Notes: I've tried integrating the Marvel comic universe(s) with the Marvel Cinematic Universe, most of the information coming from liberal use of wiki and such sources. Just … go with it … .
Chapter 4
There was very little that surprised Nick Fury.
Nicholas Joseph Fury, youngest (and second, but he may as well have been the first, since, well … that's a story for another time) to be appointed Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, oldest active human agent in the history of … ever (and that included Captain America). He knew he was something of a legend among his agents; it was not a prideful statement but a fact, one that he neither encouraged nor suppressed.
And of that legend, his unflappable nature was a fable in and of itself. Veteran of three wars, (temporarily) immortal, ex-CIA, destroyer of S.H.I.E.L.D., creator of the new and improved S.H.I.E.L.D.—his credentials spoke for themselves. He'd seen the technological age accelerate the evolution of humans from a species that used rotary dial telephones to one that, at the tips of their fingers, had the ability to translate words into over fifty languages while simultaneously engaging people on the other side of the world in full-scale battles about the colour of a dress.
Not to mention his encounters with the supernatural: mutants, aliens, wizards, and even gods. None of which had garnered more than a slow blink of his visible eye.
He'd dealt with them all in various shapes and forms—quite literally—but nothing, nothing, had prepared him for the advent of one Harry James Potter.
He first heard whispers of the name merely weeks after accepting the post of S.H.I.E.L.D. director. He had, at the time, barely grasped the existence of wizards, and hadn't put much thought to the vast implications of a powerful Dark Lord (he would never admit the split second of paranoia that had gripped him at the thought of a real-life enactment of the recently-released Star Wars) being defeated by a year-old infant. An action he sorely regretted thirteen years later, when the same Dark Lord had been resurrected by the blood of the same kid.
(He really wasn't being paid enough for the shit that he put up with, not nearly enough.)
Suddenly, America seemed poised to fall into another, this time magical, war—and it would have, had the kid with the unassuming name and unremarkable intelligence not ended the Dark Lord permanently by dying himself. Which he understood. Because it was war, and the nature of the beast was one of blood and tears and fire and ice and exhaustion and pain … and sacrifice.
Except this kid—who by all accounts had become a hardened young man—came back to life.
(Did he mention a pay-raise? Make that three. Big, fat ones that would pay for the mountain of headache-relievers he would need to medicate himself for the foreseeable future.)
And so America heaved a sigh of relief, a quiet one of which most of its people remained blissfully unaware, and life went on.
Recruiting one eighteen-year-old shouldn't have required the amount of effort that Nick had put into it, but weeks turned into months and then into years as he was rebuffed by numerous officials of varying status. So when he was finally faced with the much sought-after man, he was almost surprised.
Harry Potter was not a very hard man to read. At twenty-five, he still had the body of a teenager—a phenomenon he had been assured was common among the slowly ageing witches and wizards. His clothes were shabby and faded, and entirely unexceptional. The weary slump of his shoulders and tired but alert set of his eyes spoke of years of bloodshed and strife. The twitching fingers at indiscernible sounds and barely-there flinches at light touches suggested PTSD and possible anxiety, both quite reasonable in one who had grown up in a time of war.
This was the man he had devoted so much energy into tracking down? How … disappointingly average.
His thoughts remained inside his head, however. "Mr. Potter, a pleasure to finally meet you. You are a hard man to reach, if I may say so."
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," Potter replied. A grim slash of a smile, bloodless and brief, appeared on his lips. Suddenly, Fury realised that his eyes were green. How odd that he had not noticed before.
"I had not been aware of your attempts to contact me—we would have met much earlier if I had. The British Ministry of Magic is one that prizes its ability to control those it has a use for, and I am unfortunately one such citizen. Only recently have I managed to rid myself of their claws, Mr. Fury, and I have no intention of binding myself to another such power."
Fury frowned. Surely Potter didn't know what S.H.I.E.L.D. did, let alone what his own objective was … did he?
"Tell me, Mr. Fury," Potter said abruptly, "do you know of a Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley?"
Fury had to fight hard not to scowl—it was the name of another British citizen he had been trying to acquire, a woman with one of the highest IQs of her generation, despite having been homeschooled for the better part of her youth.
"Yes? Did you perchance also know that she is a very dear friend of mine?"
