"They told him everything?"

At the front of his skull, just behind his eyes, Strucker was forming a migraine. He'd risen for the day not three hours ago and it was already shite. He was back on a video conference with his fellow heads, Pierce having been the one to call it with some unfortunate news. Their betrayed wizards had wasted no time at all running right into SHIELD's open arms.

"Not everything. Their version of events are predictably skewed, and they purposely omitted a few key details: Potter's identity being the biggest."

"For what reason?" Hale wondered.

"They want pity, and it'd be very hard to gain any such thing if SHIELD knew the wizards were complicit in bringing in the boy."

"Complicit," Strucker laughed. "They led the charge."

Pierce shrugged, unconcerned with the semantics. "Either way, they don't know about him. Or what we plan to do with him."

The Banker looked surprised. "You still want to go ahead with the attack?"

"Why wouldn't we? In enough time I'm sure this alliance could be some cause for concern, but what can they do in a month? Everything they know- which wasn't very much all things considered- they've either already shared or chose to keep to themselves." Pierce lifted a finger, raising another for each point he listed off. "SHIELD knows we haven't died off, they know we have the mages, and they know we plan to do something with them. And that's all. Now is not the time to get nervous and start second guessing ourselves."

"The Secretary is right," the Sheik said. "Let them squirm, there's nothing they can do before it's done."

Pierce nodded his thanks. "We keep to it. So tell me, how close are we to fully prepared?"

"We're in the final stages," Hale reported. "The security plan for the memorial service is coming in today, I have a man on standby to make any amendments needed and swap out the original before it's distributed among secret service."

"I've a shipment of gear scheduled for drop off the end of this week," the Banker said.

"And a few additions to your armory the week after," added the Sheik.

"My reserves are headed to Cardiff in the morning for their first blooding." Was Strucker's own contribution. "And my main unit to Romania to stir the pot a bit more. We want the Task Force just on the edge of frenzy in time for the service."

Pierce smiled, beyond pleased. "Travel and lodgings for the big day have been arranged. We'll be just on the border of the city but still well out of the way of the fireworks. I'll have the itinerary distributed end of day."

"Shall we sign off then?" The Banker asked. "Reconvene in a week's time?"

There was a ripple of agreement, a few polite partings, and then the screens all around him went dark.

Strucker stood there in that moment, in the quiet, soaking every bit of it in because now they were in the final stages, and there was no more time for rest or quiet. From here on it was going to be constant planning, moving, acting until...until it was done. And after actual centuries of plotting and preparation, HYDRA's goal was finally going to be seen through.


Walden had never been afraid to admit that Potter scared the shit out of him. Looking at him at first, he didn't seem like one to instill fear, he was skinny and short and maybe those haunted green eyes were a little unsettling, but he wasn't anywhere near intimidating enough for someone of Walden's stature to fear. The others certainly didn't.

Seeing Walden brought to his knees that first day had earned Potter a healthy bit of wariness from the mages, and watching him fight on the mats, just the barest fraction of his power free, helped skew that wariness to the side of cautious respect. But nothing- not even witnessing Potter executing those muggles in the recruitment center, or slaughtering the best men the ICW could put together with no wand and a shadow patronus to haunt their worst dreams, could scrounge up more than bit of awe.

And he could understand why. Potter was meant to be on their side. Whatever Strucker had done in the months between their rebirth and his official addition to the team had made him wholly loyal to the Baron. They didn't fear him because they were sure HYDRA had beaten the threat out of him.

But Walden knew better, Potter had touched his soul and the connection had not been one sided. He'd felt the weight of his magic, how powerful it was, how ancient and it was not the sort to be pushed down and controlled for long. Eventually it would tear free from its constraints and turn on the ones who'd tried to control him, just as it'd done the aurors.

He could see it already, the change in Potter. He still looked to Strucker with unreserved trust and adoration, but when the man wasn't around there was confusion too. Maybe even a bit of uncertainty. And more than once during training, he hesitated just before the kill, not enough to cause suspicion, but Walden was looking and so he noticed.

He knew eventually he would have a choice to make, a side to choose. He could help the boy who had caused his life and world so much ruin, or he could regain his position as number one and lead HYDRA into their glorious future.

A tough one for sure, and yet when it came time to it the choice was a surprisingly easy one to make.


Harry's team was sent out to kill again two weeks after the first job and this time around went markedly better than the first. The task force had upped security after the first attack, enough so that it felt more like a slightly unevenly matched fight rather than the straight massacre the last had been, but it was still a fight that ended in their favor. Not to mention Harry wasn't shot again which was an enormous plus in his book.

Meanwhile the mages made from the donors who'd come before Harry were sent out on their own op the week before. By all rights it was a success: their marks were handled accordingly, none of their own were injured, and they made it out without casting any suspicion on HYDRA, but Strucker was still less than pleased with their performance.

Soft, he called them, because when the begging started (as it always did) the mages had shown hesitation, one even apologized to the women who pleaded to be weakness among HYDRA's ranks could not be allowed. So he tossed them to his favored team, told them to 'toughen them up" and that they had a week to get it done.

However Harry had all of zero interest in coaching the baby mages on how to get through a mission with some degree of dignity, so he fell back and allowed his second in command to take the lead.

"Our first was hard too," Walden tried commiserating with the nervous looking team. "The way they were all lined up in rows, powerless to do anything- to even try to save their own lives. It wasn't what I thought it would be. But to show hesitation, doubt, compassion is to show weakness, and weakness is the antithesis of HYDRA."

"They told us we were failures," a young woman with hair like a Weasley whispered. "That we wouldn't ever be needed outside the lab. We're not meant to be killers."

"Neither was I," Angel said, then gestured to Iola who sat on the sparring mats behind Mihaela, weaving braids into her dark hair. "Or her." He pointed at Harry, leaning against the far wall, shoulder to shoulder with Fen. "Or him. But we signed ourselves to HYDRA, they gave us our magic back and in return we're whatever they need us to be."

Harry bit on the corner of his lip, suppressing a smile. He'd gotten through to his team that day on the plane, they hadn't questioned any of Strucker's methods since. The smile went away on its own though, when his gaze darted over to Walden. Or, at least, most of them hadn't.

Nothing had come of the man's treasonous confession whispered that night in Harry's quarters, but a lot had happened the past two weeks, and there was no statute of limitations on wrongdoings within HYDRA.

"I understand that," admitted another of the reserves, a man nearly twice Harry's height and completely bald despite being relatively young looking. "I accept it. But I don't have to be happy about it."

"None of us are," Harry sighed. He was the head of his team, he shouldn't leave them to do all the work. "We're not here because offing muggles is fun." There was a scoff from the other side of the room and he quickly amended that statement. "Okay, well, Mihaela is. But the rest of us are here because we have a debt to pay. This is us paying it, we step out that door we're HYDRA, nothing we do can reflect poorly on them. And weakness reflects the poorest."

"What's your debt," a small woman with a surly face who Harry remembered was named something flower themed asked.

Harry raised a brow. "My what?"

"Your debt. You didn't lose your magic, so why are you here fighting for HYDRA?"

He considered for a moment, mulled over the question. "Atonement," was what he finally settled on.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm the reason you all are here," Harry shrugged. "Or haven't you heard? I caused the wizarding world's armageddon. I caused all of those deaths, caused you to get sick, lose your magic. I'm here to atone for my sins."

"I don't believe you." That was the last of the reserves, a boy maybe a few years older than Harry, who spoke with the same brogue as McGonagall. "I know you, we went to school together, and I saw how you were every year fighting off one evil or the other to keep the rest of us safe. And the battle, against You-Know-Who, I was there. You were willing to die for us, people said you did. You wouldn't have tried to wipe us all out after going through all the trouble of getting rid of the dark lord.

"So what was it really? How did all of this," he gestured to the room at large, but they all knew it went even further, "happen?"

The reserves weren't the only ones listening closely anymore, his team had stopped slacking off to move closer, hear whatever answer he contrived. But Harry didn't know what to say, HYDRA knew nothing of the Heart and if they got even a whiff of the real source of his magic...what?

What would happen? It would be a boon, wouldn't it? Any loyal HYDRA agent would have already revealed their connection with Death so it could be used toward their greater good. And he was loyal.

Strucker had made sure of it.

"I was a kid," he said finally and everyone leaned in closer. "I hadn't finished Hogwarts and I wasn't exactly the best of students even while I was there. To go against a wizard with the breadth of power and experience the dark lord did, was a death sentence. And I wasn't ready to die.

"So I dabbled in magics I shouldn't have, the kind I didn't understand, and it destroyed me and the rest of the world right after. But we're not here to cry over my mistakes, we're here to correct yours."

He drew his wand, felt the telltale rush of his magic releasing, and he pointed it at the ground before him. He didn't know a spell to conjure illusions or create golems, but he wanted a dummy, a little girl with a gap tooth smile and blue dress, and that want was enough. He didn't incant, but she was there.

