Chapter 7: chapter 7
Harry had to rub his eyes and check again – then repeat that. Yes, his eyes were working properly, and he was definitely seeing this. He'd been travelling for quite a long time; he had no real clue on how long precisely, as he'd simply been tailing Barton's aircraft. He'd been going as fast as his Firebolt would allow, and even with that he frequently lost sight of the plane, only to catch up with it a little while later. He'd pushed it to its limit, the wood groaning under the stress. Still he'd managed to keep up. Then this came into view – he'd had to stop and gawk.
He recognized the shape: it was huge and flat with long lines drawn across it, clear markings for take-off and landing. A tall central control tower looked out over the deck with a great array of windows behind which he could vaguely see people; they were typing on computers fairly reminiscent of Tony's, with brightly lit screens. He knew what this machine was; a fully-fledged aircraft carrier, probably the largest ship there was.
It was also flying.
"Merlin's beard, Muggles are geniuses," Harry muttered, circling the gigantic floating fortress lazily, looking at the technological wonder with reverence. Barton's little plane went for a landing, angling slowly towards the deck as it descended, though Harry had already forgotten all about him in favour of this new miracle. He'd seen quite a bit of what Muggles could do, lately – especially in Tony's house – but nothing that suggested something like this had been done, or was even possible. Muggles had achieved this without even the benefit of magic. It was absolutely amazing. He knew for sure that Arthur Weasley would faint at the sight of this: Muggles making magic.
Harry landed softly on the highest part of the behemoth's tower, glancing at the four huge propellers that were what apparently kept this thing aloft – monstrously huge and sucking in great gusts of air, getting caught in those probably meant a very swift and very tumultuous death. Several planes were arrayed along the perimeter of the carrier; they were boxy and cumbersome-looking, but Harry had no idea if that meant anything. On the hind-side of the deck stood a large helicopter, its twin blades rotating slowly.
When he'd heard about home base from Barton's communications, Harry had expected a large government skyscraper, possibly a shady office building with creepy people in suits. Admittedly, his only exposure to Muggle government agents was from old movies - and the last time he'd seen those was back at the Dursleys. As an Auror, the few times he'd been involved with Muggles at all, they'd just been regular old police.
"Thanks - ride," Barton commented and Harry glanced back as the man stalked across the deck of the carrier. The listening charm had been helpful – it'd gotten him here – but between the age of the spell and the fact that he'd been trailing well behind the plane for the longest time and only caught up at the end, it'd started to stutter – soon it would be gone entirely. Most spells cast on the fly like that wouldn't last indefinitely: for one, they relied on the caster's magic to stay active, which meant that distance reduced the lifespan of its effect and death would outright cancel it. Charms that needed to keep going after you were gone, perhaps indefinitely – now those were the tricky ones, and they were barely covered at Hogwarts.
Finding a more permanent solution to keeping an eye on his pursuers than just a listening charm was a primary concern; he could perhaps put the charm on an object or two as that would keep the spell going for an extended period, but he'd have to get fairly close and have a minute or two to work with. He really only had two options now on his course of action: either he'd have to get S.H.I.E.L.D. off his scent, which seemed impossible given the scale of this organization, or he'd need to keep updated on anything they tried before they tried it. Spying on the spies.
Dropping down to the deck of the carrier, Harry drew his wand and used a silencing spell on himself; it would prevent him from speaking, but it would also eliminate other sounds, which should make sneaking about a lot easier (he idly wished he'd had known about such uses for spells in Hogwarts.) It was a tactic he'd used frequently when he was an Auror to avoid people spotting him by sound alone; his cloak could hide many things, but sound wasn't one of them.
Trying the spell out by kicking the floor a few times and breathing loudly, he nodded in satisfaction and quickly stuffed his broom away in his pouch, lodging it between his other broom and a Skiving Snack-box he'd snagged on his last day, for old time's sake. He was still amazed at the capacity of his little pouch – it could hold far more than the one that he, Hermione and Ron had used when hunting the Horcruxes and was spelled to be impervious to summoning spells, though Harry supposed that particular trait wouldn't be very useful here. He was somewhat amazed half the things in there could even fit through the opening.
