A/N: Didn't own it yesterday. Don't own it today. Won't own it tomorrow, either. Catching my drift, yet?

"So."

"So." Lola quirked an eyebrow and tilted the left side of her mouth in a small, crooked half-smile.

They were in the living room at Grimmauld Place, waiting for Natasha to finish getting dressed.

"You gonna let me in on your plans for the day?" Clint asked, leaning against the door frame.

Lola bit her lip and shook her head impishly. "Nope." Her grin grew wider at the sight of his obvious irritation. "You don't do well with surprises, do you? You'll have to put up with one for today, you know."

He shook his head. "Not typically. I don't like when I can't control a situation. I can only think of one off the top of my head that I was actually happy about."

"What was that?" Lola asked, shifting to put a booted foot in her lap.

Clint's gaze turned serious. "You."

The booted foot fell from Lola's thigh, hitting the floor with a thunk as her eyes widened. "Oh," she muttered, raising a hand to wipe messily at her eyes.

Watson stood in the back of Flourish and Botts, feigning interest in 101 Spells for Hair and Makeup and drinking her daily cup of coffee in a to-go cup. In reality, she was observing avidly as Rookwood, in disguise, perused the shelves of the potion section. She had been waiting awhile to make this arrest, and was practically chomping at the bit to take him down.

Rookwood was disguised, most likely by Polyjuice Potion, as a tall, handsome Italian with cropped black hair and nearly black-brown eyes, which scanned the dark potions books with careful interest. He had been in a few times before; the store owner had noticed after awhile that he was always carrying a flask with him that, whenever he drank from it, caused his hair and skin to grow darker. The store owner had sent a letter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and after doing a bit of reconnaissance, the DMLE had determined that the Italian man was actually Rookwood.

The rest of the Hit team was already stationed –Jack Curtis was posing as the homeless wizard on the street just outside the store, Michael Bones was smoking a cigarette as he walked up and down the street, and Harry Jameson was window shopping along the alley –along with the myriad of law enforcement that surrounded the alley.

Watson set the book down and made to move towards the exit at the same time that Rookwood turned to leave. She got to the door the same time as Rookwood did, "accidentally" spilling her coffee all down the front of his silk robes. Her cup clattered to the floor, the noise alerting the three other patrons in the store. They watched for a moment, but quickly lost interest and went back to their books.

"Oh –oh, shit!" Watson cried, whipping out her wand and pointing it at his robes. "Here, let me –scourgify – I am so incredibly sorry!"

She shivered internally when Rookwood leered down at her, no doubt aiming for a look down her blouse as she bent over slightly to inspect his robes. "It is quite alright, my dear."

"No, no, really," she protested, waving the hand with the wand at the robes, which, because they were silk, weren't completely clean. "They're such nice robes, and I've just completely ruined them –oh! How much do I owe you?"

"For what?"

"For the robes, of course!"

He grinned lecherously. "Why don't you buy me a coffee, and we can call it even?"

Watson grinned internally at her success. She almost had him. Externally, though, she narrowed her eyes. "You're kidding. A nice wizard like you shouldn't ask to get coffee with a clumsy witch who's just spilled coffee all over him."

"Who ever said I was nice?" Rookwood replied, reaching for the door and pulling it open. "After you."

Watson sent him a seductive smile as she walked out the door and into the mostly empty alley. Rookwood followed after, and Watson was struck by a moment of panic when an arm that was definitely not Thor's slide around her waist. Thor's arm was big and warm, and always left Watson with the distinct feeling of wanting more. This guy's arm was muscled, sure, (which Watson was pretty sure was due to the Polyjuice), but it wasn't warm and it really left Watson with the distinct feeling of wanting to scrub several layers of skin off her body.

As they descended upon the street, Watson caught Curtis's eye. He gave an almost imperceptible nod as Rookwood said, "So, a girl as pretty as you has to have a pretty name."

From her point of view, Watson could also see Bones striding towards them, and she assumed that Jameson would be approaching from behind.

"My name?" she said, pulling her wand from her pocket and leaning to speak lowly into her ear. "My name is Agent Jennifer Holmes. You're going to Azkaban, Rookwood."

Immediately, he took a swing at her, and she was a hairs-breadth of a second too late to stop him from catching her across the side of her face with the back of his hand.

Watson's head whipped to the side, and her cheek stung with pain as her foot struck out and landed a hard knee to his groin. At the same time, she brought her wand arm forward and cried, "Incarcerous!"

