Child of Winter - A Sequel to Avenge
This is a sequel: meaning, you should make sure you've read Avenge first before you dive into this story, because by the second chapter you're going to be scratching your head. This is a very AU crossover between Marvel and Harry Potter. In Avenge, Severus Snape survives Nagini and runs off to help people around the world to make up for his crimes. He meets Dr. Banner, gets roped into The Avengers movie storyline, and ends up going to Asgard at the end to hide from Hydra (though he doesn't know that's who's hunting him)
At the end of Avenge, we met the Winter Soldier and he had a child he'd kidnapped ...
By Sw-0608
(As of 03/25/2021 rating changed to M)
This story is rated M: for violence, (fighting, sparring, killing, magic-using, Winter Soldier type battles, blood but not much gore) peril, (there are cliffhangers galore) cursing, (nothing too gratuitous, I try not to put too much profanity) nudity, (non-sexual) and torture (medical experimentation, painful brain-wiping, beatings, humiliation, etc. etc. etc. and a lot of it will involve a child so ... yeah) I will warn you at the beginning of my chapters so you know what each one contains.
You've been warned.
This is going to be a terribly dark story. I won't be too graphic, but the fictional group of 'Hydra' is a conglomeration of all kinds of real-world evil world-takeover-wannabe groups that engaged in horrific crimes against humanity, like the Nazis, Soviets, other Communistic groups, etc. They are capable of great evil. So, I'm warning you, this story is going to be sad and heartbreaking, but the good guys will win in the end, so don't lose hope.
Now that I've warned you, please enjoy the story!
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Hydra is beginning their Summer Soldier Program, but in order to create an army of super-soldiers who will obey their every order, they need to find children who will survive the new process. Loki's scepter in their hands gives them the means to possibly control their child army through the Mind Stone. With this goal in hand, and tipped off by local allies who have a grudge to settle, Hydra's Asset, the Winter Soldier, is sent to collect their first test subject.
Rated M: violence, character death, and blood from gunshots
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Chapter One: A Good Life
Harry James Potter had a good life. He knew it wasn't perfect, (especially if you asked certain people) but he was happy. It didn't matter what they thought.
It was a lucky day when Harry had decided to stop listening to what everybody else thought he should do with his life and decided to start with what he wanted out of life. He was sick of fighting. He was weighed down by guilt and grief and fear.
When Harry decided to apply for an internship at St. Mungo's, it was mostly to just quiet the guilty nagging in his chest, telling him that he was a murderer and destroyer. When he healed instead of hurt, when he repaired rather than destroyed, he felt those chains of self-doubt and guilt begin to break. Suddenly, he found skills he had never realized he had. Empathy. Compassion. A listening ear. His wand performed healing spells with the same power and skill he had applied to defense and attacking magic when he was a child fighting for his life. He found his heart expanding and thriving in the stress and bustle that was a hospital career. He took his N.E.W.T's and apprenticed under a surgeon at the earliest opportunity.
He chose to follow the path of a Healer.
Ron didn't understand, at first. A lot of people didn't. Some, like Ron, meant well, but others were cruel and refused to think that Harry actually might be choosing to be a Healer because he genuinely wanted to. They called him coward or weakling, or accused him of choosing not to become an Auror out of misplaced guilt or a sudden desire to stop protecting people. Even Ronald Weasley, as loyal a friend as he was, accused Harry of trying to save strangers in some bizarre effort to bring back those he'd lost.
Harry was aware of all those things, and to be honest, his decision to follow healing had originally been about soothing his guilt and making up for the pain and death that had followed him like a cloud since he was born. But he found healing himself. He found a way to properly grieve his lost childhood and everything else he'd lost, and let go of his guilt and sadness and pain. He became healthier, emotionally speaking, as he reached out to others and allowed them to help him. Ron understood in time, and so did his sister, although Ginny pursued professional Quidditch and Harry fell into his apprenticeship and they quickly drifted apart. Neither of them was sure when exactly they completely broke off any romantic relationship with one another, but break up they did. The Weasley matriarch eventually got over it.
Harry's most loyal friend through all of his soul-searching was Hermione.
After she returned from Australia to fetch her parents and undo their memory charms, she supported Harry and defended him in his chosen career. On account of Ron's pig-headedness over the whole thing, the two of them grew strained until Hermione, smart girl that she was, broke it off. They all stayed friends, though. How could they not? After all they had been through, the three young people (nicknamed the Golden Trio by who-knew-what-romantic) were closer than siblings and stayed caught up, even though they all took different paths.
Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her final year. Ronald Weasley didn't bother, and still got into the Auror program. Harry advanced in his Healer's Apprenticeship and tried to stay out of the limelight except strictly as necessary.
After Hermione Granger graduated from Hogwarts with all the N.E.W.T's she had hoped for, she pursued a role in the Ministry, fighting for equality and fairness for all people, especially for House Elves and muggleborns, of course. Harry supported her in her work, and he supported Ron as he trained in the Auror program. He ignored the media, stayed focused on his work, and was grateful to have such good friends once the bumps of the latter half of 1997 were behind them. Entering 1998 with high hopes and strong friendship, their main goal, (as the Golden Trio) was to have Severus Snape's name cleared. It was laughably easy to get Minister Shacklebolt to issue a full pardon, since the guy actually knew firsthand what Snape's true loyalties had been and nobody in the Ministry cared to block the pardon of a dead man anyway. The Malfoys were surprisingly supportive of the whole thing, even though Lucius was under house arrest for life and his fortune had been confiscated to pay for the damages of the war. Thanks to the efforts of the Golden Trio, Lucius and Draco avoided Azkaban and Narcissa retained some level of dignity. Saving the life of the Chosen One had certainly been the wisest move she'd ever made.
