Harry Potter: The Revenant

Howard Stark parked his sleek black car in the long driveway of his family's estate, the weight of his double life pressing heavier on his shoulders than ever before. He knew what awaited him inside: a mixture of love, frustration, and the ever-present shadow of disappointment that hung between him and his teenage son, Tony.

As he entered, the house buzzed with a subdued energy. The faint sound of Maria's favorite classical music played from the living room, where she was undergoing her daily physical therapy session. Maria, ever the gracious fighter, was seated on a cushioned therapy chair, her legs moving in slow, deliberate motions as the physiotherapist guided her through the exercises. Standing nearby was Tony, who had his arms crossed, his expression a blend of concern and irritation. Edwin Jarvis, the Stark family's loyal butler, hovered discreetly in the background, ready to assist when needed.

Maria looked up with a warm smile as Howard entered. "Howard," she greeted, her voice soft but steady despite the strain of her therapy. "You're home."

Howard walked over, kissing her on the forehead. "How are you feeling today, sweetheart?"

"Better," Maria said, glancing briefly at the physiotherapist, who nodded approvingly. "A little stronger every day."

Tony, who had been silently observing, scoffed under his breath and turned away.

Howard frowned but chose to ignore it for now. Instead, he turned to Jarvis. "Thank you for keeping everything running smoothly, Jarvis. How's the progress?"

Jarvis gave a slight nod. "Mrs. Stark has been remarkably diligent with her sessions, sir. The physiotherapist says she's improving steadily."

"Good," Howard said, genuinely relieved. "Maria, you're doing great."

Maria smiled at him, though there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "Thank you, Howard. It's been easier with Tony here to help."

At the mention of his name, Tony turned back, his expression sharp. "Yeah, because someone had to step up while you were off saving the world or whatever it is you do."

The room grew tense. Maria sighed, glancing at Howard with a silent plea to keep his temper in check.

"Tony," Howard began, his tone even but firm, "I've told you before, my work—"

"—is important. Yeah, I've heard it a thousand times," Tony interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you know what else is important? Mom. She's been sitting here, pushing through pain every single day, and where were you? Off chasing some mysterious project you can't even talk about? Give me a break, Dad."

"Tony!" Maria said sharply, her tone a mixture of reprimand and concern.

But Tony wasn't done. "You act like you're the only one with responsibilities. I dropped everything—my classes, my projects—to be here for her. Meanwhile, you just... what? Pop in when it's convenient?"

Howard's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to being spoken to like this, not by his son, not by anyone. "You think I don't care about your mother? About this family? Everything I do—everything—is for you both. You might not understand that now, but—"

"No, I don't understand," Tony shot back. "All I see is you running off, treating me like I'm some failed science project because I'm not Steve Rogers!"

The room went silent. Even the physiotherapist discreetly stepped back, suddenly very interested in her clipboard.

Howard's expression darkened. "This isn't about Steve," he said, his voice low and controlled.

"Isn't it?" Tony challenged, stepping closer. "Because it sure feels like you're always comparing me to him. 'Steve would've done this,' 'Steve wouldn't have done that.' Guess what, Dad? I'm not Steve Rogers, and I never will be. Sorry to disappoint."

Maria interjected softly, "Tony, that's enough."

Tony hesitated, his frustration flickering into guilt as he glanced at his mother. He muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the room, leaving Howard standing there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Maria sighed deeply. "Howard, he's young. He doesn't understand..."

Howard ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than ever. "I know, Maria. I know he doesn't. But that doesn't make it any easier."

She reached out, taking his hand. "He loves you, Howard. He just... needs to see it."

Howard's shoulders slumped as he sat beside her, his hand still in hers. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, keeping him in the dark about everything. About S.H.I.E.L.D., about Hydra, about the danger out there."

Maria gave him a knowing look. "You're protecting him. But maybe... maybe it's time you showed him that you're not just running away from us. That what you're doing matters."

