Disclaimer: Everything recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or the Marvel Cinematic Universe does, in fact, belong to them. Likewise with the slight three-way crossover with a fictionary world belonging to S. Meyer (sorry, I didn't mean to, it just...happened, and has no long term effect on the story). This disclaimer applies to the subsequent chapters.
Additionally, all mistakes herein are my own. I don't have a beta, so I proofread my own writing. If you do see an error, feel free to point it out in a review or a PM.

Warnings: Very little of this will make sense if you haven't read 'Early Retirement' or 'What Happened Between'. Also, there are some not very pleasant scenes of torture and humiliation, so be warned. Yeah.

A/N:This will be a three-part story (three chapters people, three chapters). It is completely written, but I am only posting this first chapter because I'm really supposed to be packing for a vacation that I'm leaving on tomorrow. I'll be able to update while on vacation though, so I imagine the next two chapters will be up very very very soon. As in, tomorrow or the next day.

Okay then. That's it. Enjoy!

Cathryn didn't know where she was. She had a vague idea, of course, but this far north everything looked the same: trees, rocks, trees, some sparse patches of snow, and more trees.

She'd left New York by air, fleeing in her animagus form. At first she'd flown aimlessly, heading west; there was nothing for her to the east. Then her brain caught up with her, and she turned north. Canada was, when you got far enough past the border, largely empty, with great swaths of land covered in forest and little else. People were few and far between, and for someone trying to stay unnoticed…well, it was a lonely existence, but a safe one.

Now that winter had truly set in, Cathryn was very glad for her animagus' thick fur-and-feather coat. But even with magic, it was difficult to keep warm, and after two days of constant shivering, she gave up on living wild. It only took a few hours to build a passable structure that wouldn't fall apart as the initial magic wore off.

The hut was made of stone, nestled between a copse of spruce trees and a particularly large boulder that acted as one of the walls. She braced the walls with a number of aspen saplings; the ceiling was composed of more aspens, though she used multiple severing charms to make rough boards, and covered the wood with a thick layer of branches.

It was the matter of a few minutes to put together a passable rune array to heat the hut. Cathryn conjured an armchair, summoned an orb of blue light, and settled into the chair with a warm blanket and her thickest book, content to let the world forget the content of the tens of terabytes of data that SHIELD had dumped into public domain. Maybe, if she waited for long enough, Hydra would forget about her too, and she would be able to return to civilization without worrying about being taken in for science.

Hermione's owl caught up with her two weeks after Cathryn had ended her nomadic lifestyle. She untied the letter and tightly rolled up newspaper, nonplussed at Hermione having sent her a copy of the Daily Prophet until she glimpsed her name on the front page.

CATHRYN POTTER WORKING FOR MUGGLES

by Andrew Heckle

It has come to the attention of this reporter that our own
elusive Cathryn Potter, Woman-Who-Vanquished, has been
confirmed as having worked with and for American muggles,
and is none other than the Avenger known as 'Griffin'!

The remainder of the article went on to explain what - and who - the Avengers were, and touched upon her actions in the fight against the Chitauri in New York. The last paragraph of the article called upon the readers to decide if she should be charged for breaking the Statue of Secrecy. The paper was from November 29. She flipped through the rest of the newspaper, and ended up reading a far-too-short article about a convergence of portals over Greenwich and a "brief scuffle solved by a group of what are reported to be 'scientists'", which only left her wondering what had really happened for a muggle event to be reported in the Daily Prophet.

Unfortunately, Hermione's letter didn't shed any light on the matter.

Dec. 07, 2013

Dear Ryn,

Whatever you do, you mustn't return to Britain. The French Ministry is furious - though they were looking
for any excuse, really - and Kingsley's successor isn't nearly as forgiving. If you come back, you'll be
looking at Azkaban, at the very least.
We've had Aurors come search our house four times in the past week, and I had to have Ginny smuggle
this out to George the last time she visited. I know that we're being watched by more than just Aurors,
too. There was an Unspeakable reading in our favorite café, and we were questioned by a pair of ICW
Enforcers.
The law is not happy with you. You broke the Statute in a big way, and it's only because wizards are so
oblivious to muggle technology that they didn't find out about it sooner. And so far as Ron and I can
figure, America is protecting you, so don't leave the States unless you must.
The only good news I can find in this whole mess is that at least only the Unspeakables seem to have
realized that you're too young, and that's not exactly something to be happy about either.
Don't write back. I'll send another owl when we're no longer being watched.

Love,
Hermione

Cathryn swore viciously at the newspaper. She hadn't expected to feel so trapped by the article; it wasn't as if she'd been planning on returning to Britain anytime soon, but having the option taken away wasn't the same as choosing not to go.

With an angry huff, she left the newspaper and the letter on her chair and strode out the door. She was in the air after only two steps, and she didn't come back down until the snow was falling too thick for her to see the trail of smoke that marked her little cabin.

The snow had just begun to melt, leaking through her roof no matter how many impervious charms she layered, when Hermione's owl returned. After so many months of solitude - day after day of only herself and sporadic wildlife for company - Cathryn would have welcomed even a letter from Draco Malfoy.

March 21, 2014

Dear Ryn,

I hope this letter finds you well and unharmed. It took three months for Neville to successfully bring
the matter up in the Wizengamot, but we have, with the help of Andromeda (who I assigned the Black
seat until Teddy is ready to take it himself) and a number of the DA members' families, managed to
overturn the previous orders if you were sighted. You will no longer be arrested if you are found in
Britain, and given a few more months, I am sure that I can persuade the foreign ministries'
ambassadors to change their minds, except, of course, France, and maybe Italy. A number of our
Wizengamot members have connections in the ICW, so I would expect them to call off their Enforcers
as well.
The clearing of your name does not, I fear, extend to the Department of Mysteries. While they can no
longer legally detain you, that does not mean that they will not try to collect samples from you if they
do find you, so be careful. Your reputation as the defeater of Voldemort was barely enough to get you
out of this one, and only because so many of our schoolmates have close relatives on the Wizengamot
did the measure pass.
But, Ryn, I really do think I've finally managed to open the old fogeys' eyes. It took a lot of clever
talking to get them to understand how much muggles have progressed in the past fifty years, and as
terrible as it sounds, the fiasco at Greenwich helped to support my presentation . The Americans even
loaned me some of their Technomancy experiments - actual mobile phones that work around magic, even
in the heart of the Ministry! But what really changed their minds was when I told them that Thor, God of
Thunder, and Loki, God of Mischief and Patron of Magic, were also televised in the same event that caught
you using magic in front of muggles, as well as the events at Greenwich. Even Malfoy couldn't deny that,
in the presence of gods, your magic could be explained away with ease.
And still, they're unhappy, but thankfully, not at you. Now they're frightened. Muggles have never posed
such a threat as the Avengers do to us now; there is actually a growing faction who are trying to petition
for your forced return to Britain to protect the country, but so far it only has a few hundred supporters.
Regardless of how things turn out, there's change in store for the world, no matter how far the Traditionalists
try to bury their heads in the sand. I'm not sure if we're ready to be exposed to the muggles, let alone if the
muggles are ready to accept that an entire civilization of witches and wizards has been living right under
their noses for the past four hundred years.
Now that you've been cleared, I expect to get a letter from you at least once a month, and Andromeda
deserves a thank you. It was really her that got enough votes to overturn Malfoy's objections.
Be safe.

Love,
Hermione

Cathryn didn't wait for the rest of the snow to melt. Even though it was nearly dusk, in under ten minutes she had everything packed back into her trunk, the fire doused with a quick freezing charm, and the door snugly closed behind her. Then she spread feathered wings and leapt from the ground, strong downwards sweeps lifting her up over her snow-laden roof, past the crooked tree-tips, and into a cloudy sky. The sun began its track to the horizon, and she used it to set her course, heading steadily southwest. She'd lived for ten years on the east coast; perhaps the west coast would prove as successful, though the absence of Steve would -

No, Cathryn scolded herself, firmly turning her mind away from the bittersweet memories. Best not to linger on that.

With a strong tailwind for most of the journey, it took Cathryn three days of steady flying to catch her first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. It looked far colder than the Atlantic Ocean where it lapped against New York City.

A few hours later, Cathryn gratefully landed on an empty stretch of beach, folding back into her normal body for the first time since leaving her cabin. Immediately, her sense of smell diminished, though the scent of salt was still rich in the air; more happily, the waves no longer thundered as loudly in her ears. For nearly an hour, Cathryn simply appreciated the warm - relative to where she'd been for the past five months - weather and the soothing rhythm of the waves.

Then her stomach growled, and her mind shot immediately to the town she'd seen as she'd approached the beach, perhaps only a few miles south and a little bit inland. It'd been far too long since she'd had a proper meal. She had been able to feed herself on the food she'd stored her trunk when she'd first bought it - a year on the run foraging for food because of Hermione's oversight had taught her a valuable lesson - but heating tinned food and rehydrating freeze-dried packets of oversalted backpacking meals simply wasn't the same, especially to someone who'd previously had her pick of fresh-baked pastries whenever she'd felt peckish.

A polite cough broke her from her mental drooling over the raspberry tarts that Mrs. Drew had favored, and she couldn't prevent the automatic flinch as she shifted into a dueling stance, her hand diving into her pocket before she caught hold of herself.

"Sorry." The teenager - no, young man, judging by his build and slight scruff of facial hair - had his hands in the air, though Cathryn could see by his tense shoulders and wary eyes that he was ready to flee - or at least, get out of the way - should she pull out a weapon.

"I apologize, you startled me," Cathryn slowly drew out her hand so he could see it was empty. He flashed her a quick grin and relaxed, his entire body slouching into a more comfortable position, no longer poised for a quick get-away.

"Britain?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Originally," Cathryn acceded.

"Must be nice to be able to travel wherever you like," he commented idly, eyes tracing her well-worn leather boots and jeans. "As soon as I graduate college, I'm gonna take a road trip all around the country."

Glad for the ready-made story, Cathryn gave a non-committal, "It is nice," before asking, "Is there anywhere good around here to eat? I haven't had a decent meal in days."

The man's face lit up. "Yeah, my sister runs the best café in town. I'll take you there." He glanced around the beach. "Where's your stuff?"

"On me," Cathryn answered truthfully. He glanced doubtfully at her clothes.

"That's it?"

She shrugged. "I prefer to travel light. When I need something new, I buy it."

His brows wrinkled for a few seconds, but then he shrugged. "At least you're not likely to lose anything. How'd you get here?" he asked as he started heading up the beach towards the tree-line.

"Hitch-hiking and walking."

"Really?" He seemed impressed. "I'm Seth, by the way, Seth Clearwater."

Cathryn blurted out the first name that came to mind. "Katie Bell." She mentally winced - 'Katie' was far too close to 'Cathryn' for her liking, though it would be easy to adjust to responding to the new name - and then asked, "What are you studying at university?"

Seth was all too pleased to talk to her about forest ecology as they hiked along the side of the road. About twenty minutes later, as Seth expounded at length about the correlation between new-growth forests and bark-beetle infestations, a dark blue truck veered onto the shoulder of the road ahead of them, skidding slightly in the mud before jerking to a halt.

A dark-haired male stuck his head out the driver's side window and shouted, "Hey, need a lift?!"

At Seth's questioning glance, Cathryn nodded.

The driver of the truck turned out to be one of Seth's good friends, Quil Ateara.

"The Fifth," Seth amended.

"No one cares about that," Quil muttered from Cathryn's left as he maneuvered tight curves in the road with an ease that spoke of deep familiarity. "You a friend of Seth's from school?" he asked after a minute of listening to Katy Perry's voice breaking on the rather beat-up radio.

"She's a hitchhiker," Seth explained eagerly, most of his voice snatched from the car by his open window. "All the way from England."

"How'd you manage that?" Quil chuckled. "Didn't know cars could get you across the ocean."

"Not what I meant," Seth objected, throwing a punch at Quil's shoulder over Cathryn's head.

"I caught a plane to New York," Cathryn said, hoping to prevent them from starting a tussle in a moving vehicle.

A second later, Quil's question made her wish she'd said nothing. "You see any of the Avengers? I heard they're in and out of Stark Tower all the time."

Before she could make up a suitable lie, Seth added, "I would've gone to that café they say that Lady Griffin used to run."

"What? I didn't know - " She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying anything incriminating. "I didn't think it was her actual shop; that closed months ago, and it's privately owned, so no one could have reopened it. "

Both Quil and Seth looked surprised. "I didn't know that," Seth admitted, before brightening and saying, "It's right next door, though, it must be, or they couldn't advertise like they do."

"When did it open?" Cathryn asked, trying to figure out which of her neighboring storefronts had been purchased - the herbalist or the antique store.

"I'm not sure. A few months ago, maybe?"

"There was a news story about it," Quil broke in as he began to slow down, buildings only a few hundred meters down the road as they passed a weathered sign that read 'Welcome to La Push'. "Iron Man and Captain America were there." Cathryn thought her heart missed a beat, and her stomach clenched in anticipation of news about Steve. "Captain America didn't look too happy, and Iron Man kept on going on about how much better Lady Griffin's food was."

"But he never ate there," Cathryn objected.

An awkward silence fell in the car, and she closed her eyes in frustration. It'd been far too long since she'd interacted with other humans, if she was making such stupid slips of the tongue.

"You're her, aren't you," Quil said blankly as they entered the town.

"I knew it!" Seth exclaimed, punching the door in excitement. "I can't believe I'm meeting an Avenger!"

