Chapter Text
*
Pop!
A sharp crack split the silence of the deserted, tree-lined street as Bucky’s figure materialized out of thin air. He steadied himself, scanning the surroundings to make sure no Muggles were about. The hour was still early; the local residents were most likely asleep.
He shook out his sleeve to cover the wand in his hand, then turned to the row of terraced houses along the street. His eyes quickly settled on the familiar number. The house he was looking at appeared no different from the Muggle homes on either side—because, in truth, it wasn’t. No faint shimmer of magic, no ripple of warped space, no trace of a Muggle-Repelling Charm or an Anti-Detection spell, let alone anything as advanced as the Fidelius Charm.
There wasn’t a single trace of magic here.
Bucky felt a pang tighten in his chest. Striding forward, he touched the locked front door with the tip of his wand. Not even a basic Locking Charm. He sighed. So she really meant to live like a Muggle, then?
He slipped his wand away and knocked politely, like any Muggle visitor might. He had barely rapped twice before a burst of excited barking erupted behind the door, punctuated by the patter of little paws scrambling across the floorboards—closer, closer. If Fanny was home, then Yelena must be too.
“Yelena, it’s me,” he called.
Fanny barked even louder, but nothing else happened. No footsteps. No hand on the latch. After waiting in vain, Bucky realized Yelena wasn’t coming to open the door. With no other choice, he drew his wand again and muttered, “Alohomora.”
The lock clicked open at once, and Fanny launched herself at him, front paws scrabbling at his trouser leg, tail a frantic blur. She yipped with unrestrained joy. Bucky reached down to ruffle her soft head, then headed toward the sitting room with her trotting at his heels. With a wave of his hand, the door swung shut behind him.
The living room was a wreck. The heavy tang of vodka hung thick in the air; the floor was littered with empty bottles, dirty laundry, mismatched shoes, half-crushed crisp packets, and collapsed pizza boxes… as though a storm had torn through, leaving nothing but raw, desperate chaos in its wake.
And still, not the faintest trace of magic. Even though Bucky knew perfectly well that a simple Scouring Charm or Mending Charm could have put everything right.
She really did mean to live like a Muggle.
Bucky’s gaze drifted to the center of the living room, where a battered old sofa sagged beneath the shape of a curled-up figure.
Yelena lay on her side, back turned toward him, wrapped in a blanket that reeked of alcohol, only a tumble of tangled blonde hair visible. Empty bottles, drained to the last drop, were scattered around the sofa. She was clearly still caught in the haze of a hangover.
He motioned for Fanny to stay quiet, and the dog obeyed—tail wagging, but silent. Tilting his head, Bucky listened carefully. No heavy, sluggish breathing. She was awake. Speaking to the curve of her shoulders, he said:
“Yelena. Sorry to drop by unannounced. Is this a good time?”
Without turning, her voice rasped out from beneath the blanket—flat, cold:
“Not a good time.”
“There’s a mission,” Bucky pressed. “We need you on it.”
“Not going.” The refusal was instant, cutting.
Bucky knew well enough how she felt about the Ministry, so he clarified: “It’s not the Ministry. It’s in the States.”
“Even worse. I hate Americans,” she said icily.
He chose to ignore that. “There’s trouble at MACUSA. Their Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement defected. Sam’s acting in her place, but he’s short on Aurors. He asked us to send reinforcements.”
“Not my problem.”
“John and Ava already agreed,” Bucky said, his voice earnest. “They want you with them. The three of you—you’re old partners, aren’t you?”
“They can sod off.”
“Yelena,” he tried again, softer this time, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t serious. But you’re the only one who can do this.”
“Then you can sod off too.” No hesitation. No mercy.
Bucky dropped his eyes, a helpless weight pressing down on him. Ever since Nat’s death, Yelena had been like this—reckless, hollowed out, unwilling to care about anything. She hadn’t so much as touched her wand. Watching her waste away like this broke his heart, but there was nothing he could do.
Sam’s request had seemed like an opening. But if duty couldn’t wake her, perhaps the truth would.
“The witch who defected took someone with her. A dark magic experiment… calls himself Sentry.”
“Never heard of it.” Her tone was flat, disinterested.
“No one had. Not until recently. They’ve only just uncovered who the Sentry really is. He went to Hogwarts, years ago. Back then, his name was Robert Reynolds.”
The effect was immediate. Even Fanny stopped wagging her tail, staring up in dumbstruck silence. Slowly, Yelena pushed herself upright on the sofa and turned her head toward him. Those sharp green eyes—Nat’s eyes, all over again—locked onto his. For just one flickering second, Bucky saw the Auror she used to be: gaze like a blade, presence like a storm, a predator scenting her prey.
