"Ready, Hedwig?"

Pushing against his hand, Hedwig began snapping her beak at his fingertips.

Harry reared back, wincing as he shook out his hand. "Sorry, darling. I know you detest the jumps, but I'd prefer we leave this dimension before we start smelling like it," Harry reasoned, casting a hesitant glance at the barren landscape. The damp soil they resided on froze in the absence of the sun. He resisted a shiver. He muttered under his breath, "Sentient slugs are rather not my thing, those slimy buggers."

He lifted his arm where Hedwig was perched and met curious eyes with his own.

"Forgive me?" Harry asked, scratching Hedwig's head feathers. She leaned into his touch.

Harry mounted his black motorbike and extended his arm out for Hedwig to glide down into the sidecar.

He straightened his black coat. Snapping his fingers, the motorbike's engine came to life.

"Death," Harry called into empty air. "Please tell me the next world you've chosen to take us is much less damp this one."

A breath of silence before a whistle of wind drifted by Harry's ear.

Harry sighed. "It's no wonder people fear Death. Imagine having you as company for their time in limbo. A bloody nightmare, I suppose." Revving the engine, Harry glanced down at Hedwig and smiled. "How does Universe-616 sound, girl?"

Hedwig blinked up at him.

The world shifted.

The damp soil fell from beneath them until the sky's dim light vanished and was replaced by nothing at all.

The earth shook.

Lights burned out and everything went dark.

Nick's staring out of a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility when it happened. Looking out at New York City, a place always seen as a blinding collage of buildings in the night, rid of any light was unsettling.

"Agent Hill." The latter looked to him, only for him to see she shared his confusion. "Find me the source of this, immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Nick pulled out his cellphone. Still functional, but useless without working service or internet connection. Power outages weren't uncommon. Problem was, what could cause a citywide one?

Looking to the streets below, Nick could tell a semblance of panic broke out, the sounds of yelling and car horns caught by the glass.

There wasn't silence, but it was eerie nonetheless.

Electricity hummed.

Lights began to flicker before the entire city was swallowed by light once again.

He turned on his heel.

Whatever it was, they found the source of the power outage.

Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, 4:53 AM, a powerful pulse of energy struck down, disrupting New York City's entire electrical circuit. According to the protocol, they'd send a team down to investigate. Thing was, from the location, they managed to trace a fast-moving figure with the energy's residue heading deeper into Brooklyn.

"Turn on the traffic cams," Nick snapped, striding into the main control room.

Following his orders, an agent displayed the various traffic footage capturing the unknown figure in real-time on the main screen. It proved difficult to see. Considering the distance between each cam and their quality, it took time but Nick began to put the pieces together.

Out of everything, Nick did not expect to see a man riding a black motorbike, a sidecar attached to its side, accelerating at a speed that should've landed him twelve tickets by now. He sped straight by a police vehicle a moment later. Unnoticed.

Donning a black coat, the man took to a motorbike like breathing. He veered around cars and pushed forward with a grace Nick's only seen with professionals.

The last time they encountered an energy spike rivaling this, it was Thor's goddamn lightning hammer. Mjölnir, was it? An Asgardian was his first guess, but he was pretty confident Asgardians were yet to ride motorbikes or any other kind of human means of transportation.

As he watched the rider, he noticed something off about the motorbike's sidecar.

"Agent Hill, rewind to camera seven hundred eight. Pause. Zoom in."

The room, noisy from the sounds of keyboards and chairs, went silent as they stared at the display.

"Is that—"

"It's an—"

An owl.

Nick deadpanned, "There's an owl in the sidecar."

The electricity didn't just cut out in the Stark tower. It didn't.

When the lights had flickered out, Tony had been figuring out improvements for his various suits in one of the many labs of the tower. Peering out of the windows, Tony laid witness to the brightness of New York City sputtering out.

"Now that's a problem," Tony mumbled, biting on the end of his pen.

A second lasting a breath past before the lights came back on, accompanied by the faint hum of electricity. "Jarvis," Tony called out, sliding his chair to the lab's control panel. "System report."

"All systems functional, sir," Jarvis responded.

Tony pursed his lips. "'Kay, what happened?"

"Sir, there appears to have been a powerful energy spike in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. I suspect it was the source of the outage."

"Huh." Tony knocked his pen against the table. "Weird."

The gazes of many dug themselves into Harry's skin. He shouldn't have canceled the Notice-Me-Not charm, but he'd rather not get run over by a muggle who couldn't see him.

He was surprised. Even a little impressed. It's yet to be twenty minutes since Hedwig and he had been tossed into this world on Death's recommendation and he already had a tail.

Harry loosened his scarf. "Should we throw them off, girl?" he asked, darting past a yellow light. Hedwig lifted a wing to clean her feathers. "I suppose not. I am craving some food. It's quite a pity those sentient slugs hadn't a single restaurant."

Riding through the streets, a bright brand name caught his eye. Harry's eyes widened. "A McDonalds! Brilliant, I haven't had that in eons." Rearing back, Harry parked his motorbike by an alley.

Hedwig flew to his shoulder.

