Come Together Chapter 15: Heroism Part 3, a Harry Potter + Avengers Crossover fanfic

Come Together Chapter 15 - Heroism Part 3

AN:

Oni: Hello all! You may notice that this chapter is a little...long. And late. Sorry about that. Life got in the way, like volunteering and prepping for the GRE (which I'm taking this Saturday, wish me luck?), and this chapter just got longer and longer.

Tom: She's also writing a guest chapter for Master Potter of Kamar-Taj, as if she didn't already have enough on her plate.

Oni: Oh hush you, you seemed to like the attention you were getting.

Tom: Hmph.

Tom: Oni does not own Harry Potter or the MCU, we are simply wrecking the already Frankenstein-esque sandbox that comes with stitching together these two worlds.

Oni: Aaaaaand ONWARDS!

Those who knew Alastor Moody could describe the young man in a single word.

Paranoid.

He was the kind of man to not only see the glass as half-empty, but to suspect that the remaining liquid in the glass was poisoned. Even the most mundane aspect was something to be cautious about, and to be noted down with suspicion. That was simply the kind of wizard he was.

True, it made his social life difficult, considering he constantly thought every man, woman, and House Elf was trying to kill him, but even then Alastor managed to scrounge up a few loyal (or as loyal as human nature allowed) friends. Norbert 'Nobby' Leach was one of those friends, the two having built up a camaraderie from having to share dorms for seven years (and surviving with their sanity mostly intact). While Alastor was a shoo-in for the Auror Corps, Nobby's persuasive nature drove him to strive to become a politician. To change the way the Wizarding World was run.

Being a muggleborn, however, had shut that particular door for the ambitiously intelligent young Ravenclaw. The world of Wizardry still held many prejudices and that against muggle blood was one of them. Many careers closed to even the brightest muggleborn. Alastor was there when Nobby's letter of rejection came from the Ministry (the owl ruffled after Alastor had cast detection spell upon detection spell to make sure it wasn't sabotaged), and while he didn't show it (softness was a weakness he couldn't afford) he felt genuine empathetic sorrow for his crushed best friend. But persistence was not simply a Slytherin trait, and the Hogwarts graduate managed to find a job working at the Leaky Pot, the muggle counterpart pub to the more well-known Leaky Caldron. It was something to live off of until he got to where he needed to go.

Alastor had visited constantly when Nobby started the job (being the only time he would ever drink anything that wasn't out of his flask, Nobby knew him well enough to watch his drinks), but soon Auror training had taken up most of his time, and the frequency of his visits lessened. But with each passing visit, the paranoid Ravenclaw knew his friend's spirit was being crushed by boredom. Many partrons (be it Magical or not) had not frequented the pub since Grindelwald came into the picture, so most of the time it was just him and Alastor in the establishment (and when there were other patrons, Alastor regarded them with a suspicious eye). Being the the Auror Corps, Alastor had tried to put a good word in for his friend to the Ministry, but seeing as he was simply a Trainee (and a Half-blood), his word weighed as much as a werewolf's.

Then Riddle had come along.

Oh, Alastor remembered Tom Marvolo Riddle alright. It was hard not to, the Slytherin (the Heir of Slytherin) had a rather demanding presence since the boy's second year (why it took two years for the kid to gain traction probably had something to do with his non-pureblood last name) his magic developing into something oppressing and powerful (and Dark. Very, very Dark). Grey eyes had kept a keen eye out for trouble when the boy was around, and anyone who had half a brain knew that it was Riddle who opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed Myrtle Warren, a fellow Ravenclaw (but many stayed silent, or else they would most likely be the next victim). Alastor could easily say that Tom Riddle was as slippery as a frog on a rainy day.

So to hear otherwise from his trusted friend brought alarm bells to his mind (along with the fact that the pub had gotten increasingly more crowded than Alastor was used to). Nobby was a pragmatic bloke, and such a statement was not given lightly by the sometimes cynical muggleborn. Still, hearing something like that (about Riddle of all people) wasn't a thing that Alastor could take by Nobby's own merit (even with their years of friendship). So he took it upon himself to see if the bartender was right. Sitting in the back corner, away from the sight of the mostly muggle patrons (cutting down the amount of eyes that could potentially spot him), the Auror Trainee watched as the Hogwarts dropout (a notch in Riddle's favor, no one dropped out of Hogwarts in their NEWT year unless they were truly invested in their cause) laughed, drank, sang, and told stories alongside the muggle soldiers. The conclusion Alastor had come to at that point was one of two things. Either Riddle had truly changed since the blonde haired Auror Trainee last saw him, or the bloke was the most skilled and dedicated actor Alastor had ever seen.

The verdict was decided after the Leaky Pot bombings.

To say Alastor was surprised to hear Riddle's voice in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (his tone tight and righteously angry) was an understatement. Then again, Alastor himself had only heard the news minutes before from his mentor, and even then the older wizard had been reluctant to give him the information about his closest schoolfriend. At that point Alastor had a silent choice to make - trust Riddle to help him avenge Nobby (who wasn't dead, but seriously injured) or try to go about stopping Grindelwald himself.

For some reason the tone in Riddle's voice as he (unspokenly) fought for Nobby's (and everyone else injured in the blast for that matter) right to live seemed not only genuine, but heartfelt. Despite the fact that his brain was screaming CONSTANT VIGILANCE at him, Alastor had decided then and there to reveal himself, and take Riddle on as an ally. To trust that the Slytherin had truly changed from his old ways.

And now here, in a hidden base in the Alps, Alastor had seen Riddle's eyes flash an unnatural, all consuming crimson red before fading back into enigmatic shifting blue. It was something that happened so fast an untrained eye would have thought it to be a trick of the light, but Alastor was not rising quickly in the Auror ranks for nothing. However, he did not voice this oddity, but slid it into things he should keep an eye on. The sheer determination and fire in the wizard's eyes was enough to tell him the thoughts in his head.

