As soon as he was in the air, Harry flapped his night coloured wings furiously until he was far above the Helicarrier where it was anchored in the middle of the ocean. As he went, he cast a quick disillusionment spell, and once he was high enough, he performed a spell that he had created a couple of years before.
"Velocitatem!"
Immediately, Harry's flight speed increased, and with a loud bang, he broke the sound barrier. That was why he had learned how to partially transform. He could fly, but he was still capable of magic. Fury had asked him years before why he didn't just fly in a plane. Harry hadn't answered at first, but eventually, he told him.
The one, and only time he had been inside an aircraft, his magic had interfered with the planes technology, and Harry had almost been the cause of a crash that would have taken the lives of over two hundred passengers. He had been forced to apparate mid flight in the bathroom of a crashing plane, and it was an experience he would rather not repeat. The moment he had left, the plane had stabilized, but after the accident he had almost been the cause of, he had decided to avoid all forms of muggle transport. Even being on the Helicarrier made him antsy. He knew it was too large for his magic to effect, but after causing as many car crashes as Harry had, you learned to avoid vehicles.
He cast a quick Point Me spell, making sure his internal compass wasn't leading him astray. His raven form had granted him many things, improved eyesight being the gift he found most useful. He had managed to defeat Voldemort even with his poor eyesight, but with the technology muggles created improving every day, Harry couldn't afford to be at a disadvantage.
As he flew through the air, with the sea below him, and the sun warming his back and wings, Harry felt himself begin to reminisce about his life after the war against Voldemort.
It had been two years after his defeat of Voldemort, and Harry was in America. Since Ron and Hermione had died, it had become Harry's goal to hunt down every last Death Eater, and lock them away for the rest of their lives. Sometimes they fought back, Harry was to defend himself, and they ended up dead. He tried to capture, not kill, but more often than not, he was given no choice.
The Ministry was still searching from him. They were grateful to him for removing the threat of Death Eaters, but Harry knew they wanted him back and work for them, to keep them safe. Unfortunately, Harry didn't view Britain as home anymore. Without Ron and Hermione, there was nothing for him there. He still hadn't managed to face the Weasleys, and so far he had avoided all contact with the Wizarding world, except for the dark wizards that he hunted.
The Hallows had changed him a lot. He stopped aging, he was taller, and his search for evil doers and toughened him up. He was no longer the scrawny child that was bullied by his cousin and fellow students. He was strong, and the Death Eaters feared him for it. He had improved his magical skills, slowly but surely now that he no longer had Hermione to assist him, and he was just beginning to discover his Animagus form. As far as he knew, he had only gained one new magical power, apart from his increased core capacity. He had discovered it during his first hunt.
He had just located the Death Eater, and upon seeing him, the dark wizard had dropped to his knees, begging Harry's forgiveness, and asking for mercy. Harry had stared at the man in surprise, unsure as to what to do, until he met the man's eyes.
Harry had never given the phrase 'Eyes are the windows to a man's soul' much thought before that day. As he had stared at the man, he had felt himself falling forward, a sensation similar to that of sinking into a pensive. Instead of all the man's memories, however, Harry had seen only the moments where the man had committed evil. Murder, to be exact.
He had watched with growing horror as he was shown memories of the man murdering innocent people, again and again, and enjoying it. He watched the man torture muggles, and laugh.
When Harry resurfaced, he found the man crumpled on the ground. He watched as the Death Eater struggled to his feet, staring at Harry as if he was the monster. His soul was tainted, filthy.
"What did you do, you little freak!"
Harry had stared at the man, his face impassive, and he tilted his head to the side. "You have committed acts of pure evil. You must face the consequences." He raised the Elder Wand.
The Death Eater screamed with fury, all begging forgotten, and lashed out with his wand. Harry erected a shield, and the cursed rebounded, striking its castor instead. The Death Eater collapsed to the ground, dead, reminiscent of the Dark Lord's death. This was becoming a trend.
Harry had stared down at the body, feeling neither pity nor guilt. The wizard had been evil, and it was Harry's duty as the Master of Death to destroy him.
