Chapter Text
There is only so much that magic can fix – and technology most definitely is not something that it can. For whatever reason, putting tech and magic together is like oil and water – it simply doesn't mix. Or, rather, like oil and fire – it is rather combustible.
Oh, certain steps can be taken to make technology magic-hardened. But no amount of 'reparo's can save a dropped laptop, a wonky power supply, a snapped cable, or any other of the myriad things that can go wrong with technology. And that is why most non-muggle don't care to experiment with technology – it is just too bloody fussy.
But the lack of technology is a huge hurdle for Hogwarts. Getting in muggle-born students who were raised with it for the better part of their life. Parents who expect to be able to reach their spawn with a quick text, or a simple phone call. Friends who question why there is no email or texts for the better part of a year.
Hermione shook her head, interrupting her own thoughts as she stared at the computer in front of her.
Finally the old bats on the school board had bowed to the passing of ages – and, she thought with a laugh, her continued insistence that they needed a computer lab. But, hah! The joke ended up being on her, after all. She looked around the room, and shook her head in disgust. Such a simple problem. She knew how to fix it, oh yes she did. But here? Her beloved Hogwarts was forsaking her. Too many hardening wards, and the signal couldn't get in. Too few, and the wires blew every time she plugged in the router.
She stared blankly at the monitor. Oh, they worked fine as is, with hardening wards around every single piece of equipment. But fine wasn't good enough. The point wasn't for the students to have access to solitaire. The goal was to allow them access to the world wide web, to get them thinking about innovation and techomancy.
Hah! Hermione scooted her chair back. Could Technomancy even be counted as a science, as a specialized magic, even? How could it, when she was the only one even willing to experiment?
Even Harry thought her silly. And Ron? Ron had flat out called her a crazy witch, along with some other choice insults. By his way of thinking, archaic as it was, she should be kept barefoot and pregnant, chained to the kitchen. Pregnant? Her? Oh, she liked brats. In the abstract. She wouldn't be teaching Muggle Studies if she didn't. And she loved, just loved, watching little Teddy for Harry.
But Brats of her own? No. She liked giving them back after she had her fill. She liked being the doting aunt. Oh, she knew that one day, one day, she would meet the right man, but… Ron was obviously not her Mr. Right.
Hermione shook her head once more, and pushed her chair back as she stood up. Enough. She was rambling. Time to get out of the castle, and clear her head.
With a yawn, she slowly ambled over to her desk, where her scarf and coat where tossed aimlessly when she had came in from chaperoning the latest Hogsmeade trip. Then she had a thought, as she was pulling on her coat. What time was it, anyways? She felt like she had been working all day.
As soon as her coat was pulled on, and her hair tucked under the hat kept in its' pocket, she pulled out her wand.
“Tempus.” She muttered, keeping a close eye on the computers behind her. When she was satisfied nothing had exploded, she then turned to the floating numbers. Her eyes slowly widened. Bloody hell. Was it really nearing midnight? That meant she had been in her work daze for almost six hours. No wonder she was sore.
With a sigh, she left her classroom, and locked up, preparing to trudge across the grounds in the cold. But she couldn't help but smile as she looked back. She had made some changes, in he ten years since the war, since she had took this nice, quiet, peaceful position. Her classroom was one, and was her pride and joy.
Well… She said classroom. Not exactly. Not just a classroom. Her muggle studies curriculum was… varied. And vast. The classroom was a tower of its' own, newly built for the purpose when she had tired of the clutter and mess involved in just one room. A workshop for tinkering, one for muggle cooking, one for devices, an actual classroom, and a few extra rooms. She even had a suite at the very top, not that she used it. It was… too quiet. No, she bunked with Luna. The blonde had, after the war, taken over Care of Magical Creatures from Hagrid when he had retired.
One day, out of the blue, the petite woman had asked Hermione gently when would she finally move her things? And well, that was that. Neither had ever found their prince charming – Neville had gotten with Draco Malfoy, after the war, and wasn't that a shock? - but both were happy relying on only themselves and each other. Sure, sometimes Luna would make pointed comments about Hermione needing to wander to find her superman, but Hermione passed that off on all the Smallville and other mindless American telly they watched. And perhaps a bit of the classic and new Doctor Who episodes they binged on.
