Title: Masked Men and Where to Find Them

Author: tinyrose65

Summary: Harry Potter moved to Hell's Kitchen because she wanted a fresh start: time away from the spotlight, where she could focus on being the best Healer she could be. Trust the unconscious man in her dumpster to go and complicate things. (fem!Harry, AU!)

Chapter 3: Doing What's Right

It was well past midnight when Harry got the call. She had been in the middle of a very pleasant dream (involving a certain masked vigilante, but that was all she had to say on the subject because she was a lady, thank you very much), only to be woken up the jarring sound of her cellphone ringing. She didn't even bother to open her eyes as she reached over and groped around her nightstand for it. There was only one person who would call this late.

"Matt?"

"Um, hello?" came a voice at the other end of the line. It caused Harry to sit right up. That definitely wasn't Matt.

"Hello?" she responded suspiciously. "Who is this?"

"This is Foggy," the voice said. He sounded as confused as she felt— perhaps even more so. "Matt told me to call Harry. This was the number listed in the phone."

Harry digested his words. She had heard a bit about Foggy from Matt, but just that they were best friends since law school and that he had no idea of Matt's nighttime activities. She double checked the number Foggy was calling from. The burner. Judging by that and the late hour, she had a feeling Foggy knew now.

"Is Matt alright?" she asked, already scrambling off the bed in search of some clothes. She had been tired that night after a long shift and had gone to sleep in her t-shirt and underwear, so all she needed to do was find a remotely-clean pair of jeans and slip them on. She balanced her phone between her shoulder and face as she did so, almost falling over in her haste.

"He's been hurt pretty badly," Foggy admitted. Harry could just hear the sound of somebody groaning on the other end. She began rummaging through her closet looking for the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given her all those years ago— she still kept it and used it often.

"I'll be there in five minutes," she assured Foggy, letting out a shout of triumph when she found the pouch. Not giving the man a chance to respond, she hung up the phone, shoving it into her pocket, and began summoning her medical supplies to her so she could put them into her bag. In retrospect, she should've seen this coming and kept an emergency pack ready for Matt. Well, she wouldn't be making that mistake again.

As promised, she was at the apartment in five minutes (less, even). She chose to appraise in the alleyway by the building instead of inside the actual apartment (as she had done in the past) to avoid scaring Foggy. Still, the loud pop of apparition was no doubt a dead give-away to Matt that she had arrived. Entering the building and taking the stairs two at a time, she eventually reached Matt's apartment and knocked loudly on the door.

The man who answered was taller than Matt, but not nearly as muscular. Closer to chubby, in fact. His hair was blonde and hung down to close to his shoulders and his eyes—blue— were clouded with worry.

"Harry?"

"That's me," she said, pushing past him and entering the apartment, heading towards the couch in the living room. "I take it you're Foggy?"

"Guilty."

He didn't say anything else, since Harry chose that moment to catch a glimpse of Matt. The last time she had seen him, he was leaving this same apartment ready to look for Fisk and end this whole thing. The last time she had spoken to him, she had been trying (and ultimately failing) to help him heal a badly wounded Vladimir.

But, now. Oh, but now.

Matt was unconscious and flat on his back on the couch, which she supposed was a blessing for the time being. Foggy hadn't been joking when he said that he was hurt badly. Harry could make out several, deep gashes to his back, chest, and arms, not to mention a mean bruise spreading its way across his face. Harry cursed and dropped her pouch (with its supplies) to the floor and headed over to him. She grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse. Not as strong as she would've liked it, but not as bad as she had expected either, proof enough that Matt was strong as well as lucky.

"Right," she muttered to herself, standing back up and turning to look at Foggy. "First thing's first. You need to leave."

Foggy was clearly not on board with this idea. He sputtered incoherently then managed to say, "Excuse me? I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't heal him while you're here," Harry protested as she bent down to pick up her dropped pouch.

"Why not?" was Foggy's very reasonable response.

It was Harry's turn to sputter. She couldn't very well tell him the truth, could she? That would defeat the purpose of him leaving. Clearly he wasn't leaving without an explanation, either. Possibly even with one. Merlin only knows the number of times she, Ron, and Hermione had snuck into the Hospital Wing for each other. On the other hand, stunning him wouldn't work. Even if she could do it without feeling guilty, Foggy'd wake up and realize that Matt was fully and miraculously healed, which meant memory charms (something Matt would no doubt not appreciate) and— no. There was no time, not with Matt bleeding on the couch. Looks like she was stuck flouting the Statute of Secrecy. Again.

