This chapter goes with a shout out to El Marquis, who got me thinking about how a certain piece of paper had survived Henry VIII, the dissolution of the monasteries and a couple of civil wars; and who has tried to keep me on the historical straight and narrow... many thanks my friend...

Thank you all for your continued support for this story. Chapter twelve is putting up a serious fight at the moment, so your encouragement is particularly appreciated.

As always, I don't own either Marvel or JKR's characters, but I do enjoy playing fast and loose with them (although not half as fast and loose as I will be in a couple of chapters...)

Enjoy.

Merrick x

After an uncomfortable night Natasha and Harry checked out of their hotel and drove back into the historic city centre. As they pulled into a parking space Harry turned to look squarely at Natasha.

"OK, what is it that I did last night that upset you so much? I may have been a bit snippy about it, but honestly, killing him was not exactly a good option."

Natasha shook her head, climbing out of the car, her face still hard. "Leave it Harry, it's nothing" She stopped, looking around, getting her bearings.

"No, Tash, it isn't nothing. We're in this together. If you have an issue with what I did, you need to tell me"

Natasha said nothing for a moment, watching the clouds scudding across the grey sky. Harry waited patiently. "The people I used to work for a long time ago had a nasty line in mind control, and they weren't too fussy about how they used it and who they used it on." She turned to him, face raw and open for once. "I know what it is to have your head taken apart and put back together. When I got to America I hoped that was the last I'd seen of it. Then a few years ago - in New York. A very good friend had his mind totally taken over by an - alien force - using some kind of scepter. This - force - made my friend kill for him, kill people on our side, innocent civilians. It took my friend a long time to get over it... in fact I'm not sure if he is over it, even now." She shook herself, looking Harry in the eye for the first time that morning. "I have a big problem with messing with people's minds, even when its the bad guys we're doing it to... it just..." she shrugged "...even when it's as an alternative to killing them... sometimes the... more final option seems... cleaner somehow."

Harry watched her for a moment, remembering the number of times he had "modified" memories. To preserve their secret, to make his life easier, to enable a mission... right back to that muttered "imperio" from under his invisibility cloak in Gringott's Bank. To be sure , their cause had been desperate on that occasion, but he'd never really stopped to imagine how that might feel - to be on the receiving end. And how Natasha would react to knowing that he could not only affect memories, as he had last night, but take over a person's mind, turn them into his puppet should he choose to. Coming to a decision, he took a deep breath.

"Come on" said Harry, taking her elbow lightly,"let's go and find somewhere for breakfast. If nothing else I'm ready to kill for a decent cup of coffee." They walked for a few minutes, before Harry paused, looking straight at her. "You need to know that I could do that to... if I wanted... needed to... take over someone's mind that is. I could... but I don't. And even if I wanted to, there are laws to stop me. We call them 'Unforgivable Curses'. The penalties for using them could be... severe, even for someone in my position"

"So what you did yesterday?"

"Is allowed... We refer to it as "memory modification"..." Seeing her expression, he pulled a face. "It's a euphemism, I know... I removed a small section of memory, just the last hour or so, and replaced it with something that would account for the reason that he woke up in the park this morning feeling like shit. Believe me, leaving the gap would have been much, much crueller."

She nodded. "I understand I think. But honestly, even knowing that you seem to be quite an ... ethical wizard... more ethical than me if I'm being honest... it still freaks me out."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. I can't promise I won't do it again, but I will try to avoid it if I can." Harry peered down a narrow side street that led to the cathedral, nose catching the enticing scents of coffee, warm bread and bacon. "Come on, this smells promising..."

ooo0ooo

By the time they had finished an excellent breakfast the tension between them had dissipated. Leaving the cafe, Harry and Natasha headed for the Cathedral's administrative offices, where they were to meet Annabel Lee. Today Harry was older, with heavy framed glasses, his straight hair an undistinguished shade of brown, turning grey at the temples. Natasha – or Nicola Rogers as she was that day – was, like Harry, about twenty years older, plumper, her obviously tinted blonde hair coiled in a respectable bun in the nape of her neck. In contrast to Harry and Natasha's homely appearance, Annabel Lee was a tall elegant woman in her mid-thirties. In her expensive looking trouser suit and heels she looked surprisingly glamorous for the simple homely building in the Cathedral precinct.

