Disclaimer: I do not own/get drunk with Harry Potter or the Avengers.

WARNING! This is the darkest timeline. Bonus points if you get that reference.

Boris Chazov a.k.a. Chezk Molotov

"Come on, Harry. We have been at this for weeks now. We haven't had a job in forever and my boyfriends have been getting too clingy. It is time to focus on a new target." Natasha said from her position on the bed.

Natasha and Harry had long ago gotten used to sleeping in the same room. There was safety in numbers and less of a chance of a rival assassin getting both of them if they were in the same room. Not that there hadn't been a few tries on their lives. It was actually after the first assassination attempt that Natasha insisted on one room. It was shortly after that she insisted on one bed instead of two. Of course, her excuse was wanting more space in the room to exercise, but Harry didn't buy that for very long.

They didn't talk about their pasts very often, there was too much that they couldn't tell each other. However, it didn't take too long sleeping in the same bed for some things to become obvious. The first of which was Natasha craving to be touched and Harry's hatred of it. Harry didn't trust anyone, not really, and didn't like getting close enough for them to do something untoward. This dislike was applied to everyone equally until Natasha burst into his life and then his bed.

When Natasha fell asleep - real, deep sleep - she clutched everything around her tightly and refused to let go. At first, this deep sleep rarely happened, but the longer they slept in the same bed the more common it occurred. Harry didn't let his thoughts delve into why that might be. He also liked to ignore the fact that he continued to let it happen. He had never once told Natasha about this personality trait of hers.

"Not yet." Harry didn't look up from the pile of papers on the table in the room.

They had been in Rome for a month, they had followed their ghost there.

"I'm not saying we completely forget about the guy, but as of right now he has disappeared - vanished. There is nothing more we can do right now. We have tracked down every lead, every whisper from the dark. Frankly, I'm bored and if I know you like I think I do, you are bored too."

"You want to ignore the guy who is trying to kill us?" Harry asked, looking at her incredulously.

"No, I don't. I just don't want to keep chasing the invisible man with the vendetta." Natasha stated, twirling a dagger in her hand.

Chezk Molotov's, the mercenary who had partnered with Jason Mallory, real name was Boris Chazov - something that had given Natasha great pleasure. He had also been fired from his job shortly after Dr. Caudswell's death. Boris had then made it his life's mission to hunt down Harry and Natasha, or rather, Basilisk and Black Widow. Neither of whom had know about his obsession until Mallory.

"Natasha, we can't just..." Harry looked at her for second and then shook his head. There would be no reason to argue with her when her mind was made up. Besides, they had been chasing this man for almost two months. It was time to move on. "Fine, do you have a job in mind?"

Harry closed the folder in front of him and then started organizing the papers on the table.

"Really?" Natasha asked, sitting up excitedly from her lounge. "Of course I do."

"Isn't there some kind of law against killing a nun?" Harry asked, casually lounging in a chair in their room. Harry grinned as he remembered the image of Natasha in a nun outfit. It wasn't the weirdest thing she had ever worn for a job, though, that particular prize came from a strip joint job in Tokyo.

Natasha was wiping down a bloody blade when she answered. "There is a law against killing anyone, Harry." She said with a smile.

"That's not what I meant. Isn't it some religious immortal sin? Like, you never get into Heaven if you do it?" Harry tipped back his chair onto two legs, looking at the ceiling.

"You believe in Heaven?" Natasha asked amused.

"No. I just think it's odd that you were so gung-ho about that job." Harry pulled the beer bottle up to his lips and took a sip. "Something you want to tell me?" He asked with a smile.

Natasha grimaced. "You are drunk." She said, putting down the cleaned dagger and picking up a bottle.

"Wouldn't be the first time, nor the last." Harry chugged down the remainder of the bottle and picked up another. He popped open the top and took a swig.

"What's got you in such a mood?"

"I think we made a mistake. We should have kept on Boris's trail." Harry told her as seriously as a drunk man could.

