AN: Hi! Welcome! So this is hugely different adventure for me. I have never written in the Harry Potter Universe nor Marvel. To be honest, I feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew. Oh well, here we are.

I live in Australia, sorry if there are any inaccuracies!


White Picket Fence


Hermione had rats and not the normal kind. Something between a Murtlap which are coastal creatures found in Britain, and a bush rat. But Hermione wasn't in Britain and Murtlap's were known to primarily eat crustaceans. These were destroying her garden exactly like a bush rat would but were resistant to curses and jinxes like the Murtlap. She was at her wit's end.

Lifting the parsley bunch that had flopped over from the roots being eaten by the creature; Hermione could feel tears prickling. Although this plant was only a normal herb, it was the sixth thing destroyed. Blowing a loose curl away from her face in frustration, she stood from her bent position and walked back to her cottage with the plant in hand.

Filling a bucket with water she placed the plant in, attempting to keep it from withering away. She'd be using parsley for the next couple of days it seemed. Plonking the bucket on the kitchen counter, Hermione eyed the large amount of green and snipped a considerable portion off, deciding to hang some up to dry. She knew she wouldn't be able to use the plant in time before it shrivelled.

Living in a Muggle town, Hermione tried to do most things without magic. Of course, since the house was newly constructed and her garden was still quite underway, she used notice-me-not-charms when she knew something needed to be done quickly, like the lattice on the left side of the house or the greenhouse in the middle of the garden that was padlocked and indefinitely charmed. She didn't need someone stickybeaking around because of the oddities.

When Hermione found land on the sea edge of Point Dume as cheap as Butterbeer she almost fell over in her chair. Last she heard it was a billionaire's dream. Literally. The furthest point owned by a Muggle called Tony Stark. She, of course, got out of her stupor and researched the rarity. Finding out there was a missile that obliterated the millionaire's mansion made people sell. People didn't want to risk their lives living near someone who, although hailed a hero, could bring such destruction. The last bit of information Hermione found out about Tony Stark was that he lived in New York, so Hermione had a lovely hillside to look over since he hadn't rebuilt.

This worked well for Hermione. It got her well away from the wizarding world, especially London, and decently away from people. She was in the process of making it more secluded by getting some tall trees and hedges, preferably ones that were safe for Muggles to see but she could use in potions; unfortunately, her pest problem was a bit of a setback.

Filling a cup with water, Hermione watered the herbs hanging above the kitchen sink's window (sage, basil, and thyme to name a few). They were growing nicely inside. When Hermione turned away from the window, the bright red bucket of parsley looked like an eyesore on her kitchen counter. Hermione moved the Asphodel flower—she harvested the roots for a potion days ago—to be more of a centrepiece on the counter and pushed the bucket against the wall. Picking up her empty teacup and breakfast bowl, she tidied the kitchen. Always trying to be busy.

Hermione eyed the open living space, deeming it clean before walking out the back door again. Down the porch steps, across the cobblestone path, to the very back of her property. Unlike the high fence surrounding her property, there was only a low-lying fence at the back so she could see the ocean easily from her dining room, bedroom, and upstairs study. Unlocking the gate and peering down the cliff, this was one area she changed with magic late at night when no moon touched the sky. She made the cliff have an access point to the beach below with a Confundus Charm overlapping it for secrecy. Uneven, almost natural-looking stairs cut into the side of the cliff. Always practical, Hermione also installed a handrail to minimise the possibility of falling; the salt spray made the steps slippery.

Barefooted, sand crunched between Hermione's toes when she reached the bottom. Her hair was going to be a knotted mess by how windy it was as she walked along the secluded beach. The thick, salty air whipped across her face and tickled her nose. The crashing sound of waves hitting rocks roared as Hermione continued, enjoying life's simplicity. It was finally hitting – this was her new home.

The Howlers had come, some from individual people, some from people who she knew but didn't speak to, and some Howlers multiple people talked—yelled—together. And they didn't affect Hermione as much as she thought they might. The pity letters were too far in-between to take into consideration on the move.

Hermione Granger On The Way to Become Minister of Magic

Ron Weasley Affair

It Was Hermione Granger's Fault For Ron Weasley's Straying Ways?

Hermione Granger Cracking

Ron Weasley says it was the "Imperius Curse"!

