Clint pov

The phone rang at five am. Clint picked up reluctantly, wishing that he could have one full night to himself. Maria had promised she'd secure a full week off-duty to set the pace with Hermione and give him time not to screw up (because she had that much faith in him), and that she would herself stop by the next day in the late afternoon to take care of the 'magic stuff' since he didn't want to associate with that shit anytime soon.

(Okay, maybe she hadn't worded it that way, but the intonation was clear. It somewhat intrigued him, because he might have suggested magic freaked him out, but he wasn't against a slow approach to it. He had that feeling Maria didn't like talking of magic, even less using it except apparently to zip his mouth. Maybe he could ask Natasha to dig on that trail. She was much better than him in subtle interrogation and Maria liked her more.)

Clint glanced quickly at the number, which turned out untraceable. He wagered it to be Natasha, and picked up.

"'lo?"

"You let her go through mystack?"

The sharp and biting tone promised retribution in case the question was answered positively. He bit back a groan and fell back on the mattress.

"Morning to you too Tasha."

"Hill called me half an hour earlier. I have a solo starting today, and she asked what kind of munitions I left at your place. I'm taking a wild guess; your niece opened the closets?"

"Hill is a tattle-tell, and no, I didn't let her go through your stack." Clint retorted petulantly. "She just looked, didn't touch anything."

"I told you a hundred times to lock those damn things!" she sounded angry. The man winced, thinking he was good for the couch for a couple weeks. "And Hill told me to remind you that Deputy Director does not mean 'call me every time you screw up and since you're a big man with big guns, you should handle that kind of situation on your own'."

"I didn't screw up!" The heavy silence on the other line was loud of significance. "Fine, maybe I did a little. But I have everything under control."

"Really?" the sound of her voice was laced with doubt. He rolled his eyes.

"I handled it just fine. She asked a couple of questions, I told her that was our ammunition for emergency missions and she let it go. I even asked her if she wanted me to teach her how to shoot."

"You are hopeless."

"Hey, she agreed. I think she was more intrigued than freaked out actually. You said a solo mission? I thought we were-"

"I'm off on a surveillance in Florida, it's just to keep busy." Natasha replied dryly. "Maria doesn't think it's a good idea if the girl had to confront a pair of assassins at once. She claims I'm going to scare off the kid." Pause. "I suspect her and Coulson to have money on how long it'll take before either you or your niece run away."

Clint frowned, a thought crossing his mind.

"Does Coulson know about…" he trailed off, suddenly wondering if Maria had mentioned the magic to Natasha or was leaving him the honors. Back at the Grangers, Maria had showed up alone and let Natasha take care of Harrison with SHIELD. "You know what, never mind. How long will you be gone?"

"About a week, maybe less depending on how fast I work." She sounded as annoyed as he felt. "I have to go now."

"I'll see you when you're back then," he replied. "Take care."

She hung up and Clint was left to stare at the ceiling. The first rays of daylight came through his curtains, lightening slightly the room. There was a crack up there, a bizarre kind of stain in the shape of an hourglass. Clint often stared at it when he started missing Natasha. It saddened and amused him all the same, how much of a sap he could be sometimes. Another glance at the clock and he figured he might as well get up. Hermione would probably stay a while longer in bed (he remembered how fast she fell asleep) but he had to draw a list of things to do to make his niece feel a little bit more welcomed. So he heated up the water, took out two mugs and some coffee and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to write everything down and make sure he wouldn't forget anything.

Crooshanks, much to his surprise, jumped on the table next to him and rubbed its head against his hand, demanding petting and attention. Clint chuckled and indulged the feline, one hand scratching its chin, the other putting a few words down.

He was still debating whether Hermione would need to flameproof her room for whenever she manipulated her potions or not (her furniture was still shrunken, but he had seen bottles of various potions and a part of him had wondered if he truly wanted to know what the hell those things were for, and given Maria's raised eyebrows at time, he figured he didn't) when she emerged, hair in a mess and eyes still sleepy. Crooshanks' eyes narrowed and it purred louder. Hermione stared at her uncle, then the cat, and back at her uncle.

"He likes you," she stated, and Clint shrugged. He wasn't about to tell that he had been scratching her cat's back and chin for about two hours. "Crooshanks has good instincts when it comes to people," she added with a smile.

"Oh really? Why, is he magical?"

(Although he'd keep that thought for himself because if the cat turned out to be magical, he had no idea what it could do, Clint thought it had an ugly face, like someone had smashed it against a wall. He liked its fur color though. It reminded him of Natasha's hair, that one time Jasper pulled a prank on her by switching her hair color product and to stop her from throttling him before he left on an important mission, he had brought her to his room and distracted her with-)

"Not really." Hermione's voice interrupted him from lovely thoughts. "He's a half-Kneazle –I mean, they are really smart creatures. So actually, I guess you can say he has some magic."

