Child of the Storm

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014440.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M, M/M
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Bits of DC, X-Men, Harry Potter - J. K.
Rowling, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Relationship: Pepper/Tony, past Bruce/Betty - Relationship, past Bucky
Barnes/Minerva McGonagall, Jane Foster/Thor, Jean-Paul
Beaubier/OC, Harry Dresden/Wanda Maximoff, past Lily Evans/James
Potter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Character: Harry Potter, Thor Odinson, Loki (Marvel), Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster,
Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov, Albus Dumbledore,
Peter Parker, Gwen Stacy, Carol Danvers, Jack O'Neill, Steve Rogers,
Nick Fury, Lucius Malfoy, Asgardians, Frigga, Odin, Sif, The Warriors
Three, Charles Xavier, Diana (Wonder Woman), OC (one or two), Phil
Coulson, Jean-Paul Beaubier, Wolfgang von Strucker, Clint Barton,
James "Bucky" Barnes, Harry Dresden, Wanda Maximoff, Baron Zemo,
Arnim Zola, Clark Kent, Jean Grey, Luna Lovegood
Additional Tags: Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, Demigod!Harry,
Reformed!Loki, NotTamed!Loki, smart!thor, Canon Snape,
Dysfunctional Family, Team as Family, Feels, BAMF!Avengers,
BAMF!Winter Soldier, darker and edgier, Denser And Wackier,
director's cut, Humour, No Bashing
Series: Part 1 of Child of the Storm Verse
Stats: Published: 2013-10-22 Completed: 2020-05-10 Chapters: 80/80 Words:
762973

Child of the Storm

by NimbusLlewelyn

Summary

New Mexico was not the first time Thor had been a mortal. It was only a refinement of the
technique. What if James Potter had been Thor, incarnated as a memoryless newborn? On
his death, Odin removed his memories as James, due to grief. In Harry's Third Year, a
reformed Loki restores them. Harry now has to deal with a father, a family and a heritage
that is going to change the world. Forever. Sounds like fun.

Notes

So, I decided that this needed a bit of an overhaul because I rushed it first time round. I also
decided that I should a) up my game, b) use this bloody account.

As for the story, I am intentionally mimicking the Harry Potter books in that it gets darker
 and edgier as Harry gets older. And, conveniently, the start is set during Prisoner of
Azkaban, when the series got dark and started playing for keeps.

It’ll be canon compliant for the Harry Potter books up to a point. Some basic events will
still happen, but there will be serious differences as Harry begins to change under the
influence of the Avengers, and his enemies change in response. After Book 4, however, all
bets are pretty much off.

It’ll start movieverse for the Avengers, but more and more elements of the comics
(primarily 616 and Ultimate) will sneak in over time. For instance, Spider-Man, who is, age
wise, Harry's contemporary, will appear, among many others. A few other continuities will
get a look in - this is mixing a whole bunch of things together to create something new.
Don't fret - things and people will be explained as they come up, because Harry's new to
this. A knowledge of comics helps, yes. But it isn't vital.

First off, the Wizarding World knows about the Avengers. Why? Loki and Thor are of key
interest to it, because Loki in particular played a sizeable part in its history. If those two
hadn’t been involved, it would be debatable as to whether the Wizarding World would even
have noticed the Battle of New York.
Now, it’s been a couple of years, time enough for people to get vaguely familiar with the
Avengers as a group.
I own nothing you recognise. This is only partially betaed, but what betaing has been done
has been done by the awesome FaceChanger, who has an amazing talent for both putting up
with my numerous flaws and telling me when I'm going wrong, as well as by the ever-
patient Thunder Stag, Shusanepa, MarcusSLazarus and other wonderful friends of mine.

See the end of the work for more notes

 When Everything Changes

Just a little higher, Harry thought whilst chasing the snitch. The storm grew around him, dark
clouds throbbing ominously, but he didn't notice, so focused was he on the golden darting object
that was just a few feet away, getting closer and closer to his outstretched hand. He almost had it,
and with it, the match. Self-preservation could wait.

Then he felt a bone deep coldness settle on him and an entirely different chill, one of recognition,
ran through him. He had felt this cold before, unnatural and all pervading. The rain nearby was
freezing into droplets of ice, pelting him, and for once, he was glad for his glasses as he looked
around. Dozens of Dementors were all around him. As they drew closer, he began to hear things,
just like before, and see flashes of memory.

A dark room and a darker figure who seemed to be robed in shadow. A red haired woman standing
between him and Harry.

Stand aside, you foolish girl!

The red haired woman, his mother maybe, refusing to stand aside.

No, please, not Harry!

The robed figure, Voldemort, raising his wand, a green light issuing from it, the woman falling and
then… then he turned on Harry. Another flash, and he raised his wand.

AVADA KEDAVRA!

There was another green light and a rushing sound.

It was at that point that his grip on his broom failed. He fell. And as he did, helpless and in truly
mortal danger for the first time in his life, unable to do anything to save himself, something...
shifted. His unconscious mind sent out a wordless scream for help, from someone, anyone.

For most, this would have had no effect whatsoever. Even for Harry, it would normally not have
achieved a blessed thing. But this time, something in his mind flickered and stirred, like a banked
ember at a campfire being prodded into life. His descent slowed, and the psychic SOS went
winging away into the aether.

OoOoO

Not a moment later, in Asgard, worlds away, Loki sat bolt upright in his bed, simultaneously very
awake, very worried, and very confused. It should have been impossible for such a distress call,
aimlessly flung into the void, to reach him. By all logic, it should be impossible, even for this
child. For his nephew.

He had known, he grumbled internally as he vaulted out of bed, clothes forming around him. Oh
yes, he had known that this would come back to haunt them. He had known that it could not be
kept secret forever, indeed, he had opposed the lies in the first place. He had recognised their
necessity, yes, but he felt that something should have been done. But had he been listened to? No.
No, he hadn't. And now he was going to have to deal with the fall-out.

Well, nothing for it, he thought as he teleported to Thor's chambers. Something was going to have
be done, and they would just have to hope that he was right, and time (at least, a decade or so) was
a sufficient healer. If it wasn't things would get very messy, very quickly - and not just because of
the fact that his nephew was being attacked by a horde of Dementors as he plummeted towards the
ground and a very final splat.

"Thor!" he yelled, bursting into his brother's room, having teleported just outside - Thor tended to
have a very particular response to tall figures appearing suddenly and unexpectedly at his bedside.
This response was more or less the same as his one to unexpected figures bursting through the door
and shouting, but Loki reasoned that if he was at the door, this gave him more time to duck.

"What is it brother?" Thor said, groggily grabbing Mjolnir, Jane struggling to sit up next to him.

"A family emergency," Loki said. "Involving your son." Despite the urgency, he smirked as Thor
bolted upright, now completely awake.

"What? Is this one of your tricks?" Thor asked suspiciously. While Loki's slow recovery meant that
he could no longer justly be called 'evil', he could most certainly be called 'mischievous.'

Loki rolled his eyes and crossed to Thor's side. "No. I have no time to explain, so we'll have to do
this the hard way. My lady Jane, you might want to get out of the way. There is a rather impressive
memory block on my brother and releasing it so violently could lead to flailing."

Jane immediately slipped out of the bed, wearing only a small shirt and shorts. Loki smiled slightly.
There were many reasons for him to like Jane Foster. She was both sensible and exceptionally
intelligent, with her good sense keeping Thor on a leash as a result, and she didn't ask stupid
questions in emergencies.

"Memory block?" Thor asked, confused and suspicious, but didn't resist as Loki pressed his hands
to his brother's temples. At another time, Loki might have been touched at this extension of trust,
but there was no time, for either dwelling on trust, or for that matter, for subtlety. Instead, he
smashed straight through the magics that had been placed on Thor's mind. One small blessing was
that they had sacrificed strength to maintain subtlety and were therefore easy to brush aside.
Suddenly, Thor's eyes went wide, he spasmed several times and he scrambled out of bed, grabbing
Mjolnir.

"What is wrong with my son?" he demanded, armour forming.

"Your son? Thor, what is going on?" Jane asked, frowning.

Thor opened his mouth, before Loki cut across him. "Thor, your son is being chased by
Dementors. I'll explain. You would only make it worse. Now GO!"

Thor nodded, eyes wide with terror, and whirling his hammer, shot out of the room through the
roof. Loki sighed. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a perfectly serviceable window.

"Now, Jane," he said, sitting down on Thor's bed. "I think it is time for me to explain some things
about Thor's past. About when he was rendered human before to teach him humility."

"Before?" Jane asked, frowning. "Before he came to New Mexico?"

Loki nodded. "That time was... a refinement of the technique, shall we say," he said. "The last time,
father did far more than just strip him of his powers. He rendered him into a infant, one called
James Potter, leaving him to live out a mortal life and take lessons from it." He grimaced.
"Unfortunately, it went wrong. And how that happened... well. It is not a short tale, or a simple
one."
Jane, confused, sat and listened. It wasn't like there was anything else to do.

OoOoO

As it turned out, the full story could be neatly summarised as Odin's first attempt to teach Thor
humility by incarnating him as human baby without any of his memories (blocked) or powers
(removed) as Thor. This would, in theory, have led to the reveal to 'James' of his true nature when
he was deemed to be ready, and the planned reintegration of the two sets of memories. This would
have left Thor with a new and improved outlook on life, and, conveniently as matters turned out, a
wife and son.

Unfortunately, this had all gone thoroughly pear-shaped when Thor's mortal self had, at the age of
barely 21, been murdered by a Dark Lord called Voldemort because Thor, no matter what shape or
form he was in, was possessed of a hero complex, and he and his mortal wife Lily were part of a
resistance movement. And more than that, their son was prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord in
question.

This exceptionally traumatic incident and the forcible reintegration of mortal and godly minds
meant that Thor, in the simplest of terms, went stark raving mad.

For Jane's part, once she would have dismissed it as ridiculous. More than that; vaguely like the
beginning to a paint-by-numbers fantasy series. But now she was dating a key member of the Norse
Pantheon, currently staying in his home dimension which she had reconnected to Earth via an
Einstein-Rosen Bridge she'd cobbled together with the help of SHIELD, an intelligence agency
that specialised in the unusual, and was hearing this story from another key member of that
Pantheon, who had until relatively recently been a psychotic supervillain. In that context, it made a
sort of sense. Hell, it was almost normal.

"So, Odin wiped Thor's memory to stop him going mad with grief and smiting most of Britain,"
Jane said slowly, ordering it in her head. Another reason Loki liked her was she actually thought
things through and considered before making judgements. She was, after all, a scientist.

"Yes, he did," Loki said. "Though it was less of a matter of 'going mad' as 'gone mad'. It was...
difficult." He shook his head. "Afterwards, Thor was sane, but without those memories, he
inevitably regressed to the way he had been before. This in considerable part led to the later
incident involving my plan to keep Thor off the throne and obliterate the Frost Giants," he added,
looking somewhat pained, and Jane had rubbed his arm comfortingly.

Loki's own brush with insanity was something of a touchy subject, especially since it had not
simply been a matter of him going mad one day, then snapping back to sanity on another. It had
been a long and dark road into madness, and an even longer, darker one back to sanity, one that had
taken years to travel - indeed, it could be argued that he was still travelling it. And while he
accepted full responsibility for his deeds during that time, and had spent the intervening years
trying to make amends, that did not mean he enjoyed dwelling on it.

"But doesn't Thor, as in, Thor as he is now, look rather different to as he did when he was this
James Potter?" Jane asked, frowning. Loki had explained that James Potter's appearance had been
partially based on his.

"Indeed he does, which is why I am glad I had the foresight put an enchantment on him, one that
allows him to shift between his normal appearance and that of James Potter at will," Loki said. "If
he remembers to use it, it should save my brother from trying to explain a lot of things. Which he is
bad at."
Jane chuckled slightly. That much, she had to admit, was true. Thor was sweet and far cleverer than
most gave him credit for. But when it came to explanations, he sometimes got a little lost in
rambling metaphor and, occasionally, iambic pentameter.

OoOoO

Sometime before this, Thor, flying as fast as he could, had dived through the Tesseract powered
Bifrost portal.

The Bifrost portals were largely Jane's invention, with a little bit of input and refinement from
Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Erik Selvig. She had managed, with machines that were held
together largely by duct tape and judicious application of spit and prayers, to create a stable portal
to Asgard, one that, since it was less powerful and transported less people, did not carry the same
dangers in leaving it open. The old Bifrost had transported armies. This transported maybe ten at a
time, no more.

Needless to say, Heimdall had been somewhat surprised when he saw a stick being poked though
onto the remains of the Rainbow Bridge, though he had not shown it. While he had seen Jane
working on the portals, he hadn't expected her to achieve in a year what had taken Asgard's finest
minds two hundred years. Admittedly, she'd had a path to follow and a theory to work from, as
well as the damaged portal generating machine that Loki had had Selvig build. It also helped that
she hadn't needed to build a giant bridge to power it. It had also a temporary measure, with the
original Bifrost now rebuilt. All told, though, it was very impressive, and it had been left there as
an example. And, if necessary, a shortcut.

Now, there were several Bifrost portals in each of the Nine Realms, doors between realms,
controlled by Heimdall from the Rainbow Bridge, the hub from which he could allow or deny
travel through the gates and send people anywhere, either through his innate knowledge of the
Nine Realms, or if someone wished to be very precise, input of coordinates into the gate.

Thor, while immensely proud of his lover's achievements, was not in the mood to dwell on the
particulars, simply plunging into the gate.

This was, he would later reflect, an exceptionally stupid decision, since the gate could have
dumped him anywhere in the Nine Realms. It was a roll of the dice, at best, dice with billions of
potential sides. As he would later reflect, however, this time, someone had loaded the dice. For
while, to an outside eye, it looked like simple chance, setting off a chain of events with vast
consequences. But if the outside eye knew how to look, they would realise something. For while
there is chance in this universe, there are also beings that can and do manipulate even gods like
chess players do their pieces. And when they take a hand in events, simple chance is not simple in
the slightest: the cards are marked, the dice are loaded, and apparent coincidence is nothing of the
kind.

But Thor was entirely ignorant of this. If he had been told of all of what was to come, the battles
and wars, the triumphs and the tragedies, he might have felt outrage at being so manipulated - once
he absorbed it. His mind was still occupied by a jumbled cascade of memories from a mortal
lifetime that intruded into the front of his mind, pouring out from the dam behind which they had
been locked away, displacing their false replacements, the knowledge that he had once been a
mortal, a mortal wizard, called James Potter. But now, all he knew and all that mattered was that
his son (his son) in danger.

So Thor raced after him, frantically pouring on as much speed as he could.

A couple of moments later, he closed on his son. He was only a hundred feet from the ground, and
falling, falling so fast - though, as he would later reflect, not half as fast as he would expect. It was
for that reason, and that reason alone, that he had not already hit the ground.

He would have to time this perfectly. And he did. He snatched Harry out of the air, fifty feet up. As
he did, the cold, cloying influence of the flock of Dementors asserted itself, clawing at his newly
reawakened memories, bringing the most painful ones to the surface. As it turned out, this suited
Thor just fine, since frankly, he was itching for something to hit. Hovering, he thrust Mjolnir
upwards, and channelled the fury at his son's predicament, the loss of Lily, and a lifetime of love
and loss at the Dementors.

There was a warning rumble from the clouds above, then a blinding flash as hundreds of bolts of
lightning struck the Dementors. The skies were filled with unearthly howls, and then, wisely, the
demons fled. Thor glared after them with a certain grim satisfaction, then turned back to the matter
at hand. The Dementors could be dealt with later. What was important right now was his son, who
was lying unconscious in his arms as they both descended to the ground.

Harry had grown a lot since he'd last held him, Thor thought, a vaguely dazed feeling replacing
rage as he looked down at his son. This growth was inevitable, of course, and somewhat obvious,
but Thor's mind was responding to the number and scale of shocks it was receiving by taking
matters in slow, small steps.

In some ways, he thought as his eyes drank in his son, it was almost like looking at himself,
himself as James, in a mirror - though on closer inspection, there were subtle shades of Lily in
there. In the background he could hear the crowd cheering, - that certainly brought back memories
- and the commentator was saying, in the tones of someone who cannot quite believe what they are
seeing, "And Harry Potter has been caught in mid-air by someone who looks rather a lot like him.
And his father, James Potter. Whoever he is, he is flying WITHOUT a broom! And summoning
lightning bolts. This is officially the weirdest Quidditch match that I have ever seen."

"James?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

Thor blinked. How had she... he brought a hand up to his face, feeling contours that were different,
yet familiar. Tugging a forelock of his suddenly shorter and black hair into view confirmed it -
Loki had seen fit to give him the appearance he had had as James Potter, though possibly allowing
for a little bulk. He smiled ruefully. His brother, it seemed, thought of everything. If nothing else, it
would make the explanations much easier.

Then, he remembered that he had been addressed.

"Hello Professor," Thor said, grinning and letting his memories of James Potter take over.

"How?" Dumbledore asked, looking half relieved, half extremely suspicious. His wand was at his
side, but in a way that suggested that it could be brought up very quickly. And it could - Thor
remembered how quick Dumbledore had been on the draw. He was suspicious, and frankly, Thor
couldn't blame him. Returning from the dead wasn't exactly a common occurrence in the
Wizarding World - or anywhere, really. And it almost never portended anything good.

He needed to establish his identity and gain at least Dumbledore's conditional trust, and fast, or
they would get bogged down. As he had learned during his second exile, in New Mexico, simply
proclaiming his identity at the top of his voice was not going to cut it. So he lowered his
rudimentary mental defences and said, "Take a look."

Dumbledore was a Master Legilimens, and as such, he didn't dive straight in. Instead, he carefully
probed at the edges of Thor's mind, looking for an immediate trap. Satisfied that one wasn't there,
he began sifting through the upper layers of Thor's mind, always on the lookout for a psychic
ambush. Once he was satisfied that there was none, he began to investigate in earnest.

First, he examined Thor's memories of being James as closely as possible, examining them for even
the smallest sign of fabrication or deception, even the slightest mistake.

Second, he did the same, but with less close examination, to Thor's ordinary memories, simply
establishing that they were real and moving on.

Third and finally, he inspected the connection between, making sure that the memories of James
had not been grafted on.

As he discovered, they had merely been released from behind the dam that had concealed them,
with two decades of false memories shattered in their wake.

While all of this took place at the speed of thought, it still took over five minutes, and though it
took Thor some considerable effort of will, he did not move.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "He is who he says he is," he said, voice effortlessly reaching the
whole stadium. "Though it is remarkable. James Potter is alive and stands here before us."

"Indeed. The Wizarding World knew me as James Potter," Thor replied. "The mortal world and the
rest of the nine realms know me as Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder and one of the Avengers."
He paused. "I would show you my normal face, but, uh... well, my brother enchanted me to restore
my appearance as James Potter, doubtless to smooth the path of establishing my identity. And I am
not sure how to reverse it."

"If I may?" Dumbledore said, after a moment, raising his wand. Thor paused, then nodded his
assent. Dumbledore slowly swept his wand in front of Thor's face several times, as if scanning it.
Then, with a decisive nod, he swept it upwards, sharply. Thor felt a sudden tearing sensation, not
necessarily painful, but surprising, and there were gasps as his true face revealed itself.

"Good god," McGonagall said faintly, as the crowd positively buzzed with shock and excitement.

"You called?" Thor asked, grinning, and McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"Definitely James," she murmured.

"I think, James – do you prefer James, or Thor?" Dumbledore asked.

"Stick with James, for the moment," Thor said. "And I think you should restore my James Potter
face, if you would, Professor. This will be confusing enough as it is."

Dumbledore complied. "Very well, James. I think we need to talk," he said, in a tone that made it
clear that Thunder God or not, this was not a request. "Inside. Now. Though I would be grateful if
you could stop this storm."

Thor looked up at the storm, and whirled his hammer once. The storm petered out into nothingness
in a matter of moments, and Thor looked smug. On James Potter's face, it was a very natural
expression.

"Is that Snivellus I see up there?" he said, looking over Dumbledore's shoulder at a shocked
looking Snape.

"Snape, James, Professor Snape, he teaches Potions now," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Your
son's almost as bad. He just calls him Snape."

Thor looked down at his unconscious son. "Truly, he is his father's son," he said solemnly.

"You've got that right," McGonagall muttered, with a fond yet long suffering air.

"Now, I think we should get inside," Thor added.

OoOoO

When Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing, Ron and Hermione were at his bedside. And so was
the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, including a bedraggled looking Oliver Wood.

"Hey," he mumbled, fumbling for his glasses and trying to figure out where he was. "What
happened?" Then, his eyes widened as memories, of the Snitch, Dementors, and falling, poured
into the forefront of his mind. "The match -"

"Wrong question, Harry," Fred interrupted. He seemed surprisingly relaxed, Harry thought, which
was strange considering they'd almost certainly lost.

"The real question," George added. "Is what didn't happen?"

This didn't leave Harry any more enlightened, and he said so. The Gryffindor Quidditch team then
all turned as one to Hermione, who looked a little nervous. Actually, she looked very nervous.

"Harry, we have some good news, and... and some bad news. The bad news is that after you fell off
your broom, it hit the Whomping Willow. I'm sorry," Hermione said, unrolling the bundles she had
been carrying.

"And the good news?" Harry asked, after a long moment. He felt numb. The Nimbus had been part
of him. It had been his most prized possession, valued above everything he owned, save his wand
and Hedwig.

"What do you remember?" Hermione asked.

Harry sighed. "I remember the Dementors," he said. "And I remember falling off my broom, then...
someone catching me? I'm not sure if that was real, though. Then nothing."

"It was real, Harry. He is. The man who caught you, I mean. And… there's no easy way to say this.
He's..."

"He's your father, mate," Ron supplied helpfully.

"And his real name is Thor," Fred said.

"God of Thunder, Lightning, and generalised bad weather," George said.

Harry blinked once. Then twice. Then, he slowly let his head fall back onto the pillow and stared at
the ceiling.

"Harry?" Ron asked, a bit worried. "You okay, mate?"

"I am going to wake up in a minute, find myself in my bed in Gryffindor tower, and dismiss this as
a really weird dream," he said in a leaden voice. "That's the only way any of this makes sense."

Ron looked puzzled. "Since when has your life made sense?" he asked, seeming genuinely
confused.

Harry had to concede that one. And just as he did, matters got stranger.

"I would be most disappointed to find out that I was a dream and unaware of it, since dreams are a
kind of illusion, and I myself am a master illusionist," a tall dark haired man said, walking into
Harry's field of vision and sounding amused. He looked rather like pictures Harry had seen of
James, almost like he was a brother. More to the point, however, he'd seen him on television and in
the newspapers. It couldn't be…

"Hello, Harry. I am Loki, of Asgard. Your uncle."

It was.

Everyone's jaw dropped, and Fred and George dropped to their knees.

"The Norse God of Mischief!" Fred said, sounding awed.

"Pranks!" George added.

"Magic!"

"And Chaos!"

"Teach us, we beg you, o master!" both finished at exactly the same time.

Loki looked amused, yet somehow also rather conflicted. "Oh get up, you two, I don't need
abasement," he said, smiling in a somewhat self-deprecating fashion. "As for your request… well it
has been rather some time since I took on an apprentice, and I would rather like to teach my
nephew… nevertheless, I have had as many as four apprentices before, even if Thor mostly taught
Godric."

He examined them for a long moment, as if looking beyond mere outward appearance. Then, he
turned and pressed a hand against the wall, eyes half-closed. It might just have been Harry's
imagination, but he felt... something. Like something huge moving near the surface of the water.
Then, Loki smiled faintly.

"Perhaps this was meant to be," he said. "Certainly not what I planned, but I can work with this."
He nodded decisively. "You have the talents necessary, I think. For the time being, at least, you
may both consider yourselves my apprentices, on probation. If you prove sufficiently skilled and
hard-working, the position may become permanent."

Fred and George looked like they were about to pass out from joy.

"Thank you, master," they said, bowing.

"Please, just call me Loki, Mister Odinson, if you must. That goes for all of you. Except for Harry,
who, if he so wishes, may call me Uncle," Loki said.

"Assuming this is real and I haven't just gone insane - which I think is far more likely - I'd like
that," Harry said, mind a whirl.

"Excellent, nephew," Loki said. "And I am certain that you are as sane as I am."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself, to horrified gasps.
Loki, however, burst out laughing. "Touché," he said, amused. "Now, I'd better go fetch your
father. As far as I can tell, he's stopped trying to smite Professor Dumbledore for leaving you with
the Dursleys, and now Dumbledore is trying to prevent him from smiting the Dursleys. I'm not
sure how successful this is going to be, but it should be fun to watch either way."

"Dursleys?" Hermione asked.

"My aunt and uncle," Harry said. "And my cousin."

"Why would Thor smite them?" Hermione asked, frowning.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, saying nothing.

"Because of how they treated Harry," Loki said quietly. "Which was truly abominably." At Harry's
expression of surprise he added, somewhat cryptically, "I have my sources."

"When we went to get him last year, they had bars on his window," Fred said grimly.

"They were practically starving him," George added, equally grimly.

Under everyone's horrified scrutiny, Harry hunched up and said nothing.

"Indeed," Loki said softly, a soft voice that carried an undertone of pure fury. "While I am sure that
Harry would not appreciate the details being aired to all and sundry, rest assured that my brother's
rage is more than justified." A glint appeared in his eye. "And it is a rage I share." He sighed. "Of
course, I am better at compartmentalising such things than my brother. In retrospect, I probably
should not have informed him about it until I got him somewhere quieter and more secluded. Such
as the Moon."

As he turned to go, Hermione, who had previously looked righteously enraged on Harry's behalf,
now looked like she'd had a thought. "Wait! Uh, your majesty, Loki, I've got an idea." She turned
to Harry. "You said that the Dursleys care about their reputation as a normal, well off and well to
do family?"

Harry nodded. He had indeed told her that during an explanation of the hovering pudding fiasco,
part of one of Dobby's many attempts to save him by keeping him away from Hogwarts the
previous year.

She turned to Loki. "And Thor is one of the Avengers, right?"

Loki nodded, then began to grin as he caught on.

"I'm sure that between you, you and Tony Stark could manage a far more effective and long lasting
form of revenge than merely smiting them," Hermione said, with sounded like a degree of cheerful
malice that no one would previously have credited her with. Everyone in the room was looking at
her with mingled fear, awe, and in the case of Loki, a decidedly impressed expression.

"Oh I like you," he said with a smirk. "You are one of my nephew's friends, are you not, Miss…"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," Hermione replied.

Loki scrutinised her for a long moment, again seeming to look beyond the physical as he had with
the Twins, and seemed to look almost... shocked? Then, the moment passed and he smiled.

"Miss Granger, you can consider yourself my fourth apprentice, also on probation, though I am
sure that you will prove worthy of a permanent position. Stark would do it for Thor, or indeed,
even for the fun of it," he said, turning to go. Hermione looked like she was about to pass out. It
was not every day one got offered an apprenticeship with the Asgardian God of Magic.

Ron, who had looked both puzzled and rather put out at being ignored, suddenly looked simply
puzzled as Loki left.

"Did he say one of his former apprentices was called Godric? And that he had four?" he asked.
Everyone's jaw dropped even further as this sunk in. Except Harry who looked blank and lay back
down.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you all right?"

"Hermione. I woke up five minutes ago. Since then, I've discovered that not only is my father alive,
but he is also the Norse God of Thunder and a superhero. And my uncle is a reformed super
villain, also a superhero, and apparently taught the founders and has now taken myself, Fred,
George and you on as his apprentices. I'm still not entirely sure that this real," Harry said flatly.
"How do you think I am?"

There was a long, awkward moment.

"Your dad's a decent bloke," Ron offered eventually. "Oliver was trying to drown himself in the
showers and your dad dragged him away and told him that even the best captain can't predict the
intervention of Dementors and an enormous storm. And that a good captain should be waiting by
his seeker's bed, not trying to drown himself."

Oliver nodded. "He was pretty emphatic on that part."

"And Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker, came up here and tried to hand him the Snitch shortly after
they brought you in," Angelina added. "He hadn't seen you fall and thought the match should be
replayed. Failing that, he thought you deserved the snitch."

Harry glanced around, half expecting to see a snitch buzzing around.

"Your dad handed it back to him, though," Katie said. "Said that there was every chance that he
would have got it instead."

"Which was very fair minded of him," Fred said, a bit dubiously. "I suppose."

"A bit too fair minded, maybe."

"He is a god, and who are we mortals to question his judgement?"

"Probably first in line," Ron muttered.

"Can you just tell me what happened before I got here?" Harry interjected.

"Well," Hermione said. "Dementors were flying up into the storm – towards you – and suddenly,
you fell. Then, the sky darkened, and the storm got even bigger as something – your father - shot
towards you."

"I've never seen anyone fly so fast," Ron said in awe. "Not even a Firebolt could have kept up!"

"Yes Ron," Hermione said, slightly irritated at being interrupted. "Anyway, he caught you maybe a
hundred feet off the ground, and hovered. And then he raised his hammer, and lightning struck the
Dementors. All of them at once! After that, he landed, talked to Professor Dumbledore, Professor
McGonagall and the Hufflepuff Seeker, then took you inside to the hospital wing."

Harry nodded slowly, processing all of this. In his short life, he'd seen and done a number of
unbelievably weird things. All of them, however, paled in comparison to this.

"So where is he now?" he asked eventually.

"The Headmaster's office."

OoOoO

Loki strode towards the office in question. The gargoyle looked at him, realised who he was, and
moved respectfully out of the way. It had been there since Hogwarts had first been built, and
recognised its creator on sight. Even if it hadn't, it would probably also have recognised someone
who could walk straight through it without breaking stride.

"Thank you," Loki said politely as he reached the moving spiral staircase.

"Not a problem," came the gravelly reply.

As the stairs carried him up, he heard Thor loudly saying that he would beat the Dursleys to a pulp
and feed them to Fenris, after tying them up with their own intestines.

"Brother," Loki sighed. "Calm down."

"Loki?" Thor said in surprise, still wearing his James Potter face. Unsurprising. He had probably
not figured out how to change between the two. "Jane…"

"Is fine. She's been knocked a little off-balance by it all, as is your son I might add, but both of
them are coming to terms with it," Loki said, privately thinking that the coming to terms progress
would take quite some time.

"Jane?" Albus asked.

"Jane Foster, she's –" Thor began.

"An astrophysicist, creator of the Foster theory and the chief mind behind the New Bifrost," Albus
said. "I have heard of her." He smiled faintly at Thor's surprise. "Where possible, I keep up with
modern science. And even if I did not, she is a rather remarkable young woman whose
achievements are hard to miss. The New Bifrost has made waves, even in the magical world." He
raised an interrogatory eyebrow. "You are seeing her?"

"Yes," Thor said, frowning. "I am. And… I am confused."

"Tell us something new," Loki murmured dryly, and Albus' lips twitched.

"This is serious, brother," Thor said, and his quiet, steely tone caught Loki's attention. "For me, it
is only a couple of days since I lost my beloved wife. And now I love another woman. My feelings
are genuine but…" Thor's face crumpled. "I don't know what to do, what to think, what to say.
It hurts," he said in an astonishingly small, broken voice, one rendered all the more affecting by
the fact that it was a tone so alien to the bluff, boisterous, steadfast Thor, even to the confident,
cocky James Potter.

Loki, not normally one for such things, sat down beside him and slipped an arm around a shoulder.
While Thor was usually the taller and broader, as James Potter, the brothers were of a size, Loki
being slightly larger.

"I know, brother," he said gently. "It is not wrong for you to feel this way. In fact, I would be
astonished and somewhat worried if you did not."

"That's comforting," Thor said flatly.

"Your son is awake by the way, and adjusting to having his father back. I've taken him, a friend of
his called Hermione Granger and a pair of red headed twins on as apprentices. The twins have a
palpable talent for mischief, one confirmed by the castle - they have a rare knack for chaos. And
Miss Granger has... potential," Loki said.

"I must confess that I am a little surprised that you would consider Miss Granger as a potential
mischief maker," Dumbledore said mildly. "She is remarkably clever, but rather fond of rules.
Within reason."

"She also suggested a fitting punishment for Harry's erstwhile guardians," Loki said, not saying
that a capacity for mischief wasn't even the first thing he had seen in her. There was, he felt, a great
deal more to Hermione Granger than met the eye. "Harry had told her that they are rather fond of
their reputation as a prosperous, normal, well to do family and if someone went out of their way to
air their dirty laundry to the world…" he trailed off, as Thor grinned a truly wicked grin that was
pure James Potter.

"Tony. Of course," he said in a predatory voice. "My son has chosen good friends."

"There is another thing," Dumbledore said quietly. "Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban. We believe
he is after Harry."

"Sirius?" Thor said, honestly baffled. "Why would he be in Azkaban? Or after Harry?"

"He betrayed you and Lily, James," Dumbledore said, some confusion of his own in his voice.
"Peter went to confront him, but against Sirius he didn't stand a chance. Sirius blew up the street
and Peter with it."

Thor stared at him in shock.

"I am sorry, James. Peter received the Order of Merlin First Class posthumously –"

"Peter was our secret keeper," Thor said flatly, stopping Dumbledore dead.

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore said in puzzlement.

"Peter was our secret keeper. We knew that everyone would assume it was Sirius, so we picked
Peter. AND THE LITTLE RAT BETRAYED US!" Thor roared. He shook his head. "How was
this not known?" he demanded. "How did it not come out in the trial?"

"The days after Lily and your death were rather fraught," Dumbledore said, frowning. "And I
barely had any time to think about Sirius. I always assumed that the trial was a brief. It was, after
all, an open and shut case." His lips thinned. "And believing his guilt, I did not feel especially
disposed to investigate further. Clearly, that was a mistake." He shook his head. "Barty, what have
you done?"

"Well obviously he didn't," Thor snarled. "Or we would not be having this conversation. If I see
Crouch, I'm going to kill him." He looked over at Loki. "Brother, I need one of your tracking spells
immediately."

It was at that moment that the office door opened and Lupin walked in. And that was when things
got complicated.

OoOoO

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dumbledore?" Remus asked. Dumbledore had called him by
Floo in Diagon Alley, where he'd been on business, acquiring a new specimen for his fourth year
class. He'd been rather annoyed that said business was causing him to miss Harry's Quidditch
match, but his contact had been insistent on that particular day and time and, well, some things
couldn't be helped.

He stopped. James. His eyes widened, and then narrowed. It couldn't be James. James was dead.
His wand blurred from his pocket.

"Who the hell are you?" he snarled.

"Put the wand down, Moony, before I tell Professor Dumbledore exactly what you were doing with
Marlene McKinnon in the closet on the fifth floor, the Christmas of our Sixth Year," then man who
looked like James replied.

Remus' eyes widened again, before narrowing once more. This was impossible. Then again, there
were shapeshifters, mind-readers, in the world that might be able to deceive even Dumbledore.
"What were you going to call your first daughter?" he asked quietly. If someone or something was
going to invade his mind, then at least he would notice.

"Eleanor," James replied, equally quietly.

Remus felt no touch on his mind, and sheathed his wand. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

The other man in the room snapped his fingers, and James' body shifted. Instead of lean, dark
haired, hazel eyed James Potter, a tall, powerfully muscled man with blond hair that flowed to his
shoulders and bright blue eyes stood before him."My birth name is Thor Odinson," a voice that
was slightly different – maybe a slightly more formal lilt, an indefinable accent – said. The speech
patterns were different too. "I was incarnated on Earth as James Potter to teach me humility. An
amnesiac child, born to loving parents. Father has always looked after us both, even when
punishing us." At that last, he smiled a wry smile, looking at the man next to him, the man who
had snapped his fingers, who affectionately rolled his eyes.

"I lived my life," James, Thor, continued. "I met you, Sirius and Peter. I had friends. I loved Lily. I
loved Harry. And when Voldemort killed me, my spirit, with full knowledge of who and what I
was, could do nothing but watch in horror as my wife died. When I woke up in Asgard, that and
the... forcible reintegration of my sets of memories had side effects. I went insane with grief,
succumbing to the Warrior's Madness. Father removed my memories. I reverted to how I had been
before I was born as James Potter. I never came down to Midgard because I had no reason to." He
looked sorrowful and shifted back to his James Potter form. "I should have been there for Harry."

"Why did you come now?" Remus asked, curious.

"You can thank my brother for that," Thor said, nodding to the other man, who bowed.

"Brother?" Remus said, then his eyes widened. "Loki?!"

"At your service," Loki said, looking slightly smug.

"We built a shrine to you in fourth year," Remus blurted, before covering his mouth.

Loki was grinning like the Cheshire cat. It was, Remus thought vaguely, at sea in all of this, quite
possible that he actually had been the Cheshire cat. "A shrine? Why, brother, I never knew
you cared so much," he said, voice dripping with utter glee.

James glowered at him. It was a quintessential James Potter glower, the one he had always got after
he got embarrassed – usually by Lily. "Thanks Moony. He's going to spend the next three centuries
ribbing me about this," he said sourly, and just like that, physical differences aside, he sounded like
James again.

"Oh, not three centuries… two should be sufficient, my faithful worshipper," Loki said cheerfully.

James growled. It was, Remus remembered, the same sort of noise he'd made after Sirius had made
one joke about Lily too many. His face darkened with anger and regret, as it always did when he
thought of Sirius.

"James, I'm sorry I didn't take Harry in, but with my circumstances," he began. James rolled his
eyes and pulled him into a shoulder hug.

"Relax, Moony, I know. And I hear that you're one of Harry's favourite teachers. And I will be
going to teach the Dursleys a lesson in due course. First, I need to find Sirius. And Peter."

Remus sighed. "James," he said. "Peter is –"

"A living, traitorous rat bastard who I will kill very slowly indeed," James said flatly without
missing a beat. Remus was non-plussed to put it mildly, so James explained it to him. "Padfoot was
never our secret keeper. We wanted it to be him, but he suggested Peter. So I'm going to find my
son's godfather and the man who singlehandedly ruined my life and give them what they deserve."

Remus stared at him in shock and absolute horror.

"Don't you think you should meet your son first?" Loki interjected. "He will be just as disorientated
by this as you are. Actually, a great deal more so."

James blinked. "Good point."

"Someone needs to do the thinking, as you clearly don't," Loki murmured.

"Suddenly I understand why you, Sirius and I got along," Remus observed faintly. "This is
beginning to look somewhat familiar."

Loki eyed him speculatively, and glanced at James. "He has a point. I did look in on you every now
and then, and I did notice a certain similarity of dynamic."

"Really?" James asked curiously.

"What kind of brother do you take me for?"

"A very long lived one who has slept through entire decades?"

"That only happened once!"

"What did you do, then?"

"You remember the time that that Snape creature spent a month in a pink and purple tutu and his
hair had been washed and there were sparkles in it?" Loki asked. "That was me. A little less subtle
than my usual fare, but I thought that it would be appreciated."

"It was. Oh, it was. However could I forget it?" James asked, looking like he was reliving a happy
memory. He then shot his brother a mild glare. "You would not believe the ticking off Lily gave
me for that."

Remus too, remembered that incident wistfully. It had been a mark of a simpler, happier time.

"I probably wouldn't," Loki said. "Now, you need to go and talk to your son. He is going to want an
explanation. And he deserves one."

James took a breath and nodded. He looked, Remus reflected, more frightened than he'd ever seen
him, save for Harry's birth. And that particular incident might have had more to do with Lily's
blood curdling screams mid labour and her inventive threats – mostly based on horrible things
being done to James' testicles if he ever touched her again – than with anything else.

This was going to be... interesting.

 Confrontations and Reunions
Chapter Summary

In which Thor runs the gauntlet of his understandably annoyed son, Snape falls afoul
of Thor, more of Loki's past is revealed, some of Odin's plans for James/Thor prior to
the attack on Halloween are revealed, the Weasley Twins that Harry's family are just
about the best thing since sliced bread and Loki's more recent past comes back to
haunt him. Sort of.

Harry looked up as he heard footsteps. In a heartbeat, he realised just why everyone said he looked
like his father. Looking at James Potter, God of Thunder, was like looking at an older version of
himself - albeit without green eyes or, he noticed with a stab of jealousy, glasses. He also looked
rather nervous as he came to sit down beside Harry's bed, running a hand through his hair
distractedly. Harry watched as his eyes ran up and down Harry's body, focused first on his face,
then on his eyes. He sighed, and smiled crookedly. "Long time no see, son," he said quietly.

Harry glared at him for a long moment, fighting down a veritable storm of conflicting emotions,
then said what he'd been wanting to say ever since he'd found out his father was alive. "Where the
bloody hell have you been?" he snarled.

James jerked back like he'd been slapped. Then, with visible effort he replied, "I was incarnated as
James Potter by my father, as a lesson in humility. I had no memories of my past life. Then, when I
was murdered, I witnessed your mother's death as a spirit." Pain filled his eyes and he closed them
briefly. "I then returned to Asgard. I returned to my original form. And I went mad. Mad with grief
and rage. None could stop, none could hold me. I would have shattered worlds in my madness, and
even mighty Heimdall could not have restrained me. But my father could. He removed my
memories of my life as James Potter."

"So why did you come now?" Harry asked, voice quieter.

"When the Dementors closed in on you, you sent out a subconscious distress call," James replied.
"My brother Loki, your uncle, picked up on it, and broke the memory enchantment on me. I came
down as fast as I could." He scratched his jaw, puzzled. "Though how you had not yet hit the
ground I do not know."

Harry digested this information. He looked thoughtful. "So… why don't you look like you do on
TV?" he asked eventually. It was an odd question, but it was the first one that came to mind.

James chuckled, and shifted shape. The chair creaked slightly under his newly enhanced form.

Harry smirked. "Someone needs to go on a diet."

"You take more after my brother than is strictly healthy," James grumbled good naturedly, shifting
back.

"Let's just hope I inherited the mischief making rather than the megalomaniacal tendencies," Harry
said dryly.
James stared at him. "You used a word with seven syllables in it," he said, shocked.

"I hang around with the smartest witch in the year," Harry said, shrugging. "Some of it was bound
to rub off."

"And your mother was top of her year," James said. "Please tell me that you at least break the rules
sometimes," he begged, eyes wide.

"… um, a bit?" Harry ventured, a tad startled by this reaction. "Does sneaking past traps set up by
all the Professors to get to the Philosopher's Stone count? And brewing polyjuice potion in a
bathroom and sneaking into the Slytherin common room? And sneaking out at night with your
invisibility cloak?"

James looked immensely proud. "Yes it does," he said grinning. Then he sobered and looked stern.
"I hear that you are less than respectful to Professor Snape, and often refer to him simply as
Snape."

Harry opened his mouth to angrily retort, to explain that Snape had had it in for him since the very
first day, then saw the twinkle in his father's eyes. His dad was teasing him. He couldn't help but
get a warm feeling when he realised that.

"I can only say one thing to such behaviour," James continued solemnly, lips twitching in the
beginnings of a grin. "Carry right on with my full blessing."

"Thanks… dad," Harry said, testing out the new word. He'd never really used it before. He looked
at his dad, then reached out and hugged him. His dad stiffened for a moment, then relaxed,
wrapping him in a warm, comforting hug. For the first time since he was just over a year old, Harry
relaxed in the reliable strength of his father's arms, letting himself be gently rocked back and forth.
Most teenage boys would have found this awkward. At best. But Harry was not most teenage boys.
A love starved orphan, he was going to latch onto whatever love he could get.

OoOoO

Some time later, Madame Pomfrey walked in, and stopped, smiling at the father and son. The two
were nigh identical – if one discounted the difference between hospital slacks and strange,
otherworldly armour – in both appearance and their apparent need to be close to one another.

Her heart melted as Harry made a probably unconscious noise that she would normally expect
from a much younger child, burrowing his face into his father's shoulder, while his father rubbed
his back and hushed him gently. Both were crying, eyes shut. She'd once heard a muggle describe
this sort of moment as a Kodak moment. Once she'd had it explained to her what this meant, she
thought it suited very nicely. And frankly, it was a pleasant dose of normality in an otherwise truly
insane day.

She heard the hospital wing door open, and Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and the Weasley
twins sidled in, then froze as they saw father and son. Hermione looked like she was restraining the
urge to go 'Aw'. Ron opened his mouth, which was promptly covered by a hand from each twin.
Madame Pomfrey caught their eyes and nodded towards the door. Ron looked like he was about to
protest, until Hermione hissed something in his ear that ended in 'insensitive berk' and dragged him
out by the ear.

A few minutes later, Loki slipped in, paused, and smiled. Silently, he sat down and apparently set
himself up as a watchman, keeping a vigilant eye on his surroundings. He glanced at Madame
Pomfrey, and winked slyly, before his green eyes, a slightly darker shade than Harry's, continued to
rove around the room. Harry had clearly drifted off to sleep, comfortably ensconced on his father's
shoulder. She walked over, careful to be quiet. "If you want to take him onto your lap, James, that
would be fine."

James, or Thor, as he technically was – now wasn't that a turn up for the books – blinked, then
gave her the same stunning smile that she remembered so well from his Hogwarts days. "Thanks,"
he whispered, and gently, tenderly, lifted his son onto his lap, seemingly simultaneously surprised
both by how heavy Harry was compared to how he had been, and how light he was. The latter had
made Pomfrey worry more than once - Harry had been a woefully underfed child when he'd arrived
at Hogwarts, and the school's food had only done so much to rectify that. Harry, for his part, didn't
even stir. The poor boy must have been rather overwhelmed by it all, and who could blame him.
She watched as James shut his eyes and let his head nod, holding Harry against his chest. She
glanced at Loki, who gave her a single, approving nod.

Eventually, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape entered the Hospital Wing. On seeing
the sight of the two cuddling, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall smiled.
McGonagall even wiped away a couple of tears. Snape on the other hand, was a different story.
First, for a long, long moment, there was grief, pain, wistfulness and a thousand other emotions
mixed in. Then he sneered, and opened his mouth. As he did, Loki appeared in front of him, eyes as
cold as an Arctic Winter. His entire demeanour said, 'what you are about to do is going to piss me
off. You piss me off at your peril. I therefore suggest you rethink what you are about to do'.

Snape wisely shut his mouth. Loki promptly ignored him, flicking his hand and casting what
Madame Pomfrey presumed to be a silencing enchantment. He smiled. "Professors Dumbledore
and McGonagall, it is nice to see you," he said warmly. His expression cooled as he glanced briefly
at Snape. "As you can see, my brother and his son are asleep. I would appreciate if they were not
disturbed."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "We intended nothing of the kind," he said, eyes hardening as he
glanced at Snape, who took the hint.

"Indeed not," he drawled, casting a wary look at Loki, who nodded absently.

"Yes, we rather decided against after we heard Miss Granger quite emphatically telling off Ronald
Weasley for nearly interrupting them. No malice was, as ever, intended on the part of Mister
Weasley, but as ever he has a remarkable ability not to think before he speaks," McGonagall said,
lips twitching in amusement.

Loki chuckled softly. "He sounds like Fandral, or indeed, Thor himself. I suspect James had similar
tendencies."

"Where Lily was concerned, most certainly," Dumbledore said.

Loki sobered. "Yes, Lily." He sighed. "I was going to visit them, you know, a week after
Halloween. Just to observe, for the time being, but eventually more. The plan was that we were
slowly going introduce James to his Asgardian heritage, and slowly bring back the memories – but
to bolster his identity as James, not overwhelm it. Eventually, he would be taken to Asgard along
with Lily, where Harry would, in part, have been raised, alongside any siblings he had in full
knowledge of who he was. Lily would have been given the chance to become an Asgardian, and I
am confident that she would have accepted." He sighed. "I watched them, every now and then. She
was an excellent match for my brother, a clever, brave and kind woman and an excellent mother.
She would have made a magnificent Queen of Asgard, in the fullness of time. The attack, however,
put paid to that."
"How would the Dark Lord have figured in those plans of yours?" Snape asked, sneering. "He
would hardly have been a minor obstruction."

"I would have hunted him down and killed him as a threat to peace, and most particularly, to my
family," Loki said calmly. His eyes darkened. "And if I ever find his remnants… I shall destroy
them. That creature attacked my brother. He tore his love from him and separated him from his
child. He is long overdue a slow and painful death."

"I do not think many will object to those plans," McGonagall said, then gasped as Loki suddenly
lashed out, grabbing Snape's left arm, and hauled his sleeve up. Revealing the Dark Mark.

"How interesting," Loki said, voice as cold as a glacier, and shifted his grip, forcing Snape to his
knees. "I take it that he serves you now?"

"As a young man, he made mistakes. Mistakes he later regretted," Dumbledore said calmly. "At
great personal risk, he became my spy in Voldemort's inner circle. Alas, it was not in time to save
Lily and, one way or another, James."

Loki still didn't release Snape's arm, which he held in a vice grip. Snape drew his wand.

"Don't even think about it," Loki said softly. "Unless you want your wand shattered and your hand
with it." He looked down at Snape. "What shall I do with you, I wonder," he said. "I've heard many
things about this man, from students and the castle herself. Few of them are good, some of them
very intriguing. Before me kneels the Death Eater who loved a muggleborn. How ironic. Yet she
chose my brother, in the end." McGonagall's eyes widened in shock. Dumbledore, however, did not
look the least bit surprised. "She chose the man who changed," Loki continued. "Have you
changed? Now that is a good question."

"Youthful mistakes can be repented of and penance done," Dumbledore said quietly. He fixed the
god with a steady blue gaze. "You yourself should know that, Loki."

Loki smiled sourly. "True enough." He released his grip. "But know this, Severus Snape. I do not
trust you. Headmaster Dumbledore does, but I do not. Your motives may cause you to protect
Harry, and do what is right, but even still... as one who has walked on the dark side to another, I do
not trust you. For your treatment of my nephew, I dislike you, though I acknowledge the service
you have done in protecting him. So rest assured, I will be watching you. Is that understood?"

"It is," Snape growled, getting to his feet.

"Good," Loki said, as Snape stalked out, purposefully slamming down the door as loudly as
possible. Loki's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Thor and Harry. Aside from a slight stirring,
there was no change, so he let it go.

"Was that strictly necessary?" Dumbledore asked.

"He would never have loved my brother, my nephew, or even myself," Loki said. "So it is better
that he fears us. If love cannot be achieved, then fear shall have to suffice."

Dumbledore clearly disagreed, but said nothing, changing the subject. "They are very sweet
together," he said.

"Yes they are," Loki agreed. "It is a great pity that Harry does not remember his father's love for
him, for as James he always doted on him. I watched them when Lily was still alive."

"Even through the Fidelius?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.

Loki grinned. "I created many of the spells you use today," he said smugly. "And I know how to
slip past almost all of them, without destroying their integrity." His face darkened. "I even created
the spell that killed my brother's mortal form and his wife. Truly, it is a cruel irony that a spell I
created to give those with magical talent the means to protect themselves from angry mobs was
used by one of them to harm those I loved."

"You created the Killing Curse?" McGonagall asked in shock.

"A very long time ago," Loki said quietly. "I count it among the greatest mistakes that I have ever
made, even if it was one made with the best of intentions." He sighed. "I have many, many sins to
atone for, Professors, not all of them recent."

He glanced at them. "I dare say that we should explain to the students what is happening. If they
are anything like how I remember, they will be bursting with curiosity and coming up with the
most outlandish rumours."

"I think that would be wise," Dumbledore sighed.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, a rat called Scabbers that had once been a man called Peter Pettigrew decided that now
would be a good time to cut his losses. He had never imagined that two Norse Gods would appear
and apparently – according to rumour – take an intense interest in Harry. A braver man and a more
daring spy would have sought to find out more. As it was, Peter was neither of these. So he made
good his escape. After leaving blood and hair behind to implicate the cat, of course.

This, however, would not be discovered for some hours, as all of Hogwarts' intensely curious
students had gathered in the Great Hall.

"Silence please," Dumbledore said, standing at the podium. Loki was standing next to him. "As
you may have noticed, this has been something of an unusual day, even by the standards of
Hogwarts. Those of you who were at the Quidditch match will have seen the pitch invasion by
Dementors, and the intervention of a man who controls lightning with a hammer. Those of you
who know your Norse Mythology and follow the Muggle News may have figured out who he is.
He is Thor, the Norse God of Thunder and Lightning."

A wave of excited whispers rose up.

"Quiet! He is also the man the Wizarding World once knew as James Potter," Dumbledore said.
"Loki, here," Dumbledore said, gesturing at Loki, who smiled slightly and inclined his head. "Has
explained that Thor was incarnated as James Potter, his spirit in the vessel of a mortal newborn, as
a method of teaching him humility. The traumatic events of the night that Voldemort attacked the
Potters meant that he went insane. His father, Odin, removed his memories to preserve his mind,
until Loki sensed that his nephew was in mortal danger, and restored them. I only ask that if you
see Thor, whether he chooses to appear in his natural, blond form, or as he did when he was James
Potter, that you do not harass him or Harry. They are both going through a time of great emotional
upheaval, and I think that they would both appreciate privacy. That is all."

A new wave of chatter rose up as the students did what they did best. Gossip.

As Loki descended from the stage, he was confronted by a couple of students, looking to be in their
sixth or seventh years. He raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" he asked.

They drew their wands. "You killed our parents," one of them, a blonde Gryffindor snarled. "In
New York."

"I killed a lot of people's parents, and that was mostly the work of my minions," Loki said evenly,
inwardly sighing. It disturbed him how familiar he had got with being confronted by the grief-
stricken and outraged relatives of those who had died or been injured as the direct or indirect result
of his actions. Then again, those relatives were hardly few in number and had ample cause to be
outraged. There were a number of ways of handling this kind of situation, and they were each
tailored to the audience. All required a deft touch. With that in mind, he narrowed his eyes and
examined the group.

"Your father was Alan Scott," he said, pointing at the surprised blonde girl. As he did, he noticed a
younger dark haired boy lurking in the background, of similar features, caught between fear and
hatred of Loki, and fear for what Loki presumed to be his sister. Putting this aside, he moved onto a
dark haired Ravenclaw boy. "And your parents were William and Mary Oakeshott."

"How did you do that?" the Ravenclaw asked, puzzled and wary. A crowd had formed around
them, and Loki could see that the staff were watching him carefully, in case he lashed out. He
inwardly snorted. Maybe once he would have done exactly that. But he had changed. And he
deserved all the outrage and censure that they could muster. Arguably, he deserved far worse.

"Because I took it upon myself to memorise the names and faces of everyone whose death I
caused, directly or indirectly, in this realm," Loki said seriously. "I am truly sorry that I have
denied you your parents. It grieves me greatly to realise that I have done the same to you as was
done to my nephew. While I was insane at the time, that is no excuse. I did you all great wrong,
and you have every right to kill me for it."

He held his hands at his sides and went down on one knee, bowing his head. "So kill me. No harm
shall come to you for doing it, and no legal sanction shall follow you," he said. "My life is in your
hands. Whether you crush it or let it go, so I may continue to try and atone for my sins, is up to
you. Choose."

This was not the self-sacrificing gesture it seemed - well, not entirely.

In his own mind, Loki felt that while it could be said that he deserved to die - and for a long time
felt that himself - he could do far more to make amends for the suffering he had caused through
good works than by effectively committing suicide.

This move was calculated. While mind-reading was something he was reasonably skilled at, he did
not need those talents to discern the mettle of those he was facing, and he was entirely sure that
they would never go through with it, not when faced with the reality of what they had dreamed of.
As a result, at least some measure of their vengeful thoughts - which he knew only too well could
poison and twist you - was purged and as a bonus, his reputation got a boost. Of course, there was
always the off-chance that one would go through with it... but he rather doubted that any spell they
knew would be able to do him permanent harm. And if they knew one such... well, risk was the
spice of life.

The girl jerked her wand up, and pointed it at Loki's bowed head. The other didn't, couldn't move.
She was shaking as she did so. She held the wand there for a long time, mouthing the words of the
Killing Curse. Then she hurled her wand to ground and began to cry furious tears of frustration and
grief.

"That was a little sudden," Loki murmured to himself. "No one else?" he asked, in full expectation
that no one would come forward.
The other mutely shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you," the Ravenclaw said seriously. "That
would make me no better than you. But I'm not going to forgive. Or forget."

"I expect nothing more," Loki said gravely. The boy nodded, and departed

Leaving Loki and the crying girl. Loki gently picked up the wand, examined it for cracks. There
were none.

"It is far harder to kill than it first appears," Loki said gently, handing the wand back to the sobbing
girl. "And it takes far greater courage to forsake the opportunity for righteous revenge, than it does
to take that vengeance. Take it from someone who knows." He smiled. "I taught Godric
Gryffindor, you know. He would be proud of you, as would the others." He patted the girl on the
shoulder, and walked away. Now that that was settled, he had much thinking to do.

"Now that –" Fred said, watching him go.

"Was pretty impressive," George finished.

"Think we should visit Harry?"

"Why not? He's probably bored stiff by now."

OoOoO

They wandered along the corridors, taking secret routes back to the Hospital Wing. Until they ran
into Thor, in his James Potter form.

"Wow."

"You really do look a lot like Harry."

"Apart from the eyes."

"The glasses."

"The scar."

"And the hammer."

Thor chuckled. "You're the Weasley twins, aren't you?"

Both bowed. "I'm Fred."

"And I'm George."

"At your service," they finished in unison. Thor chuckled again.

"You remind me very much of your uncles, Gideon and Fabian," he said, smiling. "I hear my
brother has taken you on as his apprentices." He raised an eyebrow. "And I suspect that you, prime
mischief makers of this era of Hogwarts, had some help."

"Help?" they asked, in perfect unison..

"From four people. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," Thor said. "Who wrote the Marauders
Map."
"And how, your majesty..."

"Do you know about that?"

Thor smiled. "Because I was Prongs."

"No way," both said in awe, eyes wide.

"Yes way. I'll let you in on a secret – Professor Lupin was Moony," Thor said, and chuckled at
their gaping faces. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to Snivellus – I mean, Professor
Snape." His face hardened. "I have heard many unpleasant things about him." He paused. "If you
wish to visit my son, bear in mind that he is still asleep, and I would appreciate it if he was not
disturbed."

The twins nodded seriously, and watched as he left. Visit a sleeping Harry, or watch an angry
thunder god almost certainly threaten Snape. It was no contest.

OoOoO

"Severus," Thor said quietly. "I would have words with you."

Snape turned, and sneered. "Potter. Are you going to taunt me about how death itself cannot stop
you? Your son is just as arrogant as you ever were, by the way. You must be so proud."

Thor's eyes turned cold, and said, "It is on the subject of my son that I want to talk with you. From
what I hear, you've had it out for him since the beginning."

Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Thor ruthlessly overrode him. "It must just kill you to see
Lily's eyes staring out of my face, mustn't it," he said, voice merciless. "She was your friend. I
think you loved her, which is why you hate him all the more, seeing a living reminder that when it
came down to it, she choseme. Not you. Me."

Snape merely glared at him.

"I can understand that," Thor said calmly. "I must admit that I might feel much the same in your
position. And I accept that you saved my son's life. You have my sincerest thanks for that. Even if
you were just paying off your life debt." He sighed. "I also treated you terribly when we were both
young. We were both culpable in that, but that is no excuse. My behaviour was deeply
dishonourable, and you have my sincerest apologies."

"So what now? We're bosom friends for ever more?" Snape asked caustically.

"No. You were a Death Eater. You, change of heart or not, are the one who condemned my wife,"
Thor said, eyes burning with fury now, closing on Snape, jabbing his right forefinger to emphasise
his words.

"You are the one who caused my son to grow up in hell. You are the reason he had no
parents. You," he snarled. "Are the reason my son cried himself to sleep as a child. I shall not
forgive. I shall not forget." He calmed himself. "But I accept that you never meant to. If there is
one thing we can both agree on, it is that we never wished Lily even a moment of pain."

Snape grimaced, but nodded curtly.

"And Albus trusts you. He has uses for you. Both have earned you a stay of judgement," Thor said,
tone measured. "But be warned, Snape. One thing I could never stand was to see those I loved in
pain. And if you cause another tear to fall from my son's eyes, directly or indirectly, then that
judgement shall no longer be stayed."

"And what form will it take. A few lightning bolts?" Snape said, hiding his genuine fear behind
sneering bravado.

