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"Who's there?!"
Alexander Pierce spun on his heel, a sleek, custom-made pistol appearing in his hand with the fluid, practiced ease of a man who had lived his entire life in a state of professional paranoia. The quiet, luxurious living room of his penthouse was empty. The shadows were exactly where they were supposed to be.
A hallucination? No. His instincts, honed over fifty years of navigating the treacherous world of Cold War espionage, were screaming at him. There was someone in the room.
"You went to a great deal of trouble to find me," a soft, childish voice said, this time from right beside his ear. "Why so scared now that I've come to you?"
Pierce flinched and spun again. Faint, shimmering ripples distorted the air next to his expensive sofa, and from that distortion, a small girl in a pitch-black robe slowly resolved into view, as if stepping out of a heat haze.
His pupils contracted. The face was unmistakable from the file. The wizard.
"You," he breathed. Despite the situation, his hand was steady, the barrel of his pistol aimed directly at her heart.
"Put that down," Hermione said, her voice calm, almost bored. "It's useless against me."
"Miss Wizard," Pierce said, his voice a smooth, placating baritone, ignoring her command. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit?"
She just shook her head, a look of profound, weary disappointment on her face. "You Muggles and your little metal toys. You never learn."
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of scarlet light, and the gun was ripped from his grasp with the force of a physical blow. It flew across the room and clattered uselessly against the far wall. Pierce's hand stung, his breathing quickening as he felt the raw, undeniable touch of her magic for the first time. He slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Alright, Miss Wizard," he said, his mind racing. "My apologies. A professional habit. You understand."
"I understand that you sent a team of assassins to capture me," Hermione replied, her voice losing all its childish warmth, becoming as cold and hard as the grave. "Since you wanted to start a war, I'm here to give you one. Prepare to die."
She raised her wand, and its tip began to glow with a sickly, nauseating green light.
Pierce's professional calm finally shattered. The green light triggered something deep and primal in his agent's brain, a color associated in every briefing on anomalous phenomena with one, absolute certainty: instant, unavoidable death.
"Wait!" he shouted, genuine panic in his voice. This child is insane. She's not negotiating, she's just going straight for the kill! He had a dozen lies, a dozen contingency plans, but they were all useless if he was dead.
"I admit it!" he blurted out, his mind scrambling for a plausible narrative. "I sent them! But I did it to protect you! To protect the wizarding world!"
The green light at the tip of her wand dimmed slightly. She tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Explain."
She's listening, Pierce thought, a wave of relief washing over him. He launched into the most important sales pitch of his life. "Nick Fury is a reckless, dangerous man," he began, his voice taking on a tone of grave sincerity. "He sees you, he sees your world, as a weapon to be exploited. He wants to expose you, to militarize your magic. I know how he operates. Once he has all the information he wants, he will betray you."
"I, on the other hand," he continued, "understand the need for secrecy. The balance. I sent my men to bring you in, yes, but only to get you away from Fury's influence. To have a discreet conversation, to warn you before you revealed too much and started a war between our worlds that no one could win!"
It was a brilliant, masterful lie, woven from threads of truth and fear. He watched her face, looking for a sign that she was buying it. She had a thoughtful, troubled look on her face.
It's working, he thought, a surge of triumphant pride cutting through his fear.
"Okay," Hermione said finally, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I believe you. You're right. I'll be more careful around Director Fury from now on. I won't tell him any more secrets."
Success!
The thought had barely formed in his mind before it was followed by a new, horrifying realization. Wait. If she doesn't tell Fury any more secrets... she won't be telling ME any more secrets either. His brilliant lie had just permanently cut off HYDRA's only potential source of magical intelligence. He had played himself.
"Miss Wizard," he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, "how did you know it was me?"
"Your men told me, of course," she said with a shrug.
Pierce frowned. Impossible. His men were brainwashed fanatics. They would die before they talked.
"You're a wizard, Mr. Pierce," Hermione said, seeing his confusion. "Don't you know what a wizard can do?" She decided it was time for a demonstration.
"Imperio!"
The world dissolved. Alexander Pierce's consciousness, the very core of his identity, the will of the man who secretly commanded one of the most powerful and insidious organizations on the planet, was snuffed out like a candle flame. He was a passenger, a helpless ghost trapped behind the eyes of his own body, which now belonged to her.
"Let's see," Hermione's voice said, both outside and inside his head. "Tap dance for me."
"Yes, Professor," a voice he recognized as his own replied, his body moving with a strange, puppet-like grace. He began to dance. A clumsy, frantic, and utterly humiliating tap dance. He couldn't stop. He danced until his lungs burned and his legs ached, until he was drenched in sweat, a silent, screaming prisoner in his own skull.
With a flick of her wand, she released him. The world snapped back into focus. He collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs, not from the exertion, but from the sheer, soul-deep terror of having been so completely and utterly violated.
"Mind control," he breathed, staring at her with a new, horrified respect.
"The Imperius Curse," she corrected him cheerfully. "Very useful. One of your men was quite talkative after a bit of… persuasion. He mentioned a group called HYDRA. Is that some kind of special S.H.I.E.L.D. department?"
She was looking at him with a child's innocent curiosity, but her eyes were as cold and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. He knew, in that moment, that she already knew the answer.
"An internal secret," he managed to say, his voice hoarse.
"I see," she said. "He also mentioned that one of your agents got away. A woman who can walk through walls. A ghost." This was the real test. She was feeding him a piece of disinformation, and she wanted to see if he would take it.
Pierce's eyes moved slightly, a flicker of calculation. The Ghost is still loyal, he thought. Good. A valuable asset.
"As for your earlier lies," Hermione said, her voice turning hard again, "it's time for your punishment."
"Sectumsempra!"
The curse was a whisper. Pierce felt a sudden, cold draft on the side of his head. He reached up, and his hand came away wet and sticky with blood. He looked down and saw his own severed ear lying on the expensive Persian rug. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in his head.
"That is a warning," Hermione's voice said. She was gone. The air where she had been standing was empty. "Don't ever send your men after me again, Mr. Pierce. Next time, I won't be so gentle."
Alexander Pierce was left alone in his silent, luxurious penthouse, bleeding on the floor, his mind a wreck of terror, humiliation, and a new, all-consuming, and obsessive desire. He had to have that power. He had to control it.
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