"I'm not!" Cathryn's fists were clenched in her jacket pocket, ready to - she didn't know what she'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty. "Look," she said, more calmly, "If I was an Avenger, I'd be off saving the world or some such. I only agreed to join the team because SHIELD blackmailed me with information it later dumped for the whole bloody world to see."

"It was only up for, what, like twenty minutes? The FBI or someone took it down," Quil said.

"It was enough," Cathryn muttered bitterly, thinking longingly of the Butter and Crumpets Café.

There was another silence as Quil parked in a lot behind a sturdy-looking wooden-shingle building with large windows facing the street.

"What'd you do to get SHIELD to blackmail you?"

"Seth!" Quil stomped on the brake, and all three of them jerked forward. Cathryn had to put out a hand to prevent herself from breaking her nose on the dash.

"She's nineteen, tops! What's she done in - lemme think - aliens were what, two years ago? - so she wasn't even legal - "

"Trust me," Cathryn interrupted, and something in her voice made Seth cut his sentence short. "I'm older than I look." She met his eyes squarely, but it took many long minutes - Quil sighing in what sounded like exasperation in the background - for him to look away.

Tension lingered in the air until Quil opened his door and slid out. "Ready for some chow?"

The inside of the café was like returning home. The air smelled of coffee and fresh bread, and quiet conversations couldn't quite cover the sounds of metal pinging on metal and milk hissing as it foamed.

"I'll order for us all, grab a seat," Seth offered, and immediately wound his way towards the cashier.

"Shameless," Quil shook his head, leading Cathryn to a table in the furthest corner of the café. "He got a cushy internship last summer," he explained as they settled into their seats. "Pays for others whenever he can, now."

"What do you do, then?" Cathryn asked, watching Seth from the corner of her eyes as he leaned casually against the counter while the young woman behind the counter scowled and jabbed an accusing finger at him. "And who's that?"

"Leah. His sister. He'll be fine, she only bites people after her shift's over. I'm an electrician." He shrugged. "Nothing glamorous like Mr. Four-Year-College over there."

Seth returned shortly after, three steaming mugs in his hands and a plate of sandwiches balanced on his head. "Grab those, will you?"

Quil reached them before Cathryn, and set the plate in the middle of the table, where everyone could reach.

"Hot chocolate," Seth explained, putting a mug down in front of Cathryn. "She wouldn't make it Irish."

"It's fine." She knew her smile was brittle, but added, "Last time I drank, things didn't go very well."

"I know the feeling," Seth agreed. "Last semester I got stupid-drunk at a party the night before a midterm." He winced. "Luckily most of the class was at the party, so the curve was good."

Cathryn took a sandwich and ate it as Quil teased Seth for being a light-weight. She was nearly finished with her hot chocolate when Seth's sister pulled out the fourth chair and sat.

"I'm Leah," she introduced herself. "You don't want to stay here."

Cathryn stared, and then slowly lowered her mug back to the table.

"Leah - " Seth hissed, but a single glance had him bowing his head submissively.

"I don't know why you're here, and I don't care. We don't need the trouble."

Cathryn couldn't fault the other woman's logic; trouble followed her like ducklings followed their mother. "I'll leave," she agreed.

"Soon," Leah pressed, eyebrows furrowed.

"As soon as I get a meal and a shower."

"Seth, take her home." Leah stood and whispered something into his ear that made him blanch. Quil's knuckles went white on his mug, and he glanced towards the window, but when Cathryn followed his gaze, there was nothing there.

"Let's go," Seth said as soon as Leah went back to the counter.

Confused, Cathryn snatched another sandwich off the plate and followed Seth back into the parking lot, Quil hot on her heels.

"What was that?" she demanded as soon as Seth's door shut behind him, the truck already moving.

"Let's just say we don't want Hydra or SHIELD here poking around," Quil said quietly, taking a hard turn down a street with more pot-holes than pavement.

"Ah." Cathryn ate her sandwich efficiently even though she'd rather savor the taste of fresh food, washing it down with the bottle of water that Seth handed her. She couldn't blame them for wanting to keep their secrets their own.

After La Push, Cathryn took to disguising herself, a different disguise in each town she visited. As she made her way into Idaho and down through Nevada, and then southeast towards Louisiana, her hair went through six shades of brown, two shades of red, a purple-blue in Las Vegas, and in memory of Tonks, bright pink.

She never spoke with anyone for more than two minutes, and took to sneaking into clubs whenever she felt particularly lonely, where she would dance with strangers for hours at a time, where it was too dark and the people too inebriated to even vaguely recognize her.

Five times, she shot her Patronus into the sky, feeling slightly dizzy each time as she watched it streak upwards until it was nothing more than a sliver of light zipping to the east, towards Hermione.

The owl came partway through September. It flapped around her in confusion, unsure at her appearance.

Cathryn took pity on it and shifted out of her animagus form, holding out an arm. The owl had a huffy air about it as it settled on the offered perch and fixed her with an amber stare, unblinking as she untied the letter attached to its leg with her other hand. A single glance at her name told her that the letter wasn't from Hermione; it only took a few seconds of bafflement for Cathryn to realize who the handwriting belonged to, and she hastily broke the seal.

August 24, 2014

My friend Katerina,

I do not know how long it will take for the owl to find you. The last one returned after only two days,
leg broken and only half the letter attached. My wife spelled this one more strongly.
Yvette discovered early this year that her cousin and her husband died ten years ago. We tried to
find her cousin's children - twins, nineteen years of age - but have been unsuccessful. Sokovia is not
welcoming to foreigners, even to family.
Yvette wants to know if they are alive, and if they are, if they will come to us. They are her only family,
and she, theirs.
Ekaterina will be getting a sibling soon. It is a boy, I am sure. She wants to see her godmother.
Travel safely. You know where we are.

-Viktor

Cathryn pulled her trunk out of her pocket and returned it to its proper size. It was a matter of seconds to find a scrap of parchment, a fountain pen, and scribble out a reply to Viktor.

September 15, 2014

One month.

-C.

It had taken Cathryn close to six months to meander her way from La Push to a rural town in the middle of Louisiana called Bons Temps.

It took her just shy of two weeks to travel in a steady north-westerly direction, crossing the Montana-Canada border after six days. She rested for eight hours each day, preferring to fly by night to reduce chances of being seen. The next handful of days were spent soaring over the vast forests of Canada, which had long since lost their coat of snow.

By the fourth day of endless trees, Cathryn was wishing she could Apparate; she'd never flown for so long before, and even the deeply uncomfortable sensation that accompanied Apparition would be worth sparing her muscles the ever-present ache. But the last time she'd Apparated, she'd ended up somewhere distinctly not-earth, and spent nearly a week trying to get back, during which time the sun never rose and she was neither hungry nor thirsty, merely dogged by a heavy and bone-deep tiredness and ominous whispering shadows.

She'd always preferred flying, anyways.

Alaska unfurled beneath her wings in three days of valleys and mountains. Rivers twined their way through the centers of the valleys, and only some of the mountains were capped in snow.

Ten days after her departure from Louisiana, Cathryn stood the western-most town of the continental United States, a small Alaskan port-town named Wales, with a population of 145.

The clouds gathered worryingly above her as Cathryn looked out to sea, and she knew that the longer she waited, the more likely it was that she would get caught in the storm that looked to be brewing.

With one last glance at continental Alaska, Cathryn took to the skies over the endless slate-grey waves.

She had never appreciated how very large Russia was. Cathryn had to push herself to make it to Viktor's home in the two weeks she had left, and her haste made her careless at times. Four times she heard farmers exclaim as she passed overhead, and only two days before she began to recognize the landscape, Cathryn was shot at by a pair of wizards on broomsticks. Thankfully, the wizards were more interested in defending their families - a pair of young women with several small children huddled around each of them - than they were in chasing a rogue griffin; on brooms, they would be able to run her down like wolves after a deer.

As it was, Cathryn counted herself lucky to have not attracted even more attention when she finally landed on the outskirts of Viktor's property. She shifted into her human body for the first time in nearly a week; phantom pain itched across the yoke of her shoulders and between her shoulder blades in muscles that no longer existed in this body.

The wards allowed her entry, and Cathryn followed familiar paths through a garden slightly different than the one she'd remembered. A modest two-story house came into view when she rounded a dense copse of trees, the tops of six Quidditch hoops protruding above the roof.

A somewhat plump woman with curly brown hair opened the door a few seconds before Cathryn could knock, shirt stretched taught by a disproportionately large belly. "Dobŭr vecher, Yvette," Cathryn greeted Viktor's wife with one of the few phrases she knew of Bulgarian.

"Katerina, is goot see you," Yvette returned thickly, pulling Cathryn into a hug, pregnant belly pressing into Cathryn's gut, before leading her into the house. "Viktor is vith Rina, up - " she gestured towards the stairs " - stŭlbishte."

"Stairs," Cathryn supplied.

"Da," Yvette agreed. "Stairs." Cathryn's stomach growled, and Yvette smiled. "Come. Have eat."

Cathryn allowed Yvette to lead her to the kitchen, where she was quickly provided with a plate of leftover moussaka, over which Yvette apologized many times for it not being fresh. When Viktor finally came downstairs, Cathryn had been provided with a glass of wine and was listening to Yvette as she did her best to describe her cousin's children. He summoned himself a beer as he joined them at the table, sitting next to Yvette.

"You look vell," he said when Yvette finished her description. Viktor's accent was more easily understood than his wife's. "Thank you for helping."

"It's the least I can do," Cathryn replied easily. Viktor nodded. "How is Ekaterina?"

"Asleep," Viktor said with a tired smile. "It is her nap."

Cathryn didn't know whether or not six was too old to still be having naps, but didn't comment; she couldn't ever remember taking a nap, but the Dursley's weren't exactly role models when it came to parenting. Instead, she asked, "Has she done any magic?"

Viktor and Yvette shared a smile. "She changed the color of her sundress from pink to blue at my Baba's garden party last year," Viktor explained.

"Congratulations," Cathryn smiled, pleased with her goddaughter. A child's first display of magic was more celebrated than their learning to walk, though no less cherished. "Has she flown yet?"

"She vill be good Chaser," Viktor said decisively.

"Not a Seeker?"

Viktor frowned. "No." He didn't elaborate.

After a few moments of listening to the clock tick, Catherine asked Yvette, "What do you know about the twins?"

Yvette glanced towards Viktor and rattled off a long sentence in Bulgarian, to which Viktor nodded. "I vill speak for Yvette," he said.

Yvette gave Cathryn a bitter smile, and began, Viktor translating as the story unfolded.

"My favorite cousin Aleksandra vas a squib. She vas raised by her father, who vas alvays a little ill from a bad case of dragonpox as a boy. She married young, and had Wanda and Pietro a few years later. Alexsandra and I lost our friendship vhile I vas at school; she had already married, and could not accept owls vithout causing suspicion. But I met the twins vonce, just before I met Viktor." Viktor stumbled slightly over the oddness of saying he'd met himself, but continued quickly.

"Vonce more, ve lost touch, and I vas distracted by my own family until I wrote to ask if ve could visit. The - " Viktor broke off and interrupted Yvette's story with a question in Bulgarian. "The police," he resumed, and Yvette began to speak again. "They replied to the letter saying that Aleksandra and Danail have been dead for almost ten years, and that Pietro and Wanda have been missing for vun year." Yvette finished her story, and with an easy wave of her wand, directed the dirty dishes to the sink, where they began to wash themselves.

"Ve asked for information," Viktor said quietly, "but they vould not give us any. They do not like foreigners, even if ve are not so far avay."

Cathryn tapped her fingers on the table. "What do you know about Sokovia?"

Viktor blinked, and then shrugged. "There are very few vizards there, and they are part of the Transylvanian Magical Ministry. Most vizards do not return after school. But Muggle Sokovia has had an oppressive government for many years. The people are not happy, but they are not powerful enough to overthrow the government, and so must suffer for it. The vizards simply do not care."

Cathryn felt her stomach sink. Wading into civil unrest was the last thing she wanted to do - but for Viktor, she would. She owed him more than she could probably ever repay.

"Ve have books," Yvette spoke from the stove, where she was stirring a cauldron. "And map."

"I vill take you," Viktor said, standing. Cathryn followed suit, and in short order was following Viktor's finger as it traced lines across a map of eastern Europe. There were already several markings on the map, and she listened carefully as Viktor explained what each mark meant.

Her time with the Krum family was both relaxing and stressful, and days ticked past with unexpected speed. Ekaterina - or Rina, as she was affectionately termed - was delighted to finally meet her namesake, and took to following Cathryn everywhere, even, to her parents' chagrin, sneaking into Cathryn's bed in the middle of the night after a scary dream about werewolves and dragons chasing her. Cathryn didn't mind her godchild's presence, and often wondered Rina's enthusiasm and innocence, which didn't match up with her own memories of being six.

"You vant baby?" Yvette asked late in the evening of Cathryn's fourth week of preparation for traveling in Sokovia. The larger woman slowly lowered herself onto the sofa cushion next to Cathryn. "I haff friends to meet to you?"

"Thank you, but no," Cathryn turned the woman's offer down. "I don't need any introductions." She stared at Yvette's belly for a long moment, imagining how large Hermione - a smaller woman than Yvette - must have seemed at that stage in her own pregnancies. She hesitated, and then asked, "How much do you know? About me?"

Yvette sighed as she leaned back and propped her feet on the coffee table, ignoring the clutter of brightly colored drawings and Quidditch magazines. "Vhat Viktor has told, is vhat I know. And dat you are more young, I see."

