A/N Tada

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective creators.

"There's a department purely for Creature Injuries? Are they really that common?"

Harry looked over at Tony who was scanning the hospital floor plan.

"More than you may think. Mr Weasley was a guest there for a while."

Tony looked back, "Really? Why?" Harry smiled. Despite Arthur's persistent questions on muggles, the two had appeared to get on. To the extent that Harry had found Tony responding to an owl the older man had sent. Apparently Tony answered queries on a pro rata basis, for every answer he gave, he expected a question about the wizarding world to be answered. Arthur had a better technical knowledge than Harry had, and Tony had all but given up on expecting complex answers from Harry.

"Snake bite."

"The same snake that bit you?"

Harry started in surprise. He hadn't expected Tony to make that connection- it wasn't as if there was really a connection to be made, the incidents were separated by a couple of years.

"Where did you draw that conclusion from?"

"From what I've heard about the magical world, out of all the things that could be biting you, a snake seems kinda unlikely. Let alone twice."

Harry laughed, "I've actually come across several snakes. And a Basilisk. Which is basically just a huge snake." He paused briefly, but before Tony could ask him about the Basilisk he continued, "But yeah, Voldemort had a snake called Nagini. She attacked us at different times though."

He began to lead Tony to the Rackharrow Ward of Artefact Accidents, ignoring his pursed lips and considering expression on his friends face. At least he wasn't gawking at some of the patients they passed, not even the purple woman with blue polka dots covering her skin. They arrived at the hospital room in question and Harry knocked.

"Come in!"

Harry pushed open the door and smiled at the man seated in the bed.

"Agent!" Tony acknowledged loudly as he slid into the room.

Coulson smiled at them as they stood at the end of his bed. He had bandages strapped around his chest but otherwise looked no worse for wear. He marked the page in the book he was reading and set it aside. Harry recognised Great Wizarding events of the Twentieth Century.

"Interesting read?"

"Facsinating. Interesting bit about you in there"

Harry smiled wryly, "Glad you're enjoying it. We'll be arranging you're transfer to America in the next couple of days."

"Of course." Phil acknowledged. He smiled but his eyes betrayed a disappointment. If the stack of books stacked by the side of his bed were anything to go by, all about the Wizarding World, the man found Harry's old world fascinating. Which meant that maybe Harry's get well present would be better received than he'd originally thought.

"Fury gave me theses for you." Harry started, pulling Coulson's collection of Captain America cards from his pocket, Scourgified and now signed. He handed them to the older man whose eyes widened as a grin stretched his face.

Harry cut him off before the rising tirade of Captain American facts could gain momentum,

"And I thought that you might find these interesting," he gave him a stack of Chocolate frog cards. In his time, he'd collected duplicates of every card. It was these that he gave to Coulson who flicked through them in the amazement, tilting the cards to watch the figures move.

"I'd have given you the frogs instead, but it was brought to my attention that that much chocolate isn't good for anyone, let alone a man in recovery."

The meeting ended amicably and Harry went off to find the necessary personnel to facilitate Coulson's transfer. The day after the move, George arrived at the doorstop with his bags and they too travelled to the States.

"Why don't you live here!" George's tone was one of disbelief as he stared about the foyer of Stark Tower. Harry directed him to the lift. They had just dropped the bulk of George's things at his, and where now meeting back up with Tony who gone back to his tower while Harry had got George settled

"I have my own flat." He pointed out as he pushed the button for the top floor.

George looked at him incredulously, "But why?"

Harry chuckled as the lift drew them up the building.

"I have announced your arrival." Jarvis informed them as the lift slowed.

"Wha-"

"That's Jarvis. He an AI, artificial intelligence, that Tony designed."

George nodded, Harry had mentioned such inventions to him previously but his eyes flickered around the lift, still looking for the source of the voice.

"He's wired throughout the building. You can ask him any questions you have."

