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Hermione stormed into the Director's office at the Triskelion, the automated doors hissing open before she even reached them. She was in a mood.
"Director," she announced, skipping the pleasantries. "We have a problem."
Nick Fury was sitting behind his desk, reviewing a stack of digital files. He looked up, his expression one of mild, practiced patience. "Miss Wizard. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did Stark run out of donuts again?"
"Don't play dumb," Hermione snapped, marching up to the desk and planting her hands on the cool, glass surface. "The materials. The shipment you promised to deliver to Stark Tower yesterday. It never arrived."
Fury blinked. A flicker of genuine confusion crossed his face. "Materials?" he asked. Then, as if searching a mental database, his expression cleared. "Ah. The magical samples. Yes. Of course. The bureau has been… chaotic. It must have slipped through the cracks. I'll have someone look into it immediately."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
It was a small thing. A clerical error. S.H.I.E.L.D. was a massive bureaucracy; things got lost. But something was wrong. The Nick Fury she knew—the paranoid, hyper-competent spymaster—didn't forget payments to his most valuable, volatile assets. He didn't make excuses; he made results.
She tilted her head, studying him. His posture was slightly off. The tension in his shoulders was different. And he hadn't instinctively reached for the panic button the moment she walked in unannounced.
"Is that so?" she murmured. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. "By the way, Director. Someone here really missed you."
With a casual flick of her wrist, she opened her bag. "Goose! Come say hello to Daddy."
A chubby, orange blur shot out of the bag and landed on the desk with a heavy thump. Goose the Flerken stretched, yawned, and looked at the man in the chair.
"Meow."
The reaction was instantaneous and visceral.
Fury's eye widened in a way Hermione had never seen before. He recoiled, physically shoving his chair backward, his hands scrambling for purchase on the armrests. His face went a shade of pale grey. It wasn't the wary respect he usually showed the cat; it was sheer, primal terror.
"How…" he stammered, his voice trembling, "how did you bring that thing in here?"
Hermione's smile vanished. The air in the office grew heavy and cold, crackling with ozone.
"That thing?" she repeated softly. "Nick Fury loves this cat. He finds it annoying, sure, but he trusts it."
In a blur of motion, her wand was in her hand, the tip glowing with a menacing blue light, pointed directly between the Director's eyes.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice a low growl. "And what have you done with the Boiled Egg?"
Beads of sweat broke out on the man's forehead. He raised his hands, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle and fake. "Miss Granger, please. Put the stick down. I'm Nick Fury. Who else would I be? You're letting your imagination run away with you."
"Am I?" Hermione sneered. "You're terrified of the Flerken because you know what it did to your eye last time. But the real Fury wears that scar like a badge of honor. You're acting like prey."
She didn't wait for an answer. She flicked her wand.
"Levicorpus!"
The man was yanked from his chair by an invisible hook around his ankle. He dangled upside down in the middle of the office, flailing helplessly, his leather coat flapping around his ears.
"Let me down!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
Seeing that the jig was up, he managed to reach a hand under the desk and slam it against the silent alarm.
WOOP-WOOP-WOOP!
Klaxons began to blare throughout the Triskelion. Red emergency lights bathed the office in a blood-colored glow. Within seconds, the heavy doors burst open.
Brock Rumlow, aka Crossbones, led the charge, an assault rifle tucked tight against his shoulder, followed by a squad of armored S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical agents. They swept the room, weapons raised.
"Freeze!" Rumlow barked.
Then he saw the scene. The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was hanging upside down from the ceiling like a side of beef. Standing beneath him was the small, terrifying consultant, looking absolutely furious.
Rumlow lowered his weapon slightly, confused. "Miss Wizard? What's the situation?"
"Oh no, Little Bone!" Hermione cried out, pointing a tragic finger at the dangling man. "The Boiled Egg has been captured! This isn't him! It's a monster in a Fury suit!"
Rumlow stared at her. Little Bone? He hated that nickname. "What?"