There were many guards on the deck, Harry realized as he looked around more carefully – dozens of uniformed people with a symbol reminiscent of a bird on their breast pocket, most of them wielding weapons that looked quite intimidating. The large guns would probably be quite effective at stopping anyone - thankfully, blocking solid objects was quite manageable with judicious use of protection spells.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered finally, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself as he fell in lockstep with one of the guards heading for what appeared to be the entrance to the tower.
S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't actually shown outright hostility, Harry had to concede. He didn't know exactly what they were up to, but thus far they'd done little more than make themselves a nuisance, poking their nose into his business. Director Fury, who he'd briefly heard several times throughout the week, had been illuminating in that regard: he sounded paranoid. Harry could understand that, he supposed – during the war the Wizarding World had resorted to passphrases to try and recognize each other, and Mad-Eye in particular was a shining example of what an excess of that could do to someone.
Slipping into the ship behind the guard was easy; the man showed some kind of card to a machine and was waved through, and Harry simply darted past him as the door opened. He quickly turned the corner and pressed himself against the wall to allow the other to pass before he looked around. He found himself in a very long, well-lit hallway that was patrolled by what had to be a dozen guards in full military outfits, all of them armed, of course – and he just barely caught a glimpse of Barton standing about forty feet away down the hall, speaking to a man in a neat suit.
"…where – Natasha – speak to her."
Harry perked up, smiling despite himself. She was here then; perhaps he would pay Natasha a visit. Right now, though – he needed information. He'd considered confronting Fury – admittedly it was alluring – but he was well aware that as trigger-happy as everyone here was, they'd likely shoot first, ask questions later. Even if he wasn't killed by the Muggle weapons, he'd still pretty much cut out the legs from under any future cease-fire with S.H.I.E.L.D. What he needed was information on what the organization intended to do to him and blackmail material, if he could find it.Harry headed in the opposite direction of Barton, ascending a long set of stairs quickly, as there was nobody using them at that moment. He slipped back into a role he hadn't played in years, casting Homenum Revelio and smirking as the vague blobs that represented people wavered into existence. The last time he'd had an infiltration-related job like this was his sixth year as an Auror, when he'd been sent after a small coven of vampires that'd been gathering prey. He'd been spelled top to bottom with scent neutralisation spells since the buggers would notice even the blood in one's veins if not properly protected, and he'd been quite terrified that his little ruse wouldn't work. Compared to that, this was easy.
The inside of the ship reminded Harry eerily of Hogwarts after a while, despite the different aesthetic: hundreds of corridors branching in every direction, a vast number of rooms alongside narrow little hallways with strange corners. The only thing that was missing was talking paintings and a ghost or two, though Harry supposed he just about counted as one, right now.
The first few rooms he came to were not interesting – supply rooms, unused conference rooms, an armoury – but he nodded in satisfaction as the next he passed one floor up was a research laboratory of some kind – far closer to what he was looking for. Glancing towards each room, he quickly realized that there were a lot of people working for this organization; some of the computer-filled rooms contained upwards of two dozen people tapping away at their keyboards. In fact, looking around there was a veritable sea of vague blobs of colour courtesy of his charm, more than he could distinguish, in any case. He blinked as he realized that one group of such blobs was heading right for him.
The group he'd noticed approached through the hallway he was currently in, walking at a measured pace with several large weapons on their back or held in their arms. Harry raised his wand, though nobody spared him a glance, instead conversing with each other animatedly.
"Uruguay? I don't even know where that is," the lone dark-skinned man commented softly, scratching his head as he tapped on a small device. "How far is it, you figure?"
"Isn't it some country in Africa?" Another piped up, leaning forward. "Has to be, right?"
