Avenge 2: Child of Winter

by Sw-0608

Picking up where Avenge ended, the Winter Soldier attacks the Potter family, kidnapping their youngest son. Fighting corruption in the Ministry, grieving for their loss, Harry and his family flee England. But when a horrific assassination reveals his quarry, Harry joins with a super-soldier and a spy to find the Winter Soldier ... and his son.

7. Chapter 7: Captain America

Rated M: Nothing of warning, besides some casual talk of war and nightmares ...

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Chapter Seven: Captain America

Healer Potter was not exactly enjoying himself as he sat in his little office space and organized patient files, but he knew it could be worse. He was back on a less demanding shift, and grateful to have left the life of an emergency room surgeon, but the extra time on his hands was spent toiling in his least favourite job ever: paperwork. It seemed no matter where one went in the world, magical or muggle, one could not escape the dreaded paperwork. Harry sighed as he perused a long page and affixed his signature to the bottom, setting it aside in its appropriate pile and then flicking his wand to return the whole stack to the proper file in the wall cabinet. For not the last time, he was glad that he was a wizard. Knowing that muggles managed the same, or similar, jobs without magic was rather impressive, actually.

Harry checked his watch as his stomach let out a gurgle and noted that his next appointment was in a little over two hours; more than enough time to grab some lunch. Straightening his desk took only a moment, and then Harry was out the door, already envisioning the nearest Porting Booth to the nice little eatery he had been wanting to try. He was on his way down to the Porting corridors when someone called out his last name. Harry spun around instinctively, since that voice had also come with a posh British accent; truly jarring after two months of hearing nothing but the harder, clipped tones of Americans.

"Potter!" the voice came again, and darting around a nurse and two visitors, a tall man in a charcoal-grey suit and tousled blond hair was none other than …

"Malfoy?" Harry spluttered in disbelief as the other wizard greeted him, grinning in a sly, self-satisfied way.

"What, surprised to see me?"

"Wha …?" Harry blinked. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Other than kidnapping you for an hour? No, nothing's wrong," Draco Malfoy grinned. "So … are you free?"

"Free? For what?" Harry asked, coming back to his senses. "I was just going to get some lunch …" he trailed off as a familiar woman approached them with a suspicious look in her eyes.

"Everythin' okay here, hon?" Maizie asked him while giving Draco a scrutinizing look.

"Everything is perfectly fine, Maizie," Harry hastily assured her. "This is actually … a friend of mine. From across the pond, as you say."

"Hmmm …" The dark-skinned woman arched an eyebrow as if she didn't quite believe it. But then, Maizie had become rather protective of Harry since he'd come here.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Maizie, was it?" Draco said with a charming smile. "Healer Potter is fortunate to work with such concerned colleagues. I am Draco Greengrass, and I actually promised to visit a few months ago. Is it alright if I steal him for a quick lunch?"

"Depends on if Harry wants to be stolen," Maizie snorted, not at all phased by Draco's charm.

"I'll be fine, Maizie," Harry huffed, stepping past her. "I'm not a child, you know. There's no need to coddle me."

"Uh-huh," Maizie nodded, flashing her bright teeth in a grin. "You keep tellin' yourself that, hon."

"Yes, I will," Harry smiled painfully. "I'll be back in an hour. There's that appointment that got rescheduled."

"Won't hold my breath," the nurse laughed. "Go on an' catch up with your friend. If you're late, I'll chat up Mr. Corinthus 'til you show up. You know he can't resist a good bit o' gossip."

"Thanks, Maizie," Harry threw over his shoulder at her, not completely insincerely. He then grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him along. The blonde seemed altogether too amused by the whole thing to come very willingly.

"That woman is your self-appointed nursemaid?" Draco asked, not quite mockingly … but dangerously close to it.

"She's a nurse, not a maid," Harry gritted out. "And Maizie is just that way with all the young Healers. She's a collector of motherless souls the way some women collect stray cats. I've learned to take the path of least resistance when it comes to her."

"You resent her protectiveness?" Draco laughed, finally pulling his arm away from Harry's grip. "And look, you've wrinkled my suit."

"How devastating," Harry deadpanned, stepping into a Porting Booth and shutting the door once Draco stepped in. "I assume you know how to use these?"

"I knew how to use them before you even heard of them," Malfoy grinned, enjoying himself a bit too much. "Gorm Street!" he shouted, almost before Harry even had time to grab a handle. He had found through trial and error that not grabbing hold of the brass handles resulted in a nauseating, jarring ride similar to, yet unlike, a portkey journey as he had once been used to. But thankfully, he grabbed hold just as the room activated, and he glared daggers at Malfoy once they landed in Washington D.C's magical district. Like Diagon Alley in London and its connecting alleys, Gorm Street, Cham Avenue, and Thunderbird Court were a small area, relative to the surrounding city of muggles … er, non-magicals. Gorm Street did have some lovely little restaurants, including one that the children loved which was just like an American diner. He and Hermione were not actually that fond of American 'comfort food'. It tended to be a bit too much for the taste buds, not to mention dreadfully unhealthy.

Draco stepped out of the Porting Booth, grinning cheerfully at Harry's death glare.

"Now I remember why I thought you were a heartless git," Harry grumbled as he followed the blonde wizard out. "You could have warned me!"

"Why, Potter; I counted on your superior reflexes to save you," Draco drawled teasingly, letting the booth close behind them. "This way."

"I really hope we are actually getting lunch," Harry groaned as he reluctantly followed the other wizard into the busy little street. "Because I wasn't joking when I said I would be back in an hour. I do have appointments."

"I get it, you're a busy man," Draco replied in an airy tone. "And rest assured, we are getting lunch. You won't want to miss this."

Ten minutes later, they were stuffed into a corner booth in a dim restaurant that played American music from the 1930's and looked as if it had been around since the 1830's … which was actually quite possible, given the magical world's reluctance to modernize. Draco apparently knew the waiter, and ordered for both of them, to Harry's annoyance, but he was honestly too hungry to care what he ate, and if Draco was paying, he wasn't about to back down from a free meal. Call it survival instinct leftover from his time with the Dursleys, but he really wasn't picky when it came to food. As a boy, he couldn't afford to be.

Once the waiter left, Harry sipped his glass of lemon water. Draco smiled at him in infuriating silence until Harry leaned on the table and scowled at him. "So, what is going on?" the Healer demanded in a low voice.

"Why does something need to be going on?" Draco asked cheerfully. "I promised I would visit, did I not? You never wrote to tell me of the weather here, so I decided to come see for myself. And you are getting lunch out of this as well, so what is there to be suspicious about?"

"You're acting altogether too smug to not be up to something," Harry pointed out. "I haven't complained; I just want to know. Is my family in danger?"

"Danger?" Draco turned a bit more serious. "No, no; your family's perfectly safe. I think. I haven't been focusing on the Potter obsession in the local media in a while. No, I've been investigating something completely different. It could change the entire wizarding world! Or at least, it could change wizarding Britain."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Potter," Draco grinned. "You see, I believe that … Severus Snape may actually be alive."

Harry stared incredulously at the blonde. Then he blinked. He almost wanted to laugh and tell Malfoy that he knew about it already and even had a letter proving it. But actually, he had no idea how to react, so he did nothing. How did Draco even find that out, anyway?

"I know it is a bit of a shock, and I must sound utterly insane," Draco prattled on. "But I am almost completely certain of it!"

"… Your point?" Harry asked in a bland tone.

