As they trudged down the hall, heading toward the rendezvous point, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been here before. In fact, it seemed like every time he turned around, another world-ending disaster was knocking at the door. And considering his track record with nearly getting blown up, it was hard not to think about how many times his "immortal" status would be tested before this mission was over.
But hey, at least it was another day in the life of Harry Potter, Master of Snark and Survivability.
Natasha was walking with that predatory grace of hers, scanning every corner like she expected a bunch of HYDRA agents to pop out of the walls. Clint was more... Clint. He had that nonchalant "I'm ready for anything, but I'm not gonna make it obvious" look on his face that said he could probably shoot an apple off someone's head from three miles away while juggling flaming knives. In a way, it was comforting. Like being surrounded by two people who knew exactly how to make sure they weren't going to die, or at least, not die first.
And then there was Harry, feeling a little less confident in his mortality after the whole "HYDRA is back" thing, but hey, immortality wasn't exactly a "walk in the park" situation. No, it was more like being stuck in a cosmic joke where the punchline was always a giant explosion or a near-death experience.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Natasha's voice broke the silence, and Harry could feel her eyes on him, sharp as ever, zeroing in on him like a hawk. Yeah, she knew something was off.
Harry grinned, though it felt more like he was trying to keep his face from falling off. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Just processing all this life-or-death drama. You know, the usual."
Natasha didn't buy it, but she also wasn't the type to push. Instead, she simply gave him one of those looks—the kind that said, I'm not going to ask again, but I'll keep an eye on you, buddy.
Clint, ever the guy who'd been through his own personal hell and came out with a bad attitude and a bow, shot Harry a glance. "It's a lot to take in," he said, which was Clint-speak for I know exactly what you're going through, but I'm not about to drag you into some group therapy session.
Harry shot him a sideways grin. "Yeah, well, you know me. I thrive in chaos. Who needs a normal life when you can punch evil in the face every other day?"
Clint snorted, and for a second, Harry felt like he wasn't the only one caught in the middle of a cosmic joke. "I thought that was Tony Stark's job."
"Right, right," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Tony's too busy throwing parties and saving the world with sarcasm. I'm here to actually do the hard stuff—like not die, apparently."
Natasha gave him a sideways look that said, You're one step away from making me regret keeping you alive. But she didn't say anything, just kept walking, her eyes constantly scanning for threats.
"Hey, speaking of saving the world," Clint added, "You ready to take down Pierce and his little HYDRA gang?"
Harry gave him a mock salute. "Born ready, Barton. I've got a lifetime of dodging death under my belt. No biggie."
"You might want to hold off on that cocky attitude until we see how this plays out," Natasha warned, her voice sharp but still carrying that hint of humor. "We're dealing with people who want to take over the world, Harry. Not exactly a 'kick-back-and-relax' situation."
"Right. Not the first time, though. At this point, I'm expecting them to start monologuing. Every villain does it eventually."
Clint chuckled. "You're not wrong. So, what's the plan then, Harry? Gonna be the guy who kicks in the door and steals all the glory?"
Harry thought for a second, giving Clint an exaggerated shrug. "I mean, I could do that, but I'm trying to give you guys a chance to shine. You're welcome, by the way."
Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "You're lucky I'm not punching you right now."
They reached the rendezvous point, and Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of it all settle in. They were about to take on one of the biggest threats they'd ever faced, and here he was, cracking jokes like it was another Tuesday. But honestly? Sometimes, the only way to survive the insanity was to throw a little humor into the mix. It was either that or lose your mind completely. And he wasn't quite ready to give up his sanity just yet.
"Well," Harry said, eyes narrowing as they entered the briefing room. "Let's kick some HYDRA butt. And Pierce? I've got a special place in my 'people I really, really want to punch in the face' list just for him."
Clint slapped him on the back. "Glad to have you on the team, Harry. Keep that attitude up, and we might make it out of this alive."
"Oh, trust me," Harry said with a grin. "I'm a walking disaster, but I'm a fun one."
As they stepped into the room, ready for whatever Pierce and HYDRA were about to throw at them, Harry felt a little spark of hope. Maybe he wasn't in this alone after all. With Natasha, Clint, and all the weirdness that was Harry Potter, maybe, just maybe, they could actually pull this off.
But knowing Harry's luck? Probably not.
—
As Nick Fury strode into Alexander Pierce's office, the tension was thick enough to choke on. If looks could kill, the air between them would have already erupted into a full-scale war. Fury moved with the deliberate confidence of a man who'd spent his life dancing on the knife's edge, while Pierce sat behind his desk like a king on his throne—calm, composed, and quietly radiating danger.
