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Kamar-Taj, Training Grounds.
Stephen Strange fell through the jagged, sparking portal just inches above the ground. He landed hard on the dusty stone of the courtyard, stumbling forward before collapsing onto his hands and knees. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He gasped for air, checking his limbs. He was alive. He wasn't a smear on the Himalayas.
"Isn't that how you do it?" Hermione asked, shrugging casually as she reappeared beside him. She looked as unbothered as if she had just taken a stroll to the corner shop, not thrown a grown man from the stratosphere.
"You..." Strange wheezed, pointing a shaking finger at her. His vision blurred with rage, but he didn't dare finish the sentence. He was terrified she might decide he needed 'advanced' training in a volcano next.
The Ancient One watched from the shadows of the colonnade, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips at Strange's disheveled appearance.
She walked up to him, her yellow robes whispering against the stone. "It seems you've mastered the technique of the portal, Stephen. Fear is a powerful motivator."
Strange: "..." I hate this place.
The Library.
Days turned into weeks. Strange sat in a secluded corner, hunched over a thick, dusty tome on astral projection. His brow was furrowed in concentration.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. It was a primal instinct, the feeling of a rabbit sensing a hawk. He looked up.
Hermione was walking toward him.
She breezed past his table and waved at the Librarian. "Hi, Neighbor Wong!"
Wong, stoic as ever, didn't look up from his ledger. "Miss Hermione, I have told you many times. My name is Wong. Just Wong. Not 'Neighbor'."
"Sure thing, Old Wong," Hermione grinned. She headed straight for the restricted section, ignoring the chains. She skillfully pulled out an ancient book bound in black leather, its cover inlaid with pulsing, ominous runes. She flipped it open and began practicing hand gestures right there in the aisle.
Strange watched her, his mind filled with doubt. He hesitated, then leaned closer to the Librarian.
"Wong," he whispered. "Who exactly is she?"
Wong looked at Strange with mild surprise. "You don't know?"
Strange looked bewildered. "Should I know? Is she a deity in disguise?"
Wong shook his head and returned to his book. "If you don't know, it's better not to ask."
Strange's curiosity only grew. He pointed at Hermione. "That book... isn't that from the restricted section? The Book of Cagliostro? Isn't that knowledge forbidden? Why does she get to read it like it's a comic book?"
Wong sighed. "She is an exception."
Strange: ???
In the days that followed, Hermione visited Kamar-Taj frequently. She hovered around Strange like a spectral supervisor, checking his progress with an intensity that baffled him.
Why is this little girl more concerned about my academic progress than I am? he wondered. Is she grading me?
One afternoon, at the martial arts training ground.
Hermione stood leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching Mordo and Strange spar. The two men wielded glowing, conjured energy weapons, clashing back and forth in a dance of sparks and sweat.
"I mean," Hermione complained loudly, interrupting their flow. "What are you two doing? Playing house? Is this a LARP session?"
Mordo lowered his Staff of the Living Tribunal. "We are training in the mystic arts."
"A duel between mages," Hermione scoffed, "and it's turned into a martial arts contest? Why is casting a ranged spell as difficult for you people as paying taxes? Can't you just shoot a fireball? Avada Kedavra? Anything?"
Mordo and Strange looked embarrassed. They were proud of their kung fu.
The Ancient One's voice rang out, calm and authoritative. "The ranged spells of the Mystic Arts require a deep accumulation of dimensional energy to master safely. Most sorcerers will never reach that standard in a lifetime. It is better to be grounded in the physical than to lose oneself in the abstract."
Hermione pursed her lips. Demon warriors. All of them. Muscle wizards.
Just then, she looked up, her eyes narrowing as if hearing a distant signal.
"Mr. Mads's side is about to start," Hermione said to the Ancient One, her tone shifting to business. "I have to go. I need to make sure the guest of honor arrives."
The Ancient One nodded slowly. "Kaecilius's fate has been changed because of you. That is for the best. He was once my disciple. I would not want to see him assimilated by the Dark Dimension... unless necessary."