"Didn't you hear me?" Draco demanded. "I just told you that Professor Snape may still be alive, that he might have somehow survived the Dark Lord's snake … and you don't care? I mean, I expected at least indignation and anger from the likes of you, but apathy?"

"I do care," Harry sighed, humouring him. "I just want to see the evidence. How do you know he's alive?"

"Well, it was something completely random," Draco said, his face falling. "And actually, I don't have the proof anymore. It was deleted from the muggle internet soon after I saw it. I assume you know what the internet is?"

"Of course I do," Harry snorted. "I'm married to Hermione, remember? I think I'm more surprised that you know what it is."

"Ah, of course; stupid question then. What I meant was: you know how the internet works, don't you?"

Harry sighed patronizingly. "I'll repeat this one more time, Malfoy: Hermione? Just tell me what you found already."

"It was a picture," Draco whispered, leaning across the table. "The quality was terrible and it was not all that popular … trending, I think they call it. Anyway, I was almost completely positive it was him, but in my excitement I forgot to make a copy of it. And what's strange is that it's disappeared. I can't find it anywhere anymore. You know how when muggles put things on the internet, it's supposed to be out there forever?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, it's not. It has been erased completely, and I couldn't tell you who has the power and influence to even do something like that. It would require that picture being scrubbed hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. So … my story is twofold: is my godfather alive and who is covering it up. And why, of course."

Harry sighed and leaned back. He tapped his fingers on the table, wondering if he should tell Draco what he knew. After all, Snape was Malfoy's godfather. Draco had a right to know. But Harry had kept this secret even from his own wife for years. He wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. Then again … if Draco could track down Professor Snape, it would eliminate the need for stupid American owls that couldn't even find him. They could work together on this.

"Potter," Draco said carefully, watching the emotions flitting over Harry's face. "I know … I know you and Professor Snape never saw eye to eye or got along at all, really. I know it must be a shock, finding out that he might not be dead after all. But you were one of the people advocating for his pardon more strongly than anyone else, so I thought … You do believe me, right?"

"Yes," Harry murmured, glancing up as their food arrived. "I believe you."

Their two plates were exactly the same: a flaky pie-crust oozing a light coloured sauce covered a pie about half the size of a normal-sized pie pan. The smell wafting up from the Chicken Pot Pie made Harry's stomach growl again.

As he and Draco tucked in, the blonde spoke up. "I don't know what Snape's been up to, these past fifteen years," he commented, piercing the flaky crust of his pie and admiring the steam that curled out. "But apparently he was in the Battle of New York. I assume you heard of that?"

"Alien invasion? Loki?" Harry snorted as he scooped up a steaming forkful of chicken and gravy and carrots. "Yes, I heard of it. But Snape being in the battle? No, I didn't hear that."

"You wouldn't," Draco smiled. "From what I can see, his name and involvement were kept strictly top-secret, if he was there at all. What I have is not exactly evidence … but it looks like Severus Snape was fighting Loki without a wand."

Harry's head snapped up. "Without a wand?" he repeated.

"Exactly," Draco said, his gray eyes flashing. "Whatever he's been up to the past decade and a half, he's obviously terrifically powerful. I just … I really hope it is him, and not some Dark Lord upstart we need to be careful of. Again."

Harry nodded without speaking, his mouth full.

"Why do you believe me so readily, Potter?" Draco suddenly asked, his tone cautious. "Are you …?You're not just patronizing me, are you? Humouring the poor deluded Slytherin who lost his godfather and is now hunting shadows in hopes that it's somehow a man returned from death?"

Harry laughed and put his fork down. "No, I'm not. Really." He took a deep breath, his decision made. "I believe you … because I already knew Snape survived. I've known for years. I just didn't know what to say when you told me you saw a picture of him on the internet."

Draco Malfoy was utterly speechless. His gray eyes bulged and his jaw hung slack. After a few seconds, he recovered, shaking his head and suddenly glaring at him. "You … you knew?! All this time? And you didn't tell me?!"

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes to the roof. "Yes, Malfoy, I knew," he huffed. "And I already went through this with Hermione."

"But how?" the blonde demanded. "When? What happened? How do you know?"

Harry raised his hand to stop the rapid fire of questions directed at him. "I met Snape at the funeral … his funeral, to be exact, and he said he wanted to be forgotten so he could live a normal life. Or at least, an anonymous one. He left England. And no, I have no idea where he is or what he's been doing with his time. It's been fifteen years, you know. We haven't exactly been pen pals."

Draco worked his mouth several times but nothing came out. His eyes grew distant as he thought, and Harry shrugged and went back to his Chicken Pot Pie, which was surprisingly good, all things considered.

"So … he is alive?" Malfoy suddenly spoke up, his voice strained and hoarse. "You're positive?"

Harry nodded seriously. "I have a letter from him at my house, if you want to see it."

"I thought you said you weren't pen pals?"

Harry snorted a surprised laugh and shook his head. "I said not exactly. I sent him one note and a package, and he sent me a letter in response. That's it. I guess we sort of patched things up between us, but … I don't know."

Draco shook his head and a faint smirk appeared on his face. "I can't believe this, Potter. Every time I think I have you figured out, you go and throw me something like this. Are you sure you're not hiding some other supposed-dead people in your brain? Maybe Professor Lupin? Or that old crackpot Moody?"

Harry sobered at the reminder of two men who had died during the war. Moody had died while helping him escape Privet Drive for the last time, and Remus had been slain in the final battle, leaving his infant son an orphan. So many deaths Harry still carried in his heart, and on top of the raw pain of the loss of his son and being unable to find Snape, he wished he hadn't admitted anything to Draco.

"No," Harry answered shortly, digging back into his food.

Draco seemed to catch on to Harry's sudden mood shift and didn't press the issue. They finished their lunch in near silence, chatting about other news to fill the sudden awkwardness. Draco's son had taken up fencing as a hobby, his father's health was deteriorating, and his mother remained roughly the same and doted on her grandson. In turn Harry told Draco how he and his family were settling in, how well James was doing in school, and how hectic his work was. It was actually a nice conversation, all things considered.

Soon, just as they were finishing, Draco brought up the Battle of New York again. He babbled on and Harry listened politely, but he didn't really know what all the unfamiliar words were referring to. Superheroes? Avengers? Stark Tower? He filed the information away, but it didn't exactly mean anything to him.

"How much do you know about it?" Draco asked once it was obvious Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

"I only know that Aurors fought some of the creatures and some muggle, (or no-maj, I mean) group fought them too, but they didn't actually meet," Harry explained with a shrug, pushing aside his empty plate and draining the rest of his glass of water.

"Well, I suppose you don't really know anything, then," Draco muttered, setting his fork down on his own plate, which wasn't nearly as clean as Harry's.

"Thanks a lot," Harry muttered back with a frown. "It's not as if I've had a lot on my mind lately, you know."

"Hmm," Draco nodded, not really responding to the sarcasm. He leaned back and fixed Harry with an intense stare. "Well, my point was: if we can find the muggles Snape was working with to fight Loki –"

"If it was really Loki," Harry interrupted.

Draco sighed and gave him an annoyed look. "That is irrelevant. But as I was saying: we find these Avengers, we find Professor Snape. It's that simple."

Harry smiled, slightly condescendingly. If Snape didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. Didn't Draco know that? "You don't think an owl would be better?" he challenged the reporter.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" Draco barked out a laugh. "Severus knows at least a half dozen ways to shield himself from magical detection, including owl mail. We must find him the old-fashioned way. Oh wait … don't tell me you already tried using an owl."

