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"Airbus... that's a really lazy name for a secret base."
Hermione muttered to herself, standing on the Hogwarts grounds. She raised her wand, and using the coordinates provided by Director Fury—or "Hard-Boiled Egg"—she drew a fiery circle in the air.
Golden sparks flew as a portal slowly spiraled open, revealing the pressurized interior of a massive aircraft.
She stepped inside. The roar of the engines and the rush of wind hit her instantly.
"Huh? What kind of blockbuster are they filming here?"
Hermione had barely steadied herself when she saw two figures jump out of the open cargo bay hatch, one after the other. One was strapped into a parachute rig. The other, a woman in a lab coat, had jumped with nothing but gravity.
"You people are really dramatic," Hermione noted. She blinked, and her body dissolved into a mist of white wind, shooting out of the hatch to chase them down.
15,000 Feet. Freefall.
Grant Ward was in a stable dive, his goggles pressed tight against his face, his eyes locked on Simmons' plummeting form below. He was focused. He was efficient. He was Hydra.
And he was currently hallucinating.
"Hey, Ward. What kind of PUBG are you guys playing?"
The voice was clear, crisp, and devoid of wind noise.
Ward turned his head. Floating beside him in a relaxed, horizontal pose was the Witch of New York. She was munching on an apple.
"A witch?!" Ward screamed, his voice ripped away by the slipstream.
"You even brought someone without a parachute," Hermione chided, taking a bite of her apple. "Are you planning to be eliminated as soon as you land? That's poor strategy."
Ward shook his head violently, trying to focus. In that moment of distraction, Simmons drifted further away. He realized with a jolt of panic that he wasn't going to reach her.
"Damn it!" he cursed, angling his dive.
Seeing the genuine anxiety on his traitorous face, Hermione pouted and shook her head helplessly.
"Young people these days. So quick to threaten suicide. It's very melodramatic."
POP.
She vanished from Ward's side.
A split second later, Jemma Simmons, who had closed her eyes and was waiting for the impact of the Atlantic Ocean, felt a firm arm wrap around her waist. Her fall stopped instantly.
"Whoa—!"
She gasped, her eyes snapping open. Instead of the cold water, she was looking into the smiling face of a teenage girl floating in mid-air.
"Don't worry. It's nothing," Hermione winked at her. "Hold on tight. I'll take you flying. It's better than Economy Class."
CRACK.
Before Simmons could process the physics violation, the two of them vanished.
Ward watched helplessly as the target and the anomaly disappeared. He waited a few seconds, hoping for a pickup.
Nothing.
The ocean rushed up to meet him.
"She's not coming back for me, is she?" Ward muttered bitterly. He pulled his ripcord.
The Bus. Ten Minutes Later.
"Jemma, do you know how dangerous that was?!"
Phil Coulson's voice echoed in the sterile medical bay, his usual calm demeanor replaced by stern, parental worry.
Simmons sat on the bio-bed, wrapped in a blanket, her head lowered like a child caught stealing cookies. Her fingers nervously twisted the hem of the wool fabric.
"I... I know I was wrong, sir," she murmured softly.
Seeing her contrition, Coulson's anger evaporated. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Jemma, I know you were trying to protect the team. But have you thought about what would happen to Fitz if something really happened to you? What would happen to this family?"
"I'm sorry, Fitz..." Simmons whispered, looking at the curly-haired engineer. "I'll never do it again."
Fitz, still pale and shaking, patted her arm awkwardly. "It's okay. It's okay. Just... don't jump out of planes anymore. Please."
CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
The crisp sound of potato chips shattering was jarringly loud in the emotional silence.
Everyone turned. Hermione was sitting in the corner on a swivel chair, munching on a bag of Lay's while watching the scene with the intensity of a soap opera fan.
Coulson shot her a helpless look.
"Hey, Phil," Hermione said, pointing a chip at him. "Who knew you had a temper? I always thought you had the face of a gentle Sunday school teacher. I never expected you to go full 'disappointed dad' mode."
Coulson flushed slightly. "Miss Wizard, please don't make fun of me. I have to maintain discipline. If they all start jumping out of planes, I won't have a team left to lead."
"Please give me some face in front of my subordinates," he added in a whisper.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Haha, sorry, sorry. Here." She tossed him a bag of gummy bears as compensation.
"Miss Wizard..." Simmons whispered, finally processing who was eating chips in their lab. Her eyes sparkled with scientific curiosity and hero worship.
The Witch. The Destroyer of New York. The God-Slayer.
Simmons had analyzed footage of her magic for months. Seeing her in person—and being saved by her—was overwhelming.
"Snort..."
Ward walked in, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel. He glared at Hermione with deep resentment. "We know each other. You saved the girl but left me to swim?"
"You had a parachute," Hermione pointed out, not looking up from her chips. "I believe in encouraging self-reliance."
Fitz looked at Hermione with pure gratitude. "Thank you," he choked out. "Thank you for saving Jemma."
Hermione dug into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a glowing, crystalline blue liquid. She tossed it to Simmons.
"Here. The antidote. For the Chitauri virus."
Simmons caught it, staring at the liquid. "This... is it tested? Is it stable?" She looked at Coulson for approval.
"Drink it," Coulson said gently. "Since it was given by the Witch, it will work. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't stingy enough to confiscate a gift."
He added with a wry smile, "Besides, even if we wanted to research it, we don't have the technology to analyze magic potion structures."
Simmons nodded. She uncorked the vial and downed it in one gulp.
A cool, refreshing sensation washed over her. The electric blue veins on her neck faded instantly. Her color returned.
"Wow..." Simmons breathed, checking her pulse. "My vitals are normalizing instantly. This is incredible! It's more effective than GH-325!"
Fitz let out a long breath. Actually, he thought, my anti-serum would have worked too... but magic is faster.
Coulson nodded, satisfied. "Ward, go call May and Skye. It's rare for the Witch to visit. This is a good opportunity for the whole team to meet our... consultant."
Ward nodded and left, returning moments later with two women.
Leading the way was Melinda May, "The Cavalry." She wore a sleek black pilot's suit, her face stoic, her eyes sharp and assessing. She looked at Hermione not with awe, but with the tactical appraisal of a soldier sizing up a nuke.
Following behind her was a young woman. She had long, flowing dark hair, a sweet, expressive face, and an eager, slightly chaotic energy. She wore casual clothes and looked more like a hacker than an agent.
Skye. Or as Hermione knew her: Daisy Johnson. Quake.
Skye's eyes widened when she saw Hermione. "No way," she whispered. "Is that her? The girl who blew up the Chitauri?"