Authors note:

Okso maybe more than a one shot. Warning Avengers End Game spoilers.

Chapter Begin

The flickering light of the fireplace cast long shadows across the small sitting room where Harry and Hermione sat. Hermione was perched on the edge of the couch, her shoulders tense as she scanned the Ministry's heavily embossed document spread out before her. Harry paced restlessly, the creak of the floorboards under his feet the only sound besides the occasional crackle of the fire.

"We don't have time for this," Harry muttered, running a hand through his already messy hair. "They're getting ready to take on Thanos, Hermione. Any day now. We should be out there talking to them, not sitting here reading rules."

Hermione didn't look up. "And you think just showing up unprepared is going to work?" she snapped. "They don't know us, Harry. They don't trust us. If we don't handle this properly, we risk blowing the only chance we have to help—and to get our families back."

Harry stopped pacing, but his jaw tightened. "They don't know what we've lost. They don't know what's at stake for us."

Hermione's eyes softened, but she remained focused. "And we can't tell them everything, not yet. The Ministry and the ICW have made that abundantly clear." She tapped the parchment with her wand, enlarging the text as she continued reading. Her voice took on a flat, almost sarcastic tone as she recited the words aloud.

1.Absolute Secrecy of Magical Governance:

"Under no circumstances shall any information about the Ministry of Magic, the ICW, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or any other governing body or institution of the wizarding world be disclosed."

2.Limiting Magical Revelations:

"Any use of magic must be restricted to situations where it cannot be interpreted as a direct threat or violate the Statute of Secrecy. If exposure of magic occurs, it must be framed as either advanced technology or unexplained phenomena."

3.Prohibited Topics:

"The following topics are strictly prohibited: magical creatures, the nature of wands, the specifics of magical education, and any mention of wizarding bloodlines."

4.Scope of Assistance:

"Offers of assistance must be framed as independent, unaffiliated efforts. Wizards and witches must not reveal the existence of a larger magical community or suggest that the wizarding world is actively monitoring the Muggle world."

5.Trust is a Priority:

"The goal is to establish mutual trust without exposing magical society. Diplomacy and discretion are paramount."

Hermione sighed, setting the parchment down. "They're essentially telling us to work with our hands tied behind our backs."

Harry crossed his arms, glaring at the document. "This isn't diplomacy—it's cowardice. The Avengers are fighting a war, and we're supposed to act like we're consultants on the sidelines?"

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I don't like it either, but these guidelines are here for a reason. If we blow the Statute of Secrecy wide open and they reject us, the fallout would be catastrophic."

Harry slumped into the armchair opposite her, his eyes flickering to the redacted portfolio Hermione had compiled earlier. "So we're supposed to hand them this and hope they take us seriously?" he asked bitterly, gesturing to the thin pile of documents.

Hermione picked up the portfolio and flipped through it. "It's not perfect, but it's something. We highlight what we can offer—our tracking abilities, containment measures—but keep the details vague. It'll look like experimental technology rather than magic. And if they ask questions…"

"We lie," Harry finished flatly.

Hermione flinched at the word but didn't deny it. "We deflect," she corrected. "We reveal as little as possible until we know we can trust them."

Harry shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. "You really think they'll believe any of this?"

"They're desperate, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "Just like we are. They've lost people too. That's the only reason they might listen."

Harry stared at the portfolio for a long moment, his fingers twitching with the urge to throw it into the fire. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice low and determined. "You know what they'll see? They'll see two strangers showing up at their door, claiming to have answers. They'll laugh us out of the building."

"They might," Hermione admitted. "But if we go in unprepared, they'll throw us out even faster. At least this gives us a chance to plant the seed."

Harry looked at her, his green eyes hard. "And what if they decide we're wasting their time? What then?"

"Then we find another way," Hermione said firmly. "But we're not there yet."