"I won't tell you then," Harry grumbled, feeling his good mood evaporating for some reason. He felt guilty and squirmy and he had no idea why, and it annoyed him. Was he not supposed to be spilling Snape's confidence to his own godson? He got up with a jerk and left a tip on the table, but he managed to give Draco a somewhat civil smile, recalling the way their last restaurant meal had ended. "Thank you kindly for lunch, but I really must return to work," Harry said, turning to leave.

"I'll walk with you," Draco replied at once, jumping up and straightening his coat. They left the little restaurant and headed back up Gorm Street before Draco spoke again.

"You did, didn't you?" His voice was definitely amused.

"You said not to tell you."

Draco didn't laugh or tease, surprisingly. Instead, his voice was quiet and sympathetic. "I suppose you were wondering if he had any expertise in locating kidnapped squibs?"

"Not expertise," Harry corrected him in a somewhat snappish tone. "Just … I wanted to ask if he had any ideas on how magical folk could find muggles that want to stay hidden."

"That's not a bad thought," Draco replied casually, strolling along beside Harry in his dapper suit and windblown hair.

"But?" Harry asked testily.

"But nothing, I was just saying it wasn't a bad thought," Draco smirked. "Sweet Merlin, you're touchy today, aren't you?"

Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped. He ruefully rubbed the back of his neck and smiled somewhat sheepishly at Draco. "I suppose I'm a bit irritable, yes. I'm sorry. You … I …"

"Drop it," the blonde said cheerfully. "I'm used to dealing with grumps, no offense taken. So, about that letter you said you have: do you think I could come see it sometime?"

Harry almost stopped walking. Inviting Draco Malfoy into his own home? It seemed crazy … but then, his whole life was upside down now. He was jogging with a muggle veteran before work and chatting with a magical newspaper reporter on his lunch breaks. But … Draco had given him no reason not to trust him recently.

To his own surprise, Harry shrugged and nodded. "I suppose so. Let me talk to Hermione first. Why don't you come for supper … say, Sunday night?"

"What time?" Draco asked promptly.

"We eat around six, so five-thirty wouldn't be too early, would it?"

"Five-thirty it is," Draco replied, sounding delighted. He suddenly quickened his pace so he could walk backwards while grinning insufferably at Harry. "You know, I never thought the day would come when a Potter would invite a Malfoy to dinner."

"It's a sign of the Apocalypse," Harry suggested in a dry tone.

"For certain," Draco agreed, completely deadpan. They had reached the Porting Booth and Draco held the door for Harry, though he didn't step in.

"You're not coming?"

"I'm off to New York, actually," Draco answered with a shrug. "I'm going to see if I can snag an Avenger for an interview. Not holding my breath, but, eh …"

Harry snorted in amusement as the door closed. "You do that. Good luck."

"I'll need it."

Harry gave him a casual salute. "Until Sunday, Malfoy." He gripped the brass handle of the Porting Booth and took a deep breath. "St. Winifred's!"

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Jogging with Sam Wilson had become something of a habit now. Early every morning now, Harry joined Sam at the Lincoln Memorial and they jogged around the pond. On his days off, the weekends, he planned to be able to jog longer, but on usual mornings, he could only afford one (warm-up) lap before he had to hurry to work or he would be late. They had good conversations while they jogged, albeit kind of breathless ones, and Harry realized that Sam really was becoming a good friend. Hermione was asking when she would get to meet him, and Harry was wondering when would be a good time to introduce him to his family. But they had really only known each other for a little over a week now, so he felt it was too soon.

Early on Saturday morning, Harry slipped out of his and Hermione's bedroom after kissing his half-asleep bride good-bye, and he almost tripped over James in the hallway. The boy jerked awake in a panic, and Harry calmed him down, keeping it quiet so they didn't wake the girls or Hermione.

"Hey, hey," Harry shushed him, gripping his shoulders gently. "It's me, Jamesy; it's Dad. Are you alright? You awake now?"

"Y-yeah," James mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Wha' … what time's it?"

"Just before seven," Harry answered. "I'm going jogging, but … what are you doing here in the hallway?"

"Nothin'," James muttered groggily, getting up and pulling his blanket around his shoulders. "It was just … nothin', really. Nothin' important."

"Hmm, somehow I don't believe that," Harry said carefully. "You can tell me, you know. I won't laugh."

James threw him an anxious look, and Harry did his best to give his son a reassuring smile.

"Bad dream," James finally blurted out, lowering his gaze shamefully. "I'm sorry … I just …"

"You don't need to apologize for that," Harry said firmly. "So, you were spending the night in the hallway to get away from a nightmare?"

"I didn't mean to fall asleep!" James protested, and then winced as he realized his voice was probably too loud. "I mean, I came out where I could hear you and mum … and Rosie and Lily. I wanted to hear everybody's breathing, so I knew they were all okay. That we were all okay."

"Oh son," Harry murmured, feeling his heart break a little. He had of course been struggling with nightmares, but knowing his son was also struggling sent a dagger through his heart. "Come here." He pulled James into a tight hug and rubbed his back. He didn't let go until his son had relaxed quite a bit. "It's fine, son. Sleeping in the hallway shouldn't become a permanent solution, but I'm glad you told me why you did it."

The ten-year-old nodded.

"You can try to go catch a bit more sleep before it's time to get up," Harry suggested. "In your own bed, this time, of course."

James grinned bashfully and gave his father another quick hug. "Love you dad," he whispered.

"I love you too, son," Harry answered softly. "We can talk some more later, alright?" He gave James a gentle pat on his shoulder and escorted him to his own room. Once James was tucked back into his own bed, Harry laid his hand on his son's head as if in blessing.

"I'll be back soon, alright?"

"Okay," James murmured, looking sleepy again.

Harry left, practically tiptoeing out of the house, and did his stretches in the garage before he put on his shoes and jogged to where he and Sam usually met up. He was deep in thought, and by the time he got to their usual route, he kept on going without remembering to say hello to Sam. The athletic man caught up with him, but had to call his name twice before Harry realized he was there.

"Oh!" Harry gasped, almost tripping over his own feet. He adjusted his glasses on his already sweaty nose and grinned in embarrassment. "Sorry, Sam. I was sort of lost in my own head for a bit."

"Anythin' in particular?"

"James had a nightmare," Harry answered shortly, saving his words so he had more breath for running. "He was sleeping in the hallway."

"Poor kid," Sam said sympathetically. "Your ten-year-old, right?"

"That's him."

"He doin' alright otherwise, though?"

"He has his days," Harry huffed. "But overall, he's doing alright."

"You're a good dad," Sam suddenly commented. "Keep on doin' what you're doin'. What your kids really need more'n anything is for you to just be there for 'em."

"Er, thanks," Harry answered a bit breathlessly. "I … don't have any idea what I'm doing, actually. My own father died when I was a year old. What about yours?"

"He died when I was a kid, but he was a real good dad while I had him," Sam replied easily, definitely not as breathless as Harry, even though they were jogging at a good pace right now. "My Momma moved us all to Louisiana after he passed, became housekeeper for the pastor of our new Church. Didn't pay much, so we started a fishin' business, and us two boys picked up what work we could when the goin' was slow. Even my sister did what she could when she was old enough. We didn't have much, but we didn't starve."

"That's good," Harry answered for lack of something intelligent to say.

