Chapter Seventeen! Crazy to think how far I've gotten with this, really. And boy, wasn't this a fun one to write? So much research- all those shops on Charing Cross Road exist- or at least, google maps say they exist; I can't say it personally because I've never walked down Charing Cross Road before. But anyway, my point is, this one's a heavily researched chapter. I hope it comes out that way :)

Cinna

Part One: Great Expectations

Chapter Seventeen: Escort Service

"And you're sure this isn't just a spatula? Because I'm not gonna lie; it looks exactly like a spatula."

Hermione sighs, but there's a smile tugging at her lips, "Well that's because it is a spatula. There's absolutely nothing remarkable about it… except for the fact that it will transport you across the Atlantic at a single touch."

Harry laughs; because of course, that is exactly the kind of reply that is guaranteed to get a reaction from Tony.

The genius makes a noise of frustration, foot tapping impatiently.

"But why does it have to be a spatula? It's so… ordinary." His nose wrinkles in distaste, "Shouldn't it be something like a scroll or a book or something?"

"You've just answered your own question," she shrugs, "It's a bit of a habit to make portkeys as unassuming as possible- as a deterrent for any muggles who might be tempted to touch them and be whisked off to some magical location."

"You mean you just leave devices like that out in the open? Where anyone could touch it?" Bruce sounds positively horrified at the thought.

"Well we try to make them unappealing- to deter muggles from wanting to touch them in the first place- old tires, empty drink cans, discarded shoes. But sometimes it's unavoidable. There are some portkeys that are triggered only at a specified time and will activate regardless of whether they're carrying someone. They're generally one use items."

Steve nods in understanding, "For scenarios like meetings or mission deadlines right? I can see them being useful."

Harry grins at the super soldier, glad to see him understanding the concept. Too often Steve seems lost, like a fish out of water (not unlike himself much of the time. Unlike Hermione, he'd never really made much of an effort to reacquaint himself with the muggle world).

"Exactly," he tells him, "But then," he motions to the spatula lying innocently on the granite bench top, "You have ones like this, that work the moment somebody- or several somebodies- touch them. More often than not, they can return you to its original position too."

"Can they only be used twice? One to get to B, and the other to get you back to A?"

He shrugs, "It just depends on the intent of the caster. You can put more or less as many uses into it as you want- provided you have the power for it."

Steve and Tony both suddenly look like Christmas has come early (though he kind of suspects it's for slightly different reasons). Hermione butts back in before the two of them can ask any more questions.

"I've set the coordinates for this portkey for central London, not far from where the magical community in our universe existed. I'd rather be as inconspicuous as possible, so disguises would be useful," she raises her eyebrows at Tony, who waves his beanie jauntily back, "It's a touch activated portkey, so what I say goes, or you'll be left here, and I am not coming back for anyone."

They nod and the witch checks her watch. She frowns, "Where did Clint go? I'd like to leave as soon as possible."

"Here!" the archer hurries into the room, doing his zip up as he does so. Natasha and Hermione roll their eyes, "What?" he demands, defensive, "I didn't know if there'd be a bathroom wherever we're going."

Natasha ignores him and the archer pouts.

Hermione clears her throat, "Right then, if that's everyone…" she frowns down at the portkey, and Harry can see the thought that suddenly occurs to her, "I feel I should warn you; most of our forms of transport- whilst convenient- aren't exactly comfortable-"

"-for all that they're only moments long," Harry interjects. Hermione frowns disapprovingly at him; she still hates being interrupted mid information-stream.

"Yes, well; it's the price we pay for instantaneous travel," she retorts primly. Stark raises an eyebrow, "Now, with portkeys, you'll feel as though you're being grabbed around your middle as if by some invisible force. Then there's a squeezing sensation and you'll be more or less thrown out at your destination. It can feel quite sudden, so prepare yourself before we leave for a rough landing.

"Any questions?" Most of them eye the spatula mistrustfully but say nothing. She nods in satisfaction.

"Right then; on one, touch the portkey. Only a finger will do- you won't be thrown off."

Hermione hovers her hand above the spatula and they all follow suit. She smiles at the Avengers team reassuringly. They don't look entirely convinced (except for Tony, who looks like he wants to grab the portkey now).

"Three.

"Two.

"One!" Their hands fall down in almost perfect unison and grasp the innocuous implement, "Ready yourse-"

And then there's the sensation of an invisible hook latching onto their abdomens and her words are whipped away in a blaze of wind and a maddening swirl of colour and they're torn from the living room of the Avengers tower.

