Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony Stark was not often stumped. In fact, it was a very uncomfortable sensation that he had no intention of ever becoming familiar with. It was way too early for this shit, and Fury didn’t even have the decency to bring coffee to this little impromptu get-together. Asshole.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that for the class?”

He saw Fury twitch out the corner of his eye as if he was desperately trying not to reach over and strangle him. The burst of satisfaction he felt at successfully pissing off the director helped resettle his equilibrium a little bit. Tony smirked, leaning back against the table with his arms crossed, the perfect picture of arrogance.

“I said ,” began Fury through gritted teeth, “at 03:47 this morning, our scanners detected a small localised burst of energy from an unidentifiable source, conveniently located approximately twelve feet above our current position thirty thousand feet above the ground. These two -” Fury nodded towards the interrogation room in front of them, where two unconscious men were bound tightly to what was probably the most uncomfortable chairs S.H.I.E.L.D could scrounge up on short notice “- are the result of that.”

“So they just appeared out of thin air?” asked Steve. He stood legs apart and hands clasped behind his back in his ‘Captain’ pose, his brows scrunched together with the same look of confusion he reserved for cellphones or computers or modern slang as he studied the two men through the observation window.

Tony rolled his eyes. “ Obviously , Spangles, it was a wormhole of some kind. Laws of physics, yada yada yada. You can’t just make something out of nothing, it's gotta come from somewhere.” 

He turned to Fury. “You’re telling me that despite all this - “ he waved a hand at the ceiling, “ - you have nothing? No information, whatsoever?”

Fury fixed him with a look. Oh, that was definitely the ‘I want nothing more than to strangle you right now’ look. Tony watched as Fury closed his eyes - sorry, eye - and took a deep breath before setting his face with what was probably supposed to be a neutral expression. It ended up looking more nauseated than anything though.

“As much as it pains me to do this, I’m asking , Stark, if you would - “

“Oh, please. Like I haven’t already started.” Tony drawled, waving him off. “Jarvis? If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course sir,” Jarvis’s disembodied voice floated from the ceiling. Steve started slightly like he did every single time . Tony pressed his lips together to hide his smirk when Steve flinched again as the window overlooking the room was overlaid with coloured graphs and CCTV footage. 

Fury glared just as his name suggested - furiously . “I’m not even going to ask.”.

It was quickly forgotten, however, as the three of them watched the scene unfold on the screen in front of them. Looking down from the tallest point of the helicarrier they were perfectly positioned to see the flash of bright green light that lit up the sky like lightning. The brief burst of energy sent the assorted readouts wild, some kind of interference causing the footage to stutter and crackle with static. It resolved itself just in time for two bodies to appear out of thin air and fall to the ground in a heap smack bang in the middle of the runway.

Tony quickly scanned the data flying across the screen. None of it made sense. None of it matched anything they had come across before, nothing even close to the wormhole that had appeared above Stark Tower. It was, at a stretch, vaguely similar to the readings Jarvis had picked up around Thor, but that was like saying his arc reactor was the same as a pack of AA batteries.

“They didn’t have much on them besides the clothes on their backs, but one of them had this,” grumbled Fury. He gestured to the knobbly wooden stick resting on the table in front of them. On closer inspection, it was a very fancy stick, polished smooth with an elaborately carved handle and clusters of what looked like berries dispersed along its length.

Tony grinned. “A magic wand? Oh, Fury, you shouldn’t have. I’m blushing.”

Steve snorted. Fury shot him a withering look. Which, of course, only made him grin wider. In his defence, it did look a bit like a magic wand, but less rabbit-in-a-hat and more like something out of a videogame.

“Jarvis, make sure you get all this, and send the director a little thank you card.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?”

Fury opened his mouth, no doubt about to say something along the lines of of course Mr Stark, anything for my favourite Avenger, but he was rudely interrupted by a loud groan.

The projections vanished, and all three whipped around to stare at the two mystery men.

The one on the left had an unruly mass of dark hair that fell forwards over his face, where round glasses sat crookedly on his nose. He had olive skin and looked to be about average height, but with the kind of wiry compact muscle that was built for practicality rather than aesthetics. He was dressed in dark jeans that had seen better days and a faded t-shirt that said ‘Gryffindors do it better!’ in bold lettering, with a vintage leather jacket thrown on top. Nothing remarkable, until you got to his boots, which were a beautiful reddish-brown leather that appeared almost scaly in the light. Tony had to ask about those later. And see if they made women's shoes too because Pepper would go feral over them.

The one on the right was the opposite of his companion in almost every sense. He was tall and pale, with icy blond hair (surely an obscene amount of bleach was involved there) and sharp aristocratic features. He was slender in the way that suggested he had never lifted a finger in his life, which was further emphasised by the fine make of his clothes - perfectly tailored chinos, a white button-down, and a soft woollen jumper. Interestingly, he had the same strange leather boots - black this time - and a thick velvety cloak. A real-life, let’s-take-the-ring-to-mordor, LARP-nerd-renaissance-faire type cloak. One sleeve was pushed up to reveal a faded grey tattoo, a skull with what looked like a snake coming out its mouth, and as his head rolled to the side Tony caught a glimpse of a string of symbols scrawled in a sharp line across his neck.

Jesus, was it just him or were the potential threats to national security getting younger and younger these days? The man - correction, boy - looked barely out of his teens, fresh-faced and unlined despite his face being twisted up in a grimace. He was maybe seventeen, eighteen at best .

“So, what, we’ve got a couple of miscreant teens; Biker Boy Barista and his buddy, Gandalf’s Rebel Trust-Fund Baby. Is there an evil megalomaniac high school now?” Tony quipped.

“Children?!” said Steve, aghast. The horror on his face only grew when one of the children in question moaned weakly. Steve whirled upon Fury with his fists clenched. “Director Fury, you can’t treat children like this!”

“May I remind you, Mr Rogers , that these children somehow teleported themselves directly onto an airship belonging to a classified government agency?” Fury met Steve’s furious (hah) glare with his own. Steve didn’t back down, but he did fold his arms and put upon what Tony liked to call his ‘old-man-frowny’ face.

“So, if you would kindly sit the fuck down , we can get back to figuring out exactly what is going on here.”

“As much as I’d rather eat glass than say this out loud - he’s right, Cap,” Tony sighed. “I don’t like it either, but you gotta admit it's all a little too convenient.”

Steve glowered at Fury for a moment, then sighed heavily, sinking back into his chair like a man with at least eighty more years on him (which, okay, was fair). 

“I don’t like it, but I guess I see your point. But if they are just teenagers, and you hurt them, you will have me to answer to.”

“Fine.” Fury’s glare flicked over to Tony, daring him to voice his objections. Tony was with Steve on this one, but unlike Steve, he was still a bit too paranoid to be going around believing the best in everyone. Tony waved him away with a go-ahead motion, folding his arms across his chest and settling his weight on one hip.

“Currently, we have nothing. We’ve run them through facial recognition, DNA, fingerprinting, the works. No names, dental records, school transcripts, bank accounts, nothing . They might as well not exist,” ground out Fury through gritted teeth, obviously mad as hell that he was thwarted by two teenagers who looked like they hadn’t even graduated high school yet.

“Jarvis?”

“On it. I shall inform you when I have the results.”

“Thanks, J.”

“...Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“I have the results.”

The room was silent, for one heartbeat, then two, then four. Fury quirked an eyebrow. Tony rolled his eyes. “ And ?”

“It is as Director Fury said. Neither of the boys exist, anywhere on earth, according to any records, public or private,” intoned Jarvis.

Tony’s eyebrows crawled into his hair in surprise. If Jarvis couldn’t find them… well, that was something else. Steve’s confusion intensified like he was trying to use two cell phones at once. Fury looked, well, furious. And smug. Furiously smug.

“They appeared out of nowhere, right? With a bunch of energy and some light? Could they be Asgardian?” asked Steve. Good question.

“The information I have compiled from the energy readings and footage analysis suggests no direct correlation, Mr Rogers, particularly when combined with their choice of attire,” Jarvis politely replied.

Tony hummed under his breath. Something about it didn’t quite fit, but it couldn’t hurt to get the inside scoop. “Hit up Point Break anyway, ask him if it’s possible two Asgardian teenagers could have given their babysitter the slip.”

“Yes sir.”

Fury hummed under his breath, and Tony saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk.

“Well, looks like we won't have to wait much longer to find out.”

Chapter Text

The first thought that ran through Draco’s mind was not one for polite company.

His head pounded, scraps of light and colour, flashes of memory flickered rapidly behind his eyelids. Fear, heat and pain - lots of pain. Something cool and white, with the scent of lilacs that reminded him of his mum. Joy, confusion, followed by deep, well-worn grief and resignation. A bright, vivid, green light that overwhelmed the senses.

Draco cracked open his eyes, blinking rapidly against the light that stabbed straight through his brain stem before giving up and squeezing them shut. He felt weak and loose-limbed, like he’d slept funny and woken up having deadened his entire body. A groan tumbled from his lips as his head drooped against his chest, his skull weighing a thousand tonnes inside his head.

“Urgh,” he mumbled around the feeling of his tongue laying thick and heavy in his mouth. “Th’ fuck?”

A rustle of fabric sounded to his right. Draco cracked one silvery eye open. Squinting against the glare, he was able to make out a Potter-like shape sitting in a chair next to him. 

“Potter?”

Potter groaned, sounding just as hard up as Draco. Good, this was all his fault anyway. Probably. It usually was.

Draco blinked furiously, willing his vision to clear. “Gods, Potter, what the fuck have you gotten us into now?” he moaned.

There was a dull thunk of a head hitting the back of a chair, followed by a heavy sigh. “Urgh, shuddup will you, ‘m head’s bloody pounding,” mumbled Potter.

Draco’s head gave a particularly vicious throb. His voice came out a needy whine, but he was in too much pain to be embarrassed. “What did you do , Potter? Merlin’s bloody bollocks, I feel like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.”

“Wha?” said Potter, his voice thick and just oozing with his usual standard of eloquence.

Draco reached up to check that his brains were not, in fact, leaking from his skull, and froze as the move was aborted by the handcuffs encircling his wrist. His stomach dropped out from under him, ice flooding his veins. Oh, this was not good.

“Potter!” he hissed urgently, yanking frantically at the cuffs holding him in place. Potter continued to stare gormlessly at the ceiling, so he tried a swift kick instead. Metal bit into his shins, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out.

Oh, shit, shit, shit.

Draco wracked his mind, trying to remember how exactly they’d ended up there. But the memories were fuzzy, incomplete. It was like - like there was a void, somehow. He ran his tongue over his teeth, surprised at the lack of fuzz that would have followed a rowdy night out. He didn’t think he’d been obliviated -  as sure as one could ever be, anyway. Nor did it feel like someone had rummaged through his brains with legilimency. It was like he’d just… stopped existing for a bit, in between flashes of colour and sensation.

Potter jerked in his seat, suddenly awake and in full Auror mode, his head swivelling rapidly as he scanned their surroundings. They were in some kind of interrogation room, it seemed, but unlike any he’d ever had the misfortune of experiencing. Something about it struck him as very - mugglish.

Potter turned to face him, and Draco’s heart just about stopped dead.

“What? Malfoy? Where are we?”

This… was not Potter. At least, not the Potter from recent memory. It was like someone had dunked him in a vat of reverse-aging potion. Somehow simultaneously his older and younger self. This Potter looked like some sick fuck had reached into Draco’s mind and plucked 17-year-old Potter directly from his memories and sprinkled him with bits of his old-man body like a horrifying garnish. 

The effect was deeply unsettling, and the hair on the back of Draco’s neck prickled.

Not-Potter - whoever he was - had the clothes right, with Potter’s trademark round glasses and leather jacket that had once been his godfather’s, a stupid Gryffindor-themed shirt, and faded jeans. They’d even managed to snag the dragon-leather boots Draco had bought for him when he’d finally had enough of Potter turning up to the manor in those synthetic muggle monstrosities. At first glance, it was a good effort. But it was the little things that gave it away - the scars he’d collected over the years during his work as an Auror, the surety with which he carried himself, the way he’d lost that starved, emaciated look and filled out with muscle. 

Draco liked to think he knew Harry Potter quite well. He knew when he’d started up with Granger that the three of them were a package deal, but he had significantly underestimated what that meant. Potty and the Weasel had grown on him much like a fungus - but alas growth was growth, and so the fact that someone dared to attempt to manipulate him with a poorly-made simulacrum of one of Draco’s oldest and most annoying friends flooded him with pure rage .

“Who the fuck are you,” he spat, venom dripping from every word.

