A/N: THIS IS NOT A STANDALONE STORY! You must read "World So Cold" and "Reclamation" if you are to understand what is happening here! For returning readers, welcome back! You'll notice something different about this story compared with the other two. Since Bucky and company have left Hogwarts, it's grounded a bit more in reality; there will be real places here that weren't in prior fics. All of them exist in our world, and their histories are accurate, so I definitely recommend checking them out when you see them! As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the finale of the trilogy!

Chapter One: Living Legend (2016)

If there was one thing Bucky had learned in the time he'd been the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., it was how to take a punch.

Natasha's fist connected with his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs. He folded forward and allowed her to think she had the opening before catching the kick she aimed at his face, swinging her around by the leg, and throwing her towards the opposite side of the self-defense gym. True to her typical badassery, she ducked one shoulder and rolled to her feet gracefully as if she'd anticipated that very move.

Actually, knowing Nat, she probably had.

"Come on, Yasha," she taunted with a smirk. "I've taught you better than that."

Rolling his eyes, Bucky straightened and raised his fists while struggling to make his wheezes less noticeable. She'd taught him all right, but he sincerely doubted that any amount of practice would ever get him anywhere near the level she was currently on. So, resolving to swallow the humiliation of defeat like a man, Bucky flipped her off and waited for the inevitable reprisal.

Nat lunged for his middle, dropped to her knees at the last moment as Bucky reached up to grab her around the neck, and slid between his far too spread legs. When her fist made contact with his nether regions, he knew it was all over.

It wasn't the first time he'd ended up curled in the fetal position on the floor with Nat towering over him in amusement, and he very much doubted it would be the last. At least this time Steve, Sam, and Clint weren't here to laugh at his plight like the assholes they were.

Tutting, Nat knelt down beside him and pulled his head into her lap to run her fingers through his hair. In the six years since they'd met, she'd grown more comfortable showing outward affection that way; it was a far cry from when they'd gone to Hogwarts, where a quick squeeze of his hand and the occasional hug were all he could expect from her. It didn't happen very frequently, so Bucky played it up and whimpered, pouting up at her.

"You didn't have to aim for the junk, Nat," he choked out once every muscle in his body was no longer on fire. "That's fighting dirty."

"I never promised to fight clean," she reminded him with the slightest hint of a rebuke in her tone. When he closed his eyes, she continued, "Besides, like I've told the kids a thousand times, it's not like an opponent is going to fight fair either."

"An opponent probably won't be as good as you, though."

"Touché," she admitted smugly, flicking his ear.

"Bitch," murmured Bucky as he rubbed the spot that now stung on top of everything else.

"And proud of it." Nat nodded once before dropping his head roughly to the floor, apparently having reached her quota of tender affection for the day as she pushed herself to her feet. "You should probably go home and get a shower."

Bucky staggered upright and mock glared at her. "You saying I stink, Romanoff?"

"I'm saying you've smelled better," she demurred, patting him on the shoulder and moving to grab her duffel bag from the corner of the room. "You've got dinner plans for tonight anyway, right?"

"Yeah, after Steve gets off work, we're going to visit Sarah in Brooklyn," he confirmed past a yawn. They'd put in a full day of work and practiced afterward (which he adamantly insisted he was bullied into since he tended to avoid these workout sessions like the plague when Nat would let him get away with it), so he was ready to just call it quits for the evening. What he wouldn't give to just go home, feed Winter, and go to bed early to avoid spending longer in today than absolutely necessary.

No matter how many years passed, his birthday never got any easier to celebrate without his family.

Nat hummed in acknowledgement. There was no fooling her—never had been—and he felt her eyes following him as he limped over to where Dum-E was holding out his coat for him to step into. Tony had outfitted the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with so much tech that it was a wonder anyone had to do anything around here; his Dum-E robots were just another addition to the family. The kids loved them—little ones would go running up to hand them things just for the fun of watching the robotic claw grab on tight while the older ones tried to discover just how much weight they could hold before buckling. (Heretofore, they'd never found out. Since Tony's maturity level was about on par with your average twelve-year-old on a good day, he came in to make adjustments anytime one of the machines approached its threshold.) This model was special, however. It was Tony's gift to Bucky when he graduated and came to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. full time: the original Dum-E he'd modeled on the train in Bucky's first year, revamped and resized with a Growth Charm to be just as technologically capable as the newer models. It now stood up to Bucky's shoulders, and it tended to follow him around like a puppy unless he specifically ordered it to remain in his office.

