Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Ghost

“I’m searching for something I can’t reach. My Ghost, where’d you go?”

It started with a whisper, so soft he hadn’t realized it was there. It grew, over time so slowly he didn’t really notice it until it was a dull roar that came and went. By the time he was consciously aware there was some kind of voice in his head that wasn’t his and probably wasn’t Voldemort’s he didn’t think that telling anyone about it was really going to accomplish anything anyways. There were bigger problems to worry about these days than whether Harry Potter had gone completely mental. 

Besides, he had all kinds of visions and voices in his head while he was sleeping. Everyone knew that already, and while they certainly didn’t like it, they had determined, with his failed occlumency lessons the previous term, there wasn't exactly much to be done about it. 

 So, did it really matter that he could hear a voice in his head while he was awake too? It's not like he could understand it, it wasn’t in English and it did have a tendency to mumble. 

Harry didn’t exactly mind because everything was terrible all of the time and sometimes it was nice having a distraction in his head. Even if he couldn’t understand any of what it was saying, and it sounded like it was complaining at least ninety percent of the time.

It’s not like he even heard it everyday. It would drift in and out at random with long silent spells that got more and more noticeable as time went on. Harry always felt like when it went silent something bad had happened. Really though, he had no way of knowing.

The end of term, as always, came on far too fast.  In the past week the invasion of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's death, made the end of term feel rather like falling off a cliff or running at full speed straight into a wall. Harry felt like the breath had been permanently knocked out of him. The last thing he was worried about at the moment was that the voice in his head was back and had been grumbling on and off all day. 

Harry had drifted through the morning, it felt like he was looking through a blurry mirror, and his feet were weighted down with lead boots. Meanwhile all around him the rest of the castle raced around packing up last minute misplaced school books and socks.

The rapidly approaching departure of the students had lifted with the heavy feeling of despair that had descended on the castle like a thick fog since Dumbledore death.  

“That’s when Bill decided he was leaving Fleur for a Hippogriff. You aren’t even listening are you?” 

Harry started, banging his elbow on the wall of the train compartment and swore under his breath. He looked at Ginny with wide eyes, and she laughed. 

“Guess that answers that question,” she said, she smirked and jabbed him in the side. 

“What are you even on about?” he muttered, shuffling in his seat trying to get away from her wickedly sharp fingers. 

Ginny raised her eyebrows and very pointedly looked over at Hermione on the other side of the train compartment, talking passionately, her hands waving animatedly about while she spoke. 

Harry had most certainly not been listening to Hermione. Actually he hadn’t really been listening to anything. Once he had settled into his seat on the train he leaned into the exhaustion that had been plaguing him for most of the term and listlessly watched as Hogsmeade drifted by the windows. 

He hadn’t even realized that Ginny had joined them. He glanced around at his friends, their compartment was rather fuller then he remembered it being. Both lengths of seats were filled, everyone crammed together, elbows pressing into each other sides. Dean, who did not have a seat, leaned up against the door, trying not to laugh at something Luna had just said. 

Harry  leaned into Ginny's shoulder, he was very firmly wedged into the corner. She didn’t give him an inch. 

“So are you going to fill me or not? He asked directly into her ear.

“Nah,” she said, bumping his shoulder, “ honestly I lost the thread a while ago and you were my last hope.”

“Sorry Gin, I’ve let us both down. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She snorted, “Some savior you are, can’t even follow a simple conversation. How are you supposed to defeat a dark lord?”

“I’ll have you know, I have a lot more experience defeating dark lords than I do listening to lectures.” 

She threw her head back and cackled, her eyes going all crinkly at the corners, “God, Potter that isn’t reassuring,” she said. 

Harry shrugged and scratched his nose.

“I never said I was a good savior, but I’m the only one you’ve got. So erm, I guess we’d better hope for the best?”

Twenty minutes later when the train started to pull into the station, Ginny was fast asleep on his shoulder. Harry was half asleep himself, the side of his face pressed firmly into the window. The voice was muttering in his head again, and it was lulling him to sleep, “OH, for ever loving Christ,-!” 

It went silent. He sat up sharply and blinked. That was very clearly English.

Harry had the entirety of the summer to contemplate the fact that the voice in his head could apparently also speak English. On the very long and boring ride back to number four privet drive he had a sudden and very worrying thought. Could the voice hear him too?

And if it could, what did it hear? 

Everyday since Harry had returned to Dursleys passed slowly. He spent most of his time in his room being quiet and pretending he didn’t exist. 

His head may have been quiet during the day, ever since the voice had abruptly cut off mid sentence on the train. But that did not mean his head was quiet at night. If anything his nightmares seemed to get louder and sharper and it got harder and harder to keep digging himself out of them.

He was grateful to be ignored, and content to lull around on his bed. He was exhausted. He was always exhausted. Sometimes he thought he’d never not been exhausted. Often wondering what it was like to wake up in the morning, and not be more tired than when he’d gone to sleep.  

He was propped up against his head board, trying to get a start on his transfiguration homework. While he was entirely convinced he wasn’t going back to Hogwarts this year - instead he planned on running about the countryside with his friends looking for wayward pieces of Voldemort's soul. He didn’t like to put all of his eggs in one basket. Nothing had ever gone the way he thought it would, so why would it start now?

 It's not like he had anything else to do anyways. While he was making a valiant effort, he hadn’t even finished the first chapter of the standard book of spells, year seven and he was pretty sure he’d read the same page at least three times.

He sighed, rolling his quill back and forth between his fingers. He really wasn’t going to miss writing essays.  

His thoughts turned to the missing voice inside of his head, and away from things like his still looming pile of homework and ever imminent prospect of what his future might look like. 

That is if he got to have a future. 

He started to call the voice in his head the Ghost, because he had to call it something. To help reassure himself that it wasn't a figment of his imagination, or worse Voldemort. 

The ghost had gone silent often enough throughout the year. Sometimes for periods much longer than two weeks, and while at school Harry had had enough distractions he hadn’t really put that much thought into it. But now that he really didn’t have anything to do except ignore his homework, he had questions. 

He wanted to talk to his ghost. Well, he wanted to try and talk to his ghost. He was pretty sure whatever kind of connection they had going on was one sided.

Still he was going to try. What's the worst that could happen? He could get possessed by the dark lord? That had already happened, and while it had not been remotely pleasant, Harry had certainly suffered worse. 

Besides, what the fuck- why did he have to have a ghost living in his head. Could he just be normal in like one thing? Just one singular thing. Just once couldn’t be someone else who had a voice they couldn't understand muttering in their head?

He waited, he wasn’t really sure what else he could do. He was almost positive his ghost couldn’t hear him. He shuttered a little at the thought that, somewhere there was someone and he could hear all their thoughts- most of their thoughts? He’d hate for someone out there to be listening to even some of his. Even if they couldn’t understand any of them at all. 

It took another three days for the ghost to start muttering again. Harry didn’t notice at first. It started like it always did as a soft whisper in the back of his head, he’d grown so used to it that it had taken him hours to realize it was back. 

He paused his quill on his parchment and listened. He could still barely hear it, the soft unintelligible muttering, but it was there. The longer he focused on it the clearer it became. It sounded slightly slurred, and very annoyed. 

Harry swallowed, clenching his hand around his quill. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about trying to speak to the ghost, it wasn’t real. Maybe it was. Harry really wasn’t sure what his ghost was at all, and unless he tried to speak to him, he wasn’t going to get any answers. 

Harry took one very shaky breath, and then thought very hard, “Hello? Ghost? Are you there?” 

The muttering stopped. 

“Hello?” thought Harry as hard as he could, screwing up his eyes in concentration, “am I in your head too?” 

Silence. Harry waited. Thinking loudly was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. 

“What are you?” 

Harry jumped. He could hear the ghost so clearly now. It was like he was standing next to him. 

“I’m just a person,” Harry thought, sitting up straighter on the bed, “what are you? You’ve been in my head all year.”

“ How are you doing this?”

“Where are you? There is no one else here, for miles. No ones going to be here for hours. You’re not on the coms, I checked.”

“ What the hell do you mean I’ve been in your head all year?!” 

Harry ran a shaky hand through his already perpetually windswept hair. His ghost was talking to him. He was real. He was really, really real and not a figment of his imagination. 

“I’m in Surrey, and I’ve been hearing you since last…. September? Well, I noticed at the end of September but you were so quiet, I wouldn’t have noticed before then. I didn’t know you spoke English until a few weeks ago or I would have tried to say something sooner but then you went silent. You do that, you’ll just go silent for weeks.” 

“ Surrey, as in England? I think in Russian. How did you get into my head?” 

“I didn’t. You got into my head.” thought Harry, “Yes, Surrey as in England. Where are you?

“ Christ, I’m going insane. Get out of my head ghost.”

It went silent again. 

Harry kept working on his essay and tried not to be too disappointed. He supposed he would have been shocked hearing a voice in his head too once upon a time. 

Three days later the Ghost spoke. 

“Hey spook, you there?” 

After that his ghost started talking to him. Not all the time, he still faded in and out and spent half of the time mumbling in Russian. Harry didn’t mind. Having someone to talk to sometimes was better than never. Even if sometimes was, more often than not at three in the morning.

He didn’t expect to get any letters that summer, it wasn’t worth the risk. So he was grateful to have someone to talk to even for a little while. He knew he wasn’t going to be staying at the Dursley’s long, but the wait was grueling. Harry wasn’t very good at waiting, but talking to his Ghost helped. Even if referring to the voice in his head as his ghost made him feel slightly unhinged. 

Harry lazily dragged his feet through the dirt. He was sitting on the one unbroken swing at the park in Magnolia Crescent. He tried not to leave the Dursleys very often, what with a war being on and all. When he did leave he didn’t go very far. Still, he couldn't stay in his room all the time, and after he had got caught lying in the garden in fifth year trying to listen to the news, if he was outside it had better be out of sight from the kitchen window. 

His ghost had been chatty today, he answered more than half the questions Harry asked. He would sometimes fade out mid-conversation, and by the time he came back he’d have forgotten what they had been talking about.

Harry was mostly convinced his ghost was an actual person, not a figment of his imagination and he was entirely certain he was not Voldemort. 

If he was a person, then he had a name. Harry decided that it would be a lot better, in terms of preserving his sanity if he could refer to his ghost by name. For reasons. Mostly because when he thought about it too hard he could hear the echo of Hermione's voice from second year, “Hearing voices isn’t good Harry,” she said. And well, she hadn’t been wrong. 

He kicked off the ground, swaying slightly in the warm muggy summer air, and decided that unless he asked, he wouldn’t know and so he asked his ghost if he had a name.

“Name?”

“You know, what people call you,” said Harry

“Soldat.”

“That's not a name.”

“It’s what they call me.”

“What do you call yourself?”

“ I don’t.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A long time ago somebody called me Bucky?”

He’d said it like it was a question. Harry paused, one toe making a pattern in the dust, “Can I call you Bucky?”

“It's better than Soldat,”

Harry agreed, it certainly was better than Soldat, it was also better then Ghost.

Bucky trailed off into Russian.

“What are you doing?”

“ Climbing.”

“Climbing? Climbing what, a tree?” 

“They say climb the tree Soldat. I climb the tree. They say, shoot the gun Soldat. I shoot the gun. I don’t ask. They tell me and I do.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“If I don't?”

“Do what you’re told.”

“Pain. Quiet, I focus now.” 

Later when Harry was laying on his bed, long after he should have been asleep Bucky words echoed in his head. 

“I don’t ask. They tell me, and I do.”

Talking to Bucky was frustrating. Every time Harry asked him a question it felt like the answer only ever led to more questions, or it didn’t make any sense. Harry could never tell if Bucky was lying either, his voice was always steady and even, the only variation was when he’d fade out completely or trail off into Russian. Which happened frequently, and when Harry had asked about it earlier that week he’d been told it was mostly complaints about the weather. 

“They have me up in this fucking tree all day, and all it does is rain. I can’t see for shit.”

When Harry had asked who they were he got a very unsatisfactory answer.

“I don’t know.” 

“How can you not know? You work for them, right? ”

“I don’t know. This is all I can remember doing.”

“So what do you know?” 

“Not much. That it’s still raining and I’ve got some English ass hole in my head. That I’ve been waiting for over twelve hours today and they haven’t told me what I’m waiting for.”

Harry sighed, “Doesn’t it bother you not knowing?”

There was a long pause.

“Of course it bothers me. There isn’t much I can do about it,” 

“My name’s Harry. Not, English arsehole.”

“Harry huh? I’m still not convinced I didn’t just make you up.”  

“I promise I’m real, if you promise you’re real.”

“Cross my heart, darlin. I’m pretty sure I’m real, anyway.”

And that's how Harry had found out the confusing muggle on the other side of whatever connection they had going on had decided they were soul mates. In order to justify having a voice talking to him in his head. 

“But soulmates aren’t real!” 

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” 

Harry couldn’t entirely blame him. Having someone talking to you in your head was unheard of even in the wizarding world. He couldn’t even fathom trying to rationalize what was happening as a muggle. Harry didn’t have a clue why he could hear Bucky, but he had faced enough weirdness in the last six years, he just shrugged this one off. After all, what was one more impossible thing? 

He hadn’t really given much thought to what Bucky might think was causing it. Soul mates, while not real, were certainly not the worst explanation a muggle could have come up with, and Bucky certainly didn’t seem to mind. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two : Just a Guy with a Gun 

Harry was nervous. Of course he was nervous, plans changing always made him nervous. He’d gotten a letter at dinner  informing him he was going to be leaving the Dursleys earlier than planned and to expect an escort tonight.

Which meant something had gone wrong. 

It was too early in the summer for anything to have already gone wrong.

Harry tore up the stairs and started throwing things pell mell into his open school trunk at the foot of his unmade bed. The Dursleys had left earlier that week, so no one was going to scold him for leaving his dishes in the sink. Packing was more important than being tidy. While he was sure his Aunt would disagree, she also wasn’t here to argue. 

Fortunately, packing wasn’t going to take very long because he’d never actually unpacked. Still over the past month and half he’s belongings had crept out of his trunk and spread spectacularly all over his room. Half way through packing his clothes, he threw open the window and sent Hedwig on head. He would have to meet her later. The Burrow would be perfectly safe for her for now.

He whirled from the window and in his rush he tripped over a stack of school books, dropped his fire bolt and slammed his knee to the edge of the old wooden desk pushed into the corner.

Harry cursed loudly, rubbed gingerly at his smarting knee and turned to get back to packing.

“Can you try and panic a little quieter? You’re giving me a headache,” 

Harry froze, “You can hear my thoughts?”

He had been almost positive Bucky could only hear him when he wanted to or when Harry concentrated really really hard on talking to him.

“Only when you’re screaming them at me. Didn’t you say you can hear my thoughts all the time, why wouldn’t it go both ways?”

“Err- I don’t know? And it's not all the time, and I can’t understand you.” 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re waiting for an escort or are you just going to keep yelling gibberish at me for the rest of the night,” 

Harry closed his trunk with a click and glanced at the old clock next to his bed. He still had time, he could at least try and explain. While Harry was pretty sure the statue of secrecy still extended to muggles inside of his head, it’s not like anyone would know Harry broke it.  Bucky wasn’t  going to tell anyone. Even if he did, it's not like they would believe him. He took a deep steadying breath, and tried to break down over twenty years of Wizarding politics into a quick explanation. 

He didn’t think he was doing a very good job, he was sure he forgot some very important bits, and he kept stumbling over his words. Hermione would have done a much better job, but since she wasn’t here,  he just had to do his best and hope he made at least a little bit of sense. 

“ You’re telling me that a vigilante group of Wizards is coming to  your Aunts house to escort you to safety because a fascist mass murderer is trying to kill you and your all going to fly away on broom sticks” 

During his explanation Harry had picked up his wand and had started nervously stalking back and forth the length of his bedroom, rounding viciously every time he reached the wall. 

“When you put it like that it sounds metal,” 

“ Why is a fascist mass murderer trying to kill you?” 

“He tried to kill me with the killing curse as a baby, but it didn't take,” 

“Right, and why was he trying to murder a baby with a curse?”

“There was a prophecy that said I was going to kill him. So he decided to try and kill me first.” 

“ Of course there was a prophecy. Why wouldn't there be a prophecy?”

“You don’t believe me.”

Harry had never had to try and explain why Voldemort was after him before. He’d never had to think about it because everyone already knew, and they were usually the ones telling him about it. It turns out looking at it from an outsider's perspective it sounded completely barmy. 

“Some asshole flew a nuke into an alien portal in the sky in the middle of  New York City last week, so you want to tell me magic is real? Sweetheart, that's not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard today.” 

“You could just say you don’t believe me.” 

“It’s been all over the news, you haven’t heard about it?” 

Harry didn’t get a chance to answer, he heard a door open down stairs.

Originally, the plan had been that two or three members of the Order of the Phoenix would meet him at number four and escort him to the Burrow. Much like how the advanced guard had escorted him to Number Twelve in his fifth year. 

It sounded like things must’ve changed more than he anticipated. He heard a dull roar in the drive, what sounded like a small stampede filing into the Dursleys kitchen and Fred and George Weasley‘s muffled voices through the floor. 

When Harry reached the landing he could see the kitchen crowded with what also looked like a small stampede. He stopped, slightly shocked. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. But this certainly wasn’t it. 

The trip to the Burrow went both far better and far worse than Harry had anticipated. Harry was the first to arrive and had been hurried inside the warm welcoming kitchen and into Mrs. Wesley's arms. Where they both waited impatiently for the rest of the group to arrive, mostly intact. 

Later, once the rest of the house was sleeping, Hermione crept very slowly up the creaking steps into Ron's attic bedroom. The three of them sat huddled together on Ron’s violently orange bed. 

“We can’t leave now, you still have the trace for another four days,” said Hermione. 

“Mum will actually murder us if we miss the wedding,” added Ron, “so we’re looking at five days.” 

Hermione nodded and made a few notes to the extensive set of checklists she had started over the summer. 

As happy as Harry was to see his friends, staying at the Burrow for any amount of time made him uncomfortable. His presence put everyone in the house at risk. It made him feel sick to his stomach and feel like his skin was too tight if he thought about it for too long. At least it was only for five days.

Five days to come up with a plan. They had certainly come up with plans in shorter amounts of time. Considering how the last two years had gone, rushing into anything probably wasn't in their best interests. 

Sometime after two thirty Ron and Hermione had started to droop and the three of them parted ways to try and get some sleep. It wouldn’t be long before Mrs. Weasley woke them bright and early to help with the wedding preparations. 

“Ginny says, Mum thinks if she keeps us busy we won't be able to plan on leaving and will have to go back to Hogwarts,” said  Ron yawning as he crawled into bed. 

“How much time can planning a wedding take anyway?” asked Harry, zipping up his sleeping bag, “I’m sure we’ll find time, Hermione seems to have everything under control.” 

“That's what I said, but Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed.” 

While Ron fell asleep quickly,  Harry lay awake trying to explain to Bucky what had happened. They got ambushed. He also tried to explain why he wasn’t going back to school in September and the task that Dumbledore has left him. 

Bucky was largely unimpressed with Harry’s plans- “This has got to be one of the dumbest plans I've ever heard and I’ve heard some real doozies. Do you even have any money? Or a passport? Where are you going to stay?” - Harry did not in fact have a passport, although he was pretty sure they weren't going to need them. Did Wizards even use passports? 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure where they would stay either.  Hermione had mentioned taking a magical tent like the one they’d taken to the Quidditch World Cup. Ron had added he was pretty sure the tent was still somewhere in the shed, and someone should go look for it. 

Harry wasn’t overly concerned, they did still have five more days to plan before they left. 

Bucky was even more unimpressed with the state of the Wizard World at large and Order of Phoenix, “Let me get this straight, you’re not even seventeen yet-”

“My birthday is in four days,” 

“You’re not even seventeen yet, and its down to you to kill the unkillable mass murderer? No one else has even tried?”

“The prophecy says-”

“How do you know those things mean anything anyway? Just shoot the fucker in the head. Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. But it sure as hell will buy you some time. You said when he tried to kill you, he lost his body for what, fourteen years? And nobody's going to try and do that again?” 

Harry blinked. This was not the response he had expected. Somehow he’d thought Bucky would understand. Dumbledore had been so certain.

“You haven’t ever thought about this before have you,” 

“It’s really all I think about actually,” Harry thought crossly. 

How could he think about anything else- people were dying because of him, because he wasn’t killing Voldemort fast enough. People died because he hadn’t had all the information,- Sirius died because he didn’t have all the information. He still didn’t have all the information, but he knew what Dumbledore told him to do. Even if he didn’t have any idea how he was going to do it, he was damn well going to try. 

“You haven’t thought that maybe the idea that all this responsibly falling on a child is actually insane. This isn’t your fight, someone should be protecting you.”

“Everyone who tries to protect me dies, thanks.” 

“Shoot. The. Fucker. In. the. Head. Or am I missing something and magical people are impervious to bullets.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“ Are magical people impervious to bullets or not?” 

“They’re not, but Dumbledore told me I have to go after the Horcruxes,” 

“And you have to go after them right now? Do you even know where they are?” 

“I don’t even know what they all are! Yes, we have to go now- he doesn’t know we know about them yet! If he finds out, he’ll make more and it’ll be too late.” 

Harry fisted the edge of the sleeping bag, his knuckle going white. Bucky just kept pushing. Nothing Harry could say made him understand Harry didn't have a choice. He had to hunt down the horcruxes. It had to be him. 

Bucky was one to talk. Hadn’t he just told Harry that he just did what he was told? Even when doing what he was told meant killing someone. How dare he question Harry's mission when he knew, he knew he was doing what was right. 

“How can you question what I’m doing?!” Harry snapped, “I know I’m doing the right thing, but, but you-! You told me you killed someone last night. How can you not question that?!”

“ I’ve killed a lot of people, Harry,” 

“But what are you doing about it?! You said you just do what you're told but why?! Don’t you want to stop?” 

“What am I doing- I’m waiting. Ever since you started talking to me things are clearer. I wake up and I know what day it is, I can sometimes remember where I was the day before. So I’m waiting. I get one chance at this if I'm lucky. So I’m going to be a good little tin solider, and keep my head down and my mouth shut and when I get the chance the I am going to burn the whole fucking opperation down. But you don’t have to wait, and you don’t have to do what they tell you. Isn’t anyone questioning the validity of this strategy, you’ve got to have at least one person who isn’t a moron on your side.”

Harry tugged his sleeping bag up to his chin and pretended he wasn’t listening. 

“Look, Sweetheart. I’ve been a soldier my whole life okay. This is a bad plan. Its a stupid plan. It's the kind of plan that gets a lot of people killed. You said your friends real clever, the brightest witch of the age. So tell her, okay? Tell her, for me. Tell her this a terrible plan, you don’t have to do this-”

Harry couldn’t stay quiet any longer, “I do have to do this. I’m the only one who can. And I told you Voldemort can’t die. Not until we destroy the horcruxes.” 

“Yeah- but what happens to him if he gets killed?  Does he just stand there and take it- what about if you set him on fire or drop a bomb on him- If his body is ruined. Then what happens? Does anyone know- Why doesn’t anyone know-” 

“Okay, Okay fine! I'll talk to Hermione. I will, I'll talk to Hermione tomorrow. But it isn't going to change anything.” Harry rolled over, smashing his face into his pillow. “Mrs. Weasleys going to come wake us up in a few hours so I have to go to sleep now.” 

Harry did not talk to Hermione the next day. Or the day after that. It turns out that planning a wedding takes a lot of work and the whole household was extremely busy from the moment they got up for breakfast until the moment they collapsed into bed. 

Ron groaned, “my feet are killing me. Who knew anyone could care so much about table linens? Remind me to never get married.” 

Harry draped one arm over his eyes, “only three more days and we haven't planned anything. Your Mum's plan is working.” 

Ron snorted and tossed a pillow at Harry, hitting him in the face, “like we’re going to let that stop us. We always manage it in the end.” 

“Do you think you can help me get five minutes with Hermione tomorrow?” Asked Harry, “I have something I need to ask her.” 

“I can try. Mum seems to have a sixth sense about these things.” 

Mrs. Weasley had wisely decided the best way to hamper their plans was to keep Harry and Ron together and away from the girls. Harry and Ron had spent most of the following day listening to Fleur and Mrs. Weasley argue about table linens and rolling silverware in fancy napkins “why are we doing this. None of it even matters,” Ron had moaned after their fourth consecutive hour in the dining room. “We could be out flying- the weathers perfect!” 

Hermione and Ginny were kept busy in another part of the house. The only time they saw them was at breakfast and sometime in the afternoon when Ginny had waved forlornly across the lawn at them, from her designated spot in the garden. 

Later that night once Ron was snoring and Harry was tucked up in his sleep bag Bucky asked, “So your friend. What did she say?” 

“I haven’t asked her yet.” 

“ You haven't asked her yet- hasn’t it been multiple days? It has been multiple days right?” 

“There's a wedding in three days, and I’ve just spent the entire day helping with silverware and table linens.” 

“ Jesus Christ, better you than me.” 

“I’m going to talk to her tomorrow. Ron’s going to help me sneak away. I think Bill said the twins would by in the afternoon. They’re always good for a distraction.” 

“Tell me you at least have somewhere to stay,” 

“Ron said the tent we used in fourth year was still in the shed and I think I saw Ginny standing watch for Hermione to go in and get it this morning.” 

“Trust me when I say, you really don't want to live in a tent in the winter. I’d know.” 

“It's not just a tent. It's a wizards tent. It's completely different.” 

“ You know what, what do I know? I’m just a guy with a gun and a ghost in my head. Go camping in Britain in the winter. Knock yourself out.”

Harry finally got to talk to Hermione the following afternoon. While Mrs. Weasley was distracted by the arrival of the twins, Ron snuck him out of the house and into the garden.

Ginny enthusiastically waved him over and unceremoniously shoved him and Hermione behind the shed. “I’ll try and buy you a few extra minutes, Merlin knows Mum isn’t going to fall for this twice,” Ginny said gimcing. 

In the end Harry didn’t get a chance to ask Hermione anything. As soon as they disappeared behind the shed, she spent the few minutes they had before they were spotted by Mrs. Weasley, whispering furiously about what she had done so far to ensure they’re departure date. “I got an extendable bag earlier this summer. I can pack everything before the wedding and we can leave during the party, I’m sure no one will notice.”   

They only got as far as confirming that Hermione had found the tent in the shed and that it was safely stored in her bag upstairs in Ginny’s room, before Mrs. Weasley found them and dragged Harry away by his elbow. 

Harry didn't get to ask Hermione much of anything for the three and half months. They were too busy trying to break into the ministry and honestly, he forgot. 

 It was sometime in November, they were somewhere in the Forest of Dean, and it was raining. 

The three of them sat on the floor of the tent, and looked out of the flap at the falling rain. 

“Hermione,” Harry said, “what would happen if someone tried to kill Voldemort?”

“What do you mean Harry?” asked Hermione, her hands wrapped around a metal thermos of tea.

Harry pulled on the chain of Slytherin Locket, it was his turn to wear it today. It was giving him a horrible headache already and it had only been an hour and half. He rubbed at his temples and contiuned.

“I mean, what would happen if someone, say, shot him. He wouldn’t die. Because of the horcruxes, but what would happen?” 

Hermione pursed her lips, “ I don’t think we’d have any way of knowing, unless someone, you know actually shot him.”

“So what you’re saying is he could potentially have become a bodiless spirit again and we could have ages and ages to hunt horcruxes?” moaned Ron

“I don’t know if he would even be able to get his body back if he became a spirit,” said Harry, “ I don’t think that ritual is the kind of thing that works twice.” 

“Why didn’t we try that, then?” asked Ron glumly

Hermione sighed, “it's too late to worry about that now. We’ll just have to do the best we can with what we’ve got.”

Harry flopped back onto the ground, it was certainly too late to worry about it now. Voldemort had taken the Ministry and Hogwarts. The horcruxes were their only hope. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: A Little B&E 

It was February, it was cold, and Hermione was absolutely going to murder Harry. Once she realized he had wandered off and wasn’t within the wards surrounding their campsite. Harry pulled the hood of his jacket a little higher and looked down the alleyway. If his plan worked it would be worth facing Hermione's ire and they might have dry feet for a few days. 

Camping in February was, in fact, a terrible idea. Even in a Wizarding tent.

Harry scuffed his perpetually damp and peeling trainers against the sidewalk and shoved both of his hands deeper into his coat pockets. The whole plan hinged on whether or not Bucky would be able to help him. The problem being Bucky had gone silent three days ago. 

For the first time in weeks their campsite was close enough to the edge of the forest that Harry had been able to apparate to the nearest town. Earlier in the evening Hermione had insisted that they move their campsite in the morning, “we’ve been here for four whole days, that’s far too long to be in one place,” she’d said. So this was his one chance to get this right. 

The snatchers had been prowling around their campsites on a regular basis for weeks. They had to keep moving or sooner or later someone would find a way to break into their wards. Harry thought that it would honestly be in their best interest to be literally anywhere else but the Forest of Dean.

Originally they had agreed to not wander too far until they’d come up with some kind of plan. To either destroy the Horcrux they already had, or find the location of another. Fortunately for Harry tonight was Hermione's turn with the locket. It always gave him the worst headaches. 

Neither one of them wanted to admit that they were both secretly hoping Ron would come back, and if they left he’d never be able to find them. 

Harry was tired of waiting. He was tired of being cold and damp and being hungry all the time. They may not have a plan, but they didn’t have to stand around freezing in the forest, while they waited to get caught. Bucky had told him it was a bad plan, and he’d been right. 

They were following a very very bad plan and Harry wasn’t going to follow it anymore if he could help it. 

“Buck?” He thought, “are you there?”

Harry had never tried to reach Bucky when he’d gone silent before. He regretted it, because now he didn’t even know if it was possible. He wasn't sure what happened to Bucky when he went silent but he didn’t think it was anything good.

 He tried to ask multiple times but the answers he got –“I don’t know” or  “it was cold” or the most frustrating, a garbled string of mumbled Russian- weren’t helpful. 

Henry leaned back against the wall and focused as hard as he could. Shouting in your head wasn’t as easy as one would assume.

“Bucky! Hello! Answer me!”

“ О, моя голова. Почему ты кричишь?"

Harry supposed, getting a reply in Russian was at least better than getting no reply at all.

" Я спросил, почему ты-"

There was a pause, “ на английском пожалуйста- What are you shouting about-” 

“Look, you were right, okay. I need your help.” 

“I'm usually right,- I don't know how helpful I can be considering I'm” there was a long pause, “obviously not in Europe” 

“Camping in February is a terrible idea. We have no idea what we’re doing and every day we’re getting closer to getting caught.” 

“Your friend hasn’t come back?” 

“No, I think Hermione is starting to lose hope he ever will. I need to get us out of the forest, too many people know we’re here.” 

“I don’t know how I can help you sweetheart- ah shit- give me forty five seconds-” 

Harry huddled closer to the wall and tucked his face into his shoulder to try and avoid the brutal wind. He counted to a hundred and fifty while he waited. 

“I swear the intel they give me just gets worse and worse. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were doing it on purpose. How can I help?” 

“I want to steal a car.” 

“ You want to steal a car. Have you ever even driven a car?” 

“No, but how hard can it be? Pretty much anyone can do it.” 

“It’s your neck. Where are you, tell me what you see.” 

Harry stuck his head out of the alleyway and looked both ways, “I’m in Wales, I’m in a town, there’s a row of houses, but from here I mostly see hedges.” 

“How nice are the houses?” 

Harry shrugged, and realized that was not in fact helpful and added, “I don't know, they look pretty normal.” 

“ Look for a house close to the end of the street, don’t pick the nicest one. Make sure they don't have a dog.” 

Harry started creeping down the street towards the corner trying to surreptitiously look over the garden walls. 

“I think I’ve got one,” he thought, slipping between the hedges and into a drive. 

“ Okay,  is the door unlocked? Does it have two pedals or three- three no good keep looking. What kind of car is it- you want something as generic as possible. Does it look new? You don't want a new car. A couple of scratches and dents never hurt anybody.” 

Harry quickly looked the car over, “uh its grey? Has a dent in the front, its a- its a Volvo,” he checked the driver side door, it opened, “its unlocked.” 

“Two or three pedals ?”  

“Where are the pedals?” 

“Fucking hell- Your friend, she grew up with normal people right? Can she drive a car? Is she with you? ” 

Harry ducked his head into the car, sliding into the driver's seat. “Ah- I see them, two. That's good right? This ones all good then?” 

“It’ll have to do. See the panel under the steering wheel, pop that off-” 

Harry had his head shoved awkwardly under the steering column and was trying his best to twist the wires just so, like he’d been told, but it was dark and his glasses kept sliding down his nose. 

“I can’t see anything,” he grumbled. 

“Too bad, no lights, you’ll just have to do your best.”

Eventually, he got the engine to turn over, slammed the car into reverse, and jerkily backed out into the street. 

“Has this thing got lights?” he asked, swerving to avoid a toppled over bin. 

“Look for a knob on the left side of the steering wheel, turn it twice. How much gas do you have?” 

“Erm- oh I see it, not much. Less than half. That's no good, isn’t it?

“It’s not great. What’s you plan from here?”

“I didn’t exactly plan beyond getting the car started.” 

“One day, I’m going to find somebody who’s  idea of a plan isn't just to run straight at the problem and hope for the best. Christ- you said you’re in Wales right? Something about the Forest of Dean? Got time for a detour? I have an idea.” 

Bucky’s detour involved driving over an hour west down increasingly narrow and winding roads. Harry gripped the steering wheel, chanting over and over to himself, “I am not lost, this is fine, there is a plan. I have a destination. I am not lost. Hermione is not going to murder me. I am not lost.” 

The Volvo crested a hill and stuttered to a halt. The dirt road he’d been following had come to an end in the middle of the woods. In front of the car was a gate with a chain, if he was going to go any further it was going to be on foot. 

“Bucky?” 

Harry turned off the engine. He has used more than half the remaining gas on the way here. Unless this panned out he wasn’t going to make it back to the Forest of Dean. He hoped Hermioine was still sleeping. He hadn't planned on being gone this long. 

He waited. 

“I haven’t forgotten you- just- give me a minute-”

Harry put the seat back all the way and closed his eyes. At least it was warm in the car. 

“Sorry, Sorry- You see the gate yeah-? You’re going to have to walk, it's not far -Проклятье” 

Harry blinked back awake, yawned and got out of the car.  He started walking, “How will I know when I get there?”

“You’ll know,”

“Great, I’ll know . Then what?”

“Then you wait for me to tell you what to do, and do exactly as I say.” 

Harry passed the chain link gate and started walking down the deeply rutted dirt path. His old trainers slipped and slid in the icy slush and he nearly tipped over into a snowbank more than once. It was slow going.

