"You sure that you're ready?" asked a concerned Valkyrie. She wasn't so much worried about Hermione. It was the fact that Hermione's iron morals wouldn't really agree with the job, even though she'd been the one to put herself up to it. "We can always go back and get you another job. It isn't that hard."

Hermione tightened the belt around her waist, buckling it up. While she attached the sheath for her sword (that she was still quite uncomfortable using, much preferring twin daggers), she turned to Valkyrie and smiled. "Look, your concern is nice. I know you're worried, and you have every reason to be. I'm new to this planet, don't know how it works outside and barely have any experience in combat." She clipped the sword in and placed a comforting hand on Valkyrie's shoulder. "I will be fine, okay?"

"I don't know about that," Valkyrie muttered playfully, handing Hermione her long, silver daggers. They were almost too long to be called that, but they were still daggers. Hermione gratefully took them, strapping them into her twin arm holsters.

"How about we just go out there and see how it goes?" Hermione grinned at Valkyrie, finally ready. She had her dark blue armour and silver cape, which she'd chosen to match her magic. There was just something satisfying about it. Her sword was connected at the hip, bouncing against her leg, her daggers sat comfortably on her arms in holsters that would have previously held her daggers. The design that Valkyrie painted on her face a few days ago was redone, with Hermione taking a liking to it. And her previously long hair was now cut into a short pixie cut, which she found to be far more practical than her frizzy mess, as it would no longer fall into her eyes (she was also useless with braids and such, not that she would ever tell anyone). "There's no better teacher than experience. Plus, I've been dying to get outside for such a long time. You know I've been cooped up in here for four months. I could have left at any time, but I didn't. So, onward, to claim my reward!" Hermione waved her arms majestically, causing Valkyrie to fall into peals of laughter.

"Alright, let's go. Before we do, though, you got everything, right?"

"Yes."

And before Valkyrie could fret over Hermione anymore, she was whisked out of the room by Hermione. Together, they walked in silence down the hallway, only exchanging the occasional remark, usually Hermione asking a question and Valkyrie answering it in a sardonic tone. Hermione also created small pictures out of her magic, that and small figures that she set to dance around them, reveling in her greater control over her magic. The next step for her was to begin to craft illusions, something that she'd seen Loki do a great number of times. To say she was looking forward to it was a gross understatement.

They came to a large pair of doors, with large panes of frosted glass stopping them from seeing the outside. Usually, Hermione would comment on the asinine, inconvenient design, but with the snakes twisting around in her stomach, she was barely able to get a word out.

"Yeah, those nerves are normal. I had them on my first Scrap as well, and I was over two-thousand years old. You'll get over them quick enough." Valkyrie pushed open the double doors with a flourish, before walking down an old ramp. Squinting from the large amounts of glare coming from the sun, Hermione slowly made her way down the ramp, immensely grateful for the anti slip material that was haphazardly nailed onto the wooden boards. It was strange, seeing wood on Sakaar. Everything was metal, and bright, with jagged white lines cutting through. Not that it was unwelcome.

"Over here, Hermione!" called Valkyrie. Blinking furiously to clear her vision, the green, splotchy figure of Valkyrie came into view. She was standing next to something large, something with a lot of. When her vision finally cleared, what she saw was...disheartening, to say in the least. Over the last few months, one of the constant topics of conversation Valkyrie brought up was her ship, Warbird. She made it out to be this grand, important affair, something that Hermione was secretly looking forward to seeing.

Instead, Valkyrie stood by a dumpy old ship which was more rust than anything else. Hermione blinked again to make sure what she was seeing was real.

It was.

A sudden feeling of unease began to settle in Hermione's stomach. She was going to have to fly in that? There was no way she was even going to get within a ten foot radius of it, not willingly.

"Is that the Warbird?" asked Hermione, even though she already knew the answer she was going to receive. "I'm not flying in it!"

"You'll be fine!" Valkyrie climbed up the ladder to the cockpit, tugging on the door. It wouldn't open. Suddenly, the entire door flew off with an awful creaking noise, landing in a pile of old, rusty parts for ships. "See, everything is fine!"