She knew she was victorious when ropes shot out of nowhere and bound Rookwood where he stood. The few people who had actually been on the street quickly backed away, for which Watson was immensely thankful when Curtis, Jameson and Bones reached her within seconds.

"Nice shot there, Holmesy," Curtis said as he took hold of Rookwood and pushed him to his knees. "He got in a good swipe there, though."

"Perks of the job." Watson shrugged, glaring down at Rookwood, who merely smirked back.

"I should -" Rookwood laughed.

"Shut up," Jameson growled, not fazing Rookwood at all.

"I should have recognized you," he continued. "The black blood-traitor sheep of your family –"

"Yes, you should have," Watson replied sharply. "But you didn't. And now you're going to be locked up for the rest of your useless, miserable life. And you know what?" she asked suddenly, leaning forward until her mouth was next to his ear. "You'll probably even get the Kiss –and I'll be watching as that happens with a smile on my face, you pathetic son of a bitch."

Rookwood spat at her feet. Watson slapped him sharply. His face flew sideways, but all he did was laugh. "Your parents would be offended by your language, Carina." He tilted his head in a direction over Watson's shoulder. "Speak of the devil, eh?"

Watson gritted her teeth and gave a hard look at Curtis and Jameson. "Get this fucker out of here before I kill him."

They both nodded reluctantly. "You sure you can handle that?" Bones asked, watching the people that Rookwood had seen.

Watson sighed. "I've been handling them for years –I'm good."

Curtis and Jameson each seized one of Rookwood's arms and yanked him to his feet before apparating away, Bones following closely behind.

Watson straightened up, smoothing down the front of her shirt and straightening her blazer before turning around.

She was met with over six feet of aristocracy and pureblood supremacy, as well as five-foot-five inches of the same exact thing, but with more compassion in her features. "Can I help you?"

Lucius Malfoy's eyes lowered to her face, no doubt to watch her rapidly reddening cheek. "He will refuse to speak, you know. He won't say anything."

"Rookwood hasn't dealt with me before." Watson folded her arms across her chest. "I don't need him to say anything."

"He served the Dark Lord –"

"That," Watson interrupted, "Is not a problem for me. Or did you forget that I was raised by Death Eaters? I married one, for Merlin's sake. I know them –I know how the mind of a Death Eater works. It's why I happen to be so good at my job. Good day."

As Watson made a move to go by, Lucius stepped in front of her.

"Did you need something, Mr. Malfoy?" Watson stared him hard in the eye, the extra three inches of height afforded to her by her black heels giving her extra courage.

Her obvious defiance was something that Lucius Malfoy was obviously not used to. He seemed to search for words before answering, "Draco misses you."

"Why?" Watson spat. "He hasn't got his parents pureblooded ideals to keep him company? Will you disown him now, too?"

"No ideals could replace his sister," Narcissa replied quietly.

Watson snorted. "Yeah? Well, you know what? You should have thought about that before you called me an ungrateful whore, kicked me out of the manor, and told me never to speak to any of you ever again."

"You dare –"

Narcissa put a hand out to stop her husband from going on a rant that would, no doubt, escalate the situation. "Please don't punish Draco for our mistakes."

Watson let out a bark of laughter. "I'm not punishing him. I'm simply following orders the way I was taught. You should be proud of me for being such a good little pureblooded girl."

With that, she turned on her heel and Apparated back to the Ministry.

"This is Hogsmeade," Lola said as Natasha and Clint attempted to recover from the sudden Apparation. "And it's, umm –hey, are you guys alright?"

"The hell was that?" asked Natasha as she bent over and put her hands on her knees.

"Apparation," Lola answered. "It's basically teleportation."

"Yeah, well, I can see what Steve was complaining about right now," Clint groaned. "I think I might puke. How are you not affected by this?"

"Please," Lola scoffed. "I've been doing this for at least two years. Give me some credit –I know what I'm doing. You get used to it after awhile."

"I'm not sure I want to," Natasha muttered as she finally stood upright.

"Yeah, well, we have to Apparate to get back, so…"

"You serious?" Clint raised an eyebrow.

Lola nodded. "Unless you want to walk back to England."

"What do you mean 'walk back to England'?" asked Natasha. "Where are we?" She cast a glance at the tiny village.