After a long silence, Harry nodded reluctantly. "Fine. We do it your way—for now. But if they don't take us seriously…"

"We'll make them take us seriously," Hermione finished, standing up and smoothing her robes. "Now, let's go over the plan again."

As the two of them began to prepare for the encounter, the weight of the task loomed over them. They knew the Avengers were hardened, skeptical, and out of time—and so were they.

Ashes of the Vanished*

The front entrance of Avengers HQ loomed before them like a fortress of glass and steel. Harry and Hermione stood in the shadow of the building, their postures tense but composed. The massive, world-renowned facility was intimidating even to them. This was the hub of Earth's mightiest heroes, people who had faced cosmic threats and gods. To Harry, it was both awe-inspiring and frustrating—these were the same people who had somehow failed to stop half the world from vanishing.

"I still don't think this is going to work," Harry muttered, adjusting his wand hidden under his coat.

Hermione shot him a sharp look. "If you go in there with that attitude, it won't. Remember—calm, measured, and logical. They've been through hell, and they're not going to put up with any nonsense."

Harry sighed. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

They approached the security checkpoint at the front of the building. A guard, clearly no ordinary one, eyed them suspiciously as they reached the intercom. Hermione pressed the button.

"This is Hermione Granger-Weasley," she said clearly. "We're here to request a meeting with Natasha Romanoff or Tony Stark. We have urgent information related to the aftermath of the Snap."

The guard glanced at them, clearly unimpressed. "And who exactly are you?"

Hermione opened the portfolio and handed over a card bearing the redacted credentials they had prepared. "Independent specialists with experience in high-priority containment and crisis detection," she said in a professional tone.

The guard raised an eyebrow, then spoke into his radio. "I've got two… 'specialists' at the front gate requesting access. They're asking for Stark or Romanoff."

Harry shifted restlessly beside her. It was taking too long already.

"Understood," the guard said after receiving a response. He looked at them and said, "Wait here."

They waited for several minutes, each second stretching painfully long. Hermione kept her composure, but Harry's impatience was palpable. Finally, the guard returned, his expression neutral.

"They're busy preparing for an upcoming operation," he said. "They don't have time for… new consultations."

"Consultations?" Harry repeated incredulously. "We're offering them help, not advice on interior decorating!"

The guard shrugged. "Sorry. They're not taking visitors right now."

Hermione gave Harry a warning glance before stepping forward. "We understand their situation," she said calmly. "But this isn't just a consultation. We have resources and information that could aid their efforts. If they're serious about reversing the Snap, they need to hear us out."

The guard hesitated, clearly unsure whether to press the matter further. After a moment, he sighed and opened his radio again. "They're not leaving. Says it's urgent."

Another pause. Finally, a new voice came through, low and unmistakably tired. It was Natasha Romanoff. "Let them through. I'll give them five minutes."

The guard nodded and gestured for them to follow. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, though his frustration hadn't entirely dissipated.

The corridors of Avengers HQ were lined with movement—scientists, agents, and warriors moving with purpose. There was no room for wasted effort here, no hesitation. Everyone was preparing for war.

As Harry and Hermione followed their escort through the sleek halls, Harry felt a pressure building in his chest. This wasn't where he was supposed to be. Ginny, James, Albus, and Lily were supposed to be at home, safe, laughing in their garden. The world wasn't supposed to be like this.

But it was.

And if the people in this building were his only shot at putting things right, then he'd make them listen.

They were led into a meeting room, where Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Bruce Banner waited. The atmosphere was thick with exhaustion, tension, and unspoken grief. None of them had time for strangers.

Natasha's sharp, assessing gaze locked onto them immediately. She leaned against the table, arms crossed, every bit the interrogator. Steve sat, flipping through the heavily redacted portfolio Hermione had provided. Bruce was off to the side, his fingers lightly drumming against the table as he observed.

"Alright," Natasha said flatly. "You have five minutes."

Hermione, ever the diplomat, straightened. "We understand you're preparing to face Thanos, and we know your time is limited. But we wouldn't be here if we didn't believe we had something to offer."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you think you can offer?" He tapped the folder. "Because so far, this is looking pretty vague."

