Okay, so, timeline-wise Battle of Hogwarts is getting bumped up to May 2008, and Avengers takes place in 2012. This means Hermione is 23! Yay, math *jazz hands*

Disclaimer: Bud, if I owned either Harry Potter or Marvel, Fred would still be alive, Harmony would've been canon, and Tony would most definitely not have died bc honestly, what were they thinking? But I don't, so now I have to write my own happy endings. *heavy sigh*

Anyways, enjoy!

Witchling

Chapter 1

The air in Nick Fury's office at S.H.I.E.L.D's main headquarters was so thick with tension you could cut it with a butter knife. The British woman glared down at him (he had no idea how, she was at least a foot shorter than him), her arms crossed over her bust. His hand twitched slightly, wanting to go hover over the gun holstered to his side, but he couldn't. He knew showing any weakness in front of her would be a mistake. He couldn't let her win. Shit. Fucking hell, what is the goddamn point of being the director of S.H.I.E.L.D if I can't send a lackey to do the dirty work?

Stay strong, he told himself. You are the one in charge here.

Yeah, right.

"Nicholas Joseph Fury!" He winced at the sound of her voice pitching higher with every word.

Shit. We're using full names now.

He had never been so glad for soundproof rooms as he was then. The last thing he needed were S.H.I.E.L.D underlings witnessing this – God help him if he let the tiny brunette ruin his reputation. He forced a calm, slightly annoyed look on his face. (It was a lie. They both knew it.)

"I leave for a week and come back to an international catastrophe!" Fury scowled a bit at that one (it was a sore topic, okay?). He shut his good eye briefly, sending up a prayer for mercy – or a quick death, he really wasn't all that picky.

"Hermione," he started, raising his hands in a placating gesture. She glared harder, and her hair started to spark.

"You just up and decided that you were going to let Erik Selvig – bless his little scientist soul – poke and prod and experiment with my work without me? What were you thinking?!"

"Hermi–"

"And then," She stepped closer, and Fury resisted the urge to take a step backwards. By now, her hair was three times its normal size. He eyed it warily. "You have the gall to tell me that you lost my tesseract? The most interesting thing to research I've come across in years, and you lose it?"

"It isn't your tesseract," Fury couldn't help but say, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the bite out of his voice. "But," he continued in a more controlled tone – honey, not vinegar, he reminded himself – "I may be willing to reconsider who gets access to it in the future, if you assist in helping us get it back."

She narrowed her eyes at him, thinking on his offer for a few seconds before a flicker of understanding ran across her face. "You want me to be a part of the Avengers Initiative, don't you?"

A litany of curses ran throughout his mind, but he kept his facial expression carefully blank. He didn't have to ask how she knew of the Avengers Initiative. Dammit Phil, we have got to work on getting you a backbone against Hermione. "And if I do?" He asked, raising a brow, working hard to project an air of nonchalance that Hermione almost certainly saw through.

"The Statute of Secrecy–"

"Has been dealt with. You forget that I'm friends with Kingsley, too," Fury said smugly. Hermione gave him a little glare for the sass. "The public will think you're enhanced, not that you're a witch. No one will know any better, believe me."

"And the team? Would they know?"

"Up to you. If you decide you want to trust them, go right ahead. I'm sure your people can handle the situation if any of them react – ah, unfavorably – to the truth. You know that as of right now, Coulson and I are the only ones who know. It can stay that way."

"So, what? You want me in a costume, running around and saving the world alongside a patchwork group of superheroes?" She asked incredulously, hands waving around the air to emphasize her point. Fury only looked at her. "Of course," she muttered. "You knew that I wouldn't be able to say no, didn't you?" She said accusingly. "Bloody hell, Harry's 'saving people thing' must be rubbing off on me," she groaned, dropping her head in her hands. For a few seconds she did nothing but breath deeply, trying in vain to think through the situation, then she lifted her head to look at Fury.

"Okay, so, if I'm doing this, here's what's gonna happen. I am going to join the Avengers Initiative – though, to be clear, I am still a consultant – and go get my baby back from that arsehole, and then I am going to be the only one who says who can and cannot touch that thing. If I do this for you, when this is all over, the tesseract is essentially mine alone to research, you understand? Of course, I won't take it away from you, but I control who gets access – no matter what." She punctuated the statement with a sharp look, quelling what little resistance Fury had.

Still, he refused to give up the illusion that he was the one in control, and therefore waited for at least a half a minute before grumbling out a reluctant "Deal," a bit put off by her terms, but mostly pleased that he managed to rope her into being an Avenger. And he hadn't even had to stand up to her Look of Death™. Overall, a good interaction with the Brightest Witch of her Age. He reached into his desk, pulling out a small tablet. "This is everything we know so far," he said, holding it out to the witch. "Look it over."

Hermione gave a nod, taking the tablet. "Alright, then. You go get the rest of the team together, I'll be doing my homework. You know how to contact me." Fury bristled slightly at being ordered about (in his own office!) but as he opened his mouth to snap at the woman, there was a slight pop and he was alone in the room.

"Jesus christ, the things I put up with for the good of the world," Fury growled, scowling at the empty space where Hermione once stood. He stood there for a moment more, then strode out of his office to figure out how his plans were progressing. With any luck, he would be up in the air by tomorrow.

Hermione popped into existence in her townhouse in West Village. It was one of her favorite places, second only to the Hogwarts library. The building itself was a gorgeous work of romantic architecture – stairs led up to a deep red door that was nestled inside a dark, ornate arch. Surrounding that was a faded brick façade and floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer white curtains (charmed so no one could see in, of course). When she moved herself to America for her job, she decided she was going to give herself the home she always dreamed of. She was more than comfortable (as the blood-adopted sister of Harry Potter-Black, she had access to both vaults, and could now say that she was way past being 'filthy rich') and after strolling through the picturesque neighborhood, she could imagine living nowhere else.

Sighing, she glanced around her place. Her liberal use of expansion spells meant she had room for anything she could dream of. Potions lab? Check. Greenhouse? Got it. A kitchen Martha Stewart would die for? Why not. Light and airy, there was a bookshelf in every room and comfortable throws strewn across the couches and armchairs. Plants took up the rest of the space (Neville's influence, though she tended to stick to the more mundane plants), and a delicate teapot was waiting for her on the island in the center of her kitchen. She crossed over and poured herself a cup, calling out a "Thank you, Winky!" (S.P.E.W. was quickly dismantled after she discovered that any unbonded elf slowly and painfully died. Now, she was the proud supporter of F.A.R.E, or the Foundation for the Advocation of the Rights of Elves, which focused mainly on making sure house-elves were treated well by their families) before settling down in her favorite red armchair. Taking a couple of sips of her perfectly-made tea, she thought on the eventful day she had.

She needed to tell Harry.

She did not want to tell Harry.

God, Harry was going to be so cross with her.

But honestly, he should have known better. She never meant to get involved in these sorts of things, they just sort of happened to her. Case and point – the troll, Fluffy, the basilisk, Sirius, the Department of Mysteries...the list goes on and on.

She sighed again. Heavily. Might as well get it over with, she thought, already cringing at the thought of the tongue-lashing she was going to get. She had taught him the art maybe too well.

Making her way to her fireplace, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and called out "Twelve Grimmauld Place!" before disappearing into the green flames.