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Sirius fell backward through the veil in a single moment of disbelief and regret. He closed his eyes and embraced death. It had been a long time coming.
Death didn't arrive. Instead, he kept falling, tumbling through the air as wind whipped at his body and robes, chilling him to the bone. He opened his eyes to stare up at bright blue sky. He was falling and falling and all he could see was a great expanse of water below and an endless stretch of sky above.
“Arresto momentum!” he cried and shifted into Padfoot. Dogs were more likely to survive long falls, he’d read. Or was that cats? He wasn’t sure... did it even matter? Perhaps he was dead and this was the weirdest purgatory he'd ever heard of.
THUD.
OUCH.
FUCK.
He landed on something impossible to see, a building or vehicle hovering in the air, far, far above the ocean. The charm must have slowed his descent because as his paws scrabbled for a grip he realised nothing felt broken, just bruised and aching. A lucky break, so to speak. His claws screeched against invisible metal and he slipped as a gust of wind buffeted him.
Now he was on the object, he could make out the faint outline of a futuristic ship deck and a pair of glass doors hidden from the view above. He whined, crawling toward them, and they slid open with a hiss. He threw himself into a brightly lit corridor, laying prone at the feet of a woman in a navy catsuit, short dark hair, and the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen.
“Director! Unidentified object appears to be... a dog.”
The woman stared at him, eyes narrowed with suspicion, her hand resting on the gun on her hip. She had an American accent, confusingly. Sirius wagged his tail pathetically and struggled to his feet, wondering where the hell he was.
Another man strode over. He was tall, with dark skin, an eyepatch, and a long black leather coat. If James had said 'what does a pirate look like, Siri?', Sirius probably would have produced this man's image as an example.
“What the fuck is this? I wasn’t aware the phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ was anything more than a metaphor,” the pirate growled. Sirius sat on his haunches and panted, feeling equally as bewildered. Somehow he’d survived the veil. If he could get off this strange Muggle contraption he’d be able to find his way back to Hogwarts, which was surely where Harry would be now. Dumbledore had been moments from arriving and Harry was a fighter, a survivor.
Now with a plan of action, Sirius felt somewhat energised, and did his best to project the image of a cute, friendly dog, wagging his tail and allowing the Muggles to pet him.
“Who’s a lucky boy?” A Muggle with a bow slung over his shoulder cooed at him and held his hand out for Sirius to sniff. Sirius did and then slobbered all over it.
The pirate huffed. “Barton. Take him to the scientists, get them to check him out, ensure there’s nothing unusual about him. You can find a home for him, since he seems to like you. Hill, find out where he came from. Is there a cargo plane flying over us that’s in the habit of throwing dogs out of it?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said. Barton ruffled Sirius’ hair and started herding him down the corridor. Sirius followed with one last glance at the woman, Hill, and allowed himself to be checked over by the Muggle scientists. He ran circles around Barton’s feet as the man fitted him with a collar.
“I’m going to call you Lucky,” Barton announced. Sirius whuffed. It was better than Snuffles.
“Heel, Lucky.”
Sirius ran to the man’s feet.
"Good boy! Now, sit.”
Sirius sat. He tried not to enjoy the praise too much.
“You’re obviously well trained. Who’s a good boy? You are, yes, you are.” Barton ruffled his fur and Sirius licked his hand again. “I suppose you’re stuck with me now, at least until we find someone to take you in. I’m on the next quinjet back to New York, got a few days off.”
Barton checked his watch and winced. “Shit. It leaves in ten minutes. Come on, Lucky!”
Barton sprinted down the corridor and Sirius chased after him, trying not to jar his aching muscles. They bounded into a Muggle flying contraption, presumably the quinjet. Excellent. Remus said that they could fly anywhere these days and it only took a couple of hours to get halfway across the world. Even if there were in the USA, Sirius would be back in no time. He could get his revenge on Bella, who was hopefully locked back up in Azkaban, and shout at Harry for his stupid decisions while hugging him to death.