"Miss Wizard, you are out of line!" the upside-down Fury shouted, his face turning purple from the blood rushing to his head. "Rumlow! Arrest her! That's a direct order!"
Rumlow looked from the girl who could turn him into a newt to the boss who was currently defying gravity. He was a HYDRA agent; self-preservation was his primary directive. He hesitated.
"Step aside."
Natasha Romanoff appeared in the doorway, her face grim, a Glock 19 in her hand. She took in the scene instantly—Hermione's anger, the hanging Director, the terrified cat on the desk. She raised her weapon and aimed it, not at Hermione, but at Fury.
"Natasha!" the man pleaded. "Don't listen to her! It's me! Budapest! Remember? I sent Barton to pull you out! We hid in the ventilation shafts for three days!"
He rattled off mission details, clearance codes, personal anecdotes. It was a perfect recitation of Nick Fury's life.
Natasha hesitated, her finger tightening on the trigger. The intel was good. Too good.
"Sorry," she said, her eyes hardening. "But I trust her instincts more than your memory."
Hermione nodded. "Smart choice, Sister Natasha." She turned back to the imposter. "Now. Let's see what's under the mask."
"Aparecium!"
A wave of shimmering, revealing magic washed over the hanging man. For a moment, his image flickered like a bad television signal. Then, with a wet, squelching sound, his skin seemed to ripple and dissolve. The black leather coat remained, but the man inside it changed. His skin turned a rough, pebbled green. His ears grew pointed. His chin became ridged.
The Nick Fury disguise melted away, revealing a Skrull.
"What the…" Rumlow breathed, stepping back in genuine shock. Aliens? In the Director's office? Under our noses?
"Skrulls," Hermione said with a look of profound disgust. "Shapeshifters. Nasty habit of replacing people."
"Secure him!" Rumlow barked, his shock turning into professional aggression. His team swarmed forward, grabbing the alien as Hermione released the spell, dropping him to the floor.
"Thank you, Miss Wizard," Rumlow said, and this time, the gratitude was real. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised by aliens, HYDRA was compromised. And HYDRA didn't like sharing its host.
"You're welcome, Bonesy," she chirped.
Rumlow grimaced but didn't correct her.
Ten minutes later, the real Nick Fury stormed into the office, looking disheveled and furious. He had been alerted by Talos's panic signal.
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, striding through the door.
Hermione ran up to him immediately. "Lu Dan! You're safe!" she exclaimed. "I just saved your agency! There was a green goblin alien pretending to be you! It was terrifying! If I hadn't been here, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been taken over!"
Fury stopped dead. He looked at the chaos. He looked at the confusion on his agents' faces. And he realized, with a sinking feeling in his gut, exactly what had happened.
Talos.
Hermione had exposed his secret, deep-cover ally. She had outed the existence of Skrulls to the general S.H.I.E.L.D. population—and by extension, to HYDRA.
He looked at her. She was beaming at him, a look of pure, innocent helpfulness on her face. But in her eyes, he saw a cold, hard glint.
She knows, he realized. She knows about the Skrulls. She hates aliens. This wasn't an accident. This was a purge.
He couldn't defend Talos. Not here. Not in front of Rumlow and Romanoff. He had to play the part. He had to pretend to be the victim of an infiltration he had authorized himself.
"An… imposter," he said, the words tasting like ash. "In my own office."
"It's a good thing I have such sharp eyes," Hermione said, petting Goose, who was now purring happily in her arms. "You really need to work on your security, Director. It's getting sloppy."
Fury took a deep breath, swallowing the scream of frustration building in his throat. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice tight. "You have… done us a great service today. S.H.I.E.L.D. thanks you."
"You're welcome!" she said. "Now, about those materials you forgot to send…"
"They'll be at the Tower within the hour," Fury promised, just wanting her out of his sight so he could do damage control.
He watched her leave, skipping through a portal with his cat, and rubbed his temples. He had thought he could use her. He had thought he could control the wizard. But every time they met, she reminded him that in this game, he wasn't the player. He was just another piece on the board.
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