades, and he would use that to his advantage. He maintained his momentum as he moved, smacking one guy with his shield, knocking him to the ground, then disabling another with an elbow to the face, followed by a knee to the solar plexus. He spun around the man then kicked him into the fourth before flinging the shield down to the man he disabled earlier. The shield bounced off his head with an echoing clang and returned to Steve's hand. Steve returned to the last two men and quickly disabled them.

    He turned to find a man in a red shirt and black trousers with a black tactical vest and bandana with a set of glasses that had the left eye crossed out with an X. The main aimed at him and on instinct, Steve snapped the shield up in a defensive position, just in time as Crossfire opened up with the sonic rifle.

    The air around him seemed to distort, he could feel the sonic pulses hammering at him but he gritted his teeth and held firm. The man stepped forward and amped up the intensity and Steve had to grit his teeth as he fought against it.

    The improved ear protection did do the job of filtering out most of the harmful sound, but enough was getting through to start giving Steve a headache. Something landed close to Steve's foot and he had just enough time to look down and recognize a grenade and he jumped out of the way while leveling his shield in the direction of the grenade itself.

    The detonation caught the shield just as Steve jumped and curled behind it. The blast knocked him back several feet and he landed on his back. Quickly rolling over, Steve snapped to his feet when another grenade landed near him, but one clearly of a different make. He had just enough time to crouch behind his shield when vertigo overtook him.

    The world tumbled in his vision as he lost all sense of balance. He fell back, stumbled and then hit the ground as he lost the battle to remain upright. His ears were ringing like something fierce and he shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs.

    Steve slowly rose to all fours, all the while trying to clear the ringing from his ears and keep his dinner from spilling out onto the ground. He noticed something off to his right…an arrow sticking out of the ground that he was certain hadn't been there before. He looked to his left to see William Cross speaking to him as he leveled the sonic rifle but Steve couldn't make out any of the words.

    But he really wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face.

    Steve adjusted his body position to conceal the embedded arrow as he brought up his shield. The directed sonic blasts hit the shield and then him standing behind it. He grunted, and staggered for a second from the oncoming energy, then dug his heels into the ground and tried to rise to a standing position but the energy hammering his shield was immense considering his disorientated state.

    This was unlike anything Steve had expected. The power coming from this weapon bordered on the obscene if it was enough to keep him pinned in place like this. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear through it.

    Suddenly everything stopped and it took Steve a few moments to realize that Crossfire wasn't still pouring fire on him. He risked a peek from around his shield to see to see William Cross painfully gripping his left hand….and the arrow sticking out of it.

    Cap slowly rose to his feet on wobbly legs as Hawkeye seemed to just appear out of the shadows with his an arrow drawn on William Cross.

    Crossfire's jaw dropped as he stared in open disbelief at the man who should have been disabled. The two traded words back and forth but Steve couldn't hear what they were saying over the painful ringing in his ears.

    Suddenly, Crossfire lunged for the nearby weapon, his hand finding purchase just as an arrow embedded into it. On reflex, Crossfire let the weapon go as he howled in pain and rage.

    Thankfully, Steve was able to hear this as the ringing slowly began to fade as his hearing returned.

    "Last chance, Cross. Next arrow I place will be between your eyes. What's it going to be?" Barton asked coldly.

    Crossfire looked between Hawkeye and Captain America before he seemed to deflate. "I surrender."

    Hawkeye smirked, "Good call." His eyes slowly turned to Steve but there was no doubt his attention was focused on their subdued enemy. "I got him covered, Cap. We might want to subdue him."

    Steve scowled. "I got just the thing in mind." He moved forward as he brought the shield to rest against Crossfire's head then he punched the inside, hard. The resounding clang resonated into the night as William Cross dropped bonelessly to the ground."

    Barton released the tension in his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver then smiled. "Another successful OP. Didn't quite go according to plan, but a solid win in my book."

    Steve messaged his ears to work out the residual ringing as he worked his jaw. "If you say so. This one could have ended badly."