Another woman was already on the quinjet, red hair, same catsuit as Hill.
“Heya, Nat, you won't believe where I found this mutt,” Barton said, joining her upfront where they sat before a panel full of buttons and gadgets and began activating the systems, an engine purring to life while screens lit up.
“Picked up another stray, have we?” Nat said. "I'm not sure I want you to tell me."
"Oh, you do," Barton said cheerfully. "Nearly gave Hill a heart attack."
Sirius almost felt bad for what he was about to do. Barton seemed like a nice bloke.
The quinjet took off and dropped out of a hanger that was bigger than the Great Hall, filled with quinjets and other vehicles. From what Sirius had seen, they'd been based on a massive flying ship, one that was so large it had a fleet of its own.
Muggles were bloody ingenious. He'd always thought so. Perhaps once the Voldemort was gone for good, he'd be able to spend some time fixing up a motorbike with Harry, like he'd done before.
Of course, that meant he had to get back to Harry. He barked as Barton sat down opposite him and began trying to teach him to play dead. It looked like he wasn’t going to get a chance to shift in private. He best be fast then. Two Muggles to one wizard was decent odds, but not when Sirius was trapped on a strange flying machine with them that he didn't know how to control.
Here went nothing. Sirius shifted back into his human form. Hard not to laugh at the way Barton’s eyes boggled, but he kept it in. With a flick of his wand, he bound both Barton to his seat and Nat to her chair, ropes restraining their arms and torsos. Then he laughed, astounded at the ridiculous turn of events.
“What the fuck?” Barton shouted. "Who are you?"
“Sorry mate,” Sirius said. "I think you called me Lucky?"
“You were a dog. And now you’re British. And not a dog,” Barton said faintly. Sirius transfigured the few moulted hairs into a dressing gown and wrapped it around himself, aware he'd transformed back naked.
“Wouldn’t want to shock the lady,” he said with a wink.
“What the hell? Why is it always me?” Barton muttered.
"Because you're special," Sirius said profoundly, then turned to Nat in the pilot's seat. "Sorry, love.” Sirius floated Nat up from her seat and sat her next to Barton, binding her there too.
“Barton,” she growled as she wriggled in the bonds. “Explain. Tell me why your mutt just became a British man and hijacked our jet."
“SHIELD doesn't negotiate with terrorists,” Barton said, ignoring Nat. "This is a mistake."
Sirius sat in the seats at the front and stared at all the controls. Buttons flashed, lights blinked, translucent screens flickered, and there was no way he was going to figure out how to fly this Muggle device without help. A motorbike was much simpler.
“Right, you two. Where are we?” he asked.
They both fell silent, of course. Bloody hell. If he was going to get back to Harry, he was going to have to do something extreme. He turned to look at them, trying to decide whose mind would be easier to unpick. He settled on Barton. That woman was giving him the scariest evil eye in the world.
“Legilimens," he murmured. He was assaulted by memories of a laughter at a circus... of the satisfaction of archery... of the brutality of war... of the simplicity of flying. He withdrew and blinked. Barton slumped in his binds, groaning. Sirius closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the memories. He shivered. He hated mind magic. It left him feeling slimy. Fuck. At least he could figure out how to fly the jet.
“What did you do to him?” Nat hissed.
"He'll survive," Sirius muttered. He cast a silencing charm on them so he didn't have to hear her reply and focused on the cockpit. After taking a moment to superimpose Barton's memories against the controls, he changed the jet’s course for London, and turned the stealth mode on. He could apparate to Hogwarts from there.
Satisfied, he turned, back to his prisoners, and caught a flash of something metallic reflecting the sunlight.
"I'm not in the mood for this," he said. Flicking out his wand, he summoned the knife, and caught it by the handle. It was a switchblade with a serrated edge. He folded it up and set it on the chair next to him.