"I am the God of Thunder and Lightning spoken of in ancient myth and whispered legend, Snape,"
Thor said softly. A powerful static charge began to build, until sparks danced around Thor. "I am
he who battled Jormungand, the father of all great serpents, and fought the greatest Jotunheim had
to offer when Merlin was but a suckling babe. I am Thor Odinson, God of the Vikings. Not a petty
conjurer of cheap tricks. All the power of the storm, from all the world, flows through my veins. It
can be summoned by my hammer at any time, wherever it is. A lightning storm in Japan? Mine. A
hurricane off the coast of Barbados? Mine again. A brace of tornadoes in Kansas? Mine. All that
might, all that destructive force, mine to command. Channelled and guided through the mystic
might of my hammer," Thor said, voice menacing, and leaned in close. "And if you hurt my son or
his friends, it will be guided right at you. Is that understood?"

Snape nodded slowly and swept away, cloak billowing. Thor snorted, and turned to go, static
charge dissipating.

Neither paid attention to the Weasley twins, who were watching from round the corner. They
quickly left, and shared awed looks. "It's official," Fred whispered.

"Harry's family is incredible!" George finished. They shared a grin.

"I think, George," Fred said. "That we should tell Harry about this."

"Fred, you read my mind," George replied.

They turned and ran back to the Hospital Wing. Harry, they reckoned, would get a real kick of
hearing about this.
 Explanations and Warnings
Chapter Summary

In which Thor explains his past as James Potter to the Avengers, Loki and Dumbledore
have an important discussion and a few of the other players in the game are revealed.

As Thor walked outside, savouring the pale November sunlight, and let himself really look at
Hogwarts for the first time since his return. Even at the tipping point between Autumn and Winter,
it was beautiful, as much as it had been during his days as a student. That had been sixteen years
ago - an age from a mortal point of view, yet a mere drop in the ocean for an Asgardian. His gaze
settled on a very particular tree, an oak. He and Lily had spent many hours sitting under it,
just… being. He remembered her laugh, her smile and the way her green eyes had sparkled when
she was happy. He remembered the way she had felt in his arms, her warmth, her strength, her
gentleness balanced by her furious passion. She had been like fire and life incarnate, so much so
that he'd once compared her to a phoenix. This had led to a little bit of explaining on his part, but
she had, when she realised what he was getting at, liked the comparison.

He frowned slightly. He loved Lily. He loved her so much still that it was painful. Yet there was
Jane. The petite, brilliant woman who had helped him learn in days the lessons his father had spent
so long trying to teach him, the one who had stood by him. He knew that he loved her. He sighed
and rubbed his face. This was complicated, to put it mildly.

He thought back to Lily. He remembered the smell of her hair. He remembered the tired but utterly
joyful look on her face as she held their newborn son. He remembered his last words to her.

Lily! Take Harry and go! I'll hold him off!

He remembered a flash of green. A painless death – the stories were true, it did not hurt in the
slightest. Next, slipping away from his mortal form. Then watching, helpless to intervene – and oh,
how he had tried, intangible fists striking at Voldemort, finally trying to shield Lily with his
ghostly form, invisible to all others, desperately trying to impede the killing curse. He had failed.
When the woman he loved had needed him most, he had failed her. That monster had taken the
woman he loved from him. He closed his eyes, as grief turned to anger.

The sky darkened and lightning began to dance from cloud to cloud and the wind began to pick up,
whipping autumn leaves up into the air in small eddies. The air was cold and crisp, a sign of the
oncoming winter. The water in the mud was freezing to ice, and the ground was hardening. A very
apt state, Thor thought, for the land that reminded him of his broken heart.

"You will pay, Voldemort," Thor murmured, reining in his temper with difficulty. "But not today."

He began spin his hammer. He had places to be.

"Going somewhere?" Loki asked.

Thor nodded, stopping his spin and imminent flight. "New York. I think I owe the Avengers an
explanation, and I wish to enlist Tony's help in getting custody of Harry and destroying the
Dursleys'."
Loki nodded. "I need to speak to Albus," he said. "And search for Sirius. I will also keep an eye on
Harry while you are gone."

"Thank you, brother," Thor said quietly, before taking off.

Thor flew as fast as he could. He broke the sound barrier within moments, and left a rippling sonic
wave behind him as he shot across the Atlantic. It took him twenty minutes to reach the East coast,
angling southwards a little to get to New York. He slowed as he reached city limits, landing
carefully. It was time for a talk.

OoOoO

Tony looked up as he Thor landed on the balcony with a thump and strode in. "Hey big guy.
What's up?" he asked casually.

"I need to speak to the Avengers. More to the point, I need to talk to my friends," Thor said.
Something, Tony thought, was different about him. His syntax was more modern, and the accent
was less Shakespearean.

Since Tony had come to practically redefine paranoia over the last few years (being betrayed by
someone you trust absolutely will have that effect on you), just in case it was an impostor, he got
JARVIS to run a full scan of Thor's biology, looking to see if a shapeshifter was impersonating
him, and readied the Mark XXXV for good measure. Thor, displaying uncommonly good
observation skills (which ratcheted Tony's personal paranoia meter up even further), saw his body
language and smiled.

"It's me Tony. I've just regained a few memories. Twenty one years of memories to be precise,"
Thor said, then sighed. "I need a drink. A strong one."

"Twenty one years. That's a lot, even for an Asgardian demigod," Tony said as he poured a scotch
for himself and one for Thor. It was only three o'clock, but Tony was always ready for a drink.
Besides, it was sundown in less than two hours.

"Actually, the term is god," Thor said, as Tony gulped some of the scotch. "An example of a true
demigod, a half human, half god, would be my son."

Thor looked amused as Tony spat out the scotch and stared at him in shock.

"Yes Tony, I am a father, as I have just rediscovered. The full story can wait until the rest of the
Avengers are here, and Pepper too. I feel that I may need her advice on helping Jane adjust to this,"
he said. "As for why I sound a little different, as you have doubtless noticed, is because of the
influence of those memories and recently having to deal with a number of people I knew back
then."

"All the Avengers are in the tower at the moment, except for Darcy and Selvig, they're in New
Mexico, and Loki, I presume he's in Asgard," Tony said slowly, as he gathered his thoughts, and
poured himself a much larger scotch. "I've just called them on the personal frequency that Fury
hasn't managed to hack yet."

"I know. Darcy and Erik I can collect in a little bit. And it was Loki who warned me that my son
was in grave danger and broke down the memory block. I had to leave in a hurry and he remained
to explain to Jane. Currently he is in Scotland, talking to my son and arranging the transfer of
custody from his aunt and uncle," Thor said, and Tony noted his expression darken when it got to
the aunt and uncle. "And thank you Tony. I'd rather not deal with Nicholas at the moment. I will
have words with him later, but not now."

"Eh, it's okay. Anything that annoys Nicky boy is automatically a good idea in my book," Tony
said, shrugging.

Thor chuckled. "That would explain a lot of your behaviour."

"It does, doesn't it," Tony agreed, looking up as the lift dinged, Pepper, Natasha and Bruce making
their way in.

"Steve and Clint were sparring, so they'll be up in a minute," Pepper explained. "Hi Thor. What's
up?"

"I have something I need to tell you, as my friends," Thor said. "It is a story that has been forgotten
and buried these past twelve years. It can wait a few minutes longer." The rest of the Avengers
looked intrigued, and Natasha was eyeing Thor, obviously noting the same changes in demeanour
that Tony had. Catching her eye, Tony shrugged and she nodded. Thor was - probably - not some
evil shapeshifting monster.

A couple of minutes later, a slightly damp but clean Steve and Clint made their way in.

"Hey, I heard you wanted a word," Steve said.

"Indeed I do," Thor said. "I would suggest that you sit down. This may not be the shortest of tales,
and it is not the most simple either."

Looking intrigued, Steve sat down. Clint flicked a glance at Natasha, who nodded slightly, then sat
down himself.

"Our story starts around thirty five years ago," Thor said. "I was a brave, but extremely arrogant
and thoughtless warrior. My father thought that I needed to learn humility, and sent me to earth as a
mortal. However, this was different to the second time he sent me down as a mortal. I was reborn
with no memories of my life on Asgard, to a couple called Charlus and Dorea Potter, and given the
name James Potter. I looked rather different then than I do now, for one, I had dark hair and a
superficial resemblance to Loki. I was mortal, but I was a wizard. It is not only Asgardians who
wield magic, mortals do as well. Indeed, four of their greatest witches and wizards were trained by
Loki and myself, though my part mostly extended to the arts of combat – my premier student is
known even over a thousand years later as one of the greatest duellists of history, so I feel justified
in being proud."

Everyone looked interested, and was listening closely. Thor took a deep breath. "I grew up, a
somewhat spoilt child – I was born to parents who were rich, kindly and quite old, and as the only
child I was indulged a lot, as I suspect Tony was," he said, adding the last part at Tony's nods of
understanding. "I wanted for nothing. At the age of eleven, I went to a school for young witches
and wizards called Hogwarts, in Scotland." Tony gave Thor a sharp look, noting that Loki was
probably at the school at this very moment. "I met a boy called Sirius Black, and he became my
best friend," Thor continued. "In many ways, now I come to think of it, he was very like Tony.
Handsome, rich, talented, did not get on with his family at all and underneath the swagger, a good
man."

"Stop, you're making me blush," Tony said drily, drawing a chuckle from Thor.

"They have the same sense of humour too. Sirius would have said the exact same thing in that
position," Thor said. "I met a couple of other boys who were to become my best friends. A boy
called Remus Lupin, who had the unfortunate curse of lycanthropy – he was a werewolf, turned
intentionally by a monster called Fenrir Greyback when he was a child – and Peter Pettigrew. And
I met a girl called Lily Evans, and her friend, Severus Snape. Snape I took a dislike to immediately,
with his supercilious attitude, greasy hair and hooked nose. His fascination with the Dark Arts only
compounded that dislike. Lily I mostly dismissed, though she intrigued me."

"The beginnings of a crush," Clint said, nodding sagely.

Thor nodded. "Exactly so, Clint. As time went on, I became a star at the school sport, Quidditch,
which was unsurprising since it involved flying. My friends and I became known as the Marauders,
the finest pranksters to grace the hall of Hogwarts – for context, we once turned one of the four
house tables into a herd of badgers - and we discovered Remus' lycanthropy, which he had been
carefully hiding with the aid of the Headmaster. He was our friend and we didn't care if the
Wizarding World saw him as a dark creature for something he had no control over. Werewolves
are relatively docile around animals, so I and Sirius, both naturally talented at Transfiguration,
studied to become animagi. With sufficient time, effort and care, any witch or wizard can become
an Animagus and turn into an animal, though it can be quite dangerous, so most don't. But we
discovered how by the time we were fifteen, and helped Peter, who became one a few months after
us."

"What was your form?" Tony asked, bouncing excitedly. Even after the experience of dealing with
a skilled shapeshifter in Loki, who had been known to take requests (especially after a few too
many drinks), Tony was not ashamed to admit that he still found the concept immensely cool. In
answer, where Thor had been standing there was now a large stag, with a fine rack of antlers.

"Wow," Pepper breathed, Clint let out a low whistle, Natasha and Bruce raised simultaneous
eyebrows, Steve nearly fell off his stool in shock and Tony reached over to poke Thor, checking to
see if the stag was real.

"How?" he asked.

"It violates the conservation of mass," Bruce said, then added dryly. "Congratulations Thor, you
have officially broken the laws of physics."

Thor shifted back and grinned. "I think that Loki could provide an explanation that would satisfy
you and explain how Animagism and the laws of Physics fit together, as with his own brand of
shapeshifting, but I cannot," he said, then paused. "If he didn't find the mystery more amusing." He
shook his head. "Anyway, by around 15, I was also head over heels in love with Lily. She didn't
return my affections, rightly thinking I was arrogant, egotistical and a bit of a..."

"Dick?" Clint suggested.

Thor nodded. "Yes, a dick," he said. "I will admit that I treated Snape, her friend, badly, though he
never missed an opportunity to curse me, so I considered turnabout fair play."

"Your other self is sounding more and more like Tony was a few years back," Pepper said dryly.

"I don't think I was quite that bad," Thor said, smirking, then continued as Tony spluttered
indignantly.

"Snape fell into bad company, delving further into the Dark Arts, and called Lily, a muggleborn –"
He paused. "At this point, I feel I should explain that muggleborns are witches and wizards not
born into the old Wizarding families, born to non-magical parents." His gaze shifted to Steve.
"Though one among you will already know this."
Everyone turned to Steve.

"Rogers, if you have magic powers and have been holding out on me, I will be very upset," Tony
said.

"He's not the only one," Natasha said casually, then elaborated, "Who knows what Thor's going on
about."

"I don't," Steve said, eyeing Natasha. "But I've been to Hogwarts before, during the war." He
waved a hand. "It's a story that can wait. Thor?"

Thor nodded. "I was what was called a pureblood, and many purebloods, though not myself and
my parents, thought that muggles were lesser creatures and that muggleborns were weaker than
even half-bloods," he said. "This was, frankly, ridiculous, since Lily was easily the most powerful
witch or wizard of her generation, but some people refuse to see. Anyway Snape called Lily a
'mudblood'. It's the Wizarding equivalent of the 'n-word'."

"I doubt she took that well

"Apparently he was completely contrite later, begging for forgiveness, but Lily was having none of
it. He had chosen his side, a group known as the Death Eaters, and she had chosen hers. A couple
of years later, in our final year, I grew up a bit, and she began to love me back. It was young love,"
Thor said, clearly lost in memory, then he visibly snapped back to the present and his face
hardened. "Young love in wartime. The Death Eaters were led by an extremely powerful wizard
called Lord Voldemort. He was a fully-fledged Dark Lord, and to give you an idea of how
dangerous one of those is, the previous Dark Lord, Grindelwald, was the man behind Adolf Hitler.
Hitler was his puppet, as, possibly, was HYDRA."

At this last, Thor glanced at Steve, who nodded.

"Is Albus Dumbledore still teaching?" he asked, and Thor nodded.

"He is the Headmaster, now, and a good friend. He is the only mortal wizard alive who can match
Voldemort, if not beat him," Thor said. "You knew each other, I presume."

"We worked together during the War and I liked him, "Steve confirmed. "The Commandos, Peggy,
Howard and me spent some time at Hogwarts, actually. I got the impression he and Grindelwald
went back, and not in a good way." He paused. "Your dad, your... mortal dad. Charlus Potter,
right?"

"Yes. You met?" Thor said, looking rather surprised.

"We did," Steve said. "He was a good man."

"That he was," Thor said quietly. "And I am sure that Albus will be happy to see you. Anyway. As
young couples do, Lily and I got married at a young age, barely nineteen. Both sets of parents were
murdered, though both put up a good fight. Lily's parents, though muggles and in their fifties, took
out half a dozen Death Eaters and survived several murder attempts before being killed. My own
took out five of Voldemort's very best."

"That must have been hard," Pepper said sympathetically.

Thor grimaced. "And it still hurts. In many respects, they were as much my parents as Odin and
Frigga. But Lily and I wanted to get the most out of our probably short lifespans – we fought on
the front lines, as Auror's and part of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's counterpart to the
Death Eaters as the government was being corrupted – and married. We were young, happy, and in
love. Soon after, Lily was pregnant."

Everyone aside from Tony looked shocked as they realised the implications of this. In fairness,
Tony had to admit that he was still pretty shocked, and part of his brain was running through all the
considerable implications of this.

"Soon after the birth of our first born, Harry James Potter, there was a prophecy. A child born on
the same day as he, to parents who fulfilled specific criteria, would have the power to defeat
Voldemort. Two children qualified. Lily, Harry and I went into hiding. Only one person knew the
Secret of our location, our friend, Peter Pettigrew. We put it about that Sirius was the Secret
keeper, he being the logical choice," Thor said, and paused to take a deep breath.

"You see, Sirius was a powerful wizard, easily as strong as I was, if not stronger. He was a natural
warrior, with a rare and instinctive talent for combat in the same way Steve is an instinctive leader.
He was brave, brilliant, witty and a skilled leader. He was a cut above the rest, an up and coming
Auror. Peter was none of these, and he had always been the one to pass beneath notice. Then, on
Halloween the year after Harry was born, Pettigrew betrayed us. Voldemort himself attacked. I was
caught without my wand, and while with it I was powerful enough to hold him off for long enough
to allow Lily and Harry to escape, all I could do was die. My spirit, complete with memories of my
true life as Thor, could only watch and weep as Voldemort faced my beloved Lily, telling her to
stand aside while she pleaded for Harry's life. She refused to step aside. He killed her in cold
blood."

Thor was openly crying now, and most of the Avengers looked horror-struck. Even Clint, usually
fairly poker faced, grimaced, and Natasha, usually even more so, looked troubled.

Tony laid an awkward hand on Thor's shoulder, squeezing gently. Comfort was not something he
was good at, but the thought was what counted. Right? Judging by Thor's thankful expression, it
did.

There was a long moment of silence before Thor continued.

"Then he turned on Harry," Thor said. "Voldemort used the killing curse, a spell that is impossible
to counter, the only protection being to dodge, or to put something between you and it. And he used
it on Harry. And the impossible happened. The curse rebounded, with enough force to tear the
house apart, leaving it a smouldering ruin. Harry survived, with naught but a scar, and my spirit
was whisked back to Asgard, where I regained my true form. Voldemort was gone, his body
blasted to nothingness, having taken the brunt of the rebounding curse, but Pettigrew and
Voldemort's other servants still lived. As soon as I was able, I leaped out of bed, ranting and raving.
I wanted to kill every damn Death Eater I could lay my hands on. I wanted revenge, and I was
senseless with rage and grief. I remember my father restraining me, and taking the memories of
that time, banning any reference to the time I had been away. I was as I had been before. All was
forgotten. I did not grieve for my wife, for I did not remember her. I did not search for my son, for I
did not know he existed."

"Jesus Christ," Tony muttered, opting for a form of comfort that he was more familiar with by
pouring Thor another scotch, which the Thunder God accepted with a nod of thanks, downing it in
one. Steve reached across, and took one of Thor's hands in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Tell it in your own time, Thor," he said kindly. "From your perspective, you lost someone you
loved very dearly only a few days ago. I know how that is. We can wait."

Thor fixed him with a look, then smiled. "Ah, Steve Rogers. This is why you are one of the
greatest men I have ever had the good fortune to encounter in my very long life. Thank you, but I
will finish the tale. There is little left."

Steve blushed slightly and shrugged. "It's what I'd do for any of my friends," he said.

"Exactly," Thor replied with a knowing smile.

"Hey, bond later, tell story now," Tony said, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Do you make it a policy to ruin every moment you can?" she asked.

"Policy, no. Habit, yes."

Thor smiled faintly at the antics of his teammates, before that smile faded.

"Loki received an unconscious distress call last night from my son. He was being hunted by
creatures called Dementors – demons that devour positive emotion and the souls of any unfortunate
enough not to know the Patronus charm, their one true weakness," he said. Then, he smirked
slightly. "Though they don't like being struck by lightning much," he added. The smile faded.
"Loki ran to my room, broke the memory block, and told me to go while he explained to Jane. I
saved my son, catching him in mid-air as he fell from his broom – Quidditch is played on flying
broomsticks - and drove off the Dementors. I also have Loki to thank for my ability to do this," he
said, shifting to his James Potter face. "It saves a lot of explaining."

"That's what you looked like as James Potter, right?" Bruce asked, as Natasha studied the face for
future reference.

"I did," Thor confirmed. "As some of you may have noticed, my manner of speech has been
somewhat changed. That is the influence of the memories. Whether it will continue or fade, I do
not know."

"This Lily, what did she look like?" Steve asked curiously.

"Tony, if you could look up a Lily Evans? She would have been thirty three this year," Thor asked,
raising an eyebrow.

Tony obliged, and a virtual screen popped up with pictures of a beautiful red headed and green
eyed woman.

"Wow, she's a hottie," he said, flicking through her primary school grades. "And smart too."

"She's beautiful," Steve said, squeezing Thor's shoulder, as the latter just stared at the image,
overcome with emotion. Of all the Avengers, he understood how Thor was feeling best. After all,
he had been in the exact same position with Peggy. But he, at least, had been spared the pain of
watching her die.

"Aye, she was, all fire and passion. Anyone who crossed her lived to regret it. She wouldn't tolerate
even the slightest injustice, and always had a kind word for the less fortunate. She duelled
Voldemort personally at nineteen, and held him off. I can count on both hands the number of
people who've done that at any age, and I'm one of them," Thor said, smiling sadly.

Tony zoomed in on one of the better pictures, and Thor reached out, touching the image's hair.
"Goodbye," he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Tony, if you would."

Tony obligingly removed the images.

"Thank you, all of you. I needed that. Pepper," Thor said, wiping his tears away, then paused, as if
searching for the right words.

"You want advice on how to get your newfound son and girlfriend to adjust to the circumstances
and hopefully to get along," Pepper said, and Thor's jaw dropped.

"She's good," Tony said, smirking.

"Come on," Pepper said. "And I'll give you some advice and have a word with Jane. You may want
to keep Darcy out of it at the moment, because though she is a lovely girl, she's even less tactful
than Tony on a bad day." She shot a look at Tony. "Which takes some doing."

Tony pouted. He wasn't that bad. Was he?

OoOoO

Loki teleported into the shadows of Dumbledore's office. The man himself was busy reading.

"I am told that you are quite the chess master," Loki said calmly. To his credit, Dumbledore didn't
look startled. Merely mildly amused.

"I have always rather enjoyed the game," he said calmly. "To what do I owe this visit? A desire for
a match, perhaps?"

"Little enough, and perhaps another time," Loki said lightly. "It is just… this war between yourself
and Voldemort. It is a dormant war for we both know that he is not truly gone, and though it is a
small part of a much greater battlefield, it is a potentially significant one. In any case, it is much
like a chess game. For instance, Harry is your king. Potentially useful, and if used creatively, very
dangerous. But also gravely at risk and to be protected at all costs. Voldemort, currently, is his own
King. Again, dangerous, but vulnerable. As for the rest," he said, conjuring an illusion of a
chessboard.

"Let us see," he said, examining pieces in turn. "The Knight, a piece that moves in unorthodox
fashions, that can reach places others cannot. That is Snape, your spy. A pawn, a small piece that
could yet become more, that is Sirius Black. A powerful wizard in his own right, he could yet
become useful. But not yet. He is still lost. It is more the higher order pieces that concern us.
Especially since we can introduce some new pieces," Loki said, lifting one up and examining it.
"The Queen, the most powerful and arguably the most valuable piece on the board. That is my
brother. A powerful wizard, and a powerful deity, he is probably your single most powerful asset. I
myself am a Knight. Dangerous, and unpredictable." He smirked. "And in my case, impossible to
predict for both sides."

Dumbledore had steepled his fingers and was watching him.

"Then Anthony Stark, Iron Man. Powerful, brilliant, and direct, he would make a good Rook. The
other Rook is Doctor Banner, otherwise known as the Hulk. The two Bishops, one would be
Hawkeye and the other would be Captain Rogers," Loki said thoughtfully.

"And Miss Romanova?" Dumbledore asked.

"A pawn," Loki said instantly. "Apparently harmless, but really the most dangerous of them all, if
you leave her unwatched." He looked at Dumbledore. "When I tried to rule this world, it was she
who was my undoing. She is a valuable ally and a terrifying enemy."

He sat down. "You have powerful pieces, those I have mentioned and many I have not: the rest of
your faculty go without saying, while others, such as Wanda Maximoff, Doctor Strange, even
Constantine... they could return to the board if needs be. And I am here to warn you – good
intentions or no, any manipulation that leads to my brother or nephew coming to harm will be
met severe punitive action."

Dumbledore nodded calmly. "I understand," he said quietly. "I cannot promise that my plans will
be able to shield them from harm. But if there is any possible way in which I can avoid them being
hurt, I will."

Loki looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "See that you do," he said, teleporting away in
a shadowy swirl of golden-green robes.

"I do wonder if he just did that to show off," Dumbledore murmured to Fawkes, slightly amused.
He went back to his book. The Tale of the Three Brothers had always fascinated him.
 Revenge is Sweet
Chapter Summary

This one... I tried to tidy up a bit, and if I'd written it now, I'd largely have missed it
out. At the time of original writing, it was a childish revenge fantasy that I have since
played down. However, I've left it in, because the manner of this... it'll become
important in the sequel.

Thor had received what seemed to be a lecture of dos (emphasise memory loss and the fact that he's
staying with her) and don'ts (talk too much about Lily, not unless Jane asks) when talking to Jane,
and the same for Harry (again, emphasise memory loss, also emphasise that he loved Lily and does
not love either her or him any less. Ease him into the idea), while the rest gave suggestions. Most
were helpful. Even Tony's suggestions were helpful, surprisingly enough.

But the conversation soon moved back to more political matters.

"You're going to need to talk to Director Fury," Natasha said to Thor.

"I will," Thor said. He smiled slightly. "I know Nicholas Joseph Fury better than you think."

Tony nearly choked on his scotch. "His middle name is Joseph?!"

"It is," Thor said. "He was a close friend of my mother and father in law," he explained. "And the
closest thing Lily had to an older brother." He laughed. "Oh, it is an irony. He was very nearly
Harry's godfather, and he always was very good with him. He was particularly good at doing the
voices for bedtime stories. Why, I think Harry once called him 'Unca Nick'."

There was a thump and a sound of shattering glass. Thor looked around. Tony had fainted.

Clint's jaw had dropped. Natasha's eyebrows had both risen. Bruce and Pepper looked amused.
Steve looked surprised.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"Yes… he was a lot younger, back then," Thor said. "He had both eyes. And he smiled more, much
more. However serious he looked, Lily could always make him laugh."

"How did they know each other?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Lily's parents, Michael and Emily Evans, worked in the Security Services, and they took Nick
under their wing when he was posted to Britain, as SHIELD's liaison to the Order of the Phoenix,
the group I fought with," Thor said. "Or at least, that's what I heard."

"They worked for SHIELD," Natasha said. "A fifth of the exemplar missions on the SHIELD
training courses were based on some of their missions."

"And they were pretty much the best of their generation, Alison Carter excepted," Fury said,
striding into the room, displaying the sort of impeccable timing that was either a requirement of
being the Director of SHIELD, or a perk of the job. "So. Thor. Or is it James?"
"Whichever suits you, Nick," Thor said. "I take it you heard?"

"Most of it," Fury said. "I lost my eye avenging you two, you know," he said. "It's a bit odd having
you as part of my team, now," he said wryly.

"Who took it?" Thor asked. "I can bump them up the list of people to smite." He chuckled. "And
odd does not even begin to cover it."

"That's true enough. It was Lucius Malfoy," Fury said. He smiled a dark smile. "And I'm the
reason he is on his second wand and walks with a cane."

"Consider him smote," Thor murmured.

"No," Fury said. "When Lucius Malfoy dies… I'm going to be the one to do it."

"Well, this is delightfully morbid," Tony commented from the floor. "So, Nick, what bedtime
stories did you read little Harry?" he asked, smirking.

Fury gave Tony an evil look.

Thor laughed, then he sobered up. "How did you hold up?"

"About as well as might be expected," Fury said evenly. "I tried for custody of Harry, but that went
about as well you might expect, considering I had no direct tie to him. Remus tried as well, but as a
werewolf, he'd have had a better chance of becoming Minister. And Wanda's job meant that her
taking Harry would be like signing his damn death warrant." He paced. "I knew Sirius was
innocent, but only the Order of the Phoenix would even consider taking me at my word, and the
politicians had found their scapegoat."

"So you were never going to be listened to, not in a million years," Thor said, nodding.

"Exactly," Fury said sourly. "I was lucky not to be obliviated."

"I wonder how the kid's doing," Steve said thoughtfully. "I mean, I've had previous with
revelations like this being dropped on your head and they can be… a little disorienting."

"That is a good question," Thor said quietly. "I'll drop in on him again. But first, I have business
with the Ministry."

OoOoO

"So," Harry said, grinning like all his Christmases had come at once. "Run this by me again."

"Your dad basically told Snape that he controls every thunderstorm in the world and threatened to
fry him if he upset you ever again," Fred said, also grinning.

"Wow," Harry said.

"Indeed, young Harry," George said. "Why, Gred, I'd say –"

"That he's pretty much a god of awesome? Yes, Forge, I think I agree. Of course the god of
badassery is our new Master –"

"Loki."

"And that was just after Loki basically dared a bunch of students to kill him."
"Why did they want to kill him?" Harry asked.

"Their parents died in the Battle of New York," George explained.

"Oh," Harry said quietly, being sharply reminded that his new uncle was a reformed evil overlord.

"Yeah," Fred said, slightly sober. "Still, he did offer them the chance to kill him if they wanted to
and did apologise for it."

"In my own defence, I was insane at the time," Loki said. All three of them jumped.

"Blimey, master."

"We didn't see you there."

Loki smiled faintly. "You weren't meant to. And Loki will suffice, unless I am actually teaching
you," he said, then shrugged. "Those students had every right to take my life in recompense for
their loss. I humbly requested they let me atone for my actions," he continued. "And they
accepted."

He sighed. "Every time I close my eyes, I see one of the fallen. People I condemned to death, either
directly or indirectly. Such is the price I have paid," he said. "But I would not have it any other
way. They remind me of what I was. Never forget. Never repeat. All I can do is use them as a spur
to do good, to protect those who need protecting. Power comes with responsibility, one I forgot."
His expression was determined. "Never again."

He smiled slightly. "Now, what is this I hear about my brother intimidating that vile Snape
creature?" He wrinkled his nose. "Honestly, if he were the first mortal I had encountered when I
tried to rule this earth, I would have given the lot of you up as a bad cause. A ruler should have
subjects who understand the concept of washing every now and then."

Immature as the joke was, the three snickered. They were teenagers, and Loki knew his audience.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Snape… I'm honestly surprised most people can't smell him coming."

"I can," Loki said and shuddered slightly. "It is not a pleasant experience." He conjured a chair and
sat down, ignoring the incredulous stares of the Weasley twins. Wandless conjuration with that
much ease was generally held to be impossible. Of course, Loki lived and breathed the impossible.
He smiled slightly. "And God of Badassery… that is a new title, I must say. I like it." He leaned
forward, and looked at the three. "Now, tell me about this intimidation. In full."

The twins shared a look and began to talk.

OoOoO

Tony watched as Thor flew off. "So," he said. "The big guy has a kid. Who'd a thought it?"

"Well, he is over a thousand years old, Tony, and it's a safe bet that a royal warrior god would have
got around," Bruce pointed out. "I'm only surprised that the kid is so young."

Tony inclined his head. "Good point," he admitted. He cracked his knuckles. "This kid has abusive
guardians. Not for much longer," he said, tone determined. "JARVIS, bring up all files relevant to
Harry Potter. I don't care what you have to hack – just do it."

Fury coughed. Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine. Hack everything but SHIELD files." He paused. "You
do realise I hack your databases when I get bored, right?"

"Which means roughly four times a week," Pepper said.

"I was going to say that I could provide the old hard copy files of Michael and Emily Evans," Fury
said. "They haven't been digitised."

"Cool, thanks," Tony said, already distracted.

"Oh, and Stark?" Fury said. "I'll handle their physical hell. You handle the mental hell. I expect
them on the front page of every paper in Britain."

Tony grinned. "Sounds like fun," he said, typing away.

Natasha glanced at Clint. "I think we have a few suggestions to make," she said.

"I'm open," Tony said. "What about you two?" he asked Bruce and Steve.

Steve shook his head. "Just make 'em pay," he said quietly.

Bruce looked thoughtful. "Make them out to be freakish abnormal monsters," he suggested. "I can't
think of anything that could hurt them more."

"Gotcha," Tony said. "One reputation destroying revenge, coming right up."

He began to type as Fury left. He had a plane to catch. He turned on his phone. "Wisdom?" He
said. "I need a favour…"

OoOoO

Thor walked through the Ministry. The hammer at his hip earned him a few odd looks, and people
who recognised his appearance whispered to each other, but nothing more. People seemed to
instinctively know to get out of his way, the same way animals hide when they hear the sound of
thunder. A storm was coming.

"CROUCH!" Thor bellowed, striding into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

The man himself walked out of his office and stopped. His jaw dropped.

"James Potter," he said faintly. "You're dead."

"I was disembodied. I was returned to my true self. I am James Potter, and I am also Thor Odinson,
the God of Thunder," Thor stated, striding over to the other man. Though he was in his James
Potter form and wearing standard wizard robes – save for Mjolnir on his belt – he managed to give
off the same looming and intimidating air as he did as Thor. Since James Potter had not been the
world's smallest man, it was not that hard. He grabbed Crouch by the throat and slammed him
against the wall. "And I want to know why Sirius Black never got a trial."

Crouch's eyes bulged and he began to turn red. Thor held him there for a few long moments as a
crowd grew, then dropped him and smoothly drew his wand, which had been provided by
Dumbledore.

"Start talking or I start hexing. Since I'm a little out of practice with this thing, who knows what
will happen," Thor said ominously.

"All the evidence… was against… Black," Crouch wheezed.

"So you threw him into the worst prison in the world without a trial?" Thor demanded. He turned
to the crowd. "Sirius Black is innocent of betraying I and my family. He was not our Secret Keeper.
I do not doubt that he is innocent of the other charges against him as well."

"Then who betrayed you?" Crouch asked.

"Pettigrew. Who, being a rat animagus, probably faked his death," Thor said grimly.

"You have proof of this?"

"I will testify under veritaserum, provided that I see the questions first. You can find me either at
Hogwarts or by contacting me through Professor Dumbledore," Thor replied, turning to go. He
paused. "Consider this: if Peter was the one doing the cornering, why was it him who was backing
away into a corner, according to witness statements? Why was it Sirius who was asking him
questions before Peter asked him the question, and why did Sirius do it quietly when Peter did it
openly? If Sirius was really an insane murderous Death Eater, how did he keep up the 'act' for so
long?"

He paused. "Oh, and Crouch? I expect him to be exonerated. Or the fact that you threw him in
Azkaban for popularity might find its way into the Prophet. If it isn't already on its way."

"Justice isn't my department anymore," Crouch said.

"I don't care. Do it. Or I guarantee you'll be jumping in terror every time you hear the crack of
thunder for the rest of your miserable life," Thor growled.

"How can we contact you?" one secretary, braver than the rest, asked.

"Ask Dumbledore," Thor said curtly.

He stalked out, hurling some floo powder into a nearby fire and barking, "Hogwarts!" as he
stepped into it.

He stepped out of the flame into the Headmaster's office, and looked at Loki, who was waiting.
Dumbledore was out and Fawkes trilled a greeting.

"Hello Fawkes," Thor greeted, then looked back at Loki. "Brother, has Tony called?"

Loki nodded. "He's ready. I spoke with the Queen, and she has passed on a message to the Prime
Minister and his cabinet, to formalise Harry returning to your custody." At the surprised look he
got, he shrugged. "When in doubt, go to the top of the food chain. I felt that it would be quicker."

"Since when do you know the Queen?" Thor asked.

Loki looked a little shifty. "We got… acquainted."

"Loki, you didn't…" Thor said, laughing. "When?"

"It was over sixty years ago, Thor, during the Second World War," Loki said. "We keep in
amicable contact."

"How did you meet?" Thor asked, vaguely fascinated. He had been away that his brother had
intermittently visited Midgard during their general estrangement from that realm, but only in the
context of his habit of wandering through the other realms as well, exploring the nooks and
crannies of Yggdrasil. In other words, he was generally short on details.
"She was helping out after a bombing raid, and unlike her fellows, seemed most unperturbed by
someone falling out of the sky. She had a calm and presence that marked her out as special, even
among kings and queens," Loki said calmly. He smiled. "Dear Lizzie. I respected her even when I
was going through my 'Midgardians are ants' phase."

Thor shook his head, smiling slightly. "After all these years, brother, you are still full of surprises,"
he said.

"I would be boring if I wasn't," Loki retorted. He smiled. "She was one of the first people to
contact me when I returned to Midgard, the day it hit the news." He winced slightly. "Mother could
have taken lessons from the scolding she gave me. Age has neither dimmed her infinite majesty nor
diminished her ability to give a tongue lashing that would send Surtur running."

"I did wonder why you were looking terrified and holding a telephone away from your ear," Thor
observed, amused.

"Yes," Loki said slowly. "Harry wants to talk to you some more."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He said that he wants to get to know his father," Loki said.

Thor's smile could have lit up London. Then, it faded. There were darker things to be handled first.

OoOoO

Vernon opened the door cautiously, in response to the brisk knocking. He had heard the strange
noises outside, and devoutly hoped that it wasn't one of… those people. Besides, the brat was still
at that freak school. Vernon hoped he hadn't been expelled. After that incident with Marge he
quailed at the thought of an angry young wizard in his house looking for twelve years' worth of
revenge. Then, however, he had received a letter informing him that the freak was safely in the
care of his fellow freaks. Now, though, and entirely unbeknownst to him, those twelve years of
revenge he had been worried about were coming to his door. With added interest.

He opened the door, and his jaw dropped. It was none other than Tony Stark, Iron Man. Vernon's
opinion on heroes was less than flattering due to their freaky powers, though he did concede their
uses. But Iron Man was an achievement of science, not freakish magic, and a successful
businessman to boot, so he was to be admired. He was also standing in his suit on the doorstep.
Well. That explained the noises.

"Hey, Vernon Dursley, right?" Stark said, flipping up his visor.

Vernon nodded dumbly, still in shock.

"Can I come in?" Tony asked.

"Of course," Vernon said, rather confused. "Come in, make yourself at home. But… why are you
here?"

"I'm an industrialist. You work for a drilling company. Why do you think I'm here?" Stark said,
smirking to remove most of the bite from the words. But there was something about the eyes.
Stark's eyes were calculating, eyeing him and weighing him. For all the man's less than respectable
reputation as a playboy and an eccentric, he was a genius and a brilliant businessman, one who did
not trust easily, so Vernon suspected he was judging him as a potential business partner. He
brightened up.
After all, why else would the man be here? It was hardly as if they had any mutual acquaintances.
It was a little puzzling that Stark chose to meet him here, but that could be explained by the man's
famous eccentricity. He led the way towards the kitchen, then turned as a clatter heralded Stark
stumbling. A hand had brushed against the cupboard under the stairs, which hung open.

"Sorry, I'm not used to walking in this thing in confined spaces," Stark said apologetically, though
his eyes told a different story. They were looking inside the cupboard, scanning the interior.
Vernon realised with a thrill of fear that Stark had meant to fall over. He had meant to knock open
the cupboard door. Somehow or other, he knew.

The visor snapped down and Stark scanned the room more closely.

"Nicky boy? Steve? Are you getting this?" Stark said. A reply – Stark must have turned on the
speakers, Vernon thought, as a wave of horror swamped him – came, metallically distorted like
Stark's own voice, but less so, leaving the voices recognisable.

"Loud and clear, Tony, we can see and hear everything," the dulcet tones of Captain America said
calmly. Vernon nearly fainted, while the small part of him that wasn't in total panic mode
wondered at how the hell Captain America was involved in this. "To confirm, we can see and hear
everything. And Director Fury would like to register his displeasure at being called 'Nicky Boy'."

"I'm sure he would. This doesn't look like it's been used in several years, but JARVIS says that
according to his scans, it was used almost constantly for at least ten years. If I had to guess, Harry
was moved out when he got to Hogwarts age," Stark said. His voice was cold, clinical, even
warped by the suit. "If I had to guess further, I'd say that the precise addressing of the Hogwarts
letter frightened these people into giving him a better room. They probably thought retribution for
the crimes was coming and hoped to cut it off. I've pulled some files relating to Harry and it says
that any attempt to intervene was cut off by bribery or influence. The money's coming from two
sources, as the files that should be appearing on your screen now will show. One's the Dursley
family account and the other is unknown. I can follow it if you want."

"Do that," the Captain said. "Going by what I can see, I think we have enough evidence to show
that Harry was being mistreated."

"And arranging for a change in custody should be a cinch," Stark said, standing up, and turning that
expressionless mask on Vernon. "The only question now is whether we hand you over to the
British police, or if we let Thor take you to Asgard, the kid being an Asgardian citizen and all."

"Asgard's citizens? The freak's a wizard, not a god! I would know, I knew his parents," Vernon
said, before he could stop himself. The temperature dropped, then a very familiar voice came over
the intercom.

"Did that useless fat arse just call my son a freak?" James Potter said slowly, sounding as if he was
beyond rage and into the oceans of calm, calculated fury beyond. Then, there was a loud crash.

"Tony, he's gone, and -"

"Oh Christ," Stark said. "Yeah, you're right, he's coming this way. He'll be here in about sixty
seconds."

Vernon heard thunder outside, and when he looked out the window, he saw ominous dark grey
storm clouds gathering at an unnatural rate.

"Oh, you've pissed him off now," Stark said, sounding maliciously gleeful. "Mistreating the son of
the God of Thunder is a bad idea."

"What is he going to do to us?" Vernon asked.

"Well, put it this way. The only reason this house hasn't yet been hit by a thunderbolt the size of
the Empire State building is because I'm in here," Stark said lazily. "And probably your kid too.
Thor's not one for hurting kids. Usually."

Vernon whimpered.

"Don't worry, I'll persuade him not to smite you. If only because what is actually going to happen is
more painful, protracted and considerably more satisfying," Stark said, as Thor landed outside the
house and strode in, wearing his James Potter form and his Asgardian armour. Vernon whimpered
again.

"Dursley," Thor snarled, drawing back his fist. Petunia had come through from the garden by this
time, utterly baffled, and shrieked.

"Vernon, what is happening?" she asked, as a truly enormous storm brewed outside.

"Justice," Thor spat. "Justice, Petunia Evans, at least a decade overdue!"

"You! James Potter," she whispered, blood draining from her face.

"I go by Thor these days," Thor said coldly as Vernon cowered. Petunia shrieked, as their son,
Dudley, hid behind her. Since he was a good deal wider than his mother, the effect was much like
an elephant trying to hide behind a stick, but he was making a valiant effort.

"Thor, smiting them will be less fun," Stark said, restraining Thor. "Remember the plan. Be
reasonable!"

"I am not the God of Reason and Understanding! I am the God of Thunder and Lightning!" Thor
roared. A lightning bolt gouged a ten foot long trench in the Dursley's lawn to underscore this.

"Yeah we get it big guy, but save the smiting," Stark said. "You're meant to be setting an example
for Harry, remember?"

Thor calmed down. "Thank you, Tony." He looked once more at the Dursleys, glancing
distastefully at the wet patch on Vernon's trousers. "There will be a reckoning, Vernon, Petunia.
You want to count on one thing? Count on that." Then he strode out and flew off.

"He's probably gone to hit something," Stark said. "Now, I've always wanted to do this: Vernon
Dursley, Petunia Dursley and Dudley Dursley, you are all under arrest in the name of the Crown.
Come quietly or I'll bounce you off the walls until you do."

They came quietly, much to Tony's voluble disappointment ("Why do I never get to hit people? It's
always Thor, Bruce or Natasha."), and were bundled into a police car.

And all Vernon could think about was that those twelve years of revenge had come. With interest.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, Petunia was thinking about her predicament. One moment, the Dursleys had been a
prosperous, well respected family, and above all, thoroughly normal. The next, Tony Stark had
exposed their most shameful secret.
The freak that was, not their treatment of him, which he deserved, no matter what anyone else
thought, like cousin Elaine, her husband John and their freak daughter Jean. If it wasn't for the
shocking revelation that her good for nothing and very dead freak of a brother-in-law was in fact,
not dead and the Norse God of Thunder, she'd have thought it was them or some other freak
sympathiser that was behind this.

She looked at Vernon. He looked like he'd gone into shock and he was deathly pale.

"I can't believe it," he whispered.

"Neither can I, dear," she said.

They were silent for the rest of the car ride. When they got out, outside a non-descript concrete
building, they were surrounded by police, black suited men and women who looked like chartered
accountants, but could probably kill you with their pinky finger, and men and women in tight
uniforms who looked like they could probably kill you with their pinky finger, but could probably
work as chartered accountants.

"Mummy," Dudley said suddenly. "Are they going to kill us?"

Before Petunia could answer, a voice she never thought she'd hear again spoke up. "Oh no, Mister
Dursley," Nicholas Fury said, stepping into view. "We aren't going to kill any of you. You are
going into care, while your parents are on a one way route to jail."

"We have rights!" Vernon suddenly said. "You can't do this!"

"Yes, Mister Dursley, I can. And I can do a lot worse if you piss me off even more than you have
already. For now, just count yourself lucky that we persuaded Thor to let you face human justice.
Otherwise you and your wife would be in the not very tender care of Loki right now," Fury said.
"And between you and me, all that's really changed about him is which side he fights for. And you
abused his nephew, so I think you should realise that you are luckier than you deserve to be."

"You," Petunia whispered, finding her voice.

"Yes. Me, Petunia," Fury said, single eye glinting. "I am very angry with you, young lady. When
you were younger, I thought you would be fortunate if you were half the woman your sister was,
magic aside. Now… you aren't fit to lick her shoes. Your parents would be ashamed of you."

Petunia sneered. "They supported my freak of a sister, they always did. They preferred her. I don't
care what they would think."

"Since you were a total bitch from after Lily got her letter, I wouldn't be surprised if they did," Fury
retorted. "As it was, they loved you both equally, even if you made it damn difficult for them not to
prefer Lily. And frankly, if you don't care about what they would have thought, you're even more
of a hopeless cause than I thought."

"Petunia dear," Vernon muttered. "Do you know this man?"

"Yes," she spat. "I do. He's Agent Fury of SHIELD. He worked for my parents."

"It's Director Fury now. I run SHIELD," Fury said.

"Lost an eye, I see," Petunia said haughtily.

"Yeah, avenging the sister you didn't damn well deserve," Fury confirmed coldly. "Besides, I only
need one eye to see you for what you are: a jealous little girl who turned into a bitter middle aged
woman who married a man who puts the ass in jackass. You didn't grow up, Petunia. You just got
older."

"How dare you speak that way to my wife!" Vernon demanded, going purple, having apparently
forgotten that he was very badly outnumbered and outmatched.

"Very easily. Now, shut the fuck up, or I will personally shove your undersized head up your
oversized ass," Fury said, glaring.

Vernon shut up.

"Mummy," Dudley whined. "I'm hungry. I want to go home."

"You don't have a home, kid," Fury said bluntly, though not without a hint of sympathy. "In case
you were wondering, your rights went out the window a long time ago." He looked grimly
triumphant as an agent handed him some newspapers.

"Ah. Tomorrow's papers, early," he said. "The bastards write fast when given incentive, don't
they?" He flipped it open. "Here we are. 'A nation's shame: Shocking child abuse case in Surrey',"
he read aloud. "'Yesterday' – that's today, by the way – 'Britain discovered that it had been playing
host to the lost child of Thor, Norse God of Thunder and an Avenger. Details are naturally kept
under wraps, but it is believed that the child was born to a human woman while Thor was
undergoing a period of exile on Earth to learn humility, under the enforced belief that he was
human, something enforced by his spirit inhabiting a human body from that body's birth. Both he
and his wife worked for the Intelligence Services. The family was consequently targeted by a
terrorist called Tom Riddle, and his followers, who were known as the Death Eaters, and on
Halloween twelve years ago, they were attacked. Both parents and Riddle were killed – though it is
rumoured that Riddle still survives. Thor was apparently returned to Asgard by his body's death,
where the trauma caused him to repress the memories of his life on Earth. The child, unaware of
his true heritage, was given into the care of relatives. When he started manifesting abilities that
derived from his inhuman heritage, they started mistreating him, calling him a 'freak' and keeping
him in an understairs cupboard while an upstairs bedroom went begging. A culture of silence
surrounded the local middle class community, which did not comment on the mistreatment. Any
and all inquiries by Child Services were redirected or stymied by an unknown factor.'"

He flipped through the paper. "Yeah, they go on for a while, but it ends with this: 'undoubtedly this
is a tragedy and a case that should make the perpetrators ashamed to be human, let alone to
ashamed to be British. All we can do is be thankful that Thor's son is now in his father's care and
that Asgard holds only the perpetrators responsible.'" He flipped further. "And yeah, from then on
it's basically grovelling to the tune of 'please, please, please don't smite us.'"

Fury flipped the paper round. "And look. Photos of you all, with named captions. And information
on your former place of work, Mister Dursley, which has hurriedly denied that it had any
knowledge of your abuse, indeed, any knowledge that you had a nephew at all." He glanced at the
papers again. "Kinda like how the papers and politicians both local and national, are pretty much
all falling over themselves to disavow you as British citizens."

Vernon whimpered.

"You see," Fury said. "What you're getting now is a taste of how Harry felt all those years. He was
hated, reviled because of who he was, at the mercy of others who might just hurt him because they
felt like it. Welcome, Dursleys, to Harry's former life. Welcome to hell."
The Dursleys simultaneously whimpered. Fury smiled. It was not a nice smile. "I hope you survive
the experience," he said. He glanced at a darkly handsome black suited man who, Petunia noted
absently, bore a striking resemblance to one of Lily's freak friends, with an eye patch. "Take 'em
away, Wisdom," Fury said.

The man nodded, and a couple of burly agents dragged the Dursleys into the building. Vernon and
Petunia were never seen again, save for a few court appearances. Dudley went into care, where he
was bullied for his weight. The name Dursley became, for a period, only marginally less reviled
than Hitler as the papers whipped up a storm, eager to focus the blame on someone. Analysts noted
that the names 'Vernon', 'Petunia' and 'Dudley' all but dropped out of usage over the following
years. They went down as one of the most hated families in modern history, thanks to imaginative
manipulation of the internet and the papers by Tony Stark.

This would not be the last that was seen of them, of course. And these acts, as cathartic as they
might have been, were not without consequences. But for the time being, at least, the revenge was
complete.
 Understanding
Chapter Summary

Note on Snape's treatment here - the perspectives are those of Harry and Thor, neither
of whom have much reason to like Snape, or reason to see beyond his unpleasant
behaviour (though Thor has noted, and thanked him for, his saving Harry in
'Philosopher's Stone').

Harry was finally out of the Hospital Wing, and he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts
alone. Wherever he went, people whispered. It was annoying, but at least - unlike last year and the
whole 'Heir of Slytherin' fiasco - they weren't whispering about anything bad this time, or implying
that he was evil incarnate.

Isn't weird that his dad's back from the dead?

He's a god, what do you expect?

True. But why doesn't Harry have his powers?

Maybe it's like magic – it doesn't develop until a certain age. Besides, who says he doesn't? I
mean, I heard that he killed a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office last year, and he
fought a full grown dark wizard the year before. And don't forget the Troll. Surely that's a sign of
something special?

Yeah, I guess… and I suppose he is good at Defence and Charms. And he's a parselmouth. Maybe
he inherited that from Loki via his dad.

Maybe.

Under the circumstances, he reckoned, curious and ambivalent was probably the best he was going
to get.

A couple of corridors later, he was alone again. Except for one other. Draco Malfoy.

Harry's hand went to his wand.

"I'm not here to fight, Potter," Draco said calmly. He smirked slightly, and Harry noted that he
sounded different. Older. More mature. This was a difference striking enough to be suspicious.
"Come, we may be enemies, but at least credit me with a sense of self preservation." He raised his
hands. They were empty.

Harry relaxed.

"And this whole enemies thing… well I've been thinking. Being Death Eater spawn really isn't all
it's cracked up to be," Draco said. "I was a bigoted fool when I came here. I didn't realise the
integral role that people like Weasley play." He smiled sharply. "What is a leader without his
followers, after all? Every great building needs its foundations. People like the Weasley family are
necessary, and useful. They have undoubted talent in certain areas."
"You're talking about them like they're tools. Means to an end," Harry said, staring at him and
wondering if someone wasn't impersonating Malfoy via Polyjuice. Then again, half the point of
using that potion was to not seem out of place. Also, Snape wasn't complaining about stuff being
stolen from his stores.

"Not quite. I am merely saying that it is wrong to dismiss them for being poor," Draco said. "When
you think about it, it really is rather remarkable what they have achieved with so little: one is a
world class curse breaker, another is an international level Quidditch player and an expert on
wrangling dragons, yet another looks destined for high office in the Ministry with enough ambition
for any Slytherin, and the terrible twosome are remarkably… inventive. Even Ronald seems to
have talents. Chess is not to be sniffed at – it is a game of high strategy and skill at it is often
indicative of high intelligence. Even if said intelligence is otherwise not apparent." He paced.
"Then there is Granger's undoubted brilliance and you…" Unsettling clever and intense grey eyes
settled on Harry, really looking at him for the first time. "Intelligent, strong willed, a survivor…
with more cunning and power than most would credit you with," he murmured and inclined his
head. "I misjudged you before, Harry."

"Are you sucking up to me?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Draco laughed. "Do I look like Cornelius Fudge?" he asked, amused. "No. I am merely letting you
know that I hold you and your friends in somewhat higher regard and that I do not intend to harass
you anymore." There was definitely something different about him. Pleasantly different, but
unsettling.

"Why are you being friendly, Malfoy?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I make it a policy not to piss off gods. You are also of royal blood, something that any enemy of
yours would hesitate at," Draco said simply. "That and Loki is the patron of Slytherin House. I'm
not on your side, and I am not on You-Know-Who's side. I am on my side. The winning side. But if
it helps, while I am not fond of mud – muggleborns, I respect their capabilities. I am also decidedly
not in favour of the return of a powerful genocidal maniac. Among other things, it's bad for
business."

Harry eyed him carefully, then said, "You might want to talk with my uncle at some point, if
business is what you're interested in."

"Oh, I've already invested heavily in Stark Industries with my allowance," Draco replied casually.
"It seems to be a good bet. Maybe I can help fund Granger in some research project on combining
magic and technology, something like that. Money, after all, was meant to be used."

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked in outright bafflement.

"Oh, I'm still Draco, Harry. The game has changed, and I am changing with it," Draco replied. "I
bid you good day." And then he left, Harry watching in confusion.

OoOoO

Draco smiled. The voice that had started whispering in his ear two months ago had yet to lead him
wrong. What it said made sense. It would take him to greatness, he was sure. It didn't seem to have
a name, but it did let him call it Ariel. Why that was, he was not sure.

Call it a joke on my part, young Malfoy, the morally ambiguous angel on his shoulder said. Come,
we have much work to do.
He smiled. Yes. They did. After all, terrorism was such an unsubtle and inefficient route to power.
Fear only lasted so long. People forgot their fear, and it became anger. That was dangerous. But
love… that lasted, as long as it was carefully maintained. Those that were content were less likely
to rock the boat.

His personal adviser – though he considered the other to be more of a teacher and a guide than an
equal – had explained all this to him. All this and more. He smiled again. Life was definitely
looking up.

OoOoO

Harry shook his head in puzzlement as Draco left. Then he heard footsteps, and saw his uncle
walking in a purposeful stride. Where was he going? Harry resolved to find out. Tailing his uncle
through corridor after corridor, thankfully not going up more than one set of stairs, he finally
watched him walking into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He waited a few moments, then peeked
round the door. There was nothing inside. He slipped through the door, looking around all the
while.

"What are you doing?"

Harry yelped and jumped a foot in the air. He swivelled and nearly fell over on coming face to face
with a curious Moaning Myrtle. "Looking around," he said slowly.

"Oh," Myrtle said, disappointed. "I thought you'd come to see me."

"No. Sorry," Harry said, tone apologetic. "Look, did you see a tall, dark haired man with eyes like
mine walk in a couple of minutes ago."

"Yes. He hissed, and the sink opened up for him. Then he disappeared," Myrtle said. She lowered
her voice. "He went down into the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry frowned in thought. "Thanks," he said, then went up to the sink, and hissed, "Open up."

He stood back as the sink opened up. He looked down the dark, forbidding chute. Last time he'd
been down there, he'd been with Ron and Lockhart. He'd nearly died. Ginny had nearly died. She'd
been hurt – something which bothered him in a less abstract fashion than it once had. He gulped.
There wasn't a basilisk down there anymore. And if something went wrong, his uncle could protect
him – maybe the reason he'd gone down there in the first place was because he knew about the
Chamber, and since he taught the Founders, he probably did. He smiled slightly and remembered
something a character he liked on muggle television called 'The Doctor' liked to say.

"Allons-y!"

He leapt down the chute.

The ride down was both terrifying and wildly exciting. Wincing as he landed with a thump on the
further decomposed bodies of rats and mice, he stood up and took stock. It was all silent. Quickly,
he moved forward and came upon a scene that shocked him. Loki was sitting by the head of the
very dead basilisk, completely ignoring the smell of decay, and stroking its scales.

"I came too late," he whispered sadly. Then, he looked up and raised his voice. "You can come in,
Harry."

"How did you know I was there?"

Loki smiled slightly. "I saw you out of the corner of my eye, a few times, then I heard you land on
the pile of bones when fell down the chute."

"It –"

"She," Loki corrected.

"She… she was yours, Uncle?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling horrendously guilty.

Loki sighed, and nodded. "Yes, yes she was. I passed her onto Salazar as he was the one who had
the gift of speaking to snakes," he said, and looked sadly down at the basilisk, gently stroking her
faded green scales. "That was a mistake. Sally, as Godric dubbed her, a name that seemed to stick,
always loved the students, those who did not fear her for her power, and she had no care as to
whether they were muggleborn or otherwise. How could she? Snakes have no concept of blood
purity."

"Then why did she attack students?" Harry asked

"Because Salazar worked an old magic that bound her to his bloodline. She could not disobey a
master who came from his blood," Loki said. "That is why I and Godric drove him from the
castle." Loki looked distant. "Salazar was powerful, skilled and he had the favour of some dark
being,a creature that granted him power. Great power, and great, deadly knowledge. Both of these
'gifts' warped him, turning his just caution to evil purpose. It took my full power and skill and
Godric accessing the full gift of his bloodline, power that granted him the greatest mastery of fire
magic and mind magic that I have ever seen, to defeat him. It devastated the land around the castle,
but eventually, we triumphed." He sighed. "Sally went with Salazar that time, and did not return to
the castle until long after I left."

"And you wanted to see if she was all right," Harry said.

Loki nodded mournfully. "But I was too late. Salazar's heir used her as a weapon, recently, and
some brave young person put her down." He gestured at her mouth. "The killing blow went up
through the roof of the mouth into the brain. It would have been quick."

"What… what would you want to say to the person that killed her?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"I would thank them," Loki said. "As, I suspect, would she. She did not want to be used as a
weapon, and it would have grieved her greatly to be forced to kill the students she so loved."

"Uncle Loki it -"

"Was you. I know. Albus mentioned that you had used the Sword of Gryffindor last year when I
saw it and asked," Loki said softly. "You gave my friend peace, Harry. And if I could not save her,
that is the next best thing. I do not blame you for killing her. Even though you speak the tongue of
the serpents, she would not have been able to listen."

"Still," Harry said, kneeling down beside her. "I'm sorry she's dead. I have been ever since I killed
her."

Loki stared at him. "Why is that?"

"Because she was as much a victim of Riddle as Ginny was," Harry said, gently stroking the
snake's scales. "She was being used as a puppet, and that wasn't fair. When Riddle pays for his
crimes, this one'll be near the top of the list."
Loki smiled. "Maybe we should name you Harry the Just," he said lightly, but there was a wealth
of pride behind those words, causing Harry to blush. He gestured, and basilisk began to disappear.
"I shall take from her that which can be used again, her last gift," he said firmly. "The rest shall
have an honourable burial. She is beyond where Riddle can hurt her now."

He slipped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "She would have thanked you, for what you did," he
said quietly. "And so do I." He smiled. "If I remember correctly, the kitchens are right beside
where Helga's students lived, and I'm in the mood for a snack." He glanced down at Harry's robes
and grimaced. "You, young man, are a mess." He gestured, and the dirt flew off. "One of the first
things I'm teaching you is cleaning charms. And levitation."

"Levitation…" Harry said slowly, then his eyes widened. "Uncle Loki… can you fly?"

"Not half as well as your father, or even as well as you do on a broomstick, but I can fly. And fly
fast," Loki said. "Though I prefer teleportation." He made a rude noise. "Your fellow wand wavers
call it apparition. In truth it is a bastardised form of the old art."

Harry looked puzzled, and Loki explained. "Among other things, my teleportation is silent.
Apparition makes a popping crack every time it is performed, rather reducing its abilities as a both
a weapon and a matter of discretion, especially in this age when mortal man gets so justly jumpy
around explosions." He sighed. "It is also smooth, like stepping through a doorway - and rather
more so than other mystical doorways, such as those to the Nevernever."

"What's apparition like?" Harry asked, setting aside his questions as to what the hell the
Nevernever was when it was at home.