Howard nodded slowly, her words sinking in. He glanced toward the door Tony had stormed through, his expression softening. "I'll talk to him. Eventually."

Maria smiled faintly. "Eventually better not take too long, Howard. He's your son. And deep down, he just wants to know that you're proud of him."

Howard swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "I am proud of him," he said quietly. "I just wish he knew that."

Maria squeezed his hand, her touch grounding him. "Then show him, Howard. Before it's too late."

—

The dimly lit safehouse was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the ventilation system and the faint sounds of James and Lily chatting softly in the kitchen. Natasha Romanoff sat on the worn leather couch in the living area, pretending to clean her sidearm but really just stealing glances at Harry. He was across the room, working out—a routine he had thrown himself into ever since they'd escaped Hydra. He needed to learn his new body, he'd said, to feel like it belonged to him.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him. The 18-year-old figure in front of her bore little resemblance to the child she'd trained all those months ago. He was tall now, impossibly broad, his muscles rippling with every movement. The way his Vibranium-laced skeleton made no sound when he moved still unsettled her at times. There was no trace of the awkward little boy who had once clung to her during Hydra's cruel experiments.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't that boy anymore. Hydra had stolen his childhood, warping him into something unrecognizable. They had aged him artificially, pumped him full of the Super Soldier Serum, spliced his DNA with Weapon X, and turned his very bones into unbreakable metal. The result was standing right in front of her, grunting softly as he bench-pressed more weight than any normal human could dream of lifting.

And Natasha hated herself for the way her stomach tightened when she looked at him.

It wasn't right. It wasn't normal. She'd once thought of him as a little brother, someone she needed to protect from the horrors of the world. But now... Now her thoughts strayed into places they shouldn't.

"Stop it," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if that would silence the intrusive thoughts.

Harry, oblivious, finished his set and sat up, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. He caught her watching and gave her a small smile. "Something on your mind, Nat?" he asked, his voice deep and warm, with just a hint of the boyish charm that had somehow survived Hydra's horrors.

Natasha quickly schooled her expression into neutrality, a skill honed by years in the Red Room. "Just thinking about your form. You're still over-relying on your right side. If someone exploits that, you're vulnerable."

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking down at himself. "Right side, huh? Guess that explains why my left shoulder's sore after sparring with Sirius yesterday."

She smirked, glad to focus on something else. "You should listen to me more often. I do know a thing or two about fighting."

"I'd be stupid not to," he replied, his grin widening. "You did train me, after all."

Natasha felt a pang at his words. She had trained him, but back then, it had been under Hydra's orders. She'd been complicit, even if she'd done her best to shield him when she could. That guilt still gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her own sins.

Harry stood, tossing the towel over his shoulder as he walked toward her. Natasha's breath hitched for the briefest of moments before she forced herself to relax. He stopped a few feet away, his head tilted slightly as he studied her.

"You okay?" he asked, his green eyes sharp and perceptive.

She waved him off. "I'm fine. Just tired."

He nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. "You've been training with Rose a lot lately. She's lucky to have you."

Natasha glanced toward the hallway where Rose's room was. The little redhead was still awake, probably playing with the battered set of blocks Harry had found for her. It was surreal, seeing the twins together. Rose was still a child, her face full of innocence and mischief. Harry, on the other hand, was...

"She reminds me of you," Natasha said, deflecting. "The stubbornness, I mean. Must run in the family."

Harry chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Yeah, Sirius says I got that from Mum. Rose too, probably. Dad's more of the charming, reckless type."

Natasha smiled faintly, but the conversation was stirring memories she'd rather not face. Memories of Harry crying out for his parents during the experiments, of her holding his hand and whispering lies to comfort him. Lies she'd started to believe herself, back when she thought she could protect him.

"You know," Harry said, pulling her from her thoughts, "I never thanked you properly. For everything you did back at Hydra."

Her gaze snapped to his, alarmed. "Harry—"

"I know what you're going to say," he interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You were just doing what you had to, right? Following orders."