A tall man with short auburn hair sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Seriously? It's in South-America. We've even been there before. How bad are your memories, anyway? Too many people bashing you in the head?"
"I hunt, I don't teach geology," the second man muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You mean geography. Every time you open your mouth, you manage to make yourself sound dumber," the tall man prodded the bald second in the forehead. "I figure it's like that comedian said: think about how dumb the average person is – then realize half are dumber than that. You're bound to be in that half."
Harry backed himself against the wall, wand ready – thankfully the group simply marched past his position. They exchanged a mix of insults and veiled suggestive comments while one or two remained silent and simply sent withering glances over their shoulders to the rest of them.
"So, this doctor guy – any details?"
"A few," the dark-skinned man said, looking around as he flipped through his folder before talking softly. Harry couldn't help but listen in, curious. "Henry Pym and assistant Janet Dine – Dyne? There's a squiggle in the middle, which might be a word too. Regardless, they dropped off the radar a short while ago, and the first response team couldn't find a trace. Considering where they are and what they were after – classified, what a surprise– it's probably going to be a shoot-out with some local bastards that kidnapped 'em. That's why they sent us."
"Glad I packed this baby, then," one of the others said, tapping his oversized weapon lovingly.
Harry shook his head, backing away. Of course S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping track of more people than just him; the disturbing part was that they'd send a heavily armed team after you if you vanished. Though a chill ran down his back at the thought, Harry couldn't help some grim amusement as he imagined a small platoon marching down Tony's lawn, upon which the billionaire would casually ask them to please wipe their feet and not touch any of the valuables.
Shaking his head Harry continued down the hallway and up another set of stairs – he was getting quite close to the command deck now, if he estimated correctly, and trying to worm his way past all the people would probably not end well. Time to get a little more creative than just invisibility, then.
"If these things break all the time, what's the point?" Fury said in annoyance as he looked over the latest report he'd been handed. He put the tablet down, frowning. "Our attempts to track on foot are simply failing, given how often Harry evaded Barton - alternative solutions aren't working much better. He's making a mockery out of us." A fist met his desk and Triers winced.
"Sir – you must be aware that we've had this situation before. We needed new containment units for Banner, this isn't any different, I'd think."
"I don't like that comparison," Fury grumbled, staring at his tablet. "Banner's a ticking time-bomb. I would prefer it this one didn't turn out to be unstable and started killing people one day." He shook his head and scowled. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s getting more and more to do, if you've noticed. We're becoming more relevant – a worrying thought."
Triers nodded, picking up the pad. "What do you want me to do, without the signal, Director? We can't get someone onto the premises without Stark getting an immediate alert." He shook his head. "I think unless you're on the guest list, one wouldn't get two steps in without police arriving to take you out again."
"Stark – another problematic issue," Fury said, scowling. "The fake papers for Harry – the techies say it's inconclusive, but between the fact that he is very well-versed in computers technology and thinks the world of himself, Stark's looking to be the best bet as the culprit."
"Orders regarding that, sir?"
Fury sighed. "Honestly – having Harry close at hand and traceable via his fake papers showing up is preferable to what we've had so far. Compared to what he could do, document fraud is the least of our problems."
"Yes, sir."
Fury rubbed his brow tiredly; the last few days the addition of yet another high profile superhuman on American soil had taken its toll, particularly since this latest one was more slippery than a buttered-up eel. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mandate was to deal with these kinds of issues decisively, but he'd been going back and forth on what that decision should be.
On the one hand, the man was aggravating him by constantly getting away from his pursuers with ridiculous ease and seemingly little care. On the other hand – the descriptions of his activities he'd heard from Agent Romanoff and the reports from those months in Afghanistan didn't betray a particularly nasty disposition -if anything, it betrayed a mild-mannered one. Yes, Harry was a superhuman – metahuman, as some scientists insisted calling them in their reports – but thus far he didn't appear to be like the others currently active: unstable or insane.