"Nick," Pierce greeted smoothly, voice as cold as the steel in his spine. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
Fury didn't bother sitting. He planted himself squarely in front of Pierce's desk, arms crossed over his chest, his single eye burning with the kind of intensity that made lesser men sweat. "You know damn well why I'm here, Alexander. You've been playing chess with the world, and I'm here to flip the damn board."
Pierce exhaled slowly, lacing his fingers together as if this were just another day at the office. "Now, now, Nick. You make it sound like I'm the villain in some Saturday morning cartoon." He smiled—polished, rehearsed, and utterly devoid of warmth. "I'm simply ensuring security. Order. You, of all people, should appreciate that."
Fury let out a short, humorless laugh. "Security? That's what you're calling it? Selling out to HYDRA? Turning S.H.I.E.L.D. into their own personal murder factory? I gotta say, Pierce, that's some next-level, Grade-A, treasonous bullshit."
Pierce barely blinked. "Oh, Nick. You and your moral grandstanding. Always so certain you're on the right side of history. Tell me, do you really think the world is safe under your brand of chaos?"
"I think the world's a hell of a lot safer when it's not got HYDRA's hand shoved so far up its ass it's making its mouth move," Fury shot back, leaning in, his voice low and deadly. "And that's exactly what you've been doing—pulling strings, manipulating the game, playing God. You wanna keep selling that 'order' line? Save it for someone dumb enough to buy it."
Pierce's expression didn't waver, but there was a flicker—something behind his eyes, like a predator assessing whether its prey was worth the chase. "You're looking at this the wrong way. What we do isn't about power, Nick. It's about survival. The world is unpredictable, messy. People don't know what's best for them. They never have. Someone has to guide them, whether they understand it or not."
Fury's lips curled into a sneer. "Yeah? And I'm guessing you think that 'someone' is you."
Pierce spread his hands, all practiced magnanimity. "Why not? You and I both know that people don't follow ideals. They follow strength. They follow certainty. I'm simply giving them what they need. A firm hand. A steady path."
"Sounds a hell of a lot like a dictatorship to me."
Pierce sighed, a note of disappointment in his voice, as if Fury were a wayward child refusing to see reason. "We're not so different, Nick. You do what needs to be done. So do I. The only real difference is that I don't pretend the world runs on good intentions."
Fury let out another dry laugh. "Oh, I don't pretend shit. I know exactly what kind of world we live in. And that's why I know men like you can't be trusted with it." He took a slow, measured step closer. "See, here's the thing, Pierce—you built your house of cards thinking nobody was gonna come along and blow on it. But I've got news for you: that storm you thought you could control? It's here. And it's about to tear your whole damn empire down."
Pierce finally leaned forward, that cool veneer cracking just enough to show the steel beneath. "And what exactly do you think you can do to stop me, Nick? You're outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. You've lost."
Fury grinned, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, you must've bumped your head this morning if you think I came here alone."
Unseen and unheard, Natasha, Clint, and Harry flitted like ghosts along the edges of the room, hidden under the Disillusionment Charm. Waiting. Watching. Ready to strike.
Pierce's eyes flicked just briefly, just slightly, as if he sensed something out of place. But before he could act on that instinct, Fury delivered the final blow:
"See, I don't need to stop you, Alexander. I just need to make sure you go down screaming."
—
Just as Fury spoke, Harry, Clint, and Natasha decided it was time for a dramatic reveal. Because, really, if you have the option to drop an invisibility spell like a magician unveiling their grand finale, why wouldn't you? One second, the room was occupied by just two men locked in a high-stakes verbal duel. The next? Three extra badasses materialized like ghosts with unfinished business.
Pierce barely flinched. He was good—Harry would give him that. The man had the nerves of a professional poker player, except the prize at stake was global domination instead of a pile of chips. "Ah," he said smoothly, glancing at the newcomers like they were mildly interesting but ultimately irrelevant. "More guests. How lovely."
Harry smirked, casually rolling his shoulders like he was getting ready for a pub brawl. "Yeah, we heard there was a party. You'll forgive us for skipping the invitation process."
Clint crossed his arms. "Also, your security sucks. Just saying."
"Agreed," Natasha added. "If I had an evil lair, I'd at least install some motion detectors. Maybe a rottweiler."
Pierce's expression remained impassive. "I don't believe in unnecessary theatrics."