"Mr and Mrs Rogers, how nice to meet you."

Harry shook her hand. "Thank you for seeing us at such short notice Ms Lee. We appreciate how busy you are."

The Archivist smiled warmly. "Call me Annabel, please, and yes, my parents were fans of Edgar Allan Poe, it took me a while, but I'm over it. I understand from your colleague Mr Jarvis that you will only be in Chester for a few days. Come up to my office and we will discuss what you are looking for. Can I offer you a drink? Tea, coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you"

A few minutes saw them comfortably seated in Annabel Lee's office, which was surprisingly sparse, almost minimalist when compared to the carved stonework and stained glass that housed it. Annabelle saw Natasha looking around with some surprise and smiled.

"Don't tell me. You were expecting dust and piles of old books?"

Natasha smiled back a little awkwardly. "Yes – I suppose so."

"Believe me, I spend enough of my days up to my neck in dust and books without bringing it into my office. Beside..." she tapped her sleek, expensive looking laptop affectionately "... these days almost everything I need is in here. We may not even have to put the white gloves on." She looked up as the door opened. "Ah, thanks Sarah."

A girl in her late teens shuffled in carrying a tray of tea, lip clamped firmly between her teeth in concentration. When her burden was placed safely on the desk she relaxed visibly. "I thought you might like some biscuits Miss Lee. I found the lemon ones you like."

"Thank you Sarah, that's lovely. Would you mind closing the door on the way out please."

Sarah escaped with evident relief. "Our new trainee..." commented Annabel with a smile as the door clicked shut. "A good girl, hardworking and very willing, but she has a tendency to be clumsy so we're keeping her away from anything valuable, or potentially breakable for the time being."

When they were settled with tea and biscuits, which were indeed delicious thought Harry, making a mental note to find out where they got them from, Natasha rummaged in her capacious handbag.

"We were hoping you might be able to help us with a curious reference that we found in some of my late great uncle's papers. We have already tried St Asaph, but they sent us to you."

"Ah yes. Mr Jarvis said that your Uncle was an enthusiastic amateur historian. The St Asaph files have an interesting history of their own, did you know? Following the thirteenth century destruction, a chest of documents was salvaged and spent centuries in a nearby manor house, concealed in a secret compartment, built into a wall. When the house was extended in the eighteenth century the wall was taken down to allow access into a new wing and the box was discovered. The owner of the house at the time - an merchant by the name of Turner - had connections to the cathedral here at Chester, and decided to gift the chest and its contents to our library. Unfortunately the head librarian at the time - a man of fervent anti-Catholic tendencies - was less impressed by the gift, and had it stowed away into the far reaches of our archives, where it remained under the cover of dust, cobwebs and some seriously unpleasant spiders, until it was unearthed in a big clear out ten years ago. It was quite a find I can tell you." As she was talking, Annabel was logging into her laptop, finally looking up with a bright smile. "Now... What reference are you looking for?"

Natasha handed her a scrap of paper. "Caron of Llanelwy 596."

"And you believe that the 596 may be a date?"

Natasha nodded. "In the context of his other notes, yes, we believe so."

Annabel was typing busily as they spoke. "Bear with me. The entire archive - what little there was - is scanned and cataloged, with any luck we can pick this up through a keyword... ah-ha."

Harry and Natasha leaned forward eagerly. "You've found something?"

Annabel nodded. "Actually I've found several somethings. From the very earliest pages of the Llanelwy records." She beckoned them to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder. "I can print you a translation of the text if that helps."

"That would be very helpful, thank you". Harry noted that Natasha had completely inhabited the character of the slightly dowdy, middle aged Nicola Rogers without any effort. There was no sign of the glamorous Russian who's company he had enjoyed over the last few days. She truly was a consummate professional.

Annabel Lee was explaining the first document. "This is a record of the admittance of one Alun of Caerfyrddin, in faith, Brother Caron, in the spring of 579 as postulant choir monk, aged approximately thirty two years. You're very fortunate that we have the time period you're looking for, only two of these journals survived. Hmm this is interesting..."

