(Authors Note: Hiya! Some of you may recognize this story, as I started it a few years ago. Now I'm in the process of rewriting and hopefully finishing it. This is a Harry Potter/Marvel crossover, but it should be noted that all I'm doing is taking characters from Marvel and inserting them into the Harry Potter universe. As such, there won't be any Harry Potter characters in this story. This is just a fun one that I'll be working on over the summer, but feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Happy reading :))
The Hogwarts Express was never late. Among other things, this was perhaps one of the greatest truths of the Wizarding World. This was also the reason that Steve Rogers was in such a state of distress on September 1st, 2012.
His thin, wobbly legs pounded the pavement of King's Cross Station as he dodged and weaved his way through the huddled mass of people making their way along. The watch strapped around his spindly wrist taunted him as the hands ticked closer and closer to Eleven O'Clock. Steve's heart was pounding, beads of perspiration starting to form underneath his thick blond hair.
Pushing his cart through the crowd while mumbling excuses and apologies, the boy approached Platform 9 ¾ . Pausing to take a deep breath, Steve slicked back his hair and straightened his clothes. Gripping the cart's handle, he closed his eyes and launched himself forward, straight into the brick platform. When his blue eyes fluttered open, he found himself standing in Hogwarts Station.
To his great relief, Steve saw that the Hogwarts Express was still there, although its engines were roaring with impatience as it awaited its annual journey. Parents were lined up along the edge of the platform, waving their last farewells as students leaned out the windows. Steve quickly dropped off his trunk at the luggage compartment, making it in the nick of time as they prepared to close the cargo doors. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Steve pelted to the closest train car and scampered aboard.
All eyes in the car turned to him, and Steve found himself greeting a wave of unfamiliar faces. First years. Steve dipped his head to the new students and hopped into the next car to find a crowd of sixth years. He ignored the usual bouts of giggles and continued on to the next car. It was there that he found his fellow fifth years. A familiar face emerged from the nearest compartment; a Slytherin boy of average height and build with thick, mahogany hair, dark brown eyes, and designer sneakers that cost more than Steve's apartment.
"Late already, Rogers?" the boy said with a leering smirk. Steve pursed his lips.
"A pleasure as always, Stark," he murmured, slipping past the boy.
"Oi! Steve!" Steve craned his neck to see a tall, muscular boy with black hair beckoning to him. He burst into a grin, rushing through the car to tackle his best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.
"Bucky," Steve exclaimed, wrapping his friend in a tight embrace. "Sorry I'm late." he mumbled as he pulled away. The two boys claimed the last empty compartment in the train.
"Never mind that," Bucky answered, waving his hand in dismissal as he plopped down on the seat opposite Steve. "Was Stark bothering you again?" he asked with a slight frown. "I'd be more than happy to go shut him up for the next week." Steve chuckled as his friend's hands curled into fists.
"Then he'd sneak some nasty potion into your food for revenge," he answered. Bucky shrugged.
"You always were the righteous one," he replied, his broad shoulders relaxing. "Now," the brown-haired boy continued. "How is she?" Steve sighed.
"Not well, I'm afraid," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "The doctors at St. Mungo's are saying it doesn't look good." Bucky's sea-blue eyes widened in concern.
"Steve, you know," he said after a moment of silence, his tone cautious. "If anything ever happens to your Mum, you...you can always come stay with us." Bucky reached across the compartment, placing a comforting hand on Steve's knobby knee.
"I appreciate it, Buck," Steve said with a weak smile. "But I'll have to find a way to make it on my own." Bucky didn't appear satisfied with that answer, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned against the back of his seat and gazed out the window as the Hogwarts Express began to chug out of the station.
On the platform below, Steve spotted row after row of families, waving away their children and siblings. Biting his lip, Steve fought back the small tinge of disappointment. His mother was nowhere to be found on that platform. She was too ill to have made it today. Instead, she had wished him well this morning with a meager breakfast of stale bread and half of a banana. Steve hadn't complained at all, and walked all the way from Camden, London to King's Cross Station without so much as a sigh.
"I can't believe we're in fifth year already," Bucky murmured, dragging Steve away from his thoughts. "It feels like yesterday we were just little first years."
"Those were the days," Steve answered with a chuckle.
"You were so adamant about being sorted into Gryffindor," Bucky recalled with a lop-sided smile. "You wouldn't shut up about it the whole train ride there."
