[A/N]: I know. I should be studying or writing the next chapter for my already ongoing fanfiction. But, instead, here I am, with a vicious desire to write an Avengers crossover with Harry Potter, where MoD!fem!Harry is a ruthless and maybe a bit too OP.

Anyway, enjoy! Let me know what you guys think.

EDIT: Forgot to put in a standard disclaimer. Dearie me, I'm getting old and I haven't even graduated yet.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Marvel.

WARNINGS: Foul language and potential mentions of fem slash in the future. The far, distant future.

A woman walked down the street, her pace brisk and her eyes alert. She wore a bright pink jacket over a well-fitted men's suit. A tie patterned with bumblebees stood out from underneath. Her sandals slapped loudly against the wet pavement.

Luckily for her, the street was deserted. There was no one nearby to wonder at her odd choice of attire, and the darkness of the night helped hide the worst of it. Her right fist stiffened at her side as she turned around a corner, ready to defend herself if there were any unpleasant surprises lurking. She relaxed when the street was clear. Then she saw a building before her, a single black door tucked discreetly to the side—though whether the colour was from the grime that doubtlessly lay thick over it, or whether it was painted, she did not know. She drew closer, eyes lighting up when they took in the small, painted symbol on the door handle.

A triangle, with a line splitting it down the middle and a circle set within. The Deathly Hallows.

The woman touched her finger to the symbol and felt the expected prick as a paper-thin cut appeared on the flesh, allowing a drop of red, thick blood to ooze out. The symbol pulsed, a faded green glow emanating from it. The door swung open.

She blinked at the sight that awaited her but was not otherwise surprised. Contrary to the building's external appearance, its interior had been stripped clean, repainted and furnished with luxurious, if eccentric, taste. The wall opposite the entrance displayed all manner of strange objects. There was a collection of books on the top shelf, and as the woman walked down the hallway, she saw that one of them proclaimed, in Ancient Greek, The Black Arts: Necromancy. She started, recognising the tome as an ancient one, thought to have been lost since the Bonfire of the Vanities in 1497.

The lower shelves were dedicated to a mix of objects and relics. Some looked as though they were about to fall apart, while others were simply cracked clay pots. But the woman did not think for one moment that they were worthless—if Jessamine had placed them here, then their value was priceless.

Jessamine. The woman blinked and scowled at herself. She had allowed herself to be distracted, and now she was late.

She hurried on. The narrow hallway opened up to reveal a spacious living room. A chandelier hung from the ceiling over deep green couches. And there, seated on the cushions, a book in her lap, was the Mistress.

"Pansy," said the Mistress before she could even open her mouth. "Welcome."

"Jessamine," said Pansy, offering a low bow.

Jessamine stood, pulling Pansy in for a hug. "You look positively dreadful."

"I thought I blended in."

The response, much to Pansy's displeasure, elicited a laugh. "Perhaps if you did not wear that awful jacket. Anyway, come sit with me. You have what I asked for?"

"Of course," she replied with a sniff. She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of files far too large to have fitted in there, laying them on the coffee table. "Here."

Jessamine opened the top folder. A vaguely pretty woman stared out at her. The woman in the photo glared at Jessamine, her chin raised in defiance but did not otherwise move. "Very good," she murmured. "She will disappear by the end of the month?"

Pansy nodded in confirmation. "I'll have ten thousand Galleons in her mother's Gringotts account in a week. Two days after she receives the money, she has an appointment with a discreet Healer. By the end of her session, she will remember nothing of her life as Jess Wright, and will only know her life as Sally Matheson."

"Obliviate the Healer too, won't you?" said Jessamine, turning a page. She scanned the information listed. Jess Wright was a witch born in Bath, England, to a witch mother and a non-magical father. She had been home-schooled, instead of sent to Hogwarts. She had been fourteen when her father had died of cancer. Soon after, as the war began in earnest, Jess and her mother had moved to North Carolina, US. She was currently twenty-five-years-old and had learnt two months ago that her mother had contracted a lethal magical disease. Unfortunately, they were poor, and could not afford the expensive treatment.

"And the mother?" asked Pansy.

"Five hundred Galleons a year should suffice in keeping her silence. Have someone keep an eye on her though—if it seems like she's trying to expose us, remind her that she was the one who sold us her daughter," replied Jessamine. "If that doesn't work, kill her."

Pansy made a small note of her instructions in her journal. "No Obliviation?"

"I can play the part of the distraught daughter if need be, but it would raise awkward questions if Jess's mother suddenly has no recollection of her," explained Jessamine. She set aside Jess Wright's folder, moving onto the next in the pile.

"That's from Finch-Fletchley," said Pansy. "Once the documents in there are signed, it will be done and dusted. He will be the new SEAO of The Potter Company after you vanish."

"CEO," corrected Jessamine as she Conjured herself a quill. Pansy scowled—she'd been trying to get a hang of muggle culture for years, but some aspects of it clearly evaded her still. "Done."

Pansy collected the folder. "The next one is the lease for your new home in Los Angeles under Jess Wright's name. I've arranged for a distant aunt to die and leave a generous inheritance to Jess, allowing her to finally rent a place away from home and her mother's overbearing nature. The house is owned by one of Theo's cousins, and he is, of course, giving you free rent."

"Kind of him," remarked Jessamine.

"Theo spoke to him."

"Ah."

"The last folder is in regards to Jess's employment. I've taken the liberty of applying to a few jobs for her, and the résumé Boot put together has earned her interviews with several companies in the coming weeks for various administrative and management roles."