He surveyed the four reserves, searching out the weakest link and settled on the tall, shiny headed one, Crane, he privately decided to name him, because he had the lanky legs of one and he couldn't be bothered to learn his real name. "You," the man twitched and Harry read it as the weakness it was. "Kill her."

His eyes grew huge, unnatural in his pale face. "I don't..."

Harry shook his head, uninterested in any half-baked excuses. "Kill her." He said again, and this time his tone left no room to argue.

Crane's eyes darted around, frantically searching for sympathy or aid or something among his comrades, but none so much as met his eye for fear of being called out next. He wilted, sensing the pointlessness of trying to argue, and muttered. "I'll need a plant."

Harry flicked his wand again, the concrete at his feet cracked open and writhing vines spilled across the floor.

"How do you want me to..."

Harry shrugged, the how couldn't matter less to him. "Dealer's choice."

He moved then, so that Crane and the girl stood facing only each other and watched.

The vines twitched, slowly unfurled, then crept from the cracks in the concrete. They were awkward at first, while Crane worked to secure control, but their jerky motion quickly evened out, turned into a slither too much like that of the mascot of his once rival house.

The little girl laughed when the vines reached her, tried to pet them as they twined up her twig like legs. That lasted right up until they crawled around her waist, curled up her stomach, and began their slow constriction around her little chest. Crane's face was scrunched into something strained and unpleasant, his entire body shook. It was easy to see why Strucker had been displeased with this team's performance.

It was over quickly, once the vines reached her neck, they pulled tight enough to snap and she dropped. Crane's entire body crumpled into itself right after and the vines fell away, he stared at the tiny corpse with eyes near full, as he panted and shook like he'd just ran a long distance.

There was quiet for a minute, as they all took in the sorry state of Crane, and then Harry said. "What did you see?"

Red rimmed eyes darted up to his face and Crane's mouth flapped open and shut. "W-what?"

"As you did it, what were you seeing?"

His brows drew down, confused and angry. "A girl. She was a little girl."

"Wrong." Harry moved in so he stood just over her corpse, then reached out to nudge it with his toe. It crumpled to dust under his touch. "She was nothing. Dirt. Dust. Do you cry when you sweep up the dust bunnies beneath in your bed?" He didn't bother waiting for a response. "Next time you face those muggles, remember her and remember they're just the same. Dust. Dirt. Nothing."

He flicked his wand once more and the dust reformed into the perfect image of a little girl in a blue dress with a gap-toothed smile.

"Do it again," he ordered. "And this time, don't cry."


They each took a turn, the reserve team, each with their own golem to face. The Weasley look alike, killed a man with a stooped back and kind smile eight times before she could do so with no expression. Harry's own school mate, who he took to simply calling Hogwarts in his head, took nine tries cutting down a woman heavily pregnant. The small woman Harry decided looked like an Ivy due to her poisonous demeanor and abilities, needed only two to handle a golem exactly identical to herself.

It took hours. By the time they were done, Harry's team had retired to the training mats and his wand felt hot in his hands. They were tired and cranky and emotionally wrung out, but the job was done, not a single of the reserves so much as flinched when cutting down their opponents.

How they'd do when faced with an actual, living breathing person was yet to be determined, but he'd done his part.

"They're really going to send us out then?" the short woman said as Harry's team began to rouse, sensing the end of their session closing in.

"They've something planned," Harry said. "Something big. It'll take all of us to get it done."

"Do we know what?"

He shrugged. "I suppose they didn't see it as information pertinent to our success." He bit down on his tongue almost before the words were fully formed. That sounded almost too much like criticism. "They'll tell us what we need to know, when we need to know it. Until then rest up, keep working at this, Strucker said you'd have a week to be ready so…be ready."

He left then, not bothering with an official dismissal, but the guard posted up at the door stopped him before he could make it far and gestured Harry follow him with a tilt of his head. He led him up to Sub-2, to Strucker's office where the man already waited, tinkering with what looked like an older version of Harry's collar while on the wall across from him a screen broadcasted video of the training room.

"It looks as if things went well," the Baron said, peering up at him over the rim of his monocle for just the part of a moment.

Harry shrugged. "They at least won't cry next time. With more work they might even be able to get through it without their hands shaking. We'll get it done in the time given." He hesitated. "A week, you said?"

"And some days," Strucker confirmed with a little nod of his head. "They're curious about what I have planned next for them."

It wasn't a question, they both knew already he'd seen and heard it all. But Harry nodded anyway. "They are. We are. But not knowing won't make us any less effective."

"You wouldn't be in charge if I didn't believe that." Strucker set the collar to the side, finally allowing Harry the full force of his attention. "But there's no merit in keeping you uninformed. After all, there are no secrets between you and I."

His agreement was immediate. "None."

He almost missed it, but for just a moment the corner of the Baron's mouth ticked up in amusement, appreciation, he didn't know. "We have a job, the job, the one you all were created to carry out."

"What will you have us do?"

Strucker didn't bother with any long pauses or any other theatrics. No what he had to say was dramatic enough all on its own. "You are going to kill the president of the United States."

Slowly, Harry sank into the seat opposite Strucker. "Why?"

He shouldn't question, shouldn't challenge, but this was big, and Strucker smiled, not angry though he should be.

"Because you're ready. And it's time we made our play."

"And killing the president it will…" he paused, grasping for some explanation to make this all make sense. "Weaken the government, throw them into turmoil?"

That was HYDRA's whole thing, chaos for the sake of order, but Strucker shook his head. "Not as much as we'd like. Killing him will cause some panic, maybe a little bit of fear, but these Americans are used to death, it does not shake them as it did once. No, the killing itself won't be what pushes them toward turmoil, it will be the motive behind the assassination, the people behind it."

"I don't understand."

"We've been starting wars for decades; feeding lies, gassing fires, crafting enemies, and we've learned so much from the art.

"This organization is capable of starting, finishing, and winning wars through sheer power and fear. The thing is, fear doesn't last, it's temporary. But respect? Awe? Love. They last forever."

He looked at Harry, living proof of his words, and could barely contain his exhilaration.

"Men have been slaughtering masses, sacrificing their children, submitting their very freedom to the will and wraths of their gods since their creation. It's part of their coding, an intrinsic piece of who they are.

"But as their species did, so too does their conception of gods evolve. No longer is he one man or creature or entity, formless and immaterial. No, now gods wield lightning and suits of gold and shields of stars, now gods walk among us.

"And this here- killing Ellis and all that follows, will make us gods worthy of the bloodiest religion."


Strucker was mad. A reason to worry all on its own, but more than that, he was conniving and ruthless, entirely immoral and absolutely brilliant. He was everything Tom Riddle would have been had he not lost his sanity and that little bit of humanity to seven fragmented pieces of his soul.

Harry left the man's presence robbed completely of words, still trying to process the precise steps to world domination that had been laid out before him. Trying to work past the equal parts terror and awe elicited by the baron's no-nonsense delivery of a plan that would lead to mass genocide.

And thanks to his distraction he didn't even notice the hostility radiating from the single guard escorting him to dinner until the man decided to do something about it.

"Not everyone is convinced."

Harry's attention shifted from his silent turmoil to his surroundings and the people occupying it so quickly, he almost stumbled over his own two feet. His guard didn't slow their brisk pace or even turn his head to fully acknowledge Harry, but he was squinting at him from the corner of his eye, a little frown turning down his mouth.

Harry was quick to mirror the expression. "Excuse me?"

"I was here when they brought you in. And when you killed my friend in some attempt to run."

That was new. The escape attempt he knew, but had he really killed someone while trying? Even when he pushed, all he could remember were hazel eyes and the taste of blood in his mouth. Had he bit someone…to death?

But that couldn't be right, because the crescent shaped scar on the inside of his forearm was shaped suspiciously like his own teeth. He'd bitten himself.

"Your old allies, they told us that you were stuck in your beliefs, couldn't be shaken no matter how sweet the deal, and you proved that truth time and time again.

"Any time there wasn't a guard in your mouth or a needle feeding you sedatives you were spitting and cursing anything to do with the baron, with us. I watched you steal a woman's soul. Sucked it right out of her when she was only trying to get you breathing again, just because you could."

No that wasn't true. He remembered her, the lab aide who'd been the first to try and help him through a breathing fit during his…re-education? No, this had been before. He couldn't remember what he'd been there for, but he remembered her face and how strangely gentle her hands had been before he'd wrapped his own around her throat. But it had been an accident…self-defense. One or the other, so many of his memories involving the lab were spotty, but he knew he hadn't hurt her (taken her soul?) out of malice.

"Now you're trying to sell me the fact that all it took was a few weeks isolation and a couple beatings and suddenly you're…reformed? One of us? Like those words 'Hail Hydra' don't choke you every time on their way out."

And that was just another thing he only had pieces of, his re-education, but he knew it wasn't quite so mild as the guard made it seem. There'd been darkness, endless darkness, and pain in his ribs, his throat, his feet, everywhere. And fire. Cold, white fire tearing through his synapses.