    "Yeah…," Barton agreed tonelessly.

    Steve took a minute to look him over. The man was pale and haggard looking with a couple days' worth of stubble and bags under his eyes. But despite everything, his movements were quick, sure and strong.

    Barton's head snapped up to a point behind Steve just as he heard it himself. Sirens. The Canadian authorities were coming.
    "Looks like the cavalry arrived," Barton said cheerfully as he knelt next to Natasha and gently nudged her. She stirred slightly before her eyes fluttered open.

    "Looks like," Steve agreed as he clipped his shield to his back. He began working with Barton to wake the members of Strike.

    The Canadian Authorities plus Strike 1 soon arrived to secure the area. Weapons drawn, they expertly established a perimeter and began checking for any stragglers. Lines of communications were set up and established and a team was sent to grab Gains from the nearby culver. Paramedics quickly went about checking the members of the strike team before moving off to check the down mercenaries after they were secured.

    Rumlow came up to both Cap and Hawkeye as the two chatted near Romanoff, who was scowling at the EMT trying to check her over.

    "Canadian authorities have the guards at the ECPs you took out. They're also checking out the hostages we recovered. That and the bad guys you bagged here account for everyone. I've briefed the senior Canadian agent on the ground on what went down here. They should have everything they need to close out their reports. Soon as our guys check out we're good to go."

    "What about the buyers?"

    "Secured without a fight, though they're not talking. SHIELD will likely take custody of them to figure out who they procuring the weapons for," Rumlow answered.

    Steve nodded. "Right. Your guys alright?"

    Rumlow nodded. "Yeah, my guys are good. I sent a few of them with the EMTs to go pickup Gains. They're looking him over now. Broken leg. He'll be out for weeks till he heals up."

    "We'll manage in the meantime," Steve assured.

    Rumlow looked him over. "Are you alright, Cap?"

    Steve shrugged. "I'm okay. Little stiffness here and there. Nothing that won't be resolved after a good night's rest."

    Barton smirked. "Yeah, those 200 foot drops must be a real killer on the body."

    "I told you I'm fine!" an upset feminine voice snapped. Everyone turned to see Natasha brush the EMT aside. The EMT frowned, startled at her refusal for
    a basic looking over.

    "He's just doing his job, Nat," Barton said with a smile.

    Natasha deflated somewhat. "I know. But I'm fine. So we get everybody?"

    "Yep." Clint smiled.

    "And the weapons?"

    "Yep." Clint answered again.

    Natasha nodded, and then looked to Steve. "Intel dropped the ball on just how effective Crossfire's sonic weapons were."

    Steve nodded solemnly; thankful for the fact he hadn't lost anyone on this op due to poor intelligence. "That they did. I'll be sure to speak to them about that when we get back. Rumlow only got the basics when we put this together."

    "I should have pressed harder," Rumlow said with a hint of self-recrimination in his voice.

    Steve shook his head. "Not your fault, Rumlow. But we'll be sure to put the pressure on Intel next time." Steve turned to face the rest of STRIKE. "Everyone good?"

    "Everyone's good, Cap," Rumlow answered. "Gains will be EVAC'd out to the nearest hospital to get his leg checked out. If…it's not too much trouble, I'd like to stick with him. Unless you need me back at HQ?"

    Steve shook his head. "Nah, that's fine. I'll handle the post mission debriefings. Let's go speak to him then we'll head out."

    As Steve and Rumlow left to talk to a clearly in pain Gains, Natasha settled her attention on their resident archer. "Hey. What was that all about?"
    Clint regarded her evenly. "What was 'what' all about?"

    She motioned to the mercenaries then the weapons that were being prepared for the Quinjet just hovering in for a landing.

    "This. Going after these guys alone without back up. This isn't like you," she said in a worried tone of voice.

    "I'm fine, Nat. Really," Barton answered emphatically.

    She searched his eyes looking for something before frowning ever so slightly. Then her features schooled themselves into a blank mask just as Steve came back.