The doors slid open and they stepped out into the living room. The renovators had done a good job he noted, and quickly. There was barely a trace of the battle that had happened here only a fortnight earlier. Tony was sprawled on a couch engaged in a conversation with Bruce. It didn't appear that anyone else was there. Tony grinned at their arrival and Bruce turned to look at the pair.

"Harry." He nodded, before turning to look at George.

"This is George." Harry introduced, "He's-"

"Here to annoy Harry." George grinned, "And possibly help you out. We'll have to see which comes first."

Bruce looked between them, "You're a wizard as well then?"

"Born and bred." George conceded, dropping down onto the sofa, next to Bruce. "I understand that you have a green problem." Straight and to the point.

His eyes widened in surprise before Bruce looked accusingly at Harry.

"There's no need to look so shocked my good man," George cajoled, clapping Bruce on the shoulder, "Harry here knows that I'm a bit of an inventor of potions. I mostly use it for pranks but I'm more than capable of work of a serious nature." Harry had to restrain the snort of disbelief that rose in him. He knew George would be completely capable of what Harry had asked of him. If it was possible, George could do it. He also knew for a fact however that there was no way that he would approach the task with a straight face.

"Has Harry told you about the 'Wolfsbane Potion'?"

Bruce considered, "He mentioned it once."

"Well essentially, it was a potion developed to allow Werewolves to keep their minds upon transforming. I propose trying to recreate a similar potion that would allow you to maintain your faculties upon shifting into Big, Bad and Green."

Bruce's face slackened in shock for a moment before his eyes narrowed and his mind whirred through the possibilities.

"I'm not saying that it will be easy," George continued, "or quick. It'll involve research and experiments. I don't even know if it's possible, but the inventors of Wolfsbane didn't either. Of course, we only have one subject in this case, and you need to be sure that you can and want to proceed."

Bruce thought the proposal over quickly. Less than a minute later he met Georges gaze.

"How do we begin?"

Harry entered the lab that George had claimed. Compared to Bruce's next door, it was one of the strangest juxtapositions of magic and science that he had seen. While the harsh white surfaces of a muggle lab were still visible, they were covered with a clutter of parchment, small cauldrons and old fashioned vial stands. Claiming that the walls were too dull, they were covered with moving posters; Ginny of the Holyhead Harpies, Various Dragon Breeds, the Limited Edition Chocolate Frogs Card poster which depicted all of the Card Names and Pictures, cycling through them and their achievements. There was even one for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

In the past week, Wolfsbane had been made, taken apart, tinkered with and tested in a variety of different ways. George swore that once he understood the principles of Wolfsbane then figuring out the necessary components for Bruce would be child's play.

"You see, while wolfsbane is in the potion, it isn't the main component," a charred George had told them over a Chinese takeout. "The potion just has the same name 'cause it sounds cool. Even the most inconsequential thing can drastically alter a potion, like how quickly you stir it! Just ask Harry. I hear that in his sixth year he became a potions genius." George had raised an eyebrow and Harry had ducked his head in embarrassment. He then outlined the basics of the Half-Blood Prince's book with them.

"You cheated!" Tony guffawed, "And here was I thinking that you were some sort of 'Golden Boy'."

Harry was amazed at the professional way that George approached the task. Harry couldn't help but remember the pranks that the twins had been devising as children and the complexity of their creations. This reminder was partly brought about because once George and Clint had been introduced, no one was safe.

Clint had been somewhat withdrawn since the Loki incident, understandably so all things considered. It was worrying Natasha, Harry had noticed during their short interactions before he'd left for London, she felt that there was little she could do. A few days after Georges arrival, they dropped by the tower. They made out that they had free time to spare; they hadn't been cleared for other field work yet. Or rather Clint hadn't and Natasha refused to let him wallow. With nothing to do and slightly bored, they had come to the tower.

They'd found the four of them in George's lab and had stared incredulously at the chaos. Harry was perched on a side watching Tony poke at various multi-coloured potions while George and Bruce discussed Potion semantic while various ingredients floated around them.

"The Beazor," George was saying, floating the small stone between the two of them, "is in case something goes wrong. It's the failsafe cure for pretty much any poison."