"Too young," Cathryn corrected quietly, "but yes, I am." She hesitated, and then said, "I do not age." It wasn't quite the truth of 'I can't die', but it was close enough. "I do not think I can have children." In fact, she was sure of it; how could a walking dead woman have children? The answer was, she couldn't.

Yvette's hand was hot against her own, but Cathryn didn't mind, and the two women sat holding hands on the sofa until Yvette had to lever herself upright to empty her bladder. Cathryn went to bed not long after, and when she woke up the next morning, she was ready to leave.

Viktor traveled with her for the three days that it took to reach border of Sokovia.

"I vill get in trouble if I am caught," he said, hovering in place on his broomstick. He had side-along Apparated her for some distance, but they had had to travel the remainder by broom. "The Transylvanians do not like Bulgarians. Ve have bad history." After a pause, he added, "I should go now." He glanced longingly to the north-west, where the city of Novi Grad sat.

"Yvette and Rina are waiting for you," Cathryn reminded him.

"I know." Viktor grimaced. "I do not like leaving you here. It does not feel right."

"I can take care of myself," Cathryn said with a smile.

"I know," Viktor repeated, more resigned. "Vell, good luck."

"Don't contact me," Cathryn warned him. "I don't want to get caught because you send an owl to me and it swoops down in the middle of the road." Viktor looked troubled, but nodded. "I'll send you a Patronus when I find them."

Viktor's face cleared. "You are a poverful vitch, Katerina. Be safe."

"You too."

She watched as he pulled his broom up and made an impossibly sharp turn back in the direction they'd come from. Cathryn waited until he'd disappeared behind several trees before she pulled her trunk out of her jacket pocket and unshrunk it. Her broomstick was returned to the second compartment, and she removed a modest-sized backpack from the first compartment before shrinking the trunk once more and tucking it into the backpack, where it would be less likely to get in her way. With on last glance towards where Viktor had disappeared, Cathryn started down the incline towards Novi Grad. It would be a long hike.

Cathryn ended up catching a bus to Novi Grad. The city was nothing like she'd expected. The houses and apartments radiated from a hill with a mansion on top, growing more modern the further they were from the mansion, which vaguely resembled a poor man's version of Hogwarts. The entire city felt - grey. The buildings were grey, the people wore muted colors, and even the children's laughter was dull. The city was depressed, and the only color came from the people's anger. Red graffiti stood out in bloody contrast to the mass of surrounding grey.

She found herself growing more and more despondent in response to her surroundings, partly out of desire to blend in with the indigent population, but also partly because the very air of the city seemed to drag at her.

It was a matter of luck that it only took her a week to catch the first trace of the Maximoff family - in a graveyard. From there, Cathryn posed as Yvette, belatedly mourning the loss of her cousin and the disappearances of her cousin's children.

Wanda and Pietro were not unknown, and in the following two weeks Cathryn learned a lot about Yvette's cousins. Pietro and Wanda had been sent to an orphanage after being released from the hospital the week after the bombing. They'd attended school and done odd jobs throughout their teenage years. Starting at age thirteen, they'd begun joining the frequent protests against the government; they'd spent more than a few nights in holding cells as a result. At age sixteen, they moved themselves out of the orphanage and into their old apartment, which had been rebuilt in the same spot. They continued to attend school until age seventeen, at which point, so far as Cathryn could discover, they did nothing but attend the occasional protest.

It was odd, the one thing that didn't fit. Wanda and Pietro had attended every single organized protest against the government since first discovering them seven years prior. And then, three years ago, they stopped. Not completely, but their attendance was sporadic, behavior that didn't fit with their history.

Cathryn spent days agonizing over why they might have stopped. Wanda and Pietro's old neighbors were no help; many of them didn't like her after all the questions she'd asked over the past month, and all of them were wary of her. She was, after all, a foreigner, even if she claimed to be their relative.

Not even Wanda's old friends - what few of them there were - could help. Most of them ignored her, pretending not to understand either English or Cathryn's poor attempts at their native language. The last of them, a girl with dyed black hair and dark purple lipstick, blew a large bubble of gum, popped it, and said plainly, "No," before turning and slouching back into what was, so far as Cathryn could discern, a second-hand shop.

Pietro didn't have any friends. A few young women remembered him for his good looks, and one teenager - hardy more than eighteen - spat at Cathryn's feet when she mentioned his name.

By the time February was halfway over, Cathryn was ready to give up. Wherever Pietro and Wanda were, they were not hiding in the city, and furthermore, even if anyone had known of their whereabouts, she highly doubted that they would share that information with her.

Still, Cathryn was reluctant to leave. She owed Viktor rather a large debt, and even if she hadn't, she liked Yvette enough to dedicate as much time as she needed to in order to find the woman's cousins. So instead of flying out of the city in the dead of night, Cathryn gritted her teeth against the, at best, scornful glances of the citizens of Novi Grad and allowed herself to fade into the scenery of the dull city.

Partway through March, her plan showed its first sign of success. It wasn't much - more of a passing comment overheard at a laundromat than anything - but any information was better than nothing. Wanda and Pietro had left the city at the same time as a number of other one-time political activists; none of the other protesters had been seen again, and the families of those who had gone missing had heard nothing from them, though a little digging and discrete guiding of a conversation with a very drunk middle-aged woman revealed that each of the families had received the Sokovian equivalent of ten thousand American dollars.

A few days later, Cathryn was in her closet-sized apartment - just a few doors down from where the twins had grown up, and, according to their public records, still lived - when a familiar tapping came from the window.

Glancing at the owl silhouetted against the harsh daylight, Cathryn lunged for the window, fumbling the lock open. The owl hooted dully and fluttered past her, gliding to a stop to perch on the metal frame of her bed. After checking the street - no one below seemed to have noticed the owl - Cathryn closed the window and untied the letter from the owl's leg.

19 March, 2015

Katerina,

My son Aleksandar Danail Krum was born this morning. He will be a Keeper, I am sure.
If you have not found the twins in a week, come home. Yvette will search for them
later. We will need you here to make you Alek's godmother; Lev will be his godfather
and first guard. If it were possible, we would have you be Alek's first guard, but you
are already Rina's.
Rina is a very good sister. She asks after you every day, and wants to introduce you to
her brother. I am sure the enthusiasm will fade when Alek begins to cry.

-Viktor

Happiness for Viktor and Yvette filled Cathryn with warmth, and she scrawled out a hasty congratulations on a spare bit of paper. The owl fairly snatched the note from her hand, and glared imperiously at the closed window.

"It's too bright out," Cathryn told the bird, wishing that she still had Hedwig, who would have understood immediately the reason for not being allowed out.

This owl swooped down, its free claws raking through Cathryn's hair as it let out an irate screech.

A muffled exclamation came through the walls from the adjacent apartment, and Cathryn swore before hurrying to her trunk, pressing her hand easily through the wards. Her wand was where she'd put it upon first renting the apartment, tucked into the fat roll of parchment that held the runic schemes for the wards she'd erected around the Butter-and-Crumpets, but instead of smooth holly, her fingers found the slightly rough wood of elder. Cathryn hesitated at the unmistakable rush of chill and power that emanated from the Elder Wand; it had been a very long time since she'd used it, but a furtive glance at the owl convinced her.

As with all magical creatures, post owls were notoriously difficult to cast magic on - not as difficult as a troll or a dragon, of course, but still, anything more than a simple color-changing charm had the tendency to wear off within seconds. With the Elder Wand, though…well, it had fixed a wand broken beyond even Ollivander's skill to repair; an owl would be easy.

Assuming, of course, that the owl would stay still long enough for Cathryn to hit it with a distraction jinx. By the time the owl escaped through the window, Cathryn had missed the bird no less than six times. With a scowl and swish of her wand, a shattered bowl reassembled itself as two apples, an orange, and a banana resituated themselves in the repaired dish, scattered papers and parchments collected themselves in a neat pile on her desk, three feathers zoomed into the trash receptacle, and the window slammed itself hard enough to rattle the glass.

She grumbled to herself as she rifled through her trunk, not looking forward to the bruise that would doubtlessly show up in the next few hours from where the owl had clipped her on the shoulder with its wing. Only after the Wand had joined its fellow Hallows in her mokeskin pouch at the very bottom of her trunk, and the trunk itself was thoroughly locked and wards put back in place, did Cathryn turn her mind to figuring out the path of greatest probability of locating the twins in the week remaining.

A slight smile played about her lips as she imagined the owl's future interactions; the bird would find it difficult to get anyone's attention, at least until the jinx wore off. For Viktor's sake, she hoped it was soon.

"Two million dollars."

Cathryn dropped the box of newspapers, hand darting towards her coat pocket and the wand inside. Her hand was wrenched away from the pocket by a man dressed entirely in black combat armor, who pulled her through the doorway into her apartment; a second man put an end to her attempts to free herself, and she gave up completely when four more men jogged into the room from the hallway, two of them pointing their guns at her. The other two searched her, taking away her purse, her wand, her keys - even a hairpin she'd long since forgotten about tucked deep into one of her coat pockets.

In the short time she'd been away, her apartment had been stripped clean of her possessions. The man who'd spoken stood at the window, watching her with an almost greedy expression despite the chiding tone to his voice.

He adjusted the monocle that appeared to be embedded in his skull. "Two million dollars, and three field agents captured by the sickly remnants of SHIELD. I dedicated time, money, and resources on your search, and now…" He gestured towards her. "Here you are, less than two miles from my base! You'll be able to see for yourself, of course."

Understanding jolted through Cathryn like an electric shock, and she twisted violently, hoping against hope that she would be able to Apparate without a wand if she could just get away from the men, only to freeze at the sound of a gun's mechanism clicking into place.

"I wouldn't try anything…inhuman if I were you," the man continued blithely. "I've given my agents permission to shoot you as soon as you show signs of transforming into that beast you can turn into. Fatally."

"It's not a beast, it's a griffin, thank you."

"Semantics," the man waved a hand, and the safety clicked back into place. "I don't want to kill you," he said, walking towards her. "You won't be nearly as useful to Hydra if you're dead. But a body is better than nothing at all, especially the body of someone like you."

Dread shot through Cathryn - how much did this man know? Was the Wizengamot right? Had she exposed the wizarding world? From the midst of her dismay came a slyly logical thought. So what if you die - you'll just wake up a few hours later as if it'd never happened. Cathryn nearly flinched at the thought. It was bad enough that these muggles knew about some of her powers; if they ever found out she didn't stay dead, she'd be killed six ways each week. No, she thought firmly, I'll only risk them finding out if it's my best chance at escape. If she could get her wand and Apparate away - and damn whatever shadow-world she ended up in! - it wouldn't matter how many bullets were in her body.

"Of course, the body of any one of the Avengers would be a godsend." The man chuckled at his own joke. "But you - you are especially interesting, given our current research. I think you'll find you quite like the company you'll be keeping. Take her!"

The muffled whoomp of a silenced gun filled the apartment, and Cathryn stared dumbly at the dart in her upper thigh. It only took a few seconds for her frantic heart to pump the drug through her body. Her knees buckled and her neck weakened. A haze settled over the room as the man walked past, and then her clouded vision tunneled until -

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Cathryn had never been in a muggle hospital before, but she'd seen enough television to recognize the sound of medical equipment. It took her long seconds to open drug-heavy eyes, and once open, it took all of her effort to stop her eyelids from drifting shut again.

Aside from the medical equipment (which was abundant), the only things Cathryn could see were the dark grey stone of the ceiling and the clean white of the curtains surrounding her. Light filtered softly through the curtains, silhouetting two humans.

The beeping of the heart-tracking machine sped up, and an alarm blared.

Cathryn pulled futilely against the restraints keeping her in the bed until a slight woman flanked by two guards entered her makeshift 'room'. Before the curtains closed, she caught a glimpse of several other beds like hers, all of them empty. Her heart - and the beeping monitor - sped up even more.

The woman turned off the alarm and checked the machines, pressing various buttons. The guards took up position at the base of Cathryn's bed; under their stony gaze, she stopped struggling against the restraints (it was pointless trying to get out of them; there were simply too many - thick leather straps about her ankles, knees, waist, wrists, and upper chest) in favor of returning the stares with an expression that, with any luck, promised a painful future when she managed to free herself.

Because she would.

Cathryn had been in worse situations - although they were slipping her mind at the moment; perhaps the basilisk counted as worse? - and she had no doubt that she would, eventually, no matter how long it took, get free.

The woman took advantage of Cathryn's stillness to check her pupillary response to light, and then gently squeezed just below Cathryn's jaw. Cathryn grudgingly allowed the woman to open her mouth and peer inside, and resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at the woman.

After a few more minutes in which Cathryn silently suffered a very thorough full-body health-check, the woman turned to the guards and spewed out a long sentence in German. The only word that Cathryn understood was 'fraulein', but when the woman finally stopped talking, she began to unhook Cathryn from the various machines, her movements swift but gentle. When the last needle was extracted from her arm, Cathryn tensed in preparation for the straps to be undone, but the woman merely nodded curtly to the soldiers.

The bed shook briefly and a loud click sounded, and then Cathryn was being wheeled out of the white-curtained medical room. Panic surged from her stomach to her throat, but she swallowed it down in an effort to keep track of where she was being taken. It was difficult, when so many of the corridors and rooms that she passed through looked the same, and she could only move her head so far.

As time trickled past, the more her trepidation grew. As soon as I see a window, Cathryn promised herself, I'll transform and flee. She didn't let herself think about how easily her plan could go wrong - in all likelihood, she wouldn't be able to free herself from the straps before the guards shot her, but having a plan, no matter how poor of a plan it was, cleared the fear that had clouded her mind, eyes alert for any indication of a window.