Hermione laughed as she found her feet had traveled the well-worn path to their cottage without her knowing. She blew in the door, along with a gust of cold wind, an apology on her lips.
Then she saw, saw Luna, and her laughter died. The blonde… wasn't smiling. Wasn't playfully chiding her about living in a barn. “Luna, are you...” she trailed off.
The blonde looked up, a serious look on her face, for once. “Yes, I am packing.”
“Did I do something? I'll make it up to you, I promise!”
Luna shook her head, and she laughed, one of her soft, silvery laughs. “Oh, 'Mione dear. No. I'm packing for you.”
And, sure enough, now that she looked closer, that was her luggage sitting between the two twin beds. She raised an eyebrow. “Why are you packing for me, Luna?”
Luna stood up, gracefully, and padded over to Hermione whee she patted her on the head. “You can't stay here forever. I've said you have to find your superman.”
Hermione crossed over to her bed, and sank down onto it, crossing her legs and sitting on them. “Luna, I can't. Not just up and out of nowhere. I have responsibilities.”
“Minerva will find a replacement.” was her calm reply.
“I like it here, Luna.” And, yes, Hermione knew she was whining. But when Luna had her mind set on something… She was a lovely girl, and the best friend, but she was a damn Seer. “I haven't even finished the computer lab.”
Luna just batted her hands in the air. “It'll all work out. But every Clark Kent needs their Lois Lane, just as every Superman has their Lex Luthor. And the time has come, dear.” Then her smile softened, her eyes somewhat wistful. “I will miss you. But...” and she shrugged. “Even momma birds have to leave the nest sometime.”
At that, Hermione figuratively throw up her hands. Perhaps… perhaps Luna was right. And… If she was being truthful, she was getting in a rut. She was nearing thirty. And she did always complain about not having time to travel – even during the summer hols, she was editing lesson plans, and visiting new students. She shook her head, but smiled at Luna. “Yes, yes. Fine. Where am I going?”
Luna pursed her lips for a second, as if she was thinking. “Oh, America, I believe. I picked the port key that felt right.”
And Hermione just had to laugh at that, it was so Luna. She pitied the ministry workers who were steamrolled into letting Luna fondle each and every single international portkey. Oh, Luna would have been nice, and sugary sweet, but she had a way of, well, getting her way. And it showed. The Luna of today was a far cry from the Loony Luna she had first met.
War had a nasty habit of changing people.
As she had expected, Minerva didn't even seem surprised to see her leaving, merely resigned. She had given her a hug, thanked her for her time, and wished her luck. But, after the war, no one was big on goodbyes.
So, packed and as prepared as she could be, Hermione slipped away one winter evening after dinner, without a word to anyone. Her students has suspected something was up, for all of them had been getting restless. But how could she tell them she was abandoning them mid-year for only a tenuous strand of… hope? Boredom? Adventure? All of the above? No, she just couldn't. Luna had quietly whispered in her ear that they would like the new teacher just as much, and Hermione was oddly reassured by that.
Harry knew – in a way. He knew she was leaving Hogwarts, but he also thought it was just on a short sabbatical. She hadn't had the heart to tell him she wasn't planning of coming back. Whether she found what she was looking for or not, she had decided she needed a change in pace after all. But, once again, he suspected. For he had gone so far as to slip his invisibility cloak into her luggage when he thought she hadn't been looking. And she just couldn't tell him that she had seen. It was such a sweet gesture, and well, it was nice to know that people cared about her, as reclusive as she had been, these last ten years.
And her little Teddy, so grown now, took after his papa, slipping his old teddy bear, the one he claimed he was too old for, but slept with anyways, into her purse, with a hug and a 'I don't want you to be lonely, Aunt 'Mione.' And that was the one time she broke her own rules for goodbyes, and gave him as long and as tight of a hug as he would stand for, which was rather long, as he was her good little Teddy.
The rest of the staff knew. And it showed in their greetings, in their faces, in their tight-lipped refusal to let the words 'goodbye' out of their mouths. But they knew that was how she wanted it. The only ones to flout tradition were Neville and Draco. Neville with a tight bear hug of his, and a wizarding African Violet encased in a growth preservation charm. Draco with his usual snark – and the rather touching offer of 'one favor, Granger, just one.', when she knew he would help her if she ever needed it.