"According to Professor Lupin, being pulled through a rubber tube that is about six sizes too
small," Loki said. He shrugged. "It only took me fifteen minutes to teach him and Albus how to
teleport – it was just a matter of correcting technique – though it may be sometime before they are
comfortable using it on a regular basis. Old habits and all that."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and they passed the rest of the trip to the kitchens in silence. The house
elves were… effusive. It turned out that their ancestors had been brownies who had served Loki,
and therefore, they treated him like the god that Harry supposed he was. He wouldn't have minded
this if they hadn't included him in this worship as well.

"Mr Prince Harry Potter sir!" one cried, bowing so low that its batlike ears and long nose scraped
the floor. "Is you wanting anything from the kitchens? Is there anything we can be doing for you?"

This was just one of a deluge of questions asked, and supplications performed by the as ever over-
excited House Elves.

Harry was about to open his mouth to protest at his royal treatment, when Loki drew him off to one
side, smoothly saying to the elves, "I am glad to see that the old ways are kept up, and I gladdens
my heart to see that the children of my steadfast servants of old flourish and retain their remarkable
and praiseworthy loyalty. However, I must briefly speak with my nephew in private, as we have
much to discuss." He conjured a privacy bubble and smiled kindly. "Still not fond of being
worshipped, eh?"

Harry nodded. "I don't like…" he said, struggling for words.

"Being singled out for who you are as opposed to what you can do?" Loki asked.

Harry nodded.
Loki looked sympathetic. "I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to it," he said. "You are the
son of Thor, second in line to the throne of Asgard. We have managed to keep your identity secret
in the mortal world for now, but all the other realms clamour to know more about and meet the son
of the mighty Thor." He looked Harry steadily in the eye. "We of Asgard, though we aren't truly
immortal, are so close that it makes very little difference, particularly in the eyes of mortals. This
means that we generally have children fairly rarely. A new child is something to be remarked upon.
A new royal child… now that is something that happens maybe once every three centuries. At
most."

Harry's eyes bugged out.

"Asgard is the most powerful and advanced of the Nine Realms," Loki continued. "And I dare say
that many of our enemies were hoping that neither I nor Thor would produce an heir, and that we
would die before we got the chance. Now, with your existence, a lot of them will have to re-
evaluate their plans. They will have to re-examine their relations with Asgard, gear their
expectations towards a nation with a true line of succession. Powerful families will resent your
presence – they will have hoped to marry into the royal family and have their daughter produce
Thor's successor."

Harry looked deep in thought. "So… I've got lots of new enemies," he said. Loki nodded. "Great,"
Harry drawled. "More people who hate me because of my family. Just what I need."

"You also have far more who love you because of who you are, and your new friends both
outweigh the numbers of your new enemies, but are more powerful as well," Loki replied. "No one
will dare move against you in any overt fashion, because they that to do so would invite the wrath
of the Allfather, Thor, and myself, not to mention a good 95% of Asgard. The people of Asgard are
very loyal to the royal family, and Thor is particularly beloved."

Harry looked half relieved, half annoyed. Then he laughed a little.

"What is it?" Loki asked.

Harry just shook his head wryly. "Most kids would give all they had to be where I am now. And no
offence, I'm glad to have you and dad, it's just..."

"You only ever wanted to be normal," Loki said, nodding. "I understand that. Not truly, I suppose,
for I have never been normal." This was not said with the arrogant tone one might expect. It was
quite simply a statement of fact. Loki was not normal, not by any standards. "But the desire to fit
in, to be accepted as you are… now that I understand very well." He sighed and took Harry's hand.
"You are a good boy, Harry, and I am certain that those who you regard as your friends will treat as
they always have." His lips twitched. "In the case of my twin apprentices, with a heavy dose of
teasing."

Harry chuckled slightly.

"But you have to accept that you are no longer entirely human. You are no longer mortal. You are
half of Asgard, even if the effects of your Asgardian spirit have yet to show themselves," Loki
said. "I do not want you to abandon your humanity, for that would be a grievous loss, and both I
and your father have learned and prospered from humanity. What you need to do is accept that you
are no longer just mortal. You are of Asgard, of royal blood, and you, Harry James Potter, are heir
to a legacy that you cannot even begin to understand."

He sat back. "You have much to learn about being royalty. But a couple of key lessons I can teach
you now. One, be confident when people are deferring to you, but not arrogant. Two, you will find
that some people, like House Elves, are more comfortable in deferential roles. One of my mistakes
when I was mad was assuming that mankind would be the same." He chuckled dryly. "I found out
that it was wrong the hard way. Do you remember the elderly gentleman who stood up to me in
Stuttgart?"

Harry nodded. The footage of the old man's defiance in the face of a mad god had gone viral,
getting a million views under the title 'Badass Grandpa sticks it to Loki'. What the title lacked in
gravitas, the content more than made up for.

"I wrote a letter to him, thanking him for the object lesson in the courage of humanity, and his
reminder that I was not so different to mortal tyrants. It was a speech that I spent much time
reflecting on during my redemption," Loki said. "I received a very nice reply, as a matter of fact."
He shook himself back to the present. "Anyway, some will want to be treated as equals. Unless you
are in a formal setting and they are worthy of respect, there is no reason not to treat them as such.
But House Elves will, for the most part, be unsettled if you treat them as wizards. Treat them
fairly, treat them justly, but do not shy away from politely accepting their deference." He looked at
Harry who was deep in thought. "I am confusing you a little, aren't I?"

"A little," Harry admitted. "But I think I get it. But isn't humility one of the things dad came to
Earth to learn."

Loki nodded approvingly. "Exactly. It is a fine balance." He glanced at the elves. "Now, I will
teach you more later. But for now… I'm a little hungry. What about you?"

Harry nodded and gulped slightly. Loki lowered the privacy bubble, and Harry had his first
practical lesson in the nature of royalty.

OoOoO

"Hi Jane," Pepper said, walking over and sitting down next to a pensive looking Jane. The younger
woman had arrived just that morning from Asgard and had been thoughtful ever since. That was a
good sign, as compared to ranting and raving, but Pepper might still need to provide a little bit of
cajoling.

She'd told Thor that she would speak to Jane on his behalf and she would. She got the feeling that
James Potter had been very like Tony – smooth, charming, but with very little grasp of basic tact,
and Thor was not exactly the most eloquent – or with his syntax and vocabulary, both charmingly
several centuries out of date, comprehensible - of speakers. Jane had arrived earlier that day, and
had been sitting around and looking thoughtful for most of it – which was an improvement on the
worst case scenario of tears and anger, however rational or irrational, that Pepper had feared.

However, she hadn't considered it likely. Jane was clever, thoughtful and her nature as a deeply
methodical scientist meant that she wasn't over-inclined to jump to conclusions, unlike Tony,
whose scientific process mostly involved leaping from one bit of inspiration to the next, which led
to him invariably jumping to conclusions. Unless she was involved. It was quite staggering, Pepper
thought, when you realised that the man you loved trusted you implicitly in a way he trusted
literally no one else.

"Oh, hey Pepper," Jane said.

After a long moment, Pepper said conversationally, "It's hard for Thor too, you know."

"What?"
"Suddenly becoming a dad. He's also just got around twenty years of memories to deal with, along
with the sudden knowledge that he had a wife and she's dead," Pepper said. "The only person who's
really equipped to understand him is Steve. It's torn him up inside. When he came to the Avengers
tower a couple of nights back to tell us all, when he related his story, he was crying openly, which
is something that Sif, Loki and the Warriors Three have all told me that Thor normally does not do
under any circumstances."

Jane blinked in shock. "He was crying?" she exclaimed.

Pepper nodded. "Uh-huh, though I reckon it was a one off. That much emotional turmoil will push
anyone to the limit. And the poor man's confused. He's just regained an entire lifetime of
memories. He loves you dearly, but he misses and grieves for his wife, who from the perspective
of his regained memories, he only lost a few days ago. He also has to deal with raising a teenage
magical son who's also adjusting to having a father. From what I hear, the kid also has a prophecy
hanging over his head, an even stronger tendency to wander into trouble than Tony and a hero
complex easily as big as his dad's. Oh, and speaking of Thor, his best friend from that time is a
possibly insane fugitive from injustice and one of his other best friends betrayed himself and his
wife to death. It's a bit of a mess, really."

"Whoa," Jane said quietly. "It's just…"

"You thought you knew him," Pepper said. "You thought you finally understood him, knew what
made him tick and now suddenly all of this happens and you don't know which way is up."

"How…" Jane asked, awed.

"Honey, you're talking to the woman who has run Tony Stark's life for the past decade. I've got
previous on having your entire world turned upside down," Pepper said with a smile.

"Oh," Jane said.

"My advice would be to support him, to let him know that you love him and are there for him,"
Pepper suggested. "Chat to Harry. He's a good kid, and he and Loki get on like a house on fire,
which is more than a little worrying now that I come to think of it."

Jane chuckled. "I'm guessing that the insurance premiums on the Avengers tower are going to go
up again," she said.

"No, thankfully Thor can fix all the damage with a wave of his wand, if Loki isn't around or can't
be bothered to do it. Or caused it in the first place, for that matter," Pepper said, then sighed as Jane
started giggling at the unintentional innuendo.

"That wand only works for you," Pepper said dryly. "I don't want to know if it has special magical
powers."

"Oh it does," Jane said dreamily. She opened her mouth.

"No, Jane," Pepper said firmly. "I said I didn't want to know."

"But –"

"Save it for Darcy," Pepper said. "She'll doubtless pump you for all the details." She frowned.
"Wouldn't you have told her already? I mean, you and Thor have been going out for what, two
years now?"
"I give her snippets every now and then," Jane said, smiling slightly. "Enough to keep her from
bugging me about it, but not enough to make her bug me about something else."

"That's… very devious."

"I've been learning from the best," Jane said with a shrug.

"I suppose you have," Pepper murmured.

Jane smiled. "All right," she said, shrugging. "No more TMI." She smiled. "Have you met Thor's
son yet? What's he like?"

Pepper shook her head. "Not yet, but from what Thor tells me, he's a good kid."

Jane nodded. "If he's his father's son, he can't fail to be," she said firmly.

Pepper smiled. Everything seemed to be on track.

 This Family Thing

His father was alive. The dearly departed James Potter, the war hero who had attacked Voldemort
himself with his bare hands in a desperate attempt to protect his wife and son, the man who Harry
had been told he looked like by just about everyone he met – not forgetting, of course, the caveat
'but you have your mother's eyes' – and the person who Harry had always, consciously or
otherwise, wondered if he measured up to, was alive.

It was only really hitting him now, Harry thought, as he looked out the window. It was well into
November, and Autumn was relinquishing its hold on Hogwarts in favour of Winter. Frost rimed
the windows, the ground was hardening as the mud froze, the water on the grass gleamed like
diamonds in the moonlight, and if Harry looked carefully, he could see that the lake was beginning
to freeze over at the banks. Did the giant squid get cold? He could ask either Hermione or his uncle
in the morning.

That led him back to his father. His feelings for his father were rather complicated by the fact that
he also happened to be Thor. While this contributed much to the explanation of why the hell he
hadn't been around, it also put Harry's brain through the blender. Having a father who came back
from the dead was one thing. Having a father who came back from the dead and also happened to
be a bona fide deity… well, not only was it mind bending, it meant that Harry was going to be in
for even more fame. He was almost certain that the next issue of the Daily Prophet would be
screaming about it, and he was already attracting even more stares and whispers than before, stares
and whispers that were growing at an exponential rate.

So. More publicity. Not of the good, as Buffy might say – he'd liked that show. Mrs Figg had let
him watch it, though when he made the mistake of telling Uncle Vernon, the belt made an
appearance and he'd been locked in the cupboard for two whole days, desperately wishing for his
own personal Buffy to come kick down the door, set him free and kick Uncle Vernon and Aunt
Petunia's arses. And Dudley's for good measure.

He shook himself and focused his thoughts. Anyway. More fame. Not good. But his dad couldn't
really help the fact that he was famous, and hey, maybe he could learn to deal with it better. Some
of the things his Uncle Loki – and those were two words he never thought would have occupied
the same train of thought, aside from previous idle hopes that Vernon and Loki would meet and
Loki would… well, he wasn't sure what he had hoped Loki would do to Vernon, but it wouldn't
have been pleasant – had said stuck with him. He was a Prince of Asgard now. He'd long since
dumped the idea that this was a fevered dream inspired by Quidditch injuries on the grounds that it
was pointless to work under that assumption and that his life was weird enough for this to be
possible.

But back to his father. So far, resentment for the additional fame this brought and the complete
divorce from any semblance of normality, anger – irrational, Harry admitted – that he hadn't
been there when Harry needed him. That he hadn't held Harry as he'd cried as a child, he hadn't
come to whisk him away from the Dursleys every time who silently begged any being listening for
someone to save him, someone to love him, for someone to play the father and take him by the
hand.

On the other hand… he had empathy for the fact that his father had had his memories removed by
Odin – his grandfather – and Loki being bound by the fact that Odin's word was law, and Odin's
word had apparently been for Thor's time as James not to be brought up to, as far as Harry could
discern, prevent Thor going mad with grief.
And it was clear that while his father was busy and had flown off – something that rankled slightly,
until Loki had explained that he was clearing up matters with some of his friends on Earth, since
the first thing he had done on being reminded of Harry's existence was to go to his side and stay
there – it was also clear that he loved him very much. He smiled as he remembered his father's
embrace, simultaneously tight like he never wanted to let go ever again, and gentle, comforting,
with a sense of truly vast strength being carefully restrained. And that, in Harry's mind, was
enough to leave him in a state where he was happy with his father. Confused of course – it was still
a lot to adjust to, but that was to be expected.

He looked out the window, and smiled. It was snowing. Somehow, just somehow, he got the
feeling that his life was looking up. After all, not so long ago, he hadn't had any real family. Now,
he had a father, an uncle and grandparents. Yes. Life was looking up. He climbed into bed and
went to sleep.

A week passed, and Harry was excited. Professor Dumbledore was letting him go stay with his dad
for the weekend, and meet his dad's friends, the Avengers. Like just about every other kid in the
Western world, and a lot out of it, he had idolised the Avengers. His favourite had been Loki – with
dark hair, green eyes, magic and tragedy in his past, Harry could well identify with him.

He liked Iron Man, because Tony Stark was hilarious, and he liked Captain America and Thor
because of the fundamental kindness and decency that they radiated in every television appearance
and interview. He'd already met two, who just so happened to be his dad and uncle, and was going
to get to meet the rest of them.

He was still getting used to the fact that he actually had a dad and that he no longer had to live with
the Dursleys. He was also apparently getting new clothes when they were in New York. Loki had
said that a Prince should look like a Prince, and that apparently there were lots of shops, both
muggle and magical, that they could go to.

Harry didn't mind the idea of new clothes – Dudley's old stuff was far too big for him - but what he
was most looking forward to was spending time with his dad, something that had been a bit
restricted over the past few days, what his dad having to re-establish control over the Potter vaults
and with the help of Loki, explain how he had a blood right to reclaim – and Harry to inherit - the
Potter vaults and not have them parcelled out to the nearest relative that wasn't in Azkaban. This
relative happened to be Narcissa Malfoy, which made Draco related to Harry himself.

Once, this would have utterly disgusted Harry. But now, as he put it to Ron, "Malfoy isn't so bad."
Indeed, while Malfoy hadn't gone out of his way to talk to either them or Hermione, he had nodded
politely when he passed them in the corridors and been civil in every one of the few conversations
they had shared.

Ron had been suspicious. "He's a Slytherin. They're always plotting something. I mean, you're
uncle's brilliant, but he's always planning, isn't he? And isn't he the patron of Slytherin House?"
he'd asked.

"Yeah, but I think that Malfoy isn't plotting against us. I mean, Ron, he's been an irritating bully in
the past, but he isn't stupid. And he's a Slytherin, he's not going to want to go against Loki now, is
he?"

Ron had nodded his grudging agreement. "He has gone out of his way to be friendly," he
grudgingly admitted. To Ron, a Slytherin who wasn't being actively antagonistic was going out of
their way to be friendly.

"And he sounds older. Smarter," Harry had added. He looked thoughtful. "It happened really
suddenly, though…" he shook his head. "I'll ask my uncle. Anyway, d'you want to hear about dad
and uncle Loki meeting with the goblins?"

Ron had, so Harry told him.

Thor strode towards Gringotts, ignoring the stares he got. He was in his James Potter form, and was
well used to being stared at, both as a Prince of Asgard and an Avenger. Once upon a time, he
would have invited the stares and played to the crowd. Now, he was older, wiser and more
importantly, busier. He could still play to the crowd as well as Tony could – albeit in a different
fashion – he just had more immediate issues to deal with.

He glanced slightly to his right. His brother was matching his stride, and attracting a fair few stares
himself. And a cry of 'murderer!'

On hearing that, Thor wheeled on the source of the voice, and was about to demand that the
speaker show themselves and apologise, when Loki touched his arm. "No, brother," he said softly.
"It is an accusation I have more than earned. What would you do? Dispute the truth of it?"

"People shouldn't treat you like a monster," Thor growled. "You aren't that person anymore."

"Violence won't help them see that, brother," Loki replied. "It is just one in a sea of mortals. I am
fine."

Thor let himself be led away, but he knew Loki was lying. He could read his brother even better
than ever now, and he recognised the look Loki had very, very briefly got on his face when he'd
heard the cry. Surprise, hurt, grief and a certain sense of resignation. He'd seen it often enough of
Sirius' face in the early years of Hogwarts, when the Slytherins, many of whom he had been related
to, started getting at him. He also suspected that, like Sirius, his brother would enjoy talking about
it as much as most people enjoyed having their teeth pulled.

Soon, they reached the bank itself and ascended the stairs. Thor looked around the gilded marble
halls. The last time he'd been in here, he and Lily had been getting an enlarged money pouch for
their time in hiding. If everything went wrong, if Voldemort cracked the Fidelius, they would take
it and Harry and run to the continent. He let out a sudden, loud, bitter laugh that drew attention
from everyone in the hall. Look how that had worked out. Lily was dead, his happy family life had
been ruined… he had lost so much.

But, he thought, he still had his son. He still had Jane. He still had the Avengers, his parents, his
brother, Remus, and Sirius, when they found him. That was something. More than something. And
Lily would kick his arse if she thought he was moping.

"Brother?" Loki asked gently.

"I'm fine, Loki," Thor said, aware that his voice was slipping into more James like patterns as he
unconsciously ran a hand through his hair. He had noticed that the more he thought on his mortal
memories, the more he tended to act as he had when he had been James. Even when he didn't, he
still had more modern speech patterns, which came as a blessed relief to just about everyone. "Just
remembering, is all."

Loki nodded. "The memories are too fresh?"

"A little. But I can manage," Thor said, then looked at the impassive goblin. "We have an
appointment with your manager, Ragnok."
"Names?"

"Crown Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard, formerly known as James Potter," Thor said. "And Prince
Loki Odinson of Asgard. May I know who I am addressing?"

"I am Griphook, your highness," Griphook said, getting down from his desk and pushing a small
button, that opened a door that would easily admit a man of medium height. Neither Thor nor Loki
was of medium height. Or, strictly speaking, a man. "The wizards are right, for once," Griphook
commented. "Your son does look like you. But if you're Thor, as that hammer indicates, why do
you look like that?"

"I was incarnated as James Potter," Thor said, patience slightly frayed. It was a question he had
answered many times these past few days. "I normally look as I appear when I am with the
Avengers. I can change between the two at will."

"Useful talent," Griphook commented. "Can't remember the last time an Asgardian was in here,
except for your brother, and some blonde Asgardian witch with a large, bald minion who was
trying to extort money." He smiled toothily. "It didn't go as she might have hoped."

"Did she have a tantrum?" Thor asked.

"One of epic proportions," Griphook asked.

"My apologies for her actions, Griphook. Amora is…"

"A self-obsessed prissy little bitch?" Loki asked venomously. "I have a list of further appropriate
adjectives. I had to consult a dictionary for some." To say he had had a bad experience with Amora
the Enchantress and her faithful dog, Skurge, was the understatement of the century. It was not one
he talked about, and all that was known about it was that the Trickster had come off worse and had
ever since nursed a legendary grudge against the Enchantress and the Executioner.

"Brother…"

"Am I wrong? If you had heard some of the things she said when she heard you had married
Lily…" Loki said. He smiled viciously. "I defended your lady's honour. And took great pleasure in
doing so." He looked at Griphook. "You need not fear her return, Master Griphook. The Allfather
banned her from coming to Midgard at my suggestion, to prevent her doing something foolish to
Lily."

"If she had touched Lily, I would have killed her," Thor said flatly. "If she touches Harry, I will kill
her and if Skurge tries to stop me, I'll ram that precious axe of his up his sorely whipped arse."

Griphook chuckled darkly. "Many a goblin would pay gold to see that."

"If the opportunity ever arises, Master Griphook, I will ensure that if you do not see it, a recording
is circulated," Thor said, tone just as dark.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, before reaching a round doorway.

Griphook knocked.

"Enter."

Griphook laid a hand on the door, which shimmered, then rolled aside into a hollow in the wall.
"Follow me," he said, and Thor and Loki did, entering a well-appointed office.
"Ah. Prince Thor, Prince Loki," Ragnok said. "You have business?"

"We do, Lord Ragnok," Loki said politely. "My brother was incarnated as James Potter, which
means that he inherited the Potter vaults and passed them onto his son. While we have the vault
key," he said, withdrawing it from a pocket and holding it up. "There is the small problem that my
brother is no longer mortal. While he can change from what once was to what he now is at will," he
said, indicating Thor, who shifted to Thor form, then back again. "We are not sure how this affects
both his blood and his ownership."

"You fear a legal challenge from Lucius Malfoy by way of his wife," Ragnok deduced, and Loki
nodded.

"While we do not need the money as such, there is principle and there is the fact that Malfoy is
rich enough and dangerous enough as it is, at stake," Thor interjected.

"Hmm," Ragnok said. "You are in the interesting position of inheriting two different things from
what are technically two different fathers. Do you have any plans to puzzle this out?"

This, as Loki was acutely aware, was a test. These goblins were very like the dwarves they were
distantly related to. He smiled. "We do. First, we point out that possession is nine tenths of the law,
and we possess the key. However, that strategy has flaws. Second, we cite the fact that Thor was,
as James, Charlus and Dorea Potter's acknowledged heir, meaning that even if he was no biological
relative, he had every right to inherit. Third, when asked if Harry has the right to the Potter name,
we explain the circumstances. The body of James Potter was mortal, and acted as the vessel for
Thor's spirit. In other words, hewas both man and god, and has equal right to inherit both."

Ragnok smiled toothily. "Very clever, Prince Loki. The stories my people have handed down speak
truly. You understand well how to turn the law to your advantage."

"That's what it's there for, isn't it?" Loki asked, tone lightly amused.

Thor coughed. "You're meant to follow it, brother. Not just when it's convenient," he said mildly,
well aware that he too had dodged the law when he had had too. Unlike Loki, however, he rarely
took such glee in doing so.

"Sometimes, brother, the law restricts too much," Loki said. "It is a fine thing, but no law is
perfect. Sometimes it impedes justice."

"True. But you have to distinguish between justice and vengeance."

"Yes, but brother, must we have this discussion here?"

"You started it."

"No, you did."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Did not!"
"Did so!"

Ragnok sat back and smirked. Free entertainment. Always a bonus. And it was rare that non-
goblins felt comfortable enough to relax in such a fashion before goblins. Rare and gratifying.
While Ragnok was no fonder of wizards than any of his kind, he understood that it was their gold
that kept the system going, and he got the feeling that he may have just acquired two very valuable
customers. Maybe even allies.

He coughed. "My lords?"

"Yes?"

"I think we can draw up a contract to reaffirm your ownership of the vault. Do you wish for your
son to have access?" Ragnok asked.

"Yes," Thor said.

"Any restrictions?"

Thor looked thoughtful. "No. I trust him."

"Thor, you've hardly seen him since he was one and a quarter," Loki said. "He's a good boy, but
you can't really get a full gauge of his character."

"Harry Potter does not strike me as a boy who would go on a spending spree like others his age.
Not without an extremely unusual reason," Griphook put in.

"Besides," Thor said. "I hardly lack money, Loki. While the Potter accounts only have maybe
quarter as much as Stark's fortune, that is approximately…" his lips moved. "300 million galleons.
Or £1.5 billion."

Loki stared at him.

"The Potter family goes back millennia and inherited a lot from other pureblood families as they
died off, and a good deal of that is tied up in property and valuable artefacts. Also, my mortal
father met Howard Stark and was favourable impressed by him, so he invested in Stark Industries. I
believe we own a five percent stake," Thor said carelessly.

"Your mortal father had a sound mind for investment," Loki said.

"He did," Ragnok said, grudgingly impressed by both Thor's calculations and the late Charlus
Potter's business acumen. "The Potter fortune grew by a good 24.37% from the beginning of his
time as head of the family."

"That… that is impressive," Loki said slowly.

"Stark Industries grew by over 500% from the beginning of Charlus Potter's investment. That was a
mix of major military contracts and development of the arc reactor which offset the vast majority
of energy costs," Ragnok said. Thor stared at him. Ragnok smiled sharply. "Come now, my lord.
Did you think that my kind would avoid the ample opportunities for profit that the muggle world
provides?"

"No," Thor said slowly. "I suppose not."

"This has been most illuminating," Loki said mildly. "My lord Ragnok, how long will it take to
draw up a reaffirmation of my brother's status?"

"We have a blank contract prepared," Ragnok said, and snapped his fingers. Griphook went over to
one of the cabinets, rifled through the folders and withdrew a contract. "Griphook, have one of the
scribes informed of the particulars of this case, and have it filled out."

Griphook bowed and left.

"That should take fifteen minutes," Ragnok said calmly. "May I offer you a drink? I would like to
discuss potential Asgardian investment. Odin Allfather and his father both did good business with
my people, creating much profit. If Asgard is to meddle in the mortal worlds once more, the
Goblin nations will want to be on… what is the muggle phrase? Ah. The ground floor."

Thor raised an eyebrow, then looked at Loki. "Brother, this is more your department."

Loki smiled. "So it is," he said, voice full of anticipation. Ragnok suddenly got the feeling that
negotiating with Loki would be about as easy as parting one of the elder dragons from its gold.
Loki leaned forward, smirking. "Now, Lord Ragnok. Let's talk business."

Loki looked at his four apprentices. He was thoroughly enjoying his re-immersion in the
Wizarding World. Not only was it good to be surrounded by magic users again, and to be the
expert that others turned to the same way they normally turned to Stark and Banner when there
was a science based issue, if only to say, 'please stop doing it', he got to see his nephew. And
negotiate with goblins. Which was fun. While he was a hero these days, he still enjoyed the chance
to cajole, trick, manipulate and outwit a worthy opponent. And have the satisfaction of them
knowing that he'd beaten them. The only difference was that now he turned such talents to the
protection of the Nine Worlds and their people instead of conquest and his own benefit.

Speaking of the Goblin's, Harry had looked both gobsmacked and unbelievably discomfited when
Thor had, quietly, informed him of the state of his finances. This was likely to do with the truly
vast disparity between the Potter finances and that of the Weasleys, which more closely resembled
those of Doctor Banner when he was on the run by comparison to those of Tony Stark.

However, since Lily and James' will had never been executed, Loki had taken the opportunity to,
with the approval of Thor, slip in a one hundred thousand galleon endowment to the Weasley
family, which was to be used to improve the state of their home, their family and provide for their
future, with a suitably mid war flavour statement, 'to either make sure that the fight will continue
without us or to at least partially relocate your family to a more peaceful land.'

He drew himself back to the present. "Apprentices," Loki said. "I call you that because that is what
you are. While you are in a lesson with me, I will refer to you as Apprentice Thorson, Apprentice
Granger and Apprentice Weasley, respectively. You will refer to me as Master. I have the right to
ask this of you as I am a Master of Magic. Such mastery, even in the compressed and minimised
Midgardian version, is hard earned. It took the Founders five years of constant lessons to achieve
it. But even if you do not complete your mastery, you will learn things that your fellows will not
have imagined. Including the art of wandless magic. Make no mistake, wands are better for
precision work, and will, until you master the art, require less power. But once you master this, you
will cast spells with only your will and, at most, a gesture and a word. What you will learn with me
includes arts long thought lost, arts known only by the mystic masters of Asgard. You will warp
reality, bend the world to your will and the impossible will be to you as the mundane is to others."

All four of his students were listening closely. Good.

"First, you must consciously find your magical core, so you can access it," Loki said. "This will
require patience, calm and meditation. Do not fret if by the end of your session you do not even
glimpse your core. It took Godric and Salazar five sessions each, Rowena three and a half, and
Helga one." He looked at them seriously to make sure they understood this. "This part is not
complex. But it isn't easy, either. If it was easy, it would not be worth doing."

He settled into a lotus position. "This is the position I prefer. Try this, then vary it until you are
comfortable. After that, close your eyes, and turn your mind inwards. Look for a ball of coloured
energy that is intrinsically yours. That is your core." He watched as they did so. Hermione seemed
to find it hardest, constantly shifting and rearranging her skirt. Her nose was scrunched up. He
smiled inwardly. So like Salazar and Rowena. She was trying too hard. Fred and George seemed to
settle in quite easily. He imagined that was because of the sheer number of punishments that had
given them time to sit still and think, as well as their bond to one another. A brief interrogation of
their brothers and sister had revealed that they had manifested and even appeared to control their
accidental magic as children. There were shades of Helga there. And Harry? Harry was taking to it
both well and badly. Well because he worked best under pressure and on instinct, but badly
because he was a very energetic and active boy. Very like Godric, very like indeed.

He waited for a few minutes, to see if they settled down, then stood up silently and moved around
the classroom, offering whispered advice, Hermione to stop trying too hard. She wasn't relaxed
enough, not yet, wanting to get it right immediately. The twins to focus on themselves rather than
each other – that would probably be their biggest difficulty. For those spells that were either
enhanced by or required two casters, they would be a truly fearsome combination. Harry also
needed to relax, and to banish some of the more random thoughts from his mind. Loki examined
the upper layer of his thoughts with amusement. Teenage boys would be teenage boys, he thought,
as he caught Harry idly imagining what Black Widow would look like naked, then getting very hot
and bothered about it. Loki suspected he still expected his idle thoughts to be of Quidditch as
opposed to the fairer sex, which would be new and uncharted territory for a boy his age.

"Try transferring your focus from the Lady Widow's nakedness to the task at hand, Harry," Loki
murmured, so low that the others would not hear. Harry twitched, green eyes flying open and
opened his mouth to either deny it or apologise. "No," Loki said. "Do not apologise, I understand.
My first lessons were marred by similar thoughts. The trick is not to try not to think about them, it
is to focus on something else, and it can serve as a spur."

The time ticked on, and he watched as the twins slipped into easy, slow, breathing that was
generally a sign of near completion of the exercise. They wouldn't complete it this session, but they
would at the start of the next. Hermione looked on the point of frustrated tears. He would need to
talk to her. Harry seemed to be more at ease, and wasn't far off where the twins were, though his
focus kept wandering. That would simply have to come with practice. A few words of
encouragement, reiteration of advice.

Finally, the lesson ended, and Loki stood. "The lesson is over," he said. "You have all done very
well. Fred, George, practice in between sessions. If you manage to complete the exercise before
our next lesson, do nothing further. Instead, find me and talk to me, and I'll tell you what to do
from there. Harry, excellent, just keep making sure you transfer your focus properly. Hermione, I
need to talk to you."

Hermione looked upset, and the other three gave her sympathetic looks, in between whispering to
one another, as they left, shutting the door behind them.

As soon as they left, Hermione burst into a frustrated rant. "I can't do it!" she cried. "I'm sorry,
Master, I can't! I'm useless, I can't focus on this to save my life!" She looked on the point of angry
tears, so Loki cut her off.

"You are rather used to getting everything right first time, are you not, Apprentice Granger?" he
asked gently. "And aside from, say, flying, this is the first part of magic you've had real trouble
with."

Hermione nodded, face red, bushy hair bouncing. "Yes, and I don't understand! I'm trying, I really
am, Master, it's just…"

"You're trying too hard," Loki said. "Because you are impatient. That is often a problem with truly
brilliant people, and make no mistake, Apprentice Granger, you are truly brilliant. You want to be
first to get it, to win a competition that isn't a competition." He looked serious. "This is not
something you can rush, Apprentice Granger. You strike me as a passionate young woman who is
ferociously clever and very hardworking. Both Helga and Rowena would have been happy to duel
Godric to teach you. However, you are also very highly strung. You need to learn to kick back and
relax. Take a cue from your friend Ron. He may not be the highest academic achiever, but I hear
that he is an excellent strategist and a chessmaster. A chessmaster does not hurry their moves. They
consider every facet of the problem at hand, then act."

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Keep trying. Practice before bed and in your free time," Loki advised. "If by the end of the session
after next you have made little or no progress, I will put you in touch with Doctor Bruce Banner,
who will be able to advise you on how to relax, or how to harness your apparently boundless
energy and enthusiasm." Hermione blushed slightly, and nodded.

"Yes, Master," she said, still sounding a little down.

"Hermione, it took even Rowena Ravenclaw three and a half sessions and all the time in between
practicing to get it right," Loki said. "I am confident that once you have got past this opening
hurdle you will do excellently. But for now, go against your instincts. Relax, and don't be down
that you haven't got it yet. You will get it in time." He looked up at the clock. "Go on. It's dinner
time, and I'm willing to bet that you're hungry."

Hermione nodded and ran out.

Loki smiled. He liked being a teacher again.

Thor found his son on the Quidditch pitch. "Hello, Harry," he said, in his James Potter form.
Eventually, he would try and get his son to be accustomed to both forms, but for now, the one he
instinctively knew to be his father would have to do.

Harry turned and smiled. "Hey dad," he said, running over for a hug, which he got. Thor revelled in
it. He had missed out on so much of Harry's childhood. No more, he vowed. And Harry would get
a childhood, he vowed. As soon as Voldemort showed his face, Thor would smite him and drag
him to Helheim himself, prophecies be damned.

He still had difficulty looking at Trelawney and was, at best, curt with her. Every time he saw her
face, under those stupid glasses, that ridiculous hairdo, that vacant expression that made her look
more like a stunned cow than the mysterious sage she thought herself to be and that moronic bevy
of clothes, he got the urge to grab her and shake her, and demand why the she had made, as her
only genuine prophecy, the one prophecy that had ruined his life, that had killed his wife and hurt
his son. Couldn't she have made it where Snape wasn't around to hear it? And that was another
person on the 'to-restrain-from-smiting' list. He hated Snape. Before, he had disliked him. But
now… it was his fault Lily was dead. So he hated him more than he had hated anything in his
entire life, a bitter flame that licked at his heart like a cancer.

Sometimes, he wanted to look up at the sky and scream – and had, once. He'd flown to the top of a
mountain in the Grampians and screamed, causing several minor avalanches and scaring some
birds to death. He just wanted to ask 'Why?' Why him, why his family, why did the people he
loved have to bend over and take it from Fate and Destiny? It wasn't fair! And as he had those
thoughts as easily as he breathed, he lived in the bitter knowledge that somewhere, the Norns were
laughing.

But for every bitterness, every hurt, every wound, there is a balm. Harry was that balm. Every time
he saw his son, he felt a wave of overwhelming love and pride. That was his boy. And when he
smiled, he looked so painfully like Lily, green eyes practically glowing with happiness, like
emerald lamps, shining in the darkness. He just wanted to hug him, hold him and protect him from
the cares of the world. Harry was his son, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood and bone of his
bone. He was his and he do anything to protect him.

And now, his wonderful boy was in his arms.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," Harry said, but his tone betrayed a bit of pain.

"What is it?"

"Nothing… well, you know when I fell off my broom?"

Thor fixed him with a wry look. "Harry, no parent is going to forget their only child's near death
experiences, as much as they might want to," he said dryly. "I was terrified for your sake. It is safe
to say I remember."

Harry chuckled slightly, and unconsciously leaned into his father's body. "Yeah, I suppose so. But,
my broom was smashed by the Whomping Willow. It's beyond repair."

"Then we'll get you a new one," Thor said. "For Christmas, if that's what you want."

Harry looked startled, then smiled. "Yeah, it is." He paused, and shifted his feet awkwardly for a
moment or two.

"What is it?" Thor asked, amused.

"… Can I have a Firebolt?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I mean, if it isn't too much to ask," he began
anxiously.

"Harry," Thor said, chuckling softly. "Nothing is too much to ask." He inwardly resolved to ask
Loki to help him not just buy a Firebolt, but to improve the charms and make it even better. And to
get one for Ron – though he would have to check with Molly about that one.

Speaking of Molly, she'd been trying to get him to take the money back, but he'd turned a deaf ear.
That was, until he'd got tired of it and pointed out that one, the will was written in war time and was
long overdue its execution (a total lie, since Loki and the Gringotts scribes had forged it only a few
days ago), two, it was doing nothing in his vault, three, she, Arthur and the children deserved the
best, four, he'd had much longer to practice being stubborn and he really wasn't backing down, and
five, Loki had an in with the Queen, and accepting the cash would quickly become a Royal
Command if necessary. Molly had given in at that point.

"Also, I owe you twelve years of birthday presents, Christmas presents, and random parental
spoiling," he added as an afterthought. He suddenly had an idea and drew his hammer. "Do you
want to fly?"

"What?" Harry asked, then looked at the hammer. His eyes promptly widened. "Really?" he
breathed.

"Yes," Thor said, gratified that his son didn't even bother to ask if it was safe. Not only did that
show trust, it showed inherited recklessness. Of course, Lily would have worried and probably
screamed at him for endangering their child in such a fashion. "Sorry Lils," he murmured to
himself. "But the boy's going to fly some time."

"Dad?"

"Nothing, Harry. Your dad's just rambling to himself," Thor said, and pulled Harry close with his
left hand, spinning the hammer with his right. "Hold on tight," he said, grinning. Harry matched the
grin, and let out a wild whoop as they took off.

They shot straight upwards at speeds no wizarding broom had ever achieved, the magic of Mjolnir
preventing wind shear from affecting either himself or Harry, then turned sharply to race over the
countryside. Hogsmeade whipped past, looking like a child's toy beneath them. Fields blurred into
a giant patchwork quilt, patches of forest like bits of stuffing marring the pattern, yet also
improving it, as if put there on purpose by a particularly adept and ambitious seamstress.

Roads crisscrossed the country side like solid grey rivers, cars darting up and down them in a
multi-coloured horde, flashing like tropical fish as they moved up and down their pre-ordained
paths. They turned again, and soon they were racing over the sea. Thor took them low, so that they
could have reached out and touched the waves. Thankfully Harry was holding on too tight and had
too much sense to do so, though even if he hadn't been holding on, Thor's left arm held him to his
body as tightly as a vice.

They shot past a trawler, and Thor smiled. He shared a look with his son, who was clearly laughing
and revelling in this flight. "This is brilliant!" he yelled over the rushing winds, and Thor laughed.

"I am glad you think so," he said, and slowly, their flight began to curve upwards, turning
unerringly back towards Hogwarts, accelerating slowly until they were cruising at just below the
speed of sound, passing over the great patchwork quilt with its grey rivers and multi-coloured fish.
Finally, they landed again, back on the Quidditch pitch.

"Did you enjoy that?" Thor asked, looking at his son, whose hair was as messy and windswept as
his had ever been – and currently was.

Harry's grin threatened to split his face in two. "That was incredible," he breathed. "Can we do it
again?"

"Not today," Thor said. "Maybe when we're in New York. Knowing Tony, he might insist he take
you for a flight."

Harry's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, could I?" he asked hopefully.

"No. Far too unsafe," Thor said firmly. "I have twelve years of over protective parenting to catch
up on as well," he said, smirking at his son's slight pout, the same one Lily had had when she'd
been thwarted when she'd badly wanted to do something. He'd seen it most often when Sirius
interrupted their make outs for some prank or other, usually after her immediate irritated expression
had faded. He ruffled his son's hair. "Come on in, Harry. Your uncle is plotting a prank with the
twins, and I don't know about you, but I want in."

"Do you even have to ask?" Harry said playfully.

Thor laughed and gently clapped his shoulder. "That's my boy!" He looked down at Harry, all
coltish limbs, windswept hair, sparkling green eyes, cheeks reddened with wind and excitement
and dazzling smiles, and thought, oh Lily, I hope you're watching. Because don't look now, but our
son is the most beautiful, brave and brilliant thing in all the Nine Realms.

And ever after, he would swear that it wasn't just the early Winter wind brushing up crackling
leaves, or a light breeze caressing his ear, but he could have sworn he heard a female voice
whisper, I am. And I already knew, you great lummox.

He burst into hearty laughter.

"Dad?"

He smiled. "Nothing, Harry. Nothing." He looked down at Harry. "I love you, you know that? I
love you, Harry, my son."

Harry's smile was dazzling and he laughed, a carefree, happy laugh. "I do now," he said, voice
teasing. Then he hugged his father tightly. "I really do. I love you too, dad."

On hearing those five words, Thor's heart melted into a puddle of sappy goo. Tears in his eyes, he
hugged his son and said nothing. For a few long moments, they just held each other on the grassy
lawn and enjoyed being with someone who loved them unconditionally.

Time passed. The week ended, and Saturday dawned, bright and misty, with the crackling of frost
on the grass and the lake beginning to freeze over. It was nearing December and the first snows.
Thor could feel them on the wind, and he stood on the battlements, savouring the coolness of the
dawn.

"The James Potter I knew could not have been woken at this time for anything short of, oh, the
chance to see Lily less than fully dressed," Remus greeted him.

"She did look adorable in her lime green pyjamas," Thor said equably, shifting to his James Potter
form.

"You're just saying that because the top was a tight tank top and she didn't wear a bra at night,"
Remus said, then chuckled. "Not until Sirius dumped a bucket of cold water over her head."

"Yeah, and then she started wearing bras to bed and Sirius started complaining that he could feel
when the wind changed direction with his left elbow," Thor said, grinning as he remembered
Sirius' helter skelter attempts to escape the wrath of hurricane Lily in full rage mood, dripping with
cold water, shrieking imprecations and hurling curses.

He noticed Remus was watching him carefully. "You're coming to terms with Lily's passing very
well," he said carefully. The 'too well' went unspoken.

"I'm not forgetting her, if that's what you're worrying about," Thor said. "It is simply that my
memories as James are slipping into the rightful place in my memory bank, as it were, losing the
bright, harsh immediacy they had when they were restored. The time they belong to was twelve
years ago. I have twelve years of experience and memory to buttress against the pain." He sighed.
"It does still hurt, Moony. I can't, won't, deny that. Ever. Every morning since I got my memories
back, I roll over, expecting to see Lily, or here her mumble 'geroff' or 'your turn to deal with the
baby', or something like that. That said, I'm managing. I'm focusing on the good times, not the
bad." He looked off into the distance. "Because if I don't, I'll go mad."

Remus gently took his friend's hand and squeezed briefly, before releasing it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just thought…" he said, hunting for the words.

"That everything that was James was being overwhelmed?" Thor asked.

Remus paused, then nodded.

"I can understand why you'd think that, Moony, but it isn't. It's being assimilated. When I dwell on
my memories as James, I sound more like I did then. When I'm dealing more with my Asgardian
side, I sound more like I did before," Thor explained. "As far as I and Loki can tell, it is settling
into a blend of the two."

Remus nodded. "I see," he said. "James?"

"Yes?"

"Harry is rather badly affected by Dementors, Prongs. And we both know why. He saw Lily
murdered in front of him, and that's his only memory of her," Remus said quietly. Thor stiffened. "I
would like to teach him the Patronus charm, and maybe you, I and a few others could pool our best
memories of Lily. Otherwise all Harry will ever see of her is photographs and her last moments."

Thor nodded. "That is an excellent idea, Moony. Both are excellent ideas," he added.

There was a sudden roar overheard, and Remus jumped slightly. Thor smiled. "The Avengers
Quinjet," he said by way of explanation. "We couldn't get a cross continental portkey on such short
notice, I'm not sure if Loki is up for teleporting himself, Harry and I over to New York, the Dark
Paths are dangerous even for full grown men and women to traverse, let alone a curious child and I
want Harry to see Asgard when he has a chance to appreciate it." He flashed Remus a grin as the jet
came in to land. "Also, I've persuaded the pilot to teach Harry a little bit of how to fly it." He
paused. "I think he removed the ammunition for the minigun…"

"Minigun?"

"Big, spinning gun with at least six barrels and it fires thousands of large bullets a minute," Thor
said. "I'd say that maybe ten seconds sustained fire could turn a full grown giant into mince."

"What happens if it isn't disarmed?"

Thor shrugged. "Should be interesting to find out, don't you think?"

 First Impressions
Chapter Summary

This is another one of those slightly silly ones in retrospect, one that fit the original
tone of the fic (a sweet fix fic) rather than the one it turned out with. However, I've
kept it for the sake of completeness. Also, while being a pilot is hideously
complicated, actually manoeuvring a plane once it's in the air is surprisingly easy - I
know, I've done it. However, you couldn't pay me to try and land or take off.

As it turned out, the minigun was armed and fully loaded, but, for a number of very good reasons,
only the pilot could access it.

Harry looked around the Quinjet. And was favourably impressed. "Whoa," he breathed. "This thing
is awesome."

"Glad you like it," the pilot said, standing up. "You're Thor's kid, right? Harry?"

Harry nodded.

The pilot stuck out a hand. "I'm Clint Barton. People call me Hawkeye."

Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "H-hawkeye?"

Clint smirked. "Finally I understand why Stark likes fame," he said. "That's me, kid."

Harry dazedly shook his head. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Please, call me Clint. Everyone does, except Tony."

"What does he call you?"

"Depends on his mood," Clint said. "Barton, Agent Barton, Robin Hood, Legolas, Feathers,
Feather brains, Bird Boy…" He shrugged. "Stark does nicknames like everyone else does
breathing." He chuckled. "He calls your dad Point Break and your uncle Reindeer Games."

Harry looked puzzled.

"He was referring to a couple of films," Clint said, and caught Thor's grateful and approving look.
The big guy had asked him to be nice to the kid. Clint liked Thor, and honestly, it wasn't a
hardship. The kid seemed friendly enough – a little star struck, which was both gratifying and
hardly unexpected. Since he'd become an Avenger, every kid knew his codename.

"Do you fly this jet?"

"Yup," Clint said. Another thing Thor had asked him to do was to use his experience of a less than
stellar childhood to get the kid to open up about his past, rather than repress, like Loki and Tony.
And the best way to do that was in conversation, by making friends with him. "I do, and I will be
your pilot today."
"Cool," Harry said. "How fast does it go?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Tony keeps fiddling with it, and it's powered by one of his arc reactors.
Top speed so far is three times the speed of sound," Clint said.

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Wow," he breathed. "Even the Firebolt only does three hundred."

"Firebolt?"

"My broomstick."

"You have a flying broomstick?" Clint asked, incredulous. He'd run across them in the past once or
twice, but he reacted out of surprise both out of habit and genuine surprise that a teenage orphan
would have the Wizarding World's answer to a Ferrari.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's shrunken, in my bag."

"They're enchanted to fly, Clint, to cushion the seat and to compensate for wind shear. They're used
for sports, racing and long distance travel," Thor called over. "And my brother has rather enhanced
this one. It's a late birthday present."

Clint nodded his understanding. "How's it handle?" he asked. "I've never flown a broom, but I've
flown a few other things in my time. I'd like to compare." He paused. "When I can turn on the
autopilot, anyway. I can even teach you to fly, if you want."

Harry's eyes shone. "Really?" he said, eyes wide.

Clint grinned. "Sure, once we're well out over the Atlantic." He sat down. "Take a seat, and I'll
show you how this thing flies. First, we make the pre-flight checks…"

Thor smiled. His son was hanging off Clint's every word, sharp green eyes taking in everything the
archer did, occasionally asking questions that Clint happily answered.

"He's clever," Loki said. Thor glanced at his brother. "He looks, he listens, and he absorbs
information. While he isn't quite the intellect that Hermione is, nor the same sort of information
sponge, he does react well and quickly when called upon to do so." He laid a hand on Thor's
shoulder. "He will pass this test, brother. And it is a necessary test to put him through."

"I don't like it," Thor said bluntly.

"If we are to keep him safe, we need to know what he can do," Loki said. "I know you just want
the best for him, but if we are to give him even a façade of normality, we must know his abilities."

Thor nodded reluctantly. "I am surprised that you agreed with Clint on such an early test."

Loki looked grim. "While seeing the future is not in my gift, I have a feeling," he said. "This is not
the road to Ragnarok, I know that, but I have the most unsettling feeling that things are stirring.
Old, powerful things. Harry needs to be ready."

"Brother?"

"Harry's very existence shakes up the cosmic order. Asgard has a strong line of succession now,
just as it starts intervening in the Middle Realm once more. The game is changing with the world,
and Midgard is at the heart of those changes," Loki said. "Harry is, like it or not, a boy who will
define the course of the future for all the Nine Realms. And the power players in the shadows,
good and evil alike, will be paying attention." He shook his head. "I hope I am wrong, but I feel
that soon, darkness will threaten us all."

Thor looked at him carefully. Once he would have laughed off Loki's warning. But now, he too felt
a strange sense of foreboding. "I will protect him," Thor vowed. "Come what may."

"And so will I," Loki said firmly as the jet took off, and Harry fixed his eyes on the window. "I just
hope that we are able to."

As Clint stepped away to let Harry fly the jet solo, he was impressed. The kid had a natural grasp,
so it seemed, of anything flying. He'd given him the basics of flying the plane, and was now
watching as the kid flew all by himself. Loki looked a little nervous, which wasn't surprising,
considering what Clint had cooked up next, with Thor's – dubious, hard gained and given with
many, many caveats – blessing.

He switched on a simulator, which caused the jet to rock, and Clint to fall and play the helpless
bystander. The best way to stay in role is to actually feel like your character would. In this case, in
pain. This pain was provided by a shoulder hitting a bulkhead and the bulkhead winning.

"Kid! We're under fire," Clint cried, as the jet simulated the feelings of taking fire. Loki and Thor
had plausibly worried, unnerved expressions on their faces, Loki's mostly simulated, Thor's not
remotely. Clint reckoned that the kid would freeze. There was no crime in that. Very few people
were really cut out for combat and one of the main reasons Thor had agreed was a shared
knowledge that only a very small number of people would react well under fire without training,
and this was vital knowledge where Harry was concerned.

His jaw almost dropped as he watched Harry's expression turn into one of fierce concentration as he
sent the Quinjet into a fearsomely fast descending barrel roll, sending them spinning towards the
sea, before regaining control and slamming the throttle forward to three quarters of top speed as
they scudded over the sea. Harry had just done several things that serious pilots would blanch at
doing, and had done them without even breaking a sweat. What he'd heard from his contacts was
right. The kid definitely got a lot better and a lot more dangerous under pressure. And he could fly,
oh how he could fly. If he hadn't been who he was, Clint would have recommended him to
SHIELD as a potential future agent.

Then the jet began to jink across the sea in a classic evasion pattern, purposefully hard to predict,
but controlled enough that the jet actually stayed in control. Harry was managing to deal with a
phantom pursuer well enough, which triggered the next part of the simulation. Two blinking dots
appeared on the radar.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Missiles," Clint said, staggering to his feet.

"WHAT?"

"Heat seekers. They're locked on."

Harry stopped for a moment, and he looked at Clint with fear on his face. Had he frozen? Better
trained, older, more skilled men and women had done the same under lesser circumstances and
Harry had done fantastically so far, far exceeding Clint's fairly jaundiced expectations.

"All right," Harry said, tone determined. "Let's go." He pulled up sharply, directing all power to
the VTOL propellers to launch them practically straight upwards, then punched the power all the
way into the primary thrusters, sending them rocketing upwards at Mach 2.5 and climbing.
"CLINT!" he called over the noise as the 'missiles' dropped back, then closed. "I'M GOING TO
TRY SOMETHING! CAN WE, YOU KNOW, DISTRACT THEM WITH ANYTHING?!"

"FLARES!" Clint called, pointing them out.

Harry nodded. "CAN YOU TAKE OVER?!"

"NOT IN TIME," Clint said, and it was true. In real life, a pilot changeover would take too long.
"IT'S YOUR SHOW, KID!"

Harry looked grim and nodded. The altimeter continued to spiral upwards, and the missiles closed.
Harry's eyes were fixed on the 'missiles' progress, finger hovering over the flares. Suddenly, he cut
all power, and fired off the flares. As the plane dropped away, Harry carefully directing it into a
dive, wrestling with the controls as the jet threatened to spiral out of control – if Clint hadn't know
that Loki could arrest their descent with a word, he'd have been genuinely frightened. As it was, his
potential fears went unrealised, as, with a cry of effort, Harry pulled out of the dive, thumping the
power up to full, pulling out one hundred feet above sea level, before lowering the speed.

"Are they gone?" he asked.

"They were never there, kid," Clint said, grinning, flicking on the autopilot, letting it take them up
to cruising height and speed.

"What?"

"That was a simulation, one we pull randomly on SHIELD agents at least fifteen to twenty years
older than you. Well, they have to run to the pilot's chair as well and disengage the auto, but that's
another matter," Clint said. "I wanted to know if you could fly as well as they say." He reached
over and ruffled Harry's hair and chuckled. "And kid, you more than live up to the hype. You're a
natural and it shows. Thor! Your kid's a natural."

"It was all… all a game?"

"No. I genuinely wanted to know how good you are. Thing is, Thor, Loki and Bruce can't fly one
of these things for sh – uh, neither love nor money. Steve tends to have an unsurprising aversion to
flying planes considering what happened last time he flew one. The day I trust Tony with flying
one of these things is the day I sign up for multiple heart attacks, because Tony is a demon when
he's behind the wheel of anything. If me and Natasha aren't able to fly one of these, it may come
down to you one day. That, and I wanted to know how you perform under pressure. Way your dad
tells it, you've got bad people after you, and the remains of a dangerous organisation that's still
active. Not only that, but your dad has enemies, your uncle has enemies, and the Avengers all have
enemies who would be more than happy to hurt you and use you," Clint explained. "We – the
Avengers, will help protect you and teach you. But to do that, we need to know what you can do."
He winked. "Besides. You gotta admit, it was fun."

Harry paused, then nodded. "Yeah, it was." He looked thoughtful. "It was a lot like Quidditch,
really."

"That's… the game with seven a side, four balls and broomsticks, right?" Clint said. He was more
familiar with Quodpot – which had convinced him that all wizards were insane adrenaline junkies -
having had to infiltrate a couple of wizarding communities in the states on an assassination, but
he'd gained a very passing familiarity with the more European sport.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. The missiles kind of reminded me of bludgers." He shrugged. "That's how I
knew how to dodge them. Classic Seeker tactics."

"What does that say about me?" he asked, a little worried.

"You're an adrenaline junkie, like the rest of the Avengers, minus Bruce," Clint said casually. "It's
a good thing, if you can control it. Tony generally doesn't."

"I am not 'an adrenaline junkie'," Loki said, with some asperity. "Most of my heroic exploits, past
and present, have had the sole aim of keeping my brother and his friends, mortal or otherwise, out
of trouble and trying to minimise the destruction."

Clint scoffed. "Yeah, and the leader of an alien invasion force fights on the frontlines because he
has to."

Loki rolled his eyes. "I had my reasons."

"Don't listen to him, he loves it really," Clint stage whispered to Harry, who stifled a giggle.

Loki gave him a mock sneer. Clint stuck his tongue out, a gesture calculated to make Harry laugh.
Like most of Clint's calculated gestures, it worked like a charm.

The rest of the flight was spent in happy bickering between the three Avengers, while Harry
watched and laughed. Life was good.

The Avengers looked at Harry. Harry looked at the Avengers. Tony broke the silence.

"Wow," Tony said, looking at Harry. "Thor, your sprog is short."

"So are you. I'm thirteen. I'm still growing. What's your excuse, Mister Stark?" Harry asked with a
raised eyebrow.

Clint, Thor and Loki cracked up laughing as Tony gaped.

"Did he just sass me?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Yes Tony, he did," Bruce said, smiling slightly.

"He's got you there, Stark," Natasha said, smirking and walking past in a pair of tight jeans on her
way to the kitchen. Harry's eyes, as those of any straight male teenager would, settled on her bum.
"Keep staring and you'll burn a hole in them, kid," she said casually without turning around. Harry
blushed furiously and looked away. But not before stealing another glance.

"Ah," Thor said proudly. "Like father, like son."

"You can't blame the kid, Natasha, I mean, it's a great ass," Tony said.

Pepper raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? Academic appreciation only," Tony said, kissing her on the cheek.

"Is her ass twelve percent better than mine?" Pepper asked archly. "Or could an argument be made
for fifteen?"

"No, no, no, uh… yours is twelve times better than hers," Tony said, backpedalling desperately as
he sensed a potential cause for strife up ahead.

"You are so whipped it is unbelievable," Clint said.

"I am not!" Tony protested.

"Yes you are, honey," Pepper said.

"Yes I am."

"Quiet now."

"Yes dear."

"What does whipped mean?" Harry asked his father. "Are there actual whips involved?"

Thor shrugged. "It depends. I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. Despite my regained memories, I'm
still not entirely up on the 21st century."

"No," Loki said. "It means that he does what she says without hesitation." He glanced at Thor.
"You were whipped by Lily half the time." Thor shrugged.

"So, Tony's Pepper's bitch then?" Harry asked, tone innocently curious.

"Exactly," Thor and Loki drawled in unison.

Tony pouted. "You three should never be allowed to work together," he mumbled. "You gang up
on poor defenceless billionaire industrialist genii."

"Don't worry honey," Pepper said, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. "I'll protect you from the
mean Asgardians."

Tony started purring.

"His animagus form is definitely some kind of cat," Harry said, then grinned wickedly. It was a
very Loki grin, though the rest of the Avengers had seen it on Thor's James Potter face once or
twice. It never promised anything good. "Maybe we should get him neutered," he suggested
brightly. "Stun him, put a couple of numbing charms on his groin and it'll be easy."

"I wouldn't," Tony said thoughtlessly. "If you neuter me, Pepper will very quickly get the female
version of blue balls and buy out most of the vibrators in New York."

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight, honey," Pepper said, going bright red.

"What?" Tony asked, then looked at the wickedly grinning Harry. "Son of a… you planned that
didn't you?"

"Me?" Harry asked, shifting to seraphically innocent. "Would I do such a thing?"

"You would," Tony said accusingly.

"We know," Thor said.

"And we're so proud," Loki said, grinning.

"How did you do it?" Clint asked curiously.

"Loki gave me a few pointers," Harry said cheerfully. It had been a peripheral part of their lessons
and a focal part of several chats. "Whatever you answered, it was going to turn out in my favour."

"Kid's got talent," Natasha said. "Coke, water, or juice?"

Tony opened his mouth. "Tony," Pepper said warningly. "No."

"You didn't even know what I was about to say!" Tony complained.

"I know you," Pepper said. "So I don't need to know the exact details."

Tony did not dispute this point.

"Um, coke please?" Harry asked.

"Hey guys," Darcy said, striding in. "Where's Mini-Thor? I was told to look for a 'cute, dark haired
midget with green eyes'."

"Mini-Thor," Harry said. "Got to admit, that's a new one."

"Ah! Mini-Thor!"

"Darcy, this is… mini-Thor, known to the rest of the world as Harry," Loki said dryly. "Harry, this
is Darcy, friend to the Avengers, former lab assistant to your father's girlfriend and current
freelance journalist."

"Hi," Harry said, slowly, wondering if Darcy was dangerous crazy or harmless crazy.

"Don't worry," Thor said, catching his expression. "She doesn't bite."

Darcy smirked. "That's what you think, hammer time," she drawled.

"What do you investigate?" Harry asked, leaving the puzzling subject behind.

"I investigate the weird shit, and let me tell you that wand waving wizards register at a seven point
three on my weird shit-o-meter," Darcy said casually. "Though Thor being your dad jacks it up to
twenty five at least."

"What's it out of?"

"Ten."

"So… how do I rate at twenty five?"

"By being a special little snowflake, of course," Darcy said cheerfully, ruffling his hair. She
critically looked him up and down and nodded. "Feed him the right stuff and he'll be real pretty. It
helps that you're British," she opined. "Yo, Thor, what did you look like as a, you know, human? I
want to see how much of a hottie your son's gonna be." Harry stared at her in total puzzlement and
mouthed 'what?' at Tony, who was cracking up.

