So, a failed first draft of what might have once become Petal. If you are interested in adopting this – or any of the other failed drafts that will be posted later – feel free to help yourself. All I ask is that you notify me beforehand.
Happy reading! W
Blanket Disclaimer:
None of the characters etc. mentioned within this fanfiction are mine. I do not profit from posting this in any way, shape, or form - except improving my writing style, hopefully. Everything belongs to their legal owners. I just play around with possibilities.
Fury stared down the ragtag group of passively-aggressive people assembled at the briefing table, asking himself how they would most likely react to the piece of news he had to impart. Barton definitely wouldn't be thrilled, neither would Stark or Romanova for that matter. Rogers might give her a chance before judging, but Banner worried him because Fury couldn't tell how he would treat the new addition. Perhaps Coulson could help ease the tension somewhat...?
"You all know that magic exists. You have battled against a magic-user before," Fury began gruffly. His lone eye wandered over each of their faces slowly, taking in each and every little twitch. "What you didn't know is that we have our very own magic-users on earth. They call themselves witches and wizards. Most of them are content to live in their own world, avoiding contact with non-magicals."
This announcement evoked different reactions from the eclectic group sat around the oval table. Barton's face hardened, Romanova stiffened just a minuscule amount. Rogers seemed resigned. Stark and Banner didn't look too convinced yet. Just as expected. At least Stark kept his mouth shut.
"In order to better battle magical threats, we have recruited another Avenger," Fury continued indifferently, pressing a button on his remote.
A file was pulled up on the huge screen, a small profile picture of the new addition filling out the space next to it. Another, smaller, video feed showed Coulson waiting patiently in front of the New York Headquarters, eyes focusing on the road.
"Calypso Freesia Potter-Black, British, aged twenty-eight. Trained as an Auror, a mix of cop, soldier and SO. Liaison to their R&D-department called the 'Unspeakables'," the one-eyed director summarized blankly. "She's internationally rated as one of the most powerful magic-users alive, graduated from the premier European school for magic at eighteen and very well-known among their community. At age seventeen, she defeated the British magical version of Hitler, a Voldemort alias Tom Riddle, ending the second war instigated by the aforementioned man for the second time."
Unfortunately, Stark seemed to have rediscovered the usage of his voice box again. "The second time?" he repeated incredulously.
Inwardly Fury sighed. "Yes. Supposedly Potter 'vanquished' Voldemort for the first time on Halloween 1981 when he murdered her parents. After a period of peace, lasting 14 years in total, the Second so-called Blood War began. She is specialized in close-range magical combat, magical creatures and some obscure Magicks which I won't go into right now. Auror training generally lasts three years, minimum. British Aurors are supposedly the elite internationally. Potter is the best of the best they have to offer."
Stark scoffed derisively. "So we get a traumatized child soldier?"
Just then the smaller video camera began to pick up a petite form riding a sleek, black motorcycle. Coulson straightened minutely, watching as the black leather-clad woman - with a body super-models would kill for - parked her gleaming vintage machine. Almost as if in slow-motion, the garnet-haired 'witch' climbed off her highly polished bike. In the same movement, her black helmet freed her unique, dark-red hair, tumbling down her back in wild curls.
Fury noted, slightly amused, that Stark, Barton and even Rogers suddenly didn't seem to mind the new addition as much as before they had seen her rather unusual entrance. Coulson shook her hand politely, competently leading her inside of Headquarters and out of view of the video feed.
"One thing. Don't ask about her arm, or the lightning bolt scar," Fury warned darkly - probably to no avail, knowing the typical modus operandi of the Avengers.
A minute later Coulson entered, chivalrously holding the door open for the Brit. She thanked him politely, before quickly surveying the welcoming committee. This veteran carried herself with a rare aura of self-confidence and efficient grace born of long hard years - as well as the knowledge that she could disable almost anyone thanks to her training. "Good day," the witch greeted courteously when it became apparent that no one particularly knew what to say. Mostly because the angle of the CCTV camera had concealed an obvious old injury - Calypso Potter-Black was missing her left arm, starting from about an inch over where her elbow should have been. Startled, the Avengers responded with more or less sincere greetings of their own.
Despite knowing her exact height, a very small five feet even, Potter exuded a sense of authority, of danger and superiority without seeming arrogant. Rather tried, tested - and fully approved by whomever decides such things.
"Potter."
"Fury," she replied neutrally, but with an underlying terse note indicating her discomfort with the current situation. "Mad-Eye says you should write more often and offers to make an appointment at his ophthalmologist for you. Constant vigilance and all that."
This strange statement threw off even the assassins, the spymaster noticed. He grimaced lightly at the thought of his hideously scarred cousin (twice removed). "Thank you," he retorted gruffly; more out of forced politeness rather than sincerity. "This is the team. Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanova. Calypso Potter-Black."
She nodded to each of them as their names were mentioned, never indicating any obvious sentiments. Obviously the witch recognized Stark, but also, surprisingly, Rogers. "Please call me Potter or Callie."
"Were you named after the nereid or the moon satellite?" Stark questioned immediately, his mouth running off again.
The Brit smiled slightly, quietly quite amused. "The orchid, actually. It's a family tradition."
"Naming people after flowers?" Stark asked disbelievingly.
She simply shrugged indifferently. "Wizards tend to have strange names. My mothers non-magical family began to name their daughters after flowers. I'm quite happy with Calypso and Freesia, considering my aunt is named Petunia."
This drew a snort from several attendees who shall remain unnamed.
"So tell us about yourself," Stark ordered unabashedly.
The beautiful witch shrugged out of her leather jacket, revealing a pragmatic long-sleeved white shirt. She didn't wear any jewelry except for a small golden necklace half-concealed by the aforementioned shirt. "I hate hyphenated names, reporters, especially if they write for tabloids, manipulative bastards (here she shot Fury a quick glare) and formal functions. I despise random people staring at my scar or hero-worshiping me," she informed them calmly. "However, I love my godson, my friends, Quidditch, flying and Defense against the Dark Arts. Snakes are good conversationalists in my opinion, but I prefer snowy owls as pets."
For a moment Stark seemed speechless. Then he smirked. "You honestly fly on brooms?"
Potter rolled her eyes, clearly amused, a smile tugging on her lips. "We do. It's a required class in First Year, very fun too. Unless you fall off, of course."
"You can talk to snakes?" Banner asked curiously, still very wary of her presence. Why remained unclear for the moment.
"Sure. It's a rare genetic gift though, so don't worry about it."
"What is 'Quidditch'?" Barton asked warily.
"A popular sport played on broomsticks by teams consisting of seven players. One regular red ball that is used to score, two iron cannon balls used to deter the opposing team's player and one walnut-sized, quick, golden ball which needs to get caught. They are all flying on their own except the first."
Well, I hope you liked it. This will be my failed draft-dump, so to speak. Today is Pancake Friday, a weekly tradition I intend to uphold until I am old and grey, which is why I am going to the kitchen now. Have a good day/afternoon/evening!
W
