Notes:

If you recognize the character they belong to Marvel or JK Rowling, I just took them out and played what if. Unbeta'd, read at your own risk. Enjoy!

The street, the stoops, even the surrounding houses looked dingy. Neglected, overgrown, and unloved. It strongly reminded Steve of his time in London during the Blitz, when tidy streets weren't a priority. The sky was grey and overcast, but at least it wasn't raining, yet. Grimmauld Place is an aptly named road, Steve thought as he followed Nick Fury and their liaison to the ICW, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And wasn't that a bolt from the blue? International Confederation of Wizards. Wizards… Magic was real. Even though he'd seen proof, (A sheet of paper turning into a cat!) Steve was still having a hard time wrapping his head around it.

But Shacklebolt said he knew someone who could find Bucky and any chance of finding his friend was one he'd take. So, here he was, walking down a neglected street to hire a magical tracker. Steve kept his mental fingers crossed and sent a formless plea for luck to the universe.

Shacklebolt motioned them into a small unkempt park tucked between two rows of townhomes. He pulled a scrap of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Handing the paper to Fury, Shacklebolt spoke lowly. "There's an ancient spell designed to conceal a secret. In this case, the secret is the exact location of the house."

"If you'll read the paper." Shacklebolt pointed across the street towards a row of houses. "And look that way."

Steve leaned over Fury's should and read, Headquarters is located at 12 Grimmauld Place. The handwriting was neat and bold. When he looked up at the houses, he ruthlessly suppressed the urge to rub his eyes as he watched another house shoved its way into existence in the middle of the row.

Brow arched, Steve turned to Nick. "I'm glad I didn't put ten dollars on this." Not a single one of the roughly dozen people nearby appeared to notice the house's sudden emergence.

Fury huffed and slowly shook his head. "Magic always leaves me thinking 'that's not possible'."

With a wide, amused smile, Shacklebolt chuckled. "On occasion, it has that effect on magical people as well."

With a quick check of the road, Shacklebolt led them across the street and up drab concrete steps to a gloomy door. The large silver snake-shaped doorknocker caught Steve's attention. In contrast to everything else, it was not only clean, but Steve could smell the fresh polish. Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know what that said about the house's owner.

Shacklebolt hesitated as he lifted his hand to the knocker. "House-elves are magical beings that often bond with and care for magical families." Shacklebolt lowered his hand and sighed. "Kreacher is the elf who lives here." With an aborted shrug of his shoulder, Shacklebolt said, "He's very old."

"Older than Rogers here?" Nick asked with a smirk.

Steve heaved a sigh, shook his head and muttered, "Always with the age jokes?"

Shacklebolt gave Steve a sympathetic look and nodded. "By several centuries."

"Wow," Steve said with raised brows.

Even Fury looked surprised. Getting back to his point, Shacklebolt said, "Kreacher often mumbles under his breath." He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Unfortunately, it's almost always insulting." He reached for the knocker again. "It's best to ignore him."

The resounding knock had yet to fade away when the door creaked open. In the doorway stood the oddest being Steve had seen yet. Knee-high, visibly ancient, with wrinkles, drooping skin, and long ears, what must be the house-elf, looked up at them with large rheumy eyes.

"What can Kreacher be doing for Mr. Shacklebolt?" And as advertised, Steve heard the elf mutter, "Bringing nasty, needy barbarians to disturb Kreacher's good Master."

With impressive aplomb, Shacklebolt met Kreacher's eyes. "This is Captain Rogers and Mr. Fury. We are expected."

Kreacher frowned and pointed to the vestibule as he backed out of the doorway. "You be waiting there."

He watched them enter with suspicious eyes. Steve was the last one in, the second he cleared the door, Kreacher snapped his fingers, and the door slammed shut behind him. Not giving the elf the satisfaction of flinching, Steve slipped his hands into the pockets of his khakis and looked around.

In contrast to the outside, the entryway was spotless. Cool grey walls with lovingly maintained crown molding and an exquisite charcoal marble tiled floor. At the back of the hall was a large, carpeted, L-shaped staircase. Scattered between the front door and staircase were half a dozen doors, with portraits taking the empty spaces.

A movement caught his eye and this time Steve didn't catch his astonishment before his mouth dropped open. The portraits were moving. Steve swore the one nearest to him was snoring. As he snapped his jaw closed, Steve decided the advice to ignore Kreacher should extend to living portraits as well. He wasn't sure how many more surprises he could take without losing his composure entirely.

