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The syringe was inches from her neck. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Hermione's mind, honed by battles with trolls and dark lords, registered the threat not as a thought, but as a pure, primal scream of instinct. Before the needle could even break her skin, she acted.
There was no incantation, no wave of a wand. There was only a violent, wrenching twist of reality and a deafening CRACK that shattered the silence of the night.
The space where she had been standing was suddenly empty.
The attacker, thrown off balance by the sudden disappearance of their target, stumbled forward, the syringe stabbing uselessly into the empty air. A moment later, with another gut-wrenching CRACK, Hermione reappeared in the exact same spot, as if she had never left.
"That," she said, her heart hammering against her ribs, her voice a little shaky, "was a close one." Apparition without a destination was a fool's gambit, a one-way ticket to getting splinched across a city block. But her grimoire, it seemed, had a built-in safety feature, defaulting her back to her point of origin. A useful, if dizzying, trick.
She finally got a good look at her assailant. The figure was clad in a light gray, high-tech combat suit, the design almost spectral. Their face was hidden behind a white, featureless mask, and they moved with a silent, fluid grace that was deeply unsettling.
The masked woman, clearly shocked that her perfect ambush had failed, didn't hesitate. She lunged again, a blade now appearing in her hand.
"Oh, no you don't," Hermione snarled. "Depulso!"
A powerful, invisible wave of force shot from her wand. But instead of slamming into the attacker, it passed right through her. The woman's form flickered, becoming hazy and translucent for a moment, like a bad hologram.
"Bombarda!" Hermione tried again, a bolt of explosive energy erupting from her wand. It, too, passed harmlessly through the woman's intangible body, exploding against a distant brick wall.
The woman continued her silent, inexorable advance, her body flickering in and out of solidity.
Hermione's mind raced, processing the data with cold, frantic speed. Not invisibility. Not an illusion. Intangibility. Quantum phasing. The concept, a staple of the science fiction from her past life, was now a terrifying reality. She Apparated again, appearing a safe twenty feet away, her mind scouring her vast magical knowledge for a solution. How do you fight a ghost?
Then, it clicked. A half-forgotten piece of magical theory from a dusty tome in the Restricted Section. A spell designed not to attack, but to define. To anchor.
"Firmare Corpus!" she incanted, her voice ringing with a newfound authority.
A web of faint, golden light erupted from her, spreading outwards in a silent, shimmering wave. When it washed over the masked woman, her flickering, intangible form suddenly snapped into sharp, perfect focus, as if a blurry image had been corrected. The woman froze, looking down at her own solid hands in utter, profound shock. She tried to phase, to become a ghost again, but nothing happened. She was trapped in reality.
Seeing Hermione raise her wand again, a panicked, feminine voice, muffled by the mask, finally spoke. "Wait…"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The woman's body went instantly, unnaturally rigid. Her arms snapped to her sides, her legs locked together, and she toppled over like a tin soldier, hitting the pavement with a hard, unyielding clang of armored plates.
"Fancy," Hermione said, her voice a low, unimpressed murmur as she walked over to the paralyzed assassin. She tapped the mask with her wand, and it unlatched, revealing a surprisingly young, pretty face, marred by dark circles of pain under her eyes.
The woman's eyes, the only part of her that could still move, darted frantically, filled with a mixture of terror and a strange, desperate excitement.
"I'm going to release you now," Hermione said, her voice cold and even. "If you move, if you so much as twitch in a way I don't like, I will not be so gentle next time." She leaned in closer. "Blink if you understand."
The woman blinked frantically. The next second, sensation flooded back into her limbs, and she gasped for air. She looked around at the blood-soaked street, at the dismembered bodies of the HYDRA agents, then back at the small, terrifying girl who had just defeated her with a single, impossible word.
With a choked sob, she scrambled forward and fell to her knees in front of Hermione.
"My name is Ava," she said, her voice cracking. "S.H.I.E.L.D. sent me… to bring you in."
She spilled the entire story. The HYDRA team had been the cannon fodder, a loud, violent distraction designed to exhaust Hermione and make her lower her guard. Ava, the real weapon, the Ghost, was meant to strike in that moment of vulnerability, sedate her, and bring her in.
"So, why did you betray them?" Hermione asked, her expression unreadable.
Ava's eyes filled with a desperate, pleading light. "Your magic," she breathed, her voice full of a raw, painful hope. "That spell you cast… the one that made me solid. For the first time in years… the pain is gone."
She explained her condition. A childhood accident involving a quantum explosion. A body that was being constantly torn apart and reassembled at a molecular level. A life of unending, agonizing pain, where her only moments of relief came when she was completely intangible. S.H.I.E.L.D., or rather, the HYDRA cell masquerading as her handlers, had found her, weaponized her, and promised her a cure that never came. They used her pain as a leash.
"But you…" Ava looked up at Hermione, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You did what their best scientists couldn't do in a decade. You stabilized me. With a single word." She bowed her head, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "Please. Whatever you want, I'll do it. I'll give you anything. Just… don't let the pain come back."
Hermione looked down at the broken, pleading woman. She knew who she was. Ava Starr. The Ghost. A tragic villain from a movie she had once watched. And now, she was a powerful, desperate asset, kneeling at her feet.
This was a deal worth making. Ava's loyalty would be absolute, forged not from fear, but from a desperate need for the salvation that only she could provide.
"I will help you," Hermione said, her voice calm and even. "But my magic is not a permanent solution. Not yet. The effect of the anchoring spell will fade. You will need regular treatments to maintain your stability."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Ava's face, but it was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of pure, unadulterated relief. Even a temporary reprieve from her personal hell was a miracle.
"I understand," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I will serve you. I will be your ghost. Your assassin. Anything you ask."
Hermione nodded, a slow, calculated smile touching her lips. A new, powerful, and utterly loyal piece had just been added to her board. She looked at the carnage around them, then at her new, spectral agent.
"First things first," she said. "Let's clean up this mess."