"Buddy, you're literally trying to take over the world using a secret Nazi death cult," Harry said, deadpan. "I think the 'no theatrics' ship sailed a while ago."
Fury cleared his throat. "Let's not go down this road, Alexander." His tone was deceptively calm, the kind of calm that let people know they were a nanosecond away from catastrophic regret. "You still have a chance to do the right thing."
Pierce sighed dramatically, like he was a high school principal dealing with particularly unruly students. "Nick, you always were so sentimental." His gaze flicked over to the trio standing behind Fury. "I assume you're here to make some grand stand, deliver a heroic speech? I have to say, I expected more subtlety from you."
"Oh, trust me, we considered subtle," Clint said. "But then we thought, 'Eh, why bother?'"
Harry stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with the kind of mischievous energy that suggested things were about to go spectacularly off the rails. "Here's the deal, Pierce," he said conversationally. "We know everything. The Project Insight Helicarriers, the whole 'ruthless authoritarian rule disguised as security' plan. And I gotta tell you, man, you're really leaning into the whole Bond villain aesthetic."
Pierce raised an eyebrow. "And what do you intend to do with this information?"
Natasha pulled out a flash drive and twirled it between her fingers. "Well, I was thinking of emailing your entire evil plan to every news outlet on the planet. Maybe add some dramatic background music."
Clint snapped his fingers. "Ooh, what about 'O Fortuna'? That one really sells the whole 'bad guy downfall' vibe."
Pierce exhaled slowly, his patience fraying. "You really think exposing the truth will change anything?" He leaned forward, his voice turning icy. "People crave order. They fear chaos. And they'll trade their freedom for security every single time."
"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong." Harry's voice was almost lazy, but there was steel underneath. "Because the moment people realize they've been conned, they tend to get a little… murder-y."
Pierce studied him for a long moment, his blue eyes calculating. "You're a wildcard," he mused. "I don't like wildcards."
Harry grinned. "Aw, that's sweet. You should put that on my tombstone. Not that I plan on needing one anytime soon."
Fury took a step closer, his presence looming. "Here's the thing, Alexander. We're done talking." He tilted his head slightly, and suddenly, Pierce's office was flooded with heavily armed SHIELD agents.
Pierce let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Nick, Nick, Nick. You really think you've won?"
Fury smiled, and it was the kind of smile that usually preceded something explosive. "No, Alexander. I know I have."
Harry cracked his knuckles. "So, are we doing this the hard way, or the even harder way?"
Pierce's fingers twitched slightly, likely going for a panic button. Natasha was on him in a second, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him onto the desk.
"Ow," Pierce grunted, his face pressed against the wood. "Was that necessary?"
Natasha smiled. "Not really. But it was fun."
Clint gave a low whistle. "Man, I love it when we work together."
"Same," Harry agreed. "It's like the world's most violent family reunion."
As the agents moved in to take Pierce away, Fury glanced at his team, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a long sigh. "Alright. Who wants to break into a HYDRA-infested military base?"
Harry, Clint, and Natasha all raised their hands at the same time.
"Figures," Fury muttered. "Let's move."
—
It was about to be another average day of hero work, you know, saving the world, taking down evil masterminds, that kind of thing. But then—clang. The kind of sound that makes you think, Great, just what I needed. And no, it wasn't a random trashcan falling over. It was the Winter Soldier stepping out of the shadows like he was auditioning for a role in a gritty reboot of The Terminator.
Harry's eyes narrowed, magic sparking at his fingertips. No wand needed—Deathly Hallows, baby. And if there was one thing Harry had learned after being a literal walking legend for a while, it was that power wasn't about flashy spells. It was about knowing exactly when to show off and when to just obliterate. So, instead of charming a broomstick or waving his hand in a circle, Harry conjured a barrier that slammed into the Winter Soldier's first punch with enough force to make Thor's hammer jealous.
"Here we go," Harry muttered under his breath, dodging a second punch that came at him faster than a speeding bullet. "Another day, another guy who needs to learn the meaning of personal space." He flicked his fingers, sending another magical blast, but the Soldier was fast—too fast.
Clint's voice cut through the chaos. "Hey, Potter! If you don't mind, I'm trying to save your butt with these fancy arrows here!"
"Fancy? I'm pretty sure those are just regular arrows," Harry said, ducking a brutal strike from the Soldier's metal arm. "Maybe you should've brought a magic wand, Barton. That would've been real fancy."