"No. I don't buy it."

Harry stopped, right there in the middle of the hall, and the guard was forced to jerk to a halt too or else risk letting him out of grabbing distance. He stepped forward, right into the guard's space until the few inches height difference between them was glaring. Just the tip of his nose brushed the man's jaw as he stood on the tips of his toes to speak directly into his ear, and the words hissed in the millimeters of space between the two of them were as easy and sibilant as the S's that curled from Lord Voldemort's tongue.

"Hail Hydra."

He didn't move away, he maybe even pressed a little closer just to make the man sweat a little.

"It took more than a few weeks in isolation and a couple beatings to brand those words and their meaning into my core. But hail Hydra.

"I broke and I bled for my right to say those words. I'm Strucker's most valuable asset, his precious one, he believes with every atom, every particle, every quark of his being that I am his man and his alone because it was his hands that broke me, that shaped me into this thing I am now. To consider for even a moment that every piece of me is not devoted wholly to him implies that in some way he failed. And the baron does not fail. To suggest such a notion would mean what?"

The guard didn't answer, but Harry didn't really need him to, the question was mostly rhetorical anyway.

"Death. Now I personally, have no fear of death. What about you?"

The man's eyes, darker than soil after a storm locked on to his own, unflinching. But the second question left unanswered spoke what he refused to say.

"You are. Even if you tried to say otherwise. Everyone is just that little bit afraid of the unknown and what bigger unknown is there?

"Now all of that is just to say: buy it or not, makes no difference to me, because you're not an idiot and you've got some degree of self-preservation- it's that fear of death thing. So, you'll doubt in silence. You won't ever put your suspicions to words anywhere near the baron so as to keep your head connected to the rest of yourself. But you'll be watching. Always. For that one moment of inarguable proof. But until then…'

"Hail Hydra," the guard spat from between gritted teeth.

Harry smiled and he finally pulled away. "Hail Hydra," he agreed, then he turned opposite of the direction they'd been headed, and began marching without a look back, sure his guard would keep pace. "Let's skip mess and go on right to my cell, I've decided I'm not hungry anymore."

They didn't speak again the whole walk, didn't acknowledge each other when Harry broke off from the man's side to step into his cell. When the door swung shut and sealed itself behind him, Harry went straight for the shower, stripping as he went and not even bothering to wait for the water to go from ice cold to its usual lukewarm before stepping into the stall. He crowded under the showerhead and only when he was sure any sound he might make was muffled by the sharp patter of water against tile did he finally call for Death.

He was there in an instant, standing under the spray with just a scarce few centimeters between him and Harry. But where once he might have flinched back, tried to cover himself and preserve his modesty, Harry stood stone still.

"What did Strucker do to me?" He was careful to speak low, the bathroom was bugged he was sure, but if he kept his back to the room and his voice lower than the noise of the shower no one would hear a thing.

"You'll have to be more specific. I'm afraid he did much to you."

"My re-education. I remember moments scattered in between, but the important bits…the fire burned them all away."

Death studied him, didn't blink once even as water ran down his face. Even under the downpour some mystic force kept him dry and as perfectly composed as always. "Fire?"

"It's cold." Harry swept a hand through his hair, pushing the soaked strands out of his eyes. "And made me lose...everything. What was it?"

"Why do you ask now?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but a sharp shake of Death's head made him pause, he wasn't done yet.

"You've had these questions a while and you knew always that I had the answers. But you never asked, never wanted to know because you knew that that lab-grown loyalty he forced on you would never hold to the truth, and you couldn't get what we needed done if you didn't have it. So why do you ask now?"

"He said," Harry cleared his throat sharply, "that he didn't believe a couple weeks in isolations and some beatings were enough to have really reformed me. And everything that I know about this place is-it's clouded, it's some vague memory I just can't quite grab hold of, but the before, before the lab and Strucker and HYDRA, that's all crystal. And I remember how strongly I believed in my own convictions because I'm stubborn, I always have been. And he's right, being kept locked up in the dark was how I was raised, punches and knife wounds and whatever else they did to give me these scars shouldn't have been enough to shake me. If anything it would have made me hold tighter to what I believed.

"But I'm loyal. I believe in HYDRA, none of this is faked. So where in all the pieces that were forgotten is the moment that I chose to abandon everything I fought and died for in order to embrace the ideologies of HYDRA?"

"Did you?"

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to fight past a surge of confusion and failing. "Did I…?"

"Did you abandon everything you fought and died for in order to embrace the ideologies of HYDRA? Or has this been one long game?"

"A game?" This had to do with the decayed forest and the conversation they'd had while there. But even though he remembered all of Death, he couldn't remember that. All he knew was: "We had a deal."

"We had a promise. I told you they would break you, that was always part of the plan, but you made me a promise. You might have forgotten it, but I still hold you to it. So I ask again, did you?"

The answer should be easy. He'd just said that he was loyal, none of the fervent admiration he felt for Strucker or the bone deep belief that they were on the right path was faked, but….

He had Death on his side, a primordial entity with power that could wipe the earth clean and he hadn't said a word of the connection to Strucker.

Walden, his own second in command, had outright said he wasn't sure he believed in what they were doing, but he still hadn't reported him for re-education.

The collar they called a safeguard had malfunctioned, he'd had access to his magic for that fraction of a moment, and yet he hadn't submitted a request for maintenance.

And always he was haunted by that little voice in the corner of his consciousness, sneering at Strucker's fatherly gestures, deriding every move and choice Harry himself made, questioning the methods and morality of HYDRA.

So no, the answer wasn't as easy as it should be. But neither was it some Newtonian equation and, despite what Snape might have had to say, he wasn't a complete idiot.

And Death was waiting.

"No," he whispered. "I didn't."

"Of course you didn't. These mortals are good at what they do, anyone else would have been theirs already but-"

"But I'm not just anyone."

The look that crossed Death's face was one Harry had seen so little on him it took a moment to place it as pride. "Exactly right. You bear my mark, wield my power, their absolute worst couldn't break you."

And that was a nice thought, but… "I feel broken."

"No, quark. Not broken, just…fragile. You're weak, vulnerable as a baby bird, but only because you're young still. Give it time, continue to grow, to feed and soon you'll be deadlier than the winged beasts that devoured the livers of gods."

"How? How do I get away from all this?"

"You'll play along a little longer, you'll do what he asks, and you won't give that man any reason to doubt you until we're tearing his soul from his chest."

That was probably the easiest thing Death had ever asked of him. He nodded, dashing water from his eyes, and said. "I can do that."


One week, three days later, they went to America.

Strucker moved with an army; the mages and the reserves, another dozen guards for safety, List and his posse, and a whole team of aides and orderlies they might run into on the road.

It was a miserable trip; eighteen hours spent four to a row with nothing but the backs of the military standard, beige seats in the row ahead to keep them entertained. By the time wheels touched down even the most stoic among their ranks were wincing as they shook out sore limbs.

Ground transport was no better: armored, box trucks with bright red letters that spelled out GARDA on their sides. And there were only five, parked in a neat row alongside each other and expected to carry the two hundred of their cohort.

"Lines are there," Harry sighed, already dreading squeezing himself into the windowless vehicles but gesturing his team in their direction anyway.

They stepped into place behind the reserves, who'd already gone through the check-in process and were being packed neatly into the first truck. But at Harry's turn to board, the aide in charge gave an apologetic little smile and shook her head.

"You've been reassigned, Convoy Three." She said, consulting the tablet tucked in the crook of her elbow. "Last minute change, approved by the Baron."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know…."

"Convoy Three," she repeated, pointing toward a fleet of personal vehicles parked in their own row. "Strucker's car. Bennett, would you…?"

In the queue just beside theirs, a guard with a head shaved clean but a set of heavy brows taking up much of the empty space, grunted in irritation but stepped out of line.

"Where's he going?"

The aide gestured again. "Strucker wants an escort."

That earned her a chest rumbling snort full of mocking amusement. "The dozen guys flanking his vehicle's not enough? He's got to have his boy on him too?"

"He's high value," the aide shrugged, "I wouldn't blame him." She looked just about done with the conversation, already checking her tablet for the next name. "Could you just escort him for me? I've got another thirteen to load up and we're meant to be first out."

"Well come on then."

Harry didn't rush to follow the grump, he took a second to look over his team, (though what he was checking them for he wasn't even sure) before reluctantly moving on. He kept a few paces back, whatever Bennett had against him he wasn't the least bit interested in hearing about it.

Strucker was already waiting in his vehicle when they reached him, window rolled down to watch their progress across the tarmac. When Harry pulled into sight, he offered a warm greeting and reached for the door handle. "Ride with me."

List was already in the passenger's seat, so Harry had no choice but to slide into the back just beside Strucker.

