Definition: revenge
(noun or verb)
The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.
...
The last time Harry had been arrested, it had been in the fifteen hundreds, so it took a while for him to pin down that niggling feeling. He'd been scooped off the streets in much the same way, although there had been fewer black cars and strapping young gentlemen to escort him firmly inside.
He didn't fight them. He slipped into the role of a harmless old man he'd been playing for a hundred years. He grumbled a bit about the rough handling, did a bit of 'what is the world coming to', a little 'what is this, how dare you', and asked them to mind his back. All that he could do in his sleep, which was fortunate, because his mind wasn't on the task at all.
This was not a battle of strength, but information. Something had gone very wrong, and he needed to know how much they knew before he armed them with more charges against him.
What illegal things had he done recently? Trespassing. Breaking and entering. Some light stalking. That didn't warrant this level of response. This was the government. It could only be the spying, which brought to light some more serious charges. Espionage. Perjury. Several instances of forgery and fraud, but that was mainly Tom's work. Maybe he was on a terrorist watch list. Or worse.
He was in the car before he realised that they actually weren't allowed to do that. No words, no warning, no song and dance about rights and charges. He wasn't being arrested, technically, he was being kidnapped. Which, well… shite.
Being an immortal wizard and universal alien probably wasn't explicitly illegal, but it could certainly provoke this. But they shouldn't even suspect any of that for another two years, because he hadn't arrived until 2012.
The burning question was why? Had Stark made the connection between Xavier's compromising information and one random employee? Had Tom's cover fallen through?
Speak of the devil. It was probably time to notify the backup.
The first thing the agents had done was confiscate all his belongings. They hadn't found the extended compartment on his bag, so he was certainly dealing with muggles. If they couldn't spot that, they would never get his watch. His hands were cuffed, but it was easy enough to lift the buckle of the wristband. It immediately warmed. It would project all sound and images directly to its partner. Standard issue for Unspeakables. Harry loved the things, he'd been beside himself when Tom let him steal it.
Now that he was on the clock, so to speak, Harry stopped messing around and resorted to British insincere politeness. "Excuse me, will this take long? I have an appointment in fifteen minutes."
"You'll miss it, Mr Porter," the big shot in the middle said. That was odd, but it gave him hope that they unaware of the fake identity, that would take out a significant chunk of the trouble he was in. "We will organise an alternate time for you."
Stranger and stranger. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"I am a representative from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
SHIELD. Some kind of national security branch. It wasn't a very clear title, but Harry had heard worse from organisations that picked the acronym before trying to find thematically appropriate words to fit it. The Ministry had a designated a whole sub department to that particular pursuit.
"And why am I being arrested?" he asked.
They were reluctant to answer that, as he'd suspected. "You are not being arrested."
They didn't know any of it. They had nothing to charge him on. And yet, he was still wearing cuffs.
The unknown was worse. It made Harry's palms sweat. "Excellent, I'll just be going then."
"We need to question you regarding your association with Jane Foster."
This was about Jane? Well there went his nice easy intervention from Tom. "And this –the hoo-hah with the abduction and sunglasses indoors– is standard procedure for a friendly interrogation?"
"It is a serious matter regarding national security."
"Right."
First thought: she succeeded and the military wanted licence to use her work. But they would try to negotiate with her first. This was an extreme response, provoked by extreme measures.
Amended thought: someone else had succeeded, America had was worried they would weaponize it, and a pair of researchers and an intern would not catch up fast enough, so they wanted to appropriate it. It was a distinct possibility because in his universe at least, the Asgardians had already done it.
"What is your involvement with Foster's research into wormholes?"
"Not waiting for the small room and the bright light?"
"As you pointed out, this is a friendly interrogation," he said in a way that confirmed that he was trying good cop on the way to the facility just to pass the time.
Harry wanted to be contrary on principle but he really couldn't risk a fight now. If they didn't know his secrets, he had everything to lose. This was bigger than just him; he'd suffer through it until an opportunity to leave presented itself.
"I'm just Jane's soundboard."
"We have her emails."
"Then I'm sure you've already made up your minds."
So maybe Harry wasn't very adept at patience.
…
It was a long drive and muted whine of the sirens ensured it was not the traffic that caused it. They took him far out of town, but there were no windows for him to gauge the direction or location. Most of the trip passed in silence, the interrogator having quickly exhausted his questions.
The car pulled up in a secure garage. Harry didn't get a chance to observe the facility from the outside either, before he was hustled further in.
The artificial lighting revealed something they had not noticed, initially in their haste and then in the dark. "Holster!"
Harry was forced roughly against a wall before he knew what hit him, and he was rapidly losing patience with the American experience. It was taking serious constraint not to blast the arseholes and their grabby hands across the room. "Take off his shirt."