Sometimes she wondered he show got herself into these situations…

"Just don't ask any questions," Harry grumbled, kneeling on the floor next to the couch to get better access to Matt's injuries. She pulled out her wand and summoned a few potions from her bag. One to keep Matt unconscious, another to help with the pain. She also called forth her Dittany. She'd had to restock her supplies twice already since meeting Matt. Ignoring Foggy's cries of surprise at seeing the three bottles shoot out from a pouch that was, for all appearances, too small for it, she opened the bottles and began work.

It took longer than any other session she'd had with Matt before. His injuries were incredibly extensive, leaving Harry to wonder just who had been facing this time. No common thug or criminal would leave marks like this: they were methodical slices, deep and jagged. Some sort of weapon then. What kind of weapon, she couldn't say.

She sat back on her heels once she was finished and wiped the sweat from her brow. The injuries were more or less gone, although injuries that serious would be quite sore for some time, even with magic.

Still, he'd live, and that was the most important thing.

"Are you some kind of superhero?" The voice broke Harry from her musings. Much to his credit, Foggy had stayed quiet the entirety of Harry's work, save for a few gasps and mutters here and there.

Harry groaned as she stood up, joints screaming in protest after kneeling for so long. Answering him, she said, "If I say yes, will you stop asking questions?"

Foggy didn't answer her. Instead, he walked over to Matt and looked down at him. His face softened. "Will he be alright?"

"Yes," Harry assured. "He'll need rest, fluids, and the like, but he'll be fine."

"Then I don't care what you are," Foggy decided. "Just. Thank you."

"He's my friend, too," Harry said with a shrug. Thinking of the kiss she and Matt had shared not that long ago, it felt a bit like a lie on her tongue, but kiss or not it was the closest thing she had to the truth. It's not as though they had had a chance to discuss things since then, after all, much to Harry's confusion and displeasure. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time: 4am. Her shift started in a few hours, and, at the moment, she was had covered in blood. First, a shower.

"Can you stay with him?"

"Of course," Foggy scowled. Then he noticed that she had begun to pack away her things. "Wait. You're not leaving!"

"I am," Harry confirmed, grabbing a handful of vials and shoving them into her pouch. "I have a shift in a few hours and I doubt my bosses would appreciate it if I showed up covered in blood, even if I do work at a hospital. Don't worry— he should sleep for another few hours. When he wakes up, give him this. It's for pain."

Shoving a vial at Foggy, who took it, too surprised to do anything else, Harry closed the pouch using its drawstrings and slipped it around her neck. Heading for the door, she paused and took in the sight before her: Foggy, alternating between staring confusedly at the bottle and his hurt best friend; Matt, injured and unconscious, covered in his own blood. It was a heartbreaking image, not the least for which Foggy's expression of complete heartbreak and utter betrayal.

"Foggy?" she asked, pausing as he turned to look at her. "Don't be too hard on him," she wanted to say. "It's been killing him, keeping this secret.

She couldn't bring herself to say any of that however. It was hardly any of her business, not really, for all that it hurt her to see the beginnings of the rift forming between the two friends, bringing back to mind times between her and Ron in their fourth and seventh years.

"He loves you," she could've said, "and that's why he's doing this: to keep you and the city safe."

It took a lot of effort from Matt to face the city's criminals down at night, and not just physical. Mental. Emotional. He wrestled with his own demons overtime he went out there and wrestled with criminals. And he did it—at least in some way— for Foggy. For Karen. For Harry. For all of them.

But, no. She said none of it.

"Call me if anything changes," she muttered, before slipping out of the apartment, leaving them behind.

It wasn't until after her shift the next day that Harry had a chance to stop by Matt's place again. Foggy hadn't called, so she assumed Matt was healing fine. Regardless, she brought her healing supplies with her and even stopped by the restaurant by her house to pick up some chicken noodle soup for him.

Once again, she apparated to the alleyway by his house, entered the building, and took the stairs to his apartment. Her knock on the door was answered by a gentle "Come in." When she did, Matt didn't look all that surprised to see her.

"You look better," she announced, setting the soup on the counter. And he did. Although he was still on the couch, almost as though he had never left, color was back in his cheeks and he had changed into a clean pair of clothes.

"Really?" he said blandly, sitting up so he could turn to face her. "Because I feel like shit."

Harry walked over to him and sat down on the couch next to him, taking his face in her hands, she turned it gently side to side to get a better look and make sure that the bruising was gone (it was). That's when she noticed that his eyes were rimmed red, as though he had been crying. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

"I'm guessing Foggy didn't take your secret all that well?" she asked gently, letting her hands drop. Matt took them in his, clenching then gently, a silent thanks for her help earlier. She had come to learn some of his mannerisms by now.

