Spoiler alert for Captain America: Civil War.
Hermione flicked her wand at the door to the guest room and sighed in relief when it shut with a loud squelching sound. There was only a small possibility that the man could possibly escape from the restraints that she had conjured, but she wasn't going to take any chances by leaving the door unlocked and unguarded. Placing her wand in the waistband of her jeans, she padded lightly down the stairs and winced when a peal of thunder echoed throughout the house, the rain splattering against the windows.
As a kid, she had loved storms. She had loved the lightning and the trembles that had rocked the sky. She had loved the wind and the power that it had brought, but these days, she preferred to stay uneasily inside, watching the rain instead of being under it. But she figured that she had the right to do so. She had seen enough storms to last her a lifetime.
With a sigh, she entered the kitchen and switched on the kettle, leaning against the granite bench as she waited for the water to boil. Who was he? A criminal? The idea wasn't so far-fetched, especially seeing as he had a gun, a gun that she had placed in one of the magically locked drawers in her bedroom. Maybe he was just desperate, although for what, Hermione couldn't say. The memory of his eyes flickered through her mind and she shivered slightly, drawing her loose cardigan closer to her body. Merlin, those eyes… It made her wonder what he had seen, what he had done, to deserve those haunted blue orbs. They reminded her of times long past, times when her world had been a much darker, more dangerous one.
Her friends used to have eyes like that, she realised. Harry especially. Even now, despite his happiness and the beginnings of a family with Ginny, his green eyes still glinted with grief, with an unspoken burden that had yet to be fully shed. Had she had eyes like that? Maybe she had. Maybe she still did. Maybe she had lost them to the unforgiving nature that was time. But Hermione liked to think that it had been long enough after the war for her to no longer worry when she left the house, no longer anticipate a hooded shadow creeping around the next corner. She liked to think that her eyes didn't look like that.
A whistling sound filled the small, homey kitchen and Hermione jumped slightly, before realising that it had just been the kettle. It must be that man, she thought reproachfully as she poured the hot water into a mug, dunking her teabag – rosehip – into it. The man had her on edge, but strangely, the feeling wasn't as foreign and despised as she thought it would be. Her tea finished, she forced herself not to concentrate on him and she ambled to the fridge, taking out the slice of Miranda's red velvet cake and deciding to sit in her comfy armchair to enjoy, as much as she was able, the rest of her evening. He'll be gone in the morning, she assured herself. The Muggle police will be able to take care of him.
As she sat down, she chuckled to herself wryly. Harry and Ron would have a fit if they knew who she was playing host to tonight – a potential murderer who had threatened her at gunpoint. She flicked on the television, allowing her thoughts to wander. That was another thing that Harry and Ron had wondered about, come to think of it.
The television. Ron was still confused by it and Harry almost more so. Why would you need a television, a laptop, a phone when you lived in a society like theirs? That was the point that they had argued when she had bought it, but Hermione hadn't budged as she registered herself for Internet and a telephone number. She might not need any of those things anymore, but Hermione liked to stay in touch with her Muggle side. Besides, her parents had always loved watching television in the evenings to wind down and the Internet was more than a little bit useful at times.
The sound of the news filled the room and Hermione let herself be distracted by the images of the football player Lucas Tranders – it was his latest scuffle with the referee that had everybody talking – and the weather that was headed her way tomorrow – cloudy with a chance of rain.
But it was then that the repetitiveness of the broadcast stopped, a fact that had Hermione tuning in involuntarily. Had the line-up changed? Maybe it had and Hermione hadn't noticed or…
"We would like to interrupt this program to inform you of a potential suspect that is said to be the cause of the bombing that occurred in Vienna earlier today. The bombing happened during the course of an important UN meeting that was supposed to outline and approve the effects of the newly instated Sokovia Accords. The meeting was supposed to be a game changer for the powered individuals of this world," Hermione snorted at this, "but was horrifically disrupted when an explosion, injuring at least seventy people and killing twelve, including the King of Wakanda, disturbed the proceedings. The suspect, officials say, at the root of this horrendous tragedy, is said to be James Buchanan Barnes, a highly trained – some would even say 'enhanced' – HYDRA assassin that went missing after the S.H.I.E.L.D. debacle two years ago. If you have seen a man matching this description, then please call…"
She stopped listening as they zoomed in on the grainy picture that appeared on the screen, her eyes flicking over the image. A man with long, greasy hair was standing surrounded by people, a cap forced on his head and his hands buried in his pockets. His face was shadowed but…
She felt her blood run cold. He had long hair like that, dark stubble on his chin. He even had a similar jacket to the one that the man in the picture was wearing. Her mind rationally told her that there was no way that it could be him. There were billions of people on the planet and the chance of she picking up the current most wanted individual in the world was extremely slim. At least that's what she told herself, before she couldn't take it anymore.
