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Skye sat on the edge of the lab counter, her legs swinging, secretly observing the team dynamics.
Something was off. The way everyone treated Hermione was... strange. It was a mix of deference, fear, and awe. It was the way people looked at a ticking nuclear bomb that also happened to be a celebrity.
Even Coulson, who usually had the calm demeanor of a man who had seen everything, seemed reserved. He treated Hermione not like a teenage consultant, but like a visiting head of state.
Who exactly is this little girl? Skye wondered, narrowing her eyes.
At first, she thought Hermione was just a genius scientist, maybe a Doogie Howser type. But then she overheard snippets of conversation. "Celestial Convergence." "Nine Realms." "Spatial tearing."
These weren't virology terms. These were... sci-fi terms.
Skye's hacker instincts flared. She lived for uncovering secrets. The more redacted the file, the more she wanted to read it. She had dug into the Avengers after New York; she could certainly crack the mystery of one British teenager.
Hmph, Skye thought, crossing her arms. I refuse to believe I can't uncover your identity!
She tried asking the others.
"Hey, Simmons," Skye whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "I can tell from the accent. You're both British. She came to save you personally. Is she your cousin? The secret rich one?"
Simmons rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "I wish! If she were my cousin, I'd wake up laughing every morning. Do you know what kind of grant money I could get? I could ask for a Vibranium centrifuge and Director Fury would personally deliver it!"
Skye pursed her lips. Dead end.
She turned to Ward. "Ward, you said you took classes with her. What did she teach? Advanced Calculus? Quantum Mechanics?"
Ward looked at her, seeing through the clumsy interrogation instantly. "She taught... survival," he said cryptically. "And how not to die."
Skye's eyes lit up. A professor at S.H.I.E.L.D. academy? At her age?
She turned to May. "May, you know everything. Who is she?"
May glanced at her, her face a stone mask. "Don't ask."
Skye: "..."
Fine, she thought, gritting her teeth. If you won't tell me, I'll go to the source.
She marched over to the corner where Hermione was lounging on a swivel chair, reading a book titled Advanced Potion Making and eating gummy bears.
"Hey, little sister," Skye said, sitting down next to her with a dazzling smile. She casually reached into the bag and took a handful of candy. "How old are you? You look young to be consulting for S.H.I.E.L.D."
The rest of the team watched in silence. They saw the trap. They saw the lion. And they saw the hacker walking right into the den.
Hermione glanced up, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She didn't deflect. She didn't hide. She just smiled.
"Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway," Hermione quipped. "And you? You look like you've lived a lot of life for someone in a van."
Skye blinked. And then, somehow, the tables turned.
It started with a simple question about Skye's laptop. Then her hacking. Then her background. Before Skye knew what was happening, she was spilling her entire life story like beans from a torn bag.
She talked about the orphanage. The nuns. The foster homes that sent her back. The search for her parents. The Rising Tide.
She gesticulated wildly, laughing and sharing her deepest traumas with a girl she had met ten minutes ago.
Coulson and May watched from the observation deck, shaking their heads.
"She's good," Coulson noted. "The Witch, I mean. She has Skye spilling state secrets just by listening."
"Skye thinks she's the interrogator," May sighed. "She has no idea she's the subject."
Late Night.
When the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping agents filled the Bus, Hermione stood up. She checked her watch.
Time to go.
She didn't use the door. She simply turned on her heel.
CRACK.
The air pressure in the plane dropped for a microsecond as she vanished.
Hogwarts. The Next Morning.
Hermione reappeared in the second-floor girls' bathroom, smoothing her robes. It was a Hogsmeade weekend.
In the Entrance Hall, Filch was checking permission slips with the glee of a petty tyrant. Professor McGonagall stood by the doors, counting heads.
Harry Potter stood forlornly to the side. He didn't have a signed slip. The Dursleys would sooner sign his death warrant than a permission form.
Hermione walked past him, leaning in close. "Don't you have an Invisibility Cloak, Harry?" she whispered. "And the Marauder's Map? Use your head."
Harry's eyes lit up. He nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Hogsmeade Village.
The village was a postcard of winter magic. Snow covered the thatched roofs of the cottages. The air smelled of woodsmoke and butterbeer. Students filled the streets, their laughter echoing against the cold.
Hermione strolled down the High Street, her hands in her pockets, taking in the sights.
"Isn't this the place where that fifth-year transfer student used ancient magic to throw trolls?" she mused, thinking of a certain video game.
Suddenly, her grimoire buzzed against her mental shields.
[Spell Detected] [Transfiguration: Animagus (Canine)]
Hermione stopped. Her eyes narrowed.
Well, well. Look who decided to show up.
She ducked into a narrow alleyway between the Hog's Head and a shop selling magical quills.
In the shadows, a large, gaunt black dog paced nervously. Its fur was matted, its ribs showing through its skin. It sniffed the air, confused.
Strange, the dog thought. Where did she go?
Sirius Black, currently in his Padfoot form, had been tailing the girl. He had been watching her since she left the castle. She moved with a confidence that unnerved him. And now, she had vanished.
Did she spot me? Impossible. I'm an Animagus. My stealth is perfect.
He circled the alley, sniffing the cobblestones. Nothing.
Just then, a soft, purring voice rang out from the top of a barrel behind him.
"Are you looking for me, puppy?"
The big black dog spun around, his claws scrabbling on the stone.
Perched on the barrel was a sleek, elegant black cat. Its fur was midnight dark, but its eyes—piercing, intelligent emerald green—stared straight into his soul.
The cat jumped down, landing silently on the snow. It walked toward him with a graceful, predatory gait.
I wondered who it was, the cat thought, but it turned out to be Snuffles.
Sirius froze. The intelligence in those cat eyes was unmistakable.
"Hermione Granger?" the dog barked—a low, guttural sound that twisted into human speech as he shifted back? No, he stayed in dog form, communicating through intent. You?
The black cat didn't speak. It simply nodded, its whiskers twitching.
You... you're an Animagus too? Sirius's thought projected, filled with shock. A third-year? Illegal?
Suddenly, the cat blurred. In a fluid motion, Hermione shifted back into her human form, standing tall in her winter cloak.
"Sirius Black," she said, her voice cool and amused. "The infamous mass murderer. The Azkaban escapee. Why aren't you looking for Harry Potter? Why are you stalking me?"
The dog growled low in its throat, then blurred and shifted. A gaunt, ragged man stood before her. His hair was long and matted, his face skull-like, but his grey eyes burned with a fierce, desperate light.
"I want to see what kind of people Harry's friends are," Sirius rasped, his voice unused to human speech.
He had heard the rumors. Even in hiding, news traveled. The Witch. The girl who leveled the Ministry.
Harry was his godson. Sirius was happy Harry had powerful friends, but he was also terrified. He knew what power did to people. He had seen it with Peter. He had seen it with Voldemort.
"You are dangerous," Sirius said, stepping closer, looming over her. "More dangerous than anyone at that school. I need to know if you are a threat to him."
Hermione didn't flinch. She looked up at the wasted man, a small, mocking smile playing on her lips.
"Even if I am dangerous, Sirius," she asked softly, tilting her head, "what exactly can you do about it?"
She took a step forward, her eyes flashing.
"Do you want to fight me, old man?"