Not-Potter had the gall to do a double take. “Me?” sputtered Not-Potter, affronted. “Who the fuck are you! ”

“ I am Draco Malfoy,” scoffed Draco Malfoy, looking down his nose at the impostor and pretending the world wasn’t still spinning slightly. “Which the real Harry Potter would know, you know. But you don’t know, because you’re not the real Potter. And I know you're not the real Potter, and you know you know that I know you know, because the real Potter doesn’t look all… all…”

“All what?” said Not-Potter.

“Like a bloody twelve-year-old! ”

That seemed to shut him up, mouth flapping open in closed in what was admittedly a very Potter-like manner. He flushed bright red, and ducked his head to the side, mumbling something under his breath.

Not-Potter squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. “I am Harry Potter.”

“Piss off,”

“I am!” he insisted. “If anyone’s the imposter here it's you! ”

“What!” squawked Draco.

“You think I look like a twelve-year-old?!” laughed Not-Potter bitterly, ”I at least have a reason to look like this. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Because you're doing a bloody fantastic impression of a fetus.”

Draco gaped at him, absolutely outraged. The audacity of his man, to kidnap him, impersonate his friend, and then speak to him like this?! It was the last straw.

“I don’t know who you think you are, or why I’m here. But you can take all this-” he flicked his fingers in his best attempt to gesture up and down the man’s body “-and fuck right off .”

It seemed Not-Potter had nothing to say to that, snarling wordlessly and wrenching at his cuffs hard enough to scoot his chair across the floor with a screech of metal on metal. Draco studiously avoided his gaze, seething silently and trying to suppress his rising panic. 

He was so painfully alone and so absolutely, completely fucked.

Chapter Text

“Well. That was one of the most confusing things I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen Cap try to use the internet.”

Steve shot Tony a glare, but the effect was ruined by the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile. Steve turned back to the observation window, chewing his lip as he watched with a pensive look on his face.

The two kids were currently scowling and thoroughly ignoring one another after a rather explosive argument, the blond one - Gandalf’s Trustfund Baby a.k.a Not-Draco-Malfoy - continuing to yank fruitlessly on his bindings while the other - Biker Boy Barista a.k.a Not-Harry-Potter - alternated between glaring at the wall and the panel concealing the observation room, his expression cycling between defiance, rage, curiosity, suspicion, despair, and carefully concealed panic.

“That kid could give Hawkeye a run for his money,” murmured Steve, jerking his chin towards the dark-haired kid. “He’s smart. He didn’t panic like his buddy, he kept his head and looked for the exit. He knows where we are, too, or at least he suspects.”

Tony agreed with him, for once. “Blondie, on the other hand, looks like he’s about two seconds away from a full-blown freakout.” The kid was pale and shaking - an effort considering he was white as a sheet to begin with - and borderline hyperventilating, clearly terrified. Not the behaviour usually associated with espionage and failed infiltration attempts.

“Could all be an act,” said Fury.

“Eh. Maybe. If it is, it's not a very good one.”

But there was something about the other kid that just didn’t sit right. “Potter - he’s acting like he’s done this before,” he decided. “Some kind of run-in with authority, anyway. But if that were the case, why the hell can’t we find him?”

“That’s a good fucking question,” Fury drawled, clasping his hands behind his back as a single dark eye narrowed. “Doesn't it strike you as a little bit strange? They thought they knew each other. It was only when they actually looked that they freaked out. They’re both adamant that they are who they say they are, and they’re both furious at the other for their ‘impersonation’.”

Steve hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Maybe their information is bad - or maybe they’ve never met in person before? They could know of each other, and think they know what to expect. ” His eyes widened briefly with some sort of realisation, and he snapped his fingers, turning to beam at Tony with his whole face lit up like a goddamned lightbulb. “Like a chat forum! They’ve met on a chat forum, but now they’re meeting in real life and it's not living up to their expectations!”

“Well done, Cap, proud of you,” snorted Tony. Steve turned back to the window looking pleased with himself.

“But I don’t think so,” he continued. “If they met on a chat forum, they would have known each other by their usernames. They might still know their real names, but they would be way more familiar with a pseudonym. ‘Harry Potter’ has got to be the lamest username I’ve ever heard.”

Steve frowned. “What's wrong with using your name?” he asked.

Fury closed his eyes with a pained sigh, and Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cap, please don’t tell me you’ve been running around on the internet with your real name ?!” 

Jesus, he should be charging SHEILD double for this level of babysitting. Scratch that, he should make sure he was charging them full stop. “You know what? Never mind, I’ll get Pepper to give you the old ‘safe-surfn’ talk later.”

“Shall I add it to Miss Potts’s calendar, Sir?” asked Jarvis.

“Yeah, thanks Jarv. By the way, did you get anything from that?”

“I did find a record of one Mr James Potter from Wiltshire, England, who somewhat matched Harry Potter’s description,” hedged Jarvis, and Tony grinned at Fury’s face twisted into a mix of frustration and intrigue. “But he died alongside his family in 1972, during a housefire.”

Godammit. Either this kid was looking real good for a 52-year-old, or someone really went for the ol’ ‘mysterious housefire disappearance’ bit. Fury was obviously thinking along the same line because he glared at the ceiling and snapped.

“Are you sure?” barked Fury, “He didn’t have any children? Siblings? Cousins?”

“No, Directory Fury. James Potter was the only child, and he died when he was twelve years old. And there is no one else with the last name of ‘Potter’ who fits the parameters.”

So, not a bit, then.

Fury swore under his breath, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “And what about his friend?” he growled.

“The only information I could find about his companion was the brief mention of a ‘Malfoy’ in a late 9th-century manuscript dedicated to William the Conqueror, however, there have been no records of any living person with that name.”

“That’s it ?”

“Merlin is also a well-known folk-tale, but I did not think it needed to be brought to your attention, Director Fury.”

Fury’s eye twitched. He spun slowly on his heel and turned back to the observation window. 

Tony let his shit-eating grin speak for itself and made a mental note to get Jarvis a RAM upgrade as a little thank-you gift.

Chapter Text

There were no windows in the room, and no one had come to investigate the shouting in the last half-hour or so since they’d woken up. Draco gave his cuffs one last half-hearted tug, then sighed one long slow breath to try to calm his racing heartbeat as he rested his head against the back of his chair. He had to assume they were being watched, but he couldn’t see how. 

This was ridiculous. Why kidnap him and go through all the effort of impersonating Potter, only to ignore them? Something wasn’t right.

Draco closed his eyes, tried to ignore the sensation of the cuffs against his skin, and attempted to reach out with his magic. Something about it was different, slipping through his grasp like water, aching with the desire to stretch out like tree roots and the need to make, to create - to see flames spring from his fingertips and vines crawl over his feet. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly - high-strung, as his mother would say - he needed to pour his feelings into the act of creating something to stop it from overflowing. It was wilder, and more, sweat beading upon his brow as he struggled to stop it from exploding out of him. 

Merlin's balls, it was like he was 7 years old again, struggling to stop apple blossoms sprouting from his mother’s tea set every time he got upset.

He opened his eyes to see Not-Potter staring at him, chewing his lip in that terrible habit of his and eyeing him with an inscrutable expression.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” said Possibly-Potter. “I want to get out of here, and I assume you do too. How can I trust you?”

Draco shrugged. “I could ask you the same.”

Perchance-Potter stared off into the middle distance for a moment. Then he returned to himself, straightened his shoulders, and clenched his jaw, evidently having come to some kind of decision.

“Ask me something.”

“What?”

“Merlins saggy ballsack, just ask me something!” groaned Potentially-Potter. “Something only the real Harry Potter would know.”

Oh. That was easy enough, he supposed. “Fine. Where did you get married?”

“The Burrow. C’mon Malfoy, every bloody man and his dog knows that one. Try again.” snapped Probably-Potter. Ok, he had a point on that one, it was splashed across every bloody newspaper in wizarding Europe for a good six months.

“Divorced, then.”

Plausibly-Potter didn’t answer, just glared hard enough Draco was surprised nothing caught fire.

“Okay, okay, fine. Oh. Uh, er…” Bollocks. This was harder than he thought. Every single Harry Potter factoid had immediately vacated his head. Potter rolled his eyes. Funnily enough, it didn’t help.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, you’d think we hadn’t known each other since we were - oh, I dunno - eleven years old .” 

“Oh, piss off, Potter,” grumbled Draco. Potter’s lips curved into a shit-eating grin, and Draco rolled his eyes when he realised his slip. Smarmy git .

Draco thought hard for a moment, then perked up in his seat. “Oh, I got one! What were you trying to find in the Room of Requirement?”

He regretted the words the moment they left his traitorous mouth. The mood - which wasn’t great to start - immediately plummeted, and they both slumped back into their chairs looking despondent. Draco felt the blood drain from his face, shivering as phantom heat blistered his palms and the stink of dark magic and smoke filled his nostrils. Beside him Potter’s lip was back between his teeth, looking just as awful as he felt. 

His stomach roiled, and saliva flooded his mouth. Merlin, he’d better not sick up on himself, lest he wanted to sit in it for who knows how bloody long. He drew in long slow breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, willing the sensation to fade.

“Sorry,” murmured Draco, dropping his gaze to his boots.

“No no, it's fine.” Harry heaved another old-man-worthy sigh. “The Diadem. You know the one.”

Yeah, he knew it. He let out a sharp sigh of relief that unclenched something in his gut. Morgana’s mangy minge, he’d never been so relieved to hear mention of ‘The Diadem’ in his life.

“Okay, so you are Potter. And you know I’m me, because… well. Who else would ask that?“.

Draco grunted and tossed his head to move the lock of hair that was tickling the side of his face. Spirits above, he would never take the use of his hands for granted ever again. 

There. Problem solved. Well, two of them at least. 

He cleared his throat, heat flushing his cheeks. “Anyways, back to the erumpent in the room. Why do you look like you’re fresh off the Hogwarts Express?”

Harry craned his neck to meet him head-on. “You won't believe me. And I don’t want it to get out to whoever is listening in.”

“The kneazle’s already out of the bag, Harry.” Draco scoffed. “You really think that whoever is behind all this doesn't know who you are already?”

“Hey! They could be muggles, you never know.”

“Stop avoiding the question, Harry. Try me.”

Harry thumped his head against his chair with a groan. 

“Fine. It’s related to… y’know, that whole thing. With Riddle,” he hedged. Draco hummed, nodding along sagely. Yes, that whole thing.

Harry didn’t seem to know how to continue. He chewed his lip a bit more and took a deep breath. “Do you remember the Hallows?”

Draco’s brow furrowed as he considered the words. “What, the bedtime story? Three brothers walking down the road at midnight, etcetera etcetera?”

“Twilight. But yes, the very same,” said Harry. He stared at Draco intently, like he was trying to shove his thoughts directly through Draco’s skull through sheer power of will. Draco stared back like it was all falling right back out again. The mind arts were never Potter’s forte.

But still, something clicked into place with a suddenness that made him jerk upright a little in his seat. He’d long been jealous of Harry’s invisibility cloak. It had been inherited from his father, hadn’t it? And it was still perfect, in both performance and condition, not even a loose thread to betray its true age.

And his wand. Not the holly, or Draco’s old hawthorn, but the gnarled, ratty old thing that seemed to have a life of its own. He was pretty sure it had been Dumbledore’s at one point. He’d seen it only a handful of times, popping into existence on Harry’s lap or leaping into his hand, only for Harry to snarl and shove it unceremoniously into his pocket or toss it into a corner. He’d never seen someone treat a wand so callously. Harry pretended not to hear him the one time he had asked about it, and so it had sort of slipped from his mind altogether.

Harry shifted in his seat, the light reflecting off the large, heavyset ring that sat on his middle finger. A gold ring with a large black stone, a deeper black than it had any right to be with a jagged crack down the center. If he squinted, he could make out some kind of engraving. A triangle and a circle, bisected by a line down the middle.

Oh. Oh.

No fucking way.

“You’re not serious.”

“We’ve already established this, I’m not Sirius, I’m Harry,” Harry snorted with a sly little grin smeared on his face.

If there was any doubt remaining that this was the real Harry Potter, it was fucking gone now. He should have just started with that! 

Draco groaned. “You will be the death of me, Harry, I swear. You’re not seriously trying to tell me the Deathly Hallows are real , are you?”

“Yep,” quipped Harry, lips popping on the ‘p’, still looking quite pleased with himself.

