Chapter Nine! New character! A longer Chapter! Get excited guys!

Or disappointed. Or Whatever.

Also a WARNING: pretty much from now on in, SWEAR WORDS GALORE. I personally have the mouth of a truck-driver, and it can certainly be seen to transfer to my writing. I don't shy away from using profanities wherever necessary... and well, for much of this chapter, I feel it's pretty necessary. If it were me in this chapter, I'd be swearing too. But sorry to those who find it offensive (though you were warned in the story blurb thing)

Anyway, I will shut up now. Enjoy peeps!

Cinna


Part One: Great Expectations

Chapter Nine: Oh Hi There


Aubrey Davis was a content man.

He lived well, with everything he needed- though not everything he wanted- in a safe suburb, with a safe and satisfying job. He had many friends- though only a few were close- and had access to all the comics he could ever dream of at work. Upon intense reflection of himself, he thought that he had only a few faults; a lack of ambition to do anything with himself (besides create his own comics to stock the shelves at work with), and a perfectionist streak that more often than not prevented him from doing so. He knew of course that these were not his only faults- he was lazy, sometimes selfish and on more than one occasion painfully shy.

But all in all, he was happy. He loved his job, he loved the people; he loved his little flat and his cat Nixie. He rarely broke his norm (crawl out of bed to the shower, trudge to work, grab coffee on the way, stock the shelves, serve the customers, re-stock the shelves then go home to feed the cat and watch TV) and was okay with that. He liked being normal, and he liked having a steady routine. It didn't bother him that he lived what some would call 'a boring life.'

But sometimes, in the corners of his mind, on a particularly dissatisfying day, Aubrey Davis thinks that his life is a little too ordinary. A little too lacklustre. Because God, but his only ambition is to write a comic book, and he hasn't even managed to come up with a decent storyline (it's the only thing in his life that he is unhappy with).

But enough of that.

Aubrey Davis is also an observant man. He's quiet, more likely to sit there listening to a conversation than adding to it. His eyes caught more on the little things than the big, and he loved watching the quirks and actions people made when they think no one is watching. Casey, his co-worker, ate paper. A regular at his favourite coffee shop would dig her fingernails into the varnished wood of her table- he didn't think she even realised it. A customer at the comic-book store would suck absentmindedly at the thumbnail on her left hand and run her tongue over its lacquered surface (always a different colour) when thinking. It had gotten to the point, years ago, that he no longer thought differently of others for not noticing the things that he did. People, as a whole, saw less than he did- by lack of ability or choice, he didn't know.

It was why he wasn't particularly surprised to be the only one to notice the sudden appearance of a woman in the alleyway directly across the road from work. He watches the girl in astonishment- because he is very, very sure that she had just appeared out of nowhere. She's dirty and dishevelled, wearing some strange sort of bag like clothing that gives little of her form away. She clutches something in her right hand, but he can't see from here what it is.

The woman takes a stumbling step forward; trips and falls flat on her face.

Aubrey winces. He doesn't bother asking Casey if he'd seen her.

He rushes out, concerned, when he sees that the girl does not move. Casey cries out in confusion behind him. The street is almost completely empty- a miracle for midday on a Saturday- and he crosses the road easily.

"Miss?" he calls out, "Miss, are you okay?" She doesn't respond. Her hair is a mess of brown curls, frizzy and dirty and matted in places. An arm lies outstretched and a small hand peeks out from under her long, baggy sleeves, clutching tightly at a long, thin stick. It's almost as long as his forearm. Her clothes are black. They look tattered.

"The hell, Aubrey?" Casey calls out, already crossing the road.

"She just appeared. Fell forward," he says in reply when the younger man reaches him.

That's when he sees the blood.

It's slowly pooling around the girl, black and viscous in the dim light of the alley. He moves to gently turn her over- her shoulder feels wet, and when he takes his hand away the skin is stained red.

"Holy shit." Casey breathes behind him. Aubrey can't help but agree. Her face is a multitude of cuts and bruises, blood dripping down the left side from a slash on her forehead. The skin at the base of her neck looks angry red and scaly… almost blistered (he doesn't want to think of them as burns. No sir not at all). Most disturbing of all is her right shoulder. It's a mess; all broken skin and parted flesh. Blood flows steadily from the stab wound, hidden by her black clothes.

For a moment, he assesses her. The Broken Woman. She looks small enough for him to carry (he'd never been the strongest of people). The bones in her wrists seem small and fragile and for a second he imagines they're hollow, like a birds. He moves to cradle her in his arms, but as if sensing his intentions, the woman's eyes snap open.

