Just short of eleven in the morning, Jasper Sitwell was quietly enjoying a cup of tea from a vendor while keeping an eye on the platforms at Charing Cross station. The kids with way too much luggage for a subway stop had started showing up at around nine in the morning, and he was gradually narrowing down where they were going. He was certain there was some kind of secret door behind the magazine racks they must be using, since he'd followed a couple and didn't see them actually hit a turnstile into the platform proper.

"If we're doing it, we should do it now," a gruff voice interrupted Sitwell's planning to do just that.

"Rumlow," the bald agent acknowledged his taller and more hirsute counterpart. He did a slight double-take when he realized that the combat specialist was dressed like he was going on a backpacking trip, which likely meant he was armed for bear. "Please tell me you aren't going to cause an incident," he insisted, straightening his own nondescript suit and walking away from the shop counter for a slightly-more-private conversation.

Brock Rumlow shrugged, the backpack flexing heavily with the hardware within, explaining, "Better to have it and not need it…"

"And if we get arrested with guns in England?"

"SHIELD security detail making sure nobody else goes after Potts," he answered easily. "The Secretary will cover it." He added, "And that's if you think Romanoff is right about what we're going into. If Coulson is closer, you're going to be underdressed."

"Beam me up, Scotty," Sitwell rolled his eyes, clearly more in favor of the idea that the kids were sneaking off to spy school than Coulson's more-fanciful ideas. "They're going in over here. I guess if there's some kind of glowing platform, I'll own Phil ten bucks."

"It's just wall," Rumlow insisted, his eyes watering as they didn't quite want to look at where his counterpart was leading.

"Huh," Sitwell agreed, fighting the visual itch himself. "Optical illusion, maybe. Some kind of tech to keep commuters from blundering in." He tapped his ear to open a channel to their handler on his hidden earpiece, explaining, "Some kind of hidden door next to Platform 6. Sitwell and Rumlow going in. I'm leaving this channel open."

As soon as he received the "Copy" notification from their man in the van, he put out a hand and marshaled his willpower to overcome whatever psychological countermeasures were filling him with the need to walk in the opposite direction. He was expecting to find a concealed door. He was not expecting to just stroll through a hologram with no physical resistance.

Rumlow was right behind him, as they stepped out on stonework in a much different climate. The sun had jumped to the point that it seemed to be late in the afternoon. Their first impression was that they'd stepped into a Renaissance festival, the red locomotive and the train track it was on the only remotely modern thing in the forest (itself not right for really anywhere on Earth; Sitwell was a hobbyist naturalist). And the platform was covered in adults in robes. Robes.

"This was not what I was expecting," he said, both for Rumlow's benefit and for their handler. "We're in a train platform in a forest. Not sure if this is some kind of strange set, or if we've been transported. Do you copy?"

There was no response. "I'm checking GPS," Rumlow decided, pulling out his high-end phone surreptitiously. "It's dead."

They were both shocked as the bonfire at the other end of the platform ahead of them suddenly flared green and a whole family of redheads came stumbling out of it, dragging luggage and racing to get on the train. As it started to belch steam, the adults on the platform waved at various windows full of schoolchildren, and Sitwell and Rumlow joined in to limit how much they were standing out. "What is this?" Sitwell asked, mostly rhetorically and only loud enough for his counterpart to hear.

"Let's interview people and find out?" the bigger man shrugged. This was definitely into his bailiwick more than the besuited agent's.

They started with a middle-aged couple that weren't wearing robes, and the wife crooned, "Oh! Nontraditional parents? First time sending yours off? It's a lot to adjust to, right? I'm sure your child will do fine! We've got to be getting on!" As the agents saw them easily leave back through the wall they'd emerged from, they lowered their guard a bit. Clearly, getting out was as easy as getting in.

Sitwell was very skilled at subtle interviewing, and it wasn't hard to figure out which parents looked like they'd be willing to talk. In particular, the two redheads who'd rushed in with the huge family were thrilled to answer any questions and volunteer information of their own, with only a token exchange of Rumlow explaining the weight-distribution mechanism on his backpack. As the parents started to disappear into the green-flaring bonfire, Sitwell insisted to Rumlow, "We need to report this. This has to be related to the New Mexico incident."

"Was them casually swearing to Odin your first clue?" Rumlow smirked. He led the way as the two men strolled back to the wall. "Either Fury doesn't know about this, or he's keeping it nailed down. Either way, I think the Secretary is going to want to know about this personally. Could be a real asset."

