NOTE: I'm changing around the comic book timeline a bit to suit my needs. Meaning, Stoner is older than Fury in this fic, and….yeah…. Oh, and sorry for keeping you waiting so long, my story "The Other Malfoy" has taken top priority so this will have SLOW UPDATES, but never fear, I haven't abandoned this plot yet...
Please don't kill me.
*throws cookies at the masses from a distance*
Chapter Two: Training the Team
Harry Potter, or rather, Harald Odinson, as he truly was, stood firmly at attention, his standard SHIELD uniform glossy black, the tight fabric providing clothes that were both comfortable and practical, as they enabled maximum movement in the case of an attack. Harry was a master at all of the arts of war. Sorcery, of course, as he was the God of Magic, as well as swordsmanship, knife throwing, hand-to-hand, archery, modern firearms, you name it. He supposed it was a skill that he'd picked up from Sif, the Goddess of War.
"Agent Aeternam," came the cool, commanding voice of the Director of SHIELD, Rick Stoner. "You are one of the top agents in the business, level 13 clearance, and you've been with SHIELD since the very beginning."
"Yessir," Harald honestly didn't see where this was going, but he showed the respect he'd been trained to.
"I think it is high time that you take someone under your wing," Director Stoner continued, his hawk-like yellow eyes glinting, shock grey hair still as neat and tidy as it had been during his days with the military.
"Your call, sir." Director Stoner tossed him a file, and he opened it. At the top of the stack of papers was the name, standing out in large, bolded lettering: "NICHOLAS J. FURY". The picture showed a young man, maybe nineteen or twenty years of age, who was dark-skinned, bald –– as was the style, apparently –– and had two calculating dark brown eyes.
"Sir?"
"Nicholas J. Fury will be your new apprentice. I expect you to teach him the ways of SHIELD, and to take him under your wing. He is nineteen years old, still moldable, and I think he would be a fine candidate for my succession once he's been properly trained."
"Of course, sir."
"Really, Harry, you'd think after forty years of working together you'd lose the formalities. For you, the name's Rick."
A small smile tugged at Harry's lips.
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Harald marched his way through the room of new trainees eyeing them all sharply, critically, up and down. He was the very image of power, looking imposing as he stood, tall and proud, over them all. His black hair was cut short, his green eyes sharp, and he looked every bit the warrior he was.
"Attention!" he yelled, and the boys –– and the occasional girl –– snapped to attention quickly, each looking at him warily.
"I am Agent Aeternam," said Harry coolly, still looking over them all with a critical eyes. "Level thirteen clearance, preceded in ranking here at SHIELD only by Director Stoner himself. I also head the training of all of you little shits." Here, he scowled at them.
"I have been a commanding general in every war since America was in its infancy. My name has never remained the same, so it won't do to try and find me. If you haven't yet figured it out, Aeternam, means 'ageless'. I do not age. Get over it. Do not disrespect me, or you'll find yourself hanging upside-down from the ceiling and used for knife-throwing practice. Am I understood?"
No one moved.
"I said, AM I UNDERSTOOD?"
"Yessir." Harry finally reached his target at the end of the line. Nick Fury was a handsome young lad, smooth-skinned and ready to prove that discrimination was a bucket-load of shit. He nodded once at the tensed, defensive stance that Nick had fallen into smoothly at Harry's approach.
Harry turned his back for a second, and heard a snigger. He whirled around, and stared at a tall, white boy with neatly cropped blond hair and blue eyes, with muscled arms and an overall toned body.
"Name?"
"Jacob Whitney."
"What is it you find humorous, Mr. Whitney?" The blonde smirked, crossing his arms.
"I think you're lying."
"Alright, then, guess I have to give the class a practical demonstration." He flicked his arm upwards, and Whitney soon found himself dangling from the ceiling, flailing around like a fish out of water. Small gasps were the only indication that the new recruits were surprised by their new Commander's powers, and he smiled wickedly at all of them.
"Well, then, if you're all ready, let's play."
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Harry walked around as he observed the new recruits sparring, each of them drenched in sweat and looking rather worse for wear.
