A/N: Hiya! Chapter two is here and ready for my lovely viewers' (that's all of you) perusal! Are you excited? I know I am! Eehhe. Now how about a look into Hermione's head, eh?

And so I may have lied a bit about the style. Oh well. Its a pretty good style for catching up to the present.

I don't own Harry Potter or The Avengers, so y'all can put a pineapple up your pooper if you think I do.

Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Or

The Ignorance of Muggles

The life of one Hermione Jean Granger was a complicated one. At the age of one, her toys would levitate, her parents would argue, and they learned to hide. At age five, instead of going to the local public school, her parents pulled her away and home schooled her. At the age of eleven, she got a letter.

A letter of green and beige. The colours of mean pranks and why would they do that?

Two weeks later, a man came to the door. The same letter in his hand and a bright smile on his little wrinkled face. Flitwick, his name had been, and he was a midget.

Part goblin, he said.

Prove it, she replied.

The prank was not so. Instead, a world of magic appeared and Hermione Granger's life suddenly made sense. Her parents were ecstatic. So was she.

At the tender age of eleven, she met Harry Potter and Ron Weasly. Hiding from trolls, catching keys, and fighting a dark lord they had no business fighting. It was a nightmare, she thought. They were just children.

The wizarding World was crooked, she realized. Terribly so.

Year after wretched year, they fought the dark lord, and sometimes their lives were strained and friendships seemed to fray, but they always returned with apologies and laughter and treats. Her boys turned into her family.

At seventeen, they were all she had left.

Years passed. The dark lord vanquished and Ron thrived in the spot light. Harry, not so much. Soon enough, Hermione dropped off the radar as well.

They never saw Ron after that.

It was no matter to Harry, who'd seen less and less of his male friend since the final battle, but for Hermione, it was much worse. The loss of one of her boys hit hard. In comfort, Harry had once said, Triangles make me uncomfortable anyway. Coins are much better. And he was right. As two sides of the same coin, they lived and breathed each other. They understood each other. They became support beams and houses and smiles. They didn't need the lousy Ron Weasly.

But soon the paparazzi caught up. Their life was invaded. 'Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, Married?' read the headlines. Pictures posted without their consent. Howlers, proposals, job offers, fan mail. It all came at once, and they couldn't (wouldn't) stand for it anymore.

So they moved and made plans to move again after that, and they saw the world with sad eyes and haunting memories.

At the age of twenty-one, Hermione noticed Harry. Noticed herself. Not a day over nineteen in looks. She questioned Harry; he said words to her. Death is merciful, but he is not kind. He will not let me go, Harry continued, and I will not let you go.

Hermione didn't know what to feel.

At the tender age of thirty seven, Hermione Granger watched the world burn. It started off not so worrisome. Wizards were (finally) integrating technology into their culture and lives, some of the older practices had been unbanned, and the muggles were still as clueless as ever.

It happened on a cloudy day in October. On the Thirty First, naturally. Samhain, interrupted by bombs and automatic self-flying planes and screams. The interrupted rituals all over the country caused magical chaos. Squibs were replacing the once powerful wizards and witches. The magical community crumbled to dust in less than a month.

And the muggles, damn them, continued on their merry way, as if they hadn't just caused genocide. Harry liked to call it, 'Purge of the Non-Parasitic'. Because muggles were cosmic parasites. The aliens.

It lasted a year and a day before the planet could no longer support itself. Without the bodies of it's children to channel energy through, the trees died, the grass browned, the water ever so slowly evaporated. And then it was time for them to go.

It was a complicated spell. Once that didn't require magic; just runes and incantations and blood.

It allowed one Hermione Granger and one Harry Potter their salvation.

And so they hopped, skipped, and jumped; into a dimension not yet known.

The day Hermione Granger was attacked was a normal one. The sun has risen and dipped, the moon just starting to make it's own bright appearance (it looked vaguely like a bright smiley face in the sky). Of course, she could barely see it through the buildings, but when she did see it, she couldn't help but smile back.

That was, until she was accosting from behind, a hand quick to cover her mouth as she was dragged away, multiple other arms grabbing her arms. She was so close to home, so close to Harry.

Hermione had almost closed her eyes in defeat through her struggling, but then there he was. Harry James Potter.

It was quick work after that. Harry Potter, the bloody magnificent sod, had all but obliterated them. One wave of the hand had them sprawling, a second wave and they were dead. The green eyes glowed like dull lights in the darkness, burning death into any that saw them. After that, one Hermione Granger started carrying her wand once more.

It was around this time that Hermione started getting touchy. At the age of forty four, hugs were aplenty and kisses on the cheek common. She couldn't help herself; the affection she felt for her remaining brother felt like it would cause her implode. In a way, it seemed like it was helping Harry, too.

