Ghosts of the Past

by Nimbus Llewelyn

Sequel to Child of the Storm. Harry's life has changed a lot over the past year, what with the return of his father, Thor, murder attempts by everything from HYDRA assassins to Elder Gods keeping him on his toes and making a few new friends. But while Chthon and HYDRA are gone, all sorts of dark things have been stirred up, things thought long gone. And guess who they're after...

37. Chapter 37: One Merry Morning

Well, it took a bit longer than usual – my dissertation is in its editing stages – but here we are again, and in recompense, you have a somewhat longer than usual chapter. This is… well, it's not totally a filler chapter, because there is plot progression, sometimes of the less obvious kind.

It is a little more relaxed, and a little funnier, though. This is the point where Ron and Hermione and a certain couple of others re-enter the story, and Harry, finally, returns to Hogwarts. But first, there is fun, oh yes. Enjoy!

Harry awoke the next morning at what might reasonably be called the crack of dawn. Though not exactly an early bird by nature, a lifetime of being expected to get up early at the Dursleys, then for different reasons at Hogwarts, had worn a groove on his psyche. Added to that, he didn't really need much sleep these days to feel well-rested, not under normal circumstances.

However, he didn't just feel well-rested. No, it was more than that, he thought somewhat muzzily. His sleepy brain, after taking a few moments to click into gear, ascribed this feeling to the pleasant warm weight spread out across his upper-body that was soft and firm by turns, and an apparently connected feeling of… connection. Security. Rightness.

Then, Harry's brain registered three things, just as his memories of the previous night kicked in.

First, this 'pleasant warm weight' was none other than Carol, whose room he was in, whose bed he was lying in, and whose hair was tickling his nose. She'd been having flashbacks, persistent sense-memories, of the chair Dracula had put her in to drain her blood, he'd come in to help in any way he could, and they had had… a Moment. One that hadn't gone anywhere, as it happened, and they'd instead gone to sleep wrapped around each other, Harry acting as her security blanket of sorts.

Second, she was, as she had been the previous night, only wearing a shirt and a stolen pair of boxers, and some time in the night, their respective tossing and turning had resulted in her lying across his torso, arms wrapped around him like he was a favourite pillow and legs trailing out behind her.

A small smile appeared on his face as he saw how peaceful she looked – post-trauma nightmares were hell on wheels, as he very well knew, and put peaceful nights of sleep at a premium. As he watched, she mumbled something indistinct and shifted position, and for a moment, everything was perfect, and a large part of Harry wished that time could just freeze around this moment.

Then, he noticed the third thing, that made a lot more of him desperately wish that time would freeze and Carol would stay asleep, and above all, not notice. Because as he was very suddenly aware, a part of him that had little to do with his brain had noticed this a good deal earlier and was very pleased with it, bringing to Harry's attention the exact shape of Carol's body, combined most particularly with the pleasurable way certain thinly covered parts of it were being pressed against him by the inexorable force of gravity.

Of course, Harry being a teenage boy, it wasn't hard to guess which part this was, or to realise that this wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence. Far from it, in fact. As Harry could have been told by any of the other male inhabitants of the mansion, it is something that happens to all teenage boys, it can be caused by anything up to and including the wind changing direction, and it is a significant part of the male half of the private hell that is puberty.

As a result, this led to a rather strange tableau: a teenage girl happily dead to the world and lying sprawled across the teenage boy who was her really-absolutely-definitely-and-indisputably-not-boyfriend. Meanwhile, said teenage boy who had until a few moments ago been happy to remain as he was for the next few hours, was moving with more caution and care than the most daring cat-burglar in a heist movie, trying desperately to slide away from her, out of bed, and into the bathroom for a long – and probably very cold – shower, without at any point waking her up.

It was this moment (or indeed, Moment) that, Harry would later decide, split the difference with near-mathematical precision between 'almost perfect' and 'absolutely mortifying.'

OoOoO

Harry partly got his wish – Carol didn't exactly wake up while he slipped away, but she did register it, pushing her into a vague doze that the sounds of the shower awoke her from. Blinking slowly, she shuffled over into the warm patch Harry had left behind, making herself comfortable by dragging the covers up to keep warm against the November chill, and grumbling.

Had she been properly awake, or more of a morning person, she would have complained, "what happened to that sound-proofing Tony promised?"

As it was, her grumbling came to something more like, "Fuck off noises, 'm sleeping," before she buried her head under the pillow that Harry had been using in an attempt to go back to sleep. This prospect was defeated, however, by the very sudden realisation that the noises of rather vigorous showering were coming from her bathroom. With that realisation, she shot bolt upright, and like Harry, her memories obligingly replayed the night before. Her reaction was slightly different, however, as she stared at the wall in stunned disbelief and increasingly pink cheeks.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she managed in a steady mumble, resolutely ignoring the probability that what with the situation, their mutual attraction, and their limited pyjamas, it was unlikely to have stopped at a single kiss. Heavy making out for sure, she thought, her cheeks progressing from pink to red. And what then, she wondered. How would that change things between them? What would they do next? Her treacherous imagination presented her with a very detailed suggestion, which led to Carol going completely crimson and ensured that she most definitely did not have to worry about feeling cold.

Almost simultaneously, a surprised shriek emanated from the bathroom, immediately followed by the squeaking sound of someone slipping, a yelp, and a loud crash. As a long multi-lingual litany of curse-words began, along with the noises of someone who has fallen over in the shower trying to get up without falling over and adding over-much to the bruises they had already received, Carol realised something – you know, in between her utter mortification and a burning desire for the floor to open up and swallow her. This both confirmed that a) last night had not been a dream and Harry was the one in the bathroom, b) their psychic connection was still going strong.

About a minute later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, wincing, looking damp, and towelling dry hair that was even messier than usual. He was wearing the same shirt and boxers he'd slept in, this apparently being preferable to actual nudity. Carol met his gaze, and for a long moment, there was a very awkward silence. Carol took it upon herself to break it.

"We should talk," she said. "About last night. What happened. And what…"

"Almost happened?" Harry supplied in a faux-casual voice, tossing aside the towel and sitting down on the side of the bed.

"What actually happened, what almost happened," Carol said, then paused and closed her eyes briefly. "What was said." At Harry's puzzled expression, she smiled wryly. "Harry, I wasn't completely asleep, and I've seen The Princess Bride."

"Ah," Harry said, going pink. "Um. Did you like it?"

Carol rolled her eyes in amusement. Even after the changes wrought by most of a year in time, most of a foot in height, and most of any self-respecting deity in power, Harry was still a dork. And an adorable one at that. "Look," she said, marshalling her thoughts. "You basically said that you love me."

Harry looked awkward. "Look, Carol, I don't –"

"You meant it."

"I know, but –"

"I love you too."

Harry goggled. It was quite impressive, actually, complete with dropped jaw, eyes like saucers, and a stunned expression like someone had smacked him between the eyes with a small planet.

"Not romantically," Carol hastened to add.

"Right."

"Platonically. As a friend."

"Okay."

Carol squirmed internally for several long moments. Harry, having retreated into an especially unreadable blank expression that she suspected he'd learnt from Natasha, was no help. "All right," she admitted. "And, maybe, a little bit romantically too."

Harry met her gaze, then looked away and sighed. Carol folded her arms and glowered. She wasn't sure what reaction she had hoped for, or expected, but this was emphatically not it. For one thing, she'd expected more in the way of an actual reaction. Then again, she mused, he was a super powerful telepath, he'd said before that empathy – like Diana's – came part of the psychic package, and that wasn't even counting the connection or the fact he'd literally been in her head on Halloween. Maybe he already knew?

"I suspected," Harry said quietly.

"And you don't look especially happy about it," Carol said. "Which is a little surprising, since of the two of us, I'm the one with issues with the opposite sex that aren't just shyness or anything like that. You've got many, many issues, but those aren't among them."

Harry sighed and flopped back on the bed. "No," he said. "I don't. What I do have, though, are issues about controlling my powers."

Carol raised an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do…" she began, before trailing off as the bottom dropped out of her stomach. "Oh."

"I'm an Omega Class psychic," Harry said flatly. He was staring at the ceiling. "I don't understand a tenth of what I can do with my telekinesis, and that's the side of things I'm strongest on. My telepathy? I understand about a hundredth of what I can do with that, at best. Once, I was in a pensieve – a magical memory viewing thing – and it was showing a memory of what happened at Easter to me, Ron, Hermione, and Professor Cassidy. I lost control inside it, I trapped us in there, and nearly got us all killed. When I cut loose fighting Maddie, the psychic fall-out didn't just warp the Nevernever around us and tell the Avengers where to look, it nearly fried the brains of thousands and thousands of psychics worldwide. One of them manifested her powers in the middle of it and went sort of mad." He looked over at Carol. "And when I just tried to help you with some bad memories and nightmares, I sealed a permanent psychic connection between us that works across continents."

"And you're scared that you're, what, projecting your feelings onto me?" Carol asked carefully. "That subconsciously, you're making me… feel the way I do?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Harry said.

Carol considered this for a long moment, and found to her mild surprise that she wasn't especially worried, because she thought she had the answer. "Well," she said. "We know that you're not influencing anyone else around you. Or at least, you're not worried about it happening. So, it's because of our connection."

"It's two-way and not just like a phone," Harry said. "I sometimes get shots of what you're thinking and feeling, and vice versa. Sure, the same happens with Maddie and Jean, though it isn't as strong, and it usually needs to be conscious."

"And they're even more super psychic than you are."

"That too," Harry said, a little wry, before giving Carol a serious look. "I hadn't brought it up before because it was like a little worry, at the back of my head, but while we were still just friends, it was just a little worry."

"And you had bigger worries. Like the Red Room, and having your own head screwed with."

Harry nodded and looked away. "I didn't have to worry about me subconsciously influencing you into wanting something you wouldn't. Until now. And I don't want that. I really, really, really don't want that. Especially considering…"

"Considering my troubles with assholes only interested in one thing," Carol said bluntly. "Well, it looks like normal service is being resumed."

Harry looked puzzled.

"It's you being stupid and noble again, not me."

Harry upgraded to confused, and Carol sighed, and laid down beside him.

"Look, I didn't want to say this, but since what with what happened last night and the fact that the space in your brain reserved for angst is empty and open for business, I will," she said. "I get why this is something you're genuinely agonising over, and I'm not diminishing that –"

"That wasn't what it sounded like."

"You're the one who gets melodramatic when they're upset. Which you have reason to be. A lot."

"Point. Two points, actually."

"Thank you," Carol said primly, before her expression softened. "Anyhow, I've seen how superpowerful you are, hell, I've felt it. And that was just with that little bit you could share across the Atlantic. But I've also seen how incredibly careful you are about controlling it, how scared you are of screwing up and hurting someone. And you haven't." She took a deep breath. "Because..." She looked up at Harry. "I can't say that we haven't influenced each other – and yeah, we, it goes both ways. We probably have, because that's what friends do, psychic links or no psychic links. But even if you had, what with the number of super psychics we know, and paranoid super-spies used to spotting weird behaviour, and Doctor Strange, because even he isn't that warped, it would have been spotted."

"I'm not so sure about Strange," Harry said, but wryly, as the worry seemed to be falling away.