Still giving them mistrustful looks over his shoulder, Kreacher entered the second door on the left. The door didn't latch behind him, and Steve could make out voices from inside the room. The other two men didn't appear to notice.

"Damn it, woman, hands-off," growled a male voice in what Steve considered a proper British accent.

"I'm telling your husband you can't keep your hands off me," the man said, laughing. "Ouch, face it, there's no force on earth that can tame my hair."

"Behave, Harry, this is important," a female said in an equally well-bred accent. "It could be the perfect opportunity for you."

"Hermione," the male voice sighed before the female broke in, "No, you shouldn't give up. With your power, skills, and saving people thing, you'd be a great fit."

There was another female voice, but it was too soft for Steve to make out. Then the male spoke again. "Look, I appreciate your faith, both of you, but it's not going to happen."

"Harry," the first female said in admonishment.

"Stop, Hermione. It's alright. Honestly. I've accepted that neither the public nor the Ministry will ever let me fight again. For any reason. Not even in defense." With a bark of bitter laughter, the male said dryly, "Not even in defense of muggles."

Steve had learned that word today and still couldn't decide if the term was offensive.

"Master," Kreacher tried to interrupt, but the male kept talking.

"The Ministry has done too good a job convincing the wizarding world I'm unstable," the voice sounded as if it was getting closer. "So that path is lost."

The door Kreacher disappeared into opened wide and a handsome, dark-haired man, likely in his early twenties, stepped out with causal grace. The man was lithe but broad-shouldered, wearing a maroon button-up shirt tucked into black slacks, with his untamable hair pulled into a messy bun.

"But I am a bloody good tracker." The male looked directly at him and his vivid, emerald green eyes amazed Steve. "And I think that's what you gentlemen are looking for," the man said with a slight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Shacklebolt stepped forward and shook the man's hand and pulled him in for a half hug. "Harry, this is Captain Steven Rogers and Mr. Nicolas Fury."

As he turned back to Fury and Steve, Shacklebolt said, "Gentlemen, this is Harry Potter, the tracker I told you about."

With a nod, Potter approached and shook Fury's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Please, call me Harry," he said as he turned to Steve, hand extended.

Steve took his hand, cataloging the callouses and strength in the hand. While the grip was firm, Harry didn't turn the handshake into a contest, as some men did. The man met his eyes evenly, but Steve couldn't help wondering what he meant by unstable.

Two women had followed Harry into the entryway, a heavily pregnant but still graceful brunette, and an ethereal blonde. The brunette leaned into Harry and kissed his cheek.

"I'll talk to you later this evening," she said. Steve identified the voice of the first female, Hermione.

"Put your feet up when you get home," Harry said in a quiet but firm tone.

Hermione rolled her eyes even as she murmured, "Yes, Harry."

The blonde darted in and gave Harry a quick hug and bussed his cheek, then slipped past everyone towards the door.

Hermione looked at Steve and Fury, gave them a friendly smile. "Gentlemen," she said with a nod as she walked to the front door. The blonde waved and smiled as she opened the front door.

"Ma'am," Steve said with a respectful nod. Pregnant women alarmed him more than a little. They were a ticking bomb he had no idea how to handle safely.

As the door closed behind the women, Harry gestured to the open door. "We can talk in here."

Following Shacklebolt and Fury, Steve passed Harry and automatically noted his height. He was a hair taller than Fury, so slightly above average, Steve could see the top of his head. They entered what looked to be the living room.

Though they were in London, Steve thought they might call it a parlour here. But as he took in the room, he noted there was none of the delicate, fussy furniture Steve associated with that word. The grey walls continued, even the sturdy, comfortable furniture was grey. The mix of greens and blues in the pillows, rugs, and decorations kept the room from monotony.

With a broad wave towards the loveseats and wing chairs surrounding a massive, man-sized fireplace, Harry said, "Take a seat. Can I offer you tea or coffee?"

Fury and Shacklebolt sat in twin wing chairs on either side of the fireplace. Harry took one loveseat. Unable to get the 'unstable' comment out of his head, Steve rested his hands on the back of the other loveseat.

Steve looked straight at Harry and asked baldly, "Are you unstable?"

The sudden tension in the room made the hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand up. It was almost electric. Fury leaned forward in his seat and observed Harry.

