An: Thank you, everyone, who reviewed so far! I hope you like this chapter just as much!


White Picket Fence
Chapter 2


2012 – Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London.

Shit was hitting the fan in America, or so the proverbial saying went. They were in constant war and not a normal one either: Super strength humans, flying steel robots, and aliens. Complete utter chaos. And the kicker? The magical community was doing nothing. People were dying.

"Look, Hermione, I already asked the higher-ups and it has nothing to do with us," Harry said while sorting paperwork. He should have been home by now. But he chose to stay back and catch up on work. Chose.

"But Harry people are dying and not just Muggles!" Hermione was defiant.

Harry paused, looking at her briefly between papers. "Yes, in America, not Britain."

Hermione huffed, getting worked up once more on the matter. "Yes, for now. Who's to say that won't change. The world isn't that small, and have you seen what these Muggles can do?! They won't freak out about magic of all things!"

"Stop, Hermione. It's out of our hands," Harry said once again. They'd had this conversation just last week.

"You know eighteen percent of mutants aren't mutants—" Hermione switched tactics "—They're witches or wizards who came under the radar too early, and then because of the laws they don't see our world. They're already under too much surveillance by the muggles once found," she finished, frustration getting the better of her near the end.

"There's a reason for that," Harry finally clipped back, "the muggles don't trust the mutants. To them, we'd probably be a different type of mutant if we started sticking our nose in where it shouldn't be."

Hermione glared, posture getting ridged, hair frizzier. "That was years ago, Harry! They closed the concentration camps. They have a school now! Hell, even some muggle mythology has turned out true!"

They both stood there, red-faced, getting nowhere.

"Look, I'm Auror. I'm not even Head. And Hermione, you're in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We can't do anything," Harry finally said.

Hermione blew a curl away from her face. It stubbornly sprung right back. "Well, that's got to change," Hermione said, voice matter of a fact—Harry got an ominous feeling. "Harry. Please, don't be so humble, you're about to be the Deputy Head. You'll be second in charge," she said smirking.

Harry knew she was calculating something by the gleam in her eye. That was not a good thing. It reminded him of when she jinxed the secrecy parchment for Dumbledore's Army.

"Why I think after I tie up a few ends I'll need a change of scenery," she said looking around his empty department.

He scribbled something down, moved the paper over, pretending to be finished. "Well, nice seeing you again," he said awkwardly, quickly standing, pulling on his coat. "Dinner at yours this Friday, right?"

Harry knew Hermione's dark eyes were following him. He wanted to rub his temples as he heard the tapping of her foot. All he wanted was to finish his work and go home to Ginny. Have a nice relaxing night.

Just as he was at the threshold of the door, Hermione softly spoke, "Have a good night, Harry."

Harry didn't know what was worse. Hermione scheming with or without him.

That peaceful night didn't seem so peaceful anymore. He was officially worried.


2016 - Present time.

Pepper left. After everything they'd gone through, Pepper had left. Again.

Tony had plans to move away from the city. Get a lakeside house. You know, do the whole white picket fence family thing with her. But she left. Mind you, he never actually got to tell her what he was planning. Because. She. Left.

Rubbing his temples while outside the Massachusetts Institute of Technology after talking about BARF, Tony felt a headache coming on. He couldn't shake what that woman said about her son. How Tony Stark only fought for himself. That he was a murderer. He needed to get out. Get his head straight.

New York wasn't cutting it anymore.

"FRIDAY?" Tony said, almost apprehensive.

"Yes boss," his AI responded.

"Call a builder, we're moving back to Malibu."

"The same company who built the original house?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ryan was the owner, right?" Tony said flippantly, not caring. He trusted his system to find the best.

"I believe it was Brian," FRIDAY corrected and then asked, "are we building from the blueprints you drafted on Tuesday?" FRIDAY asked.

Tony hesitated, thinking about Pepper. Wondering if she would come back.

"No," Tony finally said. "We're rebuilding the old place."

"Okay boss."

"Wait, make the workshop bigger. We're gonna need more space. Also, inform the Secretary of State of my new living arrangements. Looks like we'll be doing a lot of conference calls."

"Is that all, boss?"

"Yeah. Thanks, FRIDAY."

