Harry Potter : A family??

A/N: Before we start, guys, this is an AU, and I know there are no women in seals, but in my story, there are. And lastly enjoy

Oh, and I am sorry to all Albanians out here. I told an AI to choose a city, and it chose Tirana

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air in Tirana reeked of gunpowder and broken promises.

Smoke curled up from the scorched skyline, clawing at the overcast heavens like the dying breath of a godless war. Somewhere beneath the iron thunder of rotor blades and the distant crackle of automatic fire, a ghost moved.

Maximus Moriarty didn't run. He never did.

He walked.

Through the fire, through the screaming, through the fractured bones of another failed state. Camouflage torn, gloves blackened with soot and dried blood, his breath calm as a cathedral.

The high-value target, a cartel-funded insurgent general named Kadri Vulescu, had been guarded by twelve elite mercs and over thirty trained combatants. Satellite intel had warned of a kill-box. The CIA had said it was suicide.

Maximus had gone in alone.

And now?

Now, his boots left bloody prints across the marble floor of the once-grand Albanian consulate. His suppressed SIG Sauer hung low at his side, still warm. Bodies littered the halls like discarded chess pieces. He didn't look back.

They had called him many names in many wars."The Reaper in the Fog.""Wolf of Mosul.""Moriarty the Mad."He had fought in wars that didn't officially exist. Toppled regimes on four continents. Ghosted half a dozen kill orders sent by his own handlers.

But today… Today he was just tired.

He holstered the pistol, slid out the blood-streaked microchip from Kadri's severed arm, and made for extraction.

That's when the gunship came down.

Not his. Not friendly.

The ground rumbled as the old Soviet Mi-24 Hind slammed into the broken boulevard behind the consulate, smoke pouring from the tail. He was on it in seconds — not out of curiosity, but instinct.

He didn't expect to meet her.

She hit the ground like thunder.

A woman in jet-black gear burst from the burning wreck, dragging a screaming hostage by one arm and unloading her sidearm with the other. Blonde hair soaked with sweat, jaw clenched with precision. Her badge read "HAYES", but the fire in her eyes said Do not underestimate me.

Three insurgents flanked her from the right — rifles raised.

Maximus dropped them with two precise shots, then walked toward her, rifle low, posture calm.

She turned on him in an instant. Her pistol was in his face before he'd said a word.

"You British?" she spat.

He smirked. "Only when I speak."

"Where's your team?"

He nodded back toward the smoke. "I am afraid you're looking at the whole cavalry. The rest are all dead."

She lowered the pistol.

"…Shit," she muttered. "Lucky me."

That was their first meeting.

Not a handshake.

Not an exchange of names.

Just two killers surrounded by corpses, judging each other through steel and sweat.

Three hours later, they were pinned down in a half-collapsed hospital, covering each other's flanks, waiting for a chopper that wasn't coming.

Maximus reloaded calmly, speaking without looking.

"You Navy SEAL?"

"DEVGRU," she replied, tapping a fresh mag into her Glock. "Hayes. Evelyn."

He paused. "…Maximus."

"That's your code name or your ego?"

He chuckled — the first real sound of amusement in days. "Why not both?"

The firefight outside howled again. She cursed and leaned to peek through a broken window.

"Why are you even here, Maximus?" she asked.

"Because I kill monsters. What about you?"

Evelyn's face twitched — something between pain and pride.

"Because I thought I was one."

They didn't speak to each other for a while after that. But they understood each other.

More than they wanted to admit.

Over the next two years, the world burned in ways most civilians would never know.

Operation Broken Compass.Siege of the Narvak Chemical Plant.The Dubai Hostage Crisis.Winter Wolf Protocol in Kamchatka.

In every one of them, the reports mentioned a shadow team — two ghosts who bled together, moved like mirror images in battle, and left nothing behind but completed objectives and enemy body bags.

CIA and MI6 dossiers called them Asset Hades & Asset Echo.Interpol flagged them as off-book threats.To each other, they were just Max and Eve.

It wasn't romantic at first.

It was practical.

Sleep in shifts. Cover each other. Strip down in med-tents and stitch wounds with the same steady hands that once pulled triggers.

Trust built slowly.

She hated how he stared at maps like they whispered to him.

He hated how she chewed gum while disarming IEDs.

They fought about tactics, about risk, about who took the last protein bar.

And then, one night in Cairo, after a successful extraction, they danced.

No music. No candles. Just two broken souls swaying slowly in the corner of a silent safehouse, lit only by the blinking red light of an armed Claymore on the door.

She leaned into his chest.

He whispered, "I thought I was incapable of this."

She replied, "Same."

He proposed in a snowstorm.

No ring, no church, no photographer.

Just an empty Afghan ridgeline, a storm rolling in, and the soft clink of a bullet casing polished into a ring.

She stared at it.

"You serious?"

He nodded with a chuckle. "You better say yes. I've killed for less."

She laughed. And cried. And said yes.

They married beneath pine trees, far from the world.

No guns.

No mission.

No flags.

Just Maximus in a wrinkled white shirt and Evelyn in a plain dress, her dog tags tucked beneath the neckline.

She held his hands as snow drifted softly around them.

"I don't want a happy ending," she told him. "I just want a real one."

He kissed her knuckles.

"Then let's make this as real as hell."

Time passed.

But peace… didn't.

Not for people like them.

And one year later, it all started to unravel.

The tests.

The diagnosis.

"Radiation exposure during Kosovo," the doctors said.

A slow death. Maybe a year. Two, if they were lucky.

No more dreams of children. No miracles.

Just a countdown.

So they did what soldiers never do.

They stopped fighting.

They sold what they owned, burned the rest.

Traveled the world. Jumped from cliffs. Dived in shark tanks. Laughed until their lungs ached.

Maximus kissed her on the lip of Angel Falls.

Evelyn screamed into the wind above the Swiss Alps.

They danced in a North Korean minefield, drunk and fearless.

And when the end came near… they climbed.

Mount Everest — the last summit.

No gear. No flags. Just each other.

"I'm not afraid," she said.

He smiled.

"Then fall with me."

They hugged at the edge of the abyss.

Kissed.

And jumped.

Together.

-----------------------

White.

Everything was white.

Not snow.

Not clouds.

Not anything human.

Just stillness.

Then a voice — warm, ancient, and amused.

"I always did have a soft spot for stubborn souls."

They opened their eyes.

An old man stood before them in a white robe, hands behind his back, eyes full of stars.

He looked at them the way generals look at soldiers they've long admired.

"Maximus Moriarty. Evelyn Hayes," he said. "You've earned yourselves a second chance."

Evelyn blinked.

"…Are we dead?"

Maximus looked around.

"Feels like purgatory."

The old man smiled.

"Think of it more as… an offer."

To be continued…