There were none.

Cathryn estimated that she'd been pushed along for close to ten minutes, dragged down countless halls and through enumerable rooms, guided down ramps and carried up and down an impressive number of staircases, but not once did she so much as glimpse a window.

The woman preceded them into the largest room yet. A slender folder was handed to a wiry man in a white lab coat, and the woman marched away. The expression on the woman's face as she strode past Cathryn was not comforting, and when she glanced around the room, the tiny bubble of hope that had lodged itself in the back of her mind died without so much as a whimper and dread settled into her stomach with all the grace of a cement elephant.

Science had always been good to muggles; she very much doubted it would be good for her.

They started gently.

Eight vials of blood, clinically withdrawn. A full body scan with a very large machine, and then another, followed by furtive discussion when the second scanning machine stopped working with an ominous clunk.

Scientists waited in line with various instruments.

Cathryn was poked, prodded, and treated as little more than a particularly fascinating animal. When she objected, six more straps were added to keep her from so much as turning her head. If Cathryn attempted to transform now, her griffin form would suffocate, if her ribs didn't collapse from the tightness of the two straps across her chest.

Within an hour, her jaw hurt from the angle the gag forced it to keep.

By the second hour, tears of frustration, pain, and - though she hated herself for it - fear, trickled slowly down her cheeks.

After the fourth hour - by which time the scientists had by-and-large gleaned whatever information they needed from her, and were working furiously at their benches - Cathryn made the loudest noise she could. The half-scream half-whine brought one of the two guards from behind her to attention, standing in front of her, gun at the ready. The other guard undid the gag; a mixture of anger and thankfulness flooded though her, and she gratefully closed her mouth and swallowed in an attempt to get rid of the dryness left from the gag.

"I need to use the lavatory."

The guard turned to his peer, who barked something in German to the nearest scientist.

In short order, an old woman with steely hair and patrician features stood in front of Cathryn, an odd-shaped glass container in her gloved hands. With an indifferent air, the scientist waited while the guards set aside their guns and, with a grunt, lifted the bed and set it on its end. For the first time, Cathryn could see the entire room, but her attention was distracted as the guards continued to fuss with the bed. Pins were removed, levers pulled, and dials turned. With a ruthless jerk, the minimalist cushion between her back and the metal of the frame was removed, and for six painful seconds, the only things keeping her upright were the unforgiving metal and leather of the straps. Then a pair of stirrups smacked against her heels, and with a few awkward motions, Cathryn was able to get her feet under her.

Throughout the entire process, the scientist watched blandly.

A metallic clang purchased the attention of most of the room, but only for a fraction of a second before they once again disregarded her in favor of their data. A nearly solid piece of metal was lain on the floor just within her line of sight - a slab of metal the exact size of the bed, but with an odd shape cut from it, a shape that resembled a human skeleton. It didn't take a genius to conclude that she was leaning against that metal skeleton.

The straps around her ankles loosened, and then fell free, but hope barely had a chance to assert itself before pain drowned it. Her legs were twisted to a painful angle so that her ankles could once more be secured, this time further apart.

Humiliation and fury scorched through her as she realized what the glass receptacle was for, and she fixed the old woman with her fiercest glare. "You cunt."

The woman was unbothered, and the only thing Cathryn got for her insult was a painful jerk of her hair as one of the guards yanked her head back for the other to retie the gag.

Cathryn was too angry to be embarrassed when the woman fit the cold, smooth glass to her groin; the edges of the glass traced from just above her pubic bone all the way back to the upwards curve of her arse, and the bowl of the container kissed her inner thighs.

Despite her anger, it didn't take long for Cathryn to relieve herself. All the while, as her urine splashed against the glass and spattered upwards against her own skin, she coldly memorized the woman's features.

She hoped the scientist could read her expression: when Cathryn got free, she'd be the first to be Obliviated, and if Cathryn's Memory-Wiping Charm was out of practice...well, mistakes happened.

The scientists kept her for days. It was hard to tell how much time passed - there were no windows and no clocks - so Cathryn counted by how often her guards were replaced, which she guessed to be every six hours. Even with the guard rotation, she couldn't be sure. She'd been drugged a few times, and she was never sure how long she was out for.

Sometime after the first drug-induced stupor, she realized she'd missed the twenty-four hour window for the Hallows to show up. She didn't think they'd shown up while she was unconscious, judging by the lack of chaos in the lab, which meant that the Hallows were within a few miles - presumably inside the same building. With luck - and the inherent magic of the mokeskin pouch - the Hydra agents would never find them; it was equally likely that she wouldn't find them either even if she could get free, but once she got far enough away, the Hallows would follow her.

The black-outs made it difficult to keep track of time, and Cathryn estimated she had been in the lab for somewhere between four and six days when she was finally released from the metal frame. The guards had to hold her upright as a series of restraints were strapped on.

By the time her wrists were secured to a chain that ran between the metal bands about her throat and waist, Cathryn had regained control of her limbs, although her pace was considerably slower than that of the guards as she followed them out of the lab and through the maze of corridors.

As soon as she stepped out of the lab, Cathryn's skin erupted in goose pimples. The lab's temperature, it seemed, was strictly regulated - most likely so that their science wouldn't be ruined. Her scowl deepened, but she wasn't allowed to dwell on her anger; the guards had decided she was moving too slowly, and with the barrel of a gun pressed between her shoulder blades, she had no choice but to devote all her depleted energy towards forcing her legs to move faster.

Their final destination was an office, small and sparsely furnished though Cathryn wouldn't have cared what the décor was like even if it'd been identical to Dumbledore's; the only part of the office that she cared about was the window, a slender, single pane of glass that reflected the profile of the man bent over the desk.

So, it's night, Cathryn realized. She hadn't been sure, and somehow just knowing where the sun was - or wasn't - made her feel less hopeless; not knowing whether it was night or day was more disorienting than she would have expected.

Cathryn allowed the soldiers to force her into a chair, the chains clinking when they settled into her lap; her attention was fixed on the window, wishing someone would put out the light so that she'd be able to see more than just the reflection of a man she would rather be dead, or at the very least, in prison.

The soldiers situated themselves on either side of her; she continued to ignore them, and the man at the desk continued to disregard all three of them, typing at a constant, unhurried pace.

Close to five minutes passed before the man shifted the laptop so that it wasn't in his line of sight. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled on the desk, and focused on her, eyes lingering on the metal band around her neck. She waited for him to speak, her mind scrambling to find some way to turn this confrontation to her advantage.

Finally, the man sighed, unclasped his monocle from its frame, and polished it with a cloth from his desk.

The monocle was refastened with an almost silent click. "My scientists have reached a dead end with their research."

Cathryn raised her eyebrows. Only when it seemed that the man required some sort of verbal reply did she clear her throat. The man waved his hand towards her gag, and one of the soldiers removed it. Cathryn cleared her throat again, and said, "My sympathies to them."

The man chuckled. "They are only finished because I have denied them several procedures that might cause irreparable damage to the subject."

Cathryn forced herself to count to ten before replying. "My thanks for the interference," she said lightly, though the words stuck in the back of her throat and made her want to gag.

The man nodded approvingly. "I am pleased that you are appreciative of my efforts. I am also interested in the results of some of the procedures. The previous subjects have not fared well, but I am sure you would survive. It is best," he continued, "not to take such risks with such a valuable asset, not when there are other purposes to which it can be applied."

Cathryn closed her eyes briefly. She knew blackmail when she heard it, even when it was so politely couched in scientific jargon. After a hesitation where her Gryffindor and Slytherin aspects warred against each other, she asked, "What do you want from me?"

With an intense expression, the man leaned forward in his chair, hands flat on the desk. "How long have you had your powers? Where did you learn to control them? What is your focus made of - who made it, you or someone else? Where did you disappear to at age eleven? Why does your family not remember you, but old classmates and teachers do? Why choose the name 'Black'? Are you a mutant?"

It was an easy decision, and the lies spilled from her lips. She'd had a lot of time to come up with plausible stories. "I've always had my powers, and I ran away shortly after my eleventh birthday to learn to control them. Nobody taught me. I moved constantly. I made the stick. It's holly and one of my feathers. When I figured out how, I returned to my Aunt's house and wiped their memories of me. I like the color black. I don't know if I'm a mutant - you should probably ask your scientists." She paused, mentally cataloged the questions he'd asked, and then added, "What's your name? I'm rather partial to 'megalomaniacal pseudo-scientist Hitler-wanna-be', but it's getting difficult to keep calling you that in my head."

The man's smile, which had grown at each of her answers, became rather fixed. "I am Baron von Strucker. You are a liar."

"Why would I lie?"

"To protect others. You hero-types are easy to predict. Are you part of SHIELD?"

Cathryn snorted. "It doesn't exist anymore. And no, I'm not, and I never was. They blackmailed me into joining the Avengers."

Strucker gave her a bland smile. "Tell me about the Avengers."

"I worked with them for less than two days. I hardly know them."

"Another lie." Strucker turned the laptop around so that Cathryn could see the screen. A large photo of herself and Steve strolling through Central Park, hand-in-hand, took up the screen. Strucker tapped a key, and the photo was replaced by one of herself, Steve, and Natasha standing outside of a theater, and then one of her setting a Steve's usual breakfast before him; the two of them laughing at some long-forgotten joke; Steve leaning against the counter, watching her empty the display of unsold pastries.

The screen went black, and Strucker said coldly, "Try again. Tell me about the Avengers. Start with Captain America."

Cathryn said nothing.

"Did he know who you are?"

She yawned.

"He didn't. You told him, and he left." Strucker grinned cruelly when Cathryn froze midway through stretching her legs. "If we'd known who you were, you never would have gotten away after SHIELD was destroyed. We know that you had to have had some sort of warning - was it Rogers, then? Some amount of team loyalty remained, even if it was you." Strucker nodded to himself. "What do you know about Thor?"

Cathryn rattled her chains. When Strucker opened his mouth to ask another question, she rattled them again, drowning out any words he might have spoken. He scowled, and she didn't bother to hide her smirk.

"Cell 4," Strucker told the soldiers. "And secure her arms behind her back. The gag is not needed."

Her cell was in another lab, although this lab appeared to be for engineers rather than scientists. She didn't pay much attention to the Hydra associates; her focus was entirely on the two cells with occupants, both of whom she recognized with little trouble.

Wanda and Pietro Maximoff inhabited adjacent cells - or at least, Cathryn assumed that the sleeping male was Pietro from what she could see of his face. Wanda met Cathryn's eyes as she was marched past the cells; the younger woman's hands idly toyed with an amorphous ball of red energy, but her eyes never wavered from Cathryn's, shifting to the other side of the cell to keep contact.

Cathryn was put in the cell to Pietro's other side. There was a bed, a toilet, and a sink, and as soon as the soldiers unbound her chains - although the bands remained about her neck and waist - Cathryn gratefully collapsed onto the bed. The thin mattress and even thinner blanket felt luxurious after days strapped to a metal frame. She was on the verge of falling asleep when she heard a soft tapping coming through the wall next to her.

She sat up and, somewhat hesitantly, tapped twice on the stone.

"Come over here." Pietro's English was better than Viktor's, and his accent was less overpowering.

Cathryn hurried to the front of the cell and pressed against the bars. "You are Pietro Maximoff?"

There was a long pause, and she considered that maybe she shouldn't have started out by showing that she knew his name. "Yes," he said at last, and she could just barely see his shoulder where it jutted through the bars of his cell. "How do you know my name?"

She glanced at the lab - only five people were there, and all of them were clustered around a computer on the far side of the room. Cathryn whispered, "Your cousin is looking for you - both of you."

"I have no cousins," Pietro responded immediately.

"Your mother's cousin is your cousin once removed," Cathryn argued back. "She visited you once, when you were very young. Her name is Yvette."

"I do not know - "

"I remember." Cathryn had to back up to the furthest side of the cell door to be able to see Wanda's hands where they draped through the bars of her cell. "Why did she send you, and not come herself?"

"She just had a baby." Cathryn added, more quietly, "Aleksandar Danail."

After a moment of silence, a flurry of Slavic flashed between the two siblings. Finally, Pietro asked, "Why did she not come for us when our parents died?"

"She didn't know. No one ever told her what had happened."

"Then why send you?" Wanda pressed, a few sparks of red flickering at the ends of her fingers. "How does our cousin know an Avenger?"

"What? Which one of those - " Pietro's demands continued in his native language, and Cathryn could only imagine the sort of questions he was asking.

Wanda's reply was simple. "Griffin."

"Ah."

"Well?" Wanda prodded, fingers trailing thick strands of energy as they stroked across the bars. Cathryn wondered why the twins were even in cages; perhaps Wanda hadn't worked out how to open a lock with her power. "How do you know our cousin."

"I competed against her husband in a Tournament. We stayed friends afterwards, and I'm their children's godmother."

"There are - " Pietro fell silent, and the three of them watched as two soldiers hurried past the cells, barely sparing them a glance. " - more than one?" Pietro finished.

"A girl," Cathryn agreed. "Ekaterina."

Wanda scoffed, but Pietro reached through his bars towards Cathryn; she froze until his hand found hers. His fingers were warm - too warm, almost - but far more human than the gloved hands of the scientists. "They are safe?" he asked.

"Yes." Pietro's hand dropped back to his own cell. "Hydra will never find them."