"Harry?" she croaks at Aubrey. Panic spreads across her face when she sees no recognizable face, "Where's Harry?" she asks him urgently, hand shooting out to grasp at his shirt. He tries not to think of the blood she's leaving behind on his nice blue shirt.

"There's no Harry here." He murmurs soothingly, gently holding the hand clutching his shirt. Her eyes turn from confused to sharp as diamonds in seconds.

"Where am I?" she demands, breath hitching with pain.

"Ottawa, Miss." Her eyes flicker around the alley, as if trying to find something to confirm his claim.

"Ottawa," she says faintly, almost as if to herself, "I know Ottawa." Aubrey nods.

"Miss, we need to get you to a hospital."

"You look like shit." Casey interjects (un)helpfully.

"No!" she snarls. Aubrey is taken aback by the ferocity in her voice, "No hospitals- I can't go to the hospital." She moves as if to sit up and Aubrey pushes her back down in alarm when she bites back a cry.

"Miss, you're… well you're pretty fucked up. You need a hospital- or at least a doctor."

"No" her hand returns to his shirt, "I can take care of it myself."

They eye her dubiously.

"Just trust me." Aubrey sighs. He can always call a doctor over when she's not looking.

"I can take you into the shop. We've got a backroom." Casey makes a sound as if to protest, but a sharp look has him thinking better of it.

The woman stares at him, hard. There's something shrewd in her expression that unnerves him. Beneath the blood and the bruises he suspects she must be in her late twenties, but her eyes look aeons older and they're tearing through him with the weight of her stare. It terrifies and exhilarates him all at the same time.

"Alright," she says finally, the intensity in her gaze suddenly leaving, "Help me up then."

Aubrey ignores her and picks her up. She cries out in a mix of pain and indignation.

I was right, he thinks grimly, sending covert glances out of the mouth of the alleyway, She's light. Too light, I bet she could fly away on the slightest breeze.

"Hollow bones." He murmurs, not realised he's said it out loud.

"What?" comes her sharp reply.

"… Nothing."

The road is no longer empty, but the people don't seem to notice him carrying the bloodied girl across the street. And if they do, they act as though they hadn't. He thanks the Gods above that no one's thought to visit their store in the whole three minutes they've been outside. He doesn't want to have to explain to surprised and traumatised customers why he's carrying a girl who looks as though she's come from a warzone into their staffroom.

"What your name?" he asks a he crosses the road. A taxi driver or two eye him strangely. Her eyes fly back to him.

"Hermione." She says warily.

"That's a weird name."

She huffs a pained laugh, "It is a bit, yeah. My parents always like Grecian mythology."

"Oh." He doesn't know what she's talking about.

Casey opens the door for them and leads them out the back. An old sofa they'd picked up from a roadside pickup sits next their rickety table the boss had bought from Ikea. An ancient urn sits precariously on top, next to their endless tins of shitty coffee. He sets her down carefully on the sofa, ignoring the fact that she's leaving blood everywhere (indeed, they'd already left a trail of red on the carpet from the door to the staffroom).

"Mmph," Hermione gasps, pushing herself up and moving to sit on the edge. Aubrey tries to stop her, concerned, but she shoots him a deadly look and he stands back meekly, "ffuck!" she cries, hand flying to the ugly mess of her shoulder, "God- fuck! My bag, get my bag!"

"Uhh bag?"

"I dropped it at the door… small… beaded bag- shit!" she's trying to undo a clasp at her neck with her good arm. Her hand is shaking and her face is sickly pale. Aubrey sends Casey to find her bag and sets about undoing the rest of her coat/cloak thing. Hermione sends him a grateful smile, but her eyes are shiny, almost glazed.

Casey returns by the time he's got her weird outer clothes off, clutching a beaded bag, its delicate embroidery badly damaged and worn. She wears a pair of equally tattered jeans, the knees torn, showing scraped and dirty skin underneath. Her shirt is an old blue tee, the neck over-stretched and gaping.

Casey hands her the bag. His hands seem to be shaking just as much as hers are.

"Thanks." Casey jerks to her a nod and retreats to the furthermost corner of the room (Aubrey suspects he doesn't like blood). She opens her bag, clumsy fingers slipping at the clasp, but she manages. She picks up the stick that she'd placed carefully on the pillow beside her.

"Accio Dittany," she gasps, pointing the polished stick at the opening of her bag. A small glass vial flies into her waiting hand. Casey swears. Aubrey blanches. Hermione's hands shake some more, "G- get this off me. I- I can't…" she trails off, sounding strained and motions to her shirt and the stab wound (which is still bleeding, though noticeably slower, which is somewhat comforting).