Jessamine opened the final folder, skimming through the company names. Some were prominent companies she recognised, but one name, in particular, stood out to her. Stark Industries. The role required someone in a low-level administrative position with opportunity to rise to a mid-level management position within three years. She wondered what exactly being a low-level administrator in the most advanced weapons manufacturing company in the world entailed.

"The first interview is in five days," she noticed.

Pansy nodded. "Everything is already ready for you in Los Angeles. I've arranged for some furniture to be moved into the new house, but I imagine you'll bring much more with you when you go down there."

"Definitely," agreed Jessamine. "I would like to see Jess in person before then. I want to study her appearance as best as I can before I go out in public as her."

"Of course."

"That's all the information you've brought me?"

"Yes."

Jessamine smiled, leaning back into her couch. "Good. Let's catch up then, shall we? We won't see each other nearly as often after I move to America."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "I'll still be seeing you every weekend. And I imagine I'll end up moving to America with you in a few years. Merlin knows you won't survive without me," she added under her breath.

Jessamine smiled, affection warming her eyes. They had been friends for years before they'd started working together. It had only pulled them closer together, and Jessamine was unashamed to call Pansy her best friend. She was sure it worked the other way around too. "If you say so, darling."

Though a prisoner, Jess Wright had been made quite comfortable since she'd been trapped down in the dungeons. There was a comfortable bed for her to the side with warm blankets. A table where she could eat at, with hot, good food delivered to her at noon and 7 PM on the dot, every day. To the other side of the wall, there was the bathroom, where everything she needed had been supplied. There was even a change of clothes laid on her bed daily.

Yet she had chosen to sleep on the floor, wearing the same robes she'd worn since she'd been captured. She smelled like Nundu's breath and was caked in dirt. Her bed was undisturbed; she had never slept in it. Jessamine supposed it was a relief that Jess had at least eaten her meals and used the toilet instead of relieving herself in a corner.

Jess had pressed against the back wall when she'd heard the dungeon door opening and the footsteps drawing closer. She glared at them all, with particular loathing at Pansy, who had been the one to put her in here. Jessamine stepped closer to the cell. She flicked her hand, and fire bloomed into existence in the torches that hung on the walls, lighting up Jess's hunched form.

"You eat the food we give you, but you don't shower in the bathroom we gave you," said Jessamine. "You must know we aren't going to kill you by now, so why do you insist on making yourself uncomfortable?"

"Let me out," spat Jess. She glared at her captors, but her fury was met with cool impassiveness.

"Don't be silly," chided Jessamine. Then she frowned. "I can't see you under all that filth." She clicked her fingers, the sound echoing.

In moments, Jess had been scrubbed clean by a strong Scourgify. Her skin was reddening from the roughness of it, but at least her freckles were visible now. With another snap of Jessamine's fingers, even Jess's blonde hair had been washed, straightened and dried.

"Lovely," said Jessamine, pleased with her own work.

"You fucking bitch!" roared the prisoner, her face purpling with rage. She launched herself forwards, slamming against the bars of her cell. "Let me out! Help! Let me out!"

Pansy, who had been watching from the back, put herself in front of Jessamine with a snarl. Her wand snapped out, and chains appeared from within the cell, wrapping around Jess and pulling her backwards. Pansy jabbed her wand viciously, Silencing Jess. The woman's mouth opened and closed, still screaming profanities but no one could hear her now. "Mind your tongue, filth," growled Pansy. "The Mistress has been kind enough to provide you with every comfort you need, and still you spit on her favour."

"Hush, Pansy," said Jessamine, and her employee subsided. "Remove her chains. I can't see her figure when she's all tied up in that metal." Pansy obeyed, and Jessamine waved her hand before Jess could throw herself against the bars again, freezing the prisoner in place. "Strip."

Jess's eyes widened with horror when her hands proceeded to do exactly that. She could not move a single finger, could not even fight her movements. Her limbs obeyed Jessamine's order with a fluid ease, as though not every thought in her brain was rebelling against it. When she was down to her bra and knickers, Jessamine had her turn slowly in the spot, committing every feature of Jess's body to memory.

"Speak now. How did you get that scar on your hip?" asked Jessamine.

The answer rose readily to Jess's lips. "I was six. Dad built a tree-house for me. I climbed up, but a squirrel surprised me and I fell. One of the branches cut my hip."

"Dull," commented Jessamine, but had Pansy note it down anyway. "That is all. Thank you for your cooperation, Jess." The spell released its hold on her and she crumpled to the floor, eyes burning with tears of humiliation.

Jessamine pulled out her wand. It was a gnarled thing, nothing like the refined smoothness of Pansy's. But power burned within its core like no other, though Jessamine was the only one in the world who could sense such things. She twisted the tip of her wand carefully. Her features shimmered and distorted. It looked as though they were melting away, and in its place, Jess Wright came into existence, looking exactly like the Jess Wright who watched in disgust from her cell.

"How do I look?" asked Jessamine, mock-preening under Pansy's assessing look.

"Perfect," declared Pansy.

Jessamine glanced at Jess. "It was a pleasure. I hope you enjoy your new identity."

"My mum will know," said Jess, desperation tingeing her tone.

Jessamine walked away, ignoring her, but Pansy paused, vindictiveness bright in her eyes. She had not forgiven the insult to Jessamine, and the Slytherin in her demanded the insult be repaid. "Darling, your mum was the one who sold you to us." She gave an unpleasant, high-pitched laugh and turned, following after Jessamine.

Behind her, Jess stared with a slack jaw. It was hours later when she started to weep.