"Go on"

"He gives he profession as soldier and scholar, and he brings a gift of 12 gold coins."

Natasha frowned. "Is that all?"

Annabel chuckled. "You are mistaken Mrs Rogers..."

"Oh, Nicola please dear"

"Nicola. In those days that was more than an ordinary soldier would earn in a lifetime. Most would never see a gold coin at all. Clearly this man is educated – he describes himself as a scholar, and he would have had his scholarship examined before he could have been admitted as a choir monk. The uneducated would join as Lay Brothers, doing the heavy every day labour. The work was hard, but they generally lived better than they would have in the secular world. There is no note of his being of noble birth, otherwise there would be reference to him being the son of such and such a knight, or of the manor of something or another, so with money like that he probably had wealthy sponsorship - unless he stole it of course, but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt shall we?" She hit a button on her keyboard and a nearby printer sprang to life. "Let's see what else we have"

A number of links were clicked, then she gave a small crow of triumph. "Oh this is wonderful. I have a link here to a scrap of parchment found tucked in a book of hours. Let me look"

"A book of what?"

"A book of hours. An illuminated medieval book of prayers."

"I see"

"Wait I have it. Oh. Well he's definitely educated. It's a personal document, but the hand, and the Latin are spot on. Just bear with me for a minute..."

They sipped their tea in silence, Natasha examining an exquisite watercolour of a corner of Chester Cathedral, while the Archivist pored over her screen, muttering under her breath, typing furiously. After about ten minutes, she hit her print button triumphantly.

"Sorry about that. It was clearly written by the man himself, and by the sound of it he wasn't in very good shape when he wrote it. You can read the whole text yourself at your leisure, but basically the first section is the usual notes about his impending death and his hope of salvation. Then he refers to his old master, and his fears that he will not meet him in heaven. But it's the last section that really gets interesting...

I pray that my master knows that I did not fail him. That the great treasure that he entrusted to me, the source of all of his mighty power, was bestowed on the isle which was so sacred to his people, to lie in safety, watched over by the guardian spirits of the slain, for I tremble for the fate of this world, should such terrible power fall into the hands of the evil doer..."

For a moment no one in the room moved. Natasha and Harry's eyes met...

As the silence stretched, Annabel started to look uncomfortable. "Oh my goodness" gasped Natasha, slipping back into character, looking genuinely alarmed. "What on earth did Uncle Dennis think he was looking for? It is interesting though. Could it refer to the grail legend do you think?"

Annabel shook her head looking bewildered. "I have absolutely no idea. There is one further note here. Taken to our Lord on the feast of his Nativity 596, Brother Caron late of this house. requiescat in pace. So his death really was imminent."

She leaned back in her chair, eyeing them cautiously. "Just what exactly was your great uncle's interest in this? How did he come by these papers?"

Harry murmured a conventional response about pack rats and compulsive hoarders before glancing at his watch as he rose to his feet. "Thank you Miss Lee, we have taken more than enough of your time already, you have been more than helpful. How much do we owe you?"

"Nothing at all Mr Rogers. However... there is a donation box in the lobby..."

"Of course. We would be happy to make a donation. Thank you very much."

Annabel slipped the translated documents into a brown envelope which Natasha stowed in her bag with a smile of thanks. While Harry busied himself with the donation box in the lobby, Annabel – looking a little uncomfortable - took Natasha to one side for a moment...

When they stepped out into the street, Natasha smiled smugly. "I told you so," she flicked a square of white card under Harry's nose "Annabel's phone number – for Mr Jarvis – if he's interested. Speaking of Jarvis I don't think that Annabel will talk, without causing a lot of fuss, but it would be easy for HYDRA to hack her files. I need to get out of sight to make a call."

"I thought you said they couldn't track your phone?"

"They can't. But if they do happen to be watching somewhere, see me make a call and realise they can't track it, that's even more of a giveaway."

Harry nodded. "Back to the cafe then. They had a toilet at the back that you can use. Who are you phoning?"