He had once watched Riddle stand in front of a group of people as a prefect, his demeanor demanding attention and obedience. Those people had listened and obeyed with little in the ways of second thought, so sure in the teen's abilities to follow him nigh blindly into the unknown (be it into the Slytherin Common Room or whatever else the wizard had been cooking up pre-Austria). And now Alastor watched as Riddle stood in front of the gathered crowd of fighters (Aurors and Soldiers, Magical and Muggle, unified in one goal) and looked defiantly out to them (not they they could see his face with that mask in place), daring them to challenge his authority. None did.

"I don't need to tell you why we're gathered here." Riddle began, standing straight-backed, the definition of a leader, "Today we come together, both those of magical birth and those of not, united for a common goal and against a common enemy. HYDRA has lost its heart, Schmidt and his plane are as dead and buried as they ever could be. Unfortunately, Captain America sacrificed himself to obtain that victory, to allow us to continue the fight. It is why I stand before you now, a wizard and a member of the Howling Commandos, bound by both worlds to protect and serve all that is right and good, just like you."

Alastor gave credit where credit was due, Riddle could definitely capture the audience. They listened with rapt attention, some nervous, some pumped up, some still upset about the new turn of events. But Riddle pushed on, his voice becoming louder and energetic.

"Right now we stand on the edge of victory and failure, for at the entrance to HYDRA Grindelwald stands with his army in its entirety. Should he prevail, not only would all our work to keep the world safe be in vain, but Grindelwald would take up the torch where Schmidt had failed and achieve powers that would allow him to punish and enslave all under his will. Freedom will be simply a distant dream. It is your decision here and now whether you want to follow in the footsteps of our beloved Captain and make the sacrifice play. To lay down your life so that our world may have a better future. I, for one, am willing to make that choice, and I doubt I am alone. Look to your fellow men - for today they are your brother. Cast aside now your prejudices, whatever they may be, for the men who march and fight beside you are your hope for survival and victory. Today we stand side by side, back to back, as equals and as friends, so that tomorrow we can watch a new dawn rise upon this Earth."

Riddle took a deep breath, having already moved many men with his rousing speech, and Alastor himself felt the genuine emotion in his voice as the newly pronounced Major bellowed his closing statement.

"Wizards! Soldiers! Fighters for freedom! Are you ready to make history?"

The resounding cry of affirmation from the gathered men was almost deafening, and the Auror in training looked out amongst the crowd and told himself that he had made the right choice. Riddle began explaining battle tactics and formations, grouping Magicals and muggles into squadrons that would hopefully work well together. Alastor himself was placed with Riddle and the muggle team of the Howling Commandos. With the attack plan made and the orders given, they all scurried to their positions for the battle against Grindelwald and his army. Fingers grasped his wand tightly as Alastor prepared to fight side by side with muggles, grey eyes ablaze.

Their information was correct. Grindelwald had indeed amassed at the entrance of the facility, and had erected a large ward that covered the entirety of the headquarters (without them noticing, Alastor cursed himself mentally for not picking that tidbit up), the distortion of the 'invisible' wall signaling the ward's presence. There was no way in or out for either party - something highly suspicious. Grindelwald wasn't the type of person to play fair, and while this appeared to be a last stand, Alastor was under no illusion that it actually was.

"He's going to try to make a run for it." Riddle murmured lowly from their hiding place, "Grindelwald will incite chaos and sacrifice his army so that he himself may escape and continue the fight elsewhere. This cannot happen."

"Hence the plan." the muggle woman muttered back, clearly not happy with whatever scheme Riddle had cooked up.

It was almost strange, watching Riddle now. Alastor had kept a close eye on the boy since his fourth year, and the Auror in training (back then just a prefect) had pegged him as a pureblood supremacist. According to Nobby, Riddle had undergone some rigorous torture during his capture in Austria.

"Well, if he's ready to scamper it explains why they're gettin' so twitchy." the red mustached muggle grunted out with a lopsided grin, "Maybe we should fix that!"

Watching the interaction between them, it was obvious that Riddle had done a complete turnaround, becoming the opposite of the Dark Lord in training that he was at Hogwarts. Such a friendly, equal relationship between Magicals and muggles was unheard of even for 'Light' wizard standards. At least, one where the muggle party knew full well of magic and wizards.

"Let the show begin." the oriental muggle mumbled under his breath, earning a short nod from everyone in the group.

With a heaved sigh (which echoed through his damaged 'gas mask') Riddle detached himself from the wall, squared his shoulders, and marched out from his hiding place. Alastor (who stayed hidden with the rest of the group under a disillusionment charm) could pinpoint the moment he was noticed, because Grindelwald's stone mask morphed into a sneer.

"So." the voice of Gellert Grindelwald bounced off the walls of the large chamber, "The blood-traitor of noble and filthy blood has decided to face his destiny."

The army behind him stiffened, ready to attack at their leader's command. But these were civilized men, who spoke before going to war.

"That would depend on your definition of 'destiny'." came the dangerously calm replied.

The false respite. The eye of the storm.

"I do not see your muggle friends with you." Grindelwald noted, his voice deceptively light, "Have they deserted you like...how did you say it? Ah yes, vermin. Or was it something...else? Have you now seen the mortality of muggles, Lord Voldemort? How pathetic they are in their depressingly short lives. Like cattle and sheep, raised for slaughter. Don't tell me that you're mourning the deaths of a few useless muggles. I would have thought better of a wizard of your power, of a wizard wielding the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus."

The temperature of the room began to dip. Grindelwald had struck a nerve. Ice began to creep around Riddle's feet, reminding Alastor disturbingly of a dementor's touch.

"Those muggles were worth far more than you and your army could ever be." was Riddle's answer, served as cold as the ice that began to swirl around his feet, "I will not allow their sacrifices to be in vain. Today is the day you die, Gellert Grindelwald."

A chuckle, free of any real joy, rebounded from the metal walls. The two of them were locked in a verbal dance, their words like the bared teeth of wolves. Though they stood still, everyone watching and listening could see how they circled each other with such carefully constructed conversation.