He couldn’t have been walking for too long but it felt like an eternity. He hadn’t slept at all. All the bad nights rest of the past year felt like they had piled on top of him, It felt a little bit like he was swimming. He kept going. 

When he reached the top of a small hill, he found the edge of the woods. Across the clearing he could see a very old dilapidated farmhouse. 

Harry stopped right at the tree line, “I’m here, what do I do now?”

“I’m working on it,” Bucky sounded tired, well as tired as one could sound via thought. 

“What is this place?”

“It was one of my safe houses. Go around to the back of the house. Avoid the porch steps. Tell me when you get to the door. Don’t open it.”  

Harry started to pick his way across the clearing to the house. He climbed gingerly over a very old crumbling stone wall, avoided a small swamp and gave the porch steps at the back of the house a wide berth. He eyed the rotting porch, and tested his weight twice before hosting himself up.  He stood and looked at the door. 

“I’m looking at the door.” 

“Open the screen door, look for a panel half way up the frame by the hinges. Open it, type in 853100089. You should be okay to go inside. Don’t touch anything, go upstairs, find the bedroom and look under the bed. There should be a bag there.” 

It took him longer than he would have liked to find the panel. It was hidden under what looked like years and years of dirt and grim. He pried it open with some difficulty and typed in the code. The key pad flashed a bright green and beeped. 

He tried the door, it opened. Harry stepped inside, careful to not touch anything. He made his way across the room. He could see the stairs in the back by the kitchen, he skirted the very dated couch and leaving footprints in the dust on the floor. 

He eyed the stairs warily. “Was this place rotting when you were here too? I don’t know if I trust the stairs.” 

“I don’t remember. Stick to the edges. I could have been there ten years ago, or last week. Who knows, I don’t.”

Harry wasn’t going to argue. Bucky's memory was bad. It was different on any given day and he literally no concept of time. 

Harry stuck to the edges of the stairs. They creaked menacingly, but did not fall in. 

The only bedroom was at the end of a narrow hallway. The door was open, and it reeked of dust and damp. Harry crossed the room and dropped to his knees next to the bed and looked underneath. 

A large black duffle bag was pushed down to the foot of the bed. Harry shimmed on to his back and reached under to pull it out. It was heavy. He grunted, and tried again. 

He kept tugging and finally got it close enough he could crawl on to his knees to get a better grip. 

“What is in this bag? There is no way I am going to be able to carry this back to the car, it has to weigh at least 30 kilos.” 

“You won’t need everything, just take what you need. Leave the rest. Be quick about it, somebody is going to notice you used my code to get in, and they aren’t going to like it.”

Harry wrestled the bag out from under the bed, “who, the people you work for?”

“No one else knows about that house. You should be okay for a couple more hours.” 

“Is this going to get you in some kind of trouble,” asked Harry.

“Troubles, one way to put it. I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out. You probably aren’t going to hear from me for a while. ” 

“How long is a while,” Harry asked. He unzipped the duffle bag. It was full of guns. He sat back on his heels.

“That’s a lot of guns,” 

“I told you, it was for me. There should be some clothes and cash at the bottom. That's what you’re looking for.” 

Harry stared at the bag, he didn’t want to think about why Bucky needed those kinds of weapons. Harry knew what he did. He killed people. He was some kind of murderer for hire. Only it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice about it. 

It scared Harry. He didn’t like guns. He started shoving anything he didn’t need back under the bed. In the very bottom, he found three sets of black technical clothes, a jacket, socks, a pair of heavy leather boots, and a huge wad of muggle cash held together with a rubber band. 

Harry pulled the boots out of the bag, they looked a lot warmer than his leaking trainers. They were at least a half a size too big, but that didn’t bother Harry. He’d grown up with too big hand me downs. With a second pair of socks they’d fit just fine.

He tossed his wet trainers into the bag and zipped it up pulling it over his shoulder. 

“Do I need to do anything before I leave,” he asked, heading back down the sagging staircase. 

“Go out the way you came and you’ll be fine.” 

Harry jumped off the porch and started the long walk back to the car. It was a lot easier in the boots, even with the added weight he didn’t slip as often and his feet weren’t numb any more. 

He looked up at the sky, it was starting to lighten around the edges. The sun was going to rise soon. He needed to get back to camp before Hermione panicked. 

Soon the chain link gate came back to sight. Harry was back at the car. He threw the bag into the back seat, sliding slightly in the icy mud. 

He started the engine with slightly more confidence and started to turn the car around. It took him a long time, and he nearly went into the ditch more than once but he made it back to the main road just as the sun started to come up. 

On the way back he spotted a twenty four hour petrol station and stopped. He bought two cups of coffee, and four muffins along with the petrol for the car. He hoped that hot coffee and muffins would prevent Hermione from cursing him into next week. Considering they had stale saltines for breakfast the day before, he didn’t think they could hurt. 

It was much easier navigating the car when it wasn’t pitch black out. The roads may be narrow and winding, but there were plenty of signs. It was easier then he’d expected to get back to the muggle hiking trail he had apparated from the night before. 

Harry pulled the car into the dirt parking, the car jerked suddenly when he came to a stop. 

“Are you still there?” he asked. He got out of the car and stretched. His jeans had mud up the knees but his feet were warm and dry in his new boots. 

“For the moment. Probably not for much longer.”  

Harry felt extremely guilty. Bucky wouldn’t tell him what happened when he went away. Harry didn’t think he wanted to know. 

“Thank you,” he thought, trying to convey just how much he meant it. He was never sure how well emotion translated via thought. “Where are you now? I know you were working before, I didn’t distract you did I?”

“I’m on the transport. Finished the job. I got stabbed. Its fine” 

“That is not fine! Are you going to the hospital?”

“No, why would I go to a hospital?”

“You got stabbed ?!”

“Could have been worse, my pick up got beheaded.”

“WHAT”

“I had to walk forty miles to meet the transport. At least it wasn’t snowing this time.” 

“WHAT?!”

“Do you know any other words than what?”

“ You didn't get stabbed because you were helping me did you?”  

“I got stabbed because our intel is dog shit.  I’ll always help you. We’re landing. I’ll talk to you when I can.” 

Harry stood very still for a moment, his shoulders tense. He shouldn’t have asked for help. He hated getting anyone in trouble because of him. Whatever happened to Bucky was his fault. It was too late now, he shouldered the duffle bag, picked up both coffee and turned on the spot disappearing with a loud crack.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: To the Victor, Go the Spoils

Harry landed, swayed slightly and managed to not spill any of the coffee. Which considering how tired he was, was a certifiably miracle.

He heard a shriek and turned, stepped into hole, almost toppled over into a puddle, and splashed coffee all down his front. 

Hermione stood halfway across the clearing. Her face was tear streaked, she held her wand in one hand and a frying pan in the other. She was wearing her pajamas, Ron’s rubber boots and Harry's sweater, half of her frizzy hair had fallen out of its bun and stuck up in all directions. 

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEEN!!!” She dropped the pan in the snow and launched herself at him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I thought you had died! How could you do that to me? Harry, what were you thinking! You can’t just leave! What if the snatchers had found you-” 

She held him tightly and shoved her cold nose into his neck, sniffling slightly. After a moment she stepped back, and glared at him. “Harry James Potter, where on earth have you been,” she demanded, sounding very much like Mrs. Weasley. 

He smiled sheepishly at her, holding out the still full cup of coffee, “I’m sorry? I brought breakfast.” 

She narrowed her eyes and looked at the large styrofoam cup held to her. She took it, glared at him, and then took a long sip.  She turned on her heel and walked back toward the tent, “Just because you brought me coffee doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you any more,” she said over her shoulder. 

Harry shuffled into the tent after her and dropped the duffle bag. She eyed it pointedly, “Where did that come from?” 

“I swear I’ll tell you everything, let's just sit down. I’ve had a really long night.” 

“And exactly whose fault was that?” she asked, sitting down at the very small wooden table next to the even smaller kitchen. 

Harry grinned at her and sat down. He leaned back in the old wooden chair and took a long sip of his coffee. He may have dumped half of it down his front, but at least he hadn’t dumped all it down his front. The coffee was strong, bitter and a little burnt. It was the best thing he’d tasted in months. 

Hemione pulled one of the huge blueberry muffins out of the white paper bag and pushed it towards him. They sat in silence savoring their breakfast treat for a few minutes before Hermione said, “I think now is good time to tell me where you went last night”

Harry took a bite of his muffin, and mumbled “I uh- I stole a car last night.”

“You WHAT ?!”

“I apparated to the edge of the forest and into the nearest town,” said Harry, chewing slowly, “Then a I found a car parked in one of the drives and did the thing with wires,”

“Did the thing with wires,”

“You know the thing, when you twist the wires the right way and it turns on.”

“You hotwired a car. Harry, have you ever even driven a car before?”

“I mean, sure- I guess I did hotwire a car. I have now! I’ve driven loads. I swear I drove all over Wales last night.” 

Hermione stared at him, gaping, “I- I don’t know what to say,” she said. 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Harry started on the second muffin. This one was banana and chocolate chip. It was even better than the blueberry. 

“Okay,” said Hermione finally, “I think you need to start again. There’s obviously loads you haven’t been telling me.”

“What do you mean?” 

She just looked at him, “You don’t know how to hotwire a car. Someone had to teach you. So who taught you? How did they find you and where did that bag come from?” 

Harry sighed, he had been hoping he would get away without having to tell her about Bucky. Unfortunately, Hermione was too sharp to get distracted by a muffin. It would have worked with Ron. In that moment, Harry missed Ron more than he could put into words. 

“You’re right,” said Harry, “but it's a really long story.”

“You better get started then. I still want to move the camp before it starts to get dark.”

“Do you remember last September when I kept getting headaches?” Harry said. 

Hermione nodded, “Right after we got back to school,” she said, “you’d get them all the time and then they went away.”

“They didn’t exactly go away,” said Harry, looking down at the table. He started to shred his muffin wrapper.

“What do you mean, didn’t exactly go away?”

“Well they weren’t actually headaches?” 

“Harry,” Hermione sounded deadly serious, “If they weren’t headaches what were they?” 

There was no good way to tell her. Not when he’d been keeping it secret for well over a year. Even if he hadn’t been keeping it a secret there was no good way to say: I hear a voice in my head. I swear I’m not crazy. I promise, it's a real person and not a figment of my imagination or Voldemort.

Harry decided the only way to do it was just to do it, and he said all in a rush, “It wasn’t headaches, okay. I started hearing things, this mumbling. I thought - I thought I was going crazy or Voldemort was trying to possess me. But I wasn’t and he wasn’t. It’s- just, I can hear this guy, in my head. Sometimes. We talk to each other.” 

Hermione stared.

“It's not like I can hear him all the time, and I don’t think he can hear me at all unless I’m talking to him.” 

Harry babbled on, “And he doesn't speak English all the time. Well, a lot of the time he speaks Russian and I can’t understand Russian. I didn’t even know he could speak English until the summer.” 

“Harry, why didn’t you tell anyone? That isn’t good! You’re not supposed to hear voices! How do you know its- its not some kind of trap?”

The like it was with Sirius went unsaid.

 “I mean I didn’t at first. It really freaked me out,” said Harry, “But it didn’t feel like a trap?”

“But why didn’t you tell Dumbledore? He could have done something,” asked Hermione, she gripped the edge of the table.

The look she was giving him was exactly why he hadn’t told anyone. But he wasn’t sure if he could tell her that or not. In the end he decided it couldn’t hurt.

 “I didn't tell anyone because they would look at me exactly how you’re looking at me now. Besides, Dumbledore already knew Voldemort could send me visions in my sleep and there was nothing to be done about that. What was he going to do about some foreign mumbling in my head?”

He was quiet for a moment, “I didn’t want it to go away. I like it.”

“You like it?” 

“Last year was awful and it was a kind of nice distraction? We didn’t figure out we could talk to each other until after I got back to Dursley’s. I figured out he could speak English on the train home and I don’t know. I was bored.” 

“You were bored, so you decided to try and talk to the voice in your head,” Hermione said flatly, “How exactly did that go? What does that have to do with you stealing- oh Harry no, don’t tell me the voice in your head told you how to steal the car.” 

“His name is Bucky,” said Harry, “he helped me steal the car. He walked me through how to get it to turn on and he made me recite which pedal was the gas pedal and how to put the car in reverse three times before he let me try and drive it.”

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione.

Harry continued, “I guess I picked a bad car because it had less than a half tank of petrol and we didn’t have any muggle money. So he told me about the house he’d stayed at before. He said I could find a bag in the house that would have clothes and muggle cash in it. So I followed his directions and I went to the house and I found the money and I came back here.”

“What else was in the bag,” 

“Nothing! Just clothes and cash. I found these boots in there too- they made getting back to the car a lot easier. My trainers were wrecked.”

“Tell me what else was in the bag. I know when you’re lying to me.”

Harry looked down at the table. He was quiet for a long moment, he could feel Hermione's steely eyes on his head. 

“There were guns in the bag. He told me to leave them behind,” he said.

Hermione stood up suddenly, and started to pace around the tent. “I- I can’t sit and listen to you any more- I just- well we might as well start packing up the tent,” she said.  

She thrust an arm full of sweaters towards Harry, “Fold these,” she looked angrily at the duffle bag, “you might as well put them in there.” 

Harry dropped the tangled pile on the table, and started to fold them. Hermione bustled around the tent, avoiding his eyes and hurriedly put things back where they belonged so they would be able to collapse the tent without making a mess. 

“You’re mad at me,” said Harry.

Hermione stopped, her hands full of sleeping bags, she turned to him, and said, “You know what. I am. I am mad at you. I am so unbelievably mad at you I want to scream. But I can’t because we’re hiding and if I do they’ll hear us.”

“I know it sounds crazy, I do. But he’s not going to hurt us. He just wanted to help me. He only did what I asked.”

“Who is he? Why did he know about some house in Wales that had a bag full of money and guns in it? Is he in some kind of gang?” 

Harry shook his head, he had pulled the duffle bag onto one of the chairs and started to fill it with the sweaters “not a gang, no. He works for people who are part of some kind of government?”

“That sounded like a question then like an answer. What government did he say he works for?”

Harry really didn’t want to answer that. But there really was no way around it. “He doesn’t know.”

“How can he not know?! He works for them.” 

“I think there’s something wrong with him,” Harry said finally, he couldn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. 

“Wrong with him, how?” she asked, voice high and tight.

“He- doesn’t remember things very well, and sometimes, well most of the time he doesn’t know where he is or how he got there.” He looked up, and Hermione looked so worried, he added, “he’s getting better though. He knows when he's speaking English now.” 

“Harry. He’s just crazy . You never should have listened to him.” 

“No-! He’s not! He’s not just crazy, because that means I am too. And you know I’m not ‘mione. They do things to him. He won’t tell me, but I know. After he goes quiet, when he comes back, he can’t remember things, things we talked about. Even if it was just the day before. It takes a long time before he stops forgetting things. It’s not his fault. None of it is his fault.” 

Hermione met Harry’s eyes, and she deflated. “Fine. Okay,” she took a very deep breath,  “Since you both went to all the trouble to get the car we might as well use it and go to the market. God knows I would love to get some tea, and- and some shampoo, and a cookie.” 

Harry knew that this wasn’t Hermione backing down. It was just she had learned when to pick her battles, and now was not the time. They still had to break down the rest of the camp site and take down the wards before it started to get dark. It got dark early in February.

Even though he knew she would bring it up again, probably when it was least convenient for him. He was glad they were going to stop arguing. He’d only wanted to make things easier for them both. 

“Do you think we’ll have enough money to last until the end of the week? It would be nice to stock up on a few tinned things,” 

Harry pulled the wad of cash out of his coat pocket, “I think we can get a little more than some tea and tins.

“That's a lot of money,” she said breathlessly. 

“Then we should be able to use it for a long time. I told you it was worth it.” 

“I don’t trust him, Harry,” Hermione said later, after they had collapsed the tent and were working together to pack it up as quickly as possible. Harry paused, holding on to one of the tent poles,  “You don’t have to, you just have to trust me. You do trust me, right?”

She looked up at him, she was sitting on the damp moss, rolling up the tent canvas, “Of course I trust you.”

“Then don’t worry about it.” 

It took them almost another hour to finish disassembling their camp, wards included. Once Hermione lowered the final ward, they started walking towards the muggle hiking trail. The car was only about an hour's hike away and since weather was mostly agreeable for a day in February they have decided to just walk.

Apparating meant they would have to tuck the tent and duffle bag into Hermione's expandable beaded handbag, “Next time  I have got to take something with a longer strap,” she said, fumbling with the delicate gold chain attached to the bag, after stowing away the rest of her books.

The tiny bag was a life saver. It could hold anything and with the powerful featherlight spell Hermione had cast on it in the summer it hardly weighed anything. But the tent was heavy and cumbersome and had a tendency to fall all the way to the bottom making it an absolute nightmare to get back out again.

“Next time-” said Harry, “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not doing this twice. Someone else can be the savior of the wizard world, thanks.” 

Hermione laughed and tucked her beaded bag into the pocket of the utility jacket she was wearing. It was about three sizes too big and came almost down to her knees. She had found it in the duffle bag and insisted on putting it on immediately. “Look at all the pockets! I can carry so many things, and it's wind proof- I can fit three sweaters under it.” 

She was almost as excited about the jacket as she had been about the coffee. The walk to the car passed quickly. They were both in good spirits and were happily taking turns listing all the things they could get from the shops later that evening. 

“Hermione, do you know how to drive?” Asked Harry, they could see the trees thinning out ahead of them.

“I mean, my parents taught me,” she said, “but I never got round to taking the test. There just wasn’t time.” 

“But you know how,” 

“Yeah I suppose I do, why?”

The dirt car park was empty except for the silver Volvo Harry had parked there that morning. 

“I was thinking it might be better if you drive us to the shops. I did okay last night, but there weren’t any other cars, and I don’t know if I'd be able to park it properly.” 

She sighed, and held out her hand for the keys, “ I suppose I can do it then, do you know where we’re going?” 

“There is no key, I’ll show you how to turn it on. Not really, but there's loads of signs. I was able to make my way back here just fine. Isn’t Bristol somewhere around here? Maybe we should get out of Wales for a while.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re far enough away from London and the Ministry people out here won’t be looking for us,”

“Yeah but everyone knows we’re in the Forest of Dean,” said Harry.

“So we got further into Wales,” said Hermione matter-of- factly, “We should put a notice me not charm on the car. Just a light one, so no one looks at it too hard and realizes it's stolen.” 

“Right, into Wales.” Harry swung the duffle bag off his shoulder and stuck it in the back seat, Hermione threw the tent on top. They sat in the car with the heat running.

 “Oh, the seats are heated! That's lovely.”

They both looked at the forest. “If we leave Ron isn’t going to be able to find us.” Said Harry. 

Hermione set her jaw and put the car into drive, “If Ron was going to come back he would have already. We can’t wait around for him forever.”

Hermione drove for a long time. She was a much better driver than Harry, and he was very glad he wasn’t responsible for parking at the Tesco they found. Harry handed Hermione a small pile of folded bills, “We’ll get whatever we want yeah- and then next time we’ll worry about some kind of budget.”

Harry had never been so excited to see a Tesco’s before. All he could think about was fresh bread and strawberry preserve and coffee. Even if they had to get instant. 

Much later, they had parked the car under a bridge for the night and sat cross legged in the back on a pile of sleeping bags. Hermione was still wearing the utility jacket and a pair of fleece lined tights she had picked up at the shops as well as a pair of very fuzzy socks. The two of them gleefully looked down at their spoils for the evening. Crusty bread, cheese, sliced apple and some cubed  ham. It was the nicest dinner they’d had in ages. 

“Where do you think we should go from here,” asked Harry he cut a very thick slice of cheese and took a big bite. 

“Well, I saw a visitors center on the edge of town. We should stop and get a map. Then we can look at the camping areas around Wales. Maybe we can find a hostel in a bigger town and take a real shower.” 

“What do we do about the Horcruxes?” 

“Keep doing what we’ve been doing? I don’t have any more ideas now then I did yesterday. I’m sure we’ll think of something. We can’t keep camping forever.”

He hoped they thought of something soon. He felt like they were running out of time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Everything is Terrible, and Everything Hurts

“больно” ( it hurts)

Harry was sitting cross legged  in the back of the Volvo, when he heard it. 

It had been weeks since he’d heard from Bucky. Everyday that passed left him more and more worried about what had happened to him. He was so on edge that he’d started to get short and snappy with Hermione, even when she most certainly didn’t deserve it and he tried his absolute hardest not to. 

She hadn’t said anything but she had noticed and instead of pressuring him to talk to her about it, she’d insisted that he let her wear the locket every day over the past week. He could see how it wore on her, but when he tried to take a turn she’d refuse.

 “You’re already morose enough as it is, you don’t need any extra help,” she’d said that morning when she tucked the locket down the front of her oversized fisherman's sweater. 

“Now, mind the car, will you?,” She swung the duffle bag over her shoulder, starting the short walk into the town they had found the night before. They were using as little magic as possible these days. The more they blended in with the muggles the hard they were for the Snatchers to track. 

“Safety in numbers,” Hermione has said last time they went into one of the big outdoor markets. 

Harry wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he couldn’t argue with a hot coffee and a sausage roll. 

Harry hadn’t told Hermione why he was so out of sorts. Considering their last argument about Bucky he didn’t think she’d want to hear about it. 

 “I’m your friend Harry,” she had said, “ and that means I am morally obligated to tell you when you are being a complete and utter knob.” 

But he had a feeling she probably knew. Hermione always knew. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought she could read minds. 

“моя голова, больно” ( it hurts, my head.)

He heard it again, it was such a faint whisper. He hadn’t been sure the first time. 

“Am I glad to hear from you,” he thought, “I was really getting worried. Are you okay?”

“что ты, призрак? как ты попал в мою голову” (what are you ghost? how did you get in my head)

“Bucky, seriously are you okay? It's been weeks.” 

“Bucky? I don’t know a Bucky” 

Harry took a sharp breath, he thought he was going to throw up. 

“You’re Bucky,.”

“They call me Soldat.” 

“Yeah, they do. But I call you Bucky. And you call me Harry.”

“Harry.” 

It went silent after that. Harry stuck his head between his knees and tried to breathe. Which is how Hermione found him when she returned from going to the market. 

“Oh, Harry! What’s happened?” She asked, dropping to her knees next to him. The shopping forgotten on the ground next to her.

He just shook his head at her and focused very hard on breathing. She put a hand on his knee, “you can tell me you know, I promise I won’t say anything. I can just listen.” 

He took a great ragged breath and sat up. His hand shook slightly. “I’ll tell you,” he rasped. 

“Why don’t you go sit in the front,” Hermione said, holding out one of her hands,, “you can tell me all about it on the way to Cardiff. I brought you some breakfast, one of those sweet buns you like so much.” 

He nodded, and took her hand, swaying slightly when he climbed out of the back of the car. She led him to the passenger seat, and tucked him inside before gathering up her shopping and closing the boot of the car. 

When she climbed in the front she handed him on the fluffy sweet rolls from the bakery near the market. He took it, but couldn’t bring himself to take a bite. 

Hermione started the car, “We just have to pick up the laundry on the way out of town,” she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, “It should be ready any minute. I’ll just pop in real quick and then you can tell me everything.”

“Everything,” he repeated flatly. 

They had been driving on the motorway for over an hour before he could find any words to tell Hermione what had happened. She was intently focused on the road, the radio playing the latest pop hits softly in the background. She had taken the locket off and dumped it in the empty cup holder. 

“Stupid drivers make me angry enough,” she said, the first time she took it off to drive on the motorway, “I don’t need Tom Riddle’s ghost egging me on. We haven’t got time for a road rage incident.” 

Harry cleared his throat dry and said “They did something to him, Hermione and he doesn't remember his name.” 

Hermione turned off the radio to give him her full and undivided attention. Harry wasn’t sure that was a good thing, he didn’t think he could take the full weight of Hermione's concern right at the moment. 

“Who did something to him?” 

“People he works for. He has to do what they say or they do things.”

Her brow furrowed, and she shot him a nervous glance, “What do they do to him?”

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me. Just says not to worry about him, he’s had worse.”

She snorted “Well that sounds just a bit like you, don’t you think?” 

“What no!”

“Oh don’t give me that, I swear you’ve said that exact sentence. Oh, me? I almost died , no no I’m fine. I’ve had it worse. God, now you know how Ron and I feel.” She stopped, “sorry, I’m not helping am I?”

She let out a big sigh, and nodded once, “Okay, let me try again. Tell me exactly what he said,”

Harry did, while he miserably ripped off the corner of his sweet bun and took a bite. 

“Do you have any idea what the first thing he said was” Hermione asked, after thinking it over a minute. 

“No, I can’t speak Russian, you know that,”

“You mean all this time and you haven't had him teach you any Russian at all?!”

Harry laughed, despite the tight knot for dread in the pit of his stomach. Of course the first thing Hemione would have done was learn Russian. 

She smiled a little, “I guess that was rather predictable of me wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded, “Just a bit yeah,”

The GPS interrupted their conversation and Hermione quickly yanked the car through two lanes of traffic so they wouldn’t miss their exit. Harry held on hard to the door frame, while Hermione swore under her breath. Harry was never going to get used to her doing that. She was an unexpectedly aggressive driver. 

Hermione had tracked down the GPS at a charity shop not long after they had acquired the car and while it was imperfect, occasionally leading them into a field. It was certainly more accurate than Harry was with a map. He was very bad at giving directions and more than once he had had the map turned upside down for more than half a day.  

At least it was easier until they were in the wrong lane rocketing down the motorway and their exit appeared out of nowhere. The first time it happened Harry hadn’t known Hermione could swear like that. She had yanked the wheel so hard Harry thought for sure this was it. They were done for. Harry Potter done in a pile up on the motorway. 

They didn’t wreck. Hermione managed to force her way through three lanes of traffic and got them off on the correct exit. She had to pull over to have a little cry, but they were in one piece. Although Harry had been sure his heart was never going to beat normally again. 

Harry still had trouble working the GPS and very slowly and carefully typed in the address for the hostel they were staying in for the next few nights. 

“Oh,” He said, “We should be there pretty soon. Only ten more miles before our exit.”

The hostel was small and was set up more like an inn. It had a wide front porch and large gardens that were sure to be lovely in the spring. It was certainly an improvement from the first hostel they had stayed at.

The first hostel Hermione had found them had been for students and it had been cheap. It was downtown and it was loud, crowded and dirty. They had spent the night taking turns sleeping while the other sat at the foot of the bed and watched the door.  They agreed not to do that again. 

Hemione said she had learned her lesson, and while being thrifty was important, - if the money ran out, that was that. She was willing to stretch the budget just a little for more habitable sleeping arrangements. “Besides,” she’d said, “Soon it will be spring and camping won’t be so bad any more. Now that we can afford to eat and for firewood.”

Harry was positive he never wanted to camp ever again in his entire life.

Their room for the night might be small but it was cozy. They had quickly settled into the small second room on the second floor. 

Hermione was seated on the edge of the bed, her thick frizzy hair pulled back to two braids. She sat cross legged, eating a samosa. She was wearing an enormous purple tie dye  t-shirt printed with kittens in witches hats. They had found a pair of the shirts for less than a pound each in a charity shop. Hermione had refused to leave them behind. She had yet to convince Harry to wear his.

She clapped her hands together, “So I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning.”

Harry looked up from his spot on the old rag run on the floor, he had two large maps spread out on the floor. He had marked every town they’d stopped in with a red x, so they could avoid going through them again. “What about it?”

“Well,” Hermione started, “it's just what you said. You said, he told you to not worry about him. That he’d had it worse.”

Harry grimaced and nodded, 

“It just reminds me so much of exactly what you would say. So I thought well, if it was Harry what would he have done? I think he knew exactly what was going to happen to him. And I think he did it anyway, because he decided that helping you was more important than protecting himself-.”

Harry gaped at her, “I would-”

She held up her hand, “let me finish, he knew what was going to happen, because it's happened before. And if it's happened before, and he knew what was going to happen, then it means he must get better eventually.”

“How long is eventually? It’s been over three weeks,” 

She shrugged, “I have no idea, you’re just going to have to wait.”

“Why would he do that?” Harry grumbled, angrily folding up one the maps and tossing into the duffle bag at the end of Hermione's bed.

“Obviously he thought you were worth the risk,” Said Hermione sagely, “We should turn on the Wireless, Potterwatch starts soon. Eat your samosa.” 

Harry pulled the Wizarding Wireless out of the Duffle bag, and stuck it on the side table next to bed, for Hermione to fiddle with. Then he sat next to her and did as he was told and ate his samosa. It was delicious. 

Hermione ripped a piece on naan in half and nibbled on the edge while she started to fiddle with dial on the wireless, “Is Fizzingwizbee this week's password, or was it last weeks?” she asked.

“Um, I thought this weeks was flobberworm food,” 

“Must be last week then,” she said, that static started to get louder. “Almost got it,” she gave it one more twist and Fred and Lee Jordan's voices filled the room. “There! And it's just started we haven’t missed anything,” she flopped back onto the bed. Harry handed her a curry and she popped the top off, dipping in the rest of her naan. 

“I’m not going to lie,” she said, “I did miss takeaway while at Hogwarts.”

Shhh- its starting,” said Harry. She stuck out her tongue and went back to her curry. 

There wasn’t much to report this week, and Harry was glad. He always had a bittersweet feeling tuning into Potterwatch. It was their only source of news about the war, and while it felt so good to hear his friends' voices for an hour or so once a week Harry always dreaded what they might say. Dreaded who else might have died. 

Right as they were wrapping up the program, there was a sudden noise and some shuffling, “Oh hold on, this just in,” said Fred, “important message for Harry Potter, from my very own little brother.”

Hermione choked on her dinner. She started coughing wildly and Harry handed her a bottle of water.

“You’ll find me, at the place we last met. Wow- good one little bro- well that's all for this week. You can hear us at the same time next week and the password is dungbombs.”

Fred signed off, and the wireless returned to static.

“Oh god,” said Hermione, between fits of coughing, “he didn’t say when. Harry, he didn’t say when!”

Harry sighed and pulled the map back out and spread it on the bed, “I guess we’d better get back to the Forest of Dean as soon as possible, hadn’t we?”

“How could he be so stupid!”

“How else was he going to find us Hermione, it's been months!”

“He shouldn’t have to find us, he never should have left! If we aren’t there it serves him right. Now let me see that.”

She dragged the map into the center of the bed. They sat next to each other, eyes following the trail of red x’s.

“If we take the motorway almost the whole way,” Harry said, dragging his figure along the map, “It shouldn't take too terribly long.”

Hermione nodded, “We’ll have to be careful to avoid anywhere we’ve been, but I think if we stick to exits we haven’t taken before it should be alright. I don’t like back tracking, I feel like we’re bound to get caught.”

“We have to go get Ron!”

“Of course we have to go get Ron!” She snapped back. “We’ll just have to be extra careful. We should go to sleep. We have a lot of driving to do tomorrow.”

They did in fact have a lot of driving to do. When Harry went to sleep it was with a bright bubble of hope that he might see his best friend again soon. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Ready, Aim, Fire.

After a gurling pre-dawn wake up time they were on their way back towards the Forest of Dean.
Hermione wanted to make it back to the forest well before it started to get dark, “We’re getting too close. We need to be well hidden tonight. I’m worried about who might be looking for us.”

She had woken Harry sometime before the sun was up so they could get back on the road. Luckily, she also presented him with a large coffee. He sat blearily sipping his coffee while she drove, “I read about this market in Quartsham, I was thinking we could stop on the way. We can stock up on some fresh veg and maybe get some nice crusty bread.” 

Harry nodded, and wondered how Hermione could be so chipper this early in the morning. It was just after six when Hermione pulled off the main road and into a small parking area by a walking bridge. “I thought we could park here and walk into town. It’s not far and it’ll be much easier when we leave.”

Harry did not want to get out of the car and walk. Harry wanted to be curled up in his sleeping bag. Where it was soft, and cozy and warm. 

He hadn't been sleeping well recently. Granted, he very rarely slept well. Lately his nightmares had been worse than usual and it was starting to take a toll. Hermione had suggested they have an early night, so they parked the Volvo just after dark and climbed into the pile of sleeping bags in the back. 

Hermione fell asleep almost immediately. Leaving Harry to lay in the dark and stare up at the sky. After what felt like an eternity of tossing and turning, he had just started to doze off, when he heard, “If they keep running me on pick ups, I am going to give them something to actually punish me for.” 

Bucky?” Harry shot up, smashing his head into the roof of the car, “Buggering-ow!” 

“Who else? You got multiple voices in your head these days, Sweetheart? Should I be jealous?”

“I was so worried! Are you okay?”

“Why were you worried? I’m fine. They’re keeping a tight leash on me for a while. Just means I'm an over glorified errand boy for the foreseeable future.”

“You couldn’t remember your name! Two days ago! It’s been weeks-” 

“Whoa- whoa- slow down, slow down, what happened?’

Harry took a deep breath and lay back down, “I heard you two days ago. You sounded awful and- you didn’t remember your name- or me and-'' he broke off. 

“Ah- shit, I’m sorry. I don’t think I was even fully conscious two days ago. I’m fine,” 

“I think you're lying.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Hermione says you don’t want to know what happens to you because you’re trying to protect me.”

“So Hemione knows about me now,”

“I had to tell her. How else was going to explain all that money? She didn’t like it.”

“I’m not surprised.” 

Harry felt some of the tension that had collected in his shoulders over the past three weeks finally start to melt away. He still held an enormous amount of guilt about what had happened, but hearing Bucky’s voice made him breathe a little easier. He was still telling Harry about how boring the last week had been, “they have me spend the whole day on the transport to walk into a building to stand around looking intimidating for five minutes and then it's back on the transport. A whole lotta standing around not doing much. We’re supposed to pass through Wales tomorrow-” when Harry finally fell asleep. 

When Hermione woke him up while It was still dark out he very much regretted staying up until well after two thirty. He trailed after her down the path into Quartersham. It was a cold misty morning, and he was bundled up in two sweaters, a hoodie and a very old jacket of Dudley's. He had the hoodie pulled over his face, and Hermione told him it made his head look about three sizes too small for his body. He told her with compliments like that, she sure knew how to make a boy feel special. 

She managed to look effortlessly cozy in her fleece lined tights, artfully oversized sweater, black utility jacket and fuzzy socks. 

It didn’t take them very long at all to reach the town, “We ought to look for a coffee shop, I don’t think the market opens for at least an hour," said Hermione, “maybe we can get some scones.”

Harry nodded sleepily. Sitting down inside a warm café for a latte and scone sounded much nicer than walking around in the chilly mist. 

It was early enough that the café had just opened and they were able to get in line before much of a que had formed. Harry got them a seat at one of the little round tables by the front window, while Hemione ordered their drinks. 