Draco continued to stare, his face falling when he realised the other boy was one hundred per cent serious. No. Absolutely not. There’s no way Harry Fucking Potter - the man who couldn’t find his own bloody wand when he accidentally put it in the wrong pocket that one time - managed to stumble across all of the Deathly Hallows. That would be ridiculous. That would mean-

“No way,” he breathed.

Harry’s silver tongue was loquacious as always. “Yeah way,”

“The cloak?”

“Peverell family heirloom.”

“The stone?”

“Gaunt family heirloom.”

“The wand?”

“Grindelwald’s. Dumbledore’s. Then yours, then mine.”

Draco’s eyes threatened to bug out of his head. “ Mine ?” he choked out.

“When you disarmed Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower,” clarified Harry. His voice was soft, as though to lessen a blow, but Draco still flinched back as though he’d been slapped. “It’s allegiance turned to you. Then, at the Manor, I stole yours, and it became mine.”

Draco’s voice shook. “Bloody hell.” He automatically reached up to run an anxious hand through his hair and growled when he remembered his restraints. 

Bloody hell. Was he seriously saying that, at one point, he - Draco Lucius Malfoy - had been the master of the most powerful wand known in wizarding history? Draco shook his head, recoiling from the thought.

They were silent for a long moment, eyes glazed and staring into the middle distance.

Eventually, Draco managed to stifle his horror and return to his senses. He would deal with all that later after they’d figured out what was going on here and preferably while settled in his favourite armchair with an entire bottle of whatever Mippy happened to dig out of the cellar. 

“So what, you just collected a bunch of antiques and now you look like that ? But that can’t be right, I swear I saw you not that long ago. You were all old and wrinkly just like the rest of us.”

Harry’s answering smile was soft but sad, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I did. And I do. Let's just say… I’m a pro at ageing potions now.”

“Oh,” said Draco. He felt a pang of sympathy for his oldest and most irritating friend. Draco knew torture. He knew how it smelled, the feel of blinding pain and terror and despair, what it was like to inflict it on another. To never get old, to watch your friends wither and die - that was true torture, the kind the Dark Lord would have never understood.

Harry shifted irritably as he met Draco’s gaze. “Don’t.”

Draco dropped it, although he would be checking back in later no matter what Harry felt on the matter. He’d drag Hermione into it if necessary. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if reading his thoughts, and swiftly shifted attention onto Draco. “It doesn’t explain why you look like that, though.”

“Like what?” said Draco, alarm bells pinging in the back of his mind. “What are you talking about?”

“Like a bloody twelve-year-old !” Harry sneered, in a highly inaccurate impression, thank you very much.

A brief flash of concern squirmed its way into Draco’s gut. He’d somehow - what, de-aged? He didn’t feel any younger, but then again, until then he hadn’t realised the persistent ache in his hip and the tremors that had rocked his fingertips for the last twenty years had vanished. He didn’t miss it in the slightest. Concern quickly melted into curiosity. This had the potential to be a delightful turn of events. You know, silver linings and all that.

“Really?” said Draco, intrigued. “How old are we talking? First year? Fifth? Please don’t say first year, I really can’t deal with puberty again.” Merlin, if he had to go through all that again while Harry got to strut about looking like that , he’d die of embarrassment.

Harry gave him one long look, up and down, and Draco felt very abruptly on display . “Seventh, if I were to take a guess. With less trauma-chic. Like, if seventh year had been normal instead of-”

“-a literal nightmare?”

“-I was going to say hell on earth.”

“Still accurate,” Draco mused. If he was young again, then maybe - he glanced down quickly at his arm. The spark of hope withered and died as quickly as it was born while his lip curled in disgust at the sight of the mark faded and mangled on his forearm. “Ah, bollocks.”

“Hmm?” Harry leaned over as far as his restraints allowed. He nodded grimly at Draco’s arm. “Ah. That sucks.”

“Neck?”

Draco twisted to expose his throat. Harry hissed in sympathy, and the sound cut deep, twisting Draco’s lip into a snarl. “Whatever. And I don’t know what the fuck is going on, this is all your fault anyway.”

“My fault?!” squawked Harry.

“YES, your fault! This has your stench all over it! If this is another one of those Weasel Wizard Whatsits I swear on Salazar himself I will… I will…” Merlin, Weasel would be a dead man if this were some sort of awful prank. Harry though… he needed something drastic, something with a bit more leverage.

Oh. Oh yes.

His face lit up and his eyes narrowed into a leer.

“I will tell my mother that you accept her offer of all future Sunday dinners at the Manor and that you would just love to let her take you shopping.”

Maybe he’d just tell her anyway. She treated Harry like her second son, and the pained look on her face every time he turned her down was intolerable. It would serve him right.

The shriek of metal on metal sliced through the air as Harry’s chair jerked backwards with the strength of his outrage. His face was drained of all colour, which only made the scar on his forehead stand out even more.

“You wouldn’t dare!” he gasped. 

“I absolutely would dare!” hissed Draco. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“I don’t know!” cried Harry, but something about him looked uneasy. He shifted again in his seat, his eyes dropping away to the side like they did when he was nervous. Draco clocked the movement instantly.

Draco drew himself up as tall as his restraints would allow, arching one brow and looking down his nose haughtily in a near-perfect impression of his mother. “Harry James Potter you tell me what’s going on right this instant!”

Harry grumbled under his breath, looking resigned. “Look. I don’t know exactly what’s going on. I don’t know where we are, or why we’re all -” he yanked one wrist against his cuffs. 

“But you have suspicions,” he pressed.

“I have… thoughts.”

“Oh good,” he said dryly. “Are all two of them just floating about in there, or do they occasionally knock together and make sparks?”

Harry tipped his head back, hitting it hard against the chair. He winced and jerked his hand upwards, then sighed at the catch and rattle of his cuffs.

“To be honest Draco, that is probably not the most important question right now.”

“Or, you’re avoiding the question again.”

“Ok, a bit, yes. I swear I will tell you everything Draco, after we get out of whatever this is.”

He had a point. Draco twisted his wrist to point a finger in Harry’s approximate direction. “Fine. But a dragon never forgets.”

“God, you’re relentless, did you know that?” sighed Harry.

Draco shrugged. “It’s part of my charm.”

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed. “Prat. Now, go be decorative elsewhere. I think I know how to get us out of here.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, do something already!”

The two boys had been stewing in silence for a good 20 minutes or so, and Tony had to shove his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to rap his knuckles on the observation window like an impatient kid at the zoo. 

Fury scowled at him. “Feel free to leave anytime, Stark. I won't keep you.”

Tony gaped at him in mock outrage. “Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing to happen to me in ages!”

Steve frowned. “That’s what you said when I moved into the tower last week.”

“Did I say that? I don’t think I did,” said Tony airily. He brushed him off with a wave. “Jarvis, tell him I didn’t say that.”

“You did, Sir.”

“What?! You traitor Jarvis!”

“Stark,” snapped Fury. “Can you shut the fuck up for once in your goddamned life?!” The look he gave Tony was pure vitriol. The man didn’t need two eyes; he’d be too powerful.

Tony rolled his eyes, but otherwise let it drop. Best not to push the guy too far, there were still plenty more hours in the day and he didn’t have a death wish just yet.

“Damn,” he muttered, “Just trying to liven this joint up a lil.”

Those must have been the magic words because before he’d even finished his sentence the screen flashed with a riot of colour, graphs and numbers spiking every which way.

“Sir, I am detecting a surge in energy readings similar to the data collected during their initial appearance,” said Jarvis, his voice oddly calm against the tension that rippled through the room.

Tony scanned the data that scrolled rapidly across the screen. None of it made sense. Frustration and delight curled in his chest in equal measure. It had been so long since he’d had a problem that refused to bend to his knowledge quite like this.

A sharp hiss sounded to his left. “What is he doing?” Fury snarled.

Tony looked up, following Fury’s gaze to the blonde kid sitting stiffly in his chair with his eyes squeezed shut and his head tipped back to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell with long, shaky breaths, each one coinciding with a spike of energy.

The air itself seemed to hum, and Tony started as a wave of static rolled over him, prickling at his skin and lifting his hair. It felt almost alive, curling around his legs like a curious cat, with a frantic edge that had him gritting his teeth and tasting metal on his tongue. He recoiled as the scent of something smoky and floral ticked his nose. Judging from the gasps around the room, Fury and Steve felt it too. 

For the first time since this whole thing had started, he felt a little icy sliver of fear trickle down his spine. According to the data, it was pure energy. But energy was just that - energy. It shouldn’t feel tangible, it shouldn’t invoke scents or feelings. It shouldn't crawl over his skin like it was alive .

“Tony, your reactor!”

Tony glanced downwards to see the arc reactor stutter and flare with each pulse reflected on the screen. 

“Shitshitshitshit!”

Panic speared through him like lightning, and he staggered back as he felt a tendril of energy crawl up his chest. He scrabbled desperately at his shirtfront, trying and failing to claw this - thing - away from him, instead only succeeding in ruining his shirt. He was dimly aware of Steve leaping to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor, his fists clenched like he was prepared to beat an incorporeal concept to death with his bare hands.

Before Steve could do anything of the sort, it vanished, sucked away like the tide. Tony half-collapsed onto the table, propping himself up with one arm while he traced the outline of the reactor through his shirt, feeling the harsh lines and ridges that had become as familiar as the freckle that dotted the back of his hand. It had settled back into its regular cheery glow, humming happily between his ribs as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

“Are you alright?” fretted Steve. Concern etched itself between his brows as he hovered over Tony’s shoulder, one hand reaching out, ready to steady him if needed.

“Yeah, I think so,” he gasped, between sucking down great gulps of air. Terror had turned his limbs to ice, making his movements jerky and uneven as he hauled himself upright. He had to swallow several times as his stomach threatened to revolt, the clicking in his throat barely audible over the ringing in his ears and his thundering heartbeat.

His mind spun, thoughts whizzing through his brain at a million miles per hour. That was unacceptable. Nothing should be able to interfere with the reactor like that. Nothing.

“Jarvis-”

“Already on it, Sir.”

Low voices trickled through from the interrogation room. It appears the boys had decided to try again.

Tony straightened, brushing off Steve’s worried look and stepping back to the window, cramming all those thoughts and fears into a little box and burying it deep down. He could freak out later, once he had a better idea of what the hell was going on. Fury scanned him up and down impassively, and Tony thought he saw the tiniest flash of concern there before he turned away. A trick of the light, no doubt.

“Took them long enough,” muttered Fury.

Tony hummed as he watched the two boys finally sort out their little identity problem. They did know each other after all, it turned out, and quite well if he was reading between the lines correctly.

The worst part was that it all made even less sense than when they’d started. The words coming out of their mouths formed cohesive sentences, sure, but it was like listening to someone talking on the phone - half a conversation at best, with more plot holes than Swiss cheese.

A spike of pain throbbed through his skull. Tony closed his eyes and massaged his temples in slow circles. It was unclear if it was the result of the thing with the reactor, or trying to piece together the kid’s conversation. He scoffed internally. Why not both?

“Jesus, Cap, is this what it's like for you all the time?” he said ruefully.

Steve didn’t bother to turn and face him. “What do you mean?”

Tony sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. “I swear they’re speaking English, but it’s just not computing.”

“Ah, I see. Now you know how I feel,” Steve made an amused sound halfway between a weary sigh and a laugh. “It’s not so bad down here with us simple folk, Tony. I’m sure you’ll adjust.”

“Oh har har. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

They watched silently as the boys bickered between themselves. Biker Boy Barista was somehow married and divorced and had known Baby Gandalf since he was eleven, which should have been a whole six or seven years, but the way they spoke to each other indicated something much longer. Baby Gandalf had asked a question that resulted in both boys looking miserable, something to do with The Diadem, and Tony didn’t think he was wrong about the capitalization there. An incident with a Riddle (again, capitalized) and a burgeoning antique collection was attributed as the reason for Biker Boy’s youthful looks, which ripped the rug out from under Baby Gandalf’s feet and sent him perilously close to a mental breakdown.

Neither one seemed concerned about whatever Benjamin Button bullshit was going on, brushing it off like it was something boring and mundane instead of mindblowing and literally impossible . Baby Gandalf was even excited , at least until he rediscovered his tattoos, turned to his companion, and snapped like a wounded animal. 

Their whole conversation vacillated rapidly between light-hearted banter and grief, horror and humour, anger and awe. Tony wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to teenage mood swings, and how much was just the nature of their situation.

An idea sparked in the back of his mind. Tony chewed on it for a moment, looking at it from all sides before tucking it away for safekeeping. It was stupid, honestly - not one of his finest moments. But for some reason, the minute it had crossed his mind his brain had latched onto it and refused to let go. Wands, dragons, cloaks, potions, Merlin, wizards ; it was all coalescing into one fantastic, impossible idea.