"No, Lord Voldemort." came the reply, "Today is the day I make an example of you - to show the world what will happen to those that dare defy the natural order of muggles and magicals."

With a flick of his wrist, a bone white wand materialized in Riddle's hand.

"I'd like to see you try."

The statement broke the dam down, and the room descended into pandemonium as both Grindelwald's army and Riddle's army (for that was, for now, what they were) opened fire on each other. Spells and bullets whizzed through the air as soldiers and wizards charged forth for their cause. Looking around, the Auror trainee noted that Grindelwald had indeed fled the scene, most likely to attempt to gain an advantage in all of this madness. Riddle, too, had disappeared, most likely tailing the Dark Lord. Seeing as his duty was in the fight here, Alastor Moody raised his wand and joined the fray.

This was for Nobby.

Weaving through the throng of fighters and flinging killing curses at the wizards who wore the mark of the Deathly Hallows, Tom Riddle pursued the fleeing Dark Lord with a kind of wild energy. For once, he was the predator and Grindelwald was the prey, though a voice in the back of his head still whispered, trying to figure out if there was more to the wizard's escape play than a simple tactical retreat. A spell whizzed past him, its light promising pain and suffering (and, of course, death) to the receiver, which happened to be Gabe. Luckily he had seen the spell coming and had activated his Technomancy shield just in time, the curse shattering on the blue barrier like glass. A brief, victorious smile flickered across the newly promoted Major's face before returning to the resolute frown as he tracked his prey through the madness.

At some point Grindelwald finally broke through the crowd, and Tom along with him. Their footsteps reverberated from the walls of the hanger as one tried to put distance between them and the other tried to regain that distance. Tom's heart hammered in his chest as he was pushed on by sheer rage, casting curse upon curse at the fleeing Dark Lord. These spells were blocked and returned, but the action greatly slowed him down. Now alone with the enemy, Tom could now cast the spell he had been itching to use without causing collateral damage.

"Fiendfyre!"

Wild, untamed fire shot from the end of his wand, taking on the form of a great serpent (the image of Esmeralda, the basilisk that slept in the bowels of Hogwarts) which quickly blocked the exit the Dark Lord was about to take under Tom's Parseltongue command. The flame basilisk moved to cover all escape routes, enclosing the two wizards in a fiery cage as it laid down placidly, watching its master and the enemy with glowing orange eyes. Grindelwald paused momentarily in shock. Fiendfyre was notoriously difficult to control, and here was Lord Voldemort doing so with obvious ease.

"No more running, Grindelwald." Tom's voice echoed from the hanger walls, rising above even the sound of the living flames, "Win or lose, this war ends today."

Tom watched as Grindelwald glanced back at the Fiendfyre snake, mentally weighing his odds. The conclusion was obvious - the Dark Lord had screwed himself over by putting up anti-Portkey and anti-Apparition wards, and dispelling someone else's Fiendfyre (even with the Elder Wand) would take too much time, especially since the creature was autonomous and Tom could cast other spells. What could he do but stand his ground and fight, one on one, like a man? Coming to this end himself, Grindelwald turned to face Voldemort.

"You've gone to great lengths to make sure of it, it would seem." Grindelwald muttered, more to himself then Tom though his voice was amplified by the echoing room.

The wizards circled each other, power rolling off their forms in waves unseen, charging the air with their magic. As a wizard duel commonly required, the two of them kept a distance. This was a bit of a disadvantage for Tom, who had come in leaps and bounds in his melee skills, but as it was most wizards simply weren't well versed in the art of close combat of any kind, never mind fist fighting. Spells soon began to fly in the space between them, multicolored lights that promised pain and death were they to hit their mark.

Silently the two strongest wizards flung dark curse after dark curse at each other, their spells escalating in both speed and power as the fight continued. Grindelwald had the advantage of the Elder Wand, conjuring stone discs to take the killing curses flung at him by Lord Voldemort while Tom weaved in and out of the way at a speed that one would correctly call inhuman, and used his Shield of Loki to absorb the dangerous spells that he couldn't dodge in time.

"I will admit," Grindelwald finally called out as a continuous stream of dark curses left his wand, "You make a formidable opponent! Had your vision aligned with mine like your former followers had promised, the might of magic would have already ruled the world with an iron fist."

Two spells collided in midair, causing an energy pulse that spread from the point of impact, shaking the building. The snake of Fiendfyre stayed vigilant at its post, watching the duel like a divine spectator.

"I am no longer the man they followed." Tom replied, dodging a particularly nasty flesh-eating curse and retaliating with an equally strong bone breaker.

"A shame, really." Grindelwald shot back with, the words followed by an overpowered blood boiler firing off the Elder Wand, "You remind me of Albus. Someone who used to to have such ambition to fix the Wizarding World - for the Greater Good! Only to backtrack in your ways due to sentiment."

Block, block, attack, block, attack, attack, attack. Lights flashing and hitting the walls, some rebounding off of the steel and all leaving scorch marks in their stead. Beneath the mask Tom's brows furrowed in concentration, muttering both incantation and profanity under his breath. As much as he wanted to throw his shield and knock the snide wizard off his high horse, even a small chance of the Dark Lord catching it and gaining a second Hallow was too great a risk. If he made the Fiendfyre snake move from its post to attack Grindelwald, the wizard would use the opportunity to make for an exit.

"It is sentiment that saved me from becoming someone like you." a bolt of magic blasted off Tom's mask as he said this, the lenses shattering beyond repair.

Exposed Tesseract blue eyes narrowed with the delivery of the last word, conveying a kind of hatred that words could not describe. Cruel laughter bounced off the walls once more.

"And what am I, boy?" came the mocking question, "How is it that you see me? A madman? A monster?"

Despite his larger-than-usual magical core and genius intellect, Tom knew he was almost hilariously outclassed. Not only was Grindelwald wielding the most powerful wand ever made, but the wizard also had years of experience that an eighteen year old Hogwarts drop-out lacked. This gap in knowledge and skill started to show as the Dark Lord gained the upper hand, a powerful bone breaker slamming into Tom's right shoulder and causing the younger wizard to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying out.

