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Rita Skeeter lay on the floor, twitching in the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. Her lungs burned. Her nerves felt like they had been stripped bare.
When she looked up at Hermione Granger, she didn't see a teenage girl. She saw a monster wearing a school uniform.
"I... I was wrong..."
Rita's voice was a broken rasp, filled with the primal terror of a survivor. She scrambled to her knees, clasping her hands together in supplication.
"I... I'll withdraw the newspaper right away! I'll print a retraction in the morning edition! I'll say yesterday's story was nonsense! I was drunk! I was hallucinating! I'll say I slandered you!"
She grabbed the hem of Hermione's jeans. "Please... please stop torturing me..."
Hermione looked down at the weeping journalist. She tilted her head, a troubled frown marring her forehead.
"That won't do," Hermione said softly.
She crouched down, bringing her face inches from Rita's tear-stained cheeks.
"If you retract it now... it makes it seem like I'm the one coercing you. Like I threatened you into silence."
Hermione smiled—a cold, terrifying expression. "And isn't that exactly what's happening?"
Gilderoy Lockhart and Tom Riddle stood to the side, watching the scene. Lockhart was checking his teeth in a pocket mirror. Riddle looked bored.
Hermione ignored Rita's collapsing composure and continued, her voice firm.
"Therefore, you cannot back down."
"Not only can you not withdraw it... you have to keep sending it. You have to double down."
Rita looked up, her bloodshot eyes filled with confusion. "Send... send what?"
"Just send what I told you yesterday," Hermione said casually.
"Write it all. 'I am a Transmigrator.' 'Voldemort is my underling.' 'I foresee the future because I read the books.' Write every single word."
"Oh, right," Hermione snapped her fingers, "and one more thing. Compile a list of exposés about the Ministry officials."
"Fudge. Umbridge. Even Lockhart here." She gestured to the smiling wizard. "Make up whatever you want. The more outrageous the better. The more sensational the better."
"Drag everyone down into the mud with you."
Rita was completely stunned. Her brain went blank.
What does this mean?
She wants me to continue spouting nonsense? To escalate the lies?
Tom Riddle frowned, clearly not understanding Hermione's 4D chess move. Why destroy her own reputation further?
Only Lockhart wore a knowing smile. He understood PR better than anyone.
He walked up to Rita and patted her trembling shoulder.
"Ms. Skeeter, don't you understand yet?" Lockhart asked smoothly.
"Think about it. If you retract the report now and say you were lying... everyone will think you were forced. They will think the Witch silenced you. That confirms her guilt."
"But," Lockhart winked, "if you do the opposite? If you escalate? If you start claiming she's a Time Traveler and the Dark Lord is her pet and the Minister is a goblin in disguise?"
"What will everyone think?"
Rita blinked. "They will think..."
"They'll think, 'Rita Skeeter has finally lost her mind,'" Lockhart concluded triumphantly. "They'll think you're desperate for sales. They'll think it's tabloid trash."
"By then, no one will take your previous reports about Miss Granger seriously anymore. You become the Boy Who Cried Wolf."
A look of realization flashed across Tom Riddle's eyes. Ah. Discredit the source by making the source unbelievable.
"You're so cunning," Riddle whispered, impressed.
Hermione stood up. "Exactly. We destroy your credibility to save mine."
"However," Hermione paused, looking down at Rita again. "To ensure you can fulfill your duties as my personal propaganda machine... I need insurance."
"Let me give you a gift."
"...Huh?" Rita looked at her blankly. "Gift?"
Hermione's smile deepened. It was the smile of a devil offering a contract.
"Immortality. How about that?"
Rita's pupils contracted sharply. Eternal life?
Before she could react, Hermione raised her wand.
"Avada Kedavra."
FLASH.
Green light filled the room. Rita's body slumped to the floor, dead.
But her soul didn't leave.
Hermione caught the fragment of Rita's soul before it could pass on. She pulled out a small, beetle-shaped brooch from her pocket.