"But I was right, wasn't I?" Steve reminded him with a pointed look. "And Gryffindor has been the best; for both of us."
"I beg to differ." A new voice came from the entrance to the compartment. Steve turned to the doorway, pleased to see another friend standing on a the threshold. It was Sam Wilson, a fourth year Hufflepuff. "The Huffles are where it's at, mate," Sam said with a broad, cheeky grin. He bounded inside and took the seat next to Bucky, who looked a bit perturbed at the interruption.
"We all know you wanted to get into Gryffindor," Bucky retorted with a slight frown. "Besides, Gryffindor whooped you lazy Huffles at the Quidditch Championship last year." Sam folded his arms across his chest.
"We still won the House Cup, Barnes," he shot back. "In case your memory's getting a bit foggy." Bucky didn't have a response for that, and opted to glowering at Sam in silence. Sam settled back into his chair with a smug expression etched across his face.
"So," said Steve, clearing his throat as he tried to change the subject. "Who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be?"
"I haven't the faintest," Sam answered. "But I'm sure Headmaster Odin will find the best person for the job."
"It won't be hard to find one better than the last professor," Bucky remarked, propping his feet up idly against the window.
"I liked him," Sam argued with a frown. Bucky snorted.
"Because he never gave out assignments, you dolt," he responded. "I've hardly learned a thing in that class."
"You hardly learn a thing in any class, Buck," Steve pointed out. Bucky glared at him in protest.
"At least I don't spend all my classes gawking at Peggy Carter," he fired back. Steve felt his cheeks flushing, and he looked away. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Sam giggled from across the compartment.
"Well, we all know who you spend your classes gawking at, James," came a smooth, breezy voice from the compartment doorway. The three boys turned in unison to see a tall, leggy redhead leaning against the door frame, her green eyes twinkling like emeralds.
"Why yes," Bucky replied without missing a beat. "It's whichever side of the room you're not on, Romanoff."
"So why don't you crawl back to your Slytherin friends and leave us decent folks alone," Sam added in a cool tone.
"Suit yourself," said the girl. With a careless shrug and a flick of her crimson hair, she drifted away from their compartment.
"Of all the nerve," Sam grumbled, staring after her with a frown.
"She's the only person in the entire world that calls me James," Bucky agreed with a scowl.
"Because she knows how much you hate it, genius," Steve pointed out.
"Hmmph," Bucky grumbled, continuing to frown as he glared out the window. Steve shook his head in resignation.
With their cabin lapsing into silence, Steve turned his attention down to the frayed shoelaces of his sneakers. He exhaled, his thin abdomen slumping against the back of his seat. Now that he was relaxing on the train, anticipation began to bubble inside of his chest. His summer had been long and arduous, and he had been awaiting his return to Hogwarts. Even if half the school thought he was a squib, Hogwarts had always felt safer than the ramshackle apartment he shared with his mother back in London.
Steve could only hope his mother would live through another year of his absence.
There was no family of greater power or wealth in the wizarding community than the Starks, and no one knew this better than young Anthony Edward Stark. The Slytherin prodigy, known across the board as Tony, thought himself to be quite well acquainted with these truths. They brought him little joy, however, and perhaps this was the reason his shoulders were stiff and his demeanor rigid as he stood on Platform 9 ¾ beside his parents.
Tony's ruffled black hair, worn jeans, and graphic tee presented a startling contrast to the sleek business suit of his father, Howard, and the designer dress worn by his mother, Maria. Tony shoved his hands into his pockets as his mother wrapped him in a loose embrace.
"We'll miss you, son," said Maria Stark, her words gentle. She smiled as she pulled back, but Tony couldn't match her enthusiasm.
"We need to get going," Howard interjected before Tony could respond. The older man glanced down at his watch with a frown.
"Well, don't let the fact that I'm leaving for a year stop you." Tony tightened his lips into a mocking smile. "Those meetings won't run themselves." His father gave him a withering glare.
"These meetings are for your future, Tony," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "One day, you'll be the head of the greatest wizarding family that's ever lived, and you'll understand the sacrifices that I've had to make." Tony rolled his eyes, shrugging away his father's hand.
"Then get back to your 'sacrificing' and let me get to school," he muttered, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and turning to the nearest train car.
"We'll write to you!" his mother called to him.
