Important Note: This fic is a Sequel, it's not 100% required to read Cracking Glass before this, but you may find yourself lost of a few plot points should you choose to skip it.

This work has been Beta-ed by Wistfuldaydream: without whom this fic would be riddled with errors and poor sentence structure.

AN: Hello again to everyone who has signed up for Author Alerts- and for those of you joining us for the first time, Welcome! This story was originally going to be a one-shot similar to its predecessor, and then, well… I accidentally the whole thing and here we are. By the end this will either be in Three Parts, or Four.

If y'all hadn't noticed from Cracking Glass, I do want to confirm that time passes in a radically different way between the Harry Potter Universe and the Avengers Universe. So this story is going to be jumping forward in the Avengers timeline pretty quickly while Hermione is still on her proper side of the book.

I have done my best to keep their time-line properly, and the first mentions of the Avengerverse will take place before the first Thor movie, and then during, followed by the first Avengers and later segway into Age of Ultron; which is after both Thor: The Dark World, and Captain America: Winter Soldier. (although these last two aren't specifically mentioned, they do happen.) Civil War will come later on.

I just wanted to clear that up so that there's no confusion on the timeline progression.

So Loki is technically "Dead" during AoU onwards (or on Asgard as it were) but I will be expending my Author Rights to make sure he shows up, so don't worry about him being a no-show.

Anyways, on with the fic!

A Million Candles Burning

"Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name. Vilified, crucified, in the human frame. A million candles burning for the help that never came."

You want it darker.

There's a lover in the story, but the story's still the same. There's a lullaby for suffering, and a paradox to blame. But it's written in the scriptures, and it's not some idle claim.

You want it darker, we kill the flame.

They're lining up the prisoners and the guards are taking aim. I struggled with some demons; they were middle class and tame. I didn't know I had permission to murder and to maim.

You want it darker.

Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name. Vilified, crucified, in the human frame. A million candles burning for the love that never came.

You want it darker, we kill the flame."

-Leonard Cohen

Part One

The fire cast shadows that flickered, lengthening the dark across the floor of the common room until it seemed to blend with the silence of the empty space. Only the faint crackle and occasional pop from the slightly damp wood in the grate made any sound. Hermione sat with legs folded beneath her in a cushy red armchair; it was late but she wasn't very tired.

A book was open in her lap atop the throw blanket she had pulled from her trunk earlier that night, but it was left forgotten as the woman who held it stared at nothing.

Summer was fast approaching, and Hermione had little left to study now that exams were finished. Not that she wasn't already preparing for her next year- the fifth year potions book in her lap could attest to that. Still, so much had happened this year and she could feel the familiar shiver of foreboding for her future, and her friends future, make its way across her thoughts.

Nothing good would come of this.

Her fingers found the ancient leather that curled around her wrist and she rubbed the pad of her thumb across it absently. The bracelet magic was old; it was so foreign from her own that it had become a comforting reminder for her.

Somewhere, in all the world and all its realities, existed the Gods of old.

And if such things were real, things so wondrous and powerful; a magic older than she could truly comprehend then perhaps the worries of her world were nothing but a pithy footnote at the bottom of the universe.

Loki would know what to do. Thor would know what to say.

Hermione exhaled slowly from her nose; giving herself a soft reminder that her friends were out of her reach for now.

She missed them terribly.

And as her thoughts were wont to do she turned again to examine her last meeting with Loki. He had behaved strangely at first, before swiftly moving right into dangerous territory.

She didn't really understand what had happened to the little boy she had known, but Hermione knew jaded when she saw it. It hadn't seemed like he had any intention of hurting her, or gods forbid killing her, but it was hard to say something definitive like that when you didn't truly know a person.

She had read the Norse Eddas after her return, hoping to glean some kind of insight into what had brought the change to Loki's personality, but eventually she had to give up on the particular avenue. The books seemed too far-fetched and fanciful compared the the boys she had come to know.

Though, even after she had dismissed the majority of humanity's version of events, perhaps some small amount of the way Loki had been described in them helped her reach a theory on why he had behaved the way he had. Living in the shadow of his brother, his soft personality as a child overshadowed completely by the bright allure and charisma that Thor had. Still, she couldn't fathom how that alone would twist him so horribly.