It was early morning when Harry arrived in the country of Afghanistan. He performed the Point Me spell once again, and slowed down his speed to normal. From as high up as he was, the ground should be a blur of colours, but Harry could still see it clearly, even with the faint lighting.
He found himself flying over the empty desert, and he began to search the ground. The Terrorists had most likely disguised their base, and Harry was too high up for the Point Me spell to be of much use. He was prepared to scan the ground with his keen eyesight until he detected movement, but in the end he didn't have to. He just followed the explosions.
By the time he found them and was circling the base, the air was filled with sound of gunfire. From above, Harry watched as a man encased in a suit of metal massacred what he assumed were the Terrorists. The metal man proceeded to shoot fire from his hands, and after a few moments, there was a huge explosion. Harry was thrown backwards through the air, the shockwave from the explosion causing him to flail and drop in altitude. His disillusionment spell shattered, leaving him visible, but before he could worry about that, a piece of shrapnel collided with him. Harry felt a couple of ribs snap, and he gasped in pain.
After colliding with him, the 'shrapnel', which he now saw to be the metal encased man, crashed into the ground. Harry dived after him.
Tony hit the ground, hard, and on impact, his suit was destroyed.
When he came to, Tony found himself waist deep in the sand, but miraculously, without serious injury. The suit had saved his life. He groggily pulled himself out of the sand, his hands burning from the heat, and he pondered his recent flight. He had just out flown the explosion, when he had collided with something midair. Tony rolled onto his back once he was free from the ground, and his eyes drifted shut. He had escaped his captors, but and the cost of his friend's life.
Tony felt himself begin to sink into unconsciousness, even though the sun was blinding him through his closed eyelids. He was almost asleep when the sun suddenly disappeared. Tony managed to open his eyes, but the sight before him convinced him he was hallucinating.
He could only see the outline of the person before him, as the sun was shining so brightly behind the stranger that he was but a shadow. What he could see was causing him to seriously question his sanity. There was the silhouette of a man, but for some reason, the man had wings...
"The Church always told me God would punish me for my dastardly deeds," Tony slurred, "Didn't think He'd send a freakin' angel though... You here... to smite me...?"
The stranger snorted, and crouched down next to Tony. "Are you Tony Stark?" a male voice questioned.
"If I say yes, are you still gonna smite me?"
The man sighed in annoyance. "I'll take that as a yes. Under all the grime and blood, you look like the photo I was given."
Tony blinked, the conversation causing him to wake up again, and begin to think coherently. Jesus, it was hot.
"Angels use photography?"
"I'm not an angel," the man growled. He then grabbed one of Tony's arms, and pulled him upright. Tony's vision spun nauseatingly, but he managed to remain conscience. Maybe he had gotten a little injured...
"Where are you taking me?" Tony asked. "I'd rather not be captured by another gang of Terrorists. It wasn't much fun last time, let me tell you that."
"I need to treat your wounds," the man said in annoyance, "Now will you shut up?"
Tony managed to scowl, but fell silent. Being quiet wasn't his nature, but he felt like crap, and angering what he hoped was his rescuer was not something he wanted to do. As they hobbled forwards, the sun to their backs, and the tall stranger easily supporting the majority of his weight, Tony realised that strangely, the man sounded British.
By the time Harry dragged the injured Stark far enough away from the crash site, the sun was roasting them alive. Harry would have flown them, but he had been more injured in the collision than he had previously thought. His left wing felt like it had deep muscle bruising, and his broken ribs were extremely painful.
As Master of Death, Harry couldn't die, and he also had an increased healing rate than a normal wizard. However, just because he couldn't die, didn't mean he couldn't feel pain. His present injuries weren't particularly bad, he had experienced far worse, but they were by no means slight injuries either. The broken ribs were digging painfully into his lungs, and a few others had broken the skin of his chest. He could feel a shard of bone piercing the side of his heart, and he knew that if he were a normal wizard, he would surely be dead.
When he had first heard of the Hallows, and how they made their user immortal, Harry had envisioned himself coming back to life after he had been killed. However, the magic worked nothing like that. Harry literally could not die. He had discovered this the first time an enemy had stabbed him in the heart. It had hurt, and it had really pissed him off, but it hadn't killed him. He had defeated the enemy, and the wound was gone the next day, leaving only a scar over his heart.