Harry clenched his fists under the table, struggling to keep his frustration in check. Every second wasted was another second his family stayed gone.

"We can detect things others can't," Hermione continued, carefully choosing her words. "We have resources that could help you track what's left of the power that caused all of this. We—"

Natasha cut in. "And why should we trust you?"

There was no malice in her voice, only cold practicality. She had spent years learning to recognize liars, and this situation had too many unknowns.

Harry exhaled sharply, his control slipping. He stood, gripping the back of his chair as the weight of everything hit him at once.

"You shouldn't." His voice was quiet but charged with something raw and painful. "You shouldn't trust us. You don't know us. You don't know what we can do."

Bruce tilted his head slightly at that, but Harry wasn't done.

"What I do know is that four days ago, I had a wife. I had three children—two boys and a little girl. And then, in a matter of seconds, I lost them. I watched them turn to ash in front of me."

The room fell silent.

Harry's voice broke slightly, but he powered through. "So, no, you don't have to trust us. But if you think for one second that I'm going to sit back and do nothing while there's a chance to fix this—you're dead wrong."

His green eyes were ablaze, not with anger, but with purpose.

Hermione lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the table. She had read reports about the Avengers' losses, about Tony losing Peter, Steve losing Bucky, Wanda losing Vision—but Harry? She had seen what losing his family had done to him. He wasn't just determined. He was barely holding himself together.

Unbeknownst to them, Clint Barton had stopped in the hallway outside the meeting room. He had been walking past when he overheard Harry's words.

And suddenly, he wasn't standing in Avengers HQ anymore. He was back on his farm. Back in that impossible moment when he had turned around and his family—his wife, his kids—were just gone.

Harry's grief hit like a punch to the gut because it was his own.

When Natasha glanced toward the door, she saw Clint standing there. His jaw was tight, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared at Harry. He didn't say a word, but Natasha understood that look.

It was the look of a man who recognized his own reflection.

Steve rubbed his chin, looking at Bruce, who was still focused on Harry with a contemplative expression.

Bruce had been skeptical at first, but something about Harry and Hermione's presence wasn't adding up. The way Hermione had conjured that faint golden glow to track the energy residue of the Snap? That wasn't science.

Doctor Strange had once spoken about people with untapped abilities beyond his understanding. Had he meant them?

Bruce decided not to say anything yet. Instead, he looked at Steve and Natasha.

"They're not lying," he said finally.

Steve nodded slowly. "I think we all know what it's like to lose people."

Natasha's eyes flicked to Clint one last time before she exhaled. Then, she turned back to Harry and Hermione.

"Alright," she said. "You're in. For now."

"You're not Avengers," Natasha clarified. "You're consultants, and you're staying under observation until we know more about you."

Steve leaned forward. "We're preparing to go after Thanos, and we're running out of time. If you really can track these energy signatures, we need proof—fast."

Hermione nodded immediately. "We'll do what we can."

Natasha exchanged a look with Steve before turning back to them. "You're staying here. We're assigning you quarters."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"We'll need you close by," Natasha said, standing up. "If you're serious about this, you stay here and prove it."

She turned toward the door. "Clint, show them to the guest rooms."

Clint hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. Sure."

As Clint led them down the hallway, he walked in silence at first. Harry was still wound tight, his mind spinning. Hermione, though trying to keep her emotions in check, looked exhausted.

Finally, Clint spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

"Lost my family too," he said simply.

Harry looked over at him, and for the first time in days, he saw someone who truly understood.

He didn't say anything. He just nodded.

Clint nodded back. That was all that needed to be said.

As Harry and Hermione entered their assigned rooms, they realized that this was just the beginning.

One thing was certain. The Avengers were watching them.

Some were intrigued. Some were cautious.

And at least one of them already knew the truth—that this wasn't just science.