"You've got to be kidding," deadpanned Hermione. The door flying off the ship only confirmed her suspicions. The fact that Valkyrie would ever drive something like that was surprising, as well. She seemed to have quite high standards for everything but her own health.

"Of course I am," scoffed Valkyrie. "You actually thought that I would drive this thing? You need to get to know me better, 'Mione."

"Don't call me 'Mione. You know I don't like it." Hermione scowled at a smirking Valkyrie. "Anyway, which one is your ship?"

"That one." Valkyrie pointed to a large red and black ship with imposing looking wings and, somehow, a glare. It's nose was sharp, the entire ship looking very aerodynamic and mean. There was a certain grace to it, though. Hermione nodded. That one made more sense. It git Valkyrie's personality more than that awful, awful rustbucket on the opposite side of the shipyard. "Well, are you just going to stand there? Get in here."

LINE BREAK

"Down there," exclaimed Hermione, pointing through the glass floor at a very puzzled man lying on the trash covered ground. "He looks like he's new." Falsely satisfied with herself, she relaxed back in her seat, closing her eyes. She was locked in a battle of morals with herself. Why did she think taking this job was a good idea? What she was doing was the equivalent of enslaving someone. It grated on her nerves so much that she was constantly chewing the inside of her lip, creating a large, bloody ulcer which wouldn't recede for weeks. Valkyrie had known this would happen. She'd stated several times that the job may not be fer Hermione, yet she shrugged it all off. And here was was, stuck doing this job, lest she be chucked into the Contest of Champions. It was quite the conundrum, one that had Hermione wishing that she was living a simple life.

"We'll check it out." Valkyrie began piloting the Warbird downwards, giving Hermione anxious side glances. She sighed. "Look. I'll lay out the facts for you. With these people that we pick up, we're the better option. My method of Scrapping is far less violent than the other Scrappers roaming this planet. I just take them into the Contest of Champions if I think that they're worthy. If not, I just put them in the village and they move on and create a new life. The other Scrappers don't give the newcomers an option. More often than not they're torn apart for bones and rare properties that they're bodies hold and then that's what they sell to the Grandmaster." Hermione's eyes widened in horror. That was totally and utterly barbaric. "I'd rather do things my way, wouldn't you?"

"I suppose so," sighed Hermione. To be honest, Valkyrie's way of Scrapping was quite humane compared to the other...barbarians who roamed this planet working as Scrappers. She put her head in her hands, deciding that she would see how the day went. If she couldn't handle the job, then she'd just have to resign herself to her fate of competing and dying in the Contest of Champions. There were no other options, seeing as she was stuck in a deal with the Grandmaster.

"You'll be alright. I know you will be." Valkyrie landed the ship with a clunk, jumping up out of the seat. Hermione twitched her finger, making her seatbelt melt away. She still wasn't comfortable traveling without one, due to years of riding in cars and hearing about tragic stories about people who died because they weren't wearing theirs.

"We'll see about that."

Together, they exited the Warbird, Valkyrie the picture of confidence, Hermione meekly hanging behind. The storm inside her was only increasing in intensity, intrepid on knocking her off course. The man they were heading towards suddenly cried out in what seemed to be pain. On pure instinct, Hermione instantly summoned her daggers into her hands, using her magic to boost her over the hill of scraps with a large burst of blue.

She was into the fray.

A group of Scrappers, dressed in ratty clothes made of rusted metal and holey fabric, surrounded the man, toting large blades. One of them was hacking away at his leg with reckless abandon, a gleeful, insane grin cutting through the dirt on his face. The man was screaming in agony, desperately trying to break free of the Scrappers. Their hold was too strong for him, their numbers too many, so he was left scrambling to nowhere, constantly being pulled back into the circle.

A wave of anger washed through her, overpowering and intoxicating. Hermione cursed under her breath. As she was still trying to gain full control over her magic, which would take her an estimated decade, her emotions often made her magic act on its own. She'd blown out the walls to their apartment too many times to count because of a slight disagreement with Valkyrie. And the anger in her now was of the prowling, potent variety, prone to lashing out with deadly, unhindered precision.