The Weasleys? Well, she had been estranged from them since the blow-up with Ron. Publicly, that is. Mr. Weasley – Arthur – sent her a new rubber duckie with a note that very pointedly said 'This one is for you, my dear.' Bill and Charlie had sent the same offer of muscle, if she ever needed it – and she knew it was sincere, the dears. Fleur, well, the sentiment was appreciated, but the snark behind the offer to help choose a 'whole new wardrobe, sweetie', was very much not appreciated. Percy, hadn't said much – but sent a box with muggle maps of every major city in America. George, some hair dye, with a note that he would port-key over if anyone so much as dared bully his 'Mione.
And, well. Her parents… Less said, the better. She dutifully sent them a note, but they sent it back unopened. Nothing unexpected, at this point. She was a big girl.
And so, she slipped away one winter evening after dinner, when it was least expected, and without any further fuss. Or, rather, with only one little envelope slipped into her hand under the dinner table by Luna, with a quiet 'Wait to open it until you meet him.'.
And, so, she was gone. And, oddly enough, Hermione felt oddly free when she finally steadied herself after the portkey, when she stood blinking in the bright winter morning light of New York City, New York. And she couldn't help but utter a quiet 'bloody hell', in spite of that sense of freedom. She had kept up on the muggle news, and knew that NYC was one of the least quiet places to live, after Gotham city, of course.
She shook her head. Now, just to find someplace to live – and someplace to work. Easy, right?
A month later, Hermione looked back on that thought with a sort of weary amusement. How had she ever thought that it would be easy to get a job? How had she ever been so… stupid? Her British accent marked her as a foreigner. She had a suspicious lack of job history – her ten years at Hogwarts were listed as a home economics teacher. No volunteer experience, nothing secretarial or business-related. Nothing Tech related, which had been the field she was hoping to get into.
And that was why she was exhausted when she straggled into her studio apartment five days a week, late at night. Since she had already came this far, she wanted to start a new life. So she didn't dip into her savings, like she had originally been planning on doing. No, she only took enough out for a months' rent. And she hit the pavement. Every day she was out looking for a job. And she had finally found one, just before she was forced to dip into her savings once again.
Oh, it wasn't a good job. But working as a barrista earned her just enough for her to have a studio apartment, crappy as it may be, and take classes when she wasn't sleeping.
Of course, she worked her arse off, Hermione thought late one night, when she was brushing her teeth in the kitchen sink. And she really had no clue when Luna thought she'd be able to meet someone, much less her Superman. But, in spite of everything – the long hours, the crappy pay, the shoebox of an apartment – she was happy. There wasn't anyone pointing at her for being one of the 'Golden Trio', no one asking after Harry. She had peace.
And, well… This part of town might be called Hells' Kitchen, but she never had any trouble. Oh, sure, she had heard about the vigilante, but she was grateful to him. And her upstairs neighbor always had some sort of racket going on. Seemed like the glass in her door broke nearly every other week. But everyone was friendly, if a bit… odd. Then again, she was odd herself, so who was she to judge?
Hermione rinsed out her mouth and yawned. Past her bedtime. Tomorrow might be a Saturday, but that only meant she was working a double at the little coffee-shop. They were chronically short-staffed, but that only meant that she was able to survive on just the income from one job.
She didn't sleep good that night. Dreams of circuit boards exploding and hearts stopping were all she had. Dreams that scared to an odd degree. She had been through a war. Death usually didn't scare her. And these dreams weren't violent. But they scared the hell out of her. She figured the circuit boards came from her classes – she was majoring in computer sciences, with an emphasizes on networking and hardware, with a minor in business. But the exploding heart? It wasn't her own, but in the dream, it felt as if she knew, no, loved, the person that the heart belonged to.
She woke up in a cold sweat the first time. And the second time. After that, she didn't go back to sleep, just sent Luna a text. She wouldn't get it while on Hogwarts grounds, but Luna went to London often enough that it was still quicker than owl mail. And the she folded up her bed, and just sat on the couch, a mug of tea in her hand, staring at the blank TV.
