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The floor of the Helicarrier's main engine bay canted sharply, sending both Steve and Tony sliding toward the jagged hole in the hull. The roar of the wind was deafening, and the sound of stressed metal shrieking in protest filled the air. Tony, his Mark VI a pile of smoking, crumpled plating, felt a wave of icy terror wash over his heart.
Crushed, then the fall. Great. Two spectacular deaths in one day. His mind raced, pale with panic, the self-mockery a brittle defense mechanism.
"We're falling," Steve stated, his voice flat, but his eyes were wide, focused on a trauma thousands of feet below. The nose dive. The ice. The deep, cold plunge. His legendary composure was cracking. "We are going to crash!"
"Don't worry, Capsicle, you can survive a little swan dive," Tony gasped, trying to lever his ruined armor plating free. "It's me the science guy you should be worried about."
Suddenly, the screaming metal stopped. The sickening, stomach-lurching sensation of a rapid freefall arrested completely.
WHUMMMMM.
A profound, unnatural stillness descended on the air. It wasn't the silence of gravity, but the silence of an impossibility being enforced.
Hermione, who had shot out of the bay in a blur of black and red, had reappeared hundreds of feet away, hovering in the open air. Her robes whipped around her, illuminated by a fierce, azure light that radiated from her body, pulsing with the strain of the massive Levitation Charm. Her wand was raised, a thin line of magic connecting the small, furious witch to the colossal, plummeting aircraft carrier. The Helicarrier hung suspended, motionless, a giant, defiant metal fish caught in an invisible, magical net.
Inside the command center, every agent rushed to the panoramic windows, their faces pressed against the glass. They saw the girl, shimmering with blue energy, holding the entire three-carrier structure still against the pull of the planet. Gasps turned into muttered prayers.
Hermione was panting, her focus absolute. This effort was taxing, pulling on reserves she hadn't needed since her confrontation with the Basilisk. With a harsh, ragged breath, she pointed her wand at the ruined Engine 3.
"Reparo Maxima!"
The engine bay seemed to rewind. Fragments of shrapnel, torn wires, and shattered alloys flew backward, reversing their trajectories with blinding speed. The twisted metal groaned, reforming into its original shape. Within seconds, the engine was intact, sparking to life.
Hermione released the Levitation Charm, and the Helicarrier settled gently, finding stability on the two remaining functional engines. She Apparated back into the engine bay, landing beside Tony, slightly flushed but otherwise unscathed.
Steve stared at the fully restored engine, then at the girl. His jaw had literally dropped. His mind reeled: Flying, fire-control, super-strength… and now literal time reversal on machinery?
Tony, however, was already back in his element. He pointed a gloved finger at Steve, an obnoxious, victorious glint in his eye. "See, Old Popsicle? I told you she was a wizard! Do you understand magic now? You're the one who needs to stop eating sour radishes and learn about the real world!"
Before Steve could formulate a response that didn't involve a long string of 1940s curses, Natasha's voice cut in over the comms, urgent and relieved. "I have Agent Barton! But he's still fighting! I don't think the control is broken!"
Hermione didn't hesitate. She Apparated to Natasha's location, finding the spy expertly pinning a struggling Clint Barton against a wall.
"Let him go, Sister Natasha," Hermione commanded, stepping between them.
Natasha, trusting the witch completely, immediately released her grip. Barton, his eyes blank and feral, lunged at the small figure.
Hermione was faster. "Imperio!" she whispered, the curse a soft, chilling breath of air.
Barton's body froze mid-lunge. His expression remained empty, a puppet without strings. Natasha watched, horrified and fascinated, as the witch used a control spell to counter another.
"Loki used the Scepter to implant his control," Hermione explained, her tone clinical. "I will apply the Imperius Curse over his, then remove both, like peeling off two layers of paint."
She lifted the spell with a sharp flick of her wand.
The madness drained instantly from Barton's eyes, replaced by confusion, then a sickening wave of nausea. He rubbed his temples, his body slumping with exhaustion. "Miss Wizard? Natasha? What… what happened?"
Natasha rushed to him, wrapping him in a fierce, relieved hug. "It's alright, Clint. You're back."
Barton, recovering, nodded gravely. "Thank you, Hermione. I… I felt it. Like being dragged under water." He then slapped his own forehead with sudden, sharp panic. "The Scepter!"
Hermione didn't need to hear another word. Her face went taut with cold fury. She vanished instantly, Apparating directly into the still-smoking, chaotic control room.
She appeared right in front of Nick Fury, the air around her crackling with palpable, magical rage. She did not speak. She simply stared, the sheer weight of her silent accusation pressing down on the Director.
Fury, who had just been celebrating the Helicarrier's miraculous recovery, felt his blood turn to ice. He was a man who stared down assassins and aliens without blinking, but the look in Hermione's eyes—the utter, cosmic disappointment—sent a raw panic through him.
I am dead. I am completely and utterly dead.
"The… the Scepter, Miss Wizard, we—we're checking the cameras," Fury stammered, swallowing bile.
Hermione finally spoke, her voice dangerously soft, emanating from between gritted teeth. "Where is my Mind Stone?"
Her voice rose slightly, edged with true, irreparable loss. "Where is the powerful artifact I acquired on your behalf, and which I entrusted to your utterly incompetent care?"
Fury's face turned the color of old cement. His one eye darted frantically. He knew he was bankrupt. He suppressed the awful, burning pain of his inevitable humiliation and forced out a subservient smile.
"Miss Wizard, we will take full responsibility for this! Every single resource of S.H.I.E.L.D., every agent, every asset, is yours! We will mobilize the entire agency to find the Scepter! From now on, S.H.I.E.L.D. is yours! You take whatever you like!"
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She took a slow, menacing step closer. With a sharp snap of the air, a whip of brilliant, incandescent orange light materialized in her hand—a magic-infused, crackling length of pure energy.
"Then why," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh, absolute command, "are you all just standing there? Go work!"
The magic whip cracked against the floor near Fury's feet. The Director didn't hesitate. He spun around, his voice raw.
"You heard the lady! Go work!"