"Jarvis. He needs to hack into the cathedral archives and remove all evidence of the search and the main document. They can see the day to day stuff, it's the hand written note that we need to disappear. Whatever it is we're looking for, that's the key. I'm sure of it."

Harry looked quite shocked. "You can't do that just delete the record of an historic document from someone's computer system!"

Natasha's eyes slid sideways. "You want to bet on that Mr Magic Man? And we'd better hurry"

"Why?"

"Jarvis was right, it's raining, and I left my umbrella in the car"

ooo0ooo

Natasha's call to Jarvis was quick and to the point. Once she had emerged to find Harry clutching two take away coffees. As they left, Harry took a quick glance down the sidestreet, leading back to the cathedral.

Natasha took an appreciative sip of her coffee. "Everything alright?"

"While you were calling Jarvis, you'll never guess who hurried past the cafe?"

"Our mutual friends - I guess it wasn't a huge leap of deduction that we would come to visit the cathedral. We need to get out of here."

Heading back into the city, Natasha and Harry left as quickly as they could, not wishing to risk another encounter with the HYDRA agents, especially as their disguises were starting to wear off. Returning to the car by a circuitous route to ensure that they weren't followed, Natasha climbed into the driver's seat, but looked around in confusion when, rather than getting in, Harry opened the boot, removing their bags.

"Harry?"

He looked around at the secluded parking space, muttering something under his breath. "Are you particularly attached to this car?"

She shook her head. "It's just a piece of junk I picked up when I arrived here. A cash purchase is easier to hide than a rental. Jarvis handles the paperwork."

"Good, you'd best get out then."

"What are you... oh my God!" With a flick of his wand, Harry had transfigured the car into a rusty shopping trolley.

"Just to be on the safe side. With the car gone they'll be busy looking for that rather than us."

"But what if someone saw you do ... that… and that too?" Harry had his wand in his hand, muttering something over his bag. To her shock he casually stuffed her larger bag into his ridiculously small rucksack, making her look around nervously. "Isn't this all a bit… well… public"

Harry shook his head. "Notice me not spell – even if someone was around they would find something else, far more interesting than us to look at."

Natasha nodded slowly, looking at the tall green eyed wizard with respect. "OK. I admit I'm impressed… again. Where do we go now though?"

"We need to consult with a very old friend." He held out his hand to her. "You'll need to come a bit closer for this I'm afraid. Now hold tight... and whatever you do . Don't. Let. Go."

Shrugging his rucksack onto his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her body hard against his.

"Harry!" Not that it was an unpleasant experience thought Natasha, allowing herself a moment to appreciate his height, the hidden strength in the arm around her waist, and the sudden rush of heat in the green eyes, but still... The low voice in her ear, and the tickle of his breath against her skin did nothing to help her leaping pulse rate...

"Hold tight"

Then everything turned inwards on itself, and she screamed.

ooo0ooo

When Natasha finally felt solid ground beneath her feet once more she tried to open her eyes but everything spun horribly, making her stomach lurch.

"Easy now. It's a bit of a shock the first time. Take a deep breath, you'll be OK in a minute." She could feel the softness of Harry's sweater beneath her cheek and thought that she should probably step away, but the urge to hold on to him a little longer was overwhelming.

"What the fuck was that?"

Her eyes were still closed, but she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Apparition. I suppose it's what you muggles would call teleportation. Instantaneous magical place to place transportation, it takes a little getting used to"

"No shit..." Gathering herself together, she finally stepped away, seeing amusement and concern warring on his face.

"Feeling better?"

She returned his smile, a little weakly. "I no longer think I'm going to vomit all over your shoes if that helps"

Harry chuckled. "And for that I thank you. I'm quite fond of these boots."

Natasha looked around at her new surroundings. Whoever owned this house must be a serious reader she thought inconsequentially; they were in someone's private library, old fashioned and comfortable, with big comfortable looking sofas and an open fireplace. A large oak worktable stood in front of a window that looked out onto a small garden and everywhere there were piles of books.

"Where are we?"