“Say that again,” she demanded. “More details.”
*
Yelena Apparated to the agreed-upon shore. Bucky, John, and Ava were already waiting. The sun was blazing, the beach stretching endlessly around them. The three of them stood in a loose circle around a moldy old tire—the Portkey that would carry them to Washington.
Hands in his pockets, John flashed her an easy grin. “You made it.” He turned his head toward Ava. “Ava?”
With a long-suffering sigh, Ava fished out a Galleon and tossed it across the tire. John caught it, laughing.
He turned back to Yelena, all smug. “We had a bet. She thought you wouldn’t show.”
Yelena frowned. “Didn’t Bucky tell you?”
“He did. She didn’t buy it.”
Bucky said nothing, just stepped aside to make space for her in the circle. John was still riding his little victory high. He nudged Yelena’s shoulder and teased, “So, how long’s it been since your last mission? Still remember which end of a wand does the work?”
“Shut up,” Yelena muttered without even looking up.
Unbothered, John pressed on, grinning wider. “C’mon, lighten up. Not everybody gets the honor of hauling their ex off to Azkaban.”
“There’s no Azkaban in the States,” Ava cut in coolly.
John shrugged. “Jail’s jail. No difference.”
“He’s not my ex,” Yelena snapped.
John’s grin turned sly. “Uh-huh. Still no difference.”
“He’s just… someone I used to know,” Yelena said, her tone carefully distant.
“Sure. Just someone you used to know,” John echoed, mock-sincere. “Didn’t you take this particular ‘someone’ home for Christmas every year?”
“I’ve taken a lot of people home. Doesn’t make them all my exes.”
That only lit a fire under John. He stared at her, wide-eyed, like she’d just denied the sun rises in the east.
“Seriously, Yelena? You’re really pulling the denial card now? What’s the point? We all know why they want you on this job—”
“And you’re here too, aren’t you? I told you, he’s just an acquaintance—”
“Call it whatever you want, but I usually don’t make out with an ‘acquaintance’ behind the Gryffindor tapestry—”
“Walker!” Bucky’s voice cracked like a whip. He shot John a warning glare, catching the way Yelena was practically bristling with fury. Bucky sighed, trying to sound fair: “Enough. Time’s up. Hands on.”
Yelena slapped her hand onto the Portkey, still glaring daggers at John. He averted his eyes fast, only to meet Ava’s calm, unamused look that clearly said, You deserved that.
His eyes widened, mouthing, Why?
Ava gave the smallest shake of her head: Drop it.
But John wasn’t convinced. Yelena was always (irrationally) short-tempered, sure—but not so touchy she couldn’t handle the truth. Something had to have happened between her and Bob. What was it again? Why did they break up?
The Portkey was starting to hum, light swelling around the old tire. Bucky’s voice came through, already fading at the edges:
“Good luck. Tell Sam I said hi.”
*
Sam Wilson stood in the middle of the briefing room, wand raised. With a flick, a shimmering projection sprang into the air.
A boy’s face appeared—brown-haired, timid, nervous around the edges.
“Robert Reynolds,” Sam began, his tone brisk but steady. “Half-blood. Mother was a witch, father was a No-Maj—one of those who hated magic with a passion. Kid got abused growing up, and somewhere along the line he awakened… something. Some kind of unstable chaos magic nobody could pin down.”
He moved his wand again. The boy’s face dissolved into an image of a ruined building, rubble everywhere.
“Back when he was at Ilvermorny, Robert caused at least three major incidents like this. The headmaster suspected he was an Obscurial, but couldn’t be sure. So they shipped him off to Hogwarts, where Professor Dumbledore took him on personally. He transferred in the fifth year, sorted into Slytherin.”
He nodded toward the three Hogwarts alums in the room. The two women didn’t so much as blink; John, meanwhile, made a face at the word Slytherin.
Sam went on: “Professor Dumbledore watched him for about a year. Wrote back to Ilvermorny saying, no, Robert wasn’t an Obscurial—just a kid with trauma, magic he couldn’t control, but he could heal from it. So he stayed at Hogwarts. Graduated without ever causing the kind of disasters he had back in the States.”
The image shifted again, this time into a parchment scroll: a NEWT results sheet, Hogwarts crest stamped at the top, Robert’s name in neat ink.