Nat glared at him, then at Barton. It looked like they were attempting to communicate using their eyebrows. Hell, maybe Muggles had invented a way of doing that. Fed up with the trouble of dealing with them, he muttered two stunning spells, then inspected them. Nat had managed to cut almost all the way through her ropes. He released them from their binds, removed all the weapons he could find, then bound them using just magic. He woke them back up and left them laying on the floor, immobile.
In the time it took for him to get to Britain he had transfigured some of their supplies into robes and eaten some food. Now he was tapping a rhythm on one leg. Nat stared at him hatefully. When he caught her eye, he stopped. He plotted the jet's path so it would set down via autopilot in the Lake District and obliviated both the agents of any memory of him.
“You both fancied seeing the Lakes. It was a spontaneous decision,” he said, implanting new memories, then apparated to Hogwarts, prepared for whatever might await him.
Hogwarts wasn’t there. Weird. Sirius had always been a natural at apparition. He tried again, and ended in a spot three paces to his right. What the hell? He tried Diagon Alley. Charing Cross was exactly the same, except there was no Leaky! Instead, there was the Rusty Wagon. He walked inside, and out the back, tapping the bricks. Nothing. On his way back out, he scooped up a paper. He stared at it, horrified. April 23rd, 2007.
It was as if the veil had taken him to a whole new world.
Fury paced his cramped office, so as not to distress his agents on the bridge.
Today had been a shit day, starting with Hill's announcement that a dog had landed on the roof of the helicarrier, of all creatures. Barton had formed an attachment, no surprise there, but then the quinjet he'd been on with Romanov had dropped off the radar, and neither of them had reported in when they'd been hailed.
Two of his best agents going missing was a travesty. He'd blame the dog, if he didn't know better.
His comm suddenly crackled to life, even as their quinjet suddenly came back online. Fury accepted the visual call and activated the tracking system.
"Barton. Romanov. Report!"
"Sir?"
They were in England, of all places.
"Reporting in," Romanov said. "Sir."
He glared at them through the screen. “Where the hell have you been?”
The pair exchanged glances. “We’re not sure. Barton’s last memory is a spontaneous urge to visit the Lake District.” Romanov frowned. “I can’t remember anything after Barton got on the jet.”
“What about the dog?”
Romanov raised an eyebrow.
“The dog that fell out of the sky, landed on the helicarrier, and was given to Barton for safe keeping?”
Bewilderment was evident in their eyes.
"No idea what you're referring to, sir," Barton admitted.
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bloody hell. Get back here, and we’ll figure it out."
Someone requested entry to his office. Fury waved them in, eyeing the tech who shifted from foot to foot, nervous.
“Sir,” he inched toward him, looking ready to turn on his heel and flee. “I’ve found the only footage we’ve got of the dog appearing. It’s really… odd sir.”
Fury accepted the tablet so he could watch the video.
“Something appears on camera thirteen, but then...” The tech showed footage of an object falling toward them. “This is camera ten.” He slowed the footage down. “And this is where it gets weird.” At first glance, the camera seemed to be showing a man falling from the sky. The tech zoomed in. Definitely a person. As the person continued to fall, it's form blurred, then a second later, instead of a person, there was a dog. Fury stared at the footage.
Motherfucker.
Sirius had spent the last five years setting up a garage in New York, making a name for himself, and happily fixing up all kinds of motor vehicles. There was no magical community on this version of Earth (he’d searched, oh how he searched), so if he gave the occasional car a boost, who was to know? He’d rebuilt his motorbike, adding extra disillusionment charms, and owned a tiny flat in downtown Manhattan. He missed Harry and Remus desperately, but life was good. He did his best not to dwell-they wouldn't want him to. They'd want him to live and he did his best. He was no longer a wanted criminal; nobody knew who he was.
So, it was understandable that when the insectoid aliens came, he was pissed. Who did they think they were, trying to blow up his precious shop? The bastards. There were a few other defenders of the city suiting up to fight and he joined them, Padfoot's snarl at the back of his throat as he protected his city.