"This will be a quick ride," the Baron said, "we are close. The trucks' arrival, however, will be staggered, we can't have too many on the road at once, and I'll need at least one mage at my side when entering such dangerous waters."

"Do we not trust the Americans?" Harry wondered.

Strucker allowed him an indulgent smile. "It's not that we don't trust, but every man we are about to meet believes himself to be the most powerful in the room. With you at my side, I know that I am."

Harry imitated the smile while he let his cheeks flush red, just like anyone might when being complimented by one of the most powerful heads of HYDRA.

"Though I do admit to slightly ulterior motives for getting you alone one last time. There's a matter to be discussed."

And just like that, his false smile slid from his lips. "There is?"

"An unpleasant one, but necessary. Regarding loyalty."

Harry felt the bottom drop out from his stomach. Had Strucker heard him that day? He'd thought the water had covered all, but if there was a listening device inside the shower stall it's possible it could have picked it up. And even if anything Death had said couldn't be picked up, his one side of the conversation was still plenty damning.

"Whose?" he forced the one syllable to remain steady even while his heart thumped in his chest, he didn't know what Strucker knew, and until he did he would continue to play innocent.

"A mage's, I don't know the name…"

"Subject 348," List offered.

But that was…"Murphy. Walden Murphy," Harry said and Strucker nodded.

"That's the one. He came to you? Expressed doubts."

Harry almost heaved a sigh of relief, of course he wasn't talking about him, Strucker would never suspect him of being disloyal. But even while the knot in his stomach eased, another was forming in his throat, he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop on Walden for a while now.

"He did," he confirmed. "Some weeks ago, after the recruiting center. I handled it."

"We heard." Strucker gave him a quick pat on the hand. "I only bring this up now because this is Murphy's home, his people, if anyone were to falter now it would be him. I know that I don't have to tell you out of anyone how little we can afford any mishaps."

Harry rarely made eye contact with Strucker, remnants from his days facing master Legilimens, but also because it aided in his act of complete subservience. But right now, when the lives of one of his own was potentially on the line, he took the risk. "There will be none," he said, voice like steel. "Any uncertainty among mine has been squashed, I made sure of it."

"And should that same uncertainty rear its head when he's faced with the leader of his home country…?"

"Then I will handle it."

Another indulgent smile, another pat on the hand. "Good boy."

Just a few minutes later they were turning off the motorway and down a street that looked no different from the cities Harry had seen decimated in the Blitz. Husks of buildings, with their metal insides gaping and exposed and windows exploded all around them like crushed diamond, twisted toward the sky, huge gouges were torn right through the concrete street exposing their burst and gushing pipes beneath, and there was red everywhere, spattered across the side of buildings, reflecting off the metal of abandoned cars, pooling on the cracked asphalt.

Harry pressed closer to the glass, horrified but morbidly interested. What had happened here? This couldn't have been wizards, Strucker or anyone would have at least made mention if the tension between the magical world and muggles had gotten so bad. But that meant something else had done it, and though whatever it was had long since passed, the weight of the widespread destruction and death it left in its wake was incredible. It made him shiver just to feel it. He couldn't see them, still cut off from the majority of his magic, but he still knew, shades and reapers alike lingered in the destruction.

"What did this?" He hadn't meant to speak, but his curiosity burned and fortunately Strucker was in an agreeable mood.

"Aliens."

Harry felt his mouth fall open and didn't even try to hide it. "Aliens."

"An army of them, tore a hole in the sky and destroyed the city."

Aliens. And none of them had thought to clue him in on their existence and apparent hostility?

"Someone stopped them?"

"They're called the Avengers. They are not on our side."

Of course they weren't. Why would the defenders of the human species against actual fucking aliens be on their side?

He didn't ask any more questions. And soon enough, they were pulling into a car park attached to the back of what looked like an abandoned emergency clinic.

A woman was waiting for them, young with a warm smile that did surprisingly well covering up the fact that she was a Nazi. The moment Strucker had unfolded his full height from the back seat, she was on them, hands outstretched and every last molar on display.

"Baron Strucker, welcome. I hope the flight in was comfortable?"

Strucker returned the uncomfortable grin, effortlessly charming. "Especially so."

"Fantastic, sir. Secretary Pierce is aware of your arrival, he's been overseeing a few last-minute arrangements, but he should be arriving-"

"Wolfgang!"

From a door that blended too well with the gray concrete of the walls, the man Harry knew even if he couldn't recall from where emerged. He was just as Harry knew he would be, as stately and dead eyed as an MP, with that subtly slimy air that made him entirely untrustworthy. His shark tooth smile took up too much space on his face as he reached out to clasp hands with Strucker.

"Welcome to America."

"It's been some years," Strucker said. "Since the-

"-Strasberg incident. I remember, most fun I've had in decades." Pale eyes turned on Harry. "You're escort for the evening?"

Something unpleasant slithered down Harry's spine, even as the man, Secretary Pierce the woman had called him, gave him an approving nod. "You look well, Mr. Potter."

"My care under the Baron is unparalleled." Harry said, not a trace of inflection in his tone. "We're eager to get started."

Those creepy eyes crinkled at the corner from the spread of his grin. "A man with a mission. I like that." He turned then, and abruptly headed back through door from where he'd come. "I'll give you the tour. Banker and Hale have been occupying the two lower levels the past few days now, and when the Sheik arrives tomorrow evening, he'll join them. You and I share the penthouse with all of its amenities."

Inside was about what Harry imagined it'd be; outdated linoleum and blue tinged fluorescent lights. Though the room's themselves had been gutted and refurnished with computer monitors, corkboards that covered entire walls and laid out detailed plans beyond Harry's comprehension, one room even held nothing but meticulously stocked and organized weapons of just about any variety. It reminded him a lot, actually, of the SSR's space in London.

The top level, Pierce's "penthouse" was much more like Strucker's setup back at base, rooms full of lab equipment he couldn't identify and neatly dressed aides bustling about.

"The asset is being stored on the northern end of the building," Pierce explained as they weaved their way through the commotion. "He's being woken now to ensure he's alert for tomorrow's drill, but we expect no trouble. A space on the south end has been converted to store your mages and the whole of the third floor for the rest of your men. And for you, just down the block you've a room reserved at the-"

"I'd like to keep close to my men."

Pierce raised a brow but really didn't look all that surprised. "We left aside a space off of your main lab for any equipment you brought along with you. If you'll give us just an hour we'll have it converted over to a space you'll be comfortable in."

"A cot and a place to hang my jacket would be more than enough. I'm a simple man."

Just then, another voice cut in. "Is that right, Baron Strucker?"

Harry watched fascinated as Strucker's whole demeanor took on something sour even while he kept up his veneer of shallow pleasantry. The one responsible for such an interesting reaction was a woman with soft brown hair and impeccable posture, Harry recognized her from the video wall, one of the heads of Hydra though her name escaped him.

"Lady Hale."

And there it was. Thank you, Strucker.

"You look very well. And your lovely Ruby?"

The smile Hale offered Strucker was tight and entirely insincere. "Thriving." She gave Harry a slow look over. "And this is your mage? He's much smaller than he appears on the screen."

Rude.

"Small but mighty I believe is how that saying goes." Pierce said, purposely oblivious to the tension between the two. "We're putting a lot on that might."

"Everything," Hale was quick to correct. "We're putting everything on it."

Harry held their gazes for only a few seconds each and that was all he needed to hear what wasn't being said; he was to perform and perform well or there would be consequences. And not just for him but Strucker as well. This was to be the job to end all others (or so the Baron had claimed), if Harry or any of his team failed to play their part flawlessly it could prove disastrous for all of Hydra's plans.

Which was the last thing Harry wanted.

Obviously.


It took the mages two hours to make the twenty-minute drive to the clinic, by the time they arrived Harry had already been relieved for the evening and claimed the best bunk in their communal cell.

He didn't bother rising from where he was reclined against his thin pillow when they filed in, that long flight and the encounter with Pierce and Hale had exhausted him "What took you so long?"

Walden groaned and threw himself onto the bunk just beneath Harry. "We took the long route, it wouldn't do for us to be followed after all."

"Hm, sucks. Really it only should have taken maybe half an hour."

"What did Strucker even want you for anyway?" Angel groused.

Harry grinned at him. "He likes my company."

"Don't lie, you're a moody little bastard," Mihaela said. "No good in anyone's company."

The best response Harry could muster was the silent, one fingered kind. Even if it was a little true she didn't have to call him out on it.

The members of the reserve team tittered nervously, unsure of their standing among their close-knit ranks, and Harry was too worn out to waste time soothing their nerves. Now that his team was present and accounted for, he could finally give in to the fatigue weighting his bones. Trusting their individual abilities to work out their own unwinding rituals in a way that wasn't too noisy, he flipped over until he was facing the wall and threw his blanket over his head.

He slept like a baby. Too well for someone knowing what was expected off him in the next few days. But the day had been demanding and the ones to come would no doubt be even more so, so he slept like a man without a conscience and refused to feel bad about it.