“He graduated with top marks. Straight Os. But here’s the weird part—after graduation, he didn’t pick a single magical career. Didn’t go back to the States, either. Just… disappeared. Not even a trace of spellwork after that. The only explanation is, for some reason, he chose to live like a No-Maj.”
Yelena’s lashes dipped, her eyes lowering, just for a second. Sam noticed, though he kept his voice even as he flicked his wand again.
This time, the light shaped itself into a miniature Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, cracked and splintered as though lightning had struck it.
“Three years later,” Sam said quietly, pausing, “Professor Dumbledore passed. A real loss.” He let a few beats of silence settle, his head bowed in brief respect.
“When your Ministry investigated Dumbledore’s personal papers, they turned up his treatment records for Robert.”
A stack of parchment floated into view.
“And those records suggested Robert really was an Obscurial. One of the rare ones who managed to survive into his twenties without being exposed. Since he was American, the MACUSA stepped in. They found him holed up in a London flat and hauled him away. The Aurors who grabbed him happened to be Valentina’s team.”
At that, Yelena looked up, something quick and sharp flashing through her eyes before it vanished.
Sam caught it, but didn’t let it show in his voice. “By law, Obscurials are supposed to be destroyed. And on paper, that’s exactly what happened—the records say Robert was executed as soon as he was brought back. But clearly, that’s not the truth. Valentina kept him alive. Hid him. Used him for experiments. And from the looks of things… the experiments worked.”
He exhaled heavily, shoulders tight.
“Now he’s not Robert anymore. He’s calling himself Sentry. A monster, under Valentina’s control. She’s already used him to take our headquarters. We had to relocate here to D.C. But once he’s finished wiping out New York, he’ll come after us here too. That’s the situation. And as you can see, things aren’t looking good.”
John cut in, restless. “So what can he actually do?”
“Pretty much anything you can imagine a dark wizard pulling off—he’s got it,” Sam said. “The worst part is, he’s figured out some kind of… twisted illusion spell. We call it the Void Realm. Inside, it’s just an endless string of rooms, and in every room, you’re stuck reliving the memory you least wanna face. Honestly, it’s like stepping into a house built by Dementors.” He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “We’ve been calling them shame rooms. And in there, there’s no death. Just pain. Most people never make it out.”
“How do you know that much about it?” Ava asked suddenly, sharp-eyed.
Sam didn’t flinch. “Because I’m the only one so far who’s made it out.”
That earned a raised eyebrow from John, silent but loaded. Sam ignored him and flicked his wand again, revealing a projection of a city street swallowed in pitch black.
“Everyone else who went in got swallowed by it. What’s left of them now is just… shadows. Not dead, not alive, no way to tell. And half of New York is already covered in the stuff.”
The room went quiet. Finally, Yelena spoke, voice flat. “So what? Every Auror in America couldn’t stop him, but you think the three of us will?”
Sam met her gaze. “When I was trapped inside the Void Realm, I managed to push through his defenses and break into Sentry’s own shame room. Or rather—Robert’s.”
That made Yelena’s eyes narrow, wary. “And what exactly did you see?”
Sam’s voice dropped. “I saw you. And John. And Ava. That’s how I knew he had to be a Hogwarts student. It was that lead that let me track down who he really was.”
John and Ava traded a look, completely lost. Yelena, still stone-faced, pressed him again. “What exactly did you see?”
Sam didn’t answer her directly. Instead, he lowered his wand, and the images winked out. His tone shifted—casual, almost conversational. “If I remember right, you went straight into Auror training after graduation? Three years in London, right?”
“What are you getting at?” Her words came out sharp as glass.
Sam exhaled, as if reluctant. “Those three years—you were the one hiding Robert. I saw the flat. The two of you, living together in London.”
“Who the hell gave you permission to snoop?!” Yelena’s anger exploded, raw and unguarded.
“Yelena,” Sam said, apologetic but firm, “you’re the one who knows him best, except Valentina. That makes you the one chance we’ve got to beat him. That’s why I asked Bucky to bring you in. I need your help.”
“…Wait.” John suddenly sat forward, incredulous. “Then what exactly are Ava and I supposed to be doing here?”
Sam didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes stayed locked on Yelena, steady, earnest, hoping she’d crack.
For a moment, she just stood there, dazed. The one who knows Robert best, except Valentina. The words echoed in her head, leaving a bitter curl on her lips.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was calm. “I can’t help you.”
“Yelena,” Sam blurted, urgent. “New York’s falling apart. The entire American wizarding world is falling apart. If I had any other option, I wouldn’t have come to you. I know what you’ve been through, and I know you deserve a quiet life. But right now, we need your help. Just this once.”