"Who are you planning on poisoning?" Natasha asked from the doorway.

Introductions went underway. Clint's attention during the explanation of what was going on had wandered to the posters on the wall. George had noticed his interest in the Wizard's Wheezes one and had explained his role in it, mentioning his twin's input and outlining some of their pranks.

Later that day, when a group had them been watching the news, during a report on the outbreak of Cholera in Albany, the room had gone pitch black. Harry recognised the Darkness powder and had sat back while the others shouted in the shadows. Since then there had been several Decoy Detonators released, clouds of smoke that changed the victim's hair colour and a swarm of birds that wouldn't leave Tony alone. Nothing violent, they just perched on his shoulders or on his work. They would flutter away when he waved at them, but then set back down once he'd moved on. All in all it was an eventful week.

"Well I'm done for the day!" George exclaimed stretching. "Harry, I am long overdue a tour of this city. Lead the way."

Bruce couldn't help but glance at the clock. It was early afternoon.

George noticed his glance, and clapped him on the shoulder, "All work and no play makes George a dull boy." He confided in the older man before hooking his jacket from a chair and grabbing Harry's arm. With a farewell wave George tugged his friend from the room.

Neville hummed happily as he watched his class try to prune Flutterby Bushes. He grinned at a couple of Ravenclaw lads that were trying to persuade the other to have a go at the plant once more. It reminded him of when he'd been a student here, all those years ago.

He looked up at the castle, visible through the roof of the green house. It was strange how much things changed and yet stayed the same. He'd spent so much of his youth here terrified, both of Voldemort and other students, and yet it had become a place of cherished nostalgia and now comfort: despite all those who had died here, the names memorialised on that new standing stone at the entrance.

Stranger still was being a teacher, seeing things from the other side of the system. Who'd have thought when he was a lad that teachers had, Merlin forbid, social lives. He'd been surprised to learn that Pomona, Professor Sprout was actually married. She was one of several teachers that he hadn't known about.

He scanned the students again, walking to a Slytherin couple that seemed to be struggling and corrected their method. Their expressions upon their success made him grin. He did enjoy teaching.

He was casually watering some rue when he noticed little Marcus, working quietly. This wasn't strange; he was one of the more withdrawn Slytherins, but at the same time, one of his best students. He had a feeling he that his fellows may give him a difficult time of it. He had come across a group of them around Marcus a couple of weeks previously. He'd managed to break them up, but with no actual sign of bullying and none of them talking, he couldn't do much else. It was incredibly frustrating. However, later that week, he heard from Horace that a number of his students had had the gall to hand in blank scrolls in lieu of their essays. The students happened to be the same ones ganging up on Marcus and were swearing vehemently that they had done the work. Neville had looked over at Marcus who'd noticed, seen who he was talking to and smirked. He recalled vaguely that Teddy had mentioned helping him out with a couple of bullies at Mrs Weasley's dinner. He found that he liked the fact that two people from such drastically different houses were getting along. It was what the Wizarding World needed after the War.

That was one thing he'd also noticed as a teacher. Not all Slytherins were inherently evil. Sure there was a new 'Malfoy, Parkinson and co.', but there were also those who kept to themselves and seemed to be nice people. They just hadn't interacted much with Griffindors however, so he hadn't noticed them when he'd been at school. As a teacher though, he had to start seeing students and individuals, not as their House. There were a couple of asses in Griffindor as well, ones he was more aware of as he was their Head of House. When he'd received the position at the start of the year, he almost couldn't believe it. It was just so… inconceivable. That the snivelling coward that had often been told that he'd been put in Griffindor by mistake was now the Head of House and considered a representative of its values. McGonagal had smiled at him when she'd appointed him, a genuine smile that lit up the usually stern face he used to associate with reprimand.

Marcus was looking conflicted, his brow creased with worry and his eyes ringed with lack of sleep. Neville made a note to question his co-workers on his behaviour, to see if there was a pattern and if he or Horace needed to intervene. He checked his timepiece, and called his class to attention. He summed up what they needed to know from this lesson and assigned them their homework piece. He had to confess to a sliver of mirth at their groans.

