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

Here we are…walking down the Internet…we get funniest reviews…from all the readers we meet! Hey, hey, yeah we're not the Monkees huh? LOL! Yeah, one of those days. Enjoy the next chapter!

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Chapter Three

Nick Fury leaned back in his chair, studying the woman in front of him with a casual ease that was anything but. The petite British woman had called the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D. that morning demanding a meeting with him, stating that it was literally a matter of life or death. Seeing as the woman had nothing to base this on, she was promptly ignored. She refused to take this as an answer. Hermione managed to find a way to call his office directly, bypassing all the safe guards put into place to guarantee that this very act could never happen.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"My name is of no import," she told him. "I need a meeting with you as soon as possible."

"Do you really think I'm going to drop everything I'm doing just to see someone that might just be crazy?"

"Of course not, Director Fury. So I'll try my hand at blackmail, shall I? If you don't see me, I'll let your little group the Avengers know that not only is Coulson alive and well, but currently is going around the world in a very large airplane known as the Bus." She paused a moment before saying, "I'm wagering that you will more than likely see me now, won't you?"

And so there she was in front of him in his office. The petite curly haired woman walked in with an air of confidence. She stood in front of his desk and waited in deference to him to take his seat before doing the same in the guest chair across from him.

"I would like to apologize for my brash arm turning in order to gain an appointment with you, Director Fury. I know that you're a very busy man. But if this wasn't so important, I would have gone through the usual process of gaining your audience."

He studied her a moment and could see that she was telling the truth. Fury nodded to this, telling her, "Tell me why you needed to see me."

Pulling out several papers, she handed them over to him. "In the past seventy-two hours alone there have been no less than fifteen unexpected and unexplained deaths within the U.K." he picked up the papers, looking them over as she went on, "In the past week there have been over thirty. And as you can see from the last paper that list is growing."

"Is it terrorism?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," she replied. "The best I can say is that whomever is doing this, is doing so with a magical object."

He looked to her flatly. "Are you serious?"

"I wish I could say that I wasn't," she stated. "It would make this so much simpler." Hermione worried her lower lip and said, "And there's more."

"There usually is," he said in a resigned voice.

Hermione burnt out every single recording and listening device in the room, saying, "I'm one of several representatives of death on earth."

His eyes went hard on her.

"It's the truth. How else would I have known about Agent Phil Coulson and his trip to T.A.H.I.T.T.I.?"

"You're the one that reaped him?" he asked.

She shook her head no, saying, "That was Glen here in the United States. And let me tell you, he wasn't happy at all when Agent Coulson was brought back six days after he had died."

His eye went all the harder, as he inquired, "How am I supposed to know that you're telling the truth?"

"I'm a horrid liar," she told him.

He pursed his lips and ended up asking, "What is it that you need from S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Have there been any major break-ins at any of your warehouse locations? If so, was there any magical objects that are missing that are connected to death in any way?"

"No we haven't," he said quietly. "What with Loki having invaded and his heavy use of magic, as well as that scepter of his, we locked down all of our warehouses. They've been on high alert since then and will remain so until further notice."

"Very good," she murmured, checking SHIELD off of her list. "Thank you for your time, sir. Let me assure you that I will be doing my utmost to see that this situation is fixed."

"Give me a call if you need any help…" Just then there was shouting outside of the door, followed by shooting, and laughing.

They rushed out of the office in time to see a heavily armed masked man running past them, followed by equally armed SHIELD agents. The man in red and black stopped next to Hermione.

"Please tell me that you don't work for these goons! You're too pretty for them!" He pulled her into his arms and was nose to nose with her as he asked, "I can move us to anywhere in the world." He paused. "Okay not anywhere—there's still those five or so pesky countries that have me band from entering. But I can take you any other place you want!"

"Deadpool, what are you doing here?!" Fury demanded.

"I heard from a friend, who heard from a friend, who heard from…well you know…that one of the representatives of death itself was here!" He looked down at Hermione. "I'm a big fan. I unalive people all the time!" He tilted his head, studying her heart shaped face. "The flesh and skin really work for you."