Hermione remained the brains of the trio, though thanks to Ron's bull-headedness and Harry's popularity, their efforts bore fruit, and a Snape Wing at St. Mungo's opened in January of 2000, (sponsored by numerous 'anonymous' donations that were all actually from the Potter Vaults). It was an intensive care wing, mostly for victims of poisoning or long-term curses in memory of the dead Potions Master … and Harry often laughed silently to himself at how Snape would have loathed the whole thing. He never told a living soul about his conversation with a dead man on that stormy day in May, but he often re-read the letter he had received. At times sarcastic, biting, or horribly sentimental, Harry realized the more he read the yellowed piece of paper that there were sides to Snape he had never known existed. He wished he could have gotten to know the man better, but what was done was done. He often speculated to Hermione and tried to understand why Snape was the way he was, though he never once hinted that their old Professor was actually alive still. She had actually understood the bitter man a little better than most of their fellow students and her insight (on all topics) never ceased to astound him.
It was almost surprising to Harry to realize that he was falling in love with Hermione Granger.
He wasn't really sure how it started, but he and Hermione had always been close. After she returned from Australia with her parents, (who were understandably upset with her) the two of them would occasionally meet over coffee in quiet little muggle teashops to complain about their mutual lives. When Hermione returned to school, they exchanged long letters. They found the strength to laugh at the Daily Prophet and shake their heads at those who slandered the boy-who-lived-to-save-them, and found comfort in one another. They shared what they had learned recently and played hang-man on tea-napkins. They smiled and laughed and cried together.
Harry cried on Hermione's shoulder when he and Ginny broke up just after 1998 began. Hermione had cried on Harry's shoulder when her and Ron broke up right before she returned to school after Christmas of 1997. Harry cried a bit too, because Ron wasn't speaking to him again (that lasted about two weeks) and Harry felt like it was his fault that his friends were no longer 'together'. It was typical of Harry and his enormous guilt complex, but in response to it, Hermione dragged him off to meet her family for Easter. Her parents had forgiven her by this time, and they were delighted to finally meet the famous boy who caused their daughter to become a hero. Needless to say, Harry was welcomed with open arms by the Grangers at a time when the Weasleys were barely speaking to him. Molly got back in good terms with Harry later, but at the time she was understandably upset that her darling daughter was 'dumped' by Harry who then, apparently, stole her son's girlfriend. Once she realized how judgmental she had been, she apologized profusely, but Harry was never very close to them again. Trying to get along with all the Weasleys was an emotional roller-coaster he just didn't have the strength for, especially since the Grangers were so much mellower and tolerant of him.
Harry thought of Hermione as a sister for a long time, terrified to think of her as anything more lest she be offended. But he was hopelessly in love with her and stupidly blind to her affections as a result. It was Ron who had to knock him upside his dense head and tell him that 'Mione was in love with him. He didn't delay any longer, and the night he told her he loved her, they both cried. Directly after that, he asked her to marry him and Hermione said yes through tears of joy.
They married in the spring of 2001. It was an ordinary wedding by every stretch of the word, but plenty of magical guests were in attendance. Molly insisted on cooking most everything, which Hermione's mother appreciated since she burned water when she tried to cook. Andromeda Tonks was there with Harry's godson Teddy, though she was rather stiff and uncomfortable around all the strangers. Ron, of course, was the best man, Dan Granger walked his daughter down the aisle, and Harry's godson insisted on being the flower girl, the little scamp. The precocious four year old was even determined to give himself feminine features. While it was a little weird, Teddy did a good job, (especially once they were able to talk him out of completely morphing into a girl) and he fell asleep from too much cake under a table while everyone went frantic looking for him. It seemed he'd inherited the Marauder genes for mischief, even unconsciously.
Harry didn't think he could be any happier on that beautiful day. He was just twenty, she was twenty-one, with their whole lives ahead of them. She was a successful Ministry worker, he had medi-wizard degree already, and they planned to outdo the Weasleys in baby production. Once Harry sold off Grimmauld Place (the gloomy horror house) the happy young couple moved into a perfectly muggle house in a quiet old neighbourhood not far from where Hermione's parents lived. Set back from the main street and nicely removed from its neighbours, Asphodel Cottage became Harry's favorite place in the world. Even Kreacher seemed to like it. The house elf knew to hide himself from muggles, but he would have rather died than leave his Dear Master Potter, so Kreacher was part of the family. He kept the house spotless, fussed over the both of them, and seemed to be recovering from his years of darkness in the shadow of the Black family and the cursed locket he had guarded. Harry loved his home, and of course, it became so much nicer when his and Hermione's first child was born.
James Sirius Potter entered the world in early 2002, early by three weeks as if he just couldn't wait to get out into the world. He was a red-headed, chubby little bundle of energy, the happiest baby Harry had ever met, and he was pretty sure he was grinning like a lunatic for the next year. Although, it could be that he really was a lunatic after all the sleep he lost that first year, but he was deliriously happy. He had no idea it was possible to love so much, and after a lifetime starved for love, he was lavishing everything he could on his wife and son.