She wondered if his origins written in the Eddas had any truth to them- that Loki was the son of a frost giant. The realm of Jotunheim wasn't exactly looked kindly upon by the Aesir, and it would be an unpleasant thing to learn you were one when all your life you were raised to believe the entire race had little inherent value.

She sighed in frustration, because the Eddas were written by mortals and couldn't really be taken for face value, she might never know the truth behind Loki's sudden turn towards something darker. (She thought this now, but in a few years time when Hermione would cross wands with men and women who had chosen a darker path in life she would understand it better.)

"Hermione?" She turned at the sound of her name, startled by the suddenness of another human being in the room with her when it had only been the sound of the fireplace for the last few hours.

"Oh, Harry." She greeted as the disheveled boy came down the stairs.

"What'r you still doin' up?" He slurred sleepily, and his green eyes met hers behind askew glasses.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him. And as she had thought so many times before, she thought now that his eyes were not the right shade of green. They did not gleam in the light like a nebula suspended in time, infinite and deep as the well of space the colour called home.

Harry blinked, breaking her morose thoughts.

"Hermione?" He questioned, voice a little clearer; more aware. His brow furrowed into something more concerned.

"I was just doing some light reading." She reassured him, holding up the book in her lap for him to see in emphasis, and he squinted at the title in the dim light.

"Potions Year Five?" He said incredulously, but he shook his head a moment later with a look that clearly said: Ah, well. It is Hermione after all.

She smiled ruefully and unfolded herself from the sitting chair. She set her throw blanket across its back and carried her book over to Harry at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's late, I should probably get to bed." She said absently without looking at him. It was not the first time it had been too difficult to look at her best friend, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"Yea," He agreed slowly with narrowed eyes. He probably knew something else was up. Harry though, had his own set of troubles and problems right now and she knew he wouldn't press.

He didn't, and the strange occurrence was quickly set aside by the Boy-Who-Lived, categorized as something brought on by the return of the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter never would learn the truth of it.

Hermione screamed.

She screamed until her throat felt like raw meat and then she gurgled helplessly, mouth agape and eyes wide as agony seared through her entire being. It was like having shattered glass inside her skin, ripping, shredding, brutalizing every part of her body until nothing was left but her soul and somehow that too felt like it could be ripped away.

Every bit of who she was: unmade. Her memories lost; thoughts jumbled into a mixture of nothing and everything until she couldn't even remember her own name, why she was here, what was the purpose of this?

Was there even one to begin with?

Then it was over. Two seconds made into an eternity, punctuated by the mad cackling of a woman whose laughter was like a rusty hinge. Hermione's head lolled to the side, the cold floor pressing to her cheek; a reminder that she was still here, still alive.

She wondered if that was true though- she knew there was no way she was going to walk away from this and be the same person.

This war was far out of hand now, spiraling out of control and it took this very moment for the brightest witch of her time to come to terms with the truth of it: she was a child soldier; marching to the tune of bedlam spewed from all sides.

One man, who couldn't really be called a man anymore, something closer to a monster now, who carved his ideals out with dark magic and the flesh of muggleborns and purebloods alike. And at her back stood the side of light, grown adults molding young children to fight a war they had long been losing. It was like the entire wizarding world had lost its damn mind.

Hair plastered to her skin, spilling out around her to fan across the floor in an imitation of blood spilt, Hermione's dulled, tired brown eyes met with steel grey.

She had never seen Malfoy look more horrified as her body seized uncontrollably with LeStrange's next gleeful cry of "Crucio!"

She held his gaze even as her voice once again failed her, silent screams reaching out to no one because no one wanted to hear them. Maybe Hermione didn't exist. Maybe she was just as mad as the rest of the world.

Something in Draco's eyes reminded her of someone else. Something she wanted to remember but couldn't quite reach outside of the terror the adrenalin and the knowledge. That final, abhorred knowledge:

Hermione Granger was going to die here.

And even if she did live, could she ever again say she was truly alive?

She didn't want to know the answer to that. For the first time in her life, she didn't want to know.

Her arm burned where Bellatrix's word had been mercilessly carved into her flesh; the wound pooled a brilliant crimson underneath her to mix with the sick that had spilled from her lips after the first unforgivable.