Harry smiled. "I'm placing a great deal of trust in bringing you here you know Agent Romanoff. Only a few close friends get an invitation. This is number 12 Grimmauld Place London. Welcome to my home."

ooo0ooo

Natasha sat at the small table in Harry's kitchen, sipping a glass of water and watching him preparing lunch. It felt oddly comfortable, oddly domestic she thought, not something she was used to. It was a pleasant kitchen, long and narrow but well fitted out with sleek modern units in dark wood, a heavy slate worktop and chrome fixings. It had all the essential gadgets, whilst avoiding the usual clinical austerity of your average bachelor pad. "Nice place. The magical world must pay better than ours"

Harry shook his head, slicing bread industriously. "I was lucky. I inherited it from my Godfather. Needed a lot of work, I had to go through the place from top to bottom, but I like it now. It's too big for one person really, but it was Sirius's you know, there was no way I could just let it fall down."

"He was important to you?"

Harry nodded, producing sandwich fillings from the capacious refrigerator. "My parents were killed when I was a year old. I was raised by my aunt and uncle." Natasha didn't need to ask how that had gone, the expression on his face said it all.

"What happened to your Godfather?"

Harry's face closed suddenly, eyes dark and sad. "He was in prison for most of my life - for something he didn't do. He escaped and got in touch when I was thirteen. From then he was the only adult on my side that didn't have an ulterior motive, right up to the point when he was killed when I was fifteen. I saw it – in fact for a long time I believed that I caused it" Harry put two side plates, and a platter of sandwiches in the middle of the table. "I'm sorry, I'm being maudlin. Is coffee alright? It's only instant I'm afraid"

"I'm sorry. About your Godfather. That must have been tough, and yes, coffee is fine, thank you."

Harry put two mugs of coffee, milk and sugar on the table, making a conscious effort to dispel the shadow of Sirius's death. "It's not much I'm afraid, maybe we should have eaten out."

Natasha took a big bite of her first sandwich. "No, this is good, thank you. Real bread, salad and ... everything. I'm impressed."

Harry laughed. "A plate of sandwiches is no great achievement you know."

"You'd be surprised. At home Cap is a good cook, if a bit limited, and with no understanding whatsoever about modern healthy eating; but the others are hopeless. Tony and Clint can just about manage toast and coffee at a push and the last time Thor tried to cook anything it took Jarvis three weeks to get the kitchen back into working order. It wasn't pretty." She smiled, reaching for another sandwich. "It's a little known secret, but Earth's Mightiest Heroes have a lot of takeaway menus on their fridge door."

Harry shook his head. "Amazing. Captain America, Iron Man, Hawkeye and the Norse God of Thunder all in one breath – remind me never to get into a name dropping competition with you."

"Oh believe me, they lose their glamour real fast when you see them first thing in the morning in their boxer shorts with their hair on end." She looked beadily at him over her coffee mug. "Now you come to mention it, has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Thor's psychotic little brother?"

Harry choked on his coffee. "I'm sorry. Loki? The guy with the...?" he made a gesture alluding to horns. Natasha chuckled and nodded. "Well in spite of everything written about me by the Daily Prophet over the years, I'm pleased to say that I have no plans to take over the world anytime soon."

"I'm delighted to hear it… One psychotic wizard with pretty green eyes is more than enough trouble for anyone"

Harry's eyebrows shot up, as Natasha flushed, cursing her runaway tongue... "Why Agent Romanoff, you think I have pretty eyes?"

"So what happens next?"

"Nice deflection... I sent a quick message back to the Ministry before I made lunch. I'm just waiting for clearance for a Muggle Access Permit ... Give me a few more minutes and with a bit of luck we can get going. In the meantime, I'll show you your room so you can freshen up."

Like the library, the guest room was old fashioned but very comfortable with a huge brass bed and a generous en suite. Natasha looked around her with frank pleasure.

"I like this hotel, we can stay here again. The catering's not bad either"

Harry loitering by the window, one eye on the sky, looked around , smiling. "It was my pleasure ma'am"

Natasha was just emerging from the en suite when a sharp tap came at the window. Harry looked relieved. "Ah-ha. It looks like we have our answer. " He threw open the window to admit an unobtrusive looking grey owl. To Natasha's surprise he removed a piece of paper from the pouch on the owl's leg, produced something from his pocket to reward the owl, then sat down at the dressing table chair to read his message.