"Winner of the tournament gets to fight me," he had said at the beginning of the lesson, casually, and everyone was now fighting at their absolute hardest, each trying to be the one to be able to spar with their mentor.
At the moment, the final match was taking place, a rather anticipated even between Fury and Whitney, both of whom looked determined.
"I ain't gonna be beat by no nig-" he was cut off by a sharp clip to the back of his head by Harry.
"I do not approve of that sort of language, Mr. Whitney." He looked over both boys appraisingly. "You may begin." It was a quick charge of the both of them letting off pent up rage at each other, as they'd been rivals throughout the entire training process. Fists met flesh, blows were blocked, and both of the boys were thrown around a considerable amount, until Fury kneed Whitney, and got him in a headlock.
"Yield," he said through gritted teeth, and Whitney slumped in defeat, and Fury stood up, victorious, and the rest of the entering class of recruits stood and cheered him on. Harry gave him a few moments to recover, and then he himself walked into the fighting ring.
"Fury, you are allowed any weapon of your choice except a firearm, you have three minutes to make your selections." Fury hurried over to the weapons rack, where he chose a broadsword and a set of throwing knives. Harry only had on his possession a long, metal pole.
"This is a lesson to all of you," he said, and the fight began.
It was a clash of metal-on-metal, Fury trying his hardest to get a scratch on his mentor, and Harry blocking all of the attempts with ease. Though all of his new pupils were fond of offensive tactics, they needed to quickly learn the importance of defensive strategies. The fight raged on until Harry successfully removed the sword from Fury's possession and knocked the throwing knives harmlessly to the side, before striking Fury in the gut with the end of the metal pole.
"The importance of what I have just showed you," Harry called over the crowd, helping Nick get up shakily. "Is that defense is just as important, if not more so, than offense. Sure, its alright if you know how to wallop someone a good one, but what happens when you're outnumbered? Sure, you could try and play heroics, get out on your own, but that's suicide. A dead agent is of no use to us. Use your brains, or I will personally remove them for you."
He cleared his throat and stood up straighter.
"Defense lessons begin tomorrow. After that, spy training for undercover missions." His pupils began to file out of the room, but Fury remained, peering at Harry curiously.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Fury?"
"Could you teach me how to do that?" A small smile tugged at Harry's lips.
"Nicholas, it would be my genuine pleasure."
(linebreak)
Harry watched, smiling to himself, as the new recruits –– though they weren't so new anymore, being seven months into their training already –– fought in a tournament style once more, though now, the matches lasted much longer, and the skill level had skyrocketed. Director Stoner would be very, very pleased. As he lost himself in thought, he was brought back violently by the sound of cheers, as the victor had once more emerged as one Nicholas Fury, who was hands-down the best recruit in his year, though Whitney would argue until your ears bled.
"Excellent job, recruits," said Harry, nodding at them. "Though your training is not yet complete, you get Level Entry Clearance badges, as well as the title 'Junior Agent'. We will now continue on to stealth and spy training which is crucial –– yes, Mr. Whitney?" The pupil that was the bane of his existence was raising his hand smugly.
"I read in the handbook that stealth and spy training is optional, and that we can choose to skip it with the approval of our commanding officer, which is you."
"Yes, you can," said Harry coldly. "But seeing as that decision is a stupid-ass decision, I have elected to ignore it." Though the recruits had long since learned to not laugh unless what Harry said was clearly meant to be a joke, some –– including Fury –– could not stop the small smiles that tugged at their lips as, once more, Whitney was shot down by their commanding officer.
"If there are no more dumbass questions, I think we can continue to training room 3C, don't you think?"
"Sir, yessir." Harry drew back his shoulders and led the recruits with pride, this was a start of a wonderful bunch of Agents.
(linebreak)
"The results of your final exams have come in," said Harry, once more walking down the line as he observed them all. "Most of you landed where I expected, Level One Clearance, where you will remain. Only some of you surpassed my expectations and landed yourself in Level Two Clearance" –– he rolled his eyes as Whitney preened like a peacock –– "these are arranged in no particular order, but come forth and receive your new badge when I call your name."