Clint put down the pen and directed his full attention on her.

"So…what can it do? Aside from –uh –feeling people out?"

"Catch very bad rats." She replied, biting back a smile at that thought. For some reason, Clint thought there was more than a pun lying behind her words and decided to play a hunch; this was magic after all:

"So he caught the bad guy, eh? Was it someone who could change into a rat?" And given Hermione's surprised expression, he had aimed right. But a glint of unease crossed her eyes, so he decided to brush it off and investigate a bit later. "Cool. Maybe I should bring you with me at work. That would spare me some time deciding whether my –clients –are idiots or not."

Hermione grimaced awkwardly and looked around the kitchen counter. It took Clint a few seconds to realize that she was hesitating on what to do.

"Just…help yourself with whatever suits you. Coffee's on the table, I got tea there," he waved towards a cupboard. "And waffles and stuff over there." He pointed another one. "Cutlery is in the upper left drawer."

"If I open the upper right one, will I find bullets or grenades?"

Clint couldn't help but smirk.

"Nah. Don't worry about that. Just make yourself some breakfast and we'll go shopping. I want your bedroom and other furniture selected and set by the end of tomorrow. And Maria's stopping by five pm, so we better get going soon. Sorry if I sound in a hurry, but I only got one week off and I'd rather have you settle before I got to leave."

"It's fine," she assured him, hesitantly starting to go through the cupboard to fish out something eatable. She frowned when she pulled a box of muffins. "You knew the expiration date was from last month on this one?"

He hastily wrote 'groceries' at the bottom of the list.

Shopping was quickly done, much to his relief. Hermione had picked up her furniture in the first shop with ease, settling her eye on a simple bed with drawers underneath to stash her furniture, one practical closet for her clothes and an average-sized desk for her to work on. The whole was ordered to be delivered in the evening. They stopped to make a double of his apartment key and also bought sheets and a few extra necessities –soap, shampoo, hairbrush, and toothbrush. They actually spent more time in the animal shop to buy the basics for Crooshanks. Since Hermione had come from England, he took her a cell phone –actually, two; a fancy one and a basic one, in case the fancy one broke down or got lost.

They had a late lunch at Olive Garden before heading to a Walmart to pick up proper food for the evening. When they returned to the apartment, the clock was ticking near four, which left him about an hour before Maria showed up. So they cleaned her room and he pushed the weapon-filled closets in the living room. He'd have to find another place, or hide them in the sofa or make other arrangements in the apartment, like a hidden closet or something. Hermione wasn't a two year old with grabby hands, but nearly all weapons were loaded in case of emergency and he really didn't want to suffer Natasha's ire if she became too curious. He was even lucky she didn't open his closet, where he hid his three favorite bows and arrows.

Clint was reflecting on where he'd hide his and Natasha's stack from now on when he heard someone knock at the door. A quick glance through the peephole and he recognized his boss' familiar figure. Hermione was back in the living room, attempting to put the bright red collar around Crooshanks' neck. While Clint had no problem letting the cat wander around as long as it kept clean, he didn't want it to be mistaken for a stray. The collar had been the compromise.

"Welcome to my humble house," Clint said with an exaggerated salute. Maria rolled her eyes and stepped in. She was in a black pair of jeans and blue top. She had let her hair down, probably because it made her features softer.

"I won't take long," she informed him and added before he could ask: "And yes, it will be better if you stay."

And she headed straight to the living room. Clint took a deep breath before joining them. Fortunately, Hermione appeared rather happy to see Maria, if only because she cancelled the spell on her magical furniture. They ran over the basics, covered Hermione's legal living in the US, created a social security number, talked about opening an account in a bank and convert half of her parents' money in dollars so she would actually have a financial support in case.

Questions like the use of magic in America, correspondence transatlantic, and potential summer classes came after. Clint abandoned them at this point to welcome the furniture delivery and helped the guys put everything in the elevator. He then worked on building the bed, the closet and the rest while Crooshanks kept a watchful eye on him from the top of his cat tree. He could still hear Maria and Hermione talk in the living room but not their conversation.

At some point, the cat jumped on the floor and sat in front of him, his head tilted on the side, feline eyes intensely fixed on him. Clint stared back.

"Whadd'ya want Crook?" The cat blinked, as if startled by the new nickname (Crooshanks was a mouthful, Crook somehow sounded better), but eventually liked its lips. "Oh, you're hungry? Weeell I think the cat food is in the kitchen." The cat stood on its four legs and trotted towards the door. Once at the threshold, it stopped and turned its head over the shoulder and meowed impatiently.