"Not quite." was the resolute answer, spoken through gritted teeth, "We are both madmen pretending to be sane. We are both monsters who walk in the skin of men. We both have committed countless sins. But one of us understands the nature of men and wishes to live among them while the other believes he can rule over them."

Even with an injured shoulder, Tom continued to cast (though for the past minute all he could do was take pot shots behind the Shield of Loki as he was bombarded with more attacks than he could handle) trying to keep his hand as steady as possible. Adrenaline rushed through his system, numbing the pain in favor of keeping him alive and moving.

"How poetic, yet utterly useless." Grindelwald sneered, "You truly see potential in such backwards, lowly creatures? What is it about them that makes you protect them so?"

The questions were, of course, both rhetorical and spoken out of genuine surprise and curiosity. Grindelwald could see that Tom could not last much longer against him, and so had begun to taunt the losing party. He needed an edge if he was going to win.

"Much can be achieved if one believes in their cause." Tom grunted out, his shield taking the brunt of the spellfire, "And I happen to believe in them. They are not so different from us as you seem to think."

His breathing deepened as he felt for the energy he now knew was inside of him, the magic of his inhuman ancestry. Crimson red bled into his eyes until the color was all that was left, with only two black slitted pupils providing a contrast. Ivory skin became blue and patterned, cold to the touch. This time he noticed the changes, the physical manifestation of the Jotunn blood that coursed through his veins, uncovered after being buried for generations. Its nature had allowed him in the past to heal faster than usual, but the damage done by the Elder Wand was not so easily fixed. Instead of trying to mend his wounds in the midst of battle, however, the power Lord Voldemort called to the surface had only one purpose.

"And I suppose I always had a knack for poetry."

Grindelwald barely managed to dodge the ice pike that suddenly sprouted from the ground. Wide eyes regarded the very much frost giant looking Tom Riddle, before jumping to the side as another spike of ice protruded from the floor, but not without leaving a gash on the man's arm. The expression on the Dark Lord's face was one of both consideration and fear as his eyes oscillated between his bleeding wand arm, the pillars of ice, and Tom's new coloring.

"You weren't being metaphorical when you called yourself a monster, then." came the whisper tinged with disgust before spells flew once more in a violent frenzy.

Tom's attacks switched from spellfire to raw casting, using his Jotunn magic to conjure solid blocks of ice in midair and telepathically flinging them at his opponent, who had to pause in his casting to scramble out of the way lest he be crushed under a hunk of solid ice. He wasn't able to move out of the way fast enough, and ice shrapnel buried itself into his back and side. This level of magic was feral, crude, much unlike the sophistication of Jotunn abilities as told by the annexes of Slytherin. Though considering the fact that he only just learned of the ability the day before, such control was rather impressive.

And such control was heavily draining.

The Potters weren't joking around when they had warned Howard against Tom using his Jotunn magic - there was a reason first years just casting their magic were only taught simple spells. Other than giving them a core foundation, the spells cast didn't need much power or fine control. Over seven years this control built up so that by the time the students get to their NEWT year, the sheer energy they're pouring into their spells isn't as taxing. But Tom didn't have time for that, not while in a life or death battle against arguably the most dangerous Dark Wizard of All Time (as the Prophet had dubbed him). As it was, the younger wizard felt the onset of magical exhaustion. Coupled with the fact he had been crucioed (twice) recently the end result would surely be a bodily shutdown. His entire being began to suffer a great weakness, an ache to his core that were the first signs that he would not be able to take much more of this.

This weakness sparked a loss in concentration, something Grindelwald had quickly picked up on. Bleeding wand arm raised, the Dark Lord smiled in triumph. Tired blue eyes widened as the spell hit him full force, his ears ringing from exhaustion and the booming sound of Grindelwald's voice.

"Crucio!"

For the third time in 48 hours, Tom Riddle fell under the effects of the torture curse, dropping to the ground as his nerves overexcited themselves. Cerulean skin and crimson eyes receded back to ivory (flushed pink from overexertion) and Tesseract blue (reddened with exhaustion) as a scream tore from the throat of Lord Voldemort, too drained to stop it. His yew wand was gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with strain. Somehow Tom managed to find enough strength to grit his teeth and stop screaming, not allowing his enemy any more reason to gloat. Above the writhing teen stood the triumphant Grindelwald, pointing the Elder Wand victoriously at his downed opponent.

"You are arguably the most interesting opponent I've ever come across." the Dark Lord said with no small amount of glee, "But it appears that even you cannot defeat me, Lord Voldemort."

Instead of a despondent expression, a slow, manic smile spread on Tom's face as he rolled into his back and looked up at Grindelwald. Mild confusion shone in the eyes of the older wizard as a laugh (high pitched in mania, as cold as the darkest winter) bubbled from the downed soldier's throat. Tesseract blue eyes were wild and feral, even under the pain. As the Dark Lord questioned the sanity of his enemy, Tom Riddle spoke, his breaths shallow and shaking from the Cruciatus curse.

"Whoever said... it had to be... me?"

Three shots sounded in the hanger, its ringing echo loud in the silence that followed. Shock covered the features of the Grindelwald's face as a ripple in the space behind Lord Voldemort formed, signaling that another person had been hiding in battle the entire time. Tom gave a short gasp as his nerves calmed down, the Cruciatus curse lifted as the Elder Wand was no longer pointed at him. The Invisibility Cloak of Ignotus fell at Tom's sprawled feet. There, in a place that had been previously thought to be empty, stood Peggy Carter, her arm extended with a silver revolver in her hand.

"Ex...Expel...Expelliarmus." Lord Voldemort whispered, using what little magical energy he had for the spell.

Frozen in shock from the sudden appearance of the woman, the Dark Lord only stared as his wand flew from his hands into the waiting hands of the teen on the ground in front of him. Grindelwald brought his hands to his chest as a delayed reaction to holding onto a wand that was no longer there, but felt a wetness there. Shaking, he brought his hands outward, revealing that they were now covered in blood. His blood. Horrified eyes stared at the muggle woman with the 'gon' in her hand and his own empty, blood covered hands before his gaze directed downwards. For from Grindelwald's chest had bloomed three small crimson spots, liquid leaking from the holes that were made from simple metal and gunpowder.

