Safe Harbour

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Avengers. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: They meet when Clint is bleeding out from a stab wound inflicted by his brother, and the rest - as the story goes - is history. Or, the one in which Laura Barton is Laurel Potter - or was, once upon a time. Laura (fem!HP)/Clint. OOC. Pre-Avengers AU.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult themes.

Author: tlyxor1.

Safe Harbour

Chapter One

After the war, when all that is left is to pick up the pieces of their scattered lives, Laurel Potter returns to Privet Drive. The place is empty, and she's not quite sure why she is there, but she settles herself at the curb, folds her arms over her knees, and contemplates the future. She is tired, she is world-weary and battle-scarred, she is at a loss of what she ought to do next, but Little Whinging is familiar, and she could almost call it home.

In the wake of Voldemort's demise, Laurel takes comfort in the suburban monotony, and reflects on what she wants from her newfound freedom. There is no more Dumbledore to govern her choices, there is no more dark lord to threaten her life, there is no more prophecy to dictate her fate. Her future is her own, and the concept is almost terrifying.

In truth, Laurel had never planned a life beyond Voldemort. She had expected to die in their final confrontation, and she is left oddly bereft by her continued survival. She's glad of it, of course, but now she has adult concerns to contend with - like bills, taxes, and government policy - and Laurel is way in over her head.

Across the street, Mrs no.5 watches her from the kitchen window, and Laurel stares back, shameless.

"Maybe you should travel," Hermione ponders. She's stretched out across the grass, her head pillowed by her handbag, her eyes on the sky. "I mean, it seems like everyone's doing it."

"Not really," Laurel argues, but the thought is tempting. She's never left Britain, and she has always wanted to see the world. These days, there's nothing holding her back. Thus, it's not a difficult choice to make. "I think I will."

"Good." Hermione smiles, pleased. She's spent the last month insisting that Laurel's done her part, that she should leave the rest to the adults who owe her that much, and also convinced that Laurel's heard none of the words she's said. In fact, it couldn't be farther from the truth, but Laurel is far too tired to get into that. "Where will you go?"

Laurel exhales through her nose, clambers to her feet, and approaches Hermione's car. It's a gift from the latter's parents, a nondescript Mazda with a stick shift and leather seats, and Hermione adores it. Laurel idly wonders where her friend has found the time to obtain her provisional license, but she's not curious enough to ask. It doesn't seem important, in the grande scheme of things.

"Anywhere," she answers Hermione, "Everywhere. Just so long as it's far from here."

Hermione sighs, weary. "I don't blame you. I'm almost tempted to leave, too."

Laurel settles in the passenger seat of Hermione's car, the curly haired brunette ignites the engine, and The Cure filters from the speakers. They listen in a contented, companionable silence, Hermione navigates the streets of Little Whinging, and Laurel hums along to 'In-Between Days'.

"You'll have to sort out all of your paperwork," Hermione says, "Have you got a passport?"

"No," Laurel answers, "But I've found everything I'll need to get one. It seems my parents were a lot more organised than I'd assumed."

"That's good," Hermione answers, "I've spoken to Luna, and apparently the process in the magical community is a lot more efficient than the mundane side of things. If all goes well, then you'll have a passport by your birthday."

Laurel grunts her acknowledgement, London passes by her window, and Robert Smith sings on. As he does, the future seems a little less unclear, and Laurel Potter has always worked best with a goal to work towards.

This time, she knows, will not be any different, and despite herself, Laurel can't wait.

Hermione, as it happens, is just as eager. The same cannot be said for almost everyone else.

It's somewhat disappointing, in all honesty, but Laurel is undeterred. She intends to be selfish for once in her wretched life, and if they can't accept that, then that is not her problem.

It's not everyone who disapproves of her choice, of course. There are those who are open with their support and encouragement, and isn't that just the story of her life?

"I'll be travelling with Blaise Zabini for a few months," she informs Hermione, "Through most of eastern Europe, I think. I'll meet up with Neville in Greece, and we'll spend a few months together, too. I've written to Viktor, and he'll meet me in Bulgaria, show me around the Slavic countries before he sees me onto a plane from Russia to Alaska."

"You've got everything planned out, haven't you?" Hermione wears a bemused smile on her face, tinged with something bittersweet. "You don't need me at all, really."

"Don't be ridiculous," Laurel scoffs, "I'll always need you."

Hermione doesn't agree, but she doesn't argue the point. They're long passed the days where they need to be validated by each other, and maybe this separation will be good for them.

Laurel can hope, anyway.

"Where will you go from there?" Hermione queries.

Laurel shrugs. She has a vague idea to travel around North America for a while, but that leg of her journey is at least nine months away, and she hasn't thought much on it. A part of her still can't believe she's even leaving Britain, but that's generally how it goes, isn't it?

"Are you excited?"

"Of course," Laurel answers, "It'll be good to get away."

Laurel glances around them, at the house that will never truly be home. Grimmauld Place is much nicer to look at these days, but the memories therein haunt her, and she already has enough demons to keep her up at night.

"Tell me about it," Hermione hums, brushes her hair out of her eyes, and stares absently beyond one of the drawing room windows. The scar that traverses the side of her face, hairline to jaw, stands out in stark relief, and Laurel looks away. She can't bear the reminder, and she hates herself for her cowardice. She wonders why Hermione doesn't hate her, too.

She's not brave enough to ask.