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The emerald light of the Time Stone flared as Stephen Strange pulled his comrades back through the collapsing timeline. Hermione watched the reality fracture, the strange light blinding her eyes, but her mind was faster than the magic. A powerful, invasive Legilimency spell, cast without incantation, tore into the fleeing minds of the future Avengers.
The contact was chaotic and brief. A searing spike of pain, a violent cascade of fragmented images she couldn't fully process: Tony's weeping face, a city that was dust, a dark, starless void, and a recurring, deep-seated fear focused on a mysterious sphere.
The emerald light vanished. She was alone in the alley again, surrounded by the remnants of the Chitauri invasion. She rubbed her temples, a dull, agonizing throb echoing behind her eyes. The Legilimency had failed, blocked by Strange's superior command of the Time Stone, but she had gotten what she needed.
They came back to kill me, she thought, the realization cold and absolute. And they're terrified that I'll find a ball.
She focused on the mystery object. This sphere. It must be something extraordinary to make fourteen million possible futures so unstable. It's the key. Her next great project wasn't about saving the universe; it was about finding the one thing her future self had desired so much that her death was deemed necessary for cosmic survival.
She sighed, pushing the cosmic terror aside. The present-day Avengers were returning, confused and tired. She quickly smoothed her face into a pleasant, unconcerned mask.
Tony, Steve, and Banner returned to the alley one by one, looking exhausted and profoundly disturbed by her silence. She simply shook her head, dismissing their concern with a tight, sweet smile.
"Right," Tony said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to return to normalcy. "I need something to eat. I know a place. It's a shawarma barbecue joint two blocks from here. Best damn shawarma in New York. We deserve comfort food."
They walked through the wreckage of the city. The contrast was startling: huge office towers were reduced to skeletal shells, the streets were choked with debris, but there, standing miraculously intact amidst the apocalypse, was a small, neon-lit storefront: the Shawarma Palace.
The owner, Uncle Sal (Erwin), was bent over, wearily sweeping shattered glass from the entrance. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, his face grim. "We're closed today, folks," he muttered. "The city's a mess…"
His voice stopped dead. He saw the girl standing in front, and his expression crumpled into one of profound, honest-to-God relief and joy.
"Hermione! Hermione, why are you here?!"
Hermione smiled, a genuine, warm smile this time. "Hi, Uncle Sal. Long time no see. I brought some friends for shawarma."
The Avengers, standing behind her, were stunned. Tony looked from the small, messy shop to his formidable, magic-wielding consultant.
"Wait," Tony said, pointing a finger at her, then at Sal. "You… you two know each other?"
"Yes, she knows him," Sal boomed, his worries forgotten. "She worked here two years ago! I'm telling you, you have no idea how popular the store was when Hermione was here! Customers would line up for blocks just to get the shawarma she rolled herself!" He sighed dramatically. "A crying shame. The business hasn't been the same since you went off to that fancy school."
The Avengers exchanged silent, utterly bewildered glances. The woman who had just vaporized a Chitauri army and transfigured a nuclear missile was their friend's former minimum-wage employee.
"You're… the shawarma girl?" Tony asked, his jaw dropping.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a flicker of amusement crossed her face. "What else? The Hogwarts kitchen staff are terrible. I had to learn to cook if I wanted to survive. So yes, Tony, I was the legendary Shawarma Girl." She leaned in. "And you better be nice to me, or I'll put ten whole, raw tomatoes in your shawarma."
The Avengers burst into tired, grateful laughter.
Sal, watching the interaction, was now having his own mental breakdown. He looked from the battered red-and-gold armor to the man he recognized as Tony Stark. He looked at the giant with the hammer (Thor). He looked at the green-skinned scientist (Banner). And he looked at the quiet, small girl who commanded them all.
His eyes widened in a fresh wave of horror and realization. He put his trembling hand over his mouth.
"Could it be… Hermione," he stammered, his voice choked with awe, "you are the… the Wizard Lady?"
Hermione, now wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, a stark contrast to her battle robes, simply nodded.
"The one who saved the city with the lightning and the fire? The one everyone is talking about?"
"The one and only," Hermione confirmed. The genius, the strategist, the owner of a small, hidden, magical empire. And, yes, the best shawarma roller in Midtown.