Clint snorted, releasing an explosive arrow that sent the Soldier stumbling back, but not enough to drop him. "This isn't some magic show, mate. We're dealing with a legit nightmare here!"
Natasha, as usual, was somewhere in the background, moving like a shadow with a purpose. She swirled around the Winter Soldier's attacks, her fists striking like a symphony of pain. Each blow seemed to glide into the next, making Harry's magic look like clumsy spells from a first-year at Hogwarts. "You two keep bickering like schoolboys," she called, "and I'll just get all the glory, thank you very much."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're just mad because you don't have a wand, Romanoff."
But despite their banter, the Soldier wasn't slowing down. His punches were like thunderclaps, his movements controlled and calculated. He was a wrecking ball with a metal arm, and Harry realized, with growing annoyance, that this guy was basically the human version of a brick wall.
"Well, if you're gonna be a brick wall, I'm just gonna have to be the wrecking ball," Harry muttered. A barrier slammed into the Soldier's chest, but it didn't do much more than knock him back a few steps.
"Get him, Clint!" Natasha shouted, as Clint launched another arrow—this one rigged with a net that could probably hold a bear. The Soldier didn't seem to care. He ripped through the net with a grunt, and Clint cursed under his breath.
"Okay, really? You ever think of retiring, buddy? I mean, it's a bit late for that, huh?" Clint yelled, nocking another arrow.
"I mean, I'm not complaining," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm getting some good cardio in today."
Just then, the room shook. The kind of shake you don't get from earthquakes, but from explosions. Debris flew everywhere, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Fury and Pierce were flung across the room, probably wishing they'd skipped breakfast after that impact. Harry couldn't help but smirk.
"Well, that's one way to make an entrance," he said dryly.
Natasha seized the moment. "Everyone, move!"
Clint didn't need any encouragement. He fired a few more arrows—one of them was a smoke bomb, filling the room with a thick cloud that made everything look like a bad action movie scene.
But Harry wasn't just here to make clever quips. He was here to win. He'd been holding onto something that could shift the tide: the codephrase. The one that could shut down the Winter Soldier's brain for a few minutes, if he was lucky. And lucky? Well, Harry had that in spades today.
Diving into the Soldier's mind like it was the deep end of a pool, Harry went straight for the mental code. He didn't mess around. He didn't gently coax it out with clever questions or psychological mumbo jumbo. No. He forced it out like he was pulling a stubborn tooth.
"Тоска, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Доброкачественный, Возвращение домой, Один, Грузовой вагон," Harry said in rapid-fire Russian, each word a magical incantation that resonated like a punch to the Soldier's psyche.
There was a pause. A long, agonizing pause where Harry wasn't sure if this was going to work or if he was about to get clocked in the face. But then, finally, the Soldier froze mid-strike, his metal arm hanging limply at his side.
"Boom," Harry said, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. "That's how you do it, folks."
Clint and Natasha didn't waste a second. They both launched into action, moving in like they'd done a thousand times before. Clint shot an arrow that tied up the Soldier's legs, while Natasha expertly disarmed him, wrapping him up tighter than a Christmas present.
"You sure you're not all magic, Potter?" Clint said with a grin, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Yeah, I'm not all magic," Harry replied, watching the Soldier get hauled away. "But I am a lot of magic."
As the dust finally started to settle and the adrenaline wore off, Harry couldn't help but glance around at the wreckage, his expression cool but with that trademark smirk of his. "Well, that was fun. But hey, we've still got Pierce to take in, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't do fun. Let's go ruin his day, yeah?"
"Don't think you're getting off that easy, Potter," Natasha said, but there was a hint of approval in her voice. "We've got a Hydra problem to solve."
And as the trio marched off, Harry couldn't help but feel like maybe—just maybe—he was on the right side of this battle.
—
As Pierce was being escorted out—looking like a washed-up actor in a low-budget spy thriller, his suit as wrinkled as his credibility—he shot Harry one last look. It was that kind of gaze you get when you discover someone just beat you at chess while blindfolded and using only one hand.
"How did you learn the code?" Pierce barked, his voice a little too frantic for someone who probably thought he had everything under control. It was like he'd just realized he missed the last season of The Bachelor and his entire existence was now in shambles.
Harry, of course, was totally unruffled. I mean, if you'd just taken down a highly trained cyborg assassin while casually tossing off spells like they were nothing, you'd be pretty chill too. He met Pierce's gaze with a smirk that was pure "I've-got-secrets-and-you-are-so-not-getting-them" energy.