"Uh, thank you," she answered. "Can you please allow me to stand? This is getting to be uncomfortable on my back."

"Of course," he told her and stood her up straight, but didn't let her go. "You're eyes are beautiful too. Reminds me of the whiskey this guy I bumped off was drinking when I unalived him. I always thought he had great taste in booze and now…"

"How do you even know about her or the other representatives of death?" the director asked him.

"Given how many times I've been killed and came back, how could I not?"

Hermione thought it over. "So that's why Sigmund told me not to bother with you if you were ever killed in the U.K." She looked over to Fury. "I'll call to let you know when it's been taken care of or if I need assistance…"

"You need help?! I can help! I'm the best non-reaper reaper you can get," he assured her.

"Something tells me that isn't necessarily a good thing," she murmured. "It was lovely to meet you all." And she started on her way out of the building.

"Don't leave me! I wanna go with you!" He rushed right after her, leaving Fury in their wake wondering if the bigger problem wasn't the mysterious deaths, but rather Deadpool himself.

…

Wade absently watched as Hermione slept next to him in the backseat of the taxi. He had been bored for the better part of a day before he had been given the all clear to join the story. And as such had a lot of time on his hands. So he thought what a better thing to do than to go speak to a man that would know how Hermione Granger thought. Unfortunately Charles Xavier wasn't available and Freud was dead so that pretty much only left James "Bucky" Barnes.

After getting some directions to where the inactive characters were hanging out, he found the man in question doing his best to avoid another one of the male characters, who kept yelling at him that they were soulmates and made for each other.

"Whoa!" Deadpool stepped between them. "You're in the wrong greenroom."

The man pulled out a piece of paper and read "Harry Potter slash."

"Hermione centric heterosexual," they said together.

"Oh." The man blushed. "So sorry." And he was on his way.

Bucky looked over to Deadpool. "Thanks for that. I couldn't think of a way to get him to leave me alone."

"No problem," he answered. "I need to ask you a few questions about Hermione Granger."

Laughing Bucky told him, "You know as much about her as I do."

"I know some, I'll give you that much," he said. "But the writer wants the two of us to pair up romantically this time."

Arching his brow, he said, "Interesting. That's not the usual gig for you."

"No, can't say it is," he told him. "What can you tell me that isn't a part of what you guys were a part of?"

Bucky thought it over. "I can't give away backstory. That wouldn't be fair to anyone." He went over and served himself a coffee. "There's not much I can say." But then a light came to his eyes. "I can tell you some of the motivation for why the writer wanted me to be as protective as I was of her."

"She was preggers the last story."

"There is that, but there's more to it," he stated. "I know I am getting into trouble here, but you have to know. She was in a war as a kid. She was tortured. As a result she has more than a few scars and a serious case of chronic insomnia to go along with her post traumatic stress."

"And she still has them now?" Wade asked.

"Totally. The writer's M.O. is to keep all her scarring, as it supposedly adds to the character and most of the cannon Nazis are appeased that she didn't go too far off the reservation with her alternative universe stories."

"Then why did she make certain that I didn't have horrible tumors and scars that are my usual cannon?"

Bucky just looked at him a moment before saying, "The writer's a big fan of Ryan Reynolds. You do the math."

"Oh." He looked over towards the writer, who was attempting to hide under her desk. "Awk-ward."

The alarm on Bucky's phone went off, making him check on it. "I have to get going. It seems that a writer wants me to be the antihero in a story they're trying to come up with for a Captain America/Thor crossover." He stopped at the door and said, "Hermione's genuinely good. Take care of her. She'll more than take care of you if you do."

Wade was broken out of his thoughts by Hermione shifting in the seat, muttering about being chased by a werewolf. Sighing heavily, he scooped her up and settled her down in his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he rubbed her back slowly.

"Shh, Sweet Cheeks. There's no werewolves here. Just the love of your life dressed in an awesome red and black outfit," he murmured and felt as she settled back into sleep with a gentle sigh.

TBC…

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And there you go, another chapter rushing off to the pub crawl that is the Internet. Thanks for reading, reviewing, not to mention following/favoriting. Take care and have yourselves a dance filled day.