Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Avengers. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: For 'worldtravellingfly'. Coulson meets Primrose Potter. Post DH, Pre-MCU. PC/Primrose (fem!Harry). A oneshot, for now..

Rating: K+ - just in case.

Author: tlyxor1.

Author's Note: I gave 'worldtravellingfly' a prompt. In return, she gave me another with the guidelines: Phil/Harry, a fun fact about pureblood culture, and the restriction that Harry could not be - or become - a SHIELD agent and/or an Avenger. This brainchild was born. Enjoy.


Upon initial observation, she appears small, and hopelessly childlike. She's 18 years old, he knows, but curled up beneath a knitted purple throw, her auburn hair in a set of carefully maintained braids, Primrose Potter appears impossibly, frighteningly young.

This is the girl who killed Lord Voldemort?

It seems unfathomable, and yet, their is strength in her skin - in her heart - and as much as Phil Coulson believes in SHIELD, he believes in her, too.

All the same, Phil smothers a sigh, and reflects on the fact that he really doesn't want to be here. The thought that SHIELD wants to recruit an 18 year old fresh out of a war zone is mildly nausea-inducing. Veteran this girl may be, but to a certain degree, she is still just a child. She's aged beyond her years, certainly, with experiences Phil would not want to wish upon anyone, but in some respects, she's barely lived at all.

Idly, he wonders how the higher ups sleep at night.

That said, Fury is a persistent bastard, however, and Phil's refusal isn't worth his job. Thus, Coulson has silenced his conscience, he has boarded that plane, and now he's in London, in a house that has seen far better days, in front of a girl who has seen far too much of the ugly that the world has to give.

"I wondered when you'd get here," she greets, and glances up from the tome in her lap. Her face is thin and sallow - the effect of prolonged malnourishment and a severe lack of Vitamin D - and Phil wonders how long it's been since she's eaten a proper meal, or stepped out of her house.

More than that though, he wonders how eyes so green can appear so dull.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt mentioned I should expect you."

"Me?" Coulson echoes. He feels oddly flatfooted, and the sensation isn't a pleasant one. Oddly though, he's not at all surprised by the fact that this waif of a girl has already taken charge of their conversation.

Character traits of a leader, he supposes.

"SHIELD," she clarifies, "Kingsley said your people are interested in recruiting me."

"Kingsley is correct, though I do wonder how he came about that information."

She chuckles lowly. Her voice - a husky alto - is pleasant to listen to, but that laugh, low and sultry without even trying, is like a siren's call. He's drawn in by this girl, and despite himself and the somewhat discomforting reality that he is ten years older than her, Phil can't quell his interest.

He comforts himself with the knowledge that she is far more mature than some grown men he's met.

"I've learned not to question him," Primrose says, "He has… strange ways."

"I wouldn't know," Phil answers, "I'm not associated with many politicians."

He recalls, belatedly, that Primrose is the Lady Potter of House Potter, the Lady Black of House Black, and carefully smothers his expression of chagrin. She doesn't look bothered, however, but rather, she wears a smile, and if Phil isn't mistaken, the girl is amused. At his expense, no less.

This time, the chagrin is for an entirely different reason.

"May I ask your name? I'm afraid Kingsley didn't offer me that much information."

"Agent Phillip Coulson," he answers, and corrects, "Phil.

"Phil," she echoes. Embarrassingly, he's enthralled by the way her lips wrap around his name, and with an absurd amount of effort, he draws the subject back to the purpose of his visit. "As you already know, SHIELD is interested in recruiting you. Director Fury feels you would make an exceptional asset to our organisation."

The witch eyes him thoughtfully, and her gaze is shrewd. "And what do you think, Agent COUlson?"

Phil falters, flounders for an answer, and eventually settles on the truth. "I think you've done enough already."

She smiles, small and sad, and answers, "I'm inclined to agree with you, Agent Coulson."

Phil frowns, and clarifies, "That's a 'no' then?"

"That's a 'no,'" she confirms.

Phil nods his acquiescence, and knows better then to try and change her mind. He doesn't even want to. "In that case, thank you for your time, Lady Potter."

He lifts himself from the armchair he doesn't remember settling himself in, and approaches the door.

As he does, he receives a sudden, unerring feeling that if he walks out that door, he'll lose a lot more than just a prospective SHIELD agent.

Primrose Potter seems to feel the same.

"Agent COulson?"

He pauses, exhales a slight breath of relief, and turns. "Yes, Lady Potter?"

She smiles again, and her eyes are bright.

Despite her emaciated frame, and the way her cheekbones are highly pronounced beneath her skin, she's beautiful. The sight of her makes his breath catch, and the term 'spellbound' seems appropriate.

"In magical Britain, it's customary for potential suitors to exchange letters with the object of their affections." She pauses. "I would like it very much, Agent Coulson, if I received a letter from you."

Phil, incredulous but pleased, nods, bows politely, and answers, "Lady Potter, it would be my genuine pleasure."

And so he writes to her, and Primrose Potter writes back.

It's a new experience, this form of communication. He's reluctant to employ the term 'love letters', but there is something intimate, and deeply personal, about their correspondence. It doesn't take long for Phil to decide that he might as well tear out his heart, shove it in an envelope, and deliver it to Primrose on a silver platter.

He can't be more obvious about his affections - doesn't even try to hide them, in fact - and thus, he is more or less ecstatic when she asks to meet with him again.

This time, the meeting takes place in Wales, in a small seaside village called Colwyn Bay. She is seated on a weather-beaten patio when he arrives, in a wicker rocking chair, and with a knitted quilt thrown over her knees. It is late autumn, it is dusk, and Primrose is radiant.

Her smile is just for him. "Hello, again, Phil."

As he returns the greeting, he smiles in kind. there is no where else he would rather be.