She was too worn, too crazed with pain to bring herself to care about this comparatively insignificant thing that would now forever scream Mudblood to anyone who cared to look at her forearm. Still, clear liquid pliped off the tip of her nose to join the other assorted bodily fluids gathering beneath her. Whether her tears were for the pain, or the slander, or both she wasn't sure.

LeStrange was talking, saying something that Hermione was too far gone to hear, too out of it to care. The older woman grabbed her by the back of her head and bent her face upwards, cold spindly fingers tipped with jagged nails digging into her scalp.

Hermione just gurgled at her again, spit and blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. Bellatrix let go and her face smashed back into the unforgiving floor.

Something inside her snapped, something distant and half dead cried out and thrashed and it demanded for an end to the literal torture.

Please!

It was the last vestiges of her sanity, which quickly turned into a pleading, sad kind of soft begging after another round of unforgivables.

Please...

She lay there for a moment, an hour, an eternity, as unmoving and still as any soulless creature. Her grasp of time had long since fled. Only the skittering expressions that passed over Malfoy's face served as a change to the constant pain and her torturer's gleeful laughter.

Enough. No more.

Please.

As she lay there in her short reprieve, Hermione saw movement from the corner of her eye but she was too gone to remember how to turn to look. Little feet stopped before her, clad in soft, brown leather boots caked in river mud. Knees bent in her line of sight and a little boy leaned forward to peer into her face. Dirt smudged cheeks and a concerned eyes, as expressive as they had always been.

A ghostly sensation passed over her skin as a little hand came forward to skim her bangs away from her eyes. Her bangs didn't move.

He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Blond hair bobbed about his features as he gestured wildly, lips moving but no words coming out. The little boy looked over his shoulder imploringly, to a smaller black haired boy with pale skin and delicate features.

Green eyes that swirled with color, like a nebula dancing through space met dull, empty brown eyes. There was something infinitely sad and lonely about those eyes. Something long lived and eternal, a kind of magic she had never grasped that sprung forth like a never dry fountain.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they weren't really here. Just some crazy projection of her own imaginings. Maybe she really had lost it, because in the next moment she blinked and the apparitions were gone.

Her heart sank in her chest and Hermione was surprised that she could feel anything at all outside of the magically induced agony.

"Thor," She called in a strangled murmur, the sudden sound of it startling her. Her voice garbled by fluids and muffled into the floor. She could barely even hear herself. It… wasn't enough, she needed to give everything she had left.

Wasn't enough for what? She wasn't sure, she couldn't remember. She knew it was important though… something… something…

"If you ever have need, call for us, and we will come."

Hermione shattered into tiny, incomprehensible little pieces, and with the last shred of who she was, she lifted onto shaking arms and screamed.

"Loki!"

The ancient leather that lay curled around her wrist heated just enough for her to notice the change, and for a split second realities and realms were bridged.

Then the magic sputtered, and died.

Hermione didn't notice this, her attention arrested by a door banging open. A boy appeared in her line of sight then, and in her half-dead, half-crazed state she saw black hair and green eyes and her spine sagged in relief because he had come for her.

This celebration was an identical copy of every celebration that had come in the wake of one of Thor's great battles. Rancorous laughter, heavy drinking, and heavily edited recollections of the battle.

Such was the victors right in every realm, throughout all of history. The victors always told the tale.

Loki couldn't say he really enjoyed these things. He filled his required amount of time present and then he left. Drinking and womanizing had never really been his idea of fun, not like his brother.

Luminous green eyes slid across the great hall filled to the brim with excited, and extremely drunk Aesir, looking to catch his brother's eye. Thor's pleased grin stretched his lips with all the genuine honesty he was made of. Which coincidentally was quite a lot. They were very different, for being brothers. Loki had never missed this fact.

"Loki!"

The echoed voice boomed across the hall, as if screamed from a great distance between high canyon walls. It was followed by a harsh crack of magic like a fierce thunder clap and many covered their ears with startled cries. Silence fell heavily on the proud warriors; all eyes turning to the startled prince.

The All-Father stood slowly from his dais, looking every bit of the king he was. Neither son paid him any mind.

Thor's grin melted from his face like ice in the desert sun.

For the first time in many centuries, the sons of Odin shared the same realization, quickly followed by the same plan.

Thor's heavy boots echoed loudly against the stone floors with an urgency that Loki quickly fell into step with.