"Okay, maybe you've got a point there," Carol conceded. "But it isn't his style – people manipulation, yes. Mental manipulation, no."

Harry bobbed his head.

"Point is, it's sweet that you're so worried about that," Carol said. "I mean, most guys wouldn't question providence. Especially since we both know that you wouldn't mind us…" She coughed. "Stepping it up."

"I wouldn't," Harry admitted, after a very long moment. "You know that."

"And I know that you meant you said, about us being friends and that coming first," Carol said gently. "Like I said, most wouldn't question it. But you did. You took a moment to think."

"You mean, when something good happens in my life, I tend to wait for the other shoe to drop," Harry said, with a faint half-smile.

"Well, yeah, and with a life like yours, I can kind of see why," Carol said. "But anyway: what I'm thinking and feeling? It's me. All me." She looked Harry in the eye. "What we both did last night? The snuggle? That was all both of us. And I liked it."

"I did too," Harry said.

"I noticed," Carol said dryly, and grinned as Harry went scarlet. "More like guessed," she amended. "But I know the noises the boiler here makes, and that shower was all cold."

Harry was momentarily speechless, but looked relieved when Carol simply looked amused. And she was. It was funny, and sort of adorable, that he was so embarrassed over something that he had absolutely no control over, having been asleep. Of course, if she'd been properly awake and noticed it, rather than just guessing from the cold shower, then things would have been rather different. And it wasn't like he'd had the monopoly on needing cold showers recently, she thought, before realising what she was thinking about, who she was thinking it near/had been thinking it about, and pulled the emergency stop on the train of thought.

It might, she reflected as she felt crimson armies marching up her face as inevitable as the Russian march to Berlin, have been a moment or two too late. In fact it definitely was, going by Harry's expression – which wasn't totally surprised. His shower slip hadn't been inspired by a sudden daydream of the two of them snuggling. Or at least, not in the technical sense.

After several long, deeply embarrassed minutes, she shot Harry a sidelong glance. "What you've said, meant, whatever, is that you kind of want to step it up," she said carefully. What I'm saying, in a roundabout way, is that part of me… would like to step it up too."

This time, Harry's eyes widened. "You're saying," he managed, trying to squash the tinge of hope in his voice.

"Not yet," Carol added. "I mean, I've got issues."

"Many, many issues," Harry said solemnly, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"But still not as many as you."

"That's a given," Harry said lightly, before sobering. "And if, when, it does happen, I don't want it to be because you're trying to do it to hold the many pieces and issues of me together."

"Likewise," Carol said evenly. "I think we can agree that we both deserve better than that." She eyed him pointedly. "Even if you, Sir Self-Sacrifice of Romantics 'R Us, would probably do it anyway."

Harry had the good grace to look guilty.

"So, yeah," Carol said, and closed her eyes. After taking a moment to centre herself, she said, "I'm not sure when I'll be ready to date, let alone get… you know. But it's probably not an if. More like a when. Probably."

"I see," Harry managed, in slightly strangled tones.

"But not immediately."

"Definitely not," Harry said, conjuring water for the glass by the bedside and gulping it down

"But not too long away, either. Maybe. For now, snuggles are the limit."

"Of course."

"But long enough," Carol said, paused, then unable to resist, added with a smirk as Harry was mid-gulp, "So get used to the cold showers, buddy. You're sticking with them for a while."

Harry, predictably, almost choked, before shooting her a dirty look. "You," he said. "Are evil."

Carol laid her head on his shoulder, slipped her arms around him, and grinned. "You love it," she said.

"Gods help me, I do," Harry muttered, the mock-despair denied weight by his answering grin on his lips. Then, the grin faded slightly.

"Oh, what now?"

"This, us, whatever happens. It could get messy."

"Par for the course with you," Carol said wryly. "Everything you're involved in gets messy, then explodes – HYDRA bases, houses, giant worms… nothing's safe." Her expression softened at his troubled look. "Look, I can't see the future. I can't tell you what will happen. But one constant in our crazy lives – and the crazy, by the way, the messy parts and the exploding parts, they're half the fun – is that you care for me, and I care for you. We… we love each other, I suppose. Like you said earlier; before everything else, we're best friends. Whatever else happens with us, that'll stick."

Harry smiled a little. "That's one thing about you I do love," he said quietly, voice stumbling only slightly over the l-word. "Your optimism."

"Take that back. I'm a cynic and proud of it."

"Make me," Harry said impishly.

"Don't tempt me," Carol warned him. "You won't like my methods."

"I probably wouldn't," Harry said, sounding rather matter-of-fact as he carefully slipped an arm around her waist, at every moment seeming ready for a rebuke. "But the optimism thing. What I meant about that, is you believe. In me." He half-smiled. "But not blindly, either." The half-smile morphed into something warmer. "It's nice."

"You've shown me enough times that you're someone worth believing in," Carol said, firmly pulling the arm around her waist and yanking him closer. It wasn't the smoothest of lines or moves, she had to admit, cobbled together and a bit awkward. It certainly wasn't perfect. But when it made Harry's face light up, she thought that, like them, it might just work.

OoOoO

"So, Albus," McGonagall said, in tones of careful, controlled calm. "You are telling me that when Harry disappeared – again – it was to fight some unholy horror – again – and he will now be missing several days of school. Again."

"Only one, or perhaps two at most," Dumbledore said serenely. "He should be back tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. For the most part, he has simply missed the weekend."

McGonagall did not miss the choice of words and eyed Dumbledore. "What do you mean, 'missed'?"

"He has been in a healing sleep," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Why?" she asked, in dangerous tones.

"In short, Dracula was after his friend, Miss Danvers, for the power in her blood," Dumbledore said. "Harry, as a consequence, picked a fight with him. Two, in fact. He lost both, though he won the strategic battle in the latter case. In the former, he was rather impaled on his own sword. Quite literally, as a matter of fact." As he noticed McGonagall's sudden horrified expression, he added, "I am informed that it was only through the left shoulder, which is now quite functional once more, and he is otherwise as fit as the metaphorical fiddle."

McGonagall stared at him for a long moment, relief warring with exasperation, then closed her eyes and sighed an explosive and long-suffering sigh.

"Minerva?"

"One term," she said wearily. "One. Term. That's all I ask: for just one term to go by without Harry finding some new, spectacular, and undoubtedly horrifying way to risk his life and take years off mine."

"I would advise asking for something more practically attainable," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps a month." He paused and considered. "Or maybe a fortnight."

McGonagall just sighed once more and shook her head. "Well, I suppose that at least I won't be badgered by Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley about his whereabouts and state of health," she said. "I take it that this won't interfere in his participation in the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I believe it will not," Dumbledore said. "By all accounts, he is awake, active, and in good enough health to engage in a lengthy sparring match with one of his Asgardian friends, Master Ullrson."

McGonagall sighed again. "And psychologically?"

"He is, if anything, in even better mental health than before," Dumbledore remarked. "According to Thor, he has had something of an epiphany – that life is not fair, and that the universe is not an inherently just place." He raised a hand to forestall McGonagall. "And therefore, he should try to make it so."

"A worthy aspiration," McGonagall said. "Though I can only say that it is a pity that his illusions have been shattered so young."

"A pity indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Though not exactly a surprise." He inclined his head suddenly, eyes focusing on something in the middle distance. Then, he chuckled, and raised his voice. "And speaking of shattered illusions… good to have you back with us, Stephen."

"The pleasure is all mine, Albus," Strange's voice said from right behind McGonagall's left ear. Instead of jumping or shrieking, or both, however, she simply revolved on the spot and gave the former Sorcerer Supreme a look that could have withered the life from small animals.

"That trick does not work on me, Stephen," she said frostily. "It has never worked, and you of all people should know that it will never work."

Strange just smiled. "Never say never," he said cheerfully.

McGonagall's lips thinned. "I thought you were supposed to be dead," she said.

"As many people did, and as many were supposed to think," Strange said calmly. "All is well, then?"

"I would imagine that you know the answer to that rather better than we do, Stephen," Dumbledore said.

"True, but it is considered more polite to ask," Strange said, shrugging.

"As it is considered polite not to fake one's death," Dumbledore replied evenly. "I'm sure you had your reasons, you always do…"

"I had many," Strange said, casually. "For the two most basic ones, I needed to drop off the map for a few days, and Wanda needed to prove herself to the world, to show very clearly why she is worthy to be Sorceress Supreme, and why I chose her as my successor. It should save her some trouble when I do ultimately pass on." He sighed. "And you can bet that there'll be trouble. The mantle of Sorcerer Supreme coming up for grabs for the first time in centuries? It won't be pretty." He waved a hand. "She succeeded in style, very effectively and very publicly thwarting a terribly dangerous ascension attempt by some of the most infamous Dark Lords and Ladies alive, while, with aid, defeating one of the most infamous Dark Ladies in history and forcing two others to flee. Anyone challenging her right to the mantle will have a hard time arguing against that, among other achievements."

"And the fact that it left you with several days when most at least half-believed you were dead, days you could use and extend as you wished, to act largely without restraint is, I am sure, entirely coincidental," McGonagall said tartly.

Strange's smile widened into a grin, but he didn't respond directly. "I am just dropping in to let you know that I will be able to continue to teach," he said, and his appearance shifted to his disguise, his accent with it. "As Professor Bach."

"That would be entirely acceptable," Dumbledore said. "On two conditions: first, you reveal who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire and how. Second, you explain why he did it and why you let him."

"Voldemort, at the Ministry," Strange said calmly. "Because he wants to get at Harry, he will try anyway, and if carefully managed, it is the scenario most likely to have all your students emerge alive at the end of this school year." He raised a finger. "Oh, and before either of you asks, directly or in a round-about fashion, why I have not killed Voldemort or otherwise disposed of him, it is because – among other things – if I do it, it will drastically reduce the universe's chances of surving the next few years." He smiled, this time with a sudden flare of wicked mischief, one that both Dumbledore and McGonagall, with decades of experience of a) pranksters, b) Strange himself, knew to dread. "Isn't the butterfly effect a wonderful thing? Now, I am off to arrange a reunion."

And with that, he vanished.

"Albus?" McGonagall asked after a moment.

"Yes, Minerva?"

"Do you have a certain sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach?"

"Combined with a certain sense of resignation, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to be sure that it wasn't just me."

OoOoO

Ron and Hermione, however, were more preoccupied with the fact that Harry had vanished, (again), that that vanishing had been accompanied by signs of spectacular violence (again), and that he had then dropped off the face of the Earth. Again. They had been discussing this after lunch, along with the Daily Prophet's reports of supernatural turmoil in New York, a small section on the losses the White Council had taken in their latest battle with the Red Court that only seemed to be included because of Thor and Loki's involvement, and on the front page, the blaring headline, 'DEAD OR ALIVE? What has happened to Doctor Strange?'

Or rather, they had been, until tall, lean figure appeared in front of them.

Ron yelped. Hermione stifled a scream.

"Good afternoon," Doctor Strange said cheerfully.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Hermione managed, in a squeak that would have deafened any nearby bats.

"And you were supposed to believe it," Strange said. "As did many others. Disappointment, I am sure, will abound. Mister Weasley, I am not a ghost, so there is no need to poke me to test it."