"Agreed," Sitwell said, eyes flicking to make sure nobody was going to stop them walking right back out with their new intel.

Or, as the case was, right into the solid wall that they'd seen people exiting not ten minutes earlier.

After whatever surreptitious tests they could make to the now-impenetrable edifice, and facing being stuck indefinitely on what very well might be an alien planet, Rumlow gave a grim smirk. "Told you, you'd be happy that I brought the backpack…"

As the unlikely duo were just starting to realize their predicament, safely ensconced on the Hogwarts Express and in motion toward the school, Harry was asking his friends, "So why did you all miss the Goblin Market trip?" It had just been the kids from Earth who'd made the excursion the week after the race day. The market as a whole had seemed somewhat subdued.

"Because of what happened at the Quidditch World Cup," Ron explained, to the compartment of boys. For the start of the trip, they'd shoved all five into one, while the six girls took another nearby. "Mate, you all should've been there instead of whatever you had going on…"

The Quidditch World Cup happened every year, and was basically the final championship match for all the various quidditch matches across Vanaheim. That year, it had come down to the Kestrels against the Gargoyles—not that the team names really meant anything to Harry and Dean. While Ron was sad that his beloved Cannons were once again far out of even the top sixteen, so hadn't gotten to play in any stage of the semifinals, it was still expected to be a solid match.

More importantly, Mr. Weasley had snagged several tickets to sit in the Minister's box for the match. In addition to the seven younger Weasleys (including both Bill and Charlie, who Harry had never met), they had Lavender and Seamus along. Seamus had made the trip over because he was actually related to one of the players on the Kestrels, for all that he didn't normally follow quidditch.

"You didn't get to go, Nev?" Harry checked.

The day-older boy shook his head and shrugged, "Gran didn't trust me around the Minister, in case he tried to lobby me or something. Turned out for the best, really, with what happened."

"I'm getting there!" Ron insisted, picking his story back up.

They'd collected Lavender and Seamus the day before, and then they'd tromped over to a field between their village and a few others to catch the portkey. Portkeys were magic items enchanted to open a portal by themselves: non-magical Vanir could use them, unlike the bonfires. They could go to more places too, and it wasn't like every wizard on Vanaheim rated a sling ring. Anyway, there they'd met up with the Diggorys and a few other travelers from nearby towns, just in time for the portal to open.

"I didn't know you lived near Cedric," Harry interrupted, remembering the older Hufflepuff boy as a big help at the battle in Hogsmeade earlier that year. "I knew you lived near Luna. Did she go?"

"She and her father were on an expedition," Neville fielded that question, since he was dating the girl. "Gran almost let me go on that, but Mr. Lovegood couldn't actually explain to her satisfaction where we'd be going or what the safety precautions would be."

"Classic Lovegoods," Ron rolled his eyes, but not as hard as he might have once, since they'd all learned to appreciate—or at least tolerate—Luna's eccentricities. "And, yeah, Cedric and his dad live a village over, so we met them. They were in the box with us too, since Mr. Diggory's a big noise over in the animal management department."

The match took place in a giant clearing in the wilds of Vanaheim. The Weasley crew had managed one of the more convenient portkeys, but some people had gotten an earlier one or even needed to hike in cross country, so had been camping for days. Fortunately, there hadn't been much rumor of marauder activity in that region, which was probably part of why they'd chosen to use that particular stadium. So when they dumped out, there must have been thousands of people camped out and ready for the match. You didn't technically need to be magical to play quidditch if you could get a broom made, and everyone seemed to enjoy it, so most of the world's wizards and a significant fraction of its non-magical citizens had shown up.

Sadly, the excitement about getting the top box died a bit when they realized they were sharing it with the Malfoys. They tried to use the Diggorys as a buffer, and Percy was excited to sit near his new boss, Mr. Crouch, who was part of the department that organized magical games and sports, so had a big hand in the World Cup. In addition to the Minister and a few other highly-placed Ministry officials, the big surprise was the delegation from Alfheim. One of the highly-ranked elves of the Seelie court had brought his family to see the match, and also seemed to be discussing something with Mr. Crouch.

"Probably the tournament," Harry interjected.

"Tournament?" everyone basically asked, simultaneously.