But they wouldn't say anything.

Not yet.

Ashes of the Vanished*

The room assigned to Hermione at Avengers HQ was simple and utilitarian, more functional than comfortable. A desk, a bed, and a small window overlooking the city skyline. No traces of warmth, no personal touches. It wasn't home.

It wasn't where she belonged.

A single candle flickered on the desk as Hermione carefully traced her wand through the air, murmuring an incantation. A faint shimmer surrounded the room before fading into nothingness.

"Alright," she said quietly, lowering herself into the desk chair, her posture tight with tension. "We can speak freely now."

Harry, who had been standing near the window, exhaled and turned to face her. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable. "We're running out of time."

Hermione rubbed her temple. "I know."

For the first time since arriving at the compound, they weren't under scrutiny. They could finally talk about what they'd observed, about what they were up against.

Harry leaned against the desk, his voice laced with frustration. "They're rushing into this. No real plan, just a goal—find Thanos, take him down. It feels reckless."

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table, considering. "I don't think it's that simple, Harry. It's not just about taking down Thanos. They need to do something—anything. The entire world is holding its breath, waiting for them to fix this."

Harry let out a bitter laugh. "And what if they fail? What if they lose again?"

She sighed. "Then we all lose."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Harry shook his head. "We have to do more than just sit around and watch. We've fought in a war before, Hermione. We know what this kind of desperation can lead to."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "I agree. But we're still working under strict orders. We cannot reveal magic openly. If we help, it has to be subtle."

"We don't have time for subtle," Harry growled allowing a small amount of frustration to seep into his tone.

"We have to make time," Hermione shot back. "Do you really think they'll listen to us if we start questioning their strategies and what if they start to question what we are?"

Harry sighed but didn't argue.

Allowing the tension to ease for a few moments Hermione pulled out a blank notebook and started scribbling notes. "There are a few ways we can help without breaking the rules."

Harry brightens for a moment, "We could weave in shielding ruines on their gear before we all go into battle. Maybe making them subtle protections—something that looks like tech or even it could resemble their normal gear."

Hermione nods slowly, "That's risky, but possible. We'd have to work fast before they notice."

Hesitantly she writes on the note pad not meeting Harry's eyes, "We should also keep an eye on them—see who's stable, who's falling apart."

Harry eyes her for a moment before asking, "You think they're that unstable?"

Hermione shrugs, "I think they're barely holding it together."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You ever wonder if they botched this whole thing up?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry gestured vaguely. "I mean—was there something they could've done differently? Did they make a misstep before the Snap happened?"

Hermione inhaled sharply. "That's not a road we should go down, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not blaming them. But we lost everything. If this all falls apart again, what then? Who do we turn to?"

Hermione looked at him, her brown eyes filled with quiet understanding. "Each other."

The candle flickered, its glow stretching against the walls.

Harry exhaled. "So we're agreed? We help them, but we stay within the rules. Subtle, nothing direct."

Hermione nodded. "For now."

For a moment there was a heavy pause. Then Harry said, "If this goes sideways… we adjust."

Hermione met his gaze. "We always do."

As the muffling spell faded, so did their moment of privacy. The world was still waiting. The fight was coming. And neither of them could afford to fail.

Ashes of the Vanished*

~Hermione POV~

A few days later

The room was too quiet.

Hermione sat on the edge of the small bed in her quarters, staring at her own reflection in the mirror across from her. She looked tired.

Not just physically—but down to the marrow of her bones.

Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers digging into each other, as if trying to keep herself from unraveling. The meeting had ended hours ago. Harry was off somewhere—probably with Clint or gathering his own thoughts. The Avengers were still working, still planning, still moving forward.

But Hermione?

She was stuck.

She thought about the morning it happened.

The last conversation she had with Ron was an argument—a petty one, one of many they'd had over the years. It didn't matter now.

It hadn't mattered at all.

She had walked out the door, expecting to come back. To see him. To fix it.

But he was gone.