"Let's just say I have a gift for picking up on things most people miss," Harry said, making it sound like he was just chatting about the weather, but there was that undertone—the undertone—that said, you have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?
Pierce's face twisted up in a cocktail of frustration and oh crap, I'm screwed. He was doing his best to keep it together, but his poker face was slipping like a bad Tinder date. There was no hiding the fact that Harry had just wiped the floor with him—and learned his deepest, darkest secrets, like it was some kind of weird mind-hacking magic trick.
"You…" Pierce started, stammering for a comeback, "you—what did you do to him?" He jerked his head toward the Winter Soldier, who, still wrapped in Natasha and Clint's post-fight masterpiece of restraint, was glaring like he'd just lost a fight with a bear.
"Me?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow, "Nothing. Just a little light reading, a quick scroll through his memories, and bam. Code unlocked. It's like downloading a movie, except the movie was you getting your butt kicked." Harry gave him a charming wink, because why not?
Pierce's face went red, and Harry almost felt bad for him—almost. He was scrambling now, trying to hold onto whatever shred of dignity he had left. It was like watching a guy try to glue his entire life back together with Elmer's glue and duct tape. Not pretty.
"Тоска, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Доброкачественный, Возвращение домой, Один, Грузовой вагон," Harry muttered, testing out the code that he had just yanked out of the Winter Soldier's brain. The words rolled off his tongue in perfect Russian, smooth as butter.
The Winter Soldier, who had been looking more like a Terminator than a human, suddenly froze, his entire posture shifting from "I'm going to rip you all apart" to "Did I just hit the pause button on my own brain?"
There it was—the code. It was like Harry had just hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete on the guy's whole existence. He could practically hear the gears in the Winter Soldier's head grinding to a halt, his movements slowing like a car coming to a stop in thick mud. It wasn't a graceful sight, but it was effective.
Natasha, ever the professional, took advantage of the momentary pause. With the precision of a ballet dancer and the subtlety of a sledgehammer, she and Clint sprang into action. They tied up the Winter Soldier with more efficiency than a circus performer wrapping up a bear, and within seconds, he was as immobilized as a human wrecking ball with a broken leg.
As the dust settled, Fury, Clint, and Natasha gathered around Pierce, who now looked like a man who had just realized he wasn't the smartest guy in the room anymore. Fury's one good eye was practically glowing with frustration, but that didn't stop him from giving Pierce a stare that could melt steel.
"This is far from over, Pierce," Fury growled. "But you're done here. Take your toys and go home."
Pierce's head swiveled back to Harry, eyes narrowing like he was still trying to solve a puzzle that was already halfway solved. The look was pure frustration, like a man who'd just realized that all his secret plots had been unraveled by a kid who probably had better things to do.
Harry didn't even flinch. "What can I say?" he shrugged. "I'm just good at my job."
Pierce's jaw tightened, his lips almost forming words, but he couldn't find anything to say that would've made him look less like a cornered rat. Fury's men dragged him away, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little zing of satisfaction.
"Let's hope he doesn't get a sequel," Clint quipped, glancing over at Natasha. She rolled her eyes.
"You're terrible," she muttered, but her lips twitched in amusement.
Harry chuckled. "You guys think this is bad? You should see the sequel. The guy has a really obnoxious mustache. It's almost as bad as his plans."
"I'll take your word for it," Natasha said with a wry smile.
Fury shot Harry a look that could have turned him into a puddle, but it was the kind of look that came from one professional to another. "You're gonna be a pain in my ass, aren't you?"
"Oh, absolutely," Harry said, grinning. "But hey, it's what I do best."
And just like that, with one of the most dysfunctional teams in existence standing around with a knocked-out super soldier and a defeated villain, Harry felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a future in this whole 'saving the world' thing. After all, it was never boring.
And as far as Pierce was concerned? Well, Harry didn't need to say it aloud. His smug grin said it all. The game was far from over.
—
As the Winter Soldier was dragged away by SHIELD agents—Maria Hill watching like a hawk on high alert—Harry saw his opportunity. He slid through the crowd, dodging a few stragglers still dusting themselves off after the chaos, and made a beeline for Fury. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself trying to deliver life-altering information to the man, but this? This was a whole new level of "sit down, shut up, and listen."
"Nick," Harry started, voice low, barely above a whisper. He was leaning in like they were about to share the juiciest gossip. "You might wanna sit down for this. Got some news that'll make your hair stand on end. And considering that's already a tall order, you might want to hold onto something."