Tony's face was grim as he got into the car taking him to Avengers Tower. He had affairs to settle before the move.

Walking into the lobby, he bypassed the two secretaires and pressed the button for the private elevator. Inside, he pushed for the top floor. Once in ascend, he swiped his hand down his face, slapping his cheek once in frustration.

"FRIDAY?" Tony finally spoke, pensive.

"Boss?"

They had the new Avengers facility in upstate, New York... "Sell this building."

FRIDAY didn't respond for a while. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tony said very matter of a fact.

After a moment, just before Tony was about to leave the elevator, FRIDAY spoke, "Boss, I have contacted an agency. The proceedings have started."

Feeling like a weight had been lifted, he thanked FRIDAY and entered his living quarters.

Tony paused as soon as his feet touched the carpet in the living room. There were bags. Three of them, with one open, half-filled.

He could feel tremors in his fingertips. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times before shaking them as he stared at the luggage.

Distantly, the tap, tap, tap of heels could be heard, coming closer.

"Oh!" Pepper said.

Tony didn't look up.

"I didn't think you'd be home for another hour," Pepper said hastily and put the armful of clothes and junk in the suitcase.

Tony blinked at the sound of the zipper closing.

Just as Pepper was about to pass him, he asked, "So that's it?"

Tony knew his voice was rough, perhaps harsh, because she flung around.

"Yes, Tony. That's it," Pepper said coldly.

"After all these years you're going to walk?" Tony asked again.

Pepper was glaring. At least she wasn't an ice queen now. There was emotion.

"Yes, I'm done. I'm sick of this turbulent relationship. The uncertainty."

"What uncertainty!" Tony raised his voice.

"I don't know if you're going to come home every time you step outside," Pepper snapped.

Oh. That was reasonable, Tony thought.

Then she continued, "Or even here! I don't know if you'll stupidly make something and it will kill you—us—within these walls!"

"That was a year ago! I thought we got through that! I know I fucked up. I learnt from my mistakes! Can't you see I'm trying to make sure you're—hell, everyone's— safe!"

"No, Tony, I can't," Pepper gritted out, "We're done. For good, this time."

So, now he wasn't selfish enough, it seemed. He couldn't win.

The soft close of the elevator doors made him sigh as he walked to the bar and made a stiff drink.

Yes, Tony needed to get out of this city. He had private jets and a suit that could fly on autopilot if the world needed him.


It was a quarter of a year later when Hermione set foot in Diagon Ally. Her old house that she shared with Ron still hadn't sold and she didn't know why. Apparating, she arrived outside and understood. The for-sale sign had come down and it looked lived in.

A dark look came over Hermione's face as she apparated to the Ministry and walked directly to the elevators with tunnel vision. Grabbing the rail, waiting for everyone to board, she didn't realise who was behind her until she heard the snarl of her last name.

Hermione felt all too stiff as she turned to face the person. Once realising who it was, she did not lose composure.

"Parkinson," Hermione said very purposely as she knew Pansy had gotten divorced herself. Although living across the pond, Hermione tried to keep up with the news back home. How else would she know when to come back?

Pansy stuck her nose in the air, just that little bit. "I thought you ran away like a scaredy-cat."

"Obviously not," Hermione responded, trying to end the pointless conversion.

Pansy started verbally ripping Hermione to shreds. Not quite saying mudblood, because prejudice would be dire, but Hermione knew the war hadn't changed Pansy.

"Look, I have work to do, is there actually something you want or should I just continue ignoring you?"

Pansy's mouth opened once, twice, at Hermione's straightforwardness before finally settling on, "I thought you didn't work here anymore!"

The elevator sucked them to the next department before Hermione could respond. The elevator restabilised, doors opening on the floor Hermione needed.

"Let me rectify that: I never left. Effective immediately, consider me back from my holiday," Hermione said without looking at Pansy and walked out.

Hermione took a right, then left, and followed a long corridor while briefly responding to the startled hellos at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Coming to a large room with filing cabinets, she moved to the side and opened a draw labelled Magical Land and Properties. The draw stretched across the room before slamming into a wall. Hermione rolled her eyes; they still hadn't separated the files into another drawer. Walking to the W's, she stopped and rifled through until she found the right Weasley file.