Her mug of tea fell to the floor as she leapt to her feet, her wand already in her hand. She didn't even hear the sound of the glass smashing and breaking, see hot water spilling over the carpet in her haste. Taking the stairs two at a time, Hermione arrived in front of the doorway that led into the guest bedroom. Her stunning spell had been strong enough for Hermione to think that he would be unconscious for at least four hours, but if this man was one of those enhanced Muggles, an assassin at that, then Hermione couldn't take any chances. Thinking that this could potentially be the stupidest thing that she'd ever done, she removed the locking charm that she had placed on the room and cautiously opened the door.
The relief was almost debilitating when she saw that the man was still unconscious and she found herself comparing the image of him on the bed to the one that she had seen on the television. Long dark hair. Dark stubble. Dirty brown jacket. Backpack that she had placed at the foot of his bed.
She held her breath. It was him.
It had to be him. The similarity was too strong for it not to be. Hermione started to hyperventilate. How was it that he had ended up here? In her house? The chances were minimal!
She swallowed hard and slammed the door behind her, retreating as rapidly as she was able. Muttering the incantation under her breath, the door shut once again with the comforting 'squelch' sound. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she raced down the stairs and to her phone, glancing at the TV for the number that was still flashing on the screen. But she paused, her hand hovering over the numbers.
If she did this, then there was no going back. They would want to know why he had come here, how she had taken him out. Maybe she would even become a suspect. There would be questions, a lot of questions. And then… what if she were wrong? What if the man upstairs wasn't this James Buchanan Barnes. Shakily, Hermione put the phone back down. It was too much of a risk. If she wanted to call the police, then she was going to have to be sure – 100% certain – that it really was him.
For a moment, after she had placed the phone back down, Hermione simply stood in the centre of the small lounge room. The tea was still on the floor, staining the carpet, and shards of porcelain were scattered near the chair. The television was still blaring and outside, the storm was beginning to come even more severe as another bolt of thunder caused the little trinkets on her cupboard to shake.
What should she do? Or perhaps, the more correct question was, what could she do? The man upstairs was almost certainly the enhanced assassin that they were looking for and she groaned in frustration. Merlin, why did things like this – unexpected things – always happen to her? Surely she had suffered enough in her short life for the universe to just give her one shot of staying out of trouble? But then and again, she wouldn't really change anything either. Especially not when this was the first sign of excitement that she'd had in months.
Sighing, she rubbed buried her face in her hands, wondering what on earth she was going to do now. Besides, what did one do when something like this happened? She scowled to herself. Someone should write a book on the subject. Maybe that's what she would do once she had figured out this whole mess.
The answer occurred to her so suddenly that she wouldn't believe that she hadn't seen it before and she paused in her frantic movements.
She would research him. She had a laptop. Surely there would be pictures of him on the Internet. Surely there would be information about him on the Internet and so Hermione stalked to the counter and grabbed the elegant device, switching it on as she sat herself down on the kitchen floor – her other favourite spot to sit was still a mess. Her fingers twitched as she impatiently waited for it to start up and muttered a, "Yes!" under her breath when the welcome screen appeared.
It didn't take her very long to find him. Not when he had been accused of starting an international incident. The first few articles that she scrolled through all mentioned him as an assassin, as a dangerous person that must be put away at all costs, but there was nothing on the man himself, barely any pictures except the same, repeated grainy image that they had shown on the television.
And then she saw it, a small sentence stating at how James Buchanan Barnes had been a war hero. Further searching had her find out that he had been one of 'Captain America's most trusted and valued friends' and had 'saved countless lives during the war' as he had been a part of the famous Howling Commandos. The articles went on to question why Barnes, who had once been a honourable man, had transitioned into the dark shadow that he appeared to be today. They asked what had happened, what had allowed him to survive, his motives as to why he could have possibly bombed the UN meeting in Vienna.
But Hermione didn't really care about any of that. Instead, She focused on the lines of him being a war hero. With Captain America. Hermione gulped. She had learned about Captain America during primary school when she had to do a small project on the Second World War in her fifth grade class and she remembered how big of a deal it had been when he had been discovered – alive no less. It had been three years after the war and she remembered how the even the Wizarding world had gone ballistic, calling magic into question as a reason for his unprecedented survival. They had calmed down in a matter of days, wondering when Muggles had gotten so smart, and had eventually forgotten about the whole thing. Or at least, they had until aliens had invaded New York and then London soon after. And then, last year, there had been that incident with Sokovia, another situation that had brought the Wizarding world into uproar at the discovery of a brunette whose powers rivalled even the most powerful wizards and witches. Hermione still didn't know how the Ministry had calmed that whole mess down. Shaking her head, she turned her gaze back to the screen, flicking through the pages and pages of almost entirely redundant information.