She looked away, her jaw tightening. "I could have done more. I should have done more."

"You did enough," he said quietly. "More than anyone else there. You kept me sane, Nat. I don't know if I would've made it without you."

Her chest tightened at his words. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He wasn't that scared little boy anymore, but in that moment, she saw a flicker of him, buried beneath the layers of muscle and metal and trauma.

"I don't deserve your gratitude," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe not," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But you've got it anyway."

Natasha didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Instead, she stood and patted him on the shoulder as she passed. "Get some rest. We've got training tomorrow, and if I catch you favoring your right side again, you're running laps until you drop."

Harry laughed, the sound chasing away some of the tension. "Yes, ma'am."

As she walked away, she felt his gaze lingering on her. She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus on the mission. On Hydra. On anything but the boy-turned-man who had managed to worm his way into her carefully guarded heart.

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the safehouse windows, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill that Hydra's shadow had left over their lives. For the first time in weeks, there was no scheduled training, no tense planning sessions, just a much-needed day to catch their breaths.

Steve Rogers leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and glancing out the window like he was seeing an entirely new world. Which, in a way, he was. "So, Times Square," he said to Bucky, who was flipping through a tourist brochure. "Think it's still got those big neon signs?"

Bucky snorted. "Steve, I've been a brainwashed assassin for the better part of six decades. I don't think they were sending me on sightseeing tours."

James Potter wandered into the kitchen, already grinning. "Well, lucky for you two, we've got guides. Lily and I are dying to see how the Muggle world's evolved. Ted's coming too—he's great with translations for, uh... magical misunderstandings."

"You're gonna need more than a translator," Sirius said, slapping James on the back as he joined them. "You need someone to stop you from buying every weird Muggle contraption you see. Last time we were in London, you tried to hex a toaster."

James scowled. "It popped up too fast. How was I supposed to know that's how it works?"

The laughter eased some of the tension that always seemed to hang over the group, and for a moment, it felt like any other family preparing for a day out. Except, of course, for the fact that the family included two former Hydra operatives, a brainwashed assassin, and the savior of the Wizarding World.

Rose, meanwhile, was already dressed and ready, standing in the living room with her hands on her hips. "Tonks! Andromeda! Hurry up! I've got an entire list of things we need to buy!"

Andromeda emerged from the hallway, looking amused. "Rose, you do realize we can't buy out an entire mall, right?"

"Watch me," Rose replied, her chin held high. "Harry said I could get whatever I wanted."

From the corner of the room, Harry muttered without looking up, "I said reasonable things, Rose. Not a shopping spree that would bankrupt a small country."

Natasha smirked from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're gonna regret that when she drags you into a fashion store."

"Not my problem today," Harry replied with a faint grin, tossing his gym towel over his shoulder. "I've got other plans."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's so important you're bailing on babysitting duty?"

"Thought I'd spend some time with you," Harry said casually, his green eyes flicking to hers. "You know, since you never take a day off. Figured I could drag you away for a while."

Her mouth opened, then closed again, the suggestion catching her off guard. She glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to protest, but the others were too preoccupied with their own plans. Finally, she shrugged, schooling her expression into something nonchalant. "Fine. But if this turns into you trying to get me to teach you more hand-to-hand combat, I'm leaving."

Harry's grin widened. "Deal."

---

The two of them ended up at a quiet park on the outskirts of the city, a far cry from the bustling streets where the others had gone. Harry had insisted on bringing food—"You don't eat enough," he'd said—and Natasha had grudgingly agreed to humor him. Now, they sat on a bench beneath the shade of a tree, the sounds of the city distant and muted.

"So," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence, "what's it like? Being the Black Widow, I mean."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit of a loaded question."

He shrugged. "Fair enough. Let me rephrase. Do you ever regret it? Everything you've been through?"