"Never say never," Wanda muttered from her cell. Her hands vanished from view. A few seconds later, red flickering light cast shadows on the floor.

Cathryn frowned, and then asked quietly, "Has she always been able to do that?"

"No," Pietro answered curtly. "It is - "

One of the Hyrda engineers moved to the table closest to the cells, and Pietro fell silent. A few seconds later, Cathryn heard a faint thumping against the wall; she returned to her bed, but sleep eluded her. Instead, she gazed out at the lab, staring sightlessly at the computer screen.

Cathryn realized that she must have fallen asleep at some point, because she was woken by the loud screech of her cell door swinging open. Two soldiers were hoisting her from her bed before she could process what was happening, and they carried her for a few steps until she managed to get her feet under her.

"What's going on?"

She received no answer - she hadn't expected to - and did her best to figure it out on her own as she was escorted through several doors that were opened remotely as they approached. Cathryn counted nine cameras in the four hallways she was marched down.

The last door - or rather, series of doors, because the space between them was too small to count as a hallway - opened to a wide room with padded walls. Wanda and Pietro were on the far side of the room, leaning on one another in a sort of half-hug as they spoke in hushed voices.

The soldiers let Cathryn go so suddenly that she nearly stumbled. They situated themselves on either side of the door, joining six more of their peers.

She took a step towards the door, and all eight of the soldiers stiffened, hands dropping to their guns. "Whoa - no need to get worked up about it!" She immediately backed up, moving towards the center of the room. The further away from the door she was, the more relaxed the guards seemed.

"They shot the last person who tried to leave." Cathryn flinched; she hadn't heard Pietro moving across the room. Wanda was still on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with a scowl on her face as she watched her brother and Cathryn. "Real bullets," Pietro added.

"That's nice. What exactly do they want us to do in here?"

Pietro shrugged. "I mostly run. Wanda plays with her power. They probably want you to exercise whatever powers you've got."

Cathryn chuckled, giving the guards a malicious sneer. "I highly doubt that," she muttered. Pietro laughed. "And what do you mean, you run?"

He smirked, winked, and then vanished. Cathryn gasped - had he just Apparated?! But - no. A blur traced around the perimeter of the room, and the guards all leaned back, as if pushed by a strong wind.

Cathryn blinked rapidly, and the blur separated slightly - an elbow, white-blonde hair streaming back, a hand braced against the floor to make a sharp turn. "Bloody hell."

Pietro solidified, skidding slightly as he came to a stop in front of her. "I run," he said, not even breathing heavily.

"Yeah," Cathryn agreed.

"Move." Wanda shouldered past her brother, hands trailing wisps of red through the air as she reached out and grabbed Cathryn's face, fingers digging into her scalp.

"Wanda, don't!" Pietro's panic was unexpected.

"What are you - " Cathryn started. The pain caught her off guard. It had been years since anyone had attempted to Legilimize her, and this was only vaguely reminiscent of the sensation; if not for the pain of her Occlumency barriers crushing dangerously inwards, Cathryn wouldn't have even noticed that someone was trying to get into her head. She let out a small cry of pain before she could get hold of herself. "Stop," she ground out, hands at Wanda's wrists in an attempt to pry the woman's hands away from her skin.

"Wanda - " Pietro joined in Cathryn's efforts. "Remember what happened last time!"

"Don't tell me," Cathryn panted. Wanda's energy was almost like magic, although Cathryn knew instinctively that it was not at all the same as the magic she'd grown up learning. That had been refined by thousands of years of research; this was coarse - a hammer instead of a needle.

Pietro's hands vanished, and then Wanda was tumbling across the padded floor, Pietro wrapped around her.

Cathryn sank to the ground, cradling her head in her hands. She'd never had a headache so bad - not even the horcrux-headaches compared. She wouldn't be surprised if she began bleeding from her ears, and she very much wished that one of the guards would dope her up with whatever drugs they had used to abduct her in the first place.

The ground indented slightly next to her, and Cathryn flinched away. "Why can't I get in?" Wanda sounded genuinely confused.

"Cathryn is a witch." She was almost glad to hear Strucker's voice from the way Wanda leapt to her feet. And then he continued speaking, and she wished he would stop; every word sent red dots spinning across the backs of her eyelids. "It would seem that her own powers act as a block to yours. Shall we test the theory?"

She was hauled to her feet again, and her hands were dragged from her face. It took her a few seconds to bring Strucker's features into focus.

"Keep your eyes on me," Strucker told her. He gripped her chin between his fingers and turned her head first to the left, and then to the right, before brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. She tried to push him away, but the hands around her arms tightened "I will be very upset if you have permanently harmed her," he said disapprovingly, still not looking away. "I have many plans for her."

"Sorry." Wanda didn't sound particularly contrite.

"You should be." Strucker's men finally let go, and Cathryn shakily brushed at her skin. She'd been humiliated by the scientists, but she'd never felt unclean with them; they'd been professional about everything. "She is your teacher." He patted Cathryn's shoulder, and then strode away; the doors opened as he approached, the guards all with their guns pointed at Pietro, who lounged exaggeratedly in the far corner of the room.

As soon as the doors closed, Wanda turned her scowl on Cathryn. "There is nothing I can learn from you."

"I'm inclined to agree," Cathryn snapped, "Seeing as you've got the subtlety of a two-year-old in a sweet shop."

"I told you that you're trying too hard," Pietro called out from his corner, cutting Wanda short before she could even open her mouth. In a blur of motion, he joined the two of them in the middle of the room. "You just need to - "

"You don't understand!" Wanda hissed, rounding on her brother. "Yours is easy - you've been able to run all your life!"

Pietro frowned. "I had to learn to move all over again. It took me weeks to be able to walk normally."

Wanda scowled, turning away from her brother. Pietro just shrugged and dashed away. Cathryn counted him passing behind Wanda three times before she spoke.

"Sorry." Wanda seemed genuinely apologetic.

"Sure." Cathryn slowly sat, lowering herself to hands and knees before settling into a comfortable position.

Wanda flopped onto the floor next to her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Except for a headache the size of Neptune and a growing need to vomit.

"Great." Wanda combed her fingers through her hair. "What are we starting with?"

Cathryn gave a humorless chuckle. "You actually think I'm going to teach you?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Behind Wanda, Pietro slowed down enough that he was no longer just a blur of color, although now seemed like she was seeing him through a sheet of falling water.

"I don't know you. Why should I teach you - I don't know what you're going to do with the knowledge, and that's even assuming I can teach you. Your powers aren't like mine. I don't do what you do."

"Strucker won't be happy." Pietro joined them on the floor, laying his head in Wanda's lap and stretching his legs towards the door. Cathryn had to squint whenever she looked at him; his hair was too bright.

"Another reason not to teach you."

Wanda winced. "If Strucker says to do something, do it," she warned.

"It's easier," Pietro added.

"It's a good thing I've never been one for the easy road."

Pietro said something in their native language. Wanda looked like she wanted to argue, but a few more words from her brother had her scowling but nodding. She glanced at the guards, and then leaned towards Cathryn, dislodging her brother to better situate her mouth next to Cathryn's ear. "It hurts me too. I can't control it all the time."

"But you can choose who you use it on," Cathryn whispered heatedly, head throbbing.

"Please." Wanda reached out. Her fingertips had only barely brushed the skin of Cathryn's arm when the spark flared; a frisson of untamed energy raced up her arm, leaving her hair standing on end. Cathryn leaned away from the twins and vomited.

"Get her out." Strucker's voice came from everywhere.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!"

Cathryn couldn't reply. Her limbs were trembling, and her legs gave out as soon as one of the guards pulled her upright. In the end, she was slung over one of the guards' shoulders and carried from the room.

The jolting of the guard's gait was the final straw, and Cathryn welcomed the darkness that blanketed her vision and protected her from the overwhelming pain in her head.

Her first thought upon waking was that she'd drunk far too much alcohol. Her next thought was that it had been more than fifteen years since she'd had a hangover like this, since she was literally unable to get hangovers, all of which culminated in the rapid influx of what - or more precisely, who - was responsible for her still-considerable headache.

Cathryn lay perfectly still. Not too far away, she could hear quiet conversations and an odd tapping noise that she eventually recognized as someone - or someones - typing.

When she finally opened her eyes a good fifteen minutes after waking, they alit on the door to her cell only briefly before settling on the large, very bright window at the far end of the room. She didn't know how she'd missed it the day before, but there it was, sunlight streaming through at an impressive slant.

If there was a window, there was a way out. All she had to do was get out of her cell and out the window fast enough that the soldiers wouldn't be able to respond in time.

Cathryn rolled to a sitting position. The metal band bit into her waist. She pulled up her shirt and considered it, and then looked once more at the cell door.

She sighed and let her shirt fall back into place.

"This is a terrible idea," she told herself. It's also my only idea. "Fine," she grumbled. She reached out and knocked twice on the wall. When there was no reply, she knocked again.

"You awake?"

Cathryn shuffled to the bars, standing far enough away from their shared wall to be able to see most of Pietro's face. "I'll do it," she said tiredly.

"What?"

"I'll teach her."

A grin split his face, and her vanished between one beat of her heart and the next. His knocking on the wall was so rapid that it almost sounded like a single long drone.

"Shut up!" Wanda yelled. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

"She said yes!" Pietro was back at the bars, looking towards Wanda's cell.

Red-cloaked hands wrapped around the bars a few seconds later. "Griffin?"

Cathryn grimaced, but didn't correct her. She didn't particularly like Wanda, but she needed her; she didn't need to be friends with her, so there was no need for familiarity. "Yes."

She heard a quick mutter of something that could have been a prayer.

"Nothing with mind-magic," Cathryn called across Pietro's cell. "I don't need to lose any more hours."

"Days," Pietro corrected sheepishly with a glance towards his sister's hands. "Two." He looked as though he expected her to change her mind.

"It doesn't matter," Cathryn said. And really, what did it matter. It wasn't like she didn't have time to spare.

Pietro grinned, relief stark in his expression. "It's good you're awake," he said quietly, moving towards the wall and lowering his voice. She approached the wall as well. "She's been worried that you wouldn't get better."

"Why?" Cathryn blurted out. She didn't like Wanda; she'd though the sentiment was mutual.

Even though she couldn't see him, Cathryn could picture Pietro's shrug. "She thinks that you're the only person who can help her." Cathryn scoffed quietly. "I agree."

"You could help her," she pointed out in a whisper.

"She won't listen to me." She felt a vibration in the wall and realized that he'd kicked it. "She wouldn't have gone through with it if I hadn't made her."

Cathryn frowned. "Gone through with what?" she asked slowly.

Pietro didn't answer, and Cathryn didn't get the chance to ask again.

Within ten minutes of agreeing to teach her, Cathryn stood next to Wanda in an entirely concrete room. "Are there any tools I can provide?" Strucker asked, eyes flicking towards the corner of the ceiling with the camera. He nodded at the camera, and then returned his attention to Cathryn. "Within reason, of course."

Cathryn rattled off the list that she'd settled on in the past few minutes. "A small glass ball, eight metal rings - two inch diameter - and some wire."

"No wire," Strucker said. "But the other items are fine."

They waited in silence - except for the occasional rustle fabric when the guards shifted positions - until, barely four minutes later, the door opened and a flushed young man entered.

"Sir," the man said, offering Strucker a plastic cup.

Strucker gestured towards Cathryn, and the young man gingerly passed it to her, making sure not to let his hand touch hers.

With a salute and a sharp, "Heil Hydra," to Strucker, the young man left as hurriedly as he'd arrived. Strucker and the soldiers followed in his footsteps a few seconds later.

"Well?" Wanda all but demanded as soon as the door was shut - and loudly bolted shut - behind the men. "What are those for?"

Cathryn glanced up at the camera. "What sort of training have you been doing?"

Wanda held out her hands and frowned. Slowly, a sphere of the red energy formed above her cupped palms.

Cathryn fished the marble out of the cup and then dumped the metal rings onto the ground. Wanda flinched at the unexpected noise, and the energy dissipated in a fraction of the time it'd taken to gather.

"Why did you do that?!"

"You need to be able to concentrate on other things at the same time, and you can't allow a sudden noise to ruin your work. Start again."

Cathryn crouched to collect the metal. The energy collated faster the second time. "Show me what you usually do."

Wanda began manipulating the red sphere. Whenever it touched the cement, a faint scorch mark appeared. She stretched the energy into long tendrils, sending them dancing through the air; fistfuls of the plasma were thrown at the walls, leaving shallow pock-marks behind. When Wanda began to smile, the energy crackling halfway up her arms, Cathryn shouted, "Catch!" and tossed two of the rings at Wanda.

One of them clattered to the ground; the other hovered barely and inch from the floor. A single strand of energy remained; the rest of the amassed substance had vanished in Wanda's distraction.

"Better," Cathryn allowed, wishing that she had access to her own magic. It would make this much easier. "Pick that one up from the ground."

"I can't. I can only do one - "

"Pick it up. The other option is that I keep on throwing these at you until you catch another one or drop the one you've already got. Your choice."

Wanda scowled, but said nothing. Slowly, the red haze around the floating ring bulged towards the ring on the floor. The energy was halfway to the second ring when it flickered, and then vanished, sending the other ring to join its fellow on the floor.

"Again. Catch."

Wanda didn't have enough time to gather her magic before the rings hit the floor.

"Again."

Only one clatter of metal on cement. Cathryn grinned. "Pick them up."