With a quiet groan, Shacklebolt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Captain Rogers, I explained the circumstances…" he said.

"It's fine, Kingsley," Harry interjected quietly.

Harry took a deep breath and held Steve's eyes. "The Department of Mysteries, basically a cross between an intelligence agency and an experimental lab, held me in their 'custody' for four years, ten months, and three days."

Steve winced when the green eyes released their hold on him. The tension heightened until Steve swore he could feel it.

"Though plenty tried, nothing anyone on the outside did could free me." Eyes focused on the cold fireplace, Harry tried and failed to sound indifferent. "They used experimental techniques to force spells and magical concepts into my mind. Then they used me to test their theories on increasing magical power."

With a quick, shaky breath, Harry said, "I won't talk about what happened when I tried to refuse their ever so generous offers of additional training." In little more than a whisper, Harry said, "It was a never-ending nightmare until they slipped up and I escaped."

Feeling about an inch tall, Steve closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. When he opened them, blazing green eyes caught and held him.

"Do I have issues?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Yes. But my mind is my own. I don't suffer flashbacks, or give in to melancholy."

Shacklebolt crossed the room, sat beside Harry, and laid a hand on the back of his neck. "That's enough, Harry. You've made your point," he said. The gentle tone of his voice clashed with the fierce glare over Harry's head, as Shacklebolt silently dared Steve to say otherwise.

When Harry looked away and leaned into Shacklebolt, Steve steeled his nerves. His mouth had always gotten him in trouble, but he usually offended people, not hurt them with thoughtless questions.

"I'm sorry," Steve said with a contrite wince. "My feet are so big, I'm not sure how I always manage to fit them in my mouth."

With a huff of laughter, Harry turned back and met his eyes. Steve flashed an abashed smile, trying to convey his sincerity. Slowly, the tension bled out of the room.

After a long moment, Harry shook his head and waved him off. "No worries. It's still a bit of a sore point, but I understand why you'd want to know."

"Kreacher," Shacklebolt called. He moved his hand but didn't go back to his chair.

When they'd met this morning, Shacklebolt gave no indication he was close to Harry, though clearly he was. Steve might be curious, but he wouldn't risk asking another question right now. Probably should let them forget my latest blunder, Steve mused as he took a seat.

The elf appeared in the room with a tray. Kreacher set the tray on the coffee table and muttered, "Savages upsetting Master Harry with rude, nosy questions."

With a snap of Kreacher's fingers, the teapot and a cup hovered over the tray. Steve watched with rising brows as the pot tipped itself into the cup. A moment later, the milk jug took the place of the pot, a sugar cube dunked itself in the tea as a spoon dropped into the cup and stirred on its own.

"There be coffee for the savages," Kreacher growled with a glare for Steve and Fury as he passed Harry the cup.

Fury raised his hands, palms out. "I said nothing," he said archly.

"Play nice, Kreacher," Harry said with a frown.

"Master, be drinking his tea," the elf said with a pat to Harry's knee. "Kreacher be making treacle tart for dessert," he said before disappearing with a snap.

Harry shook his head and bid them, "Help yourself, gentlemen." As Steve and Fury doctored their coffee, Harry said, "I'd apologize for Kreacher, but I'm afraid once started I'd never stop."

Still hesitant to ask a question, Steve tried arching a questioning brow.

"Despite evidence to the contrary, I rarely bite, Captain Rogers," Harry said with a tight smile.

Before Steve could respond, Harry answered his unasked question. "Kreacher has lived a long, eventful life, a decade of it isolated in this house after his mistress died."

With a shrug, Harry said, "That's enough to make anyone a bit off, so I warn guests and only step in if he's getting especially testy."

Not sure what to make of that, Steve still acknowledged the explanation. "I see." He sat back with his coffee, wondering how to turn the conversation to the purpose of their visit.

Harry seemed to have regained his equilibrium as he sat up straight and turned to Steve and Fury. "To business, gentlemen. The initial fee is five thousand pounds, plus expenses."

Fury made a choked noise.

"That price is non-negotiable," Harry said with a stern look to Fury.

"Look, Potter, Shield just went bust and I'm trying to rebuild something from the ashes. We're not exactly swimming in money here," Fury said with a flat stare.

Not willing to let the chance slip through his fingers, Steve jumped into the conversation. "I'll pay it."