He growled lowly as they yanked his shoulders back and ripped the thing over his head. They spun him around, leaving the cloth hanging awkwardly over his wrists and cuffs, right there in the hall. "Do you mind," he hissed. It was cold.
Unexpectedly, the revelation that he wasn't hiding a gun didn't deescalate the situation. Tension suddenly crackled through the air. Harry was unnerved. Something obviously had a significance to them but he didn't have the slightest idea what or why.
"What is that supposed to be?" the leader pointed, and Harry glanced down on reflex at the pain amulet stuck to his chest. He never did get around to finding a better spot for it.
"Obviously not a weapon," Harry said testily.
"Sir, I can't touch it," a goon remarked. "There appears to be a barrier around it."
The leader nodded at the minions and they once again seized Harry's arms, frogmarching him as the leader strode out ahead and spoke lowly into a radio. "Is the interrogation room in the X wing free? I suspect at this stage that Porter is a mutant."
…
"So," the man folded his arms. "An engineer and a mutant. We've worked with your kind before. Have you heard of Gambit?"
Harry shrugged and let them write his alibi. Anything was better than wizard. He prayed fervently that no one in this building was important enough to have been told about magic. The more of a feel he got for their personalities and ethics, the less he wanted them aware of his culture. All patriotism and no compassion. He'd met people like them all over history, usually on the wrong side of it.
"When did this become about me?" Harry pointed out. "Being a mutant isn't a crime, and as you pointed out when you abducted me, you have no other cause to arrest me."
"We'll get to Foster later. For now, you're going to tell me about that thing and what sort of power you've imbued it with."
Harry thought quickly. If it looked like reticence from a distance, well, he was in that kind of mood.
"I've got all day, Porter."
"It's a lightning rod," he lied confidently, as if that made any kind of sense. They already thought he was like Gambit; if he kept his answers in that general area, hopefully confirmation bias would be on his side. Besides, if it came down to fighting, he could limit himself to lightning spells. They were versatile and satisfying.
"Take it off."
"Can't. It's magnetised."
"You said it was electric."
"It's both. They're the same thing. Honestly, kids these days, it's like you've never opened a textbook," Harry lamented.
"What does it do."
"Power things. It's like a battery."
"What could it do to people."
"Nothing. Don't poke it with a fork."
"The shape, the octopus. Did you choose that for any particular reason?" he asked seriously.
It had six branches, not eight. It looked like an insect, if anything. Truly their education system was failing. "Of course not," he scoffed, meeting the man's eyes evenly.
"Right then." To Harry surprise, the he dropped the subject. After all the fuss it caused, that only put Harry further on edge. "On to Jane Foster. How did you meet?"
"By email."
"Where were you?"
"England. About two years ago."
"Why?"
"I had a question about wormholes."
If they were going to making him go through all the information they already knew as well as the stuff they wanted to find out, it was going to be a long day.
…
The interrogator –or the wanker, as Harry had dubbed him because it was like speaking to Abraxas Malfoy without being dazzled by the hair– he subtly turned off the recording at the end of the interview.
Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling the situation get worse by the second. It was well into dangerous territory now.
"Thank you for your cooperation," the wanker leaned forward, suddenly all smiles again, despite the fact that Harry had successfully told him next to nothing. "I would like to offer you an employment opportunity."
He couldn't be serious. After this treatment? "Sorry, old chap, I already have a job."
The smile slid off like grease. "You misunderstand. If you don't work for us, you don't work for anyone."
"You don't want me," Harry chuckled, despite the spike of adrenaline. He made a pretty average physicist, but he knew a few brilliant ones. "You want my access to Jane Foster or Tony Stark. What's happened?"
The wanker's face went blank.
"Was it an overlord from outer space?" Harry guessed, and damn, he was actually right. He grinned, and it wasn't wise to taunt them, but they had brought him to the point of pissed off with no return. "You shouldn't do this place up so Area 51, it makes a bloke suspicious."
In a moment, there was a gun in his face, a flash from the corner of his eye, and the wanker slumped over, stunned.
"The cameras are off," Harry announced absently. He dropped the shirt and handcuffs. Stupid of them. The cover had let him scratch a rune into the metal hours ago. He untangled the shirt from the metal and put it back on. "What took you so long?" he asked Tom.
"The Irish." Riddle had the wanker strung up like a puppet, eyelids peeled open. "You were handling it well enough."
Tom's eyes narrowed at the wanker and the grip on his wand went taught. Not a good sign. "Change of plans. Wipe out the surveillance in the rest of the building."
Harry held out a hand and a second later his wand zoomed eagerly into his palm. Yes, that wand. Harry glared at it. He'd specifically summoned the spare, but he should have known this one would misbehave.