The insects were hard to kill; as stunning spells just bounced off their natural armour. Luckily, he was Sirius Fucking Black, and he'd been raised a Dark wizard. Curses were his bread and butter.
Perhaps he couldn't stun them, but it wasn't like they were human. Instead, he apparated into their midst, casting slashing hexes and blasting curses before Apparating out again. He saved civilians, shielding them and directing them underground. He avoided the big fucking whales that flew around in the sky, thousands more insects spewing from their hide. That was Iron Man’s problem.
Sweat gathered on Sirius's brow and his magic began to protest as he continued to cast through his exhaustion. The fight went on and so did he, a curse on his lips, and his eyes peeled for survivors.
On a rooftop hundreds of storeys up, Sirius noticed a single figure about to be swarmed. He Apparated, grabbed the guy, and Apparated to the safety of another rooftop, panting for breath.
“Alright?” he asked. The guy was wearing leathers and carrying a bow and arrow. Muggles were so fucking weird.
"You!"
It was Barton! No wonder he'd looked familiar. Barton narrowed his eyes at him, but then the device in his ear caught his attention, as he touched it, and his eyes widened and he glanced around.
“Where’d you wanna go?” Sirius offered.
Barton looked up. Sirius followed his gaze. Iron Man flew into the portal that the aliens were spewing out of. There was a flash of light and moments later the portal began to close. The aliens dropped to the ground, marionettes with their strings cut, and he breathed a sigh of relief, still watching the portal, waiting to see if Iron Man would return.
Sirius really hoped Harry hadn't made a similar sacrifice play.
Iron Man appeared, but he looked the same that Harry had when he’d fallen of his broom, spiralling through the air. That was no controlled flight. Shit!
Sirius apparated beneath him. “Arresto momentum!” he cried. Iron Man's fall slowed and he came to a rest before Sirius, concrete clanging against the and metal suit.
“Alohomora,” Sirius said and the suit fell apart to reveal Tony Stark.
Mr America appeared, and peered over one shoulder, looking morose.
“Rennervate," Sirius murmured, then whacked Stark on the chest. After a moment, Stark’s eyes shot open and he took a few panting breaths. He stared at Mr America. “Please tell me you didn’t kiss me.”
Mr America grinned. "You wish." He nudged Sirius. “This guy saved you.”
Stark’s gaze settled on him, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Who are you?”
Sirius chuckled and slid his wand away. “A nobody,” he said. “Nice to meet you all, but I’ve got a shop to repair.” Inclining his head, he Apparated away.
Steve stared at the spot that had, until now, contained the unknown civilian.
“Is this one of those twenty first century things people keep forgetting to tell me?” he asked. Stark laughed, slightly manically, eyes wide.
“Captain. I can assure you that it is not.”
Tony and JARVIS had spent precious hours tracking down all the footage they could find of the battle of New York and collecting a montage of videos of his unknown saviour. JARVIS had finally found one with high enough definition that they could use to identify him and was running it through facial rec. While he did that, Tony watched one of the videos on repeat. The man pointed a stick at one of the Chitauri, muttered a word, and the creature exploded. He read through Barton’s report about being teleported off a rooftop, and confirmed that it was the same man who’d transformed himself from a dog to a human, and played around with their memories.
“Our mystery man is one Sirius Black, an engineer,” JARVIS announced. Tony scrolled through the information he’d found. He owned a garage: Marauder’s Motor Repairs. He’d appeared out of the blue in May 2007 and bought the previously disused lot. He lived in the flat above the garage, paid his taxes, and his only criminal offense was a speeding ticket.
“Let’s go pay the man a visit. The Audi needs some new tyres, doesn’t it?”
“If you say so, sir.”
Tony pulled into the garage’s car park, and Black ambled out to meet him, a resigned look upon his face.
“Mr Stark,” he greeted him.
“Mr Black, I presume?”
Black raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t look surprised to see me.”