Horcrux Ritual.
With a complex wave of her wand, she bound Rita's soul to the object. Then, using the Resurrection Stone, she forced the soul back into the cooling corpse.
Rita gasped, her body arching off the floor. Her eyes snapped open. She was alive. But she felt... tethered.
"What... what did you do to me?!" Rita screamed, clutching her chest.
Hermione pocketed the beetle brooch.
"I made you a Horcrux-adjacent entity. You can't die unless I destroy this brooch. And more importantly..."
Hermione leaned in. "I hold your soul in my pocket. If you disobey me? If you write one word I don't approve? I crush the beetle. And you go to Hell."
She turned to Lockhart.
"Professor Lockhart. She's all yours. Use her to boost your poll numbers. Make her write about your heroics. She is now the official mouthpiece of the Granger-Lockhart Administration."
Lockhart beamed. "Ms. Skeeter! It seems we'll have a wonderful partnership."
New York. The Safehouse.
Hermione stepped out of the portal, back into the Marvel Universe. She checked her StarkPhone.
It was ringing urgently.
She expected Tony. Instead, it was Natasha Romanoff.
"Hermione!"
Natasha's voice was breathless, panicked. The sound of gunfire echoed in the background.
"Fury has been assassinated! Captain America and I are being hunted! S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised!"
Hermione blinked.
The Braised Egg has been attacked?
So... the Winter Soldier plotline has officially started.
She closed her eyes, sensing the magical signature of the charm bracelet she had given Natasha.
"Gotcha."
She flicked her wrist.
VWOOM.
A portal shimmering with golden sparks opened in the middle of her living room.
Two figures burst out, practically rolling onto the carpet. One was a redhead in a leather jacket; the other was a massive blonde man holding a vibranium shield.
BOOM.
A missile exploded on the other side of the portal just as Hermione snapped it shut.
Natasha shook the dust off her hair. Steve Rogers pushed himself up, grimacing in pain. They looked like they had been through a war zone.
"So," Hermione said, tilting her head as she looked at the two battered Avengers. "Did you two rob a bank? S.H.I.E.L.D. just fired a missile at you. That's a lot of murderous intent for a Friday."
Before Natasha could catch her breath, Hermione continued, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Let me guess. The Braised Egg—Fury—has been assassinated."
"Then the two of you were relentlessly hunted down by his own agency."
"Understood!"
Hermione clapped her hands. "You two are the assassins! You teamed up to cook the Hard-Boiled Egg! It's a coup!"
Steve: "..."
Natasha: "..."
Hermione looked at Steve, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Captain, you finally couldn't accept having a spy as your boss, so you took action directly? Did he refuse to sign your vintage trading cards?"
Steve's lips twitched. He looked at Natasha, exhausted.
"She's joking, Steve," Natasha said, leaning against the sofa. "It's her defense mechanism."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has been completely infiltrated," Steve said, his voice grave. "Hydra. They're inside. They've been growing like a parasite since the beginning."
"Fury discovered it," Natasha added. "That's why they killed him. The Winter Soldier... he took the shot."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Hermione's smile slowly faded. She put on her best 'shocked' face.
"Hydra is actually inside S.H.I.E.L.D.?!"
Seeing Hermione's stunned expression, Natasha paused.
"Wait," Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes. "You know about Hydra?"
Hermione blinked.
Oops.
"Of course I know Hydra," Hermione recovered smoothly. "Red Skull. World War II. Bad fashion sense. I read Captain America's museum plaque."
She looked at Steve. "So... S.H.I.E.L.D. is Hydra. That explains a lot about the incompetence."
"We need your help," Steve said, stepping forward. "We have a flash drive with data. We need to decrypt it to find out what they're planning. We're going to New Jersey."
Hermione sighed. "New Jersey? Really? Can't we save the world from somewhere with better pizza?"
She grabbed her coat.
"Fine. Let's go hunt some Nazis."