So were the Weasleys—all of them. The family that had taken her in, made her one of their own, made her believe she had a place in the world beyond just being 'the clever one.'

For years, she had considered herself lucky. She had gone from an only child, a girl with no magical blood, no roots in this world, to a sister in the biggest, loudest, most loving family she could have imagined.

Now, it was just her. Her parents and Rose.

From three to nine to three again.

The math didn't add up.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands over her face. She couldn't break. Not here.

There was too much to do.

Too many people relying on her.

Too much at stake.

Oh Merlin, she missed them.

She missed Molly's warmth, Arthur's kindness, George's teasing, Percy's lectures.

She missed Ginny, her best friend, the sister she'd never had growing up.

And Ron.

Her husband, the father of her daughter, her constant.

She pressed a hand to her mouth as if to physically stop the sob that threatened to escape.

She stared at herself in the mirror. The reflection of a woman who had survived war, had fought in suicidal battles and out-thought monsters, she had always, always found a way forward.

She had to keep moving.

For Rose. Safe at Hermione's parents house.

For the world.

For Ron, because if he was out there somewhere—if there was even the smallest chance of getting him back—then she had to be strong enough to see it through.

Her hands still shook as she straightened her robes.

But no one would see that. No one would know.

By the time she left her room, Hermione Granger-Weasley was composed again. Sharp, focused, unreadable.

No one needed to know how close she had come to falling apart.

Because falling apart wasn't an option.

Not yet.

Ashes of the Vanished*

The strategy room at Avengers HQ was a battlefield of data, screens flickering with readouts, holograms displaying the galaxy, and tension crackling in the air.

It had been three weeks—almost a month since the Snap. And in that time, the world had been waiting for the Avengers to fix it.

Now, the clock was running out.

Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Rocket, Carol Danvers, and Tony Stark stood around the central display. The holographic projection of the universe hovered in the air, full of missing pieces.

Harry and Hermione were not just observers anymore.

They were part of the conversation.

"We know he's still alive," Rocket said, arms crossed. "But the bastard's got a good disappearing act."

Tony was flipping through data faster than most could process, his exhaustion hidden under sarcasm and caffeine. "Yeah, well, I'd say 'snapping away half the universe' buys you the right to hide out for a bit. It's the cosmic equivalent of pulling the fire alarm and ducking out the back door."

Bruce sighed. "We've been tracking residual energy signatures left behind by the Snap. But it's messy. Cosmic radiation, background interference—"

Carol cut in, voice sharp. "Then we're wasting time. I can scan entire sectors in hours. We should be out there now."

Steve, ever steady, shook his head. "We don't go until we're sure. We can't afford another failure."

The words hung heavy in the air.

No one needed a reminder of what happened in Wakanda.

Bruce tapped a screen, then turned slightly, his gaze shifting to Hermione. "I've been running through what you said before… about energy voids instead of energy traces."

Tony smirked, but his eyes were sharp. "Smart thinking, Granger."

Hermione folded her arms. "It's just pattern recognition."

Bruce tilted his head slightly. "Except that's not exactly what you did, was it?"

Silence.

Natasha's gaze was unreadable, but focused.

Bruce gestured to the screen. "What you did wasn't just recognizing the energy—it was manipulating it. Tracking something that wasn't there anymore."

Hermione didn't blink. "Is that a problem?"

Bruce exhaled. "No. It's impressive. Just… unexpected."

Tony, never one to let something go, added, "See, most people who are good at science? They don't pull information out of thin air. Unless you're telling me you've got an implant no one knows about, I'm calling bullshit on 'pattern recognition.'"

Hermione didn't react, though she could feel Harry tense beside her.

She simply tilted her chin up. "Well, I suppose you'll have to figure that out, won't you?"

A pause. Then Tony grinned. "I do love a mystery."

Natasha, however, wasn't smiling.

She was watching.

While Hermione handled the scrutiny, Harry was watching the soldiers.