"Downed... by the very people... you claimed were lower... than mud." Tom murmured, "Isn't that... poetic?"

The light of life was already starting to fade from Grindelwald's eyes as the wizard sank to his knees, his entire body shuddering as his heart ceased to beat, a hole torn in the organ. Blood seeped from his mouth as his punctured lungs filled with the liquid, pooling on the floor as the body fell, the dull thud resounding around them. The sound of finality.

Gellert Grindelwald, the mind behind Hitler, the most dangerous and powerful Dark Wizard of all time, was dead.

(Far away in an underground bunker, an Imperius curse lifted from a mustachioed muggle. Horrified with what he had done, he takes the pistol by his side and puts the nozzle in his mouth.)

With a whispered order to sleep, the Fiendfyre serpent dimmed and curled up onto itself. He was distantly aware that someone on the other side had been casting a water charm halfway through the fight (and now that the snake was asleep, the flames dissolved without a fight). A deep, shuddering sigh escaped from Tom. It was finished.

"I cannot believe that worked." came the voice of Peggy, who knelt down to help Tom sit up, "He was going to kill you."

Once he got back, he would probably sleep for a full week due to magical depletion. The only reason he was still awake and barely functioning was because the adrenaline had yet to wear off.

"The... last time I...checked..." Tom muttered breathlessly, "That was... the occupational... hazard of... being a... soldier..."

He sucked in more air, trying to clear away the fog that was enveloping his mind. There was still the other members of Grindelwald's army to take care of, not to mention the remaining HYDRA agents. None could survive if Tom wanted to bury their cause into the depths of hell.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you." Peggy ordered, "You've sustained heavy injuries, and that's not including whatever magical ones you suffered."

Tom directed his gaze towards her, only to see that there were tears at the corners of her eyes.

"I've already lost three people that I cared deeply about in this war." her voice wavered, filled with emotion, "I'm not about to lose you too."

In the end, all Tom Riddle could do was nod as he slipped into unconsciousness, his ears barely registering Peggy's panicked words and the sound of Moody shouting at him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had faced death. He had stood defiantly in front of a crowd of armed men and demanded that they follow his lead. He had cast the worst of the worst curses and had created (and survived destroying) a Horcrux. He had laughed in the face of Grindelwald.

And now he was wearing a deer-in-the-headlights expression in his cot at the Med Bay because Euphemia Potter was giving him the dressing down of his life.

"WHAT PART OF 'YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED' DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND-"

It had been going on for quite some time. Thankfully she had waited until he was decently recovered before launching into her harangue, but she also had the cunning idea of making sure he was still confined to the bed so that he couldn't run away. How positively Slytherin of her.

"-HAVE YOU NO SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION-"

Honestly, Tom thought she was rather overreacting. Sure, he had passed out for almost two weeks straight, but overall his recovery was going steady. Jormungand was hissing in displeasure at her loud voice, but also admonishing Tom for his acts as well. How a tiny snake could have such an intense tone was almost hilarious if it wasn't for the fact that he was being tag-teamed by both his familiar and his mother figure.

"-IF I HAD KNOWN YOU WERE GOING TO-"

It could have been worse, really, though most people seemed to go mother hen over him when Monty explained the effects of the Cruciatus curse and magical exhaustion. He already had to assure his his fellow Commandos of his sure recovery, and Peggy and Howard had taken a little more convincing (as they weren't always with him out in the field) with some (very mild) fibs on how he was feeling. Thank god he was such a brilliant lier or they probably would have gone around the bend, even if they still had given him a rather suspicious look while he had shown them his 'in perfect health' smile.

"-HONESTLY I THOUGHT YOU OUT OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD-"

Hopefully he would be able to leave soon. Steve and Bucky's funerals would be coming along in a week or so, and he wanted to be there (even if it hurt to think about, a pain worse than anything the Cruciatus curse could inflict). It would be performed in the home country (naturally), so Howard would have to fly them out there. There would be a ridiculous amount of fanfare (for both of them, for everyone who had died so that they could win) and a grand procession. Both Spencer-Moon (the Minister of Magic, who was fully aware of the SSR operation) and Winston Churchill (who was both familiar and friendly with Spencer-Moon since the conjoined operation between Tom and the SSR) had stopped by to visit, mostly to warn him (or to them, inform him) of his skyrocketing popularity in both worlds.

"-DYING FROM MAGICAL EXHAUSTION ON TOP OF LOSING YOUR MIND TO THE TORTURE CURSE-"

Now that Captain America had died a hero, Lord Voldemort, who had led the army against the final fight (and had survived) had gained a higher notoriety amongst the muggles (as the fellow Howling Commando who took up the mantle of leader and led the Allies to victory) and in the Wizarding World (as the vanquisher of Grindelwald). Tom had argued that it was Peggy who had killed the Dark Lord, and both men had assured him that she would get due credit (though, seeing the looks on their faces, Tom would have to persuade them not to 'forget'). To think that he would become a household name for years to come. To think that he had finally managed to carve himself a place in the world, amongst friends and... family.

"-NO IDEA HOW CLOSE YOU WERE TO NOT WAKING UP-"

...Perhaps he should say something before Euphemia lost her voice. Unbidden a memory from the past arose, one where Bucky and Steve were sitting around him, chewing him out for his fateful and ill thought out Apparition to Austria.

"I'm...sorry?" Tom tried quietly, gaining the attention of both the Potter matriarch and the tiny asp.

He gained a deep sigh and the serpent equivalent of an eye roll. But before Euphemia could answer, Tom elaborated.

"I know full well my actions." he began, lifting up his hand (a little weakly) to stop another lecture, "And I know that those actions had hurt you. I did not mean to make you worry for my health and safety, but such things are not under my control. Losing Bucky and Steve drove me to do something life-threatening, and I apologize if that had scared you. However, the steps I took also allowed for Grindelwald's demise, so I will not apologize for doing what I thought was necessary."