"No," Matt admitted. "He was furious- didn't even think to ask how you healed me. He just stormed out of here. Not that I blame him."

"You were just trying to protect him," Harry soothed. "I'm sure he'll see that and come around. Give him time."

"I don't know about that," Matt denied, and the look on his face was so heartbreaking that it made Harry want to wrap him in blankets and never let him out of her sight— a strange feeling, to be sure, since Harry had never had a mothering bone in her body.

"Did I ever tell you about the times Ron and I fought?" Matt shook his head, recognizing Ron's name from the times she had mentioned him and Hermione to him. "Well, we did. Two big fights, in fact. Both times he, well, he blamed me for things that weren't really my fault, and he left."

"That's horrible," Matt muttered.

"It was. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love Hermione, of course I do, but Ron was my first real friend, and it was lonely without him. But guess what?"

"What?"

"He came back. He always came back. And Foggy will come back, too."

"And you forgave him?" Matt asked. "For hurting you so badly?"

Harry snorted. "Of course I forgave him. We're family. That's what family does."

"I hope you're right…"

"I am," Harry said certainly. "Now, let's go have some soup. You must be starving. Oh, and you can tell me all about what bad guy you were fighting this time."

Matt still hadn't let go of her hands, so she used his grip to pull him up and lead him to the kitchen, where she poured out some soup for them. As she did, Matt explained about Nobu and their fight down at the warehouse. Not once did Harry judge, not even when Matt admitted to going in search of Fisk so he could kill him.

Instead, when he finished, she just exclaimed, "A ninja? A real life ninja? I didn't even know those existed!"

"Says the witch," was Matt's response. Harry didn't dignify this with an answer. Instead, as they were both done with their respective dinners, she waved her wand to send the plates to the kitchen sink and wash themselves up.

"Listen," Harry began, then stopped. She had been putting off telling Matt this for a while, had been hoping to avoid it altogether, in fact, but his new injuries reminded her that Matt attracted more trouble than she did, and he had to know— "There's something I need to tell you."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"I'm leaving," Harry rushed to get out. Matt's face fell, so she went on before he could interrupt. "Only for a little while— not even a week. There's some business I have to take care of in London, and, well, after everything that's been happening, I really need to see my family, just for a while, and-"

A finger on her lips quieted her. Matt was wearing a small smirk, clearly amused by her rant.

"It's alright. I understand."

"You do?" she spoke around his finger. He pulled his hand away.

"I do," he told her. She sighed in relief. That was one conversation out of the way. She grabbed her things and got ready to leave, but Matt's still despondent face stopped her. With a put upon sigh, she walked back over to him, still sat at the kitchen table, and placed a daring kiss at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll always be here to patch you up, Matt," she promised.

Satisfied to see his mouth quirk upwards in a small smile, she let herself out and headed home.

Harry got another phone call later that night as she was packing her bags to catch her red-eye flight to London. Her clothes were strewn all about the room and a duffle-bag, once again charmed to be larger on the inside, was resting on the bed, half-full. Expecting it to be Matt again, she was surprised to see it was an unknown number. Curious, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" asked a fraught-sounding male voice. "I'm looking for Harriet Potter."

"This is she," Harry said, resisting the urge to correct his use of her full name. People only used her full name when she was in trouble, like that time Petunia caught her trying to pick the lock in her cupboard to get at her magic things. "Who is this?"

"This is Keith," He reminded her. "Keith Rosenberg."

It took Harry a few seconds to place the name, then she remembered. When she had first been looking for a place to move to from London, a wizard she knew had introduced her to his brother, —, who was a Muggle and a doctor in the states. He had convinced her to move to New York and was the one to help her find her apartment on such short notice, for which she was grateful. Still, it had been a while since they had spoken. Their lines of work didn't intersect all that much.

"Yes, of course." Harry shook off the fog of her memories and put herself back in the present day conversation, continuing to pack as she spoke to him. Her flight left in just a few hours, but she had stayed longer than she had planned to at Matt's, and it had thrown off her whole schedule (not that she had much of one in the first place). "What can I do for you?"

"I need to call in that favor."

After he had found Harry her apartment (not without pulling quite a few strings in the neighborhood), Harry had promised him that if he ever needed it, she'd owe him favor. It wasn't that she hadn't meant it, but she certainly had't expected him to call (literally) to collect it so soon.

Harry stopped packing and sat down on the bed. Packing so hastily had left her a bit out of breath. Shifting her phone to her other hear, she said, "I'm listening."

"A patient of mine is sick," he said. "Very sick. An emergency. Only, I'm out of the country and my flight has been delayed due to weather-"

"And so you want me to take care of it," Harry huffed, glancing over at her partially packed bag. "I'm supposed to leave on a flight to London in a few hours, you know."