Carol was too eager. She wanted to move now, no hesitation.

Steve was holding them back—but just barely.

Harry finally spoke, his voice calm but pointed. "You're ready to launch this mission, aren't you?"

Steve met his gaze. "As soon as we have a location, we go."

Harry's eyes flickered across the room. "You don't think this might be a mistake?"

Carol turned sharply. "So what? We sit around and wait?"

Harry didn't flinch at her intensity. "I've been fighting since I was a kid," he said, voice steady. "I've seen what happens when people rush into battle without all the pieces in place. It doesn't go well."

Steve didn't look away.

"Do you think we're making the wrong call?" Steve asked, his tone even.

Harry exhaled slowly. "I think you need to be sure before you jump in. Because if you lose this time—" he paused, gaze hard, "—there won't be another chance."

The room was quiet.

Then, after a long moment, Steve gave a single, curt nod.

And Harry nodded back.

The tension broke when Tony suddenly straightened, staring at the screen.

"Oh, well, would you look at that."

A new marker appeared on the galactic projection. A pinpointed location—a perfect void of Infinity Stone energy.

Rocket let out a satisfied grunt. "Well, there he is."

Carol cracked her knuckles. "Finally."

Steve inhaled, steeling himself. "We're going."

Natasha turned to Harry and Hermione.

"You two are coming with us."

Hermione didn't flinch.

Harry didn't hesitate.

"I never expected not to go," Harry said simply.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, observing his lack of reaction.

"Good," she said. "Be ready."

No one argued. No one protested.

They were in.

As the Avengers finalized their plan, there were many unspoken truth in the room.

•Natasha and Bruce were watching them.

•Tony was suspicious, but intrigued.

•Steve respected their experience.

•Rocket and Carol? They just wanted to fight.

But for the first time, Harry and Hermione weren't just outsiders looking in.

They were part of the mission.

And Thanos was waiting.

Ashes of the Vanished*

The Quinjet's engines hummed with quiet intensity as it soared through the atmosphere, breaking past the last wisps of Earth's sky and into the cold, endless black of space.

Harry sat near the window, watching as the stars stretched before them, his fingers curled lightly around the armrest. Flying was nothing new to him—he had spent his childhood on broomsticks, weaving through the air like second nature—but this?

This was something else entirely.

Hermione sat beside him, focused, calculating. Even as she strapped herself into her seat, her mind was running through contingencies, risks, things they didn't know yet. There were too many unknowns.

They were about to fight a Titan.

And there was no backup plan.

Across from them, Steve Rogers was securing his shield, his jaw tight with focus. Natasha checked her weapons, fingers moving over the familiar grooves of her pistols like a ritual. Carol Danvers stood at the back, arms crossed, staring ahead like she was already there.

Bruce was absent. He had opted to stay behind, uncertain about his ability to bring out the Hulk when it mattered.

Rocket sat in the cockpit, muttering to himself as he adjusted course. "Hope you all brought your good boots, 'cause this planet ain't exactly five-star accommodations."

"Tell me, what's the local climate?" Tony asked, standing near the cockpit.

Rocket didn't look up. "A real fixer-upper. Lots of dirt. No WiFi."

Harry barely heard them. His eyes were still locked on the stars, his thoughts somewhere else.

This mission felt wrong.

Too fast.

Too reckless.

Too final.

Hermione leaned toward him slightly. "You're thinking too hard."

Harry's jaw tightened. "I don't like this."

She sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "We don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice," he murmured. "This just doesn't feel… right."

Hermione understood what he meant. It felt too easy.

After all Thanos had done, after tearing the universe apart, why would he leave himself unprotected?

Steve must have sensed it too because he finally looked up. "If anyone has doubts, now's the time to speak."

No one did.

Because it didn't matter.

They were already committed.

From her seat, Natasha was watching.

Harry hadn't reacted like a civilian when she told them they were coming. He hadn't even blinked.