They sat sipping their lattes, enjoying the cozy café. Hermione had gotten rather militant about being on budget recently. Harry couldn’t blame her. With every passing day they had less money and no more of an idea of what they were doing. 

Since they were voluntarily returning to camping hell, they had agreed they deserved one last coffee. Hermione pulled one of the big maps out of her bag.

“What do you think, after we find Ron we head north?” She asked, drawing one finger up the map, “it looks like there's another large forest, we could stay there for a while while we come up with a plan.”

They were both banking on Ron having learned something useful while he was away. 

Harry nodded, and glanced out the window. He froze. 

“Hemione, we have to go.” 

“What, why? The market doesn’t open for another hour.”

“I just saw Dolohov,” said Harry. He rose quickly, pulling on his jacket, “we knew coming back would be risky.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, quickly folding the map. She shot a glance out of the window and hissed. She ducked down below the window, “keep your hood up,” she said, “I think I saw a door that goes out the back.” 

They slipped out the back, and into an alleyway. 

Hermione crept to the end, her back flat against the brick wall. She tried to look around the corner as best she could without being seen. She froze, shook her head and turned, dragging Harry in the opposite direction. 

“It's Dolohov and Yaxley,”she hissed, pulling Harry after her. “I don’t think they know we’re here. Oh god, I hope they don’t see us.”

Harry followed her in a slight daze. His mind raced dangerously. 

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm if you keep panicking like that,” 

“ Death Eaters are here,” Harry responded, “ I don’t think they know we’re here yet but they’re going to find us.”

“Where are you?” 

“Wales-”

“Yes, I know that. Where in Whales,” 

The alley led into a small car park behind the row of buildings that held the café. Two more alleyways led in opposite directions leading to side streets. 

They crouched down next to the dumpsters, “I think we should go that way,” Hermione whispered, pointing to the alley that led further away from the café. “We’re just going to get further away from the car,” said Harry.

“Sod the car!” said Hermione. 

“Harry, focus, where are you?”

“ Somewhere by the Forest of Dean,- Quartersham? I don’t know, I can’t talk, trying not to die.”

“I can be there in ten minutes,”

“What no!-”

Harry’s thought got interrupted. Hermione had stopped abruptly in front of him. He crashed into her, almost sending them both sprawling to the cobblestones. 

“I don’t care what you heard Yaxley-”

Hermione clutched at Harry’s elbow, eyes wide. They couldn’t see Dolohov and Yaxley, but they could hear Dolohov's reedy voice from somewhere nearby. 

They took off, Harry leading and Hermione clutching his arm. They didn’t look back to see if they were being followed but dashed as fast as they could, feet slipping and tripping over the damp cobble stone as they ran.. 

“ETA two minutes, I’ll lead you out.”

“You can’t-” Harry nearly smashed into a group of older women obviously on their way to the market. “Sorry,” he gasped as they rushed past. 

“Too late,”

Something crashed behind them. They must have been spotted. 

 “You can’t, They’ll hurt you again, you couldn’t even remember your name last time,” Harry thought, while trying to weave between the increasing number of muggles wandering the streets.

“Sounds like that's my problem,” 

They had come to a four way corner. Harry looked around wildly, before tugging Hermione's elbow and dragged her down the narrow alleyway to their left. They crashed hard into the wall as he dragged her on around the corner. They heard shouts coming from the people behind them.  

“What happens to you matters,” Harry thought, his breathing ragged.

“I’m nobody, but you-  You're the one who matters. Yeah? You’ve got a whole world depending on you right? So I get bashed around a little bit, in the end if you make it it's worth it.”

Harry bared his teeth, he could barely breathe. “How much further?” Hermione bit out, her voice horse and coming in heaving gasps. They didn’t slow down. 

They couldn’t keep this pace up much longer, it was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters caught up to them. 

“I’m coming, not much further, I see you.”

Harry tried looking around, while they sprinted across an open plaza, past a stone fountain, 

“No! Don’t look for me- keep running. Don’t stop. No matter what, don’t stop.” 

The top of the fountain exploded. Harry didn’t stop. He felt Hermione stumble behind him, and start to fall. But He kept a death grip on her elbow and dragged her after him. 

He looked over his shoulder and saw Dolohov across the plaza, and ducked down one of the many narrow alleys that lead through the city. He heard two cracks and feet pounding behind them. He swore under his breath. They just needed enough distance they could stop long enough to apparate. 

“How long do you need?”

Harry looked around wildly, “This way-” Hermione hissed and dragged him to the right, leading deeper to the city. 

“I don’t know, thirty seconds?” 

“I can give you thirty seconds, You’re getting closer. Get ‘em lined up for me.”

“You can’t,” Harry thought desperately, “They’ll kill you!”

“I’ll be fine. Okay this is it, take her across the plaza,” 

Harry didn’t have time to try and argue, they burst out of the alley into another smaller plaza lined with shops, “Harry no-” gasped Hermione, “There no cover-” she dug her heels in and tried to drag him back into the allies. 

“Remember what I said. Don’t stop for anything. Thirty seconds.” 

Harry didn’t slow, he heaved Hermione on with all his might, “We have to go this way- trust me” he gasped. Hermione groaned but she stopped resisting. It felt like they were flying, and Harry thought his heart might explode.

 They were half way across the plaza when Hermione yelped and Harry felt a sharp tug. Yaxley had grabbed Hermione's sleeve. She ripped her arm free, but they had slowed half a step and Harry tried to pull out his wand  but couldn’t get a good grip. 

There was a crack, like apparition and Yaxley fell. Hermione screamed, throwing her hands over her head, “Someone’s shooting at us-” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop- He won’t hit us,”

Another crack. Someone was shouting and a body fell behind them. They were so close. Just steps away when Hermione fell. She dragged Harry down with her. Harry slammed his elbow into the street and rolled bouncing over the cobblestones.

He wasn’t sure what happened next, all he knew was that somehow he staggered to his feet. The snatchers were coming. Three of the advances towards them across the plaza. He reached for Hermione, and squared his shoulder. They were going to have to fight. 

He blinked and suddenly there was a figure between them and Snatchers, dressed all in black. He stood shoulders squared like a wall between Harry and the snatchers. Hermione pulled hard on his elbow, “Harry we have to go-” she said, but he was rooted to the spot. 

The figure turned, looking over his shoulder. The bottom of his face was covered with a muzzle like mask. “What part of do not stop, did you not get? MOVE!” 

They ran. Until they couldn’t any more, leaning on each other, “We have to go,” Hermione rasped, she held onto Harry, turning together on the spot and dis-apparted with a loud crack. 

They landed in a heap in a small clearing in the Forest of Dean. Hermione righted herself as quickly as she could, still wheezing and set out setting the wards around them. Once she was satisfied no one was going to find them, she sank back down next to Harry.

“Oh, god that was close,” 

Harry nodded. His heart pounded. Bucky was real. Harry always knew he was real, but seeing him even if it was just for a second was different. It meant he had to reconcile the person in his head, who teased him and called him sweetheart, with the man dressed in black and leather and wearing a muzzle. The one who carried a gun and killed people. 

“Did you notice,” Hermione said, “that his arm was made of metal?”

“What?” Harry jerked out of his thoughts.

“That man, his left arm. It was entirely made of metal. I didn’t think that was possible. I wonder how it was made.”

“ I didn’t notice,” 

“Never mind, it isn’t that important. Come help me set up the tent, we had better take stock of the kitchen, we aren’t going to the market any time soon.” 

Harry was hardly able to focus while he helped Hermione set up the tent. He was so absent minded that she sent him to sit down while she cataloged the stock of their kitchen, “Honestly you just keep getting in the way. Go sit down, I can handle it.”

“Did you make it out okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Those were three full grown wizards.”

“They were slow, I’m fine.” 

“Fine as in, I got stabbed, or actually fine?” 

“Actually fine, I wasn’t what they were expecting.” 

Harry turned his wand over in his hand, he was relieved Bucky was okay for the moment. It wasn’t until they’d gotten away he realized he’d left a muggle to face a group of fully trained violent wizards. 

Harry mused, Bucky wasn’t what he had been expecting either. 

“How much trouble are going to be in when you go back,”

“I’m not going back, may as well lead them on a merry chase. See how bad Hydra wants their asset back.” 

“Do you think you’ll be able to get away?”

“No. But if they’re going to try and fry my brain they may as well have to work for it.” 

Harry grimaced. 

“You'll be okay, right?”

“Always am. Did you find your friend?” 

“No, the stupid git didn’t tell us when he was coming back. Honestly we might have missed him already. But it's Ron, we couldn’t just leave him. Besides, he might know something we don’t and we need all the help we can get.”

It took them another two days to find Ron. In which, Harry dove into a pond on whim, got strangled by the locket, almost drowned and at the very last moment was rescued by his best mate.

 If Ron hadn't shown up right when he did, Harry was sure he would’ve drowned. 

That didn’t stop Hermione from backhanding him across the face before she launched herself at him. 

“If you ever leave us again,” she said, “I’ll murder you myself.”

Harry believed her. Apparently Ron did too, because he went a bit green and nodded. Harry just clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I am so glad to have you back.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and set about making breakfast. They still had a little instant coffee left, and she found the last loaf of bread, some fruit spread and porridge. The three of them sat down in the early morning light, Gryffindor's sword lay on the counter next to the destroyed locket. For the first time in months Harry felt like they might be making progress. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven : You & Me, and the War of the End Times

“Harry, how do you know he's even real? How can you trust anything he’s told you?” asked Hermione, her brows furrowed, the fingers of her left hand twisted the hem of her sweater nervously. She sat at the end of his bed watching him. 

“I mean, I’ve only been talking to him for  years. What do you mean is he real? He helped us, Hermione. You saw him, lots of black, metal arm? Ring any bells? I never would have been able to get all that muggle money with his help. We might still be camping in the forest of Dean without his help.” 

“But Harry, people don’t just hear voices in their head,” she said

“Not voices, Voice. One voice that likes to complain when it's raining and calls me sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart?” she asked, her eyebrows disappearing into her fringe. 

“He thinks we're soulmates or something, I thought I told you this already,” said Harry shrugging. 

“Harry, you know there's no such thing as soul mates.”

“Yeah, I know, but you try explaining to muggle why they can hear your voice in their head,” said Harry, “That isn’t a thing either. And yet. It's not like I could be like, sorry mate, it's the Potter luck. Struck again. I still don’t know why I can hear him.” 

“Why would you let him think that?! He’s killed people. And he thinks you're his soulmate?!” 

“I mean, I’ve killed people. You’ve killed people. Mrs. Weasley killed Bellatrix. I can’t exactly hold that against him. Besides, you know he really didn’t have much of a choice.”

“That doesn’t mean you should go hunting for him! He’s dangerous. You read the file, he’s unstable and you have no idea where he is!”  

She wasn’t entirely wrong, Bucky was unstable. That wasn’t going to stop Harry from looking for him. 

Harry hadn’t heard from Bucky since he walked into the woods in surrender to Voldemort over six months ago. He hated how the silence in his head seemed to echo. He’d never felt more alone, and it didn’t matter how he tried to explain it to Hermione she just couldn’t understand. 

Harry couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t with him when he walked into the forest ready to die six months ago. Bucky was, and he did everything in his power to talk Harry out of it.

 He was the last thing Harry heard before he “died”

 Harry had refused to tell him exactly what he was doing, Bucky seemed to know.

“Whatever stupid thing you’re on you’re way to do right now, how about you don’t, okay?”

Harry was just glad he got to hear him at all. He had been entirely offline since he had helped Harry and Hermione escape from the snatchers in Wales. And Harry had been too busy, running around the countryside to even really notice he was missing. 

The morning they planned to return to Hogwarts, he was back. Harry didn’t have time to explain what was happening, but he was grateful for the steady presence in his head that even offered occasional suggestions. “No, you want to make them come to you. It’s a really narrow hallway, pick them off as they come around the corner.”

Very quickly once the battle was over, Harry realized Bucky was gone. It was silent, in a much deeper and all encompassing way than it had been ever before. Harry knew at that moment that it was over. Whatever kind of connection they had had was gone, destroyed by the killing curse or the destruction of the Horcrux. Harry didn’t know why he just knew he wasn’t going to hear Buck any more. 

It was crushing. In a way that he hadn’t expected. He had learned over the past two years to trust Bucky in ways he trusted no one else, even Ron and Hermione. It was different when someone was in your head. It was easier to confide in someone you couldn’t see. 

Bucky scared the shit out of Harry. He was dangerous, a murderer, unstable and Harry missed him more than he’d ever missed anyone in his life. 

The weeks after the war had passed in a hazy blur. There was so much that needed to be re-built, that Harry couldn’t give his grief the time it was due. He couldn’t ever really explain to anyone what he was grieving. So he did what could. 

It was after the funerals were finished, and Hogwarts was starting to be rebuilt with vigor in anticipation for the coming School year.  It was after Kingsley was officially sworn in as minister. That's when Harry finally had a moment to sit down and breathe. 

He had taken to renting a small flat over a coffee shop on a corner in muggle London. People expected things from him when he went out in Diagon Alley. What they expected he wasn’t entirely sure, but they had heaps of expectations, and wanted to personally thank him for things he knew he certainly had not done, and it felt a little bit like slowly being smothered. He got swarmed every time he tried to set foot outside of Number Twelve and after two weeks of skulking around under his invisibility cloak he’d had enough and moved. 

He liked the flat, it was small and cozy and always smelled like coffee and scones. The windows looked down over the street and he could sit at his kitchen table and watch the muggles walk by. It was at this table, on a night where  he woken up screaming for a second time that he decided he needed to find Bucky. 

He had to find him. He had to find him and take him away from the people hurting him and never let them hurt him ever again. The only problem was he really didn’t have any idea how to start. So he did what he always did when he needed help. He asked Hermione.

Hermione had been skeptical about the idea, “I think it's a good thing you’re aren’t hearing voices any more, Harry. It’s not normal.” 

Harry didn’t bother to tell her, it was voice. Not voices. But she begrudgingly agreed to help, even she couldn’t argue that Bucky had saved them in Wales. 

It turns out hunting for Muggles was a little different then hunting down a Wizard. Hemione had brought over an old MacBook  that morning, “This,” she said, setting on the counter, “will at least give us a place to start looking.”

They set up the computer on the table and she connected to the cafe's very slow Wi-Fi, her fingers beating out a pattern on the table while they waited for google to load. 

She looked at Harry, “How much do you know about Bucky? Do you know his real name?” 

Harry grimaced, and shook his head, “He grew up in New York, he was in the army, he’s always been a soldier. He doesn't like it when it rains.” 

“That’s not exactly helpful. Anything else?”

“Erm- he was a sergeant?”

Hermione let out a long slow breath, “Fine. Just-just know this might not turn anything up, okay?”

She typed a string of keywords into the search engine. 

Bucky Sargent Metal Arm New York City 

She hit enter. 

Pages and pages of results loaded. Hermione's eye’s went wide, “I heard about this,” she said, clicking on the first search result, “There was this government agency in America that leaked all these files a few months ago-” 

The rest of her words had died on her lips. The file had finished loading. It was over two hundred pages, and there were photos. It was titled: The Winter Soldier Project. 

They both stared at the screen, “That’s him, isn’t it?” asked Hermione pointing to the blurry photo attached to the first page of the report. 

Harry nodded slowly. It was him. The photo was somewhere in Greece and was dated as 1962. It was black and white and blurry. But it was very obviously Bucky standing on top of a turned over bus. He was wearing the same mask, and you could see the star on his metal shoulder. 

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, “How can he look so young, that photo was taken years and years ago.”

She started scrolling, her brow furrowed, “ half of this is in Russian, god it just keeps going. I’ll have to download it and print it out for you. If you try and read this it’ll take all day.” 

Harry nodded a little numbly, he didn’t think finding information on Bucky so easily boded very well at all. 

He was right. Three days later Hermione came back to the flat carrying a very thick manila folder. 

Harry went to take it from her, but she held it away and frowned, “I don’t know if you want to read this, Harry,” she said.

“Why not? It’ll help me find him won’t it? Did you read it? Did something happen?”

She wouldn’t meet his eye, “I read some of it-it-it was awful. It's the worst thing I’ve ever read, including that book about how to make horcruxes- the things they did-” she stopped, “I couldn’t finish it. I only read part of it. I don’t think this is going to help you find him, but I do think it will upset you. You don’t have to read it. We can try and find him another way.”

She couldn’t just tell him something like that and then not let him read it. He took the folder, “I’m already upset, I have to read it.” She grimaced and nodded, “I know you feel like you do, but you really don’t. And if he’s anything like you say he is, I don’t think he’d want  you to read it either.”

“He’s not here, is he?” snapped Harry, tossing the file on the counter.

Hemione held up her hands, in defeat, “No, no he’s not. And that’s why I brought you the file. Oh Harry- look, just call me when you’ve read it okay? We can talk about it, I really don’t want to argue with you about this. Just-just read it, and then call me.” She hurried out of the flat, leaving Harry feeling slightly cowed. He needed to stop being such an absolute bastard to his friends when they were only trying to help him.

He rubbed at his forehead, and started to make a cup of tea. If the file was as bad as Hermione said it was, he was going to need it.

It wasn’t just as bad as Hermione said it would be. It was worse. 

It also gave Harry absolutely zero clues on how to find Bucky. He finally finished it sometime after one am. Loose sheets of file paper littered the living room floor. His head pounded and he rubbed at his eyes. 

He hated that Hermione had been right. That people could be so evil and that he was still sitting at square one. 

He didn’t call Hermione. He didn’t want to wake her up. Instead he got up and made a cup of tea and sat back on the couch and waited for the rest of night to pass. He didn’t see any point in trying to sleep after that, he knew he wouldn’t get any rest, and he didn't see the point in pretending otherwise. 

He watched the sun start to rise, the smell of fresh coffee and scones started to waft up from the coffee shop below. Just after eight, he called Hemione. 

She arrived less than ten minutes after they got off the phone. She must have apparated into the alley behind the coffee shop. She brought coffee and scones. 

She let herself in, and stood in the doorway. Harry was still slumped on the couch, papers spread all over the living room. 

Hermione handed Harry one of the coffees, “I take it you didn’t much sleep last night,” 

He nodded.

“Let's get this cleaned up and then we can talk about it, yeah?”

Later, one the file had been properly restored to his folder, and hidden away in a drawer, Hermione sat at the end of Harry's bed and asked him how he could be sure Bucky was real, and how he could trust anything he’d ever said. 

Harry’s head hurt, and he felt like they just kept walking in circles. He was so tired, he didn’t want to argue any more. He sat next to her on the bed, “What do you think I should do?” he asked. 

“Are you sure you want to hear what I think?” 

He met her eyes, “Tell me what you think I should do.”

“I think you should let him go. He hasn’t tried to find you, maybe there's a reason for that. I think you just fought in a war, and you should go back to school.”

Harry snorted, and looked away.

“See-? What did I say, you don’t want to hear what I think,” she said, crossing her arms and making to get up and leave.

“No-no it's not like that,” Harry said, catching her arm, “ I just really don’t want to go back to school. I don’t think I could do it. How do you go back to essays after- I mean, I’ve always been bad with authority but I don’t think I’d be able to take detention very seriously, you know?”

Hermione actually smiled and sat back down, “Didn’t Kingsley say you could sign up for Auror training? I heard Ron talking about it last week. He’s so excited. You can do it together, I know he’d love that.”

Harry pulled a face. He really didn’t want to go into Auror training. He didn’t know what he wanted but it wasn’t that.

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun,” she said, “I think you’d be happier doing that then going back to Hogwarts anyway. And if you really hate it, you could always, I don’t know try out for a quidditch team? I’m sure any of them would be happy to have you.”

He nodded, he knew they would. He’d had five offers already, but it didn’t feel right to take them. He wanted to play quidditch because he loved it, and he was good at it. Not because he was Harry Potter. 

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” she said, “there's still at least six weeks before you’d have to decide. Why don’t you think about it for a while.”

He agreed reluctantly. Six weeks was a long time. He decided then, if he hadn’t made any kind of progress looking for Bucky in the next six weeks he’d pick between Hogwarts and the Aurors. 

He would keep trying for six more weeks. He picked up the folder again once Hermione had left and started from the beginning. Maybe he missed something the first time. 

In the next six weeks he came up with nothing. Now the end of august was looming ever nearer and he was faced with the fact he was going to actually have to make some kind of decision on what to do with his life. 

Ron was convinced he was going to go into Auror training with him. So much so that he talked about it like it was already happening. Hemione was also convinced he was going to choose Auror training, but she still half heartedly tried to convince him to return to Hogwarts with her whenever she had the chance. 

Ginny had outright refused to go back to school, much to her mothers dismay and horror and had secured a starting spot as a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. She was convinced without a shadow of a doubt Harry was going to accept one of the eleven offers he had to play quidditch. 

Harry wished he was half as confident about his life decisions as his friends were. 

He was still in his little flat in muggle London, and although Ron had tried to convince him to get a place with him on Diagon alley he just couldn’t bring himself to move. He justified it as he didn’t want to be a constant third wheel, but he wasn’t sure Ron had bought it. Hemione was leaving for Hogwarts in less than three weeks anyway. But Ron didn’t push the subject. It was one of the things Harry most appreciated about him.

If Harry was honest, he didn’t like any of the choices he had any more than he did six week ago. But he had promised Hermione he would pick something. He was sure if he didn’t,  he’d just end up skulking around the apartment reading the file over and over again driving himself mad.

The last week of august started, and he decided he was going to go into Auror training with Ron. He was sure he was going to hate it, but he was equally sure it was the best choice he could make at that moment, and maybe, just maybe he’d learn something that would help him find Bucky. 

He was right. He did hate Auror training. 

He hated the early mornings. He hated all the arbitrary rules that no one ever bothered to explain. He hated that he wasn’t allowed to question anything. And most of all he hated that he was good at it. He was easily near the top of his class, and he barely had to try. 

Two years later Harry was set on a path to graduate in the top three of his class. Everyone except him was thrilled about it. The Ministry regularly liked to tote him out in front of crowds- even more than they did previously- only now he was obligated to to go. 

They said it made people feel safe knowing the “boy who vanquished”- he also hated that name, was going to continue to work to help keep them safe. It made people feel secure. The kind of secure that made people walk into Diagon alley and spend gallons in stores. The kind of secure that made the Ministry money. 

Harry felt he had honestly done enough, and if everyone could just leave him alone now- thanks! But he didn’t tell anyone that. Not even Hermione, who as expected had graduated Hogwarts the year before at the top of her class. She had a perfect total of ten N.E.W.T.S and was now interning at the Ministry in an attempt to get on the committee for the welfare of magical creatures. 

“Oh god,” said Ron over a pint when Harry had told him about her internship, “they aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Harry laughed, “next thing you know she’s going to be minister of magic,”

Ron grimaced, “you are not wrong,” 

Ron loved the Auror program, and he wanted nothing more than for Harry to be his partner and for them to go on chasing dark wizards together just like they always had. Harry really didn’t know how to tell him that honestly they would make awful partners. They were both always late, and neither of them was very good at paperwork.

Harry was also pretty sure, while they had had many very dangerous adventures in school, none of them actually counted as chasing dark wizards. In fact the way he remembered it, most of them were in fact them running from dark wizards.

Somehow it felt that for every step forward his friends took, he took five steps back and now more than two years after the war it felt like there were miles between them. 

He often thought it was like looking through a mirror at what life was supposed to be like after the war. Like he was an outsider going through the motions of living but wasn’t quite doing it right. 

He wasn’t lonely, or maybe he was. He wasn’t sure any more. He went to dinner at Ron and Hermione's flat every week, and to the pub with Ron and the other Auror trainees. He went to Ginny’s games, and went to visit Teddy and went to Burrow on Sundays. It wasn’t that his life was boring, well actually it was. Life was very predictable these days. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to do about it and he felt like he couldn’t ask Hermione about it because it was only recently she had stopped sending him worried glances. Like he was going to drop everything and run to rescue Bucky. Which granted was exactly what he would be doing if he literally had any idea where he was. 

He didn’t want to worry her. She was happy. She was thriving at her internship. Ron had been right, absolutely no one in the department knew what hit them. She was already slanted to make major changes to three pieces of magical creatures welfare legislature. Two of which were up for vote at the Wizengamot in a few weeks.  

Now was not the time to bother her, with whatever he was feeling about his life. Besides, his life was fine. It was normal , he had friends, he had a flat, he had a job he didn't like. Isn’t that what he’d always wanted? A nice, normal life. 

Harry hadn’t realized that a normal life was actually quite boring when it came down to it. He found he just couldn’t lean into it. He couldn’t accept routine because he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For some kind of duel to break out at the pub, or to get attacked walking back from Tescos.

 It never happened, but after spending so much of his life waiting for the next awful thing to happen he wasn’t sure how to let go of the expectation that something awful was just around the corner. Sometimes he found himself wishing, something, anything would happen. Something new . Something unpredictable.

Harry dunked his hands into the sudsy sink, turning a mug over in his hands. He was absolutely sure nothing new or exciting was going to happen while he was doing the washing up. 

“So, I guess you didn’t die after all.”

Harry dropped the mug. It smashed all over the tiles in the kitchen. 

“Miss me?”

He needed to sit down. He dropped rather clumsily to the floor in the kitchen, the faucet was still running. 

“Where the fuck have you been?!!!!”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a really long story?” 

Harry was still in shock. His palms were flat against the cold tiles, and the handle of the cabinets dug sharply into his back next to his spine. 

“It’s been over two years- I-” he didn’t even know what to say. 

Suddenly he was livid, utterly livid. 

“I know-” 

“No, actually you don’t know. You have no idea because you were gone for two years. I thought you’d gone and died. Do you have any idea how much time I have spent trying to find you! Months! I have spent months trying to find you! Hemione found all these files on the internet and I just-” 

“You were dead.”

Harry snorted, “only for about five minutes.”

“I didn’t know that. You were dead. I knew you were dead. You walked into those woods and you died.” 

They were both silent for a minute.

“How much of that file did you read?” 

“I think I must have read it at least six times by now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s one way to put it. Hermione couldn’t finish it.”

“I don’t think I’ve finished it. I was there. I know- well I have an idea of what happened. You weren’t supposed to read it.”

“What else was I going to do? You were gone. Where were you?”

“I was in cryo.”

“For two years?!” 

“I thought you were dead. It wasn’t for two years, but it was for a while. I’m not entirely sure for how long. No one tells me anything. They just assume that someone else must have told me.” 

Harry stood on shaking legs, and leaned into the counter and turned the water off. “So where are you now? What are you doing? Did you find your friend”

“ You know how it goes, the king is dead, all hail the king- same job, different boss. Right now, I’m in New York. I don’t stay in one place very long. They like to keep me busy. Yeah- I found Steve. He’s on the A-team, I think I’m somewhere on the D-team. We don’t see each other much.”

“Who’s the boss this time?”

“I don’t know-”

“YOU DON’T KNOW!!!!”

“I don’t care? It’s some re-iteration of S.H.I.E.L.D. They said either I fall in line or they bring me in front of the world security council. I fell in line. Good little tin soldier, head down, mouth shut.”

Harry had said he’d wanted something to happen.   

God he was glad to hear Bucky’s voice. 

“Don’t ever do that again. I missed you.” he said.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight:  Just Muggles 

Harry stood in the atrium of Stark tower and looked up. It was all steel and glass, it seemed to just go up forever. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. Hundreds of people crisscrossed through the cavernous space, Harry could see the huge help desk in the very center from where he stood by the  door to the street. 

He was about to do something probably very stupid. Harry would admit if asked, that maybe this wasn’t the best plan he had ever come up with, it was however, certainly not his worst. 

The past year hadn’t been one of Harry’s best. It was long and slow and he was very grateful to be a recent graduate from Auror training because that meant he could hand over his resignation letter and finally be done with it. He had already typed the letter up months ago, it was sitting in a folder on his desk. 

Harry wasn’t happy, and he really didn’t know what to do about it. He was grateful that Bucky was back in his head, even if he was complaining about being on a plane majority of the time. No matter when Harry talked to him, he always seemed to be going to or coming from somewhere. 

“I told you they like to keep me busy.” he said, “I can’t get in trouble if they always know where I am.”

Harry had snorted, “what kind of trouble do they think you’re going to get into? It’s not like you’re going to go around shooting people on your own.”

“Who knows, I’m a convicted terrorist. They like to keep a short leash.” 

Harry tried not to mention that Bucky’s new boss didn't sound as different from the old ones as they probably should, and Bucky tried not to mention how bored he was or how many hours it had been since he’d last slept. 

“Normally people can’t stay awake for over eighty hours, you have go to sleep,” 

“I’m not normal, I don’t trust these people, and I am still on a fucking plane.” 

Harry decided he needed some kind of plan. Bucky had made it abundantly clear to Harry, whoever he was working for was not just going to let him walk away. 

So Harry figured that meant he’d just have to leave some other way.

When he told Hermione about his plan, she hated it. Harry hadn’t wanted to tell her about it, but he had so much trouble filling out  the paperwork for his muggle passport that he’d caved and asked her for help. 

“This is a really bad idea,” she’d said earlier that summer. They were bent over Harry’s little kitchen table with two large cartons of Thai food between them. Harry took a huge bite of his pad thai, “I’ve had much worse plans work out just fine. Remember when we snuck into Gringotts and stole a dragon?”

She shuttered, “How could I ever forget? We’re so lucky! But that’s not the point. This is a really bad plan. It’s such a bad plan you aren’t even going to tell Bucky about it. What if he’s out somewhere? What are you going to do then?”

“Honestly, probably wait around for a really long time until he comes back.” 

“What if they won’t let you see him?”

“They will.”

“You don’t know that for sure,”

“I do though, I am a Wizard.” 

“HARRY! You can’t just imperius the muggles! It's illegal and more importantly it's morally wrong.”

Harry laughed so hard he bent double over the table. Of course he wasn’t going to imperius the muggles. He was sure that these muggles would notice, and that was something he needed to avoid at all costs and he had just graduated from his Auror training three days ago. The last thing he needed to do when the Ministry had that much attention on him was start throwing around unforgivables. 

“Hermione,” he wheezed, “I’m an Auror, of course I’m not going to use the imperius curse. We learned a slight compulsion charm that gets used by the memory modifiers. I'll use that if I need it. To sort of suggest that it would be in everyone's best interests for me to see Bucky.” 

“Oh so you’re going to use an illegal port key, but the imperious curse is off limits, silly me. I should have known the difference.” 

“It’s going to be fine. I’ve done more dangerous stuff loads of times. It's just muggles.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” She said darkly. She pulled one of the forms out of the pile and bent over it, “well you’re not going anywhere until we get these filled out. And you know it will probably take at least twelve weeks to get processed.”

“ Twelve weeks?”

“That’s muggle bureaucracy for you.” 

It took over seventeen weeks for Harry’s passport to get processed and then another eight to get his visa. Harry very quickly started to regret not taking George up on getting a second unauthorized international portkey. The delay did give him plenty of time to put his flat up for rent and to move back into number twelve. If his plan worked, the muggles would absolutely never find them there. 

“Why do you want to fly anyway?” George had asked when he’d dropped off the port key “it takes forever- over nine hours! Can you believe muggles travel like that all the time?”

Harry had shrugged, he didn’t think he’d mind the trip too much, but he was starting to wonder if George had had a point about leaving a paper trail. 

Too late to worry about that now. He was already in New York.

Harry crossed the atrium to the help desk, and stood patiently in the queue. 

When it was his turn at the front he said cheerfully, “Hello, my name is Harry Potter and I’m looking for Bucky Barnes. He saved my life. Do you think you can help me?”

The young women at the desk just stared at him. He smiled politely and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. A man in a black suit appeared at his elbow and stiffly told Harry to follow him. He did.

Harry ended up in a black SUV. It drove for a long time. When it finally stopped,  he was escorted into a very plain white room and was told to sit at a table. Harry overheard someone outside the room, mention that Bucky was out before the door had closed. 

“Of course, you’d be out.” Harry thought, tapping his figures on the table, “I’m going to be stuck waiting for you for hours.”

“What have you gone and done now?”

“I walked into the atrium of Stark tower this morning,” thought Harry, looking around the very plain little room, “I went up to the help desk and asked to see you.”

“You. Did. Not.” 

“I did, though. Some man in a dark suit took me away, and now I’m sitting in a little room somewhere. I think people are watching me.”

“Oh, people are watching you alright. This is the plan, right? You walked into this with an actual plan. Tell me you’re not making this up as you go.”

“I am exactly where I mean to be.” 

“How long have you been planning this-?”

“Oh for months, do you have any idea how long it takes to get a passport! It takes so long! The forms are complete rubbish.. I had to get Hermione to help me.”

“Oh for Christsake-!”

Waiting for Bucky was very boring. Harry tried not to fidget too much, since he knew he was being watched. Sitting still for long periods of time wasn’t not one of his strong suits. After an hour had passed he felt a bit like he was going insane.

 He took a deep breath, and focused very hard on pretending to not exist, after all he had a lot of practice pretending to not exist. It didn’t make the time go any quicker, but it did make him slightly less aware of it. 

The door opened, and a woman walked in. She was slender, and rather severe. Her red hair curled around her shoulders. They looked at each other. Harry waited for her to speak. 

Her name was Agent Romanov and she had been sent to interview him. The way her eyes followed his every move reminded him of Alastor Moody. 

“Constant vigilance,” he thought to himself.

“What are you on about now?”

“They’ve sent someone to talk to me, she reminds me of someone from the war a bit. It’s her eyes, they see everything.”

“They sent Natasha to talk to you- we are going to have words about this. Be careful what you tell her.”

“I haven’t exactly told her much, mostly she’d just stood in the doorway staring at me. Is this supposed to make me uncomfortable?”

“Yes, is it working?”

“No? Would she think it rude if I asked her to sit down?  She’s been standing over there for a really long time, and those shoes look really painful.” 

Bucky was silent for a moment, “you know what, sure. Fine, ask Natasha to sit down.”

Harry gave her a small smile, and asked very politely if she would like to sit down as she had been standing an awful long time. 

She did. 

She asked him how he knew Bucky, and Harry replied, “oh he saved me and my friends life a couple years ago.”

She raised an eyebrow, “is that so?”

“Yeah, we were in a real tough spot. Total goners, wrong place wrong time you know?”

She nodded, prompting him to continue, “My friend, well she found all those files about S.H.E.I.L.D online and I just wanted to say thanks.”

“You came all the way from England to say thank you?”

“I mean, we did almost die.” 

They did not in fact almost die. In retrospect, getting caught by the snatchers wouldn’t have been fun, but he was positive they would have managed to get away somehow. They did escape Malfoy manor not long after. They did have a knack for getting out of tight spots. 