And that was what happened.

A pulse flew out of her hands, traveling across the ground. All the Scrappers were knocked off their feet, groaning on the ground, glaring at the now terrifying figure of Hermione, with her glowing hands and silver eyes, stalking towards them. She sent another blast of magic towards them, effectively immobilising them. They stood there, totally frozen and ringed with blue light, eyes wide in shock.

"Now, you can either stay and face me, or leave immediately," Hermione gasped out, desperately trying to keep her magic under some semblance of control. Due to the sudden enhance in ability, the power level kept fluctuating, being different almost every day. Today, it was unfairly powerful, something which worried Hermione. If she wasn't fighting to keep it under control, her anger would have fueled it to do far worse than just freeze them. "I suggest," she panted, "you choose the latter. I'm going to drop the spell, and you're going to run." With great effort, she unfroze the Scrappers.

For a second, they looked greedily at the man on the ground, eyes hungry. Then they took one look at Hermione and sped off over the hill, hissing obscenities at her. It took awhile for the clanking of their clothes to fade out of earshot, but when it did, Hermione knew that she could finally let her angry magic out.

She whirled around to face a pile of industrial wrecks, letting the rogue magic out. It rushed towards the pile, before exploding outwards with immense force, knocking Hermione to her feet. A great dust cloud flew through the air, before dissipating, leaving Hermione staring at the terrified man.

Groaning, she hauled herself to her feet, trembling with exhaustion. It always happened when she let her anger out. It wasn't the most ideal situation to find herself in right now, but it was better than exploding the other Scrappers. As despicable as they were, she wasn't prepared to stoop to their level and kill someone. That was something she would never do, not unless her life was on the line and the person threatening it was absolutely evil. She staggered towards the man, before falling to her knees next to him. He recoiled, crying out in pain. Hermione cringed as she took in the stump where his leg was previously attached, blood spurting out of it. That would be hard to heal. Luckily, on Sakaar there were advanced medical supplies if you knew where to look.

One thing was clear, though. This man was not fit to take part in the Contest of Champions. Not with one of his legs hacked off by a group of people with questionable sanity.

"Who are you?" he spat, desperately trying to get away from her.

"We're here to help you, dumbass," said Valkyrie, slowly walking over. She'd apparently though that Hermione was good to handle this one on her own. She did, but that still didn't make Hermione slightly annoyed at her. "Stop sniveling, you're going to be fine."

"My leg just got chopped off and then she blew it up!" He pointed an accusing finger at Hermione. She gave him an affronted look.

"Okay, whatever you name is-"

"Moara," interjected the man. "My name is Moara Kintari."

"Okay, Moara. I just came here and stopped you from being turned into bones and muscles to be sold to the Grandmaster. I think that you should be just the tiniest bit grateful for that, don't you?" He petulantly glared at the ground, an expression so out of place on a thirty something man that Hermione's mouth hung open in shock. "Alright, so that's how it is. You really don't know how to thank people, do you?"

"Not when there is nothing to thank them for."

"Let me guess," said Valkyrie, crouching down in front of Moara. "You grew up in a rich home, with people catering to your every whim and fixing your every problem. You never had need to want for anything, so never had any cause to thank for anything. People whisked in to aid you when you made the slightest mistake, which would explain the fact why you're so relaxed about your leg being chopped off."

"You're right, I am from an upstanding family. I demand that you take me home right now." Hermione snorted at the childish demand. If she didn't know better, she would say that Moara was secretly an eleven year old Draco Malfoy disguised as an adult. "My leg will be fixed again and then you two will be arrested for handling your interactions with me in such a poor way."

"That isn't happening, bucko. You're a long way from home now." Valkyrie grabbed him under his armpits and effortlessly held him up over her shoulder like a squirming sack of potatoes. "This is Sakaar. Here, you don't have a say in what happens to you. For example, we're taking you to a common doctor, who is going to fix your leg and get you set up. You're really not prepared for this world, you poor, poor, snail."

"Curse you, woman!" Moara snarled, pointlessly trying to struggle free of Valkyrie's iron grip, banging his fist on her back in protest. "Curse both of you! You'll rue the day that you laid a finger on me!"

