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 4: Trust

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, offering Harry a cup of tea. Harry grumbled as she took it.

"Don't 'Oh, Harry' me, Hermione," she chided, taking a sip and wincing as it burned her tongue.

She, Ron, and Hermione were all seated around Ron and Hermione's kitchen in their apartment in London. She had arrived in the city early that morning, taken a cab to their place, and used a spare key to let herself in. They had woken up to find her crashed on their couch, much to their surprise since she hadn't told them she was coming (Harry had originally planned to stay at Grimmauld Place during her trip, but after everything she just needed to see them), and had immediately offered to cook her breakfast.

While they cooked, Harry sat at the counter and talked, explaining as much as she could about her situation with Matt without giving away the fact that he was secretly a masked vigilante who beat up muggers…

…so not much.

At the moment, Hermione was lamenting the fact that her current relationship— if one could call it that— was no less complicated or any more healthy than her last one.

"At least Draco called you his girlfriend," Hermione pointed out, a frown on her face as she shoved a plate of pancakes over to Harry. Hermione had never understood why Harry had dated Draco in the first place. This was also the reason that Harry had never bothered telling Hermione that Draco had hit her— she heard enough 'I told you so's' in her life and didn't need anymore, thank you very much.

(She also didn't want to see Ron and Hermione in prison for murder.)

"To Matt's credit," Harry defended, "Neither of us have exactly had anytime to discuss things properly."

"And instead of doing that," Hermione chided, finally sitting down, cooking complete, "You ran away to London.

"I didn't run away! I do have business in London!"

"Sounds like running away to me, mate," Ron offered, speaking up for the first time. Harry glared at him, but all he did was take a sip of his own tea, apparently not bothered. Harry's scowl deepened as she then dug into her pancakes. There was companionable silence for a few minutes as the trio ate their breakfasts. Neither could stay mad at the other for particularly long amounts of time; even Ron and Hermione's famous fights fizzled out quickly nowadays.

"I'm just afraid he brings out the worst in me," Harry said quietly.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed again. Harry swiftly got up from the table and walked over to the sink, slamming her plate and cup down as hard as she could without breaking them. Honestly. If Hermione all Hermione was going to do was "Oh, Harry" at her, she had better things to do.

"I need to go," Harry huffed. "I have a meeting at the Ministry about some Death Eater trials."

"You've been up all night," Hermione fretted, getting up herself and going over to where Harry stood. She placed her hands on Harry's shoulders and tried to get Harry to look at her.

"I'll get a coffee," Harry mumbled, doing her best not to meet Hermione's eyes. In the end, she couldn't help herself, though, and upon seeing Hermione's worry etched plainly onto her face, Harry melted into a small smile.

"I'll be fine, Hermione," she assured, and she wasn't just talking about the exhaustion. Hermione just hummed and brushed a stray strand of Harry's hair out of her face. After hugging both her friends goodbye, Harry was off to the Ministry.


It was hours later when Harry flew back into Hermione and Ron's flat through the Floo. Even years later, she still hadn't gotten used to it as a mode of transportation. She landed oddly, stumbling out of the fireplace and landing flat on her face in their living room. A snort caught her attention, so she looked up to see Ron sitting on the couch, sipping Firewhiskey, and seemingly waiting for her.

"You need to learn to stick the landing,"

"Shut up, Ron," Harry grumbled, pushing herself to her feet. She straightened her clothes and then ran a hand through her hair. The latter did little good. Her hair was as messy as it always was, although she was pleased to note that she didn't need to deal with broken glasses anymore. The corrective surgery she had gotten after Hogwarts was good for something after all.

"Why are you still up?" Harry asked, now standing.

"Waiting for you," he told her, then patted the spot next to him on the couch. That's when Harry noticed the extra glass of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him.

Harry took the seat and the glass gratefully. "Really? Going to regale me with more of your fantastic advice?"

Ron winced. "Sorry about that. We've, uh, well we've had our minds full lately."

Harry noticed Ron's look and narrowed her eyes at him. Something was up. Then she realized something else: "Where's Hermione?"

"Upstairs, asleep," Ron said, confirming her suspicious. When Harry remarked that this was unlike her, Ron grew even more shifty. "She just hasn't been feeling herself lately."

Harry's brain immediately went into "Healer mode," cataloguing every single thing that could possibly be wrong with her friend. Since the only known symptom she really had to go by was fatigue, it could've been almost anything. Thankfully, Ron noticed where her mind was headed and held out a hand to try and placate her before she could get too worked up.