It was planned for the next baby to be a girl and bear the name Lily Dora, but that just didn't work out. By the time 2003 rolled around with Hermione once again in a muggle hospital giving birth, (she didn't trust the magical world's obsession with old fashioned things like midwives) Harry learned once again that nothing in his life ran as expected.
When the tiny black-haired boy was in Harry's arms after 'Mione's long and difficult labour, he was wondering why on earth he and his wife had never discussed possible boy's names for their second child, and suddenly thought of a man he had not remembered in years. Where was Snape these days? Was he still alive? Was he safe? Happy? While it seemed a bit much to think of Snape as 'happy', Harry knew it that anything was possible. Sometimes, years later by now, he thought of that day, the day of Snape's funeral, and wondered if he'd somehow dreamed it. But he still had the letter and the Marauder's Map tucked away in his photo album. He knew the greasy old bat had truly been alive, had attended his own funeral, and had used the American portkey Harry had sent him.
He announced to his wife that their son was to be named Severus Albus Potter, but Hermione objected on several accounts, not the least of which was that his initials would be SAP. She suggested naming their baby Albus, with Severus as the middle name. Of course, Harry didn't like the initials ASP either, and pointed out that Albus was already such a popular baby name that come 2014, their son would be forced to go by his middle name at Hogwarts anyway, so why not give him that name to begin with?
After some arguing, (and good points on both sides) Harry got his way and Severus Albus Potter joined his big brother James at Asphodel Cottage. Time passed, the babies grew, work and life went on, and Harry became a full-fledged magical surgeon in St. Mungo's emergency ward.
The twins were a big surprise several years later. After two miscarriages and Hermione quitting her Ministry job to focus on research so she could be more of a stay-at-home mom for her babies, carrying a set of twins to term seemed like a miracle. Lily Dora and Rose Natalie joined the Potter family during the Christmas season of 2008 and Harry didn't think he could be any happier.
His life was absolutely perfect.
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"James! Sev!" Hermione Potter shouted up the stairs. "Get down here to kiss your father good-night before he leaves for work!"
Harry smiled at the sound of his wife's exasperated tone, even while he was still reading Goodnight Moon to the four-year-old girls snuggled in his lap. Hermione always made sure all the kids kissed their daddy before he left for work, especially since it was also doubling as a good night kiss during the past month while he'd been taking the night shifts at St. Mungo's. This was the third time in the last ten minutes she'd yelled for the boys to get down here, and her tone was definitely exasperated by now.
"Coming, Mum!" James hollered down.
"Goodnight to the old lady whispering hush," Harry murmured from memory while he looked up and gave his wife a loving smile and wink.
"Gramma!" Lily piped up, as she did every time her favorite story was read to her. Apparently the 'old lady whispering hush' was Grandma Granger to her.
"Shh!" Rose hushed her twin.
Harry chuckled and went on reading, saying goodnight to the bears in chairs, the air, and a bowl of mush. By the time he finished, the cuckoo clock on the mantle was chiming and Harry's enchanted wristwatch was telling him he was nearly late for work.
"Another one, daddy?" Lily pleaded, gazing up at him pleadingly with big green eyes. She was a cleverly manipulative little girl, but in the most adorable way imaginable.
Chuckling, Harry kissed his daughter's damp brown hair and tucked her pink dressing gown more securely around her. "I'm afraid I can't, Lily-flower," he said regretfully. "You know I've got to go to work now."
Lily pouted, but Rose flung her arms around her father's neck, almost knocking his glasses off. "Ya can't go now!" the quieter, (but by no means less cunning) twin cheered. "We gotcha!"
"Oh my goodness, so I am," Harry mused, falling limp as if overpowered. "Who will save me?"
"Nobody, daddy!" Lily shrieked happily, getting into the game, throwing her arms around her daddy's neck too. "You stuck now!"
"Help!" Harry laughed, dropping the book and holding out his hands dramatically. "Mione, rescue me!"
Hermione chuckled as she came into the sitting room, drying her hands. "I'm afraid I can't save you, Harry," she said wryly. "Those are two of the most terrifying witches I've ever seen."
Lily and Rose shrieked with laughter and squeezed their father harder, almost choking him. There was a clatter on the stairs like a herd of hippogryphs were on their way down right before the two boys hurtled in.
"I wanna play! I wanna play too!" they yelled, throwing themselves at the armchair. James grabbed his father's hands and Severus clambered up on Harry's knees in between his sisters and snatched his glasses away.
In between hysterical laughter, Harry felt his heart swelling with love and adoration. He loved his family more than words could tell and every single one of them was perfectly beautiful. Hermione, her face flushed slightly from doing dishes and cleaning the kitchen after supper, was prettier than she had ever been, he would swear it. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun and some of her untamable curls were escaping and framed her rosy face becomingly. She was dressed casually in some of Harry's clothes, (he thought she was ten times more attractive in them) and she was still quite trim and slender, an active woman who practiced dueling as a hobby, grew a large garden of both magical and muggle plants in Asphodel Cottage's backyard, and kept up with four active children while working from home as a writer and independent researcher. Her stomach bulged slightly under her baggy T-shirt, the sight almost making Harry choke up with tears again. She was pregnant with their fifth child and it looked like it was going well. After the twins and another miscarriage, they had been nervous about trying for another, but it seemed fate would be kind to them this time. Hermione was in her fourth month and the baby was doing very well.
James, his oldest son, actually looked like a little Weasley despite his name. His wildly curly red hair, just the shade that Harry's mother had borne, complimented a face full of freckles and sparkling hazel eyes. He was tall and active, filled with energy and easily distracted. He loved flying and Quidditch, hated schoolwork, and was a friendly, happy-go-lucky boy who loved his siblings with a passion Harry recognized in himself.
