Chapter 14

"Happy thirteenth birthday, Harry."

He raised an eyebrow, snapping his hand out to catch the offered bag of gold. "My thirteenth birthday was eleven months ago" – he looked into the bag – "and these are just this month's wages."

Marco shrugged. "You wished me a Merry Christmas last week – six months after Christmas."

'You did,' confirmed Loki.

"Whilst the voice in my head says that I did, I don't recall doing it, so I'm just going to assume you're crazy."

The man rolled his eyes, used to Harry's behaviours after dealing with them for a few years. "Anyway," he began, "what I wanted to speak to you about is a potential job. I have contacts within the International Council of Wizards, and a lot of people are trying to push for the reinstatement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It looks as though it will happen."

'A competition between three wizarding schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang,' Loki reminded Harry.

"And, how exactly does that relate to me?" Marco grimaced, making it rather easy for Harry to guess what he was going to ask. "Oh for god's sake, Marco! I've told you a million times that I won't be your bloody sister's bodyguard!" Marco opened his mouth to speak, but Harry interrupted, "And don't even try to deny that's what you were going to say, I saw your expression!"

"Well it was, but I don't have any other options. Maria doesn't like any guards except you for some reason, and she doesn't know that I have a teacher at her school protecting her. She'll want to go to the tournament, but my secret guard will not be able to. They're going to Hogwarts and-"

Harry held up a hand. "I'm going to stop you there. I like my freedom more than I do money, and I'm not going to a school, let alone Hogwarts."

"Please, Harry-" Marco began desperately, but Harry cut off once again.

"I can't go to Hogwarts, Marco," he said, his tone now softer. "I told you when we met that I wouldn't tell you about my past, but I will say now that under no circumstances can I attend Hogwarts unless it is my only option."

With a sigh, Marco let his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. I'm probably being paranoid anyway. In all likelihood nothing will happen, I just…. You know what I mean."

Even if Marco was his friend, this wasn't a situation in which Harry could help him. It had been over a year and a half since he had saved Maria, and he wasn't going to stop avoiding her now, especially if it meant going anywhere near Hogwarts. He doubted that someone as powerful as Dumbledore would be fooled by a disguise as simple as his, and he didn't want his identity to be known yet. It would cause all kind of problems.

"Was there anything else you wanted?" Harry asked.

"Nah, only that," Marco said, seeming to be attempting to do something akin to puppy eyes on Harry. Suffice to say, it wasn't working.

Harry snorted. "Bye, Marco. I'll see you soon."

A grin formed upon Marco's face. "I didn't think that would work. See you around."

With that he turned and walked off down Orrizo Alley, leaving Harry to stand alone.

"Well," he murmured, "off to the muggle world I go."


Gangs in Rome had been getting killed by unusual methods over the past six months. Normally this would fall to the jurisdiction of the magical government, given its proximity to the centre of the Italian magical world, but they had said that no magic had been cast at the scenes – no magic they recognized, at least.

Agent Phil Coulson had a hunch, and his hunches were not often wrong. His theory was only further evidenced by the fact that the majority of the victims seemed to be freezing to death or having an icicle stabbed through them in the middle of spring. When he witnessed a man turn into a blond boy on CCTV footage, there was only one conclusion he could come to: the shapeshifter from Russia was in Italy.

Someone of his ability could be a great addition to the Avengers Initiative, even if his morals were slightly questionable. So far SHIELD knew that he could shapeshift, control ice, telepathically control people, and teleport. With time they might be able to convince him to join them, but first they would have to find him and bring him in, whether he liked it or not – assuming it was a he.


Harry approached the house's door, the location of which he had gathered from interrogating another gang member who had been only too happy to squeal once frostbite claimed his toes. It was not out of some moral superiority that Harry chose gangs to rob, but his targets tended to have their money in cash, and the authorities didn't care too much if a few died, assuming it was simply a gang war. The fact that he held a slight grudge after being kidnapped by one certainly didn't factor into it.

He glanced to his left and right before hiding his wand under his jacket and pointing it at the door, murmuring, "Alohamora." With a click, the door unlocked, and Harry silently slipped through.

It was quiet - suspiciously so - devoid of the usual laughter and chatter that filled a place like this even into the early hours of the morning. A few sounds remained, however, alerting him to the fact that there was not a silencing charm.

Allowing his wand to slip into his right hand and reaching into his jacket for a dagger, Harry walked forward. As with the previous room, the next bore no sign of activity, though guns on the table proved that this was the correct location. What had happened? Had they all gone for a pizza or something? Had-

'Stop!' Loki ordered, causing Harry to freeze. 'Tripwire at the next doorway. You're going to have to go over if you want to see what it's attached to.'

With great caution, Harry stepped over the wire and crouched down to look at the device. Closer inspection revealed it appeared to be attached to what he recognized as something similar to a flashbang grenade. He frowned. A muggle trap then. That was to be expected in a muggle house, but it destroyed his slight suspicion that the Italian magicals had picked up on his pattern of attack and laid a trap. He had been quite predictable, striking when large amounts of money had been in his target location – that was something he would have to change.

It had to be the gang then, but using non-lethal methods of attack meant that someone else was here. Harry stood from his crouch, suddenly more alert as he began to push his magic into skin, reinforcing it. He was normally far more durable than a normal human, though could still be penetrated by bullets.