But Natasha didn’t need to know that. 

“The Winter Soldier isn’t exactly known for helping civilians. Can you explain what happened exactly?”

Harry nodded, and told her the story Hermione had helped him perfect over the past month, “I’m not entirely sure what happened, actually. My friend thinks it was some kind of mistaken identity? We were on a road trip  in Wales.”

He made sure to not mention Hermione’s name. She would murder him if she ended up on some kind of muggle watch list. 

“In March? You would have been seventeen, shouldn’t you have been in school?”

“Should have yeah. But we were uh, looking to broaden our horizons, I guess. Anyway, a while back our friend who was traveling with us got mad and left. So we took the car and got more than halfway to Cardiff. Then he decided he missed us and told us to come back. So we turned the car around-”

“Where did you get the car? I couldn’t find any records stating you or Miss. Granger owned a car. ”

Harry winced a little, so much for keeping Hermione's name out of it. 

“I bought it with cash, didn’t get a chance to register it. My godfather, you know the escaped convict Sirius Black?”

She nodded, he continued, “well he died when I was fifteen, I guess he was from a wealthy family. Left me a lot of money. We didn’t exactly plan the trip very well. I saw it on my way home one day, and the next day we left.”

“You left to go camping in Wales in the middle of November.”

“Like I said, we didn’t exactly plan what we were doing.”

She checked her notes, and continued very dryly, “And then you camped in the Forest of Dean for-just over four months? Three people in a tent?”

“Well, it was mostly two people in a tent. My friends got quite a temper.”

“Mmm I’m sure. So then what happened?” 

“So we were on our way back to the forest of Dean and Hermione wanted to stop at this market in the little town.”

“What prompted you to start staying in Hostels instead of camping.” 

The way she threw out questions, Harry thought she was trying to intimidate him and trip him up. She was intimidating, but he’d dealt with Snape for over six years. He could deal with intimidation and quick pivots. 

“We had a car, it was Hermione’s idea. I had all this cash and since it was just the two of us it was a lot easier to book a room and travel. We were thinking of heading to Ireland next. But then we had to turn around.”

“So what happened in- Quartersham?”

“We got there really early- Hermione wanted to make it back to Forest of Dean before it got dark so we could set up our tent. So the market wasn’t open yet. We went to a cafe. Hermione had been acting kind of weird all morning. We were sitting in the window drinking our coffee when she grabbed my arm and told me that she thought this group of weirdly dressed men were following us and they were about to come into the cafe.”

“Why did she think they were following you?”

“I don’t know, but she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met, so I believed her. I could see them out front of the cafe and they were dressed really strangely. Long black robes, and two of them had these creepy white masks.”

“Masks you say?”

Harry nodded, “yeah, solid white, looked like bone, maybe?” 

“What was the deal with the masks anyway? We’re on our way back, should be landing soon.” 

Harry choked on his words. He was very bad at speaking while Bucky was talking to him. He was ever worse at speaking and trying to reply in his head at the same time.

“Do you need a glass of water,”

Harry nodded, clearing his throat “that would be lovely, thanks.”

She stood, knocked twice on the dark glass panels on the wall and walked to the door. Someone handed her a pitcher and two glasses. She poured them both a glass and sat back down. 

Harry drank his gratefully, he had been talking more than he’d expected and continued his story. Hermione had come up with the end for him. 

“We made it back to the car, but someone had slashed the tires,” he said once he finished his water.

“So then what did you do?”

“We saw a bus had just pulled up on the street, so we ran for it.”

This is where their story started to fall apart. 

“So then what happened?” asked Natasha, she wasn’t looking at him, rather flipping between two pages in her file. 

“We went camping. Until my friend's mum had enough and made us come home.” 

“And then what did you do?”

“Sorry?”

“What did you do? Did you finish school, did you get a job? Where did you live? Did you know you only have school transcripts up until you turn eleven.”

“I went to boarding school in Scotland, they must not have transferred properly.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “you lived in Little Whinging Surrey with your Aunt and Uncle and they sent you to a boarding school in Scotland?”

“My parents had already paid for it, it's where they went to school.”

“You’re parents. And what happened to your parents, Lily and James Potter was it?”

“They died when I was a baby. My aunt told me it was a car crash.”

“You know it's funny, your friend Hermione, she also vanishes on paper after she turned eleven.”

“We went to school together, maybe her papers didn’t transfer either. It was a pretty small school.”

“And I can’t find the name of your red headed friend anywhere. And I have looked.”

Harry was grateful she didn’t have Ron’s name. The Weasleys and muggles never mixed well. 

Harry shrugged, “His mums weird, the whole lot of them were homeschooled mostly.” 

“What did you say the name of your school was?”

Harry hadn’t. And he was hoping to keep it that way. 

There were two knocks on the door and then it opened. 

Bucky loomed in the doorway looking like a drowned rat, his dark hair was plastered to his face, water dripped down his neck. 

“So glad you could finally join us Barnes,” said Natasha flatly. 

Harry waved and slid his other hand into his hoodie pocket activating the countdown on the unauthorized port key.

“What, have I told you about doing stupid things without thinking them through,” said Bucky his voice muffled by his mask.

“Not to.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Can you take that stupid mask off?” asked Harry.

Bucky took off his mask and tossed onto the table, and dropped gracelessly into one of the remaining chairs. He was still dripping, he looked wary and very annoyed. 

“Bad day at the office?” asked Natasha.

“You could say that,” He said, he sighed, “okay, I’m here and you’re here.”

“What the fuck are you thinking, letting these people see your face. Now they know Hermione's name.”

“I’ve got a plan, okay, and sometimes magic can fry electronics. We’re fine and we’re on a timer. Less than two minutes,” Harry thought gleefully. 

His plan was actually going to work.

“Yeah, you’re really hard to find. You know that?” He said looking at Bucky. 

Natasha snorted, “I think that is a little bit of an understatement.”

Bucky didn’t comment, he just stared flatly at Harry.

The old parchment in Harry's pocket started to get warm, they had about fifteen seconds. 

“Okay, okay, look you trust me right?”

Bucky answered, “I trust you.”

Harry pulled the bit of parchment out of his pocket, and thought very hard, “you need to touch this,” before he said, “Hermione wanted me to give this to you.”

Bucky reached across the table and as soon as he touched the parchment there was a bright flash of light and Harry felt something like a hook behind his navel. They were spinning, and then as suddenly as it started it stopped. The two of them fell in a heap in the hallway of number twelve Grimmauld place. 

They slid slightly down the hall wall from landing so hard. Bucky ended up on his back, on boot braced against the wall, his head was thrown back against the stone floor. His laughter was  instantly drowned out by Mrs. Black Portrait. 

“BLOOD TRAITORS! CREATURES OF FILTH! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-” 

“Sorry, sorry” Harry gasped, the landing had knocked the wind clean out of him. He lay half way across Bucky’s chest, “Port keys are awful. But I always forget how awful.” 

Mrs. Black continued to scream. Her shrill voice echoing off the stone floors. Harry, still winded, managed to pull out his wand to send a non-verbal silencio her way. After two or three tries, he got her. He could just barely see her portrait from where he lay on the floor, she was still silently raging in her frame. Her eyes rolled in her head as she continued to  try and shout. 

Bucky had finally stopped laughing, his head still tilted back on the stone floor, “is that a moving painting?” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, “Wizarding pictures move, paintings too.” He sat up, bracing all his weight on one arm and rubbed his head, “not all wizarding paintings are unhinged like that one though. Sirius’s mum is a right piece of work.” 

Bucky still hadn’t moved, he was looking up at the portraits on the wall, from where he landed sprawled on the floor. “I’m probably supposed to be mad at you for stealing me or something,” he said.

“I didn’t steal you!” 

“Oh come on sweetheart, you stole me. Didn’t we disappear in a cloud of smoke?”

“It wasn’t a cloud of smoke, it's more of a bright light? And I didn’t steal you. I- I rescued you.”

“Darlin, you can steal me anytime you want,” he grinned at harry. He looked so different when he smiled. His whole face lit up, and his eyes went crinkly at the corners. Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Bucky slowly reached out and ran his finger over Harry's cheek. Harry felt his face start to go red immediately, and ducked his face looking at the stone floor.. Bucky's hand slid over his neck and into his hair, his fingers wrapping around the back of Harry’s head. 

Harry didn’t think he had blushed harder in his entire life.  Bucky Leaned up and kissed him, soft at first and gentle, and then he sucked just so on Harry’s bottom lip. 

That’s when Harry's brain went completely blank. He leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth slightly. Wanting more. 

He fell into the kiss, letting Bucky pull him down. His hand fisting in Harry's hair and his tongue sliding against his lips. 

Harry let out a soft sound when Buck pressed hot open mouthed kisses against his neck, sucking softly on his pulse point. 

God he had wanted this. And now he wanted to drown it in. Fall into the feeling of Bucky’s mouth on his neck and his hands in his hair and just drown in it. 

It was that moment the silencing spell on Mrs. Black Portrait wore off and she started wailing at full volume. 

Harry started so violently he lost his balance, tipped over sideways and brained himself on Bucky's metal shoulder. 

He groaned, his eyes squeezed tight, and his head throbbed slightly. He pressed his face into the side of Bucky's neck, “I have got to get rid of that bloody portrait,”  he said. 

Bucky laughed, and pecked him on the lips, “Do you want help?”

Later that evening, once Mrs. Black had been silenced for a third time and Harry had managed to find Bucky something to wear that wasn’t absolutely soaking wet. They were in the sitting room, the one that had been de-doxie-ed in the summer before fifth year. It was one of the only rooms that hadn’t been reclaimed by filth while the house had stood empty for over five years.

“You don’t really think I stole you, do you?” asked Harry, leaning heavily on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“If calling it a rescue makes you feel better, that’s what we’ll call it,” said Bucky, he slung one arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him closer, “where are we anyway?” 

Harry sighed, contently and leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder. It had been a long day, he was tired, “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“Right, of course we are. Where exactly is the headquarters of the Order of Phoenix?”

“Oh, we’re in London.”

“London. We’re in London. We disappeared in a flash of light, and now we’re in London.”

“Pretty much, neat isn’t it? Sorry that house is-” Harry trailed off, number twelve was looking extra run down and moldering these days, “really really old.” He finished lamely. 

Bucky laughed, “It has character, I think we can clean this place up real nice.” 

Harry nodded against his shoulder, and after a moment he sighed,  “I guess I am going to have to tell Hermione she’s probably on some kind of muggle watch list, aren't I.” 

“Isn’t that going to be an issue for her parents? Didn’t you say they were dentists?” 

“Nah, they’re still in Australia with modified memories,” said Harry, leaning even more into Bucky's side. He wished he had a blanket. 

“Of course they are,” said Bucky, idly playing with Harry’s hair. 

Harry hummed. His plan had worked, he hadn’t been so content in ages. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 : Maybe Memories 

Steve sat in one of the unused little grey interrogation rooms in S.H.I.E.L.D’s upstate headquarters and watched the tape again. He’d seen it at least a hundred times already but he had this feeling he must have missed something. What, he had no idea.

 He re-wound it to the beginning and pressed play. The camera was black and white and slightly fuzzy. Once the static cleared, he could see the small plaza in a town in Wales. He watched two teenagers sprint together across the plaza. The boy with the messy hair and glasses in front, and the girl, clutching hard to his arm struggling to keep up. 

He watched the men chasing the two of them fall. 

He watched Bucky stand between the two terrified teenagers and the group of men pursuing them. The boy had frozen, his fixed on Bucky. 

Bucky turns for a second and then suddenly the boy jerks back to life and the two of them disappear out of the frame. Seconds later the camera dies. There is no sound but Steve is positive Bucky spoke to the boy. The boy is named Harry Potter. The girl is Hermione Granger. 

Neither of them appear to exist in any meaningful way on paper past their eleventh birthday. 

Steve watched that boy just months earlier disappear in a bright flash of light with his best friend and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. 

Afterwards Natasha had seethed, “fucking wizards,” she’d hissed, “God I hate magic.” 

Steve has no idea what she was talking about, but he was willing to do anything to find Bucky. 

Natasha wasn’t convinced that was necessary,  “I don’t think this was a kidnapping,” she’d said, “they obviously knew each other.”

Steve disagreed. She just rolled her eyes at him and said she’d try and get in touch with the Minister of Magic, “I’ll have to go through the British Prime Minister, so no promises. Don’t go rushing into anything head first, okay Cowboy? You really don’t want to get on the wrong side of wizards.”

That had been weeks ago, Steve hadn’t heard anything more about it since. He wasn’t very good at sitting around and waiting so he did what he could and watched the tape. He would have liked to have watched the tape of the interrogation with Harry Potter, but something was wrong it, and it just played endless static. 

Still he made Natasha go through the whole interview with him at least five times, before she stopped humoring him and told him to lay off and be patient. 

“I’ve heard the new Minister is a good man,” she told him, one of her slender hands on his arm, “if somethings up I’m sure he’ll have something to say about it.”

Steve sighed, and was about to play the tape again, when Natasha stuck her head in the door, “hey big man, I finally heard back from the Ministry. They have a message for you, follow me.”

She led him into a conference room. The room was empty, and sitting in the middle of the long table was a stone bowl. It was shallow and the sides were intricately carved in ways Steve couldn’t quite make out. 

Natasha gestured for him to enter the room.

“What kind of message is this?” he asked, looking around.

She pointed to the bowl.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked. 

She sighed, “Who knows, Wizards I tell you,” she said, shaking her head. She left the room and closed the door behind her. 

Steve eyed the bowl, and scowled. He wondered how exactly a dish is going to show him anything. He stepped closer to get a better look. It was full of some kind of liquid  moving and swirling in abstract silver patterns. 

It was hard to look directly at for very long. He felt like he was almost compelled to come closer, he bent slightly to get a better look and then suddenly he fell. He fell for a long time, the world around him took on a deep sepia tone and seemed to blur around the edges. 

He landed on his feet, and the room seemed to form around him. He was standing in a grand office. He crossed to the window, leaning on the window sill. He was in London. 

He heard a noise and whirled around. There was a tall black man standing behind a huge desk near the window. He was bald and gave off a distinct sense of calm.

Steve crossed over to the desk in three strides, the man didn't acknowledge him. He was about to demand to know what's going on, when  another man walked into the office.

He was tall and lanky with a shock of bright red hair, “You wanted to see me Kingsley- erm I mean, Minister Shacklebolt?”

 He was obviously young, had bright blue eyes and looked slightly bemused. He pulled at the collar of his deep maroon robes, nervously. 

Neither of the men acknowledge Steve. He was starting to think that maybe they couldn’t see him. Steve looks back to the man behind the desk- that was Kingsley Shacklebolt the Minister of Magic. He was standing in the Minister of Magic’s office. 

He held onto the desk and swayed slightly, feeling very out of his depth. Wizards- Jesus Christ. 

Kingsley chuckled deeply and motioned for the young man to sit down, “Yes, Auror Weasley, - Ron, I did want to speak with you.” 

Ron hurried over and sat down across from Shaklebolt’s desk.

 “What’s an Auror?” wondered Steve. He was certain that they couldn’t see him now. 

“It seems your friend Mr. Potter has caused quite the commotion on the continent a few months ago.”

Ron went a bit white, “Oh god, what has Harry done now?” 

Harry- Harry was the boy with green eyes. The one who came to New York and disappeared with Bucky in a flash of light. Steve narrowed his eyes, this was a friend of Harry’s? 

How did he know the Minister of Magic? Did Harry know the Minister of Magic?

“He’s caused what might turn into an international incident, the British prime Minister has asked me to step in and I was hoping you would be able to help me smooth things over,” said Kingsley.

Ron nodded, still looking bemused, “sure I'll do whatever I can to help. But, it's just what exactly has Harry done? He hardly ever leaves Number Twelve these days.” 

“It involves an unauthorized portkey and one Mr. Barnes,” said Kingsley, his eyes twinkling slightly. 

Steve stiffened at the mention of Bucky, he leaned forward, eager to hear more.

Ron let out a huge sigh, “of course it does. It’s not about the portkey is it? I thought he just had to pay a fine for that?

Kingsley smiled, “No, it's not about the port key. The trouble seems to be that one of Mr. Barnes' teammates are utterly convinced that he was kidnaped and is being held under duress.” 

Ron started to laugh, “Harry, kidnap Bucky? I would pay fifty gallons to see anyone try and make Bucky do anything he didn’t already want to do.”

Kingsley smiles slowly, “They have that in common, don’t they?”

“There was never a more stubborn pair,” says Ron, “So how can I help?”

“It’s very simple really, I was hoping to present Mr. Barnes' teammate with a selection of memories showing very clearly that he is fine and not currently under duress. I should hope that would be enough to clear things up.”

Steve looked quickly between the two men. You could give people memories? Did that mean he was in a memory? Did Ron know Bucky?  Ron started speaking again and he forced himself to focus.

“And you want the memories from me?” asked Ron, “wouldn’t it make more sense to get them from Harry? Or Bucky?”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t possible to exact memories from a muggle, and from what I’ve heard I feel it's probably best to leave Mr. Branes' memory alone. I thought that as a third party your memories may be more convincing.”

Steve let out a big breath. So he was in a memory. That’s why no one could see him. He did his best to pay attention. This sure was helluva one way to deliver a message. 

Ron nodded and pulled out his wand, “Under duress,” he muttered, shaking his head, “If it's any one under duress it’s me and Hermione. The two of them are a right nightmare together. Once they’ve decided they’re doing something- well it's a miracle they haven’t pulled the whole of Grimmauld place down around them.” 

Ron touched the tip of his wand to his forehead, “How many do you want?” he asked Kingsley, 

“I think three or four ought to do it. They’re trying to salvage Grimmauld place?”

Steve made a note of the name, if that's where Bucky was staying he would be able to find it. He knew he was in London now.  He also made a note to ask Natasha what a muggle was. She seemed like she would know.

Ron nodded, pulling a long wispy sliver stand away from his head and placing it into a small bottle, “It’s a fool's errand, or at least that's what Hermione keeps telling me. Honestly, that place is dangerous. It was dangerous when it was Order headquarters, I know Harry is sentimental about it being Sirius' house and all, but they’re better off burning it to the ground. At least they finally found a way to deal with this blood awful portrait of Sirius’s mum.”

“Did Harry find some kind of counter for a permanent sticking charm?” asked Kingsley

“No,” said Ron, “Bucky ripped the whole wall out with a hammer. I think they took it out and burned it in the back garden afterwards. Did you know that Grimmauld place had a garden? I didn’t. Now there's a great big bloody hole in the wall. At least no one’s screaming about blood traitors every time someone opens the front door.” 

Steve didn't know what to make of that. Suddenly it felt like the room was tilting and the memory started to fade. 

Steve was standing in a kitchen. It was a great big room, with stone floors and a long rough wooden table that took up half the room. There were no windows, Steve looked around, maybe it was in a basement? Who puts a kitchen in a basement? He heard voices and turned to see who else was in the new memory. 

He saw the redhead- Ron this was his memory after all. He was sitting on the bench by the table drinking a cup of tea. Next to him was a girl with thick bushy brown hair, Steve recognized her. It was the girl from the tape. Hermione Granger, which meant, he turned quickly the person speaking was Harry Potter. 

Steve was right. Harry Potter stood barefoot at the stove, he was wearing a too big t-shirt that was obviously well worn and faded and pajama bottoms. He was frying eggs, “Look it’s going to be fine. I told you it was going to work out,” he said, gesturing at Hermione with his spatula. 

“Going to work out?! Harry, they have me on a terrorist watch list! I looked this morning!” Hermione shrieked, Harry and Ron winced.

“I mean we got away, it’s fine. Bucky said he could probably get you off the watch list if you let him use your laptop.” said Harry, cracking another egg into the pan and shaking it.

Steve ignored the other two people in the room and walked right up next to Harry and stared at him. He was young. Slender, boarding  almost on the edge of too skinny, with the most unruly hair Steve had ever seen and shockingly green eyes. He was still wearing the same thick and dated glasses he had been wearing on the tape. 

Before Hemione could answer the door opened and Bucky shuffled in, looking very rumbled and sleepy. He was wearing a pair of too short bright orange pajama bottoms and a bright maroon and gold sweater. 

“Are those my old pajamas?” asked Ron 

“Yeah sorry,” said Harry, plating on the eggs and pulling thick slices of bacon into his pan, “Bucky was drenched when we crash landed in the hallway last night. We didn’t exactly have a lot of options, we found them in a trunk in our old room.” 

Ron snorted, and went back to his tea..

Steve watched Bucky walk across the kitchen, and leaned very heavily on Harry’s back. He wrapped one arm around his waist and stole a slice of bacon right out of the pan with his metal hand. “Do Wizards always crash like that when they travel? Or were we just unlucky?” 

Harry swatted at his hand, “you can’t steal the bacon out of the pan just because it won’t burn you” 

Bucky kissed him on the cheek, whispering, “watch me,” into his ear while Harry spluttered, turning a very bright shade of red.  Bucky stole another slice of bacon and went to sit down. Ron, who had been watching, had choked on his tea and was coughing with his hands on his knees. 

Steve was frozen, this was not what he’d expected. Slowly he walked over and sat down next to Bucky. He knew Buck wouldn’t be able to hear him and that this wasn’t real- well it was real but rather it had already happened. He wanted to grab Bucky’s  arm and rip him out of the memory and take him back to the shield where he would be safe. But he couldn’t, so he kept watching.

Bucky munched on the bacon and leaned back against the table, “I’m serious, you lot don’t crash-land in a heap every time you travel like that do you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “No, not exactly.” she shot Harry a look, “Harry’s just got bad luck with portkeys,”

“You can say that again,” said Harry darkly.

“And the Floo,” wheezed Ron, still trying to catch his breath, “bloody hell, warn a man will you? I thought you were still dating my sister!” 

Hermione sighed, “honestly Ronald, that was years ago.” 

Harry was still slightly red. He pointedly ignored Ron’s comment and set a plate full of eggs and bacon on the table. 

“Yeah,” he said, “but I’m ace on a broom.”

The room suddenly started to fade to black. Steve felt like he was falling again. When he stopped falling he was standing behind Ron in a hallway. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Half of the wall going up the wide staircase had been ripped out, everything was coated in a thick layer of plaster dust, and there was a pile of crumbling sheetrock stacked at the foot of the stairs. 

“Blood hell,” said Ron, looking around at the mess, “what have they gone and done now?” 

Steve stayed behind him back to the front door. He watched Ron walk down the hallway and stick his head around the door, leaving footprints in the dust, “Harry?” he called.

 He waited for a beat and came back to the stairs, shaking his head. He stood on the bottom step and shouted up the stairs, “OY! What are you lot doing?!”

There was an echoing crash from up stairs, and Steve could hear muffled swearing. 

Ron sighed, and started up the stairs. Steve followed him. 

They reached the first landing, stacked near the stairs was a pile of rolled up molding rugs, and a heap of old drapes. 

“Harry?” Ron called out, skirting around the piles and starting down the hallway.

“We’re up here!” 

Ron started up a second flight of stairs, Steve following close behind him. He almost crashed into Ron’s back at the top when he stopped abruptly. Over Ron’s shoulder he could see into a large bathroom right across from the stairs. The floor was covered in damp clumps of crumbling plaster. 

Harry was balanced on the edge of the huge ancient porcelain tub. He had one had braced against the wall, the other was holding a hammer. 

Bucky was standing in the middle of the room, completely coated in plaster. There were clumps in his hair, steaks all over his face and there was a small pile of clumps at his feet. 

“What have you done now?” asked Ron hovering in the doorway.

Buck gestured with the saw he was holding, “I was trying to cut out the water damage in the ceiling, so we could see how bad the pipes were- I figured if we could just patch it- save us a lot time having to rip it all out.”

Ron looked bemused, "Why are you covered in plaster,”

“Turns out the water damage was worse than we thought,  and as soon as I touched it, it all came down on my head,”  said Bucky. He shook out his hair, bits of  damp plaster went flying. 

Harry climbed down from the bathtub, “we may as well stop for some lunch- yeah?”

The three of them trooped down the stairs to the kitchen, Steve pressed himself hard against the wall to let them pass and trailed behind them. He was right, the kitchen was in the basement. “What a weird house,” he thought, “are all wizarding houses like this?”

Harry pulled a pile of cold cuts out of the refrigerator and started to bustle about making sandwiches. Ron sat at the long table, and Bucky pulled a beer out of the fridge and hoisted himself up on the counter near the sink, popping the top off. He left dusty hand prints on everything  he touched, and a trail of bits of plaster behind him. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that,” asked Ron.

“A ceiling just fell on my head,” replied Bucky. 

“You’re fine,” says Harry, slicing the bread. 

“How’s the renovations going?” asks Ron.

“Well,” says Bucky, “last week I got attacked by a killer clock. Then I got strangled by some sentient pajamas and today a ceiling fell on my head.” 

Steve had crossed the kitchen and was leaning on the counter next to Bucky watching the others. He wasn’t sure if his friend was being serious or not. 

“You haven’t gotten rid of the clock yet? It’s a menace,” said Ron

Well, that answered that question. 

“You’re telling me,” said Bucky, “It might have taken a tumble down the stairs. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem anymore.” 

“Harry, you can’t just like, let him wander around in here, there's still all kinds of dark magic in this house,” said Ron, sounding an awful lot like Hermione. 

“He’s fine,” said Harry. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Said Bucky, stealing a thick slice of turkey, “Any idea what’s making all the noise in the attic? I haven’t made it up there yet.”

Ron said, “That ghoul can’t still be up there. It must be ancient!”

Harry nodded, “I don’t think they’re supposed to live that long. I should probably ask Hermione about it,”

“There’s a ghoul in the attic. Of course there's a ghoul in the attic. Which I take it is fine and normal?” Said Bucky. 

Steve looked back and forth between the three of them, watching the conversation bounce around like a tennis ball. He had so many questions, and no one to answer them. What was a ghoul? 

Harry nodded, “he’s not going to bother us, just going to rattle the pipes a bit, we should just leave him alone. Lots of old house have ghouls”

Ron added, “my parents' house had two for a while, but it got too noisy, they were having pipe rattling battles at night and we had to get rid of one of them. Ginny threw a fit.”

“Your sister?” 

Ron nodded, “yeah she was nine at the time, she had started a betting pool going with Fred and George. I guess she was making a killing.”

Steve felt a lurch, the room felt like it was tipping sideways and the edges started to fade into black. He stood still and waited for the room to rematerialize around him. He was slowly starting to get the hang of these memory shifts. Even if they were still massively disorienting. When the room finally stilled around  him, he was still in the kitchen. 

He looked around, trying to get his bearings,  it must be a different day than the last memory. Bucky wasn’t covered in plaster dust and it looked like he’d gotten his hair cut. It was styled and slicked back from his face, making him look younger and less world wary. 

He was sitting at the long table next to a very pretty ginger girl. She had thick wild hair, pulled back into a big messy bun on the top of her head. She was leaning back against the table, and dressed very casually in a pair of  rolled over sweatpants and an oversized tank top, one strap hanging off her shoulder.  The room was still coming into focus, but she was obviously teasing Bucky about something, making him laugh. 

Steve was standing in the middle of the room, he watched Ron and Hermione come in the kitchen door. Ron was wearing the deep maroon robes he had been wearing in the first memory.

 Was it some kind of work uniform?

 Hermione looked tired and was carrying a briefcase and a huge stack of paper. 

“Alright you lot,” said Ron, sitting down heavily across from the ginger girl, “what was on the agenda for today, while me and ‘moine slaved away at the ministry?”

The girl rolled her eyes- she looked an awful lot like Ron, Steve wondered if this was the sister he had mentioned before.

“Oh yeah,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, “we got it so easy. Spent the whole day ripping out moldy carpet and digging through Sirius room- god he was a pig when he was a kid.” 

“At least you weren't stuck on desk duty all day,” shot back Ron sullenly.

“That's what you get for getting hit with a bone breaking curse,” said Hermione stiffly, sitting next to her. 

She slid down the bench to make room for Hermione and replied, “yeah well I have to be up at four thirty for an early practice tomorrow, today was my day off.”

“Oh poor Gin,” said Ron, “has to get up early to get paid to play quidditch for the best team in the league, such a hard ship.”

“Damn, straight we’re the best,” said Ginny, “we’re going to crush Puddlemere on Saturday.” 

She turned to Harry, “you’re coming aren’t you? I got Angelina to get me two extra tickets so you can take Soldier Boy.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, we’ll be there, do I need to get a permit to apparate with a muggle?”

Ginny nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see if I can owl you a form tonight.”

Bucky shuttered, “do we have to apparate, can’t we just take a car?”

Harry frowned a little, neither of them were a fan Apparating, “Too far to drive. It's either that or a portkey, which really isn’t any better and considering my track record with them, I doubt we’d get clearance fast enough.”

Ron interjected “You’re giving them tickets?! My own sister, and you don’t offer to give me tickets?!”

Steve wished he had a notepad, so he could write down all his questions for Natasha. What was Quidditch?  At least now he knew he was right, the pretty red head was Ron’s sister.

“Oh come off it Ron,” said Ginny, “we both know you’re on rotation this weekend, and I gave you the last two sets of tickets.”

Ron sagged, “ I still have two more weeks of Saturday rotations, then I get cleared to go back into the field,” he said glumly.

“Maybe that will teach you to not go running head first into every situation,” sniffed Hermione, she was still mad about the bone breaking curse. 

Ginny patted Ron on the shoulder, “if it makes you feel better I’ll get you tickets for when we slaughter the Cannons next month.” 

Ron brightened considerably, he was always happy to watch his favorite team. Even if they never won. He turned to Bucky, “it looks like you finally learned your lesson about helping with dinner.”

Bucky nodded, smirking his eyes going all crinkly at the corner, “Yeah, I’ve learned.  I’ve got enough brain damage, I don't need anything else to hit me in the head.”

Harry turns around holding a very large knife and looking very forlorn, “I said I was sorry!! I didn’t know you were behind me!”

Bucky laughed again, “I’ll just stay over here while things are floating around in the air, okay? Safer for everyone.” 

Steve sat at the end of the table while they ate dinner. It hurt a little watching them, talking and laughing. They remind Steve of a family, he's not above admitting he’s a little jealous. Harry appeared to be an excellent cook, and the five of them dove into the food as soon as it was on the table. A huge pitcher of wine quickly passed back and forth refilling itself when it got low. 

“Weirdest thing happened today,” said Ron around a mouthful of green beans, “I got a memo from Kingsley. He wants to meet with me first thing tomorrow.”

“Really Ron, don’t talk with your mouth full!” said Hermione, “ and you should really be calling him Minister Shaklebolt these days.”

Ron waved his fork at her, “He lived in my mum's house for about six months during the war,  I think I’m entitled to his first name. Anyway, he didn’t mention what he wanted with me. Just a date and time.” 

Steve realized this the night before the first memory took place. 

Harry shrugged, “it's not that odd is it? I got called to his office all the time before I resigned.”

“Yeah, actually, it's really odd,” said Ron, “I’m not you!”

“”Well you’ll just have to fill us in on what happens then,” said Hermione rolling her eyes, “What are you working on tomorrow?” she asked Bucky.

“Listening to records and hanging drywall. Harry’s going through the library and I’m apparently not allowed in there yet.”

Hemione said, “of course you’re not! There’s all kinds of dark magic in there, we have no idea what it would do to a muggle.” She turns to Harry, “you know you really shouldn’t let him wander around in here at all. It’s not safe, ever for us.”

“He’s fine,” said Harry, rolling his eyes, “he’s got really good reflexes.”

“I am present,  am actually an adult, and capable of making decisions about my own welfare” added Bucky, “besides, I can’t remember what life was like before I had to be worried about random household objects trying to kill me on a regular basis, keeps things interesting.”

Ginny snorted, “that's because your memory is fucking awful.”

“GINNY!” said Hermione, scandalized. 

“It’s also a really convenient excuse to ignore whatever I’ve told him not to do,” added Harry.

“I have a Swiss cheese brain and problems with authority.”

Steve snorted, problems with authority was putting it lightly.

Ron laughed, pointing his fork at Harry, “You know the two of you should start a club, very bad with authority and doesn’t take direction well.”

“Can also get into and back out of trouble in the blink of an eye. Human cockroaches you two are, completely unkillable” added Ginny.

“Don’t forget, very reckless with no sense of self preservation,” said Hermione, smiling, and looking very pointedly at Harry.

“I think they’re making fun of us,” said Harry.

“We can’t help it,” said Ginny, stealing one of Harry’s potatoes off his plate, “You're both easy targets.”

Steve notices the walls starting to shift. He was moving to a new memory already, he wasn’t sure he wanted to let this one go. When the shadows stopped shifting, he was still in the kitchen. He was starting to get curious about the rest of the house. Steve is standing near the stove next to Harry, who was working on a pasta dish. He was stirring a cream sauce while the homemade pasta was rolling itself out on the counter. 

Ron had just walked into the kitchen, he was still in his maroon robes, He dropped heavily on the bench at the table, “I had the weirdest meeting with Kingsley today,” he said, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl.

“I was wondering how that went,” said Harry, he looked over his shoulder while he worked, “What was it about again?”

“Well that’s the thing, no one told me,” said Ron, he took  a big bite of the apple, “So I get there and Kingsley tells me there's this group of muggle’s who think you kidnaped Bucky?”

“Oh,” said Harry, dully, “Yeah, I was hoping they would forget about that.” 

Steve was offended. What kind of friend would he be if he just forgot about Bucky being kidnapped?

“Forget about what?” Bucky sloped into the kitchen, he’d just gotten out of the shower and hair was damp and flopping into his eyes,  he was wearing a giant grey hoodie and jeans. He crossed the kitchen and leaned into Harry’s side, “who's forgetting things other than me?”

“No, not you,” said Harry, swatting at his hand while he tried to steal a taste of the pasta sauce, “get out of there, it’s almost ready. It’s the muggles.”

“Harry, there are a lot of muggles, you have to be more specific than that.”

There was that word again. What was a muggle? 

“The ones that think I kidnapped you. Ron had a meeting about it with Kingsley today.”

Ron nodded, “He asked me to give him a bunch of memories, so this guy- uh Steve? Would be convinced you’re fine, so he won’t cause some kind of international incident.” 

Steve stood very still, eyes wide. They were talking about him. This memory must be very recent, he looked around the room, it might even be from last night. 

“Steve’s caused a lot of international incidents. What exactly do memories do? You can give those to people?”

Ron nodded again, talking around his bite of apple, “Yeah, you can show them to people, like you kind of fall into them and can watch them play out. Anyway I was supposed to give Kingsley a couple to give to Steve to watch.”

Harry looked at Bucky, “what do you think the chances of this working are?”

