Chapter 4
I do not own anything you recognize from Marvel or Harry Potter.
In the next few chapters, I'm going to go deeper into each Avengers character and try to explain some things before questions start to be asked. Such as "How does Stark have a suit if the story's post Iron Man 3?" or "How is Thor back on earth?" Oh, and if you haven't seen IM3 yet, this fanfic may contain spoilers. You can't say I didn't warn you.
I also incorporated a little Prisoner of Azkaban unintentionally in this chapter. Kind of just realized that.
Thanks so much for all your support! :)
Whispers filled the Dursleys's shrub.
"Should we call it in?" Nat asked.
"Might as well, but don't call for backup. I doubt we'll need it," Rogers answered.
"Can we get out of this bush now, please?" Stark hissed.
"We could, if only we were more casually dressed..." Thor's gruff and rather loud voice replied.
"Look who's talking," Bruce spoke up, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
"It's almost dark out. If we wait for another half-hour we could sneak out of the neighborhood and back to the cars." Clint polished another arrow.
"We can't just burst in, can we?"
"And what are we supposed to say? 'Sorry that's there's a giant hole in your roof, we're just breaking in to steal your son, no worries! Have a nice evening!'"
"Who said anything about making a hole in the roof?"
"Stark just did."
"Stop arguing. That's not going to get us anywhere! I'm going to call in to Fury and headquarters, say there's some unusual activity going on inside the house. Stark can set up a camera so we can keep an eye on things and then we'll be on our way. Clear?"
"Clear."
"I don't have a camera with me!" declared Stark.
The Captain eyed the suit, "Don't lie to me Mr. Iron Man. There's gotta be one in there somewhere."
Muttering something or other first, Stark ordered Jarvis to open the suit and he scrambled out. Then, after re-assembling it, Tony started taking various components off and starting finding cameras.
"Good boy," smirked Bruce.
Steve grabbed his manual radio and successfully managed to press the right buttons on the device. "Cap'n Rogers to Fury. Do you copy?"
"This is Director Fury, I copy."
"Bad and good news. The good news is that we're going to be out of this bush soon. The bad news is an undentifiable person is up in Harry's room. We don't want to approach, so Stark is setting up cameras-"
"Unwillingly!" Tony shouted into the microphone.
"So Stark is unwillingly setting up cameras so we can monitor the area," Rogers finished his sentence.
"Fine. Just get back to headquarters as quickly as possible so we can view the feed from the cameras. Stark, do you copy?"
"Yep. We'll be there soon enough, your Directorness."
Ignoring Stark, Fury said, "Rogers?"
"Yes?"
"None of you are to be seen. Over."
"Copied. Rogers, over and out."
While the other five watched Tony set up the cameras, there was a few moments of silence of which they could hear the sounds of the night. An owl hooted, singing along with the orchestra of crickets. Somewhere down Privet Drive, a car pulled into its driveway and the roar of its engine died. Abruptly, Stark announced, "Ok, done. Let's get out of here."
Right before Harry could go into a frenzied panic, the squeaky voice returned. Harry spun around to discover the elf back on his bed.
Without even questioning how the house-elf had managed some form of apparation, Harry protested, "But see what it's like here? See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got - well, I think I've got friends."
"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" asked Dobby slyly.
"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry, now pointing a suspicious finger at the elf. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"
"Harry Potter musn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best-"
"Have you been stopping my letters?"
"Dobby has them here, sir," reasoned the elf. Careful to step out of Harry's reach first, the house-elf pulled out a thick stack of envelopes from his pillowcase dress. From his view-point, Harry could make out Ron's messy scribble, and Hermione's elegant script. A few even had Hagrid's untidy scrawl.
Blinking anxiously, Dobby waited for Harry's response. "Harry Potter musn't be angry ... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir ..."
Instead of listening, Harry made a grab for the letters but Dobby nimbly hopped out of reach again.
"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a year you'll regret going back! Say you won't go back, Harry Potter!"
"No!" Harry forgot that he shouldn't of been shouting. "Give me my friends' letters!"
"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice." Instantly, Dobby had sprinted to the door, yanked it open and leaped down the stairs.
Harry was just as fast, and tried best he could not to make a sound as he sprang after the elf. Jumping the last few steps, he landed ninja-like and glanced around for Dobby. From the dining room, the deep voice of Uncle Vernon could be heard saying, "... tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear ..."
As Harry rushed into the kitchen, he scanned the scene, causing his stomach to take a trip to the middle of the earth.
Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of dessert, the pudding with mountains of cream and sugared flowers, was hovering extremely close to the ceiling. On top of a cupboard, Dobby crouched in its corner.
"No," whispered Harry. "Please ... they'll kill me ..."
"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"
"Dobby ... please ..."
"Say it, sir -"
"I can't -"
With a tragic look, Dobby said, "Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."