When she finally got to work, it was quite obvious she was tired. Her boss had even suggested she take a day off. But Hermione needed the money. So she worked mostly of autopilot, the orders all simple, common orders she had filled a million times. That is, until…
“A Chai Tea latte,” the next man said, a smirk on his face. “And a hot chocolate with two shots of espresso, whipped cream on top. for me, sweetheart. To go, of course. I haven't got all day.”
Usually Hermione could deal with the rude ones. But after the night she had, she was a bit prickly. “Oh, a Mocha Doppio, you mean?” she asked, pointing to the menu, well, pointedly. “And aren't you a bit of a silly fella to be calling some random woman sweetheart?” she added, even as she turned to start the drinks.
And she realized it was a mistake as soon as she had said it. For he didn't get offended. No, he leaned on the counter, an interested sort of look flaring up in his eyes. She could have Avadra'ed herself. She should have guessed he was one of those.
“Oooh, British. What is a chick like you doing in a dump like this?”
She didn't respond until she was finished with the coffees, and placed them on the counter under his nose with a thud. “Working my arse off, which you have obviously never done one day in your life.” she snapped, looking at his suit, with an eye used to wizarding tailors. “That suit is so fitted that it would split if you bent over. Your hair is gelled to messiness like a ponce. And your hands have...” she paused, with a slight cough. Ok, his hands were calloused. Odd. Didn't fit in with the rest of him. She shook her head. “And I have a job to do. You have your coffee. Go and bother somebody else.”
To her surprise, he only laughed at that, and glanced at her chest. She took a deep breath at that, ready for another misogynistic comment, before he spoke. “Well, Hermione, is it? I like you. I think I'll be seeing you again.”
And he walked out, chortling the whole way.
She shook her head, and promptly forgot about him. She still had to prepare for the lunch traffic they would get in. And her boss encouraged them to stand their own against jerks – she herself had started out as a barrista, but in a joint where the employees weren't encouraged to be anything but drones.
And after her shift, it was the same stumble home, eat, brush teeth, sleep. But she actually slept decently. She always did after a double shift.
Sunday was her off day, the day she spent getting caught up on essays and assignments she might have ignored.
Monday, she woke up to a text from Luna, mysterious as always with only the three words 'You found him', and a feeling that something would happen before the end of the day. And oh, she hated that.
But she went into work anyways, as she always did. A split shift today, with four hours on, four off, four on. And the morning was fine, ordinary, perfect. Her four hours off, she sat in a quiet corner and studied, as she nibbled on a day-old pastry, and sipped her green tea. But the afternoon was… odd.
They were such a hole in the wall that they rarely had new customers. Oh, they had regulars, and their regulars would occasionally bring in family. But they almost never had anyone come in without a regular.
They almost never had anyone like the woman who came in at two on the dot. Tall, willowy. Red hair matching the expensive black and red loubatins she had on her feet. Yet, she was polite – exactingly so. All she asked for was a basic Chai Latte, and a blueberry scone. Then she smiled at Hermione, and left with a quiet 'thank you.'.
And then there was the red-head that looked to be exceedingly dangerous – in fact, she set off all of Hermiones' instincts. She was polite though, and Hermione was happy to tell her that yes, they did have Vodka. She left with a nod and a black coffee dirtied by a shot of said Vodka.
And there was the one that scared the hell out of Hermione – almost made her pull out her wand. She turned her back for one minute, on an empty shop, and when she turned back, he was standing there by the cash register, waiting silently and patiently. She gathered her calm forcibly around her like a blanket, and made him the hot chocolate that he asked for. He disappeared as he came - there one minute, gone the next.
And then there was the big bluff blond. But he came in with one of their regulars, a rather shy, sweet man called Bruce. She immediately started Bruce his usual green tea, and wasn't surprised when the other man just wanted a black coffee. She had hoped Bruce would stay and chat like he usually did, but he just bid her a quiet 'goodbye', and shot her an oddly apologetic look.
And there was the one that she couldn't help but scratch her head over. Another blond, even more built than the one that came in with Bruce, if that was possible. But this one… Well, saying he was odd was putting it nicely. His voice was loud enough at times to make the windows rattle. And the way he spoke… was rather archaic. And he was disappointed when they didn't have pop-tarts, of all things. Hermione sent him on his way with a bagful of scones, after finally convincing him that they were even better than the magical pop-tarts.