He'd always suspected it, but now he knew for certain that Professors got a sort of sadistic glee from the homework assignments.

The students filtered from the Green House, grubby and complaining about the essay. Neville watched them go, about to start preparing to set up for the next lesson when he noticed that Marcus was lingering near the doorway. The lad looked torn, unsure of what to do.

"Can I help you?" Neville asked.

The boy opened his mouth to talk but then hesitated.

Neville moved to sit on the edge of the table, hoping to make himself seem shorter and less intimidating without being condescending. He'd always been somewhat more casual with how he appeared to his students than Pemona had.

"Is everything alright?"

"You're a friend of Harry Potter aren't you, sir?"

Neville's eye's widened in surprise. He had been recognised fairly quickly when he'd started working at the school because of his role in the final battle. He was one of the 'Legendary Six', one of Harry Potter's five main companions. The One who had led the Hogwarts rebellion and still had the scars to prove it. It was strange to walk through the halls with the whispers and gained a whole new appreciation for Harry and what he had gone through while at Hogwarts. He'd been deflecting questions from 'fans' for years, the insistent boys and giggling girls. More than once he'd received bunches of flowers and boxes of chocolates from those grateful for his actions in the war and those girls who'd developed, dare he say, school girl crushes. These he had shared with the other staff, at the dinner table who teased him for his following. Most of the current First Years had been born after the War had finished, but had been greatly influenced by their parent's descriptions of the war, so while Neville had been hoping for a respite from the stares, he'd been greeted by a wave of new adulation. It usually took several lessons for students to stop looking at him as if he had singlehandedly defeated Voldemort's best lieutenants. It wasn't as if he'd done anything anyone else wouldn't have in his position.

Marcus had never been one of his ecstatic fans. He had initially been one of the very impressed Firsties, an occasionally rare trait in a Slytherin, several of them hated him in his role against harming some of their families, but he was now an adjusted second year, showing no interest in his relationship with the 'Boy who Lived', as others did. Which is why this was quite peculiar.

He acknowledged this cautiously. "But you know that." He added.

"I- uh, I heard something the other evening." The boy forced out, looking around as if someone would over hear them.

Neville leant forward, his curiosity peaked and concerned for Marcus' unease. He didn't say anything, in case he put Marcus off saying anything else.

"I know that Harry Potter has kinda gone into hiding," he continued, "but Bl- uh, someone mentioned that he'd been found, and that er-"

Neville had to stop his brow creasing in confusion. Admittedly, there had been a flurry of stories and reports when Harry had left for the Muggle world to hide the fact that he wasn't growing older. One story was that he was on holiday to escape the press. The most scandalous was that he'd caught Ginny cheating, which was why he'd dumped her and left so suddenly. It hadn't been sudden, he'd planned it for several months, but the press didn't know that. Luckily that story was mostly disregarded. Neville's favourite was the Quibblers cover story; Harry had just grown fed up with the Wizarding World and the Paparazzi, said 'Sod them' and left on a whirlwind tour of the world. However, a common, romanticised idea was that Harry had fled to hide from those who wanted to kill him having had enough of always being on guard.

"This person was boasting that, well, his brother had joined a group, and that they were going after him."

Neville felt something clench in his stomach. There were still Death Eater sympathisers. Most of them were in Slytherin. He tried to shake off his worry, it could be mindless boasting. It probably was. Getting worked up would be pointless.

"Can you tell me anything else?" Neville asked, as Marcus seemed to have come to an end.

The boy met his eyes, "I know that it seems like he was making things up, but that happens all the time. This was different!"

"Did he say how he found out about his brother?"

"He said he overheard it during the holidays, when his brother was talking to one of his friends. They mentioned that a Death Eater had recruited them!"