Sick of his inane babbling, Hermione knocked him on the head with the base of her dagger, effectively knocking him out.

"That should keep him quiet."

"You're learning!" whooped Valkyrie. "And notice that your nerves are gone." Hermione stopped short, realising that they were totally gone. She smiled slightly.

Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all.

"Your time has come, Hermione Granger," declared the Grandmaster, spreading his arms wide. "Are you going to be a Scrapper forever? Or shall you be forced to compete in the Contest of Champions for my own entertainment?" The rest of the rooms occupants were silent, eagerly listening to what the outcome of the conversation was going to be. They all knew of the high stakes bet between Hermione and the Grandmaster. In fact, so many people stopped her to tell her about the wagers that they put on her that she'd lost count. Most of them were against her, as they all wanted her to compete in the Contest. She knew that they gobbled up the entertainment like it was the most delectable food in the world to them. There was one thing that Hermione was sure of, though. If she was put in the Contest, she was going to teleport away and live secretly, in hiding. She refused to take part in something like that, even if she was forced to. There was always a way out.

The past year had been a whirlwind. She'd fallen into an effortless rhythm with Valkyrie. They worked so well as partners that she struggled to remember what it was like working without one. As Scrapper 697, the reputation she gained was something she was quite proud of. When people saw the Warbird approach, most of the other Scrappers scarpered, fearing Hermione after the stories of her occasional magical outbursts spread. Now that she was comfortable with the job she had, her moral compass didn't bother her at every turn. Most of the people they found just went into the town, as they weren't considered good enough for the Contest. The reason that they got away with having so few contenders was because of the ridiculously high prices they were able to charge. Most of the people they brought in were desperate to fight, so that helped.

And here she was, one year later, standing in front of the man who would basically decide her fate. All she wanted was to stay working with Valkyrie. There was also a portal she was beginning to experiment with that she was desperate to keep working on. The worst thing that could possibly happen was her becoming a 'gladiator' in the Contest.

"Your answer is coming up soon, Scrapper 697. But first," the Grandmaster ran behind his turntable and flicked the on switch, "we have a break for my marvelous music. It should put you in a bright mood, so the news that I give you doesn't hit so hard." Strange sounds that could barely be called music began filling the room. Hermione grimaced. If there was one thing she intensely disliked, it was the Grandmaster's music. There was just something about it that rubbed her the wrong way, clomping up her spine and marching inside her brain. "Come on, dance a bit. Surely you like my music."

"Sure," muttered Hermione, forcing herself to bob her head slightly. If it didn't pass as dancing, too bad. This had already dragged on for long enough. The faster it was over, the better. She couldn't wait to have the dread, heavy as lead, out of her stomach. She wouldn't put it past the Grandmaster to have been planning to put her in the Contest anyway, building up false hope in her all year. He seemed like the sort of person to do that, the type of guy who liked playing people's lives like they were mere pawns in a larger game of chess.

"You can do better than that." The Grandmaster swept past the console and began moving in a way that could be described as dancing. It wasn't really. All it consisted of was jerky movements and limbs sticking out in awkward ways. "Look, if you dance well, I'll tell you what my answer is. How about that?"

"No."

"No?" scoffed the Grandmaster, stopping his awkward jutting of limbs. "You mean you just want me to tell you outright what your result is? But there's no fun in that. The fun lies in the wait."

"Well I've been waiting for a year, so you can spit it out right here." The Grandmaster placed a very offended looking hand on his chest. "Don't give me that look."

"Oh, woe is me," he sighed dramatically, scowling at Hermione. "People like you ruin all my fun. Fine, you can stay as a Scrapper. Just don't let me down." Hermione began to smile, fighting to keep her excitement inside her. She could let it all out when she was back in their apartment.

"I once attained one hundred and twenty percent on an exam. I don't think I know the definition of letting people down."

"In that case, get out of here." The Grandmaster shooed her away with a very disappointed look on his face. Hermione gladly scooted out of the room, falling gleefully into the waiting arms of Valkyrie.

"I'm still a Scrapper."

