Executor

3 Months ago

“Yeah?” I said as I answered the phone. 

“I am looking for a Mr. Clinton Barton?” A crisp English accent asked. 

“This is him,  What can I do for you, Mister. ?”  I asked as Natasha caught my eye across the table. 

“My name is Archibald  Bancroft from House of Bancroft. I am a solicitor, and our office is headquartered in London. You were named the executor of our client's will. Due to that, we have been trying to reach you for the last two months.” 

“I was busy. Who made me executor of their will?” Natasha had moved closer.

“Bernard and his wife Helena. They were…” I cut him off.

“Stopping you there. I don't care. Have somebody else sort it. Nothing of his I want.” Ending the call I tossed the phone on the table where it started vibrating again.

“Good News?”  She asked gently.

“Barney’s will. He made me an executor. Told the English dude to stuff it.” 

“If you are sure that is wise.”

Present day

“I am here to see a Mr. Barton please.” a young girl told the receptionist in a crisp English accent. 

“Name?” She asked not glancing up from her computer.

“Hermione Granger.” 

“Identification.” Holding out her hand I passed over my passport.

“What business do you have here? She asked.

“I have personal legal documents he needs to sign from London. That he has ignored for months now. House of Bancroft has mailed him several copies but perhaps he has been too busy.” I informed her. 

“You cannot just show up, I can book you an appointment with him next month.” She snapped at me.

“Well, You can inform Mr. Barton that I will sit over there and wait. The quicker he decides to grace me with his presence the quicker this is all sorted. Do let me know what he decides.” I informed her grabbing my passport and slipping it back into my pocket as I went to sit in the waiting area.

Reaching in my bag I removed a book from my messenger bag. I hid my beaded in the messenger bag amongst other items. This made it easier to remove larger items from the non-magical world. 

Two hours and one book later a security guard approached me letting me know they would be escorting me upstairs to a conference room.

“Thank you, I appreciate your assistance,” I told him as we entered the elevator. The numbers above the door climbed and when they opened, heading right down a hallway complete with glass windows and doors of offices and various conference rooms. Pushing the door open on the last one he ushered me inside. 

“We will be in momentarily,” the man informed me.

“Thank you. I do appreciate your assistance.” He nodded at me and went to stand outside the door. I sat facing the door, hoping this could be as quick as possible. 

Silence enveloped the room, making the sound of whirling easy to hear. I snapped my head to the sound, which I discovered was a camera off to the side. Rolling my eyes back to the door and settled in to wait longer. 

20 minutes later a couple walked in. “Can we help you?” the woman asked.

“As I told the receptionist downstairs, I am here to speak with Clinton Barton and will wait for him to grace me with his presence.”

“Why?” The man bit out.

“Since Mr. Barton chose not to answer calls, messages, or respond to certified mail. I am here to ensure that the forms from Mr. Bancroft are signed and there is no further delay.” I informed them.

“The lack of response from Mr. Barton should have been the answer they needed. Security will be back to escort you out.” They turned to leave.

“I believe you are both misinformed. This is not optional. This building has a legal department and they have assured me they can notarize forms. Mr. Barton will sign these forms to absolve him of his executorship before they knock off.” I reached into my bag and tossed the folder on the table in their direction since they did not bother to turn around.

“The bloody prat does not even have to grace me with his presence. I will wait here and you can take that to him to accomplish his task.” The woman turned around to pick up the folder and they both headed out the door.

Grabbing another book out of my bag I decided on one to pass the time. What else was she supposed to do stare at the wall? 20 minutes into her book her new phone rang.

“Wotcher Harry!” He rambled on the other side and other voices made themselves known in the background.

“I cannot bring the twins fireworks on the plane. Tell them I will find them a book or something maybe they can singe off their eyebrows again.” More voices could be heard.

“Send me a list, I will have to get a suitcase since I didn’t bring one but I can pop around to the shops and collect what everyone wants before I head back to London. As long as this prat follows directions.”

“Yes, I will call you after I leave here.” I heard the door open again. “I’ve got to go.” 

I watched them approach me as I slid my phone back into my bag.

The redhead slid the folder back across the table towards me. I opened it and verified it was signed and notarized. 

“Will security escort me back to the ground floor or will one of you be doing it?”  I put it into my bag and began to stand up shoving my book along with it.

“We can show you to the elevator it won’t allow you to exit on any floor but the ground anyhow.” Nodding I followed them out of the room back down the hall.

They started to converse quietly with one another. 

“We should round everyone up and go celebrate Bernard’s demise.”

Stalling at the scoff behind them, “Do you have a problem?” the woman asked.

“I just want to commend you on what is a crass American tradition of celebrating the death of an individual instead of their life. May we continue please, I have things to do before my flight?”  

They glared at me and I gave them my best cheeky smile while waving them forward. Once we arrived at the elevator doors, the redhead said, “Jarvis, straight to the lobby no stops.”

Rolling my eyes as the doors opened, I turned to them. “I do appreciate you both being most accommodating.” I reached into my bag and pulled a folder out. “These are Mr. Barton’s copies of the original I was told to give him. Perhaps you can suggest he could further the crass behavior and use them to light cigars..”

I watched them walk away as the doors closed and I could not be more thrilled to be done with this. 

6 weeks and 2 missions later….

Natasha and I  walked into the kitchen after a late-night return. Starke was sitting at the table drinking an extra large cup of coffee.

“Katniss, you didn’t get anything in this will.”

He huffed, “I didn’t want anything from him anyway.”

“At least your niece will be taken care of.”

My head shot in his direction, “Niece?”

“Did you not read any of this before signing? Says her name is Hermione Jean Barton Granger.”

“Do you think I need to meet her?” I turned towards Nat and she gave me a look like why are you asking me.

“Sir, If I may interrupt.”

“What’s up, Jarvis?” Tony answered.

“Mr. Barton has already met her.” 

“What?” We all yelled at once.

“The young woman who brought those papers. She signed in at the desk downstairs.”

All I could think was I screwed up.