"Heimdall will see her." Thor said, and despite their many, many failed attempts in the past to subtly ask the gatekeeper of any hints of the arcane on Midgard- this time Thor sounded very sure of himself.

"This is not how the spell should function, it transports bodies not voices." Loki reminded him as they made their way into the golden hall, despite his words he couldn't keep the hint of excitement from his voice. This was the first breath of her existence Thor had heard since he was a young boy. It was the first Loki had since his, as he now admits, misbegotten attempt to steal her time magic.

He had been young and lacking the patience he now held in spades.

A loud clamor rose behind them quickly followed by the All-Father's demand for silence. It was obeyed without question, but Thor and Loki's swift pace had already left the elder brother's celebration far behind.

"Such a mortal does not exists to my eyes." Heimdall's words were firm.

Thor looked grim, but neither of the brothers were ready to accept it yet. The sorceress was clearly in distress and Thor was not in the habit of breaking oaths. Loki was not in the habit of letting perfectly good, and not to mention rare, arcane wielders go to Helheim without good reason.

Another, small and buried part of him rankled at the idea of her passing. If any day was the day that she died it would be too soon.

Hermione. Now that he was older he could recognize her for the child she had been; his eyes unclouded by time. The Sorceress Hermione of Midgard, who had filled his empty cup when he had been a boy. She had been his first taste of acknowledgement, of feeling like what he had had to offer would be enough.

That he, simply as who he was, was all that she had desired. Her eyes never searched his looking for truth in the whispers the prophets had spoken. Her words never demanded anything more than he was willing to offer. She had been a novelty, a being unlike any he had known before or come to know after.

The feeling had long faded with time, but Loki had never forgotten it either. Ever searching, ever seeking that same feeling out again, eons later only to see that when he did find it, that it was different, not quite the right tune. It never seemed as… real or true as when she had offered her hand. Of course, all of this was difficult for the God of Mischief to come to terms with- so he simply… didn't.

His last encounter with her had been a pity, the wheels of bitter fate had already begun to turn for him and he had been young and rash.

"Look again, perhaps on another of the Nine Realms." Loki insisted to the golden eyed gate keeper, only to have those disconcerting eyes turn on him.

"Such a mortal." He said slowly, eyes glazing before gaining a sharp focus, "does not exist."

Thor's shoulders slumped, and Loki's tensed in defiance.

Heimdall's hands tightened around his sword; the key to the bifrost. It was Loki's first clue to the presence at their backs.

"What is the meaning of this." The All-Father's commanding voice demanded from the entrance to the Bifrost room. "Arcane mortals? There is no such thing. I would know it."

Neither son would look at him, and Odin's frown deepened.

His sons were hiding something.

This had never happened in all the centuries he had raised these boys. At least- not for very long. Thor was too honest, and Loki in his never ending quest to gain his father's attention had assured it.

But something about this was different, and the King of Asgard felt a terrible sense of foreboding for it.

Somewhere, worlds and realities away, tucked tightly between piles of unsorted books inside an ancient wizarding school, a red leather bound book with gold leaf pages glowed momentarily in an attempt to bridge worlds and answer the call of mothers magic.

Sadly, the magical book was only so powerful and the distance was too great.

The glow sputtered and died after only a moment.

It wasn't long after Hermione's ordeal as everyone seemed to like to call it, that she finally came to terms with the bracelet that never left her person. The magic must have worn out somehow. No longer functioning. Perhaps alternate dimensions were just too far separated to bridge the gap. Honestly, she should be grateful that she had even had the chance to meet the little godlings; maybe it was too much to ask for their help in a war they had no part in to begin with. It seemed an unfair thing to ask of them in retrospect.

Still, as her mind settled, part of her was relieved to finally know the thing was only for aesthetics at this point, only for her own sentimentality. She kept it regardless.

A part of Hermione had fractured that day. Her innocence and blind trust had died with the experience; left to rot in Malfoy Manor. Her torture, followed by the broken promise had been a little too much for her optimism to bear.

Hermione was not the same person who had walked into this war, and she would not be the same person to walk out.

She swore they would though; Hermione, and Ron, and Harry. They were all going to get through this.

The first thing Thor did upon arriving on Midgard was to retrieve his hammer; because the God had his priorities in order if nothing else. His life was currently in absolute shambles, and if not for the steady company of his new found mortal friends he might have further lost his way.

