Second Chances

Category: Captain America/Harry Potter

Peaceful silence drapes lazily over the sleeping inhabitants of Little Whinging, Surrey. The soft glow of streetlamps gently illuminate its quiet streets as moon touched shadows court the light’s edge. A soft breeze gently strolls through the neighborhood, rustling leaves and blades of grass in cool, soothing waves.

Standing in the deepest of shadows, invisible to any inquisitive eye, a tall, dark figure gazes impassively over the sleeping neighborhood. Deep into the night it stands vigil, waiting for the opportune moment.

Silent as a ghost, the solitary figure slides from shadow to shadow, making its way noiselessly through the neighborhood and up to 4 Privet Drive.


The security system protecting the house from unwanted intruders does nothing to stop It as It enters the house and effortlessly circumvents the system’s protocols to gain unfettered access to the inhabitants of the house.

If any follow after It, the system will alerted It. None will interfere with Its mission.

A quick and careful scan of the first floor reveals no noteworthy anomalies besides an irregularity on the cupboard door. A series of locks line one side of the door, almost completely obscured by a decorative table. Listening for anything out of the ordinary, the rooms of the base floor unveil no sign of life, but loud snores storm down the stairs and bombard the Asset’s sensitive hearing. One louder and deeper than the other and originating from two separate locations upstairs.

The father and the son, Its mind surmises.

Quietly It makes Its way up the stairs, carefully testing each step before It allows Its full weight to rest on the step. Step by silent step It makes Its way up the stairs until It reaches the landing.

Four doors.

From the schematics It was shown, three rooms. One door leads to the master bedroom and two other doors lead to two separate rooms. The door between the rooms, a full bathroom.

A quick few strides carry It to one of the room doors from whence loud snoring emanates.

Softly turning the handle, no sound gives away Its presence. The hinges are well cared for and no squeak pierces the air as It opens the door.

Thunderous snores pour from the room when It opens the door.

Stopping at the entrance of the room, The Asset pauses to listen for any change in the snoring from the master bedroom.

The loud rhythmic snoring continues without a hiccup.

Silently, the Winter Soldier glides into the room and over to the snoring lump on the bed. A light from the closet gently illuminates the boy’s room. The light is not necessary for Its enhances eyesight. A flesh hand clamps down over the sleeping boy’s mouth and nose, startling the boy awake. Terror filled eyes snap to Its looming form and the boy’s scream of terror is muffled by Its hand.

“One more scream, one word, and I will kill you,” It quietly tells the boy.

Young eyes, wide with animalistic terror, stare up at It and the smell of urine fills the air, pungently assaulting Its sense of smell.

Ripping a long strip from the boy’s bed sheet, It gags the boy and ties the fat child’s arms behind his back. Any move the boy makes will pull his head back uncomfortably. The child will not be a problem. It hauls the young boy over Its shoulder and silently carries him from his room, through the dark hall, to the master bedroom door.

The boy reeks of fear and urine but remains as silent as the dead.

Like the boy’s bedroom door, the door to the master bedroom opens without a sound as the Winter Soldier cautiously enters the room.

Loud, strangled snores echo off the walls and bombard Its hearing to near deafening tones.

Scanning the room, It locates a chair, walks over, and roughly drops the boy onto the chair. Roaring snores cover any noise made by the boy and the Asset binds the boy securely to the chair.

Stalking to the other side of the bed with all the grace and stealth of a large, predatory cat, the Asset stops at Mrs. Dursley’s unconscious side. Cold steel glints in the faint light before biting through thin fabric and into soft flesh. The wife breaths her last breath.

The obnoxious snoring continues.

Removing the now red blade, It scans the dark room and walks back to the door, flipping the light switch and flooding the room with light.

The obnoxious snoring sputters out of existence and a loud groan takes its place. Before the man can utter a word, the Asset slams the bedroom door shut to get his attention. The sudden noise elicits a muffled scream from the boy and Vernon Dursley jolts in his bed. Struggling to get up, the whale of a man manages to force himself into a seated position and stares in uncomprehending shock at the dark clad man standing in his bedroom.

Shock turns to fury.

“GET OUT!” he roars. “Your kind aren’t welcome here,” he says as he struggles from his bed and finally manages to stand. “It’s bad enough that you forced that freak of a child on us. I’ll not have any more of your kind in my house. GET OUT!” Vernon threateningly advances on the man and is brought to a sudden stop when a metal hand wraps around his neck and lifts him off his bare feet and into the air.

