Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Avengers.

What Does A Little Truth Matter?

The black cane tapped with familiar regularity upon the cracked concrete. Hand wrapped around the silver head, the man gazed with barely veiled sorrow on the heartrending scene. Bodies of the dead littered the roads, loved ones holding those they had previously laughed, played and lived with close. And though the world had been saved, it seemed to be for nought in the sights of the mass dead.

Had truly none cared enough to close the eyes of those lost? Had they not seen enough horrors already?

The man's mouth twisted in a grim mockery. Of course not. For even children were forced to fight, to kill when no others would step up, not even adults. And no one had a better experience in this than the man himself.

The tapping of the cane stopped as he came to a halt. A restaurant, damaged heavily by the battle yet somehow still working. He stepped through the gaping doorway. There, unaffected by any of the cruel sights beyond the walls, were the very heroes themselves.

"Who are those to allow others to suffer? Who are those to call themselves heroes, laughing as those who are screaming in grief are on their knees, begging for some kind of God to bring back their loved ones?" the barely murmured words caught the attention of the 'Avengers'.

Glancing towards the sorrowful young man, they frowned lightly. He was dressed impeccably in a black suit, the white shirt beneath it open at the collar. Polished black boots tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Look, kid - " the Messenger in his red uniform stood.

"Who are those, who take life as a given? Who are you, to take that very comfort away from others!"

The voice rose to a shout, a heartbreaking grief filling the tone. Where black hair had previously shadowed his eyes, glowing emeralds glared harshly at the Avengers.

"I'm sorry, kid. You must have lost someone - "

"Who are you!" The man shouted, cane outstretched towards the supposed idols as if it were a sword, "You who deny your actions!"

"What actions?" the quiet voice of the one-who-hides asked, rising to his feet slowly.

"I know you, hidden one," his mouth contorted into a deranged smirk, "I know you. The suffering - I know it. You think you hold a flame to the greatest curse in existence? Think again!"

"You don't know what I've been through - "

"I don't know? I, a glorified puppet, doesn't know? I have more experience in one second than you do in your whole lifetime, mortal!"

"You words are of no human," the Mad-Warrior stood up.

A strangled laugh choked the man.

"How, when one is put through suffering greater than you know, can they be called mortal?"

A ring flashed on the man's hand, drawing the Little-Spider's attention. A black stone, embedded into a gold band rested on the man's finger. It seemed to be no ostentatious flaunting of wealth, yet an expensive piece none the less. But the Little-Spider, he noticed, looked more confused about the design - for truly, it didn't look like any of Earth.

With three of six people standing, along with their 'prisoner' encaged by a metal girder, the group seemed concerned about the man with the cane.

"He's insane," Little-Spider whispered.

"Insane?" the man spun to face her solely, "Oh no. I'm just as sane as you are. Or should I say, you're just as sane... as I am."

He smiled slightly at his last words, a deep pain in his jaded eyes. Little-Spider joined Hidden-one, Messenger and Mad Warrior on their feet.

"What did you mean when you said we took life away from others?" Hidden-One spoke once again.

The brains of the group, the man mused, filled with wisdom instead of just intelligence like Messenger. And the realisation struck upon the man with the cane.

"Moony," he breathed, shock evident in his gaze.

To his ever thankful luck, it wasn't heard by the group before him.

"Look, we've asked more than enough times," Messenger intercepted his thoughts strongly, "Who are you and why are you here?"

"Who am I?" he murmured, "That's the question, isn't it? But then again, who are we to answer questions when we don't know the answers ourselves?"

"What do you - Oh for God's sake, what's your name?"

"God won't be pleased you used his name. But my name? You can call me Hadrian. Hadrian Peverell."

"Why are you here?" Peace-Forcer also stood, hand on shield.

The only ones not standing were Wingless-Bird and Broken-One.

"You. I am here, because of you."

The anger previously simmering once again returned to the surface as Hadrian remembered the actions of these humans - or not-so-humans. His hand curled around the cane head tighter, squeezing the silver raven.

"What have we done? If you didn't know, we just saved the world," Messenger waved a hand around as if to brag.

A resentful laugh escaped, "Saved it? You have no idea what you've done. You have no idea."

"What on Earth do you mean?"

"Go on," the bitterness ensconced his tone again as he waved towards the doorway, "Take a look at what your 'saving' has really done."

One by one, Little-Spider leading the way, all six vindicators file out of the broken restaurant. Hadrian glanced at the plates left on the table, disgusted at the sight of shawarma. His gaze quickly left the food to alight upon the prisoner. He was unconscious, presumably dealt with by the Hidden-One or Mad-Warrior. Oh, how Hadrian wished the man didn't live up to his name; not the given one, no, but the one hidden from others.

"It is a pitiful sight," he murmured as he turned away from the table, "to see a name such as his so humiliated."

He walked towards the frozen group standing just beyond the doorway. Passing them, he outstretched his arms, cane waving around.

"Are you happy now?" he snarled, "Are you happy with the destruction, the lives lost, because you thought that would save the world? It is time for people to stop seeing the masses and to focus on the few as well!"

"It was for - "

"The greater good," his mocking tone caused Messenger - who seemed to be the self-professed leader of the group - to flinch.

For the first time, the consequences of the battle struck the Avengers. Hadrian but wished it didn't have to be in this way. The people used as an example didn't deserve it.

"We caused this?" Hidden-One uttered in shock.

Hadrian knew he was talking about the dead bodies; of course he was. But the Avengers still had another lesson to learn. One telling them that wounds weren't always on the outside.

"This and much more," his laugh was harsher than he meant.

"What else did we do?" Wingless-Bird asked.

"Look on the inside. Focus on something apart from your damn selves, just for once! See the grief, the mourning and sorrow these people are feeling as they hold the dead bodies of their loved ones. Think about your consequences, Avengers, and stop forcing others to do it for you."

With those final words, Hadrian knew his work to be complete. Though the names of many had changed, though their hope and happiness had been drained from their names, they would heal. He could only hope they would. Hadrian nodded briefly at the assemblage before spinning on his heel. His work was done.

"Wait!" Messenger cried out.

He halted in his steps, waiting for the man to complete his sentences.

"Why?"

A small smile graced his lips.

"Why what?"

"Why did you do this? Why do you call us those names? Why are you leaving?"

"I did this for the broken names crowding the streets. And I call you those names because they are who you are. But why am I leaving? Because my work is done."

He continued along the broken street, cane tapping along the ground. As he passed the grieving people, they turned their heads away from their loved ones to stare at the passing man. The glazed eyes masking their tears seemed to fade ever so slightly and for once, since The Incident - it was bearable.

He didn't tell the group of their soul names, of the ones hailing directly from their being. He didn't tell them about his status, or his reason for acting as he did. Or rather, he did tell them; just not the truth. After all, what does a little truth matter in the long shot?