Aubrey's mind draws a blank.

"Uhh… what?" Casey says stupidly.

"My shirt-" Hermoine sobs, throwing her bag across the sofa, a bitter tinge to her voice now, "I need… I need it off-" she falls back, all loose-limbed and pasty skin, "I can't h-heal myself with it on. Not without complications."

Aubrey and Casey stare at her dumbly.

"Fucking now!" she sobs angrily, "Merlin, go find some scissors or something! I'm not getting any better over here!"

Her pained snarls spurn him into action. He moves with robotic limbs to the sink. There's a serrated knife in the drawer, cleaned only to a bachelor's standard, but it will do the trick better than their scissors would.

He kneels in front of her; his hands tremble when he brings the knife to her shirt. He starts at the bottom hem, unwilling to begin his dubious honour of undressing Hermione at the skin of her throat, which looks damaged enough as it is without having to suffer under his unsteady hands. The old material parts easily enough, snagging only occasionally as he works his way up. He cuts straight up, trying his best not to stare at her covered breasts, then across the shoulder, making sure the knife never touches her skin.

Hermione lies back against the lounge, hazy eyes fluttering closed.

"Now," she says quietly, searching blindly for his hand when he finishes and the destroyed sleeve falls away. She presses the vial into his hand, "You need to apply two drops to the wound."

At this point, Aubrey finds no opposition to her orders. The situation is weird enough already, what with the apparent summoning of objects and her unexplained appearance in the first place. The application of some weird brown liquid that kind of looks like iodine is kind normal in the scheme of things. And hey, maybe it is iodine, or something similar.

He drips the liquid onto her shoulder. His hands no longer tremble. Hermione whimpers and cries out, pale hands grab at his shirt. Her stick clatters to the floor. Tears stream down her face, agony running rampant across her features.

And fucking hell, but the skin around the wound is growing. Holy mother of Mary, it's literally healing over the wound and its advanced pace belies all known medical discoveries; of this Aubrey is certain.

"Holy fucking shit," He breathes, staring fascinated at the new skin growing over the stab wound. It's an angry purple under the blood. Hermione rests her head against his chest, her breathing heavy and laboured. Her hair smells like fire and blood.

"You need to do the other side now," she says lowly, dread saturating her voice. And she's right. Whatever had wounded her had gone straight through. The remains of her shirt sticks to her skin with blood, but he can still see the exit wound. Carefully, he peels the fabric away and applies more of the brown stuff. Hermione cries out an angry, "Shit!" into his shirt.

"Casey, I think we'll need some cloths and some water. And can you find her a shirt? I think Doug keeps a few of his under the counter." Aubrey doesn't know why his boss stashes shirts in the store, but right now it's a blessing. Casey nods mutely and exits the staffroom. Hermione leans bonelessly against him, her skin now fully healed over. Carefully he sets her back against the sofa and takes the proffered items from Casey. He's put the water in an old Tupperware container. The cloths are just unused dish cloths.

"Make sure the door's locked would you? It's probably not good for customers to find bloodstains on the floor." Casey disappears again. Aubrey sets about cleaning Hermione up, feeling less subconscious now that their audience is gone.

"What was that stuff?" he asks later, sponging away the encrusted blood on her face. She barely looks awake, but he feels like it's probably a good idea to keep her lucid.

"Essence of Dittany. It heals the skin." Comes her slurred reply. Aubrey stores the information away for later when he has access to a computer.

"Just the skin?"

"Mm. It's all still a stab wound under there... I'll find someone to heal it later."

"Oh." He falls silent again, moving down to her neck. He tries to avoid the worst of her burns; red and blistered and scabbing over in places.

"Where did you come from?" Hermione sighs, sad brown eyes falling on him.

"Far away."

"You sound British."

She huffs a laugh, "I am… of a sort." Her face takes on a bitter cast. He moves to her arm.

"How did you get here? You just popped up out of nowhere in that alleyway." Hermione frowns, thoughtful.

"I'm not entirely sure… but I have my suspicions."

"I see." He says, not really seeing at all, but he doesn't think she's going to tell him much more than that. Another thought occurs to him, "Are you a mutant?"

"Mutant?" her face turns curious.

"A human with special abilities. Some mutants can fly, read minds and even control the elements." And Aubrey would like to think that no one could blame him for the envious lilt to his voice. Some mutant abilities are just plain awesome.