"No! It's nothing like that!" He assured. He hesitated. "She'll kill me if I tell you without her…"

"Tell me what?" Harry demanded. "Is she okay?"

"She'll kill me," Ron muttered again, this time speaking more to himself than her. After a brief fight with himself, he seemed to come to a resolution. "Alright, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to act surprised tomorrow when she tells you again!"

"Yes, yes, yes," Harry promised impatiently. "Whatever you want. Now what's going on? Is Hermione okay?"

"She's fine," Ron repeated, this time a small smile started to grow on his face. "She's pregnant."

Looking back, Harry would pinpoint this as the moment where her brain just shut down. All of her thoughts ground to a halt, and she was left staring at Ron, utterly speechless, with her mouth hanging wide open.

"P-p-pregnant?" Harry stuttered. She took in Ron's face: his small but proud smile, the added warmth in his eyes, the slight tinge of pink around his ears. Her heart grew at least three sizes in that moment, and she knew, without a doubt that if it came down to it, she'd kill to protect that little, unborn baby, and she hadn't even met it yet. "Oh, Ron! That's wonderful news!"

"Thanks," Ron said, taking a sip of Firewhiskey. "We only found out a few days ago. You're the first to know."

"I'm touched," Harry admitted. "Truly. How far along is she?"

"Four weeks, give or take. So you can understand why she's having a hard time focusing on your problems," Ron explained. "Things have been sort of crazy here."

"I get it," Harry assured, feeling no ill will at all. If anybody deserved news like this, it was Ron and Hermione. They'd make wonderful parents.

"Although, I've been giving it some thought," Ron continued, "And I think there's another reason why Hermione and I don't really have any advice for you."

"Oh?"

"It's because you're wrong," Ron said plainly. Harry blinked at this, not expecting it. Ron was typically very blunt— Hermione said that he lacked tact, but Harry liked to think that Ron was just a straight-shooter— so it was really more about what he said than how he said it.

"Wrong about what?" Harry frowned.

"You said he brings out the worst in you," Ron repeated. "He doesn't."

"I've known him for a few weeks and was ready to kill a man for him," Harry argued. She had told Ron and Hermione about meeting Fisk, but instead of explaining that Matt knew him through his vigilante activities, she had simply stated that Matt's firm was working on taking him down through completely legal means. It was torture to lie to them, but she had promised Matt, and she wouldn't break that promise for anything.

"You were ready to kill a bad man," Ron said. "Who has hurt and killed people himself. You know what some would say that makes you?" Harry didn't answer, so Ron went on. "A hero, Harry. It would make you a hero."

"If that's what makes a person a hero," Harry grumbled, "I'm not sure I want to be one."

"Well, you are one," Ron snapped. Clearly this was harsher than he intended, because he immediately looked apologetic. His tone softened. "I know you did things during the war that you weren't proud of, but a lot of people are grateful to you nonetheless. You made choices then— tough choices, that nobody should ever have to make— and you keep making those choices now. That's what heroes do."

Harry thought back to how only moments ago she had assured herself that she'd be willing to kill to protect Ron and Hermione's unborn child and couldn't find it in her to really argue with him, so she pulled a face. "I never wanted to be a hero. I want to be just Harry."

"But you aren't 'just Harry,'" Ron said more gently than Harry would've thought him able, "And you probably never will be."

Harry had nothing to say to that, so she just took another pull of her whiskey.


The next day, before catching her flight home the next afternoon, Harry decided to visit some family. She started with her parents in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. Kneeling down, she placed flowers at not only her parents' graves, but Sirius's, Remus's, and Tonks's, too. Since the war had ended, Harry had also gone ahead and added a tombstone for Sirius, and she had convinced Andy to bury Remus and Tonks there, too: the Marauders were together at last.

The wind nipped at her cheeks as she stood in front of the graves, but it didn't bother her. If anything, it reminded her of the first time she had seen her parents' burial spots, those many, many Christmas's ago. For a while, Harry just talked to them about little things: her new job, moving to New York, her coworkers. She updated Remus and Tonks about Teddy, although she was fairly certain that Teddy and Andy visited more often than she did.

Finally, though, Harry couldn't contain herself anymore. She let out a shuddering sigh.

"I'm falling in love with somebody I shouldn't," she admitted out loud. "I don't know what to do."

If she had been expecting some sort of moment of clarity to arrive because she was with her parents, none did. After standing for another few minutes in silence, she whispered, "I love you."

Then she left.

