Ron was finally used to the cockamamie schedule that the magical castle seemed to keep.

Despite learning where the classes were, his body wasn't fully set for the British castle until the beginning of October. From his eating to his sleeping, everything was off.

Thankfully, though others may have argued, the days were long and busy making it easier to fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion the first few weeks as their bodies adjusted to the strain of using their magic, the running around the school, and reading theory and technical work until there was only stars in the sky.

Ron had even more though as he continued trying to use the spell Strange had told him.

He had gotten a few sparks. A soft glow every now and again. But it felt so... Odd.

He barely felt anything with the magic in class. Most of it seemed to be focus driven, with a handful of natural talent. Some could do it quickly, others, not so much.

It was so unlike Strange's magic. When he tried to work the barrier, all he felt was a tingling sensation at the tips of his fingers. A slight burning when he grew agitated.

Although, he fared better than Hermione. He knew she attempted the spell Strange tried to teach him. It had been two days after his lesson when he witnessed her attempting the spell. She had poise, confidence and control that she boasted well in class.

However, when she attempted the spell, she had no light or glimmer, instead, she yelped in pain and dropped her jar. The glass shattered at her feet and her fingertips were blistered horribly, as though they had been burned. Ron froze, uncertain of what to do. But Hermione didn't call out. She looked at the glass littering the floor. Her breathing was slightly shaky and she leaned down, quickly picking up the broken glass, irritation evident on her face far more so than any pain she was feeling.

Ron had slid away, not wanting to confront the girl he practically lived with now.

Besides... His Aunt and Uncle did the same things with new techniques. His Aunt Tasha had learnt many body positions passed from dad's circus days where as dad had learned more violent and torturous means of extracting information from certain individuals otherwise unable to be broken.

The rule among spies, if you want it to be a secret, never let those who see it live as they were. Break them, or end them. At least, that was what his Aunt Tasha would say.

Still, he wasn't going to go out of his way to help her. Perhaps it was his own selfishness, a desire to keep something just to himself. Especially considering how Hermione seemed to be top witch out of the first years. She was incredibly bright.

So the barrier he was working on with Strange, he would learn, and he was sure he'd be better. Or at least faster at learning the damn thing.

But that wasn't what he was thinking about, it was what he was writing about.

It was his third letter to his dad. He knew his dad was busy being a secret agent, but he really wanted something from his dad. Or Aunt Tasha... Or Uncle Nick. His Auntuncle Fitzsimmons or Uncle Phil... Anyone from back home. But they were busy no doubt. What with the chaos of having to step out of the shadows slightly with the Loki incident, the blow to their numbers from the fight, and those who quit shortly after left everyone with little time.

And it wasn't like there were many agents who would willing take over for them for a few minutes so they could breath and reply back. Despite growing up on the Helicarrier, few agents really knew him. More knew of him. He was rarely alone, sans being in his and his father's abode or the different ventures in the air vents. So there were quite a large population of agents who had never met him, nor even believe he existed, passing him off as a myth for new recruits.

He smiled thinking back to one agent he had scared, a man who screamed like a little girl. He hadn't seen him since, but the ship was large and regretfully, not everyone lived to see another day.

He signed his name at the bottom of the letter and blew lightly on it.

He stood up and walked away to use the bathroom-the loo as the British called it. It was a ways off, down a hall and down some stairs. Nothing he wasn't used to by now.

But it was something that others were used to as well. Namely, two third year twins who slipped into the room mere moments after Ron had left.

"Watch the door Forge,"

"Got it Gred," the two whispered loudly. One twin darted to the table, quickly pulling out his wand. He tapped the table a few times before hissing to his duplicate, "What was the spell again?"

"Gemino."

"Right. Gemino," the twin at the table cast with a flick of the wand at the target. Before their very eyes, the parchment duplicated, an identical copy lay innocently next to the original. Quickly, the twin at the table grabbed the original and moved the copy in the same position the original had been. Then, in their own sneaky fashion, the twins rushed out of the room before Ron entered the hallway to his and his roommates sleeping quarters.

"I still can't believe we're doing this."

"Oh come off it. You heard what his friends said. Not one letter? Not a one? We might not like the guy but you know he would've written something. He was even trying to get to know Bill and Charlie."