"Me and my brother both went to the military . He was a bit older'n me, and got into the Marines. I was Army, ended up goin' into para-rescue."

"I think you mentioned that," Harry panted, pleased he remembered.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I probably did."

"On your left," a new voice interrupted them from behind. Harry was on Sam's right, and as he glanced over to his left, he saw a man running, not jogging; aiming to pass them. They watched the running man's back as he got further away from them. He was a tall, well-muscled man with short blond hair, and Sam was looking a little goggle-eyed. Harry thought he had seen that man before. But he had seen all kinds of runners and joggers in his weeks of passing through on his way to work and he couldn't exactly place the muscular man.

"You know him?" Harry asked casually.

"Yeah, and no," Sam laughed, picking up the pace a bit. "He's … well, he's kind of a superhero. I mean, look at him go!"

"He is fast," Harry agreed, watching as the man turned the curve of the jogging track and started getting smaller as he sped away. "But who is he?"

"You really don't know?" Sam laughed breathlessly. "That's Steve Rogers, man! Captain America! I seen him enough times on the news to know his face, and the way he runs …"

"Why is the running special?" Harry wondered out loud. Plenty of people ran for exercise. He didn't see what was so incredible or 'super' about running.

"He's a super soldier!" Sam answered as if he ought to know what that was. "You really don't know about Captain America in England?"

"He would be Captain England if we did," Harry joked breathily. "Look, no more talking. You can tell me about Captain America when we take a break, right?"

"Sure, man," Sam chuckled back. "Let's see if we can catch him."

They put their heads down and sped up just a bit, just for fun of course. But after a sprint, they slowed back down to their normal jogging pace. Harry lifted his head to the beautiful morning sky, relishing the cool, somewhat humid breeze lifting his sweaty curls off his forehead. Sam was right, less than two weeks ago. Jogging really did wonders for one's mood. Grinning a little, he barely noticed when, somehow, the so-called super soldier lapped them again.

"On your left," he announced.

The man passed them even as Sam was acknowledging the warning with a friendly, "Uh-huh, on our left, got it."

Harry fought the urge to laugh at the slightly annoyed look on Sam's face, and he reached out to playfully smack his friend's ebony arm.

"Don't take it personal," he panted. "We're not the only ones he's lapping today." He nodded at a woman with earphone wires coming out of her ears jogging a few yards ahead of them. Actually, even Sam and Harry might pass her. Sam laughed at that, and pumped his arms.

But barely ten minutes later, Sam glanced over his shoulder and groaned. "He comin' to lap us again?" he panted raggedly, sounding annoyed.

Harry glanced back too and nodded tiredly, but he grinned in amusement. They were just finishing their own laps, and he was too winded to talk. He shoved his glasses up his nose again and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Don't say it!" Sam suddenly shouted as the 'super soldier' kept on coming, neither slowing his pace nor changing his trajectory. "Don't you say it!"

"On your left."

"Come on, man!" Sam yelled, picking up speed to try and catch up, but he was winded and tired, and Harry was laughing and had to slow down. He fell behind, even as Sam slowed down himself and kept jogging, or staggering, at more or less their normal pace. Harry slowed to a walk and panted as he walked out the burn in his legs. He felt a little wobbly, but it was no worse than yesterday. In fact, it was much better than it had been after running all the way home last Saturday.

A little over ten minutes later, Harry was still walking, but breathing a bit easier. He looked over his shoulder, feeling somewhat relieved to see that the 'super soldier' was sweating and finally looked tired as he caught up.

"On your left," the man announced with a crooked smile, somewhat breathlessly.

"I'm not even going to try," Harry laughed, ruefully rubbing at the stitch in his side. The super runner passed him with a friendly grin, but suddenly slowed to a walk as well. He was panting and wiping sweat from his face, and Harry felt the urge to talk to him. He seemed friendly enough, anyway.

"So you really are human," Harry announced jokingly, jogging a bit to catch up with the man's long strides. "Watching you run, I wasn't sure."

The 'super soldier' looked up at him, his forehead creasing in worry, and Harry winced, fearing that his joke had been in bad taste, somehow. He hadn't meant to offend.

"Sorry," he apologized. "It was a joke. You're sweating, so obviously you're human, but you were running like a machine and … You know what, just forget it. My stupid mouth gets me into so much trouble."

The man's face relaxed into a relieved smile. "No worries," he said hastily. "I misunderstood, that's all. You're … English?"

"Suppose the accent gave it away," Harry chuckled. "I'm Harry."

"Steve."

They shook hands and carried on with their walk toward where Harry could see Sam slumped against a tree in the grass, trying to get his breath back.

"You two friends?" Steve suddenly asked, nodding at the man sitting under his tree.

"We formally made one another's acquaintances a little over a week ago," Harry replied, running his hands through his sweaty hair and shaking out the curls. "He invited me to come jogging to, (and I quote) 'put a smile on my face'."

Steve laughed. "I like him already."

"I've seen you around before, but not every day," Harry said cautiously. "Do you run a lot?"

"Almost every day," Steve answered. "But not always in the same place."

Harry nodded. They reached Sam's earshot by now, and he was giving them an expression that looked like an amused glare. Wilson's lean chest was still heaving as he caught his breath, and Harry was glad he'd stopped jogging when he had.

"Need a medic?" Steve asked the man teasingly.

Sam shook his head with an exasperated smile. "I need a new set of lungs, is what I need," he retorted good-naturedly. "Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

Steve chuckled and put his hands on his hips, still breathing slightly hard. "I guess I got a late start," he joked.

"Shame on you," Harry butted in with a grin. "You should get out there and run another thirteen miles for that, soldier."

Steve barked out a surprised laugh and shook his head at Harry. "You better watch him," he warned Sam with a teasing grin.

"Real drill sergeant that one," Sam agreed in equally good humor.

Steve nodded and seemed to size up the man sitting under the tree. "What unit were you with?"

"Fifty-eight," Sam replied promptly, looking surprised, but pleased. "Para-rescue. But now I work down at the VA." He stood up and held out his hand to Steve. "Sam Wilson."

"Steve Rogers," the man replied, grasping Sam's hand in a firm handshake.

"Yeah I kinda put that together," Sam chuckled. He nodded at Harry and Harry smiled back. "That shrimpy little taskmaster is Harry Potter, in case you didn't get introduced," Sam added with a grin and wink in his friend's direction. "He's a doctor, believe it or not."

"Really?" Steve said in surprise, turning to Harry who could feel his already hot face getting even hotter, even though the other man had nothing but friendly curiosity and teasing good humor on his face. "Should I be calling you Dr. Potter?"

"Harry is just fine," the wizard laughed nervously. "So …" he floundered as he tried to change the subject. "Sam told me you're some kind of a … superhero?"

It was Steve's turn to smile uncomfortably. "I've been called that, yes," he replied easily, despite the discomfort in his eyes and body language.

"I'm sorry, I really don't know anything about superheroes," Harry admitted, wondering why Steve seemed so uncomfortable now. He plowed on, wondering if this super-soldier might give him some clues about Snape and what went on in New York. "I've been hearing that some sort of superheroes … Avengers, was it? Helped in that invasion battle in New York City."

"I was there," Steve answered, looking wary and a bit stiffer.

"Really?" Harry blinked, hardly able to believe his luck. He only hesitated for a second before he blurted out, "Did you by chance meet someone there named Severus Snape?"

The way Steve's face suddenly displayed alarm and then completely closed off made Harry step back in confusion.