And a good thing he did too; their cell had no windows, but when the overhead lights went from a soft, ambient glow to the full, eye searing force of a small sun what felt like just a few hours after shutting his eyes, something deep in his bones just knew it was well before sunrise. He and the mages rolled from their bunks with weary sighs and quiet groans, but they were fully dressed and at attention when, just fifteen minutes past their abrupt awakening, the thick metal door locking them in for the night swung open.

Five guards, all armed, stood on the other side, looking about as pleased as any of them to be awake right then, but they kept absolutely silent as they herded Harry and his team down the corridor and around the corner to what looked like what had once been a staff break room but had been rearranged for a presentation of sorts with even a projection screen set up at the head of the room. Once they'd all found seats among the tables arranged in the center of the room, the guards turned and, still completely silent, marched out of the room.

"Is this where we're taking meals?" Eva wondered. "Do you think I'll have time to rest my eyes, just for a few minutes?"

No such luck. She'd barely finished speaking before the door was opening again and the heads of HYDRA filed into the room. Harry knew them all by name (or their preferred title) by then; the Baron, the Sheik, the Banker, Hale, and Pierce but there was an extra with them, walking close behind Pierce like a particularly intimidating looking shadow.

He was kitted out in all black; heavy combat boots, pants with at least a dozen pockets (probably used for storing weapons), and a matching sleeveless t-shirt that displayed one flesh and blood arm with biceps bigger than Harry's head and one arm made entirely of gleaming silver. Dark hair fell into his face, curling around his ears, and stopping just at the edge of an angular mask that covered the entire bottom half of his face.

Harry hadn't ever seen someone so intimidating, but for all the danger he exuded there was no doubt that he was just like Harry. He could see it in how the man kept Pierce always in view, always within reach, in how Pierce didn't spare him a single look but seemed hyper aware of his position in relation to him at all time. But what really gave it away was the muzzle (because there really was no other word for it). The uncomfortable looking accessory molded to the bridge of his nose and extended past the curve of his chin and jaw. At first glance it looked like just a very serious mask, but the perforations across the front (air holes, Harry's mind supplied for him) and the complete absence of any kind of claps or release made its true purpose very clear. He was a tool, to be used and never heard.

The sight of him made something in Harry go cold. Of course he knew he couldn't be the only one, an organization like HYDRA couldn't possibly exist for so long without picking up its share of unwilling participants. But to be confronted with what he could have become had it not been for Death was something he never could have prepared for.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware Pierce was speaking, but the implications of this man's presence were too consuming for him to bother listening. It wasn't until Fen, seated to his right pressed a sharp pinch to his leg that he was forcibly tuned back in, just in time to hear Pierce introduce the man simply as "The Asset."

No name. No rank. Only the Asset. Harry wanted to laugh as he realized that perhaps he'd been lucky in winding up with Strucker. To the Baron he was a useful, but also favored pet, with Pierce he would have been a nameless, voiceless weapon.

"He'll be providing long distance aide," the Secretary continued, completely unaware of Harry's distraction. "Specifically in keeping any response teams occupied until you've done your work."

"I'm sorry sir," one of the reserves, Crane as Harry had dubbed him, spoke up softly. "But what is our work?"

A look of inexplicable amusement took over Pierce's professional demeanor. "Wolfgang's kept you all in suspense then?"

"Just a bit of healthy anticipation," the Baron shrugged. "It keeps them sharp."

"Yes, it does. Let me just…" He patted down his suit jacket, searching out a little rectangular remote that brought the screen at his back to life. A few moments were spent fiddling with the controls before an image of a church took over the screen. It was grand building, with its intricately latticed, pale grey stone and arching spires it wouldn't look out of place in the wizarding world.

"This is St. Joseph's Cathedral. It's a historic church, been around almost two hundred years, and tomorrow it will be hosting the family of those lost in last month's attack."

From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw a few of the reserves shift in confusion. They'd been just as sheltered as him and knew nothing of the apparent alien invasion that had hit just a few weeks ago. Neither did his mages of course, but they'd long since learned to keep stone faced no matter what was thrown at them.

"During this memorial," Pierce carried on, ignoring the reserves, "President Ellis will be speaking."

The image of the cathedral was replaced with a handsome older man who wore a kind smile and grey at his temples.

"He's the job." There was a pause, for dramatic effect. "You're to kill him."

That earned the room a round of ragged gasps and incredulous looks from the reserves, Harry even caught Iola's brow twitch. But the one Harry was watching (and who Harry knew Strucker was watching as well) was Walden, but the man didn't even blink. He kept his gaze on Pierce, unshaken and completely attentive.

"Can we ask why we're to kill him?" the reserve who could pass as a Weasley asked. She flinched when Pierce fixed his cold gaze on her, and barely kept herself from attempting to become one with the plastic of her chair when it stayed there.

"No," the man said after a loaded pause. "You can't. Here's how we're going to do it…"


They spent four hours being briefed. Honestly it was a very simple plan, but one that allowed for no mistakes. One mistimed move, one slip up and they were all dead.

Well, all but Harry, but they didn't know that.

They were released for their morning meal only after every aspect of the job had been outlined in painstaking detail. But they were allowed only an hour before being herded to medical for an overall wellness check and for a whole gamut of samples to be collected. They weren't told what the samples were for, their bodies were property of HYDRA after all, but HYDRA had never once tried to hide where their priorities lay. On the chance that one of them was killed, they were sure to want as many samples as possible to prevent their work from being entirely lost.

And after that it was on to the lower levels where one of the two mess halls had been reconfigured to run drills in preparation for the real thing.

Strucker had brought along every man familiar with working with his mages, but apparently Pierce's own STRIKE team had been the one's assigned to working strategy with them. And Harry could imagine no scenario where this was done purely out of good intentions.

"They're the best HYDRA's got," Fen informed the team the moment they'd been told who they were going up against. "Shumpert, the American guard from the early days, it was his favorite thing going on about how he'd almost made the cut for STRIKE."

"A couple guys in mess had a lot to say about them," Angel added on. "You guys were probably too busy sleeping in your gruel, a guy named Rumlow's their team lead and from what it sounded like, they work a lot with the Asset. Like Fen said, the best HYDRA's got. The guys were actually wondering how we'd face off against them."

"And they must not have been the only ones," Harry concluded as he pulled a heavy, padded vest over his head. Rubber bullets had been authorized for the drill, not nearly as lethal as the real thing, but still capable of doing plenty of damage without the proper padding.

Mihaela snorted, her face twisted in a subtle, outraged scowl. "Not that it'll be a fair fight."

A few of the others murmured in quiet agreement; there was no way this would be considered a real fight, the collars on each and every one of them remained turned to the max and would remain so until they stepped foot in that church. The clinic was in too central of an area for any of the HYDRA heads to want to risk releasing the destructive force of their magic, even to practice. So these technically were considered dry runs meant only to familiarize themselves with the formations and defensive tactics of the president's protection detail while working out their own strategy.

"How are we supposed to defend ourselves without even a little magic let loose?" Iola asked.

"We're not meant to, that's what this is for," Harry gave the straps of his headgear a pointed tug. "This is tactical. We're learning the secret services' movements and we're planning out our own."

"On top of practicing grace under fire," Walden added.

No one looked at them, but they all knew he was referring to the still soft reserves.

"It'll be good for us," Harry carried on. "So that the first time we do this isn't the day of the actual job."

"It's just," Eva sighed, "I bruise so easily."

It was a reluctant, though careful not to show it, group of eleven mages that entered the converted mess hall. From what Harry could remember of all the photos they'd been presented of the interior of the church, the dimensions were off, but it had otherwise been made into a passable reconstruction of the interior. Row and rows of pews lined each wall, with a wide aisle cutting a path down the center of the room and leading up to the raised podium at the head of the room.

The STRIKE team had found seats among the pews while waiting for them and didn't seem at all inclined to stand upon their entrance.

"Thought y'all were never going to show up with how long you were taking," one of the men said, making a show of reclining even further on his pew.

Harry ignored him for the idiot he was and scanned the group of men for the one in charge. It wasn't hard once he knew where to look. He was the only one standing, propped against the first pew in its row with everyone in his vicinity subconsciously angled in his direction.

"Rumlow?"

A semi-interested gaze flicked over him from head to toe, he didn't shift one foot. "You're Potter?"

Harry moved forward until he stood directly across from Rumlow and his men on the opposite side of the aisle, behind him his mages fanned out into the pews, adopting the STRIKE team's casual demeanor.

"From all the talk we'd been hearing, I thought you'd be bigger."

The dig might have hurt more if Hale hadn't already tried it on him just the day before, or if he was still that moody fifteen-year-old who took everything personally, but instead he offered the man a brittle smile. "Strucker says you're to walk us through a few dry runs, help us tighten up our formation, figure out our battle plan."