"That was… oh my God… that was…" Tony struggles for words, breathing heavily. He lies sprawled on the dirty London concrete, thrown back by their landing. As most of them are, despite Hermione's warning- Thor (who's apparently accustomed to the Bifrost, whatever that is), Hermione and Harry excluded.

"Literally gut-wrenching? Terrifying? Something I don't ever want to have to do again?" Clint offers, gasping and staring wide-eyed at the sky.

"Amazing." Tony finishes, grinning like a madman. He hauls himself up as Hermione stuffs the spatula into her threadbare bag. Harry watches the rest of the Avengers team eye the genius with varying levels of disbelief.

"Amazing from a technological perspective," Bruce corrects, rubbing at his stomach suspiciously, "But I wouldn't actually call the experience amazing. In fact I'd call it downright unpleasant." He stands with a groan, "Glad you warned us though, 'cause the other guy didn't particularly like that either."

Harry smiles at the scientist apologetically, "It took me years to get used to portkey travel, but it sure beats flying… and if you didn't like that, wait til you try apparition… or use the floo."

"The shit is the floo?" Clint asks politely, brushing himself off.

"Travel via fire place," Hermione glances down the alley they've found themselves in, satisfied that it's empty, "It's substantially messier, and your destination has to be connected to the floo network- kind of like a phone line."

"If there even is a floo network," Harry adds darkly, not forgetting the growing likelihood of wizards being a thing of legend in this universe. Hermione sends him a slightly despairing smile- her eyes look worried and scared and he pushes away the guilt at setting her on edge. She was a big girl; old enough and tough enough to take care of herself. As she'd told him (and demonstrated to him) on more than one occasion.

"Right!" Tony exclaims, brushing the dirt off his oil-stained jeans. He tucks his beanie over his hair and checks his visage in the dim refection of a grimy misused window. A greyed lace curtain blocks the inside of the building from view, "Where are we going? In fact, where are we right now?"

Hermione bites her lip, studying their small army of followers. They stand and watch her expectantly and Harry gets the impression of a mother duck with her ducklings (albeit, her substantially overpowered, incredibly famous ducklings), "We're on Charing Cross Road- more or less. It's only a five minute walk from where the Leaky Cauldron should be."

"Did you Google the name?" Tony asks as Hermione discreetly casts a notice-me-not charm on their conspicuous-looking group. Natasha watches the almost imperceptible movements of her hand with suspicious eyes, but says nothing.

Hermione shrugs, oblivious, "I tried, but if they're anything like our world, wizards aren't the biggest fans of the internet… or any technological development that came after the nineteenth century."

Harry can't help but snigger. The Weasley's had always remained rather bemused by their patriarch's obsession with all things muggle; which had only grown as the years progressed (Harry suspected it was a coping mechanism). Even Ron had seen no point (further than colour television) to keeping up with muggle development. It was a mindset that Hermione had always condemned as close-minded and likely to get them all caught; bringing on what she feared would be another witch-hunt- except this time it would be the Muggles who would have the upper hand.

It was a prophesy that she believed in quite fervently, and one of the reasons- Harry suspects (in the dark recesses of his mind, where Hermione would never find it)- that she'd remained single for so long. It was too easy to label and discard his friend with the frightening intellect as an eccentric of the same ilk as Arthur Weasley- and occasionally even Luna Lovegood- and just let her go and leave her be.

"Okay." Steve asks, effectively ending his thought processes, "So which way?"

"Right." Hermione replies perfunctorily. They know this alley well- though to be fair, they were more accustomed to apparating here; "It's only a few blocks away- follow me." She moves forward three paces, pauses and turns back to stare at the group sternly.

"And for the love of God, try to be subtle," her eyes flit over Tony and Thor in particular, "There's only so much attention one can avert."

With that she twirls back around, the hem of her skirt (today a more modest height, just below the knees and much more to his friend's liking) twirling about her legs cheerily. They follow, Harry chasing up the rear. Visions of long-ago elementary school trips come to mind; though the image is somewhat marred by Thor's bulk (at least a head taller than himself) and Tony's slightly over-the-top shifty movements (which he suspects are more for Hermione's 'benefit' than his own).

It doesn't take long for Natasha to slow down and fall in step beside him.

"What was that she cast on us, before in the alleyway?" she asks quietly, for which he's grateful. The last thing they need right now was a bunch of irate Avengers on their backs all day.

He smiles at the woman who seems to terrify half of the Avengers team, deciding to be honest with her (probably a wise decision, really), "A notice-me-not charm. It essentially diverts attention away from our persons. It's not enough to be a true concealment- if someone were looking hard enough, they'd see you- but it will more than stand up to walking unnoticed through an extremely busy area.