After, she stopped by Andy's home to visit Teddy. Her eyes were a bit red rimmed when she first arrived, but nobody said anything about it, for which she was grateful. Instead, the visit went relatively well— Teddy told her about some of the accidental magic he had accomplished and excitedly chatted about his Hogwarts letter, even though it was a few years away. He showed her some of the new tricks he had learned on his broom (all of which Harry already knew, of course, but she pretended to be surprised by them, like any good godmother would). That didn't stop her from pulling feint on Teddy and getting him to land in a large mud puddle in the backyard (she was heir to the Marauder legacy, after all).

Eventually, after a few hours flying, she settled down for tea with Andy while Teddy was upstairs showering.

"He's grown," Harry said with a smile as Andy prepared her tea.

"Like a weed," Andy confirmed. "It seems like every weak I'm taking him shopping for new robes."

"If you need any money—" Harry began uncertainly, not sure how to approach the topic. She knew Andy was comfortable financially, but comfortable and able to provide for a growing child where two very different things. Thankfully, Andy wasn't offended and waved off Harry's concern.

"I appreciate the offer, but we're fine," Andy says.

"If you need anything at all," Harry began, but again Andy cut her off.

"The only thing we need is for you to visit more often." She handed Harry her tea. Harry took it, blushing.

"Things have been busy for me," Harry defended half-heartedly. Even with her work, she really had no excuse for visiting more often—such as when she got weekends off. It's not as though she didn't have the money to afford the flights. But then the whole thing with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen started up, and she found herself nervous to leave for too long, lest Matt get into trouble he couldn't get himself out of. Even this short trip was wreaking havoc on her nerves.

"You seem pre-occupied," noted Andy, and Harry winced. Like her daughter after her, Andy had always been incredibly perceptive.

Harry suddenly found herself wanting to spill the whole thing: Matt, Fisk… all of it. But no, she couldn't, just like she couldn't tell Ron and Hermione (and since when had her life become about keeping secrets from her two best friends? Another thing to add on the list of things she did for Matt). Still, surely she could tell Andy something?

"I'm falling in love with somebody," Harry finally admitted, "But I don't think he's any good for me."

"Why not?" Andy asked. "Does he hurt you?"

"No!" Harry protested, eyes wide. Of all the uncertainties in their relationship, she could be sure of that much, at least. "He'd never!"

"Then what?"

"He just— he has this dark side about him. And it frightens me sometimes, that maybe one day he'll give into it."

Andy sipped her tea, lost in thought, and Harry let her think. The Black matriarch always gave great advice, but not without thinking things through first (which, Harry supposed, was why the advice was always so good). Finally, Andy put down her teacup and spoke.

"Do you know what people told Tonks when they found out she had married Remus?"

"Congratulations?" Harry guessed weakly. Andy snorted.

"Hardly," she deadpanned. "No, they all warned her of what a terrible mistake she was making. That marrying a werewolf was dangerous. That he was more beast than man."

"That's ridiculous," Harry protested. "Remus was a great man— werewolf or not— and he was perfectly safe as long as he took his potion."

"And my daughter would say exactly that," Andy confirmed. A glimmer of pride twinkled in her eyes at the mention of the sort of woman her daughter was. "Still, people were convinced that Remus would one day give into his, ahem, baser instincts. But Tonks didn't care. She loved the man he was, not the thing he could've became. And from that love we have Teddy."

Before Harry could think of an adequate response to Andy's story, Teddy came bounding down the stairs, hair still wet (and a vivid shade of pink). Distracted by the antics of her only godson, Harry didn't consider Andy's words until later that night, when she was back in bed in Ron and Hermione's apartment.

Tonks had trusted Remus to be better than his werewolf side would otherwise imply— she had married him, had a child with him. And that was where she differed from Harry. At the root of it all, Harry couldn't bring herself to trust Matt, not when he so often found himself toeing the line between hero and villain, even though he clearly trusted her.

Turning onto her back, Harry found herself staring at the ceiling as she contemplated. Was it fair of her to judge Matt based on the sort of man he might one day become? Obviously not. What he had done was no more than what she had done during the war. And while she herself hated what she had become in the fight against Voldemort, Ron (and others, apparently) were convinced that it's what made her a hero— made Matt a hero.

At the thought of what Matt had done to keep Hell's Kitchen safe, at what he kept doing, Harry smiled just a bit. His actions and his sacrifices showed exactly the sort of man he was. She'd just been too confused to see it.

Andy had been right: it just takes trust. Trust had never come easily to her, but perhaps it would be worth it trusting Matt. Surely the benefits outweighed the risks?

Harry turned back onto her side and closed her eyes.

Yes, yes they do.

That night, a warm feeling in her chest lulled Harry to sleep.