Black shrugged. “You’re a very wealthy genius. Doubt there’s much you can’t find, should you put your mind to it.”
Irritatingly accurate. Tony liked to be unpredictable. “Whereabouts in the UK are you from?”
Black grimaced. “London.”
“That’s strange, as I couldn’t find a single trace of you before 2007.”
Black met his gaze, and held it.
“Are you calling me a liar, Mr Stark?” he asked blandly, but there was a hint of annoyance in his grey eyes.
Tony tugged on the bracelets around his wrists as reassurance. “I’m just saying that you’re not exactly being truthful.”
“I saved your life. I don’t owe you anything, let alone the truth. If you’re here to quiz me you can bugger off. I’ve done nothing illegal,” Black said.
Damn.
“I came to say thank you for saving my life.”
“Right. Anything else?” Black crossed his arms.
“My car needs new tyres.”
Black looked at the car, then back to Tony, disbelief evident on his face. “Right,” he repeated. Tony passed him the keys. “Come back tomorrow. It’ll be 800 bucks. Do you need a rental?”
Tony called the suit and smirked. “No thanks, I’ll fly back.” The suit fitted around him. He glanced at Black. The man looked unimpressed, a feat within itself.
“Very swish. Take your friends back with you.”
Tony frowned. “JARVIS?”
“It appears that there are two SHIELD agents in the black Chevrolet. Traffic cams indicate they followed us here,” JARVIS supplied for him.
“They’re not my friends,” Tony informed him, and jumped into the air. Bloody SHIELD.
Sirius watched as Iron Man flew away. Nosy bugger. Awesome suit. Not that he’d ever tell the man. He narrowed his eyes as the two SHIELD agents exited the car and walked toward him, hiding poorly concealed guns.
“Mr Black. If you’d come with us, we’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Sod off," he said.
The agents exchanged glances. One of them stepped forward. “We’ve been instructed to bring you in sir. It will go much easier for you if you come quietly.”
The nerve of some people. He raised his eyebrow.
“I doubt it. This is my property, and I’ve not broken the law. Bugger off.”
The over enthusiastic agent drew his gun. Sirius flicked his wand, jamming it, and his partners.
“Confundus. Both of you have suddenly realised that your true calling is as burlesque dancers. You will go and demonstrate you newly discovered skills to your bosses.”
Both men blinked and walked away.
Fuck. Sirius shouldn’t have stepped out his shop. Screw the rest of them. He cast the spells that would make the shop appear abandoned, changed Stark’s tires and drove the Audi onto the road, just beyond the wards, and placed the keys in the wheel. He packed a bag of essentials and revved up the motorcycle. He’d heard France was nice this time of year.
Tony returned to Black’s Garage the next day, only to find it empty, eerily so. The bastard had changed the tyres on the car and he easily found the keys. With them was a note:
Tell your friends not to bother searching. They’ll never find me. Next time I won’t help save you ungrateful lot.
Black
He broke several speed limits on his way to SHIELD HQ and stormed into Fury’s office, slamming the note onto his desk. Fury looked up wearily.
“I’ve just had two of my finest demonstrate to me exactly why they should be allowed to become strippers, courtesy of Mr Black. This better be good.”
“JARVIS tells me you threatened him, so he ran.”
Fury read the note and frowned. “We just wanted to have a chat. Find out where he’s from, what he believes in.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, because no one’s suspicious when a shady government agency tries to arrest them using deadly force,” he snarked.
Fury closed his eyes. “If that’s all, Mr Stark?”
Tony huffed. “That’s all.”
Sirius grinned at the waitress who’d returned with another glass of whisky.
“Thanks love,” he said. She winked at him as she set it down. He happily watched her walk away and absently wondered what time she got off shift.
So, he was on the run again. He had the advantage of a freshly transfigured face and the ability to counterfeit money with just one word. He had his trusty motorcycle and a plethora of spells he could use to evade the feds for as long as he liked and there was a pretty girl making eyes at him every time she walked past.
Life was good.