"What makes you think I'm a mutant?" she asks carefully as he gets up to rinse the cloth and change the water- there was a lot of blood and dirt to clean off.

"Well, you teleported into that alley, used that stick thing to summon something into your hand and then proceeded to heal yourself. What else could you be?" She eyes him. There's a calculating glint to her eye. Suddenly her face brightens and she sends him a smile.

"You're right, what else could I be? You've got me- I'm a mutant. Are you going to turn me in?"

He looks at her as if she were an idiot, "Uh- no. Have you seen this place? Superheroes and mutants are kind of our MO. Casey out there practically hero worships Professor X."

"Who's Professor X?"

"Only the most famous mutant there is- well, besides Magneto, but he's a bit of a dick."

"I see."

"He owns a school specifically for mutants; has his own kind of mutant task force. He's kind of a big thing- though a lot of people don't like him or what he represents," he sends her a weird look, "How do you not know who Professor Xavier is?"

She smiles enigmatically, "I've been kept out of the know."

"Right." He finishes on her arm- she has a few more cuts, but they don't look so bad.

"I don't have anything to help with the rest of you, sorry. I really think you should go see a doctor," it's times like these though that he wished Doug hadn't skimped out on their first-aid kit. He knows for a fact (thanks to his general incompetency's with a Stanley knife) that they don't have anything more than some tweezers and a few bandaids in that stupid box, "I guess you'll need a sling for that arm, but you should be okay to put the shirt on for now." He points to the button-up draped over the head of the sofa, "Do you need any help putting it on?"

She shakes her head.

"I'll be just outside then. Give me a shout when you're ready and we'll see what we can do about a sling."

"What's your name?" Hermione asks before he closes the door on her.

He smiles, "I'm Aubrey."

"Aubrey. That's a weird name." she jokes, in retaliation to his earlier remark. He smirks.

"It is a bit, yeah."

She laughs softly, brown eyes crinkling at the corners, before sobering, "Thank-you Aubrey," she says; her face looks sad again, "Your help has been much appreciated."

He shrugs, "No worries."

He closes the door behind him. And he doesn't think about the bitterness and rage that hides behind her sad looking eyes. He doesn't, honestly.

Casey is sitting on the counter, chewing on a piece of gum.

"How the fuck are we gonna to explain the bloodstains to Doug?" the younger man asks. Aubrey eyes the browning marks on the floor shrewdly. They're not that obvious, but he has a feeling their boss would notice (especially the ones on the couch).

He shrugs, fishing behind the counter for another shirt. He thinks he could make a halfway decent sling out of one. He can just imagine Doug's reaction now, which honestly makes it all the more worth it.

"Dunno. We could just tell him the truth I guess. The girl's a mutant, so he'll probably get excited enough about that that he'll forgive us for leaving her blood everywhere."

Casey laughs and pops his gum. His face turns pensieve, "Is she gonna be okay? She didn't look too good in there before."

Aubrey nods, staring at the closed door, "Yeah. The worst of her injuries was her shoulder, I think; and you saw what she did to that."

"Mm… what are we gonna do with her?" Aubrey is stumped by that question. Because what are they going to do with her? The girl that refuses a hospital or a doctor, but clearly should not be left on her own. He gets the feeling she'd be unable to stay with friends of her own too.

"We could try and contact Professor Xavier; he might be able to take her in. She's a mutant, after all." He tears Doug's shirt apart with the knife as he talks. Casey watches him with a small smile on his face.

"He might not." He says, fishing out his phone to look up the Xavier Institute, "There's probably plenty of mutants out there that are trying to get in." Aubrey shrugs in defiance.

"Even so, it's worth a shot. I don't think she's got anywhere to go."

"I do- for the moment at least," a soft voice interrupts them. Hermione stands in the doorway, clutching her damaged arm to her chest. She looks healthier already, cheeks pink and eyes sharp. Doug's shirt is probably ten sizes too big for her and her jeans are still a mess, but she doesn't seem to care overly much. Aubrey moves over to set her arm in the makeshift sling.

"Where will you go?" he asks, tying the ragged edges of the shirt up at the back of her neck.

She shrugs her good shoulder, "I have some things to check out," she says evasively, "But first I need to find Harry."

"Then the good news is, we've already done that part for you." Drawls a voice from the front door. They all look up in surprise.

"No fucking way." Casey murmurs in awe. Aubrey feels very much like saying the same thing. He'd recognise that face anywhere. Most people would- be it through admiration or dislike.