Fury's one good eye narrowed at Harry. He clearly wasn't buying it, but when had he ever? "You're saying that like I've never heard anything crazy before. What's got you so fired up now?"
Harry chuckled, looking him dead in the eye. "You're about to get your brain melted, Fury. This is the kind of news that sends the world spinning off its axis." He paused for dramatic effect. "So, buckle up. Here it comes."
And just like that, Harry started dropping truth bombs with the precision of a demolition expert. One after another. Each revelation was bigger than the last, each piece of the puzzle fitting together in a way Fury wasn't ready for. By the time Harry finished, Fury's cool, calm exterior had started to crack like old plaster in a haunted house.
"Wait, hold up," Fury interrupted, his voice suddenly tighter, as though he was trying to hold his sanity together with duct tape. "You're telling me... what now?"
Harry gave him a look that was equal parts pity and amusement. "Yeah, you heard me right. You're in the middle of a goddamn mess, Nick. And it's only going to get worse from here. You might want to take a seat. I'm serious."
Fury, still trying to process, looked like someone who'd just been told his coffee machine was a government surveillance tool. He was staring at Harry, a mix of disbelief and cautious skepticism in his expression, and it was like watching someone attempt to untangle Christmas lights in the dark.
"Are you telling me…" Fury's voice trailed off as he ran his hand over his face, trying to come to terms with what Harry had just unloaded on him. "Hydra, the Winter Soldier, Stark tech—this is all connected?" His eye flicked back and forth like he was trying to calculate the next steps in a chess game where all the pieces had turned into bombs.
Harry nodded, letting the weight of the situation settle in. "Exactly. The problem is, you don't have enough pieces to figure out where the hell this is all going. Trust me, if you don't start thinking outside the box, you're gonna be playing catch-up for a long time."
Fury's jaw clenched. If there was one thing he hated, it was being in the dark. And right now, Harry was the only one with a flashlight. "You just went from one of my most trusted assets to the guy who's about to blow up my whole world. This is not how I expected this meeting to go." He took a long breath, his gaze hardening. "But I've learned the hard way that you don't underestimate someone who makes my life a living hell on a daily basis."
"Why, thank you for the compliment," Harry said with a smirk, flashing his teeth like a cat who'd just knocked over a glass of milk. "I do try to keep things interesting."
Before Fury could respond, Clint—who had been leaning against a wall, clearly done with the whole "let's try to figure this out" vibe—grinned like he'd just hit a bullseye. "So, let me get this straight. Harry over here just told you that everything we've been dealing with—the Winter Soldier, Stark's tech, Hydra's plans—it's all connected?"
Harry threw him a thumbs up. "Nailed it, Clint. See, it's not so hard when you're not busy shooting at people every five minutes."
Clint grunted, flashing a crooked grin. "Hey, sometimes I like to be thorough. Keeps things tidy."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Thorough? Buddy, you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat."
"Hey, watch it," Clint said, smirking back. "I've still got more accurate shots in my pinky than your entire body."
"That's real cute, but I don't need archery lessons from the guy who's only good at shooting people who aren't running away from him."
"Oh, don't even start," Clint said, pushing off from the wall and stalking away, his hands in his pockets. "Next time, I'll hit you with an arrow."
"You can't hit the broad side of a barn, but sure, go ahead," Harry shot back with a wink.
Meanwhile, Natasha, always the professional, barely cracked a smile at the banter. "Yeah, we're all so impressed. Let's focus on not getting ourselves killed, shall we?"
Fury looked from Harry to Clint and then to Natasha, who was standing there like a statue, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. "Alright, enough. Harry, you better be right about this. You just made me question everything."
"Hey, no pressure, right?" Harry quipped, but the tension in the air was palpable. "Look, the next move is crucial, Nick. You're not dealing with just Hydra anymore. You're dealing with something way bigger. We've got people on the inside, people who've been playing us all along. And trust me, no one is safe."
Fury stood there, letting the words sink in, his fingers drumming against his jacket like he was working through a mental list of what to do next. "We don't have much time," he finally said, his tone hardening. "So, what now?"
Harry gave him a shrug, but his smile never wavered. "Now? Now, we kick some ass. You've got a mess to clean up, Fury. And lucky for you, I'm the guy who knows where the mop's kept."
As the weight of the situation settled in and the world seemed to tilt dangerously on its axis, Harry couldn't help but feel a strange sort of satisfaction. For once, the odds weren't stacked against him—he had the answers. And Fury? Well, he was in for one hell of a ride.
---
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