"I don't think so," Steve answered casually. A bit too casually. Sam was looking between the two of them curiously.

"He was fighting Loki," Harry pressed, growing suspicious. "It's … really important that I find him. I … a friend of mine is trying to find him too." Then Harry winced. That just sounded all kinds of suspicious.

"I was fighting in the street," Steve answered dismissively. "Loki was up at the top of Stark Tower."

That … wasn't really an answer, Harry realized. It was not a denial; merely a statement of fact. Had Steve Rogers met Severus Snape? If he had, why was he so keen on hiding it? Harry realized he might be stepping into an anthill here and might have to be more careful. If Snape was involved with muggle organizations like these Avengers, perhaps he had warned them not to disclose his identity for fear of the Statute of Secrecy, and other things. Like being presumed dead and buried.

Harry was suddenly aware of the skeptical look on his face and he wiped it away at once. "Oh," he answered at last, pasting another smile on his face that hopefully wouldn't seem too fake. "Well, it was worth a try, I suppose."

"Must've been weird for you," Sam suddenly changed the subject, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "Waking up after the ice."

Steve shrugged, still looking rather uncomfortable. "Internet's real helpful to catch up," he said mildly. "And the food's better. We used to boil everything."

"Say, if you've got time," Sam added, raising a finger. "Check out Marvin Gaye, 1972; 'Trouble Man' soundtrack. Got everything you missed packed into one album."

"I'll put it on the list," Steve Rogers smiled, (Harry knew it was forced) and made a show of pulling a notebook out of his pocket to write down Sam's suggestion. As he replaced the notebook, he frowned and pulled a cellular phone out of his other pocket. Harry had never owned one, but he had seen almost every other human being in this city carrying one of some sort.

"Sorry, duty calls," Steve announced, looking up from the phone with a relieved smile. Harry guessed he hadn't much experience in extricating himself from uncomfortable situations or conversations and he'd been 'saved by the bell' as it were. "Thanks for the run, Sam, Harry …" His smile turned mischievous. "If that's what you want to call running."

"Oh, that's how it is?" Sam retorted, feigning offense, but smirking all the while.

"That's how it is," Steve grinned back, once again in a good mood.

Sam chuckled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jogging shorts. "Hey, anytime you wanna stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, you're more'n welcome. I haven't been able to get Harry to come by, but maybe he will, what do you say, brother?" He grinned winningly at the wizard, who rolled his eyes and readjusted his glasses.

"I told you I'd think about it," Harry said with a smile. He turned to Steve and shook his head in mock disapproval. "I warn you, he is one pushy chap."

"Oh, I'm pushy now on top of bein' a lousy runner?" Sam protested. "Come on, you guys, ganging up on me ain't fair at all!"

"At least you're not a drill sergeant," Harry pointed out, smiling to show he was joking.

"And at least we're honest," Steve shrugged, still grinning boyishly. Harry felt relieved that the discomfort of their earlier conversation was over, and gave in to the grinning and teasing.

A car drove up almost at that very second, driven by a slightly built, rather attractive woman with shoulder-length red hair. She rolled down the window and glanced coolly at the three men under the tree. Harry thought her gaze, while cool and outwardly unconcerned, was keenly intelligent and analyzing and it made him feel slightly uneasy.

"Hey fellas," the woman said casually. "I'm here to pick up a fossil. Anyone of you know the way to the Smithsonian?"

You're hilarious," Steve replied drily, sauntering toward the car.

"Hey there," Sam grinned, waving at her. "How you doing?"

"Hey," she replied without answering, giving him an appraising look.

When her gaze slid to Harry, he smiled uncomfortably, disliking the way her gray-green eyes seemed to pick him apart within seconds."I'm married," he said drily, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say.

The red-head looked slightly surprised, and then smirked at him. "Lucky woman," she said with a charming smile. Steve had already gotten in the car and slammed the door.

"You can't run everywhere," the super-soldier said with a smile and an apologetic shrug.

"No, you can't," Sam agreed, still admiring the extremely nice car. The window rolled up as the red-haired woman pulled away from the curb and sped off. Sam Wilson stepped further out and whistled appreciatively as he watched the car disappear.

Harry stepped up next to him, about to tell him good-bye so he could head home to a shower and when he leaned closer, something a bit more random fell out of his mouth instead. "You know, I'm still wondering why you people all drive on the wrong side. Drives me bonkers."

Sam gave him a look that one might give an insane person. "Yeah?" he snorted. "Well, FYI, Harry my friend, you guys are the ones on the wrong side, not us."

Harry laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, a friendly move Sam gladly reciprocated. Sam's ribs were better padded than Harry's with hard muscle, but Harry's elbows were sharper, so he guessed they were about even.

"So …" Harry said once they stopped laughing and started strolling toward Harry's route home. "Ice?"

"You never heard Captain America's story?" Sam exclaimed. "Aw man. You have got to get the fam out to the Smithsonian. They've got a whole new exhibit all about Captain America."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, an idea taking shape. "Maybe we'll go this afternoon. Want to come with?"

Sam looked a little surprised, and then he grinned. "I finally get to meet the wife and kids? Count me in, brother."

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

"Who were they?"

Steve glanced over at Natasha and did not answer right away. He had learned in the past few months that the Black Widow could be remarkably casual when conducting an interrogation. She was definitely suspicious of the two men he'd been laughing and joking with. He tried not to take it personal, but she was really paranoid and it grated on his nerves. However, in this instance, perhaps she was right to be suspicious. One of them had asked him about Snape, after all.

"Just a couple of guys I lapped while running," Steve answered just as casually as he'd been asked.

"Mmhmm," Natasha hummed. "So that's why you smell like sweat."

"Hey, do I comment on how you smell after a mission?"

"A gentleman wouldn't dare," Natasha threw back with a sweet smile.

Steve sighed and shook his head, but he was smiling too. They had grown more comfortable with one another as they had worked together since Steve moved to D.C to work for SHIELD, and they teased and bantered with impunity now.

"The black guy's Sam Wilson, ex-army pararescue. He's harmless."

"Sure he is," Natasha agreed easily. "And the attractive married guy?"

"He's … probably a wizard."

Natasha did not reply right away. She had not heard that term since the last time she'd seen Severus Snape, the wizard who crashed into her life on the heels of Bruce Banner. Snape was now in Asgard, recovering after the Battle of New York … but most people didn't know that. To the wizarding world, he was dead. To the ordinary world, most had no idea he had ever existed. SHIELD had scrubbed his face from the internet and tracked down the poor fools who had managed to get cell phone footage of the dark-haired, hook-nosed wizard.

"Why do you say that?" Natasha finally asked quietly, flicking the turn signal and rounding a corner.

"He asked about Snape."

"Really."

"Yep, he acted all … I don't know. It was pretty good, whatever he was doing. If I didn't know any better I would have told him something, I'm sure. He seemed like he had no clue what superheroes were, or Avengers, or the Battle of New York … or like the news was new to him. But he didn't believe me when I tried to deflect the question."

"Naturally," Natasha smiled. "What exactly did you say?"

"You know I can't lie. Not directly, anyway. I told him I didn't know anybody named Severus Snape … and I don't. I don't know him at all, really. Then he asked if I was sure and added that Snape fought Loki. I told him I was fighting on the ground. Didn't exactly answer. I think he caught onto that."

"Anybody would've caught onto that," Natasha replied, though not unkindly.