Ron, looking guilty, hurriedly withdrew his finger, having been about to do exactly that.

"Besides," Strange added. "It wouldn't necessarily help. Today is a very gloomy day, so even outside of such a sanctum as Hogwarts, sunlight would not be a problem, and ghosts can take physical form… though they usually need to be rather powerful to do so." He paused, then as an afterthought, added, "Oh, and insane. That helps." He waved a hand. "And then there's the fact that I'm a time traveller, but that's another matter."

Ron, going pale at the thought of an insane ghost, let alone an insane ghost of Doctor Strange (who was widely and reasonably reputed to be insane anyway), took half a step back, before mustering up his courage. "If you're not dead, and you want people to think you're dead, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"And what does it have to do with Harry?" Hermione asked shrewdly.

"A very pertinent question," Strange said. "Two very pertinent questions, in fact. Twenty points to Gryffindor."

Hermione folded her arms. "Are we going to get pertinent answers?" she asked sharply.

Strange gave her an odd, wistful smile. "At times, you remind me very much of your mother," he said mildly, leaving Hermione rather non-plussed and wondering what possible interest Strange could have with a dentist. "And yes, you are." He turned to Ron. "Firstly, I have achieved what I wanted to while people believed I was dead – among other things, the disposal of a troublesome Black Court vampire by the name of Mavra, an exchange of services with the Winter Queen, and a few other… precautionary measures. This allows me to move on to other, more pleasant activities." His smile widened, and Ron looked wary, as most wise beings did when they saw Strange smile, even if as right now, it appeared to be benign. While it could be said quite reasonably that he smiled quite a lot of the time, it could also be quite reasonably said that it was best to be wary around Strange all of the time. "And as for what it has to do with Harry, well, what doesn't these days? But more specifically…"

He placed a long fingered hand on one of each of their shoulders. Before they could even blink, there was a strange twisting sensation, and Ron and Hermione stumbled as they found their surroundings change from the cool stone of the castle's corridors to the carpeted floors of the upper floor of Avengers Mansion.

"… I thought it would be nice for the three of you to catch up," Strange finished cheerfully, and nodded to the door nearest to them. "He's in that room, and up and about, so you can go right in." There was indeed a murmur of voices and a sound of movement and rustling cloth from within. "By all means, take as long as you like – I will happily abuse my abilities as a time traveller to make sure you get back in time for your afternoon classes."

Hermione eyed Strange suspiciously. Her suspicion was partly at this unusual openness and generosity, partly because she knew that Doctor Strange always did things for a reason, and partly because of Strange's smile, which was perhaps a little too benign to be true. She then opened her mouth to ask another doubtless pertinent question, doubtless starting with either 'why are you doing this?' or 'what are you up to?', that would doubtless remind Strange even more of her mother.

She didn't get the chance, however, because Ron, lacking her patience/paranoia, had strode over to the door and flung it open.

"Hey, Harry, you'll never believe what – BLOODY HELL!"

OoOoO

Steve glanced up at the loud crash, followed by a thump and a muffled cacophony of yells, shrieks, and swearing. He was not the only one. However, since none of those noises sounded like those of genuine distress, which the Avengers were well-used to identifying, and JARVIS had not seen fit to notify them, Steve's tone when he spoke next was one of mild curiosity rather than serious worry. "What's going on?" he asked, taking a gulp of coffee.

"I brought Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger on a surprise visit," Strange said casually as he strolled in, looking somewhat incongruous in a shirt and jeans rather than his usual cloak draped ensemble. His expression was a combination of wickedly amused and insufferably smug. "They walked in on Harry and Carol in bed."

Steve, unlike the last time someone - Natasha - had used ambiguous phrasing for the two sharing a bed, calmly finished his mouthful. "Ah," he said, acting if this explained everything, and men believed to be dead ambling in, sitting down at the breakfast table, and stealing a slice of toast was perfectly normal. Which, after several years with the Avengers, it more or less was. Like with most who spent any significant length of time around the Avengers, Steve had learned to adjust to many strange things… though as would be demonstrated, that ability had its limits.

"You're more comfortable with that idea than I thought you'd be, dad," Alison remarked.

"They're behaving sensibly, I'm sure," Steve said. "And I've had time to get used to the idea." He shrugged. "I'm not exactly surprised, either. Carol's had a rough few days, and Harry's the only one she can't, and won't, try to hide it from. There's nothing sexual in it, necessarily – we used to bunk down together all the time in the army." His lips twitched. "We didn't have this new-fangled thing called 'central heating'."

"'Bunking down', eh?" Alison said, in ironic tones. "That wasn't what mum called it."

Steve went pink, and hurriedly went to swallow some more coffee, to the backdrop of a round of laughter.

"And besides," Alison continued blithely. "While they are behaving sensibly, I'm surprised you trust them to continue to do so, considering their track record of reckless decisions." She shrugged, paused for a moment for perfect timing, then added airily, "Especially considering that only their good judgement and about two thin layers of cotton stand between us and an unplanned pregnancy."

The limit was reached. And Steve, once again caught mid-mouthful, once again performed a spectacular spit-take. And once again, it was straight into Tony's face.

"Nicely done," Natasha said, impressed, raising her mug in salute.

"Thank you very much, Natasha," Alison said, matching the gesture.

Pepper, meanwhile, sighed as she passed Tony some of her never-ending supply of wet wipes with her free hand, while baby Ada watched proceedings with wide, fascinated eyes. "At least now I know where you get it from," she said.

Tony's reply, such as it was, was unprintable.

OoOoO

Soon enough, however, the elephant in the room was addressed.

"What were you doing, Stephen?" Thor asked. "Whilst pretending to be dead." He regarded Strange shrewdly. "It would have been the perfect cover to act without being observed, and while you are a master of concealment, no such mastery is perfect."

"It was, and you are entirely correct, Thor," Strange said calmly, as he selected an apple from the fruit bowl. "As for what I did, I arranged a few matters. For instance, so long as he is sensible, Mister Dresden no longer needs to fear the Winter Queen – I did her a service, involving the cure of a very senior vassal of hers from a… contagion of sorts from outside this universe, and demanded the debt he owed her as part of my price." He took a bite out of the apple and smiled smugly. "Since I was no longer Sorcerer Supreme, she could not claim that I was acting out of the obligations of my position." He examined the apple. "It also means that he will be entering his new position as Sorcerer Supreme in Waiting with no outstanding supernatural obligations."

"Only part of the price?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised. "I was under the impression that Mab was set on making Mister Dresden her new Winter Knight. She would consider her leverage on him to be a very valuable asset."

"Very set, and very valuable, from what I remember," Pepper said, frowning. "She was pretty eager to get him, in the long run, if not immediately." Her frown deepened. "And while I get it's a bad thing, or at least something he wanted to avoid, what's so bad about it? I mean, when Harry, our Harry, was in the hands of the Red Room this Mab woman tried to trick Dresden into taking this Winter Knight job. I pointed out where she was being a bit disingenuous, which he exploited, and that was literally it. But afterwards he acted like I'd saved his life."

Thor, Loki, and Strange exchanged looks, before Strange inclined his head to Loki, who turned to explain.

"There are two major Courts of Faerie, Pepper," he said. "Winter and Summer. The Wyldfae are split into a number of Courts of their own, but none matches the two main Courts for power. That power waxes and wanes according to the season – and believe me, the difference between the northern and southern hemispheres complicates things considerably. Their powers and associations tend to incline based on their respective seasons too – Winter is associated with cold, darkness, and death, while Summer is associated with heat, light, and life. While one would assume that this makes Summer good, and Winter evil, that is very much not the case." His expression turned grim. "We have seen in the recent past how powers of light, life, and fire can become something terrible when misused."

He paused, then shook his head. "And for more mundane examples, an invasive species that is not kept in check, breeds out of control and disrupts a local ecosystem, or a virus or bacterium that is not stopped and causes a terrible plague, they serve as examples of why an excess of life can be thoroughly detrimental. Death is necessary, and Winter brings death to allow for new life." He regarded Pepper. "As a general rule, Summer fae are gentler and more benevolent, while Winter fae are more savage and more merciless, so far as conventional human morality is concerned. However, there is also the logical reverse – Summer is passionate to the point of being illogical, and reasoned arguments are far less likely to sway them. Winter, by contrast, is colder and more reasonable, in the sense that they can be reasoned with. These attributes are perhaps most prominent in the respective rulers: the Queens of Faerie."

"And Mab is the Winter Queen," Pepper said.

"She is one of them," Loki corrected. "Each Court has three Queens – the Lady, the Queen, and the Mother. The Queen that Will Be, the Queen that Is, and the Queen that Was. Maiden, Mother, Crone. I half suspect that they are at the root of the triple goddess mythology – if not, they are certainly one of its earliest manifestations." He waved a hand. "In any case, Mab is the current ruling Queen of Winter. Her daughter, Maeve, is the Winter Lady and will be the Winter Queen in time – a day all sentient beings on Earth should dread."

"That is something I will second," Thor said grimly.

"Indeed," Loki said. "Mab's mother was the Queen in her day, and is now Mother Winter, a being you should all hope never to meet. Even I…" He trailed off and shook his head sharply. "She is to be avoided," he said flatly. "The current Queens of Summer, meanwhile, are Lady Lily, who shares a name with my late sister-in-law, Queen Titania, and Mother Summer. They, or rather their mantles of power, each epitomise various aspects of their Court." He shrugged. "In truth, aside from a few personal touches, the person bearing the mantle is unimportant – after a settling in period of perhaps a decade or two, at most, the new bearer becomes more or less identical to the previous one. Lady Lily of Summer, for instance, replaced Lady Aurora, after Harry Dresden thwarted the latter's insane scheme to upset the balance of the Earth, killing her in the process."

"Leading to Titania having a particular hatred for him," Strange supplied. "Aurora was insane – or had been driven insane, rather, by the same contagion that I dealt with for Mab – and needed to be stopped. Death was the only way. Titania recognises this, but… Aurora was still her daughter."

Loki nodded. "Aurora died only a few years ago, but in a decade or so more, for all practical intents and purposes it will be as if she had never died. The mantle will rewrite Lady Lily, and has already begun doing so," he said. "Which leads to the matter of the Knights. Both Courts have one mortal Knight each, to act as their agent. Each Knight is imbued with their Court's power, but is able to do what the Queens cannot. Broadly speaking, the Summer Knight protects, and their mantle is constructed to encourage those traits. The Winter Knight, on the other hand, is meant to be a hunter, a predator, that finds and destroys the enemies of the Winter Court." His gaze shifted to Bucky for a moment, who smiled sourly in recognition. "The mantle also encourages those traits."

"You mean…"

"I mean, Pepper, that it is no coincidence that a list of former Winter Knights would correlate very closely with a list of some of history's most infamous serial killers," Loki said grimly. "Some were vile to begin with. Others, though, were no worse than your average person before they took the mantle. It encourages and exacerbates inner darkness, bringing forth the most predatory and animalistic traits. Over time, good becomes bad, and bad… becomes worse. Only one, Tam Lin, was ever able to free himself of it. That is why the very prospect of being the new Winter Knight would scare Dresden out of his wits. It is also why his willingness to accept it as the price of saving my nephew speaks so well of his character." He met Pepper's gaze. "And above all, Pepper, it is why he was so incredibly grateful to you for helping him avoid that fate."