Another sigh escaped from Euphemia.

"That's a start, my child. That's a start."

Adding 'pallbearer' to the list of duties he had performed was not one that Tom was happy to have. Even more so was the fact that the coffins he and the rest of the Howling Commandos carried were empty, the bodies buried in the snow far away, rotting away alone. As they carried the flag-wrapped coffin of their Captain to his final resting place, a single bugle sounded, playing a sorrowful sounding tune that Tom did not recognize (considering that they were currently on American soil, he had the feeling there would be more foreign concepts that he would have to quickly pick up on).

At the front of the crowd, standing in front of simple chairs next to both British Ministers and a couple other important Allied (mainly American) politicians were Colonel Phillips, Peggy, and Howard (the one who had flown them out here). They gave him a somber nod as he passed them by. With a motion from the overseer, they placed the coffin on the provided stand and sat down in their respective seats. Tom took his place next to Howard just as the priest called for their attention.

A song was sung, catering to Steve's Christian beliefs in life. Tom, who had sworn off churches at a young age (he did not like how he was scrutinized there, his ability to speak to serpents equating with the Devil in their eyes, head forced under holy water for long periods of time), mumbled the basic tune, even with the lyrics in front of him. Thankfully, he noticed Howard doing much the same, and they both shared a quiet grimace, still trying to sing along out of respect for their Captain. Once the music stopped, they were blessedly allowed to take their seats. They were drained enough by the ordeal.

The droning voice of the pastor (or priest. Either way, he wasn't quite fond of them) grated on Tom's already frazzled nerves. As did the words of the 'important' politicians who deigned to speak like they had personally knew the deceased. At some point his mind clouded over and he tuned out the platitudes being spoken from the podium. It was obvious that they were only speaking of Captain America and his legacy, despite their use of the term 'Captain Rogers'. These men did not know him like Tom did (or Peggy, or Howard, or Bucky, who would be put to rest with the other soldiers in a separate ceremony), and so their words felt impersonal, their anecdotes of heroism and sacrifice painting a picture of someone who was the American ideal, not the man he had called his brother. A quick glance to his side told Tom that the others had similar sentiments.

"We now give the stand to any family and friends of Captain Rogers to say a few words."

This caught Tom's attention. As did the movement near him as Colonel Phillips marched up the small set of stairs up to the podium, the pastor moving aside with respect. The older man's stern expression held a deep sadness, held and shared by many who had gathered.

"When I first met Rogers, I thought Doctor Erksine was pullin' my leg." Colonel Phillips began, "I told him that, too. Back then he was a scrawny runt who took hits and punches and gave it as good as he got. But Erksine had taught me a lesson, and through Rogers I saw that lesson in play. It's not just raw strength that wins war. It's honor, determination, and the refusal to give up in a fight, no matter how hopeless the situation. War is won by heart, and Captain Rogers had a lot of heart. A true American Hero. He will be... dearly missed by all of us."

Colonel Phillips stepped down, and Peggy took his place. Then Howard hers, then each Commando. All gave their memories of their beloved Captain, all kept their composure (even if it was jut barely) as they painted a picture of the real Steve Rogers.

"He had an odd aversion to running away..." Peggy had begun, tears threatening to fall as she spoke of the first few days that she met him, before the serum.

"A guy who gave as much as he got..." Howard's voice shook with emotion as he recounted the day Steve had crossed enemy lines to save Bucky, jumping out of a plane with no fear.

"Got spunk for a guy in bright clothes..." Dum Dum commented as he recalled the incident of the actual break-out.

"Sometimes had a weird sense of humor..." Jim joked as he skimmed some of the small moments between missions.

"Always tried to look to the future, even when tough decisions had to be made..." Gabe stated, his expression set in stone as he spoke of things that had to be done.

"Incredibly loyal and contemplative, an artist at heart..." James remembered, his voice faraway as he spoke of quiet nights debating the world.

"Not just a great leader, but a great man..." Jacques' heavily accented voice soberly said, speaking of battles fought together, as a team.

It was like reopening a badly healed wound. The pain that he felt inside increased as his friends (his family) verbally called upon both fond and bitter memories. All too soon the French explosive expert finished his speech, boots heavily thumping down the small set of stairs that lead to the podium. Howard squeezed Tom's shoulder as the pastor asked if there were any more words of remembrance for the Captain. The scientist wordlessly conveyed the only notion that forced Tom to stand.

You'll regret this if you don't.

Each footstep feels laden with lead, the meager stairs a few too many. For once in his life he looks out month the crowd, at a loss for what to say. His face was an impassive mask, a feat in itself considering that he felt a soul deep wound (that pulsed with every word spoken, with every tear held back and every wail denied) inside his chest. Finally he took a deep breath and instead of words, a short, broken laugh escaped his throat. Only after that came words.

"What is heroism? Is it the bravery? Is it the strength? Is it perchance the insanity of fighting even when the battle seems lost? Are heroes only heroes after they've sacrificed something, after they've become martyrs? Idolized and paraded as a public symbol for patriotism and honor?

The day Steve Rogers flew behind enemy lines in Austria, subsequently saving me and over two hundred other soldiers, he had only one goal in his mind. To save his childhood friend, Sergeant Barnes, because no one else could. The core driving force in most all of us is family, and the desire to protect them from harm. For Steve that was Bucky, who was the only person close to family that he had. During the course of the war that family grew, and he had more to care for, more to protect. Colonel Philips, a mentor who had once doubted him. Agent Carter, the fiery fighter that became his girl. Howard Stark and the Howling Commandos, who became brothers in arms. Each of us could count on him for his love and protection, and he could count on us in turn to do the same.

The devastation he felt when Bucky passed was also felt by all of us. We mourned that dreadful day and had vowed to not let his death be in vain. Now Steve goes to join Bucky in the great beyond, brother reunited with brother.

