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Hermione bit back a sigh. Fine. Whatever. It wasn't her spy agency, and it wasn't her funeral when HYDRA eventually blew it up from the inside.
Fury, of course, had his reasons. Natasha and Coulson were her established handlers; their relationship was already forming. Using them for this initial, introductory phase would be a waste of their specialized skills. More importantly, they, along with Maria Hill, were his most trusted operatives, his right and left hands. They had their own missions, their own fires to put out across the globe. He couldn't spare them to babysit a group of students, no matter how important the subject matter.
The agents themselves were a picture of professional confusion. One minute, they were being pulled from active duty for a top-secret, eyes-only briefing. The next, they were standing in a cavernous training room, being told their new instructor was a twelve-year-old girl in a strange, theatrical costume.
"From today forward," Fury's voice boomed, echoing in the sterile, white room, "you are the inaugural class of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new Division of Arcane and Esoteric Studies. You will form the backbone of our future response team for supernatural and mystical threats."
He gestured toward Hermione. "This is your instructor, Consultant Granger. For the duration of this class, her authority is absolute. She has been granted provisional Level Nine clearance. You will address her as 'Professor' and you will obey her every command without question. Is that clear?"
A wave of stunned, disbelieving silence was his only answer. Level Nine? That was Hill's level. It was a rank that put this child on par with the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. It was insane.
Seeing their confusion, Fury elaborated. "She is going to show you another side of the world. She is going to teach you about magic."
If they were stunned before, they were utterly flabbergasted now. Magic? They were soldiers and spies, men of science and steel. They dealt with super-soldiers and alien technology, things that, while extraordinary, still operated within a recognizable, if advanced, set of physical laws. Magic was the stuff of fairy tales and cheap stage shows.
"Hello, everyone!" Hermione chirped, waving a cheerful little hand. "My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a witch, and I've been invited by the Boiled Egg here to be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new consultant on all things mysterious." She gave a little bow. "It's a pleasure to be your teacher!"
Fury's one good eye twitched violently at the nickname. A few of the agents, Clint Barton included, had to physically bite their lips to keep from laughing. The sheer, audacious disrespect was a work of art.
But then her other words sunk in. Witch. Today was not April Fool's Day. If it weren't for the fact that Nick Fury himself was standing there, his expression as serious as a heart attack, they would have walked out of the room.
Hermione saw the skepticism, the barely concealed contempt on their faces. She sighed. It was always the same with Muggles. They needed a demonstration.
Without a word, she made a slow, deliberate clenching motion with her hand.
"Gravitas."
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. It felt as if the planet's gravity had suddenly multiplied by a factor of ten. The six elite, highly-trained agents were slammed to the floor as if struck by an invisible hammer. They hit the reinforced concrete with a series of sickening, bone-jarring thuds.
Brock Rumlow, a man who could bench-press a small car, grunted, the veins on his neck bulging as he tried to push himself up. It was useless. It felt as if a mountain had been dropped on his back. The pressure intensified, and the air was filled with the horrifying, creaking sound of their own skeletons protesting under the immense, unnatural weight. A slow trickle of blood began to seep from their noses.
"Consultant!" Fury yelled, a note of genuine panic in his voice. He needed them intimidated, not pulverized.
"Hmph," Hermione grunted, and with a flick of her wrist, the spell was lifted.
"If it weren't for the Boiled Egg's feelings, I wouldn't bother wasting my free time teaching a bunch of ignorant Muggles," she said, her hands on her hips, her expression that of a deeply annoyed and powerful teacher.
The agents struggled to their feet, gasping for air, their bodies aching, their minds reeling. They looked at the small girl, and the skepticism was gone, replaced by a deep, primal fear. One moment, they were the most dangerous men in the room. The next, they had been utterly, effortlessly incapacitated by a child's gesture.
The bald man, Jasper Sitwell, a creature of pure, sycophantic opportunism, was the first to recover. He quickly straightened his suit, wiped the blood from his nose, and gave Hermione a low, respectful bow. "Professor," he said, his voice laced with a newfound sincerity, "it is an honor to be in your class. We were ignorant. Please, forgive our presumption."
Hermione looked at the small, bald man with the gold-rimmed glasses and nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. See? she thought. HYDRA agents have much better manners. "Not bad, Agent Yi," she said, patting his shoulder.
"Uh… my name is Jasper Sitwell, Professor."
"I know, Agent Yi," she replied with a sweet smile.
Fury just sighed. At least she's establishing authority, he thought, trying to ignore the fact that every time he saw her, she revealed a new, terrifyingly powerful spell he had no defense against.
"Right then," Hermione said, her tone all business. "I'll be giving you two textbooks. Read them thoroughly. There will be a test." She reached for the small, unassuming schoolbag at her feet. "Now, where did I put them…"
The agents watched, their professional composure still in tatters. It was a tiny little bag; you could see it was practically empty. If she forgot them, she could just say so, Ward thought. Why the theatrics?
Then, to their utter astonishment, Hermione upended the bag and began to shake it violently. A single book fell out. Then another. Then a large, bubbling cauldron that clanged loudly on the floor. Then a flying broomstick. Then a potted plant. Then a pillow, a chessboard, a stack of clothes, and a dozen clinking glass vials.
In less than ten seconds, a mountain of junk, taller than she was, had piled up on the pristine floor of the training room. Fury, who had seen her do impossible things all day, just stared, his mind finally, truly broken. Is that a four-dimensional pocket? And why does she keep a cauldron in her schoolbag?!
"Wuwuwu…" a muffled sound came from the pile. Hermione's entire upper body had disappeared into the mountain of her own possessions, only her two legs kicking wildly in the air.
Just as Clint was about to step forward to help, she struggled free, gasping for air, her hair a mess. "Phew," she said, wiping her brow. "Almost suffocated."
Then, she raised two slim, leather-bound books high in the air, a look of pure, triumphant joy on her face.
"Found them!"