"I see," Pepper said, looking troubled.

"It is a fate that he is now entirely free of," Strange added. "I persuaded Mab that she could now look elsewhere for a new Knight, as one particular reason for her wanting him to be the new Knight was taken care of by his new position as the right-hand of the Sorceress Supreme." He flicked his hand idly. "Due to the circumstances of his birth, his magic harms Outsiders. They are monsters from outside reality like Chthon which are normally very resistant to the magic of all but the most powerful and experienced practitioners, and even the lesser ones, as you saw in your recent assistance of the White Council, are nightmarish. For Dresden, however, they present no such problems – no more so than the next horrifying monster, anyway. Since Winter's power, nature, and purpose are all bound up in protecting some particularly vulnerable borders of reality from their incursions – as Summer's are bound up in protecting the mortal world from Winter – it is inevitable that Mab would be very interested in recruiting him. But now, he'll be doing that job anyway."

"Even still, I would imagine that she wasn't particularly happy that I'd effectively poached a potential prize asset, one she'd gone to a great deal of trouble to recruit," Loki remarked.

"As the old saying goes, 'you snooze, you lose'," Strange said calmly, shrugging and examining his fingernails. "Mab and I understand each other. She knows better, much better, than to get in my way." He cocked his head. The cacophony from upstairs had since settled down. "By the sounds of things, matters have calmed down."

"For now," Alison said dryly.

"Well, I think we could do with a little calm," Steve said firmly, and gave Strange a pointed look. "Even if it is only just for now."

Strange, as was his wont, merely smiled.

OoOoO

Upstairs, before Strange had had an attack of mischief, things had been pleasantly relaxed. Harry and Carol, still not dressed, had been comfortably ensconced in Carol's bed for a good couple of hours, and hadn't showed any particular inclination to move. Indeed, they had intended to have something of a lazy morning.

Needless to say, Ron bursting in had rather ruined that. For one thing Harry's reflexes were such that his instinctive response to someone barging in without warning and shouting was to unleash a punitive energy blast. In this case, telekinetic energy. As it was, he barely managed to redirect it in-time, and ended up blasting it down into the bed, and thus himself up into the wooden ceiling, which he hit with a resounding crash, before dropping straight back onto the bed, somewhat stunned.

Carol, meanwhile, had let out a shrieking yell of surprise, both at the unexpected entry and the fact that being loosely entwined with Harry as he shot straight up sent her spinning through the air, off the bed, and onto the floor. A split second later, she sprang up like a rubber ball, and pinned a stunned Ron to the wall by his throat.

"Carol, stop!" Hermione shrieked.

Carol blinked. "Hermione?" she said, puzzled. "What are you doing? And who's this?" She turned to Ron, who was slowly going purple, legs kicking fruitlessly in mid-air, and dropped him. "Tall, ginger, magic… Oh. I'm guessing you're Ron, right?"

Ron wheezed, but managed a nod as Hermione was at his side in an instant, anxiously checking his throat, which was currently pale and covered in red finger-marks. Carol winced.

"Sorry about that," she said, a little embarrassed.

"'m fine," Ron mumbled, staring up at her, at first in disbelief, before his eyes registered that he was seeing a very tall, very pretty and sleep tousled girl, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and that said girl had been in Harry's bed.

It was at this point that the gazes of all three were drawn to the bed, where Harry was sprawled face down. A background of muted grumbling was coming from the bundled duvet.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked, worried.

"He's fine," Carol said casually.

Hermione shot her a disbelieving look. "He went flying into the ceiling," she said, emphasising the last point.

"He's always fine, 'Mione," Ron rasped, before shooting Carol a half-stunned, half-admiring look. "By the way, you're bloody strong."

"I work out," Carol said, with a shrug that did things to her chest that Ron suddenly found very interesting.

Hermione rolled her eyes, shook her head, then said, raising her voice slightly, "Um, Harry? Are you all right?"

"You know," Harry said, muffled somewhat by the duvet. "I was hoping to get through a morning without bruises. More fool me, clearly."

"He's complaining, in full sentences," Carol said, ignoring Ron, who to his credit was trying not to stare. "Trust me, he's fine."

Harry pushed himself up and glowered ineffectually at her, before blinking in surprise at Ron and Hermione. "Hey," he said. "I… wasn't expecting you."

Hermione, her composure somewhat restored by the fact that Harry seemed completely fine, swept her gaze around the room. It took in the shared bed with the crumpled sheets and duvet, the carelessly dropped towel, the relatively bare décor with none of Harry's things in it, before finally settling on the pair in question and their lack of clothes, who were slowly beginning to blush. Ron, having recovered enough from the shock of being almost strangled and of seeing Carol to remember what he'd seen when he'd burst in, and register what he was seeing now, was gaping in a mixture of utter astonishment, deep envy, and profound disbelief.

"Clearly," she said dryly.

"This… is not what it looks like," Harry said, after a long moment. "Uh. I'm not actually sure what it looks like, but it probably isn't that. Whatever that is."

Carol, who by this point had crossed her arms firmly over her breasts, nodded. "Definitely," she said, slipping around the bed and bending over to grab discarded clothes from the floor – Ron's gaze followed her a little intently at this point before Hermione firmly stepped on his foot – as well as fresh underwear from the chest of drawers. "Well, it's nice to see you, Hermione, and nice to meet you, Ron," she said, with slightly manic cheer. "Why don't you and Harry catch up?"

Then, before a response could be made, she beat a swift retreat into the bathroom, shutting the door with a very pointed bang. Harry glowered after her, entirely aware that he'd now been left alone to answer all of the no doubt numerous questions his friends had.

"Bloody hell," Ron repeated in a disbelieving mumble.

"Harry…" Hermione began.

Harry raised a hand, as he wiped the other one down his face. "Okay, stop for a moment," he said with a sigh. "I'm not doing this until I've got some clothes on." And with that, he strode out of the room, towards his own, a couple of doors down. Ron and Hermione, both still reeling somewhat, were drawn along in his wake. Thankfully for them, their curiosity did not have to wait long to be assuaged, as Harry's concept of dressed at this point mostly consisted of summoning a pair of jeans, shimmying into them, changing one plain t-shirt for a less rumpled one, and grabbing a Thor themed blue hoodie from a chair.

"All right," he said, sitting down on the bed. "You're here. How?"

"Doctor Strange," Ron said. "He's… well, he's not dead."

"And you're not surprised," Hermione said, somewhat bemused and faintly annoyed by this. Harry was indeed not at all surprised. Instead, he'd simply rolled his eyes.

"Not remotely," he said. "When Strange does something, he does it for a reason."

"Yes, Harry, but dying –"

"Hermione, he's a Seer. He is the Seer," Harry said impatiently. "He's not as omniscient as he pretends to be, and he's got blindspots, but I've seen the world the way he sees it, and believe me, he's close enough. I'm willing to bet that he knows exactly when he's going to die and he's got the way it'll happened planned down to the last detail." He smiled wryly. "Also, I'm cynical enough to think that if he's vanished, presumed dead, with no witnesses, then he's probably up to something."

Hermione looked doubtful, Ron, a little less so.

"Right, so Strange turned up," Harry said. "And let me guess, he grabbed you, dropped you outside Carol's bedroom door, told you it was mine and to go right in."

"More or less," Ron said. "Why…"

"Strange does everything for a reason," Harry said sourly. "Sometimes that reason is because he thinks it's funny."

There was a long, awkward silence, before Harry rolled his eyes again.

"All right," he said. "You've got questions. Ask away."

"Well," Hermione said. "We'd like to know –"

"How you ended up in bed with a girl," Ron interrupted, voice half amazed, half deeply envious. "And not just any girl, either, she's bloody gorgeous. Seriously, mate, how? And why didn't you tell me that you two were…" He trailed off, unsure of what words would follow. The hand gestures that did, however, were perfectly serviceable.

Hermione glared at Ron, both for interrupting her and his monumental tactlessness. It was a fair approximation of the glare that Professor McGonagall had delivered to Doctor Strange. Ron didn't notice, however, because Harry was giving him a look that was if not outright icy, then definitely rather frosty. It was not even close to as threatening as the look that had preceded Harry's almost incinerating Seamus Finnegan, but it was not a particularly friendly one either.

"I sensed that she was upset, opened the door, and asked if she was okay," he said in a deceptively mild voice. "She's been through a lot recently, and the sort of thing that leaves a mark on you. She wanted someone to be there. That someone was me. She's my friend, Ron."

"Right," Ron said, looking a little contrite. Harry, recognising the unspoken apology, nodded. "But seriously," Ron continued after another moment, curiosity and envy overriding caution and contrition. "Are the two of you… well, I mean, it's not the sort of thing you do with me or Hermione."

Hermione, remembering a previous discussion with Harry on his feelings about Carol in which in attempting to deny he had feelings for her, he'd accidentally implied he had feelings for Ron, and promptly tied himself in a verbal knot, snickered. Harry, doubtless remembering the same conversation, rolled his eyes extravagantly at her, before turning back to Ron.

"It isn't," he admitted, before smirking. "Why, Ron? You feeling jealous of Carol, now? I'm sure she won't mind if you want to join us this evening."

Ron, unsurprisingly, boggled at Harry, before shaking his head rapidly. "I'll pass, thanks," he managed.

"Harry," Hermione said, reproving and amused at the same time.

This did nothing to dampen Harry's sense of mischief, however, as the smirk widened into a wicked grin and dancing emerald eyes flicked between Ron and Hermione. "Ah, staking your own claim, Hermione?" he asked. "Entirely reasonable. Tell you what, I'll nip down to grab some breakfast and catch up with you two… later." He stood up and cheerfully clapped the two of them on the shoulder, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I'll leave you to it. Don't worry, it'll be fine: I've got a spare set of bedsheets, there's a private bathroom, Darcy's made sure I'm well-stocked with birth-control just in case, and the rooms are soundproofed."

Ron looked like someone had flicked his brain's off-switch in the middle of a nightmare, while Hermione, red as one of Wanda's coats, was giving Harry a look that, if looks could kill, would have reduced him to his component sub-atomic particles. Harry noticed this expression (he could hardly have failed to), but careless of his own safety as usual, simply chuckled.

"And that expression, the one like you're planning to blast me into chunks and feed me to Crookshanks, is why I haven't made any jokes like that before," he said.

"Make any more and I might actually do it," Hermione said ominously.

Ron, not for the first time this morning, looked like he was in shock.

Harry shrugged. "You ask me difficult and embarrassing questions, expect to get some back," he said. "Now, to get the rest of the answers on me, Carol, and the bedroom out of the way – or at least, the ones I'm willing to give… like I told Ron. She's been through a lot recently, particularly with what happened on Halloween, which I will explain in a minute. She, we, barely escaped with our lives, but she had it particularly badly. Nightmares are one of the results."

"Curse Shock," Ron said, managing to bring his brain back to the here and now. Harry arched an eyebrow at him.

"It's the Wizarding World's name for PTSD," Hermione supplied.

