Avengers/Harry Potter Crossover

A/N: Hiya! 'Tis be a new story, one I'm quite excited to write. Now, I MUST inform you... I've seen the Avengers, Iron Man (1), The Incredible Hulk (Though I don't remember much of it), and not much else. I'm not exactly a fan of Marvel or whatever, but I like this crossover idea, so basically what I'm saying is- Don't expect accuracy!

Enjoy (Or Don't)!


Chapter One

or

'Being a Magician is the Same as Being a Wizard, Right?'


The arrival of one Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger was not a tedious affair on their part (or anyone else's). They simply arrived; not a flair of dramatics to be seen. Their arrival wasn't even really an arrival; more of a hop, skip, and jump through the space time continuum and beyond, to an almost complete replica of whence they had come.

Except not exactly. Gimmauld Place was no longer grim; the sounds of laughter filled the lower floor and the hallways were no longer extended and expanded with magic. In the narrow house, one Harry James Potter and one Hermione Jean Granger accepted that yes, their plan had worked spectacularly! But also horribly. Without the Grim Old Place, where were they to stay?

With a quiet apparation and another hop and skip, they were well on their way to forged documents and unique schooling and finding a home. In Scotland.

They visited the remains of a castle that was (had been) home once. They cried. They moved on. So what if they were the only magical beings? So what. It didn't matter (it did, but they didn't want to admit it).

loneliness started to creep into green eyes, but a fire burned bright in their accompanying light brown.

Multiple years and several jobs passed. Walls crumbled and new ones were built; sturdier, this time. The gaggle of red heads they'd passed in the street had nothing (everything) to do with it.

They moved to North America shortly after. Crisis after crisis seemed to happen there, and they quickly found themselves entangled in news and Tony Stark's grand ideas and Hermione was smitten once again with a man she knew not. His brilliance is blinding, she says to Harry one day, Even if I had not eyes, I would be able to bask in it.

The bloke will have his way with you and leave the next morn, Harry had replied. They'd argued for days about it. Soon after it became apparent that Harry really had no say in what (or who) one Hermione Granger was interested in.

One Harry Potter was forced to find a new job after that. There was approval from the money maker of their house. Perhaps, she hoped, he will get back on his feet.

It was hard at first. America, Manhattan, wherever they were, seemed to be in a perfect state of no-one-needing-an-employee. So Harry did magic tricks on the street. Crowd Pleaser by day, Fire Breather by night. He made a fair amount, and soon enough he found an actual job, a part-time spot at a Starbucks only three blocks away from their apartment.

He still pleased the crowds, just in a different way (he kept breathing fire in the night, though).

They called him The Herald of Sparks (courtesy of some smart college students). The Magic Man. The 'Fucking Magician'. Most liked him, evidently, some did not. They called him everything but his name. They never asked his name.

It was easy to forget. Harry. Harry Potter had always sounded so second hand. It was not him. Harry Potter was a saviour, a student, an adventurer. A murderer.

He didn't want to be Harry Potter.

Just Harry. Just Harry.

He was Just Harry.

His support understood. His protector, friend, sister. She understood and threw Harry Potter away. The door opened for Just Harry to enter.

And he thrived. For a little bit.


A time came once, where Harry Potter had replaced Just Harry. The murderer surfaced and he saved his sister's life. They moved again, but only a few blocks away. Closer to his work, farther from the memory of red red blood, spilling, flooding outward, staining the concrete of an alley.

Just Harry returned; duller, the once quiet wit now gone with yet another living being buried beneath his feet. Sometimes, in the night, Harry could hear the whispers of Death. Comforting, but painful all the same.

Harry paid it no mind.

Hermione hit him with spoons sometimes. Sometimes, the utensils were flung at him in frustration, sometimes, it was a playful tap. It was always spoons. She said it was symbolic; that one day someone was going to pick up the handle of his spoon and never let it go. Spoons were just bowls with handles, after all, and the soul was like a bowl. Holding things, emotions and memories, and sometimes spilling from over-filling.

She said that one day, someone would mend his cracked bowl; they would fill the cracks with gold and make him beautiful. She said it with a smile. Hope sparked. Perhaps, she thought once more, he will finally find the strength to dust himself off.

A day came where Harry felt clear as the sky on a beautiful day. That day, the sky closed up and rained tears of joy. Harry didn't mind, Harry was happy.

And he was a shadow of Just Harry no longer.

The magic tricks resumed and he got complimented at work more often than not. He saved enough for an expensive muggle camera. He added Freelance Photographer to his repertoire of professions.

Green eyes filled with life.

Their counterpart's Brown shined.

And life went on.


A/N2: And there's the short prologue/chapter one! I promise the next one will be longer (hopefully by at least a thousand words). And more happy. Ehehehe. Anyway, leave a review if you want!

This style of writing just kinda came outa nowhere, please note the next chapter will be different.