"That's what we're here for." Finally he pushed himself away from the pew, from his back pocket, he pulled out a map and a marker that he shook out and placed between himself and Harry. "You familiar with the Sanctuary?"

Harry gave a short nod. The inside of the church had more than a few side halls and antechambers, but the main area of the church, of which the pews and podiums were a part, was called the Sanctuary. They'd spent a good portion of that morning's brief pouring over the blueprints of the church until they had committed every nook, side room, and exit to memory, including the Sanctuary.

"Good. Maximum occupancy of the building is three thousand, but we're looking at a crowd of around half that. Ellis is scheduled to take the podium half an hour into the service at fourteen hundred, and he'll have a perimeter of fourteen secret service around him at all times."

As he spoke, Rumlow's team moved to mirror his words; one man took up place behind the podium while fourteen men arranged into a wide circle around him.

"There'll be another five in the ambulatory right behind the podium, waiting to aide in leading Ellis through the crypts and out the backdoor to safety. It's close quarters back there, so once he's off the podium and in that room we've lost our chance."

"Keep him on the podium and in front of the cameras," Eva summarized. "Easy."

"Not so much as you'd think," Rumlow corrected. "You've got fourteen men on Ellis, five in the back, and a wall of another ten in the front row keeping the crowd back. But those are just the guys in uniform.

"There's going to be one hundred and fifteen plainclothes servicemen mixed up among the crowd watching for potential threats."

Angel whistled low. "They could be a problem."

"Yeah, not so easy now. The eleven of you will have to identify those one hundred fifteen plainclothes guys, make it past them and the ten at the front, in the fifteen seconds it'll take Ellis' personal detail to get him from the podium and through the door to the ambulatory."

"And the crowd," Walden tacked on. "It'd probably be too much to hope that once things get hot fifteen hundred people would stay quiet in their seats."

Rumlow nodded in agreement. "There's that too."

Harry looked around the room, at the hundreds of pews on both sides and the long walk from the entrance to the podium. It was a challenge for sure, and it was Ron who was the master strategist not him, but he'd been quidditch captain all of sixth year and he'd been a good one. He knew how to direct troops, how to anticipate enemy movement.

"I could kill him from my seat," he said, mostly to himself. "Me alone. I could cave in the roof above his head, conjure a wall of fire, shoot an AK from across the room. It would be easy. But we're doing this in front of the crowd and the cameras because our heads want a spectacle." He reached over to Rumlow, plucked the marker he'd been using to mark the map from his hand, and turned to march in the opposite direction of the podium.

He stopped at the seating closest to where the doors would be. "I'll be here in this pew, when we're cued to start I'll move first." The marker in his hand was not the size of a wand, too short, too thin, but it would do for now. He raised it, sighted down it until it was aimed directly at the agent posing as the president. "I'll immobilize Ellis, hoist him up out of his servicemen's reach and away from the line of fire. Now there's no fifteen second window to worry about, he's not going anywhere. I'll have maybe five seconds after casting the spell before the twenty-four servicemen up front have me identified and targeted to be put down.

"But I could have the ten closest to me under the imperius curse and opening fire on the fourteen on the podium in three."

The declaration was met with a long moment of silence, heavy with confusion and probably a healthy bit of disbelief. Then Rumlow asked the question it looked like the whole of the STRIKE team was wondering. "How?"

Surprisingly it was Crane of the reserves to answer. "The imperius curse is mind control, it strips the victim of their free will and makes them entirely obedient to the caster. But to cast it on ten people, doesn't matter if they're muggles, it's-"

"Possible." Mihaela interrupted. "He's done it before on twice as many, on our first job at the recruiting center."

"You can control minds?" a man just to Rumlow's right asked, he looked disturbed by the revelation, and from the looks of it, so did much of STRIKE.

"There are limitations," Harry shrugged, unconcerned, he wasn't here to make them feel safe. "A strong will can resist the curse, even fight it off entirely. But those are much harder to come by than you'd think." He let them consider that for just a moment before carrying on. "Anyway, at this point I've established myself as a threat. Those hundred and fifteen plain clothes servicemen will be forced to act.

"But I expect they won't all be seated right at the end of the aisled, they'll be mixed in among the crowd. My main unit will form up behind me; Walden, Mihaela, and Angel at the back." Without even being directed, his mages joined him and fell easily into their directed positions. "Eva center right, Iola center left, and Fen taking point with me. We'll put down any who intercept our path to the president up front, meanwhile our reserves will work crowd control."

Rumlow was back to looking incredulous. "Four men keeping a crowd of fifteen hundred subdued?"

"Is easy when you have magic on your side. Those two," Harry gestured to Crane and Hogwarts, "specialize in herbology- plant life. The Baron ensured each pew held an arrangement of peace lily's and pothos."

"Thick roots and trailing vines," Crane said in that nervous way he spoke. "Very good for restraint, but plants move slow."

"Our imperiused servicemen will work as support in keeping anyone who slips out corralled. Meanwhile she," Harry pointed to the Weasley, "will be on doors and windows. Her gift is transfiguration, she'll shape all exits into just another stretch of wall, so no one is in or out until we're ready." Then he turned to Ivy, the last of the reserves. "And she will keep our restrained crowd docile."

"My donor was a potions master," the reserve explained to the STRIKE team before they could ask. "I can manipulate a person's chemical composition. One on one I could kill or control, but on a group this large the best I could do is tamp down their adrenal response, keep them calm and less prone to fighting their restraints."

Harry gestured to the aisle stretching before him. "It's a straight path to Ellis after that. No one to fight us, no one to take him and run."

"And after he's dead," Rumlow asked. "What's your exit strategy?"

"We let our fifteen hundred hostages go, whip them into frenzy then send them out every door, every exit in an uncontrolled stampede. In the time it'll take first responders to get control over them, we're already out and under disillusionment charms. No one would see us, so no one could stop us."

Harry waited, for another question, another objection but Rumlow seemed fresh out.

"It could work," he eventually decided on. "It's a good plan, but there's room for error. The few of you going against those numbers? Some of you will probably end up dead."

"To see HYDRA's work finally done?" Harry said. "It'd be worth it."

Rumlow grinned a nasty thing. "All right then, kid. Let's get in position, it's time for our first run through."


The padded gear was shit at protecting them. There were no broken bones or shattered eye sockets at least, but by the end of their session Harry felt like one giant contusion.

"You think they'd go easier on us," Eva moaned, poking mournfully at a bruise that covered her entire stomach. "We're supposed to go out in a few days, what good'll we be injured?"

"Order only comes through pain," Angel mocked, and every last one of them groaned. Fuck Rumlow and his insane HYDRA philosophies.

"We did good work today though," Iola said, trying for encouraging. "I think we'll really be able to pull this off."

The thought didn't elicit as much good cheer as she'd probably hoped. How could it when success meant hundreds of people were about to lose their lives?

But there was no helping that, and even less point dwelling on it, so Harry quickly took the reins and rallied his men. Their day wasn't over yet, not even close, there were more meetings, then mess, then fittings for uniforms that looked just the same as what any of the other mourners might wear but moved and breathed like the robes they'd worn on their two previous incursions.

Once that was through, it was back to their cell where sleep allowed them just a few hours respite before the lights came up and it was morning all over again.

Strucker had promised them an easy day, no running drills with STRIKE or long sessions in medical, but it didn't save them from sitting more briefings. Nearly the whole day was spent rehashing the same mission plan they'd gone through twice over just the day before until they were all certain they could recite it forwards, backwards, and in Cyrillic.

But the last few hours of the day, that sweet spot just between the last briefing and lights out, were theirs to spend and Harry had plans. And they involved finding himself a shower because being anywhere in proximity of any of the heads made him feel just gross, then a meal, then the solitude of their cell where he intended to have one last conversation with his team on what to expect the next day.

Their escort for the evening (because even now HYDRA didn't trust them to roam free) was waiting for them just outside the makeshift war room when they were finally dismissed for the evening. Four of the men Harry barely recognized the faces of, but two he knew much more personally; Bennett from the airstrip and his confrontational escort back from Strucker's base, Coleman was his name. Harry had managed to keep far from both men since each encounter, but his luck was clearly out.

"Session went well then?" Bennett asked, deceptively casual.

"Well enough," Harry said shortly, trying to parse out the motive behind the seemingly innocent question. Their escort never made conversation, especially not friendly conversation. They weren't colleagues. They weren't equals.

"Well that is a comfort," Coleman smiled wide and insincere as he got their procession moving. "Big day's not even two days off, we excited? Nervous? Having any doubts"

"None so far."

They swung around the corner and Bennett fell into step directly beside him, forcing Harry to stand shoulder to shoulder with both him and Coleman.

"None?" His laugh boomed down the deserted corridor, and a big hand clasped down on Harry's should. "Big man! But no, see I like that, the confidence. It makes me…makes us all feel a whole lot better. Because, understand, this is a big thing that's about to happen, that you're about to do, the kind that shapes history. But the only way it's going to work, is if we're all on the same team."

