Disclaimer: I own neither the Avengers, nor Harry Potter, for then I'd lavishly waste my fortune on something more productive for the entirety of society.
10 years later…
Afghanistan:
A maelstrom of bullets collided against the partially collapsed wall he was crouching behind. Although he was immortal, dying was such a tedious process, and not worth cycling through again.
Swirls of dust crossed the battlefield, as the destructive thudding of bullets penetrated past wisps of muddling haze.
'Damn Muggles, and their multitude of weapons to continuously murder me with," Harry thought frustratingly. Still, he hadn't resigned upon his success, and estimating the location of the guns, based off the sounds, he decided to eliminate the area with the loudest sounds. 'Since it'd be more destructive, obviously. Muggles truly need to find a method to lower the sound their more destructive weapons produce,' he pondered aimlessly.
Reverting the flow of his magic core, into his legs, in an instant, he was twirling in the air, with a tremendous height advantage over his enemies. The gunmen couldn't determine that anything strange had occurred, and continued in ignorance, firing various bits of weaponry at the wall Harry supposedly at. Meanwhile, his perception of time seemed to slow in mid-air; he lifted his dirt-encrusted finger, and a stream of blinding colours erupted from his fingertip. Volley after volley of wandless spells were launched into lines, and suddenly the firing from there came to a standstill. Harry's enemies were baffled, for a mountain of corpses had begun to pile up around them, and those who survived, fainted in shock from such an unexpected defeat.
Landing bluntly upon his feet, wondrous amounts of pain began to blossom from his legs, since he pumped a rather copious amount of magic into it, temporarily paralyzing it with electrical signals.
Gradually catching his breath, Harry slowly rose up again, this time he didn't stumble in agony.
A tranquil silence had settled over what was once a battlefield, and Harry calmly walked past it all, ignoring the suffering of the survivors. Intently focusing on something else, the person that these bastards were futilely attempting to guard.
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Hungary:
She's striding into a ballroom of grandeur, one that's been adorned with delicate chandeliers, magnificent lights, and a priceless diamond skylight, yet 'I don't give a damn about it', she crassly thought. Tightly covered by a crimson ballroom, glossy satin spirals downwards, concealing her delectable legs. Tonight, her masquerade of deception is on firmly, and it compliments her perfectly.
Seductively sauntering to her target, her sophistication appears to be blatant, in the eyes of the party guests. Gently touching his shoulder, with one of her immaculate, delicate fingers, she speaks to him in a hushed tone. Following her as if he were a lovesick puppy, her mesmerizing tresses of crimson hair, and entrancing body have anchored him to her. Unmindful as to where she's leading him, they arrive in a secluded corridor.
Several mumbled words and enchanting whispers later, she's in doubt as to what the target told her. His corpse lay crumpled, propped against the corner, his face disheveled, with blood seeping onto his formerly pristine suit. 'At least his final moments were incredibly pleasurable,' she thought morbidly. However, the existence of witches and wizards, preposterous to say the least, 'It's quite possible that his state of intoxication would induce such thoughts. Yet it's quite strange that one of the most brilliant men on the Earth would believe in such nonsense, so it could be possible,' she quite conflictingly thought.
"Romanoff, what's your status?" inquired a neutral sounding voice.
"Target eliminated, heading back to the rendezvous for extraction." she answered.
Comforting as a breeze in the darkness is, its nature is one of a fleeting feeling, like lust.
Suspicion begins to run rampant with the party guests, as they've now noticed the absence of the beautiful woman earlier, and the man who trailed behind her, like a lovesick puppy.
Vanishing back into the uniforms of S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha continued to deliberate upon the existence of witches and wizards.
Author's Note: This idea sprung from the depths of boredom. Enjoy.
Reviews are much appreciated, they provide both motivation to write chapters, and critique to improve my writing, and therefore the quality of Merciful. So hopefully review.