"Ah," Harry said, nodding. "Right. Yes, exactly Ron. She was having trouble dealing with it. For one thing, her younger brothers are having a hard time too – one of them is about Ginny's age, maybe a little younger. He was caught up in it. He had no way of defending himself, and no experience with that kind of thing, not the way me, Carol, or you two do. As a result, it's hit him much harder. And Carol's father is… away for work, so their mother is naturally focused on the younger child who's more obviously screwed up by what happened."

"The Avengers," Hermione began.

"Were mostly worried about me," Harry said. "Carol healed up physically relatively quickly, but I was out for a good couple of days after what happened on Halloween. I only woke up yesterday. I'm fine now." He winced as his left shoulder ached a little when he made a dismissive wave. "Mostly." He shook his head. "Me being around helped her."

Hermione, an only child, accepted this. Ron, though, looked a bit sceptical.

"Mate," he said. "I don't want to push, but…" He paused. "I saw how Ginny was, over the summer after second year. After what that Diary did to her. She slept with mum and dad a few times." He met Harry's gaze with surprising steadiness. "It was a bit different to the way that you and Carol were."

Harry met his steady gaze for a long moment, before glancing at Hermione, who was wearing a similar expression, and sighed, looking down at his clasped hands. "Carol and me are complicated," he said. "We're very close friends. Just friends." He raised a hand to forestall interruptions. "But maybe, at some point, we'll be a bit more," he continued. "Not right now, though."

"Why not?" Ron asked, somewhat puzzled. "I mean, you like her, she seems to like you, what's the problem?"

"Carol's had issues in the past," Harry said. "Some more recent, because of what's just happened. And as for me…" He sighed. "I'm not exactly sane." He waved a hand to forestall them. "I'm not saying I'm going to suddenly go crazy or anything like that, because I'm not." He glanced at Hermione. "But the fact is that after all that's happened to me, I'm like a broken mirror. I'm putting myself back together again, being put back together again, and I'm definitely better than I was. But I'm still not in one piece." He shook his head. "Neither of us is ready yet, Ron."

"We understand, Harry," Hermione said gently.

"Yeah," Ron said. "We get it, mate."

Harry looked up at them and smiled. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Keep this quiet, please? Neither of us particularly likes talking about it, and while dad and the others know when to stop teasing… the fine details are a bit private. I'd rather it didn't become the next item of gossip at Hogwarts." He looked a bit sour. "Though I think our classmates will have enough to talk about with me being the fourth Triwizard Champion. The inquisition on that should be fun."

"The betting's already started," Ron said.

"On whether I'll win?"

"On how much you'll win by," Ron corrected. "Everyone reckons it'll be a walkover, that you'll flatten Krum, Diggory, and the French girl. And, well…" He looked a little embarrassed.

"What is it?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"The biggest bets are on how you long they'll last against you and what you'll do to them," Hermione said. At Harry's stony expression, she gave him a look that combined sympathy with a sense of 'are-you-really-surprised', and said, "It's not exactly surprising, Harry. You've got a reputation, these days, even just for things that have happened at Hogwarts."

"Like what, exactly?" Harry asked, in a sour tone that suggested he knew very well what was meant, but wanted clarification.

"You took out the entire Ravenclaw team with the Dangerous Dai Decoy because they pissed you off, you blew up half the school at the end of last year, and you spent most of last month stomping around looking you wanted to kill everyone," Ron said bluntly.

"I only blew up the Entrance Hall," Harry said. "And that part technically wasn't even me."

"It's gossip, Harry, no one cares about the details, even if they knew them," Hermione said impatiently. "The Hufflepuffs aren't happy, either."

"Because they think I'm going to kill Cedric?"

"Because they think you stole his – their – glory," Hermione said.

"And because they think you're going to kill him," Ron added helpfully. "She's right, though, Harry. Hufflepuff never win anything, and everyone says that Hufflepuff is the House the Hat puts you in if you're not good enough for any of the others."

"Even though the actual Hogwarts champion is a Hufflepuff," Hermione said pointedly.

"Well, Diggory's the exception, isn't he?"

"Really, Ron? Former Hufflepuffs have been the backbone of the magical world, including serious magical research…"

"Cedric's a good bloke," Harry said quietly. "He's decent, he's kind, and he's brave. He doesn't come off as being an idiot, either. He's a worthy Champion." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Maybe even Worthy." He shot a look at them both. "Speaking of Champions, have they come out and said anything about me taking part?"

"Apart from the fact that you're a Champion? No," Hermione said.

"They're probably waiting to tell you when you get back," Ron said wisely, and Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. "What we'd really like to know, though… what happened on Halloween?"

Harry sighed. "Okay. But I suggest you sit down. It'll take a while."

OoOoO

It did.

"So," Ron said eventually. "That's the sort of thing you deal with these days. Vampire Kings, battles for the fate of the world, almost getting killed every few months..."

"More or less," Harry said, then smiled wryly. "If you throw in actually getting killed occasionally in there too."

That would have ended it, had Hermione not been watching Harry with a very careful expression. "Harry," she said. "I've got a question. About happened on Halloween, with Dracula."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead," he said.

"Why was Dracula so interested in Carol?" Hermione asked. "Objectively, there's no reason to pick her over any other ordinary human, and plenty of reasons not to, even without considering your psychic connection." She eyed Harry. "There's something else, isn't there? Something you're not saying."

Ron blinked, and turned a similarly thoughtful look on Harry.

"There are a lot of things I don't say," Harry said mildly, and as Hermione's eyes narrowed, added pointedly, "Because they're not for me to talk about. But…" His gaze suddenly lost focus for a few moments, and he cocked his head as if he was listening to someone. After a few moments, he nodded and refocused on two of his oldest friends. "Normally, it wouldn't be a matter of you being trustworthy or not – which you both are. I would trust you both with my life. I have, as a matter of fact. Normally, I'd say it's too dangerous to know, it'd make you a target. And it's not for me to say."

"But?" Ron asked impatiently.

"But some serious bad guys know this secret too, probably because Voldemort ransacked the brains of a lot of the people who knew anyway and dad's pretty sure he used it to get Dracula to act on Halloween and play distraction," Harry said. "And, well, Carol says I can tell you. So does her grandmother, Alison."

He looked up at Ron and Hermione, gaze deadly serious. "You can't tell anyone this. And I mean anyone, not your parents, not your families. This is a secret that people have killed for, and not just simple murders, I mean mass slaughter, by the likes of HYDRA and the Red Room – thousands and thousands of people have died. Only a few people know it – the Avengers, and a few others, mostly people who were around when Carol figured it out over the summer. She didn't even know until then." His gaze locked onto Ron. "I really mean it. Carol's extending a lot of trust here, not because she knows you, but because I know you, I trust you, and she trusts my judgement. You can't breathe a whisper of this. Understood?"

He got two very serious nods.

"Okay," Harry said. "Carol's related to Agent Peggy Carter. The Peggy Carter is her great-aunt. Carol's grandmother is Alison Carter – you'll probably meet her later, she's downstairs."

"She was Peggy Carter's little sister, then," Hermione said.

"Yes," Harry said, tone becoming meaningful. "Peggy Carter's younger sister. Her much younger, blonde, blue eyed sister."

There was a moment. Then, Ron's eyes widened to comical extents. "No way," he whispered in awe.

Hermione was only a moment behind, gasping. "Oh my god," she managed. "She's – they really – she's actually –"

Harry smiled slightly. "Yes to all of the above," he said, before his smile faded. "Steve and Peggy had a moment shortly before he went down in the Red Skull's jet and got frozen. Peggy had a daughter nine months later, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and as it turned out, all the super soldier abilities her dad had had. They pretended that Alison was her sister –"

"Why not a niece?" Hermione interrupted.

"Peggy's only sibling was an older brother who'd died several years earlier."

"Oh."

"Right," Harry said. "Alison is, now, Deputy Director of SHIELD, and that was after she spent a decade or so in retirement. She's a very nice woman, very kind, very friendly, and usually seems totally harmless, sort of like Dumbledore."

"You mean she's a bit barmy?" Ron asked, eyebrow raised.

"I mean that if you see the non-harmless side, you'd better hope to any god listening that you're not in her way. She used to go up against Natasha when she was one of the bad guys, and that is not something many people did more than once," Harry said. "She had all the super soldier abilities, but kept them hidden. Neither of her children had them, not really, and none of the grandchildren seemed to either. Then Easter happened, and the mountain we were on…"

"Enhanced you all to the peak of your adult potential," Hermione said promptly.

"More or less," Harry said. "Though we didn't have a bloody clue how to use it, let me tell you. If we had, if I had, HYDRA's killer robot would not have been a problem. I could probably turn that thing into scrap now, let alone how strong I was then." He shrugged. "Anyway, Carol became an adult super soldier. At first, people thought that since the serum is an all round enhancement of a human to peak potential, that's just what the mountain did. But since the change stuck, it didn't. She had the super soldier potential, it woke up, and it stuck. She's every bit the super soldier her grandma is, and accounting for age and size, every bit the super soldier Steve is." He sighed. "After that, we're not sure what happened, but Dracula got wind of it. Like I said, Voldemort probably tipped him off. And Dracula wanted Carol's blood for some kind of blood magic rite – when Grey Court vampires drink the blood of someone who's more than just human, it gives them a boost." He smirked. "Or in my case, terminal indigestion."

"Hang on, you're poisonous to vampires?" Ron asked.

"Not the word I'd use," Harry said. "Short version: Phoenix fire is in my blood, thanks to Mum. The Phoenix really Does Not Like vampires. Or dark magic and the undead in general, actually, which gets them both coming and going. They try to drink my blood…" He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a faded vampire bite mark. "And they go up like torches."

"You were bitten?" Hermione asked, horrified.

"I might be capable of flattening a reasonably sized mountain, but physically, I'm still only a little more than human," Harry said calmly. "He got past my guard, and he very briefly regretted it." He sighed. "Anyway, when Grey Court vampires want to add power permanently, to them and those they sire or have sired, there's an ancient blood magic ritual, surrounding that spiked chair thing I mentioned. It's how they have most of their weirder powers, like turning to mist and weather manipulation." He grimaced. "And since Carol's got the formula that essentially perfects the human body, removing all basic flaws, in her blood, Dracula got the idea that if he used her in the ritual then he could become immune to daylight, and so could any vampire he sired, and maybe any vampire he'd already sired. In one fell swoop, one of the Grey Court's biggest weaknesses would be gone."

"So that's why you went up against him, then," Ron said. He looked Harry up and down, expression a little dubious. "You look fine."

"So I'm told," Harry said dryly.

"And Carol, she looks fine too," Ron said. "I mean, she's all right." At Harry's expression, he amended it. "Well, physically, at least. I mean, last person I saw move that fast was Sergeant Barnes!"

"Bucky's faster than she is," Harry said, though in tones of addition rather than correction. "He's got quicker reflexes than Steve, too, though Steve can outrun him in a straight line."

Ron's expression tightened a little, and he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "And you said that those other friends of yours, Uhtred and Diana, and another friend, Jean-Paul, were involved too. And someone called Gamble."

"Gambit," Harry said evenly. He didn't need telepathy to read Ron, and see where this conversation was going.