He nodded, "I heard about it a couple of weeks ago. Something about convergences letting us do some kind of three-school tournament with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. That last one is the light elf magic school, so I'd bet the elves were there to talk about it, if this Crouch guy is in charge of that kind of thing."

"Wonder if his oldest daughter is comin' for that?" Seamus waggled his eyebrows.

"You're going to get me in trouble with Lav!" Ron insisted. "You could barely stop staring at her either, and you're gay."

"Somethin' 'bout her," the Irish boy agreed with a wistful look.

"Glamour," Harry explained, having done the research. Well, he'd listened when Hermione explained the research she'd done after finding they'd have light elves at their school all year. "It's one of the most common elf magics. Kind of like Aesir illusions. They can change what they look like, and often they try to look like what everyone around them thinks is the most attractive."

"Hah! Not my fault! I was bewitched," Ron declared.

Harry shook his head, "Probably not as strong as that. But she might have kind of pulled an idea out of your head about what you'd think was beautiful and looked more like that." He thought about it for a second and admitted, "We weren't able to figure out whether they look different for everyone that sees them, or if they kind of split the difference when they're in a group of people."

"Or maybe she was after Ron in particular," Dean ribbed him. "Would you say she looked more like Lavender or…"

"You're all going to get me in trouble!" Ron nearly yelled, turning a little red. His denial made them believe that she probably hadn't used glamour to look like his current girlfriend. "Anyway, yes, there were also elves in the box, and I thought it was interesting. And I can't be held responsible for being bewitched. If you'll let me get back to the story…"

It was a good match, but the Kestrels were starting to run away with it by a couple of hours in. The seeker for the Gargoyles wound up just catching the snitch as soon as he saw it, probably to make the point bleeding stop. Everyone headed out after the conclusion, so they were halfway down the stairs from the box when the trouble started.

The attackers must have been lurking just off the stairway, waiting for their targets. Ron liked to think that he'd had an inkling something was wrong due to all of his warrior training. For sure the older elf girl had sensed something: it must have been whatever mind magic she used to choose her glamour, but she suddenly went from a beautiful young woman to a terrifying sight.

"Banshee," Seamus nodded. "Has t'be where the legends come from."

"I thought it looked more like a harpy," Ron shrugged. "We talked about them in husbandry. Her hair stuck up and kind of looked like feathers, and I almost swore she grew wings. That was when everyone else realized something was wrong…"

What they weren't prepared for were the loud bangs, as their attackers started firing at them with Midgardian guns. The Weasleys got shields up fast, and nobody was injured in their group. Percy tackled Crouch down and probably won himself a ton of points back at the office for maybe saving his boss. The Minister had still been hanging back in the box talking with a few other officials. And the Malfoys had kind of suspiciously been the first ones out…

But that left the Diggorys and the elves. To his credit, Cedric jumped into the line of fire to try to protect his dad and the elves. He even got a shield up after being hit a couple of times, but then it went right back down again the bullets were coming so fast. The elves, especially the oldest daughter, caught a few bullets in the attack, and might have been hit worse if Cedric hadn't gotten in the way.

As scary as it was, it wasn't like they hadn't had worse just at Hogwarts. The Weasleys and their friends started to fire spells back. The older elf girl was literally throwing fire. Even full of bullets, Cedric was helping. Sadly, Mr. Weasley was really the only parent that hadn't frozen in panic, but they had a dozen wands going on offense within a few seconds, and more people realizing help was needed by the moment.

The assassins, also maybe a dozen of them, took off, leaping down from the edge of the stadium and slowing their fall into the night. The light elves seemed sure the attackers were talking to each other in the language of the dark elves. Maybe they'd just been there to assassinate the light elves?

Harry shook his head, "That sounds exactly like the Dahvee hit squad that came after Viktor! Probably a different set because it was happening at around the same time, but the same tactics. Were they dressed all in black with cloth masks over their faces?"

"Exactly. Wait, did you have another adventure, too? Of course you did," Ron said, not having heard about Harry and Hermione's encounter because they hadn't made it to the Goblin Market. "You think these were the same guys that were messing with you, second year?"

"Yeah. And the ones attacking us stopped when they realized I was there. They were going after Viktor—this guy we met that goes to Durmstrang. It was him that told me about the tournament."

"Wait, did they kill Cedric?" Dean checked.

Ron and Seamus shrugged, and Ron explained, "He got hit pretty bad and had to be portaled to St. Mungo's. But magical healing is pretty good and he was still alive when he left."