Whilst he couldn't boost himself to Asgardian levels, it would make him bulletproof, though a hit would still hurt like hell. It was the best option, however. Creating a shield that protected all of him would be a waste of energy if it were to stop multiple bullets, and he wouldn't be able to react whilst a bullet was in the air. It would hit him before he heard the gun go off.

He glanced at the room's doors and decided it would be best to leave. Money wasn't really an issue for him and he already had more than enough; he just took more partially out of greed and partially because he had no idea what the future held. Nonetheless, his life was certainly more valuable.

As he turned to exit, the sound of metal hitting wood sounded and he was instantly spinning, an icy wind bursting from the tip of his wand and flinging the object back to the room from whence it had came.

'Another flashbang!' Loki yelled.

Harry was immediately acting. A flashbang, as the name implied, relied on a bright flash and loud bang to heavily disorientate its target.

"Obscurro," he muttered, his wand pointed at himself as he cast the blindfolding charm. He didn't get time to do anything but open his mouth to negate any pressure before a tremendous bang burst through the air and his vision was briefly illuminated, even through the blindfold.

Dispelling the charm upon himself, he charged forward, into the other room. Immediately, he was confronted by the sight of two man in black combat gear, each toting assault rifles. All appeared to have been heavily affected by the grenade, making it easy for Harry to slam a kick into both of their helmets, saving his magic for any others as he knocked both unconscious.

A floorboard creaked behind him and he span, summoning a barrier of shimmering gold into existence. It caught what appeared to be two wires fired from a taser and Harry let it dispel, thinking a banishing curse as he blasted the man backwards and out of a window. Glancing out said window revealed dozens more armed men rallying outside and Harry ducked out of sight, gathering the concentration required for apparation – and then he was on his on his back, his head swimming.

When he had attempted to apparate, it had felt as though he had crashed into a wall, and there was only one thing that could've meant.

'How the hell do muggles have anti-apparation charms?' Harry demanded. While they were muggles and he was fairly confident of his chances against them, there were at least thirty, all with assault rifles, and going up against them was an unnecessary risk. He had a slight suspicion as to who these people might be, and if he was correct, he didn't want to go and display the repertoire of combat spells he had learnt over the past few years.

'I don't know, but we can worry about that later.'

Anything else Harry was going to say was cut off as he felt something impact his back and then electricity was coursing through him, bringing a burning pain along with it as it ruthlessly ripped apart the disorientation that had allowed it to hit him in the first place. The sensation only lasted for a moment, however, as a cool numbness spread over him, Loki negating all pain and muscle contractions caused by the taser.

With coldness already coursing through him, Harry turned and surged forward, barely registering the man in front of him before he slipped the dagger's freezing-cold blade into his gut. The attacker didn't have time to be shocked that an apparent teenager had just stabbed through a stab-proof vest before his helmet was ripped off and his head slammed into the wall.

If Harry had stabbed any further, the man would most likely already be condemned to death. He had, after all, finally gotten around to enchanting it, making it supernaturally sharp and durable when he poured his magic into it, turning ice cold as a side effect. It would probably take a magical healer to do anything about a stab in the stomach worse than this one. Killing, however, was not Harry's current intention.


As the next round of soldiers entered the room, Phil Coulson walked behind them. After the wardstone he had "borrowed" from the wizards had stopped his target's teleportation, he had been confident that they would not escape. The house was covered in all directions by dozens of SHIELD agents, each armed with both tranquillizer darts, live rounds, and tasers.

The sight that confronted him proved that he had been right to be confident. Laying against the wall with a dart in his neck, taser coils attached to him, and handcuffs upon his wrists, was the target, his chest gently rising and falling. Three unconscious men were laid on the floor, two apparently devoid of serious injury whilst the third had a knife wound in his stomach.

"Get the wounded agent to the nearest hospital ASAP, they'll be better suited to deal with this than we are at the moment," Coulson ordered, motioning for two men to carry the agent out before moving over to the shapeshifter. "Don't touch him yet. We don't know whether or not his powers will react violently. Just make sure that he doesn't move."

He ran his eyes over the scene. From the looks of things, the agent who had been stabbed must've managed to neutralize the target before falling unconscious from his wounds. The weapon the target had used wasn't visible, but he had probably sheathed it. A few minutes later, he was torn from his thoughts as the boy in front of him groaned, but it was a deep noise befitting of a man. Perhaps the shapeshifter was returning to his true form?

The boy's form began to distort, and then a soldier dressed the same as the ones currently pointing their guns at him warped into existence – the same soldier that had been driven to the nearest hospital a few minutes ago.

Coulson swore, his hands going straight to his radio. "Medi-Evac, do you copy? You are potentially in danger-"

He heard the radio turn on, and an agent briefly began to speak, but then tires squealed and the sound of a car crashing burst through the speaker. The radio sounded as though it had tumbled to the floor. It picked up the noise of grunting and a few blunt impacts, and then someone picked it up. "Better luck next time, Agent Coulson," said a voice he remembered from Moscow almost three years ago.

The radio thumped against the floor again, and then there was only silence. Once again, Coulson cursed. This was the second time he had been played by the same target, and somehow, he felt it wouldn't be the last.

A/N: So, finally there's some illusionary trickery. Tell me what you thought.