And so time went on. Those four new customers soon became regulars, and she soon realized that they all knew each other. Within a month, they had claimed the big table in the corner as theirs. No matter what time it was, as long as the coffee shop was open, there was always one of them, if not more, sitting with a hot drink and pastry. Two, three months later, Hermione was gradually being drawn into their group. She didn't know why, but it was so nice being a part of something again, that she didn't care.
Clint was the first one to include her. Rather, he showed up one day when she was leaving early, and insisted on dragging her to a shooting range. He seemed rather surprised at her unerring aim, but she shrugged it off as 'beginners luck'. After all, she couldn't very well tell him that she had been in a war, could she? And while archery was different than spell casting, it still required the same aim and concentration.
Bruce, of course, had always included her in his science. Most of it was over her head, but she did enjoy talking talking computers with him – even if he occasionally had the bad habit of being called away in the middle of their discussions.
Pepper was a sweetheart, in spite of her intimidating good looks. Once a month, she insisted on dragging Hermione out on the town. They bonded over a love of, surprisingly, Doctor Who and Firefly. She would have never guessed that the other woman was a sci-fi fan, but… You never could tell.
Natasha was still a bit scary, but she often tagged along on the girls' nights out. And she insisted that Hermione needed hand-to-hand training. Hermione didn't know how to tell her that she already had some, and so just fell in line with the plan. They met in a rather seedy gym in the heart of Hells Kitchen on a weekly basis… That is, when Natasha was around. She had a disconcerting habit of disappearing for up to a month before coming back bruised. But Hermione had secrets of her own, and so she didn't push.
Hermione also learned to keep pop-tarts for when Thor came around. He would eat scones, but always gave her a puppy-dog look when she offered him them. And she just couldn't resist that look. He might be a bear of a man, but he was all soft and gooey on the inside. Often he showed up right when she got off, just to walk her home.
Steve… Well, Steve was odd. He didn't show up again for a good two months, and when he finally did, it was dragging a rather bedraggled brown haired man behind him, Bucky. Both stayed rather aloof, but it seemed to her to be more out of uncertainty than any dislike. Bucky reminded her of a little lost duckling, and so she didn't mind when he called her little things like 'doll-face', or 'sweet-heart'.
She did wince a bit every time she heard him call her 'sweetheart', though. She simply couldn't help but think of the one man that she had mouthed off too, that had promised to come back. But he never did. She couldn't say she was exactly disappointed, but…
But life went on. Her boss promoted her to manager, and left to focus on her family. Hermione continued on with Uni.
She finally learned just who her group of new friends were, and she wanted to smack herself. Why couldn't she ever have normal friends? Of course, it was a bit entertaining, the day she found out. Or, rather, the week…
She and Clint had went to a different range than usual – the other was closed, some sort of lizard-man had wrecked a part of the city. The man at the front had stared at Clint with wide-eyes, but Clint didn't seem to know him. So, while they were stringing their bows – her, one she borrowed from Clint, and Clint, one of his own – she asked “Are you some sort of competition archer? The man seemed rather impressed to see you.”
Clint bit his lip, and she could tell he was trying hard not to laugh. “Not anywhere close. I was part of the circus for a bit when I was younger.”
She sighed. “Younger being the key word, I presume? What about now?”
Her next shot went wide, for Clint timed his response just right to startle her. “I'm a secret agent man.”
Then she took a deep breath. “Doubtful.”
He did laugh at that. “Why?” he asked, as he took his own shot. A bulls-eye, as always.
She lined up her next shot. “Because you wouldn't have just blurted it out if you were.”
Clint waited until she had released her arrow, then reached over to muss her hair before changing the subject. “You know, I never understood why you never read the newspapers. Or watch TV.”
Hermione sighed. “I don't feel like wasting money on cable when I'm fine with my DVDs.” then she grimaced slightly, remembering the Daily Prophet, and Rita Skeeter. “And I don't trust newspapers. They are all alike.”
Clint just shook his head, but grinned.
They shot in a companionable silence for the next hour, only broken by his occasional comments to fix her posture.
The next day, she was a bit worried. None of the seven showed their faces in the coffee shop, which was odd in itself. But then she got a text from Pepper, canceling their plans for the night. And Pepper never canceled.
She just shook her head as she was locking up. Nothing that she could do about it.