"Rogers," Fury scolded.

Steve shook his head and held Fury's eyes. "No, this is not the time to haggle," he said.

With a huff, Fury collapsed back in his chair. "Five thousand pounds translates to around seven thousand dollars. Where are you going to come up with that?"

Steve looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. "Peggy Carter wouldn't let anyone close my bank account, and Stark found the records. Seventy years of interest leaves a tidy sum."

A soft chuckle drew Steve's attention back to Harry. "Now that's sorted," he said with a smile. "That price gets you my skills and three days of my time."

They both ignored Fury's muttered, "Three whole days."

Harry said, "If additional time becomes necessary, we can negotiate then. Fortunately for you, I don't have travel, lodging, or meal expenses."

Steve frowned. "How is that possible?"

"Magic," Harry said with a wide, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Steve's stomach fluttered at the sight of it. He shoved any thoughts that had the potential to be prurient to the back of his mind. Back in control, he shook his head at Harry. "Of course."

"Under normal circumstances, the only real expense I have is compensation for information, from concerned parties, you understand," Harry said with a smirk.

"Bribes," Steve said with a huff.

Harry shrugged. "Bribes. I have a fairly good rubbish detector, so it's rather effective."

Harry set his cup on the table and leaned back on the couch. "On to the particulars. I read the file you sent and have several questions."

Harry looked at Fury. "Only one for you, though. How reliable is the informant who saw Sgt. Barnes in Romania?"

There was a very abrupt change in Harry's tone. Steve would almost call it insolent. Surely, it's not because Fury tried to negotiate. Though he only had one eye, Fury had a genuine gift for the art of staring down a challenger, but Harry didn't seem to notice Fury's skill. His expression calm and even as he held Fury's eye.

"Reliable in what way?" Fury asked without looking away.

"Let's say on a scale from 'generally honest but could be mistaken' to 'fucking with you for fun and profit'." Harry shot back.

Steve frowned and thought about stopping this, but the sudden hostility and crude language surprised him, and he hesitated.

Shacklebolt rolled his eyes, poured another cup of tea, and muttered, "Smart-arse."

"You're going to make Cap here uncomfortable using that kind of language," Fury said with a raised brow.

Harry flashed a grin sharp enough to cut glass, as he waved the words away with a careless gesture. "He's a big boy, been through the wars even, I'm sure he's heard it before." His grin fell away. "Jousting is over, an answer, please."

It must be a British trait, the ability to make 'please' sound like 'now dammit', Steve decided. He was getting annoyed with Fury himself.

"That information is need-to-know," Fury said with a mulish expression.

"I don't want their bloody name and postcode. I simply want to know if they're reliable." Harry sneered. "I will refuse this contract if you continue ignoring my question as you have for the last three days."

Steve shot to his feet, disturbing the staring contest. He whirled on Fury. "What is he talking about, Fury?"

"I've sent multiple letters, called and texted the number Kingsley gave me, even left a message at your hotel, but he's ignored them all," Harry said without allowing Fury to answer.

Fury stood, turned his back to the room, and rested a hand on the fireplace mantel. "I don't see how it's relevant," he said.

Steve turned to look at Harry with a questioning frown. "I'm not sure I do either."

With a scowl at Fury's back, Harry sighed. "If the informant is a liar, I could end up wasting my time, and your money, looking in Romania," he said. "The methodologies for a narrow search and a broad search are very different."

Back still to the room, Fury remained silent.

"Nick, please?" Steve asked beseechingly. He didn't want to beg, but to find Bucky, Steve found there was little he wasn't willing to do.

Exhaling deeply, Fury's shoulders slumped. "When I was in Bucharest during the cold war, there was a woman I was…" he paused, searching for a word.

Without changing his position, Harry's entire demeanor softened. "I understand." Harry broke in before Fury could continue. "A very reliable source, I'd say."

It impressed Steve, the way Harry didn't gloat or try to press for details.

After a few moments, Harry got to his feet and opened a large cabinet near the door. Steve heard the clinking of glass and when Harry turned back around, he had a bottle of amber liquor and four tumblers in hand. After setting the glasses down, he opened the bottle and began pouring a generous shot into each glass.

"I know it's a bit early in the day, but I think we could all use a drink," Harry said.

Fury took his time as he turned back to the others.

With a nod to the bottle, Harry said, "A dear friend, my former professor, sent this last week. I hope everyone likes their scotch neat."

