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Loki's handsome face, still smudged with soot from the explosions, contorted into a mask of cold, regal fury. "Why," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "are you laughing?"
Hermione finally managed to get her hysterical laughter under control, wiping a tear from her eye. She looked at the God of Mischief, at his grand ambitions and his profound, arrogant ignorance, and she couldn't help but feel a flicker of pity.
"I'm laughing at you, you frog in a well," she said, her voice dripping with an amused condescension. "You look at this world, this little blue dot, and you see a prize to be conquered. You have no idea. You have no idea what is sleeping here." She took a step closer, her expression turning serious. "Let me tell you something, Prince of Asgard. This world is a graveyard of empires far older and more powerful than your father's. If Odin himself were to descend from his golden throne, he would not dare to speak of ruling this Earth. And you… you are not your father."
Loki was about to retort, to unleash a torrent of princely rage, when he saw her glance up at the empty, star-filled sky. She raised a finger to her lips, and mouthed a single, silent word.
Heimdall.
Loki froze, his blood running cold. She knew. She knew about the All-Seeing gatekeeper of Asgard.
With a series of quiet, intricate waves of her wand, Hermione began to weave a complex web of privacy charms, her magic a shimmering, invisible dome that settled over them. "Protego Totalum. Muffliato." The faint whisper of the desert wind was silenced. They were now completely and utterly alone.
"Alright," she said. "Now we can talk."
Loki stared at her, his mind racing. The power to so casually blind the eyes of Asgard… this mortal child was something else entirely. His initial, arrogant plan was dead. A new one was forming. "It seems," he said, his voice now a low, seductive purr, "that you know far more than any Midgardian should. If that is the case, then our cooperation is not just advantageous; it is destined."
"Cooperation is not impossible," Hermione conceded, crossing her arms. "But you have yet to answer a simple question. Why should I help you?"
"Because we have a common enemy," Loki said, a cold, genuine hatred entering his voice. "Odin, who cast me out. And Thor, the golden son who has always stood in my light. He has a throne that should be mine." He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with a manipulative fire. "And you. A being of your power, of your knowledge… are you truly content to live on this… this ball of dirt? Don't you feel suffocated by these insignificant mortals?"
"I don't want a kingdom of Muggles, Loki," she said, cutting through his generic temptations. "I want knowledge. I want access to Asgard's libraries, to your father's vault. I want the secrets of magic your people have long forgotten. Help me acquire that, and I will help you with your little family drama."
Loki's smile returned, wider and more genuine this time. A deal based on pure, transactional greed. This, he understood. This was a language he could speak.
A few days later, Hermione found Thor in the small, dusty New Mexico town. The rage and despair were gone from his eyes, replaced by a quiet, simple contentment. He was sitting at an outdoor cafe with Jane Foster, the two of them laughing, their heads close together. He was, for the first time in his long life, happy.
"Thor," Hermione said, walking up to their table.
"Hermione!" he said, his face breaking into a wide, welcoming grin. "What brings you here?"
"Just checking in on you," she said with a smile. "How are you finding mortal life?"
"It is… peaceful," Thor said, and he put an arm around Jane's shoulders. "And I have met Jane. She is a very good woman."
Jane blushed, a mixture of embarrassment and pride. She recognized Hermione from the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. "Hello," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Jane Foster."
"Hermione Granger," she replied, shaking it. "A… colleague of Thor's."
"Hermione is a Midgardian witch," Thor explained proudly.
"Wizard!" Hermione corrected automatically.
Jane's eyes widened with a scientist's insatiable curiosity. "A real witch? You can do… magic?" She was practically vibrating with a desire for a demonstration.
Hermione just smiled and turned back to Thor. "So, this is your plan now? To stay here forever? As a mortal?"
"What is wrong with that?" Thor asked, a defensive tone in his voice. "Life here is good. Quiet. And I have Jane." He looked at her, his eyes full of a simple, honest affection.
"Nothing is wrong with it," Hermione shrugged. "It's a perfectly fine life." She paused, her expression turning serious. "I'm just afraid others won't give you the chance to live it."
Before Thor could ask what she meant, a sound like tearing thunder ripped through the sky. A brilliant, multi-colored column of light slammed into the desert on the outskirts of the town.
"The Bifrost!" Thor gasped, his face a mask of shock and confusion.
The light faded, leaving four figures standing in a circle of scorched, rune-etched earth. They were clad in Asgardian armor, their weapons drawn.
"Sif!" Thor breathed. "Fandral! Hogun! Volstagg!"
"Thor!" Lady Sif's voice was a cry of pure relief. "We have found you!"
"You must come back with us," Fandral urged. "Asgard needs you."
"What has happened?" Thor demanded, a cold dread washing over him.
"Your father is not dead!" Sif said, the words a torrent of frantic energy. "He is in the Odinsleep! Loki has deceived you! He has taken the throne!"
"Impossible," Thor whispered, his world crumbling around him. "Loki… why?"
"It was he who let the Frost Giants into Asgard!" Hogun added, his face grim. "He ruined your coronation. It was all a trick to get you banished!"
As Thor stood there, reeling from the weight of his brother's betrayal, a new sound, louder and more violent than the first, tore through the sky. A second Bifrost blast, this one a pillar of pure, white-hot energy, slammed into the center of the town's main street.
BOOM.
The ground shook. Dust and debris flew into the air. And as the light faded, a new figure was revealed. It was a giant, ten feet tall, forged from a gleaming, silver metal that seemed to drink the light. It stood silent and motionless, its face a smooth, featureless visor from which a single, ominous red light began to glow. It was not a soldier. It was a weapon. A golem. A destroyer.
And its gaze was fixed directly on the Son of Odin.