“...This whole place feels muggle if you ask me. Looks all… techy. And I can’t feel a drop of magic around for miles… except...”

The dark-haired boy glanced around the room as if looking for something. Fury, Tony, and Steve all just about leapt right out of their skins as the magic wand vanished from where it had sat in front of them with a small pop and a crackle of static, only to reappear mid-air directly in front of the kid and clatter to the floor.

Fury snarled wordlessly.

What. The. Hell. 

“Son of a bitch,” whispered Steve, eyes round as saucers.

What the hell !

“Oh,” said Potter, not looking at all pleased that he’d just obliterated all the known laws of physics alongside Steve’s delicate sensibilities. “It’s you.”

The wand rolled towards him happily as if tugged forward by an invisible string. Potter was not happy, however, hissing under his breath and trying to kick it away from where it was trying to crawl up his leg.

Tony didn’t even have the capacity to form sentences, such was his shock. He was frozen where he stood, just watching it all unfold, well aware he was gaping like a fish but unable to spare the brain cells to care.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, just take the damned wand!” snapped Malfoy.

“Ugh fine!” Potter stopped trying to kick it away, and the wand leapt up onto his lap like a cat. It looked smug, somehow. Potter looked down at it and scowled. “I’ll turn you into wood chips one day, you know.”

The wand appeared unbothered.

Potter stared down at his wrist intently, a funny look on his face. 

“What is he doing?!” Fury’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.

The air seemed to shiver for a moment and the readouts burst into activity once more as Potter twitched his fingers. Tony blinked, and Potter’s restraints vanished into thin air. Potter reluctantly plucked the wand off his lap, dangling it between two fingers as though it might bite.

It was a thing of beauty, what happened next. Malfoy and Fury shouted as one, their voices mingling into a single cry of indignation and outrage.

“You could do that the whole time ?!”

Chapter Text

Harry, who had straightened up on wobbly legs, glanced at the ceiling as an awful wailing noise pierced the quiet. “Ah,” he said grimly. “Thought something like that might happen.”

“Yes, well, could you hurry up and think it over here?” 

Draco wrenched his wrists against his chains. Of course Harry had been able to escape the whole time. It probably never even occurred to him. It was times like these that Draco had to close his eyes and think very hard to remind himself exactly why he was friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Torment-Draco.

Harry didn’t even look as he simply flicked his wand - the Elder Wand, wasn’t that a sight - and Draco’s bindings vanished. His skin prickled as Harry’s magic washed over him, thick with static and distinctly darker than he remembered.

“I can’t believe you,” grumbled Draco as he stood, rubbing his chafed wrists. “Why didn’t you do something earlier?!”

“I didn’t want to give it away straight off, just in case they didn’t know.” Harry shrugged, twirling the wand idly between his fingers. ”Anyway, it's a lot more interesting this way, don't you think?” 

Ugh. Only Harry could try to turn a kidnapping into a delightful little adventure. He should know better than to drag Draco into it, this was strictly Weasley and Granger’s sort of thing. The amount of optimism this man was capable of would never cease to be sickening. Draco swallowed it down and stared daggers at Harry, who just grinned even wider.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got my wand on you?”

“I don’t think so.” The smile dropped from Harry’s face and the room seemed to dim, just a little bit. “This one just sort of follows me around on its own.”

Fucking excellent. Wandless it is then. Resigned, Draco closed his eyes, tugging carefully at the thrum of his magical core in his chest. It still felt off, and a bit wild, but it was much more manageable now he wasn’t bound and panicking. He clicked his fingers and a flame burst from his palm, nearly scorching his eyebrows.

“Blimey,” started Harry. “Cool it down a bit there,”

“It wasn’t on purpose, you prat!” he snarled. “My magic’s gone all… wonky. You’ll have to apparate us out of here, I might splinch.”

Harry sighed and turned to the door, running his fingers around the grooves. It fit almost seamlessly, the only indication it was a door at all being the tell-tale shape. There was a small glowing rectangle about halfway up the wall, which sparked and crackled when Harry reached towards it.

“I don’t think we can apparate out of here,” he murmured. “We don’t know where we are. We could be miles underground, or in the air, or on the other side of the planet.”

Blast, he was right.

They both started slightly at the clamour of voices that rose over the shriek of the alarm. 

“I think we should hear what they have to say, don’t you?”

“What?! Have you lost your gobstones!? We should be leaving , not sitting down for tea with our bloody kidnappers!”

He was interrupted from his diatribe by the sounds of a scuffle just outside the door. Harry darted over to Draco, standing slightly in front with his wand gripped loosely at his side. Normally he would bristle at the insinuation he needed Harry’s protection, but as it were, he was currently wandless and his magic concerningly volatile. He could allow it this once, just for Harry’s peace of mind.

The door slid open of its own accord, and bodies poured into the room. Muggles, definitely; a black man with an eyepatch who reminded him a bit of Mad-Eye Moody, a very muscular Lockheart-esque blonde, a man who looked unnervingly like an older, cockier Harry, and a more murderous version of Ginny Weasley. They were all pointing sleek metal rectangles at them - guns, if he remembered correctly - except for Off-Brand Potter who sported a metal gauntlet with a glowing core in the centre of his palm. Draco was so busy staring that he almost missed the man who slipped in behind them, clutching an oversized hammer and a sandwich , of all things. 

The man’s eyes went straight to Draco’s. Draco didn’t even think twice before he pounced, slipping through and digging his claws into the man's mind. He probably shouldn’t have, given the way magic leapt eagerly - too eagerly - to his command. The man’s mind recoiled, thrashing in his grip as Draco struggled to flick through his memories. The man had no mental protections to speak of, so it wasn’t that he was incapable - quite the opposite. His thirty years as an Unspeakable studying the mind arts earned him his reputation. His magic longed to plunge deep, to take the man’s thoughts and ideas and consume them, build upon them, and bring them to life. Sweat beaded on Draco’s brow at the effort of holding it back. It was too much, too soon; and so with a sigh, he slipped back out of the man’s mind, wincing a bit as his magic roiled and thrashed like a petulant child. After all, it wouldn’t do to turn the man into a vegetable.

“Anything?” hissed Harry out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes darting between their captors. 

Gods, was he that predictable?

“No, magic’s still too hot. I couldn’t get a good grip without turning him into mush.”

“Balls.”

Draco snorted. No apparition, no idea where they are, no wand, and no control over his magic. 

Balls indeed.

--

So, that pretty much confirmed his theory.

Magical wizard sort-of teens. Because regular teenagers weren’t bad enough already.

Things were very rapidly spiralling out of control. Tony flinched as Potter twitched the stick at Malfoy, vanishing his bindings. The fact of it was, the boys had only stayed this long because they wanted to, something which Fury had abruptly realised for himself judging by the way the blood drained from his face.

Steve was already on his feet, shield in hand (that thing appeared out of nowhere, where was he keeping it?!) as he ignored the floor in favour of sliding on his ass over the table to the door. Tony followed, slapping his palm against his watch. The whir and vibration of his gauntlet forming itself around his wrist matched the thrill of adrenaline that flooded through his veins, and he may or may not have jabbed an elbow or two into the director’s side as they scrambled for the door. 

Violence was good for intellectual stimulation, in Tony’s opinion. He did his best work when things threatened to explode.

Thor chose that moment to make his appearance, bursting through the door into the observation room, Mjölnir in one hand and a half-eaten sub in the other. God, that man’s timing was something else.

“Hello, friends! I came as soon as I could-“ he sputtered through a mouthful of sub, only to be cut off as the three of them shoved him bodily into the hallway.

Fury rushed to the next door over and slapped his hand against the command panel, gun raised. It slid open with a whoosh and he stormed inside, Steve hot on his heels.

“Long story; possible magic teenagers with a disregard for Fury’s delicate sensibilities. You Asgardians haven’t lost any recently, by any chance?” Tony kept his voice low as he slipped in behind and Thor followed. He fanned out, moving to stand beside Steve, palm up and primed.  

A flash of red caught his eye, and he did a double-take. “Jesus Christ, when did you get here?” 

Natasha said nothing, simply clicking the safety off of her gun with a self-satisfied smile. It was the murdery one with way too many teeth that creeped him out. He shivered.

The two boys stood close together, chins up and defiant, their bodies wound up tight in preparation for an attack. Potter still had the stick, held loosely at his side in a manner that was obviously intended to be non-threatening, and Malfoy was staring unblinkingly at Thor. Tony felt him gasp and stiffen alongside him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off them for even a second to see what his problem was.

The boys whispered frantically to each other, their hissed voices and the set of their shoulders indicating they were about two seconds away from bolting.

“I would highly recommend you boys don’t do whatever it is you're thinking of, and instead sit your asses right back down,” drawled Fury. 

Neither of them moved.

“Who are you?” said Potter warily. 

His eyes narrowed as he sized up the four of them, widening a little at the sight of Tony’s gauntlet. Tony couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a self-satisfied smirk.

Fury snorted. “Please. Like you don’t already know.”

Potter and Malfoy exchanged a glance. “Pretend we don’t know then,” sneered Malfoy.

Fury settled into his ‘lecturing pose’, but didn’t lower his gun. “I am with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. S.H.I.E.L.D, for short. And these,” he tilted his head towards Tony and the gang, “are some of the Avengers. You might remember them from the attack on New York.”

Both boys stared back blankly. Potter shrugged one shoulder helplessly.

How could they not know? It was only broadcast across the entire goddamned planet. Tony couldn’t help but blurt out; “You know, big hole in the sky, bunch of aliens everywhere smashing a bunch of stuff, that sort of thing. Ringing any bells?”

“Can’t say that it does, no,” said Potter dryly.

“Oh. Well. Jarvis?”

The wall panel flickered to life, and both boys just about leapt out of their skins. Their eyes were wide as they watched Steve smash a flying alien into a wall with a rather spectacular backhand of his shield, while Tony blasted a very satisfying hole directly through the chest of another. Potter looked only mildly impressed; as though the sight of the Hulk taking down an entire leviathan and half a building was an everyday occurrence. Malfoy simply looked confused, eyes darting between each one of the Avengers and their on-screen counterparts.

“How about now?” Tony said smugly.

Malfoy side-eyed him like he’d said something particularly stupid. “No.” 

Oh.

“ Anyways ,” growled Fury. “Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, we’ve got some questions for you. Mind telling us exactly what you two think you were doing dropping into a secure government facility?”

“We’re not telling you shit ,” snarled Malfoy. Fury flicked off the safety with a loud click.

Potter scowled and jabbed Malfoy sharply in the ribs with an elbow. “What he means is, why the hell should we? As far as we know, we just woke up in here. You’ve obviously seen what I can do, and if you’re smart you’ve realised by now that we could just up and leave anytime we like. Why should we trust you?”

“You think you're faster than a bullet, boy?”

Potter bristled like an angry cat, bright green eyes flashing dangerously. “Did you want to find out?”

The air crackled with static, sending Tony’s pulse skyrocketing. He glanced down at his chest, but the reactor remained steady and sure. It was capital-m Magic, he was sure of it, and he was surprised to find he could feel a difference between this and what had obviously been Malfoy’s. Potter’s was slower, more insidious, creeping along the floor like a fog and bringing with it the scent of something loamy and dark like leaves rotting on a forest floor. He had to grit his teeth to stop himself from squealing like a little girl and jumping up on the table when it lapped at his ankle.

Fury raised one eyebrow, tapping his foot idly in a show of nonchalance. It was surprisingly effective, and the tension in the room stilled somewhat, retreating towards Potter. “I tell you what,” he hedged, “Potter drops his weapon, we all sit down, and maybe I’ll be inclined to ask questions first and shoot second.”

Potter and Fury glared at each other silently, in a fierce battle of wills. Tony twitched a finger in command, and the gauntlet whirred to life. Not that it needed a warm-up or anything, purely for dramatic effect. Malfoy flinched at the sound, and it was extremely satisfying.

The loud clatter of wood hitting the polished floor broke through the stalemate. Fury looked to the ceiling and nodded, and the alarms went silent. Thank god, Tony’s ears were gonna be ringing for a week. 

The two boys slowly sank back down into their chairs, and the screech of metal on metal was extra loud in contrast to the sudden quiet. Tony took his seat, propped his feet up on the table, and folded his arms across his chest. He tipped the chair back on two legs and met Malfoy’s scowl with an insolent grin. Steve sent the wand skittering into the corner with a quick kick before taking a seat of his own. Malfoy winced as he watched it roll mournfully across the floor.

