Daphne is feeling incredibly woozy. She blames Loki and his strange teleportation thing for that. It's better than Apparition, but only just.

'Merlin,' she mumbles, and collapses on the floor of the hotel suite they've ended up in.

'Daphne?' asks a hesitant voice.

'Mmm.' God, this is a nice floor.

'Are you alright?'

'Mmm.'

'Daphne.' The voice is more insistent now. It's a nice voice, but right now Daphne just wants it to go away so she can sleep.

'Daphne,' says Loki for the third time. No response. He taps her shoulder and she mumbles something incomprehensible and curls up into a ball on the hotel carpet. He wonders if he's managed to break her somehow – it really is impossibly easy to do that to humans, they don't seem to realise just how fragile they are. Maybe it's just best to let her sleep. Just for a little while.

She stirs about an hour later, wincing as she comes to and rubbing her neck as she sits up.

'Did I fall asleep on the carpet?' she says, managing to sound both groggy and horrified at the same time.

'Yes,' he replies. She curses.

'Wand,' she orders.

He gives her an I-have-absolutely-no-clue-what-you're-talking-about look and she sighs.

'The stick in my things that you picked up in S.H.I.E.L.D.,' she explains, and his brow clears, bringing out the small bundle of belongings from underneath his robes. She grabs them and rummages through the things. There's not much – various plants and some scruffy notes on parchment, as well as what looks like a quill, wrapped up in a nice-looking navy cloak with some kind of silky lining. Most of this is discarded on the floor in favour of a stick that is only about 11 or 12 inches long, but definitely looks like it has been made, not found. She starts muttering words as she waves it around, and he stares in fascination as the small cuts and bruises on her skin heal before his eyes as if they had never been there in the first place. Another few waves cleans and mends her clothes and a final wave (this one a rather vindictive one) sends a small, black device shooting out of her forearm onto the carpet.

'The hell is that?' she hisses, healing the wound with a sharp jab, but Loki thinks he recognises it.

'It's some form of tracking device,' he remarks, picking it up and turning it round and round, 'they're quite fond of them, I believe.'

Daphne frowns, but after a few seconds her eyes grow wide and she swears.

'What is it?' asks Loki, already feeling slightly wrong-footed by the whole magic stick thing, and not liking not knowing anything else.

'We need to go,' Daphne says briskly, already gathering her stuff back into a bundle, 'it's a wonder they haven't found us already. How long have I been asleep?'

'An hour, perhaps?'

Daphne swears and holds out her arm.

'Grab hold.'

Loki frowns.

'My way of travelling is far easier, Witch of Midgard.'

'Do you know where we're going?' asks Daphne sweetly.

Loki sneers.

'I have no need of your human directions—'

'Loki. Grab hold of my arm, NOW.'

There is steel in her tone, and Loki swallows his objections, and takes her arm. What follows is possibly the most unpleasant journey he has ever experienced. It's like being squeezed through a small tube and when they arrive at wherever it is Daphne has taken them, he feels rather ill, as if some of his insides are still in a cheap American hotel instead of...

'Where are we now?' he snaps, breath fogging in the night air.

'Just outside Diagon Alley,' Daphne replies, and waves her wand, making glowing numbers appear in the air next to her.

'And it's 3.08 in the morning. Fabulous,' she says briskly, 'S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn't be able to follow us here. Now we just have to pick up Harry.'

'Who is this Harry?' enquires Loki, just managing not to sneer again, 'and why is he so important to you?'

Daphne looks momentarily surprised, and then pensive.

'He's a wizard, from my world,' she says, 'he's a hero back there. I don't really know him that well – we went to school together but we... moved in different circles. I guess I just feel a little responsible for him,' and she shrugs, 'I mean, I was the one who told him to Apparate off, and he hasn't got his wand or anything...' she trails off and purses her lips, thinking.

'He should be here,' she murmurs, eyes flicking around the deserted street, 'we're only an hour late... Oh. Oh, no.' she turns to Loki, eyes wide.

'Trackers.'

Loki looks a little blank.

'They fitted him with a tracker,' Daphne elaborates, 'and because we didn't get to him in time, and he hasn't got a wand...'

'S.H.I.E.L.D. have him,' Loki finishes.

'Again,' Daphne groans.

XXXXXXXXX

Harry, meanwhile, is having an absolutely terrible time, alone in the middle of Muggle London with nothing but a set of scruffy clothes to his name. Having just reacted to Apparating as if he'd never done it before (and wasn't that humiliating? Ron would've laughed his head off – although it's better than Splinching himself) he's now contemplating the space where The Leaky Cauldron should be with an expression usually reserved for the deathbed of a loved one. He wonders how Daphne will find him now.