Hours later, when they were finally escorted back to their cells, Cathryn found a new set of clothes lain out on her bed. Despite her irritation - she didn't want the reward - Cathryn switched out the thin medical garb for the new outfit. She would blend in easier when she escaped if her clothes didn't look like they belonged in a hospital.

She was woken the next morning by a soldier carrying actual food, not the nutrient-dense slop she'd been fed for the past however-many-days she'd been there. It wasn't spectacularly prepared by any measure - Cathryn had made better poached eggs by the time she was five, and the toast was hardly deserving of the name - but it was a hundred times better than gruel-through-a-straw.

As she was marched back to the room alongside Wanda, Cathryn had to raise her estimation of Strucker. He was cleverer than she'd given him credit for - manipulative, almost, to make her appreciative for the clothes and the food. It also gave him something to punish her with; if she'd planned on staying long enough to get used to the upgraded meal plan, it would be disheartening to have the nutrient slop once more.

Wanda progressed at a phenomenal rate. By the third day, she was spinning six of the eight rings around her like leaves pulled into a dust devil.

It was a matter of two more days of practice to progress to holding the rings still in the air and directing the glass orb through them.

Each day of lessons resulted in luxuries. On the third day, Cathryn was allowed to take a bath; supervised, of course, but still a bath. After the fifth day, her bed was augmented with an additional pillow and a thicker blanket.

On the sixth day, Cathryn presented Wanda with a single metal ring and said, "Fold it flat." At Wanda's confused expressed, she explained, "Make a cut here - " she tapped a spot on the ring " - and then flatten the ring into a wire."

"I can't. It doesn't work like that. I can only explode things."

"So make a small explosion."

Wanda crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "I will try, but only if you teach me how to control the mind - "

"No," Cathryn cut her off. This wasn't the first time Wanda had brought up the topic of her telepathic abilities; the few people she'd experimented on in the past had never completely recovered. From what Cathryn understood of her recountings of her experiences in other people's minds, Wanda's power was similar to Legilimancy, but far more potent. Legilimens could see memories and sometimes thoughts or emotions; expert Legilimens could implant false memories or induce certain patterns of thought, but only through vague impressions or as dreams. Above all, a Legilimens had to be painstakingly precise in their work - nothing could be left to chance.

Wanda's power could do everything a Legilimens could do, but also allowed for the subject's own input. A Legilimens had to know their victim's greatest fear before forcing them to live though a waking nightmare; Wanda didn't need to know. She could implant the idea of fear, and the unlucky person would have their imagination fuel a nightmare beyond any that Wanda might dream up.

Cathryn wasn't going to let Wanda anywhere near her mind, and Wanda didn't seem inclined to force the matter lest she incur Strucker's anger. "If you apply the finesse you've learned in the past few days, you should find that you have more control over that part of your power too, but I'm not going to let you practice on me."

Wanda stared at Cathryn a moment longer, and then huffed. "Fine. Tell me again what you want me to do?"

Two days later, Cathryn knew that Wanda was ready - it only remained to be seen if she was willing to help Cathryn escape.

She resolved to ask her in the training room. Cathryn knew where the camera was located in the concrete room; she'd yet to catch a glimpse of the camera - or even cameras - the she knew had to be in or around her cell.

The soldier who typically came by with her breakfast never showed. A seed of unease niggled at the back of her mind, but Cathryn wrote it off as some sort of miscommunication, or just an honest mistake.

When the soldiers collected her later in the morning, however, Wanda didn't join them, and the unease bloomed into doubt. Cathryn slowed down in front of Wanda's cell, but soldier behind her shoved her forward, gently but still with enough force that Cathryn knew they weren't going to be collecting the other witch.

"Where are we going?" None of the four guards answered. "Can any of you speak English?" Again, no answer. "I don't believe that you can't - I know for a fact that everyone under the age of sixty in Novi Grad has at least a basic understanding of English, and unless you're just a bunch of lost farmer's sons - "

"Baron von Strucker wants to see you." The guard just behind her spoke - in an American accent. Cathryn nearly tripped over her own feet as she began to turn. A strong hand on the back of her neck stopped her. "Just shut up and walk."

Cathryn shut up for nearly half a minute. "Why are you here?"

"Shut up."

"Not that Americans are automatically anti-psychopaths, because I'm sure there's a cult following for psychopaths somewhere in that ridiculously oversized country, but really, Hydra? If you have to work for a terrorist agency, you could at least show some self-respect and choose something like - "

If she hadn't gotten her hands up in time, Cathryn would have broken her nose on the wall.

"Watch where you're going," the American growled as he shoved her back to the middle of the corridor. "And if you don't shut the fuck up, next time you're clumsy it'll be on a staircase."

One of the soldiers in front of Cathryn shifted uncertainly. "Said no harm." He shrank under the American's angry glare.

"Move!" the American barked.

Strucker was speaking Russian to his computer when Cathryn entered the office. By the time she was forced into the same chair as last time, Strucker had the laptop closed and sported a pleasant smile.

"You have done very well with the female Maximoff," Strucker began bluntly, still with the polite smile. "I hope you have enjoyed the gifts that your cooperation has earned?" He didn't wait for a response. "Now that she has learned what you are able to teach her, there is no need for any more lessons."

"I'm not - " Cathryn tried to cut in, but Strucker ignored her interruption.

"My scientists have used the time to design an experiment in which you play an integral part. It is not painful, I promise." His smile broadened, and Cathryn was reminded uncomfortably of Umbridge just before the toadish woman had handed her the Blood Quill.

"I won't," she said firmly.

Strucker's smile changed. Before, it had been a mask; now, it was real, and the anticipation in it made the back of her neck prickle. "That is unfortunate. As you have seen, it is easier for both of us when you cooperate." He raised a hand from the desk and signaled the soldiers.

Cathryn bolted from the chair, aiming for the window. Her instincts were screaming at her to get as far away as possible; even the strong probability of dying from having her ribs splintered and her neck constricted to the point of crushing her esophagus was better than whatever experiment Strucker's scientists had cooked up.

She got as far as the desk before she was tackled to the ground. "Move, and I'll blow your brains out."

Damn American.

"I need her alive, Agent."

"It's a tranq, sir."

"Excellent work. Sedate her, and make sure she doesn't wake up."

Cathryn bucked, but without magic, she was just a woman, and neither exceptionally large nor strong. Two more soldiers joined the American, and any chance of her escaping vanished.

The gun pressed against her thigh; the muzzle jerked as the gun made a faint pop. Her leg felt like it'd been hit with a tiny but extremely dense Bludger.

Everything went fuzzy. She reached instinctively for the mental trigger for her transformation; her skin rippled in expectation of change, and she heard dim shouts as the hands vanished for an instance, and -

Cold. There was only one source of such bone-deep chill. They weren't close enough yet to make her hear her mother's dying screams, but they would be soon unless she stopped them. "Ex - expecto - expecto - "

Bony hands gripped her wrists.

"No - Sirius! Sirius!"

Burning warmth stabbed at the side of her neck.

"Si - ri - "

This cell was different. It was smaller; the stone was darker; impossibly, the bed was less comfortable than the table in the science room had been.

Most of all, it was cold. Her hair had been shaved, the blankets were insufficient, and her clothes thin.

She wondered if this was what Azkaban was like. Logically, she knew Azkaban was worse - it had dementors, so it had to be a hundred times worse - but this had to be as close as it was possible to get.

It was impossible to keep track of days. Even the cells of Azkaban had windows: the better to freeze the prisoners with wind and rain from the North Sea.

Cathryn was able to piece together how long she'd been awake from a whispered conversation by two of the scientists who'd come with her injection.

"What if he finds out we were late?"

"He won't. It's fifteen minutes - that's, what, one point four percent? Statistically insignificant."

It took her muddled mind far too long to make the mathematical calculations, but every second spent puzzling over the fractions was one more second she wasn't fighting to not fall asleep, because sleep only brought nightmares the likes of which she'd never seen.

Cathryn was no stranger to bad dreams. Some of her first memories were of waking up in the cupboard, crying and frightened of bright green light for reasons she hadn't understood at the time. Later, bodies were added to the panoply of terror. Cedric, Sirius, Ginny; Dumbledore, Voldemort, Fred. At least she understood why they were there.

These dreams were utterly alien. There was no explanation for them, aside from the sheer mind-numbing horror of bleak stone, an aeonian void, and insidious chill.

Awake, she only had to deal with the perpetual frigidity.

Every eighteen hours, the scientists came with the glowing blue syringe and a tube of nutrient-mush.

If she fought, she was knocked out by soldiers and the nourishment - she refused to call it food, because to do so was an insult to even the meanest of meals - was withheld.

If she sat quietly while they shoved the needle into her lower back, she was allowed to eat.

She fought the first two times; she'd woken screaming her throat raw both times.

After that, she listlessly allowed the scientists to direct her to the proper position for the injection.

It was easier to stay awake when she'd eaten.

Days passed. Occasionally, her exhaustion overcame her and she slept for short snatches, waking up screaming after no more than two hours.

Awareness blurred into dreams, and at times she wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep.

Once she dreamed that Pietro and Wanda stood outside her cell, the door open and inviting. Another time she was awake, on the precipice of a gaping chasm filled with icy stars, when the scientists came and filled their syringe with frigid starlight and pumped it into her blood.

She'd never thought of stars as cold before.

Every so often, she was taken out of the cell for testing.

The scientists never took her very far - just a few yards down the stone corridor - but the trip always left Cathryn shaking and weak.

The tests were more painful than the injections. She was electrocuted, burned, drowned, and choked. Once, they sat a massive bucket of water on her chest until she couldn't breathe. They said it was to wake any mutations in her genome; Cathryn only vaguely aware of what a genome was, and couldn't think of why hers would have a mutation. She was perfectly normal, Aunt Petunia said so.

Once, when the testing took place almost directly after an injection, it wasn't scientists who tested her, but the rotting corpses of her friends and family, even those she had last seen alive. She cried for hours, and the eventually the corpses took her back to her cell.

Her head felt clearer than it'd been for weeks. Cathryn uncurled herself from the corner she'd been backed into by the gaping maw of … she wasn't sure what it'd been, but it'd been sufficiently terrifying to make her hide in the most protected place in her cell.

She shuffled weakly to the cell door, pressing her ear to the door, wishing she could see something - anything. She sighed, and was already pulling away from the door when she heard rapid footsteps.

Cathryn sank onto her bed just as the lock clicked, and then the door opened. The scientists didn't waste any time. They seemed worried - her mind flickered: if the scientists were worried, they might not be as careful as usual. She readied herself to resist them.

"Put zhem on," the shorter of the two scientists commanded as four soldiers filed into the room. Familiar leather straps were procured.

Cathryn sat still as they put them on. She was too tired to do anything else - against a pair of unsuspecting scientists, she'd had a fraction of a chance of success. Against four soldiers? A few weeks ago she might have fought. Now she was - Cathryn flinched at the thought, but it was true. She was defeated. After everything it'd been through, it'd taken a bunch of muggles and some glowing blue medicine to beat her; Voldemort would've been aghast at being outdone by muggles.

She smiled to herself at the thought of Voldemort's embarrassment, and then relished the mental pictures of what he would've done to the muggles if it'd been him here.

The soldiers moved efficiently, strapping her to the bed. When they were done, they moved away, only for the taller scientist to motion them back. He gave them a command in German, and the soldiers spread out. One of them held down her shoulders; another braced her head. The other two took her legs, one at her hips and the other at her shins.

As the scientists moved closer, uncapping the syringe of glowing serum, Cathryn immediately regretted not fighting.

"Please - "

The shorter scientist reached out, hands protected by purple gloves, and spread her eyelid. He put four drops of liquid from a nondescript white bottle onto her eye and then began to count.

"Please, don't!"

They ignored her. At 'zwanzig', the first scientist nodded to the other. Cathryn found herself holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut as the needle descended. Only one eye closed. She tried to move her other eye, but it didn't respond.

It was disconcerting, watching the needle blur as her eye began to water.

She felt the pressure of the needle against her eye, and then an odd sensation as the needle sank into the inner part of her eyeball. More pressure, this time from inside her eye as the liquid was expelled from the syringe at a slow but steady rate.

By the time the scientist withdrew the needle, Cathryn had almost grown accustomed to it's being there. It was only a few second later before whatever drug they'd given her wore off; she squeezed her second eyelid shut, blinking furiously and wishing she could move her eye, just to make sure it still worked.

After a brief exchange of words with the soldiers, the scientists left. The soldiers lingered for ten minutes, continuing to hold her still, and then exited. They didn't remove the straps.

Cathryn waited for the first effects of the drug to kick in - the odd tingling in her extremities, and the feeling that she was being watched - but they didn't appear.

She lay on the bed for a long time. When she was able to move her eye - maybe five minutes after the soldiers had left - she rolled it experimentally; nothing seemed out of order. She wished she could use her arm to rub at her eye, to feel if anything felt wrong. Hopefully when the scientists returned, they'd take the straps with them.

In the absence of the normal onset of nightmarish visions, Cathryn allowed her exhaustion to pull her into what was, for the first time in more than two weeks, the safety of sleep.

A surge of electricity crackled over her magic like a second skin. The novelty of feeling anything with her magic after so much time of nothing - because not even Wanda's peculiar brand of magic had excited hers like this - jolted Cathryn awake.

The scientists hadn't returned, which she was happy about, but that also meant that she didn't get fed, which, after at least a day of no food (depending on how long she'd been asleep), she was less happy about.

"Hello?" She couldn't hear anything, but that was no reason for -

"Hello?"

"Pietro?" Cathryn turned her head towards the door, wishing that it was made of bars like the door to her previous cell.