    "Gains will be fine. A little wounded pride for not seeing that pothole, but a broken leg won't keep him out for long. He's staying overnight and Rumlow will stay with him. Let's get out of here."

    With the help of the Canadian authorities, they loaded the weapons onto the Quinjet while Cap briefly spoke to the lead agent on the ground. They shook hands and then Cap boarded the Quinjet.

    As the jet took off Steve couldn't visibly relax. He placed his hands behind his head as he replayed the mission in his mind. It hadn't gone to plan but even then they had been able to adapt on the fly with some lateral thinking. Despite his growing misgivings about the way SHIELD operated, he had to admit they had some very good people he was glad to be working beside.

    And as Steve mused on his thoughts of the mission, he missed the subtle worried glares Natasha Romanoff was directing at their sleeping archer.



    *******


    New York
    (Several Days later)


    Hermione was completely, hopelessly and utterly lost, but she comforted herself with the fact that there were, as of yet, no sign of any Death Eaters, and she was, at least, in the right neighborhood, if the information she'd collected was accurate at least. According to that, Steve Roger's old stomping grounds were in this part of the city, and that was as good a place as any to start looking for him.

    It really shouldn't have been so difficult to find Captain America – his face was plastered everywhere, from newspapers to magazines, and he'd quickly replaced the flag as the symbol of the United States, but Steve Rogers was startlingly difficult to locate. Given the recent spike in his publicity, and how easily his personal information could be found, it wasn't much of a shock that he wanted his privacy. Just a week before she'd left for the states, Hermione was still being hounded by reporters for interviews, and the relief of being unrecognizable was overwhelming. She liked being able to blend into the crowd again, and she imagined the same could be said for Steve Rogers, particularly since nearly all of his personal information was widely available for the public, and that he was nearly one hundred years old, but still had the appearance of someone in his twenties or thirties.

    That had been quite the shock for Hermione. She'd expected Rogers to be retired, like her great aunt, or maybe even dead, but when Harry's letter informed her that Captain America was Steve Rogers, clearly still active and in excellent shape for a hundred year old man, and now targeted by Death Eaters – because of her letter – she'd nearly fainted and had hopped on the first portkey she could find to New York to find him. That, however, was as far as her plan had carried her. Unable to find Rogers and now hopelessly lost, Hermione was tired, hungry and getting more frustrated by the moment. What exactly had she expected? To just pop up in New York; a city of 22 million people, and run right into Captain America, walking down Main Street, or perhaps through Time Square, as jolly as you please? Honestly. She'd been around Harry and Ron too long, their impulsiveness was wearing off.

    Then again, if she hadn't taken all that time collecting maps she might have found Rogers' already. The fact that she hadn't was beginning to make her panicky. He had to be somewhere, but none of the papers or magazines mentioned a public appearance or event. She didn't know if he had a day job besides being a superhero, but anything outside of the military would be too conspicuous for someone whose face was so recognizable and Captain America was rarely seen outside New York City – so he had to be here. Then again, if the Death Eaters had already found him… No.

    She couldn't entertain that thought, not yet, it was too early. She'd only been here a day, and she was three days behind the Death Eaters. If she was having trouble finding him, they were likely having a devil of a time, particularly since they were unlikely to use any muggle resources to aid their search. Besides, even with magic it would be difficult to subdue Captain America, given how easily he'd matched alien invaders in hand to hand combat. Then again, if the Death Eaters had snuck up on him or stunned him from behind… She was going to drive herself insane with all this back and forth. She needed to take a moment and sit, reorient herself and try a new approach.

    Stepping into a nearby diner, Hermione staked a claim on a booth in a quiet corner, piling her collection of papers and maps onto the tablet to examine after a cup of coffee. The prices were outrageous, but the coffee was decent, so Hermione didn't complain, just stared gloomily into her mug, mentally berating herself for her impulsiveness and trying to ignore the throb in her temples, indicating the beginning of what promised to be a massive headache. Had searching for horcruxes been this difficult? At least those stayed in one place. Well, most of them.