Thor shifted. Darcy wolf whistled. "Damn, eight point five at least. Kid definitely has potential,"
she said. She shook her head. "Jane's so lucky: two hotties for the price of one." She sat down the
end of the sofa. "So, it's Harry, right?"

Harry nodded.
"Any dirt on your dad?"

"No," Harry said, but smirked as she pouted. "However, I do know all his old teachers, and one of
my teachers is one of his oldest friends from his mortal life, so I could probably hook you up. For a
price of course."

Darcy grinned. "Kid, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"We're all doomed," Thor groaned.

"No, Thor. You are doomed," Loki said, smirking. "We get to watch."

Thor sulked.

"Loki's right, Point Break," Tony said. "Your pain is our amusement."

"Oh, Thor," Darcy said. "Before Harry and I, you know, plot your downfall, Jane's coming back
from that science conference thing she was at with Erik."

Thor paled slightly. "Thank you Darcy," he said. "I'll start planning my funeral, shall I?"

"It can't be that bad," Steve said.

"Ah, Cap, ever the optimist," Tony said, tone condescending. "It could be very easily that bad."

"All we can do is wait," Bruce said. "And don't scare Thor."

"You make me sound like an overgrown child," Thor grumbled.

Loki and Tony glanced at each other.

"Too easy?" Tony asked.

"Too easy."

Thor moved to flip them both off, remembered his son's presence, paused... then settled for
sticking his tongue out at them.

Jane and Harry faced each other. The Avengers, having moved and, in Bruce's case, whisked
Selvig off to a lab, to give the two some illusion privacy, were all eavesdropping. Some were doing
so discreetly, some less so. Even Steve was listening with half an ear.

"So," Harry said. "You're dad's girlfriend." His tone was purposefully neutral.

"And you're Thor's son," she replied levelly.

They eyed each other. "So," Harry said. "What's your story? How did you meet dad?"

Jane chuckled. "Well, funnily enough, the first time I met him, I hit him with my truck when I was
storm chasing. Then he scared Darcy who tased him and we dropped him off at the hospital. Even
weirder, I didn't run into him once, it happened twice. Literally, the second time, I was out looking
for him because we'd figured out that he was the key to the Einstein-Rosen bridge, the
interdimensional portal that we'd been tracking, and I thought he'd be long gone." She shook her
head.
"And then you hit him again," Harry said. "Was he okay?"

"His ego took a critical hit," Jane said wryly. "But the rest of him was fine." She smiled. "He's
really sweet you know? Like, if you can imagine a golden Labrador in the shape of a thunder god,
you've more or less got him down." Her smiled faded slightly. "Or at least that's what I thought."

"Far as I can see, he's still like that," Harry said, tone reassuring. "Professor Lupin, one of dad's old
friends, says that 'after his ego got deflated, he could be incredibly sweet'. He also said that there
wasn't much real difference between Thor and James to start with." He sat back. "Basically, I think
that when Odin sent dad down as a mortal the second time, he wanted him to become like he had
been when he was my dad. So, all that happened is he got a little more mature."

Jane nodded and absently tucked some hair behind her ear. "Yeah," she said slowly. "I can see
that." She favoured him with a smile, which he returned. "So, what's your story?" She gently
brushed aside his fringe. "Starting with that scar?" she said, concerned. "God, does it hurt?"

"Not usually," Harry said, and began to explain.

Tony was stifling laughter. Jane and Harry had been talking for the last twenty minutes, both quiet
and civil, with some grinning by both sides. Nothing seemed amiss, but he'd never had he seen
Thor look so worried. The big guy was running a hand through his – currently, he was
unconsciously shifting ever two minutes or so - dark, messy hair, and casting glances over at Jane
and Harry. The two were talking quietly. Then they glanced at Thor and started giggling.

"I don't think you have to worry about them not getting on, big guy," Tony observed.

Thor sagged in relief.

"Them ganging up on you might be a problem, though," he continued.

Thor looked worried again.

After another few minutes, the two nodded, shook hands and parted, Harry going to talk to Darcy
while Jane was walking over to talk to Thor.

"Your son is a total sweetie," Jane said, sitting down beside him and smiling.

Thor closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Odin. You two got on well?"

"I'm still getting used to the idea of you having a kid," she admitted. "And he's clearly still getting
used to the idea of having a dad, and of that dad being with a woman who isn't his mother, so
there's a little reservation there. But I like him. And I think he likes me."

"Tony said you're going to gang up on me," Thor said, voice laden with suspicion.

"I never thought of that," Jane said. She smiled winningly. "Sounds like a great idea, though." Thor
looked horrified.

"I'm teasing," she said, gently poking his stomach and snuggling up to him. He smiled and slipped
an arm around her."Oh, in all seriousness… I'm not sure if I'm really ready to be a mom. Especially
not to a teenager." She shuddered. "I can still remember being one all too well."

"I don't expect you to be. All I ask is you be friendly to one another," Thor said reassuringly.
"Harry has at least one maternal figure that I know of, and Pepper has taken him right under her
wing." His eyes twinkled. "I think she's getting broody, Tony."

Tony's expression of pure horror was priceless, and Jane giggled.

Pepper chose that moment to walk in, and smiled at Harry, who was roaring with laughter at
something Darcy had said. "He's a sweet kid," she said. "You two get on okay?" she asked Jane.

"Yeah," Jane said. "There's a few reservations, but…"

"They'll go with time," Pepper said reassuringly. "You're both adjusting." She glanced over at
Harry, and her hand unconsciously slipped to her stomach.

Tony stared at the hand, eyes suddenly wide. "Um, Pep, are you hungry or something?" he said
slowly. Thor and Jane shared a look and desperately suppressed giggles.

"Hmm? Oh, no, but thanks for asking."

"What's up?"

"Just thinking," Pepper said, kissing his cheek. "About, you know, stuff."

This vague reply did nothing to stop Tony's worries. "Pepper," he said slowly. "Do you want a
baby?"

She stared at him. "Where did you get that idea?"

Tony wordlessly pointed at Thor, who looked studiously innocent. "You reminded me a little of
Lily when we were first married," he said, subtly pulling Jane closer and placing a kiss on her head
as he did. Pepper gave him an approving look. He'd handled that nicely.

"Huh," she said. "Oh, and the return to custody papers were just formalised." She frowned slightly
at Thor. It wasn't an angry frown. "What got me, though, was who you designated to be Harry's
guardians on Earth is something happened to you."

Thor gave her an innocent look. "Oh?"

"Who?" Tony asked, curious.

"Us," Pepper said. "Thor, I'm honoured, really, I am. Tony is too." The look she gave him said that
he would be honoured or he would be sleeping on the floor. Tony nodded.

"Yeah, I'm uh, honoured," Tony said.

"But, why us?"

"Why not you? Steve is kind, true, but he is still hurting from his losses, and adjusting to this time,"
Thor said. "Bruce is also very kind, and I do not fear that the Hulk will hurt Harry. What I do fear
is that Bruce has enemies. Clint and Natasha I considered, but I think Natasha may yet murder me
if I imply that she and Clint are a couple and their life is… unsettled. Remus, my friend, would not
likely be allowed to keep Harry, because of his… condition."

"Condition?"

"Werewolf. He can control it through a potion, and isolate himself beforehand, but they are
regarded and derided, wrongly, as dark creatures."
"You're shitting me," Tony said, incredulous. "A real life werewolf?"

"No Tony, you can't ask for a blood sample," Pepper said.

Tony pouted. "Fine. Does Reindeer games have any books on them?"

"That I can guarantee. The wolf people of Asgard are loyal vassals to my father. Their Prince,
Hrimhari, is a personal friend. Therefore we know a lot about them. Many of the principles
regarding the biology of the two transfer, I think, but there are differences," Thor said. "The wolf
people are natural born. Werewolves are created." He sighed. "It has caused him much pain, but he
manages. As for my other friend, Sirius… I have no idea what state he will be in when we find
him. Azkaban is a truly foul place to be sent, especially for an innocent man."

He smiled at Pepper. "You two are good, kind, clever people, who I trust with my life and admire
greatly, with the means to look after Harry and help him when his powers come through – and
make no mistake, they will." His eyes twinkled. "Also, I think you would make good parents."

"Thanks," Pepper said. "Really, Thor I'm honoured." She glanced at Tony. "Oh, and Tony, on the
baby thing?" She leaned in and whispered in his ear. Tony blinked. "Think about it," she said,
walking away.

"What did she say?" Jane asked.

"'Give it a couple of years. After that, whenever you're ready'," he said, stunned.

"Looks like the ball's in your court," Jane said.

"I'd imagine that both balls are," Thor said, grinning. Jane smacked his arm.

"Thor!"

"What? He can have more than one response."

"You are impossible," Jane said ruefully.

"Bruce has informed me that I violate the conservation of mass," Thor said.

"What?"

"I can shapeshift into a stag at will."

"You're kidding me," Jane said, awed. "You can?"

"Shapeshifting is more my brother's department, but yes," Thor said. "I can."

"That's incredible," Jane said. "Tell me more."

Thor smiled at her. That was what he loved about her, her boundless curiosity, her willingness to
accept the previously thought impossible, and her thirst for knowledge.

"Come on, big guy, I want to hear too," Tony said, ruining the moment.

"Very well," Thor said. "It all started with four teenage boys about Harry's age, close friends, closer
than brothers…"
 Shades of Grey
Chapter Summary

A bit from the darker side here, albeit with a scene or two that made me wonder why
some of my readers didn't get diabetes. I could have built up Harry's becoming a
cuddle-bug a bit more, but he always kind of craved affection in an understated way in
the books, so I figured it worked.

Lucius Malfoy was not a happy man. Overnight, the power balance in the Wizarding World had
shifted dramatically. In favour of the so called Light, at that. In one night, Potter had gone from
isolated, with only the old fool, Dumbledore, and a couple of friends to protect him, the next he
was in the protective embrace of the Avengers and, most particularly, the two heirs apparent to the
throne of the legendary Asgard.

In other words, he might as well be out of reach, and if any of his father's, or worse, his uncle's,
powers lay latent within him… well, it would certainly explain why the Dark Lord had attacked
the family, doubtless seeking to strike while the mighty Thor was indisposed as a mortal.

And even if one took the Avengers out of the equation, any plans would face a large, scary, one-
eyed African American road block. He hadn't seen Fury since the night he'd taken the younger
man's eye and the young man had shattered his wand and given him a limp that even the best
magical medicine and therapy couldn't dislodge. Lucius was of the opinion, as informed by his old
friend, Baron Von Strucker, a rare muggle who had transcended the boundaries that faced the
heaving mass of muggle kind, making himself worthy to associate, at least vaguely, with wizards,
that Agent Nicholas Fury had not been weakened by age. Only hardened.

And he was not Agent Fury anymore. He was Director Fury, the undisputed master of SHIELD –
an organisation Lucius despised, but respected, albeit grudgingly, a power among muggles and
wizards alike. Lucius' sources in America, the base of Fury's power, had noted Fury's unseen,
unspoken but powerful influence on the Wizarding Community there.

While Lucius deplored the man's desires, to mould a pro-muggle status quo, he could admire, in a
wary fashion, the man's efficiency in forming an entire community in his desired image in
approximately four years. Yes. Age had definitely hardened.

He was also the teacher of the mysterious and deadly Agent Wisdom, a shadowy figure who had
spent the last five years picking off the more influential but anonymous, and usually subhuman,
servants of the Dark Lord with methodical efficiency. He didn't move on Death Eaters, however,
leading Lucius to suspect that he was merely a muggle, albeit a dangerous one, who had lost his
family to a Death Eater attack and leaving him with a healthy fear of the powerful wizards that had
composed Voldemort's strike force, as was right. Of course, if he ever overcame that fear…

In short, Fury was dangerous. Extremely so. And he would be keeping a very close eye on both
Potter and on Lucius himself. Naturally, Lucius would repay the favour. He half smiled. In a way,
he'd missed this, matching wits and skills with the greatest minds and fighters of the age. His eyes
narrowed. He would have to tread carefully, to ease back into this. While he fancied himself Fury's
superior, the man had been playing the great game for high stakes for the last decade or so, well
enough to gain a meteoric ascendance through the ranks of SHIELD, whilst he had grown
comfortable in the role of peacetime power broker. One had been sharpening his skills while the
other had let them gather dust and grow dull. First, he needed to cultivate a closer relationship with
his old allies. Second, he needed to do it quietly. Third, he needed to get gold flowing through the
Malfoy vaults. Fourth… he needed to practice his duelling.

He smiled. "First blood to you, Director. Enjoy it while you can," he said softly, rising, crossing to
the wall of his study and whispering a password. A small compartment seamlessly opened and he
withdrew a book. Snape may have been the Dark Lord's finest spy, but it was Lucius who had been
the political mover and shaker. And, of course, the spymaster. It was time to dust off his old skills,
he thought with a smile. He may have lost the last game, but this time… this time he was going to
sweep the board.

"Doubtless they are preparing for war at this very moment," he murmured, imagining shelves full
of contacts, letters being written to old allies and deadly serious preparation by muggle minions, as
Loki and Fury presided over all. Yes, the war machine of the light would be working right now…

It was just after lunch at the Tower, the sky dark and crows calling. It was a day for shadowy deeds
and fell thoughts.

"What are you watching?" Tony asked, coming to investigate the sounds from the living room. The
two spies were in the gym and he'd left Bruce to play with an experiment.

Thor, Jane, Harry and Loki were all ensconced on a sofa, watching some television show, which
they paused. Jane and Harry were sandwiching Thor, while Harry had clearly dragged his uncle
into the sprawling pile. It was like watching sleeping puppies.

"It's a British television show called Doctor Who," Harry said, pausing it. "You'd like it."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"The hero is a scientist, who solves problems with his brain and tricks his enemies," Thor said.
"Lily liked it as a child. She told me that it was proof that not all problems could or should be
solved by brute force."

Tony sat down beside them, undisguised interest on his face. "Tell me everything," he said. They
did. Tony watched in silence.

As the end credits rolled, Tony said, "I am so badly making a sonic screwdriver. And a TARDIS."
He rubbed his chin. "And patent bigger on the inside technology."

"If you're thinking about the viability of buildings that are larger on the inside, Thor learnt how to
do that when he was mortal and fourteen," Loki said with great relish. Tony stared. Thor shrugged.

"It is an easy spell," Thor said nonchalantly.

Tony continued staring. "Why must you people always ruin my dreams?" he moaned, back of hand
dramatically laid against his forehead. Jane shook her head in amusement.

"Sometimes dreams don't hold up to reality," she said. "That's why we have science, to test things."

Tony pouted.

"No muggle version currently exists," Loki pointed out. "So you could invent it."
"Oh, yeah, fine," Tony said, shrugging, instantly mollified. "That works." He looked up.
"JARVIS? Open two new project files. First, Sonic Technology. Second, Bigger on the inside
tech."

"Of course, sir. However, I feel it necessary to remind you that your last foray into sonic
technology lead to a sexual harassment lawsuit?"

"Noted. And that was an accident," Tony said. Harry, Loki and Thor all looked deeply sceptical.
Jane had raised both eyebrows.

"What? It was! How was I to know that the sound waves resonated at the exact same frequency as
the fabric of 68% of the dresses at the 2001 Christmas party?" Tony complained.

"… Because you knew the exact percentage?" Loki said.

"That's beside the point," Tony said dismissively. "Do we have any more episodes?"

Thor silently produced a box set. Tony grinned.

"Awesome."

Unless planning for war includes marathoning the first two seasons of the revived series of Doctor
Who, the Avengers were doing nothing of the kind.

"Yes," Lucius murmured to himself. "Undoubtedly they are hard at work as I speak…"

"Lucius?"

He looked up. His lovely wife, Narcissa, the embodiment of the perfect pureblood woman, with
beauty, elegance, intelligence – properly applied, of course – and natural talents in the department
of ladylike behaviour. So unlike Bellatrix… yet just as dangerous, if not more so for being subtle.
She was his asp, as deadly as she was beautiful, and she was indispensable to him. And he loved
her.

It was an odd thing among pureblood couples, with their arranged matches, but he'd fallen in love
with her as soon as he'd seen her. And the feeling had been mutual. True, they had only produced
one child, but that… that was because Narcissa's pregnancy with Draco had been difficult to put it
mildly. Lucius refused to risk his lovely wife again. Besides, they had a fine son. They did not need
others, no matter how much they might have liked one or two more. Narcissa had always wanted a
little girl to play with.

Still, what was, was.

"Yes, darling?" he asked.

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing the way for the Dark Lord's return," Lucius said. As she opened her mouth, he
continued. "The signs are true, he is returning. And it coincides with the Potter boy. In his first
year, he faces the much diminished spirit of our Master. Second year, that same spirit uses an old
artefact to control the basilisk of Salazar Slytherin." He smiled. "And Peter Pettigrew is still at
large. His final option for returning as a hero of the light has been cut off with the return of James
Potter, so that means his only option is to seek out our Master."
"But did he not betray him to his death?" Narcissa asked, puzzled.

"This is Pettigrew we speak of. He is not that stupid. Now it makes sense. Some latent godly power
in the Potter boy, or some protection granted by Loki or the Allfather himself guarded him,"
Lucius said. The Allfather intervening on Earth, a being of such power that turning god to mortal
and mortal to god was merely a matter of a moment's thought… wasn't that a frightening thought.

He drummed his fingers against the table. "That said," he muttered, thinking aloud. "The Allfather
doesn't exactly have a history of intervening directly, and planning to fight him is pointless, as none
of us have the power to match Odin in battle."

"Do we have the power to fight Loki? Or Thor?" Narcissa asked.

Lucius shook his head. "Not face to face. But we can outmanoeuvre them," he said, standing to
pace. "It will be difficult," he admitted. "But everything worth doing is."

"Is it worth doing? Why not make them our friends? Loki should understand our cause better than
most. He is famously an outcast among the Norse Pantheon," Narcissa pointed out. "Maybe he is a
candidate for recruitment."

Lucius smiled, and thanked the heavens that he was blessed with so clever a wife. "Unfortunately, I
do not think that will work. For one, the legends aren't entirely accurate – he isn't a Frost Giant.
The bestiaries show that they are rather distinctive. For two, he is even more famous for holding a
grudge, and the murder of his sister-in-law, mudblood bitch or otherwise, is good cause for a
grudge," he explained. "For three, he and Thor seem to have repaired their relationship, acting as
one. And Thor hates everything to do with the Death Eaters." He chuckled grimly. "Severus
informed me that he had a rather nasty set of encounters with both. Loki took an immediate dislike
to him and seemed to be able to sense the Dark Mark, being willing to kill Severus. Thankfully,
that meddling old fool Dumbledore stopped him."

"That is a blessing indeed," Narcissa murmured, thankful that her son hadn't been suddenly
deprived of his godfather by way of a pissed off Norse God with a vendetta.

"Quite, proving that Dumbledore has some purpose," Lucius said, sneering slightly. "Anyway, he
then faced Thor, who immediately threatened him with obliteration if he so much as looked at the
Potter boy the wrong way ever again."

"Poor Severus," Narcissa said. "He'll have to be careful." She looked out the window. "From what I
remember of James Potter, he was not a man to make idle threats."

"No," Lucius agreed. He closed his eyes briefly. The crackle of flames echoed in his mind. A
phantom pain shot through his leg and he shuddered. Only through iron hard strength of will did he
retain his self-control. Some things frighten even Death Eaters. He sucked in a deep breath. "And
nor were his friends."

"Lucius," Narcissa said gently. "We have a good life now. You have power, influence, and are
respected by all right thinking wizards. Why should we risk that, and Draco's future, on the dreams
of a madman who is a bodiless wraith at best."

"Narcissa, the Dark Lord is –"

She fixed him with a hard stare. "I may agree with his views on muggles, husband," she said
sharply. "But that man was insane when he was alive. Who knows how bad he will be now?"

Lucius hesitated.
"The odds are against us in a way they weren't last time. Yes, the Ministry is riddled with
corruption and overall, sympathetic to the cause. Yes, the Order of the Phoenix is defunct and no
longer can call on many of its core members, assuming they would even answer. Yes, Dumbledore
is an old man," Narcissa said. "But even an old Dumbledore is a dangerous one. You discount him
at your peril – he is the most cunning and ruthless Gryffindor in the last four centuries, if the
testimony of my Uncle Phineas Nigellus is worth anything. You know how clever a politician he
is."

"I can manage Dumbledore."

"But not Loki! For Merlin's sake, Lucius," Narcissa said, revealing the Black passion. Many had
assumed the fire that could be found in Bellatrix and their cousin, Sirius, was dormant in the two
younger Black sisters. In fact, it was merely better controlled. She grabbed Lucius' shirt and looked
into his eyes, imploring him. "You are talking about going against the Arch Trickster, the God of
Lies, the Patron of Slytherin House and the man who taught Salazar Slytherin himself!"

Lucius looked at her, and sighed. "I am sorry Narcissa, but if I do not act… you have seen what
happened in America! Mudbloods rule over all and they are muggle ridden! All because of Fury,
who I am certain will repeat the trick here if he can." He took her shoulders gently. "It is not just
my duty as a pureblood to try and stop him, but my duty as a husband and a father to protect your
and Draco's futures. It is duty, and duty carries risks."

She sighed softly and nodded. "If you are certain, then, my husband, I shall support you. As I
always have. But for Merlin's sake, be careful!"

He kissed her. "I always am," he said tenderly.

Whatever they said about the Malfoy's, no one had ever accused them of not loving each other.
Even the wicked have people they care for.

Severus' blood was boiling as he sat in his place at the staff table, glowering even more than usual.
That miserable godling! James Potter, the so-called 'Mighty Thor', had not changed one bit since
his school days. As ever, he sought out Severus and humiliated him. And unlike during their
school days, Severus had few overt means of fighting back. How do you curse someone who is not
only a deadly skilled duellist, if not quite his equal, but also has the very elements on his side and
has a hide thicker than any giant's, doubtless to match his the skull of his oversized head!

He'd been doing his research. Full blooded Asgardians tended to be immune to any Earthly poison
or disease, something that no doubt made Potter Senior even smugger than he already was, quite an
achievement. They also tended towards ridiculous durability and strength and a natural talent for
magic, though, conversely, it was rare that it manifested in the style of mortal magic, and generally
had to be trained and coaxed into life.

In other words, Potter was even more muscle headed than before, even brasher, stupider and more
irritating. Oh, and don't forget the overbearing. That man had the sheer gall to first threaten him
with violence, intimate him and force him to agree to his demands to treat his son specially well,
then to spread his victory around the school, causing students to whisper about him whenever they
thought he wasn't looking.

And after all of that, he didn't even pay Severus any attention, save to pretend to be polite when
they crossed paths. Severus knew the truth, though. Potter was laughing at him inside. Each word
he spoke to Severus carried, to his ears, an undertone of mockery. A soft chant of, Look at me, look
at how I have everything you ever wanted while you have nothing.
Potter had power beyond imagining. Potter had respect and willing minions at the snap of a finger.
Potter had friends, even if they were insufferable dullards, but that was fine for Potter as he was
with those who matched his limited intellect. He was even Loki's brother! Oh, how Severus had
studied that dark, mysterious, mischievious god as a boy, how he had looked up to him, identified
with him!

One of the ways he had been lured into the Death Eaters was a meeting with the Dark Lord, who
had listened to his woes and his interest in Loki, and encouraged him to emulate the darker aspects
of his idol, to get even with his foes. He had even seen the Dark Lord as being like Loki, a dark,
shadowy, charismatic figure, who would lead the clever, downtrodden wizards against the
brainless muggles and even more brainless Gryffindors who insisted on defending them.

While Severus was not one to keep up with the muggle world, it had been impossible to miss Loki's
invasion of Earth. He had been almost happy to see that his idol was alive and well. Though he
could not really care less whether muggles lived or died, and was somewhat against mass
destruction, he could appreciate the fact that Loki had defeated his brother, Thor, who Severus had
always thought was the archetypal Gryffindor: large, stupid and violent, and defeated him outright.
That suspicion was confirmed, as regarding Thor. He didn't entirely approve a madmen seeking to
rule all, but to see someone he so identified with standing tall and powerful, as respected as he was
feared… that was gratifying.

And now, to see him in cahoots with Potter of all people, to see him teaching and playing kindly
uncle with the wretched Potter spawn, his insufferable muggleborn friend and those fucking twins,
whilst regarding Severus himself like he was something scraped off a shoe that he was debating
vanishing was not unlike Loki's famous fate of being bound with the entrails of his son and having
burning poison dripped onto him for all eternity to Severus. It was that deepest of betrayals, and to
say he was deeply, bitterly disappointed was an understatement.

But there was one thing worse. Potter had had Lily. Darling Lily, beautiful Lily, all green eyes, red
hair, full figure, fire and brilliance. Yet she had fallen under Potter's spell, while Severus had
watched helpless as she turned her back on him forever. For a while, he had hated her for it. But he
could never hate her. Not for long. She was Lily. No one could bring themselves to hate her, not if
they knew her well. His fellow Death Eaters had hated her because she was living proof that not all
mudbloods were useless near-Squibs and that she defied their Lord, as well as being the mother of
the one their Lord had deemed it necessary to destroy personally.

He snarled softly. "She should have been mine," he whispered under his breath. No one heard him.

Dumbledore knew, that irritating old man who had immediately used it to maximum advantage, as
did the Dark Lord, who had said, "Oh, my dear Severus, you can do better than some Mudblood
whore! Come, you are one of my most loyal, and any pureblood witch would be glad to marry a
wizard of your noble blood. Do not let your lust for one mudblood infect you, Severus." That last
part had been a threat, the stick to go with the implicit carrot that he could have any unmarried
pureblood witch he wanted. The Dark Lord had been good at that, he remembered, blending threat
and charm as naturally as breathing.

Ah, Lily. Others knew. Loki did, though how he had no idea. Maybe even Doctor Strange, or as he
had known him, Professor Strange, who had given him knowing looks on many an occasion. Potter
had figured it out, in a rare and vastly irritating display of intellect. And he had used it as a weapon.
He had pointed out why every time he saw the brat he could not bear to look at him, how
he hated him with every fibre of his being. He embodied what he had lost, with those luminous,
expressive emerald green eyes that had been Lily's. Luminous, expressive emerald green eyes that
often expressed dull confusion in her son, who inherited his father's arrogance as well his lack of
intellect, doing a disservice to her blood as he did so. No, he did a disservice to her and her sacrifice
just by breathing. Why should he and Potter live when she was dead?

That child should have been his. A boy, who would have had his hair, his face, his features, and
his mother's eyes… or a girl, maybe, who would have had his eyes, and his mother's sweet face and
hair that shone in the light like the fire at the heart of the most perfect ruby. And her smile… ah,
that would be common to both, like her mind, a smile to melt the hardest heart and a mind to
discern it's inner workings in a heartbeat. Maybe, just maybe, she would have loved him, if she'd
only given him the chance to show her what greatness she could achieve with him and the Dark
Lord.

Yet Potter, smirking, swaggering, arrogant Potter had swooped in and charmed her to the side of
the self-righteous and her doom, damn him! And he didn't even seem to care! You'd think he would
grieve, but oh no, it was all smiles. Dumbledore had even casually mentioned that he had a new
girlfriend. If that was not proof that he was not worthy of Lily, then Severus didn't know what was.
Severus had not forgotten her. He would never forget her. He'd gone too far for her to do that. He
sighed inwardly. He would go on protecting her brat, he supposed. For her sake. No one else's.

"Severus?"

He looked up sourly. McGonagall was looking at him curiously. "Yes, Minerva?" he asked, tone
cold.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, thank you," he growled.

"Good," she said. "Now, can you pass the salt?"

Silently, he passed it to her, and resumed brooding. McGonagall had turned to talk to the
Headmaster as if she had never spoken to him. No one really cared for or about Severus Snape.
Respected him, feared him… not since Potter's return. Potter, who, solely by existing, managed to
ruin Severus. And people wondered why he hated the man, him and his brat, darlings of the
Wizarding world and doubtless the muggle world too. He hated them because he saw them for
what they really were. And because no one else agreed with him.

It was night-time in the Tower. Harry, Thor (as James) and Loki had formed a dark haired
Asgardian pile on the sofa in front of the fire. The rest of the Avengers responded as they saw fit.

Tony very carefully drew moustaches on all of them before going to sleep at the foot of Pepper's
bed – he was still a bit in the doghouse, but not so much that he wasn't allowed on the bed. Bruce
gently slipped a pillow under Thor's head. Harry's was pillowed by his father, and Loki was leaning
on his brother's shoulder. Natasha ran a critical eye over them, then, satisfied that they were all
comfortable and hadn't been poisoned, smiled slightly at Harry, then walked on quietly. Clint did
much the same as Natasha, but gently reached down and ruffled Harry's hair, before leaving. And
Steve? Steve set himself up quietly in an armchair and began to sketch.

A couple of hours later, he was done. He considering waking them, then decided against it.
Instead, he went to the supply cupboard and brought out a large duvet, which he carefully draped
over the three, before leaving the sketch on the coffee table and leaving for bed.

The next morning, Loki woke first, and very carefully didn't move. He took stock. He was still on
the sofa in Avengers Tower, nestled with Thor and Harry. Who both had carefully drawn
moustaches on their respective top lips. Clearly Tony's work, he thought with a wry smile.

His head was pillowed by a cushion – Bruce or Steve, he thought. And they were covered by a
duvet that had been neatly put in place, probably by Steve. Bruce was too small, and as tender as
the Hulk had shown himself to be with Harry, Loki really didn't think him to be the duvet arranging
type.

A piece of paper on the coffee table caught his eye. He summoned it to him and examined it. He
smiled. It was a picture of the three of them cuddled up on the sofa, done with methodical care and
attention to detail, one that captured the essence of them. He banished it back to the coffee table
and snuggled up to his brother and nephew. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity for a cuddle,
no matter how undignified it might look. He would of course, never admit it in a million years.

About three hours later, despite general attempts to keep quiet by the rest – even Tony – the hustle
and bustle of the Tower woke first Loki and then Harry. Thor, quite accustomed to sleeping
through thunderstorms, Volstagg's stomach in full digestion mode and Sirius' snoring, peacefully
slept on. Therefore, Harry decided to stay cuddled up to his father, and pretended to be asleep. Loki
gave him a conspiratorial wink, before wandering into the kitchen and making some coffee. He
could have made it by magic, but somehow, it tasted better this way. That and Tony almost literally
rose from the dead for Loki's coffee. The smell of it being made was generally a reliable way to
entice the Avengers into the kitchen and had been ever since Loki had arrived. The only difference
now was that they didn't make him taste it first, just in case it was poisoned.

"Morning Loki," Pepper said, smiling. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, actually," Loki said and leaned in conspiratorially. "Harry is awake. He is just
pretending he is not." He smiled. "My nephew feels that he has a lot of cuddling to catch up on."

"And being doted on," Pepper said. "He makes half-hearted complaints when I do it, but he
secretly loves it."

Loki chuckled. "That is very true." His smile faded. "That poor boy has been starved of love."

"Not anymore," Pepper said, and smirked. "He even gets maternal feelings out of Natasha,
somehow or other. I think it's the hair. And the eyes. They just make you want to grab him and hug
him."

"He'll be a hit with the girls in a couple of years," Loki predicted.

"Oh, definitely. With parents like that, how couldn't he?" Pepper said. "Thor, whatever he looks
like, is a very handsome man, and Lily was absolutely stunning."

"Yes… my brother always did have excellent taste in women," Loki mused.

"One thing that's bugged me is that Thor didn't remember Harry, but you did. Why didn't you do or
say anything?" Pepper asked.

"Oh, I wanted to," Loki said quietly. "I wanted to very badly. When I saw the sort of people he was
going to be forced to live with for his own safety, I begged father to let me bring him to Asgard, to
be raised as part of the royal household, or even to let me find him a more suitable family. He
refused, even when mother pleaded with him. He was sorrowful, but he said some things had to be
the way they were, and if Thor remembered, then it could be catastrophic. He banned me in
particular from doing anything that might arouse Thor's memories."

"But you broke the enchantment a few weeks back," Pepper said. "Aren't you breaking his
command?"

Loki shrugged and smirked. "What sort of son and God of Mischief am I if I don't indulge in a little
harmless rebellion against my parents, every now and then?" he asked. "Besides, father hasn't come
down to tell me off, so I assume he approves." He paused. "I did manage to do a few things for
Harry, every now and then. I visited Midgard often, and kept an eye on him. It broke my heart to
see his treatment, and I had to restrain myself from wreaking horrible vengeance on the Dursleys
on many an occasion."

He looked into the middle distance, remembering. Remembering the night James Potter had died
alongside his wife, and Thor had returned unexpectedly to Asgard. He began to speak again, hands
dancing and creating images to aid the storytelling.

It was a dark October night – or November morning, depending on how one looked at it – cool and
quiet in the southern English suburban neighbourhood of Little Whinging, and Loki was agitated to
say the least. Their plans for Thor, his own and his father's, which had been proceeding so
smoothly, had been ruined by one cowardly, death fearing, power hungry wizard. In one stroke, his
brother was left desolate and raving, a woman who would have been a great partner, a great
mother, a magnificent future Queen of Asgard and, Loki had privately hoped, a great friend, was
dead, and their son was left an orphan. All for desire of power.

The very thought made Loki's blood boil, and he vowed that if he ever came across the shade of
the creature that had wrought this horror, it would suffer agonies uncounted. Asgard was in turmoil
since Thor had so suddenly returned to his true form, and gone mad with grief – not the Loki
blamed him in the slightest – so much so that their father had been forced to block his memories.
Loki thought that Thor would probably be back to his old, boisterous self as soon as he returned,
with no memory of his wife or his son. Carefree because he quite simply did not remember the
cares that he had taken upon himself.

He watched as the elderly wizard, Albus Dumbledore, put out the lights. Loki liked him. He was
clever, and – as mortals went – extremely powerful. Only one, a Doctor Strange, matched him,
along with the fallen Dark Lord Voldemort. He also sought to try to do what was right, however he
could. Loki knew that Dumbledore was doing the best he could with the horrible hand he had been
dealt, but he was uneasy.

He, like the shapeshifting sorceress who was currently objecting to Dumbledore's makeshift and
hastily cobbled together plan, did not like the look of the family that were Harry's mortal kin. He
did not like the look of them at all. He had watched the mother in connection to Lily in the past,
and had seen a bitter, jealous woman, both envious and fearing her sister's power, beauty and
brilliance. She hadn't, as Loki had, sought to match her brilliant sibling on her own terms. No, she
had let the bitterness fester and grow until it consumed her. And he feared what would happen
when she came to take care of her nephew.

He watched, silent and undetectable, as a giant on a strange flying mortal conveyance landed, and
tenderly handed a small bundle to Dumbledore, who took it tenderly. A closer look told Loki that it
was his nephew. He smiled. Even on this night of tragedies, he thought, there was still something
beautiful in this dark realm. He watched as the giant clearly had difficulty restraining his sorrow,
then as the three left. When he was certain they were gone, he slipped over to his nephew. Harry
James Potter. Named for his father, in part at least. He lifted the child in his arms, cradling him. He
cast an illusion over them, dispelling his own disguise. Anyone looking at them would merely see
the baby as he had been left.

He cradled the baby, who wriggled slightly in his sleep, and smiled involuntarily. The child was
beautiful, even with the jagged scar marring his forehead. Loki gently ran a thumb over his
nephew's mostly smooth forehead. His eyes were shut, but he knew that when little Harry opened
them, he would reveal eyes as green as his own, with only a shade or two of difference. He had
hoped to cradle the child, his lovely nephew, hold him and tell him he loved him, letting in show in
his own eyes, to watch him grow and play among people who valued him.

But that wouldn't, he thought sadly, happen for a long time. The baby had looked into the eyes of a
person, no, two people, who loved him not two hours before, yet Loki feared it would be a good
ten years before he did so again. To his surprise, the baby blinked his eyes open, one set of green
eyes focusing on another. Loki hurriedly set up a silencing ward, in case the baby started crying.
As it was, the baby just looked at him, then said one word.

"Dada?"

It was so innocent, so puzzled, yet at the same time, so happy, that it broke Loki's heart into little
pieces.

"No little one," he said softly. "I am not your dada. But I am your uncle. I am your kin. And know
this Harry. I am your family, and I will always love you."

Little Harry blinked, then seemed to accept this turn of events. His curious eyes, however, spurred
Loki to say more.

"And your father?" Loki continued. "He may not remember you now, and may never again, but
deep down, in the small part of him that does remember you… he loves you. Oh, he loves you so
much more than words can say, nephew mine."

He hummed gently as he rocked Harry to sleep again. Hours passed, and as the grey light of dawn
began to break, he gently put the sleeping child down on the front step, and kissed his forehead. "I
will be watching out for you, little one," he said quietly. "So swears Loki, on his broken heart and
crooked soul."

Then he turned and trudged away, slipping back along the secret paths between the worlds.
Normally, he felt a soft thrill of cheer at the feat of slipping past Heimdall's watch. Now? Now that
joy was dulled as everything was. Dulled by pain, not only for lost lives, but for lost innocence, lost
joy and lost hope as well.

"For months afterwards, I was disconsolate. Thor was, of course, at first oblivious, then both
worried and puzzled. Sif knew, as I confided in her. She supported me in my attempts to alleviate
Harry's suffering in small, subtle ways, making my excuses to the others," Loki continued quietly.
"Even though for every kindness I did him, they did him a hundred wrongs, far greater than the
kindnesses I could manage, I persevered. And she helped me."

"She sounds like a kind woman," Pepper sniffed, wiping away tears. She had started crying quite
soon into the story. "Oh god, Loki… I'm so sorry. That must have hurt so much, and to be never
able to tell Thor or your parents."

"It did," Loki said, offering her a conjured handkerchief. "There, there. Dry your eyes, Lady
Pepper. Harry is with people who love him, and his supposed kin are suffering a fate they richly
deserve. Everything has, though it has been a long time in coming, been set to rights. Besides, if
you are still crying when Stark comes in, he will assume I have upset you. Then horrible things
shall happen, both to him and to me, and you will need to refurbish the Tower again."
Pepper nodded, and taking the conjured handkerchief – red and gold – from Loki with a muttered,
"Thanks," she dried her eyes then blew her nose.

"Keep it," Loki said, when she tried to hand it back.

She nodded, and gave him a tight, brief hug. "You're a good man, Loki. Never believe anyone who
tells you different," she said firmly. Then she released him. "Now, do I smell coffee?"

"Indeed you do," Loki said. "Steven, do you want some?" he asked, as the supersoldier walked in.

"No thanks, Loki. I'm trying a fruit smoothie that Jane recommended," Steve said, and set about
setting up the smoothie machine with banana, pear, apple and melon, not noticing Loki's slight
frown. Loki was justly proud of his coffee, and tended to take it being ignored as a personal slight
– no matter how unintended. Tony joked that it was transference behaviour from his ego.

Loki and Pepper watched in mild apprehension as Steve turned on the machine. Steve was just
about capable of operating a toaster, an ipod and a laptop, the latter two after several months of
intense tuition and Steve being scarred for life by internet pornography.

Tony had found him desperately trying to turn off the computer, before resorting to punching it.
Naturally, Tony had laughed himself sick and shown no sympathy. Steve still flinched slightly
every time someone brought up a video on screen and mumbled how two girls shouldn't do such
things with a cup. He had never tried to use the smoothie machine before. Remarkably, however, it
seemed to going fine.

"Wow Steve, you're doing great," Pepper said.

Steve favoured her with a smile, then frowned as Loki looked concerned. "Thanks Pepper. What is
it, Loki?"

"Nothing… there's just something a little off about the lid," Loki said, voice carefully measured to
have the right amount of mild curiosity and concern, all of it feigned. Steve turned to examine it
closely and Loki winked at Pepper.

"I don't see anything wrong," Steve said doubtfully, nose only an inch or two away from the lid.

"Really?" Loki asked, feigning surprise. "How about now?"

The lid vanished. Steve barely had time to yelp before the sludgy mixture shot out of the machine
and coated most things within five feet of it. This mostly consisted of Steve's face.

Loki grinned as he covered himself and Pepper with a magical shield, as Pepper sighed and shook
her head.

"Maybe coffee might suit better, Steven?" Loki said, tone completely innocent.

"Yeah, Loki," Steve sighed. "Whatever you say. I'm going to clean up now."

Loki idly waved a hand. The mess disappeared.

"No need," he said, smiling cheerfully. "You like yours with milk and no sugar, correct?" he asked,
pouring a cup.

"Yes, thank you, Loki," Steve said, and watched as Loki carefully added milk, then passed it to
him. He sipped it. He supposed it could be worse. It did happen to be excellent coffee.
Ten minutes or so later, Thor arose, smiled at his son, and gently coaxed him into 'waking up'.
Both moved, sleep ruffled and looking utterly identical, into the kitchen. They were even wearing
similar clothes, red t-shirts and jeans. The only difference was Harry's glasses.

As both munched on toast and cereal, Tony walked in, equally sleep ruffled, grabbed a coffee,
grunted his thanks, and took in the scene, as Bruce followed, having already been up for two hours.
As his eyes brightened while sipped the coffee, visibly waking up, he looked thoughtful.

"Hey, Thor, can you conjure a pair of glasses like your kids'?" he asked. Normally, he would have
asked Loki, but Thor's newfound/rediscovered magical abilities were a source of endless
fascination to him.

Thor blinked and did so.

"Put them on."

Thor did and looked at Tony, he and Harry sharing identical expressions of curiosity and
puzzlement.

Tony drew himself up, grinned. This was too good to miss. So naturally, he didn't. He said, in a
nasal, high british accented voice, "And I shall call him… Mini-me."

Bruce snorted, then burst into outright laughter at Harry and Thor's – again, identical – expressions
of complete and utter befuddlement.

"Tony," Pepper said, amused and chiding. "That's a bit rude."

"But funny, and come on, Pep, it fits so badly," Tony said. "Hey, JARVIS, take a few pics."

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS said, obliging.

"Why am I suddenly called Mini me?" Harry asked.

Tony opened his mouth.

"You don't want to know," Steve said firmly. He'd previously expressed an interest in the James
Bond movies. Naturally, Tony had interpreted this as, 'please introduce me to Austin Powers and
give a running commentary on which of the actresses you have slept with and which sexual
positions you explored in doing so'.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Tony pouted. "You realise he will just go and ask JARVIS," he pointed out.

"It's better he hears it from JARVIS than from you," Pepper said. "He has better morals."

"You mean he has morals," Steve muttered, then his eyes widened.

Tony cackled, as Loki smirked.

"The Captain strikes like a snake in the grass: all the better for being unexpected," Loki chuckled,
sipping his coffee."

"You have weird ideas of what is 'better'," Bruce observed.

Loki shrugged, as if to say, 'weird to you, maybe.'

"You do realise that we are talking to a guy who can legitimately turn into a snake," Tony pointed
out.

Bruce nodded his acknowledgement. "True."

Harry turned to his father. "Is every morning like this?" he asked.

"Most. Not all."

"Okay," Harry said, returning to his cereal.

The rest of the morning was passed in companionable chatter, aside from an incident where
Natasha and Pepper frogmarched Harry off to a bathroom and brushed his hair to try and make it
lie flat, Tony of course laughing himself sick at Harry's beleaguered expression, until Pepper
chucked him out for one threesome joke too many, to be exact, "Why the long face, kid? You've
got two gorgeous redheads holding you down and giving you orders. In a year, you'll
be begging for this and dreaming about it. Of course, they'll be wearing a lot less and more of it'll
probably be black. Bet you ten dollars."

Harry had looked puzzled and mildly distressed, while Natasha had cocked an eyebrow, Clint had
been sniggering in the background, Bruce had been sighing at Tony's corruption of the youth, Loki
and Thor had been amused and Pepper had given Tony a Glare of Death and said, "Out."

He had swiftly complied.

It spoke volumes of their effectiveness that it succeeded, until after lunch, when Harry's hair
resumed its normal form. Pepper and Natasha's expressions suggested that this was not over, while
Harry, seeing those expressions, had retreated to the safety of one of the few people he thought
might conceivably defy the two. And took the opportunity to ask a few questions.

"One thing I've always wondered," Harry said thoughtfully to Loki. "Is how you won over the
Avengers when you were sane again. I mean, after all you'd done…"

Loki looked thoughtful. "It wasn't easy," he admitted. "It was a long process, but one incident
sticks out…"

He began to speak, and Harry listened. Loki was not called Silvertongue for nothing.

Loki was adjusting to life in the Tower. It was all too easy to remember that not so long ago, he'd
tried to destroy it. He glanced at one of the windows. That was the window he'd thrown Stark
through. He closed his eyes. What things he had done in madness, under the influence of the Mad
Titan. Still, he was here to repent of his mistakes.

He saw Steve and ambled over. The soldier. He had been the one of the Avengers he had
personally harmed least – though attempting to destroy the man's beloved city had not gone over
well – and he was generally the nicest. Tony was slowly warming up to him, and the sharp, witty
barbs they exchanged were now less cruel and more friendly. Doctor Banner's eyes tended to glow
an ominous green when he was around, and once, when Loki had made one smart remark too
many, he had said, calmly, relaxed and unworried, "Puny God."

Loki had shut up very quickly.

"What are those?" he asked curiously. Steve was examining a set of stained cards somewhat sadly.
He looked closer. "Are they images of you?" he asked.

Steve nodded. "I was pretty much America's poster boy during the war," he explained.

Loki nodded. "I have seen similar images of Thor and father, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three
in Asgard," he said. He paused. "There used to be some of me, but I am not exactly… what is the
phrase? Ah. 'Flavour of the month'," he said.

Steve nodded. "I never liked them much," he admitted. "I always felt they were too gimmicky."

"Still… whoever owns these must value you and your achievements very much. Stains aside, these
are very well preserved," Loki said admiringly. "As well as anything in my personal library, and
that uses magic." He frowned. "Who do they belong to? And how were they stained?"

"Agent Coulson," Steve said quietly, and it suddenly dawned on Loki what had damaged such
beautifully preserved objects. The blood of the son of Coul, which he had so unjustly shed, mostly
to spite his brother, marred them forever. He imagined what he would have felt if something of
similar significance to him had been marred. Gut wrenching pain and anger was most likely.

"Oh," Loki said quietly. "Well," he said. "Since I caused them to be damaged, I must make amends
for it," he said firmly.

"These are one of a kind," Steve said. "I looked them up. They're pretty much unique, a set this
well preserved."

"I talk not of replacing them, Captain," Loki said. "But of fixing them." He concentrated hard and
carefully gestured. The stains melted away, leaving the cards clean and unstained.

Steve stared at them, then smiled wide eyed at Loki, who smiled. "Magic is not only a weapon for
destroying," he said quietly. "Mjolnir itself can as easily be used to build as it can to destroy. Magic
is a gift, to be used for the benefit of others, not simply oneself. That is the lesson with all power."
He looked saddened. "Alas, the lesson I taught my students, the most important lesson of all, is the
one that I forswore." He sighed. "I cannot return the Son of Coul to you, but I can at least undo
some small part of what I have wrought."

Steve smiled at him. It was a genuine smile. "Thank you, Loki," he said.

"There were others," Loki said, coming back to the present as Harry listened attentively. "Such as
my help in getting Stark to overcome his trauma caused by flying a nuclear missile through the
portal, which largely consisted of letting him beat me up in that suit of his. It was preferable to
having his semi-independent armours jumping on me every time he had a panic attack. Being
dogpiled by several sentient suits of armour is not a pleasant experience. Anyhow, that was the
chief one. They started looking at me more as a friend, after that, though Clint still spent the next
six months 'testing my reflexes' with arrows shot at random times of day or not." He shrugged. "It
stopped once I let one hit me in the shoulder and explode." He smirked. "That gave him a right
shock, and certainly satisfied his desire for vengeance."

"But, your shoulder," Harry began, eyes wide.

"Easily mended by a sorcerer of my skills and inherent healing abilities," Loki said calmly. "We of
the Aesir can regenerate all but missing limbs, given time, unless the wound itself is prevented
from healing."
"Didn't it hurt?"

"It did, a lot," Loki admitted. "But I have suffered worse, and I cast numbing charms once Clint
seemed to be satisfied by my suffering, in recompense for my forcible remodelling of his mind."
He chuckled. "Clint and I got on a lot better, after that."

"That's… a bit messed up," Harry said.

Loki laughed. Harry was very much his father's son, blunt and to the point. It was refreshing, when
compared with his regular dealings with those who measured each word for the advantage it would
bring them, each phrase meaning fifty different things to fifty different people. That was one
reason he liked the Avengers. Oh, they had their secrets, but they rarely directly lied to each other.
They might mislead or outright omit information, but rarely lie – unless it was Tony about how
much sleep he had had or alcohol he had consumed, and one of Pepper's patented Looks could
generally get him to admit the truth.

"That is probably true," he admitted, then he smiled at his nephew. "Now, I must go and try once
more to track down your elusive godfather," he said.

Harry smiled back. "If anyone could find him," he said seriously. "It's you."

Loki smiled. One reason he loved his nephew was his childish unshakeable trust in those he cared
about. It could come to bring him grief in the future, and Loki resolved to teach him to temper it
with a realistic world view, but… it was undeniably endearing.

He hugged him. "I will do my best to honour your faith in me," he said, letting him go. "Now, I
think Tony and Bruce are planning a new experiment."

"Does it blow up?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Considering those two, almost certainly, even if it involves materials that logic dictates should not
explode, such as water, bread, clay and cakes," Loki said dryly. This referred to an incident the day
before in which Pepper had bought a chocolate cake and Tony had decided to fill it with low level
explosives to liven it up, with a magnesium flare for 'the world's most badass candle'.

Unfortunately, he, Darcy and Bruce had juiced them up and the result had been a chocolate coated
kitchen. Harry had, in the fashion of teenage boys everywhere, thought this was the best thing ever.
Tony maintained that it was only his obvious happiness behind chocolate smeared sunglasses that
had saved him from being skinned alive by Pepper, and that Harry was therefore allowed to sit in
on all of his and Bruce's experiments that he wished to.

Harry grinned. "Awesome." Then he ran off. He would be going back to school later that evening,
Loki noted, and to his pleasure, he also noted that Harry was, for what was probably the first time
in his life, wishing he could stay at home. He'd admitted such to Thor that morning, who had
beamed and said that Christmas was not far away.

Of course, Loki thought, neither was Harry's first public engagement. He would have to prepare
things, he mused, and teach Harry the basics of etiquette, which he had so far passed over, in
favour of the more practical lessons of being royalty, such as 'beware not just greeks bearing gifts,
but everyone who does not have your total trust.'

Yes. He had work to do.

 Protecting People You Love
Chapter Summary

This one's a largely Tony-centric chapter, with a lot of his perspective, and somewhat
informed by his general (over)protectiveness in 'Iron Man 3'.

The flight back was a long one, five and a half hours even with Tony's Stark Industries jet, and
Harry spent a lot of that time asleep, tired out by the occasionally life threatening and always
interesting events of the weekend, sprawled across the cream coloured sofa style seats, heading
resting on his father's lap. Thor, in his James Potter form, was holding him close, covering him
with a blanket and occasionally ran a hand through his hair. Even Tony trod lightly around the two,
and they were unbothered.

Pepper came in and paused, smiling at the tableau before her. "If he's this cute now," she said
softly. "He must have caused cavities as a baby."

Thor let out a soft chuckle as he looked up at her. He shifted back to his accustomed form. He
tended to unconsciously do that when speaking to one of the Avengers. "I'll let you judge for
yourself. There are a few family albums in the Potter vault, and I believe Harry himself has one."
He looked back down at Harry. "Everyone says he looks just like me. But he doesn't. Well, he
looks very like me," he elaborated. "But only in facial structure and hair. His mannerisms, like his
eyes, are all Lily. The way his eyes sparkle when he is happy, the way they and his face harden
when he is determined, even the way he smiles, the way he thinks and the way he laughs… is all,
to me, so painfully like Lily."

"It must be hard," Pepper said sympathetically.

"A little," Thor admitted. "But seeing those smiles… it's like standing in a ray of sunlight on a
warm Spring day. Sad yes, because of the strong hint of Winter that still clings to it, but all the
more glorious because Summer is coming soon, and things can only get better."

"You wouldn't swap him for anything in the world, would you?" Pepper said knowingly,
wondering at Thor's bout of eloquence. This wasn't a new event, as while Thor was a warrior first
and foremost, large, bluff, boisterous and cheerful, he was also a Prince with a courtly manner.

"Not for all the power and knowledge in the Nine Realms," Thor said softly. "Not for anything.
The greatest treasure that has ever existed is sleeping in my lap. He is the Jewel of the House of
Odin. Even the legendary Arkenstone could not compare." He looked at Pepper again, eyes bright
with emotion. "He is my child, and nothing can compare." His smile too turned knowing.
"Something that you too will one day understand."

Pepper flushed slightly. "I do want kids someday, but not before Tony is ready, because…"

"Because you want them to be his," Thor finished. "You want to hold your son or daughter in your
arms and know that he or she is Tony's as well, a little miracle you made together."

"Okay, insightful is a little unsettling coming from you, no offence," Pepper said, with a soft laugh.
"None is taken, Pepper. It is good to be able to surprise people. A good commander learns to read
both friend and foe," Thor said, a slight smile on his face. "I have the advantages of a thousand
years of experience and also of being a father."

He gently stroked Harry's head. "You'll make an excellent mother someday, Pepper, as Tony will
make an excellent father – although he does not believe it," Thor said.

"So, you think children is on the cards for us?" Pepper asked curiously.

"I think every one of the Avengers could yet be parents," Thor said. "My bet on whose next is
either you and Tony or Clint and Natasha." He looked around. "But don't tell them I said that," he
said, tone slightly nervous.

Pepper smothered a laugh. "I don't need to."

"She's right behind me, isn't she?" Thor said, tone resigned.

"Yup."

Thor turned to see Natasha, who cocked an eyebrow at him.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"The relevant parts."

"So, all of it."

"Yes. All of it."

Thor gave a martyred sigh. "Tell Harry I died bravely," he said to Pepper, tone solemn. "Lady
Widow, I take it I am to die for my offence?"

"No, but I wouldn't eat any of your pop tarts any time soon. You wouldn't like the results. And yes,
I know where you keep your secret stash," Natasha said, walking through to join the others.

Thor's expression was one of utter horror. "Death," he whispered. "Would have been kinder."

Pepper left as she got a bad case of the giggles.

Thor looked dolefully down at his son, shifting back to James Potter form. "At least you didn't hear
any of that," he sighed.

Harry's right eye cracked open. "Oh, I heard all of it," he said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Next time you talk about Nat like that, do it where she isn't hearing," he advised.

Thor stared at him. "And I would advise you not to call her 'Nat'," he warned. "She doesn't like it
for some reason and only let's Clint do it. Tony tried it once. The results were not pretty." Natasha
had said nothing, but had slipped military grade laxatives into his drink. Tony had not repeated the
name.

Harry shrugged as if it was nothing. "She said it was cool," he said, then he yawned and wriggled
into a more comfortable position, before going back to sleep. Thor stared down at him. Harry didn't
even know the significance of what had happened, he thought. The significance of being allowed to
use that name. Maybe, he reflected, that was exactly why she let him use it.

And for some reason, the red haired assassin had taken an instant liking to Harry, though she hadn't
shown it overtly. Thor wouldn't have noticed at all if he hadn't seen her idly ruffle his hair when the
two were getting a mid-afternoon snack, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a
gesture he might have expected from Lily, and for a moment, he considered the outlandish theory
that Lily lived on in Natasha. He dismissed it. At most, there was an echo, like he had heard, or
thought he had heard, in the Hogwarts grounds, and he doubted even that. Lily was dead, and he
had to accept that.

His thought processes moving back to why Natasha had shown vague maternal inclinations
towards Harry. Maybe it was because Harry was still a child, and had a certain childish innocence
about him despite all he'd been through – something remarkable in and of itself, an innocence that
the Avengers, Natasha and Loki in particular, cherished, simply because they had lost that same
innocence so long ago.

Maybe it was because Natasha secretly wanted children of her own, and Harry could, at a glance,
have been taken for her son – they had very similar eyes and a similarly strong – but differing –
bone structure. It was not impossible that they were distantly related, but, he deemed, unlikely.
Lily's father had been of American extraction, he recalled, and her mother's family was more
Scottish than Russian, though he thought that some of the Grey clan existed in America, with the
same stunning red hair and green eyes. Maybe it was because Harry reminded her of someone in
her past, a little brother, or a similar figure, someone she had taken care of. He shrugged inwardly.
Natasha was a closed book and kept her own counsel often enough.

"You are a mystery, my boy," he said softly, cuddling Harry close. "A wonderful mystery."

And, it occurred to him, that was yet another reason for her to like him.

As soon as Harry got back to school, gave his father, uncle, Pepper and Natasha – who gave
everyone looks that said she would murder them and no one would find the bodies if this got out -
final hugs, gravely shook Jane's hand, said goodbye to the rest, then walked into the entrance hall.
Hermione immediately pounced on him, hugged him and began bombarding him with questions.

"Merlin, Hermione, let the man breathe," Ron said, blinking at the girl, who paused and took a
deep breath.

"Sorry," she said. "But Avengers Tower, what is it like? What are the Avengers like?"

"Awesome is the answer to both," Harry said, then paused as Hermione's face fell. "I'll tell you
more in the common room."

Hermione perked up. "Good." Then she grabbed his arm and began to drag him upstairs. Harry just
went with it, and gave Ron a look that said, 'Girls. Go figure.'

Ron replied, mouthing, 'I know, she's mental.'

His face darkened slightly, doubtless remembering the disappearance of Scabbers, which had led to
a furious argument over Crookshanks' eating habits, until Loki had tested the blood and found it
was partly human and mostly conjured, leading him to suspect a prank. While Ron and Hermione
had quickly made up, they were still a little annoyed at each other. Harry, having consulted a little
with Loki and Pepper, had decided to let them deal with it themselves. Tony's suggestions had,
naturally, been ridiculous and obscene and had caused Thor and Pepper to give him a shared Look.

As Harry would explain once he got to the common room, asked the House Elves for a drink of
water, which he got with much bowing and scraping and a few explanations to Ron and Hermione
as to why they seemed to actively worship him now, the weekend had been action packed, and, as
mentioned before, occasionally life threatening. Not least because they had been attacked by robots
in Central Park.

"Well," Tony said as the large, sleek, powerful looking machines landed around them. "I can't say
that this is new." He glanced at them. "They look like Doom's work."

"Wonderful," Loki said dourly. Doom had a knack for designing deadly machines that were made
all the deadlier by the fact they generally absorbed direct magical attack. They also tended to jam
teleportation.

"Everyone, form around Harry, Pepper, Jane and Tony," Steve said. This measure was to protect
Harry, Jane and Pepper and let them activate their personal forcefield generators – Tony's paranoia
being once again justified - and give Tony time to summon his armour.

The battle went much as many Avengers battles do – hefty amounts of smiting, smashing and
swearing were performed by all, with Harry watching wide eyed as his father body slammed one
robot, used a gale force wind to knock a whole bunch into the air, then watched as Tony and Clint
picked them off, then Hulk smashed the rest. Loki was largely reduced to creating unexpected
crevasses, then filling them with summoned lava from who knew where, and idly watching as the
robots flailed and melted, idly judo throwing one robot into the pool when it tried to push him in.
Just because he couldn't use magic directly didn't mean that he couldn't kick ass.

Then, things changed.

Thor watched in horror as one of the robots identified the specific frequency of Harry's shield,
neutralised it, then opened fire on his son. Thor began to run, as fast he could, hoping hope against
hope that he could get there in time, even if he knew at heart that he couldn't. But another beat him
to it. With a roar, the Hulk put himself between Harry and the robots laser cannons, taking the
blasts unflinchingly.

"NO HURT LITTLE GOD!" the Hulk roared, turning and shattering the robot with a single, vast
backhand. He was cradling a surprised, but only slightly scared looking Harry with his left hand.
Thor supposed that Harry was quite used to giant protectors from Hagrid, as he watched the green
giant quite literally single-handedly destroy the remains of the robot invasion force.