“And just where the hell do you think you’re going?” drawled Fury.

Tony twisted in his chair to see Thor with Mjölnir tucked under his arm, sandwich in one hand and the other on the door panel. 

Thor winced and waved his sub sheepishly in greeting. “... Hello.” 

His smile looked more like a pained grimace, and there was a blob of sauce in the corner of his mouth.

Tony frowned. That was weird as hell. 

Thor was pale and twitchy, drained of all bravado. He dropped Mjölnir back into his fist, and his knuckles blanched where they tightened around the grip. If Tony didn’t think Thor would not hesitate to dump Mjölnir in his lap in retaliation, he would have said he looked scared. Terrified even. A literal god, terrified of two teenagers. 

“Ah, yes, I was… err…hah, well… you all seem to have this well in hand, so I should probably just…” Thor grimaced, and gestured over his shoulder with the sub, sending bits of lettuce flying.

“Sit. Down .” growled Fury, low and menacing.

Tony couldn’t help himself. “Ooh, you got in trouble,” he teased, earning him a pointed glare from Fury and a snort from Potter. He was starting to like this kid. Excellent sense of humour.

Fury took a deep breath, exhaling heavily out his nose. “Now-”

Skkrt. Skkrt. Skkrt. Skkrt.

The phrase ‘if looks could kill’ came to mind as Fury glared at Thor, who had scooted his chair as far away from the table - and the boys - as possible.

“Sorry,” mumbled Thor, ducking his head and taking a nervous bite of his sandwich. 

What was with that guy today?

Tony pretended to inspect the non-existent nails on his gauntlet. “Let’s start with some real introductions, shall we? We can go around the table, I’ll go first. Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Playboy, billionaire, philanthropist.” He put on his best winning smile and gestured with a flourish for Steve to go next.

Tony tuned out the rest of the introductions. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, and he was far more interested in seeing the kids’ reactions. Neither boy appeared to recognize any of them, and he thought Steve might have looked a little put out when his proud declaration of ‘I am Captain America’ gained him nothing but polite nods. Tony grinned widely and craned his neck over his shoulder to Thor who was picking bits of lettuce off his lap. “Point Break? You’re up.”

“Ahh… no…it is fine…” Thor laughed weakly and jumped in his seat, clutching Mjölnir and the remnants of his sandwich tight to his chest. “I am nobody… just a fellow eating his sandwich… ignore me, I will just be sitting here… minding my own business…” He offered a wobbly smile to the dumbfounded looks around the table. 

“Is something wrong with him?” quipped Potter, one brow arched quizzically. Which was a damn good question. Tony didn’t think he imagined the chastising look Harry shot at his friend. 

Tony glanced over to Natasha. His eyes met hers, the slightest twitch of her brow indicating she’d seen it too. They exchanged a worried look.

“Got something you want to share with the class, Odinson?” said Fury, in a tone that implied that Thor should think very carefully about how much he wanted to keep his kneecaps.

“Ah, no… but, you know… er… I am suddenly not well… I think there may have been something wrong with my… er, sandwich… ha, yes the sandwich… Agent Hill mentioned the tuna was a bit of a gamble… I-I-I will just go-” Thor stuttered. 

Thor. The God of Thunder. Stuttered . Like a third grader at a spelling bee.

Fury went right for the jugular. “Do you three know each other?”

“Nope,” said Potter and Malfoy in unison. Thor stuffed his sandwich further into his mouth. Nobody missed his lack of a reply.

“Although,” Malfoy hummed blithely, crossing one leg over his knee with an air of nonchalance. He turned to Natasha and rested one hand under his chin. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know some of you.” He winked.

Tony had to work so, so goddamned hard to contain a very undignified snort. Potter’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh, and even Steve managed a smile. Tony wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t dare laugh, not at her expense. He liked his balls as they were; intact, uncrushed, and firmly attached to his body. 

Natasha simply stared at Malfoy for a moment, her face impassive. 

“I could kill you fifty different ways with my bare hands,” she said dryly.

Undeterred, Malfoy’s lips split into a languorous, sly smile. “Oh, I do so enjoy a bit of foreplay,” he purred.

Natasha scowled, and Potter sniggered under his breath. Tony had to admit, whoever - whatever - this kid was, he had balls of pure steel. That, or he was an idiot with a death wish.

“Enough!” snapped Fury, every inch of him looking thoroughly done and a lot like he was seriously considering dumping the whole lot of them in the hanger bay and opening the doors mid-flight. “Odinson! Talk . Now .”

Thor sighed, ducking his head and letting the last few crumbs fall to the floor. “They are not Asgardian,” he grunted.

“Asgardian?” repeated Malfoy, nose scrunched in confusion. “Like the Old Gods?”

“ Exactly like that,” said Fury. “You’re looking at one of them. Isn’t that right, Thor Odinson, God of Thunder?“

Thor flinched at the words and waved Mjölnir weakly in greeting. Oh, Jesus, he looked like he was gonna cry . Surprising no one, this display did little to convince Potter and Malfoy.

“Right,” said Potter dryly, dripping with sarcasm. He folded his arms across his chest.

Fury continued relentlessly, pinning Thor with a sharp glare. “You say they’re not Asgardian, but you know something.”

“Well, not exactly,” Thor hedged. Was that tears sparkling in his eyes? Oh, he was definitely gonna cry.

“How, exactly?”

Thor gulped. “I do not know them personally. But-” he paused, and Tony wondered if he should offer the guy a Kleenex. “Any Asgardian would recognise a seiðr when they saw one.”

“Seiðr?” asked Natasha, her bright red locks resting lightly on her cheek as she tilted her head.

“A magic user. Like my brother.”

Fury swore under his breath.

Fucking jackpot .

Chapter Text

The temperature of the room plummeted, setting the hair on the back of Draco’s neck prickling. The Lockheart-eque blond - Rogers, his name was Rogers - fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. The redhead, Romanov, shifted almost imperceptibly as she slid something into her lap. He didn’t think it was a gun - he’d gotten a glimpse as she’d stormed in wearing a leather suit so tight there was nowhere to even keep another one, and besides, she looked a bit like the sort of woman who would appreciate a good knife.

The leader of this whole operation, Fury, pursed his lips like he was sucking on a lemon. Beside Draco, Harry had his attention fixed wholly upon the Asgardian, who trembled in his seat and looked like he would love to be literally anywhere else.

Okay, so he felt a little bit bad about the whole failed legilimency thing. But, in Draco’s defence, they were being held captive, so it was only natural he took the opportunity when it arose.

“Hah! I totally called it!”

Off-brand Potter - Tony Stark, he’d said - crowed with delight and slapped his un-gauntleted hand against the table, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room.

He propped himself forward on his elbow and fixed Draco with a wild look that reminded him rather a lot of Hermione whenever she cornered him to argue about arithmancy equations.

“Okay, I have, like, so many questions. How is it that you have magic? Does that mean you’re not from Earth? What is it exactly? Jarvis’s sensors just picked it up as an ‘unidentifiable energy source’, but-”

“Stark!” 

Fury glared at his companion, his brow scrunching around his eyepatch. Merlin, the man even barked commands like Moody. Draco half expected the words CONSTANT VIGILANCE to burst out of his mouth. Stark’s jaw shut with a snap, and he folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair and pouting in a very Granger-like manner.

Fury looked back over his shoulder to the supposed ‘God of Thunder’ who was hunched in his chair against the back wall hastily polishing off the last of his sandwich. 

He didn’t look like the god of anything, in Draco’s opinion. More like a regular, if overly-muscular bloke in need of a decent stylist. Only the hammer laying across his lap came anything close to something a god might wield, the ends banded with finely-wrought runes and the whole thing humming with a strange kind of magic he’d never felt before. It was obviously a conduit of some kind, with a semi-sentience on par with the Elder Wand.

“When you say ‘like your brother’, exactly how similar are we talking here, Odinson?” asked Fury.

Rogers nodded along with him. “One Loki was bad enough, but two more?! It would be a miracle if any part of New York was left standing.”

There was a soft click as Thor swallowed roughly. His eyes darted towards Draco and away again. “As I said, I do not know these two… men. I cannot comment on their intentions.”

“You say that, but you knew what they were the minute you laid eyes on them,” pressed Fury.

“Magic is magic. All Asgardians can sense magic, though only few can wield it.”

Fury was clearly dissatisfied with that explanation, his eye narrowed with suspicion as it flicked between Draco and Harry.

They were going around in circles. They’d be here for days at this rate, and Draco was not at all content to sit around and wait until Muggle Moody dragged every scrap of information out of this supposed ‘God’.

Draco sighed. He pulled his magic close and twirled his wrist with a flourish, secretly relieved and quite pleased with himself when a dancing blue flame flickered to life in his cupped palm, larger and a bit wilder than intended, but not uncontrollably so. Thank Merlin, he hadn’t intended on committing accidental arson anytime soon.

The five of them jerked back with a gasp, while Harry’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline.

“Oi,” said Harry, indignant. “You can’t do that, what about the Statute? They’re muggles ! And how come you know that one? I’ve been begging Hermione to teach me for ages .”

“Come now, Harry,” said Draco, lazily weaving the flames through his fingertips. “One of those muggles is supposedly the literal god of thunder, and the rest are part of some government agency that should already know anyway. I think they’ll live. That, or MACUSA will take care of them.” 

His magic was becoming easier and easier to control with each pass, thank fuck, settling back into his bones where it belonged. Something was still different about it, but he’d figure that out later on his own.

Draco grinned smugly at Harry who sulked back into his chair with his arms crossed, pouting furiously. “And, I can’t help it if I'm obviously her favourite.”

“What do you mean by ‘a government agency that should already know’?” said Fury, redirecting his ire to Draco, who faltered slightly under his glare. The flames between his fingers sputtered and went out.

“You lot are Americans, right? MACUSA - the US magical government?” said Harry slowly, slightly baffled.  “If they’re doing their jobs properly - which I doubt, since we should be swimming in Aurors by now - all this magic should have tripped some kind of alert.”

Harry was right, again . Draco felt dread coil uncomfortably in his gut. The sense that something was truly, horribly wrong was almost overwhelming, bringing with it the nigh-irresistable urge to flee. If this facility was as secure as they said it was, MACUSA should have been crawling all over them the moment the Elder Wand plopped itself into Harry’s lap. And the footage from that battle-

An incident that large should have been breaking news, plastered all over the front page of every wizarding newspaper across the globe. There should have been inquiries, coverups, and opinion pieces that argued for the dissolution of the International Statute of Secrecy, as they did every time something like this happened. This S.H.I.E.L.D shouldn’t have had access to that footage at all. It should have been wiped thoroughly, along with every single memory from every one of the muggles sitting in front of him.

Draco shuddered as his blood turned to ice in his veins.

It was wrong, wrong, wrong .

Fury stared daggers at a bewildered Harry. He jammed one hand into his pocket, and for a second Draco thought Harry was about to be a dead man, but instead of a gun, he pulled out a sleek black rectangle. A phone of some sort - Hermione had one and had tried to explain it to him, but it had just gone in one ear and out the other. Stark muttered something about ‘not a StarkPhone, no damn taste’ as Fury swiped a finger across the screen and held it to his ear. 

They could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was brief.

“Mr President- Yes, I am aware of what time it is… Yes, this is important… No, it’s not ‘more alien bullshit’...” Fury heaved an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mr President, please tell me you’re not hiding an entire magical government right under my goddamned nose… No? Good.” 

Fury tucked the phone back into his pocket and turned his glare on Harry. 

“Sounds like you’re a goddamn liar, kid.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Harry turned bright red, fists clenched and shaking with anger. No, rage . The air itself fizzed and crackled with static as his magic churned around him like a thundercloud. He looked almost feral, and his eyes seemed to glow with the might of his fury. Odinson went white as a ghost, and Draco scrunched his brow with concern. He hadn’t seen Harry this worked up in a long, long time. He reached out with a hand - to reassure himself or Harry, he wasn’t entirely certain - and snatched it back with a hiss as white-hot sparks jumped up to bite at his fingers.

“Shut your fucking mouth! ” Potter snarled.

Fury sneered back, all vicious satisfaction, his eye darting down to where Harry's fist rested on the tabletop. Draco followed his gaze down to the words ‘I shall not tell lies’ embedded in Harry’s flesh, stark white letters carved into the skin. The sight sent a shudder down his spine. Oh, that was low .

“Tell me the truth, then.”

“I am!” bellowed Potter. “We are!”

“It's true,” said Draco placatingly, palms raised. “Ask him .” 