"Keep your grades up!" his father added. Tony ignored them both, then hopped up the steps and ducked into the train car. The conductor blew the horn, signaling the train was nearly ready to pull away from the station.
Tony found an empty compartment near his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, then stashed his backpack in the far corner. He wandered back to the entryway, just in time to see a skinny, blonde boy rush onto the car with a flustered expression etched across his thin face. Tony smirked.
"Late already, Rogers?" he asked. The boy, despite his puny physique, offered Tony a look that would have boiled an egg.
"A pleasure as always, Stark," he retorted, then continued on his way.
An irritable Tony returned to his bare compartment and plopped down on the left-side bench. He reached for his backpack, his hands darting inside to find his worn, leather notebook. His secret box of muggle pens was the next item to emerge (he had always preferred them to quill pens, although he made this known only to a few). Tony propped the backpack behind him for some added comfort as he cracked open the notebook. Scribbles, sketches, and diagrams filled the pages. Tony flipped through them until he found an empty sheet.
As soon as the inky tip of his pen touched the parchment, a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
"You can't even wait until we leave the station to start writing in that thing, can you?" Tony sighed.
"Rhodey, this is the fun car," he said. "The hum-drum car is back there."
"When have you ever been fun?" the boy retorted, taking a seat across from him. James Rhodes was a fourth-year Hufflepuff, and one of Tony's oldest friends, although he seldom admitted it.
"If you ever came to the Slytherin Common Room after a Quidditch game, I'd show you the meaning of fun." Tony glanced up from his notebook long enough to wink. Rhodey snorted.
"If I wanted to see you downing seven gallons of firewhiskey with four girls on each arm, I'd be there." Tony shot his friend a glare.
"Why did I invite you in here?" he asked. "Oh wait... I didn't." Rhodey smirked.
"It's good to see you too, mate," he murmured. Tony harrumphed, then feigned a look of indifference as he grabbed his pen once more. "What are you working on now?"
"Stuff," was all Tony said. "That's code for 'none of your business', by the way." Rhodey rolled his eyes.
"Whatever it is," he replied. "It must be more important than a civilized conversation with the closest thing you have to a friend."
"Jarvis is my friend."
"An owl isn't a friend." Tony clenched his jaw.
"Pepper's my friend, then," he responded. Rhodey gave him a humorless laugh in return.
"You pay Pepper to do half your homework for you," said the Hufflepuff. "I hardly think that qualifies as a friend."
"I only make her do the boring assignments," Tony grumbled.
"Well, I'm sorry not everyone's a genius like you," Rhodey said with a slight huff in his voice. Tony sighed as he eyed the complex sketches and instructions littering the pages of his beloved notebook.
"You and me both."
As soon as the Hogwarts Express screeched to a halt, students piled out of the train and onto the brick platform below. Natasha Romanoff, however, was resigned to stay on board. Her new duties as a prefect prohibited her from slipping off the train and losing herself in the crowd, as she had done in years past.
When her assigned cars were empty, the redhead pulled on her Slytherin robes and hopped off the train. She trailed behind the last few stragglers, making her way to the prefect carriage. Her footsteps were quiet, nearly undetectable across the ground as her shoulder-length hair swished behind her.
"Where are you off to, Romanoff?" Natasha held back a sigh as Bucky Barnes jumped off the nearest car and began walking alongside her.
"The prefect carriage," she answered in a blunt, matter-of-fact tone. Bucky's bright blue eyes widened.
"They made you a prefect too?" he said, gaping at her in shock.
"Why yes, James," she replied. "And believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are."
"You're a prefect," Bucky repeated in a scoffing tone. "I'll mark that down as the dumbest decision of the century."
"If you're going to bring up my family history," said Natasha, "I would strongly advise against it."
"And why is that?" Bucky queried. Natasha flashed him a sweet smile.
"Because I picked up a few things from my parents, and always carry a hunting knife." Bucky's face paled and he halted. Natasha strode past him, approaching the prefect carriage with a smirk.
The carriage was already inhabited by a few older prefects, but Natasha was the first of the fifth years. She caught the wary glances from her fellow students, and took a seat at the end of the bench that wrapped around the inside of the cabin. Natasha folded her hands in her lap, waiting. Bucky climbed aboard moments later, throwing a pointed glare in her direction as he sat down across the cabin from her.