Stepping into the restaurant, Harry found there were hardly any people. Well, he had to consider the near-rising sun. Five in the morning, was it?

Harry padded over to the front counter, eyes skimming over the menu before he promptly ordered a cheeseburger.

The cashier took one drawn-out look at Hedwig. "No pets," he drawled.

Harry smiled. "We'll be quick."

Sighing, the cashier sluggishly punched a few buttons on the register before: "$3.50."

Harry slipped out his wallet from his coat and in its shadow, transfigured his yen bills into American ones. Last time he visited an Earth of some kind, Death had dropped him in Japan. "Here you go, lad," Harry said as he placed the bills onto the counter. "You wouldn't happen to know what city this is, would you?"

The cashier blinked, too exhausted to even conjured a face of disbelief. "Brooklyn, New York City."

"Many thanks," Harry replied. "Have a swell night."

He got a grunt in response.

As Harry waited for someone to ring up his order, he was on the receiving end of many stares. No inquiries, fortunately. Once he picked up his burger, Harry exited the restaurant and leaned against his motorbike. He unwrapped the burger. Hedwig bumped her head against his and Harry made sure to tear and give her a piece which she gladly accepted.

An eerie whisper of wind, beneath the sounds of a waking civilization, breathed in his ear.

"Guns, huh?" Harry muttered under his breath. His stalkers seemed to be a little more cautious than Harry expected of them. "Any of them trained on Hedwig? Where?"

Another whisper of wind had Harry's eyes sharpening.

"Oh, really."

After finishing his burger, the target mounted his motorbike as the owl hopped down to the sidecar.

Agent Shaffer adjusted his sniper scope. Compared to the many other tasks he had done, this was quite peaceful. Fury had quickly briefed them on the situation. Agent Shaffer could hardly believe the man his team was sent to scout was anything less of a human.

That was until the target cracked his neck.

Rested a hand on his nape.

And tilted his chin just right to gaze straight across the street to a distant apartment balcony—

—where he was currently stationed.

In the night, it'd be impossible.

Four buildings away and twelve stories up, it'd be impossible, but—

"Target has—"

"Agent Shaffer, spit it out!" Fury snapped in the comms.

The gun in his hand shook, and those distant haunting green eyes never wavered from his own. "Target has made eye contact! He's aware!"

Chaos flooded the comms, but Agent Shaffer couldn't bring himself to move. His heart dropped.

Never tearing his gaze away, a smile plastered itself on the target's face before a deafening crack split the air.

A flicker of electricity and the man had gone.

"Fuck."

No records. At all.

Not a single piece of proof to prove this guy existed before this very night.

He was at a dead-end.

The world was undergoing many supernatural changes recently, and Nick would prefer he didn't hear another word of it.

Tony managed to find a file on the energy spike in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database. Illegal, yeah, but curiosity was a dick.

The number of things Tony learned from the file was scarce enough to make him question S.H.I.E.L.D.'s credibility. But he supposed he did learn some things. Like how the suspected source of the spike was a young man. Black hair, green eyes, round glasses, rode a motorbike, owned a snow owl and was—

"British? Hey, Jarvis!"

"Yes, sir?"

"I found you a friend," Tony sang.

"Sir, I find it quite difficult to believe a shared origin would lead to an automatic guarantee of friendship."

"I'm not a threat if that's what you're thinking," the man offered as Phil took a seat beside him at the bar.

"I apologize, but that is not for you to decide," Phil replied, turning to look at the man who's had S.H.I.E.L.D. running in circles for the past week.

The man was slippery, considering he was capable of instant teleportation. Quite a headache, he was. The man would order takeout, mount his motorbike, and take off. They'd send agents to capture him for an interrogation, but problem was, they couldn't find him. Because, well, they couldn't see him in the first place. Agents working from the cameras could, but in person, he just wasn't there.

As if he was invisible to the naked eye.

The man never did let them get into hearing range either way.

Until now.

Dressed in a red hoodie, he'd walked into a bar, no motorbike nor owl in sight.

It was an open invitation for a meeting.

Fury had ordered the bar to be slowly evacuated and to replace the staff with agents. Something could go wrong. This way, if things did, no civilian lives would be put in danger.

The man finished his martini, the rock music playing in the background fading into nothing. "Would I be wrong to assume you already have the entire building surrounded?" he asked.

"Why ask if you already know?" Phil replied.

The man shrugged, and the dim bar lights cast a soft glow into emerald eyes as he angled his head to look at Phil. "I wanted to know if you'd be honest with me."

Phil met his eyes with a steady gaze. "Phil Coulson," he introduced, extending a hand. "I work for a military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency. We deal with things like global and national security. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistic Divison, S.H.I.E.L.D. for short."

The man's wide eyes told him he was impressed as he shook his hand. "I'm sure no one would willingly say the longer version. Love your acronyms, do you? Harry Potter, it's a pleasure."

Finally, a name to go with the face. "I'd say the same, but I'm afraid I must admit you're running S.H.I.E.L.D. dry."

"My apologies. It's a talent," Mr. Potter sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. A smile slipped onto his lips.

Phil couldn't keep one away from his own.