Tom hadn't noticed yet, too busy doing his mind reading or wiping or whatever. It was only a matter of time.
"I hate muggles," Riddle muttered, just after Harry had finished casting.
"Don't think about it so much. It's bad for your blood pressure," Harry recommended. Nothing managed to surpass his lowest expectations as often as people. "Just ruin their plans, fix their mistakes and make it look like an accident."
"I see we're on the same page," Tom said calmly, before blowing the door, not just off its hinges, but through the adjacent wall. "I'm giving you temporary Unspeakable status. Permission to use magic in front of and on muggles. There will be no witnesses, if I make myself clear."
Harry gaped at the crumpled metal. So they were look for a fight. Ok. Right. Harry readied his wand and fell in beside the furious wizard. "What did these guys do?"
"This wing of the building experiments on, in their minds, nonhumans. Mutants, enhanced or superhumans. They've currently got one muggleborn, but they don't know it. They've killed subjects in the past."
"Right." The Elder wand hummed, drawing a certain amount of problematic attention. Tom eyed him, and oh Merlin they'd be talking about this later. Harry pretended not to see it. "Who is in charge?"
"Doctor List."
Harry summoned his bag and released the hounds from hell. The little mechanical flies lined up on his hand, waiting for the name of their victim. "Portus. I hope you don't mind dealing with the trash when you get back to the office, Tom."
"Not at all," Riddle agreed darkly. "I suspect I shall enjoy it."
The halls were not crowded, but there was still a steady stream of agents as everyone in the vicinity ran to investigate the bang.
Harry didn't need to do much.
Riddle's spellcasting was a thing of terrible beauty. He wielded fiendfyre seamlessly. Serpents and birds, bears and cats roiled behind them, poking into every crack and crevasse, leaving nothing by ashes in their wake.
Harry just deflected any bullets that weren't vaporised and thanked his lucky stars that Voldemort had never taken his skinny teenage self as seriously as he'd taken Dumbledore.
Over the roar of the flames, alarms started to blare. "Asset out of containment," the PA system screamed.
"If they've locked down the computers, I'm going to feel less charitable about your venting," Harry told Tom.
Tom raised a flashing security door and let it slam down again behind them, leaving the fire to continue outside. "They don't store top secret information electronically. I will retrieve their files and set the boundary for the fire. There are five prisoners down the hall to the left. I will meet you back here in ten minutes."
"Got it," Harry took off at a jog.
There weren't cells. It would have been better if there were filthy cells. Instead there were reinforced tables and chairs and the smell of disinfectant. There were frosty coffins stacked with all the regard of brooms in a closet, behind the highest security door Harry had ever seen.
Cryofreeze. Great. Luckily, he'd left one of the guys in the lab coats alive, or he'd never meet Tom's deadline.
"Imperio. Release all the assets."
It was still a close call. Harry stood in the corner tapping his wand impatiently while the man went through the layers of security and the release procedures to defrost them safely. Seconds ticked by.
A young girl was the first. She woke in stages, initially unable to see or hear anything, and before that started coming back, she began crying.
Harry had no idea what he should do. She looked like she needed a hug, but no doubt she had had enough unsolicited touching for a lifetime. She couldn't have been more than seven. Fuck. Harry transfigured her cryochamber into a mound of fluffy blankets, and it didn't feel like he'd done nearly enough.
The next prisoner, still looking like a corpse next to them, couldn't have been more different. He was blue, for a start, and fully grown.
The third and fourth were both looked normal, both young. The fifth was middle aged and gave Harry an idea of what the Potter hair would look like if it migrated all over his body.
"That's odd," Harry remarked. His lab assistant hadn't stopped working. He went back to the computer, initiated twice as many procedures as before and pressed an alarming red button. Five, Tom had said. This looked like six.
The last cryochamber emerged from a different section of the wall. It opened and a man in combat gear with a shiny metal arm was briefly visible, before Harry's unwilling accomplice obscured his view.
"Assets should be sedated."
"No –"
The fifth man came up roaring and swinging blindly at thin air.
"Shit!" Harry jumped, and threw a hasty shield over his charges. They were all still basically comatose. It happened so fast that Harry didn't even have time think about the researcher, still under the effect of the curse, waiting placidly. It wouldn't have been too bad, if not for the long metal claws.
Oh dear. What a mess.
"Here, listen to me," Harry scrambled up and tried to draw the man away from the others. He was breathing like a racehorse and growling like a freight train, but he was also squinting and clearly disoriented.
"This is a rescue," Harry tried, and hastily dodged the swipe aimed at his voice. Perhaps cheering charms were not just the resort of the weak mind, but also a practical preventative in such situations.