Lily and Rose had their mother's brown hair and it was almost as crazy as James'. Taking the Potter's untamable hair-gene and combining it with the Granger genes for bushy curls apparently turned out children with wild heads of unmanageable hair. The girls were sweet and precocious, intelligent and mischievous. While James was fun-loving, he hadn't inherited the Marauder's prank-loving streak and was honest as the day was long. Apparently, the trouble-making genes waited until Lily and Rose to show up. He could see those girls turning out almost as bad as the Weasley twins unless they were taken firmly and gently in hand, and Hermione was more than qualified to encourage their creativity while discouraging any tendencies to become the detention-champions of their generation in Hogwarts.
Severus was … different. For that reason, Harry supposed his second-born was his favourite, (although he technically wasn't supposed to have favourites among his children). At least, Hermione said so. But since Sev was so different, it was easy to overlook him with three grinning, happy, outgoing siblings. Severus had the nicest hair of all his siblings, miraculously missing the awful bushy tangles that his brother and sisters were cursed with. He alone of his siblings had inherited his mother's chocolate brown eyes and his father's pitch-black hair, though it was not nearly as untamable as Harry's. He was a skinny boy, rather shy, and he got sick often. Actually, except for his frequent ailments, Severus reminded Harry of himself when he was a kid, and Hermione said Sev was like her when she was little. He was reclusive and bookish, he needed glasses, he disliked crowds or strangers or talking too much, and he liked to hide in cupboards and out of the way places. Harry knew his youngest boy felt different, left-out, and strange, and he tried his best to show his son that he loved him no matter what … but it was hard for Sev to grasp.
Especially because Severus Albus was apparently a squib.
Though it was extremely rare for a muggleborn to have magic-less children, Harry had a long line of pureblood ancestors on his father's side and that rather increased his risk of fathering a squib, even though his own mother had been muggleborn. Little James had been able to change the colours of his toys when he was a year old, and by the time the twin girls were seven months old, they were making their mobile spin and their dolls hover. But Severus never had so much as a spark of accidental magic and he was already eight years old. Neville, now a Professor of Herbology, advised them not to worry about it, since his own first incident of magic didn't show up until he was seven and got dropped out a window, even though he'd been hit, terrorized, and even almost drowned by his family in an effort to scare some magic out of him. Since the Potters would never even think to do something so terrible, Neville was sure that Sev's magic would just take some time to show up, and maybe a life-threatening situation to boot. So the Potters tried not to worry and tried to get Sev to feel normal. They taught James to never taunt his little brother for not being able to do magic, even when James proved to be almost as precocious as his dad when it came to accidental magic. The twins were a little harder to discipline, especially since they were in the habit of swiping their parents' wands and playing around with them. No amount of time-out, grounding, or outright scolding could stop them. They seemed to have an innate sense for teasing, and teasing their magic-less big brother tickled them pink.
Harry and Hermione tried to impress on their second-born that they loved all of their children for who they were, not for their magic, but it didn't change the fact that Sev still felt different, and it hurt him to be missing something his entire family and all their friends had.
It hurt his parents too, to see their little boy suffering for something that wasn't anyone's fault.
But despite all that drama, Sev was mostly a happy boy, content to read and pester his parents with questions, goof off with his siblings, and watch the world around him with a wide-eyed gravity that was almost terrifyingly grown-up.
"Help, they're killing me!" Harry gasped, laughing too hard to even think about shaking off his captors. Hermione was laughing too hard to help him, but when Harry's wristwatch alarm started going off, James turned into the hero.
It was always amazing to see how good ten year old James was with his siblings. Somehow, without being overly bossy or obnoxious, he could get even his rebellious twin sisters to cooperate. Once he untangled his siblings from dad and managed to get them all calmed down, they all kissed their father good-bye and good-night. For months after, Harry would replay this evening in his mind. It was the last happy evening their family would enjoy together … for a very long time.
He kissed Rosie first, since James was holding her in his strong arms. She giggled and gave him a very sloppy kiss in return. He then kissed James, who was just reaching the age where he felt self-conscious kissing his daddy. But the boy bravely gave Harry a peck on the cheek and a cheery "Night, Dad!" Lily-Flower was the next, and she was pouting so she didn't return her father's kiss. Sev, who was standing behind her, tickled his baby sister until she spluttered a laugh and squirmed away to pout in peace, but she wasn't really in a bad mood anymore.
Harry relived this moment in his head over and over in the next few days. He cupped his youngest son's chin in his hand and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, accidentally knocking the little boy's glasses askew. Sev straightened his thin glasses and then threw his arms around his dad's neck.
"Love you, dad," Sev whispered. "G'night!"
"Good night, son," Harry murmured back. "No more reading in bed, you hear me? You'll kill your eyes."
Sev blushed and backed off, twiddling his fingers in embarrassment. He mumbled in agreement, James nudged him with his shoulder, and Rosie squirmed out of her big brother's arms and toddled over to her twin, who was still pretending to pout over the ending of storytime and her game with daddy.
Harry kissed Hermione last, letting his hand linger on her rounded belly, saying a silent good-bye to his youngest child. "Call me if you need anything," Harry said cheerfully, adjusting his glasses as he drew his wand and swirled his green Healer's robe around his shoulders. "Should be a quiet night, so don't hesitate to bother me, got it?"