"Marbles, Jennifer, Level Two." Whitney's jaw dropped open when the first person to receive a Level Two badge was a female, the sexest and racist bastard.
"Colins, Michael, Level One." And so the name-calling went on, until.
"Whitney, Jacob, Level One."
"What!?" the hotheaded, insubordinate man exclaimed hotly. "Level One?! I've worked my ass off, I deserve at least a Level Two or Level Three! What on earth could've caused me to get stuck at Level One?"
"Insubordination, refusal to listen to orders, undermining of your commanding officer, to list a few," growled Harry, emerald eyes glinting dangerously. "I've sick of your shit, Whitney, and, quite frankly, if you keep that attitude up, you'll be paper pushing the rest of your career here at SHIELD." He pinned the badge on Whitney's chest, and the boy sat there, fuming, for he was not mature enough to be called a man.
"Fury, Nicholas, Level Three." There was dead silence, and Whitney looked as though he was choking on something, his face screwed up with rage and his face flushed a rather dangerous shade of crimson. Fury himself looked rather stunned as he walked over to where Harry was standing and graciously accepted his badge.
"This is the example of a model SHIELD agent," said Harry, motioning to Fury, who ducked his head bashfully. "Never questioned his orders, asked for extra training, always on guard, and never arrogant or brash. Strive to be more like Nick, here, and you'll go places." Harry offered Fury a rare smile, and the boy nodded at him and walked away, more confidence in his step.
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"Again Rick? You know I have issues dealing with children."
"You'll only be working with two, this time. You'll be their handler, much like you were with Nicholas." Harry smiled at the name of his protégé, who had, by now, obtained Level Seven Clearance, while Whitney was barely floating at a Level Three.
"Top of their graduating class?"
"Of course, Harry. I wouldn't let you work with anything less."
"Names?"
"Phil Coulson and Maria Hill. You can get Fury to help you out with their training as well."
"Alright-y then, tell me a little bit about them?"
"Well, as it seems, Coulson has nothing but hero-worship for one Captain America."
"That scrawny kid that I helped to train before SHIELD was even a thing?"
"Yeah, so he's already in awe of you, seeing as you helped train him."
"Great, a fanboy. Well, at least he's skilled."
(linebreak)
Harry was lounging around in his office at the Triskelion rather luxuriously, sitting on the leather lounge chair he'd procured a long time ago, looking thoughtfully at his wall. Pinned there were framed images of his greatest successes. First was Steve Rogers, with a picture of him before and after the serum. Next came Nicholas, who had the most images on the wall. First was a photo of Fury at his first day of training, then once again at the graduating ceremony, and another image at his ceremony to the promotion to Director of SHIELD following Rick's passing.
After Fury came Coulson, who was now at Level Nine Clearance, and a picture of him then and now, which was mirrored in the profiles of Maria Hill, who was just below him at a Level Eight. In many ways, Maria reminded him of Sif, who he'd not seen in many, many years. Just like Sif, she'd strived to prove that she was not to be trifled with, even though she was a female.
"What's this?" asked Harald as he walked up to his youngest brother, Loki, who was sitting at the edge of the Forest of Asgard, cross-legged, near the sparring clearing, where Thor was hotheadedly springing into battle, sparring with Asgard's own Lady Sif, the Goddess of War.
"Thor made a jibe about Lady Sif's gender," said Loki calmly, and Harald chuckled.
"One would think the blonde brute would learn that Lady Sif isn't one to be trifled with, and I fear if he does not learn soon, he may lose the ability to continue on the royal blood of Asgard, and then more pressure would be put upon the two of us." Loki shuddered, no doubt thinking of his prior experimentation in rearing children.
"How are my nephews, by the way?" Loki smiled slightly. Though his children would not be recognized as proper heirs to the throne of Asgard, he still loved all of them in a way only a father could.
"Jorgumand is growing larger every day, and he travels Yggdrasil in search of places large enough for him to rest. Sleipner still resides in the Palace Stables, and preens at the royal treatment. Fenrir, as you know, roams these forests, the great puppy." Harry smiled, and winced slightly when Lady Sif delivered a rather sharp blow to Thor's family jewels, and Thor howled in pain, falling over on his side.
