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"Next time, wait until I've had a proper rest, Granger. I promise I will wipe that smug look off your face." Tom Riddle said, his voice a low hiss, laden with exhausted, wounded pride.
Hermione just smirked. She knew he wouldn't. His arrogance was monumental, but his skill was matched only by hers. He was already the most formidable duelist in Hogwarts, but she had the advantage of knowing his playbook, and the magical equivalent of an overclocked processor.
"It's not my fault you haven't figured out how to counter the non-verbal Levicorpus yet, Tom," she teased. "You just haven't practiced enough."
Tom's face darkened. He hated being teased. He hated being shown up. And he hated that she was right. How can she just look at my magic and master it completely? The ease with which she absorbed complex dark spells was a constant source of frustration and bewildering awe.
"No, I just haven't used my full strength yet," he muttered stubbornly.
"Of course not," Hermione agreed. She shifted the subject. "How is Lockhart's training coming along?"
Tom's expression shifted to one of profound, aristocratic disdain. "That fool. He has the talent, I'll grant him that—a natural Ravenclaw aptitude for charm work. But his mind is consumed by vanity and cowardice."
He paused, a cruel, satisfied smile touching his lips. "I had to cast a few successive Cruciatus Curses to correct his motivation. Now he practices diligently. He's obsessed with Obliviate, though. He keeps saying 'Obliviate, Obliviate, damn Obliviate!' It's maddening. I'm trying to teach him offensive dark magic, and all he cares about is erasing his past mistakes."
Hermione nodded, unsurprised. Lockhart's chosen defense against reality was perfectly in line with his self-delusional nature.
"He's strong enough now," she said, her voice becoming practical. "If he needs to step up against a small-time dark wizard, he won't be killed. Good work, Tom."
Tom flushed slightly at the praise, but his arrogance immediately reasserted itself. "Don't call me 'Xiao Fu.' It's demeaning. It makes me sound like a side character."
"Understood, Tom Marvolo Riddle," she said slowly, savoring the name.
"Just Tom," he sighed, giving up the struggle.
Hermione was about to continue their strategy session when a sudden, chaotic idea struck her. She didn't want Tom here anymore; she needed a disposable asset in the Marvel world.
With a series of swift, silent spells, she performed the summoning ritual. The scene in the Room of Requirement shimmered. From the core of the blank diary Horcrux she had forged from the Diadem, a new figure materialized, solidifying into the perfectly coiffed, charming, and somewhat bland form of a 16-year-old boy. The only difference was the look in his eyes: this Tom was completely subservient.
"I have a mission for you," Hermione said to the new asset. "Go play in New York. You get to experience the new world. Use your magic. And don't disappoint me."
She turned to the original Tom. "I'm sending him to New York. Consider it his sabbatical."
Tom's eyes narrowed, but he was intrigued. "The Earth? He'll be a good distraction. You're not worried about him being exposed?"
"Exposure is inevitable," Hermione said with a shrug. "But he'll be adding some much-needed chaos to the timeline."
The new Tom vanished through a quick Portal Charm. And in her mind, a profound, chilling realization dawned. The soul energy. She checked her grimoire. If the second Tom fights and kills, the soul energy doesn't go to him. It goes to the source of his power. It goes to me.
She had just created a disposable, magically powerful, and highly effective soul harvester. She no longer had to risk her own life fighting street gangs for meager rewards. She could outsource the Dark Harvest.
A satisfied, cold smile curved her lips. The fastest path to Level 5.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of her S.H.I.E.L.D. phone.
She looked at the caller ID and sighed. The Boiled Egg is back.
"I'm busy, Fury," she said, her voice laced with impatience.
Fury's voice on the other end was tight, strained, and devoid of its usual professional reserve. "Miss Wizard, thank God you answered. We have a problem. A major one. It involves the most important item in our inventory. It was stolen last night from the deep-level facility."
"Oh? What's missing?" Hermione asked casually, already knowing the answer.
Fury took a deep, shaky breath, the sound of the Triskelion's alarms faint in the background. "The Cosmic Cube."
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