"Will you go on?" Hermione huffed good-naturedly, flapping her towel at him. "You know I'll send you a Patronus in a real emergency. Anything else can wait 'til morning."
"You'd better," Harry laughed, kissing her again and chuckling at the theatrical groans of James, who was picking up bad habits from Teddy.
Suddenly, Sev spoke up boldly. "Stop it James," he scolded his brother, giving him a shove. "When I get married, I'm gonna give my wife lots of sloppy kisses to show her how special she is. Grandpa Granger says sloppier kisses mean more love."
Harry and Hermione laughed too hard to reply to that, though they both gave him an extra kiss and messed up his hair fondly. "No sloppy kisses anytime soon though, you got that, Sev?" Harry gasped, once he could breathe again. "I don't want you married until you're at least thirty."
"O' course," little Severus replied gravely. "She'll have a dad that won't let her kiss anybody 'til she's thirty, so it'll be perfect."
"That's my boy," Harry chuckled, messing up his son's hair until it looked like his own. "Be good for your mother tonight, kids. I don't want a bad report card when I get home in the morning, clear?"
"Clear!" James and Sev saluted.
"Cleaw!" Rose and Lily lisped angelically.
"You'd better hurry, you're late," Hermione said fondly as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Not yet, I'm not," Harry chuckled. He turned and activated the floo with a handful of powder, announcing the St. Mungo's staffroom. As he whirled away, he heard his wife's voice fading behind him.
"Kreacher, would you draw a bath for the twins?"
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Hermione smiled contentedly as she padded softly through the house, suffering from another bout of insomnia. Sometimes, pregnancy was burdensome. Her mood swings and exhaustion gave way to cravings and insomnia every single time. So she padded around the house in a dressing gown over her pajamas, checking on her little ones and waiting until she got sleepy again. On nights like this, she really missed Harry. But he was at the hospital, performing magical surgeries and saving lives.
The children were sound asleep in bed and all was quiet. She passed the sleepless Kreacher taking care of some late-night dusting and she smiled gratefully at him as he beamed happily up at her. It was almost heartbreaking how he still almost fainted with happiness at the least sign of approval or kindness from his master's family. She truly had never had the heart to try and explain freedom to him, once she had gotten married and learned how horribly damaged the poor elf really was. To him, being bound to his family wasn't slavery; it was belonging. He was like an abused child that had finally found hope. Ever since Harry brought the elf into their new home and introduced him to his wife, (whom he had only known at Grimmauld Place as 'the mudblood wench') he never once called Hermione a mudblood and only insulted those who dared insinuate that any member of his Master's family was less than perfect.
In return for the kindness he was shown, Kreacher was an obsessive housekeeper and a remarkably competent babysitter. After all, the house elf pointed out, who else changed Sirius' and Regulus' nappies and kept them out of trouble when they were toddlers? Purebloods couldn't be bothered to raise their own babies, apparently. But Kreacher truly loved Harry and Hermione's children and was remarkably tender and kind toward them. He respected Hermione and worshipped Harry and if she ever asked the elf if he was happy, the ecstasy in his big green eyes was more than answer enough, even as he enthusiastically blessed the name of Potter and all his family members.
Hermione settled down in the comfy sitting room with some of her work, a new book she was writing for the Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts. Several muggleborns were already submitting manuscripts for the long overdue revisal of the class, and Harry had suggested that she take a swing at it. The commission was a few hundred galleons, nothing to sneeze at if she managed to impress the Board of Governors, who were not quite as biased as they once were. After all, progress and tolerance were only a hundred years behind modern times in the Wizarding world. She wrote notes in ballpoint pen and typed the chapters out on her typewriter, as apparently computer paper was much too odd for the Ministry to even touch. But she would die before she wrote a whole book with a quill. That was utter madness.
Kreacher suddenly tiptoed into the sitting room and set a cup of her favourite tea on the table near her chair.
She glanced up and smiled, loving how the little elf lit up at the approval. "Why don't you pull up a seat and keep me company, Kreacher?" she asked gently. "Would you like a cup of tea too?"
Kreacher was used to his mistress' strange ways by now, and he simply jerked his head, snapped his fingers, and was soon seated on a cushioned stool, holding his favourite tea-cup, a white, two-handled mug with a company logo on the side. It was actually one of Dan Granger's mugs he'd loaned and never got back, though he really hadn't liked it much. Apparently he disliked Stark Industries for some reason that Hermione couldn't be bothered to remember. All she knew was that SI products were too expensive for practicality, even if they claimed to be more efficient, secure, reliable, etc. and the rest of the world seemed to grudgingly agree. Her family didn't need cell phones. Heck, they didn't even have a TV, and they were perfectly happy. If they needed a phone call so badly, they ran down the street to her parents' place.
"How was your day, Kreacher?" Hermione asked casually, crossing out a line in her notebook and scribbling a revision in the margin.
"Kreacher had a good day, Mistress," the house elf replied enthusiastically, his gravelly voice reminding her of a bullfrog, as always. "Kreacher polished all the silver in the house in less time than last time, unclogged the toilet after Miss Lily dropped her shawl in, and chased a stray cat off the back porch. Kreacher's day was productive, Mistress."
Hermione chuckled softly. "I had a good day too, Kreacher," she said as she sipped her tea. "And now it's even better because I'm drinking tea with my favourite house elf in the world."