Harry stopped right there in the center of the hall, and pinned the man with the coldest stare in his considerable repertoire. "Do we need to have this conversation again?"

His mages were immediately on guard, reading the danger from his tone alone, and the reserves (miracle of all miracles) were only a half a second behind.

But none of guards reacted, Coleman just kept on with that big, dumb smile and said, "Maybe just one more time."

The cold burn of an electric pulse starting at the center of his collarbone and radiating out to the end of every limb was a familiar pain, but one Harry would never get used to. His entire body locked up and curled into itself, but then someone had a handful of the back of his shirt and was hauling him through a doorway he'd sworn was closed only a few second ago.

His feet slid precariously over what looked like tile and he careened forward until his face met a cold, smooth wall. He spluttered around the sudden gush of blood running down the back of his throat, while somewhere above him it began to rain in great freezing rivulets that made it almost impossible to breath.

A muffled beat pounded in his ears and somewhere behind him there was shouting. But Harry was focused on just trying to breathe.

"This is familiar, right?" That was Bennett in his ear. The asshole. "The water in your lungs The blood on your teeth. The pain everywhere. You've gotta remember it, those long days we spent together, the way you cried so hard we didn't even need to waterboard you, they way you begged."

Harry bucked, but there were hands everywhere; around his wrists, locking them behind his back, at his throat, in his hair, yanking his head back so he took in the full force of the downpour.

"After a while you weren't even human anymore. Just pain. You couldn't speak through it, couldn't think, your world began and ended in it."

Harry spluttered what he'd hoped would be a really foul curse, but just sounded like he was gargling a mouthful of water.

"I want you to remember what it felt like under that bright light, tied to that chair, remember what we did to you. Then ask yourself if any betrayal is worth that. Because if you fuck up, if this job doesn't go off without a hitch, you're back in that room, in that chair, with us."

"Quark."

Harry's eyes opened, he blinked past the sting of the freezing water and found himself nose to nose with Death, an awful parody of the last time he'd seen him.

He looked…angry?

"Be calm," he said, "these men can't kill you."

Harry nodded, a tiny thing with his hair still caught in someone's clutching fingers. He let his shoulder's drop free of tension and stopped trying to breath. Overhead, the fluorescents shut off, flickered rapidly, then turned back on.

Bennett flew backwards.

Harry didn't move, his hands were still locked behind his back, but the man whose feet had just half a second before been firm in their stance, lurched backwards, scrambling for purchase on the wet tile. Just like Harry he fell until he found the wall, unlike Harry it was the back of his head that made unforgiving contact, and when he went down, he didn't get back up.

The water gushing from the showerhead went abruptly scalding and the remaining hands fell away in an instant, but Harry didn't flinch. He turned on a dime, lashing his hand out and found Coleman's throat.

There was a rustle of several weapons being drawn and aimed at him, but Harry kept his eyes on Coleman. He could have broken free if he tried, a shake of his head and Harry wouldn't have been able to keep hold, but he didn't move to breathe.

"Take Bennett," Harry rasped around a lungful of fluids. "And you'll wait for us outside."

Coleman didn't move because Harry didn't, for one long moment his hand stayed locked around his throat, almost like it wanted to just keep squeezing, before reluctantly it released and the man took a slow step back.

"Grab him," he ordered quietly. "Let's go."

They cleared out quick enough only to be replaced twice over by the mages.

"What the fuck?"

Harry shrugged in response to Mihaela's snarled question and began gingerly prodding at his nose. "You guys okay?"

"They held us at gunpoint, wouldn't let us through the door, but they didn't touch us." Fen reported, deceptively calm. "What was that?"

Quickly deciding his nose wasn't broken, Harry moved on to checking his wrists for bruising. There was a lot. "They don't trust me."

Crane sputtered incoherently "You used m-"

Harry's hand slashed through the air and he went silent immediately, recognizing his near error just in time.

"-their own tactics against them." Walden filled in before the silence could grow too long. "Just what they deserved too."

"Let's forget it for now. They're paranoid morons who gave me a nosebleed, but I've got plans for the evening and like hell I'm going to let those morons ruin them. Besides look at the bright side," he spat out a mouthful of blood and watched as it was immediately swept up in the still running water and down a drain built right into the floors, "we found the showers."

He watched as his team shifted uncertainly, none of them wanted to drop the subject, but neither did they want to disobey.

"Won't they go to Strucker?" Angel worried.

"Doubtful. They don't want him knowing what happened here because then he'd want to know why."

But Angel seemed in a mood to argue. "We still don't know why."

"Now isn't the time."

Harry's control was beginning to fray, they could all hear it, so Iola stepped in.

"Just for now then," she agreed tentatively, her hands were shaking and her eyes were a little too bright but she stood firm between him and Angel. "But those things they said…."

"Great. Scrub down." Harry left the shower stall splattered with his blood and still running and found a fresh one tucked in the farthest corner. He dragged the curtain shut and flicked his showerhead on, but waited until the room was filled with the sound of ten other showers going before he turned to face Death.

"I hope this isn't going to become another one of your habits, peeking on me in the shower."

He received a flat glare for his trouble. "Are you hurt?"

Harry raised a brow, since when did they ask after each other's wellbeing? "No more than usual."

"Still, I plan for them to pass on to a place of great suffering once their time comes."

Harry beamed, Death was getting soft on him. "I'd like that very much. And thank you, I was panicking, you helped."

"Yes, well you did most of the work yourself." Death gestured vaguely at his hands which still hummed vaguely with the feel of magic. "We're very close now."

Harry looked down at the two appendages, still shaking slightly. "Will they be enough?" he asked. "Ellis and all his men?"

"More than."

Harry smiled wider, the easiest one he'd offered since winding up in Strucker's care. "Well, I suppose I'll see you then."

A hand touched his face, just for a moment, swiping through the blood that ran over his lips and down his chin. "Tomorrow, quark."


Bennett was gone by the time they reconvened in the hall, replaced by another nameless goon who met Harry's curious once over with a look full of disdain. Another of Coleman's posse of non-believers then, but he didn't feel like a threat, and none of the others did either. For tonight at least they'd been subdued.

Harry didn't bother letting them in on where they were headed, he was sure they wouldn't let him get far, just began the long march down to mess and felt himself relax bit by bit the closer they got.

Okay, the night hadn't started out at all as planned, but they were headed back on track now; a quick bite of whatever pre-mission meal the kitchens had thrown together and then they'd be on their way to the security of their cell door locking behind them. He could power through his aches and discomforts long enough to get there.

"Harry."

Or maybe just a little longer than that.

Harry clamped his teeth around a sigh of pure frustration at the sight that might them at mess. Strucker stood just off the side of the entryway, he'd clearly been waiting and Harry didn't even need to guess why.

"Go on ahead," he murmured to his team, who'd faltered at his back when they noticed Strucker. "Grab me a tray, hopefully this won't be more than a few minutes."

Angel hissed something too low for Harry, who'd already broken off to join Strucker, to hear. But it didn't sound kind. He'd deal with the man's confusing attitude later, but right now…

"I'd just been headed in for a meal when I thought of you, and just a few things we've yet to discuss before tomorrow." Even though the baron was speaking to him, his eyes followed the five guards herding his team through the doors, taking in their faces, the names sewn onto their chests. "I know I promised these last few hours would be yours, but would you spare just a few minutes for me?"

"Of course." His voice was still hoarse, would be for a while if his past experiences in waterboarding meant anything, and Strucker noticed, Harry saw the minute shift of his expression that told him as much.

"The electric failsafe in your collar was triggered," the Baron said and Harry nearly sighed from relief. He didn't want to be having this conversation at all, but it was here, there was no avoiding it, and he was relieved at least that Strucker was getting straight to it instead of forcing him to endure however long of small talk, "but only senior officers have access to the controls. Was there trouble?"

"A few of the guard had questions," he was careful to keep his hands away from his wrists and the sleeves covering the ring of bruises on each. "They wanted to make sure I didn't lie."

"Do I need to assign punishments?"

"No," Harry looked up at him easily. "I handled it."

Strucker's smile was vicious, but the hand he ran through Harry's hair was gentle. "Good. And tomorrow? Are you ready?"

"Eager."

"And your team?"

"They're nervous, but the good sort, they've been at their best these past few days."

"I've heard. Pierce says his STRIKE team was very impressed. Keep at it a day longer. Once tomorrow's done, we'll be one step closer to conquerors."

They split off right after that, Harry to where his own team already waited, his main unit and the reserves split between two nearby tables, and Strucker to a table where, for the first time yet, the heads were all assembled.

"Tonight's supposed to be a special meal," Iola said, before he even had the chance to ask. "A celebration supposedly. Even the heads seem able to loosen up so long as it's the eve of their organized apocalypse."