“I dunno, probably pretty low. Unless you can also include this as a memory. That might convince him.” Bucky looked at Ron, “so he’d be able to hear everything we say?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “You can walk around in memories too, watch what happens from anywhere in the room. We used them in Auror training a lot. They’re easy to tamper with, but it's always really obvious.” 

“So I could sort of talk directly to him, and he would see it?”

“I mean, I guess so?” said Ron, “I’ve never heard of someone doing that before, but I suppose it's possible,”

Bucky looked around the room briefly as if trying to decide which direction to address, “Look, I know you don’t want me to be gone,” he paused, “again, but I didn’t get kidnaped, promise. If I did, you know I’d have gotten out of it by now anyway. I’m just- I guess retired? I’m tired. I don’t have the same kind of sense of duty you do. When I told you  I thought I had an out, and I was going to take it, I meant it. And, well I took it. It’s been good, I almost never have any idea of what's going on, but I don’t have to shoot anyone, and I haven’t been stabbed yet. So can you let me have this- please? Let me walk away.”

None of them could see him, but Steve was standing right in front of Bucky and he heard him loud and clear. 

Ron and Harry were quiet. 

“This is supremely weird,” said Ron after a moment. 

The kitchen door opened and Hermione walked in, her thick hair had started to escape her bun and her face was surrounded by little wisps, “why do you three look like you're up to something? What have you done now?”

“We’re making a memory to give to Bucky’s friend Steve to convince him I didn’t kidnap Bucky, so he won’t cause an international incident trying to hunt us down in muggle London.” said Harry.

“Oh, all right then, “ she turned to Ron, “ I take it you’re going to drop it off at Kingsley office tomorrow morning?”

“How did you know about that? I didn’t even know about it until this morning, and you’re not even in the Auror department. You’re all the way in magical creatures, you're not even in the same building !” blustered Ron. 

Hermione sighed, and dumped her arm full of books onto the table, “Kingsley talked to me about it yesterday, he wanted me to give memories too. But I thought yours might be a bit better, since you’re here more often than I am.” 

Ron grumbled, “I’m always the last to know anything.”

“Well, if you hadn’t left us in the middle of the forest in the middle of war you would have been clued in a lot sooner,” said Hermione waspishly.

Harry interrupted before that particular argument could start again, his shoulders very tight, “Okay, I think this is probably enough, the poor sod doesn't need to watch us eat pasta does he?” he said, and slammed a stack of plates a little too hard into the table. 

The memory faded out very suddenly and all at once. It came back together almost as quickly. Steve was finally out of the kitchen. It must be later in the evening, he could see it was dark out the grimy windows, and old yellow gas lamps were lit on the walls. He was standing in the corner of a cramped and slightly moldering  sitting room. Somehow Steve knew this is the last memory, he hoped it was a long one. He wasn’t ready to watch his friend fade away. 

Bucky was sprawled on a loveseat in front of the roaring fire, while Ron and Hermione sat in two old uncomfortable looking wingback chairs that look like they had seen better days. Steve looked around the room, he didn’t see Harry.

“Stop sulking and come’ere,” said Bucky, tilting his head back and looking over towards the door.

“I’m not sulking,” said Harry, he stepped out the shadows by the doorway and walked across the room. 

Steve stepped out of his way, and watched him walk over the love seat and very gingerly sit down on the edge by Bucky knees. 

“Oh- for Christ sake,” Bucky grabbed Harry’s elbow and tugged, pulling him down half on top of him, and wrapped an arm around his waist, “Seriously, you know I'm not going anywhere right?”

Harry wouldn’t look at him. Steve watched Ron and Hermione exchange very exasperated looks. 

“You know I’d let you leave, if you wanted to, right? I didn’t actually steal you, you know,” said Harry, still not meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

Steve looked between the pair on the loveseat and Hermione who rolled his eyes to the sky and mouthed, “how can anyone be so thick?” at Ron, who shrugged, the tips of his ears had started to red. 

“First of all, my days of doing anything I don’t want to do are over. You know I let you steal me, right? I walked into that room knowing I was leaving with you. If I’d hadn’t wanted to I wouldn’t have. Not everyone leaves, Sweetheart. I promise.”

Harry turned his face into Bucky's neck and just nodded. 

Ron, who was obviously feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the amount of feeling being shared currently, piped up, “Yeah, and Me and Hermione have never left-” Hermione shot him a very dark look, “okay- fine Hermione’s, never left.”

“Actually there was that time in second year when I got petrified by the Basilisk for two months,” said Hermione. 

“What’s a Basilisk?” asked Bucky, absentmindedly running his hand through Harry’s hair.

 “It’s a bloody giant snake,” said Ron. 

“It can kill you if you look directly into its eyes,” added Hermione, “but if you see its reflection it will just turn you into stone.”

“How did you get turned into stone by a giant horror snake at school when you were twelve?” asked Bucky.

“One got loose in the pipes at school, it’s a really long story. Took us bloody ages to figure out too,” Harry muttered into his neck, “I had to fight it, it's how I got that huge scar on my arm.” 

“This one,” asked Bucky, poking a long scar on Harry’s forearm.

“No, the other one,” said Harry, “that one from fourth year.”

Bucky frowned, “Do I want to know why you were allowed to fight a murder snake when you were twelve?”

“It's not that they let me, it just kind of happened?” 

“You were twelve !”

 The memory started to fray at the edges, this time instead of the room bleeding into black, the colors seemed to fade away leaving him standing in a bright white light and the next thing Steve knew he was standing back in the conference room at SHIELD headquarters. He needed to sit down.

He sank into one of the conference chairs. 

Natasha stuck her head around the door, “So what kind of message did the Wizards leave you in that bowl?”

“Memories.” said Steve, still in a daze. 

Natasha, sat down next to him, “What do you mean memories?”

“That was the message, they- that bowl is full of memories, and I was able to watch them. I saw the Minister of Magic, this was his idea. So I could see that Bucky was okay.”

Natasha looked highly skeptical, “you watched a bunch of  memories to see that Bucky is okay.”

Steve nodded, his head in his hands, he had a horrible headache “He was tired. He wanted to walk away and this was his out. He’s in London somewhere. I think he’s happy.” 

He looked up at Natasha, “What’s a muggle?”

She laughed, “ a non-magical person.” 

“I think I might hate magic,” said Steve, “It doesn't  make any sense at all.” 

Natasha patted him on the arm, “Let's not tell Tony about this okay?” she said smirking slightly, “the last thing we need is him working with the wizards.” 

The End

Chapter Text

Light House 

I give myself to the shipwreck

I give myself to the no way home

I can taste it, taste you in the back of my mouth

Chapter One: Choices

When they brought Bucky in, they told him he had choices. After he complied and ended up in a small grey room without any windows, they kept telling him he had choices. He started to wonder if they actually knew what that word meant. 

He didn't argue. He didn't see the point. He was actually aware of what he signed up for here. He may not like it, but he knows the rules, and at this point, he's too tired to try and do anything about it. 

When he went on ice, he had hoped he wouldn't wake up. That they'd just put him in a back corner of some basement facility and forget about him. 

What do you do when your anchor to reality dies?

Bucky thought going to sleep and maybe not waking up sounded like a pretty good idea.

He had been doing better. Most of the time, he was aware of what was going on . He could even usually tell that time had passed. He still wasn't great at telling how much time had passed, but at least he wasn't convinced that the span of two weeks was a single day anymore.

It wasn't much, but he was gonna take progress when he could find it. It didn't come easy, either. He had to work at it, split his focus constantly to keep a grip on what was happening. Having Harry in the back of his head helped. It gave him an anchor point, something he could always come back to and reset.

Then Harry was gone as suddenly as he'd arrived. Like the blink of an eye and in his wake, he left a deep echoing silence. It was the kind of silence that felt like drowning. All Bucky could think about was how to make it stop, and going on ice was an easy out. 

Or at least at the time, it seemed like an easy out. It wasn't so easy once he woke back up. He really hadn't expected to wake back up and was so confused and disoriented that it ended badly for pretty much everyone involved. 

Afterward, when Steve looked at him like he'd kicked his puppy and asked what the hell had happened, Bucky really couldn't do much other than shrug. They already thought he was unstable and dangerous; he wasn't about to try to explain he'd had someone talking to him in his head for over a year. Someone who he was pretty sure had died and that he was real upset about it. 

He was at least aware enough to know when to keep his mouth shut. He was also aware enough to know that whatever look Natasha was giving him probably spelled bad news. She didn't buy his explanation. She could either believe him or not; either way, he wasn't offering up any more information.

He'd keep doing what he'd been doing. Keep his head down and his mouth shut, and maybe if he got lucky enough, he'd figure a way to get the hell out. 

It didn't take long for him to come to the conclusion he was not going to get lucky and find a way out on his own. Maybe if it was ten years ago, maybe if Harry wasn't gone. But right now? No way in hell. He was too tired, couldn't think straight, and couldn't find in himself to care all that much. 

Steve had this notion that any day now, they'd end up on the same team and spend the rest of forever working together. Just like they had a lifetime ago. Bucky knew that was never going to happen. Not when every time they were in the same room for more than five minutes someone hurried one of them -usually Steve off to do something very important. 

They had him in a room with no windows. It felt like being locked in a box. He was technically allowed to leave, but the way he felt eyes following him every time he left told him otherwise. He hated his little box, the air conditioning was always on, and it felt like sleeping in an ice box. Not that he did a whole lot of sleeping; they liked to keep him busy.

Bucky spent more time on planes than he spent off of them. While he was always on the move, none of his missions lasted very long or seemed to accomplish anything worthwhile. He was pretty sure while Steve worked with the A-team, he must be somewhere around the D-team.

Since they didn't trust him, they didn't bother to keep him informed. It didn't faze him; he had a lot of practice working with either very little or very shitty intel. It really wasn't that much different than working for Hydra, and when it came down to it, he really tried to avoid thinking about the lack of differences in his day to day.

He still did what he was told, shot who he was told, and slept in a freezing little box. S.H.I.E.L.D hadn't tried to fry his brain yet, but he hadn't given them a reason to try. So head down, mouth shut, good little tin soldier. 

When Bucky wasn't on a plane, he was in his freezing little grey box and was usually asleep. The thing was, Bucky didn't like the cold. He'd never really liked the cold, but now the cold seeped into his bones, and it ached. Human bodies were not meant to be frozen hundreds of times; there were consequences. He could deal with it, but being able to deal with it didn't make it hurt any less. 

He'd given up on figuring out how the hell that air conditioning worked and had just ripped the whole panel out of the wall. It wasn't an elegant solution, but he got a whole eighteen hours of sleep between missions and could even feel his feet when he woke up.

By the time he got back three days later, the air conditioner was back on, the panel was back in the wall, and he had some kind of memo on his bed letting him know he was not allowed to vandalize the room and the repair cost would come out of his salary.

He hadn't been aware he had a salary. He looked hard at the panel in the wall and considered just ripping it out again; it's not like he was going to use the money for anything anyway. 

It would be easy to pull the right wires, and he wouldn't have to spend the next twelve hours in what felt like a freezer. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it. 

If he started some kind of war with S.H.I.E.L.D. over something as stupid as the air conditioning, he wanted to be around long enough to enjoy it.

Instead, he did what he could to combat the persistent chill. He piled all the thin blankets he had onto the bed, cranked the shower to as hot as it would go, and hoped that if he tried to cook himself like a lobster, he'd retain enough heat that when he woke up, his hands wouldn't hurt. 

It had never worked before, but it was better than doing nothing.

The days blurred together, and at some point, he realized he was on a plane so often he'd stopped being able to remember if he was coming or going. In the end, he thought it probably didn't really matter. 

He was tired most of the time. Missions were long, and he almost never worked with the same team. It didn't matter how tired he was; he wasn't stupid enough to go sleep around a bunch of people he didn't trust. Which meant very long boring stretches of being awake on a plane and passing out as soon as he got back to his little box. 

Occasionally Steve found time to sneak down to see him, usually with food. It wasn't that S.H.I.E.L.D's food was bad; it was just that it was distinctly and indescribably off. Everyone knew it and hated it, but no one actually did anything about it.

So Steve made it a habit to bring something, anything he could, for them to share when he had the chance to sneak down to see Bucky. They'd end up crammed together shoulder to shoulder on the narrow bed, and Steve would ramble on about whatever or where he'd been off to recently. 

Bucky was pretty sure at least half of what Steve told him was at least twelve kinds of confidential, and somebody would be really pissed if they found out he knew about it. But he never mentioned it because Steve would just make that face he makes and would just keep telling him anyway.

"I'd have brought a whole watermelon if I could have gotten away with it," Steve said when he sat down. 

Bucky just looked flatly at him and raised his eyebrows.

Steve huffed, "you try sneaking a whole watermelon through a whole base and down six levels."

"I dare you."

The next time he showed up with a whole watermelon and two calliopes. 

"I don't think I've seen a vegetable in over a month," said Bucky.

"Would you stop complaining? Do you have any idea how much of a pain in my ass it is to get down here at all? I had to lie to Natasha, Buck." 

"And I'm sure she definitely believed you."

"She didn't. She thinks I was trying to hit on the girl at the market."

"Were you trying to hit on the girl at the market?"

Steve went red around the ears, "that's not the point." 

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you say." 

"Shut up and eat your watermelon."

Sometimes seeing Steve was enough to drag Bucky back from drifting, but most of the time, it wasn't. 

Steve started getting this pinched look around his eyes every time he saw him. 

"You look like shit," he said. 

"Sorry pal, that's just my face. I don't know what to tell you. I thought you'd be used to it by now." 

Steve just grimaced, "when was the last time you slept." 

"I don't know when was the last time I was here for more than an hour?" 

Steve thought that if he talked to enough people and pleaded enough, he'd be able to do something about getting them to work together. So much so that he got a meeting with Fury about it. 

Bucky thought he had less than an iceberg's chance in hell. To which Steve said, "can you try not to be so optimistic?" 

Bucky didn't see Steve for over a month after that, so he imagined it went about as well as he thought it would. 

The next time he saw Steve, it was in passing across a flight hanger. Steve made very intense eye contact, his mouth set in a hard line, and did something ridiculous with his hands. 

Bucky just stared. 

Steve kept doing it, and the rest of his team started to watch. He raised his eyebrows and gave Bucky a very pointed look. Bucky was obviously supposed to play along.

So he did. He waved his hands around a little bit and then kept walking. 

Steve's revenge may be petty, but it appeared to be effective. 

It only took a couple of days of hand waving at each other before Natasha cornered Bucky, demanding to know what the hand signals meant. 

Bucky wasn't even lying when he shrugged and said, "not a clue. Ask Steve." 

She looked like she wanted to punch him but dropped it and stalked off to ask Steve. 

Steve was filling out a mission report when she found him. She sat on the edge of the table and jabbed him hard in the shoulder. 

"Those hand singles don't mean a damn thing, do they?" 

Steve grinned at her, "took you long enough." 

"You know, pulling shit like this isn't going to get you what you want." 

"Nat, you and I both know Fury is never going to let me work with Bucky. You have him backed into a corner. I think he's starting to lose it." 

"Telling me he's losing it isn't helping your case, Steve." 

"You have him locked up in a little ice box. He lives on planes. He told me last week he hadn't slept in two days. I counted; it was actually four." 

"I don't know what you want me to do about it. You know what he'd done; we can't just let him walk around on his own."

"You do realize he's a person and not a machine, right?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you. I just don't know what you want me to do about it."

"Look, I don't have a solution; I'm just saying if you keep pushing him, eventually he's going to push back, and no one's going to like it."

"And repeatedly ripping the air conditioning out of the wall isn't pushing back?"

"Has anyone maybe considered the guy who was on ice for years might not like living in what is essentially an ice box? What else is he supposed to do about it?"

"He is capable of speech, Rogers. He can be a big boy and use his words."

Steve looked very flatly up at her, "and who exactly is he supposed to talk to, Natasha?" 

She sighed, "Can you get him under control or not?"

"What do you think I'm trying to do? What does Fury want me to do? Telepathically get him to fall in line? I can't even get in the same room with him for more than five minutes. I don't understand what you're looking for him to do, Nat. He's just existing; how much more obedience is S.H.I.E.L.D. looking for?"

She didn't answer him. She just patted him on the arm and walked away. 

Nothing changed. Steve continued to send Bucky made up hand signals, and it continued to upset the agents in charge. Bucky continued to occasionally rip the air condition unit out of the wall when he couldn't stand his hands aching any longer. This also continued upset the agents in charge.  

It was a long, indistinct blur of sleeping and planes, and Bucky knew time must have passed but had no frame of reference for how much. 

He had had a very bad day at the office and had been ordered to report directly to the med bay. He was absolutely not going to report to the med bay. He could deal with a dislocated shoulder and stab wound on his own. They always tried to give him some kind of sedative when he wasn't paying attention and were confused when he'd get upset about it. 

He had long ago decided it wasn't worth arguing over, and he just didn't go to the med bay. 

When he finally staggered through the door of his little room, six levels down, it was not an ice box. So at least he was currently winning the air conditioning war, even if he was not winning anything else at the moment. 

His shoulder was easily dealt with, he rammed it back into place on the bathroom door frame, and by the time he got around to cleaning the stab wound, it had mostly stopped bleeding. 

Meaning once he'd cleaned to the best of his ability, he could fall face first into his bed and yank the growing pile of blankets over his head. 

Over the past year, Steve had smuggled him a couple of sleeping bags. It made the air con at least a little more tolerable. 

He was tired. He had been tired for so long that he didn't notice that the silence in his head didn't echo anymore. It wasn't so silent at all; there was a murmur, soft and indistinct. He was almost asleep when he heard words. 

He went very still and stopped breathing. He couldn't believe it. 

He didn't want to try and reach out, only to be wrong and have it just be his own broken brain. 

But he focused very hard and kept listening. 

When he was sure, well, as sure as he ever was about anything, he reached towards the voice, "so, you aren't dead after all." 

What he got back was a sharp jab of intense panic. 

"Miss me?" he added.

Just to be a dick. Maybe he was just a little bit bitter. Maybe he was more than just a little bit bitter. 

In the end, they were a pair of idiots who jumped to conclusions. 

Still, Bucky felt vindicated that he had at least been right; Harry had died. Even if he'd only been dead for five minutes. 

Which what the fuck- why was no one looking after him? Who was dumb enough to just let him wander off on his own like that?!! 

Still, two years was a long time to miss each other, and when Harry told him, "don't do that again! I missed you." 

He was determined he was going to get them in the same place. And he was going to hold his boy, and they would be together. 

Even if he was fucking exhausted, and right now, everything hurt. He was a stubborn fucker, and he'd find a way. 

He didn't tell Harry he was looking for an exit. It wasn't that he didn't think Harry would want to help him. He knew he did, but he wanted to keep Harry as far away from S.H.I.E.L.D. as possible. He didn't want Fury to ever see Harry's face or know his name. 

Bucky didn't know if S.H.I.E.L.D knew about magic, and he really didn't want to find out. Every worst case scenario he came up with started with Harry getting dragged in by S.H.I.E.L.D. He could never let that happen. Fury was smart enough to use a good bargaining chip once he got one, and Harry would be a very good bargaining chip indeed. 

So he kept his mouth shut and shot down all of Harry's ideas on how to get him out. He wasn't willing to risk it. He'd rather wait longer than risk S.H.I.E.L.D. coming anywhere near Harry. 

He never stopped looking for an out, even when he was so tired he couldn't remember where he was anymore. 

In retrospect, he probably should have known better than to think Harry would just leave it alone. Considering how upset he got over Bucky's lack of sleep and ever rotating injuries.

"It's fine."

"It's NOT fine! You got blown up."

"I didn't get blown up. The plane got blown up. It wasn't even in the air. It's not a big deal."

"Being on a blown up plane is actually a very big deal."

Bucky had given up trying to convince him; really getting blown up wasn't that big of a deal, and no, he really was fine. Considering Harry thought that any injuries constituted not fine, and being injured on a semi-regular basis was pretty much part of his job, they were just going to have to have a difference of opinions on what was considered fine. 

When he told Harry this, Harry replied, "yeah, except if it was me who got blown up, you would lose your mind, so I don't see why I can't be equally concerned about you."

Bucky tried to explain that the difference was he could take a lot more punishment than a normal person.

"I mean, I really don't care if you can handle it or not. I'd just rather you aren't hurt at all. Are you really just going to pretend that this isn't some kind of insane double standard? Your definition of fine is something along the lines of not dead or currently dying, and I just want something better for you. You deserve better than equating not dying to being okay." 

So really, he should have known Harry would get sick of standing around and doing nothing and would do something as rash and stupid as showing up at Stark tower and asking to see him.

He should have known, but his concept of knowing was still pretty shaky on the best of days, and it wasn't exactly the best of days. It had been another bad day at the office. He had thought he'd been having more and more of those recently before he realized that it wasn't that there were more of them. He was just more aware of them since Harry had come back. 

Still, that didn't make him any happier about dragging Smith out of a river after the idiot accidentally toppled half their team off a cliff and then had the audacity to not know how to swim. 

It just meant that he had a very long and very wet ride home to look forward to. 

So when Harry said , "Of course, you'd be out. I'm going to be stuck waiting for you for hours."

Bucky was resigned to the fact his day was not going to get any better and that it was highly likely, he'd have to shoot his way out of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

Bucky didn't know what Harry's plan was, but he didn't expect it to work, which was why he ended up stalking into the interrogation room, soaking wet, mask on, still wearing his full kit. 

But he knew as soon as he stepped into that room, this was his out. Knowing didn't make vanishing in a flash of light or slamming into a stone floor so hard he went sliding down the hallway any less shocking.  

The house was old and dark, and something was screaming at them. Bucky couldn't see what from where he lay sprawled on the floor, one foot braced hard against the wall. 

Harry lay half on top of him. They had made it out. Somehow Harry's plan had worked. 

The first night at number twelve, they spent on the couch in the front room. Harry fell asleep tucked against his chest sometime in the evening, and that's where he stayed the entire night. 

Bucky didn't sleep. He was exhausted, but he knew if he went to sleep now, he'd be out probably for at least a full day, and there was part of his brain that was convinced that if he closed his eyes, he'd wake back up in his little ice box at S.H.I.E.L.D. and he couldn't.  

He drifted, watching the shadows change on the walls. This was good enough. He wasn't cold; he could feel Harry breathing into his neck, and the couch was comfortable. Nothing hurt. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Number Twelve 

Bucky spent the better part of three days asleep on the lumpy couch in the front room, buried under a pile of blankets. 

He'd just kind of shut down half draped over Harry sometime in the late afternoon of the second day at number twelve. 

When he finally woke up, Harry was still on the couch with him, but he'd moved to the far end. He was bent over a thick book and a mug of tea. 

Bucky groaned, trying to shift just enough to free his arm from where it was trapped under his chest. 

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked, looking down at Bucky with those bright green eyes, smiling just a little, "you were out a really long time." 

Harry slid his long fingers through Bucky's hair and over his jaw, continuing down the side of his neck and over his shoulders. He turned his face into Harry's hip and sighed. It would be so easy to just turn back off for a while and keep sleeping. He was so comfortable. 

"You can go back to sleep if you want. I'm not going anywhere. I think if you're up for it tomorrow, we should do something about getting a proper bed. I don't know about you, but I'd rather a big fluffy bed than this lumpy old couch."  

Bucky hummed his agreement into Harry's hip and slipped back to sleep. 

As it turned out, getting a bed was more complicated than it sounded. First, they had to find somewhere to put the bed. Which meant waging war on the house. Bucky was only a little surprised to find out that house fought back. 

Harry showed him the room he'd picked. "It was Regulus," he'd said, "he was Kreature's favorite, so I thought it might be at least a little less rotten than the others."

Harry was right; it wasn't quite as filthy as the rest of the house. But it still stank of decay and was thickly coated in dust. 

Like the rest of the house, it was distinctly old fashioned in a way that most things in America weren't. The furniture was huge and ornate, and everything was draped in green and silver. 

Bucky stuck his head into the dim room and glanced around at the old molding furniture. 

"What exactly is the plan with all of this?" He asked, eyeing the huge, sagging four poster bed. 

"We're not keeping any of it," said Harry, "I thought we could start from scratch. Then we'd have at least one room in this house that's ours." 

They started after breakfast, and it wasn't long before Bucky realized this was a much larger undertaking than either of them had expected- even with the help of magic. 

He was already sweaty and filthy, and his hair wouldn't stay out of his eyes. It was driving him crazy. Every time he tried to push it back, he'd smear more dust over his face. 

Harry finally took pity on him and transfigured one of the pillowcases into a hair elastic. 

It took them the rest of the day to mostly clear the room. By the time it started to get dark, Harry collapsed on the floor next to the door slumping against the wall. Bucky looked up from the bed frame he was bodily dismantling. 

Harry smiled sheepishly at him, "I think I might need a break."

There were piles of old half rotten fabric piled by the door, stacked next to a heap of what was once furniture. 

Bucky dropped down next to Harry, leaning into his side. 

"You know I can finish this without you," he said. 

Harry glared at him, "I'm not making you do all the heavy lifting. I can help. I just need a break. Besides, it's getting late. We should probably do something about dinner. "

In the end, Harry went to get them takeaway for dinner while Bucky finished clearing the room by himself. They'd be done faster if he kept working while he waited for Harry to return with dinner. And after spending the whole day filthy and itchy and covered in dust, he really wanted to just be finished already. 

By the time Harry had returned over an hour later, all the rubble was out of the room. It was empty, dust free, and the floor was scrubbed clean. Bucky hadn't dragged the mattress up from the front hall yet, mostly because he was afraid to touch it until after he'd had a shower. 

They ended up eating on the floor of the second story stairwell. They sat against the wall, facing each other, passing the takeaway containers back and forth. Both too tired and too dirty to want to go down to the kitchen. 

They had cobwebs caught in their hair, Harry had dark smudges on his cheek, and Bucky was pretty sure he would be scrubbing dust out of the grooves of his left arm for days. Piles of curtains, bedclothes, and bits of broken furniture littered the hallways running down to the front hall. 

Everything had been worth it to sleep in a real bed and they both fell exhausted and slightly delirious onto the huge mattress they had pushed into a corner of the bedroom. It was so much better than sleeping on an old lumpy couch.

Bucky slept for another full day and a half. 

When he woke up this time, he was alone. It was sometime in the afternoon, and the bright yellow sunlight splashed halfway across the room. Still half asleep, he lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes. 

The door creaked open. Bucky could see Harry through half lidded eyes, standing just outside the bedroom, his head peeking around the door. 

Come 'ere," he said. 

Harry slipped through the cracked door and crossed the bedroom. Bucky watched the fading sunlight splash across his face. 

He'd had three days to sleep and finally didn't feel like he was drifting anymore. Now he was awake and looking at the beautiful boy crossing the room towards him, and he wanted to touch. To run his hands all over Harry's slender body, through his messy hair, to leave wet kisses all down his front. 

Harry flopped down onto the bed next to him and rolled on his side to face him. 

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up." 

"Sweetheart, if you missed me, you can just come and wake me up." 

"I can wait. I want you to get as much rest as you need." 

Bucky hummed and ran his hand over Harry's cheek and into his hair. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. Harry sighed and pressed closer, his whole body leaning into Bucky. 

Bucky kissed him. A hot desperate open mouthed kiss because he wants. Harry leaned into the kiss, open and wanting.

Bucky rolled them over, pinning Harry to the bed, kissing him like he was drowning.

If he could dream, he'd have dreamt about Harry's pretty face and green eyes every night since he'd first seen him in Wales. He doesn't dream, though. He just wantes. 

Harry's hands were everywhere, in his hair, running over his shoulders, and gliding down his back.  

He slid his hand up Harry's sides, under his shirt, pulling it off. Harry panted softly against his mouth, grinding into his thigh. 

Bucky fumbled for the buttons on Harry's jeans, running his hands up the insides of his thighs. He hooked Harry's legs around his hips, and he fucks him hard, braced half against the wall. With Harry's face tucked into his neck, his breath hot and panting in his ear.

Harry wrapped his arms tight around Bucky's back, coming hard between them, going boneless and pliant Bucky's arms. Bucky finished a moment later with a shudder. 

They stayed curled together for a long moment, and Bucky decided that if anyone tried to take this away from him, they would have to kill him first. 

The sun had set, leaving them in the half darkness of twilight. Harry had draped himself over Bucky's chest, his head resting on his shoulder. His fingers ran over the place on Bucky's left shoulder where metal and flesh met. Harry understood Bucky's left arm was metal and that it had to attach somehow but understanding it conceptually and seeing it were entirely different.  

Now his fingers trailed over the thick ropes of scars surrounding Bucky's shoulder, where the flesh and metal met. Bucky didn't mind; he could hardly feel the trail of Harry's fingers. He didn't have a whole lot of feeling in that shoulder anymore. It hadn't hurt in a very long time. 

"You know it doesn't hurt, right? I can't really feel much there at all," Bucky said, eyes half closed. 

"I don't want it to have ever hurt at all," said Harry softly. 

"That was a long time ago," said Bucky, he pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, "and nothin hurts now. So don't you worry about it." 

Harry did not stop worrying about it, Bucky could still feel fingers moving over the groves in his arm as he drifted back into oblivion. 

Sometimes Harry woke them both screaming. This was one of those nights. 

Harry fell thrashing out of bed, dragging more than half the blankets with him. He lay curled in a ball, his arms wrapped around his head, panting. 

Bucky pulled himself to the edge of the bed and looked over the edge. He could see Harry still shaking in the dim early morning light, "you okay, sweetheart?" he slurred, half awake. 

Harry blinked awake and grimaced. He rolled flat on his back and rolled his shoulders back, his hands only still shaking a little. 

"Come back up 'ere," Bucky reached out for Harry's hand and helped pull him back onto the bed. The blankets trailing behind him. 

Harry curled into Bucky's arms, only relaxing once he was tucked tightly against him. 

"They took you," he said flatly, "they took you and it was awful."

Buck tucked Harry's head under his chin, "nobody's taken me anywhere, I'm right here"

Harry sighed, "You don't get nightmares do you?"

"I don't dream."

"At all?" asked Harry

"At all. If I did, it would be about you. It's like I just kind of turn off. Usually, if someone wakes me up, it can be bad, I can get real disoriented, but somehow I always know when it's you," mumbled Bucky

"You just know? How do you just know?" 

"Dunno, just do. I told you we're soulmates or summthin."

"Yeah, but we've gone over this, soulmates aren't real," said Harry softly. 

Bucky muttered something indistinct and fell back asleep. 

After the first week, Bucky still didn't know what to make of number twelve. It was a weird house. It was too big, ten kinds of filthy, and probably haunted, by what, he didn't know. All he knew was having an angry shouting painting in your front hall was the pits. 

They were in the kitchen; it was the first room other than their bedroom that they decided to clear out for obvious reasons.

Bucky didn't understand why the kitchen was in the basement, and Harry didn't seem to know either. So Bucky wasn't sure if it was a wizarding thing or if the house was just strange. He thought it was probably a little of both. 

They were sitting at the long rough table in the kitchen, eating breakfast. Harry, it turned out, was a damn fine cook. He had finished telling Bucky about how they had been invited to dinner at the Burrow the following night, "That's my friend Ron's family," he said taking a bite of his toast, "they're a full wizarding family, I usually go on Sundays. I guess Hermione must have said something about you and now Ron's mum is insisting you come along."  

"Do you want me to come along?"

Harry put down his toast and stared at him, "of course I want you to come. I just didn't know- well, it's a lot of people- they're a big family, and I think Bill and Fleur are coming and maybe the twins- I just. I just didn't want to overwhelm you. They're a lot, without just finding out about magic too."

"I'll just tell you if it's too much, yeah?"

Harry nodded, his elbow catching a glass at the end of the table. They watched it fall and shatter on the stone floor. It was just loud enough to rouse Mrs. Black from her slumber. 

"Oh, for fuck sake-" muttered Harry.

"BLOOD TRAITORS! CREATURES OF FILTH! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-" 

They both winced. 

She wasn't even original. Just the same lines over and over.  

"I have got to find a way to deal with that portrait," grumbled Harry. 

"What's preventing you from taking it down?" asked Bucky, raising his voice to be heard over the shrieking in the hallway.

"Permanent sticking charm," said Harry loudly. He got up and stuck his wand out into the hallway sending a series of rapid fire silencing charms at Mrs. Black. 

They both sighed with relief when she was cut off mid-word, and the house returned to its regular eerie silence. 

"What's it stuck to?" asked Bucky.

Harry furrowed his brow, "the wall?"

"So we take out the wall."

Harry stared at him.

"Rip out the wall? It's not hard to replace. We could do it,"

"You mean, all this time, and all I had to do to get rid of that screaming hag was to rip out the wall?" said Harry rubbing his eyes.

They spent the next hour and a half ripping out the wall. Bucky thought they should just saw a square around the painting and pull it out. Harry agreed that was probably the best idea, but he didn't have a good enough idea of what a saw looked like to be able to transfigure one. So instead, he conjured a pair of hammers, and they worked just fine. Soon a silently raging Mrs. Black fell face first onto the ground. 

They stood up the frame still attached to the missing section of wall and leaned it against the stairs case. 

"Now what?" asked Bucky. 

"I didn't exactly think this far ahead," said Harry. 

She ended up tucked away in a back corner of the basement. Harry initially wanted to drag her out into the overgrown back garden and burn her. But once he thought about it for more than a minute, he decided it would be too much like murder and couldn't go through with it. 

Bucky thought that whoever accidentally came across the portrait when they inevitably forgot about her would be in for a very bad time. 

He was glad she was gone. Her screaming was instantly headache inducing, and even when she'd been silenced, her eyes followed them up and down the stairs while she silently seethed. It was unnerving at the best of times, at night it was downright horrifying. 

They had started cleaning up the plaster dust that now heavily coated the front hall when Harry realized he'd forgotten about some kind of important meeting with somebody in the magical government. 

Something to do with illegal portkeys and potential kidnapping. Harry really didn't have the time to explain while he dashed around the house, looking for his wand, and his robes, and his shoes before he tripped over the stairs and then finally disappeared in a flash of green flames in the kitchen fireplace. 

The rest of the morning Bucky spent dealing with the dust coating the entryway before it could be tracked even further into the rest of the house. The house was filthy enough on its own. It didn't need any extra help. When he finally made it up the stairs to shower off all the dust that was caught in his hair, and coated his arms, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror while he passed. 

"Christ," he muttered, turning to look at himself. This wasn't the worst he'd ever looked, not by a long shot, but that didn't mean he didn't look pretty terrible. He needed to shave and was more than a little wild and haunted around the eyes. His hair was too long and lank and had half fallen out from when he'd hurriedly pulled back that morning. 

He sighed. Once upon a time, he'd been a real looker.  

He gingerly pulled the tangled hair elastic out and ran his finger through his hair, trying to work out the worst of the snarls. 