Steve sighed. He knew he was a terrible liar, and he might have just cost Snape something with his terrible espionage skills. "He caught me off guard, Tasha," he muttered. "And unless I avoid that park altogether, I am going to bump into him again."

"Don't worry about it," Natasha said grimly. "Did he tell you his name?"

"Harry Potter," Steve shrugged. "But it's sure to be a fake. I mean, he had this British accent like Snape, and isn't Potter kind of a common name over there? Kind of like how Smith is here?"

Natasha slammed on the brakes as the traffic light ahead turned red before they could pass through the yellow light. "Harry Potter," she repeated, turning to glare at him. "Did you see any scars on his forehead, by any chance?"

"Scars on his …?" Steve trailed off as his perfect memory recalled Harry running his hands through his sweaty hair and baring his forehead. Sure enough … "He had this small jagged scar on his temple, kind of to the left. That what you're thinking of?"

Natasha shook her head slowly, her hands tapping the steering wheel convulsively. "Harry Potter," she repeated. "I can't believe it. It could be fake, of course … but it probably isn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"I wandered down to New York on my last leave," Natasha said with a winning smile. "SHIELD has a small office down there, so I demanded to speak with Augmented Security, which is what they call the magical police."

"You talked to other wizards?"

"A witch, actually," Natasha grinned, hitting the gas as the light turned green.

"… Huh," Steve muttered. He supposed there would be witches if there were wizards, but his only experience with 'witches' involved the Wicked Witch of the West and her evil sister.

"She had some very interesting information," Natasha added thoughtfully. "Once I asked about magical England in particular, that is."

"Such as?"

"Well, Snape is not actually wanted for anything in the U.K. He's been completely pardoned due to the efforts of one Harry J. Potter and his allies."

"Pardoned? But you said Fury told you …"

"I know." Natasha's face turned rigid and cold. "Someone somewhere lied, and I'm not completely certain who did the lying."

"Their magical intelligence is … compromised?"

"Or SHIELD is," Natasha corrected him grimly.

Steve shook his head. "I refuse to believe that."

Natasha's shoulders slumped a bit. "I don't want to believe that either. It's likely the magical side that's compromised ... but I'm paranoid. You know that."

"Hard way to live," Steve commented quietly.

"Good way not to die though," Natasha smiled sadly.

Steve sighed and shook himself. "The orders came from wizards, didn't they? So maybe some of his enemies were actually trying to kidnap him; punish him for something."

Natasha nodded, but said nothing else. They were speeding along the highway now, headed for SHIELD headquarters; more specifically, its quinjet hangar.

"Potter is now actually a fugitive himself from wizarding Britain's new administration, believe it or not," the Black Widow suddenly volunteered.

"Interesting," Steve murmured, leaning back and half closing his eyes as he considered that bit of information. Harry hadn't acted like somebody on the run, but then … he didn't think a wizard would be all that worried about regular people turning them in when they didn't even know about magical people's existence, much less their criminals.

"We'll have to have a chat with him," Natasha said gravely.

"A friendly chat, I hope," Steve retorted, glaring a bit at her. "If he's married, he probably has kids, and we don't know that he's done anything wrong."

"Relax, Rogers," Natasha chuckled, giving him a sly wink. "Not everyone I 'have a chat' with ends up with broken fingers."

Steve sighed and shook his head at the obvious teasing. He had no idea why she'd baited him like that and then turned it around. There was one more thing that was still just as much a mystery to him now as it was seventy years ago: women. Or rather, the kind of women he seemed to end up around, oddly enough.

"We'll do it right after the mission," Natasha assured him. "I'll run a quick program to find out where he's living and it should be done by the time we get back. After all, his house does have to be registered in the regular world too."

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

Harry decided it was fortunate that he'd met Sam Wilson. The man fit right in with his family as if he'd been born into it. He came over promptly at twelve, which was when Harry had asked him to come, just as the family was finishing their midday meal. Hermione liked him almost at once, (once she learned who he was) and the children, though cautious at first, soon gravitated toward him, calling him Uncle Sam. Wilson, ever the American patriot, fairly burst with pride at the moniker and demanded that Mr. and Mrs. Potter call him Uncle Sam too. The adults drew the line there, with Harry still calling him Sam and Hermione sticking with Mr. Wilson until she knew him a bit better.

After a nice lunch, there followed a hectic scramble for shoes and Lily's lost dolly, and then they climbed into the car, which held seven people, luckily. With Sam Wilson riding along as their guide, Hermione drove carefully through Washington D.C to the Smithsonian Museum. James chattered about what they had seen the last time they had gone, and Rosie and Lily were bouncing in their seats with excitement. Harry rode in the very back with his oldest son, with the girls in the middle and Sam 'riding shotgun', as Americans called sitting in the passenger seat for some reason.

The Smithsonian was crowded on this Saturday afternoon, but Sam guided them along expertly and got flyers and maps for the family. Harry was glad that this whole thing was free, not that he wouldn't have been able to afford it if it wasn't … but it did make the trip just that bit less hectic.

"Welcome to the Smithsonian," a woman's pleasant voice echoed from the speakers overhead. "Visitor Information booths are located on the second level. Please enjoy your visit."

Holding the twins by their hands, Harry brought up the rear as they ascended the escalator to the Captain America exhibit. James was more interested than the girls, and wanted to see everything he could. Hermione was utterly fascinated too, so even though Harry had been hoping to be able to spend some time studying the displays himself, the girls were bouncing and eager to get going after just the first kiosk. He decided they should split up. He would take the girls on the whirlwind tour, with their short attention spans, and then take them over to the science division where they had activities and science experiments for younger kids, so Hermione and James could take their time.

"But I know you were looking forward to this," Hermione protested. "Maybe I should take the girls and you stay with James."

Harry hesitated. Much as he loved being with the chatty twins, he really was interested in this Captain America, aka Steve Rogers.

"I don't mind," Harry said hastily. "You can tell me what you learned later. You're better at that than I am anyway."

"You should spend some time with your son," Hermione said quietly. Under the hubbub of all the people around them, James probably hadn't heard her. His back was to them, watching a slide show of photographs depicting a child Steve Rogers.

"I don't …"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted gently. "I'll take Mr. Wilson with me. He's like an expert, right?"

Sam Wilson laughed bashfully. "I dunno about expert, Mrs. Potter," he shrugged good-naturedly. "But I'll fill you in on what I know, sure."

Harry sighed and handed Rose and Lily over. "I guess I'm outnumbered," he conceded with a wry smile. "What time should we meet?"

"There's this café in walking distance," Sam piped up, pulling out his cell phone and tapping on the screen. "What say we meet there for dinner at five?" He showed Harry an overhead map that showed them inside the Smithsonian Museum as a big blue dot, and there was indeed a café within walking distance of the museum. From where they currently stood, Sam's phone informed them in was three miles away, but from the actual building, it was less than one.

"Alright; five o'clock sounds fine," Harry agreed. "'Mione?"

"We'll see you there, if not sooner," she promised. "You and James have fun. Ready, girls?"

"Yay!" Rosie and Lily cheered, skipping along beside their mother. Lily demanded to hold Sam's hand to 'make a train' and the four of them went off ahead. Harry took a deep breath and joined his oldest son at the kiosk. The voice coming from the speakers was just finishing up, but as the slide show started up again, James didn't move.