    She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Merlin, Hermione," she muttered. "You act as though you've never done anything like this before." She ignored the jingle of the bell as the door opened, signaling the entry of another customer.

    She frowned as several people called out a greeting, and jumped when the waitress tapped her on the shoulder. "More coffee, sweetie?" She had a pot in her hand.

    Hermione nodded wearily. "Please."

    "Big fan, huh?" The waitress asked, filling Hermione's mug.

    "Beg pardon?"

    The waitress gestured at the maps and papers sprawled across the table. "Of Cap, right?"

    Hermione flushed. This woman probably thought her a nutter. "Oh, er…"

    The waitress just smiled and stood back. "I prefer Iron Man myself, something about a bad boy, ya know? But I see why all the girls swoon over Rogers.
    He's a cutie, even if he is old."

    "I can hear you, Mary."

    Hermione glanced up, startled by the deep baritone of a man, and saw Steve Rogers, of all people, frowning at the snickering waitress. She'd recognize him anywhere, given the description her great-aunt had provided as well as the pictures splattered all over the place, but Hermione hadn't expected him to be so… handsome. Even folded into the booth, she could tell he was tall and muscular. Clean cut, with sleek blonde hair and bright blue eyes, he was as All-American as one could get, with a fresh face and a warm smile that left Hermione a little flustered. She'd never seen anyone so striking, and, embarrassingly, Hermione gaped, blinking owlishly.

    Mary lifted an eyebrow, smirking. "He's a regular here." Hermione blinked again, and Mary patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave. "Good luck, honey."

    Hermione looked around at Steve, gobsmacked to find the person she'd been searching New York for sitting in the same room, foot propped on a
    bouncing knee, humming quietly and perusing a menu. Hours, hours, she'd been searching the city, circling twice around Stark Tower and then getting hopelessly lost and somehow ending up in Times Square then to reorient herself just in time to get lost in Captain Rogers' very neighborhood. She was tired, her feet hurt, and she'd driven herself absolutely barmy collecting information and maps and pamphlets and then he just walks right in the door? She was struck with the urge to tear her own hair out, but resisted.

    He glanced up, meeting her gaze and she flushed at his curious smile. Merlin, she was acting like a second year all over again, swooning and fawning! Mustering her courage, and steeling herself, she swept her papers back into her bag, collected her coffee, stood and approached as casually as she could manage. That is, not at all casually, stubbing her toe on a chair as she passed.

    "Erm, hello-?"

    He looked up, smiled, flushed and stood, brushing a hand over his jeans. "Yes, Miss?"

    "Granger, Hermione Granger." She said, startled. Taller than she'd initially thought; he stood head and shoulders over her, his t-shirt clinging to a well-muscled torso.

    He extended a hand. "Steve Rogers."

    They shook hands and she swallowed hard at the warmth of his palm, dwarfing hers. "Pleasure." She retracted her hand as though scalded, and his brow furrowed, blue eyes confused. "I was er, wondering if we could talk? If that's alright?" She drew her great-aunt's journal out of her messenger bag, presenting it to him. "Y'see, Margaret Carter is my great aunt."

    He blinked, confused and uncertain for a moment, then smiled. "You look like her." He said softly, and Hermione flushed again, smiling. Evidently her great aunt hadn't been the only one with a crush, if his tone was anything to go by. "Please, have a seat."

    She slid into the booth across from him, and he pushed the menu away, uninterested, and started flipping through the diary instead, pausing to brush fingers over the old photos pasted inside. "I haven't seen Peggy in… quite a while. How is she?"

    Hermione sighed. "Not well, I'm afraid. She doesn't recognize my mother anymore…" At his pained expression she quickly switched gears. "I'll be happy to give you the address of where she's staying. I'm sure she'd be happy to have you visit. It might even help with the memory loss."

    "I'd like that, Hermione, thank you."

    She smiled and quickly scrawled the address on a napkin, wondering how best to approach the topic that a group of evil wizards were targeting him because of something she'd done. Lovely plan this was turning out to be. Steve accepted the napkin, folding it and tucking it in his jacket pocket carefully.