But that's when things got interesting.
About an hour and a half into her online search, she came across an old, buried article that mentioned brainwashing, that showed horrific pictures, pictures that showed James Barnes before – a handsome solider, a confident smirk on his lips – and James Barnes after – a brutal man with a brutal metal arm. A metal arm, she gulped. She could use that in identifying him, she thought briefly, before she bent over the laptop, her eyes devouring every word as she attempted to answer at least some of the questions that had been posed in previous articles.
It was some time later that Hermione, for the third time that evening, walked into the guest room, her wand held out in front of her as she surveyed the still unconscious body on the bed. Slowly, quietly, she walked up to him, her eyes trained on his face. She supposed that, even now, she could see the resemblance of the man that lay on the bed with the man in the pictures. Stepping lightly over to his side, she began to raise his left sleeve, the glove extending further up his arm than she had anticipated. The material moved thickly, but Hermione didn't dare to move any faster lest he wake up. Sure, he was secured to the bed, but if he was as good as that one article claimed he was, then she was quite sure that he would be able to cut through the bonds like butter.
The glint of silver caught her eye and Hermione felt her heart drop. So, she had been right. It really was him. The Winter Soldier. Dropping the sleeve, she edged away from him, breathing as silently as she dared. She felt like she was in a room with a ticking bomb, and in a way, she supposed, she was. It didn't even take her five seconds before she was out the door, sighing in relief.
The following morning, Hermione sent an owl to the ministry, informing them that she was taking a sick day. Having had barely an hour's sleep, she was exhausted and in absolutely no condition for work anyway; the stress and worry had made her unable to close her eyes. But who could blame her for that? She hadn't had to deal with anything like this in years and to say that she was unused – but not entirely unwelcome – to it was a total understatement.
Rubbing her eyes blearily, she stumbled into the kitchen. After she had discovered that the man upstairs really was the most feared assassin of all time, Hermione hadn't known what to do. She hadn't known whether to call the police immediately – an idea that she had quickly dismissed – or… attempt to contact someone else.
She had gone with the latter and it was another reason as to why she hadn't gone to sleep; she had been researching all of the possible people who could have a potential connection to James Barnes. She had started off with researching Steve Rogers and had even gotten as far as typing the number for his fan service into her telephone, before deciding that it would have been just a waste of time anyway. How did you contact the man that everyone knew but no one could get a hold of? Hermione didn't know, hence why she had looked up Margaret 'Peggy' Carter instead, a name, along with Rogers and Barnes, that some of the history articles had frequently mentioned.
It was safe to say that she had had a lot more luck in that department than the others. She had managed, without searching too hard, come across the names of children, grandchildren, and other relatives, all of which could allow her to establish a connection to the super soldier and had even managed to find some of their numbers. She didn't know whether they would work, but it was better than nothing and, if she were honest with herself, she would much rather call one of them compared to the police.
Why?
Because she found herself sympathising with Bucky's story. From Ginny, from Harry… Hermione had managed to understand that mind control was horrifically nasty and having watched someone experience it firsthand, she guessed that everything that Bucky had done, good and bad, hadn't been of his own free will. Because that was how mind control worked. It was like a drain, sucking up all of your determination, all of your resolve, allowing you to fall into a bleak darkness. And you could do nothing to combat the effects. That was, at least, how Ginny had described it. And so, perhaps somewhat idiotically, Hermione had taken it upon herself to try and contact someone who could get this man what he needed, which was help and support.
She knew that she should have phoned the police immediately. She wasn't stupid. But that didn't mean that she wasn't going to give this broken shell of a man a chance.
Sitting down on one of the chairs that surrounded the bench, Hermione opened her laptop, which was very close to running out of battery for the first time since that she had bought it over a year ago. She opened the page that she had saved earlier, the page with all of the numbers. What would she say when she called one of these? Maybe she could pretend to be a reporter, asking after Peggy's recent death, as it had been all over British media. But she felt her stomach twist at the thought. Not only would that be a horribly insensitive thing to do, but it would also serve as a reason to be hung up on barely a second later. No, that was a bad, terrible idea.
Maybe she could see if she could try and contact the blonde woman who had spoken at the funeral, the woman who had been photographed speaking with Captain America after the ceremony? What was the name that the article had referenced again? Karen? Sharon? Hermione shrugged. It would come to her later. She didn't know if the woman was related to Peggy, but she seemed as good a lead as any. It was too bad that a quick Google search came up with absolutely nothing.