The battle was far from over, Loki had claimed that their father lay dead; Thor's banishment, and the impending war he had foolishly caused on Jotunheim too much for the aging king of the Aesir to bare.

Thor had never felt the burden of guilt as he did now. It was a heavy cloying thing, but Thor was a prince of Asgard- if not in title then at least in memory. He would be strong. He would hold his head high and take his banishment with dignity.

He would make the best of this.

So in a small lull, when the mortal Jane bustled about with her companions between notes and computers and tracking devices, Thor made a search of his own.

He never had been able to accept Heimdall's words, nor his fathers. He had not imagined her as a boy as the All-Father seemed to think; Loki agreed with him on this one thing at least. And Thor knew his brother wouldn't have played tricks on him, not with this.

He knew it had been the Sorceress Hermione calling at the banquet and not one of his brothers magic ploys as his father claimed. Loki was many things, but when the young mortal was mentioned between them, his brother was serious, if not a little somber.

So Thor journeyed out alone into the quiet of the barren desert; and he called for her. There was no pressing need, no imminent danger to himself or his friends. The son of Odin simply wanted to know.

There was no response, the magic didn't even twinge.

He heaved a sigh, heavy with more than just this one failure to keep his oaths. She had only been a mortal, many centuries ago. Despite her power over time, she would have long ago made the journey to Helheim by now.

Thor wasn't sure what to think, but the boy in him clung desperately to this small piece of what his life had once been. When it was no more complicated that keeping a fugitive mortal who, by all accounts did not even exist, from the eyes of their father.

Once, when he and his brother had been of the same mind.

Surely though, his reason stated. She must be long dead by now.

It was a good thing Thor wasn't known for his reasonings.

Everyone had sacrificed something in the war. Their homes, livelihoods, sanity, family- loved ones. Not a single person had come out of this war unscathed, and Hermione was no exception. Her mind automatically cataloging every window and doorway, shadowed corners and advantageous places to cast a spell from without gathering attention to oneself.

It was a compulsion at this point, and Harry and Ron didn't blink twice when she jumped at the crack of a nearby disapparation, or when she hesitated to take a particular seat at the dinner table because it would leave her back exposed to the room.

It was the little things that added up, things they all recognized in each other. The behaviors they had drilled into themselves and each other, not because they desired to but because the war had made it do or die. Hermione, Harry and Ron were war veterans by the time they were eighteen, and it was apparent to anyone who cared to look. It was like a sickness that she didn't want or even know how to move past.

Oh, she had read books of course; PTSD, trauma disorders and the like, but her understanding of what the issue was didn't suddenly provide her the desire to not check over her shoulder, or to avoid bright patches of exposed sunlight on the street when there was perfectly good shadows lining the wall.

No, Hermione was quite damaged, and nothing could convince her that her paranoia was unfounded. Ron and Harry readily agreed on that, the idea that someday the world might be so 'safe' that the reflex to cast curses first and ask questions later would become null was such a fanciful one that the concept hardly even came up in conversation between them.

"Constant vigilance." Harry had echoed the words of their long ago teacher, and fellow wizard in the war that had taken his life. It had been about a year after the fact, and the trio stood panting, heaving for breath as the adrenalin rushed through their veins in a stark, brutal reminder. Strike faster, with more ruthless surety and strength than your enemy; least they get up again and kill you for your folly.

A small group of stragglers that could hardly be called Death Eaters anymore had attacked the Burrow that night, and their combined paranoia had been the only thing that had saved the Weasley family from burning to death in their sleep.

At least, they were all in agreement on continuing to upkeep their skills and reflexes right up until the day that George had apperated in on top of Hermione- in the middle of her locked office within the ministry, just before closing after hours of dead silence.

The remaining Weasley twin had lived, but Hermione would never forgive herself after that.

It was the catalyst for her sharp decline in her attempts at returning to functional society.

Hermione's triggers had gotten worse in later years. To the point where she felt better living alone, and working a job that required the absolute minimum of contact required with other people.

It wasn't so much that she didn't feel safe- although this was absolutely a part of it. No, it was more that she worried for the safety of everyone else.

Hermione used to have a lot of ideals, charities she had wanted to implement and laws she had dreamed of changing. She still wanted all of that, but now she found that the only option available was to work from her home. The windows spelled shut with alarm traps at every entrance.