"I've warned you several times not to upset Lady Sif, Thor," said Harald, shaking his head fondly. "She isn't the Goddess of War for nothing, you know." Sif smiled at him charmingly, and Harald felt his heart flutter several times rapidly in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his blood as though he was being chased by a biglesnipe.
However, he was roused from his thoughts when Fury tiredly entered the room, rubbing his one good eye in frustration.
"Rogue?" offered Harry, and Fury nodded.
"Coulson's at the end of his rope. The kid's a carny with no sense of when to stop trying and evade the system."
"Really? A carny, you say. Well, I think I can whip our little sharpshooter into spit-spot condition. After all, I did have to train Whitney, and he's gotten better over time." Fury smiled nostalgically at the mention of his days in training, but soured at the memory of the hotheaded boy who'd made his life a living hell, who was now at a Level Seven Clearance.
"I'll leave it to you, then. Clint Barton's his name."
"Shame we couldn't bring in his brother Barney too."
"There's one in every family."
"Two in mine," said Harald with a fond smile, and Fury looked at him rather oddly, but didn't question it, as he had learned not to over time.
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"Barton!" barked Harry, and the sandy-haired young man balked and shot to attention, which was rather amusing to his red-haired companion. "What have I told you about bringing home strays?!" He turned to the girl, Natalia Romanova. "No offense."
"None taken," she said idly, observing him, and then her eyes widened. "You're Agent Aeternam!" He chuckled as Clint cringed and Natalia's eyes widened.
"I see my reputation precedes me," he said dryly. "And one would know from that reputation that I don't appreciate insubordination." Clint seemed to shrink further, and tried to hide behind the chair he was sitting in, which had a rather comical effect.
"Coulson will be your handler, but I'll be in charge of showing you the ropes of SHIELD, and Barton, you'll have to help her as well." The archer nodded quickly, not wanting to upset Harry even more. "Oh, and Barton, that'll be five months on CL0 duty. You're coffee boy now."
Clint groaned as he walked away, leading Natalia to the training room. Harry grinned a rather vicious sort of grin, and shock Natalia a wink when she looked back over her shoulder at him, causing the usually stoic Russian to blush slightly.
Seriously, what's up with all of the fangirls?
It wasn't something he was new to, by all means. In Asgard, where he'd been raised, there had been no shortage of fair maidens throwing themselves at his feet, but he'd always had his eyes set on one particular aspiring Goddess of War, though he had no doubt that she'd received the title by now. Shaking his head, as though to remove the heart-wrenching memories of a life he may never return to, Harry began walking to the training room so he could watch Barton get his ass kicked.
(linebreak)
He'd been hard at work training the next batch of recruits when he'd felt it, a gut-wrenching pain in his chest trying to pull him elsewhere. Gold and green eyes darkening, he prowled over to Fury's office and slammed open the door with no precursor.
"What is my brother doing on Midgard?"
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Harry had watched a struggling Thor from a distance (in disguise, of course) during the duration of his stay in New Mexico. How he longed to go up and embrace his brother, whom he had not seen in so many centuries, but knew that he could not. The time was not right, and Thor would merely believe him an imposter, and kill him on the spot. He was on Earth to learn humility, after all.
The biggest surprise had come when Loki arrived with the Destroyer in an attempt to kill Thor. His eyes were wild with madness, and Harry knew that the youngest Odinson must have finally discovered his and Harry's true parentage. He knew that Loki would face hardships in the future, but hoped he could figure out for himself his own destiny.
And then, she was there.
Just as painfully beautiful as he'd remembered, Sif stood proudly alongside Thor and the Warriors Three, and Harry physically ached with a need to caress her soft cheeks, run his fingers through silky tresses of black hair that matched his own raven locks. To do what he'd never before had the courage to do, and pull her close, and finally discover whether or not her lips were as soft as the rest of her skin.
But he had to stay away, his magic was telling him so. And if Harry had learnt anything throughout all of his misadventures; with his brothers, Ron and Hermione, or any of his pupils, it was that he always had to trust his magic.
No matter how much he wanted to do otherwise.