She hesitated, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. "I used to," she admitted. "When I first defected from the Red Room, I thought I'd made the worst mistake of my life. But... over time, I realized I had a chance to make things right. To balance the scales, even if I'll never really tip them."

Harry nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "It's weird, you know. For so long, all I wanted was revenge against Hydra. But now that I've got my family back, it feels... smaller somehow. Like I should want something more."

"You should," Natasha said quietly. "Revenge burns out fast. And once it's gone, you're left with nothing."

They fell into silence again, the weight of her words settling between them. After a moment, Harry turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're pretty good at this whole advice thing. Who knew?"

"Don't get used to it," she replied, her smirk returning. "I'm still going to kick your ass in training tomorrow."

Harry laughed, the sound warm and genuine. And for the first time in a long while, Natasha felt the tension in her chest ease, if only a little.

—

Steve and Bucky found themselves wandering through the heart of Manhattan, blending into the crowd as best they could. The city had changed drastically since the 1940s, though some parts still felt familiar in a strange, fragmented way. The towering skyscrapers, the neon lights of Times Square, the endless throngs of people—it was both overwhelming and oddly comforting.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was scanning their surroundings with a cautious but curious eye. "Feels a little like stepping into a movie, doesn't it?"

Bucky smirked, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. "Yeah, except the sound's turned up to eleven, and I don't recognize half the cast."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, letting the city's rhythm wash over them. Eventually, they found themselves on a quieter street lined with small cafés and shops. Steve stopped in front of a storefront, peering through the glass at the colorful display of vintage comic books. His reflection stared back at him—older, more tired, but still holding that unmistakable boyish curiosity.

"Look at this," he said, gesturing for Bucky to join him. "They've got comics about us now. About me."

Bucky leaned closer, squinting at the cover of Captain America: The First Avenger. "Huh. You ever read one?"

Steve shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not really. Feels weird, you know? Like looking at someone else's life."

Bucky chuckled. "Well, at least they got your jawline right. Mine probably wouldn't sell as many copies."

Steve shot him a sidelong glance, but the humor in Bucky's tone was a relief. It wasn't always easy to tell how much of the old Bucky was still there, buried beneath the Winter Soldier's scars.

They moved on, eventually finding a small diner that didn't look too modern for their tastes. Sliding into a booth near the window, they ordered coffee and sandwiches, and for a moment, it felt almost normal—like they were back in the 40s, just two guys grabbing a bite after a long day.

"You know," Bucky said after taking a sip of his coffee, "I'm still getting used to all this. The phones, the cars, the... what do they call it? Streaming?"

Steve smiled knowingly. "It's a lot. Took me a while to wrap my head around it too. You're doing fine, Buck."

Bucky nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. He stared down at his coffee cup, his metal fingers tracing absent patterns along the ceramic. "Sometimes I think about the old days, before everything went to hell. Feels like another lifetime, doesn't it?"

"It does," Steve admitted. "But we're still here, Buck. Still fighting. That's got to count for something."

Bucky looked up, his expression hard to read. "Yeah, but what are we fighting for now? Back then, it was simple—good guys, bad guys, black and white. Now... it's all shades of gray. Half the time, I don't even know if I'm on the right side."

Steve leaned forward, his voice steady. "We fight for the people who can't fight for themselves. For the ones Hydra tried to destroy, for the ones who need a chance to live in a world that's better than the one we grew up in. It's not perfect, but it's worth it."

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always did know how to make things sound noble."

"It's not just talk," Steve said firmly. "We've got a chance to do something good, to make up for all the things we couldn't fix before. Doesn't mean it's easy, but it's worth it."

Bucky was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the street outside. "You ever wonder if we're out of place? Like we don't belong in this world anymore?"

Steve considered the question, his brow furrowing. "Sometimes. But then I remember that we're not the only ones trying to figure it out. Everyone's got their own battles, their own struggles. We're just... part of the same fight now. Different battlefield, same mission."

Bucky nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Guess I'll just have to trust you on that, huh?"