She sighed, reached for her phone and without second-guessing herself any further, typed in the first number on the page. It belonged to a Mrs Anna Carter, one of Peggy's children, and according to the details on the page, had two daughters, Emma and… Sharon. Sharon Carter. Well, that had been unexpected. Now she had to definitely call this number. While no information had been given about the two daughters, perhaps Anna Carter could provide some information anyway. She didn't have any longer to think about it as the line clicked through and a woman's voice ran wearily through the phone.
"Hello?"
Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers tightening nervously around her chunky phone. "Um, hi. My name's Sarah. I'm one of Sharon's friends?"
The lady's voice became suspicious. "Sharon's friends?"
"Yes, I lost her number and I've been meaning to call her about something urgent that cropped up the other day."
She paused. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Sarah."
"Sarah what?" she demanded.
"Sarah Brown." Hermione said the first name that came into her head. They were both common names, right?
"Well, I don't give out her number without knowing the person I'm speaking to first," the lady said tightly, "but can I give her a message?"
"Uh… Can you tell her I've received a package that's meant for a friend of hers?"
"A package meant for a friend of hers?" The woman's voice sounded doubtful.
"…Yes. I don't quite know what to do with it, but I'm quite sure that she'll know. And my condolences, by the way. For Ms Margaret Carter."
There was a heavy pause before a strangled, "Thank you," echoed through the phone. "And, um, where can Sharon pick up your package?"
Hermione hung up the phone, breathing hard. She couldn't believe that she had just done that. Merlin, this was the most excitement that she'd had in years and a part of her, a treacherous little part of her, loved it.
She scowled, forcing the exhilaration back, and hoped that Anna Carter, or maybe even her elusive daughter, would call her back. They may not have good intentions, but she supposed, that if she heard from them, that she would be able to make a better judgement. Besides, it was quite logical to assume that any relation of Peggy's would support Captain America in whatever trouble he had started this time.
It was a thump from upstairs followed by a furious yell that made Hermione jump, her toast tumbling onto the floor, butter side down. Couldn't she eat a meal in peace without being disturbed or without it falling on the floor and creating a mess? It was a mess that was more than easily cleared away, but still. It was a pain. She bent down to collect her toast, dusting off the crumbs that had landed on it, and pointed her wand at the oily mess that was still sitting on the tiles.
It was only a second later that Hermione realised why she had dropped her toast and she squeaked ungainly, scrambling to her feet, her toast forgotten. So, he had woken up then. She must have hit him with a more brutal stunner than she had originally thought and she felt a tiny prickle of satisfaction. Despite all of these years, she still had it.
The door banged again from upstairs, but this time, Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. She had reinforced the door, the windows, the walls, the floor with numerous charms after reading all that she had managed to find on the Winter Soldier earlier that morning, so there was no hope in hell that he was going to fight his way out of there.
She had just finished her toast when her phone rung and Hermione froze, glancing at the beeping device. Her phone had never rung before. Ever. And so she picked it up slowly, her heart in her chest as her eyes briefly scanned the numbers that appeared on the small screen. It was a foreign number and Hermione hesitantly placed the device close to her ear, hitting the 'accept' button.
"Hello?" She made sure that her voice was confident.
"Miss 'Brown', I assume?"
This voice sounded younger than Anna Carter's and Hermione didn't miss the accentuation that she put on her fake name.
"That would be me."
"I've heard that you've found something that a friend of min's been looking for. A package, you said?"
"You could say that."
"Care to elaborate?"
"Not really." Hermione wasn't going to say anything else unless she was sure that Sharon Carter was going to help her.
"I'm assuming that it's a person, am I right, Miss Brown?"
Hermione shrugged. "I assure you Miss Carter, that it's all too easy for me to disappear. And I'll take him with me."
Sharon was silent on the other end of the line. "You do realise that I've already traced this call, right? But," Hermione cold hear the smirk in her voice, "luckily for you, we're in the same boat. I'll be there within two hours. Don't move. Don't leave the house. Don't call anyone. In fact, smash your phone and throw out the pieces. And most importantly, don't get too close." There was a click as the woman hung up and Hermione slowly lowered the phone from her ear with a swallow.
Well, that hadn't gone as she'd originally planned.
Hey everyone!
First of all, I am blown away by the response to this story, so thank you all so much!
Second, thank you for all of the reviews, favourites, and follows! You're all amazing :)
Right, so now that my exams are over, I shall be updating this regularly on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, rain or shine, I shall update this story, unless something dramatic happens. (For more info, see my profile.)
To James Birdsong: Thank you for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the first chapter!
To Guest: I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for your review :)
To Aneles: I'm glad that you like the beginning! Thank you for you support.
To Guest: I hope that your exams went well and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!
If you guys spotted any mistakes or anything like that in this chapter, then please let me know and I shall fix them.
Until this Wednesday, lovely readers!
HauntedCinders
