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Harry’s morning was as normal as it could have been considering the circumstances. Which was to say that it hadn’t been normal at all. According to the morning news, robots were reported invading central London. The Avengers had arrived from New York that morning, and everyone ought to just stay at home.
That sort of news was relatively new, and while Harry had read the papers about what had happened in New York — with the giant bloody portal full of aliens — he'd sort of assumed that it was a problem for the Americans. Then, of course, London had its own portal in the sky, and it had caused such an uproar at the Ministry that Harry was sure Hermione would still be complaining about it in seven centuries. Not that he could blame her, it sounded like a bureaucratic nightmare.
He hadn’t thought much of the news, beyond being grateful he didn’t live in central London, and had continued puttering about the house while the telly murmured on. He was halfway through his porridge when there was a terrible sound in his back garden.
“Bugger,” Harry said, and set down his spoon.
Whatever just happened, he wanted nothing to do with it, and while he was very tempted to ignore it, there was a distinct possibility that it was one of the Robots from the news. If it was, then he’d have to do something lest the thing wreak havoc on his very Muggle neighborhood.
Harry pulled on his trainers in a hurry and went out the kitchen door into the back garden. When he came around the end of the house, wand drawn, he found that something, or rather someone, had crash-landed in his garden and was half buried under a mess of twisted metal and black ooze.
“Hello?” Harry called as he approached. “Are you alright?”
The twisted pile of metal shifted ominously in reply.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, maneuvering the pile of metal out of the garden and onto the lawn and under it, nestled in the dirt, was a man. He was dirty, half of his face bruised, with a nasty gash at his hairline. But he was alive, and he grinned at Harry.
“You're one of those magic people,” he said, slurring slightly.
“Er-” said Harry, shoving his wand back into his waistband, and wondering what in the hell the Ministry was up to these days.
The man in the flower bed shifted, groaned, and pulled free his left arm. It was filthy, coated in some kind of thick oily goo, and was made entirely of metal.
Harry shuffled close to the edge of the flower bed. The man didn’t appear to be a threat, even if he was obviously one of the American ‘superheroes’ he’d seen on the telly.
“Are you alright?” he asked again, crouching down to get a better look at the man. “Have you hit your head?”
That got a sharp bark of laughter, but no proper answer, and Harry tried to ignore the rush of heat creeping up his neck. He must sound like an utter wanker talking to someone who got the shit kicked out of them for a living, like a toddler who’d just fallen down and scraped their knee.
At least the man didn’t seem to be offended. In all, he seemed to be in rather good spirits for someone who’s recently fallen out of the sky. The problem was that Harry didn’t know what to do with him.
Even if he was a superhero, moving him didn’t seem like a very good idea, but leaving him in the dirt when whatever had attacked him might still be around didn’t seem like a good idea either.
Before Harry could ask the stranger in his flower bed, if ‘he’d like to come in to get cleaned up and have a cup of tea,’ for lack of a better idea, there was a loud crackling sound, and the guy winced.
He held a hand to his ear. “I’m alright,” he said, obviously talking to someone over some kind of radio. “One of the big ones got me. Yeah. I thought I could make the jump — hey fuck you too. No, I landed in some guy's backyard. I don’t think so. He’s looking at me right now. Nah, it’s alright, he’s one of those magic people, got a wand and everything — sorry you keep breaking up.”
The tiny radio in his ear cut out with a horrible, shrill shriek. It was so loud that the man’s face twisted in a mask of pain. He pulled the tiny radio out of his ear and chucked it across the yard. It smashed into the side of the house and shattered, ending the horrible shrieking at once.
“Sorry about that,” said Harry sheepishly. “Magic and electricity sometimes don’t get on.”
“You don’t say,” said the guy from between clenched teeth. He struggled to his feet and swayed slightly before stepping carefully over a clump of irises and out of Harry’s flower bed.
“I should get going,” he said, like this was entirely routine. “I’m sorry about your fence. There’s a form on the Stark Industries website for civilian reimbursements. When you fill it out, mention Bucky Barnes, and the date, and someone will be in touch —”
Bucky stumbled, one of his knees almost giving out, before he caught himself on one of the few still-standing sections of fence.
“I think you should probably sit down,” said Harry.
“Nah, I’m fine.”
Bucky did not, in fact, look fine, and his blood stained grin wasn’t convincing in the slightest.
“Why don’t you come in and clean up before you go?” Harry said, as Bucky took a few wobbly steps towards the house.
“As much as I’d like to take you up on that, I'd better not. ”
“If you’re sure you’re alright then, I’ll let you out the front.”
Was he really going to let this guy walk out his front door, looking like he’d just clawed his way out of a grave? Harry supposed he was, because the other option was to try to stop him, and while Harry had a wand, something gave him the feeling that getting in Bucky’s way wasn’t a good idea.
“This way,” Harry said, gesturing towards the back door. Bucky obediently limped after him and apologized for the state of his mud-caked boots.
“Sorry for the mess,” he said sheepishly, as he tracked dirt throughout Harry’s kitchen.
Harry waved him off. It was nothing a quick cleaning charm couldn't cure. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down? I can make you a cup of tea while you wait —”
A sharp knock at Harry’s front door interrupted him mid-sentence.
“I’ll bet that’s my ride.”
“Right,” Harry replied, and off he hurried to open his door. He was met with a small gaggle of people; the woman in front had a sharp jawline and even sharper gaze.
“Agent Romanov,” she said, holding up an ID badge. “Here to collect my wayward Avenger.”
“Er —” said Harry.
She sighed. leaned against the door frame and rapped twice on the frame. “Barnes! Let's go!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” said Bucky, limping his way towards the front door. On his way out, he patted Harry on the shoulder, “Thanks for the help, sweetheart.”
Harry froze, while a hot blush shot up the back of his neck.
“Sweetheart? Christ, how hard did you hit your head?” said the woman, who’d moved aside to let Bucky out the front door.
“Pretty damn hard,” said Bucky, and he grinned, wide and bloody, and started towards the big black car parked on the curb. “Are we going or what, Nat?”
The woman, Nat, closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them, she gave Harry a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks for your assistance, Mr —”
“Potter,” said Harry.
She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Don't forget to register with the Stark Industries website. They’ll get in touch about your fence.”
“Right,” said Harry slowly, and then she turned, and the whole group got in the dark car and sped off. Harry shook his head and went back inside to do the washing up. It had been a particularly strange day, and Bucky had been a strange man. Harry doubted he’d ever see him again, but if he did he certainly wouldn’t mind.