"A symbol to the Nation, a hero to the world," the narrator said solemnly. A sepia photograph showed a young man saluting the American Flag in a uniform that looked as if it had been designed off the flag. There was a star on his chest and stripes on the uniform in alternating gray and white. "The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice." The music accompanying the next series of photos evoked heroism and soldiers with its quiet horn section, and then it faded out, leaving only strings.

"Just who was Captain America? Born Steven Rogers to a poor Irish Immigrant couple, Captain America came from humble beginnings," the narrator informed them, showing a poor quality photograph of a serious looking man in uniform, a delicate young woman, and a big-eyed, solemn-faced baby. The narrator went on to detail the boy's poor health, intelligence in school, growing up in Brooklyn, New York, his father's death when he was only nine years old, and his mother's when he was nineteen. The theme of this kiosk seemed to be a simple introduction; after all, the title of this display was: Captain America Begins.

When the slide show ended a second time, James looked up at his father, and Harry smiled down at him. Even at only ten years old, there was not much more than five inches difference between them. James would most certainly get taller than his father once he hit those weed-like growth spurts in his teens. For now, Harry could enjoy the luxury of looking down lovingly at his oldest son.

They joined hands and silently walked to the next display, which was talking about the muggle war they called World War II: A World at War. It gave a few basic reminders about how the war started and then talked about the Nazi science division, Hydra. They moved on to the next display, which talked about Johann Schmidt, a deranged Nazi scientist who had broken away from Hitler to form his own Empire. He had been the subject of an experimental serum developed by a Dr. Erskine, which was supposed to give its recipient super strength, enhanced senses and healing, and possibly longer life. Harry was fascinated by the display devoted to Dr. Erskine and the development of the Serum, and watched the narrated slide show at least three times, wishing he had brought along something to write it all down. Muggle chemistry was somewhat like potions, and sometimes, what he wouldn't give to be on good terms with Snape. The man was a genius, and probably knew all sorts of things about chemistry that Harry only knew in vague terms.

James got bored and wandered away from his father, and Harry kept half an eye on him. The story had gotten back to Steve Rogers, and James was at an interactive display detailing Steve's volunteering for the military during the first drafts in 1943. By the time Harry finished absorbing all he could at the Super-Soldier-Serum display, he found his son comparing his height with a to-scale image of a twenty-five year old Steve Rogers. Ten-year-old James was nearly as tall as he had been!

"He was a shrimp, Dad," James commented as he father came over. He pointed at the image of Steve Rogers beside the small-Steve silhouette. He was a great deal broader, and at least a foot taller. Harry nodded slowly. That silhouette more closely resembled the man he had met near the Lincoln Memorial.

"He was small," Harry agreed. "Science is almost like magic, isn't it?"

The red-headed boy smothered a mischievous grin before he returned to studying the display.

"He just wanted to help," James said thoughtfully, glancing up at the slide-show that was playing images of a frail, skinny boy in an ill-fitting uniform jogging alongside tall, robust young men. The footage was grainy and silent, but the slide-show's music and narrator were playing over it.

"Denied enlistment due poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform him into the world's first super-soldier."

"Human experimentation?" Harry murmured aloud. For some reason he had thought Steve had possibly been captured by Hydra, hurt in some way, and recovered to become a hero. But the fact that he volunteered for an experiment funded by his own Government was a little … sickening. Having already learned what he could about the serum and what it did, he doubted it had been a pleasant experience. His stomach turned and he walked abruptly away.

"In this rare footage," another kiosk's narrator was babbling as Harry passed it, "Everyone's favorite War hero, Captain America, poses for a publicity photograph with his team: the infamous Howling Commandos …" Harry glanced at the grainy footage of the same man he had met just that morning. He was sitting on a motorcycle and laughing with a group of uniformed men. It looked like they were trying to pose for a picture. A woman joined them, beaming and waving at the filming camera. She was dressed in a uniform that had a skirt instead of pants, and her hair was bobbed and banged in a very becoming manner that Harry was used to seeing on photos of women from that era.

"Look Dad!" James exclaimed, dragging him from that kiosk to a large display of mannequins dressed in uniforms. The front-most mannequin wore a very different uniform, almost like a costume. It was dark blue with a white star emblem in the center of the chest, and vertical stripes of red and white on the torso. The mannequin also held a shield in front of itself, with three stars at the top on a blue field and vertical stripes of of red and white underneath.

"The Howling Commandos," Harry read off the display marker. He tapped the screen for the narrator to start talking, and James hovered over his elbow to watch the footage and photos.

"The Howling Commandos, originally a misfit group of soldiers of different backgrounds and nationalities, coalesced under the leadership of Steven Rogers, who received a promotion to the rank of Captain following his first unofficial mission."

Harry and James watched as some interviews of elderly people detailed a daring almost-solo mission carried out by Steve Rogers aka Captain America, British Agent Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark to rescue an entire unit of men captured by Hydra. When Steve Rogers returned to camp with over a hundred rescued prisoners of war, the army realized that they could no longer keep their beloved Captain America behind the front lines. Most of the Howling Commandos were men rescued in that first mission who elected to follow Rogers.

"Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission: taking down Hydra, the Nazi rogue science division."

"Wow," James murmured, gazing up admiringly at the mannequins in costume.

According to the little informational placard at the display, most of the models were wearing the original uniforms of their respective men, donated to the museum by the soldiers themselves, or by the army, in the case of Captain America's costume. There was at least one uniform that was a replica created just for the Smithsonian: the uniform of Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes.

"His name was James too!" James piped up, grinning at the match of their names. Harry grinned back and they turned aside to examine the lonely display dedicated to the memory of James Barnes.

"The only Howling commando to give his life in service to his country," Harry murmured as he swiftly read the biography. "Childhood best friend of Steve Rogers … Died on a mission to recover Hydra intelligence and capture a Nazi scientist …"

"That's sad," James said softly. "He lost his best friend."

Harry nodded, glancing one last time at the picture of James Barnes that graced the whole left side of the display. It showed a handsome young man with a sensitive face, eyes that sparkled with life and determination, and strong, square hands that gripped an old muggle firearm. James reached out and activated the screen that talked about 'Bucky' Barnes' life and then entwined his fingers with his father's. Harry and his son watched silently, a strange kind of solemnity descending over them, almost as if they stood at a grave.

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Having met at age six when both boys were only in first grade, theirs was a friendship destined to last forever." Several photographs, accompanied by appropriate music, showed two boys in the midst of a school picture, arms slung around each other at a swimming pond, sitting on a tire swing together, making silly faces at a carnival … It was obvious to Harry that Steve, skinny and frail, was the more serious one, while Bucky, always taller and more robust than his little friend, was a total ham, always making goofy faces and the like. "After Barnes was drafted, Steven Rogers determined to help the war effort by enlisting, but was denied six times on account of his poor health. Barnes was transferred overseas and subsequently was captured by Hydra soldiers while on patrol in northern France." More photos of the boys as young men followed, including what was probably the last time they were together in New York. Barnes was in uniform and Rogers was not, looking a little wistful as he grinned at the camera. The narrator went on to tell about how they met again, when Captain America rescued Sergeant Barnes from Hydra imprisonment. Several more photos interspersed with black and white film confirmed Harry's observation that James Barnes was a happy, cheery sort with a goofy side. His son began giggling when one photo of the Howling Commandos being silly featured Barnes crossing his eyes and grinning like a mad fool. The narrator then turned to Barnes' last mission, how he fell from a moving train into a ravine, and his body never recovered. "Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country," the narrator finished solemnly on a final shot of some memorial in New York to the memory of Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers.