As the implications set in, a sense of resignation swept through him. The woman was a witch too—of course she was. And, even better, just to spite him, she was allied to Potter.
"No? Well, when I discovered that an organisation by the name of S.H.I.E.L.D. was trying to get in touch with me, I went to Hermione about it. And what a happy coincidence it was that she had received a letter herself? She, of course, had already done her research and found out what the agency was."
In his triumph, Potter had something of a shark's grin, Fury noted. He had grossly underestimated this wizard yet again, and this time it didn't take thirteen years for the regret to follow. Suddenly, he was seeing Potter through a new light. His clothes weren't just worn; short of a bodysuit, they were optimal for unobstructed and quick movements. His eyes were more than alert—they were watchful, sweeping around the room regularly. The unassuming slouch belied the tense muscles bunched underneath, ready to spring at a moment's notice. The twitches and flinches, which he had thought was a sign of PTSD, instead indicated his hyperaware state and hair-trigger reflexes.
This man was not merely a veteran of a war—he was a trained warrior.
"I will not lie—the picture Hermione painted left me pretty impressed. But it did not please me, Mr. Fury. Because, like every other authority that I have worked for, you are far too utilitarian for my tastes. And I will not argue the necessity of that trait—many owe their lives to you for the ability to see the forest rather than the individual trees. But it is not something I can accept for myself." He flashed a slightly mischievous grin. "And besides, I am told I am too exceedingly stubborn to obey orders."
"You won't rethink your position, Mr. Potter? Our purpose is the same—to help the people. Together, I am certain we can achieve great results."
"I know," Potter sighed, a little nostalgically, to his mind, "but we can do great things just as well on our own, Mr. Fury. The answer remains a resounding 'no'. Now, if you'll excuse me," he smiled courteously, and vanished from the spot.
Their next encounter was at a function held by the British Queen herself, to commemorate the ninetieth anniversary of the signing of the Armistice of 11 November 1918, and to honour the lives lost in subsequent wars.
After paying his respects to the monarch and observing the niceties, he was in the process of an unobtrusive exit when he glimpsed a familiar head of messy hair.
"Mr. Potter?"
The man turned around, and yes, the well-known wizard stared back at him. "Mr. Fury."
"I didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Potter."
Potter ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Well, Bill—er, His Royal Highness Prince William—insisted I come, as we hadn't had the chance to meet since he began his Royal Navy and Air Force training. And Her Majesty sent an invitation as well, so I couldn't refuse."
Potter called the Queen's grandson, Prince William of Wales, 'Bill'. Deciding that it would be in the best interest of his health to explore that at a later time, he said, "Have you given a second thought to enlisting with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"Nope," Potter said, "not a one. Nick—I can call you Nick, right? You can call me Harry"—here, Fury spared a thought to wonder whether Potter's encounters with Prince William had been similarly impertinent—"Nick, it just isn't in the cards for me. Sparks would fly, and not the good kind, I'm afraid." He broke off, eyes lighting up as looked past Fury's shoulder. "Oh, there's Bill! I'll have to go and say hello. I'm not sure I look forward to crossing paths in the future, Nick, but it was good to see you."
Fury stared after him as Potter walked off, waving enthusiastically at the Prince. Who was waving back just as excitedly.
Where did he put his Advil?
"Potter—"
"No."
"I have been persuaded by my friends to sign a contract with you," Potter announced as he appeared unceremoniously in his office, deflecting the bullet shot out of Fury's gun.
Fury re-holstered his gun and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I have a secretary for a reason, Potter," he growled, "and making appointments is one of them."
Potter's eyes widened innocently. "I thought you would appreciate a hand in scouting out the nuclear facility in North Korea as soon as possible. You were looking for someone to infiltrate the base, were you not?"
May the powers that be preserve his sanity, he had a second, magical, Tony Stark on his hands. Thanking all the deities for the genius billionaire's preoccupation with Bruce Banner's presence in his labs (and therefore one less thing to worry about), Fury said, "I will not ask how you came across that information, Potter. But stay out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. database." When he felt he had glared the message across sufficiently, he continued, "Yes, I was. However, it would be best suited to a man of Korean descent. Which you"—Potter's features melted into those of a short, nondescript Korean man with neatly parted hair—"apparently can be."