Kreacher's eyes filled with tears. "M-Mistress is too kind," the elf choked. "Kreacher's having the best day ever of his life; Mistress is the kindest witch in the world, yes she is. Kreacher would do anything for Mistress, yes he would. Only to say the word, has Mistress."
"Thank you Kreacher," Hermione said quietly. She smiled softly at the loyal elf. "But you do more than enough for me. You take care of the house, you watch the kids, and you take care of me too. We're all lucky to have you in our family, Kreacher."
The poor elf burst into happy tears and hopped off his settee to kiss her hands.
After he'd found that she was horrified to have him kissing her boots, he came up with a compromise. Hermione used every opportunity she could to tell Kreacher that he was loved and appreciated. The abuse some House Elves had received made her blood boil, but she was doing her best to rectify it now. The most wonderful thing she could say to Kreacher now, (it had horrified him before) was that she was proud, glad, lucky, etc. to have him as a member of her family. To be considered a part of a wizard's family wasn't completely unheard of for a house elf, but for an elf from a Dark pureblood family like Kreacher, such words were valued more than gold. Here, Kreacher's greatest ambition wasn't to become a head on a trophy wall, but to care for his Master's family and protect them. His greatest ambition was to 'earn' the wonderful family he had been given to serve. He was better protection for the children than an army of trained bodyguards. Not only did he have magic at his disposal, he was practically rabid in his desire to defend them from every danger. Just last month in the garden, he had killed three snakes on the edge of the flowerbeds because they came within a few feet of the girls, and he confounded a muggle man at the park who he said was 'making bad eyes' at Severus. Hermione wasn't all that certain if it was true, but she trusted Kreacher. He didn't go around secretly hexing every muggle who glanced at her children, so she decided that there must have been something to the threat after all.
Yes, her family was very lucky to have Kreacher.
"Mistress, Kreacher is thinking there is something wrong," the house elf suddenly piped up, his raspy voice low and grave. His eyes were darting back and forth nervously.
"What is it?" Hermione asked in a whisper, drawing her wand and glancing around the dark living room. The fire had burned low by now and the children were silent upstairs. It was about midnight and far too late for any of them to be awake.
"Kreacher isn't knowing yet," he replied carefully. "May Kreacher investigate?"
"Of course," Hermione replied at once. "But be careful."
The elf nodded solemnly and vanished with a pop. Hermione cast several detection spells and came up with nothing. The house's wards were intact. Since they lived in a muggle neighbourhood, their house wasn't unplottable or unnoticed like most wizard dwellings. They lived in the muggle world too and their wards were more like a standard security system, except magical. They recognized intent, obviously, and discouraged thugs, thieves, and ne'er-do-wells with mild compulsion charms like the ones Dumbledore had laid around the Dursleys' home to keep Harry safe from muggle criminals. If there was something, it was likely just an animal, a stray dog or cat that tripped the house elf's personal wards, which Hermione didn't know much about. Harry had said that Kreacher had asked him for permission to add his own protective magic around the house when Harry was laying the groundwork for the wards. But neither of them really knew what house elf magic was capable of and hadn't understood Kreacher's enthusiastic explanation.
As Hermione was thinking all this, the house elf returned, teeth bared and eyes glowing with alarm. "Mistress!" Kreacher gasped. "There be's a man coming, sneaking through the wards! Magic's not affecting him much, Kreacher thinks!"
Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. "Who is it? What does he want?"
"The man's a muggle, Mistress, an odd muggle," Kreacher babbled. "He got's a metal arm and lots of muggle weapons, he does. Oh, Kreacher doesn't know what he wants, but sneaking man's always means bad, it does!"
"Right, get the kids up, we're going to the safe house," Hermione said grimly. She transfigured her dressing gown into something better for fighting in, and pressed a hand to her racing heart. Kreacher obediently popped away to wake up the children, and Hermione cast a lock-down curse on the house. Unless they blew a hole in the wall, no muggle would be getting through. It was times like these she wished they had a phone to call the police. But she did have a wand.
Casting a patronus, (it was no longer an otter, after her schooldays it had changed into a lioness) she sent the messenger to her parents to call the police, because an armed muggle man had gotten through the wards somehow and was coming for the house. She cast another, almost too distracted to drag up her happy thought, (holding her son for the first time) and sent it to Harry with practically the same message, though she added that they would be at the safe house. No sooner had she done that when a window shattered suddenly and her magic snapped at her with a sting like a broken rubberband. A miasma of dark magic flowed over her senses, almost knocking her unconscious. She recognized it. Ward stones. The muggle must be wearing some to protect him from magic and break through wards. Such things were powerful and rare, so how did a muggle get ahold of even one, let alone the five she could sense?!
"Incarcerous! Stupefy!" she incanted, swinging her wand toward the shadow near the broken hall window. She gasped at how fast the man moved. One second she saw him crouched there, next second he leapt aside, the light of her spells flying harmlessly out into the night, briefly illuminating a shaggy head and glinting off the left arm, which was crafted of silvery metal. The face that turned toward her was masked and goggled like a faceless phantom. He was muscular and tall, dressed in black combat gear and carrying a pistol in his gloved hand. The metal hand was clenched in a fist.
Hermione cast diffindo and followed it up with sectumsempra out of desperation. She hated using Professor Snape's dark cutting curse, but it was more efficient than casting dozens of diffindo curses in quick succession. This time, her spells hit, even as he raised his gun and fired at her. She gasped and dodged, the muffled bangs of the discharge making her head ring. Her pregnancy-enhanced nose could detect the faint scent of hot metal and gunpowder. Where was Kreacher with the kids?!