"We were going nowhere Harry. There were no more leads, nothing we could follow. The man was a ghost."

"We should have done something about him. I just have this bad feeling." Harry shook his head and took another drink. "It's probably just the alcohol talking."

"It's definitely the alcohol talking. Boris has probably already moved unto another target." She lied. Harry knew she was lying because after everything they had discovered about the man, there was no way that he would let them go. Harry stared at her for a second, analyzing everything about her, the same thing he did every time he was drunk. The look on her face was the same look that it always was when he let alcohol get the better of him, inquisitive. Natasha knew there was only one time that Harry would talk about his past, when he was drunk. She always took advantage of this fact.

Harry sighed and drank. "What is it this time, Natasha?"

Natasha placed a hand on his right arm. Harry knew what that meant, it was of the nights that she would ask about his marks.

"Who was this one?" She pointed to a particular mark on his arm.

" That was Robert Moonstone, rapist, killer, terrorist." Harry said taking another drink, trying not to remember the bloody body laying on a field of bloody bodies. The battle at Hogsmeade was the bloodiest of the war.

"It seems like all of the ones on your lower arms are terrorist. How did you get into that?" Natasha asked, looking at Harry from under her lashes.

"A guy wanted to kill me. He just happened to suck at it, luckily enough." Harry told her. Natasha looked confused, but Harry wasn't going to explain anymore than that. "Not more talking about the past, drink." Harry ordered her. Natasha rolled her eyes, but complied.

"So, I've been thinking." Natasha told him after a few minutes of drinking silently.

"Always a terrifying prospect." He sniggered into his drink. Natasha glared.

"Try to hold back the prepubescent in you for a few seconds and I'll tell you how I think we can catch Boris." Natasha told him.

Harry looked at her curiously. "What's your idea?"

Natasha looked nervous, which she only did when she thought he wouldn't like her idea.

"We hire a sniper." Natasha told him quickly - rushed. She was right, he did hate the idea.

"No. No way. Have you forgotten the Osaka fiasco." Harry told her, placing the drink on the table and looking at her seriously. Natasha looked a little uncomfortable and Harry figured if she was anyone else she would probably be blushing right now.

"Osaka was a onetime thing, a freak accident."

"Like that makes any difference to the client that accidentally got his head blown off." Harry scoffed into his drink.

Harry didn't like snipers, he never had. Of course, it was more than just the debacle in Osaka that caused these feelings. Wizards were as vulnerable to bullets as any other creature on Earth. However, they had to be caught off guard, which meant that Harry couldn't see the gun they were going to shoot him with. Snipers had a great advantage over Harry, they were hidden. Harry didn't know when they were about and there was no spell that would easily point them out. All it told was one particularly good sniper and he was dead in seconds, his magic wouldn't help him at all. That was a terrifying prospect to a wizard and if Harry could help if he would never have one around.

"That was really the client's fault, he chose the wrong sniper. The guy was too unskilled. I won't have that problem. In fact, I already have the perfect guy picked out. He comes highly recommended and everyone I've talked to about him says that they have never been disappointed by his work."

"Natasha, we are not hiring a sniper."

"Don't be so narrow minded. If we get the sniper we just have to be bait and bam, Boris doesn't bother us anymore."

"We can take care of this by ourselves. There is no reason to bring in outside help for this job. We just have to wait for Boris to show himself." Harry took a drink.

"Fine, but I still say we could get rid of this problem much easier with a sniper." Natasha leaned back in her chair. Harry sighed, Natasha wasn't going to let this go.

"Give me the details on the guy I'll think it over." He wouldn't, but Natasha didn't need to know that. They could get rid of this guy on their own if they could find him. Harry emptied the bottle he was holding. "We are out of alcohol."

"Not that." Natasha mock gasped, then laughed. "We have drunk enough for one night, Harry. If we go to sleep now we might actually be able to start trying to find Boris again tomorrow."