On the flight home, Harry enjoyed the technological advancement that was in-flight television, catching up on the news since she'd been gone. It was then that she learned of Fisks's arrest, the subsequent escape and police chase, Vanessa fleeing, the small law firm that had worked to take him down, and (perhaps most importantly) the role of the newly dubbed "Daredevil" in apprehending him.

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin.

She needed to see Matt— now— so as soon as she arrived at JFK, she found a secluded spot and vanished her luggage away to her house, and then apparrated to Matt's apartment, just outside his door. It was late in the afternoon, so she wasn't surprised when he opened the door immediately to let her in, not even bothering to wait for her to knock.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile. "I didn't know you were— OOF."

Harry interrupted him by launching herself at him and pulling him close into a tight hug. He seemed surprised, but not unhappy, and wrapped his arms around her in return. His weight shifted slightly as one of his feet darted out to kick the door closed.

"I heard about what happened with Fisk," she mumbled into his chest because damnit, she was so short. "I'm so glad you're okay." She pulled away and looked over him critically. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," Matt assured her. "Just a few bruises. I've got a fancy new suit now and everything."

"I heard," Harry laughed. "Don't even need me anymore."

"Oh, I'll always need you, Harry," Matt said. Harry's breath caught in her chest, the wind suddenly taken out of her. Matt did that sometimes, she noticed. Said little things which such utter seriousness, as though they were the absolute truth and that they wouldn't change, come hell or high water.

She cleared her throat and reached around her neck to pull out her trust moleskin pouch, having had the good sense to take it out of her luggage before sending her bags home. It was still packed with her medical supplies. "Let me take care of those bruises for you."

Matt let her lead him to the couch, and they sat down together. Harry spent the next several minutes healing him. As she had guessed, his injuries were less extensive than normal (thanks to his suit), and the time went by very quickly. The worst were the bruises on his forearm, no doubt made by some sort of pipe or crowbar— Harry couldn't bring herself to ask the specifics. When she had finished, they sat in companionable silence, just looking at each other, happy to be in each other's company. The air was charged with something Harry couldn't name. The entire situation should've been weird, but it wasn't.

And then…

And then they were kissing.

This wasn't like their last kiss, which had been soft and gentle. Oh, no. This kiss had heat behind it. Force. Their lips and tongues slanting against each other, Harry quickly found her hands slipping under Matt's shirt, helping him to tug it off. His hands paused at her waist, and he pulled back.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Definitely," Harry assured, and she meant it.

That was the last time they spoke for a long while.

At some point, they at least had the good sense to make it to the bedroom, and after, found themselves under the covers in Matt's bed, both quite spent. The surge of emotions Harry felt was too much, and, despite herself, she soon found herself giggling.

"What?" Matt asked, tilting his head down at where she had her head resting on his chest.

"Just— silk sheets?" she asked, not sure what else to say. Matt pulled a face.

"My skin is sensitive," he defended, only making her giggle louder. He reached out and began attacking her ribs with his fingers, tickling her to the point of hysterics. She tried to wiggle away, but was caught up in the covers, and after a minute, she found herself surrendering.

"Uncle! Uncle!" she cried through her laughter. He stopped immediately, grinning smugly. At this point, Harry was lying flat on her back, so she shifted to her side, better to face him. He did the same.

"That was nice," Matt offered tentatively.

Harry snorted. "A bit more than nice."

"I honestly didn't think you were interested in me, you know?" He admitted. "Aside from that one kiss, you treated me more like a friend than anything else."

"I was confused," Harry admitted, after a moment's pause. "There are parts of you that are too much like me, and that scares me."

"What changed your mind?" Matt asked.

"My family pointed out that I was being stupid," Harry answered. "And that it all comes down to if I trust you to make the right decisions— and I do trust you, Matt."

Matt reached out to brush some hair away from her face. The fact that he knew it was there didn't even surprise Harry anymore. She had come to expect that sort of thing from Matt. He said, "I trust you, too."

Yes, he did, Harry mused, and not for the first time, she found herself wanting to tell Matt about her parents, the war, Voldemort. All of it.

"Then there's some things you should know," she whispered. Matt raised an eyebrow in invitation.

And so she told him everything.


AN: And that's it! I'm not super thrilled with Harry's internal dialogue here, but I did the best I could. And I finished season 1 of Daredevil! Until season 2 shows up, I'll be writing oneshots and things set in this universe. I'll be posting under a new story, though, for organization's sake, so keep an eye out on my author's page for updates on that.

Hope you enjoyed!

tinyrose65