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From the command helicopter, General Thaddeus Ross stared down at the ruined street, his mind a wasteland of disbelief. He had just witnessed two of the most powerful living weapons on the planet, beings that had effortlessly annihilated his elite military forces, be brought low by a twelve-year-old girl. She hadn't just beaten them; she had humiliated them, toyed with them, and then disposed of them with the casual, bored efficiency of someone taking out the trash.
He looked at the broken, smoking craters, at the pathetic, slug-vomiting forms of Banner and Blonsky, and for the first time in his long, stubborn, and obsessively driven career, he felt the cold, bitter certainty of his own obsolescence. The Super Soldier program, his life's work, the key to America's future dominance… it was a child's toy. A pathetic, outdated relic in a world that had just revealed its new, terrifying, and utterly magical set of rules.
As the helicopter landed, Betty rushed out, her face a mask of frantic worry. "Bruce!" she cried, running to his side. He looked up at her, a weak, grateful smile on his face, and promptly vomited a large, slimy slug onto her shoes.
Betty froze, a look of profound, indescribable horror on her face.
Hermione, who had been leaning casually against her broom, just grinned. "Don't worry," she called out, her voice full of a devilish amusement. "It's not fatal. Probably. He'll be fine after he gets it all out of his system." She was obviously a cute and harmless little girl, but the smile on her face at that moment was the stuff of nightmares.
General Ross, his mind still reeling, finally pulled himself together. He marched towards Hermione, his military bearing a thin, fragile shield against the impossible reality he was facing. "Young lady," he began, his voice a low growl, "thank you for your… assistance. The U.S. Military will now be taking custody of these two criminals."
"Nope," Hermione said, popping the 'p'. "Can't let you do that. They're part of a business deal I have with the Boiled Egg. They belong to S.H.I.E.L.D. now."
Boiled Egg? Ross thought, his mind struggling to keep up. Then it clicked. Fury.
"Impossible," he snarled. "This is a military experimental project. They are property of the United States Army!"
"And I don't care," Hermione replied with a dismissive sniff.
Ross's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. He was a General. He was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. "The subjects will be turned over to my custody," he said, his hand moving instinctively toward his sidearm.
Hermione just sighed, a sound of pure, put-upon exasperation. A torrent of brilliant, white-hot fire erupted from the ground around her. It coiled and twisted, forming the massive, roaring head of a gigantic serpent, its flaming eyes fixed directly on General Ross. The heat was a physical blow, a rolling wave of thermal energy that made the air shimmer and sent the surrounding soldiers stumbling back, their faces a mask of terror.
"What… what is that?" Betty screamed.
Banner and Blonsky, the two brothers in slimy, pathetic misery, just looked at each other and let out a simultaneous, weak groan. Here we go again.
Ross just stared, paralyzed, his mind finally, truly broken. He remembered Fury's warning from the phone call, a warning that now sounded less like a threat and more like a profound, prophetic understatement. "If you anger her, don't blame me for not warning you of the consequences."
Just then, his satellite phone rang, the shrill, electronic sound a jarring intrusion into the magical standoff. He answered it, his hand trembling. After a few seconds of listening to the cold, furious voice on the other end, he put the phone down, his face pale, his shoulders slumped in utter defeat. He gave one last, hateful look at Hermione, then turned and barked at his men. "We're leaving."
A few minutes later, a sleek, black Quinjet descended from the night sky, its engines eerily silent. Nick Fury, in his signature black leather coat, strode down the ramp, his one good eye taking in the scene of absolute devastation. His agents, efficient and silent, moved in to secure the two naked, bound, and still occasionally vomiting super-soldiers.
"Thank you for your assistance, Consultant," Fury said, his voice a low, formal rumble of gratitude. "You've averted a major catastrophe for the city of New York. We are in your debt."
Hermione just nodded, a pleased, self-satisfied look on her face. She was in a good mood. The slaughter of Ross's troops had yielded a massive 5000 soul energy points, and the prospect of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s alchemical materials was a delightful dessert to an already satisfying meal. For the first time, she gave the one-eyed spymaster a genuinely warm look.
Fury, however, was in a state of quiet, professional terror. He had watched the entire battle through the helicopter's camera feed. The fire, the ice, the invisible blades of Sectumsempra that had torn through the Abomination's gamma-irradiated hide, and the terrifying, reality-warping Mirror Dimension that had swallowed the Hulk whole… he had thought he was beginning to understand her power, but he had been wrong. He had been looking at the tip of the iceberg. And if she can do this, he thought, a cold dread washing over him, what in God's name is Dumbledore capable of?
"If you're ready, Consultant," he said, gesturing toward the Quinjet, "we can return to headquarters."
"No need," Hermione said lightly. With a casual wave of her hand, she tore a hole in the very fabric of reality. A swirling, sparking, orange portal opened in the air beside them. Through it, Fury could see the familiar, panoramic view from his own office window at the Triskelion, hundreds of miles away in Washington D.C.
Fury stared, his one good eye wide with a new, more profound level of horror. He had known she could teleport. He had assumed it was a short-range, line-of-sight ability. This… this was something else entirely. This was a violation of every known law of physics and security. The Triskelion, the most secure building on the planet, his fortress, was as vulnerable as a house with no doors.
"After you," Hermione said with a cheerful grin, and stepped through.
Fury followed, his mind reeling. The moment they stepped into his office, the portal snapped shut behind them. He pressed a button on his desk. "Bring them in."
A moment later, a team of agents began to file into the room, carrying dozens of heavy, sealed, metal cases. They opened them one by one in front of Hermione.
Her eyes widened. She had expected a few interesting samples. She had not expected a king's ransom. Inside the cases were glowing fungi from deep-earth caverns, strange, crystalline mineral deposits recovered from meteorite impact sites, rare, exotic herbs from the heart of the Amazon that hummed with a faint, magical energy. S.H.I.E.L.D., using the information she had leaked to them, had become the most ruthlessly efficient magical resource gathering operation on the planet.
A slow, triumphant, and deeply avaricious smile spread across her face. This was it. This was the beginning. She had a monopoly on magic in this world, and now, thanks to her new, unwitting business partners at S.H.I.E.L.D., she had the supply chain to build an empire.