Sometimes it felt like the paranoia ruled her life, and not for the first time she wished she could magic it away.

Despite her attempts to make the changes she had once dreamed of seeing as a young girl, she mostly just ended up with a lot of books. Reading, as it had always been, was her constant companion in the silence.

She ended up with quite the collection lining her small flat; shelves and shelves books filled the space. Some were basic instruction books in their three hundredth print. Others were not so innocuous. Some were dark, with a mind of their own. Rare things. Dangerous things.

And so it came to pass that a title she had always privately held close inside her heart was spoken aloud.

Hermione, the book expert.

At the age of twenty six, Hermione made her first long distance trip in over six years. She arrived at the gates of Hogwarts via portkey in the late afternoon during the current students summer vacation. It was only a short trip, and she was met with Filius Flitwick at the entrance hall so he could guide her towards the library she hadn't set foot in since her sixth year as a student.

"Madam Pince's passing was quite unexpected." Flitwick told her mournfully, and Hermione supposed it must be difficult for the professors to lose a coworker they had seen everyday for the better part of forty years.

Hermione herself felt a tinge of regret and sympathy. Despite her many hours worth of time spent buried in books here, she had never really come to know the old woman who presided over the ancient tomes. They had been acquaintances at best.

"We appreciate you coming out, Ms. Granger. I know it must be difficult what with the whole…" He trailed off, eyes darting away as his short stature took measured, quick steps to keep up with her easy pace.

He didn't have to finish, Hermione knew what most people thought of her. She was a shut in, pushing away wizarding and muggle society because of psychological damage from the war. It wasn't unheard of for witches and wizards to shun social interaction; it was just a bit unusual because of her young age.

Flitwick cleared his throat awkwardly as they made their way through the front of the library. Madame Pince's office was situated behind the checkout counter, the front door a silent reminder of the authority here as it was right next to the restricted section entrance.

"Well here we are." He said, "Let me know if you need anything."

"Alright," She agreed softly, eyes already scanning the various books and parchments scattered around the room.

There was barely even space to walk, let alone sit anywhere. Looks like she had her work cut out for her.

"Thank you Professor." She told the shorter man as he turned, and he looked back over to flash her a quick smile.

"So, wait. Let me get this straight." Doctor Banner interrupted the clamor brought on by Thor's tentative suggestion. And wasn't that something in itself, that the proud confident God would be tentative in anything.

Said blond God seemed confused by the assorted mortals hesitation.

As Thor saw it; magic was magic- did such a thing always require an explanation? Some things simply did not have one. His own hesitancy was only born by whether or not it could actually be done. The sorceress seemed far from his grasp after so many attempts at contact, but he had seen these mortals do some amazing things before- things the All-Father would not hesitate to deem impossible.

He would scoff at his father's short sightedness if such a thing wasn't a little too close to what his brother might do.

"You want to summon a sorceress- a human one- that you met when you were a child because you think her… magic… will be able to contest Loki's?" He hesitated over the word 'magic' as if it left a sour taste in his mouth to use something so ambiguous.

As if he hadn't already seen his brother perform such things already. Mortals really were a confounding lot.

"And how many centuries ago was that?" Tony Stark interjected sarcastically.

"Several." Thor answered honestly, the rhetorical question going completely over his head. "She is in command of time magics, however."

Fury's attention seemed to sharpen.

"Well that's... something." Barton gave his two cents.

"Is it really wise to bring in an unknown into the situation? A lot could have changed since you knew her." Steve asked his comrade, ever the attempted voice of reason.

"Yes," Thor said honestly, "I am sure they have, as they have changed for my brother and I as well."

Tony scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. "Why are we even considering this... hocus pocus," He made a swirling gesture in the air with one hand for emphasis, "We should be focusing on an actual plan and not summoning some fairy godmother."

"She is a sorceress, not a fairy." Thor corrected the man with a frown. The very rich egotist scowled at him.

"Don't get off topic." Romanov tried to deflate the argument she could see brewing.

"Put it on the back burner for now." Fury interjected. "If you think of anything, keep me informed. Right now our priority is locating the tesseract, and keeping an eye on Loki."

"So how does it work?" Banner asked Thor as they headed toward the laboratory to start running scans.

Thor gave him a sheepish look. "I do not command an understanding of the arcane as my brother does, all I know is what the result should be."