"You all have quite public profiles- or so I've heard. It was going to be unlikely that we'd manage to walk through central London- especially with a group this size- without one of you being recognised."

She nods, apparently chewing on the information. He's almost surprised that she actually believes him. But then again, he's also been warned by Hermione that she's disconcertingly good at controlling her facial expressions and retrieving information, so it could well be a ruse and she's planning to kill him and hide his body in some grotty dumpster. She'd probably manage it too; without a wand he was about as harmful as pygmy puff (well, when compared to her). And yes, okay; technically he still had the elder wand at his disposal… in whatever form it was in by now- he'd stopped caring after the fourth (fifth?) time he'd snapped the thing in half. But really, that thing scared the bejeezus out of him, and if he were a gambling man, he'd say the thing was cursed. After all, how can anything good actually come from an artefact that was gifted to someone by Death?

But maybe he's reading too much into this situation.

"That would be an extremely useful spell," she says thoughtfully, scrutinising the people that walk past their large group unseeing, "it must be terribly easy to be a spy when you have magic."

He grins, "You have no idea."

Her eyes slide over to him and she smiles a wicked smile. He suddenly understands why everyone seems to be so afraid of her.

Hermione stops on the corner of Charing Cross Road and Greater Newport Street. The somewhat familiar sign of Quinto Bookshop sits above the storefront door. It's slightly brighter than he remembers it, the writing a different font; the door sporting a nicer paintjob; the windows- substantially cleaner- show off a larger selection of books than he'd seen the last time he'd walked past.

He watches his closest friend stare at the shopfront, knowing already what they're going to find only four stores down.

She marches forward, determination written firmly into the set of her shoulders and the brisk clack of her sensible heels on the pavement.

One: the art gallery with its door layered with out-of-date fliers an inch thick.

Two: the darkened inner recesses of a barbers shop. Though it seems that in this universe the owners had decided to expand to women's haircuts too.

Three: the no name bookshop advertising high quality second-hand books. A neon sign glows and hums against the glass. Its grimy green and red striped sail provides the store owner's phone number.

Four: Hermione's steps falter. He pushes through their 'escorts' (being sure to excuse himself from Agent Romanoff first) and she turns to look at him with resignation. Her eyes are so, so sad.

Four: an empty façade; rusted iron gating and shiny chains and locks blocking off another alley that leads to an empty courtyard.

"It's not here Harry." She says quietly, voice hitching in the middle. The Avengers wisely keep back.

He grasps her hand, squeezing it tightly, pushing away the guilt when she doesn't squeeze back. It's his fault she's here, his fault she's stranded in a world they shouldn't be in. He should have hidden better; should have found someone else to be his secret keeper, should have kept her out of it. Should have done so many things differently.

Should have; could have; would have.

There was no use dwelling on the hypothetical now. He'd like to think that he can be man enough in this teenagers body to push away the regret and meaningless guilt and recognise that Hermione was a smart girl; it had been her choice. And he knows- deep down where only he can see- that he's eternally grateful to be stranded in this world with a friend.

"Maybe it's still there," he says finally, "Maybe Diagon Alley is just through there."

He motions to the courtyard behind the bars with their joined hands. It could well be there still; he can see some bins and a large expanse of brick wall that could lead to magical London.

Hermione nods, refusing to look at him, "Maybe." She sounds doubtful, but lets go of his hand to draw her wand anyway. She whispers a shaky "Alohomora," at the shiny padlock. It clicks open with little resistance.

The Avengers don't protest when they untangle the padlock chain and open the iron grate door. Hermione's knuckles- still clutching at her wand- brush over the wrought-iron detailing as she walks through. Their eyes lock on a familiar wall- a familiar brick pattern (though there's no trash can for reference)- and she walks over to stand only a meter from the wall that should lead to their world; their life.

Harry stays where he is; the others mill around behind him- though Steve at least comes to stand by his side. He sends the man a grateful smile but his eyes are really only for the lonely figure of his friend.

Hermione raises her arm again. Her hand doesn't shake.

Tap, tap, tap, her wand goes from left to right on the bricks, guessing the right key.

There's a weighted pause. He can almost hear it now; the tell-tale grind and scrape of brick and brick and the hum of noise that extends from the growing portal.

The pause extends. A minute breaks. In desperation, she casts a diagnostic spell on the brickwork but there's no flare of light in response.

Hermione's shoulders- drawn so tight- fall. She sighs and tucks the wand back into her sling.

"You knew that this was likely." He says quietly to the defeated line of her back. She laughs bitterly and turns around, wiping at an eye as if to brush away unshed tears.