"Bah, a few more won't hurt anyone."Especially not Harry because he had a spell that got rid of hangovers. "Come on, let's go to the store." Natasha nodded and stood up.

Before he knew it they were walking down the cobbled stone roads. Harry smiled despite the foreboding chill of the night. There was something pleasing about Rome's streets at night. They reached the store without incident and were soon perusing the bottles.

"How about this one?" Natasha held up a wine bottle, Harry shrugged.

"Ask the guy if it's good." Harry waved to the bored employee sitting behind the counter, no matter where you were in the world some things never changed, there would always be bored shop employees. Natasha spoke to the man for a second before nodding.

"He says it's good."

"Sometimes I really hate the fact that I can't actually speak or read any foreign languages." Harry said casually as Natasha paid for the bottle.

"If you stop cheating you might be more inclined to learn." Natasha commented snidely. She had quickly discovered the spell that he used to translate foreign languages and then set about to mock him for it seeing as she always had to go the hard route and learn the languages of the places they visited.

"That's what I've got you for, little spider." Harry put his hands in his pockets.

Natasha turned to him, surprised. "You really must be drunk, you haven't called me that since Somalia."

With good reason; Somalia had been the first time she stopped being a child in his eyes. She had gutted a man in front of him, there was very little childhood left in someone once they could go that.

"Do you remember the look on the client's face once he saw the images in the paper the next day?" Harry said with a laugh.

"In my defense, he did say he wanted to send a message." Natasha smiled at him.

Harry didn't exactly remember when he started smiling again. He figured it must have been sometime during the second year with Natasha. There was certain times when he was with her that he forgot his past, he forgot all the death and horror. There were certain times when he just lived in the moment and let the rest of the world pass him by. Despite how many times he had pushed the feeling away, ignored the smiles and the way that her hair looked when hit just perfectly by the light, it always came back. Once upon a time the feeling made him consider leaving Natasha, getting as far away from her as possible, there was always a part of him that forced him to stay. It was the smallest part of him, the part that had been crushed to almost nonexistence during the war, that forced him not to leave her.

Harry looked at the lights in the distance and tried to forget the girl beside him. He pushed down the feelings for what seemed like the millionth time. They made rules specifically for this reason, they weren't going to get attached. He let his mind wander for a moment, what if they didn't have those rules, the only excuse he had left not to make a move on Natasha.

He pushed out all the old memories he had of her, the barely out of childhood Natasha, and thought only of the girl he knew now. If they had met now instead of back then, would they have gotten in bed with each other? She was certainly pretty enough, but would be ever be able to forget their history together.

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the stray thoughts. Being drunk always made him introspective. There was no use living in what ifs, a lesson he should have learned long ago. He turned around.

"Your being awfully quiet ton..." Harry's eyes scanned the empty street behind him. "Natasha?" Where did she go? "Natasha?" He called again, maybe she was just trying to play joke. "Good job, Widow, you got me." Not the first time she had done so, but this was the first time she had disappeared while they were walking together. "Black Widow, you have proven your skill, show yourself."

Harry's heart started racing when the only answer he got was the wind blowing. Sobriety hit him like a punch to the gut. Natasha would have responded to that. Harry breathed a little faster. He wouldn't hyperventilate, he forcefully told himself. There was a chance that Natasha had just gone back to the hotel to leave him to his thoughts, he reassured himself unsuccessfully.

He turned back around and started heading to the hotel, every step taking him closer to panic. He could apparate, except he couldn't, apparition have been monitored since 1999. He started jogging, then running, then spiriting. If Natasha was sitting in their room laughing when he got back he would kill her. He would hug her then he would kill her. He wouldn't hug her, but he would be relieved. Harry's thoughts jumped back and forward, up and down, sideways. Something was wrong, his whole body was almost shouting it to him.