After a mini heart attack, Harry watched the cake fall in slow motion. On contact, the cake sounded and exploded like a firework. The dish shattered, and frosting splattered onto the once spotless walls and glass windows. Dobby disappeared in a bright blue array of light, leaving Harry as the only one to blame.
There was a few screams of shock emitted from the Masons and Dursleys because of the sudden crash.
"Sir, a few screams just came from the house of Number 4, Privet Drive of Surrey," Jarvis alerted Tony as the Avengers were cautiously making their way back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Acuras awaiting them two blocks away.
"And turn around," Clint spun on his heel and began to retrace his steps back to the bush.
"This is going to be a long night," Bruce muttered to himself.
Bursting into the kitchen, Uncle Vernon found the mess that Dobby had so suddenly and easily created. Upon his arrival, he also discovered Harry frozen in a combination of horror and distress.
In the beginning, it seemed as though Mr. Dursley would simply come up with a few simple lies and polish up the whole situation. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed - meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs...") Instead, he shooed the Masons back to their seats at the dining table, gave Harry a mop and made a promise that as soon as the Masons left, Harry was to get quite a whipping. To substitute the now ruined pudding, Aunt Petunia dug a carton of ice cream from the freezer while a shaking Harry began to de-cream the windows, walls, and floor of the kitchen.
And Uncle Vernon would of been able to keep his promise - if it weren't for the owl.
As Mrs. Dursley was passing out after-dinner mints to the Masons, an unexpected and uninvited guest swooped from an open window. When the barn owl dropped an envelope on Mrs. Mason's head, she screamed like some evil demon and ran out of Number 4 shrieking about lunatics. Rounding on Uncle Vernon, Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to explain that Mrs. Mason had an extreme phobia of birds of all shapes and sizes and asked if they thought this was their idea of a dirty joke.
Clutching the mop for support and his dear life, Harry shrunk towards the floor as Uncle Vernon stepped intimidating towards his nephew, shaking with rage and pure hatred in his beady eyes.
"Read - it," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Go - on, READ IT!"
Harry gulped and ripped open the letter. Unfortunately, it did not contain birthday greetings.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statue of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays!
Yours Sincerely,
Mafalda Hophirk
Mafala Hophirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Although Harry didn't want to, he timidly rose his head to face Uncle Vernon's rage.
"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school! Forgot to mention it ... Slipped your mind, I daresay ..." Uncle Vernon advanced on Harry, and his rather round face reminded Harry of a bared-teeth bull-dog about to attack. "Well, I've got news for you, boy ... I'm locking you up. ... You're never going back to that school ... never ... and if you try to magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"
But before Uncle Vernon could drag Harry up to his room, he caught sight through the glass panes on the front door of a man in a buisness suit approaching.
He had dark hair, glasses, a navy blue tie, and was desperately trying to wipe dirt off his trousers.
Harry saw him too, and wriggled free from his Uncle's steel grasp. His first thought was, The Ministry has come! Dobby came and made another mess and they're going to expel me!
Without a second thought or hesitation Harry raced to the cupboard and out of Vernon's reach. Remarkingly quickly, Harry had picked the lock and grabbed his wand out of his old 'bedroom', the cupboard under the stairs. He pointed it at his Uncle.
"I'm running now. And there's nothing you can do," he announced. If looks could kill, Mr. Dursley was currently murdering Harry, but he didn't make any more attempts to choke him.
Right before the knock on the door arrived, Harry had kicked his Hogwarts trunk open and grabbed his Invisibilty Cloak, shielding his entire body. He knew no matter what, he was screwed now. As Uncle Vernon opened the door he managed to grab his trunk and slip up the stairs without a sound to his room to collect the rest of the little he owned. Unfortunately, he couldn't close the door without attracting attention so he cautiously tiptoed around placing various objects into the suitcase he had set behind the door so it wouldn't be noticed from the entryway.
Of course, the voices traveled easily up the stairs.
"Who are you?" barked Uncle Vernon.
"I'm Dr. Bruce Banner from the Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."
"What stupid organization is that?! 'Cause I'm not interested in buying any of your bloody-"
"Oh, no we're not an organization-"
"Then what the bloody hell are you?"
"An agency. And we're here on account of Harry Potter."
That was enough Harry needed to hear. Even though he was wrong, and it wasn't the Ministry, it was some high class agency that was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Uncle Vernon smirked at the Doctor, "I'm sorry, but Harry isn't here right now. In fact, he doesn't even live here anymore. So good-bye." For some reason, Harry had the feeling those words were intended for him more then for the 'business suit man'.
While Dr. Banner continued having a heated discussion with Uncle Vernon, Harry grasped his trunk and awkwardly held it under his Cloak. Silently, he slipped down the stairs and out the "Number 4 ... out of the sights of Privet Drive actually, he stepped behind some trees and packed the Invisibilty Cloak back into his luggage. With a Shrinking Charm, he made it so he could slide his trunk into the front pocket of his jeans so he didn't have to worry about carrying it.
Then he ran like hell.