"Yes. I did. But sometimes being wrong isn't the worst thing that could happen."

Her footsteps echo in the enclosed courtyard as she walks around Harry and their escorts. She withdraws her wand again and summons a discarded flip-flop from the other side of the yard, "I'd like to be doubly sure though- portus- I want to check out Hogwarts. I think it would be definitive proof that there's no one here."

Clint moans in horror, "You mean we have to do it again?" Hermione raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"Well, yes. And one to get back to America."

Tony snorts in amusement, "How else did you think we were getting back to the tower, Bird Brain?" The archer pouts, scuffing at the ground with his shoe childishly.

"Isn't there some other magical way of getting places that doesn't feel like shit?"

"Well, there is magic carpets, but they're classified as illegal vehicles in most countries…. From all the accidental deaths."

Clint just looks appalled, "Seriously? Nothing?"

Harry and Hermione shrug their shoulders in almost perfect unison.

"Not really, no. Convenience generally outweighs comfort."

Bruce rolls his eyes, "And isn't that just always the case."

Harry laughs, because really, there's not much else he can do. Hermione hovers the flip flop out in front of her.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, I'd really like to get going." Most of the team sigh like men sent forth to their execution. Clint looks particularly put out. Tony rubs his hands in excitement. Thor appears nonchalant. At least no one complains. Hermione nods, satisfied.

"Right then, once again, on the count of three.

"On-"

"Uhh, just a clarification," interrupts Steve before she can get through the countdown, "Where exactly are we going this time?"

Hermione blushes, "Oh. Right… We're going to check out the coordinates of where Hogwarts should be."

"Northern Scotland, right?" Tony quips. Harry momentarily wonders how he should know that, until he remembers that he's likely to have gotten the information from Hermione. She nods, slightly mollified by his recall.

"Yes. It should be mostly inaccessible to Muggles, but it was the boarding school that most British magic users are sent to. It's not far from Hogsmeade, Britain's only purely wizarding village."

"So… lots of magic folk… unused to, and possibly hostile to Muggle interaction?" Steve surmises tentatively.

A tendon twitches in Hermione's neck as she grimaces, "If there are any, it's a possibility. To be fair though, most Muggles are unable to even reach the outer grounds of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade without being accompanied by a witch or wizard, so it's often a case of them just not being accustomed to interacting with Muggles."

"How do you manage that? I can't imagine keep out signs would be very effective." Bruce asks before Tony can.

"Muggle Repellent charms. First point of defence is memory alteration; Muggles are suddenly overcome with the thoughts that they've got something urgent to do back home. Turn off the iron, meet a friend at a café… things that can easily be explained as a trick of the mind when they get back to whatever it is they thought they needed to do."

Natasha grins devilishly "Once again, seeing the benefits of magic more and more for spy work."

"I know, right?" Hermione sends her a grin that's almost as scary, "Anyway, so second line of defence is illusory. For those Muggles determined enough to get through the implanted urges to run home, pretty much everything is just shown as ruins or nothing at all. Ninety-nine percent of Muggles are deterred by then. The others… well they just get their memories wiped- if they're even able to get through the basic wards. Which they can't."

Natasha and Clint eye Hermione's wand appreciatively. Apparently they're both impressed. Tony nods and smiles like he's impressed too, but Harry can see impatience in the shift of his feet and the tilt of his head. He wants to get going. The others just seem happy to get more information on their abilities.

"Can we go now?" Stark whines like a petulant child. Hermione raises an eyebrow and the flip flop in unison. He raises his arm as if to touch it before thinking better of it. Her other eyebrow rises.

"On the count of three, once again," she declares, eyeing the Avengers, "Unless someone else has a question?"

"Nope! No more questions!" Tony interrupts before anyone can actually say anything, sticking his arm out eagerly, "Right guys?" he sounds cheery, but there's a hint of steel in his voice (which Harry rather thinks doesn't really belong there) that is likely there to shut the others up. Most of them just roll their eyes.

"I'm sure the rest can be worked out when we get there," Natasha says quietly, casually tucking a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. He suspects she's storing a weapon there and tries not to take it personally.

Hermione doesn't seem to notice and contentedly recites the countdown again. They reach out (noticeably less enthusiastic this time), touch the portkey and are whisked off by their stomachs once again.

"Fuuuck why do we keep doing this?" Clint moans from the ground, rolling over onto his knees lethargically. Natasha and Tony are already up on their feet, taking stock of their new surroundings. Bruce is content to lie down for a while as he takes his bearings.

"It is me, or did it actually feel worse this time around?" Clint snorts.

Hermione frowns, "I doubt it. If anything, the Trans-Atlantic portkey should have felt worse because of the distance."