Neville suddenly thought of Harry's meeting with Kingsley and Percy's recent anxiety. Not to mention those attacks on Muggle towns that the Ministry were trying so hard to keep out of the news. He was kind of out of the loop now as a teacher, the Order somewhat disbanded. But Hannah heard things as an Innkeeper which she had passed onto him. The picture wasn't a good one.

"Did they say a name?" Neville asked.

The boy looked shifty.

"Marcus." Neville said warily, "It's a good thing that you have come to talk to me about this, but I need all the facts before I can do anything."

The boy looked to the side before turning back to Neville. He'd gained a sense for people, both in the War and as a teacher. He didn't need this sense to read the boys nervousness and to see the truth in what he believed. It didn't bode well.

"They spoke of a guy called… Rudolphus, I think, Rudolphus Lestrange."

Neville's blood froze.

The name had never been released to the press, but Rudolphus had never been caught after the war and his body had never been discovered. It was the only name that Neville had followed up. His escape had been something that had soured the victory. That the man was free after what he had done. He'd managed to push it aside after a while, with the support of his friends and his relationship with Hannah. She knew everything and she supported him, but most helpfully, she helped him move on.

The wall he had built cracked when the second year Slytherin said the man's name.

"Uh, Professor?"

Marcus' voice cut through the blood rushing in his ears. He snapped back to the present and looked at the small lad looking up at him with concern.

"Marcus," Nevile tried to maintain a measured tone, "I'm afraid I need to take this to Professor McGonagall," the boy's eyes widened, "I'm sorry, I hoped we wouldn't have to, but this could be quite serious. None of your classmates will know."

The boy nodded.

"Follow me."

He strode from the room. Years of the trip to and from the Green Houses to the castle kept him physically fit and he climbed the hill with ease, Marcus scurrying behind him. He crossed the New Bridge quickly; casting a quick disillusionment charm on Marcus, as he'd promised and led him through the castle. He felt people stare as he practically ran to the office, muttering about his urgency. He had a reputation as a fairly mild-mannered teacher, so his thunderous expression and purpose seemed to unsettle those who saw him. He took a secret passage shortcut to cut out half the journey, ignoring Marcus' exclamation of surprise. He practically spat the password at the Marble Chess Bishop that had replaced the old destroyed gargoyle. It inclined his head and let him onto the spiral staircase.

His blood pounded as he had to stand stationary as the stairs turned. He undid his charm and saw Marcus' look of wonder as they rose into the Headmaster's tower.

He rapped the door which opened for him as Minerva invited him in.

"Neville." She greeted. She looked up at him and she frowned, "Is everything alright?" she spotted the student and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Headmistress," Neville acknowledged. He licked his lips, "Marcus here may have come across something important."

He quickly summed up what Marcus had told him, watching Minerva's lips grow thinner and her eyes narrow.

"This is a serious matter." She concluded when he had finished and turned to Marcus. "I'm sure you can understand that we need to verify your claims."

Marcus gave a small nod. "Veratiserum?" he asked, his voice squeaking. He was nervous.

"No." McGonagall dismissed his words, "That would never be sanctioned for use on a student. The quickest and easiest way would be a Pensieve. Have you ever heard of one?"

Neville found himself growing agitated as McGonagall ran Marcus through the principal of the Pensieve and requesting his consent. Marcus did so nervously, despite McGonagall's assurances that he could refuse if he felt uncomfortable. Marcus successfully extracted the memory and McGonagall tipped it into the Pensieve she had removed from a cupboard.

She entered the memory, leaving Neville and Marcus anxiously watching her.

"Are you okay, sir?" the boy asked, seeming a lot calmer now that his part was essentially done.

Neville looked down at him. "Yes, thanks." He wasn't of course. Far from it. Feelings he had kept supressed for years were broiling inside him. When he was younger, he hadn't been as hung up on those who had committed the crime. He'd missed his parents and he'd hated those responsible, but he never thought anything would come of this hate. Then they'd escaped from Azkaban and they became more than just shadowy figured in his imagination, but solid people that he could blame. However, he had such a low view of himself and his abilities that he never saw himself being able to have any impact on them. Bellatrix's mocking of him at the Department of Mysteries had cemented this.