"Thanks, buddy," he murmured, stepping into his jacket and leaning down to pick up his messenger bag.

He'd only just gotten a hand on the strap when Nat called, "Heads up."

Bucky glanced up in time to catch a small, lightweight package that came sailing through the air towards him with a small smile. "You didn't ha—"

"Of course I did, shut up," scoffed Nat. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall beside him, nodding at the brightly wrapped gift. "Go on."

Sighing, Bucky shook his head and tore open the paper. Admittedly, what was inside really wasn't something he would ever have expected to get, either from someone or for himself. He said as much, holding up the front-facing baby carrier with a befuddled frown.

"Is…there something you're trying to tell me here?" he joked. The slap to the arm he got in retaliation was honestly deserved.

Nat snorted, "Asshole. It's for Winter."

"Okaaaaay…?"

She got that I Can't Believe I Have To Hold Your Hand Through This look on her face and explained, "It's got an anti-Splinching spell. I know you still won't Apparate with her."

That was true enough. After the incident in his sixth year where he'd Splinched his left arm badly enough that it had nearly fallen off, Bucky absolutely refused to Apparate with Winter. It didn't matter how many times Steve and their other friends impressed upon him that it wasn't his fault that had happened, that it was entirely because of whoever it was that had been trying to kill him at the time, but their rationalizing fell on deaf ears. He was well aware of that; it didn't convince him to put Winter in danger. If he had to take Portkeys for the rest of his life, that was fine by him, as long as he never ran the risk of Splinching Win. It was a hassle, but he gladly made the sacrifice every time.

So the carrier would be a big help and save him a lot of time contacting the Ministry for approval to make a Portkey whenever they went to Brooklyn or he visited the Petrovs in Moscow.

Smiling back up at Nat, Bucky couldn't help chuckling, "So I get to be a forty-year-old soccer mom, awesome."

That made Nat laugh, and she shook her head as she leaned forward to peck a kiss to his cheek without answering.

"Happy birthday, Yasha," she murmured, her smile turning more somber. Bucky nodded once, feeling the strain at the corners of his mouth as he thanked her.

Just about everyone had left for the evening by the time they parted ways except the staff that monitored the building overnight. In the last two years, they'd had over sixty kids stay for varying lengths of time and had a residential area for them on the third floor of the building. Group activities were on the first floor and student services were on the second, so everything they needed during the day was readily available. That went for the innumerable kids who had come to just take advantage of their summer camp offers as well. (Skye had made an amazing website for the Muggle crowd while other advertisements had gone up in the Prophet for magical kids.)

In spite of everything the Ministry liked to say about Muggles and their lack of tolerance for the Wizarding world when they did know about it, all the kids got on swimmingly. Sure, there were the occasional Purebloods who came to see what the hubbub was about only to find that they had to mingle with a few Muggles, but that's what the counselors were for. Sam in particular had done a great job helping them cope with the transition from my parents said no magic means no brains to huh they aren't so bad.

He hadn't been quite sure at first how they were going to convince Muggles to leave their children in a place that sounded like an asylum for people who thought magic was real, but the problem had been easily solved. The Muggle parent of a half-blood child suggested during the first year they were open that Bucky try using people like him and Muggle-borns to spread the word. The population of Muggles served at S.H.I.E.L.D. was therefore a bit small and limited to only those who sort of knew all this had existed to begin with, but it was still a step in the right direction. Unlike his mom's ideals, Bucky knew that there was no way to just openly announce that there was a Wizarding world and expect things to end up all fine and dandy. It was a delicate subject and, as such, was better handled on a one-to-one level. If changing the world meant doing it one Muggle and one witch or wizard at a time, well, they had plenty to spare.

Bucky and Nat didn't quite make it out as quickly as they'd hoped, stopping momentarily to prod a couple of their recent arrivals, Johnny and Susan, to head back up to their dormitory. Both had been tight-lipped about what had happened to them, but the Muggle social worker who dropped them off said they were half-bloods living with their Muggle father until he'd died in a work-related accident. Since their mother was nowhere to be found, the kids were staying until the Ministry could either locate her or find potential couples for Bucky to vet for adoption. (He relied heavily on Nat for that part as, given her own history with the system, she'd know the warning signs.)