Clint rolled his eyes and followed, somewhat amused to be bossed around by a cat of all things. But as he left the room for the kitchen, Maria called him.

"Barton, come here a sec."

The man grumbled something and walked back in the living room. Crooshanks grunted and reluctantly followed.

"Got papers to sign?" he asked.

Maria stood up, so did Hermione.

"I'll go feed Crooshanks," she volunteered, and disappeared in the kitchen. Maria waited until she was gone to turn towards him.

"We had a talk. Hermione will subscribe to a couple of summer classes, so she won't wallow all day in your apartment but you'll have to deal with transportation. Also, you might want to know minors are allowed to practice magic as long as people who aren't aware of it aren't in sight. Will that be a problem?"

Clint frowned. He'd need a talk with Hermione once Maria was gone.

"Who else knows about magic in SHIELD? Did you tell Tasha?"

She evaluated him quickly.

"Fury, the head section of 8-0-4. Coulson suspects, but he's only level 8 and yes, I demonstrated to Natasha. Speaking of which, you are both scheduled to have a one on one with me next week. It was the condition for the Widow not to freak out," Hill muttered reluctantly. "That, and give me some time to practice again."

"Why, you're out of shape?" he asked teasingly.

Hill sent him a flat stare.

"I haven't used a wand for duels or battle in years. And I don't want you to kill me by accident." She corrected the angle of her handbag over her shoulder. "I'll see you Monday at 0800."

And she left promptly, without waiting for his goodbye and he headed towards the kitchen. Hermione was running her hand down Crooshanks back while it ate and jumped slightly when she realized he was standing next to her. She looked tired, he reflected. Probably due to the jetlag and all the events gone in the past two days. She was still a kid, he reflected, even though at her age he was completing his training and showing off at the circus.

"You okay?" he asked. "The talk with Maria went fine?"

She gave him an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, it went well. Can we go through the details later? I'm a bit tired."

She was avoiding the discussion, but Clint would let it slide for tonight.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow. And then I'll show you how to shoot." He added with a crocked smile, hoping it would loosen up the building tension.

"Sure," she replied, and he was glad to realize she sounded genuine. "Thank you, for the…" she waved in her bedroom's direction. "I'm sorry I didn't help more."

"No bother. You can make dinner while I finish it if you want."

Hermione nodded, satisfied with the deal.

"So are you going to contact your friends by the normal means, or will you use an owl?"

Hermione smiled a little and dug her fork in the noodles. She had kept it simple, Mac and Cheese and a steak. They had started eating in silence, but Clint figured if he wanted to know more about his niece, he would have to work a bit. Hermione didn't appear to be the kind of girl who would voluntarily offer information. Starting with her friends sounded like a good way to get an idea of her lifestyle.

"The two friends I have use owls for communication," she explained. "Harry lives with his aunt and uncle, but he uses Hedwige –the white owl you saw in my living room. I send him a message, to tell him I was moving to the US. And Ron is a wizard, so he wouldn't know how to use muggle posting. I mean, normal posting."

Clint frowned.

"'Muggle'? Is that the term you use for non-magical people? It's the second time you let it slip."

Hermione nodded meekly.

"Dad was a bit offended whenever I used it." she explained. "He said it was as if I was feeling superior to him."

Clint 'hummed' as he thought. The word didn't sound particularly insulting to him. But then again, in his memories, Barney liked having control over things. That he was considered different from his own daughter might have unnerved him.

"I see," he just said. "So tell me more about your friends. Did you get to see them this summer? Did you meet them at school?"

Hermione nodded and looked slightly more comfortable.

"In the train leading to school, first year. I was looking for Neville's toad –his pet toad. Neville is a classmate, a little distracted and he had lost it. But I didn't really talk to them till I…" she suddenly bit her lower lip nervously. "I got into trouble and they helped me out. We became friends after that."

Clint frowned, feeling she was skipping a lot off important details.

"What kind of trouble exactly?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Nothing life-endangering!" she assured him a little too quickly. Clint put down his own fork and crossed his arms. They exchanged a fierce battle of stare, which she eventually lost by lowering her eyes. "I was in the restroom and there was a troll. Harry and Ron knocked him out. That was it."

"A troll?" Clint blurted in disbelief. "Like a huge ugly thing with a mace? And that was wandering in the school filled with children? Does that kind of stuff happen often?"

Hermione had eyes wide open, like a deer caught in headlights. The man was about to question her further when she interrupted:

"It's getting late," she babbled. "I'll just go to bed."

With a speed he hadn't suspected from her, she took her plate and escaped to the sink to put the unfinished food in a Tupperware and clear her dish. Clint stared at her in disbelief until she disappeared in her bedroom.

"We will have a serious talk about this, Hermione." He warned, firmly decided to learn more about that school. "Don't think you'll escape it!"