Heyy! This is my first fanfiction, so I hope that it isn't too bad!

All characters (except those you don't know :P ) belong to J.K. Rowling and Marvel respectively!

Please remember that while I love and completely embrace all criticism for this story, (including grammar corrections, ideas, pros and cons about the story/characters etc.), if you have nothing nice to say, please don't say it at all!

The dry pounding of footsteps hitting the pavement sounded out throughout the narrow alleyway. The runner strode ahead, head held high, sweat slowly trickling down his face, his clear blue eyes showing none of the weariness that his own body felt. Steve Rogers breathed in deeply through his nose and shut his eyes, shut off his memories, and tried to shut off his thoughts to the past. No. He mentally berated himself. He mustn't remember. He forced himself not to remember. The pain was all to great otherwise.

Ever since he had been discovered and been brought up to the surface of a somehow familiar, but extraordinary new world, his life had changed dramatically. Suddenly there was no more Peggy Carter, the love of his life, no more Second World War, and dare he say it, no more Red Skull. He chuckled bitterly to himself. At least there was one good thing that had come out of this whole mess.

His thoughts flickered back to the recent occurances. It had been five days since the world had nearly been taken over by aliens and, truth be told, he was exhausted by the whole matter, although he tried not to show it. Especially to that sarcastic weirdo, Tony Stark. He hadn't believed his own eyes when Stark had nearly sacrificed himself to save his country and the world. Steve chuckled again, but this time, not so bitterly. His relationship with his co-mate had definitely gotten into the 'just friends' stage and he was very relieved as a result. Thinking up snappy comebacks was extremely taxing.

He shook his head ruefully as his short trip through the alleyway came to an end and Steve thankfully ran to a slow stop. He checked his Pedometer. 45kms. He analysed the tiny numbers critically. It was alright, he decided, but tomorrow, he would try for 50. He slowly walked through the streets of New York, letting his body cool down after the long run. Being 3am in the morning, it was the one time when the streets of the city were nearly quiet, especially, in the back streets where Steve was now slowly walking. He strode up to a pair of teenage girls, both hideously drunk and giggling hysterically.

One, a black haired one, tripped over in one of her ridiculously high-heeled shoes, but before she could hit the ground, Steve swiftly stepped forward and caught her, the unmistakable smell of alcohol penetrating his nose. He winced inwardly at the smell. The girl, meanwhile, stared up at him, dumbstruck, before an incredible smile lit up her pale face, as if she were unable to believe her own good luck. Steve looked past the smile and into her bloodshot eyes and realised just how drunk the black haired girl was. He set her gently on her feet. "You should go home," he said absent-mindedly, not really looking at the flirtatious glances that the girl was sending his way.

In reply to his statement, the girl just looked up at him and fluttered her eyelashes daintily. "Ah, y-yes. We w-werejust g-going to do th-that now. C-care to j-join us?" she slurred. Steve flashed a quick, but cold smile at the girl.

"I'm afraid I'm pre-occupied at the moment," his voice devoid of emotion. The girl looked up at him, and a brief flicker of surprise ran past her face.

"O-okay," she said unsteadily and looked at him pleadingly. "I'll j-just b-be going n-now."

"Alright. Good morning to you", and Steve abrubtly stepped away from them and started pacing away, leaving the two astonished drunks behind him. Soon, their giggling was once again all that could be heard on the forsaken street.

Hermione Granger shot a spell behind her, everything falling into slow motion as she dived to one side to avoid another spell coming in her direction. She reached the safety of the rocks just in time, as the unmistakable green light of the killing curse sailed past her shoulder. Exhaustion racked her body and uncontrollable tears trailed down her dirt ridden cheeks. She closed her eyes and mental images slashed across her mind like fire. The Golden Cup of Helga Hufflepuff mangling in her hands as she stabbed the evil from it. Ron falling to a burst of green light. More tears made their way down her pale cheeks. She had just seen her best friend and lover fall lifeless beside her and the grief was trying to destroy her, take over her body and soul, but she managed to suppress it. Just.

A death eater apparated in front of her and Hermione Granger was once again fighting for her life. Five draining minutes later, the deatheater keeled over lifeless in front of her, and she sighed with evident relief, as she realised that the fight was over. She tried to take a step forward, but her knees gave way beneath her, her world almost falling into a black hole. No! Hermione screamed at herself. She chouldn't fall to the blackness. Not now after she had given so much, fought for so long.

With evident mental strain and strength, Hermione forced herself to get up. She had to get up. On her feet. She had to... to help Harry. Her mind was screaming at her to rest, to lay down and forget the whole battle, but she managed to get up, nearly collapsing again. Through hazy vision, Hermione vaguely saw Harry and Lord Voldemort shooting hexes and spells of unspeakable power at each other. As she watched, the Dark Lord shot a curse at the same time as Harry shot a curse at him.

The spells seemed to drift past each other in Hermione's adrenaline filled mind, seeming to pass in slow motion through the air. Everything seemed to stop as the Dark Lord's spell hit Harry squarely in the chest and Harry sailed as though he was a ragdoll, lifeles and cold, through the air. Hermione didn't watch as the same thing happened to Lord Voldemort; her eyes were only for Harry. Her mouth opened in an endless, silent scream as the world she realised what had happened.

Harry Potter, her best friend and a big brother to her, was dead. And the Dark Lord, the darkest, crulest wizard that the world had ever seen, was dead with him.

Time once again slowed down, and Hermione watched as the fighting slowly ceased, no one really sure whether to celebrate that the Dark Lord was dead or to mourn the death of Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Hermione, her body battered behind people's worst nightmares and her mind cluttered with grief and horror, couldn't take it any more. Her last recognisable thought was to apparate and as the ground slowly sank towards her, she did the only thing that she could properly do. So Hermione followed her own advice and apparated.

Steve was enjoying the last of his walk back to headquarters. Although the streets of New York had properly woken up, the sky was a clear blue and a faint wind blew all of the smog away. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment. It wasn't going to get much better than this. Suddenly, disturbing his mental peace, a faint crack resonated throughout the air. Steve's eyes opened abrubtly, the memories of gun shots coming back to him. His eyes surveyed the scene in front of him, darting over the mounting traffic and the pathway in front of him. Nothing. It was probably his own paranoia.

He breathed in deeply, a smile barely touching his features as his thoughts slowly went back to the beautiful day. He heard a gasping noise behind him, and he swiftly realised his mistake. He hadn't checked behind him. He mentally rebuked himself for his forgetfulness. In a war, if you heard a noise, you looked around to find the source of it. Steve immediately turned on his heel and the sight of a girl, lying on the ground, filled his immediate vision. She was dirty and covered in blood. And Steve realized that it was her own blood.

Without warning, Steve abrubtly turned to where the girl lay; she was as still as death. As he ran to her side, his mind automatically analysed everything about her. She seemed to be of an average height, and underneath the grime, her hair was a mousy brown. It was messily tied back, with streaks of blood matting it and making the long strands stick to her feverish face. Her skin was pale; almost lifeless looking. Gently, Steve reached out a hand and moved some of the girl's hair and placed two fingure on her neck, feeling for a pulse.

Steve waited anxiously and tensley as he waited to recieve something, anything to tell him that the girl was still alive. What seemed like an hour later, he felt the tiny, but incredibly significant movement that let him know that the girl was still fighting for control of her life.

Good? Bad? Average? Please let me know! I hope that you enjoyed reading the first chapter! There will be more!

WriteWithFeeling xx