"Right," Ron said, and now there was a definite and ominous harmonic in his voice. "You got them involved."

"Ron," Hermione sighed.

Harry, for his part, simply regarded Ron steadily. Then, he raised a single finger. "First," he said. "I did not get Uhtred, Diana, and Gambit involved. Doctor Strange did that." He raised another finger. "Yes, I got Jean-Paul involved."

"What can he do that I can't?" Ron demanded angrily.

"Cruise at Mach 4," Harry said calmly. "About seven times faster than my Loki-improved Firebolt, and ten times faster than any normal Firebolt. His normal top speed is Mach 10, and even that is holding back, a lot." His expression turned deadly serious. "Ron, I'd rather go another round with Dracula than fight Jean-Paul, and not because he's my friend."

Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow, which Harry noticed.

"It's not just a matter of what he can do that you can't, Ron," he said. "Because he can do a lot. Honestly, at full strength, he's one of the most powerful people I know. There's something more important than that: what he will do that you won't."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, anger derailed by confusion.

"Imagine Natasha," Harry said. "Not just her looks, but her attitude. Now imagine her male, with super-speed. That's Jean-Paul."

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding, while Ron still looked puzzled, so Harry elaborated.

"Along with the Winter Soldier, Natasha was the best agent ever produced by the Red Room, the people who make HYDRA and the Death Eaters wet themselves. And like my uncle after he regained his sanity, she didn't lose any of the nastier skills she learned when she became one of the good guys. Or a willingness to use them when required."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh," Harry said. "And," he added, raising another finger. "As for the others, I'd still pick them over you in a fight. They have enough in the way of combat skills, while as Bucky demonstrated, you don't. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Uhtred and Diana have been trained to one extent or another since they could walk, by Asgard and Olympus' respective Goddesses of War. And I'm not just talking hand to hand. You're both stronger than average, magically speaking, a good deal stronger than average, and Hermione knows a decent amount of wandless magic." He smiled wryly and glanced at Hermione. "Fire magic excepted, you actually probably known more than I do. And if you don't, it's only because of Doctor Strange." The smile faded. "You don't, either of you, know serious combat magic. Not just spells – I'm pretty sure that Hermione has memorised every spell up to your level, and probably a few supposedly beyond."

"I could believe that," Ron muttered, smirking, as Hermione blushed and glowered at both of them.

"Knowing complex, 'powerful', spells isn't important," Harry continued, as if Ron hadn't spoken. "A jelly legs jinx is more or less harmless, but it can immobilise a stronger and faster opponent, buying you time to escape or prepare something more effective. A full body-bind is first year level, and would work even better. Put enough power behind them, and you could bring down some pretty powerful things. And if they're armed? The disarming charm is one of the simplest spells possible." He grinned at Ron. "And as we all know, a good levitation charm can do all kinds of damage, used properly. Strong spells do more damage, but most bad guys expect a frontal assault. Doing something different and unexpected, can give you an edge."

"So what do you mean by 'serious combat magic', if not spells?" Hermione asked frowning.

"Technique. Strategy. Tactics. And above all, preparation, because power is useless if you don't know how to use it properly," Harry said bluntly. "That's how, despite having enough psychic power to level a city, and enough magical power to set what's left on fire, the one person who actually succeeded in killing me wasn't a God, a Dark Lord, or even a Vampire King. It was a man with healing abilities and a set of sharp claws. In fact, he might as well have had a single knife, it wouldn't really have made a difference. Because I was stupid, and I didn't think, and I didn't use my power effectively."

"And what, we're stupid?" Ron demanded, firing up again.

"Ignorant," Harry corrected him. "Untrained. And inexperienced. Against Daken, I should have known better. If you were making the same mistake, on the other hand, it's because you simply didn't know. There's no crime in it, but it still ends up with the same result: you. Dead." He raised a fourth and final finger. "Because physically, you're still human. Physically, against creatures like that, you can't survive your mistakes." He met both their gazes, expression deadly serious. "And before you protest, Ron, I'd like to tell you something. Uhtred. He's stronger and tougher than Hagrid and most of Tony's suits, he's set to be one of the most powerful Asgardians outside the royal family, and he's Sif's protégé to boot. When I told him about Aragog and his children, he wanted to go giant spider hunting, and the only reason I told him no was because it would upset Hagrid."

"Yeah, I've met him," Ron said, puzzled. "So what?"

"He was with me on Halloween," Harry said, tone now one of measured calm. "He lost an eye and a lot of blood, after a particularly powerful vampire ripped several chunks out of him. If he hadn't been taken to hospital almost immediately, and he didn't have his healing abilities, he'd be dead. Thanks to the wonders of Asgardian medicine and healing abilities, he's going to be fine – even the eyepatch is temporary. But he very nearly wasn't."

"Blimey, mate," Ron said. "But –"

"Diana was thrown through the arc reactor under this house, which is still being repaired, and got some pretty serious burns," Harry continued. "Professor Lupin was there too. He had several fingers splinched off by a dark anti-apparition ward, then wound up with several broken ribs and injuries all down one side because he was clipped, just clipped, by a chair that a vampire threw at him. If it had hit him full on, he'd be dead. Bucky narrowly escaped being turned to ash by a lightning bolt from Dracula. Thankfully, a lightning conductor got in the way. And for my part, Dracula beat me to a pulp, stabbed with my own sword, and hit me with enough lightning that I am honestly surprised I'm not giving everyone I touch electric shocks. The only reason I survived my first fight with him was because he didn't want a war with Asgard and the Avengers. The only reason I survived my second fight with him was because dad, the Hulk, and uncle Loki arrived before he could seriously try and murder me."

There was a long silence.

"I know because I'm up, about, and everything seems cheerful and normal – or as normal as my life gets, anyway – that Halloween was quick and easy," Harry said, tone not having wavered once. "It was quick, but it wasn't easy. Aside from the people I've listed, Carol was nearly drained dry and her little brother was nearly turned into a vampire snack, then almost knee-capped. An American fighter pilot actually was turned into a vampire snack, despite Carol's best efforts to save his life."

"Knee-capped?" Ron asked.

"Imagine a blasting curse to the knee."

Ron went pale and nodded.

"What I'm saying," Harry said eventually. "Is that if you had come, you would have died. You have the power, but you don't have the training or experience to make it count, or the durability to survive your mistakes. And even if you did, it might not matter: lot of much more skilled and experienced people than either you or me barely survived that night."

He looked at Ron. "Yes, I've kept you out of this side of my life," he said. "Both of you. Not because I want to exclude you, but because I want to keep you alive. It's not a safe side of my life."

He looked around the room, and quirked a brief, but happy half smile. "It definitely has its upsides. Overall, I'm happier than I was last year. But it has its downsides too. If I got you involved in this side of my life, then there is a very good chance that you wouldn't survive the experience." He folded his arms. "You would be put in the line of fire of some of the most evil and most powerful groups and beings in the world, in the universe even. They would kill you, just because you're there, because you were in their way, or to get to me." His mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. "Voldemort in particular likes doing that." The smile vanished.

"That's what you'd be letting yourself in for. Or part of it, anyway," he said. "If you did survive, if you weren't killed, tortured, or transformed in some kind of horrific way, then you wouldn't be the same: you could say goodbye to your innocence, your peace of mind, and a lot of the time, to your ability to properly relate to anyone who's not taking the same path." Harry sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "You'd end up with blood on your hands. You'd end up with more scars, mental and physical, than you can count. Odds are, you'd go through hell. And you'd always be walking on the outside. And..."

"Harry," Ron said. "Mate. We want to help. Even with all that."

"I know!" Harry snapped, voice cracking like a whip. "Sorry," he said, sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. "You want to help. You want to support me. I appreciate that, I really do - more than that, I need it. If it wasn't for my friends, for you guys, I would quite literally have gone completely insane. And I need different things from different friends: Jean's basically the big sister I never had and never knew I needed and helps on being a super psychic, Diana sympathises on the whole psychic demigod thing, Uhtred helps with the... warrior side of me, I suppose, Jean-Paul usually provides blunt and scarily sharp personal insights, Maddie..." He paused, and looked away. "Well. The two of us share certain things that others don't."

"And Carol?" Hermione asked, quietly.

Harry grinned suddenly, like a ray of sunlight on a cloudy day. "She tells me when I'm being an idiot," he said. "And..." The grin faded into something more solemn. "She's there. I'm not alone. Never alone." He smiled a wry smile, and shrugged. Neither gesture was half as nonchalant as he intended it to be. "Accidental psychic connection. What can you do?"

"What about us?" Ron asked, a touch resentful. "What do we do?"

"You're normal," Harry said simply. "In the good way, not the fucking awful Dursley way. Honestly, you two are just about the only normal thing in my life. You help keep me grounded. You help remind me of the world outside of my insane life of super-spies, evil villains and their plans, and cosmic whatsits. The normal world - more or less - that I walk through fire to protect. That makes it worth it." He shrugged. "Also, get the lot of us in a group and we tend to think broadly the same way. You both provide an outside perspective. Perspectives."

He leaned back and sighed.

"I don't need more soldiers in my life," he said. "More warriors in the battle between good and evil, or whatever. And I don't need you dragged into this side of my life. And this isn't just me being selfish, overprotective, or 'indulging my guilt complex', either: Jean mostly stays out of it too, and she's scarily powerful. Jean-Paul too, and not only is he scarily powerful, he's just plain scary when he wants to be. They'll come if and when I call, but it's not their scene, for the most part. It isn't even just me thinking this – it's your friendly neighbourhood magical chauffeur too."

"Doctor Strange?" Hermione said, puzzled.

"The man who's been arranging my life, and everyone else's, down to the last detail since basically forever? Yes," Harry said. "He's purposefully kept you two on the outside of my life too. Think about it - he whisked you two here today, but he never did it before."

"Actually," Hermione began.

"He got you, and the Twins, involved in putting uncle Loki back together for the Battle of London," Harry said, nodding. "I know. And you notice how even when he did that, you were kept far from the fight, not even involved after you were finished? There was plenty of fight to go around. And he even kept you both away when he was gathering everyone up to talk me down after the Red Room, when I was the Dark Phoenix. Why?"

His gaze swept over both of them, lingering on Ron for a half moment too long. "I don't know, exactly. But the message was clear: he didn't want you involved. He wanted you on the outside; not throwing you aside, but as a tie to a normal life, to the person I was before. Because I need you to be who you are: two of my oldest friends who've stuck by me through thick and thin. Who've tried to help even when I've thrown it back in their faces. Who can show me, remind me, how to be normal." He smiled slightly. "Well. Relatively speaking." He met their gazes one last time, green eyes soulful, serious, and pleading. "I realise it's a bit selfish. But can you do that for me? Please?"

The two shared a look, then both nodded seriously.

"Of course," they said in unison.

Harry smiled another of those warm, sunlight smiles. "Thank you," he said.

OoOoO

Carol, having changed and washed, re-emerged onto the landing hoping – perhaps a little unkindly – that Harry had taken the brunt of the embarrassing questions from his friends. Of course, there was every chance that that the Avengers would take up that particular baton, but that couldn't be helped.