Hermione smiled, a sharp, knowing expression. She didn't say goodbye. She simply vanished in a twist of space.
An Undisclosed Location. London Sanctum.
The air in the basement was heavy with the smell of ozone and rot. A group of fanatical Zealots dressed in dark robes chanted in a low, guttural rhythm around a stone altar.
In the center, Kaecilius stood with his eyes closed. The purple, cracked skin around his eyes had deepened, the mark of Dormammu burning on his forehead.
POP.
Space distorted, and Hermione appeared sitting on a crate of supplies.
The Zealots jumped. The chanting stopped instantly. They drew their transparent space shards, pointing them at the intruder.
"Don't stop on my account," Hermione waved her hand lazily, popping a grape into her mouth. "You guys continue. Great rhythm. Very atmospheric. I'm just here to supervise."
She hopped off the crate and walked up to Kaecilius, inspecting his corrupted face. "Uncle Mads, your smoky eye makeup is getting heavier. Going for the goth look?"
Kaecilius slowly opened his eyes. They were pitch black. "Dormammu... he suspects. He knows I am siphoning more power than I should."
"It's okay," Hermione shrugged. "Today is his death day anyway. Enjoy the buffet while it lasts."
The Zealots looked at each other, bewildered. Who is this child? Does she know she's talking about the Destroyer of Worlds?
"Ignore her," Kaecilius commanded, his voice hollow. "Continue the ritual. Destroy the Sanctum. Open the door."
Metro-General Hospital. The Balcony.
Time moved differently when history was breaking.
Stephen Strange stood on the balcony, staring at his ghostly hands. He had just experienced the darkest moment of his new life. The Ancient One had fallen. She had plummeted from the Mirror Dimension, crashing into the pavement below.
Her physical body was currently in surgery, dying. Her spirit was standing right next to him.
Lightning flashed in the stormy sky. Time seemed to stretch into infinity in the Astral Plane.
Hermione stood quietly beside the Ancient One's shimmering spirit form. Neither of them spoke for a long time. The heavy rain passed through them.
An indescribable weight filled the air. Hermione felt a lump in her throat. She had urged the Ancient One to retire, to "ascend," to leave the board so she could claim the Stone. But now that it was happening... it felt wrong.
It felt like Dumbledore dying all over again. The safety net was gone. The adult in the room was leaving.
"You kept urging me to die," the Ancient One said softly, breaking the silence. "You were more eager than Dormammu himself. So why do you look so unhappy?"
She smiled, a look of profound peace on her face. She was clearly in a better mood than the girl who was about to inherit the world's problems.
Hermione rolled her eyes, sniffing loudly. "Who says I'm not happy? The Eye of Agamotto is about to be mine. I'm thrilled. Ecstatic."
The Ancient One had voluntarily severed her connection to her body. Because she wasn't technically "killed" by an external force in the Astral Plane, and her soul was simply moving on, Hermione's grimure didn't register a death. The Dark Harvest didn't trigger.
Hermione wasn't surprised. The Ancient One had seen the future. She knew that any soul approaching Hermione upon death risked being harvested for XP. She wouldn't be reckless enough to test that mechanic.
"You've become a spirit so early," Hermione muttered. "Aren't you afraid I'll fail? That Strange will fail? That Earth will be turned into a barbecue for Dormammu?"
The Ancient One looked out at the storm. "If you really fail... I will intervene from the other side. I will banish Dormammu again. Do not worry."
"Tch. Old silver coin," Hermione cursed affectionately. "I knew it. Your physical body was just a limitation. You're probably stronger now."
She looked at the fading spirit of the Sorcerer Supreme.
"You wait," Hermione whispered. "When I get back to Kamar-Taj, I'm changing the Wi-Fi password to 'hhhhgysl'—Hehe Haha"
The Ancient One laughed, a sound like wind chimes, and slowly began to fade into the lightning.
"Goodbye, Hermione. The future is yours."