Walking to the department head's office, she rushed through without knocking and slammed the paperwork onto Harry Potter's desk.

He jumped in surprise. An excited smile reached his face at seeing Hermione after so long before he noticed her dark look and became apprehensive.

"What can I do for you, Hermione?" Harry asked, feeling like he was at Hogwarts again.

She pushed the folder closer to him, pointing to a specific page.

"What does that mean, Harry?"

He read it before looking back up. "But that makes no sense. I did not approve it!" Harry responded.

Albeit sloppy, there was Harry Potter's signature at the bottom, approving in taking Hermione's and Ron's place off the market and staying in present ownership.

There was a moment before Harry groaned and muttered curses under his breath. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I think I know what happened." Harry's brows furrowed, face paling. "A few months back, Ron might have gotten me drunk..."

"Harry—!"

Harry quickly cut in before Hermione could berate him. "Look, I can fix this. It'll be back on the market in no time."

Hermione crossed her arms. "No. Not good enough, Harry James Potter," Hermione snapped. "Ron Weasley has gone against our divorce terms. I want a Binding Notice drafted up."

Harry's eyes widened, showing how vivid a green they were.

"He took our house off the market, illegally, and he has not bought out my share," she finished off.

Harry slumped in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ok," Harry said slowly. "You know this is a shit situation for me, right?"

Hermione calmed down, just that little bit. She knew Harry was best friends with both her and Ron. If the roles were reversed and Harry and Ginny were in this situation, Hermione knew this would be a daunting thing to sign off.

Yet, Hermione would have signed it.

"A compromise then. Draft up the notice and I'll take it to Kingsley to sign," Hermione said, businesslike.

Harry looked a little too relieved.

The silence between them became awkward in the office.

"How's America?" Harry finally asked as he wrote.

Hermione's nose scrunched. "It's alright. I haven't visited many places."

Harry almost got a smirk on his face. "Reading?" He said.

Hermione glared good-heartedly. "I hope you know I've taken up gardening—" although he didn't need to know that was paying her bills "—but yes, I have finally read those books."

Near the end of her relationship with Ron, although unexpecting to what was really going on behind closed doors, Hermione felt a weird niggle deep in her bones. She ceased reading and working as much and just tried being around Ron whenever they were free. She was thankful she hadn't fallen pregnant as that was the next step they were up to in their lives.

A wide smile brightened Hermione's face. "I heard you're expecting," she said to Harry.

The smile must have been contagious because the same look came to Harry's face, and he started blubbering about the exciting news as he hurried up the paperwork.

He finished another paper and moved it to an in-tray, then eyed the sizable stack of papers he still had to get through. "You know, life was so much easier when you were deputy for me," Harry said, still looking at the stack on his desk.

A look came to Hermione's face. That was her cue to leave. She didn't have time to be wrangled into this type of work. "Well, I did say I needed a change of scenery back then—" she grinned probably a little too widely "—I also had to help you become head of this department."


When Hermione entered the Ministry of Magic's, Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, the older gentleman had tea waiting for her with a big welcome back. Funny how quick word travels.

"Thank you for not replacing my position. I was gone for quite a while after all," Hermione responded to the warm greeting.

"Course I wouldn't replace you, Hermione. I want you to take over hopefully."

"You're too kind," she said humbly. "But I know you've got this next election in the bag. Besides, I'd have to win the public first."

The Minister chuckled. "From what I've seen, you already did."

Hermione knew that wasn't true anymore. She knew how much sway tabloids had, and Theodore Nott was gaining public attention since Hermione left London. The lanky man had charm, wealth, and apart from his father, Theodore's family hadn't participated in the war. Everyone knew his father was estranged from the family (it was a huge scandal, the mother leaving the father and remarrying. Multiple times). The tabloids soaked him up – Hermione knew tabloids could ruin or make a person and it wasn't even close to her deliberated timeline of her life goals. She still had much to do and wasn't one hundred percent sure how to accomplish them since her world turned upside down due to Ron – she had three years to get her affairs in order for the 2019 election. That is when she would run for Minister. Plenty of time.