"Should be?" Tony asked the larger man with a quirked eyebrow. Thor nodded absently.

"Yes, when Loki and I were very young, we gave her a location spell that our mother created. It allows the caller to summon the individual. Its purpose was to pull us from danger."

"How is it anchored to her?" Banner asked curiously, "How is it anchored to you for that matter, you just- what, call her name and it summons her?"

Thor nodded.

Tony and Bruce shared a look. "Maybe some kind of unknown radiation?" Banner mused to the other man.

"No way, radiation wouldn't do anything to prevent quantum entanglement. It'd have to be some kind of wavelength capable of breaking matter down to the atom."

"Beam me up Scotty." Banner joked. Tony seemed to brighten at the pop culture reference.

"Who is Scotty?" Thor asked, sitting himself down in one of the office chairs at a long table covered in science equipment he didn't recognize, nor care to.

Tony and Banner gave him a look but didn't answer.

"Alright well let's start with the assumption that it is magic, Thor do the-" Tony made a gesture at the man, wiggling his fingers in the air "Calling thingy. Jarvis I want you to record and scan every wave length you can when Thor here does the thing, see if we can't figure out how this works." He murmured the last part to himself.

"I'll see to it, Sir." The computer AI agreed accommodatingly.

Thor leaned back on the hind legs of his chair, arms crossed and without even a by your leave he called out authoritatively, confident that his friends would find a way to assist the centuries old magic.

"Lady Hermione."

Hermione paused in her sorting, eyes locked onto a very familiar book.

She hadn't thought about it- or Asgard, or even the friends she had made there in a few years. It had always sat somewhere in the back of her mind, the kind of thing she wondered at absently before moving on with her day.

The damn book was glowing, it lifted itself off the desk, other books sliding off of it to topple onto the floor as it began to rise.

Hermione's breath hitched, eyes wide, wand already in hand and the other reaching towards the magicly depth enhanced pocket inside her jacket- just in case she needed her instant darkness powder.

And just like that the book toppled back onto the desk, silent, and nondescript.

"It appears to be some kind of photonic echo location." Jarvis informed the three of them. "I have analyzed the wavelength, but I do not believe it can be replicated by my systems. It's complicated in nature and there is are several aspects that are an unknown to our current science."

Tony scowled slightly, "Keep working on it Jarvis, if anything changes inform me."

"Yes, Sir." The AI acknowledged.

"Have faith." Thor said when he caught the agitated look on the Man of Iron's face, and Bruce had no idea where the guy got his never ending well of confidence from but he hoped that however this turned out that it was in their favor.

She took a step towards the little red book warily, eyes flying around the room for just a moment to catalog the space on reflex.

She was alone in the cramped office, and anyone she had previously known who might have been able to answer her questions were long dead now.

Wand still at the ready, she reached a tentative hand out, fingers visibly twitching before the touch of soft leather ghosted across her fingertips.

Nothing happened.

Her lips turned down at the corners slightly in confusion. The thing had just been glowing hadn't it? She knew she hadn't imagined that. She deliberated for only another moment before pocketing her wand and lifting the tome into both hands as if it were a newborn. With the gentle reverence that she always held old, important books with. This book especially.

Eyes flying back over to the door- still closed- she wasn't even sure why she was so nervous about someone walking in on her with it. It felt like her dirty secret that she had only kept out of some twisted sense of hoarded memories.

She didn't want to share them.

She had a choice few good things that were hers alone, and her memories of her time is Asgard were among them.

"Okay." She told it, reveling in the feel of its weight in her hands. "What's up with you?" She questioned. It wasn't often that any book ever actually had anything to say back and she suspected this wasn't that particular brand of magical artifact, but she felt the compulsion to ask anyways.

She turned it, so the spine lay flat in her palm as if she might crack it open and take a peek, but she hesitated again. The pad of her thumb swiped gently at the corner of the back cover, and she nibbled at her lip.

Hermione had never expected to see this book again, somehow she had always assumed that the old headmaster had spirited it away to places unknown and that it was simply gone from her grasp.

Not that she hadn't thought about it.

"Well, it's not like I have anything to lose." She murmured to no one.

The spine split with a creak of protest, and the first page lay bare before her curious gaze. She had half expected it to be in old norse, like all the books that had been in the Asgard library and Loki's room.