The back of Mihaela's boot found her shin hard enough to jolt her in her seat. That was the exact kind of talk Harry was always shutting down. But then there was a loud clatter from the kitchen, and any further conversation was shelved as the kitchen staff began toting out wheeled carts of covered platters that looked nothing like their usual simple meals.

Clear across the room, Pierce stood in unison with the food's arrival. He was barely above average height, only just clearing most heads in the crowd, and the deviance from their normal mealtime had everyone talking a little more animatedly than usual, but he stood and it took only seconds for the entire room to go silent. No cleared throat or wine glass required.

"I don't have a speech planned," he told the room. "I was never good at giving them and none of you want to hear one anyway. But I want to take just a moment," he closed his eyes and drew in a deep, exaggerated breath, "to take this in. Because it's been a long journey, lifetimes were spent working to get us to this very moment. And tomorrow, all of HYDRA's work will be coming to fruition.

"So tonight, we'll indulge a little. We've earned it." A ripple of agreeing cheers ran across the room. "And tomorrow, we get back to work."

Pierce sat down to a mess of hooting and clapping and fists banging on tables, and the kitchen staff uncovered the platters; whole roasted chickens, stuffings and sides and breads still warm and buttered, it was like being back at Hogwarts. But none of the mages went for it, almost like they were reluctant to take the offering. So Harry made the first move, pointedly scooping a heap of roasted potatoes onto his plate while keeping eye contact with Angel sitting right across from him.

"Go on, eat."

A clatter went around the table, as the mages slowly obeyed in reaching for nearby platters.

Everyone but Angel.

"I've plans for this evening, remember?" Harry purposely kept his face pleasantly blank as he reached out, spoon heaping with another round of potatoes, and dumped them onto Angel's plate. Their table was tucked in an out of the way corner, with the table the reserves had taken up sitting between them and anyone else, but he was facing out into the room and there was no telling who was watching. "Shower, then we eat, and af-"

"Fuck your plan."

Angel's plate slid across the table in tandem with his muted hiss. Walden and Eva on either side of him immediately moved in until they sat shoulder to shoulder, blocking the room's view of the table.

"Fuck these-these fucking…these fucking," he shuddered harshly. "They were talking about torturing you, they were laughing and talking about how they were going to do it again if you betrayed them. As if you're not the most backwards-ly loyal-"

"I'm not."

Everyone at the table fell absolutely still.

Harry felt something tremor so violently inside himself, his teeth rattled. He hadn't meant to speak. Especially something like that. But his throat ached from the way he'd choked on that water, his wrists and his nose and half his face throbbed with every pull. And he was angry. He was always so angry.

Angel's righteous fury was nothing compared to his, it was childish, it was insulting. What right did he have? The volunteer? They'd all gone through some form of conditioning, sure, but not like his.

"They destroyed me. You heard what they said in there, I was nothing. Inhuman. They scraped out every bit of me, watched as I bled it out on to the floor, and you're absolutely right, those fuckers laughed."

His face didn't change, he kept up a placid little smile as he reached for a cut of chicken even while inside he was spitting.

"They will get every last bit of what's theirs when it is their time. Until then, we stick to the fucking plan and we eat."

Angel's plate slid back across the table, pushed by an unseen force. This time he took it.

"Why are we doing this?"

Harry spared a glance to Eva, the one to speak, but let the silence drag on to hear what else she had to say.

"Do any of us believe in this?"

"I just…I wanted it back…" Mihaela choked on her words, but Iola was quick to pick it up for her.

"My magic," she whispered. "My life. But I hadn't understood…

Harry's lips pressed into another thin smile. "What it would cost?"

"Then why are we doing this?" Eva spoke quietly, but for once Harry was sure no one was listening, the noise of the hall would have rendered bugs even in this corner useless. "Those men did nothing to us, but we're supposed to go and kill them anyway."

"What would you do then?" Harry asked, and it wasn't mocking. He genuinely wanted to know.

"We could…we could fail on purpose. Block off the doors just like planned and get the president and all his men to listen, to help."

"They'll arrest us," he pointed out, "find us some remote, government facility to lock us in until they're absolutely sure we've truly defected."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Iola said tentatively. "Better than this at least."

But Harry was already shaking his head. "Iola, love, this building we're in, it's government property. These soldiers, the STRIKE team, they wear military patches; army, marines, NYPD. And Pierce, what do you think he's Secretary of? The Baron? The Sheik? And tomorrow, we're not breaking into this incredibly exclusive event, we're walking in, we've been invited. Why? How?"

A slow horror was dawning over Fen's face. "Because the government is HYDRA."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Hopefully not all, they might just have their…. pieces. But it's enough that we wouldn't know whose care we would really be turning ourselves into. And it would really suck if we outed ourselves as traitors to the cause in some half-assed attempt at defecting."

Walden's stare on his face was unwavering. "But you have a plan to whole ass it?"

"Not at all. I plan to wake up tomorrow and kill the president of the United States."

"Why?"

Harry took a bite from his plate, involuntarily his gaze flickered in the direction of the heads' table just as Strucker looked up at him. The baron gave the glass of blood red wine in his hand a small tilt in his direction and Harry smiled radiantly back. "Because it is the only way."

"Harry please," Angel all but begged. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you need to trust in the plan. And don't question."

Two simple directives, they'd heard them a thousand times before, but the faces that looked back at him were so conflicted.

"I don't understand you," Fen said. "I heard the stories about you, we all did; the brave, selfless, sacrificing boy hero. But here you are telling us to slaughter hundreds of innocent people tomorrow and not question why."

"One hundred and forty-four." Harry corrected as he bit into a roll, used the crust to sop up a puddle of gravy. "Though if we can manage, it might only be half that."

"But to do so means they win."

"They won't."

"I trust you," Angel whispered, though his wavering voice might have implied something different. "But this killing, it doesn't come easy to me. I need to understand."

Harr could at least sympathize with that.

"After the war," he said. "I spent a lot of time agonizing over what I could have done differently to have kept so many people from dying. It's only now that I understand every last one of them was necessary. Some had huge, obvious purposes; my mother died so that I could live to kill Voldemort. But some seemed pointless, wasteful.

"I had a classmate get shot with a killing curse right in front of me, just because he was in the wrong place in that moment. A spare. For years his death haunted me, the pointlessness of it, but the truth is, that was my first real understanding that Voldemort did not care who we were, how young we were. We were all fodder for his plans of a new world order. It was then, even if I didn't realize in the moment, that I got it; I had to kill him, or nobody- but especially I- wouldn't be safe.

"And it's horrible. I'm sure most people would say it's unfair that he died so I could be motivated. But if I hadn't, how much longer would it have taken me to accept that truth? How many more Cedric's would there have needed to be?

"Tomorrow those men we'll be facing, they're innocent, they've done us no wrong. But we'll kill them anyway, because their deaths have a purpose. And somewhere in the future, somewhere near, a thousand lives over will be saved because theirs weren't."

He sat back in his seat, plate empty. "I'm still just the same boy you heard of in those stories. Stupid and reckless and willing to sacrifice everything, for those lives. Even my humanity.

"But in order to make all of this worth it, just please, trust me."

Angel nodded, immediately. He was shaking Harry could see, and he'd lost every drop of color in his face, but that waver was gone when he spoke. "I do."


Harry cried that night.

Silent and still. He lay in his cot, biting down on his tongue and regulating every breath while trails of salt soaked up his pillow.

He was the worst kind of liar.

The seven of them left dinner that night shaking and terrified for what was coming, but motivated. He'd done it, he'd convinced them, and it really would be for something. HYDRA couldn't have him or the Heart anchored to his soul, to wield it even through him could lead to untold devastation.

But that wasn't why he was so ready, so eager to walk into that church tomorrow and slaughter those men. Sure saving all those lives was a plus, but the only thing he wanted, and all he'd been fighting for since he'd made Death a promise in that rotting forest was to be free. And he was so close, because the lives the Heart would devour tomorrow would be exactly what he needed to see that done.

It would start a war, the wizards would probably be annihilated. But honestly, fuck them. He'd warned them, said over and over that this wasn't the way, all it would lead to was their deaths. But no one wanted to listen to the boy they'd used up and tossed aside.

Fuck them

They'd brought this all on themselves.


A/N: I know I say this a lot. But this was the hardest chapter I've ever had to write. And the fact that it ended up so long… Suffice to say it was a bitch and I hated it and I really, really hope it reads well and that the overall pacing and scene composition made sense. (Please writing gods, have mercy on this writer)

I feel like HYDRA's plan at this point is pretty clear, but if not the next chapter will spell it all out for us at last. And for the first time since this story has been published, the next chapter is actually fully written! I'd originally planned and written it as part of this chapter, but during the edit I really felt it worked better as its own chapter, I plan to tweak it just a little more, maybe add another scene and then it'll be up. So this time when I promise not to have another five month gap between chapters, I can actually keep to it!

Also fun fact, Chapter 22 is exactly 22 pages! Second longest chapter of this story and it would have been longest if I didn't cut out what will now be #23.