“I am not here for a child. I am here to collect the money you stole.”

The blood drains from Vernon’s once red face and fear ices his veins. The Asset takes a few steps into the room and throws Vernon back onto his bed and sprawled atop his wife. Warm, almost hot, liquid soaks into the back of Vernon’s night shirt and he scrambles to get off his wife, turning toward her as he does. Terror and horror fight for dominance.

“You killed her” he whispers.

“I will do the same to your son if you do not tell me where the money is.”

“Please, the boy is innocent. He has nothing to do with this.”

The Asset steps toward Dudley. “Please,” Vernon reaches for the expressionless man beseechingly, “I’ll tell you where the money is. Please. Don’t harm my son.”

The Asset does not raise Its voice as It monotonously replies, “Where is the money?”


Silence fills the house as the Winter Soldier descends from the second floor. Not a sound can be heard from the seemingly asleep Dursleys. Each quiet in their own bed.

As Its foot touches the base floor, a soft, muffled sob arrests Its attention. Its head cocks to the side, listening intently. Long seconds pass before another muffled sob whispers through the air. The silentious Soldier eases through the shadows, following the hushed crying.

Standing before the locked cupboard, the Asset moves the table further from the door to get a better look at the cupboard. Folding Its body to kneel before the door, the Winter Soldier nimbly unlocks each lock and opens the cupboard door.

Curled on a mattress in the cramped cupboard is a small, dark haired child staring up at It and shaking in fear. The smell of stale and fresh urine assaults Its sense of smell and It exhales from Its nose to dislodge the offensive scent. The small child lowers its eyes and looks away. In a tear stained and shame filled voice he whispers, “I needed to pee and I was scared. I tried to hold it. But I couldn’t.”

Something in Its chest tightens.

“Your name,” It asks in a monotonous voice.

“Freak,” the little boy replies in the softest of whispers.

“Come here.”

Hesitantly, the tiny boy slides off his bed, with a death hold on his blanket, and slowly limps the short distance to the Winter Soldier. Faint moonlight baths the pale boy as he cautiously emerges from the cupboard. Bruises litter his exposed skin. A black eye and cuts mar his tiny face.

“Dudley pushed me down the stairs,” the boy says in way of explanation.

Hydra made no mention of another child in the Dursley family. The orders were to obtain the location of the stolen funds and kill the Dursleys. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. There was no mention of a second son.

“Are you a Dursley?”

The little boy shakes his head no.

Finish the mission. Leave no Dursley alive and burn down the house to cover any evidence of foul play.


Resetting the security system to its original settings and wiping all evidence of tampering from the device, the Winter Soldier steps out into the early morning darkness. Quietly It closes and locks the door behind It and descends the steps with a little hand firmly latched to Its own. The fire will burn hot and consume most of the contents of the house before it is noticeable from without. By the time the fire is extinguished, nothing salvageable will remain.

A tug on Its flesh hand causes It to halt and glance down at the child clinging to it. The child is injured and It is walking too fast for the little one to keep pace. They cannot linger or their presence will be noted and the mission blown. Without further thought, the Winter Soldier, in one seamless move, turns and gently scoops the child up into Its arms and turns back to walk down the path to the driveway.

A fair skinned, slender woman with long red hair stands in Its path smiling sadly at It.

Her eyes shift to the little boy tucked securely into Its side and her sad smile morphs into one of unconditional, tender love.

The boy’s mother, Its mind whispers.

As if summoned by that thought, her eyes return to It. It feels no threat from her and stands still as she gracefully closes the distance between them, silent as a ghost.

Raising her seemingly translucent hand, she tenderly cups the boy’s face and lovingly kisses him on the forehead. Pulling back from the wide eyed, silent child, the woman looks up, into Its eyes. Feather-light, warm fingers brush Its forehead, leaving a warm trail of energy on Its skin. Her hand lowers and comes to a rest over Its heart.

Power and heat surge from her hand, through Its heart and into Its veins.

The house explodes behind them in a fiery light and blinding, white light engulfs Its vision.


Slowly, sleep releases its hold and he drifts gently to consciousness. Memories of a shoulder length, black haired child and an enormous, magical castle play through his mind. A satisfied smile unconsciously curves his lips. Magic is real. Memories of life at Hogwarts flit in and out of his mental grasp.