After digging through the bathroom cabinets, he found a pair of scissors and set them on the counter. He spent a minute contemplating whether he was about to do something very stupid but decided it would probably be fine. 

He took a deep breath, picked up the scissors, and got to work. The end result he decided was passable. A little uneven, maybe, but he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, but overall it was a vast improvement. At the very least, he was a little less rough around the edges and was probably less likely to scare small children by looking at them. 

When Harry left like this, Bucky wasn't always sure what to do with himself. Usually, he ended up falling asleep in the sun on the lumpy couch in the front room. 

Today he ended up in the kitchen leaning against the counter, flipping through the looming pile of old copies of the Daily Prophet shoved in the corner. The one he was currently pursuing featured a large black and white moving photo of a Gala, and a very uncomfortable looking Harry was determinedly trying to edge out of the frame. 

Bucky was still flipping through the paper trying to figure out what a Kneezle was when Harry came crashing out of the floo.

Harry was wearing robes today, which he didn't do very often. They were completely unbuttoned down the front and worn over a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. But he was still wearing them. Or he was before he pulled them off and dumped them on the end of the table and sighed rather dramatically. 

"Meeting went well, huh?" said Bucky looking up from the paper. 

"Bloody hell!" 

Harry jumped, slammed his knee into one of the kitchen chairs, and turned to look at Bucky before quickly looking at the floor. 

He started to go a bit pink around the ears. "You're too quiet. It's not fair," he said indignantly. 

"Sorry, you can get me a bell if you'd like, but I don't think it would make much of a difference." 

Harry laughed, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. He kept sending quick darting glances Bucky's way while he told him about his meeting with the Minister of Magic. 

"It was very boring, really. There was a lot of lecturing, and I had to pretend I was very, very sorry and that I would never ever use an unregistered portkey ever again," said Harry, "oh, and I had to pay a fine." 

"Portkey?" 

"It's how I got you out of New York." 

"Disappeared in a flash of light and crash landed in the hallway?" 

"That's the one, and we weren't supposed to crash land in the hallway. I just have bad luck with portkeys. I think we'll probably have to apparate to Burrow tomorrow. I don't think muggles can use the floo." 

"Is there a reason you're avoiding looking at me?" 

Harry went very red, stumbling a bit over his words, "erm, no-it's just. Well, you look very good?" 

Bucky snorted, "you sure about that?"

"Really sure," said Harry, still rather red. He forced his eyes to meet Bucky's, "you do look really good. I mean, you always look good- er-I like the hair?" 

Bucky didn't get a chance to respond before there was a great woosh in the fireplace, and Hermione's face looked out at them. Magic was never going to stop being weird . 

She looked very displeased and turned her face in the green flames to glare at Harry. 

"YOU!" she said. 

"Me?" said Harry, "what have I done now?"

"Why didn't you tell me you hadn't told anyone about Bucky?!"

"I told you and Ron? Who else was I supposed to tell?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and went on to explain how she had been to dinner at the Burrow night before and got ambushed by Mrs. Weasley, which was what prompted the rather sudden and demanding dinner invitation for the following night. 

Harry had started dinner turning away from his vegetables to gesture at her with his chopping knife, "I just don't understand why you had to say anything about Bucky at all." 

"You know how Mrs. Weasley can be! She was going on about you needing to meet some nice girl and that maybe she should have someone come to dinner to get to know you-" 

Harry winced and returned to chopping his potatoes. 

"Oh, I know!" Said Hermione darkly, "don't get me started. I just knew you'd hate it." 

Bucky watched Hermione's head turn slightly in the fireplace. 

This had to be one of the weirdest things he'd ever seen. 

She kept talking, "so I had to say something. I tried just mentioning I thought you were seeing someone but oh my god , the questions, Harry!" 

"So what exactly did you say?" asked Harry 

"I said that you were seeing a muggle man and that he was older than you and had been in one of the muggle wars, but I didn't know which one," she turned to look at Bucky, where he was perched at the end of the counter, "that's all true right?" 

He nodded. She continued, "They asked his name, but I just said I didn't know. What is your name?" 

"James Barnes." 

"Oh god , is it really?" said Harry, "I am never calling you that." 

"What's wrong with James?" asked Bucky. 

"My dad was named James," replied Harry. 

"You're never calling me that." 

"Right," said Hermione, "now that we got that out of the way. What exactly are you two planning on doing about the Burrow?" 

"What do you mean? We're planning on going," said Harry. 

Hermione sighed, "and what exactly are you going to tell them? You can't tell them the truth."

"Oh," said Harry, he glanced at Bucky, who shrugged, "I don't know? I really haven't thought about it."

"You had better come up with a good story. You know everyone is going to want details."

"What kind of details?" asked Harry, looking worried. 

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, and it looked like she might have counted to ten before continuing, "I can not believe you haven't thought about this. What exactly were you planning on telling people?" 

Harry looked sheepish and shrugged, "I wasn't? Why does any of this matter?" 

"What do you mean, why does this matter! Of course, it matters," said Hermione hotly, "you have to tell people something. There will be questions about why a muggle is suddenly living in your house! God, you are so lucky it hasn't been the prophet yet!"

"You're saying we need to come up with some kind of cover story about who I am and why I'm here," 

Hermione turned in the fire to face Bucky and looked very relieved that somebody had finally caught on, "That is exactly what I am saying. If you don't, Harry will try to make something up on the spot, and well, I doubt it will go well." 

"Why does anyone care?!!!" moaned Harry, angrily stabbing a carrot. 

"Probably the same reason your picture is in almost all of those papers," said Bucky, "I think she's got the right idea."

Harry glared at him, "you're not supposed to agree with her."

"Harry," said Hermione, trying her best to be patient, "You have a wanted terrorist living in your house. You have got to come up with a reasonable explanation, or you're just going to get him caught. Stop being bitter about being the Boy Who Lived and think critically for five minutes, please." 

"Oh," said Harry.

"Yes, oh." said Hermione, "so please, for the love of Merlin, come up with something good."

She looked back at Bucky, "I am putting you in charge. Make sure he doesn't leave this house without a plan, or don't let him go at all."

"Yes, mam."

"I'm glad at least one of you has some common sense. Honestly," she said, still exasperated, "I'll see you both tomorrow night."

Then as suddenly as it appeared, her face vanished from the fire. The fire wasn't green anymore, and dinner was just about on the table.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Dinner at the Burrow 

The day they were supposed to have dinner at the Burrow wasn't a good day for either of them. Harry had woken up screaming twice the night before, the second time trashing so violently he knocked Bucky off the edge of the bed, and he'd taken the entire side table down with him. They had sleepily agreed that that was enough sleeping for the day and gotten up before the sun. 

Harry was irritable like he always was when he felt guilty about waking them both up and had walked into town to get coffee and breakfast once it was a more reasonable hour for people to be awake. 

"I don't trust myself to try and cook breakfast today," he'd said, pulling on his boots, "I think we could both use a latte after this morning."

Bucky hadn't argued and went to curl up in the patch of sun on the couch in the front room. He wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't really awake either when Harry got back from the shops. He ended up with his head in Harry's lap while they drank their coffee. 

Harry slowly pulled himself together throughout the morning, but Bucky was having trouble focusing, and by lunch, he knew going to dinner was probably a bad idea. 

"Keep it together, Barnes," he thought, "You've done more with less." 

It didn't matter that he had done more with less. Today he was a mess. By mid-afternoon, Harry had started to get twitchy and impatient and started pacing around the house, "Go upstairs and knock something down," said Bucky after watching Harry come in and out of the front room for the fifth time in less than an hour, "you're gonna drive us both crazy pacing around like that." 

"Yeah, okay. Fine," said Harry; he left the front room, and Bucky heard him pounding up the stairs to knock something down. It really didn't matter what he knocked down. They were going to have to do a lot of knocking down. Almost all the drywall on the second and third floors needed to be replaced because the windows were ancient and leaked. Which also meant they were also going to have to replace the ancient leaking windows. 

Bucky was trying to read a book about warding; he'd talked Hermione into getting him. He was trying to figure out if they could just rip the windows out or if doing so would bring the whole house down around them- window wards were weird and complicated and didn't make any goddamn sense. It was slow going, even on days when he could focus. 

"Magic doesn't make any fucking sense," he muttered grumpily and closed the thick book. He wasn't making headway today, and he was pretty sure if he kept going, he would confuse himself. 

Besides, he was pretty sure he needed to get a book on Runes if he was ever going to understand how the infuriating wards worked. 

Harry came back downstairs covered in plaster dust and looking much less frantic a few hours later, "we should probably eat something," he said, leaning on the door frame, "I know it's kind of late, but dinner at the burrow is never on time, if we eat before nine it'll be a miracle." 

"I could eat," said Bucky following him into the kitchen, "do you have school books about Runes? You know, something really basic, like runes for idiots or something."

"I didn't take Runes, but Hermione did. She might have one," said Harry, digging around in the refrigerator, "Why do you want a book on Runes?"

"I'm still trying to figure out how the fuck the wards on the windows work," 

"Oh, well, Bill's going to be at dinner tonight. We can always have him come by and take a look. He's a curse breaker; he knows a ton about wards." 

"Sure, but I'd rather understand how they work so we don't have to call somebody in every time we need to replace part of the house. It's old. We're gonna have to replace a lot of parts." 

Harry shrugged, "I mean, better you than me. I'm terrible at theoretical magic."

"Can you remind me to ask Hermione about Runes?"

"Sure, I can try. You might be better off texting her. Things can get a little hectic at the Weasleys."

Bucky hummed in agreement. Digging out the cell phone Hermione had insisted they get, from the pile of old daily prophets in the corner. He tapped out a quick message, and tossed it back into the corner.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, and that really wasn't boding well for Bucky. He remembered drying the dishes; he blinked, and then it was after four thirty, and he was back in the front room. Harry stuck his head in the door, "We should probably get ready to go," he said, "I think Mrs. Weasley wanted everyone there by five." 

Bucky stared blankly at him for a second before he figured out what he was talking about, "Pull it together, Jesus Christ," he thought. 

Apparating it turned out was just as bad, if not worse, than traveling by port key. Harry had tried to explain the concept, but Bucky just looked at him with his eyebrows raised like he wasn't making any sense. So Harry grabbed his wrist, turned on the spot, and they vanished with a loud crack.  

They landed in the front garden of the Burrow and would have gone crashing to the ground if Bucky hadn't caught himself on a fence post and managed to catch Harry around the waist with his other arm. 

"That was awful," he said once he'd let go of Harry. He rubbed his temples, his head throbbed. 

"Yeah, sorry," said Harry grimly, "the Floo's not so bad, but I don't think muggles can use it."

"Why are all magical forms of transportation awful? Christ, what's wrong with driving?" 

Before Harry got a chance to answer, the door to the house flew open, "Harry!" Mrs. Weaslsey came bustling out of the house, her arm open wide, wrapping Harry into a tight hug. 

"Oh, you," she said, "It's been too long; I'm so glad you could come. Ron's told me all about how you're living in that horrible house. I've been so worried! Oh, it's so good to see you, Harry, dear." 

She released him and turned to Bucky, "And you! I'm so glad you came!" she said, and then she had him wrapped up tight in a hug and was leading them both into the house.

"Come in, come in, nearly everyone here. Bill should be here any minute, and we're still waiting on George and Lee, of course, but well. You know how they are. It could be half the night before they turn up." 

The house was already loud and crowded, and god, did Bucky's head hurt. He could feel his eyes start to glaze over. 

There was a loud crack from outside, and the door burst open behind them, "Honey! I'm home!" crowed George, stomping into the kitchen with Lee Jordan and Angelina two steps behind him.

"Angie! My darling!" shrieked Ginny, throwing herself across the kitchen, nearly knocking a laughing Angelina to the floor.   

The house exploded in a flurry of movement around the two girls, full of laughter and loud greetings. Bucky stuck close to the back of the room near Hermione. She took one look at him before she grabbed his elbow and steered him out a side door to the kitchen and into the hall by the stairs. She spun him to face her.

Bucky blinked, "Everything alright?" 

"I was going to ask you that," she said, "You keep going completely blank in there. Fortunately, I don't think anyone noticed." 

He sighed, "Ah, fuck."

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked.

"I'll be fine. Just gimme a minute,"

"Look," said Hermione, "I know this isn't easy for you. It's a lot. They're a lot . But honestly, you have got to keep it together, at least until after dinner. I'll do my best to keep them busy, and I'm sure Harry can get you out of here after dinner. This was a terrible idea. I should have tried harder to talk Harry out of it."

"I'll be fine," said Bucky, rubbing his eyes. His head pounded, "Today hasn't been a great day."

"I can tell," said Hermione dryly, "Just stay here and don't move. I'm going to get Harry."

Then she vanished into the kitchen. 

She was back a moment later. She shoved Harry into the dark hallway, closing the kitchen door behind him with a snap. 

Harry leaned next to him against the wall. 

"Hermione said you're not doing too good," said Harry,

"I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"You're definition of fine, or my definition of fine?"

"I don't know, somewhere in between." Bucky sighed. He leaned sideways, resting his head on Harry's, "If my head would stop pounding, it would be great."

"Sorry," said Harry, "this is kinda my fault from this morning, isn't it?"

"I think I'm just like this."

"Yeah, but getting thrown out of bed at four in the morning probably didn't help." 

"I sure took down that nightstand, did I?"

Harry laughed, "it had it coming."

Bucky huffed in amusement and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I think we've got a couple more minutes before anyone notices we're missing," said Harry. 

He let himself drift until Harry tugged on his arm and led him back inside. He was more coherent for this round of introductions, and having Harry stick by his side probably helped more than he'd have liked to admit. 

Hermione found them in the corner of the living room, "Oh, right," she said, "I brought that book you asked about."

"Book?" said Bucky.

Hermione sighed, "An idiot's guide to Runes, you asked this morning."

"Right, yes. Thank you," he said. 

"What do you need a book about Runes for?" asked Ron from behind Hermione.

"I'm still trying to figure out how the wards on the windows work. We're gonna have to rip most of them out," said Bucky, "I think it might be different in different rooms? I don't know, I feel like I'm trying to read another language half the time, and Harry's not really much help."

"Right, sorry mate," said Ron, "we took Divination instead of Runes. Best of luck." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, "the two of you were such slackers, honestly."

"Hey! We did alright," said Ron, "I mean, I managed to become an Auror, didn't I?"

"If I hadn't been around to help you, you both would have gotten straight dreadfuls. Or worse! You would have gotten Trolls!" said Hermione, "Besides, we both know you only qualified because Kingsley waived the NEWTS requirements. You never would have passed the Potions exam."

Ron grimaced, "I suppose, but I passed the entrance exam! You didn't even help me study. I did it all on my own."

Hermione smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder, "I know you did, and I'm really proud of you."

The very tips of his ears started to go red. 

"Alright, what's up, you lot?" said Ginny, shoving her way into the group. She turned to Bucky, "You must be Soldier Boy then." 

She grinned, "Nice going, Harry, he's real cute." 

Harry choked, turning a brilliant shade of red. 

Bucky laughed, "Bucky Barnes," he said, holding out his human hand for her. She took it and shook it gleefully, "Ginny Weasley, the youngest Weasley reporting to duty. Sir."

Ron huffed, "Gin, what are you on about?"

Mr. Weasley stuck his head into the crowded living room, "Right, you lot, dinner's almost ready. We'll eat out in the garden." 

"Right," said Ron, "Better get in there and help Mum then before she loses it. Bill was supposed to be here hours ago," he sent Harry a dark look, "And you know how she gets about Fleur." 

Ginny rolled her eyes, "If I have to listen to her and mum argue all night again ."

"I don't think she's coming, actually," said Hermione, "she's probably going to stay home with the baby."

"Oh, even better. Mum's just going to love that," said Ginny. She led the way into the kitchen.

They had almost settled down at the two long mismatched tables outside when there was a loud crack, and the oldest Weasley brother appeared in the front garden. 

"BILL!" shouted Ginny waving enthusiastically. Bill waved back, hopped the fence, and crossed the yard to the table. 

"Sorry, I'm late," he said, hugging Mrs. Weasley, "You know how it is."

Bucky was squeezed in between Harry and Hermione, who had ousted Ginny from his left side and sent her further down the table, grumbling. Hermione dragged Ron down next to her and gave Bucky a very pointed look as if to say, "we are all going to get through this together."

He appreciated the sentiment, but he was pretty sure the hard part was over, and everything was going to be fine. 

Hermione had been right about the questions. She had also been right about them needing to have some kind of plan on how to answer them. It wasn't exactly what Bucky would call a good plan, and a large portion of it hinged on him taking the lead and being charming, which he had at one point been very good at. He wasn't so sure about how good at it he was right now when his head hurt so badly he could barely follow a conversation. Hermione had to jump in at least twice to save him and redirect the conversation when someone got a little too creative in their line of questioning, but he liked to think they managed to do reasonably okay and that he hadn't come across as being a lunatic. 

Halfway through dinner, he changed his mind. Bill, who was on the other side of Ron, was talking about he had gotten some serious information about an escaped terrorist from the continent. He could see Hermione grip her fork very tightly while doing her absolute best to not look at him. 

"We just got more information about it today, actually," said Bill, "there isn't much. Just that he's got dark hair and a metal arm. We don't even know his name, but the Americans are calling him the Winter Soldier. He's supposed to be running around London right now. They didn't say why he came to the UK, but I read that he was involved with the death of a couple of Death Eaters in Wales a couple years ago." 

Bucky realized they might be in trouble when Bill pulled out a file. 

"Bill, not at the dinner table," demanded Mrs. Weasley.

"I know, I know," said Bill, passing the file to Hermione, "look, I'm just going to give it to them. It's important. He's really dangerous." 

Hermione took the file, immediately flipping it open, and Ron leaned over to look over her shoulder. She looked relieved, "Well," she said, "they could have used a better picture, couldn't they?" 

"How's he so dangerous," asked Ginny, pointing her fork at Bill, "I mean, he's just a muggle, isn't he?" 

Hermione was very pointedly trying to not look at him or Harry, while Ron was squinting very hard at the file. Bucky watched his brain slowly put two and two together before he looked up suddenly and stared at Harry, his eyebrows vanishing into his hairline. 

Harry winced slightly. He may not have told Ron the entire story about how he met Bucky. He had meant to, he was going to; he just hadn't had the right opportunity yet. 

Hermione passed the folder across the table to Harry. He opened it between them, flipping quickly through to the photo. Fortunately, Hermione was right. It was awful. Not only was it black and white, but it was blurry and heavily backlit. All you could really make out was Bucky's silhouette and the star on his left arm. 

He would have to be careful to keep his metal hand out of sight for the rest of the night. 

"So," pressed Ginny, "what's his deal anyway?" 

"I don't really know," replied Bill, "nobody really knows much about him, just that he's been around for a long time. The Ministry isn't entirely convinced he is a muggle, actually." 

"How did you even know about this?" asked Ron, "you're not an Auror."

"It wasn't me that got the file," said Bill "it was Fleur. She's working in international relations. She made a copy and brought it home for me to give to Harry." 

"I said, NOT at the dinner table!" said Mrs. Weasley loudly. 

Mrs. Weasley wasn't the kind of woman you argued with, and the conversation quickly pivoted to Quidditch. George loudly teased Ginny and Angelina about their upcoming match and the odds of the Harpies breaking their zero lose streak against the Tornadoes the following weekend. After the table had been cleared and the lanterns in the garden had been lit, the group sat around the table chatting. Bucky was helping Harry carry the last load of dishes into the kitchen when they got waylaid by Ron. 

"Right, you two," he said crossly, "living room now."

Hermione was waiting for them over the fireplace, looking nervous. 

The five of them huddled together, and Hermione turned to cast some kind of charm on the door.

"So, were you two just not going to tell me?" asked Ron.

"We were going to tell you," said Hermione, 

"Wait! You knew too ! Bloody hell." 

"Look, it's complicated," said Hermione.

"Complicated?! Complicated, Harry's bloody boyfriend is a terrorist! When were you going to tell me!" He turned to Bucky, "I knew it was weird. You just came out of nowhere. Is anybody going to tell me what is going on? I mean, I'm going to have to help cover for you, so I might as well know what I'm covering for."

Harry sighed, "look, I was going to tell you! Or course I was going to tell you. It's just there hasn't been a good moment to explain-" 

Bucky stopped paying attention around the fifth time Ron had exclaimed, "Bloody hell!" 

He was the only one who noticed that the living room door opened, and Ginny slipped in. 

"What are we whispering about?" she asked, wedging herself into the group. 

Harry and Hermione, who were whispering furiously to each other, ignored her.  

"He has to know. I mean, he must," said Hermione. 

"I don't know. He didn't say anything at the meeting last night," said Harry. 

Ginny looked between Harry and Bucky and back again. She sidled up to Bucky and said, "you're totally the Winter Soldier, aren't you, Soldier Boy." 

She poked him in the shoulder, "let's see it then," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, "let's see what?" 

"Your metal arm, obviously." 

"Who says I have a metal arm?"

Ginny looked at him very flatly, "Just because no one ever tells me anything doesn't mean I'm stupid. Now let's see the goods."

He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and presented it to her. She immediately grabbed it and pulled back his sleeve. She was not shy. 

"That is so neat," she said, running her hand up his forearm, watching the plates flex every time he moved, "so what's your deal then? How did Harry end up dating an international terrorist?  

"I'm retired," he said.

"You can retire from being a terrorist?" she asked, looking amused.

"It wasn't my first pick as a career."

"No kidding," said Ginny dryly, "for real, though. What's your deal? Harry obviously trusts you." 

Before he could answer, Hermione noticed Ginny was holding his arm and jabbed him very hard in the shoulder.

"Put that away," she hissed, "honestly, what is wrong with you?" 

"Oh, give it rest, Hermione. Everyone else is outside," said Ginny crossly, but she let Bucky take his hand back so he could shove it in his pocket. 

Bucky ended up out in the garden with Ron, who looked a bit like he'd swallowed a lemon and kept shooting him bemused looks. They were sitting away from the rest of the group by a half dying bonfire. 

"Was what Harry said about hearing each other's thoughts really true?"

"Yeah, but it's not all of them. It's not even most of them. He's better at it than I am. I have to try really hard to get him to hear me unless he's talking to me first."

"That's mental. How does it work?" 

"No idea. I just showed up in his head one day." 

"Must have been dead convenient." 

Bucky nodded. Ron was not wrong.

They made it home just before midnight, apparating directly into the front room, where Harry collapsed on the couch, but Bucky managed to catch himself at the last minute. 

Harry rolled over onto his back and sighed, throwing one arm over his eyes, "That could have gone better." 

Bucky's headache was worse than ever. He was glad they were in the dark, the only light from the street lamps outside the grimy windows. 

"It could have gone a lot worse," he said, moving towards the couch. He lay down and rolled half on top of Harry, throwing a leg over his hips and tucking his head under his chin. 

"If we sleep down here, we're both really going to regret it tomorrow," said Harry 

"Shhhhhhh," 

Harry huffed in amusement, "How's your head?" 

"Bad."

Harry ran a hand over Bucky's cheek, pressing gently into his temple. 

“Apparateing no good, huh,” he said.

"If I never have to do that again, that would be great."

"I'll see if I can do something about getting a car," said Harry, running his hand back through Bucky's hair and onto the back of his neck. 

The pad of Harry's thumb stroking back and forth down the side of his neck. It was relaxing, and he was almost asleep, but then Harry moved his hand just so, and Bucky's whole body involuntarily shuttered. Harry ripped his hand away like he's been burned, "I'm Sorry! I'm sorry," he said. 

"Hey-no, it's okay. It's fine." 

Harry had pushed himself into the back of the couch and was trying to claw his way out from under Bucky in a panic. 

Bucky caught his arm, guiding his hand back to the side of his neck, "Seriously, I'm fine. We're fine. Everything's fine. I just forgot that was there. You didn't hurt me."

Harry slowly relaxed, leaning back into Bucky and resting his hand on the back of his neck. They lay together in silence for a few minutes before Harry asked, "Do you remember how you got it?" 

He ran his thumb over the scar again; this time, Bucky didn't react. 

"From a tracker, I think maybe in the eighties? I kept cutting it out."

Harry winced but didn't stop rubbing over the scar, "I take it you won that battle in the end?"

"Sure did. I don't scar easy either- I think I cut that thing out over a hundred times, I'd smash 'em too, and trackers were a lot harder to make back then. I'm a stubborn fucker, but they won the war. I don't really remember much after that. I think that's when they made me stop fighting."

"You didn't, though," said Harry.

"Didn't what?"

"Ever stop fighting. I read that report, even if you don't remember. You gave them hell, always. I think the longest they got you to behave for was like a month and a half, and that was after they started to keep you on ice all the time." 

"I hate that you had to read that."

"I hate that it happened to you at all," said Harry, holding on a little tighter.

"What's done is done, I'm here now, and the worst thing that's going to happen is we're gonna sleep on this couch and wish we hadn't."

They did sleep on the couch, and in the morning, really wished they hadn't. 

Bucky might have a stiff shoulder and a crick in his neck, but at least he didn't have a headache. He also couldn't possibly stand to spend one more minute on the couch, and after a lazy breakfast of bagel and egg sandwiches, he ended up slumped down in one of the uncomfortable looking wingback chairs. He had both feet braced against the wall, with Hermione's rune book in his lap. 

He was only halfway through, but Bucky liked Runes. Runes made sense; he felt like he finally had the key to be able to decode how the hell the window wards worked. Or he would eventually, once he got past the very basics for the very beginners. Maybe he'd have it figured out by Christmas. 

Sometime later in the afternoon, when Bucky was losing his ability to focus on Runes, and half the room was covered with his very poor attempts at understanding how they worked together, Harry walked into the sitting room and dramatically flopped onto the couch. He threw one arm over his face and groaned.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" asked Bucky, setting his book aside, feet still propped up on the wall. He was pretty sure he was going to leave bootprints. He was also pretty sure he really didn't care. 

"I need to figure out what to do about Bill, and my brain doesn't want to work, and God, why does everything have to be such a pain in the ass." 

"It's not like he has a lot of go on," said Bucky, "You saw the photos. They were terrible. Last night could have gone so much worse." 

"Yeah," said Harry, "But it also could have gone better. I think I'm going to have to pull the Boy Who Lived card and get a meeting with Kingsley to try and explain everything before it ends up with the Aurors, or this is going to turn into a mess."

"Didn't you say this house was what-unplottable?"

Harry moved his arm to look at Bucky, "Yeah, it is. I mean, it's not like they can just show up here. No one can show up here unless I invite them. But I'd feel better if I knew Kingsley was on our side." 

It was a week before Harry could get a meeting with Kinglsey, and things around Number Twelve were just a little bit tense. Harry was a tightly wound ball of nerves, and while Bucky wasn't overly concerned, Harry's unease started to set him on edge. 

On the bright side, they got a lot of demolition done. But Bucky also had a ceiling fall on his head, got attacked by a clock, and was nearly strangled by a pair of sentient pajamas. 

By Friday, the day Harry had scheduled his meeting with Kingsley, they were both exhausted. The house was in shambles, and it looked a bit like a bomb had gone off in the front hall. Old rugs and curtains were piled everywhere and proved to be a formidable walking hazard, especially at the top of the stairs. 

When Harry got back from his meeting with Kinglsey later that evening, he was in high spirits. He came rocketing out of the fireplace, caught himself on the back of a chair, and triumphantly dumped a take away bag on the table. 

"Went well, did it?" asked Bucky from the doorway. Harry looked up at him, grinning, "yeah, I think it really did." 

The tension finally started to bleed out of the house, and Bucky was almost convinced they'd really done it. He'd actually be able to walk away. He wasn't surprised in the least when Ron told them that Steve was in the middle of trying to cause an international incident looking for him. 

The idea of being able to watch memories was a weird one. Not that it was any weirder than any of the other weird things he had seen since he'd moved into number twelve. Still, it felt strange standing in the middle of the kitchen trying to talk to his best friend, who wasn't really there but was going to possibly be there in the future and would have no way to respond. He just had to hope for the best his message got across. 

If it didn't, well, Steve would probably come crashing through the front window. If anyone was going to find the unfindable house, it would be Steve. Bucky was pretty sure he could do just about anything through sheer willpower and the inability to take no for an answer.

There were the worst things that could happen, then Steve crashing through the front window. Bucky figured, if it came down to it, he'd be able to talk sense into Steve once he'd already done the crashing, and They'd probably even be able to get him to help fix whatever part of the house he'd ruined on the way in. 

Weeks passed. Steve didn't come crashing through the front of the house. It looked like Bucky's message got delivered loud and clear. He got to have this. 

They were lying on the floor in one of the third floor bedrooms. The sun was just starting to set, sending long yellow rays across the floor. Harry sprawled awkwardly, half across his chest, his nose mashed into his neck. They were both exhausted and streaked dirt from working all afternoon. 

"What are you so happy about," grumbled Harry

"That I get to be here with you."

Harry smiled against his neck, "yeah, me too."

He got to have this. And that was more than enough.

The End.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Here Be Spiders

Natasha knew when she was out of her depth. There had been a time when she would have muddled her way through the best she could, with varying degrees of success. But now she knew it would be easier for everyone if she asked for help. 

She sat at the end of a SHIELD conference table somewhere in upstate New York and started writing. At the very least, she was sure she wouldn't make things worse. 

Harry liked being in the kitchen in the summer. It was always cooler than the rest of the house, something he appreciated far less once November came around. But today, the stone floor felt pleasantly cool under his feet while he stood at the stove making breakfast. 

The night before had been a late one. Not on purpose, but then their late nights never were. Sometime after dinner, Bucky went upstairs to clean up a painting project he'd started that morning, and then an hour passed, and then another, and he didn't come back. 

Harry had just started to wonder if maybe he should see what happened when a crash echoed from somewhere upstairs. A few minutes later, Bucky stuck his head around the front room door, "did you know there's a passage behind the closet in that weird little bedroom on the third floor."

"Er-no?" said Harry. 

Bucky dropped on the couch next to him, his hair full of the thickest cobwebs Harry had ever seen. 

"It's full of spiders the size of dinner plates."

"Right," said Harry, "let's keep the spiders in the passage then."

"That might be a problem."

It was a problem because instead of doing the sensible thing and slamming the door closed, Bucky had picked up a flashlight and went to see where it went. Only when he crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him.

"You went into a narrow hallway with a load of giant spiders?!"

"It was fine."

Harry didn't think that being trapped in a passage with a load of giant spiders constituted fine, but that was a conversation for another day.

"How did you get out?" Harry asked, unsure he wanted to know.

"I kicked through the wall."

That explained the noise, then. 

"So the spiders got out," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Bucky, "the spiders got out."

Harry shuddered; while he might not hate spiders as much as Ron, he certainly didn't like them. Especially when they were the size of dinner plates and wandering around his house. 

And so began the hunt for the spiders. While there were hundreds of them, they weren't very fast and had poor eyesight, making it fairly easy to round up and corral them in Sirius's mum's old bedroom. It was tucked away from the rest of the house, and feathers and bits of straw still lingered in the corners from Buckbeak's stay. Making it an ideal place to trap two to three hundred large spiders. 

Harry didn't want to kill them, they were here first, and it wasn't like they were hurting anyone. They were just creepy and trying to climb the walls. 

Once they caught the last spider, Harry locked the bedroom door and cast every charm he could think of to make sure that they wouldn't get out. He'd have to ask Hermione about what to do with them. Maybe there was some magical creature sanctuary that would want a load of spiders. 

Bucky sat at the top of the stairs, his head tipped back against the wall. Harry poked him in the thigh with his foot, "oy, don't you go sleep on me yet."

"Mrgh-" he said, "mm' not sleepin."

Harry sighed, smiling softly, and ruffled Bucky's hair, trying to comb out some of the most stubborn cobwebs. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and blinked sleepily up at Harry.

"Oh, alright, we'll go to bed. You can show me the passage in the morning."

The morning came brighter and much earlier than Harry would have liked. He snuggled under the covers, intending to go back to sleep for at least another four hours. When Bucky muttered, "aren't you doin' brunch today?" 

"Bugger," said Harry. 

He was doing brunch today, and that meant he had to get up. 

Once he was up and had consumed an entire pot's worth of coffee, he was a lot more excited about brunch. Everyone was always so busy these days, and he was looking forward to getting everyone in the same place at the same time for once- even Ginny. 

He'd started the potatoes when a great whooshing came from behind him. One of the huge Ministry Owls had landed in the center of the table, dropping a large, rather plain envelope. He stared at Harry with one of his wide yellow eyes, waiting to see if he'd be rewarded with a slice of bacon. 

Harry pulled his pan of potatoes off the burner, wiping his hands on his apron, and tossed the bird half a slice of bacon as thanks. He snapped it up in his wickedly sharp beak and swooped back out of the kitchen. 

Harry picked up the letter, turning it over.  

It didn't look like the letters he'd been getting from the Ministry. Those were usually big, gaudy, and very official looking, and usually were asking for something. But, then, maybe they'd realized he'd just been chucking them in the fire and had changed tactics. 

If they had, it worked because he opened it. 

The letter was not from the Ministry. It was from Natasha Romanov, and it read:

Potter,

I have a problem, and since you're the cause, you had better take the time to read this. 

Right now, I have a very sad super soldier who has been moping around for the past six months since you walked into our offices and left with one of our best agents. 

I won't touch on the legalities of what you did because it's a waste of my time, but I am asking for something relatively simple. Think of it as payback for making my life complicated. Steve's birthday is at the beginning of next month, and I would like to set up a super soldier play date with Branes. 

Do you think that's something that can be arranged? I am fully aware that you want to be left alone, and I, for one, want nothing to do with Wizards. But I am asking for your help here, Potter.

You broke him, so now help me fix him. 

N.R

Harry had no idea what to make of the letter, reading through it twice to make sure he hadn't missed something. 

Something about it didn't sit right with him, but he couldn't put his finger on why. He didn't have time to figure it out, either. He needed to finish brunch. He folded the letter in thirds and shoved it in the big pocket in the front of his apron. He could worry about it later.

He had potatoes to fry. 

Ron and Hermione arrived at half ten, walking out of the fireplace, knocking soot on the stone floor. 

"Gins, going to be late," said Ron, dropping onto the end of one of the long benches. 

"Surprising no one," said Harry. He had just pulled a tray of french toast out of the oven. The aroma of sweet cream and cinnamon filled the kitchen. 

"Where's Bucky?" asked Hermione, "I finally got a copy of that book he wanted on Practical Applications of Runes."

She pulled an enormous dusty book out of her bag, dropping it on the table. 

"Dunno," said Harry, "I left him in bed. He hasn't come down yet."

He set the tray of french toast on the table. Ron immediately reached for it, his eyes lighting up. 

"We had a bit of a late night," said Harry, "got to poking around the third floor, and next thing you know, it was nearly four am."