"Director Fury?" said a low voice. Fury glanced up, tapping a button to respond. "Speak."
"Confirmation that the planned briefing will start in ten minutes, sir," said the digital voice. A model of a large rectangular conference room with a huge table in the middle appeared on his screen. "Agent Barton just reported in and all other relevant personnel have already checked in at the meeting room. Quartermain's retrieval team's left a short while ago; they will have to be briefed separately."
Fury nodded. "Understood."
"My glasses!"
"You dropped this, sir."
"My pants!"Harry smirked as he made his way through yet another hallway, leaving several mildly confused and annoyed S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives in his wake: a few minor jinxes were sufficient to cause a distraction and the guards were very quick. They'd rush over and Harry effortlessly passed the position they'd just been occupying. Passing three more doors he came to a huge hallway – certainly larger than any he'd been in - leading towards a very brightly lit room, a room with windows on every side and multiple levels with dozens of desks spread around. He'd seen it before from the outside – the bridge.
It took him only a few moments to identify who had to be the leader around here – the stiff walk, sharp glare and authoritative stance were unmistakable, and when he spoke he recognized the voice. For a moment, he could only stare. He was dark-skinned, bald, dressed all in black and over his left eye was a patch. The only thing missing was a parrot, Harry figured, and he'd looked like the world's greatest pirate. Also – the man was coming straight for him.
Harry stepped back, taking in the confident stride of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director and his grim expression as he approached, a wiry man following him with some hesitance. Much like the others he marched right past him, heading down the large hall – for a moment Harry had the irrational thought that Fury was hiding a fake eye like Mad-Eye's under that patch. With a shake of the head he followed the two men, pondering on how he was going to keep a close eye on what was going on in a huge organization like this.
They passed more guards than Harry could count – thankfully Fury parted them out of the way easily enough, and Harry simply walked along. Finally they turned into a large room; there was a sizable table in the middle, though only half a dozen seats were taken. Harry quickly walked to the side, smiling as he noticed some of the people present.
Clint Barton, his spy for the past week, was there: he looked bored, glancing occasionally at his neighbour – another familiar face. Natasha leaned casually on the table, tapping it idly. The others Harry didn't know, though they all seemed to be self-important, as some were wearing medals while others were sitting so straight it looked painful.
Harry smiled as he thought back on those first weeks in Afghanistan - even if the country was screwed up and Natasha was a spy, they'd been the first good times he'd had in quite a while - and it was mostly because despite it all, she'd actually seemed to genuinely listen to what he had to say; his carefully edited but nevertheless quite truthful tales had always had her asking questions afterwards and he'd enjoyed the simplicity of things. He wondered idly if he could get her alone sometime to just speak with her for a bit - he'd missed that. Tony was certainly no substitute, snarky as he usually was. Of course, with Barton around, his chances of catching her alone were like those of a blind seeker trying to catch a snitch.
Fury closed the door sharply - the moment it closed there was a hiss, and he nodded. For a few moments the lights went dim – Harry blinked at the sudden darkness – then they were back. "The room's been sealed. From now until the room is opened, everything said here is considered private and highly classified. Each of you is aware of the consequences, should you fail to meet this standard." He tapped a pistol strapped to his leg, nodding to his assistant who quickly took a seat. Harry himself leaned against the wall, looking on curiously. "All currently present are either working on a project that will be mentioned, or will soon be doing so. Please pay close attention to each issue, especially the ones that you have not been previously aware of."
Harry made himself somewhat comfortable, wondering idly if he could do something dramatic – if he were capable of it, he might've tried to obliviate the entire room, but he was certain that computers would retain all their information, and the sudden unknowns popping up in their system would probably make things even worse.