Finally, once they were sure the building was locked and all the residents were where they were supposed to be, Bucky waved to Nat and Apparated back to the apartment he and Steve shared. Crawley wasn't really that far from their flat in the middle of London proper, but he was already running late and still had to shower before he was presentable enough to head to Brooklyn.

The apartment had originally been his, a two-bedroom walk-up with a small living room, kitchen, and one bathroom. It was more than what he and Winter needed, but that was fortunate when Steve had arrived at the door with a duffel bag in hand one week after moving in with Peggy.

Apparently when both you and your girlfriend were Aurors and one of you threw themselves into stupid situations with particularly unnerving amounts of fervor, living arrangements needed to include plenty of space for the other to cool their jets.

Which meant that, although the two were still dating, Steve was living with Bucky for the foreseeable future in an attempt to maintain the health of their relationship. He'd promised that it wouldn't be long-term, that he'd find a place of his own, but it just sort of stayed like that and, almost two years later, Bucky wasn't fussed about it. He had no issues rooming with Steve (it wasn't like they'd gotten to at Hogwarts, after all), and despite how much he hated to admit it, it made him feel better to have someone else in the flat. There were times that Steve worked long hours when he was in the middle of a case, of course, yet he was still present enough to make the place feel more secure.

For Winter's sake, obviously.

Sighing, Bucky wished for the millionth time that it wasn't so prudent to have an anti-Apparition ward on the apartment and pulled his keys out of his bag to unlock the door, almost stepping right on the aforementioned fur ball the second he walked inside.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his skin as he gaped down at his cat in surprise.

Winter just raised her head from the floor with a flat expression that would have said, "Where have you been?" if she was capable of speech.

Bucky laughed breathlessly before hitching his bag up higher on his shoulder and leaning down to pull her into his arms. "Sorry, I know I'm late. You can blame Nat for it."

Mewing, Winter huffed and shoved her face under his jaw in what he took as a sign of forgiveness. He'd wait a few minutes for that to solidify before he broke the news that he really needed a shower to her.

As soon as the door was kicked shut and his bag was dropped in his room, Bucky collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling while Winter curled up in a ball on his chest. Ordinarily Winter just waited for him to get home in here, never quite sure if it would be her human or Steve who came through the door, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised she'd come to greet him today. After all, he'd been clingy the last couple of days leading up to his birthday and so had she as a result. This morning had been particularly difficult when she refused to let him out the door without extra cuddles as his birthday present.

"Sorry for being a pain, Win," he murmured, stroking her head as she purred contentedly. "Guess I just kind of wanted to skip today, y'know? It's easier than acting happy."

A rough little tongue scraped against his neck, and Bucky couldn't help smiling a little. It was bolstering in a sense: if he was twenty years old today, he probably should start acting like it, and that began with getting whatever support he could. Even if it was from his cat.

He allowed himself to zone out for ten minutes before sitting up, disentangling himself from Winter's claws when she didn't want to let him go, and heading for the bathroom to run through the shower. He still had about half an hour before Steve got home, so he figured he should try to look like a human being before then.

It was a tossup as to whether he actually succeeded in that venture or not, but Bucky at least felt a little better after he'd cleaned up and slipped into an old pair of jeans. The beautiful part of his job was that he could wear whatever the hell he wanted, though he still had to make sure it looked like something a person running a company would be seen in public wearing, so it kind of defeated the purpose some days. Bucky was positive it wouldn't matter if he was twenty or seventy—he'd always be happiest in a shitty pair of jeans and a comfortable T-Shirt.

And, of course, the necklace he'd worn every day since he found it at Gringotts. Except when he took a shower or went to bed, since he didn't want to get it wet or risk strangling himself by accident while he slept, Bucky wore his dad's dog tags and his mom and Becca's rings on his chain every single day without fail. Some days he just needed the comfort of knowing that the last things his dad had thought to leave for him were swinging barely an inch away from his heart; others, he had to clench the trinkets in his fist like a talisman to ward off the overwhelming sense of guilt that would occasionally creep up on him when he least expected it. Those days were far fewer now than ever before, but they did happen from time to time. Bucky had a feeling they always would.

As terrible as he was feeling today, however, it wasn't one of those days. He was able to pick up the chain, loop it around his neck, and gently tuck it beneath his T-shirt without feeling a lump in his throat. He counted that as a win.

