Harry Potter : Bloodraven

Howard Stark stared at the mysterious man before him, his mind still reeling from the absurdity of what he had just heard. Terraforming? It sounded like something straight out of science fiction, yet here he was, being told he would play a role in making it a reality.

"You're talking about reshaping an entire planet," Howard finally said in a low but firm voice. "Do you even understand the scale of what you're asking? And what if I can't make it happen? What then?"

Maverick remained unmoved. "With the science of this era alone? No, it wouldn't be possible. But with science and magic, I'm confident that we can make it work. You're the smartest man alive—apart from your son, perhaps. Don't underestimate your own genius."

Howard stared at him for a long moment, searching for words but finding none. He then glanced at Maria, who looked just as shaken as he felt.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed on, "Terraforming requires advanced engineering, atmospheric regulation, resource management—it's not something you just do overnight."

"We have time. Two whole decades," Maverick responded, his distorted voice unwavering to the couple as he met their gaze.

He needed them to understand—needed Howard Stark to see—that this wasn't an impossible task.

And more importantly, that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You're a scientist, and I'm an alchemist. With our combined expertise, it will be done. But this conversation will have to continue elsewhere." He turned his head slightly, as if sensing something unseen. "We've been here too long. It's time to leave."

Before Howard could ask what he meant, Maverick lifted a hand.

From the shadows, another figure emerged—a man in his late thirties, dressed in a dark suit. His features and complexion suggested Middle Eastern heritage.

"Ali," Maverick introduced.

Howard narrowed his eyes. "You look familiar..."

Ali smiled. "We meet again, Stark."

Howard studied him for a moment before realization struck. "You're the guy who came with that investor… what was his name? Trying to buy stocks in my company."

Ali gave a small nod. "Yes… and I remember being decisively rejected."

"We can talk about that later," Maverick interjected. "Can you handle the arrangements here?"

Howard couldn't help but interrupt, "And what exactly does 'handle the arrangements' mean?"

Maverick glanced at him before gesturing toward the wreckage. "Arranging the scene. Making sure your deaths remain convincing. With magic, we will create two bodies identical to you—both in appearance and in flesh," he explained vaguely.

The Starks didn't need to know the details. The decoys wouldn't be mere illusions or artificial constructs—they would be real people, transformed with Polyjuice Potion to resemble them.

The key advantage of Polyjuice was that if someone died while under its effects, their appearance wouldn't revert once the potion wore off. They would remain looking like the person they had transformed into—sometimes for weeks, even months. And Maverick had acquired a far more potent variation of the potion during his travels, one that ensured the disguise would last even longer.

Howard stiffened. He didn't understand any of it. And he didn't like it—none of it—but he knew there was nothing he could do to protest.

Maverick stepped forward, raising a hand, and made a slow vertical movement in the air. To the Stark couple's astonishment, a rift of deep blue energy tore open the space before them. Without another word, Maverick gestured for them to follow and stepped through first.

Howard hesitated, glancing at Maria before taking her hand. Together, they followed Maverick into the unknown, Bucky Barnes' unconscious body silently levitating behind them.

---

They emerged in a dimly lit chamber—a sleek, modern space lined with bookshelves, alchemical tools, and enchanted artifacts. The air was cool, the space eerily quiet.

"This will be your home for now," Maverick stated, walking forward. "A safe house. It has everything you need to live comfortably—three bedrooms with attached bathrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, a living room, a library—"

"I get it. The world's most luxurious prison. Congratulations, you've won the award," Howard cut in dryly.

Maverick paused mid-step, turning to give him a long, dense stare. The weight of it made Howard flinch and unconsciously take a step back.

"I—I apologize," he muttered after a moment, hesitant but sincere. "That was out of line."

Maverick didn't respond. Instead, he simply continued as if the interruption had never happened.

"You'll remain here until I finalize the arrangements. Don't think of it as captivity. Once your new identities are established, you'll be free to move as you please."

Howard exhaled sharply. He still wanted to argue, to push back against the situation—but he knew it was pointless. And more importantly, he couldn't.

Maverick turned his attention to Maria. "Do you need rest before we continue?"