Steve smiled. "Always, Buck. Always."

The two of them sat there for a while longer, the noise of the city muffled by the diner's walls. It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough.

—

James Potter adjusted his round glasses, tilting his head back to take in the staggering height of the Empire State Building. "Blimey, Padfoot," he muttered, an awestruck grin spreading across his face. "You think they stuck an extension charm on this thing?"

Sirius Black smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as he craned his neck to look up. "If they did, it's bloody brilliant. Imagine the Ministry trying to regulate something like this. Bet they'd have a heart attack."

"You're not wrong," Ted Tonks chimed in, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. The Muggle-born wizard looked more at ease navigating the bustling streets of New York than either James or Sirius. "But no magic here, lads. Just good old-fashioned Muggle engineering."

Lily Potter, standing beside her husband, shot him a playful look. "Not everything impressive comes from magic, you know."

"Sure, sure," James said, grinning as he nudged Sirius with his elbow. "Still, can you imagine what we could do with something like this back in Diagon Alley? Maybe slap a Quidditch pitch on the roof."

"Oi, that's the kind of thinking I can get behind," Sirius quipped, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "Though we'd need to charm the Snitch to avoid plummeting to its doom."

Ted chuckled, shaking his head as he led the group down the street. "You two are hopeless."

The group wandered through the streets of Manhattan, their senses bombarded by the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. The glowing advertisements of Times Square, the aroma of street food wafting through the air, the cacophony of honking horns and chatter—it was all so foreign yet fascinating.

"What's that smell?" James asked, wrinkling his nose as they passed a hot dog cart.

"Hot dogs," Ted answered. "Classic Muggle street food."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Doesn't smell like any kind of dog I've encountered."

Lily rolled her eyes. "They're sausages, Sirius. Made of meat."

Sirius gave the cart a skeptical glance. "Meat, you say? Looks more like what you'd scrape off the bottom of a cauldron."

James snorted. "Well, we have to try it now, don't we? For science."

Ted sighed but stepped forward to buy a round of hot dogs for everyone. As they unwrapped their food, James took a hesitant bite, chewing thoughtfully before his eyes lit up. "Alright, this is actually brilliant. Sirius, you've got to try it."

Sirius eyed his hot dog warily before taking a tentative bite. A moment later, his face broke into a grin. "Not bad, not bad. Still think butterbeer would wash it down better, though."

They continued their exploration, wandering into Central Park where the chaos of the city faded into a relative calm. Sirius spotted a group of street performers juggling flaming torches and turned to Ted. "Alright, I'll bite. That magic, or just an impressive trick?"

"Just a trick," Ted replied, amused. "Muggles can be surprisingly creative when it comes to entertaining themselves."

James leaned against a park bench, watching a young boy fly a kite with his father. "You know, if you told me a year ago that I'd be walking through a Muggle city eating questionable food and watching jugglers, I'd have thought you'd gone mad."

"Still mad," Sirius said with a grin. "But this is... kind of brilliant. No dragons, no Death Eaters, no Ministry breathing down our necks. Just life."

Lily reached out, lacing her fingers with James's. "It's nice to see how much the world has to offer beyond our little bubble, isn't it?"

James nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. Makes you wonder how much we've missed out on, sticking to what we know."

Sirius clapped him on the back. "Well, we're here now, mate. And if there's one thing we've always been good at, it's causing a bit of chaos wherever we go."

Ted groaned. "Please don't get us arrested."

Lily smirked. "Oh, let them try. I'd love to see Sirius try to talk his way out of Muggle jail."

Sirius grinned wickedly. "Challenge accepted."

They spent the rest of the day wandering through the city, visiting landmarks like the Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge, and laughing at Sirius's increasingly ridiculous attempts to "blend in" with Muggles. By the time the sun set, casting the skyline in hues of gold and orange, they found themselves sitting on the steps of the New York Public Library, watching the city lights come to life.