He was... ridiculously forgiving and caring. Willing to smile at those who were broken, willing to take in those who believed themselves to be beyond redemption. Willing to save people from the evils that we faced, even when it wasn't a physical enemy. The man that Steve had saved me from was not some crooked faced Nazi, but myself, because Steve looked at monsters and saw something different. Someone worth loving. Someone worth fighting for.

Today the world mourns the loss of Captain America. An icon. A soldier. A hero. Today a few of us mourn the loss of a brother, who saw potential in us and loved us for who we are.

Farewell, brother, may you be forever be at peace with your loved ones now."

The silence following his speech says more than any words ever could. His bootsteps sounded like cannons beneath his feet, filling the vacuum with its presence. Howard clapped his back as he sat down, his brown eyes glistening with the tears that had been falling since the inventor's own speech. The space at the podium that Tom had vacated was now inhabited by the pastor once more, who spoke some final words and platitudes to the empty coffin laden with flowers and wreaths before asking the congregation to stand for the closing song.

This one was picked by the SSR, as a nod to Steve's final words. A female singer that Tom couldn't be bothered to identify took to the stage with a band, and began the crooning tune that Steve had asked Tom himself to sing before he crashed into the ocean. Along with Howard, Peggy, and his fellow Commandos, Tom began to sing with her.

"Somewhere over the rainbow,

Way up high,

There's a land that I heard of

Once in a lullaby..."

Even then, the tears that threatened to overwhelm him were held back. He refused to cry for the crowd, for the politicians, for an empty coffin.

If Steve's funeral was bad, Bucky's was worse.

This was so for the fact that he was laid to rest, almost nameless, amongst the countless other soldiers that had perished in battle. The remaining Howling Commandos carried his coffin (also empty) to his final resting place amongst the brave and the strong. To Tom it felt wrong to have Bucky's grave so far away from Steve (as 'Barnes' and 'Rogers' were quite far apart in the alphabet), but this wasn't something that he could change. Soon enough the groups split apart, having mourned enough and intending on getting out of their stiff funeral clothes. Each member of his team squeezed Tom's shoulder or patted him on the back as they left, leaving the young wizard alone to face the silent grave.

Tom stared down at the freshly buried soil, at the newly carved tombstone, and at the bare ground around it. Such a sight, so dull, so formal, was a slight on the characters of the men he had called his brothers. Discreetly he looked about him to make sure no one was looking before kneeling down, unfazed by the notion of getting dirt on his clean and pristine uniform, taking off his white gloves.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tom pressed his palms lightly to the soil, feeling the cool dampness, his eyes closed. He reached for every happy memory he could recall of Bucky and pushed them through his hands, the tingling feeling of magic pulsing from him into the ground. After what felt like a lifetime Tom stood up and dusted himself off, inspecting his work. With a small, nearly imperceptible smile (not that there was anyone to see it, other than perhaps Bucky's spirit) he deemed the work satisfactory and finally walked away to join his comrades back at the SSR headquarters located in the United States.

Later, someone would walk by the grave, and marvel at the vibrant blue color in the forget-me-nots that were in full bloom around it, especially at this time of year. When they paused to investigate, they could have sworn they heard the sound of a man laughing happily in the wind.

Thin fingers felt the liquid-like fabric in his hands. It rippled (like a living ocean, silvery, ethereal, a whisper of comfort) under his grip. With the way it hung off of his shoulders, the end barely brushed the ground. As it wasn't in use, the fabric retained an air of mystery, its dull silver coloring sewed together with a dull gold thread. A gift given by a man who called him 'son'.

(The Invisibility Cloak of Ignotus)

The fingers then circled the diamond-like inset in his shield, which was humming (like a greeting, like a song, happy) with power. Currently the Shield of Loki was retracted, only the armband visible on top of his uniform, which now sported the patch that designated him as a Major instead of a Sergeant. It was strange to think that the heart of the shield used to be inlaid in a ring, on the finger of a man that had disowned his mother. To think, in a different life, this could have been passed down naturally to him instead of him stealing it off of the wizard's grimy hand.

(The Resurrection Stone of Cadmus)

Finally bony fingers trailed along the grain of finely polished wood. His newest addition to his magical repertoire, won from the man who had used it to rain hell on the world, just as many had done before him. The wand hummed with something akin to approval, as if deeming him worthy of being its master (as if telling him that this was meant to be).

It was rather longer than average, a proud fifteen inches, and resembled a thin skeleton finger, pointed quite sharp at the end. The knuckles were pronounced (disturbingly so, gnarled and knotted) and the tip was almost blade-like. The base was flat, and carved into the wood in dull gold was the infamous symbol of a circle inside of a triangle bisected with a line. As was the nature of elder wood, the coloring was pale swirled with a crimson, bloody red*. The blood-stained finger of Death, calling all under its mercy back into his arms. An altogether fitting image of a wand that had been the core and cause of so much bloodshed and death.

(The Elder Wand of Antioch)

The 'song', if one could call the silent hum of energy from a magical item that, from all three produced a harmony that pulsed through and around him. It felt sacred, solemn, deathly hallowed. A wand of unmatched power, a stone that could call back shades of the dead, a cloak that could hide oneself even from death. The Three Deathly Hallows, finally united as one. And if one possessed all three...

(The Master of Death)

What did that mean, exactly? Master of Death. Simply a frivolous title, or something with lasting consequences? The legend had told of power unmatched, of conquest over death. All things that the Tom Riddle of many years past would have desired above all else. And yet...

There had been no thunder, no sudden rush of energy, no sudden bought of prophecy or vision or epiphany when he had taken the wand. Even though the wand appeared to accept him willingly as its Master (as opposed to Peggy, who had been the first to shoot its previous owner), Tom had gained no sudden boost in power (that he knew of). And even if he had gained some sort of boon, if it turned out that he did gain some incredible power over death, would all that had transpired be worth it?