When Bucky emerged from the bathroom, dropping by his room to grab his unfortunate Apparition tool, Steve was already home and playing with Winter on the floor of the living room. He'd already changed out of his black Auror robes into something similar to what Bucky was wearing and grinned up at him as he let Winter win their game of tug-of-war. (He knew better than to try it with Winter's monkey and had resorted to using the toy elephant Tatiana and Mikhail had gotten her last time they visited, thank God.)

"You ready to go?" Steve inquired, grunting as his joints cracked when he stood.

Bucky plucked Winter and her toy up with a nod. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Steve was one of the few people Bucky felt comfortable enough to tell when he wasn't feeling great, not that he ever really needed to half the time. They'd known each other so long that Steve could sense when he was feeling low. Today had been no exception.

"Mom said she's making baked mac and cheese," was his attempt to cheer Bucky up, and he managed a little smirk in return.

"She's probably made enough for us to freeze for the next two months," he joked, secretly hoping that was the case. When they'd gone to Brooklyn for Thanksgiving, they'd literally needed three large bags just to carry all the leftovers she made them take home and were still eating them a week before Christmas. Not that he was complaining—neither he nor Steve were the best chefs in the world, so anything she was willing to make for them was just fine by him.

Snorting, Steve shrugged. "Probabl—oh, my God, Bucky. Where the hell did you get that?!"

Bucky narrowed his eyes into as menacing a glare as he could, strapping Nat's gift to his front and depositing Winter inside while Steve practically rolled on the floor laughing at him. Yup, forty-year-old soccer mom. Nailed it.

"This, I'll have you know, is a top-of-the-line carrier," he explained with his nose as far in the air as it could possibly go, "that is equipped with an anti-Splinching spell to make sure my baby is safe."

"Your baby has fur," chuckled Steve. He was shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the words coming out of Bucky's mouth—in a good way, which meant in a humiliating way for Bucky.

"Family is more than blood, Steven," quipped Bucky, patting Winter's head.

For her part, his cat appeared to be quite pleased with their situation. The carrier was fitted just perfectly for her to press her furry head up under his jaw where she loved to spend most of her time anyway; it probably felt like he was hugging her from where she was cradled inside, which made it a double hug when he folded his arms across his chest and huffed at Steve's complete lack of understanding for proper pet protection.

"Well," Steve sighed, clearing his throat and utterly failing to keep the grin off his face, "at least she has your eyes."

"Screw you," grumbled Bucky. He stepped around the coffee table into the open space of their living room. "Are you coming, or should I tell Sarah that it's your fault we're late?"

That effectively lit a fire under Steve's ass. He checked the clock, swore under his breath, and nearly tripped over the coffee table getting into a spot where he could turn without doing himself or the furniture serious injury. Snickering, Bucky took a deep breath, wrapped his arms around Winter tightly, turned—

And then he was staring up at the familiar brownstone, his smile turning entirely genuine for the first time today. Steve appeared with a pop a moment later, and if his sigh was any indication, he was equally pleased to be home. Bucky let him lead the way up the steps as he resolutely kept his gaze away from the house he'd grown up in. It had become a habit with all the times they'd come here after graduating; looking just made him remember, and usually that didn't bode well for his attitude throughout their visit afterward. It was better for everyone, not least of which being his psyche, for him to just go about his business and think fondly of his home in his memories instead.

As Steve unlocked the door and they entered the foyer, Bucky was expecting the nostalgia that swept over him the way it always did as he took in the familiar setting.

What he wasn't anticipating, however, was for Sarah to be accompanied by Tatiana and Mikhail when she came running into the room to smother them in hugs.

"What are you guys doing here?" he inquired blankly, not meaning to sound as unwelcoming as he did. It was their fault, though—he wasn't so good with surprises anymore. It had been all he could do to spend the last month begging Nat not to make good on her threats to throw him a surprise birthday party when he was least expecting it.

Tatiana, who was very well aware of his reservations towards the unknown, chortled under her breath as she pecked a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you, but we thought it would be nice to come for your birthday. If that's all right with you."

They knew each other well enough by now that Bucky was aware she didn't really think he wouldn't want them there, but he shrugged sarcastically nonetheless.

"I mean, if you have to."

That got him a swat to the side of the head from Sarah before she leaned into strangle him once again. "Happy birthday, sweetheart. And, uh… Is this a new sweater, or…?" She pinched the edges of Winter's carrier with an expression that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that if she wasn't a mature adult—unlike her son—she'd be in stitches.