He jerked his chin towards Odinson, who licked his lips nervously. There was still a bit of lettuce stuck to his beard. He looked like he would still really rather not get involved at all. Well, tough luck for him.

“I have not heard of any seiðr rulers on Midgard,” Thor said cautiously. “But your magic… It is hard to describe. It's not… from here.”

The words seemed to douse Harry’s rage, and they sent a fresh tendril of dread crawling down Draco’s spine and into his gut. Harry snatched back his fist and clutched desperately at Draco’s hand under the table. The jolt of surprise dimmed his fear somewhat, and he felt colour rise to his cheeks as Harry squeezed his fingers tight enough to grind the bones together painfully. Harry didn’t seem to be aware of his own actions, simply squeezing his eyes shut with his face pale and his lips set into a grim line.

His next words were a whispered sigh, so quiet and soft Draco almost didn’t hear them. “I’m sorry.”

What!?

The rest of the Avengers exchanged confused glances, with the exception of Fury, who puffed up like an angry cat.

“Explain.”

Thor grimaced in a way that said he would rather fling himself into a pit of Blast-ended Skrewts but did as he was asked.

“I am no seiðr. Loki tried to explain it to me once, but it is a complex and difficult subject.” Fury opened his mouth as if to protest, but Thor rushed to cut him off. 

“It is like… the notes of a song. There are many types of magic, each it's own note, blending harmoniously into the melody of the universe. Yours is… somewhat new. An extra note, where there was none before.”

Stark frowned. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Your magic - it is not from this universe.”

Chapter Text

“Your magic - it is not from this universe.”

Draco reeled as the words echoed through his mind. He shook his head roughly as though to dislodge the unwanted thoughts. No, it was impossible. There’s no bloody way they’d somehow travelled to a different universe by complete accident. Wound up in new bodies. Time travel just didn’t work like that. He must have said as much out loud because across from him Stark’s head bobbed frantically up and down in agreement.

Draco leapt to his feet, ignoring the startled looks as he paced back and forth across the room. He was panicking, he knew it, but he just couldn’t stop his heart from thundering in his chest, his breath coming in great ragged gasps.

Harry wouldn’t even look at him, eyes glazed over as they stared fixedly at the floor. He looked so despondent, so resigned; the sight of it snapped something within him and suddenly an old, familiar hatred boiled over in his gut, bile crawling up his throat. 

In three long strides, he’d crossed the room and wrenched Harry upwards by the collar of his shirt.

“What the FUCK have you done, Potter!” he roared.

In an instant everyone was on their feet, brandishing their weapons in a cacophony of noise that failed to register over the haze. Draco trembled as he glared at Harry, who stared right back chin up and defiant, his eyes flashing angrily. He shoved him back with a wordless snarl, and Draco almost tripped over his own feet as he staggered backwards.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” he spat. “I never wanted any of this!”

Draco laughed bitterly, wrenching one hand through his hair before clenching his fists back at his sides. 

“That’s the problem isn't it?” He jabbed a finger aggressively at Harry’s heaving chest. “You never fucking do, and yet somehow you still manage to drag me into it anyway!”

In a flash the Elder Wand was back in Harry’s fist, the tip shaking slightly as it pointed directly at Draco’s throat. Emotions flitted rapidly across Harry’s face; fear, despair, and a flare of hurt were quickly smothered by unbridled rage.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” he screamed.

“I WANT TO GO HOME! I want to see my friends, my mother, my bloody owl! I wanted to live my life, not get stranded with you, fucking wandless in a world full of bloody muggles !”

In a fit of pique, Draco flung out his arm. “ Accio wand! ”

In retrospect, he hadn’t really expected it to work. He didn’t know what he expected, but it sure wasn’t the heavy pull of his magic reaching outwards and tugging in a manner that was quite alarming, ripping the air out of his lungs and sending him crashing to his knees. 

Harry’s rage vanished, replaced instantly by fear. He staggered forward and sank to the floor, gripping Draco’s jaw with both hands and frantically scanning his face with terrified green eyes.

“Fuck! Draco!”

He felt dizzy, and the world spun around him as Harry lowered him gently to the floor. 

“Draco! You idiot, you need to cancel the spell! You need to turn it off!”

He watched, feeling somewhat detached as panicked voices drifted around him, the bright acid green of Harry’s eyes the only real colour as his surroundings faded. He was bleeding out, magic draining from his body like an arterial wound as it dutifully laboured to reach for the impossible. It burned as it fled through his veins, the fibres separating and splintering from muscle and bone as they were drawn out. His lungs spasmed painfully as he struggled to choke down each breath.

Oh, he’d done it now. He should have known better than to try. He did know better. He’d grown up with countless cautionary tales of witches and wizards bleeding themselves to death of their magic, listened to each one and scoffed to himself thinking as if I’d ever be so stupid. How could they be so out of touch with their own limitations? How did they not know? How could they even think themselves capable of attempting such a thing? Well, now he knew.

It was a horrific way to die, but at least it wouldn’t be long now.

Awareness drained from his limbs, retreating into his core. He wasn’t sure if he closed his eyes or not, his senses all blurring together before fading into nothing. His heart beat once. Then twice. Then stilled.

This wasn’t so bad. He floated along in the black, nothing more than an ember bobbing along on a phantom wind. It was peaceful, like the space at the end of a heavy sigh. 

Twin flames flared an acidic green, familiar and comforting. They glowed like coals, just out of reach and so, so lovely. Their warmth was intoxicating, beckoning like lanterns in the dark. It would be so easy to just let go, to succumb to their pull and slip into their light.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, don’t you bloody dare.

He paused. 

It’s not for you. You’re not done yet.

Oh. That’s right. He was in the middle of something, wasn’t he?

Yes! C’mon Draco, you need to fight. You can’t leave me here on my own.

He’d never do that. They were a pair, they’d always been a pair, orbiting each other like twin suns since they began as two halves of the whole.

Always. Now, hurry up and get back here.

Oh, all right.

He was down to a single spark now, fluttering weakly along the knife’s edge. A single puff of breath is all it would take to snuff it completely. Instead, he cradled it, nurtured it; until it grew into an ember, then a flame, then a raging inferno. 

It called to him, and it was instinct to answer; he let it guide him as he shaped it to his will, pliant and eager to take form.

He came to himself all at once, awareness and sound and colour slamming into him with all the subtlety of a bludger to the back of the head. His head spun and his lungs burned as he choked down air in heaving ragged gasps.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Draco, never do that to me again!”

Draco rolled onto his side, a warm hand rubbing small circles into his back as he heaved bile onto the cold floor.

“What the hell was that!?” said a voice from somewhere above him. “Is he okay?”

“He is now.” A sigh of relief. “He… overreached. He tried to call something that didn’t exist in this universe, and the drain on his magic nearly killed him.” 

Harry’s voice was like a balm, warm and soothing despite how it shook with a heady cocktail of emotion. Fear, relief, and a thin thread of wonder, all undercut with something Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“Is he hurt? Medical should be on their way.”

“No, he just needs rest. Magical exhaustion is pretty similar to physical exhaustion.”

“Well, alright then. Jarvis - cancel that call to Medical.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Draco lay there for a good, long while, Harry’s comforting presence firmly by his side. Murmurs swirled around him like gnats, but he blocked them out in favour of listening to the rustle of fabric and the sound of Harry’s breathing as he fussed over him, smoothing his palms over Draco’s shoulders in long, soothing strokes. 

Soon enough, Draco’s breathing evened out and his limbs stopped trembling. Harry vanished his sick with a flick of his wand and helped him slowly to his feet, throwing Draco’s arm around his shoulder and bracing himself so that he carried most of the weight. Harry shuffled him over to the chair on wobbly legs, settling him down carefully before sinking into his own with a heavy sigh. 

“Care to explain yourself?”

Draco’s limbs still felt loose and floppy, and his head lolled across his shoulders as he turned to follow the sound, exhaustion threatening to tug him back down into unconsciousness. He had to blink a few times before his vision solidified enough to make out Fury eyeballing him from across the table with an expectant glare.

Harry stiffened in the chair next to him. “I already explained-”

Fury cut him off. “I want to hear it from him,” he sneered. “Did it work?”

Did what work? Oh, right - he’d been stupid enough to try accio his wand from another universe, or dimension, or whatever. Draco twitched uncomfortably in his seat and froze as something long and thin shifted against his forearm. What in Circe’s name-

He glanced downward to see what was unmistakably the tip of a wand poking out his shirtsleeve.

Harry saw it at the same time he did, and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. “Holy shit, you actually did it!”

“Great, now hand it over.”

“What?!” 

 Harry was on his feet in an instant, wand raised. Fury was his mirror, scowling as the barrel of his gun aimed straight at Draco’s chest. The two stared at each other unblinking as shouts clamoured around them, chairs squealing across the floor as their occupants sprang into action. 

Draco remained frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe lest it be taken as an invitation.

“Woah woah woah woah!” said Rogers, one palm turned towards each of them as though he were moments from throwing himself across the table in between the two. “Let’s just all take a deep breath here, okay?”

“What the hell, Fury!” yelped Stark. “You need to just chill out, my guy!”

“Shut up, Stark.” Fury snarled. “That thing needs to come with us. You’ll get it back once we’ve determined it's not a threat.” The corner of his lip twitched up in a smirk that had Draco gritting his teeth.

“No,” said Harry. He lowered his wand, folding his arms across his chest and sitting his weight back on one hip. He tapped his foot against the floor impatiently.

Fury quirked one dark brow. “No?”

“No.” Harry’s mouth twisted in a disdainful sneer as he looked Fury up and down. “You know, I’ve just about had enough of you, Nicholas Joseph Fury.”

Fury did not quite manage to fully conceal his surprise, the minute twitch of an eyebrow and the slight widening of his eye gave him away. “How the fuck do you know my name?” he hissed.

Harry shrugged. “I just know things sometimes. Consider it a gift, of sorts.” He bared his teeth in a grim smile. “Leave. Now.”

Fury’s nostrils flared in a manner that reminded Draco a bit of a dragon preparing to roast them to bits, but before the man could open his mouth to spit fire and brimstone, Rogers had taken the opportunity to jump back into the fray.

“Maybe it’s for the best if you step outside, Director Fury,” he said calmly. “We handled Loki just fine, we can handle two kids with sticks.”

Draco snorted, and Harry shot him a withering look that clearly said shut up you imbecile.

“Yeah, seriously Fury, we got this. I’ll get Jarvis to send you the footage later,” added Stark.

Fury scowled at Stark over his shoulder, unmoving. “This is a S.H.I.E.L.D facility, Stark. Care to tell me why I wouldn't have the footage anyway?”

Stark laughed awkwardly. “Oh, no reason. But seriously, you should leave the recruitment to those of us with actual people skills. I don’t know if you noticed, but people are a lot nicer when you don’t jump straight to threats of bodily harm.” 

Fury rolled his eyes as he turned away, and Stark looked up to the ceiling and made a sharp slicing movement across his throat.

Fury stared daggers at Harry, who smiled back with a shit-eating grin. “Fine,” 

Fury snarled wordlessly under his breath as he stormed over to the doorway. He reached towards the panel on the wall, pausing with one hand hovering mid-air. “If either of you so much as think about causing problems, I will drag you right back in here, and I won’t be playing nice this time. And don’t bother to run either. There is nowhere you can go that we won’t find you.”

Harry tipped his head back to the ceiling and laughed, loud and harsh. “That won't be a problem. I think you’ll find it’s you who has been outrunning me for a good while now.”

He fixed Fury with a feral grin that sent shivers down Draco’s spine, and his eyes seemed to glow as though backlit with twin green flames. The shadows in the room deepened, swirling restlessly and reaching towards his feet. 

Harry’s grin slid away, his brows dipping low with a serious expression. “It’s alright though, Nick. I’ll always find you, in the end.”

The door slid open and closed with a robotic sigh, the sounds of booted footsteps fading quickly into the silence.

“Okay, not gonna lie, kid; that last bit was super creepy,” said Stark, shattering the silence with the verbal equivalent of a sledgehammer.

The room relaxed as the occupants breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that,” said Natasha as she settled back into her chair with a grace Narcissa Malfoy would be envious of. “Fury’s not a bad guy, he’s just-”

“-thinking of the greater good,” nodded Harry. He slumped into his chair resting his elbows on the table as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I get it, I really do. But that doesn’t excuse treating me and my friend like shit.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Rogers seriously. 

There was a mechanical whirring sound as Stark’s gauntlet packed itself down into a sleek wristwatch. He tossed his feet back up on the table and clasped his hands behind his head.

