Disclaimer—I do not own Harry Potter, The Avengers, or any of the characters therein. Nor do I make any moneys from the posting of this fanfiction.

Here we are! This is a prequel to the story "Healing the Avengers". Let me tell you it was a minute struggle to come up with a name for this one. When I came up with it, I figured that there was nothing clearer and to the point than the one I chose. Enjoy!

Please read and review!

Chapter One

It hadn't been her hair that caught his attention at first—though truth was it was a close second. Nor was it her ready smile or the way she was always going in or out of her apartment when he was too coming or going. No, it had been her apartment door and not for the usual reasons he would take note of—the woman didn't have a single lock, bolt, or security chain on it to be had! She didn't even engage the absolutely useless doorknob lock that was so easy to break into.

True, the building was being protected by S.H.I.E.L.D., but she didn't know that!

Did she?

That was the moment Agent Phil Coulson decided that he needed to keep a much closer eye on one Miss Hermione Granger.

...

Hermione went for her morning jog and ended up in front of a bakery thinking how lovely it would be to have a croissant and coffee. Closing her eyes, she deeply inhaled the smell of baking breads and whimpered.

"Oh why did I have to go on a diet now?" she muttered to herself, turning away from the bakery, she went on with her run never knowing that Phil was with her the entire time observing.

It wasn't until she was getting back to her own apartment, which was directly across from his that he approached her.

"You should have locks on your doors," he said quietly, unlocking his own door.

"Pardon?" She turned from her open doorway to him.

Turning towards her he took note of her deep amber eyes, nearly losing himself in them. Nearly, he thought, he most definitely lost himself within the orbs.

He looked away a moment to gather his thoughts and repeated, "I said that you should get some locks on your doors." When he looked back over to her, it was to find her looking at him puzzled. "As a form of protection."

She looked into her flat. "I don't own anything worth stealing."

He looked over her shoulder into her place and found it to be clean, loaded with books of all sorts with a homey feel that was lacking in so many homes now in this supposedly modern age.

"You don't own a television?" he asked her.

"Whatever for? I never watch it," she replied.

"You don't? Not even for current events?" he inquired.

She frowned thoughtfully at this as she stepped into her apartment. "But are they current events?" Turning back to him, he saw a flash of wisdom within the depths of her stare that shouldn't be there in a woman so young. "I find that the current media is always a step or so behind the events making them less than…" And that's when she bent over, picking up a pair of men's pants off of her floor that had been hidden by her kitchen island. Her lips pursed together, as she growled, "Ronald." Taking a deep breath, she said, "You'll have to pardon me. I must make a phone call…" That's when she turned and looked at her bedroom. "Drat. It's in the room." Thinking it over, she turned back over to him as she walked towards him. "Uh, do you have a phone I can borrow? Preferably a land line?"

"Yes, come on over," he said, moving out of her way. "What's the matter?"

"An ex," she told him. "He more than likely got stinking drunk, convinced himself that I was the love of his life yet again, and came over here. Chances are he's waiting in my bed naked." Heat bloomed through her face, telling her that she was more than likely blushing. "I haven't a clue as to why, seeing as we've…Never mind. Where is that phone again?"

"Right this way," he murmured, letting her into his apartment.

The simple clean place was utterly generic if one could overlook the small things—such as the small groupings of pictures here and there, the big band era vinyl record collection he had near a modern looking very portable record player/stereo, and what could only be called a tiny alter to Captain America in one corner of the room. He was a nomad, she reasoned, and this was but one stop on his journey.

He picked up the handset and held it out to her.

"It's a long distance call, will that be okay? I'll be able to pay you back," she assured him.

"It's not a problem," he said and watched as she dialed. "Who are you calling?"

"Harry," she told him. "My best friend and someone who can rope in Ron…" She muttered something that sounded like, "Hopefully." Hermione worried her lower lip, waiting for the person on the other end to answer.

"Potter speaking," he said crisply.

"Harry, it's me," she told him.

"Whose telephone are you using?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter. You have to come over here to New York," she said. "Ronald is in my bed."

"Drunk and naked?" he asked, laughing. "Again?"

"I cannot confirm or deny as I didn't want to see him in his altogether yet again," she muttered.

"How do you know he's naked?" he asked, still sniggering.

"This is Ronald Weasley we're speaking of, Harry. He made a mess of my flat from the kitchen more than likely into my bedroom," she replied. "Does that tell you enough? Or should I call Ginny and demand that Molly and Arthur fetch him?"

"Ouch!" Harry muttered. "This diet has made you an angry woman, Hermione. Are you sure it's in your best interest to…"

"Harry James Potter, you either get him from my flat or so help you I'll find a way for Luna to lecture you for an hour on the topic of her choice!"

"I'll call Fred and George!"

Hermione hung up the phone after telling him the apartment she was waiting in, looking over to the man that had let her use his phone and smiled a bit sheepishly. "Thank you for that."

"Do you need a place to wait for him?" Looking at his watch, he said, "That was the international code for England you dialed if I don't miss my guess. So it might take hours for him to get here."

"He said he'd call Fred and George, Ron's brothers. They're currently opening up a new shop here in New York. So it won't take long…" Two tall red heads popped their heads into the apartment.

"Hermione!" chimed one of them. "Heard you're still on that diet."

"You look fine…" the other said.

"But then again, you always look fine," the first finished.

"Go get your brother out of my bedroom," she ordered them. "Now! Or I'm calling your mother!" This had them both flinching at that even as she pointed the way to her own apartment.

Once they were inside her flat, she shut Phil's door with the feeling that she should have said something pithy. All she could really hope for was that there wouldn't be any explosions she would have to explain away. Absently she put a silencing spell on the apartment, as she turned to the man there.

"You know this seems so awkward seeing as I'm in your flat and used your telephone, but my name is Hermione Granger," she introduced herself, holding out her hand to him.

"Phil Coulson," he introduced himself as well, going over to her and shaking her hand. "You have a nice grip."

"Thank you," she murmured with a smile. "So do you."

TBC…

There you go! The first chapter is up. Loved it? Hated it? Mildly interested in more? Please review to let me know. Thanks for reading and have an exquisite day.