Shaking himself, he applied himself to the robots with vigour, shattering them with Mjolnir. No
one, repeat, no one, threatened his son. A point he made loudly and emphatically by hitting one
robot so hard that its head landed in front of a very surprised young teenage boy called Peter
Parker. While I would like to say it sparked a lifelong interest in science, it did not, since he was
already a major science geek. But it did give him something to talk about with his friend-who-he-
was-steadily-getting-a-crush-on Gwen Stacy. And that is another story.

When the battle was over, Thor, full of relief, drew his wand and set about repairing the
surroundings, with Loki's help. The Hulk stomped over and very gently put Harry down. Harry
hadn't even taken a scratch. "Little god safe now," he grunted.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I am. Thanks, Hulk." Then he did what Thor thought no one else had ever
done, with the possible exception of Betty Ross. He hugged the Hulk.

The Hulk looked surprised, then smiled – genuinely smiled - and very carefully hugged him back.

"Don't mind me," Tony muttered, wiping his eyes. "A bug flew into my eye."

"You're crying from both eyes," Natasha observed.

"Okay, so it was one very persistent bug," Tony said, as Harry released the Hulk, still smiling. The
Hulk gently patted his head, then began to shrink back into Bruce, who gratefully accepted Loki's
conjured clothes.

Thor went over to Bruce and said, "Bruce, if you could inform friend Hulk that I am very grateful
for what he has done, I would consider it a favour."

Bruce's eyes flashed green briefly. "He knows. He says, 'Hulk strongest there is. Still stronger than
Hammer God'."

Thor rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "For once, just once, I shall concede the contest of
strength to Hulk," he said.

Bruce smirked and said nothing.

"Whoa…" Ron breathed. "That is so cool."

"Cool? Harry, you could have been killed!" Hermione cried. "Are you sure that you're…
well, safe there?"

"Yes. Hulk and Dad were looking after me, and I almost feel sorry for anything that annoys them,"
Harry said, grinning. "After all, it'll be all 'HULK SMASH!' and 'I SAY THEE NAY!' and then it's
all over. Besides, how many times has someone tried to kill me here?"

"… Good point," Hermione conceded. "What else did you do?"

Harry took a sip of water, then began to talk again, talking long into the night, until Percy came and
chivvied the three of them upstairs.

Tony Stark is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, sprinkled lightly with paranoiac secretiveness.
But one thing he is undoubtedly, is protective. Mainly of the woman he proclaimed in one anguish
ridden moment was 'the one thing I can't live without'.

For a man who had had all the material comforts one could want or imagine, many you couldn't
imagine and invented a whole encyclopaedias worth of new ones, then had lost them all for three
agonising months in an Afghan desert, who had come so close to death in so many strange and
exciting ways, this was quite something to state without any hyperbole. Again, a remarkable thing
in such a melodramatic man.

But secondarily, he is protective of people he holds dear. Rhodey is one. The Avengers and the
little fellowship they have is another.

Bruce is closest in of all of them, the 'science bros' instantly bonding, while Loki occupies a
vaguely peripheral orbit, slowly being drawn closer and closer, but still somewhat outside, like an
asteroid that is eventually going to be drawn in entirely, but, for now, charts its own course.

Following Bruce is Clint, oddly enough. The two have a similarly snarky sense of humour and
unlike Thor and Steve, Clint is technologically adept, he has never tried to trick or use Tony and he
doesn't periodically blow up the microwave. That said, Tony does find Thor's (because it usually is
Thor) surprised expression as his face coated in soot and (usually) exploded Pop Tart utterly
hilarious – as well as having a sneaky streak that appeals to Tony. Though, now Thor is
rediscovering James' sneaky streak and wicked sense of humour, he is likely to occupy a closer
orbit in future.
Steve is next. He is an odd one. He and Tony bicker at times, argue furiously at others, but are
mostly content in each other's differences, finding things to admire in the other that they do not
themselves possess. Loki once observed that they are like he and Thor these days – they may
argue, they may disagree, but each needs the other to provide balance, together they are greater
than the sum of their parts and each will defend his brother to death and beyond. Tony, deep down,
thinks he's right.

After Steve is Thor. Tony finds many qualities in Thor that he admires – secretly – like he does
Steve. The two are after all, fundamentally, very similar people. While Thor's boisterous honour
and somewhat Shakespearean and formal turns of speech distance him and set him at a counter to
Tony, Tony likes him. He appreciates Thor's sharp insight and his tactical expertise, which is such
that even Steve likes to get his opinion, and when they are facing something from the darker side
of mythology, he often listens to Thor on the relevant battle tactics since he's probably killed it at
least twenty times before and Loki on the details of the beast or being in question, since he
probably knows everything there is and isn't to know about it.

Natasha comes after that. Tony is slow to trust, and once someone has abused his trust, he tends to
have difficulty trusting them again. That said, bonds forged in fire and blood are strong, and in
battle, he trusts her implicitly. Out of it, he has come to trust her, but it is slow going. He knows
very well how dangerous she is, and he respects that, in his own irreverent fashion.

One thing that Natasha likes about Tony is that for all his biting sarcasm, he has stopped his
wandering eyes. He appreciates a woman as much as the next man, as he will happily tell you at
length, but he is Pepper's man now, and happy that way – and he always treats her with his own
irreverent brand of respect, never condescending to her about her abilities, or assuming he knows
more than her in her areas of expertise.

Then there is Loki. Loki, Tony's kindred spirit, his dark reflection, and in some respects, his partner
in pranking crime. The two get on well, genius and caustic wit calling out to one another. Human
science intrigues Loki, who actually has a very good grasp on it – something largely down to the
fact that he already knew most of the basics, he just needed to learn a new vocabulary and the rest.
Which he did. At an incredible rate. When quizzed on it, he would explain that Asgardians of the
Royal Family actually had a near eidetic memory, particularly when they chose to apply
themselves. The rest of the species had it to a lesser extent, much like their strength.

The combat arts came naturally as a result, meaning that the average eighteen year old Asgardian
might know twenty martial arts when a mortal eighteen year old who had devoted their life to the
study might have picked up ten. Unfortunately, this did not always translate to technological skill,
as remembering how to do something does not equate to understanding it or the principles behind
it. That said, Tony had a sneaking suspicion that Thor did, in fact, actually have a much greater
grasp of human technology than he pretended.

Tony was one of the few humans that Loki admitted was mentally a match for him, or thereabouts,
and grudging acknowledgement Tony's inventive genius had quickly grown into full blown
admiration. Not that he would ever say it. Bruce is another, and Jane is close to a third. In her own
field, she impresses even Tony, but she does not have the same breadth the other two do, nor the
same intuitive grasp for what seem to be the fundamental building blocks of the universe, which
even Loki doesn't match - except in his own way, through magic, which isn't quite the same. Tony
is convinced that if he and Bruce were Quantum Physicists, they'd have figured out how to rewrite
reality by the time they were thirty, at the outside. Loki agrees and is privately glad that they
aren't. Tony Stark's vision of the universe, even tempered by Bruce, would be by turns hilarious
and horrific.
Jane, Darcy and Erik don't quite occupy a place yet. They don't really know each other as well, but
Tony does care for them, if only in connection with Thor and his own respect for Jane and Erik's
considerable intellects and Darcy's rapier wit and ability to drink men twice her size – i.e. Erik -
under the table without slurring a word. They once had a drinking contest. Tony won, but only
through dint of superior experience, and not by as much as he might have liked.

What matters, however, is that Tony will move heaven and earth to protect the people he cares
about. And if he can't invent a machine to do it, or think of a clever way around it, he'll do it by
hand, grit, determination and pure bloody mindedness and never consider stopping until it is done.

Harry would, in one future as a King of Asgard with epithets such as the Brave and the Just being
attached, with his wise, beautiful, brilliant (all epithets used to describe her, not least by her
husband) golden haired wife by his side and many thousands of years of experience as a ruler
under his belt, that the most remarkable man he ever knew was Anthony Edward Stark.

And what Tony was pondering right now was how to protect Harry. Pepper he had contingencies
for – he was designing armours for her, for one, and JARVIS had an emergency protocol to do
anything necessary to protect Pepper if the Avengers and any other help that might come was
neutralised. Rhodey could more than look after himself, something that went for the rest of the
Avengers. Darcy was also capable of looking after herself, Clint and Natasha having taught her
more efficient use of her taser and a few more asskicking techniques. Erik was actually a skilled
brawler, something developed through a misspent youth spent in bars and bar brawls, and also one
with enough experience of fights to know when to cut and run, so Tony wasn't too worried about
him.

Jane had Thor, who would utterly obliterate anything that even thought of touching her, while Loki
would horribly maim whatever was left. She too had taken a few tips from Clint and Natasha, and
on one memorable occasion, had put Thor down hard in a sparring match. Admittedly, she had
immediately worried if he was okay, which Tony thought was a bit odd since he'd seen Thor be hit
in the face with a collapsing building and come out of it only mildly annoyed and dusty. Hearty,
proud laughter had been Thor's response and he had praised her efficient takedown.

That left Harry. While he too had Thor, who Tony got the impression would chew his own legs off
and beat whatever oncoming force to death with them before he let Harry be harmed, and Loki,
who was similarly inclined, except that he was more likely to make the oncoming force chew
their own legs off and beat themselves to death with them. Loki was many things. Three of those
things were: vengeful, flamboyant and economically ruthless.

Three others were kind, witty and – surprisingly enough – gentle, when he felt the need. Such as
with his nephew, who he clearly adored. They had the same hair and eyes – well, not quite the
same. The green of their eyes had a couple of shades difference, and Loki's hair was relatively neat
compared to Harry's unruly thatch and tended more towards curls – and similar bearings: both
seemed to constantly expect an attack, though in Harry that had faded completely as soon as he had
found that he was among people he could trust. With Loki, it never faded. Not quite. Except once.
With Sif, on one of her, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun's visits to Avengers Tower.

Pepper had picked up on it and pointed it out to Tony with a stern injunction not to tease and that
they could just be friends. Tony personally doubted it. Going by his own experience, with Pepper
being the single person he relaxed totally around, he thought the two were into each other. They
argued, they flirted – not that the others noticed, thinking it was just banter, but Tony knew better –
and seemed entirely comfortable in each other's company. He had valiantly resisted teasing until
after Sif had left – largely because he wasn't sure if she might skewer him for it, and he was no
longer that self-destructive. Loki had just given him an odd look, as if it had never occurred to him
and said he saw Sif as a friend and had for a long time. Thor had given him a tolerant look but said
nothing, which only affirmed Tony's suspicions. Even Thor pre-James Potter would not miss a
millennia old crush.

But again, back to Harry. Harry, young, magical, certainly of above average intelligence, and with
a quick mind for practical things – for instance, he had given Tony a puzzled look when he'd tried
to explain a car engine to him, but taken to it quickly enough when Tony opened up the hood of
one of his old cars in the basement and helped him experiment and learn by experience. In that
respect, he was very much his father's son, who learnt better by doing and seeing than by reading.

His magic afforded him some defences, but they were limited, and if he lost that wand, he was as
vulnerable as the next untrained kid. Armour, maybe? He'd read the SHIELD files on the 'Death
Eaters'. Cheesy name, but dangerous group. Even Tony Stark does not take fanatical reality
warping terrorists with a fondness for mind control, torture and outright, untraceable-save-by-
eliminating-all-other-possibil ities murder that they could enact with but a couple of words at most.

Oh, and teleportation. Loki assured him that anyone who tried apparating into the Tower would be
'splinched' – then provided a colourful explanation, complete with images, that made Tony feel
physically ill – muttered rudely about its inefficiency, sloppiness and corruption of his original
technique, and that in terms of magical power, comparing them to him was like comparing a Mini
(Loki liked cars) or a Bugatti Veyron to Tony's most wild imaginings of future iterations of the Iron
Man armour. One might be, relatively, far stronger than others, but he was so far beyond both as to
be ridiculous. While Loki tended towards arrogance and hyperbole as much as Tony, this one time
he might not be joking.

Again, he finds himself sidetracked. Combat training? That might help. The kid has excellent hand
eye coordination, is brave, holds up well under pressure, moves fast and has reflexes that make a
snake on a hot tin roof look sluggish. Not only that, but he had a lot of wiry muscle, gained from
wrenching a twig through the sky at hundreds of miles an hour since he was eleven years old.
Teach him a few nerve strikes and he'll be making Spock look like an amateur in a matter of
months. It would prove a suitable addition to him flying a Quinjet. Tony had run through the data
himself. The kid was a natural pilot. He may not be much for technical details and book learning,
but when it came to thinking on his feet, acting on instinct, and applying practical knowledge, he
was good. Very good. Again, his father's son. He also has a dry wit, probably picked up as a
defence mechanism somewhere along the way. Tony can relate. And he honestly likes the kid.

He can see better than anyone the juxtaposition of smart, funny, surprisingly mature young man
who knows what it is like to face death head on, to look into its face and say, 'not today', and
vulnerable little boy, all wide green eyes, wonder, messy hair and – formerly - parentless,
desperately looking for loving figures in his life, to hold him through the dark times, to care for
him and assure him that they don't care how fucked up he is, what his past holds, what
expectations his name, reputation and abilities bring, but who love him deeply and unconditionally
despite it all. Yes. Tony can definitely relate.

But unlike Harry, who is a guilelessly open book around people he likes and trusts, only two
people in the whole world have got a good look at the vulnerable side of Tony Stark, Pepper and
Rhodey. Loki and Natasha both know a bit about it, for different reasons – it's partly why Tony
still harbours a little bit of resentment and mistrust towards Natasha, because she saw him when he
was vulnerable, when his carefully constructed and maintained emotional armour was chipped and
falling around his ankles.

Loki he trusts with it, to an extent, because he has seen Loki's raw and vulnerable side too, and
knows that his shadow also strives to hide his vulnerability behind wit and charm. It is this shared
vulnerability that helps he and Loki get on, and it is what allows him to relate to Harry and feel a
desire to take him under his wing, in a roguish, disreputable but genuinely caring sort of way. And,
ultimately, to protect him. He wouldn't move heaven and earth to protect him any more than he
would any other kid. Yet. That will change, he reckons. But how to protect him… clearly portable
forcefields didn't work, and Hulk and Thor couldn't be everywhere…

Tony sat back and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the his seat. He'd have to think about this
more, and talk to the others. He paused as he thought that last part, and quirked his lips into a wry
smile. Once upon a time, he'd never have considered consulting another on anything. Then had
come Afghanistan. His smile faded and his hand drifted up under his shirt, as it often did, to his arc
reactor.

It was a strange feeling, to reach up under all coverings and where there should be skin and bone,
there is metal and fibreglass. It is a constant reminder that Tony Stark is apart from the rest of
humanity, in form as well as function. And if it wasn't for Pepper, the others for whom he would
move heaven and earth, and those who he just plain liked and cared about, it would be very lonely
indeed.
 A Day In The Life
Chapter Summary

Pretty much exactly what it says on the tin.

Life in the Tower continued apace. Tony declared that Harry's room would be Iron Man themed,
while Thor testily pointed out that Harry was his son, Steve weighed in on Thor's side, Bruce tried
to avoid being roped in by Tony and Loki gleefully fanned the flames of the argument, with
comments like, "But Brother, Harry does like red and gold," and, "Stark, my nephew has his
father's taste."

Eventually Pepper stamped on them all, and, giving Loki and Tony warning looks, said that if
anyone was deciding what colour his room was, it was Harry and that was the end of it. She then
suggested video calling Harry. This was a mistake.

"So, Harry, what colour do you want your room?" Tony said.

"Um… I don't mind?" Harry said. This was the wrong answer.

Thor kicked Tony's wheeled chair off screen and said cheerfully, "Gold is good."

"Red and gold maybe?" Harry suggested.

Thor's expression soured and there was a loud, "HAH!" from off screen.

"Or not?"

"Or not," Loki said, idly floating into frame. It had been a matter of great surprise to everyone that
Loki could fly with his magic. He preferred using transportation or teleportation, but if push came
to shove, he could fly and he was good at it. "Green and gold seems like a good idea," he said,
smirking at his brother.

"Silver and red would be… acceptable," Thor said.

"What's wrong with red and gold?"

"You're my son, not Tony's," Thor said, before glaring off screen. "Do you hear that Stark?
He's mine! My own. My… precious."

Harry by now looked bewildered and a bit disturbed. Natasha dropped in. "I know. They're crazy."

"How about a SHIELD logo and black and silver?" Clint called from who knew where.

"Clint!" Thor yelled. "Stop corrupting my son."

"How is that corrupting?" Loki asked, mildly interested.

Natasha shrugged. "Dads. Go figure."

"Our father doesn't care what our rooms look like as long as any smells and interdimensional
portals are kept within the room and we don't keep things that might eat the servants," Loki said
idly, as Thor stalked off to yell at Tony and Clint. Bruce and Jane came to the camera and gave
Harry a small wave each. Harry responded in kind.

"The other guy says to 'say hi to Little God'," Bruce said.

"Tell him hi back," Harry said, smiling.

Darcy joined them and said, "Yo, Harry, how's magic school going?"

"Not bad, thanks. Should I just let dad and the others fight it out. Because as long as it's not pink,
orange, canary yellow, or green and silver, I don't really care what it looks like," Harry said.

"Or you could compromise," Pepper said, as a loud crash heralded who knew what.

Tony's cry of, "ATTACK, MY ROBOTIC MINIONS! ATTACK THE HEATHEN WHO DARES
SAY THAT RED AND GOLD ARE NOT THE SUPERIOR COLOUR COMBINATION!" did
not help matters.

Pepper sighed, and leaned out of frame, giving Harry a fine view of her ass in a tight pencil skirt.
Harry liked her platonically, but, again, teenage boy. He blushed horribly. Jane followed his gaze
and also blushed. Clint and Darcy smirked, while Natasha rolled her eyes slightly.

"Where's Steve?" Harry asked.

"NO, DON'T ATTACK STEVE! Or on second thoughts... ATTACK HIM! WITHOUT MERCY!
HE DESTROYED MY DVD PLAYER LAST WEEK! NO TECHNOLOGY IS SAFE!"

"ARGH! TONY, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THAT FRAGILE! GET
YOUR ROBOTS AWAY FROM ME!"

Tony's cackling echoed through the building.

"NEVER FEAR, STEVE, THOR IS HERE TO LIBERATE YOU FROM THESE

MECHANICAL – ARGH! WHAT IS THIS STUFF! IT BLINDS ME!"

"Dummy used the fire extinguisher on him," Pepper said with a sigh. "Harry, seriously, you need to
choose or your dad and Tony will destroy the Tower."

"Thus rendering the question moot," Loki observed.

"Yes, but that isn't very helpful. Even Tony Stark's insurance doesn't cover grand acts of idiocy,"
Pepper sighed.

"You should get that looked at," Natasha said.

"Maybe," Pepper said, sighing.

"How about… Red and Gold with lightning bolts?" Darcy suggested.

"I like that," Harry said.

"TONY! THOR! WE'VE GOT A COMPROMISE!" Darcy yelled.

"WHAT?!" both yelled back.

"Red and gold – "

"HAH!"

"NO!"

"With lightning bolts!"

"NO!"

"HAH!"

"Is that it?" Harry asked. "I'll be seeing you guys soon, right?"

"On Yuletide," Loki confirmed. "Christmas," he clarified. "And you'll be seeing me for lessons
before then."

Harry nodded and smiled. "See you guys soon."

They waved him off. "Bye!"

After Pepper calmed Tony down, and Thor realised how childish he was being and freed Steve
from the grasp of Tony's robots, everything settled down. Tony called out for decorators, Pepper
watching him like a hawk all the while. Darcy and Clint snickered about Harry trying very hard not
to check out Pepper's ass, until Jane rolled her eyes and said, "He's a teenage boy. Objectively, I can
tell you that Pepper is gorgeous and wearing a very tight skirt. What do you expect? At least he's
trying not to look."

Meanwhile, Thor went to find Loki, who had returned to his divining and scrying spells, which
were set up haphazardly around his room. Scrying bowls and mystical candles occupied his
shelves, runic circles were painted on pieces of wooden board, runesticks occupied his bedside
table, usurping 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy'. Loki enjoyed mystery fiction and spy fiction, as the
intricacies of intrigue appealed to his trickster's brain. Magic books from both Asgard and Earth
were half open on the floor, so Thor trod carefully as he walked in.

"How goes the search for Sirius, brother?" Thor asked.

Loki ran a hand through his hair, looking up from where he was sitting cross-legged on his bed
with one of the scrying bowls in his lap. "Not well," he admitted. "Any artefacts you have are too
out of date. He hasn't used his wand in a good twelve years, so even that connection is easily
masked. I asked Heimdall, but he says that Sirius is masked from his sight. How, I am not sure, but
I suspect his nature as an animagus comes into it. Heimdall has always had difficulty tracking
shapeshifters."

"Maybe his clothes from Azkaban?" Thor asked.

"No," Loki replied. "He has no real emotional attachment to them. I am scanning for his magic, but
even with his wand, that could take a good week or so more."

"Okay. Keep doing the best you can, brother," Thor said, gently squeezing his shoulder. "And
thank you."

"Not a problem. Thank me when I've found him," Loki said, going back to his bowl.

The trio were eating lunch and doing their best to ignore the stares that Harry was getting. The
conversation had mostly comprised what had happened in New York and how Tony and Darcy
were two of the coolest people in the history of ever, when Hermione raised an interesting point.

"Harry, one thing I've noticed these last few days is that you're taking being the son of a genuine
god very well," Hermione observed. "Why is that? Shouldn't you be a little more… confused?"

Harry gave this some thought. "Yeah, I suppose I should be," he said slowly. "It's just… I only see
dad as, well, dad. It's like some really, really old memories are telling me that he's my father and
that everything's going to be all right if he's around."

Hermione nodded slowly. "But he doesn't look like he did back then."

"He can shift between the two," Harry reminded her. "And he generally looks like he did back then
when he's around me."

"So… there's sort of a disconnect," Hermione said. "You still don't unconsciously associate your
father with being Thor."

"A bit," Harry said. "It's complicated.

"But that what about Loki?" Ron asked.

"I haven't really seen him in full God of Magic mode," Harry said. "And I think my weird-shit-o-
meter is busy dealing with me being royalty and not just human. The god part is sort of… in
waiting. I can be confused about it…"

"Once you get over everything else," Hermione said, nodding.

"Right. And right now… I have a family. And I'm just happy to accept that."

Ron spoke up. "How do you feel about Odin knowing that you were with the Dursleys?" he asked,
curious.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

Harry's eyes flashed. "Not happy," he ground out, mood and tone darkening dramatically. He took
a deep breath, and calmed slightly. "Loki says that Odin doesn't look at the world the same way as
we do, because the closest to human he gets is looking like one," Harry said. "He's also thousands
of years old and where we see as ten years being close to forever he sees it as… well, a weekend."
He frowned. "I'm still pissed off, though. And I'll be having words with him about it."

Hermione squeaked and Ron paled as both imagined Harry chewing out the Allfather. "Harry,"
Hermione said. "I know you're not quite coming to terms with the fact you're related to gods,
but…"

"But?"

"The Allfather is ridiculously powerful, Harry. He's the closest thing there is to omnipotent. I've
researched him and all the books agree – the Allfather can create planets, destroy stars, even bring
back the dead under the right circumstances, and that's just the beginning. He's from myth and
legend, Harry, and he's a great warrior," Hermione said, voice low. "And he is a king, even he is
family. King's and warriors don't like being disrespected in public…" she took a deep breath. "So if
you have to shout at him, do it in private."

Harry gave her a petulant look that said, almost word for word, 'I do what I want, Hermione!'
If anyone had any trouble believing he was, at heart, an ordinary teenager, that expression
confirmed it.

"She's right, mate. Yelling at him isn't a good idea, even if you think he deserves it," Ron said.

Harry nodded. "Fine," he grumbled slightly. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Stark Phone.
Tony had insisted on giving him one.

"Harry, that's not going to… work?"

Harry smirked at Hermione's poleaxed expression. "Tony figured out how to shield from magical
interference," he said casually. "And, it doubles as a computer. Look."

He laid it flat on the table and tapped the screen twice. Instantly, holographic screens the size of a
pc monitor sprang up. This drew some stares, but not many. Students often practiced magic at the
table, so this, while not magic, was hardly out of the ordinary. "I can send messages, surf the net
and watch videos," he said.

"Can you play chess?" Ron asked, curious.

"Yeah, but not wizard's chess. Speaking of, you should introduce Tony to Wizard's chess, he'd love
it. We can play wizard's chess later, if you want," Harry said. Ron nodded, and Harry smiled,
bringing up a video of Loki debating with a member of some tiny American church that thought
everyone but them was evil. He was about to move on, then paused.

"I am not a false god leading the people to hell, madam," the image of Loki said. "I am of Asgard.
Physically, I am beyond you. Mentally, I am beyond all but your very greatest minds. I perceive
things on a level you cannot even begin to comprehend. I can make the world warp to my will.
Your life and death is in my hands. How else would you define a god? You say that your god hates
all of humanity. I would reply that if you consider a being like that worthy of worship, you should
have been worshipping me when I tried to rule Earth, for I was very definitely that kind of god. A
wrathful, vengeful, hateful god who was cruel, petty, and slaughtered any who dared disagree. And
I can tell you that I would not have given you heaven because you worshipped me and followed my
commands. No, such a god would laugh at your weakness, your grovelling cowardice, your hatred
for all that is not like you, and seen how small and pathetic you really are. Such a god would get
your hopes of a heaven up high, then laugh as he crushed them, torturing you, hurting you, treating
you as the most base slaves just to see the shock and horror on your faces. Such a god, madam, is
not worthy of worship. Such a god is insane. Such a god has no love in their heart. Such a god,
madam, is a monster. Take it from one who knows. Take it from one who was, one who learned
that he was not truly superior to those he sought to rule. One who relearned the virtue of Love."

Hermione blinked. "I remember watching that," she said. "And thinking…"

Harry glanced at her and made a prompting sound.

"Thinking that if someone that old, that clever and that powerful could change their views and
admit they were wrong, pureblood supremacists like Malfoy could too," Hermione said. She
frowned. "And Malfoy is, actually, improving."

"We noticed," Harry and Ron said in stereo.

"What's that?" Neville asked curiously. Harry blinked. Half the school was looking.

"A mobile phone made by Tony Stark."

Neville looked puzzled. "Um, Pureblood, remember?" he said.

"A mobile phone is a muggle communications device. With it, you can contact anyone with a
mobile of their own by typing in a number," Hermione said. "It's like a floo call, but you can do it
from pretty much anywhere."

"Cool," Seamus said, voice low. "What else does it do?"

Harry was about to start explaining when Snape walked up. "Mister Potter, I know your instinct is
to show off your new toys, but please refrain from doing so before I am forced to confiscate them,"
he said coldly.

Harry sighed and shut the phone off. "Yes, Professor," he said, pocketing it. Snape, satisfied,
moved off. "I'll show you guys later," he said.

"How did you get muggle technology to work in Hogwarts?" Dean asked.

"Tony's a genius," Harry said, shrugging. "It took him fifteen minutes to figure out how to block
out the effects of magic on the phone."

"Fifteen minutes?" Hermione asked, shocked. "People have been trying for years!"

"Well, they weren't Tony Stark," Harry said. "Most were students, whereas we're talking about
someone who built a miniaturised arc reactor from scraps in a cave in less than a week."

"What's an arc reactor?"

"A energy producing muggle machine," Hermione said. "The miniaturised version is like the
muggle answer to the twelve uses of dragons blood or the invention of the floo network."

"Whoa," Dean said slowly, sentiments echoed by the rest. "Yeah, that's about right," he said,
glancing at the rest. "Tony Stark's pretty much the smartest man on the planet, like Professor
Dumbledore or Nicholas Flamel clever. He invented the Iron Man armour all by himself."

"Not quite all by himself," Harry said quietly. "The design was all his, but he had help building the
first one. A doctor called Ho Yinsen, who was imprisoned with him helped him build it, then gave
his life holding off the terrorists while the suit powered up." He looked around. "I saw pictures of
him. He was short, thin, clever and he looked… kind. Very kind. And he gave his life without
hesitation for one man he believed could not just be a great man, but a good one too."

There was a solemn silence as the Gryffindors contemplated this act of valour.

"It sounds like he would have a Gryffindor," Percy said.

"To Ho Yinsen," Fred said, raising a goblet.

"Honorary Gryffindor," George said.

Those listening repeated the toast and drank.

"Being brave isn't all its cracked up to be, sometimes, is it?" Neville said. Everyone turned to look
at him and he blushed. "Well, think about it. How many legends are about people dying
gloriously? How much of history is about people dying bravely? I can be brave but… I don't want
to die. The idea scares me."

"I know exactly what you mean, Neville," Harry said, cutting off Percy who was about to say
something that was probably tactless but well meant. "But sometimes, because we believe in
something better, we have to overcome our fear, and risk death. If there's nothing worth dying
for… what is there to live for?"

"Well said."

All the students turned to see Professor Dumbledore twinkling down at them. Eyes widened.

"Everything worth doing has a price. Sometimes that is life," Dumbledore said. "Though I
sincerely hope that none of you face such choices for many years, if at all." He smiled. "It is nice
to see Muggles being toasted and ranked alongside wizards. Very nice indeed. Twenty five points
to Gryffindor, I think, ten for Mister Potter's statement on the nature of sacrifice and another fifteen
for Mister Longbottom for being brave enough to ask such a question in the House of the Brave.
Enjoy your lunch."

With that, he walked off, his stride long and sure for a man as old as he. Hermione turned to Harry
in amazement. "You got us points!"

"Always the tone of surprise."

Meanwhile, Thor and Loki were training in the SHIELD gym, the matter of the room decoration
having been resolved. Tony was planning to build a hard light projecting training room, nicknamed
'Project Danger Room', but that project was mostly on the backburner. For now, SHIELD had
training devices specifically designed for superhumans, largely using Thor's strength and Loki's
magic as durability benchmarks, so for now, the two gods generally trained there, and when they
trained in earnest, generally trained against each other, so they had no fear of killing their training
partner if they did not hold back very, very carefully.

Naturally, the sight of the two training, first hand to hand, then moving to weapons. Powers were
not used in the confines of the city. Instead, Loki would teleport the two to the South California
deserts or the Rocky mountains, or to the wide grassy plains of Europe, Asia and South America.
Thor used Mjolnir, Loki used either an adamantium stave or glaive that reminded some unsettlingly
of the Chitauri sceptre. That particular weapon was currently in Odin's treasure rooms under some
very heavy dampening enchantments, because Loki, Thor, Fury and Odin had one unspoken fear –
the one who gave Loki his weapon, his armies, and his goal, would use it to control him. Thanos
the Mad Titan was not to be underestimated, even at when he was almost a universe away.

The bout started lightly, the two brothers circling each other. These bouts had a pattern, and while
Thor's rediscovered memories caused it to shift slightly, the shift was minor. As it was, Thor
merely took a little longer to lose patience and lunge at Loki, who neatly sent him flying past,
towards the metal supports of the ring. But Thor, instead of blundering into the pole, twisted,
pushed off the pole with his right foot and sent himself spinning into the elastic ropes, and then
shot at Loki like a dart, tackling him.

In response, Loki dropped and rolled, kicking his brother off, and closing with a series of feints and
lightning fast strikes, moving like a dancer. Thor slowly backed away, blocking as best he could,
then suddenly feinted a low blow to the stomach, which Loki leaned away to avoid, then caught
him plum across the jaw with a powerful right cross that had Loki spitting blood and chuckling.

"Nice shot, brother. But you must know I won't fall for the same trick twice."

"I would say the same to you," Thor said equably, closing and delivering a couple of hammer
blows to the chest, followed by a powerful headbutt that sent Loki staggering and apparently had
him doubled over in pain, clutching his ribs. Thor frowned. Had he struck his brother too hard?
Had their fight with the Doombots left his brother weaker than normal. He went up to his brother –
carefully, because Loki was still the Trickster. "Brother? Are you well?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"Feel."

He laid a hand on Loki's ribs. They felt fine. He frowned in puzzlement, then his face cleared as his
brother began to grin.

"Damn."

"Indeed."

Then, moving in a blur, Loki grabbed Thor by the shoulders and slammed his knee into his
brother's balls. Loki suddenly frowned. Thor smirked and hit him with an uppercut that sent him
flying. "I have taken to wearing a box, brother, as this is not the first, or even five hundredth time,
you have pulled that trick on me."

"He can be taught!" Clint crowed from the audience.

"Which is more than can be said for you, Clint," Thor retorted. "Was last week not the fifth time
that Stark panicked on detecting a foreign presence in his air vents and had you flushed out? Right
in front of that robot that seems to think everyone is on fire and must be covered in fire
extinguishing foam?"

Clint scowled. "I know that he knew it was me this time," he growled. "He just did it because he
thought it was hilarious."

"Well, it was," Thor began, before there was a loud thunk, and he went down like a felled tree,
causing the ring to shudder. Loki emerged from behind him, smirking, adamantium stave in his
hands.

"Yippee ki yay, motherfucker," he drawled.

"Stark is infecting you with his 'popular culture'," Thor said, voice muffled by the floor. "This can
mean nothing good. You'll be introducing Steve to Midgardian pornography next." He didn't
mention that Lily had made him throw out his numerous and… well loved, shall we say, copies of
Playwizard.

"No, Pepper caught Stark trying to introduce Steve to something called '4-Chan' yesterday, and has
banned Steve from accessing the internet based on Tony's suggestions," Loki said. "You'd think
he'd learn."

Thor stood, rubbing his head and smoothly dodging Loki's next swing, before turning to deliver a
powerful blow to the calf muscle. "Steve is a good, moral, trusting man, and I am honoured to be
his friend. Stark is a good, immoral man whose friend I am honoured to be and is totally
untrustworthy if he thinks it will be funny. The two are a match made in Hel."

"But hilarious to watch," Loki retorted, using the stave to launch a double footed kick that sent
Thor careering across the ring.
"Oh, undoubtedly," Thor replied. He summoned Mjolnir. "Now. What was the phrase? Oh
yes. Let's dance."

The two clashed in earnest now, no longer talking, fiercely concentrating as they matched skill to
skill and strength to strength. As they did, the ring expanded, and the footing became uneven, just
to spice things up. When it was merely combat skill involved, Thor won six of every ten bouts.
When both used the full scale of their powers, or as full as they could get without causing
earthquakes and other natural disasters, Loki won the greater number, simply because his tactics
could change in a heartbeat, and the nature of his powers was so broad.

This fight looked to be going Thor's way, and, indeed, after another half an hour, Thor pinned Loki.
He didn't put Mjolnir on his chest. It was, to his eyes, an unfair reminder of the Bifrost, and it was
a tactic that Thor generally used on villains who just wouldn't stay still. Thor was damned if he was
going to treat his brother like a villain. And it was also too easy. Loki had no similar fight ending
advantage, so why should he use his?

"I have won, brother," he said.

"This time," Loki said, with the implication that next time would be different.

"This time," Thor agreed, getting off him and standing up him, pulling Loki with him. He clapped
a hand on his brother's shoulder as he stood straight. Applause spread around the gym. People
didn't clap quite as loudly when Loki won, but that was changing.

The two showered, changed, grabbed five burgers – Thor – and three – Loki - from the cafeteria,
large helpings of chips and ketchup. Loki got salad. Thor maintained that he was allergic to green
things, causing Loki to mutter "Small child in adult's body," and plot to get Jane to get him to eat
something healthy later.

"Uncle, sorry to bother you, but how is the nobility of Asgard ranked?" Harry asked. Hermione had
asked the question while he and Ron were playing chess, and Harry had been curious himself, so
he went to the best source.

"It is no bother, Harry. We just came back from sparring, I and your father, so there is no problem."

"Are you sure you aren't tired?"

"No I am not, thank you for asking. I can go for weeks at a time without sleep… though I do not
enjoy it," Loki said.

Harry nodded, relieved.

"As to your question, it can be a little complex, but the broad ranks are as follows. First is the King,
your grandfather, and his Queen, your grandmother. Second is the Crown Prince, then his heir –
you – then any other Princes, like me," Loki said. "Following them are the Sub Kings and Sub
Queens, such as Hrimhari, Prince of the Wolf People, and Karnilla, Queen of Nornheim. They are
autonomous – free to rule as they wish – within their lands, but ultimately answer to the throne.
Next are the Jarls, who inherit land from their ancestors by right of blood or are conferred it by the
King. The Riksjarl is historically the King's right hand man, and is traditionally given to the very
highest jarls, such as Lord Tyr, ruler of Vanaheim in the name of Odin, and the various 'marcher'
lords, sometimes known as Markgreifi, who rule the dangerous edges of Odin's kingdom. Of
equivalent rank are the embetsadel, advisors and high counsellors, such as the Chancellor and the
Archmage of the School of Sorcery, who earn their place through scholarship, diplomacy and
bureaucracy, and through attaining high honour. Also equivalent are the brevadel, mostly our very
greatest warriors, those who are close to the throne and achieve fame by special acts of valour.
Lady Sif, the Warriors Three, and Brunnhilde the Valkyrie are some examples."

Harry's head was spinning slightly. "Right…" he said slowly. "That isn't it, is it?"

Loki chuckled. "No. Never fear, I am constructing a chart."

Harry made a face.

"I know, more homework, I'm a horrible uncle. But you asked," Loki said, chuckling.

"I did," Harry said ruefully. "What else?"

"The Barons, formerly called the Lensmand, follow on," Loki said. "Then there are the Húskarl,
elite infantry and often personal guards to the King and the Princes. The Royal Guard are the most
senior infantry soldiers, closely followed by your father's, my and now yours too guard, the Princes
Guard, who mostly act as a battalion unto themselves in the army."

"Okay," Harry said, feeling a little at sea in all of this. He suspected it would be easier to
understand if he saw this chart of his uncle's.

"Following that are the Castellans and the Stewards, men below the higher nobility who would
maybe rule a castle or two in the name of a Baron or even a Jarl," Loki said. "Chieftains are
generally below them, though sometimes you get a particularly powerful chieftain who rules an
unusually large amount of land. Finally, you have the Clerks and Thegns, freemen, raised either by
possessing a reasonable amount of land or money or having gained rank in the local bureaucracy.
Local sorcerers general hold a similar place in the ranking system. Finally, you have free men and
indentured servants. Indentured servants are essentially working to pay off a debt. As such, they are
not paid, or if they are, it is a minimal amount as they are working to pay the person they are
working for. They are, however, given food, board and training in their job, meaning that they gain
a home and a skill, and the employer gains a cheap worker, and are very rare."

"Are there female nobility?" Harry asked.

"Not as many, for Asgard is very much a warriors society, and it is rare that a woman advances so
far under such circumstances. But yes, many advance through sorcery, scholarship and
bureaucracy. It is rarer that they advance through warrior skill, but Lady Sif and Brunnhilde are
two, and your grandmother, Frigga, a third, who have achieved high rank through such. Queen
Karnilla rules Nornheim in the name of Odin, and the three Norns are highly respected. When they
speak, even the Allfather does not dare go against them. If Thor and Jane marry, she will be Crown
Princess." Loki noticed Harry's lips twist slightly. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with his
father being with another woman. He understood it, and he honestly liked Jane, and she him, but
still… "Other women rise to high rank," Loki continued. "Such as Amora the Enchantress." Loki's
lips thinned. "I will tell you more of her later. Not as many as men, and I think that is "

"Are there… slaves?" Harry asked, trepidation in his tone.

Loki was silent. "Not any more," he said eventually. "It was officially outlawed by your ancestors,
but it still happened and resurged under Bor. Odin reiterated the outlawing off the practice many
years ago, and slaves are not allowed in Asgard. Any who tries to take slaves faces the full force of
Royal Justice," he said. "I will not lie, Harry. Some men and women are very poor. They are cared
for, but they are still poor. But is it not the same on Earth? Not everyone can win."

"Yes, but I didn't win. I was born with this legacy," Harry said. "I didn't earn it. Why do I deserve
it?"

"I think your suffering at the hands of the Dursleys, the loss of your parents for over a decade in
one case and forever in the other, along with saving goodness knows how many lives more than
entitles you to the comforts of noble rank, Harry," Loki said gently. "I once asked my father a
similar question. He replied that we must make sure we deserve it by our actions. We must turn our
strength and privilege to the advantage of those who have none. We our royalty, yes, but we serve
our people. In wartime and peacetime, they are our first priority, as is their wellbeing. We have
been given a gift, so we must use it wisely."

Harry nodded slowly. That made sense. "Didn't dad ask?"

"When your father was younger, he often took things at face value. He was rich, he was powerful,
and he accepted that as his due. He could be horribly arrogant, but he was also immensely kind and
generous. One lesson he learned well was the duty of a Prince to their subjects, and the duty of
those with power to those who had none, and I have no doubt that even at his worst, Thor would
not hesitate to put his life on the line to protect those in need," Loki said. "He did not question
because it did not occur to him. He knew no different, so simply assumed that this was the way the
world worked. It was not malice, simply ignorance. He knows better now."

Harry nodded. "I suppose."

"Fame and fortune weigh heavily on you," Loki said. "It is as I told you before. You must accept
what you are. It may be hard, but it is necessary."

Harry nodded again. "Thanks, Uncle Loki."

"Any time. Go well, nephew. And remember to practice varying the power levels on those spells I
taught you. Practice makes perfect," Loki said.

Harry grinned. "I will. See you later in the week!"

"I look forward to it," Loki said, smiling and signing off.
 Winter Is Coming

It was a dark night, the beginning of a classic setting for dark deeds. While it was Winter, it was a
still, chilly night, lacking the traditional howling wind, biting cold and skulking dark creatures.

The leafless trees were rimed with frost, an afternoon's light rain freezing in the cold temperatures.
It was also the depths of rural Wiltshire, home of the well to do and a large amount of the British
Army. A respectable area, which included a small and moderately wooded valley in which was
situated a large, stately and eminently respectable home, occupied by a moderately sized stately
and eminently respectable (at first sight) family. The lights inside were on and if you happened to
be in the grounds, you might hear the sounds of chatter and drinks being had within.

All very nice and cosy. Until you found out what they were chatting about. The chances of you
even getting past the deadly dangerous wards and the chimera and nundu on the property were low.
The chances of being able to hear are even lower. The chances of surviving hearing are so low as
to be nearly non-existent.

"So, Lucius, why have you invited us here for this fantastic elf made wine - '67 isn't it? - and why
have you invited these... people?" Avery asked, gesturing with his wine glass at the group around
him.

Lucius Malfoy, Lord of Malfoy Manor, former Spymaster of the Dark Lord Voldemort, smiled.
The group Avery had gestured to was a collection of his old contacts. Not quite complete, of
course, only those he could be reasonably certain would agree with him in his planned course of
action.

They were an unlikely collection of rogues - former Death Eaters sat side by side with werewolves,
muggle terrorists, superhuman criminals and non-wanded practitioners of dark magic.

"'33," actually," he said mildly. "And I have called you here for a number of reasons. First,
however, I would like to start with a question. What are we doing?"

His clever, intense grey eyes, so like his son's, swept around the room. "We former Death Eaters
hide who we are. The Werewolf packs stick to uninhabited areas and avoid even muggles save at
the full moon. Organisations such as HYDRA have been driven into the shadows and the history
books. Practitioners of all sorts have been forced to hide what they are for fear of retribution."

He sat back. "But once, this was different. All of us who are connected to the magical world once
thrived. HYDRA was once the terror of Europe, part of a mighty duumvirate with Grindelwald that
nearly toppled the world order. Now? We skulk, we hide, and we hope we avoid the all seeing eye
of Nicholas Fury and the wrath of his Avengers. SHIELD's power is undisputed. Albus
Dumbledore, meanwhile, contaminates the minds of our young, and holds more power than a fool
such as he deserves, being feted as the greatest wizard of his time when he does not deserve it, for
that title belongs to another." He looked at the group, daring any of them to dispute this. None did.
"One of the Avengers' great strengths is their ability to act in concert. Somehow, they work
together as smoothly as a well-oiled machine and they achieve far more than they would alone. As
we once did. And that is what I propose we do."

Nott snorted. "And I thought Bellatrix was the mad one."

Lucius cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You want us to band together, in a time of peace, when we have public respect and prosperity, to
take on a group that commands more raw power than the world has ever seen, and has two
members who despise each and every one of us. In case you've forgotten, Lucius, it was the Dark
Lord who killed the mudblood wife of Thor, who happens to be the God of Thunder, as well as
retaining his considerable magical powers. James Potter was one of the strongest wizards of his
generation, poor taste notwithstanding," Nott said bluntly. "From his encounter with Severus, it is
clear that he bears us a considerable grudge. That said, he seems content to live and let live."

"Or he has decided that he can merely wait to murder us at his leisure," Lucius murmured. "Nott,
we are talking about a being who can control the weather. All over the world. At will. He can kill
us any time he wishes. And if I remember my histories correctly, the Norse Pantheon is very big on
blood feuds. Why kill us immediately when he can wait and draw out our deaths?"

"That doesn't sound like James Potter, let alone Thor," Avery muttered.

"But it does sound like Loki," Von Strucker interjected. "And my informants tell me that Thor
follows his brother's advice. Very closely."

The implication that Thor would take a few pages from Loki's playbook was not lost. On anyone.
There was a round of shivers. Loki was not someone anyone with a brain wished to cross.

"Even if what you say is true," Nott said slowly. "We don't have the power to fight even Loki
alone! He built Hogwarts! He taught the founders! The Avengers were formed to stop him and it
took every single one of them! How can we fight that when we can't even fight Dumbledore?"

"We can fight Dumbledore. If we overcome our fears. And working together, working slowly, we
can do it. HYDRA," Lucius said, indicating Von Strucker and Zemo. "Has the resources and
manpower to strike at the Avengers and SHIELD. They have already done so."

Lucius looked at Nott. "You are right, we are prosperous. And that money is doing nothing. We
owe it to our forefathers to find our Lord - and he is still alive, believe me, I know - and restore
him. While we do so, I suggest that we fund HYDRA and put Greyback's people at their
disposal. They can wear down the Avengers, if not destroy them entirely, clearing the path for our
Lord's return and an alliance that will shake the citadels of the gods!"

Lucius eyed the Death Eaters. They were the tricky ones. Greyback could be bullied if blood and
power were not enough to entice him and HYDRA were already on side. But if he had them, then...
then the fun would begin. "The personal risk would be limited. For one thing, we cannot act openly
as we once did. Not yet."

"You're scared."

"Of the Avengers? No, merely wary, as one is around a well-trained attack animal."

"No. Of the man who holds their leash: Agent Fury of SHIELD," Nott said, a cruel half smile on
his lips.

Lucius schooled his face into blankness with difficulty. "Director, actually. Why would be afraid of
that pathetic muggle?"

"He gave you that limp," Nott said. "He snapped your wand and he nearly burned down your
house."

"And I took his eye," Lucius said, teeth gritted, gripping his glass in a vice grip. "Your point,
Nott?"
"That you don't want to move publicly because you think he'll come after you personally, the rest
of us be damned," Nott said.

"That is a lie, Nott. One I might call you out for if we did not have bigger problems. The simple
facts are these," Lucius said coldly. "The so-called 'Light' is in the ascendance. The Avengers,
SHIELD and that twinkly eyed old fool have their metaphorical wand to our throats. HYDRA have
agreed to work with us against the Avengers. All that will be required of you is gold that you aren't
using, possibly your contacts in the Ministry to quietly curry support, and your cooperation in the
search for our Lord. I do not require much and I dare say you can easily deny it if asked by the
bumbling fools at the Auror office. If not, you will be faced with the prospect of our Lord's wrath
when he returns."

"You say when," Yaxley said. "How do you know he is even alive?"

"Because of me."

Everyone turned to the hooded figure who had just spoken. Until now, he had been watching and
listening, sipping his wine, with an air of mild amusement, as if at the antics of children. What little
of his face was visible from beneath the shadows of the black hood was deathly pale. It smiled, or
more accurately, revealed its teeth. "I am a master of that which is dead, and that which is in
between. Your master falls into the latter category." He inclined his head briefly to Lucius. "I am
Gravemoss. And I can tell you that your Lord and Master still lives. Weak, true. Alone... for now.
It is not only possible to return him to physical form, it is easy. He lives, Death Eaters."

"What are you?" Nott asked slowly.

Gravemoss threw back his head and laughed, revealing a few locks of white hair and glimmering
red eyes beneath the hood. The red eyes reminded many of Voldemort before his fall. This man, or
whatever he was, seemed to be of a different stripe - one that every instinct in the bodies of those
present said was just as dangerous. If not more so. "A man of magic, Callidus Nott, and a man of
magic can accomplish anything."

"He is a necromancer, Nott. And a very powerful one," Lucius said.

"How powerful?"

"I fought Stephen Strange once."

That boast got everyone's attention. Not many people could claim to have encountered the Sorcerer
Supreme and remained at liberty. While he had not fought much during the War, when he had he
had made a mark, easily duelling the Dark Lord to a standstill. And the implication had been that
he was quite used to overpowering things that made the Dark Lord look like a gnat. Of course, no
one had said this, or even thought it, anywhere near Voldemort. It was not good for one's long term
health. To even claim to have fought Strange implied ferocious power and deadly skill.

"I was young, then, powerful and arrogant. I thought I could best him," Gravemoss said, standing
and going to the window, looking out at the cold woodland, where frost sparkled in the moonlight.
"I was also foolish. I thought no mortal was a match for me. I was wrong. He was my match,
easily, and far my superior in skill. Now, matters are different."

"You think you can defeat him?"

"It will not be easy. But yes. I can."

"I doubt you've learned enough in, what, five years, to make you the equal of the Sorcerer
Supreme," Avery said derisively, for Gravemoss looked like he was no older than thirty.

"Not in five. Five hundred," Gravemoss said. He chuckled darkly at the shocked expressions. "I
am not mortal. I do not age like you. And the Sorcerer Supreme does not age, nor has he since he
took the title in 1645. And he is a time traveller."

The Death Eaters exchanged looks. They had known that Doctor Strange did not age. The fact he
had been around since the early seventeenth century, and had looked around no older than 43 since
1645 was another matter. Some very select wizards, such as Armando Dippet, former Headmaster
of Hogwarts, achieved similar ages, living for over two centuries. Wandless wizards, like those of
the White Council, could live for four hundred years or more. But unlike Strange, they looked it.

"No!" Greyback barked.

"Excuse me?" Lucius said coldly. Gravemoss raised one thin eyebrow.

Greyback stood, kicking his chair back. He was a tall, broad man, with strength that verged on
superhuman and teeth that verged on public health hazards. He glared at the HYDRA contingent.
"I know what yer doin', Malfoy. I'm not listening to humans! And nor are my pack." He snarled.
"Why would they command me?"

"Unfortunate," Lucius murmured. He glanced at Von Strucker, who raised an eyebrow, then
flicked his gaze to Zemo, who was relaxed in a very dangerous manner. Lucius' lips twitched and
he nodded slightly. Baron Zemo was not just any muggle, as Lucius well knew. Greyback was
about to get a very nasty surprise. He idly drew his wand and flicked it, moving everyone back and
leaving Greyback isolated. Before the werewolf could react, Zemo was on his feet, moving like a
predator. Greyback, recognising a challenge when he saw it, growled threateningly. Then he
lunged.

He was fast. But not as fast as Zemo, who moved in a purple blur, striking the werewolf hard
across the throat with the edge of his palm, ducking beneath and spinning away from the lunge,
before delivering a powerful kick to the back of Greyback's head that slammed him face first into
the floor, and would have killed an ordinary man. Greyback rolled over and froze. Zemo's sword
was at his throat.

"This blade," Zemo said coldly, speaking for the first time. His German accent was light and
almost unnoticeable. "Is infused with many things. Including silver nitrate. If I may demonstrate."
He touched Greyback's throat with the flat of the blade. There was a hissing sound and Greyback
yelped in sudden pain. He took it away. "I am only sparing you as I do not think Herr Malfoy
would like your blood staining his floors." He leaned down to the humiliated werewolf. "And to
answer your earlier question... zer reason we command you is because we are better than you."

He sheathed the blade and made his way back to his seat without even looking at Greyback.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Will there be any more problems, Greyback?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Lucius idly wondered if Zemo would object to taking
Greyback's head as a souvenir. It would certainly solve a few staffing issues. "No," Greyback said
eventually, slinking back to his chair like a beaten cur.

"Good."

"Is that all?" Nott asked.

"Not quite," Von Strucker said, as, right on cue, the chimera let out a gigantic roar and attacked
something.

"One of your peacocks biting the dust, Lucius?" Avery asked, amused, to chuckles from the other
Death Eaters.

Lucius fixed him with a cold look, and said nothing. Meanwhile, Gravemoss cocked his head as if
listening to a symphony only he could hear and laughed. "Oh, this is wonderful," he said, gleeful.
"Barons, wherever did you find him?"

Von Strucker smiled. "Little is hidden from HYDRA, Lord Gravemoss," he said, as the roars
turned to yelps, whines, and cry of leonine pain. Then were silenced. The Death Eaters froze as
one. Only one wizard in history had succeeded in killing a chimera, and had died falling from his
flying horse.

There was another roar. That was the nundu. Soon enough, it too was abruptly silenced. Lucius
gave Von Strucker a reproachful look. That nundu had been expensive. Von Strucker smirked, as if
to say, 'at least you don't have to worry about feeding it anymore'.

"Lucius," Avery whispered. "What in Merlin's name is out there?"

It was Gravemoss who answered. "Why… SHIELD's worst nightmare, of course," he said,
smiling. "The Ice Warrior." Footsteps, smooth and sure, began to come up the corridor. The Death
Eaters were reaching for their wands, some trembling. "The Sleeping Death." Closer now. "The
Shield Breaker." Still closer. "Europe's Terror." Nearly there. "He has many names, as have I. But
the one many will know him best by is another matter."

The door slammed open. There were two thumps as the head of the chimera and the head of the
nundu landed, rolling into the middle of the room, caught in their last moments. Was that fear on
their faces? Lucius' lip curled as the blood seeped into the fine Persian rug. Oh well. That was why
one had house elves.

All eyes were drawn to the figure who had carried them in. Von Strucker and Gravemoss were
smiling, because they knew who this tall, masked figure was. Zemo was probably smiling. It was a
little hard to tell with him. Lucius idly studied the man before him.

He was tall, powerfully muscled, with shoulder length dark brown hair and he held himself with
supreme self-confidence. His skin was pale. His eyeless gaze, hidden behind a pair of black
goggles set above a charcoal grey facemask swept the room. Since he didn't kill anyone, Lucius
could only assume he was satisfied with what he saw. His clothing, a muggle combat vest and
combat trousers with a three quarter length coat on top, was solid black and grey, thick and strong,
designed solely for practicality – though it managed intimidating too, a fact only helped by, if you
were sharp eyed enough, the fact that you could see the gleam of his metal left arm. He was
heavily armed, and Lucius would bet, based on his limited experience of HYDRA and SHIELD's
senior agents, that for every weapon he could see, there were at least two he couldn't.

"Lucius… what in Merlin's name is this creature?" Nott whispered.

Lucius smiled. "Baron Von Strucker? If you would?"

Von Strucker smiled. "Gentlemen, I would like to present to you the tool of the Avengers
destruction. HYDRA's greatest secret weapon… the Winter Soldier."

Hogwarts, Steve decided, was reassuring. Unlike almost everything else he'd encountered in this
new century, it had hardly changed. The high, cool stone walls, aged yet giving an aura of majestic
invincibility, were as strong and tall as before. The towers of the castle scraped the roof of the
world, reaching up into the skies as their inhabitants sought to understand the mysteries of the
world around them and of the stars.

So Steve would have thought if he was of a more lyrical bent. As it was, he was just pleased to
finally find a building that looked almost exactly the same and one he could navigate around
without asking directions.

He was, of the Avengers, probably the most familiar with Hogwarts, Thor excepted. Clint and
Natasha, unless there was something they weren't saying – quite likely, but that didn't mean they
were going to say it – had never been. The same went for Tony and Bruce. Loki had, by his own
admission, last been in the school – save for remotely spying on his brother when he attended – in
the early eleventh century, and his memories were accordingly a little outdated. It was, Steve had
long since decided, weird to have friends who talked about Alfred the Great, Richard the Lionheart
and Leonardo Da Vinci as if they'd been chatting to them just last week.

Whereas unlike the rest, he had spent a good two years during the war visiting Hogwarts on and
off, using at as a base to rendezvous with Albus Dumbledore and the other Allied Wizards and to
strike at HYDRA bases in Northern Europe. In the process, he'd got to know it's halls and its
Transfiguration Teacher rather well. Albus was, in some ways, very like Thor in that he was very
kind, warm and friendly, if a little odd, but heaven help you if you got on his bad side or hurt
someone he held dear. And unlike the Headmaster, a slightly bumbling bureaucrat called Armando
Dippet, he could do two things that earned him Steve's deep respect: command loyalty through
respect and love instead of fear, and see the good in people, no matter how far they seemed to have
fallen.

Which had, Steve thought, made his mistrust of star student, Head Boy, and general darling of
Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, all the more surprising. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe, unlike the other
teachers, he saw past Tom's charm to the creature underneath. Steve was deeply reluctant to cast
any man or woman as evil, but Tom had left him sorely tempted. There had been something about
him; a cruelty to his smile, an unsettling gleam to his eyes and the slight sneer he affected
whenever in the presence of one of the Muggleborn Witches and Wizards or the Commando's – or
had until Bucky had caught him and his friends bullying a muggleborn. With the help of Charlus
Potter, Bucky had given the boy a well-deserved thrashing and lesson in manners.

The fact that Charlus, who had been maybe a year younger than him, had gone on to be the father
of one of Steve's team mates who just so happened to be technically 21 (when he sort of died), 33
(the age he would be if he hadn't sort of died) and well over a thousand years old (the age he
actually was) made his head hurt. Steve had decided it would be easier not to think about it and
instead resolved to tell Harry a few stories about his mortal paternal grandparents.

"Steven Rogers?" an incredulous voice said.

He turned, to see a woman in late middle age – witches and wizards, it seemed, aged slower –
staring at him in outright shock. He didn't recognise her… no, wait, hang on, he did. "Minnie?" he
said incredulously. He smiled. "You haven't aged a day."

Minerva chuckled. "We both know that isn't true, Steve," she said fondly. "You, on the other
hand… you look exactly the same." She sighed. "It's only been three years for you, hasn't it?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Look, Minnie, I'm so sorry about Bucky –"

"He went out the way he would have wanted to," she said firmly. "Fighting. You did all you could,
and I can expect no more from a man who loved my fiancé like a brother."
Steve nodded again. "Thanks, Minnie. I just… can't stop beating myself up about it."

"You aren't alone in that," she said quietly, coming up alongside him. "Come, you're here to see
Albus, aren't you?"

"I am. I wanted to catch up."

She smiled slightly. "I'll walk you there. He is looking forward to your visit, as are Filius and
Rubeus."

"They're still around?" Steve asked, matching her stride.

"Yes, and in Hagrid's case, as large, indiscreet and warmhearted as ever," Minerva said.

"You mentioned –"

"That you are not being alone in beating yourself up?" Minerva said briskly. "Yes. Over Lily and
James, no less."

Steve took a moment to think, then recognised the names. Harry's mother and Thor when he'd been
human. "Oh?"

"Yes. You see, their secret keeper… I trust you've had the Fidelius explained to you?"

"Yeah, I think only one person can tell others the location of whatever you're hiding," Steve said.
"And apparently it's very complex."

Minerva nodded. "Exactly. I knew their Secret Keeper, Peter. I was his Head of House for seven
years! I should have known that he'd gone bad. I always knew he was weak, easily led and…
exactly the sort of person who would gravitate to the biggest bully in the playground, if you follow
me," she said, sighing. "I should have known!"

"You had no way of knowing, Minnie," Steve said gently. "The way Thor – James – tells it, he,
Sirius, Remus and Peter were as close as brothers. If none of them picked up on it, how could you
be expected to? How often did you talk to him after he left school, anyway?"

Minerva blinked. "Maybe a dozen times, never for long." She caught Steve's meaningful look, and
chuckled slightly. "Yes, I know, I see your point. But still…"

"I know. One thing I've learnt, from Tony Stark of all people, is to live in the present, not the past,"
Steve said. "Coming from a guy who's only a few minutes away from heart failure and relies on a
giant battery to stay alive, it's quite a strong message."

Minerva nodded. "I will try. Mr Stark sounds like a wise man. Surprisingly so, considering his…"

"Eccentricity?"

"Yes."