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes.

Steve climbs up, brushing the dirt from his trousers. They've landed on the side of the lake just outside the range of the school wards- or at least where they'd expect them to be. The castle can't been seen from where they are; it's a good half an hour's walk from here, the shoreline curving around behind them and ringed with thick forest, "So we're in…?"

"North Scotland. Hogwarts property… more or less."

"What are we looking for exactly?"

"A castle. You'd know it when you see it."

"I can't see anything but lake," Clint offers helpfully, "Also, it's kinda cold."

He's right there. North Scotland's not particularly known for its warm, balmy days. Nor its blue skies, evidently, because it's currently weighed down by grey clouds, low and ominous looking. He hopes it doesn't rain during their visit. As if to reinforce his worries, the breeze blows at them even stronger, cold and vicious and cutting straight through his jeans and t-shirt. He scowls.

"That's because it's over there." Hermione replies, pointing to the north and straight through the thick forest of trees that blocks their view. She resolutely ignores the freezing wind, eager to have the reconnaissance mission over and done with.

"How long a walk?" Steve asks, moving right to the water's edge in an attempt to see past the trees.

"Half an hour. But we're not far from the edge of the wards, so it wouldn't take long to know for sure if it's here or not."

"And how would we know?" Asks Tony, sounding slightly obnoxious. The corners of her lips turn upwards, as if she's enjoying some private joke (knowing her, she probably is).

"When you lot start worrying about the oven you've left on at home." Among other things.

The genius nods, considering the matter, "Fair enough."

"Mm," he can see the thought occurring to her already, the warning forming on her lips, "I should say, our Hogwarts had a long history of messing with many muggle technologies. Mechanical things are fine, but phones and the like won't work past a certain distance." She's warily eyeing Tony's chest as she speaks. Harry wonders why.

A muscle in the man's neck twitches and he rubs at his temples in frustration, "Couldn't- Queenie, couldn't you think to drop this bombshell on us before you dragged us here with no way of leaving?" She winces at his annoyance, but her resolve doesn't waver.

"We didn't know if you'd let us go. I thought you might feel threatened by the isolation and would stop us from checking it out. But we need to see if Hogwarts exists here, and you need a Wizard to get through the wards."

Tony stares flatly at the two of them, completely unimpressed, "We need to work out some ground rules you two."

The rest of the team are staring at them too. Harry feels properly chastised, though it had been Hermione's idea in the first place. It feels almost like they'd deliberately misled their hosts, though as Hermione had put it, they were only keeping certain elements out, to be released when necessary. Disconcertingly ruthless on their part, but necessary if they wanted to do the things that needed to be done. It still left him feeling dirty on the inside- Hermione hadn't looked any happier, but had called it unavoidable now that they were on their own. It was no different to obliviating and manipulating Muggles when they saw or heard the wrong things, he supposed.

Another gust of wind blows past them. Clint gives off a full-body shudder, "Ground rules later," he scowls, staring glumly up at the foreboding sky, "Right now, let's just get this over and done with. I want to get home to summer days that actually feel like summer."

Steve sighs, "I agree. The sooner we establish there's no Hogwarts, the better. Then we can talk about what you should or shouldn't do." Harry smiles at the super-soldier. He gives him a strained smile back and he feels all the more guilty for withholding information. "We'd best get on. Can we just follow the shore?"

Hermione nods and the superhero assemblage takes the cue from the Captain and walk on. Stark lags slightly behind to send a passing comment to his friend.

"You and I are having a little talk when we get back, Queenie. Don't go thinking that I don't know it was you who came up with that idea." He remarks quietly, the slightest hint of animosity in his voice. Hermione watches him stalk the waterline with a ponderous expression on her face.

"It's like he thinks I owe him something." She says quietly. Unfairly in Harry's opinion.

"We are staying in his tower. Under his hospitality. He probably does expect something from us. "

She gives him a troubled smile, "Whose side are you on?"

"Reason." The smile turns wry. She nudges him with her shoulder as she walks past. He strangles the wince at the jarring of his newly grown bones.

"Shut-up Harry."

He laughs, and follows the woman, trying very hard not to think about what it is that's unlikely to be waiting for them at the end of their walk.

A/N Well, I had planned on this being one chapter, but it didn't turn out that way. 4500 words plus this one is, and wait til you see chapter eighteen. Bloody hell, have fun with that one. Soo many words. But it had to be split. So you'll have to wait for the next update.

Oh, and to Analelle; all your questions will be more or less answered in chapter 18 :)

Don't forget to leave a review!

See you in a fornight! Ciao!