He could have apparated them to safety, or cast a spell to make the journey more comfortable, but even delirious, Tony Stark was a genius, and Harry was wary to perform magic in front of him. The man was a weapons manufacturer for Merlin's sake. What would a man like Stark do if he got a hold of magic?
When they were far enough away, and Stark was finally fully unconscious, Harry created a shelter from the sun. He excavated an underground cave by vanishing some sand, creating a ten foot by ten foot space, with magically reinforced walls so the sand didn't collapse inwards, about three metres below the surface. He manipulated the sand into forming steps leading down to the new shelter, and after depositing Stark inside, he cast Concealment and Muggle Repelling spells around the perimeter.
After nodding in approval at his handiwork, Harry re-entered the shelter. Stark was still asleep, and Harry used this time to examine the billionaire's wounds. None were too serious, just a couple of cuts and bruises, and while Harry could have easily have healed them magically, he didn't dare.
As he had been examining the injuries, he had become distracted by the glowing circle of light in Tony's chest. At first he thought his powers were malfunctioning, and he was viewing the man's soul, but then he realised it was some king of technology. He had immediately put away his wand, resorting to muggle first aid, careful not to touch the blue light as he was unsure how his magic would affect it.
Instead, he examined his own wounds, wincing as he saw the state of his chest. He quickly cast a couple of spells, healing his broken bones, and resealing the skin. He allowed his wings and talons to disappear, the bruising on his wing causing the transformation to be painful. He leaned back against one of the magically stabilised walls, bringing a knee up to his chest, and pulling the pouch Hagrid had given him for his birthday when he was a teenager from around his neck. He began rummaging through it, having enchanted the pouch a decade before so he could store all his important belongings within. He would have loved to just drop Stark off at the nearest U.S. army base, but even after all these years, Harry still suffered from his 'Saving people thing', and was loath to abandon Stark until he knew the man was alright.
He pulled out a backpack, a ruse to avoid questions from Stark, and then summoned two goblets, filling them with water, placing them beside him, and pulled out a flashlight. He had noticed upon first seeing stark that he looked malnourished, Unfortunately, Harry didn't have any food on him, and he couldn't make any with magic. So he waited.
A few hours later, Tony awoke, and found himself once again in a dimly lit cavern. He immediately saw that it wasn't the one he had been a prisoner in for the last month, but still, being in the enclosed space made him uncomfortable. It was better than being murdered by the sun, though...
"Good, you're awake," a voice said from the right.
Tony looked sharply in the direction the voice had come from, and saw a young man leaning against the wall. He looked to be in his late teens, early twenties, and had raven black hair with a pair of the greenest eyes Tony had ever seen. Through his fringe, Tony could see a strange scar on his forehead. He also looked dangerous, like he wouldn't hesitate to murder someone if he saw fit. Tony probably shouldn't anger the man.
"Where'd your wings go, Mr. I'm-not-an-angel?" Ahh crap...
The young man shrugged, closing his eyes.
"...Sooo, what's your name?" Tony asked.
There was silence for a few moments, and Tony was surprised when the man answered. "Harry."
"Are you British?"
The newly proclaimed 'Harry' frowned at him without opening his green eyes. "... yes."
"You're not very talkative," Tony stated abruptly.
Harry opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "And you're annoying."
Tony put a hand on his chest, feigning deep insult, "How dare you, I am a lovely person! ... YOU'RE annoying." After a moment, he added another comment, "I thought British people were supposed to be polite."
Harry bared his teeth in a slight snarl. "Why won't you shut up?"
"Why won't you talk?" Tony countered.
"I don't want to talk."
"I don't want to shut up."
Harry stared at Tony for a moment before his mouth tilted slightly upwards at the side in a faint smile. "It seems we must agree to disagree. We'll be here for another hour or so before you're ready to travel again. I cleaned your wounds some, but I couldn't do much. Here," he handed Tony a goblet full of water, "Drink."
Tony eagerly gulped down the cool liquid. "Where did you get water?" In reply, Harry lifted up a black backpack.