Bloody hell, it's been a night. He'll just have to wait here for her, then; hopefully she'll run into the same problem he has, and find the same solution. He hopes she doesn't take long – he feels so useless without a wand, and with no Alley, and no Ollivanders, that's not a problem that's likely to be rectified any time soon. Sitting and waiting is hardly the most heroic thing to be doing, but right now, it's his only option. His hand rubs absentmindedly over his left forearm, itching around a small circular wound. He frowns down at it. He doesn't remember getting that in the raid – it must have been here, he must have caught something when he fell, or when he was in the cell... He sighs, and finds a nice, secluded little alcove to wait for Daphne in.

It's about half an hour later when some people finally show up. A quick glance shows no sign of Daphne's dirty blonde hair, and Harry sinks a little further into his alcove.

'Tracker says he should be right on top of us,' comes a man's voice from the little group of people, 'proceed carefully, guys – he shouldn't be armed, but God knows these freaky magic people don't need weapons.'

Ah, Muggles. The universe may change, the world may turn upside-down, but Muggles still think he's a freak. Isn't that comforting. Harry tries a wandless Notice-Me-Not charm, just on the off-chance, but he doubts how strong it is. Too dangerous to risk running out, unless... wait, back up, tracker?

Several pieces fall into place, and Harry grits his teeth and starts ripping at the skin on his left forearm. It's painful as hell (or one of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curses) but he manages not to cry out, and eventually unearths a small black chip, and discards it in his alcove. He takes a deep breath and weighs his options. He could stumble out of his alcove, pretending to be Muggle – drunk and rambling, he's done it before – or he could pray that he gets lucky, and try Apparating again. Quite apart from the risks of not doing it with a wand, that would create a lot of noise, but they already know he's here, and his acting skills have always been rudimentary at best, so...

Agent Barton spins round at a large crack from his left. He waves the rest of the team round; the sound seems to have come from an alcove of sorts, and he makes sure they have it completely surrounded before he gives them the nod, and they storm it.

It's empty.

Well, nearly. Barton finds a small, bloody tracking chip on the floor, and tries not to swear, but bloody hell, they've lost him, lost one of the freaky magic people who could potentially destroy the world, and Director Fury is yelling in his ear, and he's really not having a good day.

'Target lost, repeat, target lost; fall back, fall back,' he barks through the earpiece, and the small team back off, and head back the way they've come. He sighs, pockets the abandoned tracker, and follows them. Fury'll give him hell for this back at base.

XXXXXXXXX

Barton is right – Fury does give him hell for losing the man. And the woman, and Loki, but technically that wasn't his fault. Natasha turns up halfway through his chewing-out, smirking slightly and dragging a bored-looking Captain America with her.

'Stark's bringing Banner, but there's been no success contacting Thor as yet,' she reports, before sliding into a seat to continue watching the show, passing a couple of files over to Steve, who flicks through them with eyes that grow wider and wider.

'Wait,' he interrupts, just as Fury's getting really into his stride, 'these people have magic? Like, actual, wand-waving magic? Like Merlin and King Arthur kind of magic?'

Fury glares at him.

'Yes. Any more stupid questions, or can I get back to disciplining the operative who managed to let one of these incredibly dangerous people go?'

His voice has risen to a shout by the end of the sentence (not that it ever started out really quiet), and Natasha winks at him before saying, 'Fire away, Director,' and leaning back in her seat. He shoots her a look that promises retribution, and she ignores him in favour of her nails. She's smiling though, just a little.

Fury finishes his tirade a little before Stark saunters in, Banner looking resigned behind him.

Stark is typically optimistic about how easy it will be to take the wizards out.

'Super easy. We find them, we suit up, we take them out.'

'Loki is with them,' reminds Steve, frowning.

'Eh, we've dealt with him before. Plus Big Brother should be on the way, right?'

Everyone turns to Natasha, who shrugs. 'They're trying to contact him,' she reiterates, 'but last I heard, no success.'

Steve looks like he wants to argue (and when does he not where Stark is concerned?), but Banner is nodding thoughtfully.

'I'm with Tony on this one,' he says slowly, 'it's two unarmed civilians. I don't think it'll be too hard.'

'No need to bring out the big guy then?' asks Stark, eyes on his (very sleek) laptop, fingers running a mile a minute over the keys.

'Maybe not,' replies Banner with a small smile. Barton can't help but feel a little relieved at the absence of the Hulk, and he's pretty sure Natasha feels the same, although she would never say it.

'I have a different job for you, Banner,' says Fury, 'you're gonna figure out what the hell these things are, and how we can use them.'