"NATASHA!" Harry burst through the door to their hotel room. He didn't unlock it, he just knocked it down.

The room was empty. The empty glass bottles littered the table. The bed sheets were ruffled, the chairs were pulled out, their luggage was still there. Everything was exactly as he left it.

His breath became short, he grabbed his chest and fell to the floor. This couldn't be happening, not again. He hadn't let Natasha get captured behind his back, he just hadn't. A bloody body hanging from the ceiling flashed into his mind uninvited, he pushed it away. That wouldn't happen again.

Maybe she had just run away. His eyes shifted to the suitcase under the bed, untouched. He pulled it out and opened it roughly. All of the money was still there, Natasha wouldn't have left without it. Maybe she had seen one of her boyfriends and went to talk to him. His eyes flashed to the table, her phone was still there, he wouldn't be able to call her.

His mind thought quickly. He almost hit himself when the idea popped into his head, a point me charm. He swallowed a sigh of relief, he could find her.

He fumbled pulling his wand out of his pocket, fingers trembling. The flashbacks were almost overwhelming now. He placed the wand in his hand.

"Point me Natasha Romanoff." He gasped out, imagining her in his mind, forcing he will on the spell. He wand spun in his hand, he held his breath.

It kept spinning and spinning.

Harry didn't notice when all of the glass in the room cracked, or the furniture that got pushed to the walls. His terror overwhelmed him.

Wizards, that was the only explanation why the point-me spell wouldn't work. She had to be in a warded area.

NO. There was one other place she could be that would cause the spell not to work. It was only a slightly less terrifying prospect. She was in the air. More specifically she was flying somewhere. Point-me spells didn't know how to react when their target was in the air, they got confused.

He breathed in deep, trying to get a hold of himself. Focused himself, ignoring the niggling thought that Natasha got captured. He let the emotions bleed from his body. He was stronger than that. Natasha was his partner, if she had been kidnapped he would rescue her. If not, he would find her anyway.

He took a deep breath and let his eyes scan the room. On the table where the closed folders of a man called Boris. A feeling of rage almost erupted from his chest before he pushed it down. That's the man who would have taken Natasha, he was the only one with any real reason to. He didn't pick up the folder, he had already memorized it.

Boris Chazov, who had lost his job and his family after the first job Natasha and Harry had ever pulled together, had just jumped to the top of his kill list. Harry didn't know everything there was to know about him, but he would soon enough.

Harry glanced around the room again. This time his eyes settled on Natasha's bag. She had been talking about a sniper earlier if he remembered correctly. She would have already done the background on it before she mentioned it to him. Which meant she would already have a folder on her choice. He pulled open her suitcase and barely dug around for a second before he found it and pulled it out.

The folder didn't have a name on it, but the tag that he was known by. A small and blurry picture rested inside. A young man with a bow and quiver. Harry almost scoffed, but if he knew Natasha would never choose someone unskilled and he might need help getting her out. He sighed, but picked up the folder.

"Well, Hawkeye, let's see what you are made of."

Harry pushed his way through the crowded bazaar. All of the information he had gathered had lead him here. His eyes scanned the crowd. He soon spotted what he was looking for, a brown haired white man was looking quite at home in the middle of a chess game despite the strange looks he was gathering from the people around him. Harry spotted the guitar case beside him, but instantly knew what really resided inside. He tapped the man on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sir, could I talk to you?" Harry asked softly to the back of the man. The man turned around.

"I'm in the middle of a gam..." The man's eyes widened as he caught sight of the mark on his collarbone, the only one visible. He turned back to the game and placed a stack of paper there. "Thanks for the game."

Harry nodded as the man got up and followed him. It took him a few minutes of navigating the crowds before he found a hidden alcove. The man followed him inside and Harry lost the mask.

"I assume you know who I am?" Harry said emotionlessly.