And now, sitting there, staring into the void of space, he didn't look scared.

He looked like a soldier.

Like someone who had fought battles before.

Who were these people?

Hermione was just as composed. She had answered Tony's questions with sharp, efficient logic, had given them their target when all their best trackers had failed.

And neither of them were shaken.

Bruce had been right.

Something wasn't adding up.

Across the cabin, Clint caught Harry's eye.

There was an understanding between them now.

They were both here for the same reason—because they had nothing left to lose.

Clint nodded once.

Harry nodded back.

"Alright, folks," Rocket called out. "We're coming up on the coordinates. Get ready to make some history."

The planet loomed ahead—a desolate, quiet world bathed in eerie twilight.

Harry exhaled slowly, hand resting on his wand.

Hermione straightened in her seat, masking the unease curling in her stomach.

The time for doubts was over.

Now, there was only time to fight.

Ashes of the Vanished*

The ramp of the Quinjet lowered with a mechanical hiss, releasing a gust of cold, dry air from the desolate planet.

The world before them was eerily quiet—fields of ruined crops stretched toward the horizon, and in the distance, a lone, small cottage sat in the dying light.

There were no guards.

No defenses.

No sign that they were about to fight the most dangerous being in the universe.

Harry's stomach twisted. This wasn't right.

Beside him, Hermione whispered, "Why isn't he protected?"

No one had an answer.

And then they moved.

The team fanned out, moving with practiced efficiency. Steve led from the front, shield raised. Natasha and Clint flanked him. Rocket kept his blaster up, and Carol hovered slightly above, scanning for threats.

Harry and Hermione stayed toward the back, their wands concealed but ready.

As they neared the house, Steve signaled for them to stop.

Inside, a figure moved.

A broad-shouldered silhouette, slow, deliberate.

Thanos.

Carol was the first to strike.

The second the door creaked open, she was already inside, slamming Thanos against the wall with a shockwave of cosmic energy.

The impact sent the entire house shaking.

Steve and Natasha followed immediately, weapons drawn.

Thanos barely had time to react before Thor's axe swung down, lightning crackling through the air—

But something was wrong.

Thanos didn't fight back.

He grunted in pain but didn't lash out, didn't try to summon the Stones—

And then Harry saw his hand.

Burnt. Scarred. Empty.

The Infinity Gauntlet was gone.

Thanos let out a heavy breath, barely lifting his head as Carol restrained him.

"The Stones…" he muttered. "They're gone."

Tony froze mid-step. "Bullshit."

Thanos turned his gaze up, voice low, almost… tired.

"I destroyed them."

A beat of silence.

Then Rocket scoffed. "Yeah, right. That's convenient."

Thanos shook his head, wincing as Thor pressed Stormbreaker tighter to his throat.

"They were only temptation. If I left them, someone would use them again. I had to make sure no one ever could."

Hermione's breath hitched.

"No," she whispered.

Steve tightened his grip on his shield. "You're lying."

"I wish I were." Thanos let out a shuddering breath. "The work is done. It always will be."

His voice carried no arrogance.

No triumph.

Just… finality.

Hermione's chest tightened.

This was supposed to be their answer.

They had clung to this hope, that if they found the Stones, if they undid everything, they could bring everyone back.

Ron. Ginny. James. Albus. Lily. The Weasleys.

Everyone.

Harry's fingernails dug into his palms. His body was burning with rage, with grief, with something breaking inside him.

But he didn't say a word.

Because if he spoke, if he opened his mouth, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.

Thor's breathing was shallow, uneven. His hands trembled around Stormbreaker.

"You liar," he growled.

Thanos met his gaze but didn't argue.

"I went for the head," Thor whispered.

And then he swung.

The axe sliced clean through, severing Thanos' head from his body.

It hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Blood pooled, dark and thick, across the wooden floorboards.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Because there was nothing left to do.

Rocket was the first to break the silence. "What the hell did you do?"