She turned it back over to confirm that the title on the spine was in English, and she supposed it only made sense if the outside was in her native tongue that the inside would be that way too.

She turned back to the inside, eyes skimming over the forward hungrily.

"Your father's gone a-hunting," She read the first line aloud with only a slight pause. "He's deep in the forest so wild, and he cannot take his wife with him, he cannot take his child. Your father's gone a-hunting, in the quicksand and the clay. And a woman cannot follow him, although she knows the way."

Hermione scoffed. "Well that's a bit s-"

She didn't get a chance to finish the thought as once more the book began to glow, and before her eyes the English letters morphed into the less familiar script of old Norse. She almost dropped it, but the part of her that flinched at the thought of unceremoniously dumping a book onto the ground prevented it.

Then her wrist began to burn, her eyes widened as they alighted on the long-silent leather that curled around her skin.

A breath later, the over stuffed office found itself empty, and a little red book fell to the floor with a dull thump in an imitation of the last time it had had a traveler.

Only this time there was no one who would know where she had gone.

This party, Tony reflected, had gone a lot better than his last one. That birthday had been a disaster. Things were… different now. He supposed nothing made people faster and better friends than fighting an army of aliens together, and it had been a good long while since they'd all been gathered like this for something other than Fury's little errands.

Now that Loki's magic doohickey was sitting in his lab, Javis working away at it before Thor left to take the thing back to his home planet or whatever. It seemed that everyone was feeling a palpable sense of relief with it in hand, Thor especially seemed relieved.

Everyone, except maybe himself.

He pushed his concerns away forcibly as his team gathered around him as if called by his thoughts. Thor had placed his hammer on the coffee table between them, and Tony couldn't help but eye the thing speculatively as the topic of 'he who is worthy' came up between them.

Clint tucked the pair of drumsticks he had been idly twirling between deft fingers into his back pocket as their blond teammate gave the archer the go-ahead to try and lift it.

"Did Glinda the White ever manage to pick it up?" Tony heard himself ask on reflex, his mind turning briefly to the magic-woman they had attempted to contact during the whole Loki fiasco.

"Who?" Thor asked with furrowed brows.

It was Cap who jumped at the chance to explain a reference he understood. "The Magician you knew."

"Ah," Thor nodded in understanding, punctuated by Clint's grunts of effort and Natasha's quiet laughter at the man's expense. "The Lady Hermione, no, I knew her long before Mjolnir came into my possession."

The blond God blinked then, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Although before my brother's passing, I did see-"

"Excuse me Sir, my apologies for the interruption." Jarvis interjected suddenly, and everyone except Tony looked up at the ceiling on reflex.

"What is it Jarvis?" Tony inquired with a small amount of curiosity. He assumed it had something to do with his and Banner's little 'project'.

It didn't.

"I have confirmed readings that the photonic echo location has reached its destination and returned with a carbon mass the approximate size of a small adult."

"What?" Thor and Natasha asked at the same time.

Bruce and Tony stood in tandem. "It worked?" Banner turned to him eyes alight with scientific curiosity.

"What worked? English please." Agent Hill who had been previously content to laugh at their antics now had a dangerous edge to her voice, as if she expected them to be up to no good. A fair assumption, Tony conceded silently.

"It seems," Tony began theatrically, and Steve's eyebrow climbed at the display. "That your little witch has decided to pay us a visit after all."

Thor was up, hand around Mjolnir's handle in a sweeping movement that startled a few of their present company.

"Where." It wasn't so much a question, as it was a demand. A very sharp one.

There was a pause, before Jarvis answered.

"I am unab-" and his voice trailed off, garbled and electronic sounding in a way that set all their teeth on edge.

"Jarvis?" Tony questioned, concerned. He tapped at his wrist watch in an attempt to pull up any information, or even to reboot his favorite AI system. It was completely unresponsive.

A metallic groaning sound filled the space between them, followed by a scraping, metal on metal shriek as a badly damaged robot dragged itself into the room.

And with that, all hell broke loose, the witches arrival pushed aside but not forgotten.

AN: If you've made it this far, thank you for giving this fic a try! I'd love to hear any comments or questions you might have so please leave a review. Part Two will go up after it comes out of Beta, and Part Three after that. I'm not sure if there's going to be a Part Four yet but we'll see. See y'all then!