"The infamous Basilisk? Who doesn't? I am surprised to see you here though." The man had his case slung over one shoulder, but despite his relaxed look Harry could see the muscle tensed in his body. "When's the last time you took a shower because you are rank." Humor was his defense, good to know.

"Hawkeye, I have a job for you."

"I already have a job, but thanks for thinking of me." Hawkeye gave a mock salute and turned to go.

"Cancel it." Harry almost growled at him. He took a step closer and forced the man away from the doorway and to the wall. "Listen to me very closely, I need your services. I will pay you well."

"Maybe you have bad ears as well as bad hygiene, I have a job." The man told him firmly, unimpressed. Harry let some of the rage exit his body and from the slightly scared look that entered Hawkeyes eyes some of it must have appeared on his face.

"You don't understand, Hawkeye." He spat. "My partner has been kidnapped and I need to get her out. I also need backup for that job. You are the one that caught her eye. She said you were skilled, but obviously she was mistaken because all I see in front of me is a empty-headed punk whose let his ego overcome his actual skills. So sorry for taking up your time." Harry almost spat at him and turned around ready to walk out of the alcove to try and find another sniper.

"Wait." Harry stopped at the man's words. "Your partner's the red head, right?"

"Yes." Harry said slowly.

"Fine, I'll help." Hawkeye nodded to him. "Let me cancel my job. You have a place to meet up?"

Ryder Industries had a very industrial headquarters in the middle of a rather unremarkable town in Iowa. It specialized in military medical procedures, which was a nice way of saying it did classified research and development for the military. One of its specialties was enhanced interrogation techniques which was a nice way of saying torture. Something that the military had become very interested in since the 9/11 attacks.

They had also recently hired Boris Chazov who had been more than happy to suggest names of test subjects.

"I really don't think a frontal assault is the best plan." Hawkeye said nervously from his side. He was fiddling with his quiver and fixing his suit.

"We've gone over this. The building is most heavily guarded at night. The entire thing is a bomb ready to explode if someone gets too far inside. The last thing they want for the world to find out exactly what goes on in that building. The only time they are not allowed to use that technology is when there are employees inside. Which is only during the day. We aren't going to be able to sneak in, they have searched that building up and down a billion too many times for there to be any entrances they don't know about. A frontal assault is the best way to do it, the one they will be least expecting."

"Because it's suicide. " Hawkeye mumbled under his breath. Harry ignored him.

"Ready?" Harry asked one last time, checking everything on his person. Hawkeye nodded to him.

Harry cast a notice-me-not on both of them and started moving. The spell was limited, but it would help some.

The entered the glass doors of the building with a push. The receptionist sitting at the front desk looked up just in time to get an arrow through the eye. Harry looked at Hawkeye curiously, who responded with a shrug.

Then they were moving. It was barley two minutes later when they were standing in front of the elevators. The rest of the people in the main lobby were on the floor: unconscious, stabbed, or shot with an arrow.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and both of them stepped inside.

"Where to sir?" Hawkeye asked with a posh British accent, holding up a key he had plucked from one of the security guards bodies.

"Down." Hawkeye pushed the key into the slot on the elevator and pushed the button for the lowest basement.

The elevator doors dinged open to the view of cold concrete walls. The room had one doorway that was guarded by two buff security guards.

Harry spun out of the elevator in a rush, focusing on one of the security guards. His dagger slipped into his hand with practiced ease. He got close enough in seconds. His arms moved with a mind of their own, everything was instinctual. The shocked defense of the guard was no match for his skilled attack. Within seconds the body lay on the floor, blood gushing out of gapping slices on his body. The kill was quick, he had focused on the arteries, the man would be dead within the minute.

He turned back to Hawkeye who was staring at him in a kind of shock.

"Let's go." Harry picked up another key from the security guards body. He stalked over to the door and opened it, ignoring the blaring alarms that started as soon as he did.

The door opened to a concrete hallway that had doors evenly spaced on both walls. The view immediately reminded him of a prison. He grimaced and stepped forward, they didn't have much time now.