She dodged as he threw something at her and cast a sloppy Protego charm. The thrown thing was a knife and it imbedded itself in the wall. The man didn't even pause after the knife. Hermione heard the 'pop, pop' noises but didn't even register the sounds as gunshots until they shattered her shield, sending her to her knees from the backlash, and then her chest and wand arm erupted in fiery pain.
Hermione fell on one knee, casting a weak explosion curse that knocked their attacker against the wall. She felt suddenly dizzy and she looked down at her wet robe, briefly registering that she'd been shot multiple times, she was bleeding out, and oh god, the baby. The baby was going to die. She sank down, her head swimming with shock and pain. She couldn't feel much pain now, there was just too much. She watched as her spinning vision spiraled away from her and she dearly hoped Kreacher could save the children … and that Harry wouldn't grieve too much.
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Kreacher was a loyal house elf. His loyalty was first to Master Harry, and second to Mistress Hermione. His loyalty extended to all that belonged to his Master and Mistress, from their home to their children. He would die to defend them. That he had sworn years ago.
House elves have a keen sense of death. It was said that a House elf always knows somehow the day they die. Kreacher knew, as he sipped tea from the white mug. He felt the cold fingers of dread around his heart and he suddenly knew he would die in blood and pain tonight. But he was not afraid. Kreacher was proud to die for Master and for Master's family.
He didn't know who the sneaking muggle was, and the man shrugged off his desperate attempts to stop him. Black magic oozed from warded items in his possession and cast a cloud like a shield around him. Kreacher could not read his intentions or see his plans. All Kreacher knew was that his family would die this night unless he did something.
Rushing upstairs to the children on Mistress' orders, Kreacher barely had time to yank them all up and drag them out of bed. There was no time to even get their dressing gowns.
"Up, up!" Kreacher hissed at the children. "A muggle is attacking and Mistress says to get up!" The twins were terrified and began to cry, but he cast silencing magic upon them as the glass shattered downstairs and they could hear their mother shouting.
"Wh-what's happening?" James asked in a wobbly whisper.
"Little Masters must listen very carefully to Kreacher," the house elf croaked hoarsely. "There is a dangerous muggle man carrying very dark magics on him. Kreacher cannot stop him, so the little Masters and Misses must run. Mistress says, run to safe house, but Kreacher thinks Master be better. Use the floo, oldest little Master," Kreacher ordered James gravely. "Master says 'St. Mungo's staffroom'; can Young Master James remember?"
"St. Mungo's Staffroom," James repeated shakily. He scooped Lily into his arms and his younger brother grabbed Rose's hand since the little girl was too big for his skinny arms now and they waited for Kreacher to apparate them downstairs, since it sounded like the battle was happening near the foot of the stairs.
The house elf grabbed the two boys, ordering them to hold onto their sisters, and transported them down to the sitting room just as their mother's shield shattered and she fell in a haze of blood and twisted limbs and an explosion shattered more windows and knocked a strange man in black into the wall.
The children screamed.
The man got up, shaking his shaggy head after Mistress' exploding curse had caught him head-on.
"Floo, young Master!" Kreacher ordered his Master's eldest son. Fearlessly, the elf darted forward, knowing his magic was useless. But this muggle could still be affected physically. "Leave Kreacher's family alone!" he shrieked, barreling into a pair of strong legs.
The man kicked him violently aside and fired his weapon at him. Kreacher felt something in his old body break as he slammed against the wall and he gasped as the tiny muggle projectile struck his chest. "Kreacher … is sorry …" the elf rasped. "Kreacher … failed …"
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The Asset was surprised at such resistance. He had expected a simple extraction and the family was supposed to be asleep. His reconnaissance over the past few days supported that. But now everything was going to hell and he shivered, knowing that he would be disciplined for such failure. Still, he could finish the mission and retrieve the target and eliminate the witnesses just as he'd been ordered. It would just be sloppier.
He hated sloppy jobs.
The Asset was created to kill and destroy, but there were times when his stomach clenched and his head swam as he raised his gun or knife to finish yet another life. He did not remember every mission he'd been given, but the knowledge was there, somewhere. He fired on the woman and suppressed his shudder as she fell in a growing puddle of blood.
He raised his head to look at the children. Sidestepping the woman lying still on the floor, he advanced on the target, his eyes locked on the smaller male, the one with black hair and dark eyes. The older boy yelled and staggered back, falling down and crouching protectively over his little sister. The dark-haired boy put another girl behind him and put up his fists. Brave child, the Asset mused. He paused, eyes behind dark goggles assessing, analyzing … and suddenly an image flashed into his mind of a blond-haired boy, skin and bones and blue eyes, fighting two boys bigger than he was …
The Asset shook his head in a quick jerk, dispelling the malfunction. He had a job and a target and the boy was right in front of him. His gloved hand darted forward and he grabbed the target by the front of his pajama shirt. Dragging the boy toward him and pressing him against his chest, he raised his pistol to shoot the crying little girl in the head, but hesitated. The boy in his grip was fighting valiantly, but he was too small and skinny to fight against the Asset's superior strength. The older boy suddenly cried out and lunged upward, grabbing his arm. The Asset fired instinctively and the boy looked shocked as he spun back, a dark stain spreading on his shoulder. The little girls both screamed suddenly, making the Asset's sensitive ears ring. Again, the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy appeared in his mind again, getting up out of the mud, wiping a bloody nose on his bony wrist …
The Asset growled softly, wishing he could stop the malfunctions. He had a job to do, a target to retrieve. He had orders. He couldn't afford to malfunction after he'd already failed to keep this mission quiet as he'd been ordered. His recalibration and discipline would be unpleasant enough.