Tony accepted the answer. He must not have noticed it earlier. "Where are we by the way?"
"This is a small shelter about seven kilometres from where you crashed. Must have been built by some locals."
"... There're locals in the desert?"
Harry shrugged.
Tony sighed. "You're not telling me much." He eyed Harry suspiciously, "You some kind of secret agent? Why else were you wandering, or rather, flying, right beside my prison?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at how close Stark was to the truth, but neither confirmed nor denied what the billionaire had said. Instead, he said, "I'll bring you to the nearest base as soon as you're ready. Then we can both go our separate ways, and you can never annoy me again."
"So you're a secret agent, and you can fly. Are you some kind of mutant? I heard there were some illegal lab experiments walking around, but I never thought I would actually meet one... unless you're a fairy or something..."
"I am NOT a fairy."
"A mutant secret agent who dislikes being called a fairy, and despises human interaction," Tony summarised. "I read a couple of books on Psychiatry in my youth."
"You're annoying."
"I see," Tony said thoughtfully, resting his chin on his fist, "And how does that make you feel?"
"SHUT UP."
Eventually, Tony was ready to move, and they set off again. Tony was still tired, but after a couple of hours in the shade, he was feeling better. It was evening in the desert now, and Tony talked constantly, much to Harry's aggravation.
"- and then, they barred me from the premises. Can you believe it? I mean, what's wrong with hacking into the CIA database? Honestly, some people-"
"Be quiet," Harry hissed.
"Wha-?"
Harry held up a hand, and cocked his head to the side. For some reason, Tony thought the movement was bird-like...
"I hear a helicopter."
"Well I don't." Tony said, before he became aware of the faint sound of propellers. "Finally," breathed Tony in relief, "We can go home. Pepper is going to kill me." Tony glanced behind him to look at Harry, but found himself alone. "... Harry?"
By the time the chopper arrived, at was to see Tony Stark standing on top of a dune, staring into the distance, a look of confusion on his face
As soon as it landed, Tony's friend Rhodey jumped out, and sprinted over to Tony. "Thank God, you're alive," he said, and pulled Tony into a quick hug, "Next time, you're riding with me. How did you escape? How are you still alive in the desert? What happened?"
"... I guess I have must have good luck."
Once Harry saw that Tony was safe, he headed home, invisible once again, and flying at incredible speeds. By the time he returned to the Helicarrier, he was exhausted, but didn't allow it to show. Once he was flying above the huge ship, he apparated inside the Maintenance closet once again, cast a few spells to remove the sand and dust from his dark clothing, removed his wings and the disillusionment spell, and left the small space, strolling to the Bridge.
Once he arrived, he saw that Fury was once again accompanied by the redhead, and headed over to them. Fury turned around, and examined him, doing his usual check for injuries. Harry looked as unruffled and impassive as ever, and Fury nodded slightly, signalling for him to speak.
"Mission completed, target now safe and in the hands of the military. I'm going now, and better not get called in for another year at least."
Fury raised an eyebrow, "If I call you, Agent Potter, I expect you to help. You know you're only brought in when things get bad, and unfortunately for you, I expect things to get bad a lot in the coming years."
"Once again you astonish me with your incredibly positive outlook on life," Harry replied in a calm and serious voice. "Goodbye, Director." With that, he walked off, not waiting for Fury to reply. The Director just shook his head, and returned his attention the screens in front of him. He watched Agent Romanoff as she hurried after Potter from the corner of his eye.
Harry had just reached the corridor that housed the closet when he whirled around.
"Could you come out already? I know you've been following me since I left the Bridge."
Natasha stepped out of the shadows, and observed Harry.
"You're a little young, aren't you?"
"You said that before, Agent...?"
"Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff. Who are you anyway?"
"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "You know the way you're a secret agent?" Natasha nodded, "Well I guess you could call me a secret, secret agent."
"That doesn't make any sense," Natasha said with a glare.
Harry just shrugged, and opened the door to the closet, closing the door behind him. Natasha hurried over to it, and yanked it open. Her eyes widened as she took in the small cupboard that contained a broken vacuum, and a mop. Secret, secret agent, huh?
Thanks for reading.