Flashes of memories passed Tom by. Brown eyes, blue eyes, smiling in mirth, set in determination, laughing at something the other had said. Two men that were his brothers in all but blood, dead and gone. All the magic in the world was not worth their deaths. He would gladly renounce his magic, the very thing that he had grasped so desperately in his younger years, if that could bring them back to him. Eyes then slid to the stone inset in his armband, the dull gold rune in its crystal center beckoning softly.

But perhaps magic could allow him to see them once more.

A spark of hope made its way into his chest. Shaking fingers easily dislodged the stone from its inset. Such a small thing, and yet it was rumored to be able to call back shades of the dead. How did the story go? Turn it three times?

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." Tom whispered as he slowly spun the stone between his fingers.

Silence. Not even a wisp.

"Captain Steven Grant Rogers." Tom murmured, a little louder, trying again.

Nothing.

A ragged sigh of disappointment escaped his lips. It appeared that not even the fabled artifacts of Death could bring them back.

Perhaps there wasn't much to the old stories as Dumbledore and Grindelwald had believed.

And how ironic would that be? To have their doctrine, their very belief be proved a lie? A war for nothing. All those good men dead and wounded for a lie that two men believed and spread. All this pain and suffering over a few trinkets. A wand that was simply a little stronger than most, a stone that acted as a magical conduit and power source if the right runes were applied, and an Invisibility Cloak that lasted longer than others of its kind. What kind of goal was that? The Tesseract had been a more dangerous artifact in the hands of muggles who knew not its magical nature!

The stone was placed back into its inset, the metal armband polished and gleaming. With the Deathly Hallows coupled with his uniform (minus the gas mask, which Howard had chucked, telling Tom he would make the young man a far superior model) that now contained a multitude of important medals of valor, the man that was Major Riddle and Lord Voldemort struck a imposing figure. But right now Tom felt that he was anything but that. He felt... empty. Hollow. A churning in his chest hurt like no other, sitting there. The black colored velvet-like material never felt more fitting than now. A symbol of death, of mourning, of sorrow. At some point a silver lighter had found its way into his hands, along with a rolled up piece of paper (he couldn't bear to unroll it, to see their faces bright and happy, laughing alongside him).

Something wet streaked down his face. A pale, thin hand caught it, wiping it away. The anger from the days past had dissipated, leaving a hole where the roiling emotion once was. Fingers gripped tight the lighter, chest heaving deep breaths in an attempt to keep his composure.

"...Tom?"

Peggy's voice preceded the woman herself, who was dressed primly in her SSR uniform (and she too had medals adorning her chest). An expression of worry was writ across her face (which seemed to have tear-tracks on them). Behind her was Howard, whose expression was equally morose, dressed in his best black suit (which was of a ridiculously high quality befitting of a Stark). Looks like none of them had changed out of their funeral clothes, then. He had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn't heard them enter the room. For a second they both stood there, regarding the shaking, form of the youngest Howling Commando as he tried to hold back his sorrow (tried to keep it together, tried to be a Lord, a Major, a man that could not be moved) before they moved to sit by him (one on either side), wrapping their arms around him.

"I know. I miss them too." Peggy murmured close to his ear, her words wet with her own tears, "We're all hurting, Tom."

(It's alright to let your feelings go once in a while, you know.)

"But we've got each other now." Howard added quietly, his voice wavering as he too barely held himself together, "And we'll get through this together."

(You're with friends here.)

Finally he allowed the tears to fall, tightly wrapping one arm around Peggy and the other around Howard. The three of them stayed there for quite some time, pouring their sorrows out together. They were right, they were a family. This loss was hard on all of them, but they would get through this together.

Steve and Bucky would have wanted at least that much.

(You can cry.)

Omake 1: Alternate Funeral Scene

"Farewell, brother, may you be forever be at peace with your loved ones now. Both of you will be sorely missed."

The silence following his speech says more than any words ever could.

Then from the back of the crowd came two indignant voices.

"Quit telling everyone that we're dead!"

"Sometimes, I swear I still can hear their voices..." Tom trailed off wistfully.

—

Omake 2: Alternate Fight Scene - The Muggle Way

A loud bang resounded through the hanger, and Grindelwald dropped like a sack of potatoes, a large hole where his forehead was. All eyes turned to Tom, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Monologues can kill."

In retaliation the followers of the now dead Dark Lord began shouting incantations, only to stop in horror as their spells fizzled out before leaving their wands. Once again all eyes turned to Tom, who once again shrugged.

"This hanger is basically a large box, so I had every Auror magically seal it to make it airtight, then placed a couple of Wizard Traps on the walls. Now none of us can use magic, so we'll be doing this the muggle way."

Behind him, the clicking sound of firearms being prepped echoed in the hanger as the soldiers behind Lord Voldemort made themselves known.

"Ready men? Aim... FIRE!"

And the followers of Grindelwald fell under the barrage of bullets and gunfire.

Elsewhere, outside the confines of the 'story', Tom Riddle paced in his office.

"That was a much better idea! Why didn't we do that in the actual storyline?!" The Wizard stewed to a purple clad brunette typing away on a tablet.

"For plot reasons, of course." the girl replied distractedly, grimacing at something on the screen, "Besides, the actual dimensions of the hanger wasn't a box, so sealing it would have been impossible without Grindy and his cronies noticing. Plus, angst and badass fight scenes. Can't forget that. Now hush dear, this guest chapter won't write itself!"

Tom Riddle groaned, his face in his hands. Why was his author like this?

AN:

* Fun fact: Dumbledore's Wand was not designed by the set with the knowledge of it being the Elder Wand in mind. The wand in the movies is made of Oak and has bulbs to look like elderberries.

Canonly, the book states that the wand is made of Elder wood. That being said, have you seen elder wood? The middle is pale and blood red, a way more sinister look than the movie wand.

Hence why this story's Elder Wand looks different (and more sinister)

—

Oni: Aaaaand that's a wrap! Not for the story, just this chapter and arc in said story. There's still quite a bit to get through before we even hit the Avengers timeline. As it is, this chapter was a doozy to write, and I hoped you liked it!

Tom: Don't forget to Follow, Favourite, and Review.

Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!