Mr. Potter ordered another martini. "Are you going to order anything?" he asked, and although Phil was aware Mr. Potter had been drinking for some time know, the latter didn't show any signs of drunkenness.

"No. Unfortunately, I can't drink on the job," Phil admitted.

They watched in silence as the bartender put together the martini.

It's not an uncomfortable silence.

Phil wondered why.

Harry Potter appeared to be in his late twenties, yet the atmosphere cloaking his entire demeanor said otherwise. He looked like he should be in college, partying with friends, and living his life. Instead, he was drinking martinis alone in a bar with the kind of eyes Phil never wanted to see on a person.

A scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead. Another scar looking like words, carved into the back on his right hand.

Fury warned him this task might prove to be dangerous.

And all Phil could think was, of course it would be, Director. This man is shaped of war.

The bartender slid over a martini. Mr. Potter lifted the glass, staring down into the liquid before he sighed. He closed his eyes briefly.

In the corner of his eyes, Phil caught the bartender faltering.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?" Phil asked, eyebrows knitting together.

Mr. Potter snapped his fingers. The martini began to violently flicker green before it receded to its familiar colorless form. "Bloody hell," Mr. Potter muttered. "Really?"

Phil questioned, curious, "What did you do to the drink?"

"What did I do to the—ah, you have that kind of boss." Mr. Potter rested his chin on his hand, annoyance sparking in dull green eyes. He pushed the martini back to the bartender. "I don't take well to being poisoned, and here I was about to answer a few questions for your little agency."

Phil froze, stomach dropping. He let a minuscule amount of surprise to show on his face. "My apologies. My superior didn't inform—"

"I know, lad." Mr. Potter sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, soon adding, "A terrible decision on your superior's part, really. I've known a few people who'd shoot first, ask questions later if they found out someone tried to poison them. What an arse of a superior. I could have killed you."

Phil was—touched, he admitted, from the concern. Although Mr. Potter suggested the possibility of killing him, Phil learned the man indeed followed a set of morals. He turned to the bartender. "The same for Mr. Potter, please," he requested, a warning between the lines. "On me."

The bartender nodded, eyes tinged with anxiousness.

"Harry."

"Pardon?" Phil turned to Mr. Potter, finding bright eyes and none of its prior dullness.

Mr. Potter hummed. "Call me Harry. Mr. Potter makes me feel incredibly old."

"Then, it'll only be fair if you call me Phil," he replied with a smile.

Harry returned it.

The bartender served Harry another martini and Harry glanced at Phil before snapping his fingers. This time, the martini didn't light up. Harry lifted the glass to his lips as he acknowledged, "I suppose there are some honorable folks among you agents. I'll answer your questions."

Before Phil could open his mouth, Harry added, "Not your agency's questions. Yours. I haven't a swell impression of your superior."

"Understandable," Phil chuckled. He ran a few questions through his mind as Harry leisurely drank his martini. "What are you?"

Harry swirled around his glass. "Human, last time I checked."

"That implies there's a possibility you're not," Phil pointed out.

"Yes, there is." Harry hummed. "But I was born a human and I've always held onto my humanity."

"Are you a threat?"

Harry clicked his tongue as he shrugged. "Only if you piss me off, but I've been working on my patience lately. Last question."

"What's your purpose here?"

"Sightseeing."

Phil paused. "In New York City," he stated bluntly.

"What?" Harry rose an eyebrow, resting his chin on his hand. "Don't like New York, Phil?"

"Well," Phil chuckled, "I could think of many other tourist locations better than New York City."

Harry sipped his drink. "Hit me."

"The Grand Canyon in Arizona, for example. A fantastic view. There's also the Bonneville Salt Flats, which I have to say, is a very mesmerizing location."

Harry hummed, finishing his martini. "I'll keep that in mind if I'm looking for somewhere to visit." He tapped his finger against his glass, a faint chime ringing through the air before: "You're quite pleasant to talk to. I'll give you a bonus question."

"Feeling generous today, Harry?"

"Only for you, Phil," Harry quipped.

They shared a laugh.

Phil hummed, pursing his lips in thought as he tilted his head before settling for, "What are you capable of?"

"Many things."

"That's not an answer," Phil mentioned.

"Sure it is."

Harry thumbed his cocktail glass. And when Phil blinked, he was holding a leatherbound book in his hand instead, the glass nowhere to be seen. Phil's eyes widened as brilliant fire burst from Harry's fingertips, swallowing the book in a cloak of heat, reducing it to a pile of ashes on the counter.

Green eyes glowed.

And as if an illusion, the ashes flickered, warping into Harry's hand until he was once again holding a cocktail glass. Like nothing had ever happened.

Phil lifted his eyes to Harry's to find pure mischief filling them to the brim. "See?" Harry laughed. "Many things."

A harsh crack split the air in two.

Lights flickered.

Music stuttered.

And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

X

I have this weird obsession with HP/Avengers Crossovers. This is completely self-indulgent lol. I've already pre-written all the chapters with some minor touchups needed so I'll update after a few days. My homework's piling up -_-

Thanks for reading! Wash your hands and stay safe!