For 40 + advance chapter: patreon.com/Snowing_Melody
The silence following Skye's realization was heavy.
"The Second Magical War?"
Hermione nodded, her expression unchanged as she picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"Yes. If there is a first time, there will naturally be a second time. History rhymes, doesn't it?"
She looked up, her eyes bored. "The Second War took place about forty years ago—and again in the 90s. It was started by a guy named Voldemort."
"Voldemort?" Trip whispered. "Sounds cheerful."
"He was powerful," Hermione admitted with a shrug. "But honestly? He was mentally challenged. Obsessed with blood purity, terrified of death, couldn't conquer a high school. He ultimately died from superstition."
"Superstition?" Skye asked, bewildered. "Like... walking under a ladder?"
"Like relying on a prophecy he didn't understand and getting killed by a rebounding curse because he didn't understand the obscure laws of wand ownership," Hermione deadpanned. "Basically, he forgot to read the Terms and Conditions of magic."
Everyone was speechless. The most feared Dark Lord died because he didn't read the manual?
Seeing that Hermione clearly had no respect for this "Voldemort" character, Coulson steadied himself and forced the conversation back to the immediate threat.
"Okay," Coulson said, rubbing his temples. "Magical history aside. You've ruled out precognition."
"Even wizards of Hermione and Grindelwald's caliber couldn't predict tactical details with 100% accuracy," Coulson reasoned aloud. "So, none of us believe the Clairvoyant has that ability anymore."
"What about supernatural remote surveillance?" Coulson asked. "Telepathy? Astral projection?"
This was their Plan B theory. Maybe the Clairvoyant was watching them right now.
Hermione chuckled softly. It was a sound filled with pity for their ignorance.
"That's even more unlikely."
She stood up and walked to the center of the room, her aura flaring slightly. The air pressure dropped.
"If someone were spying on this room using supernatural means," Hermione said, her voice echoing slightly, "it is impossible for me not to feel it. I am a sensor array."
She tapped her temple. "Legilimency. Scrying. Astral Projection. They all leave a magical footprint. It feels like a static charge on the skin."
She looked at Garrett, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long.
"Let alone your elusive 'Clairvoyant' who hides his face."
"Even for Hogwarts Professors, or the top Aurors of the Ministry—people who hunt Dark Wizards for a living—it would be an almost impossible task to monitor me remotely without tripping my wards."
Hermione leaned forward. "If this 'Clairvoyant' is truly capable of deceiving my senses... then his power level is comparable to Albus Dumbledore."
She laughed. "And frankly? If a wizard of Dumbledore's level wanted you dead, he wouldn't be playing these petty games. He wouldn't use Ian Quinn. He wouldn't need Centipede soldiers."
She shrugged, her tone dripping with mockery.
"Wouldn't it have been simpler for him to just kick open Fury's office door, turn him into a ferret, and make S.H.I.E.L.D. kneel?"
Puff--
Trip choked on his breath, suppressing a laugh. The image of Nick Fury kneeling before a wizard was absurd.
Coulson's lips twitched helplessly. "Fair point. Beings of that caliber don't need to hire mercenaries."
The room fell silent as the logic settled in. The supernatural element was gone. The mystery was stripped away.
But then, the implication hit them.
If the enemy wasn't psychic... and he wasn't magic...
Then how did he know everything?
Coulson's expression turned grim. "In other words... we were being fooled by an ordinary person all along?"
"How?" Fitz whispered. "The variables..."
"Information!"
Skye suddenly looked up, her eyes gleaming with the clarity of a hacker who just cracked the encryption.
"It's information!" she shouted, pointing at the holotable.
"He doesn't need to predict the future! He doesn't need to watch us with a crystal ball!"
"He just needs the files!" Skye paced the room, energized. "If he gets our mission briefings, personnel rosters, equipment manifests... everything in advance!"
"With enough data, you can simulate the future. It's not magic. It's algorithm!"
Her words were a bucket of ice water.
Coulson's heart sank.
To have access to such detailed, real-time, classified information about a Level 8 operative's team...
"A mole..." Coulson finally uttered the word.
The air in the room froze.
Compared to a mysterious psychic villain, the word "traitor" was infinitely more terrifying. It meant the enemy wasn't out there. He was in here.
"Moreover," Coulson added, his voice low and dangerous, "anyone who can obtain this level of clearance is no ordinary agent. They must hold a very high position. Level 7. Maybe Level 8."
John Garrett and Grant Ward stood perfectly still. They exchanged a glance so brief it was almost subliminal.
Shock. Helplessness. Absurdity.
The Clairvoyant.
It was a perfect plan. A masterpiece of psychological warfare. Invent a fictional, supernatural boogeyman to cover up the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. was leaking like a sieve. It kept Coulson chasing shadows while Hydra operated in the light.
Everything was going according to plan.
Until a teenager with a wand showed up.
Hermione hadn't just healed Skye; she had dismantled their entire narrative in five minutes.
Precognition? Debunked. Magic? Ruled out. The Mole? Exposed.
Garrett felt a surge of profound frustration. His decades of spycraft, his networks, his carefully constructed persona... all shattered by a girl who thought Voldemort was "mentally challenged."
The spy story has been removed from the version, bro! Garrett thought bitterly.
All his schemes seemed laughable in the face of actual magic. It was like bringing a chessboard to a dragon fight.
Fortunately, Garrett thought, taking a deep breath to steady his mechanical heart, I haven't been suspected yet. She thinks it's just 'someone high up.'
He forced his trademark grin back onto his face. "Well, that narrows it down to... everyone at the Triskelion. Great."
That feels... fucking frustrating, he internally screamed.
Hermione observed Garrett from the corner of her eye, sipping her tea. She saw the tension in his shoulders. She found it hilarious.
Poor Hydra, she thought. Spy games are so 20th century.
Skye, oblivious to the secret Nazis in the room, ran over and hugged Hermione tightly.
"Thanks to you!" Skye beamed. "We investigated for so long, chasing ghosts! But you cut right through the BS. It's just a guy! Just a hacker with better access!"
She pulled back, looking serious. "Coulson... what would you have done if Hermione hadn't been here today?"
The question hung in the air.
Coulson's expression darkened. He looked at Skye—alive, healthy, smiling—and thought about the alternate reality where she bled out on that table.
"I would probably have done anything," Coulson admitted quietly. "I would have burned the world down."
He paused. "I would have gone to the Guest House. I would have found a serum called GH-325."
GH-325?
Everyone except Hermione and Garrett looked puzzled.
"What is that?" Simmons asked. "I've never heard that designation."
Coulson looked at his team, then at Garrett's probing gaze. He decided to trust them.
"As far as I know," Coulson said slowly, "it was thanks to that drug that I was able to return after I died in New York."
"However, the specific information is redacted. Top Secret. Only Director Fury knows the source."
Garrett leaned in, his eyes hungry. This was it. The secret he had killed for.
No sooner had Coulson finished speaking than Hermione, who had been silently eating a packet of crisps, spoke up.
"GH-325?"
She swallowed a chip.
"Oh, I know that. It's alien juice."
The room snapped to look at her.
"What?" Coulson asked, stunned.
"Yeah," Hermione nodded casually. "It's derived from the corpse of a Kree Reaper. Project T.A.H.I.T.I. Fury has a blue guy on ice in a bunker called the Guest House."
She looked at Garrett, smiling sweetly.
"Why? Did you want some?"