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The Pocket Dimension.
Tom "Cruise" Riddle stood frozen, staring at the Witch on the throne. It took him a long time to process the sheer scale of her manipulation. She wasn't just conquering; she was orchestrating a global theater where she played both the hero and the villain.
His eyes filled with complex emotions—fear, awe, and a twisted sort of professional jealousy.
"You..." Tom whispered, shaking his head. "You are the real evil. Compared to you, I'm a saint. I'm too kind. No, you should be the Dark Lord. I was playing checkers; you're playing 5D chess."
He recalled his older self's terrible operations from decades ago—recruiting giants, attacking schools. It seemed incredibly low-level. Crude. Like a child smashing toys together.
"Don't call me Tom Cruise anymore," he sighed, the glamour fading from his face to reveal his true, sharp features. "I'm not worthy of the Hollywood smile. Just call me Little Tom."
Little Tom was truly sincere this time. Spending so much time with Hermione made him increasingly insecure about his career choices.
Hermione smiled, sipping her tea. "Good. Don't go back to the Ministry for a while. Stay here in the pocket dimension. Continue building the nodes. Add details to the narrative. Let Hydra's influence expand on its own. We need the tension to simmer."
She then turned her gaze to the platinum-haired girl braiding a Thestral's mane.
"Luna," Hermione said softly. "You don't need to follow me anymore. The next part is messy. Go back to Hogwarts. There are too many people here who covet wizarding power, and it's still a bit dangerous for you. I'll bring you back when you're strong enough."
Luna nodded, her radish earrings bobbing. "Okay. The Nargles here are very aggressive anyway."
Hermione reached into her robes and pulled out a palm-sized, velvet drawstring pouch. It shimmered with a faint, undetectable extension charm.
"Jump in," Hermione said, holding the bag open.
Luna didn't hesitate. She hopped forward, and her body spiraled and shrank, vanishing into the small bag with a soft pop, like a coin dropping into a purse.
It was an Alchemy Pocket—a wonder Hermione had racked her brains to create. It was recognized by the Spellbook as a unique artifact. Because it was a "Rare Object," it could be collected into her inventory and released again as she traveled between worlds. It was the only way to smuggle a living person across the multiverse boundaries without tearing them apart.
Hermione pulled the drawstring tight. "Safe travels."
Asgard. The Broken Bridge.
After sending Luna back to the safety of Scotland, Hermione returned to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
She stood in a quiet park in London, organizing her plans. Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over her. It was a prickling on the back of her neck, a feeling of being observed from light-years away.
Hermione was no stranger to this feeling.
She opened her eyes, looking up at the cloudy sky, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"Heimdall," she whispered. "You old peeping tom."
Without hesitation, Hermione waved her wand.
CRACK-BOOM.
A golden ring of Eldritch magic sparked in the air, expanding into a portal. Through the gateway, the dazzling, golden scenery of the Eternal Realm came into view.
She stepped through.
The air was crisp and smelled of ozone and starlight. She stood at the edge of the Bifrost. The Rainbow Bridge was still shattered from Thor's fight with Loki years ago, ending abruptly in a jagged cliff that dropped into the cosmic void.
Heimdall, the golden-eyed gatekeeper, stood waiting. Beside him paced a massive figure in a red cape.
"Miss Granger," Heimdall nodded in greeting, leaning on his great sword. "I apologize for contacting you in this manner. The telephone reception is poor."
"Hermione!"
Thor laughed, his booming voice shaking the dust. He strode forward with open arms, looking like a golden retriever greeting its owner. "You've finally come!"
"So it was you who contacted me?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. She side-stepped smoothly, easily dodging Thor's bone-crushing bear hug. "And you used the All-Seer as your personal pager?"
Thor awkwardly lowered his arms, scratching his beard. "The Rainbow Bridge isn't finished yet. The Tesseract is... elsewhere. Otherwise, I would have come to you directly."
Hermione looked around. Without the Space Stone, Asgard's repairs were slow.
"Let's find a secluded place to talk," Thor said, his voice dropping. "The walls have ears."
The three moved to a secluded observation platform overlooking the golden city. Heimdall wisely retreated to a distance to keep watch.
Thor's expression turned serious. He leaned in.
"My father... he has been acting very strangely lately."
"Oh?" Hermione asked, feigning curiosity. She kept her face neutral. "What's wrong with the All-Father?"