Because one Just Harry was sad, and one Just Hermione wanted to make him better. The day Just Harry smiled again was a bright one. It filled her with hope and laughter rang throughout their apartment.

And one day she went to work. And one day Just Harry was left alone. And one day Just Harry broke again, and rebuilt again, and no one was the wiser. He hid his guilt from her, his feelings of uselessness and brokenness, his crushed hopes and dreams of the dead. Because he wouldn't see any of them again; not really.

the day Hermione found out she scolded him; a broken mirror littered the bathroom and she had to wear shoes to prevent her feet from getting cut like his. She told him he wasn't to blame. It was Voldemort; it was Dumbledore; it was anyone but him. It was time to let the past die and open up for the future. She told him; Harry, you are fine. You are perfect. In no way was any of it your fault, and no one blames you for any of it.

'It' being the dead bodies, the screams, the rubble that used to be Hogwarts (home). And so she helped him get better again. Because she would do anything for him.

You saved so many lives, she told him. Don't cheapen that by wallowing in death. Mourn, but do not let it take over your life. Remember the way they lived; their happiness; what they wanted for you. Remember their love and their flaws and their smiles.

And the era of change began, stronger than before.

A time came were Hermione could only mutter bullshit. America made her mad. Their simpleness in politics and human rights infuriated her, and she fought for what she should've had all along.

They got what they wanted soon after.

Harry Potter was an early riser. That much everyone had known since starting Hogwarts at the age of eleven. What they didn't know was that it had been ingrained into his being in his early stages of life- if he wanted to survive then he had to wake up before the sun and after the moon.

But some morning, Harry only wanted to lay in bed with mountains of pillows and multiple blankets around him like a nested cocoon. Some mornings he couldn't bring himself to move a muscle, and that was okay with Hermione, because she liked to do the same.

And sometimes they would lie in bed together, all curled and cuddled with their combined masses of pillows and blankets and they would talk into the afternoon. They would learn something new every time. Hermione liked her tea with honey; Harry liked his with cream and nothing else. Hermione had only fallen in love twice; once with Viktor Krum in her fourth year, and once with the fake accomplishments and smiles that came with one Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry had never been in love like that.

And Hermione- dear, sweet Hermione- criticized herself more than anyone else. Harry tried to assuage her feelings; your teeth are perfect and straight, and you have lovely, thick hair. He told her, if I was of the female gender, I would want to look just like you. She couldn't help but smile and pet his hair. Harry Potter was a lovely friend; her precious boy.

But sometimes the past would make it into their conversations. They spoke of regrets and what they should have said or done. They spoke of what ifs and the possibilities of outcomes that hadn't happened. And these conversations were all right. They were growing and learning to let go of things long passed. It was something they should have done long, long ago.

Somewhere along the road, Hermione asked Harry if she could let them age a couple of years. He agreed; it was time to grow up. So he spoke with death and he said they would age faster than normal now; if only to catch up a few years. Hermione told him she'd like to stop aging around her late twenties.

It was a few days before she noticed her hair also growing at an unnatural rate.

Months passed and Harry continued on his chosen career path. That was, until he set a man on fire.

It was night time; Harry couldn't see past the fires he was breathing and juggling and pleasing the crowd with. But someone bumped him from behind and he dropped a torch, which landed inconveniently on a foot, where it spread to a leg.

They made quick work of putting it out and the man apologized; apparently he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. Harry recognized the look; self-loathing, anger, hopelessness. Harry ended up packing up early and giving the man some of his healing balm. Apply it once a day for three days and the burn will disappear. Harry was no stranger to healing burns.

The crowd was quick to disperse, seemingly much to the man's relief. In the darkness, Harry could make out dark hair and white teeth and kindness. He was taller, too.

They didn't talk for long, but Harry learned the man was there on business, apparently on break, and slightly lost. Harry, being the kind citizen he was, pointed the man in the right direction, and they parted ways. The man had left a lasting impression on Harry, however, and he spoke of him to Hermione. Hermione, being the magnificent woman that she was, had told him that he probably should have gotten the bloke's number.

But Harry wasn't sure if it was like that. He didn't know the man; it was the kindness and self-loathing that stood out in his mind. He wondered why it was there; how those things could co-exist. He chalked it up to the man being like him in that respect.

Maybe they were similar. Maybe Harry could make a friend that was Hermione; that is, if he ever saw the man again.

He didn't, until three weeks later.

A/N2: And that's a wrap! Now my last endnote still stands; I have no idea when the style of this is going to change, but it's going to be soon because shits gonna be speeding up a bit. I hope you all enjoyed, and thanks to everyone for all the alerts and reviews!