Silently, James and Harry turned to go, and nearly crashed into a man standing nearby, also watching the video and reading the display. He was taller and broader than Harry and wore a baseball cap over his short blond hair, and his startled blue eyes were very familiar. Harry blinked, wondering if he was having déjà vu, but his son apparently recognized him too, because he opened his mouth. But before he could say anything, Steve Rogers smiled and put a finger to his lips. Harry and James nodded, and stepped aside for him. When they got to the next booth, a very large one with the word SACRIFICE displayed at the very top and several pictures of a Hydra base and aircraft scattered over it, James immediately began whispering excitedly.

"That was him, wasn't it Dad? That was Captain America!"

"Hush," Harry whispered with a smile. "Yes, I think it was."

"He looked so … normal," James said thoughtfully. "But then … I guess all war heroes look normal?"

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well, you and Mum look normal," James pointed out as if it was obvious. "And Uncle Ron too, and even Uncle Neville. And everyone says you're war heroes."

Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly. "Most of the time, you can't even know what's going on inside someone who looks 'normal'. Anybody around here could be a veteran and we just don't know it. A lot of people serve their country and come home, and a lot of people never acknowledge what they did, or blame them for the bad things that happened …" Harry trailed off, wondering if he was talking about himself more than just veterans in general.

James reached out and tapped the screen for the video, and then tucked himself close to his father, that solemn mood coming over the both of them again.

"The story of Captain America, while brief, epitomizes the best qualities of all heroes: honor, sacrifice, and courage. On what the world has since thought of as Captain America's last day on earth, Steven Rogers demonstrated all three virtues in abundance."

Harry and James watched in solemn silence as the narrator told them of Captain Rogers' last mission, his sacrificial crash in the Arctic to save the U.S from Hydra's explosives, and legacy. Presumed dead for almost seventy years, Captain America lived on in the public imagination as a symbol of courage and patriotism. The memorial erected after the end of the war, dedicated to Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers, presumably the only two Howling Commandos to die in service of their country, was paid for by donations of ordinary people. One of Barnes' sisters, an elderly woman with tears in her voice was interviewed, and she mentioned how quiet and good Steven was. An elderly Agent Margaret Carter was also interviewed and quoted the doctor who had turned Steve into a super-soldier: the world had enough strong men. What they needed was a good man. Steven Rogers gave his life for the world he loved. He gave his life to stop Hydra. Harry felt tears burning his eyes at the strange similarity between himself and this superhero. Both of them had died, either literally or figuratively, and had returned. Although Harry had come back literally minutes after his life was snuffed out and Rogers had waited almost a century, they had both given their lives to save the world.

"Even though Steven Rogers lives in truth, he has long lived in the hearts and souls of the American people. He is truly Captain America."

Silently, Harry and James looked over the rest of the display before they wandered off to the others titled LEGACY. These detailed the years after Captain America's 'death', or rather his disappearance, until his reawakening.

The first booth in this section was dedicated to the role of British Agent Margaret Carter in the war and after. The informational video was already playing, and a woman was being interviewed. It was Margaret "Peggy" Carter. She looked older than the sepia-toned picture on the display, but she was without a doubt still just as beautiful.

"It was a terrible winter that year," Agent Carter was saying. "Half our battalion was stranded behind the German lines. Steve …" she trailed off and glanced to the side, taking a breath and regaining her composure. "Captain Rogers, he fought through a Hydra Blockade that had pinned our allies for months. He saved over a thousand men … including the man who would eventually become my husband."

The Narrator took over, mentioning how Margaret Carter worked with world governments after the war to make certain Hydra stayed neutralized, and founded a worldwide intelligence agency to help guard the world from threats like Johann Schmidt. Harry frowned at that. While it was a good idea in principle, an agency like that was also an organization too well suited to corruption. A worldwide intelligence agency would have immense power and resources … Was something like that behind the mysterious vanishings of Severus Snape's pictures from the internet?

Feeling suddenly paranoid, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the man standing quietly nearby. He had probably been watching the video that James was still engrossed in, but he was actually looking at something in his hand. When he closed it, whatever it was, and put it back in the pocket of his jeans, his blue eyes looked up and right into Harry's. For several seconds, the two men regarded one another in silence.

Steve quirked an abashed smile and stepped a little closer. "I'm not stalking you, I promise," he whispered.

"Was my paranoia so obvious?" Harry joked.

"It's good to see you, Dr. Potter," Steve smiled broadly and stuck out a hand. Harry shook it briefly.

"Good to see you too, Captain," Harry replied quietly, keeping in mind that Steve probably wanted to be anonymous here. The informational video forgotten, James whirled around and regarded Steve Rogers with open delight and awe.

"Is it really you?" the boy asked in a hushed voice. Steve glanced up uneasily, looking like he would rather not be recognized here, and James hastened to reassure him. "I won't tell anybody, I promise. You're really awesome, and … thanks for being a hero."

Harry glanced down at his son in surprise. He and his wife had often talked to their youngsters about being grateful for the service of veterans, and James was by far the least shy of his children. But he did not think he had ever heard his son actually thanking a veteran for their service before. Steve looked delighted, and a little shy at the gratitude.

"I was glad to do it," the Captain replied quietly.

James nodded solemnly. "So was my dad," he babbled on. "He's a hero too."

Harry hastily grabbed his son by the shoulder, feeling his face heating up uncomfortably. He didn't dare look up at Steve Rogers. "Ah, look at the time!" the wizard laughed nervously. He had never quite grown out of his instinctive deflection tactics when anything connected to his fame turned up. "Looks like we have to go meet your mum and the girls now."

"But it's not five yet!" James protested in bewilderment.

"I can tell you about Snape," Rogers interrupted suddenly, his voice soft and casual. Harry looked up into Steve's laser blue eyes, dead serious and probing. Slowly, Harry straightened up and assessed the man. He seemed sincere, and his attitude from this morning was definitely different. He actually looked rather tired.

"You didn't seem keen on talking about him this morning," Harry replied just as quietly.

"I've been thinking about it," Steve replied with a pensive nod. "I think I should. But keep in mind: I didn't even know him for a whole day."

Harry nodded back, and thought of all they had to talk about … Hermione wouldn't want to miss this. Come to think of it, Draco wouldn't want to miss this either. Holding out his hand in clear invitation, Harry smiled his friendliest, most harmless smile.

"Would you care to join my family for dinner on Sunday?"

HP~W~I~N~T~E~R~HP~S~O~L~D~I~E~R~HP

So, I brought Draco the Reporter back AND we've finally begun the actual movie timeline. I'm excited about going forward, and the family dinner with Steve and Draco will be fun! (Yes, sorry, I haven't written it yet ... the final version, anyway) Thank you for your reviews, my loyal readers! Your support means so much to me, you have no idea! :)

P.S I've never actually been to the Smithsonian in Washington D.C, and my own museum experiences are colored by the last time I went to my local museum of natural history, years ago ... So if you're lucky enough to have been to the Smithsonian and my descriptions of interactive displays are off, please forgive me! Let's just imagine that's how it works in this universe ;)

(One of my original ideas had Bucky attacking the Potters' house without his mask, or getting it knocked off or something, and Hermione or Harry recognizing him in Bucky's display here ... but I decided not to go that route, mostly because I need the family to have a good rapport with Steve before they start fighting the Winter Soldier. Just thought I'd throw that out there. The writing process is a dizzying series of choices!)