"And Wanda," came a more feminine voice. "Your friends are attacking us."

"My fri - " Cathryn's heart rate sped up and her mouth went dry. "The Avengers."

"Yes," Pietro said quickly. "We are going to fight them."

"Don't - you'll just get - "

"We can match them," Wanda cut her off. "It is what we have been training for."

Cathryn's brain scrambled to process the information. She'd only known the twins for a handful of days, and yet their declaration felt like betrayal. "Why?" she finally managed to ask. "Why fight for Hydra?"

"Stark," was the hissed reply, from both of them.

"He is the reason our parents are dead," Wanda added, her voice just barely loud enough for Cathryn to hear. "One of his bombs collapsed our building while we ate dinner. Our parents died. A second shell landed in our kitchen. We stared at it for three days, waiting for it to go off with every shift of rubble as our neighbors dug us out."

"I'm sorry," Cathryn offered.

"We are too." Pietro sounded rushed. "If we win, we will return, and you will take us to our cousin."

"You should escape. Don't come back. If you can get away from Hydra, do it."

"They are leaving also," Wanda cut in.

"We will come back, or we will tell one of your friends that you are here."

"We have to go. Now, Pietro."

"Don't kill them!" Cathryn called out. For two long seconds, there was no reply, and she thought they'd left.

And then, "We will not kill them," Pietro agreed.

"Thank you." There was no reply, and she knew that they were gone. "Don't die," she whispered.

A few minutes later, the entire building shuddered.

Five minutes passed, and then ten more.

Light, rapid footsteps ran past the door. "Hey!" The footsteps stopped, and then raced closed.

"Cathryn."

She closed her eyes. Of all the Avengers - but of course it was Steve. She swallowed. "Yeah."

"Hold on, I'm coming in. Keep back from the door."

"Not a problem," she muttered sarcastically, and then added in a louder voice, "I'm good."

The door buckled. A fist-shaped bulge took up most of the middle. It took Steve two more punches to crumple the door enough for it to lose its integrity and fall to the ground with a metallic thud.

Steve stepped over the door with his shield up, eyes flicking left and right and up before he slid the shield into its holder. "I got eyes. We'll be clear in five."

He was at her side in seconds, fingers working nimbly at the straps. She tried to catch his eyes, but he wasn't looking at her.

"Steve - "

"Later."

"Can I just - "

He lowered his voice and said, "We'll talk when we're alone." He tapped his ear, and Cathryn's eyes widened.

"Oh." As soon as he undid the straps around her wrists, she helping, working at the strap around her waist.

Steve helped her sit up when the last strap was undone. Her head spun at the change in elevation after so many hours of laying in the same position.

"What's this?" His finger skated over the metal band around her neck.

"Insurance," she grimaced, ignoring the way his touch left her skin hypersensitive. "If I transform, there's no guarantee the iron will transform with me. I rather like my neck the size it is."

His jaw tightened, and Cathryn could nearly see the effort it was taking Steve to keep his words to himself. "Can you walk?"

In answer, Cathryn stood. She made it four steps before Steve caught up to her and slung her arm over his shoulders, even though he had to hunch down a little for her to be able to reach. "I can walk."

"We need to move faster. Clint's been shot, and we need to - "

"Right, never mind. Do what you need to."

He swept her into his arms and strode easily from the room. Cathryn remembered the last time he'd carried her - that time, she'd been a more active participant, with her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist -

She shook her head. "How bad is it?"

"Non-fatal."

"Good. That's - shit."

She heard a tinny, "Language!" from Steve's earpiece.

"Was that - ?"

"Ignore him," Steve muttered, slowing down at a corner. "What's wrong?" he added once he'd checked for Hydra soldiers.

"They have my things."

"Your things?"

"My wands. My suit. All of it."

Steve slowed down. "You guys got all of that?" There was a chorus of 'yes's from his earpiece. "Clint? How bad are you?"

"I'll live." His voice was tight.

"We'll come back for it," Natasha said firmly.

"It could be dangerous," Stark's voice sounded louder than the other's had. "What if they make something from it?"

"They can't." Cathryn prodded Steve to get him to move faster. "They never were able to get into my trunk, and they don't dare do anything more than a few basic scans on the wand that they've got at risk of ruining it. I agree with Natasha. I'll come back for it."

Steve snorted derisively, and Cathryn paused. That wasn't a sound she'd ever heard from him. "Steve?" she asked, at the same time as Stark asked, "Cap?"

"We take off in four minutes," he said as they exited the building; he broke into a fast job. Cathryn closed her eyes against the glare of the sun. It'd been so long since she'd been outside that she'd forgotten how good the sunlight felt on her skin.

She only opened her eyes when she felt the coolness of shadows sliding across her skin. Steve was on high alert, eyes flicking from tree to tree in search of hidden enemies. There were a few scratches on his helmet, and his chin had some dirt smudged on it, but aside from that, he seemed unharmed.

"I - " she began, but Steve cut her off.

"Thor," he greeted, his footsteps changing from the quick crackle of dead leaves to hollow thumps.

Cathryn looked away from Steve in time to catch a glimpse of the exterior of a small jet, Thor standing in the doorway, before the god turned and preceded the two of them inside.

"Put her there," Natasha commanded, nodding to a padded bench just next to where Hawkeye was lain out.

"I'd rather sit," Cathryn said, catching a glimpse of the straps that held Hawkeye's legs to the bench. "There's really nothing wrong with me."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but only said, "Find a spot, and stay there." She stalked to the front of the jet, joining Stark in the cockpit.

Hawkeye was less tactful. "You look like a good wind would push you over." He frowned as Steve carried her past his bench.

Steve didn't set her down until he could deposit her directly in one of the four chairs just to the side of the benches. Dr. Banner nodded at her in welcome before returning to his apparently troublesome thoughts.

"We're up!" Stark warned from the cockpit. "Three, two, one!"

Cathryn was glad for the chair as gravity shoved her down. Behind her, she could hear Thor and Steve staggering slightly as they adjusted their pace to the increased pressure.

When the jet leveled out, Cathryn turned in her seat to watch the others. Steve had taken off his helmet and was inspecting the Clint's field-dressing while Thor and Natasha watched.

Thor caught her eye, and after a moment of staring, inclined his head towards her. She gave him a wan smile in return. He frowned slightly and murmured something to Steve, who glanced over at her, nodded, and replied in just as quiet a voice. Natasha blinked and looked from Cathryn, to a glowing blue box by the ramp, and then back to Thor.

Cathryn saw her lips form the words, "Are you sure?"

Thor nodded, and Cathryn turned her head to stare at the box. The shade of the blue glow was familiar, and she squinted at it, trying to remember -

A large body blocked her view. Thor sat in the chair next to her. "How do you fare, Lady Griffin?"

Cathryn shrugged. "Well enough." She coughed lightly. "Do you have any - "

"Here." Natasha offered Cathryn a bottle of water and a protein bar. "Go easy on the food. Start with a bite, and see how you feel."

"Yeah!" Stark called from the front, "I don't need any vomit on my jet!"

"Thanks," Cathryn said to Natasha, accepting the food and water.

The woman shrugged and turned away, heading for Dr. Banner. Despite the long-awaited food and water in her hands, Cathryn was momentarily distracted by Steve as he moved to inspect the glowing box more closely.

It was more difficult to open the water bottle than Cathryn would ever admit, and she was on the verge of taking her first sip when she knew why the color from the box was familiar. She lowered the bottle and met Thor's eyes. "What is it? In the box - what is it?" Her voice rose as denial set in.

"The box holds Loki's scepter," Thor admitted.

Cathryn's hand shook as he brought the water bottle to her mouth and drank. A little trickled down her chin, and she wiped it off on her sleeve. "What will it do to me?" she asked after taking another sip.

Thor looked troubled. "It is difficult to know," he said at last. "If we knew its provenance, perhaps we could speculate, but its origins are as yet uncertain."

"What about your brother? Won't he know?" Behind Thor, Steve frowned in warning.

Thor flinched, nearly imperceptibly, but just enough that Cathryn could see his pain. "Loki is dead."

She froze in shock for a few seconds. "I'm sorry. He was…an interesting person."

With a dry chuckle, Thor agreed, "Yes. He was a most interesting person." He nodded towards the protein bar in her hand. "You should eat that sustenance. You will need to be strong so that you can smite your enemies." He turned to look at the box containing the scepter. "I apologize on the behalf of Asgard for your troubles."

Cathryn shrugged, trying not to get angry at the protein bar's stubborn wrapping. "Better the poison you know than the poison you don't know."

"Is it not better to not be poisoned at all?" Thor frowned.

Cathryn chuckled. "I suppose." She glared at the bar, and then thrust it at Thor. "Will you please open this?"

A noise from the back of the jet caught her attention, and she looked up in time to see Steve glaring at the scepter before turning his back to them all.

"Ah. It is like Pop-Tarts." A second later, Thor presented her with the newly-opened bar.

"Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Thor replied gravely, and then stood with a polite, "My apologies," to join Steve by the scepter's box.

Something soft brushed past her arm. Cathryn frowned at the blanket, and followed its trajectory back to Hawkeye. "You look cold," he said.

"Thanks." She grabbed the blanket with her foot, and then nearly fell as she stood to wrap it around herself.

She'd only just settled back in when Natasha called out, "Thor, report on the Hulk."

"The gates of Hel are filled with the screams of his victims."

Dr. Banner groaned, and Cathryn gave a strained smile at the look of disbelief on Natasha's face that quickly hardened into a promise of pain.

Thor backtracked. "Eh - but not the screams of the dead, of course. No, no, wounded screams. Mainly whimpering, a great deal of complaining and tales of sprained deltoids and, uh, gout."

Behind her, she heard a stifled snort. Hawkeye was pressing his lips together and staring at the ceiling in an effort not to laugh.

"Hey, Banner, Dr. Cho is on her way in from Seoul," Stark called from the cockpit. "Is it okay if she sets up in your lab?"

The reluctant amusement faded from Dr. Banner's face as he turned to reply, "Uh, yeah, she knows her way around."

"Thanks," Tony said, and then lowered his voice so that Cathryn didn't catch what his words. "Jarvis, take the wheel."

"Yes sir." Cathryn flinched, staring at the ceiling where the voice had come from. "Approach vector is locked."

"Who is that?"

"You don't remember Jarvis?" Stark asked as he passed behind her. "My AI."

She frowned, and then shook her head. "Did we meet?"

Stark nodded. "Sit tight, Merlin. Another hour or two and you'll be able to clean up." He continued on his path towards Thor and Steve.

Cathryn broke off a piece of the protein bar and tentatively ate it. It tasted better than the nutrition slop that Hydra had been feeding her, but not by much. She wondered if the two foods were at all related - they certainly weren't anything near as good as actual food.

"As soon as we find out what else this has been used for." Steve's voice broke her out of her musings. "And I'm not just talking about weapons." He met her eyes for a fraction of a second before continuing. "Since when is Strucker capable of human enhancement?"

"Banner and I will give it the once-over before it goes back to Asgard," Stark agreed. "Hey, magic-fingers, did you see anything with this thing when you were their guest?"

"Stark - " Steve began.

"It's fine." Cathryn frowned, and then shook her head. "I didn't see anything to indicate the scepter's presence until the injections started.

"The what?" Stark and Dr. Banner asked at the same time.

"They were experimenting on her," Natasha stated. "What else do you think would make her look like she'd gone on a walk with death?"

"And the collar?" Stark asked, scrutinizing Cathryn.

"A precaution," she said.

"It makes it difficult for her to transform into the griffin," Steve supplied.

"Why? Does that metal protect against magic?" Stark asked excitedly.

"No. I'm just not sure it won't choke me to death. My clothes make the transformation, but since I didn't put them on, I'm not technically wearing them, and," she shrugged in conclusion.

"Ah. Well, that'd be a bummer," Stark agreed, turning back to Thor, "If you don't mind, of course. Are you sticking around for the party?"

Cathryn blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Yes, yes, of course. A victory should be honored with revels," Thor agreed, reaching out to stroke the case of the scepter.

"Yeah, who doesn't love revels? Captain?"

Cathryn couldn't catch Steve's response, but his nodding confirmed his presence.

Tony nodded once, and then turned towards the rest of the Avengers and Cathryn. "Romanoff? Banner?"

"I live there, Stark," Dr. Banner pointed out.

"Good form to ask. Romanoff?"

"I can find the time. I'll make sure Clint shows."

"Black - or is it Potter? Black-Potter? Potter-Black?"

Cathryn hid a yawn in her blanket. "Black. I left Potter behind a long time ago."

"Couldn't have been that long, miss not-legal-to-drink."

Cathryn shifted slightly in her seat. She had been wondering if any of the Avengers were going to comment on her age. With a mask, it'd been easier to pretend she was older, but Natasha already knew something was off, and Steve - well, she wasn't going to think about the conversation that awaited them until she had to.

"I'm legal in Britain," she said at last.

"In America too, according to your files. You're only ten years younger than me," Tony said, all traces of humor gone. "Either you got some witchy voodoo going on, or…" he frowned. "Or there's definitely some witchy voodoo going on."

"I - " Cathryn glanced at Steve, but he was still frowning at the scepter. Thor, on the other hand, was inspecting her with more intensity than even Natasha had managed back in the Butter-and-Crumpets. "Sure," she agreed. "It's voodoo."

None of the Avengers seemed to buy her story - rather, Stark's story - but none of them pressed her for the truth either. "So?" Stark asked. "Party?"