Harry rushed down the hallway stopping every few seconds to look a window in the doorways. His eyes moved quickly, ignoring the broken bodies on the floors of the cells, he had only come here for one thing. He almost missed her in his rush, the flash of red hair was in a room about halfway down the corridor.

Harry didn't even remember a spell when his hand grabbed the door, but the rush of magic compensated and the thick, metal door flew off its hinges and crashed to the floor. The small red haired body was curled in a corner. The bruises only visible on one arm. Harry turned away, he couldn't look at her, at his failure.

He turned to look down the hallway. "Hawkeye." He called and waved him over. The man was starring with a sick look on his face in a room near the beginning of the hallway. At Harry's call he came back to himself and rushed over.

"Oh god." Hawkeye gasped as he saw and smelled the cramped cell. He walked over the curled body and Harry handed him a jacket to put around her, one of the things he remembered to bring.

Harry backed away from the room unable to take any more.

He can't stop the flashbacks to Ginny's body, his mind betrayed him too much. Young Ginny, only fourteen years old when she had died, the first time any of the younger generation had really seen what Death Eaters would do if they had the chance.

Harry would never forget that day in March when he had walked into the Great Hall with the other student and saw the bloody body of Ginny hanging from the rafters. She was naked. Her orange hair glistened with the bloody dripping from it, like the rest of her body. It was carved up, sliced everywhere imaginable. Not just Ginny's childhood was lost that day. Harry forced himself to look upon the irreparably damaged body, to burn that image into his head. To force himself to remember what it would be like if he were caught, if any of his friends were caught. Harry found out what she went through, every single thing that had been done to her. He threw up multiple times, it was the last time he ever did.

After that, whenever he started questioning himself in the field, for killing or torturing or the many other unforgivable things he had to do, he remembered her hanging from the ceiling and forced himself to go on.

It was his fault then just like it is his fault now. He let it happen again, even after all of the promises that he made to himself. All of the friends that turned their backs on him were worth it, because he hadn't let any one of them get captured again. Until now.

Harry's eyes shift around the hallway, not going to get caught off guard. He turns just in time to see a group of five people enter the hallway. The one in lead is obviously a boss of some sort. Harry's vision goes red and he lets the rage that he has been pushing down for the last two weeks over come him.

He is almost invisible as he sprints down the hallway. Daggers are flying out of his hands before he knows what he is doing. The two men in the back go down before he even reaches the group. The first man he attacks is caught off guard and almost goes down as easily as the guard at the security station. The next one is a little more prepared. He gets in a punch of his own and take out a knife. Harry doesn't let him get any farther than that. A quickly cast tripping spell immediately disintegrates any of the skill he might have, the man is on the ground and bleeding in moments. The boss is looking scared now and holding a gun up to Harry's face.

Harry doesn't care, expelliarmus quickly removes the gun from him.

Harry pushes the man against the wall, his shirt clenched in a fist. He looks into the man's squinty eyes, the smugness that sits there urges Harry to just kill him now, but he doesn't. He has to know. He can't even look at Natasha, but right now he needs to know.

He needs to know every face, every name, every hit, punch, stab. Most of all, he needs to know who to pay back. He needs to know who to torture the longest. Who deserves the worst death. He needs to know like he needs to breathe. He paid back Ginny's killers, the bloody and tortured faces of Dolohov, Crabbe, and Goyle pop into his mind. He lost the trust of everyone around him doing it, but he couldn't let it go then and he wouldn't be able to let it go now.

The smug brown eyes that he's looking into quickly transform into terrified liquid pools. He knows what causes it. He can see his own red eyes reflected back at him. Some things just bring out the monster in him.

