A/N: See if you can spot any references to a future place, a future character, and future thing in the chapter. ;) Please read and review. Still taking in pairing requests, and I will be adding on to the warning that's in the first chapter, so feel free to brush up on that if you want.

Thanks a bunch, my honey bunches of oats!

Enjoy!

Chapter 5: The Soldier

Late 1990

The Baron pours his guest a glass of Scotch from his private collection. His guest sits at the desk, and he schools his features as to not show anxiety in the woman's presence. She's a severe-looking middle-aged woman with coal black eyes and unnervingly rich black hair. There's a solid gray streak standing abstract from the rest of the tresses. Her nails are long, manicured but plain. Her nose a bit too pointed, and her jaw to angular for her to be pretty. In all honesty, she's rather unfortunate to behold. Pale skin and cinched thin mouth, pupils blown to wide for no reason at all.

Still…The Baron smiles and offers her the glass, and she wordlessly gestures at him to put it on the desk. He grabs and a coaster and obliges. "I don't want to rush you, but let's discuss who you're leaning towards—"

"I'm here for both."

He casually sips at his own glass, masking his insecurity. "One is mine."

"They don't belong to you or here."

"You can have 54," he tells her.

The woman stares blankly at him. "I'm here to collect the two. Soo-jin and Hermione."

He massages his chin, sitting down behind his desk. "Madam Bogdanov , I've invested too much into these girls. There's no way I'm giving you both."

Madam Bogdanov pulls out a long, polished wooden stick from her thick winter cloak. "I think I can persuade you."

Palming the handle of his Barretta holstered underneath his desk, he considers his options and knows what to say to shake her. "17 is not half."

The woman's terrifying eyes narrow. "You mean…she is filth?"

"54's mother was a Squib. A prostitute, but her father is Pure from what my contacts say."

She turns up her nose. "Daughter of a whore is better than filth." She leans forward in her chair, slitting her eyelids. "Still, I have orders to bring two, but the ministry will not be so adamant when I tell them Hermione's blood is no good. They may even turn a blind eye."

The Baron feel something invisible pressing against his frontal lobe. "Whatever you're doing, stop."

"Such ambitions, Wolfgang." Her thin mouth forms a worried line.

He ignores her. "When should I have 54 ready for you?"

She shakes her head. "Do not make me regret anything. If you weaponize the girl, don't count on being able to control her. However, if she's turns into a real problem, she'll threat to my kind."

The Baron considers her words and then sips at his own drink. "I know where you heart is. You're curious. Your kind is impressive but held back," he eyes her polished stick, "in many ways. You're interested in the possibility without those limitations and what better test subject than—what did you say?—filth. Because if I fail and damage her beyond repair, well, it will be no loss on your part."

The woman drums her fingernails on the side of the glass. "Arrange a few meeting with Soo-jin for me. It's likely best I gain her trust before I take her next fall."

Dipping his chin, he goes to respond when there's a knock on his door. Ms. Bērziņš comes in, and he's about to chastise her when she says, "Josef is here. Shall I make the call?"

He gets up from his chair, button his suit. "Will do, Madam Bogdanov. This Friday. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few matters to take care of. I trust you can see yourself out."

A Week Later

17 watches from the railings above, legs dangling over the edge. She's supposed to be in her quarters, but 54, 25, 82, 38, and 39 talked her into staying behind to see him. They got word from the one of the older kids of his arrival.

The Winter Soldier.

Speaking of…a few of the older kids show up, including 48 who flicks 54's ear, so she'll move. He sits between her and 17, and smirks when the Winter Soldier lands a solid blow to Josef's chest. Josef was once a student here but graduated several years prior, so he could deeply wedge himself into MI-6.

"He's been accepted into the Winter Soldier program," whispers 48. "It's why they're both here. Josef's going to Siberia after this."

"But he lost," 17 replies.

48 shrugs. "He's the best."

There's a tone to his voice that 17 catches. "You're jealous." She smiles a little bit. "You want to be a Winter Soldier."

The fifteen-year-old boy shrugs again. "They say my future's S.H.I.E.L.D." He pauses. "I'm also graduating in a month."