The next fifth year to pop inside was a short, thin boy with a brown crew-crut. Clint Barton of Hufflepuff smiled at each prefect before collapsing three seats down from Natasha. His Hufflepuff counterpart, a bright-eyed ginger by the name of Pepper Potts, scurried on board after him. Natasha tapped her foot to hide the beads of sweat starting to form on the back of her neck.
Moments later, another Slytherin slipped aboard; none other than Tony Stark. It wasn't a surprise to anyone that Tony had been appointed a prefect. Although his loose morals and fondness for firewhiskey were notorious, his family name had all but guaranteed him the position.
"Stark," Natasha murmured as the boy took a seat next to her.
"Romanoff," Tony replied, dipping his head. Neither of them bothered to continue any attempts at a conversation. Although they were both Slytherin, their backgrounds were about as similar as a Hippogriff and a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
When all of the prefects had boarded, the carriage began its journey to the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Head Boy and Girl were perched in the center of the cabin, and they rambled on and on, explaining the duties and roles of a prefect. Natasha was only half paying attention, and by the time they had arrived, she was certain she wouldn't remember a single thing.
Being that she was the closest to the door, Natasha was the first to exit. She paused by the Thestrals to give them each a grateful pat on the rump, then hoisted her pack over her shoulder. She bounded up the front stairway two steps at a time, walking through the wide doorway with ease.
The Entrance Hall was packed with a chattering mass of students, all making their way into the Great Hall for the welcome feast.
Natasha snuck into the Hall, then stole a seat at the very end of the Slytherin table, where no one would bother her. She eyed the shortest table at the far end of the Hall, where the Professors were seated. The middle chair was occupied by a tall, lumbering man with a flowing mane of graying blonde hair and magnificent robes of red and gold. One eye was covered with a patch of gold, but it did nothing to lessen the intensity of his stare. The man was, of course, Headmaster Odin.
To his left, sat the Professor of Transfiguration, Thor. The younger man had luxurious blonde hair, a stout, well-built figure, and a wide grin as he cajoled with the man to his right. Natasha felt her eyes narrowing. This man, thin with coal-black hair, was unfamiliar to her.
Before she could question the matter any further, the Headmaster stood to his feet and gestured for silence with a wave of his hand. The Hall fell quiet as students scrambled to their seats. Odin began his annual welcome speech, which Natasha could nearly quote from memory. Then, the first years paraded into the Hall, their small faces alight with a mixture of joy, excitement, and terror. One by one, they were called to the small stool in front of the Professor's table. The Sorting Hat was placed upon by their little heads by Thor, and the children were divided into their different Houses. When this task was completed, Odin stood once more.
"Before we begin our feast, dear students," said the man, his booming voice commanding every ounce of attention. "There is another new face I must introduce to you all." Odin beckoned to the black-haired man, who stood. Natasha, her curiosity taking the best of her, studied the mysterious man; he had a dark, piercing gaze, and wore robes of green and black. His demeanor seemed calm and quiet, but even from a distance, Natasha could see a vast intellect brimming inside of his eyes. "Undoubtedly," Odin continued, stealing her attention once more. "Many of you have been wondering who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is going to be. I assure you, I have searched far and wide for the best possible replacement, and I believe that the man standing before you is just that. Without further ado, I present to you all, my younger son; Loki."
Murmurs and whispers erupted all around the Great Hall. Natasha listened raptly.
"Loki?" said a nearby sixth year. "Boy, we're in luck."
"I hear he's a Metamorphmagus," another student agreed eagerly.
"I heard he's not actually the Headmaster's son," a third voice chimed in.
"Either way," the sixth year argued. "He'll make a fantastic Professor."
"It is my hope," said Odin, and the Hall was silenced once more. "That you will all give him a warm welcome to Hogwarts. Now, I shan't keep you from your feast any longer."
As mounds of delicious food appeared on the tables, Natasha snuck one last look at this 'Loki'. The man had returned to his seat, and was glancing around the Hall with an odd, inexplicable expression painted across his thin face. Natasha wasn't certain, but she thought for a moment that she caught his gaze. She couldn't ascertain why, but a chill ran down her spine. Her senses tingled.
Natasha looked away for a moment, biting her lip. After a few seconds, she swiveled her gaze back to Loki. The bizarre expression had disappeared, replaced with a wide grin as he spoke with his brother, Thor. Natasha relaxed, and thought that perhaps she had only imagined it.
But her instincts were telling her not to trust this man.