"I know. Still, this is just crazy."

"Oh calm down and write the note," Fred commented putting the card in an envelope, one of the ones his dad would use for more, professional notices, "What was the guy's name again?"

"Barton I think. That's what Ron likes to be called anyway."

"Merlin we're bad brothers. Can't even remember our brother's last name."

"Most brothers share the same last name."

"Too right you are. Done with the note yet?"

"Give me a moment... Here, sign your name."

"There. Now just to dry and get this to an owl."

"Don't forget to put the return envelope inside."

"Right," Fred commented sliding in a slightly folded envelope with the Hogwarts address and their names on it. Large enough to hold an envelope with a letter tucked inside. It was only a mere two minutes later when the ink was dry and the envelope sealed.

"Let's get this to the Owlery."

"Clint. You have a visitor," Natasha commented seeing a hawk pecking at Tony's window. She watched as he continued reading the paper as if he hadn't- Natasha's face hardened as she walked over to the mostly deaf archer. She stood in front of him, being completely ignored by the reading archer.

She placed one hand at the top of the paper gently, contradicticting her stony irritation. He glanced up at her and, despite recognizing her irritation, gave a large grin.

"Morning."

"Morning. Mail's here," she said slightly faster than normal to make it trickier for him to read her lips. Still, he picked up on it just fine and adjusted his hearing aid to hear the rapid tapping from the window.

A large smile blossomed on his face as he rushed over to the window, asking Jarvis to open it. Begrudgingly, the computer replied, letting in a burst of cold autumn air and the feathered creature. It held a large letter, and a coin pouch for the overseas payment. Clint just pulled out a ten and slipped it in, taking the letter.

The bird then flew out and the Windows sealed shut as Clint opened the letter similarly to a child opening presents on their birthday.

His look of joy went to confusion seeing a letter, an envelope and a note. The note was in the front, written by someone other than Ron. He plucked the note out and placed it on the kitchen counter, and began to read the letter clearly written by Ron. He talked about school classes, Strange's lesson in creating "barriers", and his friends who he acted as though Clint already knew for some reason...

Well he knew Hermione and Neville. Neville had been Alice's son and the guide through Diagon Alley. And Hermione had lived with them in the month and a half prior to the whole Hogwarts debacle.

Still, the letter mentioned Harry in the familiar. Was he supposed to know the kid?

It was then his eyes drifted back to the note. He picked it up and read over it carefully.

'Greetings Mr. Barton.

This is Forge writing on behalf of lost mail everywhere.'

Clint blinked in confusion.

"What the hell?"

'Gred and I have come to an understanding that Ickle Ronniekins, has not received a letter from you. For shame Mr. Barton. For shame.'

"What the actual hell."

'So we have taken it upon ourselves to send another copy of Ronnie's letter. Double sure you get it and all. Can't stand seeing a mopey firstie you know. Especially our brother.

Inside, the envelope, there is a return envelope. Apparently it's a popular muggle thing. Dad was talking about it and... Well we think we got the idea of it.

Mail it to us. And we'll make sure Ron gets it. We solemnly swear,

Gred and Forge.'

"Natasha. Wizards are crazy."

"Mm hm." Natasha nodded reading the letter from Ron.

"Apparently, Ron hasn't gotten any of my letters."

Natasha put down the letter and had a somber but steeled look to her face.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"It doesn't for me either but still..."

"You know SHIELD can't do anything."

"I know. Out of logical and country jurisdiction. But we could always call MAGIC-"

"It won't get very far if you're the only person being effected."

"Hate crime?"

"With those medieval individuals?"

"Have I mentioned my dislike of politics? Why can't I just run in and spy, maybe beat up a few people."

"Please. You're a hated person over there. They'd stick to you like glue."

"Oh right. Dammit. Hey Tash-"

"They know my face. And Tony's and Bruce's."

"What about Steve?"

"Cross country."

"Damn. Alright. I'll send two. One with theirs and one without. They better not read it," he grumbled quickly walking to a notepad to write his letter. And a note for the conspiring troublesome duo. Something short and right to the point.

And here is another scene I had planned way in advance. Yes that's right. All this "nonsense" was planned.

Ah ha. I guess I am mad.