"Please," he pleaded. "She's been poisoned. I know you have ways- magical ways- of dealing with poison."

"I do," Harry agreed, thinking of Professor Snape's old stand-by method of shoving a bezoar down the patient's throat. Inelegant, but it didn't sound as though Rosenberg had much more information for Harry to go by, so it'd have to do for the time being. She summoned the bezoar and the emergency pack (in her trusty moleskin pouch) she had made for Matt just earlier that day to her.

So much for my flight, she thought to herself as she slipped her pouch back around her neck. Out loud: "Give me the address to the hospital."

"It's a muggle hospital," Dr. Rosenberg cautioned, as though she hadn't already figured that out. Harry rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes. I figured as much. I'll be stealthy. The address?"

Harry had never been to the hospital Rosenberg listed, so she couldn't apparatus there, but thankfully it wasn't far. A short cab ride later and she was walking through the doors, only to be greeted by a skinny man with a sharp face and glasses. He seemed to be waiting for her. Since there weren't that many people entering the hospital at that hour, he spotted her as soon as she walked in.

"Dr. Harriet Potter?"

She stopped short, surprised, and corrected him out of habit more than anything else. "It's just Harry."

"Harry, then. You can call me Wesley." He gestured for her to follow him down the hall, walking rapidly. The sound of their shoes against the linoleum was a sound that Harry was very familiar with: even wizarding hospitals used the same ugly floors. "We've been expecting you. Dr. Rosenberg called and explained everything.

Harry was a bit uncertain. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"That you're an exceptional doctor," Wesley said, glancing over at her, a frown marring his features as he took in her nervousness. "And that if anybody can help Vanessa it's you."

"Oh. But no pressure," Harry muttered.

They entered a small waiting room, which was filled almost to capacity with intimidating men in sunglasses and suits. They seemed to be congregating around one, larger bald man who was sitting down and who Harry recognized immediately from her television.

Wilson Fisk.

To be fair, he didn't look nearly as intimidating now as he typically did. In fact, he looked tired. Haggard. His eyes were red, as though he had been crying, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. When he saw her and Wesley, he jumped up.

"Is this her?" he asked Wesley urgently as he approached them.

Wesley confirmed. "It is."

Fisk turned his attentions to her. "Dr. Rosenberg said you can save her— is it true? Can you save Vanessa?"

In the time it had taken him to approach her, Harry had already reached up her right wrist with her left hand to feel her wand in its holster. It would be so easy to just flick her wrist and end this now… Fisk might be some sort of kingpin, but he was still mortal, and as far as she knew would respond to a stun the same as any other man.

Stun him, she thought. Apparate out of here. Take him back to Matt's. Let him deal with it.

Except she didn't want that— Matt didn't deserve to have to deal with this on his own. When she had left him, he was already feeling conflicted about his earlier decision to try and kill Fisk. The last thing he needed was for her to take Fisk and drop him in his lap when he was so confused.

Then end it, the darker part of her mind whispered. End it now. You know you can.

And she could see it: the Killing Curse was illegal, but there were a million and one other curses she could use to end Fisk. An overly powerful Stunner could just as easily stop his heart, and she could claim it was an accident. The security guards and Wesley were problematic, but not insurmountable obstacles. Some modified Memory Charms and—

Wait. What am I doing?

This was a hospital, not a war zone, and she wasn't a killer, not anymore. That part of her had died with Voldemort, or so she had sworn, and here she was ready to kill again, for a man she barely knew.

But you do know him, that dark part of her whispered. He's you.

None of that mattered. She wasn't going to be that person— not again. Not when there was a man (never mind who he was) looking at her like she was the last hope he had.

He loves her, she realized. And that was what settled the matter for her once and for all. Nobody— not even somebody like Fisk— deserved to lose somebody they loved. She had seen what it did to Snape, after all, and had promised herself that she'd never let somebody else go down that route if she could help it.

She realized that Fisk and Wesley were still waiting for her answer.

"Yes," Harry said softly, moving her hand from her holstered wand to the pouch that hung around her neck and carried a bezoar. "I think I can."

She missed her flight that day, but saved Vanessa. Fisk offered her the use of his private plane in gratitude, but Harry refused. She might've saved his girl and spared his life, but she didn't want to owe him anything. Instead, she caught the next flight out to London from JFK, and as she sat in the plane thinking about what had just happened, what she had done, what she had been prepared to do, she could be certain of only one thing: she really needed to talk to Ron and Hermione.

AN: Here it is! Sorry there isn't a lot of Harry/Matt, but the next chapter will make up for it. I hope you enjoy it regardless :)

tinyrose65