Maria had been silently listening all this time, following her husband's lead. When asked, she decisively shook her head, though the exhaustion on her face was evident. "I just want to know what happens next."

Maverick nodded. "Very well. First, I'll provide you with an alchemic tool that will allow you to alter your appearance in public. I'll need about a week to prepare it. Remember, your old identities are gone—you're no longer Howard and Maria Stark. You'll receive new names, backgrounds, everything."

Howard frowned. "And what if we... hypothetically, say try to contact someone we shouldn't?"

Maverick's eyes glowed ominously. "That won't happen."

He flicked his fingers, and a faint pulse of magic spread through the air, sinking into their skin. Howard flinched. Maria tensed.

A small tattoo of a raven's head, no larger than a thumbnail, slowly materialized on their wrists.

Howard and Maria raised their hands, opening their palms as they felt a slight itch where the mark had appeared.

"Think of it as a temporary precaution until we can trust each other," Maverick explained.

"Trust?" Howard scoffed involuntarily but immediately schooled his expression, realizing his situation. He didn't say anything else.

In reality, Maverick didn't care about his attitude. If their positions were reversed, he would have reacted the same way—he knew that much. So, he continued. "The spell won't control you, but if you even consider reaching out to someone from your past—anyone who could compromise what we're doing—I'll know. And the spell will stop you before you act on it."

Howard clenched his jaw but didn't protest. What was there to say?

Maverick stepped back. "That concludes our arrangements for now..." He paused, then turned his attention to the unconscious super soldier lying on the couch. "Now, let's see about curing Mr. Barnes."

Howard and Maria followed his gaze, their expressions wary. The man who had tried to kill them now lay motionless, as if he were just another person taking an afternoon nap.

"I still can't believe this is Sergeant Barnes..." Howard muttered after a long silence.

Maverick glanced at him. "If you want to see how I cure him, you're welcome to follow. I'll show you his memories—proof that Hydra is still operating in the shadows."

Without waiting for a response, Maverick turned and walked toward one of the doors, Bucky's body slowly lifting off the couch and floating after him.

Howard hesitated briefly, then took a step forward. Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned to Maria. "Sweetheart, why don't you rest? Maybe take a shower."

Maria didn't argue. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Whatever was about to happen, she had no desire to witness it—not from a man who felt more like their captor than their savior.

Howard gave her a reassuring nod before following Maverick into the next room.

Inside, Maverick raised a hand, and a solid metal table formed in front of them. With a flick of his fingers, the Winter Soldier's body was gently lowered onto it, then secured tightly with thick, enchanted restraints. The table inclined vertically, positioning Barnes upright so that when he woke, he would be face-to-face with them.

"Let's wake you up..." Maverick said, snapping his fingers.

A pulse of magic surged through the air, and the unconscious super soldier's eyes snapped open with a sharp intensity. Instinct took over immediately—his gaze darted around the room, assessing his surroundings.

To him, it felt like just moments ago, he had been in the middle of a mission, about to confront a mysterious figure who had interfered. Then—nothing. Just an empty void. And now, he was here, in a brightly lit space, staring at that same figure.

Bucky tried to move, but his body refused to obey. His enhanced muscles strained against the restraints, yet not a single inch gave way. Whatever was holding him was stronger than any force he had encountered.

His sharp, scrutinizing gaze locked onto Maverick, then flickered to the man standing beside him—Howard Stark.

Maverick tilted his head slightly. "Not much of a talker, are you, Mr. Winter Soldier?" His voice, masked by distortion, was calm, almost amused. "Or is that the case with all of you?"

Bucky remained silent, his stare unwavering, unblinking.

Maverick let out a small, dismissive hum. "Doesn't matter." He turned to Howard. "I'm going to delve into his mind and project what I see. You'll feel as if you're inside his memories—don't be alarmed. It'll be just like before."

Howard's eye twitched slightly. The casual way Maverick said that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. But after a tense moment, he gave a reluctant nod.

Maverick raised a hand, a faint glow forming at his fingertips as he reached toward Bucky's forehead. Then—

Darkness.

Howard inhaled sharply as everything around him vanished into an abyss.

"What just happened?" he asked, turning frantically, searching for the figure who had been beside him just moments ago.