"Northern Scotland," Lola replied nonchalantly. "Dufftown's about ten miles west, and London's over four hundred miles south-southeast of here." She pointed to her right. "My school –Hogwarts –is a few miles up that way. Everyone used to come down here on the weekends and hang out. I've got some really, really good memories here." She held out a hand, blue eyes serious and in question. "I'd like to make some new ones."

When Watson arrived back in the apartment she shared with Collins, which happened to be just across the street from Grimmauld Place, the first thing she did was throw her shoes through the mirror in the hallway.

"Motherfucking world!" she shouted. "Why?"

"Watson?" Collins skidded around the corner and into the hall, Steve on her heels. Alarmed, she took in the broken mirror, the shoes on the floor and Watson's angered appearance. "Merlin, what the hell happened?"

"Lucius and Narcissa MALFOY happened, that's what happened!" Forgetting that she didn't have shoes on, Watson took one step forward and a piece of glass embedded itself in her foot. "FUCK!" Watson cried as pain shot through her foot.

Steve, careful to avoid the glass, strode towards her and slid an arm around her waist, starting to help her towards the large kitchen. "Bad day?"

"You could say that, and then more," Watson replied as she sat down heavily on the bench in the kitchen, panting in pain. "A hell of a lot more."

Time lapse…

Natasha had barely set foot inside her and Clint's apartment at StarkTower when JARVIS said, "Mrs. Romanoff-Barton, your daughter is in the living room. She appears to be in quite a panic."

"Is she alright?" Natasha asked concernedly, performing an abrupt about-face and heading back to the door.

"Physically, yes, but I do believe that she has a date with the young Mr. Wood tonight."

Natasha grinned as she stepped into the hallway.

When she arrived at the living room, she came face-to-face with an entertaining scene.

"Honey, maybe you should sit down. You're going to make yourself dizzy –"

"I'm already dizzy, Bruce!" Lola cried, adjusting the towel-turban she had on her head as she continued to pace. "The party is in three and a half hours and I have no idea what I'm even going to wear!"

Steve leaned forward in his chair. "I don't understand," he said. "Why are you worrying about how long you have to get ready when you've got three and a half hours to –"

Lola's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Steve. You would understand if you had actually decided to go." Then, she caught sight of Natasha watching from the corner. "OH, thank Merlin! I need your help in the most desperate of ways!"

"Come on," Natasha told Lola, smiling and tilting her head in the direction of her apartment.

"You nervous?"

"A bit," Lola replied as Natasha pinned her hair off her face. "Not for the date, though; more for the party part. I want to make a good impression."

"I don't think that's something you should be worried about," Natasha said as she slid a final bobby pin into Lola's hair. "You tend to make good impressions on people, Lola-girl."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. There aren't many people that Nick Fury will express his like for, you know."

"Yeah, well that's just one person," Lola muttered. "There'll be like thirty or forty people at this party."

"If it really goes that badly, just remind them that you're the Chosen One." Natasha grinned as she spun Lola's chair around to face the mirror. "That'll brighten them right up."

Lola's mouth dropped open.

"Did anyone ever tell you that if you weren't a spy, you could make a fabulous career in makeup?"

"Nope, but it's a nice thought."

Lola's hair was put up into a high bun, with her bangs pulled back as well, away from her face. Her makeup was all soft and smoky; her eyes were done in golds and browns, and her cheeks had the slightest amount of blush added to them. Her lips had a small amount of shimmery nude lip gloss on, though Lola was sure that it wouldn't last.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want me to cover up the scar," Natasha noted. "I can cover it, if you want –"

"Leave it." Lola tilted her head to the side. "It's part of who I am."

"Alright. What do you have for dresses?"

"Oh, God," was all Lola could say as she waved a hand and brought her purse flying forward. "There's so many, I really don't know what to do."

She opened it, and stuck her hand in far farther than it appeared than she should have been able to, and pulled out four dresses hung on hangers.

Natasha barely looked at all of the dresses before pointing at one. "That one."

Lola frowned. "You didn't even look at all of them."

"Trust me." Natasha nodded at the dress. "That's the one."

"But I really don't like this thing right here," Lola pointed out, tossing the other dresses back in the bag and fingering the train on the one that Natasha had picked out. "I'm going to trip over that all night, and I'll end up tearing the thing in two."

"We own scissors," Natasha replied, "For a reason."

Lola seized the dress and ran into the bathroom, coming out barely two minutes later saying, "Can you zip me?"

Natasha did so with expert efficiency, and smiled when Lola turned around. "That- that is the dress."