Thor stepped back, his chest rising and falling erratically. His eyes never left the corpse.

Steve let out a slow breath, staring down at the body of the man they had hunted.

Carol crossed her arms. "So that's it, then."

No celebration. No relief.

Because nothing had changed.

The Stones were gone.

The fight was over.

And everyone they had lost was still gone.

Hermione felt lightheaded.

She had been holding on so tightly, believing that if they just found Thanos, if they just recovered the Stones, it would all be undone.

Now, that future was gone.

Harry stood rigid, staring at the corpse.

He felt… empty.

They had come all this way.

They had fought.

They had won.

And it meant nothing.

The group slowly backed away, the weight of what had just happened settling over them like a storm cloud.

Natasha looked around at them all.

At Thor, silent, staring at the body.

At Steve, who was already calculating what came next.

At Tony, whose mind was already somewhere else.

At Harry and Hermione, two outsiders who had just lost their last hope.

Finally, she let out a heavy breath.

"Well," she murmured. "What the hell do we do now?"

Ashes of the Vanished*

The Quinjet was silent.

No war cries.

No celebrations.

No relief.

The trip back to Earth felt longer than the journey to Thanos' planet.

The only sound was the low hum of the ship's engines, the occasional flick of controls as Rocket piloted them through space. No one spoke.

Harry sat near the window, his fingers curled against his knee, staring out into the endless dark. The stars blurred together, distant and indifferent.

This was it.

The war was over.

And they had lost.

Thor sat in the seat across from him, his body slouched forward, Stormbreaker leaning against his leg. His hands were still stained with blood—his grip on the axe knuckle-white.

Harry wasn't looking at him.

But he could feel it.

The weight of what Thor had done pressed into the cabin like an unspoken truth.

He had gone for the head.

He had ended it.

But it didn't matter.

Nothing changed.

Thor suddenly stood, pushing past everyone. He needed to be anywhere but here.

Natasha barely glanced up as he moved. She understood.

Across the cabin, Hermione sat still, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Her mind had always found solutions. Always.

When she was eleven and faced with a mountain troll, she had found a plan.

When she was twelve and the Basilisk haunted Hogwarts, she had found an answer.

When she was sixteen and lost in time, she had created a way forward.

But now?

There was no solution.

No fix.

No spell.

No way to undo the past.

Ron was still gone.

The Weasleys were still gone.

Nothing had changed.

Her throat felt tight. She kept staring at her hands as if they would give her the answer.

They didn't.

Steve Rogers sat near the front, his shield resting against his leg.

For so long, he had fought wars where there was a way to win.

Where there was an enemy, a strategy, an outcome that led to victory.

But this wasn't that kind of war.

This was something else entirely.

For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to fight for anymore.

Tony had been silent since they left the planet.

He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, staring down at the floor.

Every few minutes, his fingers tapped against his wrist, as if running through calculations that no longer mattered.

He had lost.

Not just Peter.

Not just half the world.

But the chance to fix it.

Even he couldn't engineer a way out of this.

Clint sat against the wall, staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight.

Natasha was near him, head resting back against the seat, her arms crossed.

She finally spoke, voice quiet. "We'll figure something out."

Clint gave a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

She wasn't.

But she had to say it.

Harry had been silent the whole time.

When they killed Thanos, he had felt nothing.

Not anger. Not satisfaction. Not relief.

Because his family was still gone.

Because this wasn't justice. It wasn't vengeance.

It was just… an ending.

Hermione finally turned her head slightly, her voice almost breaking. "Harry."

He closed his eyes for a long second before looking at her.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do we do now?"

Harry didn't have an answer.

For the first time in his life, he had nothing left to fight for.

And that was the scariest part of all.

The Quinjet touched down at Avengers HQ.

The ramp lowered.

No one moved.

Because what was there to return to?

Then, slowly, Steve stood.

"We move forward," he said.

His voice was quiet, steady, like he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else.

But no one argued.

Because there was nothing else to do.