"He's completely mad, and sometimes infuriating, but he's also brilliant. He's even cleverer than his
father," Steve said. That got a raised eyebrow. Minerva had known and been reluctantly impressed
by Howard Stark's genius. "Howard improved things, but he didn't really think outside the box.
Tony looks at the world sideways, and it shows. He also has a good heart, even if he tries to hide
it."

"The first part sounds much like Albus," Minerva said dryly.
"I'm willing to bet Albus doesn't get drunk and try and build time machines in his lab," Steve said.

Minerva blinked. "He does that?"

"Yeah. The scary part is that they have a good chance of working."

Minerva considered the effects of such experiments. "How is Avengers Tower still standing?" she
inquired, fascinated.

"I have no idea," Steve said flatly. "Pepper probably has something to do with it." He looked up.
They'd reached the gargoyle. Trips tended to be shorter when passed with conversation. He
reached and formally shook Minerva's hand. "Minnie, it's been a pleasure."

"The pleasure was all mine, Steve," she said. "And if you ever want a cup of tea and chat, my door
is always open."

Steve smiled, and nodded. "Thank you, Minnie. You're always welcome up at the Tower," he said.
He frowned at the Gargoyle. "Um… what's the password?"

"Cockroach cluster," Minerva said. The gargoyle stepped aside. "See you around, Steve."

"You too, Minnie. You too."

Steve smiled as he ascended the stairs. Some things stayed the same. Of course, the same could not
be said for the people. Not appearance wise, anyway. Minnie -Minerva, rather - was still beautiful,
but she wasn't the captivating young beauty who'd caused Bucky to walk into a wall at first sight.
People changed. It was a fact of life. He just hadn't changed with them.

He knocked politely on the door.

"Come in, Steve," Albus said. His voice… that was the same. Strong, warm and comforting, as it
had always been. Another thing that stayed the same.

Of course, Albus Dumbledore himself had changed. His once bright auburn hair, coloured by a
touch or five of grey, was solid white, and his beard was a good deal longer. His face showed the
signs of age that one would expect from a man who was around one hundred and fifteen years old.
But his posture was still tall, and his eyes, twinkling, were as alert and piercing as ever.

"Well, I must say it is a surprise," Albus said. "To see you in the flesh, not having aged a day." He
shook his head in wonderment. "Despite all the years that have passed… you still look exactly the
same."

"I have the serum to thank for that, Albus," Steve said.

"Indeed you do," Albus murmured. "We have your serum, your blood to thank for many things."

Steve frowned. "Albus?"

"Oh, nothing, just the ramblings of an old man," Albus said casually. Steve knew that they were
anything but. The Albus Dumbledore he had known had been one of the greatest and deadliest
minds he had ever known. The only difference between then and now was that this version had
over sixty years more experience. Nevertheless, Albus probably wasn't going to talk, so he dropped
the subject.

"How have you been?" Steve asked.

"Growing old," Albus said. "Watching many a student leave the school and find their future, for
good or for ill."

"When did you become Headmaster?" Steve asked. "I mean, Dippet looked like he was going to
stay on forever."

"He retired in 1954," Albus replied. "And took up a life of leisure. I believe he passed away five
years ago."

Steve sighed. He hadn't particularly liked Dippet, though he hadn't disliked him either. The old
man had been decent, but secretive and mistrustful, as well as being somewhat disdainful – though
he never said as much – of muggles. Still. That was another man who had died before his dubious
return from the ice.

"Oh, don't mope, Captain Rogers," a brisk voice said.

Steve's head jerked up. The portrait of Armando Dippet was giving him a reproving look. "Sir," he
said, and saluted. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"He is a courteous one," a former headmistress, Dilys Derwent, said approvingly. "Of course," she
said to her uninformed fellows, who had died after Steve's disappearance. "He always was. They
breed them polite in the colonies."

Steve snorted, both at the term 'colonies' and the 'polite' line. While he had been raised to be polite,
Dilys had clearly never met Tony Stark. Or Howard, come to that.

"Captain, you have been granted the gift of a second chance," Dippet continued. "Do not waste that
gift by sighing over what was and what could have been. Agent Carter would not appreciate it."

Steve twitched. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"My boy, I have heard better lies from first years," Dippet said dryly. "I was alive for over ten
times as many years as you have already seen and I was headmaster of Hogwarts for forty five
years, after teaching for thirty two. I saw what was going on between you two the moment you
walked in the room. So did Albus."

Albus' eyes were twinkling, and Steve gave him a somewhat betrayed look. The twinkling did not
abate. At all.

"She is in a better place now," Dippet said gently. "And I doubt she would want you to ruin your
life by crying over her and your rascal friends. In fact, I think she would have some rather harsh
words on the subject."

Steve winced slightly, and nodded. Peggy would have chewed his ear off. "You have a point, sir."

"Of course I do, I'm a teacher," Dippet said, sniffing. "Take a cue from that Potter boy. He lost his
wife and discovered he was the God of Thunder and he seems to have turned out a well-balanced
if… mischievous individual." Mischievous was pronounced like it was a cardinal sin. Exactly like,
in fact, if Steve remembered his youthful confession sessions correctly.

"Perhaps you are being a little harsh, Armando," Albus said. "After all, James has over a fifteen
hundred years of memory and a family to support him."

"That may be so," Armando acceded. "But it is still no excuse to mope."

"Sir, I –"

"The next words out of your mouth, my boy, had better be, 'yes sir, thank you for sharing your
wisdom with me, sir'," Armando said sharply. "I will settle for 'yes sir'."

"… Yes sir."

"Good boy."

"On the topic of people lost, there is still one person from that time who still lives," Albus said.
Steve blinked at him. "Sergeant Howlett, also known as…"

"The Wolverine," Steve said, and half smiled, remembering the tall, taciturn soldier, who, along
with his disturbingly feral brother, had often been attached to Commandos missions. "If anyone
survived, it would be him."

"And he hasn't aged a day, much like you. He's healing gifts have kept him young," Albus said.

Steve stared at him in shock, as a painful hope rose within him, a hope that he could meet someone
he knew who understood, understood what it was like to go on without changing while all the
world decayed and fell apart around him. "Where is he?"

"When I last checked, he was in Westchester, New York," Albus said. "But I wouldn't get your
hopes up."

"Albus?"

"He has amnesia, Steve. Total amnesia. While you are better placed to investigate than I, his claws
are now coated in metal, and he was involved in a project called 'Weapon X', which I suspect has
something to do with both matters," Albus said quietly. "I am sorry."

Steve resolved to investigate. Maybe Clint and Natasha would know something.

"The world really has changed," he said quietly.

"It always is, Steve. By the time I met you, I was musing over the fact that the world had changed
from my childhood, when if you suggested that the most dangerous Dark Lord of all time was just
on the horizon and would ally with a muggle imperial power, you would be laughed at," Albus
said.

"So, you reckon Grindelwald is more evil than Voldemort?" Steve asked. He had been told that
Voldemort was considered the most evil and most feared Dark Wizard of all time.

"No. I feel to this day that while he was capable of horrific things, Gellert's intentions were not
evil," Albus said. He sighed. "But the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Especially ones
that were so easily twisted. I also believe that he was simply more dangerous than Voldemort could
ever be. Gellert Grindelwald's dominion extended from the very southern tip of the Arctic sea to
the warm coasts of the Adriatic, and from the Bay of Biscay to the depths of Russia. His magical
empire extended much further and was far more ensconced, at its height, than Adolf Hitler ever
dreamed of," Albus said. "He had others, like Kemmler, at his command who were Dark Lords in
their own right. If he had not been stopped when he was, it would have taken the full might of the
wizarding civilisations of Africa, Asia and the Americas, along with the White Council, to defeat
him. The power he wielded towards the end was immense, enough to stalemate the Sorcerer
Supreme. Which he very nearly did. The battle between the two was cataclysmic and did much
more to devastate Berlin than any number of Allied bombing raids." He looked distant. "It was a
month before Gellert and I fought. He was weakened. He underestimated me. To his cost."

"Sorcerer Supreme," Steve said, vaguely remembering someone by that title.

"Stephen Strange. You would have met him a couple of times. His main concern was stemming the
tide of Gellert's allies from beyond this world," Albus said. "So he was not often seen on the
battlefield. But when he was… it was generally spectacular."

Steve nodded, remembering a tall man with a goatee beard, white temples and dark hair who
wielded magic in a way Steve wouldn't see again until he saw Loki in full flow.

"He's still around, you know."

"Really? Where?"

"No one knows. I saw him only a few years ago. Unfortunately, he was rather close to Harry's
mother," Albus said. "Much like Nicholas was. He keeps himself to himself these days."

"That's a pity. He'd be a good candidate for the Avengers," Steve said.

"He probably would be," Albus agreed. "Sherbet lemon?" he said, offering the dish.

Steve ate one and made a face involuntarily. Albus chuckled. "They aren't for everyone," he
admitted. "Now, I must ask, is Mister Stark as much like his father as I think he is?"

"He's… very like the Howard I knew, but not like the Howard that Tony knew," Steve said
eventually.

Albus nodded. "Your disappearance hurt him badly," he said quietly. "Howard did not easily make
friends, and you and Peggy were two of his closest friends. When Peggy left us in 1962, he went
into a downward spiral I do not think he ever recovered from. He became cold, aloof and distant,
something that persisted until his death."

"Yeah… that would makes sense from what little Tony says," Steve said. "The two didn't get on."

"I'm not surprised, Steve. Even at the age of ten, Anthony was showing signs of being cleverer by
far than his father, and if there was one thing Howard could not stand, it was being beaten," Albus
said gravely. "That said, he did love his son, he was proud of him and he felt that he could take the
world into a brighter future. He was just very bad at expressing it."

Steve nodded. Howard had been charming, as demonstrated by the number of girls who flocked to
him – and boys too. Howard's tastes had not been discriminatory, though he seemed to prefer
women, and since he was discreet about it, no one really gave a damn. Or if they did, they were
wise enough not to piss off a man who could design a weapon to kill them from a rubber band, an
ice cube or two and a tooth pick in about two minutes flat and leave no evidence behind. And that
wasn't even taking into account the fact that Howard was so rich and influential that he was pretty
much untouchable.

But for all his charm, he'd been fairly emotionally inept. Tony was cut from the same cloth, though
he was somewhat better with his emotions than Howard had ever been. Maybe because he had to
be, Steve couldn't tell.

"You know Tony?"

"We met a few times when he was young when I was keeping in contact with Howard and the
Commandos. I doubt he remembers me," Albus said. "Though I did meet on one or two of the trips
I did meet a wonderful young man by the name of Charles Xavier, who said one of the wisest
things I've ever heard. You would appreciate it, I think."

"What was it?"

"'Any dream worth having,' he said, 'is a dream worth fighting for'," Albus recited. "His dream
was… well, it was not unlike the ethos I try to instil in my students. To question assumptions,
confront prejudices, and be tolerant to your fellow man and woman."

"I think I'd like him," Steve said thoughtfully.

"I suspect you would," Albus said. "I daresay you'll run into him sooner or later. He is Anthony's
godfather, after all."

"What? He never said," Steve said, then paused, and considered Tony Stark. "I suppose I shouldn't
be surprised," he said slowly.

"Anthony always has been somewhat private," Albus said. "About what he thinks matters."

"Are they close?" Steve asked, then shook his head. "No, I'll ask him myself."

Albus nodded. "A wise choice," he said. "Now, on the subject of godfathers, how goes Loki's
progress in attempting to find the elusive Sirius Black?"

"He says he's working on it, but a whole bunch of factors mean Sirius is hard to pin down," Steve
said.

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "Understandable, if a little disappointing," he said. "How is Harry

settling in at the Tower?"

The conversation continued for some time in that vein, until the sun set and Steve glanced at his
watch. With a final goodbye and a request to pass on his regards to Hagrid – he'd meant to see him,
but time got away from him – he called Loki, who promptly teleported over.

"I trust it went well?" the older man asked.

"Yeah, it did, thanks," Steve said, before drifting back into contemplation. Loki nodded and
teleported them both back to the Tower, where Steve spent much of the evening thinking.
Armando was right, he decided. Peggy would have kicked his ass six ways to Sunday and back if
she saw him like this, and Bucky… he chuckled. Bucky would never let him live it down.
 The Skull Beneath The Skin
Chapter Summary

This is one that I think could have been drawn out into multiple chapters, with some
things handled a bit too quickly. Still, it serves its purpose.

"What's your dad's girlfriend like?" Ron asked curiously. They were in the Common Room of
Gryffindor Tower, and Harry had spent another weekend at Avengers Tower. This one had been
quieter. Well, relatively speaking. Ron, Hermione and the Twins had joined him, and then there
had been the visit from that nice reporter. Her article was coming out soon, and Harry wasn't
entirely sure how to react to that prospect.

"Nice, very clever, easily distracted, funny, pretty… I like her," Harry said.

"She seems a little soft mate," Ron said, tone dubious.

"Ron, we're talking about the woman who used to chase tornadoes for a living and faced down a
machine designed to kill gods. Soft is not the right word for it."

Ron stared at him. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Okay, so she's crazy."

"Maybe, but that just means she fits right in. I mean, her best friend is Darcy. Darcy is one hundred
percent pure awesome, but she's not normal," Harry said. This admiration of Darcy had, partially,
manifested in taking on some of her vocabulary.

Having met the Avengers, Ron could only concede this point. And he had something of a crush on
that pretty reporter. He'd been amazed by all the scandalous clothing muggles wore as a matter of
course. It was something his mother would not approve of. That said, he wasn't complaining. He
remembered Darcy's cleavage and blushed. No siree, he was not complaining.

"It was a great weekend," he said eventually.

Harry nodded vigorously and thought back. It had all started with a conversation.

Harry sighed. It was Friday afternoon and he was on the phone to his uncle. This week, they would
not be flying over. In the space of a remarkably short time, Jane had jury rigged what she called a
dimension door from the Bifrost gate at the heart of the Tower. Instead of sending a signal to the
gate of the New Bifrost on Asgard, as controlled by Heimdall, requesting an opening, it sent one to
the Headmaster's fireplace, essentially forming a temporary floo connection. Loki had tested it
several times, pronounced it, "safe for Asgardians, but not necessarily for humans", then Tony, as
ever curious as a kitten and equally mindless of his own safety, had tested it himself, and
pronounced it, "Yeah guys, it's fine – OW! Pepper, that's my ear! Owowowowowowow!"

"Is it wrong that I want to be normal?" he eventually asked his uncle. He, Hermione, Ron and the
Twins were being picked up later that evening, but he wanted a private chat first.

Loki half smiled. "No, it isn't wrong. As I have mentioned, I too wanted to fit in," he said. "I
somewhat managed it." He glanced at Harry. "I'm afraid, however, for you, normal isn't really...
what is the phrase? Ah, yes. 'On the cards.'"

"Why not?"

"How many Midgardian children, magical or otherwise, have prophecies that apply to them before
they are born, have the Sorcerer Supreme for a paediatrician, survive unsurvivable curses and
somehow contrive to have three sets of biological grandparents, all of whom are or were near
peerless in the fields?" Loki asked dryly.

Harry didn't really have an answer to that.

When the Avengers came, they came en masse and slightly early, so the more curious souls could
poke around the school and learn more about magic. In simplified terms, to get the scientists to
stop bugging Loki all the time because his patience was wearing thin and no one wanted an
extensive remodelling of New York. Again.

"What are they doing?" Remus asked curiously.

Jane, Tony, Bruce and Erik were alternately questioning Loki - in Erik's case, from a slight
distance -and furiously debating.

"Unlocking the secrets of the universe," Thor said laconically. "Or rather, of Hogwarts. They
should be done by lunchtime."

Remus stared at him. "Hogwarts still has parts that are a mystery to the greatest magical scholars,"
he said. "James, I know your friends and girlfriend are genii, but aren't you overestimating them a
little?"

Thor smirked at him. "It took the greatest minds in Asgard two and a half centuries to design and
build the Bifrost. Jane built the prototype for the New Bifrost in her backroom in six months from
spare parts with only the help of Darcy, Erik and SHIELD Agents whenever she needed convenient
people for heavy lifting," Thor said, with definite pride in his voice. "Tony built a flying suit of
armour in a cave out of scraps while also miniaturising the most powerful power source short of
the Tesseract. It took him less than three months, including the time it took to recover from open
heart surgery. Bruce is the leading authority on Gamma radiation in the world - though I am still
not entirely sure what that is, tracked down the Tesseract in a matter of hours when no one else
could, is a skilled biochemist - which I think has something to do with understanding the very
building blocks of humankind - and has the breadth of expertise to keep up with both Tony and
Jane in their own fields. Erik was Jane's mentor and designed the device that opened the Tesseract
portal over New York, again, in a matter of hours."

Remus' jaw had dropped.

"It also helps that they are talking to the person who singlehandedly built Hogwarts," Thor added
offhandedly.

While it was not possible for a jaw to drop off, Remus' was making a spirited attempt.

"What do you think of Jane?" Thor asked, tone curious and nervous.

"Hmm?"
"Jane."

"What do I think of her?" Remus asked.

"Yes."

Remus half smiled. He could recognise the same tone that James had used when he – finally, after
a lot of teasing from Sirius – admitted his attraction to Lily, mid fourth year. It said that he wanted
his friends good opinion and support, but if he didn't have it, that wasn't going to change anything
with the object of his affections.

"I don't know her yet," he said honestly. "But what I do know is good."

Thor gave him a hopeful look. It only compounded his resemblance to a thunder god/wizard
shaped Labrador.

"Yes, James, I like her," Remus added, amused. "What did you get up to this last week?"

"Oh, nothing much," Thor said airily.

"Well, Florean Fortescue said that Slug & Jiggers is now under the ownership of Stark Industries
and Mister Stark has banned love potions from the store," Remus said, tone mild. "After the
Avengers paid a visit."

Thor gave him an innocent look. Remus gave him a look that said, 'Prongs, are you really trying
this on me?'

Thor acquiesced and explained.

"So... What do these do?" Tony asked, pointing at a small bottle on the shelf. The Avengers were
being given a guided tour of Diagon Alley by Thor, and were all acting like kids in a sweet shop.
This was a place of weirdness and wonders.

"Love potion," Thor said casually. "They make the drinker infatuated with the person who uses it.
They're looked down upon, but a reasonably common. And they aren't hard to brew if I remember
correctly.

There was a long silence. The Avengers exchanged looks. "Thor," Jane said slowly. "We have
those too."

"Really?"

"They're called Date Rape drugs, big guy. As in, they leave you helpless and at the other person's
mercy," Tony said, eyeing the bottle with extreme distaste. "And then they usually sexually assault
you." He winced. "And these sound even worse. At least roofies don't make you think you're in
love."

"Thor," Jane said gently. "I realise you once grew up with these as being... not out of the ordinary,"
she said, looking for words. "But what if someone..." she took a deep breath. "What if someone
used one on Harry? Or on me?"

"And you have no idea how many times I had to slip you the antidote for one of Amora's brews,"
Loki muttered. He looked at Thor. "One time, I missed it. And Amora nearly made you kill Sif,
who she perceived to be a rival. Brother, these things are indescribably dangerous."
Thor's changing expression was like a rockslide. It started slowly, then began to gather pace,
meaning nothing good for whatever had the misfortune to be in its way. A few moments later, he
was directing a vicious glare at the bottle. "I never looked at it that way," he said through clenched
teeth. A distinct smell of ozone was beginning to fill the air.

Tony nodded. "I can see that," he said. He looked at the proprietor who was looking worried. He
bared his teeth. "I'm off to have a little chat with the manager," he said.

Ten minutes later, Tony owned the store. Five minutes after that, all the love potions were
destroyed and the manager was fired when he dared object.

Thereafter, Tony was a man on a mission. First off, he went into Flourish and Blotts and ordered
every book on the history of the use and legality of love potions. It was not pretty reading.

"Okay, so they were originally invented by a spurned potions master to, oh man, this is fucked up,
seduce the woman he loved, who just so happened to be very beautiful and betrothed to his arch
rival," Tony said, eyes flicking across the text at near superhuman rates. While he preferred
computers, he was no slouch with books.

Thor promptly went crimson with rage and started twitching. The sky outside darkened ominously
and Bruce, Jane, Clint and Natasha began eyeing him worriedly.

"Fortunately, he slipped it in the wrong drink, the drink of his rival, and the witch was just as
talented a potioneer as her spurned lover, so she brewed up an antidote, and duelled the potions
master… yeurgh, oh nasty," Tony said, deep in the book. "She force fed him his…" Tony went
green. "Well, I don't think he ever tried that again," he said, shutting the book. "You magic people
are messed up!"

"Thor?" Jane said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Easy," Darcy said. "He's getting worked up at the idea that that greasy potions dude who so
obviously had the hots for Harry's mom might have tried it."

Everyone stared at her. "What? I may not know super science or super magic, but people are easy. I
mean, sure he's pissed at Thor, but why would he hold on to a grudge for that long? Why would he
hate Harry so much? Because he swung and missed," she said, shrugging.

"You are scarily perceptive," Tony said eventually, keeping half an eye on Thor.

"Thor," Jane said softly, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "It didn't happen. Relax. Calm down.
Getting angry solves nothing."

Thor seethed for a moment more, sparking blue eyes meeting Jane's steady, warm brown, flicking
down to her small, soft hand, then he relaxed, tensed muscles that could tear apart cities and shatter
mountains untensing. Loki looked relieved. He didn't particularly want to spend the afternoon
picking up the pieces from a Thor Odinson TM rampage and explaining to the Minister of Defence,
the Home Secretary and the Prime Minister why a large portion of London was now a sinkhole.
This, of course, presumed that there were any pieces left and that said sinkhole didn't claim
Whitehall and Downing Street as well.

"Thank you, Jane. And you are right, it did not," Thor said, voice low. "Unfortunately, as James, I
had in the past had cause to think such a thing and it brought back some rather nasty memories."

Tony opened his mouth to inquire. Bruce and Loki didn't have to look, hands shooting out to cover
his mouth. Thankfully, the rest of the trip passed without any further incident. But it was a near
miss.

Remus nodded slowly, remembering said incident. In Sixth Year, Lily had started hanging out with
the Slytherins, particularly Snape and his fellow would be Death Eaters. She had been suspiciously
at ease with them, and her friends had been worried, not unreasonably so. The Marauders, led by
James – who was naturally suspicious and pissed off by this turn of events – and Sirius – who
hated most things Slytherin, had investigated.

As it turned out, Lily had been being drugged with a Suggestibility Potion. Essentially, it made her
more likely to agree with what the person who administered the potion said and did, slowly, over
time and with more doses, bringing them totally under their control. It was, essentially, like a far
more subtle and slower version of the Imperius Curse. It's advantage was that it was harder to
break, because you didn't know you were under it. And everything the person who administered
the potion said or did was considered normal. The implications had chilled Remus' blood.

Most Death Eaters disdained it, finding the Imperius Curse quicker and easier.

Snape, it seemed, didn't actually know about this. This was proven by Sirius forcefeeding him
Veritaserum. And he wasn't particularly pleased when he found out, which the Marauders had
considered the one and only point in his favour. Of course, as James had privately asserted, he was
mostly pissed off because it wasn't him doing it and he hadn't noticed, though Remus had
disagreed.

When this had been revealed, Snape had assisted in brewing an antidote – something the
Marauders were grudgingly grateful for – Remus had spiked Lily's drink at lunch, and once it took
effect, something signalled by Lily's expressions shifting like the stills of an old film, shifting
through shock, comprehension, horror, anger, and finally, icy rage. She promptly showed that she
was free of the potion by drawing her wand, stalking over to the Slytherin table and opening fire.
The Sixth and Seventh Year Gryffindors, apprised of the situation, had followed, leading an assault
on the guilty party.

The Fifth Years had followed, and once rumours had filtered back of just why the by now vicious
duel was taking place, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had joined in. The Hufflepuffs because
they had felt that this was an injustice and were not very fond of the underhanded tactics involved
and the Ravenclaws because they prized independence of mind and retention of faculties above all.
Having one's ability to choose compromised in any way, shape or form was horrifying to them.

While one might expect that Gryffindor, house of the chivalrous and noble, would be home to a lot
of boys seeking redress for this wrong against a fair maiden, and indeed it was, it happened to be
said fair maiden and her friends that did the most damage. Sirius, tone admiring, had later said, "I
don't care what they say, girls are scary. They're clever, dangerous and they do not fight fair."

Since Jugson had had a lit candle shoved where no candle, lit or otherwise, should go while
prancing around and singing 'Sweet Transvestite' from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, Avery had
been found rocking and sobbing in a corner, eyes wide and horrified, seeing some nightmare
beyond the reach of mortal man, Travers had only been identified by the name inside his robes, the
rest having become a faintly purple and vaguely slug shaped mass with lots of orange warts and
multi-coloured tentacles and the Carrows had been transfigured into toads, then loosed into the
dungeons, it was generally considered that he had a point.

James, however, had been just as vicious, as Mulciber, the ringleader, had found out. And so had
everyone else, when they found him artificially splinched, with one leg floating in the lake, the
other in a broom cupboard in the Astronomy Tower, one arm wedged in the rafters of the Great
Hall, the other in a stall in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and his head and torso, still functional, in
the deepest, darkest parts of the dungeons that the Marauders knew of. With a silencing spell on his
mouth. It took them two days to find all of him.

McGonagall had been furious. When she'd found out the why of the attack, she'd passed into the
sort of cold tranquillity that makes people want to emigrate to Australia, grow beards, change their
names and consign themselves to a lifetime of bad beer and sheep jokes rather than face it.

Since Lily hadn't been forced to do anything heinous – much to everyone's relief – and James'
spells had been cast perfectly, in full knowledge that it would only make the would be Death Eater
wish he was dead, therefore allowing the teachers to put Mulciber back together again, no one was
expelled. Mulciber would have been if Veritaserum had been used on him or his friends and his
true intentions were discovered.

The Marauders knew. Lily knew. Snape knew. And aside from the ringleaders, that was it. As to
what they were… well, Lily was a beautiful young woman, and Mulciber had plans 'to show the
world where mudbloods belonged'. And to make her like it. Pictures do need to be drawn, and all
that needs to be said was that there was very good reason that Mulciber was number two on Thor's
'to smite' list after Voldemort himself.

The honest reactions of the Marauders, their fury and genuine concern, and their even stronger than
usual silence on the matter, had, if not endeared them to Lily, had made her realise that they were a
lot smarter, a lot braver and a lot more mature than they let on. It had led to three things.

One, Lily, already a formidable duellist and a genius at potions, developing her expertise in both in
whatever spare moment she had, and carrying a bezoar everywhere. She swore never to be helpless
ever again. Two, the Marauders starting to mature more as they realised how serious things were
getting. This was not kids' stuff anymore. This was war. It just hadn't been declared yet. Three, the
battle lines were drawn. You were either on one side or the other. No middle ground. No second
chances. No way out.

All in all, Remus was amazed that there was anything left of Diagon Alley.

"You have changed. For the better," he said.

"Maybe I have. I'm still killing Mulciber first chance I get," Thor said flatly.

"I never doubted that," Remus muttered, inwardly vowing to hold the bastard down.

"Dad!"

Thor turned, expression brightening, to see his son, who shamelessly hurtled in for a hug, ignoring
his Professor entirely.

"Hello, Harry," Thor said, grinning. "How are you?"

"Happy to see you and the others," Harry said.

Remus watched father and son banter for a while, before he felt a light touch on his arm, designed
to unobtrusively get his attention by someone who was used to jumpy people. He looked down
slightly, and saw a man of medium height, with dark, curly hair, tanned skin, warm, intelligent
brown eyes and a gentle, kindly demeanour. But there was something beneath the surface,
something… dangerous. It put Moony's hackles up. It was like dealing with another were creature,
but there was no dispute over dominance. Not in terms of strength.
While contests of dominance among werewolves were settled by conflict in human and wolf form,
there could be no thought to fighting a creature like the one he sensed dwelt beneath the mild
mannered exterior of the man before him. It would be like fighting a storm or an avalanche, an
unstoppable force of nature. He blinked as the man stuck out a hand.

"Hi, I'm Bruce, Bruce Banner. You're… Remus, right?" the man said.

Remus nodded. "Remus Lupin, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said. "Doctor
Banner… James mentioned you as one of the Avengers."

"I'm the Hulk."

It was a matter of fact statement, and from such a small, seemingly harmless man, should have
been utterly ridiculous. But even if Remus hadn't been able to trust Moony's senses, the hard look
in the man's eyes would have gone some way to convincing him that the man was telling the truth.

"Oh. How do you manage your… condition?" Remus asked, then inwardly cursed. He could hardly
have been more tactless if he'd tried.

Bruce caught his expression and smiled wryly. "When I first met Tony, he told me he loved my
work and 'the way you lose control and turn into a giant green rage monster.' I'm used to it," he said
calmly. "I've actually been wanting to have a word with you about your…" he lowered his voice.
"Furry little problem."

For a split second, Remus was furious that James had told anyone, let alone people that he, Remus,
did not know, then reason asserted itself. One, the Avengers weren't part of the Wizarding World.
There wasn't the expected stigma. Two, this was the one man in the world who wasn't a were who
might really, truly understand him. "All right," he said quietly, and allowed Bruce to lead him off
to the side.

"To answer your question, well, let's go back to the start. I was a scientist working for a guy called
General Ross. I was dating his daughter, Betty Ross, who was working on the same project. We
were trying to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, the same stuff that gave Steve his abilities. I
thought that gamma rays, a form of radiation that can lead to mutation, were the key. I wanted to
help my country, I thought their serum was the key to freeing all mankind from disease and pain,"
Bruce said. "They weren't the key. I knew it was risky, so I tested it on myself." He grimaced. "Cue
the Hulk. The first rampage put Betty in hospital. It nearly killed her." He looked at Remus. "I
think you can guess what happened next."

"You were hunted. They thought you were a monster."

"No, not just a monster," Bruce said, bitter amusement in his tone. "They thought I was
a weapon. They thought I was the key to a new kind of soldier. Who wouldn't want to have an
army of guys who can tear castles and buildings apart, ignore bullets and probably spells like bee
stings and leave chaos wherever they go? So I ran. I hid and looked for a cure."

"I'm sorry," Remus said quietly. "I… I was bitten as a child. My father had offended a powerful
werewolf called Fenrir Greyback. He's a savage, who embraces his condition – last I heard, he was
more wolf than man. He enjoys killing and biting. Especially children. He likes raising them away
from civilisation, so they obey him and him alone."

Bruce made a face. "Yeah, I've met his type before," he muttered. "Recruitment tactic as old as
time, make them believe that no one else will have them, take 'em in and they'll kill for you. Simple
as that."
Remus looked at him, surprised. Though intellectually he knew that this man had been on the run,
and that the he also happened to be the Hulk, it was hard to imagine him encountering things like
Greyback. Or maybe, he thought, as he looked deep into the other man's dark eyes, and saw just
the tiniest hint of green, it wasn't.

"I went to some pretty bad places, Professor Lupin, and met some pretty bad people. I know the
type," Bruce said. "On the embracing thing… he's mostly wrong. Not completely, though."

Remus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I came to accept the Other Guy, that he was part of me and was always going to be. We've come
to an agreement," Bruce said.

"What's that?"

"I occasionally let him out, to fight and to run around in the desert or something like that," Bruce
said calmly. "I'm willing to bet that it was a lot easier to transform when you had your friends with
you, and something to look forward to."

Remus thought back and realised that Bruce was right. Transformations had been easier, smoother.
He and Moony… well, they hadn't quite been one, but they had worked together.

"The secret isn't giving up control or trying too hard, it's balance," Bruce said gently. "We can help.
Not just me and the Hulk, but Loki and Thor too. Loki's a shapeshifter and in Asgard they have a
group called the Wolf People, a race of natural born werewolves. If we can't help, they can."

Remus stared at him for a long moment, imagining a life without constant dependency on
Wolfsbane, with no fear of losing control and eating someone or turning them… and smiled. It was
worth a shot.

"When do we start?" he asked.

"Monday," Bruce said. "This is going to be risky and secret, so we don't want anyone else in the
Tower."

Remus nodded. "I'll look forward to it," he said. "But, I'm teaching –"

"Professor Dumbledore has approved sick leave. Loki is filling in at lesson times," Bruce said, and
smirked. "The school should still be standing when you get back."

Remus grinned. Things were looking up.

The main thing that was different about this weekend as compared to the last was that a journalist
came to visit. The one journalist that the Avengers even vaguely trusted. Her article follows:

Inside the Ivory Tower

by Christine Everhart

Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower, isn't made of ivory. Instead, it is made of glass, titanium
and steel, a tall, gleaming, defiant challenge to any who would harm the innocent, presiding over
the New York skyline like a modern Colossus of Rhodes, powerful, remote and both unnerving and
inspiring. It stands out, removed from the everyday in a way that instantly attracts notice and
despite the fact that it's very obvious, no one in their right minds would even consider attacking it.
It is larger than life and can't help but attract attention. Much like the Avengers themselves.

The Avengers are a mixed bag of oddballs by any standard. A supersoldier from World War II, two
near immortal Princes from another dimension who were worshipped as Gods in the ancient past,
one of whom is a recovering supervillain, a genius billionaire philanthropist (the playboy part fell
by the wayside some years ago) in a hyperadvanced suit of armour, a mild mannered, kindly
scientist who occasionally turns into a Hulk and two master spies. Somehow, this group of highly
dysfunctional individuals has formed one of the deadliest fighting forces in recorded history.

And that's even before meeting them and their equally unusual family and friends. And by family, I
refer to none other than the mysterious son of Thor, who stunned the world merely by existing
when he cropped up a month ago.

In retrospect, it isn't so surprising. Thor is an immortal warrior god, or as near as makes no

difference, and from an objective point of view, handsome and attractive. It is logical that he would
have a child. The reality, however, is somewhat startling, and speculation has been rife. Many
rumours swirl around the boy, yet only one thing is certain. The Avengers are ferociously
protective of their youngest affiliate.

Footage of a recent battle in Central Park has shown the Hulk, remarkably, shielding the boy with
his body from a barrage of heavy duty laser fire, then holding him close to his chest and protecting
the boy while he quite literally single handedly destroyed any robot within reach. Thor's response
to his son being threatened was a marked increase in violence. Any robot the Hulk did not smash,
Thor obliterated.

Perhaps this is not surprising. The Avengers aren't known for having many who they hold dear,
and are very protective of those who they do care for. The sight of Tony Stark mowing his way
through a homegrown terrorist cell when one of them dared make threats to Pepper Potts, his
fiancée and, as I can personally attest to, the one person in the world he trusts implicitly, was
terrifying. The only reason any of them survived to be arrested was because Thor managed to get
him in a restraining bear hug before he could unleash the heaviest weapons in his considerable
arsenal.

Then there was the arrest of Thor's sister in law and her husband, who had been granted custody
of Harry on his mother's death and father's… well, I wasn't sure how to put it until Loki helpfully
suggested 'discorporation'. It seems an appropriate word to describe the complex and highly
mystical arrangement that led to Thor being incarnated as a memory less human baby, living,
dying and returning to his natural body. Thor's obvious and understandable fury caused weather
patterns all over Northern Europe to go haywire, and a very large yet localised thunderstorm to
form over the South Eastern English county of Surrey. The meeting room used for meetings of the
British Government's Emergency Council, COBRA, was also sporting a large, suspiciously
Thunder God shaped hole.

This undoubted and understandable protectiveness of Harry shows how important one thirteen
year old boy is to them. And it helps go some way to understanding the Avengers as a whole.

Tony Stark's father is a difficult subject. His mother was much loved, as shown by the charitable
wing of the Stark fortune being called the Maria Stark Foundation, but she was also often abroad
when he was young. Steve Rogers lost both his parents before he left high school. Neither Natasha
Romanova nor Clint Barton have revealed anything about their pasts, but if I had to guess, both are
orphans. When I began to ask about Bruce's father, Tony clamped a hand over my mouth and shook
his head urgently. His mother is also dead.

Only Thor and Loki have both parents, but each have their own traumas. Loki was a bookish
academic among boisterous warriors, and did not, apparently, fit the Asgardian ideal with his
smooth tongue, magical skill, scholarly brilliance and sly trickery.

"I became resentful," Loki says, over a cup of truly excellent coffee. When I mention this, he
laughs. "It is a hobby, but I thank you nonetheless," he says modestly, though I can see a twinkle of
pride in his bright green eyes. He returns to his previous subject. "As I said, I became resentful.
Thor was, through no fault of his own, the perfect Asgardian. Brave, boisterous, honest, hearty and
as good hearted as it is possible to be, if one ignored the unsurprising arrogance. A not
unreasonable Midgardian comparison would be that he was the Big Man On Campus while I was
the biggest nerd of them all. I was… considered useful, I suppose, and I did have some very good
friends. I just saw them as being Thor's friends first, mine second." He shrugged. "A fairly minor
thing, you might imagine, but if I remember my Midgardian history correctly, was the most evil
tyrant in modern history not a frustrated and resentful artist with a knack for words?"

He refers, of course, to Adolf Hitler, and I have to admit, the comparison is an interesting one. As I
tell him he was not as bad, his lips twist.

"I appreciate your kindness, my lady, but the truth is that if I had not been stopped, I would likely
have been far worse," he says grimly. He lightens. "But thankfully, I was stopped. And now I work
to undo what I did."

It is at that moment that I first see the elusive and mysterious Harry. Short for his age and slender
with it, with black, messy hair and, behind round glasses, green eyes that are only a few shades
different to Loki's, dressed in casual clothing, he is very much his uncle's nephew.

He hovers in the doorway, and gives me a cautious smile. I return it, and get a dazzling grin in
response. His uncle follows my gaze and smiles. "Please excuse me, Miss Everhart," he says
politely, before turning to his nephew. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry says that his friends, whose names have been removed for privacy reasons, and he have
gone looking for Thor and can't find him.

Loki tells him where he'll be – the gym – and is about to dismiss Harry when he sees him looking at
me with a strange mix of childish guileless curiosity and the sort of calculation and assessment
that I would expect to see in the eyes of Tony Stark. He clearly wants to talk to me.

One of the conditions I was given for this article was that I was not to interview Harry. At all. Or
even quote him unless I got express permission. This, Tony made especially clear. "We want the
kid to have his privacy," he said firmly, with a sort of willpower behind it that you could bend steel
bars around. The Avengers are very definite about the people they care about. That said, I was
allowed to talk to him, and Loki suggested we all go and find Thor.

While I can't report the conversation, I can tell you that Harry is a strange mix of his father and his
uncle, with some elements that can only have come from his deceased and much missed mother.
He has his uncle's dry wit, mischief and, once he gets going, his way with words.

This is mixed in with, once he is comfortable with me, a brash cheerfulness, honesty and openness
that is pure Thor, along with the fact that even a few minutes observation tells me that he is the
undisputed leader of his little band of three friends. The other two are a fourteen year old boy and
girl, the boy with a shock of red hair and numerous freckles and being of lanky, puppyish
proportions that promise strength in years to come, whose blush on seeing me clashed horribly
with his hair, the girl with bushy brown hair, sharp brown eyes and what has to be a genius level
IQ, who occasionally snapped at the red haired boy in a fondly exasperated fashion. They both
follow him implicitly. Even the redhaired twins, older brothers of Harry's friend by two years, who
Loki casually mentions are two of his apprentices, defer to him. This instinctive leadership,
tempered, as I witnessed, by the ability to take suggestions, are very much traits he inherited from
his father.

When we get to the gym, Harry calls over to his father, who turns. The instant smile on his face,
not in the least dimmed by the fact that Barton, his opponent, takes the opportunity to brain him
with a hefty dumbbell, was truly heartwarming. It helps that more damage was done to the
dumbbell than Thor, who merely stumbled, gave a hearty laugh and scooped his son up when he
ran over with unusual enthusiasm for a teenager.

The actions of a younger child, maybe, but in the context, they make sense. From my earliest
dealings with the Avengers, Thor has always been the most tactile, being completely innocent of
embarrassment and of the concept of personal space. His son, again, takes after him in this, and is
making up for a good twelve years of lack of familial love. Certainly, I doubt anyone would
begrudge him the chance to act a little younger than he is.

This juxtaposition of a childishly carefree nature and, as he later reveals, astonishing maturity, is
one that permeates his very being. As Stark observed, "He's a demigod. Contradiction comes with
the territory."

I came to Avengers Tower intending to interview them all separately, but I quickly changed my
approach, if only because when Harry is around, they drop their guards. Or, in the case of
Romanov and Barton, as much as they ever drop them. It is hard not to relax around such an
energetic, earnest person.

One moment he's helping Stark tune up one of his cars and getting completely filthy, the next
Pepper Potts or Jane Foster – long term girlfriend of Thor, who must be rather relieved that his
son and girlfriend get on well - is pointing him in the direction of a sink to get himself cleaned up,
watching him to make sure he actually does it while he chatters away to Clint Barton – a highly
qualified pilot and the one who usually pilots the various Avengers 'Quinjets' - about flying,
laughing raucously with his friends at some joke made by Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster's former
assistant and friend to the Avengers, then he runs off with his female friend and the twins to watch
his uncle refine the wards on the Tower in his study at the very heart of the Tower, green eyes wide
with wonder as he watches Loki's hands twitch and dance, pulling at half visible strings of navy
blue, ice white, solid red, shimmering emerald green, daring crimson and vibrant, burning gold,
weaving a cat's cradle of protective magic. He is always on the move, and, it seems, almost always
welcome wherever he goes.

It is remarkable to see how patient Stark is in teaching him, how affectionately firm Potts and
Foster both are with him, the way Barton is happy to listen to him and the way his uncle finds the
time to spare him a small, confidential smile while in the midst of what I am informed is immensely
complex magic.

It is quite extraordinary. Yet there is something about him that invites you into his confidence,
invites to pay attention to him and to like him. Within two hours of entering the Tower, before I
knew it, I found myself a co-conspirator in one of his pranks upon the endlessly patient Steve
Rogers. This strange charisma, which makes those who are disposed to like him like him all the
more, is another thing he inherited from his father. While Loki can be a little intimidating at first,
Thor is a big bundle of fun, all smiles, warmth and bone crushing hugs – though it seems that his
restored memories have aided him in understanding the concept of personal space – and is
instantly likeable, much like a particularly benevolent fraternity brother or a thunder god shaped
Labrador.
While Harry is not quite the same – his aura is more of a lovable, warm, smiling child on the edge
of adulthood, much like a cross between his father and uncle - it has much the same effect. Even
the occasional SHIELD Agents and other scientists who visit the Tower spare him smiles, kind
words, ruffled hair and in one amusing case, sweets. It isn't supernatural, as such. His personality
is merely magnetic.

And this is shown in no better fashion than an article that was supposed to be all about the
Avengers became all about their youngest affiliate. Maybe that is fair enough. He reveals a lighter,
more relaxed side to the Avengers, who are all too often only seen at stage managed galas and in
the heat of battle. He is the lens through which I saw the truth of the Avengers.

I saw Stark as a relaxed, patient teacher, treating Harry like a favourite nephew. I saw Potts and
Foster act as a mother figure and an older sister figure respectively, Potts revealing her carefully
controlled softer side. This does not mean that she's lost any of the sharpness that has made her
America's richest woman and one of its most successful business people. Far from it. Instead of
being replaced, the image of Pepper Potts I previously had merely gained another layer of
complexity.

I saw Thor as the doting father that I suspect he always has been at heart. I saw Loki as the sort of
indulgent uncle that every child might wish for, much like Tony – as he is in everything – but
quieter, gentler, never raising his voice, in a sharp contrast to the fire and bombast of his actions
and words in battle.

I even saw beneath the masks of Barton and Romanov. I didn't see much, but I saw the people they
could have been. Barton, like Stark, treats Harry a sort of nephew/little brother, encouraging his
mischief, and is quite happy to listen to the boy's babble. Romanov actually gives him genuine
smiles, and he is one of the very few people who are not intimidated by the reputation of the Black
Widow, which I suspect she finds somewhat refreshing.

And then there is Rogers. Rogers the really almost too good to be true. In all my life, I have never
met anyone so honestly and unfailingly nice as Captain Steve Rogers. I once asked Stark about it.
He said, "Well, I figure Cap was just born that way. I mean, the Law of Averages dictates that
you're going to get someone ridiculously nice eventually, if only to balance out people like me."

Rogers is somewhat more forthcoming. "What Doctor Erskine [the creator of the Super Soldier
Serum. His secret apparently died with him when he was assassinated by a HYDRA spy] said was
that it made 'a good man great and a bad man worse'. It magnifies everything, Miss Everhart, not
just the physical attributes, but mental too."

His tone is self-deprecating, and it is clear that Erskine's quote embarrasses him. He doesn't mind
being thought of as a good man. A great one, however, is another matter. "I'm just another kid
from Brooklyn," he says, tone dismissive. "Nothing special about me."

His statement is somewhat ruined by Stark and Loki rolling their eyes in the background. For all
their cynicism, both believe otherwise.

"I have lived since your kind counted their years in three digits," Loki said. "I am arguably the
most extensively travelled of the Aesir [the larger and more powerful of the two known sub groups
of Asgardians], and have been walking the Nine Realms for millennia. And Steven Rogers is quite
possibly the most remarkable individual, of any species, that I have ever met."

His brother agrees. "There are very few men or women who I would follow into battle, and only
one I would follow without question. Steven is that man."
Quite the endorsement, especially when added to the fact that he is the one authority figure that
Tony Stark is willing to listen to.

Despite all their apparent remoteness and distance, the Avengers are as human as you and I, on
the inside. Even if they occasionally need the presence of an innocent child to show it. Like the
Tower itself, once you get past the intimidating, shiny exterior, you'll find that there is warmth,
gentleness and humanity within.

As he finished the article, and nodded his satisfaction, Loki stiffened suddenly, then ran to his
room.

"Brother?" Thor called. "What is it?"

There was a loud cry, then a call of, "Brother! I have found him! I have found Sirius Black!"

Sirius Black was beginning to wonder if he'd finally lost it. It was rare that sane men saw deceased
best friends appearing out of the blue with enormous hammers and strange pseudo-medieval
armour.

"Padfoot?" the hallucination said. "Is that you?"

"Go away," Sirius said coldly, and sighed as the figure recoiled. "Look, I'm sure you're a perfectly
nice hallucination, but I don't have the time to be insane. I'm busy looking for my godson."

"Harry is safe," the hallucination replied.

"No he isn't," Sirius snapped, unsure of why he was arguing with a hallucination, but doing it
anyway. "Peter's at Hogwarts. Waiting."

"Peter?" the hallucination asked. "I'd have thought that he would be as far away from Harry as
possible."

Sirius shook his head. "His information led to Voldemort going down. If Voldemort comes back,
he'll need something big to get back in favour."

"Like Harry," the hallucination said, nodding. "How did you find out he was there?"

"An article in the Prophet," Sirius said, sitting down. He might as well get comfortable if he was
going to talk to a hallucination. "About the prize winning Weasley family."

The hallucination nodded. "The youngest son is a close friend of Harry's," he said. "And I believe
that the youngest child has something of a crush on him. In fairness, he did rescue her from the
Chamber of Secrets."

Sirius paused. His delusions never offered information he didn't know, even in his dreams. For
instance, he'd known that Lily was a screamer since that time he'd walked in on her and Prongs
going at it in a disused classroom in Seventh Year. Of course, he would later admit, that might have
been shock rather than an orgasm.

"Prongs?" he asked in shock.

"It's me, old friend," the hallucination that he was pretty sure was James Potter said.

"Am I dead?" he asked hopefully. "Am I at peace?"

He could literally see James' heart break.

"No, Padfoot," he said quietly. "You haven't yet got the rest you so richly deserve."

"What's with the armour?" Sirius asked.

"My birth name is Thor Odinson, God of Thunder and Lightning. I was sent to Earth to be born and
live as James Potter by my father, as an object lesson in humility," James said. The sky above
darkened briefly by way of emphasis. "I had no memories of who I was. Until Voldemort killed
me. I was helpless to stop him killing Lily and marking Harry. And I wasn't able to save you. I
went mad with grief when I returned to Asgard, and father was forced to put a block on my
memories. My brother Loki sensed that Harry was in danger – dementor attack at a Quidditch
match – and restored my memories. Now here I am."

"Is Harry alright?" Sirius asked sharply.

"He is, and probably plotting some mischief with my brother at this moment," James said, smiling
fondly. He reached out with his left hand. "Take my hand."

Sirius took it, and was pulled to his feet.

"HEIMDALL!" James cried. "OPEN THE BIFROST!"

A shimmering rainbow portal opened, which James pulled him through.

"Where am I?" Sirius asked in awe. He was standing on a rainbow bridge, and far in the distance
was a golden city, all great towers and mighty spires, with a vast sea rolling below. It was
beautiful.

"Welcome Sirius, to the Realm Eternal. Welcome to Asgard," James said softly.

Sirius made to step forward, then saw a tall, scary black man in golden armour with eyes that were
the same colour. He gulped.

James nodded to the man politely, and he nodded back.

"Um… hello?" Sirius said.

The man looked down at him and smiled. It was somewhat reassuring. "Greetings Lord Sirius of
the House Black. I am Lord Heimdall, gatekeeper of Asgard."

"My pleasure," Sirius said, then paused. "Did he say Lord Sirius? I thought I was disinherited."

"Your mother is dead, and the inheritance defaults to you," James said, walking on. "Oh, and if I
look like this," he said, face shifting. And it wasn't just his face. He grew a few inches and bulked
up, with shoulder length blond hair and blue eyes. In a couple of moments, he was a completely
different man, tall, powerfully built, and superficially intimidating. Or rather, intimidating until you
saw his expression, a warm smile and kindly blue eyes that shone with age, wisdom, kindness and
just a hint of mischief. "It's because that is my base form as Thor. My brother granted me the
ability to shift from one," he shifted back. "To the other," and back to Thor form. "At will. Like an
animagus transformation."

"Why are you in Thor form now?" Sirius asked.

"Because we're in Asgard, you idiot," James said fondly. "The people here recognise me as their
Prince. Though they are getting used to my James Potter form, and Mjolnir in many ways acts as a
name badge," he said, tapping the hammer. "They are more used to this form." He grabbed Sirius.
"If I fly you to the Palace, do you promise not to vomit?"

"Vomit? Why would I do thaargggh!" Sirius said, yelling as James took off.
 Let There Be Chaos
Chapter Summary

I think I definitely overdid the Crazy!Sirius part, but so be it. It was also much sillier
than some of my later stuff - and not silly in a way I'm totally happy with, but again, it
was of its time, writing was.

As it turned out, Sirius did not vomit, either in mid air, or when they landed at the far end of the
Rainbow Bridge. But it was a very close thing. "Prongs," he mumbled, face green. "That was
horrible."

"Pansy. Harry wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. In fact, he enjoyed it," Thor mocked.

"You may be getting old, Prongsie, but as you should have noticed, I'm not your son," Sirius
replied testily, gulping in breaths of salty sea air.

"True. He's better looking than you are."

"He looks exactly like you!"

Thor smirked. "Precisely."

Sirius provided him with a rude hand gesture. "Why did we stop here, anyway?" he asked,
straightening up.

"So I could walk you up, and you could have a look 'round Asgard city," Thor said.

Sirius duly looked, and was quickly absorbed. Asgard city, was a study in contrasts. Many of the
larger, more important buildings, were indicative of, frankly, higher beings. Made of smooth
golden metal, occasionally interspersed with silvery and coppery tones, and ornate, Norse style
designs on the doors, all swirling lines and carefully etched runes, trees, warriors and animals.
They were smooth in their angles and planes, with not a single visible flaw in their design. These
had been designed by people who had long since turned it from a profession into an art. He
mentioned this, though not in so many words. "Blimey, Prongs, these buildings are incredible!"

It is rare that Sirius Black is struck by architecture, but with architecture like this, it is not
surprising.

Thor chuckled. "Like many things on Asgard, Sirius, architecture is not a profession, it is an art.
We live so long, by mortal standards, that we have the time to practice many disciplines. And
practice makes perfect."

"So I see," Sirius said, appreciatively eyeing up a few women. Since Thor had discreetly cast
several cleaning charms and transfigured Sirius' clothes into respectable black robes, their looks
were more thoughtful than disgusted, something partly based on the fact that he was in the
presence of, and treated as a friend by, the Mighty Thor, Crown Prince of Asgard.

Thor followed his gaze and politely nodded. The women gasped and giggled, then started talking
amongst themselves.
Sirius sighed. "I don't have a bloody chance," he complained.

"No. You're scrawny, you possibly have lice and you like you haven't seen sunlight for a decade,"
Thor said, then tossed his hair. "Me, on the other hand…"

"Yeah, yeah, you're royalty, a hero and handsome with it," Sirius mock grumbled. "No need to rub
it in."

"And I have a girlfriend, so I'm not interested. Flattered, but not interested."

"… Could you put in a good word for me?"

"Give it a couple of months of good food and sunbathing. Then I'll consider it. My subjects have to
have standards, you know."

"James?"

"Yes?"

"You're a dick sometimes."

"I live with my brother and Tony Stark and have had a millennium of practice. I'd be disappointed
if I wasn't."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the two shared a look, and grinned.

"I've missed this, Padfoot."

"So have I, Prongs. So have I."

The walk up to the palace was uneventful. Sirius spent most of his time staring wide eyed at people
– particularly women. Some things, Thor thought, did not change – and drinking in the sights and
smells, particularly as they walked through a market. Seeing that Sirius was practically drooling
and probably hadn't eaten properly for… well, unless you counted Azkaban, about twelve years,
Thor briskly led him to some of the stalls.

Sirius watched as his best friend smiled, exchanged greetings and easily bantered with stall holders,
acquiring a large open sandwich laden with smoked fish, a bowl of some sort of delicious smelling
soup, a roll of soft, floury bread to go with it and a large, honey slathered thick pancake, signing a
few invoices, presumably sending the bill up to the palace.

Afterwards, Sirius found himself being led further down, laden down with delicious smelling food,
and led into a tavern, where Thor plonked him down at a table and went to the bar, and began to
make his way through the crowd.

With nothing else to do, he started eating. Being ravenous and having an appetite that made a
Labradors look reasonable, he got through the sandwich, the roll and two thirds of the bowl within
a matter of three minutes.

Then, something large, hairy and smelling strongly of badly cured leather and sweat wandered
over.

"Yer sittin' in my place."

It sounded like a small rockslide, and looked like a particularly disreputable and decrepit mountain,
all brown and grey, with random lumps, rough bits, craggy features that could only have been
formed by erosion or a blind drunken sculptor's apprentice with a chisel, with a couple of small,
piggy, gleaming black eyes staring out of it. There were scars, lots of scars, and a complete lack of
hair on the figures skull, which was more than made up for by the abundance of facial hair, which
resembled a large, dark, rotting forest.

Sirius, having raised his soup bowl to his lips to finish it off, raised a solitary staving off finger,
gulped it down, wiped his face somewhat clean, then said, "Actually, there wasn't anyone here
when I sat down. No sign it was someone elses." He shrugged. "Looks like it's mine, now." To
emphasise this point, he swung his feet up on to the bench opposite and smirked insouciantly.

The ambulatory mountain growled. Sirius growled back. His was better. He'd had more practice,
and it showed, in a low, rumbling growl that got half the bar's attention.

The mountain hesitated, then his countenance darkened. "I'm not scared of yer, yer mangy wolf
bastard!"

Then he swiped at Sirius, who leaned away, dodging the blow, grabbing the bowl as he did and
flicking it at the enormous man's face. His hands went up to block the bowl, giving Sirius time to
draw his wand and flick. Mr Mountain shot up into the air by his ankle and hung there. When he
opened his mouth, Sirius flicked his wand again. A gag appeared.

"Now. I'm here with a friend. I call him James or Prongs, but you might know him better as Prince
Thor," Sirius said casually, pausing to take a bite out of the honey covered pancake and savour it.
"Mm-hm! The food here is great. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. I'm with Thor, and he left me here."
Thor had, by now, acquired two beers and was making his way across.

Sirius waved. "Hi Thor!"

Thor raised his eyebrows for two reasons. One, Sirius was calling him Thor. Two, Sirius was
talking with his mouthful, an unpleasant sight at the best of times.

The floating thug, who was now looking terrified, was sort of expected. Like Loki and Tony, Sirius
had a supernatural capacity for chaos, and Thor had half expected to have to break up a large fight.

"Sirius… do I even want to know?"

"This fat bugger –"

The thug made an objecting noise.

Sirius poked him in the beer gut with his wand. "Oh shut up, you know it's true," he said, tone
dismissive. "Anyway, he claimed I was sitting in his place. Then he attacked me. While I was
eating, the fat dementor fucker!" This last part was distinctly indignant. Sirius had never been
pleased when someone got between him and food.

Only now was Thor remembering Sirius' seemingly limitless capacity for creative profanity.
Hopefully he could persuade him not to use it around Harry.

"Well, I'm sure you've shown him," Thor said, tone placatory. Then, slipping into his older speech
patterns as he did, he moved his gaze to the thug. Who gulped. Which is quite a feat when you're
upside down. "Listen well, scoundrel. This man is my friend and the actions he has taken against
you are done so with my blessing. Indeed, they are far less harmful than you deserve for daring to
attempt to strike one Thor calls friend and brother. Go. Begone from the city by tomorrow's
nightfall. You are no longer welcome in Asgard's citadel." He glanced at Sirius. "Let him down."
Sirius, wolfing down the rest of his pancake at nauseating speeds while enjoying the free show,
flicked his wand. The thug tumbled to the floor, gave Thor a fearful look, got up and ran out,
stumbling as he did.

Thor glanced around the room and then at the barman. "A pint of ale for each man here, bar
keeper. Send the bill to the palace."

"Do 'oo of'n do 'at?" Sirius asked, voice muffled by sticky pancake as a ragged cheer went up.

"Buy drinks for an entire bar?"

"'o. Fend –" Sirius began, then paused, swallowed, and said. "Do you often send bills up to the
palace?"

"More often than not, if I am in the city. The amount is withdrawn from my… extensive private
funds. Which are largely composed of allowances, gifts, bounties from defeating some villain or
other, and income from the lands I officially hold," Thor said. "It is easier than just carrying a
money pouch around." He paused. "And the fact I usually forget a money pouch is of course,
coincidental."

Sirius smirked. "Sure it is, Prongs. Sure it is."

He paused. "That bloke called me a 'mangy wolf bastard' when I growled at him. What does that
mean?"

"He mistook you for one of Hrimhari's subjects, the Wolf People – they are shapeshifters, capable
of assuming wolven form, Asgardian form, and one halfway between the two at will. Some fear
them for their powers," Thor said.

"So… like Asgardian werewolves?"

Thor shook his head. "They are born, not made. And they have full control of the transformations
and themselves during the transformations," he explained.

"Do you think they could help Moony?"

"Maybe. We can only try."

From then on, the trip up to the palace went by without incident – if you ignored the part where
Sirius made faces at the guards to see if they would move, leading Thor to sigh and drag him
along.

The guards were impassive. They were well used to the weird behaviour of Prince Thor's friends,
particularly his Midgardian ones.

A quick tour of the palace was interrupted. By Frigga.

"Thor!"

Sirius watched with interest as Thor's face creased into an open and guileless smile and he strode
over to hug the decidedly gorgeous despite her years woman in the very nice and expensive dress.

"Mother, it is good to see that you are well," Thor said warmly, hugging her.

"And you too, my son," she said fondly. "Speaking of being well, how is my grandson? Who you
have not brought to Asgard?" This last was said with a raised eyebrow and a tone that indicated
that this state of affairs would be rectified soon, wouldn't it?

Sirius was impressed. In his experience, only Lily and Molly Weasley had ever been able to carry
that sort of thing off. And this was borne out by Thor's reaction.

"Mother," he said, tone slightly long suffering. "Harry is still adjusting to being my son and even
mortal high society. Asgard would be too much of a shock to his system."

The lady smiled, deeply amused. "Why, Thor, I thought your brother would be the protective
father, shielding his child for the evils of noble lords and ladies," she teased.

Thor let out a chuffing sigh and muttered, "Is it wrong to care for him so?"

Her expression softened. "No. It is only natural and only right. And it is a sign that you are a good
father, Thor."

Thor smiled.

"Now, introduce me to your handsome friend," Frigga said firmly.

Thor only then seemed to remember Sirius, who smirked at him.

"Sirius, this is my mother, Queen Frigga. So for Merlin's sake, Padfoot, behave," Thor said, hissing
the last part. "Mother, this is Sirius, my dear friend and Lord of the House of Black."