    "Er, Steve?"

    "Yes?"

    She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I'm… in a bit of trouble."

    Steve looked up. "Is there anything I can do?"

    Oh, he was making this difficult. Hermione would have preferred he be suspicious rather than concerned. She could handle suspicion.

    "Well, in a way, yes, but er…"

    This was going to be tricky, what with the statute of secrecy to take into consideration, but how far did the statute cover? Besides, someone's life was in danger, and Hermione thought she'd read something about there being an exception in life or death circumstances and… Her brain came to a screeching halt when Steve reached across the table and gently took one of her hands, making her look up. His brow was furrowed in concern, hands warm around hers, and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

    "If there's anything I can do for one of Peggy's grand-nieces, I'd be more than happy, Hermione." He said sincerely. She was struck by the urge to kick herself. It was entirely her fault that Steve was in danger after all, and he was so sweet, offering to help her, a complete stranger.

    "Steve, you aren't going to believe me, but-" she glanced over Steve's shoulder, out the diner window, and froze, mouth going dry. Two men were standing just outside, staring right at her and Steve, hands tucked out of sight. She might not have noticed them at all, were it not for the familiar black robes. Death Eaters, right here, in broad daylight. Good Lord they must be desperate.
    Steve looked over his shoulder, frowning at the men. "Do you know them?"

    "After a fashion," Hermione grimaced, glancing around to find another exit. She'd already been spotted, no point in pretending now, but they didn't have to wait like sitting ducks.

    "What does that mean?"

    Hermione looked back and swore under her breath. They were moving towards the door. "They aren't exactly friendly acquaintances…"
    Steve frowned, lowering his voice. "Are they following you?"

    "Well…"

    Hermione looked back around, finding the Death Eaters and wondering how quickly she could draw her wand, tucked up her sleeve, but it was too late, their wands were already drawn. In the next instant the room seemed to explode as a curse struck the glass, shattering it instantly, the second bursting through the wood of the wall and doorframe. Steve hit the ground, arm sweeping out to catch Hermione and pull her to the ground with him. Another curse struck the wall above their heads, and a waitress screamed. The other patrons all scattered, some fleeing out the door, others out of the broken wall, while others were huddled on the floor, bloodied and injured. Steve swiveled around and kicked a table over, blocking the next curse, though the table flipped backwards in pieces, useless. Steve jumped to his feet and took the Death Eater down in a spectacular tackle, wand flying, and Hermione whipped her wand free of her sleeve, knocking the other to the floor with a curse before he could get a clear shot on Steve. Hermione crawled through the debris of the diner, wondering how many Death Eaters there might be, when Steve returned and hefted her to her feet, hands surprisingly gentle on her shoulders.

    "We have to get you out of here." Steve said, guiding her around to an emergency exit, keeping his body between her and the opening of the wall. "There'll be more."

    "Me? Steve-!"

    "It's alright, Hermione, you'll be safe." He interrupted, tucking her back against the wall while he peeked outside.

    The wood next to his head exploded, shrapnel flying, and he ducked out of the way, his cheek and temple scratched, but otherwise unhurt. They ducked as more curses shattered the glass and burst through the wall, slipping back around to make for what was left of the front door.

    "Who are these guys?!" Steve shouted over the din of exploding glass and wood.

    "Death Eaters!" Hermione replied; wand in hand. She silently cast a shield charm, and looked at Steve. "Stay close!"

    "Wait, Hermione-!"

    She grabbed his hand and bolted, curses bouncing off the shield as the pair dove through the broken wall. Hermione hit one Death Eater with a jinx and Steve clocked another with a fist to the nose, kicking him back into his companions, scattering two like bowling pins. By Hermione's count there were at least six, all convening on the remnants of the diner, though a few apparated out of sight, plumes of black smoke churning behind them as they soared off. Hermione caught the Death Eater Steve had punched with a curse, knocking him back to the ground, unconscious. Steve didn't look fazed, just blinked as some of the Death Eaters took off in flight, then grabbed Hermione and sprinted down the street.