Golden Trio Finished

Where Is Hermione Granger

Hermione read all the news articles like a drug addict. Her life became messy due to Ron. She tried so hard to keep it together, to continue with her plans on changing—fixing—the wizarding world but Ron Weasley had to botch up everything. No one took her seriously, thinking she was heartbroken, which she was, but they felt she was letting her emotions control her. That she was barmy.

Have a holiday Hermione; I know you're going through a rough patch.

So she did go on holiday to reassess her life. That's when the Howlers came. Hermione suspected due to being constantly at the Ministry (she practically lived there after she found Ron in bed with someone else) they couldn't reach her until the week off – she'd redirected strangers mail years ago when a lot of it seemed to be work-related or advertisements (quite a simple spell Hermione found); The Ministry's post was strickly regulated since the war – therefore post had a tendency of being held back if it looked suspicious to be tested for ill intentions. However, there was a nasty belated article by Rita Skeeter that could have been the reason why the Howlers came in droves. The article perhaps finally snapped people out of their stupor and hence, the post finally came.

The Howlers were eye-opening. The Wizarding World needed time to forget the news about her and Ron Weasley's divorce. Therefore, Hermione moved far, far away. She made sure where she lived wasn't near a wizarding community so no one would catch a wisp of where she was. Regardless of the Wizarding World needing time, Hermione needed her own time too.

Whilst the dust was settling in London, Hermione was brewing potions and supplying them to a few establishments such as a small prestigious American wizarding hospital found in Massachusetts; Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and a few other personalised orders to people who responded to the advertisement in The New York Ghost, the American version of The Daily Profit. She didn't want to rely on the money coming in from selling the house she and Ron bought.

She was thankful Ron and she had their own separate savings accounts and that everything wasn't merged. Thankful at her own hindsight. The primary account still had to be divided… but that was for another day.

Walking to the furthest point Hermione could reach on the beach, she sat on a large rock near where the cliff started jutting out and wiggled her feet into the sand, burying them. The sound of the waves battering against the cliffside was much louder now. It faded out the noise in her head — the need to sort everything out.

Admiring as the sun set, Hermione decided on something simple. She would finish her wards tonight.


Warm morning light splatted across Hermione's face, waking her as the sun rose higher. Her whole room was aglow; even her white, white ceiling wasn't boring now as she rolled over, getting out of bed. Padding to her cosy ensuite, she got ready for the day.

Apparating to the magical community within New York was loosely reminiscent of Diagon Ally. A bubble of old times in a technologically advancing world. It had been a year since she last step foot here. It was almost time to reconnect with the Ministry of Magic in London. She had a few things to sort out with the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA for short, first. Like her fireplace.

Walking through the revolving door, Woolworth was abuzz with people on the ground level. Official papers were flying through the air, trying to get to the right department or person. Normal. It was normal. Hermione weaved her way through the ordered chaos to the front desk and politely waited to be directed even though she knew where she needed to go due to being here before. Her job asked her to travel — to liaise between different communities and leaders.

"We'll be with you shortly, thank you for your patience," the centre person droned without looking up from the paperwork.

After a good seven minutes, one of the secretaires briefly looked up and jumped in their seat once realising who was standing in front of them.

"How can I help you?" The man asked.

He stuttered.

Hermione took it in stride, putting on a smile. Rare for folk to react like this over the pond – maybe he remembered her from another time. It only seemed to happen when a meeting was made, and the person was well informed on who they'd be seeing. "I'd like to get my fireplace connected to the floo."

The man hadn't blinked. He looked confused.

"Oh yes! Department of Magical Transportation! Level four. The elevators are to the left, go right ahead," he said, sweeping his arm in the general direction. "I'll let them know you're on your way," he finished, almost bowing.

Hermione's smile became tight at the edges as she thanked him, turning away. Whispers from the front desk ensured. Barely five steps from the elevator she saw a note with her name largely scrawled flew up a shaft. A big red IMPORTANT stamped across the middle.

It was official, Hermione Granger would be back on the map. People would know where she was.

And she was most definitely not living in London anymore.

How unfortunate.

Seated within the Floo Network Authority office, a pudgy, obviously flustered woman entered the room in due course with the correct nametag. Two people had accidentally ventured into the room as Hermione waited. Hermione stood, non-verbally asking for a handshake. The woman fanned herself when she sat, directing Hermione to once again take a seat.

"Welcome, Hermione Granger."