17 tears her eyes away from the duel, her heart sinking a little. "So soon?"

"I only know they're sending me to the States. I'll be put in with a family loyal to HYDRA. Then they're putting me in operations at S.H.I.E.L.D's academy after a stint in the Marines."

He's probably not supposed to be telling her this, but she reckons he wants to both impress her and obtain her sympathy. She chews on her lips and focuses on the Soldier and Josef. The latter is on his feet again, ready to take another beating.

"I'm leaving for Moscow in three months," she divulges. "The Baron got me into Chelintsov's program."

"The Baron got you into the KGB?" hisses 54. "You and all your headaches. You'll be a liability."

"The Baron wanted me to be a part of it when he first met me," argues 17.

"Funny," clips 54. "He said the same thing to me." She jerks and rolls one shoulder. "Whatever, though. I'm graduating, too. At the end of next summer."

"Just deal with the fact that 17 is prettier than you." 48 chuckles and 17 punches him in the arm while 54 slaps him upside the head.

That's untrue. 54 is much prettier, and she's better at tumbling and martial arts.17 wonders why The Baron chose her when he's been nothing but short with her lately. And not that she can blame him. Her abilities have mellowed. It's harder—no—taxing for her to even do the most menial of things like make a ball bounce on its own. She used to be able to assemble a Beretta without touching it.

And she used to be able to turn a pencil into a pen and her milk into tea.

She feels the energy in her blood, in her bones, but it's not coming out so eagerly anymore. The energy thrums impatiently under her skin but can do nothing but fizzle out little by little.

"Do you think," starts 48, "we'll see each other again after you leave?"

"I don't know," she says softly. "The Baron never mentioned me being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. He says once I'm all sorted—whatever that means—I'll be unstoppable."

54 snorts, and 48 gives 17 a considering look, and she knows he's recalling the institute from whence they came and the ship they sailed to get here. Or so she thinks. She only knows about them because he told her, and she thinks she might remember a playroom with books. She doesn't remember a whole lot of the ship. Her scar on her stomach itches. She scratches at her skin and looks down at her tummy and then at the scar on her arm. The apple. Choppy memories of her mum and dad flow in, stream flooding into a river.

She sighs.

Her name is Hermione Jean Granger. She was born in England. Her parents' names are Daniel and Helena. They read fairy tales to her at bedtime, and her mum would sing Greek lullabies to her, too. They institutionalized her where a crooked doctor worked, and now she's here. Hermione rubs her forehead, exhaling softly. The Baron will put her in the chair again at least twice, maybe three times, before she leaves for Moscow. The memories will be hers again for a short time.

"You will be," says 48 after a while. His throat bobs, and he nods. "You will be." He cracks a smirk."I bet you'll even be able to take down the Winter Soldier."

The Winter Soldier throws Josef across the room like he's nothing but a bag of feathers. It's Hermione's turn to snort. "Yeah, all right."

Maybe if she thinks real hard, she'll toss a pen at him with her mind and not cry due to a migraine.

Josef isn't getting back up again for another row anytime soon, so the Soldier awaits patiently for further instructions, and Hermione's unable to see the appeal in the program. Sure, a Winter Soldier is the elite, the ultimate warrior and fighting machine, but trained dog comes to mind, too.

They're going to do that to you, a voice tells her. They are doing it to you.

Her fingers curl tightly on the bars of the railing, and the Winter Soldier looks up at her and her peers. He doesn't say anything nor does he bring any attention to them. He simply stares at them with his blue eyes, and Hermione thinks they're a pretty set. He's not unattractive, but his mangled brown mop is.

"Hey, Soldier," hackles 48 rather bravely—stupidly is more like it. "My friend 17 is going to kick your arse some day!"

Hermione and the other kids hop to their feet, her eyes meeting the Soldier's briefly before she takes off running, the other kids close behind.

"Hey, what are you kids doing up there?" yells a guard, but they're soon out of sight and are down the hallway, darting to the stairwell and practically throwing themselves down it.