"Your majesty, it is my pleasure," Sirius said, bowing and kissing her hand. "Clearly James got all
his good looks from you. When he's in his Thor form, anyway."

"You flatter me, Lord Black," Frigga said, smiling. "I am glad to meet one more of my son's
Midgardian friends."

"Midgardian means human," Thor supplied and Sirius nodded his understanding.

"More?" he asked.

"I joined a superhero team, dedicated to protecting Earth," Thor explained. "They're called the
Avengers and in many ways, they fill the hole that the Marauders left. You and Tony would get on
like a house on fire. Chaos, screaming and massive property destruction are all but guaranteed."

"Sounds like a kindred spirit," Sirius said cheerfully.

"This is true," Thor said, sounding like he was already reconsidering the idea of introducing them.

Then a stunningly beautiful black haired woman in armour stepped out of a room off to one side.
"My lady," she said politely, nodding to Frigga, who smiled.

"Hello Sif," Thor greeted her.

Sirius wolf-whistled. "Hello gorgeous," he said.

Sif raised a solitary eyebrow at Thor, who gave her a decidedly James Potter-like smirk. "Bringing
home strays again, Thor?" she asked dryly.

"What can I say, I took pity on him, fed him and now he's followed me home," Thor said casually.

Sirius pouted.
"Thor, are you sure introducing someone who you admit is a kindred spirit of Stark's to him is a
good idea?" Sif said.

Thor shrugged. "Should be good for a laugh," he said. "And Stark tells me he has excellent
insurance premiums, so he should be fine." He smiled slightly. "Odd. I actually get that sort of
thing now, thanks to my regained memories." He paused. "Though I will never understand why a
mobile communications device that is meant to be held to one's ear is called an 'I-phone'."

Sif chuckled, then bowed neatly. "The Lady Sif, at your service. The Warriors Three would be
here," she said, glowering into the room and raising her voice to a battle shout. "IF THEY
WEREN'T SO BUSY CHECKING THEIR WEAPONS, FLIRTING WITH THE MAIDS AND
EATING HALF THE ROYAL PANTRY. AGAIN!"

There were scrambling noises from the room of frenzied activity and someone falling off a couch
in response. She glanced at Frigga. "My apologies, my lady."

"Oh don't worry. Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg have always been this way and always will be. It's
part of their strange yet undeniable charm," Frigga said casually, as the three warriors stepped out,
Hogun with a calm serenity, Fandral primping his hair and Volstagg wiping his mouth and
finishing a mouthful.

"Sirius," Thor said. "I would like to introduce you to some of my dearest friends and best
companions – the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. The Lady Sif is the finest warrior you could
hope to meet and a giver of wise counsel. A better friend I could not hope for. As for the Warriors
Three, the one who isn't smiling is Hogun the Grim." Thor added in an undertone, "I have only
seen him smile once. If you manage to make him smile, I will give you anything that can
reasonably expected of me."

"So, not your secondborn?" Sirius asked in the same tone.

"No."

"Damn. All areas access to Lily's underwear drawer is out," Sirius said, trailing off as he looked
speculatively at Sif, then quizzically at Thor.

"I wouldn't. It's where she keeps her knives… oh bugger," Thor said, abruptly aware that he'd
walked into Sirius' trap, as Sirius began cackling and Sif skewered him with a glare.

"Tell me Thor, how do you know that?" Sif asked, voice icy. Frigga looked as amused as any
mother will when her son has made a harmless yet hilarious verbal pratfall.

"Loki dared me to," Thor mumbled, wilting under the glare, and glowering at Sirius.

"Once a Marauder, Prongs, always a Marauder," Sirius said, smirking. "Now, carry on introducing
me."

Thor grumbled then said, "the blonde one is Fandral the Dashing, and the one who resembles
Hagrid with red hair is Volstagg the Voluminous. They are very good friends of mine."

"At your service," Fandral said, bowing. "Any friend of Thor's is a friend of ours."

Sirius bowed back. "Delighted to meet you." He glanced at Thor, then back at Fandral. He grinned.

"So, Fandral the Dashing, eh? I bet you're a hit with the ladies," he said, voice innocent.
"Well, I don't like to boast," Fandral began.

Sif rolled her eyes, Volstagg snorted and Hogun raised a sceptical eyebrow at this most blatant of
lies.

"But yes, I am," he said.

"But you haven't yet found one who has captured your heart?" Sirius asked, still innocently.

"No."

"And surely one with such charm, and who takes such care in his appearance should have one as
breathtaking as he is, in both beauty and wit," Sirius said.

"Well," Fandral said. "That would be nice. What are you getting at? Know you of such a lady?"

"I am a wizard, Fandral, and a powerful one, as James – Thor - could tell you," Sirius said, drawing
his wand. Thor nodded his agreement. "And my chief talent is conjuration. I can conjure up for
you an image of your true love. All you need to do is close your eyes until I say."

Fandral looked excited, then a little suspicious. "This isn't going to end in me becoming something
unpleasant, is it?" he asked suspiciously. One thousand or so years of Loki's friendship instilled
certain survival instincts in even the thickest of skulls.

"I swear that no magic shall touch your person," Sirius said solemnly. "Close your eyes."

"Go on, Fandral," Volstagg said. "It's worth it."

Fandral hesitated.

"Imagine," Sirius said, voice hypnotic. "Beholding the love of your life with your very eyes.
Imagine how enraptured you'll be. Imagine a great quest to find such a one, and a greater quest to
woo the heart of this one. Imagine that, a story fit for the sagas of old, a story to make you legend."

"He's good," Frigga murmured.

"He's just getting started," Thor replied softly, smirking.

"Go on Fandral," Sif said, amused. "Unless you are not brave enough…"

"All right, all right," Fandral said. "I'll do it." He shut his eyes.

Sirius waved his wand. "Open your eyes and behold your true love."

Fandral opened his eyes, wide with anticipation… and saw himself. Or more accurately, a mirror.
His jaw hung loose with shock.

Volstagg cracked up, and Sif was outright laughing. And Hogun was grinning.

Sirius grinned at Thor. "Gotcha Prongs," he said gleefully. "You owe me."

Thor sighed and prepared for humiliation. "What?" he asked.

"Well… nothing yet. I think I need to consult with this Tony Stark, your brother and your son…
and maybe the Lady Sif has a few suggestions?" Sirius said cheerfully. "And the Warriors Three
too? And your mother?"
"One or two, Lord Black," Sif said, smirking. "One or two."

"Lady Sif, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Indeed," Fandral said, having recovered from his shock, and being glad that the spotlight was
turning to someone else. "A thousand years of stalwart friendship and adventuring has provided us
with much… what is the Midgardian turn of phrase? Oh yes. Blackmail material."

Volstagg grinned. Hogun grinned like a shark.

Frigga looked regally amused. "I'm sure that motherhood has given me certain insights that would
prove useful," she said mildly.

Sirius looked like he'd just hit the jackpot.

Thor gulped. He was already beginning to think that this was a very bad idea.

Rescue came in the form of his father, though if he had known it, Odin would probably have added
a regal contribution to the teasing. Let it not be said that the Allfather does not have a sense of
humour. How else would one survive children like Thor and Loki with mind intact?

"Thor," he greeted, accepting a kiss from his wife.

"Father," Thor said, tone respectful. Sif and the Warriors Three all went down on one knee. Sirius,
opting for the safe option, made a deep bow, then started staring at Odin's golden eyepatch.

"Rise," he said. "Thor, introduce me to your friend."

"Of course, father. Sirius, this my father, Odin, Lord and Allfather of Asgard," Thor said. "Father,
this Lord Sirius of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, one of my truest and noblest friends."

"Hi," Sirius said cheerfully. He paused. "That's a very big eyepatch. Shiny, too. Presumably you
must have spares… of course, you do, you're a king. Still, it is very impressive, just the right size
for a King. It must be carefully polished, certainly…"

Thor was looking utterly horrified. The Warriors Three were sniggering at the double entendres
under their collective breath – or rather, Fandral and Volstagg were. Hogun was half dismayed,
half amused, by what little could be told from his expression. Sif was giving Thor a look that said
'you do realise that this man is a raving lunatic, don't you?'

Odin himself had crooked a regal eyebrow, while Frigga covered her mouth to hide her smile.

"Father, I beg you forgive him, he has spent the last twelve years in a terrible prison for a crime he
did not commit," Thor said hastily. "It, I think, has left him a little unhinged." He sighed. "Though
that is not quite correct. I am not entirely sure he was entirely sane in the first place. He didn't
mean any offence."

"Oh, I think he did. He was testing me, to see what I would do, while trusting to you to protect him
and minimise the risk," Odin said, eyeing Sirius carefully. Sirius replied with a carefully amiable
and innocent smile. "I have seen that tactic in two others, Lord Black. My other son, Loki, and
Mister Stark. It requires a certain audacity, and makes me wonder if you aren't all somehow
related."

"That would make a lot of sense," Thor muttered.

"Guilty as charged, your majesty," Sirius said, grinning.

"Did I pass?" Odin asked dryly.

"With flying colours, your majesty. You're only the second person to pick up on it," Sirius said,
smirking, and Thor was abruptly reminded that Sirius only acted like he was an idiot and that he
would have made a very good Slytherin.

"Since you are adopted kin to my grandson, Lord Black, you may call me Odin in private," Odin
said, tones indicating that this was a privilege, not a right.

"And you can call me Sirius."

"He also answers to Padfoot, Fido and Dinner," Thor snarked.

The rest stared at him, amused, but not quite sure what to make of this. Sirius, on the other hand,
let out a loud bark of laughter. "And he comes out swinging!" he cried, then gave Thor a sharp,
shrewd look. "Are there two of you in there, or what?"

Thor shook his head. "James is me as I am James. We are one and the same. I am still integrating
parts of his personality and habits into my own," he explained. "That is why I sometimes seem to
switch between the two."

"What?" Fandral mumbled to himself, confused.

Volstagg shrugged.

"The original intention was to integrate the two over time," Odin said. His expression darkened.
"But a traitor and his master put paid to that."

Sirius growled, long and low. "When I get hold of Peter… I'm not sure what I'll do, but it'll be slow
and painful. Very slow and painful." He glanced around. "I know you lot will want him, and that's
fine. I just want ten minutes alone with him in a darkened room first."

That got a few approving nods. While Asgard did not condone torture as part of the judicial
process, this came under a blood feud. And blood feuds were a different matter entirely.

"Sif, why don't you, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun show Sirius around the Palace and get to know
him?" Frigga suggested. "I and my husband wish to speak to our son about our grandson."

Thor looked dubious as the group obediently trooped off, Sirius striking up conversation with the
rest. "Are you really sure it is wise leaving those five alone?"

"Sif will restrain them, I am sure," Frigga said serenely.

"Mother, you do not know Sirius."

"The palace survived over a millennium of you and your brother, and the visit of Mister Stark and
Doctor Banner. I am sure it will surive Lord Black," Odin said firmly.

Thor's expression was sceptical to put it mildly.

"Now, why have we not met our grandson yet?"

Thor sighed and launched into a round of explanations, all the while wondering what mischief
Sirius was causing.
And sooner rather than later, he got his answer when he found Fandral and Volstagg giggling, Sif
rolling her eyes and Hogun pretending to sleep standing up so as not to be associated with the two
idiots. Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

"Thor, Thor, Sirius has introduced us to a wonderful concept!" Volstagg cried.

Thor got a sudden feeling of intense foreboding.

"Yes, it is a noble quest that braves the deadliest dangers in the Nine Realms," Fandral said.

"What is it?" Thor asked.

Hogun provided the answer in his own, succinct fashion without even opening his eyes. "Panty
Raid."

Thor groaned. "Who?"

There was a sudden dopplering scream and the sound of approaching footsteps from around the
corner. A bolt of magical energy slammed into the wall, blowing a crater in it.

"JAAAAMMMMEESSSS! HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLP!"

"GET BACK HERE YOU THIEF! AMORA COMMANDS YOU!"

"Oh no," Thor said. He sighed, striding towards the corner. "I'd better go and save him."

"EXECUTIONER! CLEAVE HIM IN TWAIN!"

Sirius came haring around the corner, followed closely by Skurge the Executioner. Skurge was a
gigantic man, a full seven feet tall, and vast muscles moved like breaching whales under his skin.
His skin was dusky pale colour, his eyes were blue and currently murderous, and what hair he had
that was not shaved off was black. He was one of Asgard's most formidable warriors and
hopelessly in love with Amora the Enchantress, whose panty draw Sirius had raided.

Skurge was considered to be second only to Thor in strength in all of Asgard, with the possible
exception of Vidar. But he was second for a reason, and he slowed as Sirius scrambled behind
Thor, who set himself and hefted Mjolnir. Not only that, but Sif and the Warriors Three had moved
to place themselves between him and Sirius.

"Hold, Skurge! What is the meaning of this? This man you pursue is my close friend and honoured
guest, and adopted kin to my son," Thor demanded.

"He has offended my Lady Amora," Skurge growled. "Stand aside, Lord Prince."

"No."

"Skurge? Is he dead yet?" Amora asked, tones irate as she came around the corner. With ash blonde
hair and leaf green eyes and a figure that men had literally died for, she was as beautiful as sin.
And just as deadly, with her skills at manipulation and her vast magical power. She was Skurge's
puppet mistress. He would do anything for her and she took full advantage. Unfortunately for him,
she wasn't interested. Not when the Mighty Thor had caught her eye.

As soon as she caught sight of Thor, she smiled winsomely. "Thor, my love. Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected," Thor said curtly. "Call off your attack dog before the Palace has a
new Executioner shaped window."
Amora laughed. It was a tinkling sound that put one in mind of silver bells and glass that was just
on the point of smashing into lots of sharp and deadly pieces. "Your Midgardian side is shining
through, my love," she teased. "It is… adorably quaint."

"I am not your love, Amora. And never will be again."

"Again?" Sirius asked curiously.

"I and Lord Thor were once lovers, thief," Amora said, wicked amusement colouring her tone.

Sirius looked her up and down. "I can see why," he drawled.

"See, Lord Thor? Even the thief cannot deny my beauty, which is rather greater than that of that
mousy mortal you are carrying on with," Amora said lightly, tone triumphant.

"I do not deny that you are beautiful, Amora. I am just not interested," Thor said coldly. "And mind
your tongue when it strays into matters concerning Jane. Or the Palace will have two new
windows."

Amora blinked. Up until now, Thor had been of the 'wouldn't hit a girl' type. James, however, had
fought a lot of female Death Eaters and was something of a pragmatist. "My love…"

He gave her a cold look. "We were lovers once, yes. I was young. I was stupid. I made mistakes.
And you were one of the biggest, Amora."

Before Amora could say another word, Sirius interjected.

"Actually, I was going to say you remind me of my cousin Narcissa: a prissy, self obsessed bitch
who's more than happy to open her legs to any man who she thinks is useful," he drawled.

Amora went white with rage and conjured a bolt of spell-flame. But before she could launch it,
Thor hefted Mjolnir, and a sudden gust of wind sent her stumbling back, snuffing out the bolt. It
also ruined her hairdo. Which was only made worse when the James side of Thor decided to ionize
the air around her with a little localised lightning. Her hair stood on end.

"Why Amora, what a daring hair style you are wearing today," Sif said, smirking as Sirius and the
Warriors Three cracked up laughing. "All I have to ask is this – did you consciously imitate a
hedge-pig or did it just end up like that?"

Amora frowned, conjured a mirror, stared for a moment and shrieked. Horribly.

Skurge hefted his axe.

"Don't even think about it," Thor said sharply. "If you want a duel, I will give you one. But not
now. Leave."

He paused and glanced at Sirius. "Sirius. Give them back."

Sirius pouted. "Spoils of war?"

Thor glared.

Sirius sighed. "Fine. When did you become so responsible?"

"That is a complicated question," Thor remarked. "With many answers."

Sirius grunted and, pulling the lacy green arrangement out of his pocket, levitated them over. "I've
seen better," he muttered under his breath.

Amora's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Instead, she snatched them out of the air and stalked
off, doubtless planning vengeance.

Sirius broke the silence. "She's not like Narcissa. More an unholy blend of Narcissa and Bellatrix."

Thor found himself agreeing.

 Revelations

Harry disappeared on a regular basis, over the following few days, and it took some considerable
effort to find him on the part of Ron and Hermione. Until that is, Fred and George decided to show
their little brother and fellow apprentice some kindness and produced a map. A very particular
map.

"With this," Fred said.

"We can see –"

"Everyone –"

"In the school –"

"Is. At all times."

"Why did you never tell me?" Ron complained, eyes wide. "I'm your brother."

"Well, brother dearest –"

"We have to have –"

"Some secrets."

Ron scowled at them.

"Fred, George, this map could be immensely dangerous! What if a dark wizard got hold of it?"
Hermione demanded. "You should turn it in to Professor McGonagall at once."

"Yeah."

"Not happening."

"Which?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowed.

"Either of the above," both twins said in unison.

"Besides, Hermione –"

"We're giving it –"

"To its rightful owner –"

"Soon."

"Oh? And who might that be?" Hermione asked, hands on hips.

"Harry, of course."

"Why would it be his?" Ron asked, confused.

"Because his dad made it," Fred said cheerfully.

"Along with the rest of the Marauders."

"Harry's dad was a Marauder?" Ron asked, eyes wide.

"Yup. He was Prongs."

"Told us himself."

"That's the only way –"

"He could have known about the map."

"Besides, Hermione –"

"It's password protected –"

"And only shows its password –"

"If it likes you."

"And it's pretty clever."

"It decided it liked us."

"So that's how we know it," they finished, in disturbing unison.

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Ron overrode her. "Weren't we going to look for
Harry?"

"Oh, right, yes," Hermione said, a little distracted. She glared at the twins. "This isn't over, you
know."

"Sure it isn't," they drawled.

Hermione huffed, but otherwise said nothing.

Harry was, in fact, at the top of the Astronomy Tower with a telescope, intently training it on the
night sky.

"Harry?" Hermione said.

Harry turned and smiled. He was wrapped up warm, wearing thick jeans and a large amount of
Avengers memorabilia. Thor themed hoodie. It featured the God of Thunder in full armour,
thrusting his glowing hammer skyward as lightning forked around him, while wearing a
particularly heroic expression that, as many such expressions do, made him look vaguely
constipated. He was also wearing an emerald green scarf with the words 'Hulk Smash!'
embroidered in white on it, two gold and red gloves with blue-white circles on the palms – Iron
Mitts, as Tony had taken to calling them – and a beanie hat in green and gold with the words, 'I aim
to misbehave', written around the brim and a chibi style Loki on the front.

One might wonder where merchandise for the other two Avengers was. The answer was that his
belt had a SHIELD insignia buckle. Even in merchandising, for spies, old habits die hard.

"Oh, hi guys," he said, cheerfully, cheeks red with cold. But his glasses covered eyes were dancing
with excitement as the waxing moon reflected off them.

"What are you doing up here, Harry? Curfew's in five minutes!" Hermione admonished.
"I was looking at Asgard," Harry said.

"Harry… Asgard's in another dimension," Hermione said slowly. "You can't see it through a
telescope."

Harry grinned. "That's what I thought. Then Jane explained to me that while Asgard was in another
dimension, like all the other eight realms, the portals between realms used to be always open.
Basically, Asgard and the other realms were like bubbles attached to our universe, right?"

Hermione nodded, fascinated.

"Well, eventually they were sealed off, and you had to use the Bifrost to get from realm to realm.
Before, it was just quicker and easier, like apparating somewhere instead of walking," Harry
continued. "And since they were so far away, they're still visible through Hubble… and, since
Asgard is so bright, from here." He stepped away from the telescope and grinned. "Look for
yourself."

Hermione obligingly looked, and after a moment, gasped. "Whoa," she breathed.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Harry said.

"Not impressive, amazing! We're looking at a different dimension!" Hermione breathed, sounding
utterly entranced.

"And I'm from there. Or half of me is. Hermione, guys, I'm not even from this universe," Harry
said slowly.

"A lot to take in, huh?" Ron said, looking sympathetic. He couldn't really imagine being
so… different from the people around him. Except when he had gone to Avengers Tower and New
York, being astounded by, for once, being in the minority. Still, it wasn't something he'd had much
experience with.

Harry nodded heavily. "I mean, I was fine with magic. Magic was, and is, amazing, don't get me
wrong. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

He paused, an expression flitted across his face, then he added, quietly, "Make that almost
anything."

"What would you trade magic for?" Ron asked, astounded.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, turning away from the telescope.

"What?"

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "His mother," she hissed.

"Oh. Oooh. Right, sorry mate. I can understand that," Ron said.

Harry nodded vaguely. "Right," he said, then stripped off a glove and examined his hand, as if he
expected it to catch fire, or shoot webbing at any moment. "I mean… being a wizard was one
thing. I wasn't a freak, I had an explanation for why I could do all the weird stuff. But I was still
human. Now…"

He trailed off.

"Now, half of me isn't and never has been human. Do they even let half-humans into Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Hermione said, before anyone else could answer. "In Hogwarts: A History, it stipulates that
students must be at least half human. There have been students that were half giant, half goblin and
even half faerie – though I think that last was something else, because the only fairies that exist are
the ones in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

Suddenly, the wind whistled around them, and just for a moment, it sounded like the sound leaves
would make if they could laugh.

They all shivered. And with good reason, not just because it was cold. Because Hermione was dead
wrong about the Fae. Not that she knew it.

"Anyway, Harry, even if that wasn't true, half the Wizarding World worships your uncle. And your
dad too. You're not going to get kicked out of Hogwarts," Hermione said.

"Yeah, Harry –"

"Dumbledore would –"

"Never allow it."

"And no one crosses Dumbledore," Ron added.

"Exactly," the twins agreed, clapping Ron on the shoulders. They paused. "Except for…"

"Our esteemed lord and master?"

"Indeed."

Harry snorted. "No one crosses Uncle Loki."

Having seen him in action, he could well say that no matter how powerful Dumbledore was – and
from what Loki and Steve had said, his powers were vast, ranking him in the top ten known
superhumans on the planet – Loki was a cut or ten above. One did not become god of magic by
collecting bottle caps, and from what little had been revealed, his reservoirs of power were nothing
short of incredible.

It had taken twenty years to build Durmstrang, wards and all. Loki had built Hogwarts. It had taken
around twenty minutes. Wards and all.

Harry sighed. "I wasn't worried about being cut off from Hogwarts." Well, actually, he had, just a
tiny bit, but he wasn't going to mention that. "I was worried…"

"About what?" Hermione asked.

"About being different. It's bad enough being 'the Boy-Who-Lived' and all that trouble with being a
Parseltongue last year," Harry said, slumping against the battlements. "It made me… different.
And I don't want to be different, I don't want to be the freak that everyone points out and whispers
about, I just want… I just want to be me. To be Harry."

"It bothers you that much?" Hermione asked, surprised.

Harry nodded, looking a bit miserable. "I mean, look at my dad and my uncle, they're over a
thousand years old and don't look a day over twenty five. My granddad is at least five thousand
years old. Five thousand. At least." He looked sadly at them all. "Chances are, I'm going to outlive
you all."
That was indeed a sobering thought. Then Hermione spoke, reciting from memory.

"'I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed
by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you
prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?'"

She looked at Harry. "Shylock, in the Merchant of Venice. It's a Shakespeare play, and the thing
about Shakespeare… the thing about Shakespeare is that he knew people. He understood them on
a very fundamental level. And what he's saying here is that in the end, you're still like us.
Asgardians eat, drink, sleep, get ill, even die. Look at your dad. He behaves just like, well, an
ordinary human." She paused. "If you ignore his complete inability to use the microwave."

That startled a laugh out of Harry.

"And you're still half human, anyway, even if that still bothers you."

"Yeah, mate. To us, you're still Harry. Our friend. Nothing's really changed," Ron said. He grinned.
"If you'd changed that much, you wouldn't be moping about for no good reason, would you?"

That got another laugh, this one rueful, from Harry. "You're right," he said, and yawned. "And
that's me being human and needing some sleep."

Hermione's hands suddenly flew to her mouth. "Oh my god! It's ages past curfew."

"Ah, Hermione dearest –"

"Aren't you forgetting?"

"We have the Marauders map."

Harry's head turned sharply. "The what map?"

"The Marauders Map," Sirius said, grinning. "The secret to our success."

"So," Tony said, "You're saying that when you guys were… fifteen, sixteen?"

Sirius nodded. They were sitting in the general living room of the Penthouse of Avengers Tower.
Sirius had arrived a few days ago after he had left Asgard due to one prank too many. This prank
had involved itching powder in certain people's garments. Amora and the Executioner had been
two major victims, but could not claim that it affected only them, as very few escaped.

Odin had been targeted – but not his wife - but as he himself had noted, he was the man who had
raised Loki and Thor. A few stern looks and a lecture were all that resulted, but Odin had
recommended Sirius be removed from Asgard before Amora or the Executioner removed him from
life.

Sirius had been moved to the Tower, and had spent the last few days sampling Tony's scotch,
flirting with Pepper – until Tony started twitching and Pepper gently let him down – Natasha – who
raised a silent eyebrow, then said that she was too old for him in a deadpan tone of voice that could
have been a truth or a lie – and Darcy, who had flirted back enthusiastically, on the justification
that once they'd got him fattened up and healthy again, he would be 'a total hottie'. It helped that he
no longer looked like an underfed scarecrow thanks to a lot of good Asgardian food and the
ministrations of Asgards finest healers. Now, he merely looked a bit malnourished, something that
was changing fast.

He and Tony had, predictably and to Thor and Steve's worry, got on like a house on fire. The fact
Loki also got on with him went without saying.

"You managed to create a map that was password protected, had a intelligent security system that
responded to attempted intrusions and could track anyone and everyone who was in the building.
And didn't need to be updated," Tony said, tone half awed, half disbelieving.

"And this was in 1989. At the latest."

"Yup."

Tony pouted, as if annoyed that he hadn't created something similar at that age.

"Oh, don't pout, Tony," Loki said, wandering through with three mugs of coffee, causing both Tony
and Sirius to perk up. "Hogwarts is deeply magical and sentient. Think of her as something like a
magical JARVIS, but without the ability to communicate and manipulate her environment to any
great extent. She liked them and consequently gave them a few nudges in the right direction. After
that, all they had to do was tap into her ambient magic and wards. The map is essentially conduit to
Hogwarts, if you will, a smaller thing connected to the greater whole."

"Sort of like JARVIS in my suits," Tony said. "Right?"

"Very like," Loki said, then a wicked smile crossed his face. "You know that Hogwarts expressed
some considerable interest in JARVIS? She has never come across a genius loci like herself."

"Genius what?"

"A spirit that's tied to a particular place," Sirius explained.

"JARVIS is an AI, not a spirit."

"A disembodied intelligence. The fact that he happens to live in circuitry rather than stone and
mortar is an academic difference," Loki said, tone dismissive. The smirk returned. "Why, Tony, if I
did not mistake her feelings, she harbours… what is the phrase? Oh yes. A crush. On JARVIS."

Tony stared at him, jaw hanging loose. "JARVIS? What do you think of this?"

"I think that I would like to communicate with Hogwarts, sir, if Loki is able to facilitate such a
thing. It would be pleasant to converse with a being who has similar experiences to myself,"
JARVIS said.

"… Did you just ask Loki to set you up on a date with a sentient castle?"

JARVIS' tones were pleased, but a little embarrassed. "I believe I did, sir. It is only polite to inquire
with her creator first."

Sirius was grinning. "So, Tony," he said, in the tones of a practiced shit stirrer. "Your 'son' is going
on a date with Loki's 'daughter'. How do you feel?"

Tony looked at his empty glass, as if willing it to fill. Unfortunately, Tony's many talents did not
extend to Alcokinesis. "I need another drink."

Loki started laughing, a rich, resonant tenor laugh that echoed through the Tower, then snapped his
fingers. Tony's glass was abruptly full of scotch. While Tony's talents did not extend to
Alcokinesis, Loki's extended a lot further.

At that moment, Thor entered the room, followed by Pepper, and Tony spotted an opportunity to
change the subject.

"So, Thor, how was Harry conceived?" he asked. Thor nearly choked on his drink. Loki nearly
choked as well, because he'd started laughing.

"The normal way, or so I'd imagine," Pepper said, giving Tony a quelling look, which he ignored.

"Tell him, brother, or I will," Loki said.

Thor stared at him. "You were watching?" he cried in shock, horror and mostly, embarrassment.

"No, I was keeping an eye on you, then vacated the area when clothes started being ripped," Loki
said mildly.

"Ripped clothes?" Clint asked, wandering over. "I have to hear this."

Bruce had paused by the door and Darcy and Jane had entered the room, the former grinning, the
latter curious, followed by Natasha. "Trust me," Sirius said. "You should hear it."

Thor looked somewhat beleaguered and noticed that all the Avengers and their associates were
gravitating to him as if summoned.

"Go on," Tony urged.

"He doesn't have to," Pepper said.

"Then I'll just have to imagine it," Tony said, tone somewhat petulant.

Thor paled. This prospect was worse. By far. He sighed. "Fine. Lily and I were dressing up for a
Halloween party. She was going as a sexy witch -"

Sirius hummed his agreement. "Fantastic breasts," he said dreamily, then yelped as Natasha
clipped him round the head.

"You deserved that," Thor said mildly.

"Meh," Sirius replied, shrugging.

"And I hadn't changed, saying," Thor began. He sighed. "That I was a sexy wizard."

Tony wolfwhistled and Darcy nodded. "You were one nice piece of salty goodness," she said.

"And then... since my shirt was old and thin, Lily... tore it off. And, well... we never got to the
party," Thor muttered.

Tony and Clint were laughing. Sirius was grinning. "Those two were at it like rabbits," he said.
"Not unlike him and Jane, when they hit their stride."

"Seriously?" Darcy asked, looking at her more studious friend in a new light, while said studious
friend looked out the window, blushing slightly and seemed to be trying to distract herself by
reciting Pi.

Sirius nodded. "Every single night and my room is next door. I hear everything. Everything."
Clint winced. "Hard luck."

"How many orgasms per night?" Tony asked, absently ducking a swat from Pepper.

"And what's the ratio from Jane's orgasms to Thor's, because it had better be at least fifty fifty,"
Darcy added.

Sirius sat back with the gleeful expression of a man who has just found that he is sitting on a
goldmine of embarrassing information and blackmail material and is going to milk it for all it is
worth.

In summation, it was fortunate that Thor was not easily embarrassed. It was unfortunate that Sirius
was very good at embarrassing people.

Who are the Avengers?

The Age of the Superhero: how the advent of superheroes has changed the world forever

'More things in heaven and earth': a study of the implications of the Chitauri invasion

Reaching for the Heavens: How Doctor Jane Foster is building a road to the Realm Eternal

Earth's Mightiest Heroes: Our Defenders

O Captain, My Captain: What we know about the new Captain America

America Rules The Waves (And Everything Else): how the Avengers give America influence not
seen since the fall of the British Empire0

Who are S.H.I.E.L.D?

The New Paradigm

Bows and Bullets: analysis of who Hawkeye and Black Widow are and who they work for

The Man in the Iron Mask: the new Tony Stark

Power Behind the Throne no more: Potts steps out of Stark's shadow in style

Iron Men: Stark and Rhodes blaze a trail across the globe

Mysteries of the Cold War: Who Was the Winter Soldier?

Licensed to Kill: the War Machine gets his hands dirty in Libya

Revealed! Former Circus trickshot archer Clint Barton the secret identity of Hawkeye

Gadaffi Grabbed: Avengers collar North African Dictator

The Avengers and the Arab Spring: Dictatorships drop like dominos following intervention in
Libya

Pax Avengers: Who dares cross the new power players in global politics?

The Mandarin: a response to the Avengers?

A SHIELD or a HAMMER? Who commands the Avengers and to what purpose?

Cry Havoc And Let Slip the Avengers

Heroes Without Borders: 'the Avengers are not part of the US Armed Forces' states US Secretary
of Defence

The 21 st Century: This is when everything changes

A Rainbow Bridge: Jane Foster opens the gates to a wider universe

Under the Star Spangled Suit: Who is the new Captain America?

The Invincible Iron Man: Stark goes from strength to strength following the Chitauri invasion

Gods, Monsters and Men of Magic

A New World in My View

Gods Among Us: the Mighty Thor speaks out

Controversy abounds as Loki joins Avengers 'as probationary member'

A Nefarious Shadow: the Italian Count who is taking over Europe

The Magnificent Seven: the Avengers crush criminal Count in Roman Coliseum

Nefaria by name, nefarious by nature: how the Avengers defeated the apparently unstoppable
superhuman aristocrat

Clash of the Titans: Hulk and Thor take on the mysterious Juggernaut in earthshaking duel

The Could Have Been King: Loki talks New York, the Chitauri, regret and redemption

'I have red in my ledger. And I want to rub it out': Loki on his change of heart and journey from
supervillain to superhero

Demigods among us: who is the mysterious Thorson?

Asgard's Secret: Who is the Mother of Thor's son and where is she now?

Europe's Strong Man: the inexorable rise of Victor Von Doom

Latveria Experiences Economic Surge

Spate of attacks across Europe spark fears of HYDRA's return

Fury idly ran his eye over the collection of newspapers, magazines and periodicals that chronicled
the exploits and reactions to those exploits of the Avengers. The reactions had been wide and
varied. Some reacted with fear, some with hope and some with glee.

Of course, he hadn't collected these for fun. No, they were homework. Good thing the person they
were for was a fast reader. Pity there hadn't been more good stuff on Captain America. Most of it
was how he was the father of some random fame seeker's baby or having a gay affair with Tony
Stark. Fury snorted. Like that was ever going to happen.

A tall, lean caucasian man apparently in early middle age walked into the room. His hair was
black, his temples were white, and a small smile adorned his lips.

"How's he doing, Doctor?" Fury asked.

The smile faded. "The same as ever. I've told you, Nicholas, he'll wake when he's ready."

"Well, that had better be soon," Fury said.

The Doctor eyed him. "Oh?"

Fury nodded. He knew he could trust this man. "An old Soviet installation that can be traced back
to the Red Room was ransacked recently. My informants in Gringotts tell me that money is moving
around the old pureblood accounts. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have been appearing on the
European Wizarding Society circuit a lot more recently. Not only that, but a three of my best agents
went missing. We found them, torn to shreds. They died on the night of the full moon," he said. He
folded his arms. "Something is going on, and the old Death Eaters are at the heart of it. Forgive me
for wanting my good eye back to keep an eye on them."

"The Red Room… Russian super soldier and spy program, correct?"

"That is so, Doctor."

"That is bad," the unnamed Doctor murmured. "Omega Red, one of the later Black Widows, Red
Guardian…" he paused. "You're not afraid of them."

"Worst comes to the worst, I'll sic Logan on Omega Red and Barton and Romanov on the Widow.
The old Guardian, Shostakov, is not an issue. I killed him myself," Fury said, and shook his head.
"Damn shame. Man would have been a good Agent." He glanced at his conversation partner. "No.
I'm not afraid of them."

"What about… him?"

Fury was silent for a long time. He knew who was being referred to. "Anyone who is not afraid of
that man is a fool, and fools don't stand a chance against someone like him," he said eventually.
"There are four people in the world good enough to beat him at his own game. Three of them are
on the Avengers. But I'm not sure how highly I'd rate their chances."

"That's where the Shadow Initiative comes in."

Fury whipped around sharply. The man smiled. Fury shook his head. "You're dangerous, Strange.
Very dangerous."

"And on your side."

Fury snorted. "No you aren't. You're on your own side. That side just happens be next to mine for
now." He glanced at the other man. "You gonna come out of hiding any time soon?"

"Not yet. It is not my time."

"Well, you know yourself best," Fury said, knowing that it wasn't worth pushing the man.

"Indeed… oh, and Nicholas?"

"Yes?"

"Send Clint Barton to Hogwarts. Soon. Also, please give my regards to the other Nicholas. And his
lovely wife too."

"I'd ask how you know about that, but I'd just get some cryptic bullshit for answer, right?"

The man chuckled. "Now you're getting it," he said. He disappeared slowly, leaving behind
nothing but the smile.

Fury rolled his eyes. "Jackass always has to have the last word," he muttered. He looked over at the
single bed and its single occupant. Machines beeped and hissed. "I hope you wake up soon," he
said. "Because I'm going to need my good eye for what's coming next."

It was the day before the penultimate day of term, and Harry was wandering towards the Common
Room when he was suddenly flanked by Fred and George.

"Ah, Harry!"

"Just the demigod we wanted to see."

"We have a proposition for you."

While Harry had not been hanging around with the Avengers for long, there is something about
Tony Stark that is infectious. "Sorry guys. But you really aren't my type."

Both twins looked half offended, half amused.

"Harry, Harry –"

"Harry."

"We weren't talking about that."

"We were talking about a prank."

Harry perked up.

"Any ideas?"

Harry looked thoughtful. Ever since he'd discovered that he was the son of one of the infamous
Marauders, he'd felt… urges. To cause chaos. Of course, being the nephew and apprentice of the
God of Mischief helped in that regard.

"It has to be big," he said slowly. "Really big. Marauders scale. And Christmas themed." He rubbed
his chin. "So… ice. Lots and lots of ice."

"Maybe ice skating," Ron suggested, having caught up with the three. "Like on the pond at home."

"Students ice skating?" Harry asked.

The Twins shook their heads. "No…" Then they looked at each other and grinned.

"I think –"

"That we –"

"Can do better –"

"Than that."

Ron and Harry shared looks. Ron looked a little nervous. Harry was grinning.

"Do tell," he said.

"Well," Fred began. "It's like this…"

And so, the next morning dawned, and as students filed down to breakfast, they noticed certain
suits of armour were missing. When they got to breakfast, they found that the House Tables had
been arranged so that there was a large open space in the middle of the Great Hall. And it was
covered in ice. There were convenient signs saying 'Don't Step on the ice', enforced by banishing
charms. Most of the teachers looked suspicious. Professor Lupin was hiding a small smile.
Professor Dumbledore looked like he couldn't wait for the fun to begin. Loki was outright
smirking, being present because he had given his four apprentices a lesson on wandless magic the
previous evening and decided to stay overnight, before hopping over to the nearby airport to play
taxi for the Avengers when they arrived the next day.

Then, as everyone had sat down, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, and a large group of
suits of armour came charging in. The first noticeable thing about them was that they had been
clothed in stereotypical medieval Lincoln green clothing, with very tight tights on their legs and
their helmets had been transfigured. Into hats. With feathers in.

The second noticeable thing was that they were all carrying bows and quivers full of sucker arrows.

The third noticeable thing was that as soon as they stepped onto the ice, their boots turned into ice
skates.

They skated, in perfect formation, to the middle of the hall, where they all bowed. Meanwhile,
JARVIS' scrupulously polite tones rang out over the hall, thanks to the twins putting a Sonorus
charm on the speakers. "Ladies, gentlemen… Purebloods."

That got a laugh.

"I am proud to present to you the very first performance of Robin Hood, the Wizarding World
edition, On Ice," JARVIS continued. "Please enjoy the show."

Loki was grinning. Professor McGonagall had raised a single thin eyebrow.

Then the suits began to sing.

We're men, we're men in tights.

We roam around the forest looking for fights.

We're men, we're men in tights.

We rob from the purebloods and give to the muggles, that's right!

We may look like sissies, but watch what you say or else we'll put out your lights!

We're men, we're men in tights,

Always on guard defending the people's rights.

That got a few laughs, especially when, every now and then, one of them would absently smack
one of the others in the face, knocking it over with an almighty crash. All this did was have the
armour continue to sing from the floor, gamely kicking it's legs in the dance moves.

What got even bigger laughs was the impromptu can-can.

Suddenly, Professor Snape walked in. He looked somewhat scruffy, as if he'd been waylaid.

The music stopped, and the suits of armour paused, and, as one, turned to stare at Snape. Even the
one's on the floor stood up once more.

JARVIS' voice rang out once more. "And now for our special guest star: Professor Severus Snape
as the Sheriff of Nottingham."

Before Snape had time to do a single thing, Peeves swooped down behind him and pushed him
onto the ice, cackling. As he fell face first onto the ice, he registered four things. One, the suits
were staring at him. Two, he now had ice skates instead of shoes. Three, padded barriers had gone
up around the ice. Four, Peeves had pinched his wand.

He slowly stood. Then the cry went up from the suits of armour. "GET THE SHERIFF!"

Snape did what any sensible person would do. Get up and skate for his life. To the tune of the
Benny Hill theme.

By now, most of the students were in stitches, Hagrid was guffawing loudly, Dumbledore looked
amused, Loki was cackling with the best of them, Filch looked vindictively amused and
McGonagall was caught halfway between horror and amusement.

As it turned out, Snape was a very quick learner, and he scrambled around the impromptu ice rink
at remarkable speed, expression half terrified, half furious, as the suits followed him around in a
neat line, always keeping close enough to encourage him to move faster. And occasionally firing
sucker arrows, with dubious accuracy.

Finally, they caught him, and, holding the wriggling, humiliated Professor, they neatly skated up to
the staff table and faced Loki. Their apparent leader went down on one knee.

"My Lord! We have caught the Sheriff! What shall we do with him?" it asked.

Loki was grinning. "Well done. My brother 'Robin' will be very pleased," he said, glancing over at
an amused Harry, an amused but nervous Ron, a scandalised looking Hermione and the grinning
Twins. "As for what to do with him, now that is an interesting question," he murmured, voice
easily carrying. He turned to Professor Dumbledore. "I suggest we pass judgement to the Lord of
this place. How find you, sir?"

"I think…" Dumbledore said. "That he should be taken to the Dungeons. He will be more
comfortable there. His breakfast can be delivered later." He raised his voice. "But not before
Peeves returns his wand."

Peeves, floating high above, swooped down and pouted. "Oh, Headmaster sir, must I?" he whined.
"Peeves only wanted to have some fun."

"Fun has been had, Peeves. Wand, please. Quickly now," Dumbledore said firmly.

Sulking, Peeves handed over the wand and floated down to Snape, who sneered at him. "What do
you want, you irritating excuse for a ghost?" he asked.
"Just this," Peeves said, and reached out to grab Snape's nose. "GOT YER CONK!" Then he
zoomed off, cackling.

Snape shook off the suits of armour and looked as if he ever found out the perpetrators of this act,
they would beg for something so sweet as having their heart cut out with a spoon. This expression
was not helped by the fact that the last one blew a loud raspberry at him, breaking the silence and
inspiring another wave of laughter.

He stalked out in silence, and as he got close to the doors, JARVIS broke in with, "Please give a
round of applause for the stellar performances from our stars and most particularly our guest star,
Professor Severus Snape." Thunderous applause went up and once it died down, JARVIS added,
"If you wish to watch again, DVD's and magical photographs will be produced and sold for a
reasonable price within three days. All profits go to either St Mungo's Hospital or S.O.A.P, the
Society of Accursed Persons. Thank you. Please enjoy what remains of your breakfast and have a
Merry Christmas."

The Avengers (sans Sirius, who had wanted to come, but, it was decided had done enough
traveling recently, and was looking a little ill. Also, the warrant for his recapture had not been
rescinded) arrived that afternoon, as the school term ended and Snape salvaged his dignity and
considered that one, Harry was turning into his father – damn him – and two, the small mercy was
that this had happened at the end of term, rather than the beginning.

Clint had been planning not to come and to do some Christmas shopping, but strangely, Fury had
insisted. So they duly flew over in the Stark Industries jet, and Thor and Loki, the latter of whom
having been waiting for them, teleported the rest over – Loki having rectified the mistakes in
Thor's teleportation or rather, 'apparition', technique. As he complained, "Teleportation is
so simple!" Then he shook his head and muttered, "Leave it to humans to screw it up."

This had started a lively debate about the failings of humanity and lack thereof that had lasted up
until the castle, whereupon the Avengers were greeted by Professor Dumbledore and Professor
McGonagall.

"Welcome, all of you. The students are just packing, so Harry should be down in a few minutes,"
Dumbledore said. He then glanced to his right and frowned slightly. Because Professor
McGonagall had gone stark white and was staring at Clint, who looked a little unnerved.
"Minerva?"

"Albus, Steve! Look at him! Can't you see it?" McGonagall demanded.

"See what?" Albus began, then stopped and said, "Ah… well now. This is remarkable."

Steve frowned, stared at Clint, trying to see what they saw, then remembered his first impression of
Clint, remembered the only other man he'd ever known with aim anywhere near as good as the
legendary Hawkeye and remembered a certain unplanned pregnancy on the part of a young witch
called Minerva McGonagall by her deceased beau. Then it all fell into place.

"Would you all mind explaining what the hell is going on?" Clint asked. Natasha had a slightly sad,
knowing look on her face, and had stepped closer to him in a protective, supporting stance. Loki
and Tony were eyeing him with curiousity, Thor had raised his eyebrows at the behaviour of his
old Head of House, and Bruce's gaze was taking in all of their faces.

"Clint, during the war, I and the Commandos were stationed here," Steve said quietly. "We struck
out at Scandinavian HYDRA bases and used it as a command base for the war against
Grindelwald, an extremely powerful and dangerous Dark Lord who had allied with Hitler. And
Bucky Barnes, my friend and second in command, fell in love with one of the seventh year
students."

Tony's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, then, wisely, closed it. Loki and Bruce slowly
nodded their comprehension.

"That student was Minerva McGonagall. She loved him back, and joined the fight after she left
school. She was a prodigiously talented witch, and she was a very useful ally. But she was more
than that. She became something of a little sister to the rest of the Commandos," Steve continued.

"I and Bucky were planning to marry, after the war," McGonagall said, voice carefully steady,
though a few tears were in her eyes. "But he died in combat. They never even found his body." She
took a deep breath. "When he died, I was pregnant. I didn't know it until a couple of months later,
but it, no, she, was undoubtedly his." She bowed her head. "It was 1944. A child born out of
wedlock to a woman who was little more than a girl? Scandalous. I wanted to keep the baby, and
Albus supported me. But he was overruled by Headmaster Dippet. He claimed that since it was
wartime and Hogwarts was such a high profile target, she would be safer elsewhere." She took a
deep breath. "So I sent her to some distant relatives in the United States called Hiram and Mary
Kent, who lived in Kansas, a town called Smallville, I believe. They raised her alongside their son,
Jonathan, when he was born in 1953. I was allowed to give her a name. Edith, I called her. Edith
Barnes, though she became Edith Kent. And later still, Edith Barton. I kept an eye on her, but from
a distance."

"So why didn't you come and find me and Charlie, when she and dad died and we went into care?"
Clint demanded, as the Avengers stared, wide eyed, and him and McGonagall.

"She's dead?" McGonagall whispered, horrified. She looked like she'd just been punched in the
stomach by a giant.

"Yeah. Something you'd know, if you'd been keeping an eye on her," Clint said, tone sharp and
harsh.

"I lost track of her after a while, and didn't search for her because… she was young, and happily
married, though estranged from her adoptive brother. She had her own life. She wasn't noticeably
magical, so there was no reason there for our paths to cross," Minerva said quietly, crying in
earnest now. It is a hard thing for any parent to know they've outlived their child. An indescribably
hard thing. Dumbledore laid a supporting hand on her arm, looking sad. "I didn't think she would
want to meet the woman who gave her up."

Clint stared at her for a long moment, then strode off.

McGonagall began to go after him, but Natasha stopped her.

"He needs to be alone right now," she said quietly. "He'll have gone to the tallest tower in the
school."

"But how will he find his way around? He can't have been here more than twice!" McGonagall
said, worried for her unexpected grandchild. "It is very easy to get lost."

Natasha's face was purposefully smooth, and her tone purposefully calm. "Trust me. He can look
after himself. He's been doing so for a very long time."
 Christmas and Politics

Following the startling revelations of Clint's ancestry, the Avengers split up. Thor, after comforting
his bereaved former teacher somewhat and leaving her in the capable hands of Professor
Dumbledore, who whisked her off to his office for a much needed cup of tea, decided to take
another opportunity to wander the halls of Hogwarts. He wasn't expecting anyone else to be
around, let alone someone below eye lever, so therefore he was in for something of a surprise.

Thor looked down as something or rather, someone, who was rather small walked into him. He
looked down to see a smallish male Gryffindor student looking back up at him, looking slightly
frightened and quite nervous. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr, um, Thor sir, I didn't mean," he began.

"No harm done," Thor said, then looked closely at him. "Neville?" he asked, then nodded
decisively. "Frank and Alice's boy," he said. "I would recognise that face anywhere."

"You knew them, sir?"

"Please, at most, call me Mr Potter. Or Thor, or James. I answer to most things short of Fido, or so
it seems these days," Thor said dryly.

"Yes, Mister Potter," Neville said, still a little nervous.

"I did, and I've heard about you from my son," Thor continued. Neville gulped. "And," Thor said,
in his best reassuring fatherly voice. "From what I have heard, your mother and father must be so
very proud of you." He looked closely at Neville. "You are the spitting image of your mother, you
know. But I can see Frank in you, too."

"I… I don't know if they are or not," Neville said, voice small, and Thor's heart sank, while he
inwardly wondered how this child of two his warmest, bravest and most confident friends had
become such a shrinking violet. Augusta Longbottom, he decided, had much to answer for.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. When did they… if I may ask?" he asked quietly.

"They're not dead."

Thor frowned and gave a look that said he wanted him to elaborate.

"Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange and Barty Crouch Junior tortured them into insanity," Neville
said, voice very small now. "They're in the permanent spell damage ward. Sometimes… sometimes
I think they know who I am. Sometimes…" he trailed off, shrugging.

Thor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I will visit them after Christmas, and ask my brother to
investigate their case. The best healers in this world and in the Nine Realms will be set to putting
this wrong right," he said seriously. He frowned. "I must talk to Augusta, she should have spoken
to me about this."

"No!"

Thor raised as an eyebrow as Neville coloured under his scrutiny, partly in embarrassment at his
sudden outburst. "Oh?"

It took Neville a few moments to gather his courage, but he was not a Gryffindor for no reason.
"Don't, Mr Potter, please. Not before Christmas. She gets upset when someone brings up my
parents. She doesn't show it, and she doesn't think I know, but she does. She takes me for visits, but
I can see it hurts her. And… she's my gran," Neville pleaded. "I want my parents back, but…"

"You want a happy Christmas. I understand," Thor said gently. His expression hardened slightly.
"Though I will bring it up with her soon. But not yet."

"Thank you, Mr Potter. I've got to go," Neville said, relieved, and began to run off. After he got
about ten metres, he turned and called back, "Oh, and, Merry Christmas!"

Then he ran off.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Neville," Thor called after him, and smiled. Harry was right. There
was definitely more to Neville than met the eye. And he could only say that he approved.

OoOoO

"You feeling lonely?"

Remus smiled slightly as he heard the familiar tones of Bruce Banner. "Not too much," he said.
"But I wouldn't object to the company of a friend. After all, I do not have that many."

Bruce smiled sadly. "Yeah, I can understand that."

There was a brief silence.

"How's Sirius?"

"Adjusting to freedom. The nightmares are fading and he's getting healthier. He's also hitting on
anything female in sight," Bruce said dryly.

"So, normal service has been restored, then," Remus said, tones hinting at profound relief.

"From what Thor says, pretty much. You'd have to ask him for the full comparative analysis, but
from what I can tell, he's doing fine," Bruce said, and shuddered slightly. "I wouldn't like to
imagine what it would be like in a prison for something you didn't do with those things around you
twenty four hours a day." He half smiled. "Well, if it was me, the Other Guy, the Hulk, would
probably make an appearance."

"And I suspect Azkaban would not last all that long," Remus murmured.

"Nor would most of the inmates," Bruce said grimly.

Remus gave him a surprised look.

"If it's a forced transformation, I don't have any control over it. The Hulk doesn't go out of his way
to kill people, unless they're trying to hurt him, but… collateral damage," Bruce said quietly. "He's
like a big toddler having a tantrum in some ways and… toddlers don't tend to care about what
they're damaging." He shuddered slightly. "I remember flashes. Not as much as when I'm in
control, then I remember practically everything, but the flashes… in some ways it's more horrifying
than seeing the whole thing. Because your imagination fills in the gaps."

Remus thought back to his transformations without Wolfsbane, some of them very recent, and
shuddered too. He could relate to that. He remembered most of what happened, or at least, the key
incidents. And before each There was always that nagging fear that the precautions might not be
enough, that he might get out and hurt someone… but he could say this for his condition: one, it
was on a timer. He knew when it was going to start and when it was going to end. Bruce could
'Hulk out' at any time if placed under enough stress. Two, he could restrain the wolf in places like
the Shrieking Shack. As Bruce himself had stated, there was no known way of restraining the Hulk
if he didn't want to be restrained.

Bruce caught his sympathetic look and shrugged. "I manage."

"How?"

"What's the alternative?"

Remus didn't have an answer to that.

OoOoO

Natasha followed Clint up to the Astronomy Tower. She had no doubt he would go here. It was the
tallest place in the castle, and Clint – paradoxically – felt safer and more comfortable the higher up
he was. It was something that Tony, being a surprisingly observant personality, had catered for by
giving him the floor just below the Penthouse, with numerous perches for Clint to use. On the
other hand, that could have been Pepper's influence. Natasha honestly liked the other woman. She
was warm, funny, kind, patient, extremely clever and it wasn't exactly easy to pull a fast one on her.
Plus she practically had Tony on a leash, and knew exactly when to give it a gentle tug.

Whatever it was, she could see that Clint felt a lot more comfortable at the Tower than he did in
most other places. It had, in part, become his lair. It had become something for all of them, really.
For Clint, it was his lair, for her, it was an unprecedented home base, secure, safe, and comforting,
for Loki, it was his touchstone to planet Earth and, she suspected, a permanent reminder of what he
had been, so he didn't go down that path. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, the beast
had been reformed, not tamed, and the only differences between then and now was that he was
sane and cared for those close to him. The capacity for ruthlessness, cruelty, and what some would
call outright evil, remained, locked up until it was needed. Natasha could see it as clearly as the
nose on her face. It took one to know one, after all.

Thor seemed to see the Tower as almost a home away from home, particularly since he and Harry
had found each other again. Harry himself regarded the Tower in similar fashion, though his
loyalty was to his first love – Hogwarts. She wondered what he would make of Asgard. He'd
probably be totally overwhelmed. Harry Potter struck her as a boy who was fond of simple
comforts and grew a little uncomfortable at anything ostentatious and grand.

Sure, he stayed and got on with one of the richest men on Earth, but said man was more usually
seen in oily rags or a Black Sabbath t-shirt than any financial status symbol. And the Tower itself
was quite easy to dismiss from Harry's point of view when you considered that one, Harry had only
really seen a few levels of it, two, he lived in a castle. He was used to large buildings.

Bruce really had nowhere else to go – the Army was still sniffing around him, for one, and they
weren't alone – and he knew it. But he put a brave face on things, and seemed to honestly enjoy the
strange, almost familial dynamics of the Avengers. He even put up with Tony and his 'LETS DO
SCIENCE AND BLOW THINGS UP IT'S FUN'. She'd once asked why he spent so much time
with the member of the Initiative who inspired the strongest feelings, and therefore that which
fuelled his transformations.

He'd said, totally deadpan, that it was training. If he could put up with Tony, he could put up with
anyone.
Tony, who had been in hearing distance, had spluttered indignantly.

While she had her reservations about the Hulk, she honestly liked Bruce, putting him on a very
short list that she'd made in her very long life.

She liked the Tower because it was the first place in her entire life, all eight decades or so of it, that
felt like a home. She wasn't one for emotional attachments, with a few rare exceptions, and they
were invariably to people, not places. The Tower was different. The residential quarters were
almost always alive. Tony was usually arguing with someone, making a wise crack or coming up
with some insane idea, Bruce was usually mediating, Steve argued with Tony and talked to Thor,
the two being very much alike. Thor was – or at least, until recently, when he had started acting
more in line with twentieth century human norms, under the influence of his rediscovered
memories and had moderated his behaviour a little – been loud, warm, all encompassing and
vibrant, like a summer storm in trousers. Which, technically, he was. Or sometimes out of them.
Thor, while not a nudist, was not exactly self conscious. Clint usually ended up dropping a
wisecrack of his own in and bickering with Tony about films and bands, Loki carefully keeping the
argument bubbling with the odd well placed comment, while Pepper controlled the whole lot of
them with kindness, warmth and a will that made adamantium look flimsy and soft.

By this time, she was standing next to him, in silence, splaying her fingers on the battlements as she
settled into a comfortable position. He didn't usually need prompting to speak, and when he did,
she knew, as he did for her. She would wait.

It didn't take long, as it turned out.

"I know its not her fault. It was a different time and must have been really hard for her," he said
abruptly. "But I can't help but feel…"

"Betrayed."

Like he did for her, she always knew the perfect word he was looking for.

"Yeah, betrayed," he agreed. "Would it have killed her to look?"

"Yes."

He looked at her in question. She elaborated.

"Clint, your grandmother is eighty years old. I'm not much younger," Natasha said. This wasn't an
earthshaking revelation to Clint. He knew about the Infinity Formula. He even knew where it came
from. Who it came from. One thing she liked about him was that he hadn't treated her differently
after he found out, as most had. Even Alexei had been disturbed at first, she remembered. He'd just
treated her the way he always had. As his partner and his friend.

"She looks in her fifties at most, well preserved at that. She's known her whole life she was going
to outlive anyone non-magical by a very long way. When she fell in love with your grandfather, she
knew that he would probably die while she was in her prime, even if they survived the war." She
looked at him. "I know how much that hurts. When your mother proved not to be magical – or at
least, not in the conventional sense," she added. Clint's eyesight and aim was too good, too natural
to be baseline human. His reflexes were only just in human ranges.

"She knew that she would almost certainly outlive her daughter, who was busy making a good,
happy life for herself a long way away in a rich and peaceful land. She thought her daughter was
going to be happy, and was going to be content with that." She looked out over the cold, dark
Forbidden Forest, listening to the cry of a hunting hawk and watching the winter mists, still present
in the weak, runny egg coloured sun that spent most of its time hiding sheepishly behind the
clouds.

"Why?"

"Because if she got too close it would hurt too much," Natasha said quietly. She glanced down as
she felt a soft touch on her pinky finger. Unaware, Clint's pinky had laid itself over hers, his arms
having unfolded and he having mimicked her stance as he spoke. "And it would be cruel to your
mother to show her a world full of what she couldn't have when she was happy without it." She
looked at Clint. "She may have done the wrong thing twice, Clint, but it was a different time. And
she acted partly out of fear, fear of censure, fear of pain, but mostly out of love. She can't be
expected to have known what was going to happen. If she had, she'd have come for you, because
she cares for you."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Parents love their children and grandchildren, I'm not blind to that," she said evenly. "Romantic
love is a different story."

He grunted in a non-commital fashion.

"It still pisses me off," he said. "I mean, why…" he trailed off and sighed. "I know." He laid his
hand properly over hers and squeezed gently. If he had been any other man, he would have lost the
hand. But he wasn't. "Thanks, Nat."

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

OoOoO

"What are you doing?"

Tony turned, and saw a pale, greasy looking man of above average height looking at him with an
expression of disdain. Though there was every chance, Tony thought, that the grease had set in and
glued it in that position. Sort of like botox, but external, free, smelly and vaguely flammable.
Hmm, he might look into that. The Avengers ran into basement dwelling mad scientist types all the
time, and it might be easier just to get Loki to set them on fire.

Or, you know, he could offer them some of that new line from L'Oreal, a haircare company that
Thor was the face of, which was called Th'Oreal. The tag line went, 'Because he's worth it. And so
are you'. The commercial had featured a tactfully obscured but clearly naked Thor slowly and
utterly unselfconsciously washing his hair in a shower. The sales had immediately gone through
the roof, the company's stock price soared and Thor's already vaguely rabid fans had tripled in
number and obsessiveness.

Which, to Tony's mind, proved that all you need to sell things was Avengers. Preferably at least
half naked. His suggestions for himself, Clint, Loki and Bruce to model suits for Gieves and
Hawkes, Thor, Loki, Steve and Clint to do a shoot for Calvin Klein, Natasha, Jane, Darcy and
Pepper to do a shoot for Victoria's Secret, Bruce to advertise for Gillette and the whole team plus
Jane, Pepper and Darcy to do a swimsuit calendar had mostly been shot down. Steve had been
mortified, Clint, Thor and Loki hadn't really cared either way about stripping down, due to super
spies not really having time for modesty and Asgardian social norms and had, in Loki's case, rather
liked the idea about the suits. Loki liked being sharply dressed at all times, and had been noted as
'the best dressed Avenger'.
Bruce had just shaken his head in exasperated amusement and said, "No to all of the above, Tony."