She had a lilting voice. Briefly glancing at the desk's nameplate, Hermione responded, "thank you for having me, Miss Greenwood."

"Call me Sophia, please." Sophia sorted her desk as a habitual, nervous distraction. "So, what can I do for you today?" Sophia asked.

"I would like to connect my fireplace to the floo," Hermione said simply enough.

Sophia laughed good-heartedly. "Of course! Of course! Why else see me—" Sophia opened her drawer and gathered a few documents "—that's simple enough, we'll get one of our guys out by the end of the day to connect it for you. Just gotta fill out a few of these."

Hermione straightened her shoulders, pretending to look at the paperwork. "Well, you see," Hermione paused, searching for a delicate way of phrasing it. "As you may know, I work for the Ministry of Magic—" Hermione made sure the woman was listening "—and that I now live in America. I was hoping to internationally connect the floo so I wouldn't need to ask for Portkeys constantly ."

Sophia's eyes widened, and she started to babble.

Hermione cut off the chitter, continuing, "now, I know your department cannot purely do this itself especially, per se, for someone's semi-personal use."

The woman finally blinked, rapidly. Hermione tried to smile disarmingly, to lighten the mood. Charisma did not come naturally at all.

"As I know this would be such a big workload for anyone, little own for you to handle all by yourself—" Hermione felt like she was spitting nails. Like she was a damn Slytherin "—I am happy to liaison between the different departments, both American and British, to help get this put through. Of course, if you'd allow me."

The woman's hands were on the desk, spread wide in a grounding way. Hermione could see her swallowing thickly before nodding slowly in agreement.

"If you're happy doing this, then I don't see why not," Sophia said, looking at a pile of papers on her desk, and smiled back at Hermione. "After all, considering this is such a rare thing to be asked of, it would probably take months to pass it... if I could pass it with the higherups."

The woman pulled a face and laughed. Hermione joined the social cue.

Sophia wrote a personalised letter and magically attached it to the floo connection documents. "To start the process, here you are. Come back when you've gotten the other approvals, or if you have any other questions. Good luck."

Relief washed over Hermione. She stood and firmly shook Sophia's hand. "Thank you, Sophia Greenwood."

Sophia accepted the thanks and then went to open her mouth again. Hermione cut Sophia off before she could say anything else. Hermione knew after sitting through many meetings with people from all over the world that there would be almost goodbye pleasantries. They would always slip in a congratulations on fighting in the war and winning. Always asking what the real story was. Some snuck it in so smoothly that Hermione forgot she just ended a serious meeting and some were blaringly obvious that she visibly winced at the awkwardness of it all. Mostly these days that had stopped, after all, it had been years since the war and Hermione had done other notable things, but there was the odd occasion, hence now.

Unless Sophia was going to ask about her divorce, then Hermione did not feel bad at all for cutting it short.

Hermione waved the papers in show, saying, "I had better get started! Have a lovely day!"

"You too," Sophia squeaked back into the empty room.

Talking between MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic departments to get the floo network setup was frustrating, to say the least. To make it so her floo network worked semi internationally there were many rules and regulations to address—bypass. Hermione primary liaised between the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Magical law Enforcement and Magical Transportation, and a few of their sub-departments.

She international Portkeyed more within the last two months than she ever had in her life. Her hair looked electrified by the insane lack of sleep and constant travel. It was worth it though, as she watched the MACUSA Officials enter her house and set up the connection. If Hermione had done it the conventual way, always using Portkey to get to London, she would not be surprised if her stomach ultimately left her body.

Her floo was not without restrictions. Like any other floo in America, she could travel to any open location connected but London, she could only connect to three areas: The Ministry of Magic's international floo, The Leaky Cauldron and Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter's residence. She could only return home by two of those locations. The Ministry and Harry's house. The MACUSA didn't like the idea of an open connection easily accessible by the public via The Leaky Cauldron, which suited Hermione perfectly. She fought tooth and nail to connect to Harry's floo.

It helped that Kingsley Shacklebolt still wanted her to work for the Ministry, even with the end period of her holiday unknown, and that The Boy Who Lived was The Boy Who Killed Voldemort. Knowing people in high places were quite benefiting.

Plus, rare as it may be, Harry did visit America for work.