Steve stepped in to take this one, though, grinning. "I forgot to tell you Bucky was pregnant. This is his baby."

"Yes, Steve and I are very happy together," deadpanned Bucky with a very fake lovesick grin in Steve's direction. "We thought it was the only logical step forward."

This time, the smack was definitely harder than he deserved, what the hell.

Just as they'd thought, they had enough leftovers to feed an army and still have more leftovers…well, left over. Bucky was glad baked macaroni and cheese was his favorite dish ever (and the best comfort food anyone ever thought up), because it looked like it was going to be dinner until summer.

After dinner and presents and talking and watching movies, however, Bucky just needed a break. He loved Steve, Sarah, and the Petrovs, but… Well, he still wasn't okay, and sometimes he needed to accept that fact and take a step back. (That was what Sam said, anyway, and he was the licensed counselor so he probably knew what he was talking about. Maybe.) So he retreated to the kitchen for a few minutes, muttering some nonsense about getting Winter water, and took some time to just lean against the counter and breathe. Winter held his finger in her mouth the way a human would hold his hand, comforting him the only way she knew how while his free hand toyed with the chain around his neck.

He hated feeling like this. There were so many other things to think about: the kids at S.H.I.E.L.D. that needed new homes, the new campaign to partner with Hogwarts to provide tutoring in cases where students were still struggling and needed the chance to catch up, the fact that the Ministry still periodically tried to give them money for whatever reason when they continuously spewed more bullshit about needing to divide the magical community from the Muggles. There were days when he wasn't sure they really knew what S.H.I.E.L.D. was for and just wanted to throw money at him in an attempt to gain whatever support they could despite Bucky knowing it was all ridiculous. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no choice but to involve the Ministry, and Muggle authorities on more rare occasions, because it was on them to fully, legally place kids with new families. Aside from that, however, Bucky kept the two entities as separate as possible to avoid the appearance of supporting Pierce.

They were doing good, and very little good had ever come from politics.

Which led him right back where he didn't want his mind to be.

"That cat gets a little more human every day," chuckled Sarah softly as she entered the room.

Bucky surfaced from where he'd been lost in his own head to check the clock over the stove and nearly swore when he realized he'd been gone almost half an hour. Smiling sheepishly at her, he could only shrug. "She tries, anyway."

Sarah hummed and stepped closer to rub circles on his back. "How are you?"

"'M fine."

"Okay. Now the real answer."

Snorting quietly, Bucky hung his head. There was no getting anything past Sarah; he wasn't sure why he still bothered to try. "It's just hard," he whispered after a pause. He still had trouble discussing these things without sounding like a kid.

Sarah seemed to understand immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him into her side. "I know it is."

"It's…easier now than before, but it still sucks," he confided quietly. A glance over his shoulder told him no one else was going to come investigate their absence. He heard Steve and Tatiana laugh from the other room and figured they were safe.

"It always will," sighed Sarah. "You've got to take the good with the bad, though."

Frowning, Bucky inquired, "What does that mean?"

"Well, the bad is obviously that they aren't here," she explained needlessly, waving a hand in a manner that would have looked flippant if not for the heavy quality of her tone. "The good is that you still are, and that would make them happier than anything. Every birthday you're here to celebrate? That's a small victory for your mom and dad."

That…sort of makes sense.

Bucky huffed something that would have been a laugh any other time and admitted, "I never thought of it that way."

"You get to be an expert at it once you deal with this long enough," whispered Sarah as if she were telling him some huge secret. When he grinned, she laughed, "There's that smile!"

"Yeah, yeah," he chuckled in spite of himself. Leave it to Sarah to know just what to say to help.

"Oh, speaking of smiling, did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"Uh…" Bucky glanced at her like she might be going out of her mind. "I usually don't associate the Daily Prophet with the word smiling or happy or…really anything else like that, so…no?"

Sarah grinned, stepping away from him to grab the rolled up paper off the opposite counter. He almost told her he didn't want to see it, that there was no way whatever it was could possibly be worth any of the turmoil it would cause him, but he bit his tongue and let her lay the newspaper out flat before him. If Sarah was the one urging him to read it, he supposed he would have to trust her judgment.

"What am I looking at?" he capitulated, but it became obvious the moment he saw himself staring up at him from the front page.