The day after, it was the same. Except no text from Pepper.
Then it was Wednesday. Then it was Thursday. Then it was Friday.
And then it was Saturday, and it was the same, except that man finally showed his face again, near closing time. But this time, she nearly didn't recognize him. Instead of the tailored suit, he had on tatty jeans and a faded Metallica t-shirt, with a leather jacket over it. His hair was missing its' gel, and he had more than a few bruises on his face.
This time, when he ordered, it was with a tired smile. “I have a long list, I'm afraid.”
She blinked, but smiled back, hesitantly. “Well, I have a good memory.”
He started to laugh at that, but abruptly stopped with a pained grimace. “Ahem. Well…' And he looked at the ceiling as he recited the list from memory. “All large. Green tea, house blend, no sugar or milk. Hot chocolate, cool whip and chocolate chips on top. Chai Tea Latte. Mocha Doppio. Three Black Coffees. One Russian Coffee, hold the Vodka.” And then he looked down at her with a grin. “Oh, and twelve scone, no strawberry, if you would.”
She nodded, and started on the drinks, but then it clicked. She turned to stare at him. “You.”
“Yes? I'm Tony, by the way.”
“You know Bruce and the others, don't you.”
His eyes brightened at the recognition. “They said you were smart.” At her glare, he held up his hands. “I should know them. We are all roomies.” he paused. “Well, not Pepper. But she runs my company, and is too busy to play with the rest of us on a regular basis.”
Hermione decided to ignore the last part. “Well, how are they? They haven't been in in a few days.”
“What?” It was Tonys' turn to blink. “You seriously don't know? I thought they were kidding about that part.”
“Know what?” she almost growled.
Tony smirked. “The Baxter Building was attacked by doom-bots, and Capsicle insisted on lending them out aid. He is oddly invested in inter-agency cooperation.” Tony sighed. “And then we had another visit from Loki. And if that wasn't enough, Spidey needed help with a creature. On top of it all, a few Hydra cells popped up.”
Hermione cocked her head at that. “Why would that stop them from coming? They would have had nothing to do with that.”
“Oh boy. You really don't know.” Tony ran his hand through his hair, rather nervously, oddly enough.
“Hermione. May I call you Hermione?” he shook his head. “I am. Well, Hermione. Your cozy little coffee shop? Its' become the hangout place for the Avengers.”
Avengers? What did you he mean by that? Oh, she knew about the Avengers… In bits and pieces. But they were based in the upper East Side. Not anywhere near Hells Kitchen. Why would they ever come to…
“Oh.” she finally said, as everything clicked. SHIELD, she did know about. And she knew the Avengers were connected to SHIELD. They were on the Ministrys' radar, and vice-versa. One of the few muggle agencies to know about magic. “Oh.” she said again, her tone of voice going flat. Had everything been a ruse? “What does SHIELD want with me?”
“Why would SHIELD want anything with you?” Tony echoed. “The team just likes your company, really. And I think you are something interesting.”
Hermione relaxed a bit at that. Perhaps they didn't know. She had managed to stay under the radar so far. She shook her head, and turned back to making the coffees. “Why would you think I'm interesting? I hardly know you.”
He gingerly leaned against the counter, posture echoing the first time they met. “I can't help but wonder why such a smart girl as you is working in a coffee shop.'
“Smart?” she tossed at him, her back still to him. “For all you know, I could be a complete airhead.”
“Not if you can keep up with Bruce as well as he tells me you can.”
She shrugged. “Fine. I like the quiet. I've seen to much to take peace for granted.
And Tonys' mouth quirked at that, but Hermione didn't see, as she was bending over to fetch the cool whip from the low fridge. “You are what, twenty? How much can you have seen in such a short time?”
Hermione turned around at that, a smirk on her own face. “Thirty. You are what, forty? Don't be so quick to judge.” and, with a flourish, she sat the finished drinks in front of him. “I so hope you have a way of getting these home.”
He just grinned at her. “I was hoping your lovely self would take pity on little old me and hep me carry them.”
“To Stark tower?” she raised an eyebrow. “I hope you have a car.”
Perhaps she shouldn't, but she was worried about her friends. And… Tony was interesting.