"What is this?"

"Message from the Ministry of Magic."

Natasha perched on the end of her bed, looking confused. "By owl?"

"The magical world doesn't have phones or computers. So that means no mobiles, no texts or emails. Instead we have owls."

"You have a mobile"

"I do, but magic friendly technology is a relatively new thing, and it still doesn't react well to high concentrations of magic, the kind of thing you'd get in a work environment for example. Without the proper shielding, technology reacts to magical fields rather like it would to ... a strong magnetic field for example. "

She knelt up on the bed, leaning over to try to read the note over his shoulder. "So what's the message?"

Harry tried to focus on the paper in his hand, but he was acutely conscious of the lovely Russian agent who was now so close that he could feel her hair brushing his ear. The memory of how she had felt pressed against him when they had apparated earlier was too vivid for his peace of mind.

Focus Harry! He told himself sharply. She's a colleague. This is a mission, not a bloody date!

"What do you need permission for anyway?"

Harry shook himself, trying to focus. "I can't bring a muggle into a key warded magical location without official permission. This would normally have come back more quickly, but they would have had to send a message to Professor McGonagall first"

"He's the friend you want to speak to?"

"She, and no, not exactly. Professor McGonagall was my head of house when I was at school. We have our permission, and she's waiting for us so we'd better get going. There are rules though. We will only be allowed into the one room, and there will be no windows, so you won't be allowed to see anything of the school's location"

"Wait, we're going to a school?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, my school, and my first real home. You will need to leave your mobile and other gadgets here I'm afraid."

Natasha placed her bag on the bed, and quickly checked her pockets. "All clear". Her face dropped as realisation dawned. "Oh shit. Are we going to do that teleportation thing again? Because I don't think that's such a good idea on a full stomach."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Nope, something different this time. The wards on the school won't allow apparition. This time we're going by floo"

"We're going to fly?"

"Not flew as in past tense. Floo as in chimney – fireplace."

"I'm confused..."

Harry held out his hand. "Come on... you'll be fine. But if you're leaving your bag behind, make sure we have the papers from this morning."

She patted her back pocket. "Got them". Without thinking she took his hand, allowing him to lead her back to the library fireplace.

"Now, normally we do this individually, but as you're a muggle and you've never done this before I can't risk you getting off at the wrong fireplace so I'm afraid there's only one thing for it. You're going to have to hold tight again."

"Really Mr Potter? I'm sure you're doing this deliberately" She pressed herself against him, arms around his neck. "Like this Mr Magic Man?" Her voice was soft and husky, her blue eyes teasing.

She saw his Adam's apple bob nervously as he took several deep breaths; looking down at her, smiling wryly. "Natasha Romanoff has anyone ever told you, you are a wicked, wicked woman. Yes, just like that." He put both arms around her waist, pulling her even closer, and for a moment Natasha was glad that, with her face buried in his shoulder, she could hide her own reaction to him so much more easily. "Now for the love of Merlin, don't let go."

There was a blinding flash of green fire and Harry shouted something as the flames enveloped them. But instead of the searing heat she expected Natasha found herself whirling through space with only Harry to cling on to. With her eyes tightly shut she didn't see the moment they pulled out, so the impact nearly sent her flying as they came to a sudden halt.

Once again the world, and her stomach, were spinning out of control. This time though, it was Harry that held her close, one arm around her waist, the other stroking her hair as she clung to him once again. "It's okay, just breath, it'll pass in a minute, just relax..." he murmured soothing nonsense against her hair until the tide of nausea passed.

This was nice, thought Natasha, a little woozily. Nice to just be held like this, to allow herself to feel protected and comforted for once. She was so used to always being the strong one, the professional. Hard as nails Black Widow who used her body as easily as knife or gun, who used and discarded men and women as the mission demanded, never allowing anything as muddy as emotion to get in the way.

But this one – Harry – he was different. This wasn't about power, or revenge, or the mission. It wasn't about winning trust or acquiring information or gaining advantage; it was just about her, and Harry and the spark that had been there between them right from the start...