The mutant blinked and shook his head irritably. It was a long step from peaceful giggling, but Harry would take it.
"We're escaping," Harry said carefully, checking on the others in case of any more surprises. The sixth man was awake and watching them with empty eyes. Yeah, one problem at a time. Harry stayed well back.
"I'm going to lead you out of here."
The claws were still retracted, but the mutant was no longer frothing to use them.
"We're going outside?" the first girl said, in heavily accented English. She had managed to sit up.
The clawed mutant flinched and whirled around. Harry level his wand in an instant. "We are all friends here," he said firmly.
Calm slowly descended. When Harry though the situation was on a slightly blunter knife edge, he approached her.
"Yes, we are going outside. First, we will go into the hall to meet my friend, and then we will all go to nice house in Westchester to meet a man called Charles Xavier."
When that didn't make much of an impression, he repeated it in Spanish, until his tempus charm sounded. "It's time to go."
He offered the girl his hand, and to his surprise, she decided to take it.
"Follow me," he told the others.
The sixth straightened. "Orders accepted." The fifth started growling again. Neither of those things sounded much like progress, but Harry took a deep breath, and turned his back. He'd layered it with shield charms first, because he wasn't stupid.
Tom's cloak was smouldering around the edges and he had a look on his face that made everyone anxious. Harry hastily greeted him, before fatal misunderstandings could occur.
"Is that the portkey?" There was a long piece of rope in Riddle's hand.
"Yes. Quickly now."
After Tom's count and a raised eyebrow, Harry added. "Turns out there's a higher level than top secret."
Harry grabbed the other end of the rope and urged the others to touch it. No one was comfortable being that close to five and six. "This will teleport us to safety," he explained. "Please don't stab anyone when we get there."
"3. 2. 1."
The world vanished.
…
"In my defence, this was a spontaneous visit," Harry said, straightening a dent in the wheelchair "And even if it hadn't been, I don't know Erik's schedule, there was no way I could have known that he'd be here."
"I realise there are extenuating circumstances, but if you had just appeared in the grounds instead of the foyer, I might have delayed him."
"I wasn't driving, but I'll be sure to let Tom know. Really, Charles, I wouldn't have risked it. Does he always go off the handle like that?"
"After learning that literal Nazis are around, experimenting on and murdering mutants? I couldn't say. I've never seen him that angry before," Charles sighed. "Thank you for bringing them here, despite everything."
"Have you been able to help with their memories?"
"It's an ongoing process."
"At least you managed to get Bucky to stop following me."
"His mind is the worst. They didn't wipe it so much as take an egg beater to it repeatedly. He has regained enough of himself to understand that he does not want anyone one interfering with his head. I must respect that."
"Will he be alright on his own?"
"I suspect he will untangle it eventually. Perhaps one day he will return and request help."
"And the others?"
"Logan's mind has healed, structurally, but anything very damaged was simply replaced. Those memories are gone. His experience will be a patchwork of his past," Charles shook his head sadly. "But you want to know about Tatiana. She troubled me, in the beginning. She has repressed a large portion of her life. It is not healthy, especially at her age. I am glad she is going with you two. I believe Tom will understand her far better than I could."
"I think she's growing on him." Tom hadn't ignored her or cursed her or anything.
"He is surprisingly good with her," Xavier agreed. "Does he have family?"
"None. But he was a teacher at one stage. I think he went into the job in spite of the kids, and came out the other side more attached than he'd planned. He pretends to be above it all, but he's always speaking about their curiosity, lamenting the way the system quashes it to make dull adults."
"I felt much the same for the first few months of my career. My priorities changed. The mission slowly faded."
"You look troubled."
"Erik was right about one thing. Whether the cryofreeze was used to contain them or specifically to stop telepaths detecting their brainwaves, the effect is the same. There could be more out there and I wouldn't know it."
"What are you going to do?"
"You handed me six amnesiacs and two of them want to extract violent retribution alongside my terrible influence of a friend. I suspect there is very little I can do, besides keep an eye on them and try to stop Erik toppling the American government."
Harry shuffled guiltily, but there was one prominent bright side. "It could be worse. Tom could have joined them." One damaged foyer was a small price to pay for animosity between Tom and Erik. "Could you imagine if they'd gotten along?"
"That must never happen."
"I quite agree."
…
A/N: Still got no computer. Help. It's killing me.
I don't really like this chapter, but I do like the idea of unleashing Bucky, Logan and Erik on Hydra, so there you have it. A little cross-fandom chaos.
I'm invoking creative license. I didn't know where Wolverine was at this point in the revised timeline, but he's been inexplicably caught and experimented on in so many movies, I recon I can use it as a plot device whenever I feel like it.