"This place," James said, leaning back on his elbows and gazing up at the towering skyscrapers, "it's overwhelming, but in the best way. Like anything's possible."

Sirius nodded, his usual smirk replaced by a rare moment of quiet reflection. "Yeah. Feels like a fresh start, doesn't it?"

Lily rested her head on James's shoulder, smiling softly. "Maybe that's exactly what we need."

Ted, sitting cross-legged on the steps, looked at his companions and couldn't help but grin. "Well, if this is your idea of blending in, you're doing a terrible job. But... it's good to see you all enjoying yourselves."

James raised an imaginary glass. "To fresh starts, then. And to the Muggle world—full of surprises, even for us wizards."

Sirius chuckled, raising his hot dog like a toast. "Hear, hear."

They sat there as the city buzzed around them, feeling, for the first time in a long while, like maybe things really could be different.

—

The department store's automatic doors whooshed open, and Rose barreled through like a tiny whirlwind of chaos in her frilly pink dress, dragging a beleaguered Andromeda Black and her equally unimpressed 12-year-old daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, in tow.

"Come on, Aunt Andi, keep up! We have so much to buy!" Rose declared, her high-pitched voice cutting through the air like a spell gone wrong. She clutched a glittery purse in one hand and waved a catalog in the other like it was a battle plan.

Andromeda sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she trudged after her niece. "Rose, darling, don't you think we should... I don't know, prioritize what you need?"

"Need?" Rose repeated with a scandalized gasp, spinning on her heel to face her aunt. "This isn't about need, Aunt Andi. It's about fashion. You wouldn't understand."

Tonks snorted loudly, adjusting her oversized leather jacket—something she'd insisted on wearing even though it was far too warm for it. Her bubblegum-pink hair stood out in wild spikes, and her combat boots clomped heavily against the polished floor. "Oh yeah, Mum, you wouldn't understand. You're so out of touch."

Andromeda shot her daughter a look. "You're not helping, Nymphadora."

Tonks winced. "It's Tonks, Mum. Tonks. And for the record, I think this is the worst way to spend a Saturday. I could be doing literally anything else. Like practicing hexes."

Rose ignored both of them, already marching toward the nearest display of glittery shoes. She let out a squeal of delight. "Look at these! They sparkle when you walk! Aunt Andi, I must have them!"

"Rose," Andromeda began, rubbing her temples, "you already have three pairs of sparkly shoes at home."

"But these ones are different! They're... American! And they light up!"

Tonks leaned against a rack of clothes, yawning dramatically. "Honestly, Rose, just put a Lumos charm on your old shoes and call it a day."

Rose turned and narrowed her eyes at Tonks. "That's why you don't have any friends, Nymphadora."

Tonks bristled, standing upright. "Oh, you did not just—"

"Girls," Andromeda interrupted sharply, her voice carrying that no-nonsense tone only a mother could manage. "Enough. Rose, pick one thing. Tonks, stop antagonizing her. I'm already regretting agreeing to this."

Rose pouted, crossing her arms in a way that screamed future queen of drama. "Fine. But I want the shoes and that handbag." She pointed to a glittering monstrosity that looked like it had been made by a unicorn on a sugar high.

Tonks groaned. "You're impossible, Rose. Absolutely impossible."

Rose stuck her tongue out at her cousin before grabbing Andromeda's hand and dragging her toward the checkout counter. "Come on, Aunt Andi! We're wasting precious time! We still have to get to the toy section!"

Andromeda glanced over her shoulder at Tonks, her eyes pleading. "You owe me for this, Nymphadora."

Tonks shrugged, falling into step behind them. "Oh, I owe you? She's your goddaughter, Mum. I'm just here for moral support—and maybe to hex something if she calls me Nymphadora again."

Rose, oblivious to the muttered threats behind her, pranced ahead like the self-appointed ruler of the shopping mall, already making plans for her next royal decree. Andromeda sighed deeply. It was going to be a long day.