"I never doubted you."

Time began to pass, and before Hermione knew it, she had been on Sakaar for five years. She'd been in a relationship with Valkyrie for five years. She'd been a Scrapper for five years.

And she would be lying if she said she didn't slightly enjoy her new life. Sure, there were ups and downs, such as Moara coming back to try and gain revenge (which failed miserably) and her magic acting up so badly that she was left without it for six months, but there was something charming about the trash planet.

Currently, she was sitting on the edge of the bed she shared with Valkyrie, nervously fiddling with a simple ring, made of silver and diamond. Today was the day she was going to propose to Valkyrie. She was certain now that this was the woman she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Though they fought, they always made up. They always comforted the other when they were sad. They shared triumphs and, hopefully, the same amount of endless love. There was the small fact that Valkyrie didn't know the Earth (or Midgard, as Hermione had taken to calling it now) traditions for marriage, but hopefully they would be explained after it. Hermione wasn't about to bring them up, lest Valkyrie get suspicious about what Hermione was going to do.

The telltale hiss of the door opening reached Hermione's ears, along with the footsteps of her girlfriend. The butterflies in her stomach ramped up to insane levels. It was now or never.

"Hey, how are you?" Hermione greeted Valkyrie with a small kiss, handing her a bottle of whiskey. It was something they did, now. Every few weeks, Hermione would get Valkyrie some sort of alcohol and in return, Valkyrie would find some gadget or gizmo she thought might help Hermione with her portal.

"I'm fine. Moara tried to get me again, but it didn't work. That man really is a walking disaster." Valkyrie turned around to open the bottle, face away from Hermione. Hastily, she pulled out the box containing the ring and clumsily got down on one knee. She really should have thought this through, or rehearsed it at the least. It was probably going to be an absolute disaster, knowing her luck.

Valkyrie turned around with the bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand. She took one look at Hermione, down on one knee, before dropping the bottle onto the ground. Hermione cringed at the smashing sound. Valkyrie looked into Hermione's eyes, before saying one, singular word.

"Yes."

Apparently she did know about Migardian wedding traditions.

"I can't believe that the Warbird crashed! And on our fifteenth anniversary, as well." A sulking Valkyrie stared at the wreck of their beloved ship, smoking and sparking, looking very at home with the trash landscape. "What are we going to do now?"

"I'm really not sure. We could go look at that abandoned shipyard. Maybe we could find something there and fix it up as a side project. That could be fun."

"To you. Honestly, you love fixing things so much I should call the cops"

"Don't you dare."

Together, they went to the shipyard and fell in love with a rusty old ship that would later be named 'Warsong' and come to be loved even more than the Warbird.

"I can't believe it's been thirty seven years since I landed here," mused Hermione. It was a normal day. They were heading towards someone who'd fallen onto the planet, standard procedure. "It's gone so fast."

"Time on Sakaar is funny, you know that. You spent three years studying it, only to accidentally invent a form of time travel and nearly erase yourself."

"That was an accident."

"Accident."

"Watch it," Hermione playfully growled. She was about to continue, when a very familiar sounding groan reached her ears. Her eyes widened and she raced towards it. The person they were going towards, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

"Where are you going?" called Valkyrie. "This is a normal day. You shouldn't be running."

Hermione didn't pay attention to that, though. She was tearing away the rubble that was covering the body that the voice was coming from. Desperately, she tore away the last piece of the metal and felt tears prick her eyes. Staring up at her was the barely conscious face of Loki Odinson, the person she'd been searching for for so long.

Finally.

"I found you at last, you idiot."

There was a lot that was going to be in this chapter that I cut. There was just too much. I've decided to write a spinoff based on Valkyrie and Hermione. There's just so much to explore with their relationship that I don't want to leave alone. It's too exciting.

Anyway, Loki is back. I wanted to keep this bit short, as the next chapter is the big reunion. We're getting back into the story, too. I have some really cool ideas that I think you may like.

Also, I should be posting three more chapters next week, as I am going away on holiday and won't have access to a computer or a phone for three weeks. It's going to drive me mad not being able to write.

Sincerely,

Mariadoria