“So, where’s this wand, then?” Seeing Harry’s sharp look, Stark rolled his eyes and added; “I’m not trying to take it - we’ve already established how well that would go. I just wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

Oh right, the fuss.

Draco almost didn’t want to see it. He was acutely aware of all eyes trained upon him as he drew the wand out of his sleeve with a shaking hand. 

It was not his wand. 

He’d never seen this wand in his life. 

It was the antithesis of the Elder Wand in nearly every respect. Where the Elder Wand was dark and roughly hewn, this one was as smooth and pale as polished bone. Merlin, it probably was bone. Where the Elder Wand was perfectly straight, interrupted only by the clusters of berries along its length; Draco’s wand was all dislocated angles, jointed at the hilt and crooked like a skeletal finger. The Elder Wand vibrated in its presence, agitated and combative, while Draco’s wand sat calmly in his palm, humming softly. The Elder Wand reeked of death, whereas this was as fresh and vibrant as life itself. Their only similarity lay in their twin cores - Thestral hair. 

How he knew that he had no idea, he just accepted it and tossed it in his mental fuck-it bucket to be dealt with later alongside all the other weird shit that had happened in the last… however long.

He traced a finger along its length, eyes wide with wonder.

“Can I see it?” asked Harry, already reaching towards him.

As soon as Harry’s fingers brushed the edge of the wand, images flickered rapidly through Draco’s mind. Visions of rocky, barren deserts made lush, a thick carpet of blooms teeming with life. Dirt condensing, solidifying into bone, mixing with the rain to form blood and muscle and organs. Draco himself, standing still with his arms raised high, his entire face alight and positively euphoric as an entire forest burst fully formed from the earth. He burned with the overwhelming urge to create, make, unleash, to consume it all in flames that cracked open seeds and left soft, rich ash to feed the soil underneath.

Harry jerked his hand back with a gasp, the images vanishing as quickly as they appeared.

His heart was galloping in his chest like a thundering hippogriff as he struggled to blink away the visions and tame the magic that swirled at his feet.

Harry was shaking, the Elder Wand clutched tightly in his fist. He’d seen the visions too, judging how his eyebrows crawled into his hairline as he met Draco’s eye with a mysterious look.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Holy shit. You made that?!”

Harry’s gaze darted to his cloak, then to the signet ring on his left hand. 

“Looks like you made a few things, actually,” he said wryly.

Draco followed his gaze. His cloak had transformed into a deep inky black so dark it was like a gap in the fabric of space itself. His Malfoy signet ring was now a twisted vine carved from blood-red garnet that undulated like a serpent as it wound itself around his finger. Leaves and thorns stuck out every which way, eager to snag and ensnare.

A cloak, a ring, and a wand.

Fucking hell.

Harry looked him dead in the eye. “Well, this is embarrassing,” he deadpanned. “One of us is going to have to go home and change.”

Chapter Text

Thunk.

The sound of Draco’s forehead hitting the tabletop echoed in the tiny space. This was all too much. He felt strung out, dry and withered of all emotion. His fuck-it bucket was full almost to the point of overflowing. One more thing just might be enough to snap him in half.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as his breath condensed against the tabletop. It was a matter of time, he supposed. The Black madness was bound to catch up with him eventually. Really, he should be grateful he’d outlasted Bellatrix after all he’d been through.

“Draco? Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice was soft with concern, and Draco felt the heat radiating from his palm as it hovered uncertainly over his shoulder.

“No,” he groaned. “I’m not bloody all right.”

He hauled himself upright, feeling a hundred years old despite the muscles and joints that were devoid of all the aches and pains that accompanied such an age. He tipped his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

“Don’t stress yourself too much kid,” Stark’s drawl drifted through his self-flagellation. “You get used to weird shit happening after a while.”

Draco peeled one silvery eye open. “That or I’ll finally crack. Madness is an unfortunately common trait in my family.”

Harry snorted something that sounded a bit like inbred git. Draco shot him a withering look, but he didn’t have the energy to put any real heat into it.

“Nah, you’ll be fine. You’re a tough kid.”

He heaved a sigh, feeling the air rush through his lungs. He acknowledged the compliment, but he didn’t want to be tough. They’d done that already - him and Harry both. Didn’t they deserve some bloody peace? 

“Harry, what are we doing here?” he said wearily.

“Uh… we woke up here?” said Harry, bewildered and slightly concerned.

“No,” Draco pinched his brow in frustration. “I mean, what are we doing here.”

“We would also like to know,” chirped Stark. He shrugged off Draco’s glare. “What? You guys came to us, remember?”

“Is it not obvious?” came a voice from the corner. Draco jolted upright - he’d almost entirely forgotten about the God of Thunder, who must have been keeping his head down as he lurked silently in the background.

“Your magic brought you here, to us.”

Stark scoffed, and Rogers’s brow puckered in a frown. “Are you saying it was some sort of higher power? Like fate?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “The fates can go eat dragon dung as far as I’m concerned.”

Thor’s jaw dropped open, thoroughly scandalised. He recovered quickly, shaking his head like a dog and staring somewhere just over Draco’s shoulder. 

“No. I am saying that they are the higher powers.”

Draco’s automatic response was a loud guffaw that rang through the room. Him, some sort of… higher power??? Don’t be absurd. Harry - sure, why not. The man had an uncanny knack for trouble and always managed to come out on top of even the most dire situations, and that was without taking into account the whole ‘Deathly Hallows’ thing.

Draco’s life was one shitty situation after another, utterly unhinged and completely out of his control. He’d always had a bit of a creative streak, but making ‘potions’ out of sticks and mud as a child and creating funny little charms for his friends was very different to whatever magic went into the wand still clutched in his hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Draco glanced around the room, dread sinking into his belly as he took in the serious looks around the table. Merlin, they were seriously considering it! “You can’t be serious.”

Natasha eyed him shrewdly, the tiniest frown tugging at her lips. “Thor is our resident expert on deities.”

Draco whirled upon Harry. He looked as exhausted as Draco felt, purple shadows under his eyes, his complexion grey and pallid. His mouth twisted into a miserable smile, his eyes heavy with guilt and grief.

Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. “No,”

Harry sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “What do you remember? From before?”

He was still reeling, so it took him a moment to process the words. What did he remember? Scraps of cool white, the scent of lilacs, brief flashes of colour and emotion. Something twitched like it was caught between his ribs and throbbed painfully. He paused, raised one had to clutch at his chest, and frowned. “I don’t remember anything.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I was… I was… at the Manor, I think,” said Draco. He scratched absently at the tattoo on his arm. “Something was wrong, though. Mother was there, and -” 

The Manor was dressed in full splendour, frothy pastel floral arrangements sprawled over tables, dripping from the chandeliers and crawling like vines over the bannisters. Mother had truly outdone herself this time - it was unrecognizable from the dark hallowed space it had once been, bleeding with dark magic and twisted beyond that of nature. ‘Nothing but the best for my favourite daughter’ she’d said as she tucked a lock of hair behind Hermione’s ear ‘Your parents would be so proud.’ Hermione had smiled fondly, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. 

‘C’mon, your adoring subjects await, Minister Granger,’ Draco had drawled, tucking her under one arm and leading her through the crowd to the dias where Harry and Ron stood side by side, tall and proud in their blood-red Auror’s robes. Hermione had stepped up to the dias, shoulders straight and her face hard and serious, and Draco had stepped back to stand beside Harry. Lights flashed, almost blinding as Hermione’s speech echoed through the room, punctuated by the mechanical snap snap snap of camera lenses. Draco’s chest swelled with pride as he watched her in her element. 

A shadow stirred at the corner of his eye, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Harry stiffened, suddenly on high alert. 

‘What is it?’ Draco hissed, slipping his wand out of his sleeve and into his palm. Harry’s eyes darted every which way as he grabbed Ron’s sleeve and said ‘Somethings wrong, we need-’

BOOM

Then his world had been made of heat and light and pain - unbearable, all-consuming pain that ripped through his chest and stopped his heart. He’d faded right down to a spark that floated through the void for what felt like a millennia before he found himself standing in the foyer of the Manor. 

It was strange - white and faded, fuzzy on the edges and leeched of all colour. Which made the acid-green eyes that peered out from underneath shaggy black hair all the more startling.

‘Hello, Draco.’

Draco wrenched himself from the memory with a gasp, slamming the door closed and buried the key deep, deep down in the very depths of his mind. He whirled upon his friend. “Potter, did you bring me back from the fucking dead ?”

Harry glanced away and shrugged.

This was too much. Did he say that before? Well, it was a fucking lie. 

He scrubbed his face furiously with both hands. He should be livid. He should be angry and grieving and everything in between. Instead, he just felt drained, snappish, and exhausted. 

“Harry- “ he started, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to find the words. Harry watched him nervously, perched on the edge of his chair as though he half-expected Draco to launch himself at him.

“If you needed a hobby, there are better ones than necromancy .”

Thor suddenly leapt to his feet and Stark’s arms flailed wildly to catch himself as he tipped too far backwards in his chair. The God of Thunder stepped forward and fell to one knee in front of Harry and Draco, head bowed and one hand braced upon his hammer. 

Harry stared down at him, mouth hanging open, his face morphing quickly from confusion to amazement to horror. Draco felt the blood drain from his face as his jaw hung slack, aghast.

“Please, if I may, I think I can explain,” said Thor. He paused, and when no objection came he took a deep breath before continuing. “Harry - can I call you Harry?”

“Yes?” Harry gurgled.

“Harry - your magic is unmistakable, as it is of Death himself, above and beyond that of my niece or any of those who claim you and call to the void.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a wry smile. “But, I think you already knew that.”

Thor’s head turned to Draco, although his eyes were still cast downwards at his feet. 

“And yours, Draco,” said Thor, and his voice shook, fear replaced with awe. “Is of Life. The spark. Beginnings and growth, change and redemption and creation. The two of you together are balance, in all things.”

The silence was heavy. Pounding. No one moved, no one even breathed.

Draco’s response was a strangled “I’m a what?!”

Thor looked up towards Harry now - still not directly, still deferential. “Life and Death. It clings to you both like a cloak, a shadow. Harry, you are the Master of the Final Realm, that to which all must bow. Draco, you are The Beginning, He Who Shapes the Spark of all things. ”

Draco’s jaw dropped open in horror. He thought back to all those little moments. How he’d breezed through transfiguration at school, objects folding easily like clay under his will as he moulded them to something else. The little charms that came so easily, changing and twisting the world around them. The flowers in his mother's tea. How he’d recognised Harry the moment he was dragged into the manor, not because of his face but because something in his chest gave a little pleased sigh and said oh, it’s you. He remembered hiding in the manor gardens during the Dark Lord’s tenure, the fresh mark on his arm oozing blood and ink over his sleeve as the trees swayed with the breeze to drape their leaves over his shoulders, vines curling around his ankles as he sobbed. He’d always thought it was some kind of accidental magic. The world tilted on its axis a bit. 

“Oh my gods, I’m a glorified herbologist.”

Harry made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a snort and a groan. 

“The Gods of Life and Death.” Rogers deadpanned, one brow raised in disbelief.

“No.” Thor shook his head. “Life is too simple a term for something so complex. There are a few gods scattered about, but they are facets of the whole. None who mastered creation entirely - not just life, but magic and chaos and change - until now. As for Death - there are many of those who carry that title, across every universe. They like to think themselves above it all, but in the end, every single one of them bows to one - the Master.”

“But… I didn’t do anything!” whimpered Draco. “I didn’t want this!”

Thor’s answering smile was nervous, but not unkind. “You did not need to do anything, nor want it. This is how you have always been, and how you always will be. Life is simply born, sometimes as the fates demand, sometimes not. And it always goes hand-in-hand with Death.”

Draco choked on a ragged breath. “I take back the thing about the dragon dung,”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “What about the Hallows?”

“The artifacts? I am unsure, but I can only assume they are part of the balance.”

Harry scoffed. “What, Draco got jealous he didn’t have a wand and a cloak and a cool rock, so he made his own?”

“Oi!”

“It’s very you, Draco.”

He didn't dignify that with a response.

“How do you know all this, anyway?” asked Harry, eyeing Thor suspiciously.

Thor winced.

“My, ah, mother… She is seiðr, like yourselves. She foretold your arrival many years ago. And, ah-” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “- She told me of this, and said under no circumstances was I to - er - make a mess of things.”

Nobody said anything. What do you even say to that? Congratulations! It's an eldritch being of unfathomable power!

Draco lurched upright as something quivered in his gut. It twitched again and again, a great big bubble of hysterical laughter that burst from his lips. He doubled over in his chair, clutching his stomach as he howled. Harry let out a snort of his own, and in the next moment they were both doubled over and wheezing as they broke down into hysterics.