"As of this morning, we have once more determined the location of Dr. Banner, whom you all know of," Fury began, and here was a brief mutter, though a stern glare shut them up quickly. "He was discovered living in a small community just south of the U.S. border, and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have currently been ordered to keep their distance, since infiltration is highly unlikely – Banner likely knows every face in town. We have elected to keep this development under wraps from other authorities for numerous reasons, the most notable being that certain elements in the regular military have expressed an unusually focused interest, and we have reason to believe that Dr. Banner is not quite as unique in the world as we'd like to believe. A report detailing all that's currently known is in front of you." Screens turned on before each person around the table.
"Do we have a plan in dealing with this?"
Fury turned to the stately man in a long off-white lab coat. "We will maintain the presence of a long-distance observer – we do not currently have the technology to safely contain Dr. Banner's more, shall we say, destructive tendencies, and the last reported incident has been some time ago." He frowned, tapping his screen. "Secondly, there is this."
Briefly a holographic image appeared – Harry recognized it from Tony's house – it appeared to be a blue cube of some sort. Shimmering oddly, Harry wondered if it was some kind of magical artefact – it certainly didn't look Muggle.
"We have received reports that the people currently involved in the research of the Cube have narrowed down their field of study to 20% of its original size, and are beginning more in-depth probing. We should have more information on its qualities within the next one or two years, though when and if anything is known, we will be the first to know." He tapped the screen again, and Harry started as his own face appeared on every screen – a photograph from Afghanistan.
"The newest topic that's risen to the top, and that not all know about yet, is this man. He is a newly confirmed person with abilities far beyond normal humans." He tapped a few buttons and more pictures appeared. Harry leaned in, intrigued. "On the Eighteenth of May this year, this individual became known to us after being spotted on a CCTV camera in Scotland. Though initially believed to be a hoax, the video in question appeared to show a most convincing display of what our technological advisors are considering 'teleportation', or the ability to transfer from one place to another without traversing the intervening space. There are several other hypotheses, but this one is most plausible."
"Teleportation is plausible?" one of the agents on the far side of the table asked sceptically, immediately shutting up as Fury glared in his direction."You've seen Banner, and you doubt this?" his neighbour commented. "You seriously need a reality check."
Fury tapped his tablet's screen once more, returning to his pacing. "As unbelievable as it may sound – yes. Agent Barton?"
"I've been following for the past week – he's fast, and he seems to always find the nooks and crannies to duck away in; the moment I turn the corner he's gone, and it takes me a call back here to figure out that he's ten miles away already." He shook his head. "There's no way that's normal."
"Normal or not - the person in question boarded a flight to Afghanistan sometime after the events in Scotland; there is video footage of his departure and arrival, though there is no physical or electronic evidence of his passage otherwise – he bypassed all regulations in place, likely with the help of a third party."
Harry winced – getting caught on camera was bad enough, but getting caught swindling Muggles? No wonder they were paranoid about him – he'd have been too. At least he was glad that they hadn't figured out the magic angle of things, that would send them down a rabbit hole that hopefully nobody in this world cared terribly much for, right now. He frowned at that thought – if there was any magic at all in this world, would he count as the sole wizard attempting to keep the Statute of Secrecy intact? Or was there simply no magic at all, aside from his own? Thinking back to the arc reactor that Tony built, Harry wasn't so sure.
"Agent Romanoff made contact with this person, who self-identifies as Harry. Little information was gained during the following three months that S.H.I.E.L.D. observed him, beyond an unusually acute awareness of his being watched – and his lack of action in response."
Natasha spoke up. "He was quite friendly, but he wouldn't say much and I did get the idea he was simply humouring me with what he did tell. At the time, I believed he had simply not seen through my ruse, but I have come to reconsider that opinion. He did not come across as hostile. In fact, I would argue he still does not."
Fury nodded. "Things changed at the end of the third month, when - and you have seen this on the news – Harry rescued the life of Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, who had been kidnapped by a terrorist group in the area. It appears he retrieved the man from the desert, where he was wandering after escaping from his captors." An image came up of Tony, looking tired and dirty, alongside Harry himself. "Mr. Stark and Harry shared a plane all the way to Los Angeles in the subsequent days, and have been on American soil for a week now. Attempts to track our target have been... moderately unsuccessful."