Abruptly, he raised his pistol. The target in his grip squirmed loose and grabbed his arm, interrupting his aim again. The Asset rapped the boy on the head with the gun, stunning him but not hurting him over-much. As he turned and fired at the two girls and the boy lying stunned against the wall, the strange big-eared creature appeared in front of his pistol, taking all three shots to its bony body.
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At the moment Kreacher got up, he was still in a daze, amazed at the strength of the muggle man. The elf was bleeding heavily from his wound, but he wasn't dead yet. He still had a family to protect and so long as he drew breath, that was his duty.
Kreacher saw the man only a few feet away, standing over the bleeding body of Mistress and holding little Master Severus. He was raising his muggle weapon again and now, all the children were crying. James was very white, lying on top of his mother with blood all over his hands and chest. The twin girls were clutching their mother and brother, screaming for their father as the muggle's weapon leveled itself on Lily's head. Brave little Master Sev struggled loose long enough to grab the muggle's arm and save his little sister's life, and the man hit him on the head before turning to the children and firing three quick shots.
But Kreacher was there in front of the man's weapon. Three holes exploded his fragile body and James howled in anguish. The elf barely had the strength to drag up his last reserves of magic, touch his Mistress and send her to Master. The elf collapsed once Mistress and those touching her were gone. They were safe.
But little Master Sev was still in the muggle's grip, fighting and screaming.
"Kreacher … is sorry …" the elf whispered, too spent to do anything but lie in a growing puddle of his own blood.
The muggle holstered his weapon, not seeming to care that the rest of the family was now gone and their defender was dying at his feet. He firmly turned the sobbing, squirming boy around, jerked his thin arms behind his back, and methodically bound him. He shoved a gag into the boy's mouth, silencing his wails, and wrapped a blindfold around his eyes. Then without a second glance at the dying elf, the man picked up Severus, now bundled up like a lamb for the slaughter, and he left the house.
A single tear rolled down Kreacher's wrinkled face and a raspy breath rattled out of his broken lungs. He had failed to defend his Master's family and home. He had failed to protect his Master's favourite son. More tears trickled from his bulbous, dimming eyes. He wished he could die quickly, but he also knew he deserved the pain as punishment for his failure. He drew in another rasping breath, or tried to. His punctured lungs weren't working.
Suddenly the fireplace near him whooshed with green flames and someone stumbled through. Kreacher was still staring up at the ceiling and he could hear the wailing of sirens outside, but in a second, Kreacher saw Master's face above his. His beloved Master's green eyes blazed with worry and fear behind his round lenses, and his hair looked even messier than normal.
"K-Kreacher … is … s-sorry …" the elf choked softly.
"No, don't talk; relax and let me work," Master ordered as he whipped out his wand, and Kreacher obeyed instantly. The Master's magic danced through his body, healing and cauterizing, and Kreacher longed to tell his Master that he didn't deserve to be saved. He deserved to die. Master needed to go after little Master Severus. Reaching out, the elf grabbed his Master's wand, a tingle rushing through his little body as the magical item reacted to his own magic.
"Kreacher?" Master asked in a shaky voice. "What is it?"
"L-little Master S-Sev," Kreacher rasped brokenly, air wheezing through the holes in his chest. "K-Kreacher … f-failed …"
"You saved 'Mione, James, Lily, and Rose," the good Master whispered, clasping his bony little hand tenderly. "You are the most loyal elf I could ever ask for. You didn't fail, Kreacher."
"L-little m-master … is a-alive …" Kreacher managed to choke out, feeling his life draining away. "L-leave Kreacher … Deserve … death … s-save l-little master …"
"No!" Master cried, his salty tears dripping down onto the elf's face. "No, Kreacher; you mustn't die, do you hear me? I'm a Healer, a surgeon; I'll save you."
"S-save … l-little … m-master," Kreacher gurgled, his body jerking slightly in his death throes.
"You can't do this to me!" Master sobbed, cradling the elf's broken body very gently against his lime-green robe, soaking himself with his failed house elf's blood. "Not you too, Kreacher, please no!"
"M-Master … g-good … master …" Kreacher whispered, blinking up at the man who was holding him, weeping over him, even after his failure. It was so much more than he deserved. He didn't want to go … but he had no life, no blood, not even any magic left. It was all draining into the wand he still gripped with his blood-soaked hand.
He loved Master more than his own life, and if he could have saved all of Master's family, he would have. The last thing he saw in this world were the tear-filled eyes of his beloved Master, the best and most wonderful Master in the world, who wept at the death of his failure of a house elf.
Even though Kreacher had failed, he died happy, because Master still loved him.
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Well, I'm back with a new story and bam, I hit you with an awful chapter full of tragedy and blood and death. What's wrong with me? Anyway, if this chapter was too much, I'm sorry. It's just going to get worse from here for a while. If you read the epilogue to my story Avenge, you'll see the Asset reporting to his Handler after his target's retrieval.
Next chapter we'll see Sev's reaction to his kidnapping and his POV during that epilogue I wrote in Avenge.
Reviews are welcome, and don't say I didn't warn you about this fic. It's dark and scary, and it'll be a while before I can get around to Dark World and a little more light-hearted stuff with Snape in Asgard and Loki and Thor and the Warriors Three.