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Chapter 68: The Devil You Know
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 15:49:55 +0000 UTC"She's gone to get ready," Tony said, a hint of a pout in his voice. "Pepper and I are flying to Monaco for the Grand Prix. Business. The plane's waiting." He looked around his workshop, a silent warning in his eyes. "You are in charge of the house. Try not to, you know, burn it down, summon any demons, or accidentally turn the toaster into a dragon while I'm gone."
Hermione, who was carefully measuring a pinch of powdered moonstone, just grunted in acknowledgment. But as he turned to leave, her head snapped up.
"Wait. You're going to Monaco?"
"Yeah, why?" Tony asked, puzzled by her sudden interest.
She hesitated, a flicker of something dark and knowing in her eyes. The race. Vanko. The attack on the racetrack. It was a fixed point in the timeline, a trauma he was meant to endure. To warn him would be to throw a wrench into the delicate clockwork of history, with consequences she couldn't possibly predict.
"Nothing," she said, her expression smoothing back into one of cool indifference. "Have a nice trip."
Weird kid, Tony thought as he left, shaking his head.
With the mansion to herself, Hermione spent the next several hours in a state of pure, unadulterated alchemical bliss. The workshop, once a temple to high technology, was now her personal potions laboratory. The air filled with the strange, complex scents of bubbling concoctions, and by evening, she had a neat, orderly row of perfectly brewed potions, each glowing with a faint, magical light.
She had just finished bottling the last of the Draught of Living Death when her S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued phone rang, the sound a jarring, electronic intrusion into her magical world. She saw the caller ID—a single, ominous black shield—and debated letting it ring. But curiosity won out.
"What?" she answered, her voice cold and flat.
"Consultant Granger! Thank God, you finally picked up." Nick Fury's voice was a rush of pure, undiluted relief.
"If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I'm hanging up."
Fury, on the other end of the line, had to physically bite back his frustration. Since the HYDRA attack, the girl had gone completely dark, cutting off all contact. Her single, terrifying visit to Alexander Pierce had sent shockwaves through the agency, and Pierce himself had become cagey and uncooperative. Fury felt like he was losing control, and this child was at the center of it all.
"First," he began, swallowing his pride, "on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., I want to formally and sincerely apologize for the actions of the rogue agents who attacked you. It was an unsanctioned operation, and I promise you, it will never happen again."
"I know," Hermione said. "Is that all?"
"Wait, there's more," Fury said quickly, getting to the real reason for his call. "We have a situation. Dr. Bruce Banner has resurfaced in New York. General Thaddeus Ross knows his location and is moving his forces in for a capture as we speak. I need you to intervene. Get to Banner before Ross does, and bring him in. Quietly."
He didn't need to explain further. Since gaining her security clearance, Hermione had read the Hulk file. She knew all about the gamma radiation, the monster, and Ross's obsessive, destructive hunt.
"And why, precisely, is this my problem?" she asked, a bored tone in her voice. "Isn't this what you have Iron Man for?"
"Stark's phone is off; Potts says he's on a plane to Monaco," Fury said, his voice tight with desperation. "And even if he were here, his armor is no match for the Hulk. Of all the assets we are aware of, Consultant, you are the only one with the power to handle this." He paused, then played his final card, imitating the sycophantic tone of Jasper Sitwell. "Please. We're counting on you."
A slow, cold smile spread across Hermione's face. Nice, she thought. Love the groveling. Say it more.
After a long, agonizing silence, she finally spoke. "I'll see what I can do. Where is he?"
"Grayburn College," Fury said, a wave of relief washing over him.
"You owe me for this, Boiled Egg," she said, and hung up. A sinister grin touched her lips. Oh, Fury, she thought. You have no idea how much you're going to regret making this call.
High above the streets of Harlem, General Ross watched the scene below from the command seat of a military helicopter. Years of obsessive, relentless hunting had all led to this moment. His plan was perfect. He knew, through S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence he had strong-armed the World Security Council into giving him, that Banner had contacted a Dr. Samuel Sterns—an alias, "Mr. Blue"—to create a temporary antidote. Banner was sedated, powerless.
A moment later, his men emerged from the university building, dragging an unconscious, now fully human Bruce Banner.
"We have him, sir!" a voice crackled over the comms.
A grim, triumphant satisfaction settled over Ross. But it was short-lived. "Blonsky, what's your status? Report!" he barked into the microphone. His top soldier, Emil Blonsky, was supposed to be leading the evac. Instead, he was lingering inside Sterns' laboratory. The man was a decorated soldier, a true warrior, but ever since his first encounter with the Hulk, a strange, unsettling ambition had taken root in him.
Seeing Banner being loaded onto the transport chopper, Ross made a decision. He would deal with Blonsky's insubordination later.
The helicopter lifted off. Not long after, Banner began to stir, his eyes fluttering open.
"Bruce!" a woman's voice said. Betty Ross, the General's daughter and the love of Bruce's life, helped him sit up.
"Betty… what…?" He looked around, saw the soldiers, saw her father, and a familiar, weary resignation settled over him. "It's over, then."
"The cure worked, Bruce," she said softly. "The Hulk is gone."
"Your little science experiment is over, Banner," General Ross growled from the front of the chopper. "My super-soldier program can finally get back on track."
"It has nothing to do with you," Banner said, looking at Betty. "You should get away from here. From him…"
ROOOOAAAAARRRRR!
A roar, so loud and so monstrous it shook the helicopter in mid-air, erupted from the streets below. It was followed by the sound of explosions and crashing metal.
"What the hell was that?" one of the soldiers yelled.
They all looked down. And they saw it. A monster, larger than the Hulk, with a sickly, jaundiced-yellow hide and a series of sharp, bony spurs protruding from its spine, was tearing the street apart. It threw a city bus as if it were a child's toy.
"Hulk?!" someone screamed.
"No," Banner breathed, his face pale with a new kind of horror as he stared at the creature. "That's not me. Oh, God. It's my blood. Sterns… he synthesized my blood. Someone's been injected with it."
Only General Ross seemed to understand, a look of dawning, abject terror on his face.
The creature on the street below grabbed a wrecked tank, held it above its head, and let out another, triumphant roar that was a twisted mockery of a human voice.
"HULK!" it bellowed, its voice a gravelly, inhuman sound. "COME OUT! COME OUT AND FIGHT ME! EMIL BLONSKY WANTS TO PLAY!"