As she descended the stairs, she paused as she caught the tail-end of a conversation.

"How in Merlin's name can you be so bloody casual about what happened?" the red-head, Ron – the Twins' little brother – said in disbelief. "Dracula skewered you with your own bloody sword, he nearly drained your girlfriend -"

A very familiar exasperated sigh. "She's not my girlfriend, Ron."

"Your friend," Ron amended, albeit somewhat sceptically. Considering the position he'd caught them in, clothed or not, Carol grudgingly had to admit that she could understand his scepticism. "He nearly drained her like, like, a squeezed orange or something like that. And you nearly died beating him. Again!" Another thought seemed to strike him. "You're a Triwizard Champion too! And you're just... you're just standing here, like nothing happened! How?!"

Harry sat and thought about this for a while. "I suppose that's about scale, partly," he said eventually. "I mean, Ron, this wasn't the end of the world compared to some of the things that I've been through this last year and a bit. Actually, it was more about average..." He smiled lopsidedly. "Anyway. Dracula was beaten. And in the process no one died, no one was permanently maimed, even if we did come very close to both. As a result, the psychological trauma should be limited to a few nightmares here and there. It wasn't a walk in the park, but I've had much worse. So has Carol."

"And," Hermione began, in the careful, cautious tones that Carol would have expected from her, at least from their brief acquaintance.

"I'm not angry?" Harry finished mildly. "You're wondering if I'm even angry at Dracula, who turned a boy to use as a scout simply for sheer convenience? Whose minions threatened my goddaughter? Who nearly squeezed one of my dearest friends dry like, as Ron says, an orange, almost killing her in the process?"

"And stabbed you," Ron reminded him carefully, as if he thought Harry might have forgotten.

Harry waved this away as if it didn't matter. "I'm angry," he said, answering the rhetorical question. "But one of the things I've been learning is perhaps best summed up in a lesson that a man called Erik was taught a long time ago and recently passed on to me: 'anger makes a good servant, but a poor master.'" He smiled wryly. "So yes, I'm angry. But I'm learning to use it, not let it use me." The smile sharpened slightly. "Plus, there's the fact that considering where I left him, Dracula didn't exactly get off scott-free. At the very least, he must be absolutely humiliated."

There were two expressions of surprise, ones met with a smirk unnervingly reminiscent of Doctor Strange. Carol recognised the smirk – it was the one Harry whipped out when he was anticipating something thoroughly unpleasant happening to someone who thoroughly deserved it.

"Think about it," he said. "Dracula, son of the Dragon, the God-Slayer, King of the Grey Court, out-smarted by a couple of teenagers, a couple of muggles, and a mortal mage in a glorified tin can? That'll sting. That'll sting even more than dad hitting him in the face."

"And the Tournament?" Ron ventured. "What about that? You, uh, you didn't seem too happy about it."

Carol snorted faintly, a noise that Harry could not possibly have heard, but one he acknowledged with a brief flicker of the eyes up to where she was and a wry smile. While she had not seen the fall-out of that particular incident, Harry having been otherwise occupied, then having had a couple of days to cool down, she knew him well enough to know that Ron's remark was an understatement of epic proportions.

"I'm not," Harry said, then shrugged. "But considering what Dracula just tried to pull, it's in perspective as a minor annoyance. I can put up with it. And besides - Voldemort wanted me in the Tournament, which means that he's going to try something in it. Which, at least, means that I have some idea of when he's next going to try and pull something on me." He grinned. "And who knows? Maybe the tasks will even be fun."

Carol rolled her eyes slightly in amusement, before stepping out to join them. "Before or after you carve a trail of burning rubble and utter chaos through them?" she asked.

"I was thinking more during," Harry said cheerfully.

Carol rolled her eyes again, this time more extravagantly. "Of course you were," she said. "It's not a real Harry party unless there's a smoking crater of some kind."

"I can do stealthy," Harry said, offended.

"You can," Carol acknowledged. "Until you either get found or you lose your temper and everything explodes."

Harry sulked, but did not disagree.

"Was he always like this?" Carol asked, appealing to Ron and Hermione. "Because I'm saying it right now, this is not my fault."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "The sulking, or the explosions?" Hermione asked, with a hint of amusement.

"Either? Both?"

Another exchanged look.

"Yeah, pretty much," Ron said, after a moment, and as Harry shot him glare with little real heat, shrugged. "Sorry, mate, but you do tend to make a mess."

"And be moody," Hermione sighed. "Though, granted, you do tend to have better reason than most."

"I think this is what they call being damned with faint praise," Harry said sourly. "Maybe I should be moody instead."

"Do that and I'll set Pepper on you. And Wanda. And Sirius. And Jane and Darcy and your dad and whoever else is needed," Carol said. "I will even get Steve to do his 'Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you-yes-you' look, and the only people that doesn't work on are grandma, Nick Fury, and Bucky."

Harry stuck his tongue out at her, which Carol took to mean that she'd won. It was also at that point that she noticed two different expressions from Ron and Hermione. Hermione's was part fond, part thoughtful, part faintly wistful. Ron's, meanwhile, was a good deal more complicated and hard to read.

"Harry, do you and Hermione mind heading into breakfast without us?" she asked, nodding at Ron. "I want a quick word with Ron about a coupla things."

Ron looked bemused, as did Hermione – though her bemusement was touched slightly with worry – while Harry raised an eyebrow briefly, before nodding. "I'll save you some coffee," he said.

Carol nodded, and with that, adroitly piloted Ron off to one side. Ron, unsurprisingly, wanted to know why, and expressed it in no uncertain terms.

"What's this about?" he demanded.

"My finely honed super senses detect that you aren't entirely happy with Harry's explanation/fobbing off," Carol said bluntly.

Ron glowered, but didn't disagree, which Carol took as encouragement to continue.

"Lemme guess," she said. "You wanted to be involved in the vampire thing on Halloween. He shut you down then, and he shut you down again now. Probably a bit more nicely now, but it still comes to the same thing."

Ron nodded, glower fading. "It's like… it's like he thinks I don't know," he said. "What sort of thing he's facing – what you're facing with him. I mean, I know there are things that I don't know, that I can't know. But I want to know, and he won't let me." He looked up at Carol. "He lets you, though."

There was an unspoken question there, several. "I could say that he lets me because I don't let him stop me," Carol said. "And that would be true. However, looking back on all the scrapes we've got into, there's only one where he could theoretically have had the chance to tell me no. All the other times, we generally didn't know what we were getting into, so there was no chance for him to say no, if you follow me. As a result, he's got used to having me along." She shrugged. "Also, he knows I'd reach down his throat and rip his guts out if he tried to leave me behind."

"What was the one time?" Ron asked.

"The Battle of London," Carol said. "And there were a couple of reasons why he didn't. First, we'd just found out about my connection to Steve, so he couldn't just tell me no – it was family. Second, he wasn't even really thinking about that. His focus was wreaking as much havoc on HYDRA as he could. And he did." She shifted her gaze back to Ron, and now it was shrewd. "Which is kind of what you want to do, isn't it? You're not along just to support Harry. You're after HYDRA, I remember Harry mentioning it. There's something personal…"

"My dad," Ron said shortly. "The Winter Soldier killed him."

Carol froze for a moment, then said carefully, "The Winter Soldier? You're sure?"

Ron shot her a look that spoke volumes.

"Okay, you're sure," Carol said, a little apologetically. "Sorry – it's just that from what I've heard since, stories of the Winter Soldier popped up in every shadow that was a little too dark for comfort. Even more so once people knew he was real."

"He snapped my dad's neck," Ron said in a flat voice. "Probably on Malfoy's orders. Him and dad always hated each other."

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly, while questions ran frantically through her head: was Bucky responsible for this? If so, did the Avengers know? Did Harry know? She shook her head and hauled herself back to the present. "So. Since the Winter Soldier is gone, you want the person who was giving the orders," she said.

Ron nodded. "Harry's my best mate," he said, and Carol did not miss the brief glance he shot at her, nor his attendant worry that she was usurping that status. Carol couldn't honestly have said yea or nay to that, as even having a backdoor into Harry's head didn't always make it that much easier to figure out what he was thinking. "I'll back him through whatever he needs, whenever he needs it. But he's also the most likely person to run into HYDRA. He finds trouble."

"Ain't that the truth," Carol muttered, and sighed, trying to ignore the part of her brain that was persistently reminding her that the Winter Soldier – or to be more accurate, the man who had been the Winter Soldier – was not only alive and well, but in this house, and more than that, a regular resident of Hogwarts these days. "Okay, so you're not going to take no for an answer on this, and I honestly can't blame you. But my advice would not be to keep pushing at Harry: he can and will out-stubborn you. Also, HYDRA's not his top priority right now, and considering what Harry's shown himself to be capable of, I think that HYDRA will be going out of their way to avoid him. But."

She paused and eyed Ron.

"You're really determined to do this, huh?" she said. "I figure you are, but like Harry's probably told you, this kind of hunt does not take you happy places. And it does not do happy things to you. What it does to you…" She sighed. "Everyone deals with it differently. "Harry gets grumpy and snarky or chirpy and snarky by turns, I get plain snarky, Steve destroys a dozen punch-bags and then puts his everything-is-fine mask on, Clint generally seems chirpy or professionally detached, I can never read Bucky or Natasha, Thor and Loki have millennia of experience to call on... Even still, though. We might deal with it in different ways, but we're all covering up the same kind of thing. And it's not the kind of thing you want."

"I do," Ron said flatly.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," Carol muttered. "Fine. Like I said, you can't out-stubborn Harry. Best you can do to convince him would be to learn from someone else. Harry's not someone you want teaching you, anyway. He's a good teacher, when he wants to be, but even if he wasn't busy half the time mastering what he's already got, it wouldn't work. The skill-sets you have overlap, but they don't overlap enough. Harry's super-soldier fast and super-soldier strong, and he's getting faster and stronger all the time. He uses every bit of that speed and strength in combat, and he can and does jack it up with his telekinesis, as long as he's concentrating. He save his wand for precision work and special-occasions. It's not so much that you can't learn what he can do, it's more that a lot of what he does is going to be physically impossible for you."

Ron frowned, but it was thoughtful frown. "Who'd you suggest, then?" he asked.

"Sirius Black," she said instantly. "Harry's godfather. He's 'just' magical, aside from being able to turn into a fucking huge dog, and from what I hear, he's a very, very good magical fighter. Him, or Harry Dresden. Dresden's magic is different to yours, sorta, but he's got the same problems as you – more or less human physique, for starters. Thor could probably teach you the same stuff, but he probably wouldn't if Harry asked him not to – I can't say for sure that Harry would ask him not to, but it's a risk. Sirius and Dresden are probably your best bets, and Sirius is the one who's in the Mansion right now, with the most free time."

She paused. "Though I think he can't go back to Britain for some reason." She met Ron's gaze. "Also, get some hand to hand. Harry mentioned that that Sean Cassidy guy's around, and that he knows his stuff." She paused then, hating herself a little bit, added, "And Bucky's an expert. Though, again, he'll probably be busy with Harry." After a moment she shook herself and moved on. "After that, I'd look up SHIELD rather than just waiting for something to happen to Harry. They're the ones who hunt HYDRA professionally, and while I can't say for sure, I'm pretty certain that they'd snap up a powerful and already semi-trained wizard in an instant. If not, my grandma helps run their superhuman stuff, and I can put in a good word. Though, knowing grandma, she probably knows everything about you down to your shoe size already."