48 is laughing hard, tears of mirth slipping down his purpling face. He slows at the next landing, catching her by the shirt and forcing her into the corner as the rest of the kids continue downwards. Her head hits the wall, and she glares up at him. For someone so smart, he sure is stupid sometimes.

"I see why The Baron is sending you on the other side of the world," she tells him.

"Hey, if he's that displeased with me, I'd be dead."

"You annoy him/"

"Alexander Pierce was down there. Did you see him? He's deep in S.H.I.E.L.D. and the council's none the wiser. He might even be CEO one day. He's going to be my boss. I had to make a first impression."

"By being an imbecile?"

"I didn't say a good first impression." She can't help herself. She has to chuckle at that. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'll see each other again?"

"Oh. Well," she gets out the corner and starts down the stairs, "I don't know. Probably not."

48 takes a moment and then joins her down the stairwell. "Will you miss me?"

She turns to face him, her expression serious. "I don't recognize you right away after treatment, you know. I'm getting two before I leave for Moscow. If we do see each other again, too much time will have probably gone by. The name Robert or 48 will mean nothing to me."

"Maybe Brock will."

She glances at him curiously. "You got your name."

48 nods. "Do you think you'll get yours before Moscow? You can't be 17 there. That'd be weird."

Hermione stops at the landing. "I'm afraid."

"Of going to Moscow? Psht! It's just like this hellhole but everyone's wearing tights."

"I'm afraid I'll forget who I am. Forever."

After a heavy pause, 48 says, "If it's for the best, then it's for the best."

He's right. The Baron. HYDRA knows best. Still. "You get to remember."

"My memories don't affect me like yours do."

"Don't you miss your parents?"

A wave of anger washes over 48's features, and he clenches his fist. "I told you about them, remember?"

"Really?" She frowns.

"Right." He sounds exasperated. "You forgot."

She digs through her memories and remembers he's an orphan. Parents dead when he was nine and lived with his devoutly religious uncle and family for a year before the institute.

"You shouldn't miss yours. They locked you away and forgot about you. HYDRA is our real family, 17." He stands tall and raises his arms in a formal salute. "Hail HYDRA!"

She dips her chin curtly at him. "Hail HYDRA."

She watches him go through the door to his level and then she takes the next level down to hers. The guard on duty gives her knuckles a wrap for breaking curfew and then escorts her to her room. As she tucks herself into bed, she thinks of the small things she's acquired during her stay. Mostly books she's swiped from the book cellar no one will miss. Maybe some of them will she be able to take with her to Moscow. Lord of the Flies will definitely making the trip.

It's odd thinking about how she's graduating already at eleven years old. Graduating from this particular program of HYDRA's is nothing like traditional primary and secondary schooling. Sure, some graduate at seventeen or eighteen years old, but there are those who are considered for jobs early on, like herself and Robert. She feels bad for him. He could easily stay on for another two or three years, but The Baron clearly has grown fed up with him. Robert's brilliant but his animosity and aggression wears down the mentors. At the same time, he's too much of an asset to lose. He's found purpose in HYDRA and is unwaveringly loyal to it which is likely why he hasn't been eliminated. Hermione doesn't consider herself disloyal to HYDRA. Her peers, her mentors are her family. She worries, though. She knows herself, and she worries she'll sway while away from them. What if the KGB is better?

She squeezes her eyes shut, cursing herself. She can't think things like that. She can't allow herself to go native. She is HYDRA, and she must not forget. She must also not forget what The Baron promised her.

"After graduating from Chelintsov's program, you will be sanctioned a week's leave. You will return home and during that time, I will do whatever necessary to ensure you are able to freely use your abilities without strain."

The constant headaches are exhausting, and it'd be nice to get rid of them and to just be. Unfortunately, even being in Moscow won't relieve her from someone demanding her to perform this or that trick. Chelintsov and the teachers will know she can get a scarily accurate read on people which is true, thus, why she's being coerced into the KGB at such a young age by a private party loyal to Mother Russia.

The whole truth, however, is she can read minds. Or, better yet, she can see them. Fears, desires, memories that which begat those. They are all hers for the taking. But bloody hell if it her head doesn't hurt after taking a gander in someone's cranium.

That night, she dreams of being limitless and pain-free.