"Minerva gave you one of her prized bottles?" Shacklebolt asked, both eyebrows raised. "You know that distillery makes less than a hundred bottles a year?"

"I know," Harry said with a small, smug grin as he handed out the glasses. "Her cousin owns it."

As Steve and Fury retook their seats and accepted the scotch, Shacklebolt waved the glass beneath his nose and inhaled. "So, she does belong to that branch of the Ross family," he said, mostly to himself.

Several quiet minutes passed as they savored an excellent scotch. Steve couldn't get drunk, but he still appreciated fine spirits on occasion. The Commando's spent a fair bit of their downtime introducing him to any alcohol they get ahold of. And, of course, trying to get him drunk. Steve frowned. He should have noticed then Bucky had matched him drink for drink and was never any worse for the wear.

"Kingsley," Harry said, startling Steve out of his reverie. "If we find Sgt. Barnes, will our friends take care of his physical recovery?"

Shacklebolt nodded, but before he could speak, Fury asked, "What friends?"

"I can't tell you," Kingsley said. He held up a quelling hand when Fury went to interrupt him. "First, it's not my secret to tell. And, second, I'm not capable of repeating it. The same spell that hides this house protects the secret. Only the Secret Keeper can pass the information on."

"Well, who's the Secret Keeper?" Fury asked, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

Shacklebolt shrugged. "I received a note like the one I showed you earlier. They burned the note immediately after I read it."

All the secrecy made Steve uneasy. It must have shown on his face, because Harry turned to him. "Captain Rogers, the people we're talking about are unquestionably the best. Their work with prosthetic limbs is beyond cutting edge."

Harry leaned forward, setting aside his tumbler, and met Steve's eyes. "I give you my personal assurance, Sgt. Barnes will be quite safe there. They won't ask for anything in repayment and you may stay with him the entire time."

Steve saw no deceit, only sincerity in the clear green eyes. He still had to ask, "We'll be free to leave at any point?"

Harry smiled. "Absolutely. For most it's getting in that's a problem."

"Very well," Steve said.

With another reassuring smile for Steve, Harry turned back to Kingsley. "Their price?"

"A favor for a favor," Kingsley said with a faint frown. "There are a couple of individuals they'd very much like to speak to."

Steve realized they wouldn't ask him for payment, because Harry's skill was the compensation.

Biting his bottom lip, Harry thought for a moment. "I can do that. Couple as in two, right?"

As Kingsley assured Harry it was only two, Steve was struggling, again, to suppress inappropriate thoughts. I really need to get out more if watching the man chew on his lip has this much of an effect. Even if his bottom lip is fuller than the upper, with the hint of a pout.

He must have been staring because Harry turned to him. "A question, Captain Rogers?"

"Right," Steve temporized while he struggled to push away several highly improper questions that formed unbidden in his mind. There was an appropriate question he could ask, though. "Why are you doing this?"

Harry gave him a sad smile. "As you know, I've been in a similar place. If it wasn't for people giving their time and skills, I might not have made it back. So, if I can help Sgt. Barnes, I will."

"Thank you," Steve said roughly, all lascivious thoughts fleeing in face of the gratitude he felt.

"Harry," Shacklebolt said, drawing both men's attention. "If even half of that file is accurate, his mental health may be a more urgent concern than his physical."

"It's covered," Harry said. "Hermione will meet us there."

"She's six months pregnant, Harry. She shouldn't be apparating that far," Kingsley said with a frown.

With a disdainful snort, Harry said, "You argue with her. My ears are still ringing from the last time someone told her not to do something while pregnant."

"Apparating?" Steve asked.

"Magical transport," Harry said. "Something similar to what Kreacher does."

Steve smiled. "Ah, no travel expenses."

"Is there anything else you need from us, Mr. Potter?" Fury asked. Steve had almost forgotten he was there; the man had the uncanny ability to fade into the woodwork when he wanted to.

"Only Captain Rogers's signature on the contract," Harry said with a slight shrug. He turned to Steve. "Though if you don't have plans this evening, we could get the questions out of the way."

With a friendly smile, Harry said, "I'll even feed you and put you up for the night."

"Spend the night? With you? Here? Alone?" Steve stammered.

He heard poorly smothered laughter from Shacklebolt's direction, but manfully ignored it. Desperate to stop sounding like an idiot, Steve tried again. "For you, I'm available anytime."