—

The safehouse was unusually quiet the next morning, with most of the group scattered across the city, indulging in a much-needed day off. Harry stood in the small, cluttered kitchen, wrestling with the ancient coffee maker, which seemed determined to defy him. He muttered a curse under his breath as it sputtered, refusing to cooperate.

"Need some help?" Natasha's voice cut through the silence.

Harry glanced up, catching sight of her leaning against the doorway, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, wearing a tank top and sweatpants that somehow made her look effortlessly lethal.

"Not unless you have a degree in ancient kitchen appliances," he replied, flashing her a lopsided grin. "I'm pretty sure this thing predates the Cold War."

She smirked, walking over to join him. "Step aside, soldier. Let the professional handle this."

Harry raised an eyebrow but moved aside, watching as she fiddled with the machine. It was strange, seeing Natasha like this—relaxed, almost casual. He was so used to seeing her as the Black Widow: deadly, calculating, always five steps ahead of everyone else. But here, in the quiet of the safehouse, she was... human.

Within moments, the coffee maker sputtered to life, and Natasha turned to him with a triumphant look. "See? You just have to know how to talk to it."

"Impressive," Harry said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. "I'll be sure to add 'coffee maker whisperer' to your long list of talents."

Natasha poured herself a cup, hiding her smile behind the rim as she sipped. "So, what's the plan for today? Or are you planning to sulk around the safehouse while everyone else is out having fun?"

Harry shrugged. "Thought I'd get some training in. Maybe go for a run. You?"

She tilted her head, studying him. "Training, huh? Mind if I join you? It's been a while since we sparred."

Harry's grin widened. "You sure you can keep up with me, Nat?"

Her eyes narrowed, a playful challenge glinting in them. "Careful, Potter. I might be nice enough to let you walk away without limping this time."

---

The training room in the basement of the safehouse was dimly lit, the walls lined with various weapons and exercise equipment. Harry and Natasha stood across from each other on the sparring mats, both barefoot and dressed in workout gear.

"Ready?" Natasha asked, dropping into a fighting stance.

Harry mirrored her stance, his grin still firmly in place. "You tell me."

The fight began with Natasha lunging forward, her movements fluid and precise. Harry dodged her first strike, his reflexes honed to near perfection thanks to the super-soldier serum and his enhanced abilities. But Natasha wasn't one to be underestimated. She moved like a shadow, striking with speed and precision, forcing Harry to stay on the defensive.

"Not bad," she said, ducking under a punch and delivering a sharp kick to his ribs that sent him stumbling back a step. "But you're still telegraphing your moves."

"Or maybe I'm just letting you feel good about yourself," Harry shot back, recovering quickly.

Natasha smirked, but the teasing vanished as she pressed her advantage, forcing Harry to adapt. They moved in a blur of strikes and counterstrikes, their breathing heavy but controlled. Harry was faster, stronger, but Natasha had years of experience and an uncanny ability to read her opponent.

Finally, Harry managed to sweep her legs out from under her, pinning her to the mat with a triumphant grin. "Looks like I win this round."

Natasha arched an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "Oh, really?"

Before Harry could react, she twisted her body, using his own momentum against him. In an instant, their positions were reversed, and Natasha was straddling him, her forearm pressed lightly against his throat.

"Still think you've won?" she asked, her voice low and teasing.

Harry chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. You've made your point."

Natasha smirked but didn't move right away. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the playful banter giving way to something heavier. Her green eyes searched his face, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

"You've changed," she said softly, almost to herself.

Harry's expression sobered. "So have you."

They stayed like that for a moment longer, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Then Natasha pulled back, standing and offering him a hand.

"Come on," she said, her tone light once again. "Let's grab some lunch before I beat you in round two."

Harry took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. "You're awfully confident for someone who just lost."

Natasha smirked, already heading for the stairs. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter."

As he followed her out of the training room, Harry couldn't help but smile. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe again.

---

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