"You need to be careful," said Hermione, "I keep telling you can't just let him poke around in this house on his own."

"He'll be fine," said Harry, trying to smother a yawn. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, "and what about when he isn't?"

Ron jabbed his fork at her, "oh, come off it, Hermione, it's been months. Nothing's happened."

"Yeah," she said, sitting down next to him. She poured herself a goblet of juice, "that's the thing, isn't it. Nothing happens until it does. That's all I'm saying."

She huffed, "I just mean, I'd hate for something to happen to him, being a muggle and all, and look- I know he's not a normal muggle- but this place is full of nasty dark magic. The kind that would love to - I don't know, curse an unsuspecting muggle that comes across it." 

She took three slices of french toast, smothering them in syrup, "but ignore me; what do I know," she said.

It was then that Bucky chose to traipse into the kitchen, and Harry was grateful for the distraction. 

"Where were you?" Harry asked, shoving the pile of bacon toward him.

"I got distracted," he said, "you know those ward lines I was working on on the third floor? They disappear behind a dresser, and I'm starting to think something might be behind it."

Harry froze his fork halfway to his mouth. "You didn't move it, did you?" 

They already had a room full of spiders; they didn't need to open any other unopened doors. 

"Nah, got hungry," said Bucky, dropping onto the bench beside him. Stealing a potato off his plate. 

Hermione sniffed, looking very pointedly at Harry, but didn't say anything else. 

The fireplace flashed a bright green, and Ginny came tumbling out. Her enormous practice bag slug around her chest. She was in mud stained sweatpants, a white sports bra, and an oversized half zipped hoodie. She grinned wide, showing off all her small white teeth. She had a big scratch on her right cheek and a fading purple bruise below her collarbone.

"I'm starving," she said gleefully, dumping her bag on the floor and pushing the sleeves of her hoodie to her elbows, reaching for a plate. Hermione slapped her hand away, scandalized, "wash your hands!" she said. 

Ginny rolled her eyes but complied, calling over her shoulder, from the sink, "You made the front cover of Witch Weekly again," she said. 

"Who? Me?" asked Harry, confused, "why?"

"Haven't you heard all about your," she cleared her throat for effect, "'star-crossed love affair with your heroic muggle soul mate.'" 

Harry groaned miserably, burying his face into the crook of her arm. He'd really hoped this wasn't going to happen, which of course, meant that it had. 

Bucky had choked on his coffee. He'd started laughing so hard that he had to grip the edge of the bench to keep from toppling over backward. When he'd finally stopped cackling, he kicked his legs over the bench, spinning to face Ginny, who grinned wickedly at him. 

"So you want to say that again, Gin?" he said, glancing at Harry, who wanted to crawl under a rock possibly for the rest of his life. "I think someone forgot to tell me-"

"I didn't forget!" interrupted Harry, "I was just really hoping it might go away and no one would ever have to hear about it."

"Harry," said Hermione, "has that ever worked out for you?"

"Well, no, but I hoped this time might be different."

Ginny snorted into her tea.

"I had a reason!" said Harry emphatically, "I had a reason to think this time might be different, see it was Kingsley's secretary that leaked the story- she'd been listening in to his private conversations-"

"No!" said Hermione horrified.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but she was really young, so I don't think she understood it was wrong. She got caught after she tried to sell the story about me to the Prophet."

"I hope she was fired."

"Oh, she was," said Harry, "I felt kind of bad about it, actually. They told me it wouldn't be an issue, but I guess she also went to Witch Weekly, and no one knew about it." 

Bucky looked at Ginny, eyebrows raised, "so what did it say?"

"What, the article? You expect me to read that nonsense?" 

"Nah, but you're the one who brought it up, and now I'm curious."

"Can we please talk about something else?" asked Harry.

"What?" said Ginny, "you don't want to talk about your romantic muggle love affair?"

Harry turned a very distinct shade of red, covering his face with his hands, "no," he said.  

"You've started another trend," said Ginny, eyes twinkling mischievously, "now every witch on the continent is going to want a soul mate of her very own.

"For the last time," said Hermione, leaning forward both of her elbows on the table, "soul mates are not real!"

"Can you prove it?" asked Bucky. 

Harry kicked him hard in the shin, they'd gone through this before, and he knew that Bucky was teasing Hermione. 

The problem was Hermione didn't know, and if they weren't careful, she would launch into lecture mode for at least the next forty minutes. 

"Right," said Harry loudly before Hermione could respond, "I got a strange letter this morning. Let's talk about that instead." 

Finally having a chance to rescue Harry, Ron dutifully asked, "what was so strange about it?"

"It's from the Muggles," said Harry, pulling the letter out of his pocket and dropping it on the table. 

"You know you're going to have to be more specific," said Hermione, "there are a lot of Muggles.

Harry passed the letter to Bucky first, who scanned it quickly before folding it and passing back, "Well?" asked Ron, "what's it about?"

Instead of explaining, Harry just handed over the letter. Ron and Hermione leaned in close to look it over together before Ginny jammed her head between them, so all three of them could read it at once. 

"That's something," said Ron, "what are you going to do?"

"I have no idea. That's why I asked. We can't let him come here," said Harry. He turned to Bucky, "I guess I should have probably asked you first."

He shrugged, "It'd be nice," he said, "but I'm not going to act like I have any idea how you'd set that up. Who knows what they're actually thinking? I know Steve would never pull a fast one on us, but Natasha, I don't know- I never trusted her."

"So definitely not here then," said Harry nodding, "but maybe somewhere else?"

"Just do it at my parents," said Ron, "they're just muggles, yeah? The Burrow is unplottable, and it's got a ton of muggle-repellent charms. They'd just walk around and round for days, and we could stand at the ward lines and laugh."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Hermione.

Ron shrugged, "Nah, but mum will be thrilled."

Ginny snorted. He turned to her, "what you know she would be. She loves an excuse to make us help around the house."

"Yeah, you're not wrong," said Ginny, popping a whole strawberry in her mouth, "so tell us about this friend," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky, "is he single?"

"GINNY!" 

Bucky laughed again, throwing his head back, making his eyes crinkle in the corners the way Harry liked. Just then, something vibrated in Ginny's pocket. She jumped up from the bench. 

"Damn, that was fast," she muttered, gathering up her enormous sports bag, "well, I'm off then, thanks for breakfast!" she called and vanished into the fireplace. 

"She's a menace," said Ron shaking his head, "a menace."

"Yeah, she is," said Bucky grinning, "Nothing's gonna stop that one."

"You two do seem to get along," said Ron, pointing his fork at Bucky. He shrugged, "lots of practice comes with having six sisters."

Harry held his breath, listening, hoping he'd keep talking. Bucky didn't talk about his family or really anything that had happened in the past very often, not because he didn't want to, but because he had a very hard time remembering things on purpose, but sometimes like now, if you got him talking, he'd remember all kinds of things. 

Ron went a bit white, "six?" he said hoarsely, looking horrified, "Merlin's beard, can you imagine six Ginny's?"

"Yeah, there were six of 'em,' and I was right smack in the middle. She reminds me of Becca a bit," he said, his head resting in his palm. He looked into the corner of the kitchen like he was thinking really hard, "she was the baby. The two of them would've got on like a house on fire. They might have even had me, and Stevie beat for running straight at trouble. Although he was the one getting us in, and I was the one getting us out." 

He sipped his coffee, adding, "so maybe I didn't always get us out, but I damn well tried."

After they had finished breakfast, and he was alone in the kitchen again, Harry leaned against the huge white sink. He wasn't sure if he regretted sharing the letter or not. He hadn't meant to, at least not when he did, but he was just so tired of hearing about himself in the news. It was always so vapid and stupid he really just wanted to talk about anything else, and the letter did prove to be a good change of subject. Only now, everyone knew about it, and he couldn't make them unknow it. At least not morally. 

Harry knew, at the very least, he needed to tell Bucky about it. It wasn't the kind of thing he could keep from him, even if a small selfish part of him wanted to. He wanted to keep him all to himself. He still had small stabs of fear that something would happen and he'd leave, and Harry wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Like all the other times, the people that mattered most had left him, even when they'd said they wouldn't. 

At least Ron came back, even if none of the others did. 

Harry knew that it was selfish, and he hated he felt that way, but hating it didn't make it go away. Nothing made it go away, so he'd just have to accept that he had a bit of a selfish streak and find a way to work through it, and working through it meant dealing with the letter. 

It wasn't that he didn't want Bucky to see his friend. He did. Really he did, so much, because it would make him happy, but the tiny stabbing fear he felt in his heart whenever he thought about it said that maybe, just maybe, it would make him so happy, he wouldn't need Harry anymore. 

Maybe he'd be happier somewhere else. 

It wasn't rational. Harry knew it wasn't rational, Bucky told him all the time about how he'd never leave him, and Harry believed him. He did, really, he did. 

But that didn't change the fact Bucky deserved to see his friend, and if his friend was treated anything like how Bucky had been, Harry thought that he more than deserved a break, and wouldn't it be nice if they could have that together. 

He'd started and finished the dishes while he'd been thinking. He turned off the huge, tarnished silver tap drying his hands on one of the thick plaid dishcloths Mrs. Weasley had given him last Christmas.

Doing the dishes had given him the clarity he'd wanted; it was one of the reasons he still liked to do them by hand. The spell worked just as well, but the warmth of rushing water, and the calmness of a repetitive task, gave him time to process things, even hard things like this, and find a way forward. That didn't rely on rushing in head first and hoping for the best. 

He still wasn't good at making plans, but he was trying. 

Bucky sat on the floor in one of the large empty bedrooms on the third floor. Huge sheets of parchment rolled out in front of him, the corners pinned down with books.

Harry stuck his head in the door, hovering for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. He watched from the doorway. Bucky's hair had started to get long again. Not long enough for him to pull it back, but long enough that even when he slicked it back, loose strands fell in his eyes when he was working. 

He sat cross legged, bent low, sketching out a line of runes, following the curves of the large arcs he'd drawn. Bucky had tried to explain the house's ward system to Harry before, but Harry's eyes had glazed over after about a minute. He didn't care to understand anything about runes other than that they worked. 

He also didn't understand how Bucky had picked it up so fast, but he was glad he did. It was good that at least one of them knew how they worked, so that they didn't accidentally take down the wrong wall and cause a disaster. 

Bucky looked up at him from across the room, "are you just gonna keep standing there or come sit with me?"

Harry flopped down beside him, leaning into his side, "what are you working on?" 

"So you see these?" Bucky said, tracing the arcs, "these are the ward lines, and I think they cross here." He pointed to where the two arcs met, "the thing is, I can't tell if the meeting point is in this bedroom or the one with spiders."

"Oh god , I forgot about the spiders." 

"Yeah? Too busy stressing yourself out about that letter?"

Harry ducked his head, "something like that."

Bucky softly cuffed him in the ear, rocking his head sideways, "stop that, will you? I had a feeling you were down there beating yourself up."

"I shouldn't have brought it up then," said Harry, "I should have talked to you first. I just- I wasn't thinking."

"You're fine, promise. And you don't have to do anything about it, you know that, right? You can burn it, pretend you never saw it, and we can never talk about it again."

"But he's your friend."

"I know he is, and yeah, seeing him would be great, but I don't know- I don't trust it."

"But if we did it at the Burrow…." said Harry. 

"You think? You sure you want to open this door?"

Harry shrugged, "he's your friend. I want you to be able to see him. Besides, if that job sucks half as much for him as it did for you, he could probably use a break."

"It's your call. You tell me what you want to do."

"I want to do it."

"Then we do it," said Bucky, tipping his head onto Harry's shoulder. 

Later that night, Harry sat in the front room, his feet in Bucky's lap, slumped down low on the overstuffed sofa, scratching out a letter to send back to Natasha. When he'd finished, he looked at it skeptically, hoping it was legible. 

Bucky leaned over, scanning the letter, "send it like that," he said, smirking, "she'll appreciate the challenge."

Harry didn't think she would, but he sent it anyway. He folded it up, stuffed it into an envelope, and sent it through the floo to the Ministry owlery. Where it would be delivered directly to Natasha. Once it vanished into the green flames, Harry let out a long breath; they were doing it. He just had to believe it would be fine.  

Chapter Text

Part 2: A Passage of Disappointment 

It was over a week before Harry got a response to his letter. It arrived in the morning attached to a bedraggled wet owl who dropped it on the table in front of him, hooted once, and took off before he had a chance to open it. 

It was short and written in Natasha's neat block letters, and it requested they find an alternative way of communicating because: "I have things to do, Potter, and I don't have time to wait around for a bird."

It was a fair request. The owl post was terribly inconvenient when it came to long distances, and really it was rather inconvenient for short ones as well, but as with so many things in the wizarding world, it was tradition. 

It also looked very cool. 

Or at least it had when Harry was at Hogwarts. Bucky hadn't been impressed when he'd explained it, asking how they kept the owls from getting intercepted.

Harry told him that was occasionally a concern, but he wasn't worried about it, and that just got him a set of raised eyebrows and a demonstration of how easy it was to grab a delivery owl out of the air.  

Once Bucky released the poor owl onto the counter, she had puffed up to twice her rather small size. She hopped on the end of the table to try to peck his offending hand, only to squawk angrily when it turned out to be made of metal. 

Harry fed her a few slices of bacon to try and soothe the indignity of being caught, and she flew off looking at least marginally less cross. Still, after that, he wondered why they were still using birds as their many means of communication. 

He made the mistake of asking about it over dinner the next time Ron and Hermione were round. Ron groaned miserably, muttering, "merlin's beard, here we go-" while Hermione launched a passionate speech about communication and accessibility and how using birds to deliver messages wasn't good for either. 

The thing was, Harry couldn't think of a better way to communicate with Natasha. So he let it slide in favor of more important problems, like the giant spiders that were still locked in a bedroom on the third floor. 

It was early in the afternoon, and Bucky was working on his map of the wards around the windows. They sat in a circle of big dusty books. A few were stacked on the edge of the large roll of parchment spread across the floor to help keep the edges from curling. 

"I was wondering," said Harry, idly doodling on a scrap of parchment with a bright yellow pen. Bucky might have caved and started using parchment, but he'd drawn the line at a quill and ink.

"Nah- I'll go along with all your wizard stuff, but I want a pen. A normal pen that I can't accidentally dump all over the floor and stain everything we own black- Jesus, you know Steve used to use this shit to draw with - it got everywhere. Everything I owned had ink stains."

"You were wondering?"

"About the spiders," said Harry, "we still need to get rid of the spiders."

"Did you ask Hermione about what to do with them?"

"No, every time I see her, she's got Ron," said Harry, "I should write her-" 

Bucky shoved a fresh sheet of parchment at him. "If you do it now, you won't forget, and we won't have spiders in the spare bedroom for the next year."

Harry scratched out his letter to Hermione. "So the thing about the spiders," he said, "they had come in somehow, right? We should probably see what's in that passage."

They had planned to explore the passage after lunch, but then Hermione walked out of the Floo holding his letter and babbling excitedly about spiders. 

"Did you know their venom can be harvested without hurting them," she said, "and it can be used in over four hundred potions! And that's not even going into what the silk for their webs can be used for! I can put you in touch with someone who would be happy to take all of them off your hands."

She didn't stay long, and Harry didn't hear from her again until Thursday evening when she and Ron had come over for dinner. Ron choked on his soup when she brought it up. His face went an ashen color that Harry had only seen once before when he'd been poisoned in their sixth year. 

"You don't mean," he said, agape, "that there are s-spiders here?" 

Hermione ignored him and continued to happily babble on about Olivia, the potions master in Kent who said she would be happy to look after the spiders and even kept a sanctuary of magical animals.

"She even sent photos!" said Hermione brightly. 

Dinner didn't last very long. Ron looked like he'd be sick any moment, and Bucky tried cheering him up while Hermione arranged the spider's transport with Harry, but he seemed to make things worse. 

Later, when they were alone, they curled up on the sofa in the front room.

"Are you sure Ron will be okay?" asked Bucky. 

Harry nodded, "he'll be alright, might just be twitchy for a while. I hoped we could avoid telling him, but Hermione got too excited. He'll come around eventually."

He opened the letter he had received that afternoon from Olivia, the Potions Master in Kent, arranging to pick up the spiders on Saturday. It was over four and a half feet long and went into explicit detail on the proper method of transportation, and it left Harry feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 

There was an awful lot to prepare and not a lot of time. 

"Just ask Ginny," said Bucky from where he was lying on the living room rug, his nose stuck in another book on runes, his notepad covered in what looked like incompressible scribbles.

"Sorry, what?" said Harry looking up from the parchment that trailed over the back of the couch. 

"Ask Ginny if she'll help on Saturday," he said, scratching out a lopsided-looking rune, "you're getting yourself all worked up over nothing. Just ask for help."

"She probably has practice-"

"Or she doesn't and will think the whole thing is a laugh. Just ask. If she says no, she says no."

She didn't say no, and she did find the whole thing hilarious.

Harry looked out of the fireplace in Ginny's tiny flat. She sat cross-legged at her round kitchen table, drinking an enormous mug of tea and wearing a face mask. 

"Alright," she said, trying not to smile, and upset her face mask, "I can come Saturday, but on two conditions. One, you have to make me pancakes. You know, the really good ones with the corn meal and blueberries,"

"Okay," said Harry. That sounded easy enough. He liked making pancakes. "What's the other condition?"

"I want to see what's down the passageway," said Ginny.

"Is that all?"

"Yup," said Ginny serenely, "that's all."

As it turns out, that was not all, but Harry didn't find that out until later. 

Ginny arrived at half past seven on Saturday morning like she said she would. She might be rumpled and grumpy, but she was upright and clutching an enormous coffee cup, and that was good enough for Harry. 

Packing up the spiders was less of a nightmare than anticipated, even following Olivia's meticulous instructions. It helped having an extra set of hands, and once the last spider had been wrangled from the chandelier, they transported the boxes of the spiders through the floo one by one until the three of them were left sitting in the middle of an empty room.

"Christ," said Ginny, "you weren't kidding about that being a load of spiders. Ron would have had a heart attack."

"I think he might have had one already when Hermione mentioned them the other night," said Bucky, "I don't think I've ever seen a person turn that color before."

"I have," said Harry.

"Was it when you were doing something reckless and dangerous at school," said Bucky.

"No- well, maybe kind of. Ron drank some poisoned mead in our sixth year by accident. He turned the same color then."

"Didn't you have to shove a bezoar down his throat because Slughorn panicked and didn't know what to do?

Harry nodded, yawning. He leaned back on his elbows, "yeah, I'd never been so grateful for Snape's dramatics in all my life," he cleared his throat doing a poor imitation of Snape's drawl, "And Pottttttter, a Bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. Well, why aren't you all copying this down?"

"If nothing else, he knew how to make an impression," said Ginny. 

"Your school was a death training camp for children," said Bucky. While Harry had gotten used to his blatant distaste for anything, he learned about Hogwarts- even the good bits. Ron and Hermione usually found it off putting. Not Ginny; she just laughed. 

"You know, it kind of was," she said, stretching, "it was fun- well, except when it wasn't-" she frowned, shaking her head, "I think it's time for breakfast. You owe me some pancakes."

"I thought you wanted to go exploring?" said Bucky.

"I do , but I also want breakfast," said Ginny, "but I suppose if I must , I can wait a little longer."

The passage in the little bedroom on the third floor turned out to be less of a proper passage like what they had at Hogwarts and more of the hole in the wall. 

Harry had pictured something neat and made of bricks that maybe led to a secret room. But this was just a dark hole, with just enough space to walk between the walls. 

Harry led the way through the narrow opening, his wand held aloft, lighting their way. Now that the spiders were gone, the passage was blessedly empty and wove its way around the house's perimeter before coming to a set of steep stairs leading down. 

Down, and down and down they went until they reached the bottom. The passage ended at a plain wooden door. Harry pushed it open, stepped through, and was disappointed to find they were in the storage room off of the kitchen. 

He sighed. "Well," he said. 

"BLOOD TRAITORS! CREATURES OF FILTH! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-" 

" Fuck -"

"HOW DARE YOU DARKEN MY DOORSTEP WITH YOUR-"

Beyond the small dots of light coming from Harry's wand, it was pitch black in the storage room, and they couldn't see the shrieking portrait in the inky blackness. But just because they couldn't see her didn't mean they couldn't stun her, and soon twin jets of bright red lights shot toward the sound until silence fell.

"For fucks sake," said Ginny, "I thought you got rid of that hag?"

"We did!" moaned Harry, "no one ever comes down here!"

"I can see why," said Ginny, squinting around in the darkness, "right, well, shall we go back?"

They could have traipsed through the darkness to the other side of the room to where there was a ladder up to the kitchen, but it seemed easier to just go back the way they came, so they did. This time Ginny led the way, marching up the narrow stairs, her wand held over her head.  

When they'd gone down to the kitchen to make breakfast, Ginny dropped onto the end of the long bench, "that," she said, "has got to be the worst passageway I've ever seen, and that's the including one that caved in behind Bartiums the Barmy that Fred and George insisted on showing me my first year."

"I expected more from the secret passage in Wizards house," said Bucky, "but this house likes to surprise me, so maybe I should have expected it to be a dud."

"I don't understand what it was for," said Harry, stirring the bowl of pancake mix, "or how the spiders got in."

 He dolloped a big scoop on the pan, pressing blueberries into the top.

"Honestly, who cares?" said Ginny, taking the large mug of coffee Bucky passed her way, "what I really care about is your friend."

"Who's friend?"

"Yours, duh, the one you got the letter about," said Ginny, "what's he like? Is he hot? Is he single? How does he feel about redheads?"

Bucky started to cackle, laughing so hard that he nearly tipped off the bench. 

Harry had been so busy thinking about the bloody spiders that he hadn't thought about Natasha's last letter since he'd gotten it. And that had been days ago. He felt a sharp stab of guilt for forgetting. After all, it was up to him to make sure the whole thing worked out.

"Bugger," he muttered, flipping the pancakes just as they started to burn. He let the other side cook for a few seconds before flipping them on two plates and starting a new batch. 

He looked over his shoulder at Ginny, "I thought you were dating Oliver Wood," he said, "why do you care if Bucky's friend is single?"

"I was," said Ginny, "but he's boring. All we do is talk about quidditch or play quidditch, and I'm sick of it. I play quidditch every bloody day. I'd like to talk about something else and maybe get to wear a dress and go to dinner." 

She gestured at her outfit, baggy rolled-over sweatpants and sports bra, "I know it's hard to believe," she said, "but sometimes a girl wants to dress up, look pretty, and have an overpriced drink." 

Bucky finally stopped laughing, "well," he said, grinning, "he is known for having America's ass."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, "that sounds promising. Tell me more."

"Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, all American."

"Sounds boring," said Ginny, "but maybe I'd like boring if I gave it a shot." 

Harry finished the last of the pancakes, sitting on top of the already heaping stack, and brought them to the table. Ginny's eyes lit up, and she pounced like a cat, stabbing a stake of five. She dragged them onto her place and doused them in a heavy coating of maple syrup. 

She took a huge bite and wiggled from side to side happily. "This was so worth the spiders," she said, "I bloody love pancakes." 

She took another huge bite and asked, "So what do you think of my chances of scoring a date with America's ass?"

"Oh my god, Ginny," said Harry, laughing into his coffee. 

"Probably, pretty high," said Bucky, "even higher if you ask him. Steve is notoriously terrible with women."

"Oh?" 

"He's shy and awkward," said Bucky, "and blushes easily."

"Oh really?" she said, looking pleased, until she saw the time on the clock on the far wall, "bugger me," she said, shoveling the rest of her pancakes into her mouth, and then she stood up. "Well, boys, it was nice chatting with you. I must dash. See you on Saturday!" and she left.

Once she was gone, Harry said, "she came here just for the pancakes and to interrogate you about Steve, didn't she?"

"Absolutely," said Bucky, "and that's why she's my favorite."

"Is she?"

He nodded, "she's going to eat Steve alive. It's going to be great."

They spent the afternoon fighting with some particularly difficult-to-remove wallpaper in the hallway leading to the third floor. Harry considered their efforts mostly a success, considering he hadn't fallen down the stairs, and by the time they gave up, they had removed at least one strip of the paper. 

"There has to be an easier way to do this," said Bucky, sitting on the bottom step, streaks of the white chalky substance they coated the paper in streaked through his hair. 

"If you think of one, please let me know," said Harry, trying to stretch his back after spending the last two hours perched precariously on top of a ladder, bent low to keep from bashing his head into the light fixture. 

"I got another letter from Natasha," he said, sitting on the step next to Bucky.

"What did Nat want this time?" 

"To complain about the Owl post mostly," said Harry, "she wants a more convenient way to communicate, but I'm not sure what to tell her." 

"Can't you just do your thing with the fire where someone sticks their head in one side, and it comes out on the other?"

"Maybe, but I'd have to do it," said Harry, "can't risk her deciding to just come all the way through- do you think she'd be able to find a fireplace? They aren't that common in America, are they?"

"That sounds like her problem," said Bucky, "you're giving her a more convenient option. She's smart; she can figure it out."

Harry sent the letter, and they set up a call three days later. He couldn't see much from where his head was in the fireplace. It was narrow and deep, limiting his field of view considerably. Natasha stood before him, her deep red hair curling around her chin. 

"Christ-" Harry heard a voice say from somewhere in the back of the room, "you weren't kidding- how the hell does that work?" 

Natasha turned, pointing at the speaker, "not one more word, or so help me, god, I will kick you from this meeting."

"Not a word-" said the voice cheerfully. 

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to Harry, "Mr. Potter," she said, "so glad you could join us."

"Right," said Harry, "shall we get on with it?" 

It didn't take Harry long to learn that explaining magic to adult muggles was a bit like trying to explain a rubber duck to Mr. Weasley, only worse. 

Mr. Weasley was perfectly content to admit that while he found muggles fascinating, he didn't understand them at all, but the muggles wanted to understand everything about magic right at that very moment, and that was impossible. 

And they really didn't like it when Harry didn't have the answers they wanted, instead shuttering, "er- I don't know why it works, it just does?" 

The meeting finally ended, and Harry pulled his head out of the fireplace over three and a half hours after putting it in. He had the worst headache he'd had in years. He was too hot from being near the fire, and he was thirsty, and everything was terrible. 

He curled up in a little ball on the hearthrug, with his chin tucked to his chest, and let himself mope. He didn't hear Bucky come into the kitchen, but it felt wonderful when he pressed his cold metal hand against Harry's forehead. "You alright?" asked Bucky. He pushed Harry's sweaty hair out of his face, "you're real warm."

"That," said Harry, "was the worst meeting I think I've ever been in. Bloody hell, they sure know how to make you feel stupid, don't they?"

Bucky sat next to the fireplace in the kitchen, leaning back against the counters, and Harry shuffled a little so he could rest his cheek against his thigh. His knees hurt something awful from kneeling for so long. This was alright, though. He'd be okay if they could just stay like this for a while. 

"Did you get it figured out?" Bucky asked, continuing to run his metal hand through Harry's hair. The coolness really did feel amazing on his too-hot skin. He nodded, "I think so? Honestly, they asked me so many questions I can't even remember half of what I said. I think I was just making things up by the end. I mean, they're muggles. They won't know the difference- how the hell am I supposed to know how magic works? It just does." 

"I think you've answered enough questions for today," said Bucky, "let's put the fire out and go to bed- yeah?"

"I think I might need to lay here for a little longer," Harry said. His head hurt so much that he screwed his eyes shut and groaned. He'd started to regret ever agreeing to work with the muggles. 

Little did he know that Natasha felt exactly the same way.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Specialized Mission 

Steve sat on the edge of the grey blanket on the narrow bed in the upstate SHIELD headquarters, staring absently at his boots. Two weeks ago, Natasha had shown up at his apartment out of the blue. He'd gone for a run, and when he came back, she was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, with a scowl on her face like he'd kept her waiting. 

She told him she had a mission for him that started today. He didn't know the details, only that it was diplomatic and top secret and that he'd find out everything he needed on a need-to-know basis.

Today was also his birthday. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Which is how he felt about a lot of things these days. He watched time pass from afar. He'd get up, go for a run, make a cup of coffee, and then it would repeat. Like he was on a perpetual loop of mornings, airplanes, and debriefings. 

But today was his birthday, which meant it wasn't like yesterday and wouldn't be like tomorrow either. Steve didn't really think much of it other than it was. The last time he'd done something for his birthday, he had been nine, and he could hardly remember it. There had been cake, and his Mother had gotten him something nice.

Today there wouldn't be anything nice. But that was okay. He didn't need it. He met Natasha in a conference room on the third floor. The wall behind her was a long sheet of glass. She was waiting for him perched on the edge of the conference table. 

"Ready to go?" she asked, her perfect curls bouncing as she stood. 

He nodded, mouth set in a hard line. He was ready; she just needed to tell him what he was ready for. 

"Sorry, handsome," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "it had to be today."

It didn't surprise him that she knew. She knew everything . Natasha knowing things had ceased to surprise him long ago.

But it's not like it really mattered. Today was a day like any other. 

She picked up a folder off the table, opening it in a grand sweeping gesture, and cleared her throat.

"Today," she said, "you are going on a diplomatic mission that has the power to cement crucial relations with a powerful nation." She looked over the top of the folder at him, "so you better not fuck it up."

There was a smile in her eyes. The kind you could only see with enough practice, and now that Steve could plainly see it, he wanted to know what she was up to. 

"You are going to a gathering at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley near Devon, England," she said, "where you will be attending a party with a group of influential guests, including one Harry Potter and Bucky Barnes."

Steve blinked at her, staring vacantly because what she said did not want to register properly. 

" What? " 

She kept going, ignoring his question. "You will be departing from this office in the next 45 seconds," she reached into her pocket, pulled out a small rubber duck, and thrust it into Steve's hands. "Don't drop that, and so help me God, Rogers, do not fuck this up, it was nearly impossible to set up, and I had to get Stark involved," she squeezed his arm once and stepped back. 

Before Steve could open his mouth to say anything or really had the chance to register what was going on, the world whipped away in a blind blur of colors, and a moment later, when it stopped, he was standing in an overgrown garden of a tall lopsided house in the English countryside. 

He swayed on his feet, turning on the spot, his mouth slightly open. He was never going to get used to magic. 

The door to the house burst open, and a short woman came bustling out, her arms outstretched.

 "Oh, hello, Deary!" she said, "they said you were coming! You're exactly on time. Please come in, come in!" 

Steve tried desperately to regain his footing and remember his manners, but it was hard to think about anything when he had just been in New York, and now he was here. 

She pulled him into a tight hug, "We've been planning this for so long!" she said cheerfully, "I'm just thrilled the day's finally here, now you follow me to the garden, deary," 

She took his arm and led him up the steps of the long porch and into the house to the kitchen. It was a bright room with big windows over the sink. It smelled like fresh biscuits, jam, and comfort. 

There was an echoing crash from somewhere upstairs. Her grip on Steve's arm tightened before she let go. Eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. They had stopped in the middle of the bright sunny kitchen. The house was eerily silent, like it was holding its breath before a tremendous bang shook the foundation. Mrs. Weasley let go of Steve's arm, rushing to the bottom of the stairs.

 "GEORGE!" she screamed, her voice going shrill, "What in Merlin's name are you doing?!!" 

"SORRY!" someone- probably George shouted from upstairs, voice muffled by the floor, followed by an additional bang, "Bloody hell!"

"Those boys, for Christ's sake," Mrs. Weasley muttered darkly, shaking her head. Her greying ginger curls bounced around her shoulders, "you'd think that they're too old for this, that's what you'd think." She sighed, patting Steve on the arm, "now I had better see what they've done- make sure they haven't blown a hole in the house- again. Now you just go right through that door," she pointed at the open door at the far end of the kitchen, "and keep walking until you reach the back door, that'll lead you into the garden. Now off you go." She patted him twice on the arm and turned, her long skirt swirling around her ankles. She lifted it as she marched up the stairs, "What in God's name have you done now?" she exclaimed. 

She disappeared from view, leaving Steve standing alone in the kitchen. He was going to do as she'd said and walk straight through to the garden. But before he reached the door on the far side of the room, he got distracted by the photos hanging all along the wall. They moved. All the photos moved. 

Steve stopped, transfixed by the moving photos. Each one was filled with smiling, freckled faces. He recognized Ron, the tall thin redhead with the shocking blue eyes, from last year when he'd traveled to London before, in a memory. 

His sister, the pretty redhead, was here too. At the top left, she looked about six, then twelve, and in the last photo, hanging next to the window, she had her arm thrown over Bucky's shoulder, whispering something in his ear. He laughed, throwing his head back, and she had the most devious smile he'd ever seen. The floor cracked behind him, and he startled, whipping around, feeling as though he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. 

The red-headed woman in the photo was standing at the stove with her back to him, wrapped in a towel. Her long ginger hair dripped down her back, leaving puddles on the floor by her feet. Steve felt his face heat to boiling.

 She didn't notice. She was bent over the stove inspecting the tray of fluffy biscuits. That left him in a predicament because if she turned around now, he would be staring at her in a towel. So he did what he thought was the gentlemanly thing to do and cleared his throat so she'd know he was there, "sorry," he said, "I didn't know you were there." 

She looked over her shoulder, and instead of being met with outrage, she held her finger to her lips, miming for him to be quiet. She picked up one of the biscuits, shoved the whole thing in her mouth, and then she winked and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. 

Once he was sure she was gone, Steve hurried out of the kitchen, still red-faced, toward the garden. 

 He stepped out the back door and found a flurry of motion around him. Two wizards were standing a hundred or so yards away, floating two long tables in the air, with a woman standing at the redhead's shoulders, gesturing madly, waving her arms about like she was trying and failing to get them to listen to her. 

He was never going to get used to magic. 

"You never really get used to it- you think you do, but then something happens, and it's like Nah- nope, still not used to it." 

He turned, and Bucky was sitting on the edge of the lopsided stone wall, a few feet away under the shade of a huge willow tree. 

All of the words Steve wanted to say evaporated from his mind, and he stood, red-faced and blinking, while his oldest friend grinned back at him. 

"What's got you so red, Rogers."

"There was a woman. In a towel," said Steve, like that was an actual explanation. Bucky laughed like he'd understood what he'd meant, "I guess you met Ginny," he said, "she's a card."

Steve sat on the wall next to him and tried to figure out which of the seven billion questions he wanted to ask first. Before he had a chance, the door to the house swung open, and Mrs. Weasly stuck her head out, "Oh good," she said, "you've found each other, right well back to the kitchen with me then." 

The door banged closed behind her. 

"So, how was your trip?" asked Bucky.

"Terrible. Is traveling by magic always like that?"

"Oh, it's the worst. I fucking hate it. Put me in a goddamn car any day. I'd rather walk."