The objects he's slammed on the table are a stick, a bag of black powder, some freaky horn thing with legs, and a cube with strange drawings all over it that glows with a faint green light.

'Oooh,' says Stark, glancing over the top of his laptop, 'can I play too?'

XXXXXXXXX

'Argh!' moans Daphne, banging her head softly against a nearby wall, 'why didn't I tell him to go somewhere else? Guatemala or New Zealand or anywhere! And why didn't you wake me?' she cries, turning on Loki, who looks ready to shout right back at her, and be a lot more terrifying whilst doing it, when a crack resounds through the air, and a man with messy black hair appears in front of them.

'Harry!' cries Daphne, 'thank Merlin, I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. had you!'

'They nearly did,' mutters Harry grimly, and Daphne sees the wound on his arm.

'Oh, Merlin and Morgana, did you have to rip out your tracker?' she looks horrified, and Harry nods.

'Only way I could get out without them finding me again,' he says, whilst Daphne pokes the wound lightly with the tip on her wand, 'thanks,' he adds, examining his newly healed arm.

'You made it out alright then?' he asks, gesturing to them both.

Daphne nods.

'You are Harry then?' ask Loki, with the air of one asking after a particularly volatile animal, 'a Wizard of Midgard? One of Daphne's kin?'

Harry blinks.

'Er, yeah, I guess, somewhere down the line,' he mumbles.

Daphne rolls her eyes.

'Hooray for inbreeding.'

It's Harry's turn to roll his eyes now, whilst Loki looks confused, and annoyed that he is confused.

'So,' Harry says, 'do you guys have a plan? Or are we just winging it?'

'No need to look so hopeful, Potter, I'm sure we can put your remedial classes to good use.'

Harry scowls, but does put on his painfully obvious thinking face. Loki is doing his best to look bored and aloof, but Daphne makes a mental note that he will want an explanation, and preferably a private one that doesn't draw Harry's attention to his ignorance.

'From what you've said, I'd guess S.H.I.E.L.D. will be after us,' remarks Harry thoughtfully, 'although we've gotten rid of our trackers, and I can't see them knowing any way to track us from my stuff. I'd say we're pretty safe for the time being. Maybe we should find a hotel or something to hole up in whilst we make more concrete plans, but I'm pretty sure we have at least twelve hours of breathing room.'

'And how, exactly, will we pay for a hotel?' asks Daphne, trying not to feel like she's explaining massive plotholes to a three-year-old, 'with all the oodles of money we have?'

Harry looks at her like she's being deliberately obtuse, which is quite galling, all things considered.

'You're a witch,' he says, like it should be obvious, 'Summon some money. Honestly, summon my things while you're at it. You could even cast a Confundus charm. Come on Daphne, engage your brain.'

'Oh, well I'm sorry, Senior Auror,' she snaps, 'for not instantly turning to crime to pay my way—'

'Come now, children, play nice,' interjects Loki sanctimoniously, and both of them glare at him.

Daphne even considers the merits of a good hex on one or both of them, before holding up her wand and saying clearly, 'Accio Harry Potter's belongings.'

Five minutes later, they are still standing there. Loki is making ice patterns on a shop window, Harry is slouching and looking grumpy, and Daphne is still in the same position.

'Too far away,' says Harry finally, 'the charm won't work.'

'Right,' says Daphne, 'well, let's at least find some money.'

The summoning charm does work this time, and at Harry's suggestion, Daphne duplicates a few hundred copies of a £20 note, shoving them into a hastily conjured bag, before sending the purses back from whence they came, and moving off to try and find a hotel where they can stay.

They don't have to walk that far before they find a fairly decent one, and (with the aid of a subtle Confundus Charm) manage to book three rooms with no questions asked about the lateness of the hour, or the strangeness of their attire.

'Well, I don't know about you two but I am knackered,' says Daphne with surprising cheerfulness, 'how about getting a few hours of sleep and meeting at breakfast to discuss our master plan? Shall we say half past nine?'

Harry nods, wishes them both goodnight, and slopes off down the hall to his room.

Daphne catches Loki before he can do the same.

'Thank you,' she says with painful sincerity, 'for coming back for me.'

Loki looks at her. 'It is a cruel thing,' he says finally, 'to imprison a witch.'

Daphne supposes that's all the explanation she'll get for now. 'Well, thank you anyway. Goodnight,' she adds, turning for her own room, and just catches him inclining his head in her direction before he does the same.

She thinks she hears a 'Goodnight,' in return, but it's so faint that it could have been a whisper of wind, or a creaking of the door hinges.