It wasn't a recent photograph—he hadn't allowed himself to be in a position to get his picture taken by the press in years. Any functions they did at S.H.I.E.L.D. were either closed to the press (there were ulterior benefits to protecting the identities of children from the ravenous teeth of journalists) or occurred when he was otherwise occupied, so they'd had to use the picture from the speech he'd given at his graduation instead.

At the very least, the picture reminded him that there was a time when he was lower than he felt today, and that he'd made a lot of progress since then. It was hard to keep telling himself that in a way that he could believe on the bad days despite being well aware of it every other time.

Just as Sarah said, he couldn't help smiling, albeit in disbelief, when he read the headline.

LIVING LEGEND – THE PROPHET WISHES A HAPPY TWENTIETH TO JAMES BARNES

The story of the Barnes family is one for the history books. From the rise of Winifred Barnes, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and possibly one of the most influential witches of our time, to the success of S.H.I.E.L.D. in recent years, the Barnes family has filled people with hope in a world where fear overwhelmingly stalks our steps.

It has been almost four years since the untimely, tragic death of former Undersecretary Barnes, her husband George, and their daughter Rebecca. James, the last man standing of the Barnes clan, was originally thought to have perished with his family only to defy all odds and come back with a vengeance.

A bright, talented student at Hogwarts, James graduated among those at the top of his class. He was loved by the faculty, admired by his fellow students, achieved excellent grades, and was a formidable opponent on the Quidditch pitch. With such achievements behind him, however, no one could have guessed that he would exceed everyone's expectations and go on to be a force for good not only in the Wizarding community, but for every living creature.

James founded S.H.I.E.L.D. in the summer of 2013 and, following his graduation, took over the organization's headquarters in Crawley, West Sussex. At first glance, it is difficult to tell what exactly S.H.I.E.L.D. is designed to do, which is exactly how it's meant to be: without straightforward boundaries, the nonprofit can be anything necessary to help those who arrive at its doors in need. In the last three years, S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken in orphans and abandoned/abused children until such time as the Ministry can find suitable homes for them, saving them from the dangers of being lost in a potentially harmful or unhygienic system. It has structured programs of education for both Muggle students familiar with the existence of the Wizarding world and those in the magical community, fostering cooperation between the two groups. It has provided basic, free emergency healthcare in their state of the art health clinic (care of Stark Industries founder, Tony Stark). It has donated to organizations aimed at caring for and avoiding the exploitation of all creatures, both magical and otherwise.

Natasha Romanoff, the Assistant Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and self-defense instructor, had this to say with regards to how thin it would seem the charity is stretched: "There's a difference between doing anything we can to help people and trying to do too much. When the person in charge cares so much and happens to have the means to make things happen, can you blame him for doing it this way?"

We at the Prophet certainly can't. The number of children remanded to both the Muggle- and Ministry-operated systems for children without safe home environments have seen a decided decrease in population since the opening of S.H.I.E.L.D., while the number who have found and been kept in caring homes has skyrocketed. In recent polls, pro-Muggle sentiment has gone up 10% since before the charity was opened, and crimes for poaching of magical creatures are at their lowest rate in twenty years.

It just goes to show that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, and James has stepped in to take up his mother's mantle as the protector of the Wizarding world, one child at a time.

So, from all of us here at the Daily Prophet and on behalf of the Wizarding community worldwide, we'd like to wish a very happy birthday to James Barnes. Here's to many more.

A drop of moisture dripped onto the paper, seeping out in a darkened circle over top of the text. Sniffling, Bucky peered through the mist in his eyes at Sarah, who was watching with a small smile on her face. Tremulous as it was, Bucky returned her grin.

The Prophet had written something nice about him. And not just because it was popular or they pitied the poor orphan he'd become—the whole article had been about what he'd done to earn the respect of the community aside from bad circumstances.

"I-I… I did good?" he breathed, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep more tears from falling.

"You've done so much good, sweetie," confirmed Sarah. She pulled him into a hug and guided his head down to rest against her shoulder; it was the smallest he'd felt in a long time. The words she whispered in his ear were for the two of them and the ghosts watching from somewhere beyond the veil between here and eternity. "Your mom and dad and Becca, wherever they are, they're looking down at you and they're so proud…and they love you so much. Never forget that."

Nodding shakily, Bucky buried his face in her neck and just breathed.

Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all.