"Lee Seung-hyun, small business owner, at your service," Potter greeted with a bow. "With a Translation Charm, I'll be able to understand, read, and speak the language as well. Served me well during a stint in South Korea." He morphed back into his messy-haired, baggy t-shirted self.
Fury nodded. "Very well, I will have a contract—"
"Oh no, Nick old pal, I won't be signing anything written by you. Hermione had been quite clear on that."
Fury ground his teeth together.
"What we can do, however, is negotiate some terms. Shall we?" Potter tilted his head inquiringly.
With an reluctant nod, he pulled out his StarkPad. Before he could open his mouth, Potter began. "One: I am, and will never be, your agent. My contributions will be more within the realm of consultation. That is non-negotiable." At his flinty glare, Fury sighed and wrote it out. "Two," Potter continued, "I will not be following orders in any capacity beyond what the aim of the mission is to be. I've learned that it simply is not something I do well, and it would be in your best interests not to try to change that. Three," Potter ticked off on his fingers, "my final condition is that I reserve the right to accept or refuse a mission as I see fit. Obvious as it may be for a consulting position, I figured it was best to have it stated clearly," he smiled sweetly.
Was this venture worth it? Three iron-clad conditions that he was very unhappy with, and Potter seemed unlikely to renege on these requirements. But even as he considered it, Fury knew that Potter's cooperation would be invaluable. Just his display of effortless transformation of his body proved it. But he would not let Potter have the last word.
"Alright," Fury agreed. "But I have stipulations of my own. First, you will at least genuinely consider each mission that you are contacted with. Second, you will provide me a means of communication that is able to reach you wherever you may be. Finally, I require a detailed account of your life as soon as possible—something I ask of everyone that works for me."
Potter furrowed his brows pensively. At length, he said, "I agree to your first two conditions, with slight changes to the wording. The third, however, is impossible. Barring my closest friends, there is not a soul who has access to the information you seek."
"And other than the addition of myself, it will remain that way," Fury replied calmly. "However, this is something that is, as you said, 'non-negotiable'."
A glower was directed back at him. "Fine," Potter said, and Fury masterfully suppressed a triumphant smile. "But in that case, this pact will be a magical one."
Potter elucidated on the Unbreakable Vow, the contract in question, and Fury realised that if he truly wanted to know what made the wizard tick—and he absolutely did—he would have to agree. As soon as he concurred verbally, Potter made a brief call. In an instant, Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley appeared before him (and deflected another bullet from his gun).
Lips pressed thinly together, she scrutinised him carefully, with the air of one who vetted out powerful spy organisations on a daily basis. Here was a woman whose competence clearly lived up to her reputation, who wielded her dominance in a way that Potter never did.
But that was what made him dangerous, he realised. After all, had he not miscalculated the man's abilities on more than one occasion?
"This is him?" Mrs. Granger-Weasley asked finally, addressing Potter.
"Yep," he replied carelessly, popping the 'p'.
Mrs. Granger-Weasley wrinkled her nose at the sound. "Hmm," she said. "I suppose the two of you have reached an agreement?" At their nods, she added, "The Unbreakable Vow?"
"Mhm," Potter confirmed, passing her the final copy of their agreement.
She deftly made a few alterations—Fury's estimation of the woman rose ever higher—and soon they were performing the Vow. Which, with its eerie flames and the certainty that he would die if he ever went against his word, filled him with more unease than he cared to admit.
"Within the week, Potter," Fury reminded him of the final clause as Potter stood to leave.
"Yeah, yeah," Potter waved off, "I'll have a file—colour-coded, even—on your desk soon."
At the incomprehensible squiggles that filled the pages of the thick file—colour-coded, as promised—Fury felt a migraine coming on.
"POTTER!"
A/N: … It wasn't meant to be this long, but oh well! I've wanted to write this since I realised that Harry had given Nick a file of his history that was, for all intents and purposes, a dud. The rest came flowing out as I pictured the myriad of ways to get Nick to develop something as close to a nervous twitch as possible. Gosh, this was fun.
I also finally got around to building a timeline for the characters' respective ages and when the main events had taken place, which mainly relies on Marvel's Cinematic Universe, but some elements from Marvel's comic universe(s) as well.
Thank you for the love you've showered on this story! 3 And please review!