“I really can’t help you, Sam.” Yelena didn’t flinch.
“You can. I believe you can.”
His words hit the floor and died there. Silence swallowed the room. John and Ava exchanged a glance, but said nothing. They were waiting for Yelena’s decision, ready—as always—to back her no matter what.
Then Yelena broke the silence. “How did you escape the Void Realm?” she asked, eyes drilling into Sam.
Everyone froze.
She repeated, harder this time. “Every single witch and wizard who’s gone up against Sentry ended up trapped in there. Except you. So how did you get out?”
Good question, John thought belatedly. Sam’s magic wasn’t even in the same league as his own—so how had he pulled off what nobody else could? What, two years gone and suddenly the guy’s America’s number one?
“I…” Sam faltered, caught off guard.
Yelena read it instantly. “He let you out. Didn’t he? Because you could lead him to me.”
“Yelena, it’s not what you think—”
“Then tell me how you got out,” she snapped. “Go on. Say it.”
John exploded. “Are you kidding me, Sam? You made a deal like that? You traded Yelena?!”
“I didn’t make a deal!” Sam shot back, his voice rising. He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and explained to Yelena, “When I was in Robert’s shame room, I saw you. At first, I thought it was just a coincidence, but you kept showing up. Over and over again. I realized you might be a way in, a leverage point. So I… I told the thing running the place that I knew you. That you were my friend’s little sister.”
He hesitated, voice trembling at the memory. “Then Robert showed up. Not Sentry—Robert. Or what was left of him. Just a shadow in the shape of a man, with eyes that glowed. He asked me about you, and I told him everything I knew.”
“So he cut you a deal,” Yelena said mercilessly. “He let you out, and in return you’d hand me over.”
“It wasn’t a deal,” Sam said, choking on the denial. He shook his head, then finally admitted, “Okay. Maybe it was, in a way. But I swear to you, Yelena, I don’t think he meant it with malice. I know it sounds insane, but I believe Robert’s not beyond saving. He’s not like this because he chose to be. Valentina’s pulling the strings. There’s still a conscience in him. There’s still a chance.”
“You sound exactly like Professor Dumbledore,” she said, her voice icy.
“You can save him, Yelena. He wants to see you.”
“I can’t save him.” The words cracked like stone. She lowered her gaze, her face unreadable, and finally said it aloud: “I broke up with him years ago.”
“But—”
“I know what you’re hoping for. Let me make it clear—it’s not happening. I’m not your ‘way in.’ I can’t save him. More likely, you’ve been played. He probably used you just to get to me. Those years he spent with me… they made him feel shame.” She spat the last words like venom.
“That’s not true, Yelena.”
She ignored him, and instead switched tack, voice cool and precise. “Oh—and let me correct you on one thing.”
Sam went still, waiting.
“Robert Reynolds wasn’t hauled away by American Aurors. He went willingly. He wanted to go back, to make his mark. That’s where he met Valentina, and they clicked right away. So this story you’re selling me about him being controlled… I don’t buy it.”
Sam had no answer. John and Ava exchanged a tense look. Yelena didn’t bother with them. She went on, steady as steel.
“You’re wasting your time with me. We broke up a long time ago. I never really knew him back then, and I sure as hell don’t now.”
The words cracked something open inside her. Memories flooded back sharp and merciless.
She saw Bob again—towering, calm in a way that felt cruel, looking her dead in the eye as he said without hesitation:
“I don’t think that you know me.”
Ha. The recollection stabbed like it had the first time. She even let out a dry, bitter laugh. She’d been so crushed back then, so young. Compared to everything she’d survived since, that heartbreak was nothing.
It had only hurt because it was the first time. Coming home from work, opening the door, and finding a flat full of strangers—dark-suited Americans, and him among them, suddenly a stranger too. She’d thought they were there to drag him away. But no. He couldn’t wait to go. Didn’t even give her a chance to fight for him.
She’d been just a trainee Auror. Even if she had fought, she wouldn’t have stood a chance. Not that it mattered.
It had all happened so fast. And after that—nothing. No word, no trace.
Just one day, and the six years they’d shared were ripped apart, tossed aside by him without a second thought.
Didn’t matter anymore.
Didn’t matter at all.
Yelena steadied herself, looked Sam in the eye, and said, flat and final:
“I can’t help you, Sam. I expect you to arrange a Portkey. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
[TBC]
The link to the original Chinese version on LOFTER:
https://yinyuan4869.lofter.com/post/1d08fcc7_2bf5963b0?incantation=rzfknZ5Upn73