Light filters past his closed eyelids and the feel of a soft mattress cradling him seeps into his awareness. A solid, light weight rest on his chest and a cool, widening wet spot puddles over his heart. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light, he cracks sleep heavy lids to see what is laying on his chest. A mop of unruly black hair greets his questioning gaze. Tilting his head to get a better look, the puddle over his heart reveals itself to be a patch of drool from the sleeping child using him as a mattress. A fond smile tugs at his lips. Harry has a fist full of his shirt clenched tightly in his little fist, as if afraid he is going to disappear if released.

A frown creases his brow. Harry. How did he know the boy’s name? The floodgates open and memories upon memories flow into his mind like a colored motion picture. First his own and then the woman’s, Lily. Memory after memory sear into his mind. Relentless.

Finally, when the last memory settles, he becomes aware of a hand clenching his head and the other grasping the bed sheets. His breathing erratic. His eyes screwed shut. Slowing his breathing with a sniper’s breathing exercise, he manages to reduce it to normal, steady breaths. Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks down at the still sleeping child. Harry could be no more than four, maybe five. At most. And he killed off the last of the boy’s family.


What is he going to do with the boy. There is no way in hell he will allow Hydra to get their hands on Harry. Or himself for the matter. Their hold over him is broken. Whatever Lily did to him freed him from their sway. For that alone he is eternally thankful to her. But the problem still remains. What is he going to do with Harry?

He feels some guilt over killing Dudley, but none over killing Petunia and Vernon. They were supposed to protect and care for Harry as if he were their own child. But they didn’t. Anger swells in his chest. They treated Harry like trash. The boy didn’t even know his own name for crying out loud. Anger turns to fury. They need to pay for what they did to Harry.

They did.

He killed them. That thought takes the fury from his sails and the guilt returns. He killed them and left the boy without a family. Alone in the world. NOT alone. If Harry can forgive him for killing what remained of his family. A sorry excuse of a family, but still the boy’s family. He’ll take him in. Protect him. Disappear into the wind, where Hydra cannot find him and raise Harry as his own. Protected and cared for to the best of his considerable abilities. He will protest Harry with his life, whether Harry forgives him or not, and give him the childhood he deserves.

A full grown stag coalesces out of silver light and approaches him, coming to a stop at the edge of the bed. Leaning its noble head over the bed, it gently brushes Harry’s hair from his sleeping face and touches its nose to James’ chest, over the puddle of slobber and directly over his heart. For the second time, pure power rushes into his heart and through his veins. Burning white hot.

No memories accompany this change of power.

A ring settles heavy on his right hand ring finger. Raising his hand from where it grips the sheets into his field of vision, the Potter Lord ring comes into view. Shock radiates through him.

A pop startles him from the left and he swiftly rolls to his side to face the threat, simultaneously rolling Harry off his chest and behind him. Shielding Harry with his body.

“Is Master to take his breakfast in bed with the young Master?” a small house elf asks, staring questioningly up at him. Digging through Lily’s memories, he finds the name of the elf. “Misty?”

“Yes. I’s Misty.”

“Where are we?”

“In Potter Manor, sir.”

“How did we get here?”

“Mistress’ magics brought Master and young Master here yesterday morning, sir. We finds you on the floor. Cleans and tucks you in bed. Master and young Master refuses to let go of each other. In bed together we puts you.”

“Why is the Potter Lord ring on my finger?” lifting his hand to show the elf.

“The Potter’s magics accept you.”



“The Potter’s ma”

“Who’s that?” a quiet, curious voice ask from behind him. Harry peeks cautiously over James’ side to get a better look at the elf.

“I is Misty, young Master.”

“I’m not a master. My name’s Freak.”

“Your Name is Harry” James immediately corrects him. Harry looks up at him with large, green, innocent eyes, “oh.”

Turning back to the elf, he says with a wide, toothy smile, “Hi, I’m Harry.”

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4 thoughts on “Second Chances”

  1. Love Bucky, and will love to know where this goes. I suspect Harry will be a force to know!! Trained by a man who is as brave as a Gryffindor, loyal as a Hufflepuff, smart as a Ravenclaw, and as sly and sneaky as a Slytherin? Oh yes I want to read more!!

  2. What a wild crossover. Very good!

    Well, I almost feel bad for Dudley being killed—he is just a kid, but he did treat Harry like crap …

    So, the Dursley’s stole some money. Must have been a pretty penny for the Winter Soldier to have been sent to collect.

    Lily and James watching over their Harry. And they broke the bind on Bucky!

  3. Really cute and nice would definitely read to end. Harry could
    Become even more dangerous with someone like Bucky by his side… This could probably go into the avengers world too. Great choice for the pairing :))))

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