Steve had opened his mouth to ask what living around magic was like, if Bucky was as happy as he looked, but was cut off by a sheik from inside; they could hear pounding footsteps, and Mrs. Weasley roared, "GINEVRA!!!!"

Somewhere a door slammed. 

"Is it always like this?" asked Steve.

"Yup, I'd say you'll get used to it, but you won't." 

Maybe, Bucky was right, and he wouldn't ever get used to it. But he was sure as hell going to try. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Garden Party

On the morning of July fourth, Harry woke up with a jolt sometime before the sun rose. He had the same jittery electric feeling running up and down his spine that he used to get before quidditch matches. So there was no point in trying to go back to sleep; he might as well get up.  

What he wanted was a cup of coffee the size of his head, but with how jittery he already felt, coffee would make him vibrate out of his skin. Tea sounded like the better option. 

Harry took his cup of tea to the front room, curling up at the end of the sofa. As much as he wanted to enjoy his cup of tea in the quiet peace of the early morning, he couldn't. All the worries and fears about today that Harry had been pushing away into the back corners of his brain bubbled up all at once. It didn't matter that he knew everything would be fine. A tight ball of anxiety wound ever tighter in the center of his chest. 

He worried that somehow they'd overlooked something, and everything would unravel. Natasha wouldn't keep her word, and instead of a single super soldier arriving via port key, a whole army would descend on the Weasley's house. Or worse, that Bucky would, for some unfathomable reason, leave. 

He knew it wasn't rational or even in the realm of possibility, but that didn't stop his mind from conjuring a series of terrible outcomes, each one more vivid than the last.  

Bucky stuck his head in the door to the front room, his hair rumpled, eyes half lidded, "you alright?" he asked. Harry jumped, nearly sloshing the now stone cold tea all down his front. 

"I'm alright," he said automatically, "just a bit nervy. I'm probably being silly."

Bucky took the cold mug of tea from his hands and set it on the floor next to the sofa.

"You know it's gonna be fine, right?"

Harry sighed, taking his offered hand, and let himself get pulled to his feet, "I know that, but-"

He shook his head, following Bucky out of the front room and into the kitchen, "I'm just nervy, that's all."

Harry was still on edge when they landed in the Weasley's garden a few hours later. Bucky followed behind him into the house, grumbling darkly under his breath. He still hated apparating. Harry really didn't blame him. 

He'd looked into getting a car, but it turned out to be quite complicated when you didn't have any muggle credentials, and the laws about faking them were stricter than he'd thought they would be. So no, car. Yet. George had mentioned that he knew someone who might be able to help them get one on the quiet, but Harry'd been busy enough that he hadn't asked for details. 

The kitchen, as always, was bright and cheerful and smelled delicious . Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, but Harry could hear muffled voices through the open windows.

"They must all be in the garden," he said.

He was right, everyone was in the garden, and Harry hadn't seen this many Weasleys all in one place since Bill's wedding. In the middle of the chaos, Ginny stood with George's arm wrapped around her shoulder, laughing, her eyes screwed up tight while she hiccuped with glee. 

"Ginny! What have I told you-" snapped Mrs. Weasley, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her up towards the house, muttering all the while. 

"Hullo, boys!" said Ginny, still chuckling as Mrs. Weasley pulled her into the house, the porch door banging closed behind them.

 Ron appeared at Harry's side, "Merlin beard is Ginny's on one today. I swear there's some kind of contest between her and George about who can make Mum go bananas first and Gin's well in first place."

"Sounds like you've had quite the morning," said Bucky. 

"You've got no idea, Mum demanded we get here before seven, and I've been up since five thirty," he yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, "you know how mum is-"

He put on his best high pitched voice, "now, Ronald , everything must be perfect for the American! Can't have us disgracing our country now. We must set an example !"

Ron rolled his eyes, "she thinks it's like we're having the queen round for tea or something- honestly."

Harry, whose nerves had finally settled once they'd left number twelve, was now back in full force, "right, well, do you need any help?"

Ron clapped him on the back. "Oh, I thought you'd never asked. Let's get on with it."

From then on, Harry was dragged this way and that, carrying a pile of cushions from the living room, levitating chairs out of the barn, and helping Ginny beat the dust out of the old table clothes that had been packed away since last summer. 

Bucky had vanished into the chaos once the wands were out, which wasn't unusual. He preferred to stay well out of the way of potential flying objects and watch whatever magic they were doing from afar. 

Which was exactly what he was doing now. He sat in the shade of one of the tall willow tree's on the edge of the lopsided stone wall, running the length of the garden, watching Harry and Hermione start to assemble the tables. So far, they'd magiced one of the long tables out of the barn, and now a little knot had formed in the center of the garden, trying to decide if they really needed a second one. 

"You know what Mum's going to say," said Ginny.

"Yes, I know ," said George, "but the question is, is she right?"

"Look, does it really matter? asked Ron, "you know if we don't do it the way she wants, she's just going to make us do it again."

"I need to take a shower," said Ginny, "so you lot sort this out," and she walked away. 

"Fat load of help she was," grumbled Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let's just get the second table, or we'll stand around talking about it all day."

George clapped Ron and Harry on the back so hard he knocked them forward. 

"Best of luck, you three," he said, "got stuff to do-" and hurried back up to the house.

Once George had run off, the three of them started off toward the barn, Ron leading the way down the narrow dirt path.

"Makes me wonder what they know that we don't," he asked, pulling the door open, "ah-" he stopped at the door, looking at the piles of tables and chairs stacked all the heap in the middle of the barn, "right, I suppose that would be it." 

It took the three of them over an hour, even with magic, to try and get the mess of legs untangled enough to maneuver one of the tables out of the barn. It landed hard enough to rock the legs, and all three of them collapsed next to it to rest. 

"That-" panted Ron, "was a nightmare. No wonder Gin ran off."

Hermione tried to catch her breath, leaning back on her elbows, her head tipped back, "right," she said, "now we just have to get it down the hill to the garden."

"And then," said Harry, grinning, "we have to get them both to fit in the garden."

"I hate parties," groaned Ron, "this is so much work."

"I'll remind you of that at dinner," said Harry.

The three of them sat looking up at the bright blue sky, enjoying the warm sunshine, until they heard shouting from the garden.

"What's that?" asked Ron.

"We'd better get back," said Hermione, getting to her feet. She stretched, clasping her wand in her right hand, "won't Steve be arriving soon anyway?"

It took all three of them to get the table down the hill from the barn to the house, Ron and Harry working together to keep the table aloft and Hermione walking slowly in front of them, guiding them. 

Harry was so caught up in trying to keep the table from smashing into the trees or Hermione that he didn't even notice that Steve had arrived. They had finally settled the tables into the shape of an L, relieved to not have knocked anyone over when Ron turned back to the house. 

"Your American's here," he said, gesturing to where Steve and Bucky were sitting on the stone wall, "and he looks confused." 

"Of course he's confused," said Hermione, her hands on her hips, "honestly, you lose your mind every time I take you in a muggle shop, and you expect some poor muggle not to bat an eye?"

Ron shrugged, "Bucky was fine."

"Well, he's not normal, is he?" said Hermione, "besides, Harry had been telling him about magic for ages before he saw it, so he at least had an idea of what to expect."

"That guy doesn't look normal either," said Ron, "he's enormous . Look at his shoulders."

The three of them huddled together at the far end of the garden, looking at the two men sitting in the shade. Harry craned his neck to try and get a better view. "He's very blond, isn't he," he said.

"Would you two quit gawking like children and go say hello?" said Hermione, grabbing them both by the elbow and leading the way toward the house.

"That table almost took you out, Hermione," said Bucky.

"We weren't going to hit her," said Ron, "we didn't even come close."

"You came less than three centimeters from my nose," said Hermione hotly, "but at least it's done now, and everything is set well before dinner." 

She turned to Steve, "I'm sorry," she said, "we're being terribly rude, aren't we? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Hermione, and this-" she tugged the boys forward, "is Ron and Harry."

Steve smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth, and all Harry could think was that Ginny was going to try to climb that man like a tree and that he hoped Steve was prepared.

"I remember you from the memories," he said, "I'm glad to meet you in person."

Harry flew a blush creeping up his neck, "er-" he said, "I promise the house isn't always that much of a disaster- it's gotten better."

Steve laughed, "Yeah? No more ceilings falling on your head Buck?"

"Oh, you saw that? Did you also see when I got attacked by the wardrobe?"

"Nah- mostly, I saw a lot of the kitchen."

Harry shuffled nervously. He sort of had an idea of what had been in the memories they had given Steven, but since they had been Ron's, he hadn't ever seen them and now wished he had. 

"Are you still ripping out carpets?" asked Steve.

"No," said Harry, "we finished that over winter. We've started replacing the floors, but it's slow going since we've got to sort out all the bloody wards."

"What's a ward?"

Hermione perked up, immediately launching into lecture mode, enthusiastically holding Steve captive while Ron and Harry dropped down on the grass in the shade.

 "and she's off," said Ron.

"He's got no idea what he's in for," said Harry. He poked Bucky in the thigh. "You should rescue him, or he'll be there all day."

"Nah, he asked for it. Let 'em suffer."

Ron smirked, "you know, you're kind of a dick sometimes,"

Bucky shrugged. "So's he."

The door opened with enough force that it bounced off the side of the house, and Ginny, George, Angelina, and Charlie, came trooping out into the garden. 

Ginny led the procession, dressed in half her harpies uniform, her wet hair in a messy ponytail on top of her head, and her broom clutched tightly in one hand. 

She came to a stop under the willows, poking Ron and Harry in the shoulder with the end of her Cleansweep, "that's enough sitting around," she said, "it's a perfect day. It's time for quidditch."

"Ginny," said Hermione, "you can't just expect muggles to understand a quidditch match-"

"Of course, I can," she said, "it's quidditch. Everyone loves quidditch."

A blush started to creep up Steve's neck when he saw her. Harry wasn't the only one who noticed. 

Ron nudged him, whispering, "what's that all about? What's she done now?"

"I think," said Harry, "he's sweet on your sister."

Hermione firmly grasped Bucky's arm.

"Well, you have fun," she said, "I have something very important to tell Bucky about runes, so I'm going to stay right here."

"What's quidditch?" asked Steve looking thoroughly confused. 

"It's a flying game," said Bucky, "Hermione will explain once they start playing."

"See," said Hermione, sitting resolutely between them, "my presence is needed here. Now off you go."

Ginny rolled her eyes, tossing her broom into her other hand. She grinned mischievously at Bucky. 

"Ready to watch your boyfriend cry when I get the snitch first?"

"Oh, come off it, Gin," said Ron, "no one ever beats Harry."

"We're just playing for fun- yeah?" said Harry, getting up and brushing the grass off his jeans, "so no need for crying."

As Harry was swept away in the group, he heard Hermione say, "I swear everyone has forgotten their manners today-"

By now, she really ought to know that quidditch always came first. 

The little group moved up the hill towards the barn and went around back to the shed, where they found a collection of the saddest looking brooms Harry had ever seen. 

Harry didn't have time for the anxiety about Steve to bubble up because the next thing he knew, someone thrust a broom into his hand, and George was shouting.

 " Listen up , Ron and Charlie are keeping, I'm chasing, vs. Angie and Harry and Gin are on the snitch. Everyone up in 3,2,1-"

Once Harry was in the sky, it didn't matter how bad his broom was; he always felt at home flying. He leaned low over the handle shooting down the hill towards the house, serving around the trees before pulling up hard and rocketing back into the sky. 

"Stop showing off for your boyfriend-" shouted Ginny from the other end of the garden, "games not even on yet."

Once the quaffle had been tossed into the air, it was snatched by Angelina, and the game was off. Harry's idea of it being just for fun lasted a whole minute before it devolved into one of the dirtiest games he'd ever played. And that was including the finals against Slytherin. 

Since they didn't have any beaters, George had enchanted golf ball sized rocks to chuck themselves violently after the players. One hit Harry in the thigh, and he nearly tipped sideways off his broom. It hurt - worse, maybe, than getting hit with a bludger. 

Ginny was on the other side of the garden, her sharp eyes scanning for the snitch. Harry didn't think it would be hard to catch, it was old, and one of the wings was bent. But when they let it go, it zipped off into the sky faster than he'd expected. 

Ignoring the game below him was hard; Charlie and Ron were screaming at each other from opposite sides of the pitch, and Angelina checked George so hard he crashed into the top of a pine tree. 

It had been easier to ignore a cheering crowd than his friends needling one another. It didn't help that Ginny kept trying to faint him out, and the last time she nearly got him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He could do this, he just needed to focus, and that's when he saw it.

The snitch was near the flower bed, running the length of the house. Ginny would spot it any second, so without a second thought, he dove. Rocketing straight down as fast as the old broom could take him. 

Ginny was right behind him. Her broom, although not of any real quality, was certainly better than his. Both of them headed straight for the house; Harry knew it would be close, and there was a chance they'd both end up smashing head first into the big window in the living room.

 But it was small enough that he took the risk, reaching out and closing his fingers around the snitch before pulling up as hard as he could, spirling straight up into the sky, whooping, holding the snitch aloft. 

Ginny crashed. She'd got too close to the house and spun out when she tried to roll. She sat on the ground next to her broom, twigs sticking out of her hair, "Fucking hell, Potter!" she shouted, "Just for FUN ?! You're mental! Why in the fuck aren't you playing quidditch?!"

"I told you! I told you!" crowded Ron, pumping his fist in the air, "no one ever beats Harry."

Harry hadn't thought about playing in ages, and now when he was in the sky holding the snitch tightly in his hand, it was hard to remember why he hadn't tried out when he had the opportunity. With the wind in his hair and the roar of his friends shouting, all of his excuses seemed silly when he could have been doing this every day this entire time. 

That was something maybe he needed to think about. 

Before he could get lost in his head, George's voice echoed through the garden, "OY Potter! Get over here. Let's go again!"

And Harry shot off to where the group huddled together, ready to go again. All of his worries from the morning completely forgotten. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Boys n Beaters 

Bucky watched the group on the top of the hill take to the sky. His eyes habitually followed Harry while he darted around the garden, whipping past them before shooting back toward the group on the hill.

"Are you sure that's safe?" asked Steve as they watched Ron drift sideways. Half of the tail on his broom was missing, and the rest was frayed and bent. 

"It's not," said Hermione, "Harry's been injured loads of times."

"Oh yeah?" said Bucky.

She nodded. "He was in and out of the hospital wing the entire time we were at school. I think the worst might have been in second year when his arm got de-boned, but that wasn't his fault."

"Sorry?" said Steve.

"What the hell does de-boned mean?" asked Bucky, raising his eyebrows. He had a feeling that this would lead to another one of the stories where the person telling it acted like whatever bat shit event they were describing was perfectly normal and then looked confused when he informed them that it wasn't.

He was right.

"You mean to tell me your brilliant headmaster hired a Fraud to teach possibly the most dangerous subject at your prestigious magical school, and no one noticed until he botched a memory charm on Ron?"

"Er-" said Hermione.

"There are magical schools?" asked Steve, "I mean, of course, there are," he added, "you have to learn somehow."

"Exactly!" said Hermione, latching on the subject change with renewed enthusiasm, "I didn't know about magic until I got my letter to Hogwarts when I was eleven."

"So you can have magic if your parents don't? How does that work? How do you get chosen? Can you apply? Is there a test?"

Hermione was perfectly happy to sit and spend her whole afternoon explaining the basics of magic to them, and Bucky wasn't above admitting that after living surrounded by the stuff for so long, he still felt like a rube with how much he didn't know. 

But that didn't mean he wanted to get a lecture on the transference of magic and how it shaped the political sphere- that was up Steve's ally, not his. 

He'd rather watch the quidditch game. He'd been to Ginny's matches with Harry before, so he sort of understood how the game worked. At least how it was supposed to work. Watching a professional match and whatever this was, was very different. The little figures zipping around the garden did not appear to follow any rules whatsoever. 

On the far side of the garden, George careened into the top of the pine tree, bounced off, shouted something rude, and shot off in the opposite direction. 

While Harry spun recklessly on what looked like the flimsiest broom Bucky had ever seen, and after taking a sudden sharp turn, he rocketed straight down from the sky. It looked like he would surely crash face first into the earth, and Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep from tackling him out of the sky to keep him from crashing. 

But Harry didn't crash. Twisting at the last second, he headed back up the way he came. His fist held over his head, whooping. 

Everyone always said that Harry was exceptionally good at this game, but this was the first time Bucky got to see what that looked like. 

The little group gathered at the top of the hill to start the game again and whizzed off in all directions. Bucky leaned back against the tree trunk, one hand shielding his eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a huge brown leather ball sailing toward them. 

The dark haired girl with the glittering black eyes lay flat on her broom, streaking after it, but she wasn't fast enough, and it was careening straight for the side of Hermione's head. 

Before it could hit its target, Bucky leaned to catch it, snatching it out of the air with one hand and pulling it tight to his chest. 

The girl on the broom came to a sweeping halt, hovering about a foot and a half in the air in front of them.

 "Sorry," she said, looking apologetic, "do you mind?

Bucky tossed her the ball; she tucked it under her arm, holding on to the broom with one hand, and zoomed off, shouting at someone- probably George to "be more bloody careful, would you?"

An hour or so later, after the third round of the game had ended, this time with Ginny catching the snitch- only because Harry wasn't willing to fly face first into one of the pine trees, and she was. She had emerged, triumphant, with a cut over her left eyebrow. 

Harry landed near the wall, collapsing into the grass in the shade. His face is shiny with sweat. He pushed his damp hair out of his face. "What are you lot up to?"

"Well," said Hermione, "I was just explaining to Steve here about my new initiative for the welfare of exploited magical creatures and how it can help to support the underserved in our communities."

"Right," said Harry slowly.

"Your politics are fascinating," said Steve, "is there a way I can read more about them?" 

Hermione positively lit up. "Oh, if you'd like, I can send you some books! I have loads, you know, if you're really interested, you might want to start with Hogwarts a History, because it gives a really clear explanation of how the school has built and affected the magical community since it was founded in the tenth century."

"Have you read Hogwarts a History ?" asked Bucky, leaning against Harry's shoulder.

Harry looked horrified. 

 "No," he said, "that thing is enormous. It would take me years."

Mrs. Weasley came out of the house carrying two enormous pitchers of ice cold pumpkin juice, and a stack of glasses floated in the air behind her. She set them on the wall, brushing her flour coated hands on her apron, "who'd like some pumpkin juice?" she asked before shouting across the garden, "GEORGE! Mind the hedge- for Merlin's sake!" 

George, distracted by her shouting, did not mind the hedge and nearly crashed into it, giving it a good kick on his way past.

 "MUM!" he shouted back, "are you trying to kill me?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Always a handful, that one," she said before heading back into the house. 

The rest of the quidditch players descended like a swarm and collapsed in an exhausted heap in the shade. 

"Nice game Potter," said Charlie, clapping him on the shoulder, "remind the class again why you aren't playing professionally?"

"I didn't want to play just because I'm me," he said, "if I'm going to do it, I want to do it because I'm a good player, you know?

A round of groans went around the group.

"Oh, come off it," said Angelina, "you were the youngest seeker in a century. Any team would want you."

"Yeah, how many offers did you get again?" asked Ron.

"Six," said Harry, "and I just got another one from Puddlemore asking me to try out in the fall."

"OH!" said Ginny, grabbing his arm and shaking him. "Oh please, please, please, do the tryouts; you'll give Wood a heart attack. It will be wonderful."

"Isn't Flint playing for Puddlemore next year?" asked Charlie.

"He is," said George, "that would be a nasty team, Potter, Flint, and Wood. They'd take over the league."

"I had an offer from Puddlemore," said Angie, sipping her pumpkin juice. Ginny gaped at her, whacking her on the arm, "SO DID I! But for chaser," she shrieked.

Ron paled. "Bloody hell, you'd be unstoppable. You'd win the world cup for sure."

Harry laughed, "I don't know," he said, "Krum's still playing."

"Pish," said Angelina, "maybe Krum could take you when you were fifteen, but Harry, that save today was insane. I thought you were going to be flattened."

"I'm not as insane as Ginny. She flew right into a tree." 

"Yes, I did," said Ginny, looking very pleased with herself, "anyways, Soldier Boy, aren't you going to introduce your friend?"

"Probably," said Bucky. He gestured to Steve, "this is Steve. He's American and muggle, so try not to confuse him on purpose. He will believe anything you tell him."

"I will not," said Steve.

"Did you know that magical brooms aren't made? They're grown," said Bucky.

"Really? How?"

"See," said Bucky, patting Steve on the shoulder, "don't try and confuse the poor muggle."

"Screw you, Barnes."

 George leaned back on his elbows, sizing Steve up, "too bad that muggles can't fly," he said, "you two would make brutal beaters."

Hermione paled, looking between Steve and Bucky.

 "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she said. 

Ginny sat up, looking thrilled. "Nah, it's brilliant," she said, "let's have them play from the ground. We've still got the practice bludgers in the shed, I think."

"Ginny," said Hermione, "are you trying to get someone killed?"

Angelina laughed, tossing one of her long dark braids over her shoulder. "All you gotta do is play perfect Hermione," she said, "then you don't get hit."

"Ah, yes, a perfect game of backyard quidditch," muttered Hermione, "there is no way someone is going to end up at St. Mungos with a cracked skull."

"What about it, boys?" asked Ginny, "do you want to play?"

"Why not," said Bucky, agreeing for the both of them. Steve followed the little group back up the hill towards the shed to fetch the bludgers, but once he saw the shaking crate, he started to look apprehensive. 

"You two are playing as beaters," said Charlie, "one on each team- normally they play in pairs. You're the muscle on the team," he handed each of them a short stout wooden bat, "all you have to do is hit the bludgers at the other team."

He flipped open the lid of the crate revealing the two round black vibrating balls.

"These little fuckers fly around and try and knock us off our brooms," he explained, "and your job is to keep them away from your team and send them after the other team. Now since you'll be on the ground, you won't be as effective as on a broom, but it'll still be fun."

"You want us to hit those balls at you? While you're flying?" asked Steve, "what happens if you get hit?"

"It hurts," said Ginny, "but I doubt you're going to hit us," she winked, "it's harder than it sounds."

Bucky took one of the solid bats, giving it an experimental swing, "So, who's playing for who?" he asked.

"You're with me," said Harry, "and Steve's on Gin's team, so you better not let him knock me off my broom."

"You hear that?" said Ginny, patting Steve on the arm, "give 'em hell for me."

With that, they scattered, climbing onto their brooms and zooming off into the sky, leaving Bucky and Steve on the ground clutching their stout wooden bats. Heading off to their appointed half of the garden. Bucky was stationed on top of the end of the stone wall, while Steve stood a hundred or so yards away on a stump. While the premise of their position seemed simple enough, neither of them was entirely sure what they were doing. 

"What are we doing?' asked Steve while they made their way down the short hill back toward the garden.

"You're going to stand on a stump and hit the magical flying ball when it tries to smash your face in."

"Right…" said Steve, looking unsure.

"Look, the best way to deal with this stuff is to go with it. Does any of it make sense? No. Is anyone going to explain it to you? Also, no. But as long as nothing actively tries to kill you, you'll be fine."

"Should I expect something to try to kill me?"

"Yeah, the flying ball trying to smash your face in."

Steve didn't look convinced but climbed onto his stump anyway, holding his bat at the ready. 

The rest of the players had already taken to the sky, and at the top of the hill, Hermione, who had reluctantly been elected to set the bludgers free, flicked her wand once, freeing the balls, and darted behind the nearest tree as they rocketed into the sky in opposite directions. 

One vanished into the sun, and the other went straight for Charlie's head. He rolled, corkscrewing around the makeshift goalposts.

"Nasty fuckers, they are," he said, grinning when he was right side up again. 

Bucky stood alert, tracking the players zipping around the garden, shouting at each other. 

Something was headed straight for his head; he heard the low whistle almost too late but spun around just in time to whack one of the bludgers away, sending it back into the sky. 

"Christ, Buck, are you trying to kill someone?" asked Steve.

"I am tryin' not to end up with broken ribs."

"So what your tryin' to break somebody else's ribs-"

"DUCK!"

Steve didn't duck and took a bludger to the center of his back, just between the shoulder blades. It lifted him off the stump and sent him flying thirty feet before he landed, somersaulting and coming up on his feet. He crouched low, looking around, alert and ready. His bat held tightly in his hand. The bludger had turned to head back toward him for a second pass at knocking him down. This time he hit it with a loud crack, sending it flying as far away as possible.

"That hurt," he grumbled.

"That's why I hit it so hard, so it doesn't come back."

Only the bludgers did come back. Over and over again, and once Bucky got the hang of it, smashing the devil ball into the sky was actually pretty good fun. As long as he knew where the second one was, because when he didn't, that was a problem, and it was a problem that was probably going to hurt. 

He'd gotten a pretty good rhythm going until he turned too quickly and accidentally sent a bludger straight for Steve's head. 

Steve whacked it at the ground; it bounced once and flew away, and he pointed his bat at Bucky, 

"Hey," he called from across the garden, "knock it off, pal."

Bucky, having too much fun to just let it go, shouted back, "Or what?"

"Or I'm gonna knock you on your ass."

"Let's see you try!" 

"You're gonna regret that, Barnes."

"Oh yeah? Prove it!" 

Soon the quidditch game above them was forgotten; both of them too focused on trying their absolute damnedest to knock the other one down. 

Even the shouting and cheering above them faded away as all his energy was focused on hitting that damn black ball at Steve's head. While Hermione darted among the trees trying to avoid the rouge bludgers. 

The game was called when the sun started to set. Bucky had no idea who won either game. The official quidditch match or the game of knock you down, he'd started with Steve.

 Both of them had taken their fair share of a beating. Bucky had been hit twice in his good shoulder and once in the stomach. That one had lifted him off the wall and sent him flying into a tree. The back of his neck was covered in thin pink scratches from all the little pine branches. 

But he's also got Steve in the hip and the knee- that one hadn't been on purpose. He'd just been defending himself- honest. He'd winced when he saw it connect. Steve limped across the garden, grinning at him, so at least there were no hard feelings.

"That was fun," he said, "we should do that again sometime."

"Fun?" asked Ron; he'd landed near Bucky's wall, "it looked like you were trying to kill each other."

"Nah, we were just playin'."

"Merlin," said Angelina, "that was playing? If that was playing, I want you on my team, or I'm not playing."

Dinner was a loud affair, gathered around the two long tables near the house at the entrance to the garden. They sat crowded together on old spindly chairs, crammed elbow to elbow. Harry was on Bucky's right and Steve on his left, and he had a feeling that this would be a night to remember. At least if the way Ginny eyed Steve was anything to go on, and knowing Ginny, it most certainly was. 

"You don't think this is going a little overboard, do you?" muttered Steve, jamming his pointy elbow into Bucky's ribs. 

"Too much for lil old you?" he asked, "they like you, say thank you, enjoy it. The food's great, but don't drink the pumpkin juice- it's weird."

Mrs. Weasley shoved a pitcher of Pumpkin juice in front of Steve. "You really ought to try it, deary," she said, filling his goblet.

"Don't drink it," said Bucky.

Steve refused to listen, taking a big swig, choked, and forced himself to swallow.

"Told you. It's weird."

"Why was I expecting it to be sweet?" asked Steve, leaning close, "why isn't it sweet?"

"Who knows, but they drink it like water."

Harry leaned against his shoulder on the other side. "Does he think pumpkin juice is gross, too?" he asked. 

Bucky nodded. "Because it is."

"I wonder if it's a muggle thing," Harry muttered, reaching out, "here, give it to me. I'll drink it and give you some water."

"No, no-" said Steve, but Bucky took his goblet from next to his plate and handed it over to Harry, who swapped it for his.

"Aguamenti," he said, filling the glass with a stream of clear crystal water before passing it back to Steve.

"Is this safe to drink?"

"You tell me," said Bucky. 

"If Stark ever hears about this, he'll strangle me," he muttered to Bucky, taking a sip of his magic water. 

They'd made it halfway through the first course when Bill arrived. Late as always, vaulting over the fence and striding purposefully through the garden. Since his first visit months ago, Bucky hadn't heard another mention of the Winter Soldier and what he was or was not doing traipsing around London, and he hoped to keep it that way. 

He slid his metal hand into his pocket, and that was where he planned for it to stay for the rest of the evening. He bumped Harry's shoulder, "he's not gonna be a problem, is he?" he asked, leaning in close, "cuz I'm pretty sure everyone's seen the arm by now."

"Er-" said Harry, shifting uneasily, "I dunno- I didn't even think about it."

"About what?" asked Hermione, squeezing between Ron and Harry.

"Bill," said Ron, "I'm guessing?" he added, leaning on his elbow to look down the table at Bucky. 

"You got it."

"Oh," said Hermione, she twisted her napkin in his hands, "but that shouldn't come up, right?" she looked at Harry, "you cleared everything up with the Minister, didn't you?"

"Ages ago,' said Harry, he shrugged, "you never know though-"

"I wouldn't worry," said Ron, "Mum will crucify him if he brings that up at the table again- and on a guest's birthday?" he shook his head, "he'd just be asking for it."

Bill kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her waist, "Fleur sends her love," he said, sitting down next to Ginny at the far end of the table. 

"Oh, I'm sure she does," she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

They didn't have to wait long to see if Bill would bring up the Soldier because he did nearly immediately after he sat down, and the moment the words terrorist and Soldier left his mouth, Steve choked on his water. Turning a very attractive shade of red. 

Bucky thumped him hard on the back, "alright there, pal?"

He cleared his throat. "Never better," he said thickly. 

"Bill Weasley," said his mother, her voice shaking with an unrestrained rage, "that is not talk for the dinner table, and you are damn well old enough to know it." 

It didn't matter how grown you were, there were some people you did not argue with, and Mrs. Weasley was one of them. 

"I'll talk to him," said Ron, once the conversation had swiftly shifted, under the watchful eyes of the Weasley matriarch, "I've got authority now, so maybe if I tell him Kingsleys' closed the files, he'll let it go."

After avoiding that particular pitfall, Bucky drifted out of the conversation. It was hard sometimes keeping track of anything when they all talked over each other, and after too long, it always gave him a headache. Harry leaned against his shoulder, long strands of wild black hair tickling his neck. 

Steve was in the thick of it and had been invited to Sunday dinner. Ginny and Angelina demanded he come to their next quidditch match.

"You can't go on thinking garden quidditch is the pinnacle of flying entertainment," said Ginny, leaning forward on her elbows so she could shout down the table at them, "seriously, you have to come see how the pros do it."

"Our playoffs are coming up," added Angelina, "we can add you to the list if you want, and then you'll get box seats."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, probably about to make an excuse about saving the world, but Bucky kicked him in the shin and hissed, "go to the damn game."

After agreeing, he grumbled, "what the hell was that for?"

"You've told me three times how pretty the redhead is," said Bucky. Steve turned away, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

"She's a firecracker."

"Yeah, she is," said Bucky, "and she wants you to go see her play, so go watch her play. She's on the best team in the league. Let her show off a little."

"Oh, I'm sure they're just being polite," said Steve.

"You're a real big idiot sometimes, you know that?"

Dinner ended, and dessert was served. Mrs. Weasley outdid herself with a towering cake with thick creamy frosting covered in strawberries. 

"Mum has a thing about Birthdays," said Ron, mouth full of cake, "she likes everyone to know they matter."

Steve took his cake, looking at the huge slice on the white scalloped china, 'you're damn lucky you know that,' he said, smiling at Bucky, "you're damn lucky, and if I wasn't so happy for you, I'd be jealous."

"Jealous of what? Buddy, if you think these people will let you walk out of here and not come back, you've got another thing coming." He patted Steve on the shoulder, "You're stuck with them now, whether you like it or not."

Steve shoved a bite of cake into his mouth; he didn't argue. 

When they were finished, the sun had long set, and the garden was filled with a hundred tiny white sparkling lights floating above the flowers. 

Steve insisted that he help clear the dishes, and as soon as he followed a mollified Mrs. Weasley back into the house carrying an enormous stack of dishes, Ginny launched herself out of her seat, hurrying after them.

"There she goes," said Bucky, "go get 'em, tiger."

Harry snorted, covering his laughter with his napkin, "if she's anything, she's forward," he said, "she knows what she wants."

Ron groaned, "God, I wish she didn't." 

Mrs. Weasley came back out of the house looking very pleased with herself and sat at the end of the table. 

"Well," said George, standing up, "I think it's time for more cake."

"Absolutely not," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Mum, I'm grown. You can't tell me what to do," said George.

Bucky winced because if Mrs. Weasley was anything like his mother- and she was, that would not go over well, and it didn't.

Mrs. Weasley puffed up immediately.

"Oh, he's gone and done it now," whispered Ron, "she's going to murder him."

"George Gideon Weasley, you sit your arse back down right this second," she hissed, "how dare you talk to your mother like that, and if you think for one moment I am going to allow you to ruin this for your sister, I with curse you into next week."

"You know," said George, sitting back down, "one slice of cake really was plenty." 

The table went up in laughter, and Bucky wound an arm around Harry's waist. His head still resting against his shoulder, "I told you it would be fine," he said. 

"Yeah, you did," said Harry, "I'm just not used to things going the way they should."

"There is still time for it to take a turn," said Ron cheerfully.

Hermione sighed, "if you just jinxed things, Ronald-"

"I was kidding!" he said, eyes wide, "you don't think I did?"

"No," said Harry, "you didn't. Everything's going to be alright this time."

"Steve might even get a date," said Bucky, "unless he somehow manages to seriously fuck up, which historically is possible." 

Steve seemed to manage not to mess it up because when he came back out of the house, he dropped next to Bucky, grinning wide, with a blush dusting his cheeks. 

"You've got something on your face," said Bucky gesturing to the corner of his mouth. 

Steve blushed and rubbed at it, "I think- uh- I might have got a date," he said. 

"What, is it with you and redheads?" 

Steve shrugged, "I'm not complaining."

Harry leaned in front of Bucky, "you know," he said, "we have breakfasts at our house on Saturdays, and Ginny comes-"

"Sometimes," said Bucky.

"When she feels like it," amended Harry, "but she might come more often if you're there, so you should come."

Steve took a moment to answer.

 "I think," he said, "I would like that a lot."

"Good," said Harry, "you have a fireplace, right? I think I can get you hooked up to the floo network. The Minister owes me a bit of a favor."

"Floo network?"

Bucky leaned back, letting the conversation wash over him. It had been a long day, and he was tired and happy to let everyone talk around him. Maybe he didn't get to talk to Steve like he'd hoped, but that wasn't what today was about. 

This had been a test to see that somehow after everything, they could find a way to be in each other's lives, and it looked good. There wasn't a world in which he didn't see this working out unless Natasha didn't keep her promises, but it looked like she had, at least for now. And if that changed, they'd figure it out. They'd made it this far, and nothing would stop them now.