It was a gauzy, nude-colored long-sleeved dress, with a silver flowered pattern down the front. The train in the back was something that Natasha quickly cut off, and then the dress showed off Lola's magnificently long legs and elegant neck, with the way that her hair was swept off her shoulders.

"You look beautiful. Did you bring shoes?"

"Just one," Lola replied. "Luckily, they go with the dress."

She waved her hand again, and a pair of studded nude booties flew into her hands. They were, of course, charmed with a Cushioning Charm to remain comfortable all night long.

"I think you've got yourself an outfit, there," Natasha noted with a grin.

"Has anyone ever told you that you rock?" Lola asked. "Because you totally do, you know. Like, beyond rock. It's probably more along the lines of super-duper, kick-ass, out of this world kind of things."

"It's probably genetic. I'm surprised Steve didn't want to go with Collins to the event."

Lola shrugged. "She said something about it 'not being his scene', and that she relieved him of that duty as a favor." Lola laughed as she slid the shoes on. She checked her watch. "I've got, like, a half-hour to kill before I have to go back."

"You should go see your…father," Natasha replied. "He's down in the lab with Tony, working on some kind of new arrow. He'd like to see you."

"Is that really a good idea? The arrows, I mean?"

"Male bonding time." Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed. "Unless someone's physically injured, no one else gets involved."

"Alright, I'll go do that, then," Lola replied as she walked to the door. As an afterthought, as she arrived at the door, she turned around. "Thanks, mum."

Natasha's eyebrows would have shot up past her hairline, if they could. "For what?"

"Girl time." Lola shrugged. "It's not often that I get to do it."

She smiled and left.

"To the lab, JARVIS," Lola said as she walked into the elevator.

"Of course, Ms. Potter."

Lola barely had time to slide on her black trench coat and attempt to whistle the chorus of "Stacy's Mom" before the elevator arrived at the lab.

She wasn't surprised to hear a lot of yelling as she walked in, followed by several thunks and more yelling. "Hello?"

Tony stuck his head out from around the corner, and he was covered in grease and soot, as well as some. "Hey, princess."

"Hi."

"You look nice."

"Thanks."

"Going somewhere tonight?"

She smirked. "You could say that."
His face took on a distasteful look. "Right. The Irish idiot –"

"He's Scottish, actually, and he's also very smart and very nice."

"So says you," Clint replied as he came around the corner in much the same condition as Tony, only carrying his bow. "Hiya, cupcake."

Lola's nose wrinkled. "Cupcake? Really?"

He grinned. "Yeah. You don't like it?"

"Not particularly, no."

"How about dumpling?" Tony suggested.

"Not unless you wanted me to systematically destroy everything in this room."

"Gumdrop," Clint added, catching onto the game.

Lola grinned. "Not on your life."

"Sweetie-pie."

"No way, José."

"Shortie."

"I'm not the shortest person in the family."

"Bubba."

"Seriously?"

"Apparently not."

And on and on it went: Dodge, Lo, La, Lay, Bean, Cowgirl, Curly, Kitten (to which Lola vehemently declined), until Lola checked the time once more and realized that she had to go.

"But why would you want to go out with the Irish –"

"Scottish."

"Whatever. Why would you want to go out with the Scottish airhead when you could hang with us?"

"Because I happen to like the Scottish airhead," Lola replied. "I've been hanging out with you all week, you know."

"Tired of us already?" Tony asked.

"No," Lola protested. "I'll hang with you tomorrow."

"It's not the same."

As delicately as she could without covering herself in grease, she skipped forward, kissed both Tony and Clint on the cheeks.

"Bye Bug!"

Lola pointed at Clint as she backed away. "No. Absolutely not. Bye, Tony."

"Bye, princess."

"Bye, dad."

And then she was gone.

A/N: I know that I promised the Loliver date this chapter, but it just COULDN'T be done. So you'll have to make do with this. I'm thinking that I might start an outside blog, which would contain pictures of outfits and things like that. If I were to write more...mature scenes, I'd probably put them there, too, so that this story doesn't get taken down here. What do you guys think?

Love it?

Hate it?

Tell me about it! Unless you hate it. Flames will be ignored, and instead used to roast marshmallows, which will then fill my tummy with delicious smores.

Happy Thanksgiving to all you Yanks out there! Happy Thanksgiving to everyone else as well, but I don't know when that is for other countries, so...yeah.

Aca-awkward.