She frowned. "Where am I going to be staying? I doubt it's safe to go back to my café, and - "

"You'll be staying with me," Stark interrupted. "I've got your room all set up, per Romanoff's instructions."

Cathryn and Steve both turned to stare at Natasha, who shrugged. "I knew you'd turn up. He lives in - "

"Own! I own it!" Stark interjected.

" - Avenger's Tower. We all have a room there, though only Stark and Banner live there full-time."

"And you need medical attention," Dr. Banner added. "Even if you decide not to stay, you'll get the best medical treatment available."

Cathryn hesitated. She didn't want to step out into public so soon - if ever, really, one society praising her was more than enough, even if their attitude towards her had changed rather radically in the past year - but she couldn't give away her friends by asking Stark to drop her off in Bulgaria or Devon.

"Alright," she agreed. It would be nice to have a place to get back on her feet, with people she trusted both not to hurt her and not to be hurt by her in case something went wrong. And she needed to stop moving for at least twenty-four hours, so that the Hallows could catch up to her. "But I'm not wearing anything that Natasha buys for me."

Natasha sent her a sly smirk. "Looks like you'll be living in the nude."

Cathryn chose to take another bite of the energy bar instead of responding, but couldn't help reveling in the air of camaraderie that Natasha, and the others, were sharing with her.

After escaping a very persistent nurse whose name she could neither remember nor pronounce, Cathryn allowed Jarvis to guide her to what was apparently her room. She declined the assistance of both Natasha and Thor, walking the entire way by herself (it took her ten minutes and left her more tired than she thought was entirely appropriate, but she'd done it on her own, so that was some small victory).

The shower was heavenly, even if she'd had to sit for part of it, although seeing her reflection for the first time was startling. Her hair was barely an inch long, and already promised to be extremely messy as soon as it gained another few centimeters of length. Her skin was pale to the point of sallow, her left eye was bloodshot from whatever the scientists had injected, and her fights against falling asleep had left her with circles under her eyes so dark that she looked like a panda. Thankfully, the mirror fogged up before she could take a closer inspection of exactly how bad she looked - her reflection left no question as to why the Avengers hadn't immediately sat her down and interrogated her about her imprisonment.

As promised, the overly-large closet and bureau were well stocked, and Cathryn was pleased to see that, no matter her glib comment earlier, Natasha had mainly supplied clothes of the sort that Cathryn normally wore. She's a spy, Cathryn told herself as she slowly dressed herself in a t-shirt and loose flannel pajama bottoms. She probably spied on you more than once, especially with Steve hanging about so often.

The bed swallowed her eagerly, and with only a modicum of dread for possible nightmares, Cathryn finally allowed her heavy eyelids to close.

Although she woke twice from bad dreams, Cathryn was exhausted enough to fall back asleep with relative ease. The third time she woke, she lay still for several minutes. When she opened her eyes, the Deathly Hallows filled her vision, stacked neatly on the pillow next to her.

Relief rushed through her, and Cathryn gently stroked the Invisibility Cloak. "Glad you could make it," she whispered.

Getting out of bed was more difficult than she'd anticipated. Not only was she supremely comfortable, but her body ached in places she hadn't known could hurt. In the end, though, she motivated herself with the thought of coffee, and managed to dress herself in the least Natasha-looking of the clothes. Jarvis guided her first to the kitchen, where a pot of coffee had long since cooled, and then, reheated coffee in one hand and a blueberry bagel in the other, to the level with the labs.

Stark and Banner were frowning at a holographic image of something far beyond Cathryn's technological knowledge. Jarvis announced her arrival.

Banner took one look at her, and ushered Cathryn to the nearest stool.

"How's Sleeping Beauty?" Stark asked, still squinting at the projection. "Any longer and I thought I was going to have to order you a cryo-tube."

"I'm fine." She blew on her coffee, wishing it'd cool down faster. "How long did I sleep?"

"Close to thirty hours," Banner supplied. "It's nearly noon. Do you need anything?"

Cathryn shook her head, and Banner returned to Stark's side. For long minutes, Cathryn watched the two scientists work, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. It took her ten minutes and half a cup of coffee to track the source of her wariness to the glowing blue staff set up on the table with the most amount of clutter. A holographic screen orbited the length of the staff.

"What are you doing to it?" she asked at last.

The scientists glanced at her, and then at each other. Banner shook his head, and Stark shrugged.

"The stone codes some sort of program," Stark said. "We're trying to decipher it." He took a swig from his silvery mug and grimaced slightly. "Nothing important," he added with a suave smile.

Cathryn hid her disbelief in the dregs of her coffee. "What are the others doing?" she asked when she resurfaced.

"Jarvis?" Stark prompted. "Where's the Team at?"

"Sir, Lady Black, and Dr. Banner are in sir's lab. Mr. Barton and Miss Rushmore are in the sparring chamber. Lord Thor is in London. Captain Rogers is - " after three seconds of silence, Jarvis continued " - pardon the delay, Captain Rogers appears to be on the back fire-escape of the Butter-and-Crumpets Café."

Cathryn drew a shaky breath. "Thank you, Jarvis." She frowned at her half-eaten bagel, and sighed.

"Is there - " Banner began, just as Cathryn said, "I suppose I should - "

Banner motioned for her to continue. With a startled and slightly suspicious glance at Stark, who was being uncharacteristically silent on the matter of herself and Steve, Cathryn asked, "When will you want to hear about what happened?"

Stark frowned as his screen flashed red, and then turned away from it. "Now is good."

Cathryn swallowed, but nodded. This could hardly be any worse than recounting the Third Task for Dumbledore and Sirius had been. But… "I'd rather just do it once, so if everyone could - "

"Here." Stark lazily tapped a few buttons on the holo-screen to his left. An image of her face sprang up. She blinked, and her image blinked as well.

"Alright." She peered into her cup, and briefly wished she'd thought to fill up before. Even if she didn't drink any more coffee, its warmth through the ceramic would have been comforting. "Where should I start?"

"How about what's with you and Spangles?" Stark suggested. Banner set his pen down with a pointed glare at Stark.

"After SHIELD fell," Banner said, pulling a stool next to her and sitting down. "What did you do?"

"I went north, to Canada." Starting so long ago was easy. Nothing bad or painful there. "I hid in the forests over winter, and then headed west. After I got to the Pacific, I turned around and went towards Florida."

Once she'd begun, it was easy to keep talking, just as had happened with the aftermath of the Third Task. She began lying at her first mention of the Krum's; she purposefully referred to them as 'school friends', citing them only because it was at their request that she'd been in Sokovia.

Although Banner mostly stayed quiet throughout her story, offering the occasional sympathetic pat and, once, a growl so deep that it seemed to belong to a man much larger than him, Stark was a surprisingly good listener. He spoke only to ask questions to clarify certain details, and didn't make a single snide remark, not even when Cathryn admitted to having helped Wanda hone her powers.

"They're just kids," Cathryn finished. "They're looking for a way to help protect their country, and they promised not to kill any of you."

"Doesn't mean they didn't mess with us though," Stark muttered, face darkening. One of his screens beeped, and both he and Banner moved towards it, although Banner stopped halfway off his stool and leaned towards Cathryn.

"If you need someone to listen to the parts you haven't told us, Natasha's a pretty good listener, and there's nothing you can say that she hasn't already seen, heard, or done herself."

Cathryn nodded her head in thanks, and Banner strode over to join Stark at the screen, pointed at something, and was fairly shoved out of the way as Stark scrambled to adjust whatever wasn't right.

She watched them for ten more minutes before heading back to her room. For a long minute, she stared out the window at the city spread out below. Steve was somewhere out there - not just somewhere, she knew where he was.

If I was a better person, I'd go out there and join him, Cathryn thought. She considered tracking him down - she was familiar enough with the Butter-and-Crumpets to navigate there by air, and a quick Disillusionment Charm would prevent anyone from seeing her - but decided against it. When he was ready, he knew where she was. Steve wouldn't make her come to him; it wasn't in his character.

Instead, she went to the bed and pulled the Wand from under her pillow. She frowned. Earlier, she'd written off the odd sensation as mere sensitivity, a side effect from having not held a wand for so long. Now, though, Cathryn wasn't sure. The Elder Wand had never sat well in her hand; it always seemed to want more, to push and pull at her magic rather than act as an open circuit with it.

It wasn't doing that today. There was no subtle tug, no itching desire to cast magic.

Cathryn gingerly raised the wand. "Lumos." The tip lit up, slightly bluer than it usually was, but there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. She shook the light out with a silent, Nox, and, out loud, said, "Expecto Patronum." Prongs coalesced before her, appearing as expectant as a misty figure could look. "Geminio." A second, slightly dimmer, Prongs separated from the first. She pressed the tip of her wand against her temple, concentrated, and then slowly drew the tip away. The memory dissipated into the ether of the first Prongs, who then shot up through the ceiling as a mere streak of light, well on its way to Britain.

Cathryn repeated the procedure with the second Patronus, although it took longer because of the second memory-instruction she added. She'd never given a single Patronus two messages, but with luck, the magic would hold.

Steve found her just after five that evening, curled up on one of Stark's many sofas. He sat on the sofa across from hers, and watched as she silently directed the wispy blue butterflies she'd conjured to fly in a tight spiral above the coffee table.

When he cleared his throat, she vanished the butterflies with a wave of the Elder Wand. He paused at the display of magic, and then said, "So, you're thirty-four?"

Cathryn couldn't stop the slightly hysterical giggle. "Really? That's what you're going to go with? My age? Because if anyone should understand not looking like they should for their age, I'd have thought it would be you."

Steve's jaw tightened. "I thought it would be an easy place to start. Your video didn't explain anything about you, and I figured asking about your age was better than getting angry that you told Natasha who you were but not me. You didn't tell me."

"Natasha figured it out on her own!" Cathryn snapped. "As soon as she saw me, she knew." Steve stood and strode to the window, arms crossed behind his back in a military fashion.

A minute passed, and then two. "I never wanted this," Cathryn said quietly. Steve didn't react, so she continued. "Given my druthers, I'd be married by now, with two or three kids, but there was a…an accident a few months before my eighteenth birthday. It took me a few years to catch on, but when I realized I looked the same," she shrugged. "Leaving was better than being called a freak."

"Is that where you got your powers?"

"I've always been a witch. I was born like this."

"Mutant?"

Cathryn was silent for a long time, vacillating between telling the truth and lying. Steve didn't press, and in the end, that was the deciding factor. "No." The word was surprisingly light, despite being so very illegal. "My parents were witches as well."

Whatever Steve had been expecting, that wasn't it. He half-turned, met her eyes, and then glanced away. "Your sister one too?"

"Yes. But she's not my sister, just an old friend." She sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Most of my old contacts are witches - everyone, actually, except my cousin. He's about as normal as they come." She snorted derisively. "Anything else you want to know?"

"No." His tone was final, and Cathryn took it for a dismissal. She was nearly to the flight of stairs leading to the hallway when he spoke again. "Actually, yes. Just one more thing. Did you love me?"

Cathryn stopped, but didn't turn around, mind flashing back to how elated and full and whole she'd felt whenever Steve had shown up at her door. With a huff, she ran her hands through her shorn hair, and then said, "I told myself I didn't. Now, I'm not so sure."

She fled.

Natasha found her a few hours after noon the next day. "Eat."

Obediently, Cathryn ate the plain sandwich, watching as Natasha ruffled through her closet. The spy emerged with a long black shirt and a pair of heels after a few minutes.

"You've certainly got Rogers tense. He's gone through six punching bags today and is working on number seven. Try this on."

"What for? And where's the rest of the outfit?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "This is the outfit. And it's your punishment."

"My punishment?" Cathryn dropped the last few bites of the sandwich onto the plate and pushed it aside. "For what?"

"You're a terrible liar. You know exactly what for."

"Actually, I'm quite good at lying," Cathryn lied, standing up.

"Now you're just being obtuse." Natasha sent Cathryn a polite smile that nonetheless made Cathryn swallow nervously. "Put it on, or I'll put it on for you."

"I have a wand," Cathryn said, inching towards the bedside table.

Natasha dangled a taser from the hand not holding the dress.

Cathryn glanced towards her wand. The chances of her getting it and setting up a shield before Natasha either tackled her or shot her (she didn't think Natasha would tase her, but she wasn't positive she wouldn't either) were slim. She sighed, and shot Natasha a pleading smile. "I'm too pale for black right now."

Natasha arched an eyebrow.

Cathryn put on the dress.

Over the course of the next several hours, Cathryn tried on eight more dresses, five pairs of shoes (none with less than three inches of heel, much to her dismay), and was politely threatened into demonstrating her knowledge of cosmetic charms, including a hair-growth spell that added six inches of length to her hair (more than that would require a potion or a professional), whereupon Natasha forced her into the bathroom.

When Cathryn emerged, freshly showered, Natasha had already changed into her own party dress.

"Why can't I wear something like that?" Cathryn complained as she reluctantly approached the dress that Natasha had selected for her.

"Don't push your luck. If I didn't think it'd fall off, you'd be in the strapless one."

Cathryn muttered a few insults under her breath, but went along with Natasha's choice. If this was all the retaliation she was going to get for hurting one of Natasha's best friends - regardless of the fact that he was Cathryn's friend too - then she would count her blessings. Wearing a dress she didn't like was better than having the stuffing beaten out of her for hours on end under the pretense of training.

A/N: If you want to know when the next chapter will be posted, go read the author's note at the top of the chapter. Otherwise, thanks for reading!

J