Then, that familiar distorted voice echoed from all around him.

"I'm accessing his mind."

With that, he saw a swirling vortex form in the void infront of him, and from it, that person took shape, appearing once more at his side.

"I swear you're doing that on purpose..." Howard blurted out, but he got no response.

Instead, the figure met his gaze and gestured to the endless void surrounding them.

"What you see is what I see... This is his mind."

Howard sighed, feeling dejected. When had he ever been treated like this?

But the thought was just that—a thought. What could he even do?

So, he pushed it aside, took a steadying breath, and looked around the void.

"I'm seeing a whole lot of nothing," he couldn't help but say.

For a moment, a brief silence settled between them as they both seemed to take in the endless expanse of nothing.

Then, the figure finally spoke.

"You're right. It's like his mind is an empty void, and his thoughts..." He trailed off, then pointed toward something in the distance.

Howard followed his gaze and spotted a faint flicker of light in the distance where he had pointed.

But before he could react, his vision shifted—sudden and seamless, as if he had been pulled forward in an instant.

The distant flicker was now much closer, revealing itself as countless shattered fragments, each one glowing softly like scattered pieces of broken glass.

"What is this?" Howard asked, looking perplexed.

"Memories…" the figure murmured in response. "broken..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Howard asked.

The figure glanced at him before replying, "Memories are like data..." He gestured toward the sea of broken, glass-like fragments. "And what you see here is that data—corrupted, but..." He paused, then added, "fortunately, not destroyed. Just damaged."

Howard raised a brow. "Since when do magicals know about computer data?"

The figure turned his attention back to the fragments. With a casual gesture, he pulled one toward them and said, "We're wizards, Stark. Not savages."

And the next moment, Howard saw the fragment that was floating towards them suddenly expand—shifting, swirling—and in an instant, the world snapped into place around him.

God damn it. Not again.

He cursed under his breath.

---

A frozen battlefield.

Wind howled through the mountains, biting cold lashing against soldiers caught in the throes of war. Amid the chaos, a young James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky—clung to the side of a crumbling train, his expression hardened by battle.

Howard exhaled sharply. "This is… before he died."

Maverick didn't respond, his glowing eyes locked onto the scene as it unfolded.

The train jerked violently. Bucky's grip faltered.

Then—he fell.

The world rushed past as his body plummeted. He struck the mountainside hard, a sickening crack of bone and ice echoing through the ravine. Snow cushioned some of the impact, but it wasn't enough. His body crumpled, unmoving.

Howard winced. He had read the reports. Bucky Barnes had been presumed dead. But now, he was watching what came after.

Dark shapes moved through the snow. Soldiers—not American. Their uniforms bore a different insignia.

Hydra.

They approached cautiously, rifles trained on the fallen soldier. One knelt, checking his pulse, then called out in German. The others moved in.

Howard clenched his fists.

Bucky stirred. Barely. He was still alive.

Maverick flicked his fingers, and the memory fast-forwarded. The scene blurred—Bucky, dragged through the snow, transported to a hidden Hydra facility deep in the mountains. Medical equipment surrounded him, and shadowed figures loomed. His arm—his real arm—was gone, lost to the fall. But Hydra had other plans.

Howard's breath hitched as he saw the metal grafting process begin.

A crude, agonizing surgery. Metal fusing to flesh. Bucky screamed, but no one comforted him.

Another flick, and the scene changed again.

---

A dimly lit room. Cold. Sterile.

Bucky sat restrained in a heavy metal chair, arms bound, face blank—empty. His eyes, once bright with life, were glassy and hollow.

Before him, a Hydra scientist stood with a notebook, reading aloud in Russian.

"Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать..."

As the words continued, Bucky's body tensed, his fingers curling into fists. The blankness deepened. His breathing slowed, mechanical.

Howard felt a pit form in his stomach. "Is this… how they brainwashed him?"

Maverick nodded. "This is how they broke him. They made him stare at a projection for days, bombarding his mind with commands—words, images, and subliminal messages, all reinforcing obedience and suppressing resistance."