"Great, another Banner," one lanky man muttered.
"Some here will be reassigned to full-time duty on this issue. Harry has been aware of our presence for some time, but has not acted on it that we are aware of. He is, however, quite capable of taking out any of his observers at will." Fury shook his head. "Since the Banner situation seems to be stable for the moment, there will be some changes. Stern, Wilson and Tyler will be moved to the task force pursuing further options for keeping track of the new player, while Agents Romanoff and Barton will function as back-up when necessary. I want options, in case this gets ugly."
Harry frowned at that – it wouldn't do to have this organization so jumpy they'd actually try and shoot him one day. It seemed that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't planning to do anything too heinous to him, a comforting thought – but they were still tracking him and perhaps finding out more about magic without his knowledge: not a good thing. He wondered if they'd think differently about his priority if they were aware he was in their midst. Probably. He smirked at the thought of appearing in the middle of the sealed room with a chiding gesture towards Fury for the Nano-probes.
The group talked on for some time still; nothing particularly interesting that Harry could tell, mostly dealing with the technicalities of transfers; it turned out that every other person in the room would be available to the others when necessary, without having to be brought up to speed and most didn't frequently leave the Helicarrier. Harry focused instead on what he came here to do, to seek a more permanent solution for keeping track of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activity. His listening charm on Barton had all but unravelled, now. He'd already placed a listening charm on the table, though thankfully he could dampen the sound to prevent the awful echo that came with it.
Finally, nearly twenty minutes later, the meeting was closed and the door slid open after a loud click and a brief flicker of the light. Harry sent a last glance towards Natasha as he quickly shadowed Fury, who was the first to leave; it seemed with all these people around he wouldn't get a chance to greet her – though honestly that was probably a bad idea in any case. Fury headed straight for another sizable room with a large desk and a large computer – Harry figured it was the man's office. The door closed behind and Fury dropped into his chair and sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Now – what to do? Harry considered simply appearing before the man to speak to him, but if he was half as quick with that gun as he was with his reprimands, he'd have six holes in him before he could finish a sentence. Letting S.H.I.E.L.D. know that screwing around with him was a bad idea – he'd have to get that across, or they'd just keep chasing after him pointlessly. Perhaps he'd set up a meeting with Fury himself, one where he wasn't liable to get shot.
Harry moved to the opposite end of the room as a second person entered – a squat woman with red hair that bore a vague resemblance to Mrs. Weasley, though with far harsher lines on her face. Harry fished a piece of parchment from his pouch, thankful he'd remembered to put a Silencing Spell on himself, and quickly scribbled down a message for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leader, glancing up at him a few times. In a pocket on the side of Fury's all-black attire was the mobile phone (or was it a computer?) that he'd used in the meeting. Yes, one good Switching Spell would do it. He imagined Hermione demonstrating it again, rehearsing the movements.Another thought occurred to him as he studied the man across the desk. A very devious thought. He'd just found the perfect place to put his listening charm to catch all the interesting things. Smiling wickedly, he raised his wand.
"Director Fury?"
Fury glanced up, scowling, distractedly rubbing his eye-patch – it'd been tingly against his skin for the last half hour. Triers stood before him, eyebrow raised. "What is it?"
"I have been sending you messages for ten minutes, sir," he said carefully. "There was no confirmation of receiving any of them."
Fury sighed, grasping for his phone – it wasn't there. He blinked, checking his other pockets. "I could've sworn…" He checked the first pocket once more, grabbing something unfamiliar: odd, coarse paper. Pulling it out with a frown, he unfolded the little note.
Those drones were a nice touch.
I'd appreciate it if you approached me personally on matters of dispute, though.
It's more civil.
You know where to find me.
Harry.
P.S. Constant Vigilance.
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