The magical world was still divided with bigotry. Honestly, who's to say another dark lord wouldn't rise if things didn't further change? A lot of witches and wizards still perceived muggles as second-class citizens, and Hermione was the biggest muggle advocate of all. She'd make it so that Kingsley Shacklebolt would once again win.

"Kingsley, there's another reason why I'm here," Hermione added.

"Oh?"

Taking a calming breath, Hermione slid the Binding Notice over, explaining what has come to her attention with Ron Weasley and their divorce settlement – how he broke the rules and how Harry felt inappropriate signing it.

"I see," Kingsley said. He sat for a while, mulling over the notice before looking back to Hermione.

"How about talking to him first? Once you've done that, then I'll sign. How does that sound?" He said, trying to be mediating.

Hermione felt something close to fury and disappointment simmer under her skin but tried to understand. Maybe there was a reason as to why Ron had done this. Perhaps he wasn't being selfish. Perhaps he wanted to buy out her part but had no way of contacting her since she basically shut off all communication.

Giving the benefit of the doubt, she agreed.

Going back and forth between London and America was disconcerting at first. Hermione's body clock was all over the place. When she left work at six o'clock and flooed home, it was midday. Most of the time she'd be sleeping the afternoon away. Thankfully she had magic and could make her room pitch black when needed. Sleeping Draught helped when her body was too high-strung from work. She'd been far too busy catching up with her workload. Her poor garden was being neglected, and she still hadn't seen Ron – to be fair, she has been to the threshold of their house. She'd see the white picket fence and chicken out. Its symbolism was too jarring.

She was also using magic much more than she was comfortable in a muggle neighbourhood. Considering how electronics didn't react well to magic, she was worried that the excessive use was leaking outside her property's perimeter. Knowing how delicate some devices were these days, the magical community had to be more careful than ever before.

Sluggishly stumbling down the stairs after waking up too early for a day off, she chucked on some boots and gloves and headed to the garden. It wasn't till about half an hour later when her hands and knees were muddy that she realised people were standing on the vacant land next to her house.

Craning her neck to get a better look, Hermione watched as the group started surveying the property. View partly obscured from her tall fence, she looked around for something to stand on and spotted a garden chair she got second-hand a while ago that precariously balanced old pots that were too small from the mandrakes getting too big that resided within the greenhouse.

Dumping the pots onto the grass, taking note she should probably start up some new seedlings with them, she brought the chair next to her fence, stepped onto it and looked at all the markers that were being placed around, noticing some were quite close to the fence line. Becoming worried, finally, someone walked nearby.

"Excuse me!" Hermione said.

The man didn't seem to notice. She could only see the back of his head and he seemed to be talking but no one was near him. He was dressed very casually compared to the other people on the property.

A bit louder, she tried again. "Sorry, excuse me!" Her voice was sharper than intended.

The man snapped his head to her, face frustrated. "Yes, you're excused," he said flippantly.

Her nose wrinkled realising who stood in front of her. The owner of the property, Tony Stark. Apprehensive on the potential consequences of him being here, she asked, "what's being built if you don't mind?"

Stark looked at her strangely for a moment. "How are your wireless connections?" He asked—more like demanded.

Perplexed, Hermione would have trodden carefully and asked, Why do you ask? But she finally snapped from his utter rudeness, saying, "Why are you here?"

He paused, taking her in once realising the conversion was going stagnant. Considering the time, she was still in her pyjamas. Caked gardening gloves gripped the fence, curly hair in disarray and dirt smudged across the tip of her nose. He ran a hand through his hair, mirth in his eyes. It was apparent what she had been up to on her side of the fence.

"I live here," Tony Stark said, tone trying not to be snarky. His head was tilted more than he'd like to look at her.

Before she could question further, as there was no house on Tony's land for him to live in, Tony continued, "I think we got off to the wrong foot, neighbourino," Tony said, laying the charm on thick. "To your first question, I'm rebuilding my house that blew up a couple of years ago—" He did not wait for a response since it was vast knowledge as to what happened to his house, and he knows people in the area haven't been happy with him since "—Second, I'm standing here because there seems to be a blackspot with my comms. And most importantly, a pleasure to meet you."

"Hermione Granger—" She tried to introduce herself civilly.