"I'll have you know though, we expect some recompense for it- we came across him purely by accident, but he wasn't in the best of shape when we found him." Tony Stark strolls into the store as if he owns the place (though Aubrey isn't quite sure how he's managed that, given he'd asked Casey to lock the door) and picks up a comic at random. Nightwing emblazons its cover. He wears a suit jacket casually tossed over his jeans and a worn black Led Zeppelin tee. A metal briefcase rests at his feet; Aubrey has pretty strong hunch as to what's inside it.

"What kind of shape was he in?" Hermione asks, and her voice sounds sickly sweet and calm and oh so dangerous. There's a glint in her eyes that has Aubrey wanting to edge away from her and he can see that she's grasping her stick to hard her knuckles have gone white.

Mr Stark eyes Casey, who's staring at him as if he were the Son of God, born again, "I'd rather not say anything in front of the civilians." Which is an unfair assessment because Aubrey knows for a fact that he is still only an associate of SHIELD; despite his involvement with the Avengers.

"Military?" and if possible Hermione's voice sounds even more dangerous now.

Mr Stark's face looks as though he'd just stepped in dog shit.

"Fuck no." He turns to Casey, who's still staring dumbfounded, "She doesn't know who I am. How can she not know who I am?"

Casey just shrugs, looking almost terrified to be put on the spot by one of his biggest idols.

"And who are you?" Hermione snaps, sounding unhappy at being talked about as though she weren't there (although it could also be a reaction to Tony Stark's natural obnoxiousness).

Stark smirks and sends her a little bow, "Only Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist-" and Aubrey could swear there should be another title in that spiel, "-owner of Stark Industries, the creator and operator of Ironman and member of the Avengers Initiative. I'm kind of a big thing." He points to Casey as if to demonstrate his point.

Hermione doesn't look impressed. In fact, Aubrey would go as far as to say she looks decidedly unimpressed. Her next line merely proves the point further.

"What's the Avengers Initiative?" Stark stares at her as if she's grown another head.

"Fuck, maybe you are from an alternate universe," he remarks jokingly, but Aubrey doesn't miss the way Hermione suddenly stiffens and the smug gleam in Mr Stark's eyes that follows, "We're the saviours of the Earth, Queenie. The vanguard against all things nasty," he carries on, acting as if his little information fishing hadn't occurred.

She seems to chew on this for a minute, eyeing Stark with undisguised suspicion.

"You said you have Harry," she finally grinds out, "What's your proof?"

Stark nods approvingly and pulls out his phone, handing it to her carefully, "He was wearing this." He says seriously. There's an image on the screen of some kind of triangular pendant, bisected by a vertical line, a circle touches all three sides of the triangle.

Hermione's hand trembles when she passes it back.

"Where did you find him?" Stark looks at Aubrey and Casey warily.

'Why don't we discuss this in the car?" Hermione nods slowly, pocketing her stick finally.

"Alright. But wherever you're taking me better have a shower," she glances at her shoulder, "And a medical facility."

Tony sends her a rakish smile and opens the door for her, "For you, Queenie, anything." She only raises an eyebrow at his uninvited flirting, completely unaffected.

Hermione pauses at the doorway and turns around to face Aubrey and Casey.

"Thank-you." She says solemnly, eyes lingering on Aubrey. She gives them a bow, slow and graceful. Then she's swirling around, following Stark (texting on his phone) out of the store and onto the busy street.

They watch the pair slide into a waiting car, the SHIELD logo emblazoned on its side. It disappears into the traffic moments later.

"Well that was fuckin' weird." Casey remarks into the heavy silence left behind.

"Yeah."

"The fuck did she even come from?"

"I don't know." Aubrey lies. His hands stray for a pen and paper.

He suddenly has an excellent idea for a comic.


A/N: The mystery character revealed! What do you think?

At first I was hesitant to add another HP character into the mix because I generally prefer fics that just have one HP character… usually Harry. But I am a largely organic writer, and whilst I'd originally envisioned Great Expectations with just Harry, Hermione just kind of barged her way in here. And in the end I'm glad she did- Hermione is often such an underutilised character in HP/Avengers fics (often turned into a Mary-Sue, or character-bashed… or just ignored) and she's been really fun to write.

I'm going to endeavour to make her as un-Mary-Sue as possible, I swear. But if you feel she's getting a bit over the top or corny, please feel more than free to tell me so; although please, tell me why she's getting like so.

For those who are wondering, Aubrey and Casey are one use wonders. They won't be likely to turn up later in the story (but maybe, at some point, I might make a drabble sidepiece for GE, so you might see some Aubrey action there. Otherwise don't hold your breath); sorry, to anyone who liked them or had any hopes for them.