"I saw him on the train," Neville said. "He was bandaged up worse than you all were after the Hulk, but he seems okay."

"They probably saved the elves, too," Ron nodded. "They weren't as bad off as Cedric. I'm glad they didn't seem to be aiming at us. Those firelegs were loud and looked like they hurt."

"Firearms," Harry corrected. "I think they're named that because it's like arms and armor, that look like they shoot fire." Neville and Ron got looks of understanding. He continued, "But you said there were thousands of people. How did the dark elves get away?"

Ron sighed, "Well that was the other problem…"

No sooner had everyone comprehended that they'd just been set upon by a team of assassins with Midgardian weapons than there were screams from ground level. Nobody had the presence of mind to stop the fleeing dark elves because they were all fleeing from dark magic. Blasts of purple light were being loosed haphazardly into the crowd. Looking out from the stairway above, they could make out gleaming silver face masks atop pitch-black robes and under heavy cowls: the costume of the Death Eaters.

You-Know-Who's servants had chosen their position well. With so few wizards in the crowd, the press of non-magical warriors kept anybody with a wand from getting there fast. The people nearby were mostly not carrying weapons to a sporting event that never saw much worse than some drunken brawling, and even if they'd been inclined to try to charge the enemy, the purple fire seemed to be going everywhere and nowhere in particular. Before enough people could charge, so many had fled that running at the Death Eaters with no way to make a magic shield would be suicide.

And that seemed to be what one old man with a bad leg was willing to try, since he was the only wizard close enough to make a difference. Maybe the Death Eaters had chosen to go after him in particular, since he certainly knew how to fight them. There must have been twenty bad guys, and the man was holding his own, mostly with shields but throwing out some nasty hexes as well. By the time he went down, the crowd had opened up enough that the aurors were able to charge in, and the Death Eaters scattered, and then disappeared into the weird witchcraft smoke teleportation that they'd been known for during the war.

When the man that had been fighting them fell, Ron had been sure he'd seen a whirling magical eye even from as far away as he'd been watching. It was hard to forget that kind of thing.

"I think that was Tonks' mentor!" Harry realized. "I met him at the althing. I knew he wasn't safe, being so close to retirement!" He realized how callous that sounded and added, "I hope he's okay."

Again, the boys who'd been there shrugged, clearly not having any idea of whether the bravely crazy old man had been seen to or died of his wounds.

"So, yeah," Ron concluded, "they didn't actually come back, but everyone figured there was no reason they couldn't. And I don't know how many people died. I think at least people got trampled really bad. Mum wasn't letting us back out again once we got home. She was worried they'd attack at the Market."

"Barely let me go home," Seamus agreed. "Mrs. Weasley's a fierce woman."

"Does that kind of thing happen regularly?" Harry asked.

"Not since the war," Neville said. "Nobody knows what it means that they decided to attack now. The Minister's saying it was just a bunch of drunk people who were mad their team lost. But you can't really fake the mark of dark magic."

"Right. It's purple," Harry agreed. He said that with such assurance everyone looked at him and he had to explain, "They teach it at Durmstrang. Viktor was using it a little. He says he didn't know any better and is trying not to use any more… but I'm kind of surprised that the former Death Eaters can cast magic without it showing up, if Viktor can't."

"Probably a reason the Malfoys don't cast much magic in public," Ron scoffed.

Neville mused, "Or they'll just claim that You-Know-Who made them do witchcraft, and they can't lose the mark now."

"But, yeah, that's pretty much it," Ron finished. "Sad we didn't get to meet you at the Market. Mum went on her own to get our stuff. She got me the worst set of dress robes. We have something we need them for this year."

Harry nodded, having spotted that on the supply list as well. He wasn't sure whether to point out that he'd had dress robes professionally tailored at the Market, and chipped in to get the other Midgardborn some nice ones as well. He probably would have helped Ron, had he known. "I wonder if it's something to do with the tournament. Maybe you only need to wear them if you win an award?" That didn't seem to mollify Ron, so he added, "And surely not everyone will win the award, so you can just borrow a set from someone who didn't win, if you did?"

"Maybe," Ron nodded, still worried that it would be something where there wouldn't be a spare set of robes for him, so he'd have to wear the archaic maroon monstrosities his mother had picked. "So tell us about what happened to you?"

Harry started to explain, "So I don't know what you and Nev know about cars, but…"