When they stepped through the elevator, Hermione could see all of her friends sprawled out, either on furniture or the floor, all either with their eyes closed, or staring at the telly. They didn't even so much as look when they heard the elevator ding open.
In fact, the other reaction they got was Clint calling “Finally, Stark. I hope you remembered my hot chocolate.”
Tony smirked, and nudged Hermione forward out of the elevator. She grinned back. This could be fun.
Hermione quietly stalked over to the couch Clint was laying face down on, and poked him with her free hand. “Would I forget it?”
Clint sat up bolt upright. The others startled as well, turning in her direction. “What are you doing here?”
Hermione bopped Clint on the back of the head, not answering his question. “Secret agent man, my arse. Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Ow!” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Likely? Eventually?”
“Whatever.” Hermione balanced on the back of the couch, looking at the others as Tony passed out the drinks. She took a sip of her own Chai Tea before continuing. “So, what now?”
Pepper looked up from were she had been using Bruce for a pillow on the floor. “Team movie night?”
Hermione blinked at that. But everyone agreed, even Steve and Bucky. Somehow she had been expecting more of a fuss about her intruding.
But no. They included her just as they had from the beginning.
Natasha dragged her and Pepper upstairs to find something comfy to wear – while they were all different sizes, somehow Natasha had pajamas for all three of them. Long fuzzy plaid pants and oversized baggy shirts.
Hermione actually was curious, and so she asked. “Nat, why do you have these?”
She shrugged. “You would have learned eventually.” was her only comment. “One way or another.”
When they got back downstairs, Steve had made popcorn. Tony was arguing with Clint over what to watch. Bruce had his nose in a book as always, ignoring the racket. Bucky was laughing at Clint and Tony, occasionally inserting comments to egg them on.
And Hermione just stopped in the doorway of the elevator, staring. Somehow, somehow, even with the addition of Tony, this felt right. Felt like family. Somehow, over the last year, she had grown to trust the odd group that had invaded her coffee shop.
And so she went and plopped down on the only beanbag in the telly area, boldly claiming it as hers.
Tony finally won, and so after an hour they settled down to watch Star Wars. Clint was on a sofa, laying on it with his head in Natasha’s lap at the end she was sitting. Pepper and Bruce had migrated to the other sofa, her feet in his lap. Steve had finally wrestled the recliner away from Bucky, and Bucky was sitting on the floor, propped up against it. And, Tony? Well, Hermione had finally given into his puppy-dog eyes, and scooted over on the beanbag to make room for him.
Hermione stretched sluggishly as bright light filtered into her eyes. Wait, bright light? Her studio never got any daylight at all. And… She groped with her hand. Was that a body she felt next to her? She sat up suddenly, but then she remembered as she looked around.
After Star Wars, Tony had insisted on another one. And, well, at that point everyone was too comfortable to move, so they did start another, courtesy of JARVIS. And Hermione had fallen asleep during that one. She could only assume everyone else had went to their rooms at some point, because the only one left downstairs was Tony, who must have fallen asleep next to her.
It was Sunday, Hermione realized. The coffee shop was closed. She didn't really have a reason for leaving. Except… She was hungry. And, sleeping, Tony looked so much like a starved little boy, it wasn't funny.
Careful not to wake Tony, Hermione crawled up out of the suddenly man-eating bean bag, and padded over to the kitchen area. Surely there were eggs in the refrigerator. And some sort of protein. She could make the team a breakfast scramble.
She blinked as she opened the fridge. Really? Hermione sighed. “Jarvis?” she whispered, “Who in this tower actually has food in their refrigerator?”
“Captain Rogers does, Miss Hermione.” Jarvis had his volume lowered as well.
“Anyone else?”
“Not unless you count Vodka or toaster pastries as food.” Jarvis replied, his tone a bit aggrieved. “Captain Rogers is the only one who regularly cooks.”
Hermione frowned. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn't have hesitated. Bugger, even if it had been Natasha.
“The Captain is awake, if you would like to ask him.” came Jarvis' pointed comment.
“You really want me to cook breakfast, don't you?” Hermione grinned up at the ceiling.
“Master Tony doesn't eat nearly enough.” came the aggrieved sounding reply.
She shook her head, but headed towards the elevator with a slight yawn. “Fine, you wi-in.” she shook her head. “Lead on.”