A New World

Disclaimer: I only own James Rogers.

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A/N: I was starting to do a story about Hermione being Natasha and Steve's daughter. But this story had came to me first, so I'd like to do this one first, then maybe the other one with Hermione being the daughter of those two.

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Soon to be 12-year-old Harry Potter walked into the kitchen to find Petunia Dursley putting bright frosting on a cake, she'd just baked.

"Who's this?" Harry asked showing her the picture he'd just found. "In this picture with you, and my mom?"

Petunia glared at him before her eyes landed on the picture, and her eyes widened. She dropped her spatulla with a gasp. "Where did you get that?!" She demanded as she reached for the picture, but Harry was faster as he quickly backed up as he held the picture tighter in his hand. "Who is she?" He wanted to know.

"She is mine, and Lily's half sister." Petunia revealed. "But I haven't spoken to her in years."

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "I have more reletives? How many more?" Ever since he'd found out the truth about what really happened to his parents, and his heritage, Harry has become more confident in things. "Where is she?" He asked.

"All I know is that she lives in America." Petunia picked up her spatulla from the counter to continue with frosting the cake. "She isn't a freak like you, so that's a pluse." She paused what she's doing. "I do know she's married." She goes back to finishing the frosting.

"That's all?" Harry asked. "You're not going to give me her name?"

Petunia growled as she turned to glare at him. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. My father is her father." She grabbed Harry's arm and spun him around. "Now out!" She shoved him to the door of the kitchen.

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Once in his room, Harry sighed as he studied the picture, Hedwig - who's in her cage watches her master. And Harry finds himself wondering what it'd be like to live with Natasha. Is she nice like his mother, or his she mean like Aunt Petunia? He wondered about that as he fell asleep that night.

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Natasha Romanoff is sitting in her living room, on the couch as she reads a book. Her 7-year-old son, James, is playing a game against his godfather, Clint Barton.

"I win!" James cheers jumping up from the floor and doing a victory dance while Clint bowed his head.

James suddenly stopped in his tracks when he saw the front door open to reveal Steve Rogers walking in. "Daddy!" His smile is bright.

"Hey Camp." Steve greeted as he set his shield down. "You win again?"

Clint stood up from his place on the floor. "You kidding, he kicks my butt all the time when it comes to that game."

Natasha snorts, her smirk is hidden by her book. "And it ironic that you're the one who bought him the game."

Clint made a face at her, which James giggled at. "I'm out of here." Clint patted Steve on the shoulder. "Careful tonight Cap, she's been testy all day." And with that he left the Rogers' home, disappearing out the front door.

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Short. I know. Next chapter should be longer.