    "My bike's this way!" He called. Hermione struggled to keep the shield up and between them as the Death Eaters lobbed curse after curse after them, she returning fire.

    One Death Eater swooped low, black smoke billowing, and Steve rolled underneath him, allowing Hermione to knock him out of the air with a jinx. The motorcycle, and Steve's familiar shield, was only a few feet away, but Hermione could feel the shield starting to give under the assault, and she whipped around, spell flying from her wand, blocking Steve and attempting to raise another shield.

    She took the Death Eater's curse right in the stomach.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Nice to see this updated again.

    Up to the last scene everything was good, I liked it very much. And then came the last scene with Hermione meeting Steve in a random diner. That scene was horrible. It sucked beyond anything I have read in a long while. It contained just about every single one of the most common clichés: stupidly convenient meeting in a random diner, stupidly convenient familial relation, stupidly convenient DE attack...
    Any single one of them would be bad, but all together they make me want to drop this story and never come back.
     
    Zealot said:
    Nice to see this updated again.

    Up to the last scene everything was good, I liked it very much. And then came the last scene with Hermione meeting Steve in a random diner. That scene was horrible. It sucked beyond anything I have read in a long while. It contained just about every single one of the most common clichés: stupidly convenient meeting in a random diner, stupidly convenient familial relation, stupidly convenient DE attack...
    Any single one of them would be bad, but all together they make me want to drop this story and never come back.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...


    Really? Because we both thought it was a very logical approach. And during the time of Avengers (this is set 4 months post events of the Movie) Steve was still very much hanging around his old stomping grounds. We're not exactly sure when he moved to DC but we can infer sometime between Avengers and the events of Winter Soldier. As for the meeting in the Diner itself? I'm not going to throw my Co-Author under the bus, but I was a bit iffy on that one myself. But when Independence-Day explained her reasoning for it, it made sense so I told her to run with it.

    I thank you for your honesty. Trust me you're not going to hurt my feelings as I do enjoy genuine constructive criticism. but I'm curious. What would you have done differently? That way I know what to avoid. Also, if you have a list of 'cliches' that you'd like to see avoided. I would appreciate that as well. I've only read very few HP/Avengers crossover worth my attention.
     
    Last edited:
    What I would have done differently? Okay, I'll try my best.

    1. The meeting in a diner is fine by itself, but the random part is... bad. Simply have Hermione actually use some of the magic she spent all her life learning, like that nifty Point Me spell to lead her to Steve and that part is already fine.
    It doesn't have to be the actual Point Me spell and you need a reason why the DEs couldn't find him for three days, but that's the general idea. Simple idea: Point me has a relatively short radius and without having access to muggle records and finding the general neighbourhood beforehand, it wouldn't have worked. This still has problems, so somehing else would probably be better.

    2. The familial relation. If it is an important plot point for the rest of the story, fine. It's okay, as long as it is the only such thing. If not, simply cut it out completely - for this scene at least it would have made next to no difference whether she is related to someone from Steve's past or not.

    3. About the convenient DE attack. Again, preferably cut it out completely - having the attack occur just as she finds him strains SoD. But if it is really necessary for the plot, have a scene where the DE's somehow set up some kind of magic net to track Hermione, so that it was literally Hermione who lead them to Steve. It's iffy, but the only way I can justify having them attack the moment she met him.

    In general, every time you want to write something which is a coincidence, think about how it can instead be made into a deliberate action by one of the involved parties.


    Regarding the list of clichés... Well not really. I can suggest checking out the Pet Peeves thread, for example, there are lots of things listed which I would prefer not to see in a story. And said cliches are not limited to this specific Avengers/HP fandom. Unexpected familial relations, random meetings, convenient easily repelled attacks by the enemy... and, sadly, many, many others. Now, clichés can be subverted, used in original ways, etc. - but that isn't the case in this scene, which is why I'm rather disappointed by it.