Most muggle minds are chaotic. They don't have the magic that organizes their thoughts for them. There are some exceptions of course, people that meditate have unusually tidy minds as well as certain genii, but Harry figures that's a trait of their IQ. The mind that he steps into, however, more closely resembles a landfill of memories, thoughts, and emotions. Normally Harry hates these types of minds, it is too easy to accidently screw up and mentally handicap a person if you can't tell where the mines are. He doesn't have that problem today though, he will feel no remorse tearing this man's mind apart. In fact, he might even feel a great sense of joy.

The faces and names of the people that hurt Natasha and so many others flash through his mind, Harry absorbs them all, but one sticks out, Boris. Harry knocks the man unconscious, not that it will help any, the man's mind is in pieces, Harry doubts he will ever be able to put himself back together. A sense of pleasure that doesn't really belong to him rushes up his spine.

Harry lets the body crumple to the floor and turns back to Natasha's room. Hawkeye is standing outside of it with Natasha in his arms. He has a stunned look on his face that Harry ignores. He walks up to them, letting his eyes rest on Natasha. Her red hair is stiff and caked in flecks of brown that Harry recognizes as dried blood. He ignores that and lets his hand fall upon her face. Her eyes open weekly.

"You..ca..came." Natasha coughs in the middle of it and her body doesn't stop shivering. Harry pushes down the rage, saving it.

"As if there was any doubt."

"D..don't..." Natasha coughs again and Harry rests his hand on her forehead.

"Stop talking, okay? Sleep." He caresses her face lightly as the sleep spell overcomes her. He doesn't know what she was going to say and frankly he didn't care. Harry's hard eyes focus on Hawkeye. "Get her out of here." Hawkeye looks surprised.

"But what about them?" He glances at the cell doors. Harry almost growls.

"Not your problem. Go back to the safe house and stay there until I arrive." Harry orders him. Hawkeye nods solemnly, but looks a little defiant.

"Hawkeye," Harry says slowly. "I am putting her life in your hands, if you betray that trust there is not a place on Earth you could hide from me. Do you understand?" Harry asks with a growl. Hawkeye's eyes harden as he nods and then starts jogging away. Harry watches him until Hawkeye turns out of sight and then he moves.

Boris is still in the building, he got that from the man's memories. There were also several other people in the building that deserved a bit of his time.

Harry apparated for the first time in three years.

The room that he appeared in held a fairly normal office and one large, blond Russian.

"Hello, Boris." Harry said with a hiss. The shocked man didn't have time to do anything before Harry's wand was on him. "Crucio."

The tortured and cracked screams filled the office as the Russian crashed to the floor. Harry let him writhe there for less than a minute. After all, he wanted Boris sane enough to understand exactly why he was being put through this.

In a dark room half a world away, two men sat looking at a screen. The images had been put on mute once the screaming began.

"Well, he is certainly inventive." The gruff voice said with amusement.

"Yes, I certainly think we got what we needed from this little venture. It was so nice of Mr. Chazov to provide the bait." A smooth voice replied.

"My yes, I think we should give him a raise." The gruff voice laughed a little. "I certainly think his powers are interesting enough. Do we send an invite?"

"Not yet. The red head is too much of a blind spot. If we can break them up..." The smooth voice trailed off as splatter of blood appeared on the screen. "He is certainly enthusiastic. It is very hard to get blood to spray like that."

"I like his spunk." The gruff voice chuckled again. "I vote yes."

"We test them a little more, and then we see." The smooth voiced man raised his hand and pressed a remote, switching the TV off. "I must say though, those red eyes are most intriguing. I do wonder how he got them."

AN: .DUN! I hope you like the chapter. The poll is still up, but it is kind of already decided. If you like the story please review.

If you notice any grammatical or spelling errors, please point them out I won't care, but will probably thank you.

Also, I'm thinking of doing a new thing so if you could please rate this on a scale of 1-10, 1 being sucky, sucky go throw yourself in a fire you terrible writer to 10 amazing, awesome I would bake you cupcakes and be you slave for a week for the next chapter. Thanks that would be nice.

Thanks for reading,
~Rain