Once the Officials were done and apparated away, Hermione restrengthened her wards and shut her fireplace hearth, blocking any accidental misdirection. This part of her house was her favourite. The second story overlooked the garden and had a beautiful wide, sweeping view of the ocean. It was where she could see the sand and get a good perception of the tides.

The fireplace was on the wall to the right side of the window and to the left, the stairwell resided. You could see the loungeroom below through gaps in the handrail (and just a peek of the kitchen and dining room since it was an open living space). The back wall had rows of books from ceiling to floor. Hermione's fingertips brushed over the spines until she reached a slim book. Making sure all the curtains were securely closed, she tapped the book's spine twice with her wand. The bookcase groaned and shifted, sliding back enough for her to enter.

A hidden room behind a bookcase? Cliché, Hermione knew. But she only had so much wiggle room in a Muggle neighbourhood. She didn't want to risk dousing the house in magic due to all the technology muggles used. She wasn't sure what sort of ill effects it would have. If a Muggle ever randomly—forcibly—dropped by to visit, they would not notice the second story was smaller on the inside due to the hidden room.

The hidden room was slim but ran along the whole back wall of the upper part of the house. Across the wall had a long bench with a barstool tucked under. Cauldrons were bubbling and self-stirring. Hermione noticed one just about to turn the wrong colour and quickly added Belladonna, making four counter-clockwise stirs and lowered the heat to a simmer. The potion would be complete in thirty-three minutes.

She checked how the other cauldrons were coming along before pulling out the barstool and sat, opening an old copy of The New York Ghost she picked up last time in New York.

On the last page, there was a smattering of small photos. Some had alien creatures moving fast, some of a big green beast in a rampage on the side of a skyscraper, and one lone picture of a mismatched group of six standing in what resembled a destroyed city.

The words New York Tribute, Lest We Forget was the article's title. It named people the magical community lost four years ago and how the magical community almost got breached. It asked us to question how we felt about the Avengers and what might happen to the magical world. That we weren't alone. That we weren't safe. It then talked about recent events, referring to what happened in Sokovia; reinforcing that we were practically twiddling our thumbs.

Wand vibrating, Hermione closed the newspaper, making a note to read it further later, and turned off the heat, quickly chilled the potion before pouring it into twenty-five flasks. Boxed up the order and walked to the far end of the room where a wooden cabinet sat. Placing the box in with the exact address it needed to be delivered to and firmly shut the door.

Ingenious to reinvent vanishing cabinets and commercialise them into a payable service. The cabinet had one shelf, and that shelf is where your mail sat, waiting for you to collect and the bottom of the cabinet is where you place your sent mail. The post would be regulated and checked for any maliciousness before being sent by one of their own highly trained owls, another cabinet connected to the system, or the No-Majs way. The service was trying to expand outside of America. Hermione knew they would never be accepted in Britain. However, it worked for what Hermione needed, even if it was slow. She paid the highest subscription due to everyone living in Britain. She didn't trust owl's constantly flying to and from home due to everyone's worry over her divorce and disappearance.

Vanishing cabinets had been banned in London after Death Eaters snuck into Hogwarts through one. It was luck Hermione overheard a conversion in the New York Emporium when she was deciding on an owl. A witch had visited Africa and had fallen in love with a No-Maj and was allergic to owls. But she had to keep in contact with the man somehow. Her friend suggested using her owl as she usually did, but the witch went bright red and reminded the friend of what happened when she tried to send a letter to her crush in school. The relentless teasing. The mortification. The witch also added that an owl would be a red flag for the No-Mag. The friend, of course, remembered and reverted to old times, annoying the witch once again. The friend finally eased and got serious, suggesting the kickstart postal service, Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance, for 'Witches and Wizards Who Do Not Owl'. The conversion between the two witches was very hush-hush, and Hermione worried that they were talking about such things in public, considering Rappaport's Law. Although mostly outdated, the law still held some ground.

After a few moments, she reopened the cabinet to check if the package was received. A lone note instead sat in the centre, reading:

Thank you for choosing us as your delivery service.
Have a merry day!

Kind regards,
Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance.

Hermione scrunched up the standard thank you note and locked her vanishing cabinet. As much as she trusted Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance's safely regulations, she would never leave it unlocked. Making sure everything was under control, Hermione left the hidden room, tapped the slim book and watched as the bookcases slid back into place.


AN: So. Yeah. What do you think so far?
I've got some more written. I'm planning on this
not being a large multi fic (probably about 5 chapters, max)...