Ron nodded. "Thanks, Carol," he said. "I appreciate it."

Carol smiled wryly. "Yeah well, keep your eyes off my boobs, and I'll call it even," she said.

Ron, predictably, went red as a tomato.

OoOoO

Breakfast, afterwards, went pretty much as expected – copious amounts of teasing took place, even more copious amounts of breakfast were eaten, in between many rude gestures made in lieu of rude responses to the latest teasing gag. These were not too belaboured, save by Tony, to the occasionally pained expression of Steve. Harry, for his part, soon retreated into spoiling his goddaughter, and Tony changed tack to complaining about how Harry was seducing his daughter away from him. This merited a response.

"It's not my fault, Tony," Harry said, expression studiously innocent. "I'm just prettier than you are."

Tony gaped for a moment as the entire table collapsed with laughter, before faux-sulking.

In truth, he didn't really mind that Harry was getting a moment or two with Ada, having moved – barely – past the stage where the only things that could separate him from his daughter were Pepper or a carefully applied Infinity Stone. Now, so long as she was within eyeshot, and preferably arm's reach, he was more or less happy. He had also attempted to reward Sirius, Remus, and Bucky with, respectively; open return tickets to Las Vegas with offers to introduce him to all the great, good, and bad but fun people there; lifetime memberships of every library and museum the Stark family had ever donated to; and a laptop entirely devoid of tracking devices or taps of any kind combined with an apparently almost infinite line of credit, apparently so Bucky could book a holiday for himself and Natasha somewhere entirely discreet but also entirely luxurious.

This, Harry was informed, was apparently the more reasonable version.

In any case, breakfast passed peacefully enough, with only one minor hiccup.

Part way through, there was the sound of doors opening, and everyone glanced upwards, as was now the habit when communicating with JARVIS. Equally, he had learned to respond to non-verbal cues. Even more equally, Tony rarely let a silence pass when he could contribute to it.

"JARVIS, who's our unexpected morning moocher?"

"It is Ms Maximoff, sir," JARVIS replied. "She was apparently invited."

Every head turned as one to Doctor Strange, who once again, simply smiled.

"You know, it's generally considered good form to tell the host before you invite someone along," Tony said, more for form's sake than anything else.

"I believe that she has already eaten," Strange said casually. "And here is as good a place as any to announce my return to her – and that she is taking up more former duties full time." His expression turned sober. "I shall also, I expect, have a discussion with her and some of the rest of you about why this is coming about."

Wanda opened the door, gaze sweeping the room, before freezing. Not, though, as most would have expected, on Strange. Instead, it froze on Hermione. It was only brief, and since Hermione had wound up sat next to Strange, a fine distinction. Most observers would have missed it. But more than a few round the table knew to look for such fine distinctions, and they were given a whacking great clue by the way that Wanda then turned on Strange – who was looking smugger than usual – a look that would have killed anyone else where they sat. Most would simply have taken this for Wanda's dismay/anger at her former teacher's antics, which was technically true. Which set of antics this was, though, was one that evaded most.

"Good morning, Wanda," Strange said. "Apple?"

Wanda shot him another look that said 'I would reduce you to a puddle of goo but it would ruin my friend's perfectly nice carpet', then pointedly ignored him and went over to greet Harry, Thor, and her other friends, Clint, her ex, included. And, of course, to coo over little Ada. In doing so, a careful observer might have noticed how she passed over Ron and Hermione, particularly the latter, save for politely cursory greetings. They were technically fitting for her godson's schoolfriends, but even still, that observer would remark... they were a little distant.

Finally, after greeting everyone, she took her seat opposite Strange, and the rest of the table's inhabitants subtly shifted away. This allowed them both to get out of the firing line, and enjoy a better view. Carol, for her part, had already acquired popcorn, from an unknown source that on most days, probably answered to Loki.

"So, Stephen," she said, tone frosty. "Rumours of your death are, once more, gravely exaggerated."

"As I intended them to be."

"As you very thoroughly intended them to be," Wanda said coldly. "Receiving the mantle, the Cloak, and the Eye was something of a shock. I expect you'll be wanting them back."

"I will not, as a matter of fact," Strange said mildly. "Rather than you being my successor, Wanda, I am now your predecessor. My time as Sorcerer Supreme is done. My dispatch of the mantle to you under circumstances that made it appear as if I was dead, while you were facing a terrible threat – an ascension rite of Kemmler's making, no less, with the greatest of Kemmler's disciples, the Warlock known as Cowl, and both Selene Gallio and Tom Riddle. This both gave you an additional edge in the fight to come, and very clearly demonstrated to many mortal and immortal observers that you are a more than adequate successor."

Wanda was stunned for a moment, before rallying, anger clearly sparking within her. Then, she sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "So. I am now the Sorceress Supreme for good."

"For so long as you live and continue to wield the mantle," Strange said, nodding. "I can't pretend that you won't have people who challenge your claim to the position, but I equally think that you are more than capable of demonstrating that you deserve it for reasons beyond simply being 'Doctor Strange's choice'. For one thing, I chose you to be my successor because you are the best. You are not the best because I chose you to be my successor. Remember that distinction, because it is a very important one, and people will try to convince you that it is the reverse."

"I… thank you, Stephen," Wanda managed, momentarily knocked a little off-balance.

"My pleasure," Strange said briskly. He picked up a piece of toast and set about buttering it. "As you know, I have recently been teaching at Hogwarts, partly to tutor Harry – the younger Harry, I should say – and partly for other purposes," he said. "In doing so, and in exchanging a few notes with my learned colleague on certain students." Here he inclined his head in graceful acknowledgement to Loki, who returned the inclination in a faint, wryly amused fashion, before returning into carefully not looking at Hermione. "I have discovered that Miss Granger, here, has magic increasingly like yours – chaos magic. While it has manifested only intermittently thus far, these things tend to find their way out, as we both know. And when it does, as we both know, it tends not to be pleasant at all." He shot Wanda a pointed look. "I think that both she and I would be pleased for her to have someone with experience of such things guiding her footsteps. I would, and I will, offer my assistance, as and when I can, but I will be occupied with Harry and a number of errands I now have to perform."

Wanda shot an unreadable look at Hermione, who was sitting somewhat nervously and rather awed, aware that she was caught between modern day magical legends. Harry, meanwhile, had been looking from Hermione to Wanda with a puzzled expression, which transformed into wide-eyed disbelief, before being replaced by a thoughtful and confused frown.

Finally, she glared at Strange, who remained unmoved, before nodding. "Of course," she said, and turned to Hermione with a small, slightly forced smile. "Forgive my initial attitude, Miss Granger." She eyed her teacher. "Stephen has a tendency to spring things on me unexpectedly, for various reasons of his own, including his own amusement. Additionally, in teaching you, I will be revisiting a part of my life that I had largely put behind me."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, Ms Maximoff," Hermione began nervously, before Wanda's raised hand cut her off, along with a more genuine looking smile.

"My discomfort at the resurrected memories is a passing irritation," she said. "Especially compared to the chance to prevent some other young woman going through the same kind of hell that I did. I will be happy to teach you." She shot Strange another evil look and added, through slightly gritted teeth, "Though I would have preferred to be warned first, rather than simply having it sprung on me out of the blue."

Strange, as usual, looked entirely unrepentant. Wanda shot him a smaller glare, one that suggested that there were going to be repercussions later on, before giving Hermione a slightly wan smile. "When you're done with breakfast, I'd like to have a little chat with you to see where you are, magic wise, and what signs of chaos magic you've shown – some of them, you might not even recognise," she said. "If that's all right with you?"

"Of course," Hermione said, a little starstruck. "I'd love to."

Wanda's smile became a little less wan, and for a moment, tears might have gleamed at the corner of her eyes. "I'm glad to hear it," she said.

OoOoO

After discussions pertinent to each, particularly Hermione and chaos magic, and Ron feeling a bit left out – though he was somewhat mollified when Harry pointed out that he was being left out too, and Wanda was his godmother – goodbyes were said, and Ron and Hermione headed back to Hogwarts, to their long temporally delayed afternoon lessons, courtesy of Doctor Strange. Strange had then stayed to talk to Wanda, more seriously than earlier.

Harry, meanwhile, had taken this as a cue to go up and pack. This was a largely token effort, since what he'd taken to Avengers Mansion was what he'd worn, which was either portable or ruined. As a result, even considering his briefly being side-tracked by Tony who was working with Sirius – who'd just finished a long chat with the just departed Ron – on a full set of armour for Harry, and wanted to take his various sizes, while growsing that like all teenagers, Harry was growing all over the place, before Pepper rescued him, he was ready to go in fairly short order.

"If you ever need to talk about anything, call me immediately," Thor said seriously.

"And if you're asleep?"

"Then I shall wake up."

Harry arched an eyebrow and smirked. "And if you're… occupied?"

Jane went pink, but rolled her eyes. "If he's 'occupied'," she said. "He probably won't notice, and he'll check back afterwards."

Darcy, predictably, let out a lewd and piercing wolf-whistle.

Thor coughed, and eyed his son, who looked cheerfully unrepentant. "This year will be harder on you," he said. "You will be even more in the public eye than usual, and many threats and problems will not be obvious to the first glance, and their solutions, even less so. If you want advice, or even your father's sympathetic ear, then I am here."

Harry gave him a hug. "Thanks," he said, with a genuine smile. "I will."

Thor grinned. "Good," he said. "Then give 'em hell."

"Literally, or figuratively?"

"Figuratively," Jane said firmly, leaning in to kiss Harry on the cheek. "But if literally is required, I can arrange it. Just say the word."

Harry grinned at his probably-soon-to-be-step-mother. "I'll hold you to that," he said, giving her a goodbye hug as well.

He said his goodbyes to the rest of the Avengers in a similar, fairly relaxed fashion – after all, he hadn't been away long, and they'd probably come to see the First Task, which was only in a couple of weeks.

Finally, he came to Carol, and the two stared at each other for a long moment. Then, they shared a wry smile and a long, tight hug, and if Carol kissed Harry on the cheek, no one commented on it. Even if, in Tony's case, this lack of comment was achieved by Pepper's hand being firmly applied to his mouth.

And then, courtesy of Doctor Strange, before one could click one's heels three times and think of home, Harry found himself back at in the currently very well inhabited Gryffindor Common Room. His first thought, after noticing that Strange was nowhere to be seen, and that both he and Bucky were the subject of rapidly increasing curiosity, was both fitting and a touch incongruous.

Well. At least he let me keep my clothes on.

And that is where this particular chapter ends. It took a little finagling to round it off at Hogwarts, and a couple of scenes being chopped and/or moved, but I didn't want to risk this little ending bit dragging out over several chapters. Still, the shippy stuff should leave most of you very happy.

Anyhow, the next chapter or so will be a rapid acceleration towards the First Task, which I have left remarkably poorly attended. I have Plans for it, don't you worry, Plans fully deserving the capital letter, oh yes… *cackles*