Oh God, so much worse, and why did his voice drop what had to be an octave? Steve felt the heat climbing his neck and spreading across his cheeks.

Thankfully, for Steve's dignity, Harry seemed oblivious, confused, but oblivious. He nodded. "Yes, if I get all the information I need tonight, we can map out a strategy and, with any luck, head out in the morning."

"You'll take me?" Steve blurted out without thinking.

In less than a heartbeat, he realized how it sounded. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, alternating between gathering his rapidly disappearing composure and wishing for a convenient wall to bang his head against.

When he opened his eyes, he could almost feel Fury's silent laughter. Determined to brazen it out, Steve tried again. "You'd allow me to go with you?"

Harry looked increasingly puzzled. "Well, yes. That way, if I need you, you'll be on hand," he said slowly.

As if he's talking to an idiot, Steve admonished himself, which he is.

Simultaneously, wishing the floor would open up and ignoring both Fury and Shacklebolt, who were all but bent double with suppressed laughter, Steve soldiered on. "Thank you. I was afraid you wouldn't let me be there when you find Bucky."

"Oh," Harry exclaimed, looking like he suddenly understood what was going on. "Because I told Mr. Fury, I don't work with observers."

Harry gave Steve an understanding look. "But you won't be watching, you'll be an active participant."

Considering where his mind went with that comment, Steve knew, without a doubt, he was going to Hell. His sudden epiphany must not have shown on his face, because Harry didn't give him a second glance as he stood and walked over to the cabinet again.

With a fierce glare at the other two men, Steve mouthed, "Stop it."

To Steve's relief, the laughing boys got themselves under control before Harry turned around. First handing Steve a piece of honest to God parchment, and then a fountain pen. Steve felt a brief burst of nostalgia as he took the pen.

"This is my standard contract," Harry said as he sat. "If everything meets your approval, Kingsley can witness it."

Written in clear, straightforward language, the contract contained only what Harry had explained earlier. Steve signed the contract and passed it to Harry. When Harry signed it, Steve recognized the handwriting from the note with the secret. Harry handed to contract to Shacklebolt, who also signed it. To Steve's surprise, the parchment rolled itself up, flashed gold, and disappeared.

"It went to the Ministry of Magic," Shacklebolt said. "The Legal Affairs clerk will file it. You'll get a certified copy in the morning, as well as instructions on how to access the original."

"That's handy," Fury said as he got to his feet. "If that's all, Mr. Potter, I should head back to the hotel."

"I'll walk you back," Kingsley said. "There's a lovely little curry house between here and the hotel."

Fury nodded. "I could go for a tikka masala." Turning to Steve, he barked, "Keep me posted."

As a group, they headed into the hall. The closer Fury and Shacklebolt got to the door, the drier Steve's mouth became. He sent a silent, formless plea towards the ceiling, hoping to get through the next few hours without either putting his foot in his mouth or drooling on Harry.

"Harry," Shacklebolt said, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. "I need a quiet word with Captain Rogers."

"Of course," Harry said. He pointed to the third door on the right. "I'll be in the library when you're done, Captain Rogers." He turned to Fury. "It was a pleasure to meet you in person. I'm sure we'll meet again."

Fury nodded and said, "Mr. Potter." He opened the front door. "I'll wait for you, Kingsley." Fury gave Steve a nod and walked out.

With a smile to both men, Harry walked into the library, and Steve was alone with Shacklebolt. He swallowed hard; he'd heard Clint and Natasha going on about giving some boy a 'shovel talk', surely that wasn't happening here. The penetrating stare Shacklebolt was giving him wasn't helping his apprehension.

Shacklebolt sighed and shook his head. "I wanted to apologize for laughing earlier."

Those were definitely not the words Steve expected.

"If it puts your mind at ease, Harry is oblivious to the effect he has on people," Shacklebolt said with a fond smile.

Steve dared to relax. Shacklebolt didn't sound like he would be issuing threats in the immediate future.

Seemingly at a loss for words, Shacklebolt nodded. "Again, my apologies."

Offering Shacklebolt his hand, Steve gave him a wry smile. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure I sounded like an idiot."

Shacklebolt shook his hand and shrugged. "I've seen worse." On his way out of the door, Shacklebolt threw Steve a wicked grin. "Best not keep him waiting."

Steve could only groan as the door closed.