    Hope this helps to clarify what exactly and why I don't like about it.
     
    Ah. I knew I should have gone into a bit more detail. Allow me to explain some of this.

    The 'idea' is that one of the United States oldest magical communities is in New York. I wont go into specifics now but there is alot of ambient magical energy in the air which can have an affect on tracking spells (as well as some electronics). Most of which are short range anyway. (at least my understanding of them are.)

    2.) Hermione knows the limitations of these spells and adapted accordingly. Thus she did her research to narrow down her search and utilized Muggle sources to aid her. In this case utilizing the 'best of both worlds' approach, which worked. The Diner is actually the very one cameo'd in Avengers as is the waitress, as we both felt it was a nice little cameo, from Avengers. Something familiar. Again both areas were said to be in Steve's old neighborhoods

    3.) The Death Eater attack isn't convenient at all. You are right, they' basically used her to lead them to him. The 'idea' was that the Death Eaters had been unsuccessful at finding Steve on their own, thus they decided on another approach. Let the Mudblood Granger do the work for them, then make the grab. Hermione correctly deduced the Death Eaters are desperate. Harry has been steadily chipping away at their power base and support, their finances and their public image for years. They as an organization are quite literally on their last legs. They don't care about collateral damage or possible exposure. Let the Americans authorities handle the fallout and try to keep the statute intact. It means nothing to them. I mean after all, they've done this countless times in Britain and the Statue is still intact, so why not here?

    Now as for the Familial relations. Believe me I HATE them more often then not. But in this story I felt it could work. And in chapter 1 if you notice we establish that familial link. Usually they're done very badly and blatantly. In this case Hermione didn't know how Steve would respond. She's worried about how she might come off as some crazy person if she approached Steve directly. So she used the personal connection straight away to get her foot in the door so he wouldn't turn her away as she feared he might do. It wasn't very classy on her part, and she neednt have worried as Steve wouldn't have turned her away anyway as he's just not that kind of guy.

    there is alot of stuff thats implied but not outright stated.
     
    Being a little blunt at points for your readers might help, unless you were waiting for the reveal as a surprise. Specifically showing Hermione using a tablet to help search might help, then hold up an amulet to help divine something.

    Some one being related to him from so far off isn't implausible either, as long as it doesn't go too far.

    I'm enjoying it quite a bit.
     
    Arthur Hansen said:
    Being a little blunt at points for your readers might help, unless you were waiting for the reveal as a surprise. Specifically showing Hermione using a tablet to help search might help, then hold up an amulet to help divine something.

    Some one being related to him from so far off isn't implausible either, as long as it doesn't go too far.

    I'm enjoying it quite a bit.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...


    There are no other 'relations'. And Peggy Carter, despite being so important in his life, is a rather obscure character. Besides if you look at the two actresses, Emma Watson and Haley Atwell do share a passing similarity to them in both looks and temperament. It was something I noticed right off the bat. So much so that I said to myself 'yeah...I could easily see Peggy as Hermione's great aunt or grandma'.

    Also some of the stuff I mentioned I'll be going more into detail in the next chapter.
     
    Zealot said:
    What I would have done differently? Okay, I'll try my best.

    1. The meeting in a diner is fine by itself, but the random part is... bad. Simply have Hermione actually use some of the magic she spent all her life learning, like that nifty Point Me spell to lead her to Steve and that part is already fine.
    It doesn't have to be the actual Point Me spell and you need a reason why the DEs couldn't find him for three days, but that's the general idea. Simple idea: Point me has a relatively short radius and without having access to muggle records and finding the general neighbourhood beforehand, it wouldn't have worked. This still has problems, so somehing else would probably be better.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Point Me can't actually do that, anyway. It is just a compass spell, all it does is make the caster's wand point north.
     
    Personally I think the Death Eaters had someone trailing Hermione and just let her do the leg work. The fact that They meet at the bar is a little Cliche but it works for a story like this. Looking forward to the meeting of Harry and Steve
     
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