Then he'd led the rebellion. He'd been cursed, he'd been tortured and he'd seen horrific things done to innocent children. He became of leader, the wellbeing of others his responsibility. He'd killed during the battle. With each Death Eater he'd become more confident, a vicious side of him that after the battle scared him slightly. He'd seen Bellatrix, and suddenly killing her had become a possibility.

He saw Mrs Weasley kill her, watched her fall and while he felt an intense gladness that she was dead, part of him, a very small part of him, felt sorry that he hadn't been the one to do it. That was the part that he hid from his friends, which only Hannah knew about.

"Sir you don't look alright. Do… do you know the Death Eater I mentioned?"

The boy was perceptive. Not that Neville had done much to conceal his reaction to the name he realised. Even McGonagall hadn't maintained a completely straight face during his recount.

"We've heard of each other." Neville confessed.

McGonagall started as her mind left the penseive. Neville looked up at her.

"The memory is clean." She informed him.

"I have to go." Neville asserted, "May I use your floo?" He made towards the fireplace in question.

"No you may not!" McGonagall said firmly.

Neville met her glare. "Fine." He said finally, "I'll use my own."

"No. Despite what you seem to think, Potter can take care of himself. We shall alert the Aurors. I'm sure Mr Weasley would be glad to take a team there."

"But that will take time!" Neville cried, "This was being discussed last night. About an earlier conversation! We may already be too late!"

"Professor Longbottom-"

"Most of his friends are Muggles." Neville threw out. "You know what Lestrange is like."

A heavy silence hung in the office, young Marcus looking wide-eyed between his teachers .

Neville met McGonagalls gaze. She sighed.

"Go on ahead and warn him Professor. A team will follow."

Neville nodded curtly. He went back to the fireplace and grabbed a handhold of Foo powder from a pot on the mantelpiece.

"Neville."

He turned back to her.

"Take care."

He nodded and threw the powder into the fire. It blazed green and he stepped into the flames. He said Harry's address and away he went.

Banner was tidying up the lab, at least as much as he could without disturbing George's experiments. He'd been spending a lot of time around the wizard while he worked, and while he was now more familiar with magic, he was left with a wariness as to how delicate it could be. The time Steve had knocked a cauldron had cemented that. A drop had slipped over the pewter side, dribbled down the edge and dropped onto the table. The moment it made contact with the surface, a purple smoke had begun billowing out. George had managed to fix it, but not before half the lab, the ceiling, and any part of a person that didn't escape the mist were stained bright purple. Luckily, as the smoke had risen, it hadn't interfered with any of the other experiments. It had been a couple of days before Bruce felt that his skin no longer held a lilac tinge.

He became suddenly aware of how quiet it was. He knew Harry and George were out in the city while Tony had gone to find Pepper. Steve was on one of his extended motorcycle tours. The agents were off doing whatever it was that they did when they weren't at the tower.

Bruce had gotten used to being quiet when he'd been on the run. He would go weeks without speaking to another person. But since returning, he was always in the company of at least one other person. Even when working in the lab, Jarvis would contribute information to his work. He realised that Jarvis had been quiet since he had informed Bruce that Harry and George had left the building. That had been several hours ago. He was about to speak when the lights flickered out.

"Jarvis?"

Bruce waited for a response. There wasn't one.

Unease was rising in him. He successfully navigated the room in the dark and put his hand on the light switch, so rarely used as Jarvis usually controlled the lights. He flicked the switch a couple of times. Nothing changed.

"Jarvis?" his tone was wary as he mentally assessed the situation. Silence. He cracked open the lab door and poked his head out. The corridor was empty and cloaked in darkness. He took a breath and stepped out of the lab, checking on the Other Guy as he went. He was barely stirring. It was Bruce accepting his anger that summoned him, not anxiousness. Content that the monster wouldn't rise, which was the last thing he needed, he took his first step down the corridor.

The back of his neck prickled. He had barely begun to turn when there was a flash of red light and everything went black.