"They started by exhausting him. Sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation... keeping him awake for days until his mind was too weak to fight back. The projections weren't just images... they were hypnotic patterns designed to break focus, to pull his consciousness into a haze where reality blurred and the only thing that remained clear was their voice, their commands."

Howard clenched his fists as Maverick continued.

"They stripped him of everything... memories, emotions, even his sense of self. Every time he resisted, they erased more of him. Not all at once—that would be too obvious, too ineffective. Instead, they rewrote his memories little by little, fragmenting his past, making him doubt what was real. They rewarded compliance with moments of relief and punished defiance with more erasure, conditioning his mind like a machine being reprogrammed."

Maverick continued.

"Eventually, resistance became painful—literally. They linked disobedience with suffering, rewiring his brain so that even thinking against their orders triggered agony. And once his mind associated submission with relief and rebellion with unbearable pain, they didn't need chains anymore. He was theirs."

Howard swallowed hard, his throat dry. The sheer cruelty of it made his skin crawl.

The memories continued—missions carried out without question. Assassinations. Operations that toppled governments.

One memory stood out.

A Hydra commander giving orders. Discussing a mission. The target's name was spoken.

"Howard Stark... Maria Stark. "

Howard stiffened. His name. His wife's name. Their deaths—planned in cold blood.

---

After some time, the vision collapsed into darkness, and once again, he found himself back in the room in reality.

But the echoes of Bucky's experiences lingered, like fading whispers in the air, refusing to disappear.

He saw the figure turned to him. "Do you see now? Hydra never died. They only went into hiding."

Howard's face turned pale, his hands trembling slightly. "Are we going to stop them?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"They will be stopped," Maverick assured him. "Not right now, but they will be."

Then, his gaze shifted to Bucky's real, unconscious body—still strapped to the metal table in the safe house. His expression hardened with quiet determination.

"But first, we fix him."

Raising his hand, Maverick pressed his palm to Bucky's forehead.

A pulse of energy surged outward. Bucky's body convulsed, a sharp gasp tearing from his lips as his muscles tensed against the restraints. Then, his eyes snapped open—bloodshot, wild, and filled with something raw.

Maverick met the Winter Soldier's gaze, and spoke to him in steady and unwavering tone.

"I'm fixing the fragments of your memories," he told him. "Every word they burned into you, every command they forced upon you—I will erase them."

Bucky jerked violently, his breathing ragged. His metal arm strained against the bindings, his body writhing as if something inside was fighting back.

Howard stepped forward instinctively. "Is this… normal?"

Maverick held his gaze. "Yes. The conditioning was brutal, but in the end, it's just cause and effect—nothing magical, nothing supernatural. Hydra only used science."

He paused before adding, "Undoing it will be painful. But that pain also means he's still human."

Bucky let out a hoarse, guttural sound. Not a scream—but close.

Maverick pressed harder, his magic flowing through the super soldier's mind—unraveling the layers of control, peeling away the false obedience Hydra had forced upon him.

His master level proficiency of Magical Sense and Magical Energy Manipulation gave him precise control, and with Occlumency and Legilimency at an advanced level, the process wasn't too difficult for him.

Images flashed through Bucky's thoughts—missions, orders, faces of people he had killed.

Then—

Whatever was deemed harmful—commands, conditioning, the memories of torture—was erased.

At the same time, Bucky's past memories slowly pieced themselves back together.

However, Maverick didn't erase the actions Bucky had committed while brainwashed. Those memories, painful as they were, would define him—drive him. Maverick wanted Bucky to remember, not to punish him, but to give him the chance to rise above it.

Bucky's breath hitched. "Help... me..." It was a plea—weak but real. The words broke through the fog, through the conditioning.

And Maverick seized the moment to push his magic even deeper.

A final, shuddering breath left Bucky's lips—then he slumped forward, unconscious.

The room was silent.

Howard let out an exhale while running a hand through his hair. "Is… is he cured?"

Maverick studied Bucky's still form. "He's free. But recovery… that will take time."

Howard looked at the broken man before him whom he once called a friend. Perhaps, he'd get to call him that again.

"Then let's give him that time," he said after a moment of thought.

—————————

Author's Note:

Just a quick update — up to Chapter 139 is already available on P AT r30n!

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic