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Ava's relief was a fragile, beautiful thing. For the first time in years, the horrifying, constant static of her body being torn apart at a quantum level had ceased. She felt… solid. Whole. The absence of pain was a sensation so profound, so overwhelming, that it brought tears to her eyes. This small, strange girl hadn't just healed her; she had given her back her life.
Her loyalty, in that moment, was forged into something absolute and unbreakable. S.H.I.E.L.D. had used her. HYDRA had weaponized her. But this witch… she had saved her.
"My name is Hermione Granger," the girl said, her voice cutting through Ava's emotional haze. "You can call me Hermione. And please, none of that 'Master Wizard' nonsense. It's tacky."
She was already one of them. She was already on the inside. But she was a blade that needed to be aimed. "Ava," Hermione said, her tone shifting from friendly to all-business. "I need you to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D."
"What?" Ava asked, the hope in her eyes instantly replaced by a flash of fear. "You're… you're not abandoning me?"
"Of course not," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "But you're no use to me out here. You're my agent now. My ghost. I need you to go back and be my eyes and ears inside that nest of spies. Report on HYDRA's activities. Tell me everything they know, everything they think they know, about me."
Ava's fear vanished, replaced by a new sense of purpose. A mission. "But my powers… your magic has suppressed them. I can't phase. They'll know something is wrong."
"I've already thought of that," Hermione said. She reached into her ridiculously small schoolbag and, after a moment of rummaging, pulled out a simple, dark gray cloak. It was made of a strange, soft fabric that seemed to drink the light. "This is a replica Invisibility Cloak. My own creation. It can't fool magical detection, but against Muggle technology and the naked eye, you'll be a ghost once more."
Ava took the cloak, her fingers tracing the strange, cool fabric. It felt like nothing she had ever touched. She put it on and, with a thought, her body vanished from sight. It was a perfect illusion.
"Go," Hermione said. "I'll be in touch."
Just as Ava disappeared into the shadows, the world shattered.
It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling. The grimy, blood-soaked New York street fractured like a pane of glass, the edges of reality folding in on themselves into a dizzying, crystalline kaleidoscope of impossible geometry. The distant sirens, the city lights, the very air itself—it was all gone, replaced by a silent, strange, and deeply unsettling duplicate of the world.
"The Mirror Dimension," Hermione breathed, her heart seizing with a new, cold dread.
Her reaction was pure instinct. With a sharp, violent CRACK, she Apparated, trying to force her way back into the real world. But instead of the familiar, nauseating squeeze of teleportation, she felt a sickening, bone-jarring SMACK as she collided with an invisible, unyielding barrier at the edge of the space. The failed spell threw her back, and she landed in a heap on the fractured pavement, her nose throbbing with a sharp, fiery pain.
She was trapped.
She rubbed her bruised nose, tears of pain and frustration welling in her eyes. She knew, with a sinking certainty, who was responsible. She slowly got to her feet and turned around.
Standing not ten feet away, in the center of the silent, crystalline world, was a bald woman in a simple, elegant yellow robe. Her expression was serene, her eyes ancient and calm.
Hermione's mind raced, cycling through a dozen different strategies. Her usual tactics—overwhelming force, condescending intellect, playing the cute child—all felt utterly useless in the face of this woman. She settled on a desperate, fawning sycophancy.
She put on her brightest, most innocent smile and practically skipped over to the woman, gently taking her hand. "Oh, my goodness! The Sorcerer Supreme! In person! It is such an honor. My name is Hermione. I've admired your work for ages!"
The Ancient One looked down at the small girl holding her hand, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. "Then why," she asked, her voice calm and melodic, "were you trying to run away?"
"A subconscious reaction to a perceived threat!" Hermione chirped, her smile not faltering. "I'm just a humble little witch, you see. I'm no match for the masters of Kamar-Taj…"
She was interrupted before she could finish. "The Mystic Mages of Kamar-Taj are so incompetent, God knows how the Ancient One trained them," the woman said, her voice a perfect, gentle echo of the condescending words Hermione herself had spoken to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents just hours before.
Hermione's smile froze on her face. She was listening. She heard everything. The act collapsed. She dropped the woman's hand, her face falling into a sullen pout. "Just tell me what you want," she grumbled. "I won't run again."
"I have no ill will towards you, little one," the Ancient One said calmly. "I am merely… curious. And if you truly wished to leave this reality, I could not stop you."
Hermione's head snapped up. She knows. This woman didn't just know about magic; she knew about the multiverse. She knew Hermione was a foreign element, an anomaly.
As if reading her thoughts, the Ancient One nodded. "The future, which was once a clear river, has become a raging, clouded sea since your arrival. But even in the fog, your shadow is a constant." She gestured to the edge of the Mirror Dimension, where the flashing lights of S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles could be seen arriving in the real world. "Your friends will be here soon. I suggest we continue this conversation elsewhere. Would you care to join me at Kamar-Taj for a cup of tea?"
It wasn't a request she could refuse. But it was also an opportunity. An opportunity to gather intelligence on a whole new magical faction. "I would be honored, Master Ancient One," she said with a respectful bow.
The Ancient One waved her hand, and a swirling, sparking orange portal opened in the air.
Stepping through the portal was like stepping into another world. The cool, damp air of New York was replaced by the warm, dry air of the mountains, thick with the scent of strange incense and ancient parchment. She was in a vast, open courtyard, where dozens of robed mages were training, their hands weaving intricate patterns of golden light, forming whips, shields, and blades of pure energy.
They're training for close-quarters combat, Hermione observed, her mind already analyzing. Why? What are they fighting that requires this kind of defense? In her opinion, a true mage was a long-range artillery piece, not a front-line soldier.
The Ancient One led her into a quiet, serene room. A moment later, a novice brought them two steaming cups of tea. Hermione took a sip, and her eyes widened. The tea was delicious, but it was more than that. She felt a cool, clarifying sensation spread through her mind, her thoughts becoming sharper, her control over her own mental faculties increasing exponentially.
Legilimency Proficiency +10
Occlumency Proficiency +10
This tea is a magical artifact, she realized with a jolt.
"You enjoy it," the Ancient One said with a gentle smile. She took a sip from her own cup, her ancient eyes watching Hermione over the rim. "Now, little witch from another world. Tell me. Where, exactly, are you from?"