“Merlin’s left tit, Harry,” wheezed Draco between breaths, “it never bloody ends with you, does it?”

This sent Harry howling with another fit of laughter. “Literally!” Harry gasped. “Literally, Draco! Because we’re bloody immortal!”

“And now you’ve gone and dragged me into it! Again!” Tears streamed down Draco’s cheeks. 

He was well aware that it was all starting to border on unhinged and was quickly becoming mildly disturbing, but the stable door was open and the Grainian had long since bolted, and he just couldn't stop.

“Sooo,” said Stark, drawing out the vowels in an awkward attempt to diffuse the situation. “Life and Death wizards from another universe. Got any big plans for the weekend? Or are you just sightseeing?”

It seemed to do the trick, and their choked laughter slowly trickled away into breathless panting.

“No nefarious plans that I know of,” said Draco, surreptitiously wiping away tears. 

“I dunno,” said Harry, scrubbing his face with this sleeve. “I’m sure something will find us sooner or later.”

“Well when you find out, be a dear and let us know would you?”

Chapter Text

Overall, Tony considered himself a fairly tolerant person. He’d seen some shit, sure; but after his father, and Afghanistan, and an army of aliens pouring through a hole in the sky, he liked to think there was very little that phased him anymore. 

This. This had the potential to be the thing to push him over the edge. Consider him phased.

It’s not every day that two brand-new baby gods are dropped in your lap, complete with teenage angst and enough drama to fill a daytime serial.

“Ohhhkaaay, you know what? It is way too early in the morning for this heavy an existential-crisis-to-caffeine ratio.” Tony snapped upright, all heads swivelling around to face him. 

He jerked his chin towards Thor, who hadn’t moved from where he knelt at Potter’s feet. “Point Break, get off the floor.” 

Tony looked back to Steve. ”I vote we turn this ship around and mosey on back to the tower. If we leave now we should be just in time for a late brunch. I’m buying, so you all have to come. Sounds like a plan? Excellent, good, let’s go.”

“Now, hold on just a second,” drawled Steve, doing his best impersonation of a pain in the ass. “Are we sure we trust these guys? There’s been an awful lot of power tossed about willy-nilly, and you boys have been through a hell of a lot in the last few hours. No offence.” He directed the last bit to Harry with an apologetic tilt of the head.

“None taken,” chirped Harry.

“Fine,” snapped Tony. God, he really needed that coffee, if only so that he could blame the tremor in his hands on the caffeine. “If they pinky promise not to be bad can we go?”

“That’s fine by me,” said Steve.

“Great.” Tony moved to stand in front of Draco, who leaned back in his chair and gulped, staring up at him with silver eyes the size of dinner plates.

“Draco whatever-your-middle-name-is Malfoy, did you come here with the intent of taking over New York and/or Earth as we know it with your evil wizard powers?”

“Uhh, no?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A statement?”

“Good.”

He whipped around towards Potter, who still looked a bit shell-shocked.

“Harry something-or-rather Potter, do you solemnly swear that you are up to only good and that you did not come here with the express purpose of global domination, annihilation, or other such villainy?”

Potter’s eyes bulged, and he managed to choke out a rough “I swear.”

“Potter’s as pure as they come,” chipped in Malfoy, although he still sounded a bit shaky. “He is quite literally the poster child for the Light, back home. Which is ironic, given what we’ve discussed.”

“Great.” Tony clapped his hands together. “See? They’re completely trustworthy. Easy as pie.”

Steve crossed his arms and chewed at his lip. “I wouldn’t say completely trustworthy. But I’m willing to be proven wrong.”

Natasha hummed as she slipped an alarming amount of knives back into their holsters. “I don’t know if Fury would be too happy about them being taken back to the tower, though.”

“Considering they’re super-ultra-life-force-wizards from another universe and the fact that Fury’s little anti-Loki cuffs didn’t do jack shit, I’d say they’re probably capable of a lot. We already know if they didn’t want to be here they probably wouldn’t be.” Tony paused to glance at Potter, who shrugged as if to say ‘Sure why not’. 

“And,” said Tony, raising his voice and one finger when Natasha opened her mouth to argue, “it would be a hell of a lot easier for S.H.I.E.L.D. to keep an eye on them if they stuck around.”

Natasha pressed her lips together in a thin line, which meant Tony had won - this time. It may come at the expense of his balls later, as penance for talking over her, but that was a future problem. A victory over the Black Widow was still a victory, so Tony added it to his mental tally.

Thor took the opportunity to slide out of his chair. He jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “I am just going to-” 

He scuttled backwards, offering two jerky half-bows - one to Malfoy, one to Potter - and stumbled when he knocked a chair to the ground with a clatter. Thor hastily righted the chair and slipped out of the door before Tony could open his mouth to ask him what exactly was in that sandwich.

Potter seemed to have recovered a lot quicker than his counterpart, who was slumped over the table with his head in his hands, muttering expletives under his breath. Potter looked back towards them, giving each one an assessing look before sitting back in his chair and resting one leg over his knee. He chewed one lip thoughtfully.

“You know we’re not actually teenagers, right?” he said.

Natasha leaned forward and rested one elbow on the table, tucking her hand under her chin. “How old are you, exactly? She asked.

Potter tossed a thoughtful glance towards Malfoy. “I’m not sure.”

“How so?” said Natasha.

“Well, it's kind of tricky,” Potter hedged, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “The last I remember, I was about fifty-seven? Fifty-eight? I also just realised I don’t even know what year it is.”

Steve, who had up until now been watching all this with a permanent look of confusion on his face, chose this moment to jump in. Which was fair, really. If anyone knew about what it was like to go about missing large chunks of time, it was him.

“It's two-thousand and twelve,” he said seriously. 

Malfoy’s head flew upwards along with his eyebrows. He turned to Potter. “What, so we’ve gone back as well as sideways?” 

Good question.

“That’s assuming your timeline aligns with ours,” mused Tony. “When were you born? Is there anything that might overlap?” 

Malfoy sat upright, thinking hard, his distress forgotten. “I did a fair bit of research around time-travel and alternate universe theory as an Unspeakable, although it wasn’t my primary focus. It is more than possible that they align correctly.” Malfoy looked directly at Tony and answered his question before he’d even opened his mouth. “An Unspeakable is a researcher who works in the Department of Mysteries. It’s a very secretive research-based branch of the Ministry of Magic. It's a lot of conceptual and experimental magic - love, death, space and time, stuff like that. Actually, the fact that I can even tell you that much means my vows don’t hold here, which confirms that the Ministry doesn’t exist here.”

He paused and drummed his fingers absently across the table, his face set hard and serious.

“As for your questions though; I was born June nineteen-eighty, and Potter was July. I remember those bile-phones, like that eyepatch bloke had, but I didn’t interact with the muggle world much unless Granger dragged me there. Potter probably knows more than I.”

“Mobile phones,” corrected Potter.

“What’s a muggle?” asked Steve with a slight frown. “You keep using that word.”

“It means non-wizard folk,” said Potter, with an apologetic shrug.

“Mmm, yeah. No. Hate that.” said Tony. “I’d prefer non-magical if it's all the same to you.”

Potter smiled. “The Americans used no-maj. It's close enough.”

Tony smiled back. “Good.” It fell into a frown. “Where were we?”

“You were trying to figure out the universes are similar,” said Natasha helpfully. 

“Right,” said Tony, “Potter, you got anything?”

Potter hummed and tapped a finger against his chin. “I grew up in a mug- I mean, a non-magical neighbourhood. We had - I dunno - all the normal stuff, I guess? Cars, telly, music, aeroplanes. I’m an Auror now - like a magical policeman, I guess - so I get cases that cross both worlds occasionally. Oh!” he snapped his fingers. “And we had the interwebs. Or was it internets?”

“Vague concepts, very helpful Potter. Stuff, and the interwebs.” sighed Malfoy. “Anything specific knocking around inside that empty cavern you call a skull?”

Potter threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know! There was a Tesco not far from my house! My cousin Dudley had a Game Boy! Dumbledore was a huge fan of the Spice Girls!”

Whoever Dumbledore was, his musical taste was obviously new information to Malfoy, who looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “Gods, it all makes sense now,” he choked out. “I found a Spice Girls record when I was going through Severus’s things.”

Potter barked out a loud “HAH” and slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes glittering with unrepressed glee.

“Oh god,” he mumbled through his fingers, “I can’t believe it. Severus Snape, a Spice Girls fan. You know McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape would have one-hundred-per-cent all got drunk together and danced along.”

“Potter, you berk, why would you say something like that? Now I have to go scourgify my brain,” moaned Malfoy.

“Okay,” interrupted Tony. “So we got Spice Girls, Game Boys, internet, cellphones, blah blah blah. I think it's safe to say it's similar enough. Can we get back to figuring out ages now? I don’t want to be arrested for accidentally violating any underage drinking laws, because I don’t know about you guys but I will absolutely be needing a mimosa or three with brunch later.”

Malfoy perked up with a grin. “Ooh, I do love a good mimosa. And technically, in this universe, I’m thirty-two.” 

“Good enough for me,” Tony shrugged.

Not quite enough for certain iced-up Boy Scouts, apparently. “If you’re both thirty-two, then why do you physically look seventeen?” queried Steve.

“Says the eighty-year-old man,” quipped Nat.

Malfoy ogled Steve up and down. “Looking pretty good for eighty.”

Steve waved him off with one hand. “It’s a long story. But my question still stands.”

Potter fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I stopped ageing at seventeen,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary, for me anyway.”

‘Right, right,” nodded Tony. He jabbed a finger at Potter. “‘That whole thing with Riddle’, which you will be telling me about later.”

“Oh. You heard that? I think it’s more the whole capital-D Death thing, although Riddle definitely helped.”

“Sure did. What about you?” his pointed finger turned to Malfoy.

“Honestly? No idea. I imagine it comes with the, er, title. Like I said, I am pretty sure I was dead at some point, which is obviously not great for one’s complexion. I have no idea if this is my old body or a new one, but either way, I don’t miss the back pain. Could have done without the tattoos though.” Malfoy swallowed and grimaced as if it were something unpleasant.

“No regerts,” chuckled Tony. He was rewarded with a smirk from Natasha and Potter, but Malfoy and Steve just looked confused. At least someone got it. 

“That settles it then. We’ll go get some food, have a little heart-to-heart, and you can head back to the tower with us whenever Fury finally pulls his head out of his ass. No, don't even try to argue, you're staying with us and that’s final. Malfoy and I can research the secrets of the universe, and Potter can do… whatever it is he does.”

Malfoy snickered under his breath, and Potter responded with two fingers.

They all murmured in agreement, and the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor filled the air, followed by groans and snaps as they all shook out their limbs and cracked stiff joints. As a group they drifted slowly towards the doorway, Potter and Malfoy lagging at the rear.

“Oh,” said Potter as he shuffled to a stop. “Thor forgot his hammer.”

Tony turned to see Mjölnir propped up against the table leg. Before anyone could say anything, Potter ducked down and snatched up the hammer in one hand. He looked over it slowly, tracing his fingers over the runes engraved on its surface, and tossed it from hand to hand testing the heft and feel of it.

Tony stared in complete shock, his jaw hanging open freely. He was dimly aware of Natasha and Steve sporting similar looks of amazement. Malfoy turned and cocked his head, before stepping back towards his friend, eyeing the hammer curiously.

“Go on, give us a go then,” said Malfoy.

Potter tossed it - tossed Mjölnir - to Malfoy like it was nothing more than a bit of scrap metal. Malfoy caught it with ease, silver eyes flashing wide as the weight immediately yanked him bodily downwards. Surprisingly, it didn’t quite hit the floor, instead bobbing oddly as though gravity itself were in flux, like it hadn’t quite decided if he was worthy or not.

“Salazar’s balls, Potter, what’s wrong with you!”

Potter laughed, loud and bright. The two boys bantered back and forth, taking turns chucking it directly at each other's heads. Natasha, Tony, and Steve remained frozen in place, all three of their expressions a wild mix of awe and horror.

“He just… picked it up,” whispered Natasha.

Tony’s gaze flicked back and forth like a tennis match. “They’re playing catch. With Mjölnir .”

There was a shout, then a crash, and Tony winced as Mjölnir skidded across the floor. “Oh, Point Break is gonna be so mad.”

Steve summarised it the best though, his voice low and rough. Years from now, Tony would replay this moment over and over in his mind, whenever Steve was being annoyingly righteous and needed to be taken down a peg or two.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”