"—by the way, there's something on your nose," Tony cut in with finality, walking away. He remembered he needed to talk to the builders about some minor adjustments.

"Stark!"

He turned around to face her with a bit of smugness while walking backwards. "Oh, so you do know who I am."

Hermione did not know what to think of her neighbour as she walked—more stomped—into her kitchen. Realising too late the mess she made in her house, she wrenched off her dirty gloves and boots, walked back to her rear door, and discarded them outside. Firmly shutting both the wooden and screen doors, she turned back to the trail of muddy footprints and magicked them away.

Breathing deeply within her loungeroom, Hermione tried collecting herself. She briefly looked at the time and then doubled back.

One o'clock.

Time had flown by. It was later than what she wanted it to be. In London, it would be six o'clock. She looked down at herself and pinched the bridge of her nose realising she was ridiculously caked in mud. She needed a shower before leaving. Mentally calculating where her clothes were and how long it would take for her to get ready, she decided to forgo the shower and use Scourgify instead.

She had to use the charm three times. Her mouth tasted like soap and she was sure her hair was frizzy instead of curly.

Throwing on some reasonable clothes, Hermione inspected her reflection briefly before scoffing. She wasn't going home to impress Ron. She set a fast pace to her fireplace and held a pinch of floo powder for a moment, deciding where would be the best option to go.

The Leaky Cauldron was packed for a weekday as Hermione stepped out of the green flames. Swerving through the people, she braced herself before Apparating home.

Like always, the waist-high white picket fence was jarring as she stood outside the property's boundary line. Unlocking the gate, she followed the cobblestone path to the front door, thankful the lights were on – Ron was home. At first, she wasn't sure if she should knock or use her key.

Hermione used the key. It was her house, after all, and she had matters to address.

Ron was sitting on the couch with a beer in hand while watching the telly she introduced him to.

It was a too familiar scene.

"Evening Ron," Hermione said, hoping to sound blasé.

He jumped out of his skin.

"What are you doing here?" Ron said, defensively.

Instantly, Hermione's hackles raised. "This is my house—" She stopped, knowing Ron would get unreasonable. She then softened, pointedly asking, "Why has it not sold?" She tried to give the benefit of the doubt.

Ron eventually said, "I thought with you gone, you didn't want it anymore."

"I don't want it, that's the thing—"

Ron cut her off. "See! So, does it matter if I live in it then? I mean, you're obviously living somewhere else, and you're doing fine."

"That does not mean I don't need the money!" Hermione was getting angry at Ron's mindset.

"Why, though? You're obviously fine wherever you're living!" He too was getting frustrated.

Hermione snapped, "You do not get freebees out of this divorce, Ronald Bilius Weasley! We both paid for this house! You were the one who cheated and messed up our lives!"

He went soft. "I said I was sorry."

Hermione glared at his new tactic. "You are not. You just want to eat the whole cake," she seethed.

The next moment, before anything else could be said, Lavender Brown walked out from the bathroom, skimpily clad, not caring about what was happening. Lavender would have easily heard Hermione and Ron's... discussion.

Hermione's eyes were cold like rocks as she looked between the two of them – Ron getting more and more embarrassed. Only now did Hermione notice the glass of wine on the coffee table.

And the new vase.

"You've got to be joking," Hermione spat before apparating away.


Hermione was bloody calm as she walked into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office well after hours, knowing he'd be there for another nine minutes.

"We talked, Ron and I," Hermione said as she sat in front of Kingsley unceremoniously. Her clothes were ruffled after apparating from Ron to the Ministry.

Before Kingsley could say anything, Hermione methodically placed the papers down, continuing, "I need these signed."

Hermione was calm. Too calm. Kingsley looked at her for a moment before slowly nodding, his quill touching the dotted line, signing next to her bloodied name on the Binding Notice.

"Is that all you needed," Kingsley asked, his voice malleable. Binding Notices were serious. He tried to lower their professional wall to allow her a friend to confide in.

Hermione plucked the papers one by one and put them in her folder. "Thank you," she said, purposely not answering.

"Hermione, I know this probably isn't the time, but since you're here," Kingsley tapered off.

Her dark eyes were unwavering, waiting.

"I'm retiring," Kingsley said. "I'm not running for this year's election."

Hermione swore.