"I went to ask him to help me gather Dark Energy so I could teleport back to Earth," Thor paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in frustration. "But he made all sorts of excuses! He said things like, 'Earth has the Avengers protecting it, we don't need another Thor.' Since when does Odin turn down a fight?"
Hermione chuckled inwardly. Loki, she thought. You captured Odin's arrogance, but you forgot his bellicosity.
"So, you called me here just to complain about your dad?" Hermione asked calmly.
"Not entirely."
Thor took a deep breath, his blue eyes sharpening with resolve.
"Hermione, I need your help. I would like to ask you to open a portal. Send me to Muspelheim."
"Muspelheim?" Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly. "The Realm of Fire? The home of the Fire Demons? What on earth for?"
"To find and destroy Surtur."
Thor gripped Mjolnir tightly, the leather creaking. "I recently learned of a prophecy... Ragnarok. The End of Asgard. It will be triggered by Surtur and his Eternal Flame. I must stop it before he grows too powerful!"
Thor looked at the stars. "If Loki were still alive..." his voice trailed off, filled with grief, "he knew the secret paths. He could have taken me there in a skiff. But now..."
"Wait," Hermione interrupted, latching onto a key word. "A skiff? Asgard has spaceships?"
Thor was taken aback by the question. "Well, yes. We have the Skiffs, the Commodores... Asgard possesses technology, though we prefer the old ways."
Hermione looked around at the medieval, Renaissance-style architecture—the swords, the shields, the lack of wi-fi.
"I really can't tell," she deadpanned.
Thor: "..."
She hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. A spaceship meant FTL travel. It meant she could leave Earth without relying on the Tesseract. It meant... Guardians of the Galaxy.
"I can help you," Hermione finally spoke. "But on one condition."
"Name it."
"After Surtur is dead, I want an Asgardian spaceship. Fast. Durable. And a star map of the galaxy."
Thor was stunned. "You're going to space? Why?"
"It's a private matter," Hermione said mysteriously. "Do we have a deal?"
"Deal!" Thor readily agreed, clapping her shoulder. "Then let's go see Father and Mother now. We must inform the King of our departure."
Hermione nodded. This should be entertaining.
The Golden Palace. Throne Room.
They walked through the massive golden doors. Odin sat on his high throne, Gungnir in hand. Queen Frigga stood beside him, looking regal and serene.
When Thor announced Hermione's arrival, the reaction from the All-Father was... unexpected.
Odin's one eye lit up. He didn't just stand; he practically jogged down the stairs from his throne, tripping slightly on his heavy robes. His face beamed with an overly enthusiastic, almost obsequious smile.
"Ah! The esteemed Miss Granger!"
"Odin" rushed forward, extending his hands in a humble gesture. "Welcome! Welcome to Asgard! To what do we owe the extreme pleasure?"
He looked like he was about to bow.
Hermione's lips twitched.
Brother, what are you doing? You are Odin! The God of War! Not a hotel concierge!
Loki was terrified. He remembered New York. He remembered being smashed by the Hulk. But mostly, he remembered the Witch who had turned his army into dust and threatened to turn him into a coat.
The Royal Guards exchanged confused glances. Since when does the King run to greet a mortal?
Just as the atmosphere was about to become excruciatingly awkward, Queen Frigga stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," Frigga said smoothly, placing a hand on "Odin's" arm to stop his babbling. "We have important state affairs to discuss later. Why don't we let Thor entertain Hermione first?"
She turned to Hermione, giving her a look that was apologetic, warm, and deeply knowing.
"Welcome, my dear," Frigga smiled.
She then steered "Odin" away. "Come, husband. You need your rest."
Thor scratched his head, watching them leave. "You see? Father has been acting increasingly strange. Maybe it's the Odinsleep approaching."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Or maybe he's just a drama queen in a fat suit.
A short while later, Frigga returned to the hall alone. Her demeanor was calm, but her eyes held a steely resolve.
"Thor," she said gently. "Give us a moment. I wish to speak with the Witch alone."
Thor nodded and wisely retreated.
Frigga led Hermione into a private antechamber, the door sealing with a soft hiss of magic.
As soon as they were alone, Frigga let out a long sigh, her shoulders dropping. The regal queen vanished, replaced by a tired mother.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Granger," Frigga said softly. "He's still learning how to be a proper King. His acting leaves much to be desired."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
"So," Hermione whispered. "You know?"
Frigga smiled sadly.
"A mother always knows her son. Even when he wears another man's face."