Natasha wasn't bothered about stripping down for the same reason as Clint, and her photos as
Natalie Rushman had not come out of nowhere. SHIELD believed in thorough
covers. Very thorough covers. Darcy thought it would be cool, Jane had stammered and said she
wasn't model pretty and too slim anyway, even if she'd wanted to – which she honestly didn't, a
decision Thor respected to the approval of all. He had added that there would have been no shame
in her showing off her strength and beauty, both of which she possessed to far greater extent than
these 'supposed most beauteous maidens' and he, Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder
and Lightning (not Reason and Understanding), would smite anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

Once this was filtered through the Avengers' personal Asgardian Gibberish to Modern English
translator (otherwise known as Loki) it was generally understood to mean, 'You're hotter than any
model and I'll beat the shit out of anyone who says otherwise', but more romantic.

In the end, the Gieves and Hawkes thing went through, the girls modelled for the latest line from
Janet Van Dyne, who one of the few exes he had who got on with him. Like a house on fire, as a
matter of fact, to the vague discomfort of Hank Pym, her current boyfriend. And they had done so
quite happily, as it didn't involve anything they weren't comfortable with. Janet had always been a
proponent of natural beauty, fully clothed too. She said that the wrapper was sometimes just as
much fun as the present. The trick, she added, was to help it compliment the metaphorical present
rather than overwhelm or underwhelm it. That made the unwrapping all the more fun. Fury
squelched the underwear modelling.

"Have you gone deaf?" the man demanded.

"No," Tony said, collecting himself. "I just didn't consider that a question worth answering."

It was worth it, he judged, from the way the guy went a nasty shade of puce. "I am a Professor at
this school," the man said, and Tony suddenly realised who he looked like.

"Well, Professor Gruber, I don't really give a shit," Tony said bluntly, continuing with what he was
doing. Which was sticking a modem that connected to JARVIS' true self in the Tower and had
been charmed by Loki to be indestructible to the wall, then tuning him in to Hogwarts' 'frequency'.
That wasn't exactly what he was doing, but the full process was both experimental and
incomprehensible to anyone of non-genius IQ and extensive experience in physics and mysticism.
Or at least, a working knowledge of the fundamental principles of both, from which more can be
extracted. "Go and find some defenceless tourists to take hostage, I'm busy," he added.

"Do you know who I am?" the man he had dubbed Professor Gruber demanded.

"No, and," Tony said, carefully calibrating the modem and not even bothering to turn his head. "I
don't really care."

"You arrogant little muggle," the man snarled, drawing his wand. "State your business at once."

"I'm thinking no. You see, you know I'm allowed to be here and that I'm not doing anything
dangerous, because if you didn't, you'd be using the magic compensator on me. You just want to
show me who's boss," Tony continued. He flashed an insincere smile at the man before finishing
off. "Not gonna work." He suddenly said, "Hey, JARVIS, how's the new digs?"

"Most pleasant, sir. Thank you for doing this for me, sir. It is very kind."

"Eh, you put up with my hook ups all those years. Least I can do is return the favour," Tony said
casually, patting the box. "Don't stay up too late, big guy."

"Indeed not, sir. I wouldn't want you to share too many of my experiences," the AI responded
dryly.

Tony shook his head. "One of these days, I am removing your sarcasm circuits," he vowed half
heartedly, and turned to go. He caught Professor Gruber's dumbfounded expression. "What?"

"You have a spirit trapped in there?" he asked incredulously.

Tony stared at him, then shook his head. "And I thought American public schools were bad," he
muttered disbelievingly and moving to go.

The man flushed and snarled, "You will explain this to me, muggle. Now."

"Is that even a word? 'Muggle'? Really? And yeah, no, not interested. One, a please wouldn't have
hurt, and two, I can just tell it's gonna be a boring conversation and I have no time for boring and
stupid people," Tony said derisively, trotting around the corner and not even breaking step."Bye!"

The man who now had yet another vaguely insulting nickname was left fuming behind him. It was
a rare man or woman that Severus Snape could not intimidate or bully. Unfortunately for him,
Tony was one of them.

OoOoO

Minerva was drinking a cup of tea, thoughtfully provided by the House Elves, and a ginger biscuit,
mulling over the fact that her daughter was dead and her grandson not unjustly blamed her.

Minerva turned, to see her newly discovered grandson standing by the door.

"I'm still pissed off," he said bluntly, in what she recognised as a carefully generic Midwestern
American accent – designed to blend in, much like the rest of him. "But I can understand. I did
some dumb things at eighteen too, and for much less reason. I can understand getting into trouble.
And I can understand being young and scared and not knowing where to turn." He shrugged. "So,
for what it's worth, you're forgiven."

Once, she would have responded with a snappy comment. Now, she merely smiled. "Thank you,"
she said, and gave him a mock severe look. "I trust you are well behaved in front of Harry?"

He blinked in surprise.

"I will tolerate no swearing or behaviour that might corrupt one of my students, even when he is
out of my care," she said.

He caught the twinkle in her eye, and responded, "He lives with Loki and Tony. That horse left the
stable as soon as he met them."

"I feared as much," she said dryly. "Mister Stark is…"

"Infectious?" he suggested.

"I was going to say insidious, but the effect is much the same," she replied.

She smile and he responded with a quick grin. Her breath caught. For a moment, just one, single,
heartbreaking moment, he looked the very image of Bucky.
"Are you okay?"

She blinked and noticed that her eyes were watering. Briskly wiping them, she nodded. "Yes, it's
just that for a moment…"

"I looked just like him?"

Minerva looked at him in surprise and he half smiled. "I read people. I'm not half as good as Nat,
but I'm good enough," he explained.

"Yes… speaking of Agent Romanov, are you two courting?" she inquired. "As your grandmother I
feel that I should know."

Clint's expression of complete shock was hilarious. He clearly hadn't seen this coming. Minerva
wished she'd brought a camera. Then again, she mused idly, there were always pensieves.

He recovered and shook his head. "No. Me and Nat are close but our jobs won't allow it."

"I fail to see how being a hero would impede you from romance," Minerva said. "Mister Stark and
my own former student, James, or rather, Thor, seem to manage well enough."

Clint grimaced. "We're not just heroes. We're assassins and spies and in the community we work
in… our names are well known. If it came out that we were more than just partners, the results
would not be pretty."

"I would not have thought that was a bar to enjoying oneself. Many couples come together in times
of danger and war. Just look at Harry, he's the product of such a union. Indeed, you are the second
generation of another," Minerva retorted. Clint looked contemplative.

"There's a lot to think about," he said. "We couldn't do casual, and…"

"You might not want to bring a child into such a world?" Minerva said.

Clint stared at her in surprise, then smiled. "Looks like sharp eyes run in the family," he said dryly.
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Grandma."

Both of them were silent for a long moment, then Minerva smiled, warmly and slightly damply.
"Indeed, grandson. Indeed." She coughed. "Well, I will not presume to dictate to either of you what
you must and must not do, but I would suggest it. She is fond of you in a sense that, though I am no
master spy, I am well able to recognise."

Clint looked, surprisingly enough, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, well," he said, then left the subject.
"I just wanted to say… Merry Christmas. Grandma."

"Merry Christmas. Grandson."

They stared at each for a long moment, then, hugged briefly.

Even assassins know that family is important.

OoOoO

Harry was, predictably, very excited to be going on a full holiday with his family for the very first
time – the Dursleys very emphatically did not count – and being a teenage boy, equally tried not to
show it too much in front of his friends, only hugging his father and uncle briefly and greeting the
others cheerfully, but with restraint.
Darcy, of course, decided to hug him anyway, smooshing his face into her impressive cleavage, to
his embarrassment and the general envy of every heterosexual male, bisexual and lesbian in sight,
while saying, "Heya kid. How you doing?"

The reply had mostly been muffled and Tony had said, impressed, "Second base already. I'm
impressed, kiddo."

Pepper had smacked him for that.

Soon enough, Loki had teleported Harry's full trunk to the Stark Industries jet, and the group were
chatting and about to leave, when Professor Dumbledore came out at some speed, calling for Thor,
who stopped and told the others to go on. Then, he waited for Dumbledore.

"Ah, James. I'm glad I caught you," Dumbledore said, when he got in earshot. He looked a little
grim.

"What is it, Albus?"

"The Ministry has found out that you have found Sirius and he is now living in Avengers Tower.
Cornelius Fudge is requesting that he be returned to Ministry custody," Albus said.

"Why? He has committed no crime," Thor said, puzzled and suddenly rather annoyed.

"I know that. You know that. And somewhere underneath the his ambition, so does Cornelius
Fudge. Unfortunately, the Ministry has grown very used to vilifying Sirius and Cornelius has
always had one fatal flaw, even when he was a student," Albus said. "He can never accept that he
was wrong. To him, such a climbdown would be a sign of weakness."

Thor's eyes narrowed. He drew his wand and muttered a couple of words. Then, with his newly
conjured – and inked – quill, he wrote on the parchment – which he'd flattened against a wall, he
wrote a note, signing it viciously and folding it up.

"Send it with one of the school owls," he growled.

"I take it that this is your reply?" Albus said.

Thor nodded. "Merry Christmas, Albus," he said, slightly gruff after the news.

"Merry Christmas, James, and to Sirius too," Albus called, as Thor went to join his son and the rest,
getting an acknowledging wave.

Then, Albus, being unashamedly nosy, opened the note. "Oh my," he murmured, then smiled
slightly.

The note was short and to the point. It's exact words were as follows:

Fudge,

Fuck off and die.

- Thor

True to his word, he sent it, with an apologetic note attached saying that Thor was not the most
diplomatic of personalities.

Fudge was not pleased, and flooed over the next day to make that very clear.
"Dumbledore, this is unacceptable! The public is demanding Black's head!" he cried shrilly.

"Only because they are not in possession of the facts, Cornelius," Albus replied. His eyes
narrowed. "Including the interesting little fact that Sirius Black didn't get a trial."

"Well, his guilt was obvious, and anyway Dumbledore, it was before my time," Fudge said,
suddenly aware that he was on thin ice. And it was creaking. "Besides," he said, an idea occurring
to him. "He must be tried for the crimes he has committed."

"Allegedly committed."

"I'm sorry?"

"Allegedly committed. There is supposed to be a presumption of innocence, Cornelius."

"Yes, yes," Fudge said, waving it away. "My point is that the innocent have nothing to fear."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "I think Mister Black would disagree," he said dryly. "Quite
strenuously."

Fudge changed tack. "Dumbledore," he said, putting a forcibly reasonable tone. "I feel that I have
been very patient with Thor – James Potter as was – and more than fair. I have not contested his
reclamation of custody of his son or his reclamation of the Potter vaults, and have done nothing but
help him."

"On what grounds you would have done so, I have no idea," Dumbledore said lightly. "Since he
had a strong claim to both." He smiled. "In fact, this brings to mind an old joke about the seating
arrangements of a man who was locked in the form of a 300 pound orang-utan and found he liked
the experience, made by a very talented muggle author. Sherbet Lemon?"

"No, thank you," Cornelius said stiffly. "What are you talking about, Dumbledore? How is this
relevant?"

Dumbledore suddenly looked very grave. "Because, Cornelius, as a sentient 300 pound orang-utan
sits where he wishes, a Norse deity does what he likes. Indeed, Cornelius, I think you'll find that
you merely did not hinder him, and a very wise decision that was."

"Are you saying that I should lie down and let him walk all over I and the Ministry because he is
powerful?" Fudge demanded.

Dumbledore had to strongly resist the temptation to point out that he saw no reason why not, as that
was what Fudge did best, and after all, why break the habit of a lifetime?

He frowned inwardly. He was not normally prone to sarcasm, despite the amount of abrasive
personalities he'd come into contact with, including Gellert, Bucky, Howard Stark and Severus
Snape. This was most unusual, and bore further investigation. For now, he filed the thought away.
He would, on later reflection, do the sensible thing: blame Tony Stark.

"I am saying, Cornelius, that if you fight him, you will lose," Dumbledore said. "Even if you do not
believe the old histories, there is a wealth of evidence that says his raw power is far beyond that of
any wizard, even the Sorcerer Supreme." Inwardly, he thought that the Stephen Strange he knew
would wipe the floor with Thor, even if he was less powerful than the God of Thunder. Power was
not everything. He looked Fudge in the eyes.

"I am sure that Thor, or James, whichever, can be persuaded to see reason," Fudge said, and there
was an ugly little undertone that Dumbledore did not like.

"If you cross wands with him, I can guarantee that you will cross metaphorical wands with the rest
of the Avengers. Particularly Loki," Dumbledore said, before giving Fudge a sharp look. "And I
am sure you do not want to stir up turmoil that Harry will get caught up in, will you, Cornelius?"

Fudge blanched. He may be corrupt and spineless, with sympathies in line with the more
respectable pro Pureblood factions, but he was not stupid. Indeed, he was smart enough to
recognise the double edged threat – if he made an enemy of Thor, he made an enemy of the Boy-
Who-Lived, adding political suicide to actual suicide.

And, interestingly enough, if Fudge made an enemy of Harry, then he made an enemy of his
headmaster, who, though he was not as powerful as Thor or Loki, had a certain advantage. He was
there, and they weren't.

Dumbledore had flaws. He acknowledged them, and quietly lamented what they had cost him. But
whatever could be said about him – and there was a lot to be said - he did not
tolerate anyone hurting his students by word or deed.

"Well, I think that the Black case is not an immediate issue for the Ministry to deal with," Fudge
said.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, recognising a retreat when he saw one and being gracious in
victory. "May I ask after your nephew? Such a promising boy, I hear he's an auror now."

Fudge nodded, momentarily distracted. "Yes, he is well," he said. "Working his way up the ladder,
like we all did once upon a time, eh?" he ventured with a nervous laugh.

Dumbledore smiled in his usual grandfatherly, refraining from saying that unlike Fudge and his ilk,
he hadn't paid for a hand up on the way. "Quite," he said, rising. "Now, Cornelius, I have business
to attend to." Namely, communing with the castle. Apparently she has taken a shine to Mister
Stark's artificial intelligence, JARVIS, whose creator had set up what he called 'a modem' to allow
the two to communicate, and he would rather appreciate being filled in on this, largely because it
would be a little embarrassing if the deepest and darkest secrets of Hogwarts were revealed
during… pillow talk.

And then, because he could not resist the impulse this time and the orang-utan reference had put
him in the mood, he added, tone mild as milk, "Now, Cornelius. Do not let me detain you."

Dumbledore was fond of words. Particularly the way they could mean two things at the same time.

Phineas Nigellus let out a dark chuckle, but said nothing.

Fudge's eyes widened slightly at this, he frowned just a little in puzzlement, then left the same way
he came, by floo, without another word.

"Merry Christmas indeed," Dumbledore murmured. "But in some circles, peace on earth and
goodwill to all men maybe in short supply."

Fawkes chirruped his agreement.

Of course, Dumbledore thought, there were some circles that would make very sure that there was
peace on Earth. And in those circles, there would be no shortage of goodwill, at least, towards
those within the circle.
 Magnificent Bastards

Lucius looked at the target and smiled. Castel Montesi rose before him, the last remnant of the
Papal States, Italian lands ruled from the Vatican. Mostly they had been a bit further south, but
there were exceptions to every rule. In Italy's unification under Garibaldi, the Vatican had lost its
lands, or what remained of them, all except for a few enclaves, here and there, which weren't
touched. For once, Lucius commended the Muggles for their wisdom. The Vatican had a large
number of wizards at its disposal, skilled, powerful wizards with adamantine strong faith. This and
its global scope and organisation meant that it was perfect for containing powerful magical
artefacts, particularly dark ones.

Particularly the dark one they were after tonight. The Darkhold, the most powerful book of Dark
Magic in all history, the one that all others paled in comparison to, was his target. Supposedly it
had been written by the Elder God Chthon, the first master of magic. It was, if legend was correct,
also alarmingly sentient.

Lucius didn't know if either was true, but what he did know was that it was indestructible and
within its pages were great spells. Spells that could make the meanest squib into a god. Spells that
could shatter any defence. Spells that could even end the world, under the right circumstances.
And that was just in the hands of an amateur. In the hands of practitioner like Gravemoss, there
was very little it couldn't do.

And the Catholic Church, among other forces of Light, knew that very well. It's formation as an
organisation had been guided by Roman wizards and by Merlin himself, to make sure that it
endured as a preserver of culture and knowledge. Lucius' lips twisted. That had backfired in the
Middle Ages. Throughout, the Church had guarded it's artefacts, the Darkhold among them. And it
was the most dangerous of all.

That was why it was locked up here, in Castel Montesi, the starkly beautiful mountain top fastness,
never taken by besieging troops, and the seat of the legendarily incorruptible and powerful Montesi
family. Once, they had been a regional power, whose support was needed by any who aspired to be
a power in Northern Italy. Crossing the Montesi family was a mistake of the highest order.

As it glimmered in the moonlight, coated with frost and snow on a bitterly cold winter's night,
Lucius could see why this place had been chosen. It simultaneously dominated the region and
stood far removed from wordly affairs. Up in these mountains, the Darkhold was tucked up where
it couldn't tempt Popes, who had, in the past, proven to be very corruptible and very influenced by
noble families who would pounce on such a powerful artefact. And in the depths of the castle,
where the book lay, were vaults the equal of those in the Vatican, or so it was said.

Not even Voldemort at the height of his power had dared attack the vaults of the Vatican, largely
because they combined conventional magic, technology and magic so ancient and powerful that it
barely even qualified as magic in an impenetrable mass. Grindelwald himself hadn't bothered. You
would need an exceptionally powerful and learned wanded wizard, or several who were merely
powerful, a genius with technology and a powerful wielder of the wild, ancient magic to break into
it.

Voldemort had been the former, but he despised and disdained muggle devices, and the ways of the
ancient magic had been apparently lost. Even the precise formulae designed for ward breaking
spells was hard to lay hands on. But Malfoy money had greased the path for the acquisition of the
latter, and HYDRA were more than able to handle the muggle side of matters. That just left the
still lost ancient magic. There were a few wild practitioners in the world, but most did not have
more than a dribble of power and none knew the old ways. Or at least, if they did, they wouldn't
say.

None until now, that was, Lucius thought, looking over at Gravemoss. The man – if you could call
him that. The pointed ears, snow-white hair, icy cold skin and gleaming red eyes hinted that he
was different. The fact that he could push a fist through a foot of granite as if it were damp
cardboard screamed it. Lucius was not sure what he was. Maybe something that gave credence to
the theory that House Elves weren't the only kind of Elf there was. He hoped not. As he had
learned to his cost, House Elves were powerful, and the word Elf… Lucius had recently taken to
studying the old texts, judging that information was power. And apparently, Elf came from the
same root as Eldritch. As in, Eldritch Abomination.

On any other occasion, even knowing how much words mattered, how much power they
possessed, tangible – in the form of magic – and intangible – in the form of manipulation – he
might have dimissed it as an amusing aside. Now, when he looked at the immortal necromancer,
looked right into his eyes and saw what was looking back… he wondered.

He shook himself. He had more important things to worry about. His fellow Death Eaters could
provide the conventional magic, Gravemoss was more than capable of providing the ancient magic
and HYDRA, as they said, had the technology.

He glanced to his right. Tall, dark and garbed all in black and grey combats, his medium-long hair
tied up with his face covered by mask and goggles, the Winter Soldier stood, silent, impassive, and
ready to spring into action.

Lucius was actually afraid of the Soldier. Gravemoss he could somewhat predict. He knew his
broad aims and that gave him levers to work with, weak points to exploit. The Soldier however,
was cold, impassive, ruthlessly efficient and never, ever spoke. Not a single word. He came and
went like a shadow or a particularly emo ghost.

No one had any idea who he had once been – or rather, if HYDRA did know, they weren't telling.
There was no name, no identity, no home, no family, not even friends that he could lay claim to.
There was only the Soldier and his mission.

There were two reasons for him to be here. One, there would be guards, well trained and well
versed in counter magic. Two, to see if the Soldier lived up to his reputation. Lucius privately
thought that if he did, he almost felt sorry for the poor, foolish muggles.

Gravemoss began to whisper his spells, his words soft, dry and dead, like the rustle of dead lives in
a crypt when the winds of winter whistle through it. It lulled one to sleep almost, with a hypnotic
effect. Some might say it was comforting, but Lucius knew it to be the comfort of the grave. As the
necromancer had said in his surprisingly pleasant and stylish lair – Lucius had been expecting a
crypt where the spiders had colonised the corners and the mould had invented the wheel - over a
glass of what Lucius severely doubted was red wine, it was so much harder to sacrifice people if
they were busy trying to run away.

So he concentrated on resisting the lull, and waited for the moment the spells stopped. Gravemoss'
spells were the third part, because they were the fastest to perform, but also required the most
precision, meaning the removal of the conventional wards which could have interfered. When
Gravemoss finished, the Soldier would be released.

"You know your mission." It was not a question.

The Soldier nodded slowly.

"Then you know the book is first priority," Lucius said.

The Soldier nodded again.

This was the crux of why they were in the mountains of Northern Italy, fifty miles north of Turin,
that bitterly cold night. Deep in the heart of Castel Montesi, seat of the Montesi family for nearly a
thousand years, lay a vault. This was problematic, as the people who had designed the mundane
and mystical measures for Castel Montesi had given it the strongest protections in Europe outside
Hogwarts and the Vatican.

They could be cracked, yes, but with armed resistance, guardian spirits at the end of every corridor,
a crack squad of Aurors from the Italian Ministry of Magic less than five minutes away, and the
fact that the vault would go into total lockdown and was self sufficient for a good six months if
necessary. In summation, it was just possible, but it would be difficult and cause a commotion that
Lucius didn't need, especially not when he was so carefully manufacturing a distraction fifty miles
away.

Careful planning had yielded a solution. The wards on the vault were separate from the wards on
the main castle, designed to stay standing if the main wards collapsed. So Lucius had decided that
they would tunnel in from beneath, to the edge of the dungeons, wait for the ward breakers and
hackers to finish their work, then apparate the Winter Soldier in silently – all that was required was
little noise cancelling magic for that – and let him go to work on the guards within.

Then, when they left, superficial copies of the wards, enough to pass basic inspection, would be
raised – and with Gravemoss supercharging them, it would be easy, and the vault would be put into
lockdown, with a recorded message saying that it was because of the distraction in Turin, which
would occupy the news for months in the magical and muggle worlds.

It wasn't every day that someone stole the Shroud of Turin, after all.

HYDRA would capitalise on the uproar and whip it into an inferno with demand for money from
faceless robbers with the threat to burn it if their demands weren't met. And just in time for
Christmas, too. It was little things like that that made Lucius smile and feel warm inside on this
bitterly cold night. The Alpine Wind seemed to regard such things as heating charms and warm
coats with disdain, judging by the way it brushed them aside, and it was making its presence
known.

"It is done," Gravemoss said.

Lucius nodded, and cast a patronus, sending it with a message to the tunnel team.

A few minutes later, there was a crack as one of the tunnel team apparated next to Lucius, wisely
putting the Death Eater between himself and the unmoving Winter Soldier, who might as well have
been a statue for all the reaction he showed. Silently, without turning his head, he raised his arm,
and, at Lucius' nod, the tunneller took the Soldier's arm and with another crack, they disappeared.

Later, he would view the memories of the tunneller in the Pensieve and see what the Winter
Soldier could do.

As soon as he landed in the corridor, he reached up and touched the side of his goggles, changing
something about them. Then he looked around, glancing down both corridors, and while it took
him but a couple of moments, Lucius could tell that he saw everything.

Underground. Dark. Switch to night vision. No need to avoid flares – tech adapts. Handy. Visual
sweep reveals no targets. Switch to thermal. Thermal sweep reveals no targets. Tunnellers will hold
retreat. Advance to objective.

A couple of handy spells used by the tunneller to see while digging through the rock had given
Lucius an astonishing ability to see almost everything as clearly as daytime. He watched as the
Soldier moved, swift and sure like a stealthy great cat, making no sound and sticking to shadows.

Following him in the memory, Lucius watched as he slipped around the corner and then froze. One
of the guards was wary and occasionally speaking curtly in Italian into an earpiece. The Soldier
slowly drew a matte black dagger, an assassin's weapon, designed not to shine and bunched up. He
waited for the man to stop speaking, and pounced, moving in a dark grey blur. A gloved hand
covered the man's mouth, a knee drove into his lower back, disabling him and then the knife came
around in a black blur, slamming in between the ribs to neatly pierce the heart.

The man died without a whisper, and quickly but carefully, the Soldier propped him against the
wall, cleaned the dagger and moved on.

Lucius approved and was slightly awed by this efficiency. There was none of the sloppiness of the
wolves and none of the occasional tendencies of certain Death Eaters, naming no names, Bellatrix,
of playing with their food. Just a smooth, quick kill, minimal mess, no time to struggle… really,
Lucius shuddered what such a man could do with the Killing Curse. But it was a shudder of
anticipation.

Corner ahead. Target confirmed. Sounds. Speech. Language: Italian, alpine dialect/accent. Local.
Deep voice: large man. Briefing states Special Forces level training. Caution. Danger does not
necessitate firearms. Weapon to use: Knife – throat cut/heart stab.

Then, it seemed to go wrong. The muggles, Lucius was forced to admit, were smarter than he'd
thought. Because the talking guard was the bait. As the Soldier moved on, a tall shadow detached
itself from a hidden alcove, moving as silently and stealthily as the Soldier, cocked muggle pistol
in hand. It was a model known as the Walther PPK, not that the make overly interested Lucius. All
that mattered was that the man looked like he knew how to use it and moved like a professional.

The figure had the unaware Soldier at his mercy. He set himself and aimed, smirking smugly and
opening his mouth to send the Soldier to his grave with a cheesy one liner ringing in his ears. And
even though Lucius had known that the Soldier had come out with the book with not a mark on
him, he tensed.

Then, the Soldier showed just why he had been called Europe's Terror. Moving at speeds that
would have shamed a vampire, dropping low, spinning, left leg shooting out to balance him, hand
coming up from his side with a silenced gun, cocking it with a flick of his thumb, and fired.

The bullet took the smirking gunman in the stomach without a sound, the silencer having been
enhanced by magic to live up to its name. The smirk disappeared and the gun dropped from his
hand. The Soldier caught it without even looking as he straightened up, his left hand snapping out
and smoothly snatching the gun out of the air, de-cocking it, making it safe and slipping it into his
belt to free his left hand again, all in one movement, before he had stood up fully.

The gunman whimpered and looked up at the Soldier. He was tall, with sandy blonde hair, in his
late thirties or early forties and he had strong, roguish features of the kind that said 'bad boy'. They
were currently covered in a mix of pain and resignation as he look up into the Soldier's impassive
mask.

Idly, amidst his awe, Lucius thought he looked like a Daniel. Or maybe a James. Yes, a skilled,
talented, but cocky and arrogant man who stood no chance against his natural superior. The
comparison was definitely valid.

Without ceremony, the Soldier executed him, the shot going right between the unfortunate
gunman's eyes.

Lucius shook his head. It reminded him the First War, when the stupider kind of Death Eater had
run into somewhat like Alastor Moody or Nicholas Fury, who didn't give a damn about style or
pre-mortem one liners and only cared about putting their opponent down, fast enough that they
couldn't respond and hard enough that they wouldn't have the wits to even if they got the chance to.
As he remembered, that sort of Death Eater had generally had a very limited life expectancy, rather
like the very dead man who the Soldier was currently lowering to the ground.

Target dead. Advance to objective. Corner ahead. All silent. Error. Sounds of breathing behind.
Estimation: male, tall, strong, more skilled than previous targets. Super Soldier level threat?
Negative. Has yet to act. Foolish. Opportunity open. Weapons to use: silenced pistol.

The Soldier disappeared around the corner and out of Lucius' range. A pity, but the by time he was
watching this playback, he knew how the rest went. Not a single guard survived. The Soldier had
been very thorough on that score, mopping up the rest and sweeping with extra efficiency after the
dead gunman nearly got the drop on him.

He hadn't had a single mark on him, either, while all his opponents were dead, usually before they
even knew they were in danger, either from a surgically precise stab wound or a bullet between the
eyes. He had then retrieved the Darkhold with no fuss at all, bagging it up in what muggle's called
'ziplock bags' to prevent it from getting dirty, and retreated to the entrance in good time, far better
time than Lucius had expected.

Lucius was, to put it mildly, astonished. True, the Soldier had an impressive reputation, but Lucius
had just thought that it was the muggle's fear talking, their fear of a superior being. Which, in
Lucius' mind, was what the Soldier was. He wasn't quite a wizard, but he definitely wasn't a
muggle. He was too deadly for that.

Lucius had no idea what in the name of Morgana's tits he was, with that metal arm which
contained unnatural strength and had a five pointed red star painted on the shoulder. And it didn't
really matter. He followed orders and he more than lived up to the hype. Lucius was satisfied with
him, and happy that he had a killing machine at his beck and call that was several notches above
muggles.

Mind, though it pained him to admit it, well trained muggles on their home ground could, like any
beast worth hunting, be deadly. Potter's maternal muggle grandparents had been proof of that,
dispatching embarrassing amounts of Death Eaters. Eventually the Inner Circle, Voldemort's
handpicked enforcers, the smartest, strongest, deadliest and most loyal of the Death Eaters, had
been dispatched.

Lucius, deciding he was very attached to life, had animated the remains of Bellatrix's latest toys
and used them as meat shields. Despite that, he had very nearly been disembowelled by a muggle
bomb – a sort of blasting curse that could be detonated in a variety of ways. One of them was, as he
had found out, was body heat.
He remembered being so angry at nearly being killed by a muggle weapon that he hadn't let
Bellatrix torture the middle aged muggles when they lay helpless, he'd just killed them. Torturing
the Evans family, as he explained to a pouting Bellatrix and a sneering Snape – the Rodolphus
brothers had been impressed by his coldblooded ruthlessness - would be giving them an importance
and regard they did not deserve.

"They are animals," he said. "And you do not torture an animal." He had paused because, in fact,
he remembered very vividly that Bellatrix had been the sort of child that enjoyed pulling the wings
off flies, then shown the sad, disgusting, wriggling things off like new toys, much like how she
had shown off her victims years later. "You slaughter it and then you move on to the next. This is
not a crusade of vengeance. This is not a war. This," he had said, pointing to the corpses of Mr and
Mrs Evans. "Is pest control."

The Dark Lord, when he had been informed, had applauded Lucius' dedication to the cause, and
said that he was an exemplary Death Eater.

Bellatrix, obsessively loyal bitch that she was, had pouted when she was not accorded similar
praise.

Lucius, now sitting at his desk in Malfoy Manor, waiting for reports from Gravemoss – who had
reacted to the Soldier's rampage with a disconcerting mix of childish glee and near orgasmic
pleasure - as to which spells would be most useful for the next step in the plan and from Von
Strucker as to how the distraction of the Turin Shroud was going, smiled. Everything was going
according to plan.

Loki smiled as he spelled the words of the latest report, of the theft of the Turin shroud, full of
details that even the police didn't know, onto the screen. All it had taken to make typing such
things easy was a basic modification of telepathic dictation spells to work with computers, and a
few magical anti-Stark blockers to keep it secure on the grounds that if Stark couldn't hack it, no
one could.

The man had an ego the size of a star, but his intellect was undeniable, and if he'd had any serious
magical talent, he would have been a truly formidable sorcerer, maybe even a candidate for
Sorcerer Supreme. He scanned the file briefly, then, satisfied, shut it. The file name said, 'Italy'.
Some country's files had to be split up into regions, or even cities, but Italy was not a place of
particular interest, save for its criminal families and the Vatican, which had its own, very large, file.

As for where the report came from, now that was an interesting story.

When Loki had reformed, he had realised that he just couldn't stop plotting and manipulating and
seeing the world as a stage, everyone as players, and himself as the script editor. He might not plot
the course of the future as such, but he could guide it. This was a problem. Until Odin had provided
him with an unexpected solution.

"I will not ask you to change who you are, Loki," he had said. "I know that negotiation,
misdirection, deception and word play is as natural to you as breathing. Asking you to change that
would be cruel and pointless, for I am your father and I love you for who you are."

"Then what am I to do? Try and suppress my natural tendencies until I, as mortals put it, 'fall off the
wagon'?" Loki had asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"No. Channel them into supporting your brother," Odin had said. "Into securing Asgard's interests
in the Nine Realms and into defeating the villains of Midgard." He had looked Loki in the eye.
"Your brother will be King, yes, and from his youth I had suspected that he would be king. Not
because you are deficient, but because he is charismatic, warm, popular, guileless and likeable. He
is easy to trust, a good quality in a King. He has also learnt wisdom. But a King is only as good as
his chief counsellor."

Loki had bitten back his disappointment and listened. One thing he had learned during his
reformation was patience.

"Thor has all the requirements of a good, even a great, king. But precisely because he has those
qualities, he is vulnerable to those not as honest and guileless as he," Odin said.

"You wish me to be the shadow to his light," Loki said.

Odin nodded. "Shadows are not evil, Loki," he said. "Darkness can be, but that is a different
matter. Thor said that you claimed you remembered being in the shadow of his greatness. I tell you
now to become the shadow, and you will be as great as he. He needs a man of guile, wit and
trickery, someone who can face the villains of the universe on their own terms and beat them at
their own game. You, Loki, could be that man. Thor was born to be King, but you, Loki, you were
born to be a statesman. Kingship would not suit you and Thor…" Odin had then paused to think of
a suitable metaphor.

He found it. "Thor would take to statesmanship like Volstagg to rationing."

And it was, as American mortals say, Loki thought, a doozy.

"You understand politics and the Great Game even better than I, your mother and Algrim together,"
Odin had continued. "You were born to play it and make yourself its master. You can do the dark
deeds and do them well without letting them corrupt you and remain yourself. It is one of the
things that makes you a great sorcerer – you are able to divorce your heart and your mind in a way
Thor never could. You and Thor could make Asgard greater than I ever imagined, together."

Loki had absorbed this, and found it appealed. To be the power behind the throne, the dagger of
Asgard, sliding between the ribs of her enemies… yes, he liked that.

"Thor could raise an army and lead it into the bowels of Muspelheim and to victory," Odin had
added wryly. "With you at his side, he and his forces would come out the other side smelling of the
roses, with the Twilight Sword in hand and Surtur owing you both a lot of money."

Loki had chuckled. "I like the analogy, father," he said softly. "I am to guide Thor, then?"

"Yes," Odin said. "Guide him and stand with him. Without you, he will falter. Let him light the
way for others as you find the path that he will light." He laid a hand on Loki's shoulder. "I am
proud of the man you are, my son. You are one who can put your mistakes behind you as well as
mine. Your skills will make you great if turned to proper purpose."

Loki had smiled. The lesson that he had learned was that he needed to reform, not change who he
was. He is good now. But he is not tame.

And he had applied himself to the matter of defending Asgard's interests with a will, taking over,
reforming, streamlining and generally shaking up its old spy network. Taking ideas he had learned
on Earth, he began to select candidates from the army's scouts, the combat sorcerers and
sorceresses and from thieves, killers, the sort who could be trusted to honour their deals, and train
them into field agents and special forces, calling them the Left Hand.

The reason for this was because the idea was that diplomacy, in Loki's view, largely consisted of
smiling and greeting enemies with the shaken right hand and occasionally stabbing them with the
dagger concealed in the left. And it was both suitably sinister and suitably anonymous. After all,
another reason that was left handers blend in with right handers right up until they act. And by then
it is generally too late to make a decision about them.

But spy networks took a long time to set up, embedding agents, finding useful contacts… it really
was a bore, especially when security agencies and spymasters across the Nine Realms suddenly
became a whole lot more suspicious when they realised who was behind Asgard's silent revolution
in the dark side of politics.

Getting an agent into each country would be nightmarishly difficult, not even taking into account
the difficulties of training them and the scandal if they were caught.

So Loki had executed his plan to neatly bypass this. He picked out three groups that were
considered to be as noticeable as the wallpaper – they were simply there and taken for granted.
Beggars, taxi drivers and cleaners. All assumed to be part of the scenery. He chose them carefully,
then he gained their good will by paying them, in cash, usually, but food and medical supplies were
also common stock in trade. He refused to trade drugs, however, on the grounds that it was bad
policy to fry the brains of your informants. And In return, they told him things.

They told him what they heard and what they saw, and it was almost all true, because they knew
that not only was it unwise to lie to the God of Trickery and Deceit, who could supposedly see into
your soul and stop your heart with a smile and because they knew that he paid well.

As it was, Loki did not kill agents who lied to him. He simply cut them out of his network. But he
did not discourage the rumours, either. He had read The Prince and unlike most who read it, and
much like its author, did not see why you should choose between being loved and feared when a
careful mix of both achieved the best results. After all, black and white stood out. But when you
mixed them together, you got grey, which was far better for blending into the shadows. And the
shadows are where power truly lies.

His network was efficient and smooth, travelling through word of mouth. The financial transactions
took place when Loki walked the city streets, going down the alleys to the very heart of the cities
of the world, seeing what really made it tick.

His visits and his donations to small, street level charities and endowment of homeless shelters, his
habit of travelling in ordinary taxis and tipping extremely well and keeping several cleaning
companies on retainer to – ostensibly – help clear up small businesses affected by superpowered
battles had also had the neat function of boosting his popularity and giving him a reputation as a
philanthropist with the common touch, a Prince who walked among the people, no matter how
poor and squalid.

Noticing how this restored his tarnished reputation, he began to give speeches about the need for
the rich to give to the poor, underlining it with the lesson he claimed that he and Thor had had
drummed into them as children – their responsibility as people of power to people without. They
must use their power to make the world better.

This, in turn, made all three professions in other cities – sometimes slightly altered based on
circumstance and the nature of the city – more receptive to his advances, and so his web crept over
the world without the deployment of a single agent. All he had to do was to teleport to the capital
of each country on a fairly regular basis, go to the heart and take the pulse.

By the time SHIELD caught on, his network was complete and his reputation as a reformed,
sincerely regretful and charitable man of the people was sealed. The web was spun and the spider
sat at its heart, content to wait for the flies to come to it. And the best thing about it was that
security agencies couldn't take the usual approaches to spies. There were no targets to zero in on,
no central core or computer network to hack, nothing. It was like trying to punch a cloud. You
couldn't deport all the beggars in a city, or pressure the increasingly affluent and well cared for
homeless, nor could you hack the brains of a taxi driver.

And if and when Loki wanted something known, all he had to do was whisper in the ear of one of
each, and let the chain of whispers carry his message across continents and oceans. He spied on the
world and it loved him for it.

That is not to say that all he did was cynical. True, it benefited him, but he liked helping the
unwanted, taken for granted and the ignored. Their situation reminded him of his own.

Unwanted, like the beggars, as he had been as a baby, abandoned to die. Taken for granted, like the
cleaners, when it had been automatically assumed that he would clean up his brother's latest mess.
And ignored, like the taxi drivers, who, as he had been, were told what was wanted, then not
treated with the respect their expertise warranted.

He empathised with them all, and delighted at the fact that he could neatly achieve his aims and
assist them as well.

He smiled as he opened another file. 'London' this one said. Nodding, he closed the netbook and
teleported out. He had a report to collect.

Reformed, yes. Tamed, no.

 Home Base

Thor had been rather nervous of Sirius and Harry's first meeting. What if Harry didn't like Sirius?
What if Sirius said something inappropriate to Harry? He paused, then inwardly revised the second
thought. When would Sirius say something inappropriate to Harry, when Thor wasn't entirely sure
that Harry knew the facts of life? Hogwart's sexual education limited to put it mildly, employed in a
sort of enter tab A into slot B fashion by Madam Pomfrey, who, wonderful woman though she
was, had only been an object of sexual attraction to Amos Diggory, if the uncanny number of
injuries he had accumulated were any indication.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried.

When Harry stepped out the plane, Sirius was there to meet him, Pepper and Jane standing by his
side. Pepper, moving swiftly and smoothly, gave Harry a welcome back hug and introduced them.

"Harry, this is your godfather Sirius," she had said.

Harry and Sirius had shared a long, unblinking stare, then Harry had said, "Hello."

"Hello."

"You're my godfather?"

"Yup," Sirius said. "I was your dad's best friend since the day we started Hogwarts." He scrutinised
Harry. "You look a lot like him, you know, but…"

"I have my mother's eyes, I know," Harry sighed, then shook his head. "Sorry. I hear it a lot."

"I bet you do," Sirius commented. "What I bet you don't hear is that you act like her too."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah, you walk like her and talk like her as far as I can see," Sirius said. He shrugged. "It's just a
first impression, but…"

"No, Sirius, you're right," Thor said quietly, drawing attention back to him, and gently hugging
Harry to his side. "Harry is Lily's son in mind where he is mine in body."

Noticing the spark of interest in Harry's eyes, he realised that this Christmas holiday would be
spent fielding questions from Harry about Lily. He didn't mind as such – he loved Lily, and her
death still hurt, but it was, strangely yet not strangely, now long in the past for him. Twelve years
had passed, and while he wasn't over it as such, he was dealing, as he'd explained to Remus. He
could focus on the good times now.

Though, he thought when he saw Sirius' eyes hungrily devour Harry when he wasn't looking, the
other man understandably seeking every scrap of information on his godson, he wasn't sure that
Sirius could. He had no good memories to buffer the loss of his friend and the treachery of
Pettigrew.

Yes, Thor thought as Sirius and Harry chatted away, largely about Quidditch, he hadn't needed to
worry about them getting on. But there were other issues that were at work. And those bore careful
watching.
OoOoOoO

Despite Thor's understandable concern for the state of his friend's mind, the first couple of days of
the holidays passed without incident. Harry's trunk was unpacked, and some of the magical
artefacts had been set aside for general examination when Pepper went on leave and was in place to
make sure Tony didn't turn Harry's old Sneakoscope into a portal into the realm of Cthulu and
ended the world as we know it. It had been wrapped up in a pair of horrible mustard yellow socks
until Thor had found out they had belonged to Vernon Dursley. He had then, with Harry's
assistance, burned them in place of Vernon, for which he got a ticking off from Jane. Apparently
instilling mild psychotic tendencies in ones offspring was not considered a good thing on Earth.

Right here and now, it was cold outside. Winter mists shrouded the ever active city and the sun
looked anemic and embarrassed as it slunk behind the clouds, only appearing for a few moments
before shame overwhelmed it and it hid once more. The hearth fire, quite expunged of the stench of
Eau de Dursley, burned merrily away, and Jane and Thor were kissing. Passionately. Hands were
roaming.

All was quiet. Tony wasn't present, and if he was, he would probably see their ruffled state, make
one or two lewd comments, then move on, mainly on the grounds that neither was likely to pay
him the blindest bit of notice. Jane would have been embarrassed by it if she had noticed, but the
mild mannered, sweet natured and somewhat scatty scientist tended to one, be extremely passionate
and fiery about what she cared about, two, get wrapped up in things and attend to them with a
singleminded manner that bordered on obsession. Sometimes it was her work, sometimes it was
Thor. While no one had yet figured out how to ask her work its opinion, Thor certainly did not
object.

Bruce was in the lab with Tony. Steve had slipped out quietly a few minutes previously, mildly
embarrassed, and gone for a long run in Central Park. Loki, on the other side of the room, had a
pair of earplugs in to block out the make out noises and was reading Das Kapital, occasionally
laughing at what he considered to be the impracticalities.

Loki rather enjoyed tearing apart political theories – it made him feel clever and justified. Justified
in what, it was hard to tell. Presumably in tearing them apart in the first place. It also served as a
safety valve for his residual 'puny mortals' tendencies, and the other Avengers put up with it as
preferable to cackling supervillainy. The only downside was that Loki tended to look for someone
to argue with. Out of all the Avengers, only Natasha or Bruce might have any favourable feelings
towards Socialism. Natasha didn't give a damn about politics in general.

As she had told Loki, "Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian. Or I was."

She had seen the rise and fall of countless governments. She had been raised as the first Black
Widow in Stalin's Russia, behind the Iron Curtain. Barely more than 14 years old, she had fought
at Stalingrad. She had seen the rise of Marshal Tito in Yugoslavia, the deposition of the Shah of
Iran and the toppling of the Berlin Wall.

She had seen the horrors of China's Great Leap Forward, in which Chairman Mao exchanged lives
for modernity. She had seen the crushing of the Hungarian Uprising and the Prague Spring, even
taken part – they were two of a long list of bitter regrets.

She had been the second shooter at the Kennedy Assassination, along with the Winter Soldier, and
had framed Lee Harvey Oswald, before manipulating Jack Ruby into killing him. The second part
hadn't been remotely difficult for her. She was the first Black Widow, and the best. It was what she
did best. All she had to do was press a few chauvinistic buttons by playing the distraught All-
American girl horrified by the murder of her President, and saying through bitter tears on a
comforting shoulder that she wished that someone would get the son of a bitch who did it. By then,
he was putty in her hands.

In other words, she didn't really have any reason to give a damn, being under no illusions about the
morality of most governments.

As for Bruce, the Avengers had unanimously agreed that really arguing with Bruce was a Bad
Idea.

So Loki had needed a new target. And with the help of Clint and Darcy, who both took a sort of
voyeuristic glee in watching him go to work, he'd found one in an unfortunate student activist in a
bar. The student activist, puffed up with bravado, had said that Loki was 'part of the oppressive
bourgeoise'.

Since the young man had had a very strong upper class Bostonian accent, Loki had smiled like a
shark that has just seen a particularly juicy and slow moving seal and gone to work. The man had
ended up gibbering and Loki had got a standing ovation, which he accepted with good grace.

After that, Darcy and Clint had swiftly been banned from 'siccing him on the pretentious and the
annoying' on the grounds that it was like dropping a nuke on a fly, though Tony had lobbied
against it. The comparison was apt, since it was undoubtedly effective, but total overkill.

Unfortunately, this had not stopped him from taking full advantage of his apparently inexhaustible
eidetic memory – apparently a standard feature of Asgardians, though it was usually restricted to
muscle memory - and memorising the Bible, the Qu'ran, the Torah and just about every other
major book of religious, political and philosophical teaching, largely for the purpose of publicly
pointing out inconsistencies and hypocrisies and using them to start arguments. Particularly when
it came to the crimes of apostasy and blasphemy.

It is unwise to lecture a man worshipped as a god in the distant past – and, judging by the small,
but popular and growing, Church of Loki and mass revival in Neo-Pagan traditions, currently
worshiped – on how a god would be offended by a former worshipper changing religion. He will
quickly set you straight.

As he said, "A reluctant follower is more trouble than they are worth. If I was the god in question,
then I would give them my blessing if they wished to leave, for they would be of less than no use
to me, and forcing their obedience would be a waste of time and effort, as well as a marked display
of pathetic insecurity. If they leave with my blessing, then they have reason to retain some positive
feelings and it would be at no cost tom me."

As a result, zealots of all stripes hated him. He had received at least sixty five different
condemnations as a demon from hell and a subversive influence from religious and political leaders
around the world, fifteen of which were descriptions of him as a 'suppressive person' by the Church
of Scientology, each of which he treasured, then used as a rhetorical weapon.

Rhe media loved him, largely because he was charismatic, careful to make sure that he stated these
as his personal opinions and could be relied upon to cheerfully take on anyone, which upped the
viewing figures.

It worked out for everyone. Loki got his intellectual exercise and safety valve, zealots were
confronted and had their bigotry unveiled, while also having a new enemy to focus on, moderates
had a tireless champion and the media's viewing figures went up and up.

He considering himself the ultimate neutral, as he was totally out of context for all of humanity and
therefore, as he claimed, totally unbiased. This was, technically, a lie, since there were certain
causes he favoured. No one, for instance, of discriminatory views was free from wounds from the
sharp edge of Loki's famously tongue. The legends said it was silver, and this would be correct if
silver took an edge like a razor as if it was going out of fashion.

He saved much of his ire for those he saw as persecuting minorities, verbally dismantling with
particular vehemence, making him an unrelenting advocate for groups such as the LGBT
community, which, having read the legends about his transforming into a woman a little too
closely, welcomed him with open arms, despite his peevish complaints that only the Lay of Thrym
was strictly true.

Though, when pressed, he did admit that he'd spent time as a woman, if only out of curiosity as to
whether he could perform such a feat of shapeshifting and curiosity about what it was like to be a
woman. Apparently he could well attest to the fact that period cramps were a nightmare. This
aside, he was quite happy to champion their cause, because he understood what it was like to be
marginalised and hated for things you could not control. It also meant that he had a wide choice of
targets.

When people enquired about his particular advocacy of the downtrodden, putting lie to his belief of
neutrality, he made vague allusions to being fond of the underdog and having seen that his bigotry
to humans as a whole had been, partly, the product of his madness. Only those truly close to him
were aware that this had a basis in his origins as a Frost Giant and talents as a mage, which had
been considered the work of women and those not fit to be warriors.

Ironically, magic was now considered to be cool in Asgard, because of Thor's proud assertions that
using his magical skill, Loki could duel him to a standstill, and that 'made him mighty indeed'. It
also helped that Odin had made a few pointed statements to the effect that he used magic, and it
was a skill as valuable as being able to wield a sword, if not more so, as magic had applications in
peace as well as war.

While Loki had been satisfied by the slow but sure about face in public opinion – which was by no
means total, but it was getting there – he wished it had come earlier.

In short, he championed the underdog, and verbally savaged anyone who opposed him in this,
particularly those he regarded as stupid, and enjoyed it immensely. At the same time, SHIELD and
security agencies worldwide breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, in the present, he was reading Marx's master work, Clint and Natasha were sparring in
the gym, and all was quiet, except for…

"Dad, Jane… Oh Merlin, no! Ewwww!"

That was the cry of Harry as he walked in, saw the necking couple, and did an abrupt about face,
sprinting out. Jane sighed as Thor chuckled against her lips, chest rumbling.

"The travails of having a young teenage son in the Tower," he murmured, as Loki turned, looked,
and chuckled, before returning to his book.

Jane sighed again. "I suppose we can't blame him," she said. "I mean, I caught my parents making
out once. Not fun."

"I can imagine," Thor said, amused.

"Did it ever happen to you?"

Thor shook his head. "Father is fairly reserved by nature in that regard, and is very conscious of the
dignity of a King. He is not one for 'kicking back and relaxing'," he said. "As for my mortal
parents, they were in their early fifties when I was born, and they were somewhat reserved as well,
being from an old noble family."

Jane thought he had a point. She couldn't really imagine Frigga and Odin making out in public. Her
brain rebelled at the very thought. And his mortal parents had, from the pictures she'd seen, looked
kind, but reserved in a slightly Victorian sort of way.

She leaned in for another kiss. "Well, I figure we've got time while Harry goes and complains to
Sirius and Tony about being traumatised," she said.

Thor chuckled, returning the kiss. "So we do," he murmured.

Loki, who had removed his earplugs, rolled his eyes in amusement. "Romantics," he muttered,
putting down Das Kapital and going to find his nephew. The complaints, he thought, as he left the
obliviously making out couple, who were now horizontal on the sofa. As an afterthought, he said,
"JARVIS, I think the privacy protocols might need to be engaged."

"Indeed, sir," JARVIS said. "I was thinking much the same." As he said that, the door quietly
locked, the windows tinted and mood lighting came up. Then, because JARVIS had been
programmed by Tony Stark, suggestive mood music came on.

Laughing softly, Loki made his way towards the labs. JARVIS was an AI after his own heart.

When he reached the lab, he found Harry explaining at length how terrible it was to find his father
making out with the woman who might one day be his stepmother. His arms were waving about as
he got more and more into it, so Loki stopped by the door and listened.

"… they were making all sorts of squelching noises, like they were trying to suck each others
tonsils out!"

He stifled a laugh, as did Bruce. Tony and Darcy didn't bother.

"What? It isn't funny!" Harry cried defensively.

"Sweetie, it's hilarious," Darcy said. "Though, it's not fun seein' your parents – well, okay, your dad
and his girlfriend – making out."

"It happen to you?" Tony ask.

Darcy made a face. "I once walked in on them boning in the kitchen."

Tony being Tony, he pointed and laughed.

"What about you?"

Tony shook his head. "Dad was in his fifties when I was born," he said.

Before he could elaborate further, Harry asked, puzzled, "What does boning mean?"

Darcy opened her mouth, but Sirius cut her off. "Oh no, if anyone's telling him the facts of life, its
me," he said firmly. "I'm his Godfather."

"And when exactly was the last time you got any action?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised.
"Well, it did feel like it was being buggered by Dementors every day," Sirius said lightly. "But that
was more of a mental thing."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused.

"Harry," Bruce asked. "Do you know where babies come from?"

"Their mums?"

"Yes, that's a good start," Bruce said calmly, reaching over, without even having to look, and
covering Tony's mouth. "No, Tony, I'll handle this," he said firmly. "You three can resume
corrupting him after I've taught him the basics."

Tony pouted.

"And Loki, you can stop smirking at the door," Bruce said.

"What, and abandon the free show?" Loki asked, amused, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Besides,
if you want to see how babies are made, all you have to do is go and watch your father and Jane
right now. They are demonstrating with commendable enthusiasm. At this rate, you will have a
half sibling inside a year."

"They having a quickie?" Darcy asked. "And they had better be using protection." Harry looked
earnestly puzzled.

"I'm going to have a little brother or sister?" he asked, confused.

"Not if Jane and Thor are being careful," Bruce said. He paused. "How enthusiastic?" he inquired
of Loki.

"I barely left the room in time."

Bruce, Sirius, Darcy and Tony shared a look

"Fifty fifty odds she'll be pregnant by the time they're done," Sirius said.

"She'd better not," Darcy said darkly, toying with her taser. It was quite clear what she would do
with it if Jane did end up pregnant, and it did not bode well for the Royal Prerogative of Thor.

"30%," Tony said. "Asgardians aren't as fertile and getting someone pregnant is harder than you
think."

Sirius shrugged, non-verbally deferring to someone with greater knowledge. "Fine, it's just that
James tended to hit the bullseye. They'd only just started trying for a kid when the Prongslet," he
said, ruffling Harry's hair. "Was conceived. And Lily did mention that she'd had to use a fair few
morning after contraceptives because they'd forgotten and it was coming up positive." He looked
grim all of a sudden.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, by now completely confused.

"It's nothing, Prongslet," Sirius said quietly, lying all the way.

Harry looked doubtful, but Bruce picked that moment to take him away and explain the facts of
life.

"She was pregnant when she died," Loki said.

Sirius suddenly looked very old. "Yeah. She told Wanda, her best friend, who told John – two of
our friends in the anti-Voldemort group we were all part of – and he told me when we got drunk
together. Lily was two months pregnant and planning to surprise James with it after Halloween."
He sighed. "They wanted more kids, even after the prophecy, you see, at least three. Remus was
going to be godfather to kid number two, and the traitor to kid number three."

"Jeez, that's rough," Tony muttered, going over to a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of Scotch. "I
keep some in every lab," he said, answering the unanswered question, handing it to Sirius, who
stared at it mutely.

Then, he unscrewed the top and gulped, before slamming the bottle down and wiping his mouth.
He nodded his thanks to Tony. "I needed that," he said quietly. He sighed. "Dammit. Every time I
see James, Thor even, I see what could have been. I mean, I like Jane, don't get me wrong, but Lily
was one of my best friends. I loved her like family, and she did better by me than any of the
bastards who shared my blood. So did James – his family took me in, you know, when mine kicked
me out. No questions asked." He looked up.

"You miss her," Loki said.

Sirius nodded. "I miss all of them. We lost lots of people in the war. The Prewett twins, Dorcas
Meadowes, half the Bones', the Longbottoms, who might as well be dead… all people I grew up
with and went to school with. All my friends," he said. "The one good thing about Azkaban was
that I didn't have time to grieve, to regret, to speculate on what could have, should have been."

"Alcohol won't make those thoughts go away forever, ya know," Darcy warned.

Sirius took another swig. "It can make them go away for a little while," he said grimly. "And that's
enough."

"You said Thor – James – and Lily wanted kids?"

"Three," Sirius confirmed. "A couple of boys and a girl, or a couple of girls and a boy. The wanted
at least one of each." He closed his eyes. "Dammit, they were only twenty one! Harry was only a
year old!"

"Life is not fair," Loki said bitterly.

"You got that right," Sirius muttered, going for another swig.

"What would Lily say if she saw you drinking and moping like this when her son was in the
building?" Darcy asked.

Sirius paused.

"Because from what I've heard, she'd have kicked your ass so hard, your grandchildren would be
feeling it," Darcy said. "And what do you think Thor's going to make of it if you, his best friend,
turn into a drunken wreck? Or Harry?"

Sirius lowered the bottle. "I'm not turning into an alcoholic," he complained.

"Actually, you kind of said that you were, so that right there is a lie," Tony observed.

Sirius glowered, then put down the bottle. "You're right," he sighed.

"Focus on the good things," Tony said. "That's what I did when mom and dad died – well, after
spending about three months drunk and surrounded by as many women as money could buy, but I
think you can skip that part."

"I thought you hated your dad," Darcy said, puzzled.

"Well, yeah, but I loved my mom and she loved me, and dad wasn't always a cold, calculating
jerk," Tony replied. "Sometimes, just sometimes, I'd see the man that Steve talks about."

"I still want to get drunk," Sirius said.

"Sure. We can go out as a group and you and Thor can remember the good times you had," Darcy
said. "I call it booze therapy."

"Most people call it a wake," Loki said dryly. "And I think that is a rather good idea. But not
immediately." He raised two fingers. "First, Yuletide, Christmas, is almost upon us, and Harry will
be sure to notice. Remembrance should not be held off, but remembrance with alcohol can wait.
Second, I think Jane will need some more time to adjust." His eyes flicked upwards and he cocked
his head, before nodding. "Though she seems to have adjusted quite well. I believe that
simultaneous orgasms are things to be cherished."

"Dude, you can hear them going at it?" Darcy asked, half disturbed, half fascinated. "Through that
many floors."

"Only the final part," Loki said. "Jane is a screamer and has an impressive set of lungs for such a
petite woman."

"Yeah, we all found that out the day that they forgot to shut their door," Tony muttered.

"You're one to talk," Darcy said. "Seriously, your and Pepper's sex noises are not what I want to
hear when I'm in the gym."

Tony shrugged. "What can I say? That pommel horse was really well padded and we were horny."

"What were you doing in the gym anyway? I swear you hardly ever go in there," Darcy asked.

"Well, turns out Pepper is a bit of an exhibitionist," Tony said.

"Seriously?"

"It's always the quiet ones," Loki observed.

"What does that mean for you, Reindeer Games?"

Loki went pink and said nothing.

"I bet he's into bondage," Darcy piped up. "There's that whole look at me, kneel before me thing. I
mean, I wouldn't mind letting him tie me up." She gave Tony a thoughtful look. "But going by you,
I'm pretty sure he wants to be dominated."

"What?"

"Dude, Pepper has you tied to her little finger by her bra and panties," Darcy said.

"Now that is a version of that turn of phrase that I have never come across before," Loki murmured
as Tony spluttered denials.
"You are pretty whipped, Tony," Sirius observed.

"How long did it take you to see it?" Darcy asked.

"Once I knew they were dating? About five minutes," Sirius said casually.

"I'm being victimised," Tony whined. He frowned suddenly. "Do you think Bruce is done yet? I
need to teach Harry the Base System."

"No, and it is fortunate that he has not," Loki said.

"Why?"

"Because I would have been peppered with incessant questions about what a bondage is," Loki
sighed.

"That could still be arranged," Sirius said, smirking.

"You guys do realise that he'd just look it up on the internet, and then Thor would kill you?" Darcy
asked.

"What is the internet, anyway?" Sirius asked. Darcy and Tony stared at him in utter disbelief.
"What?" he said. "I've been in jail since 1994."

"Good point," Tony said. "Okay, we're going to have to explain."

Loki made himself comfortable, and smiled. This should be interesting. Besides, as far as he could
tell, Thor and Jane were gearing up for round two, so they could be waiting for a while.

OoOoOoO

Soon after the explanation of the internet had started, Harry had returned, looking rather
thoughtful, and Bruce had returned, looked slightly harried. Apparently he hadn't been able to
science his way through it as he'd imagined. And Harry tended to ask questions. Lots of them.

Tony, seeing him, had proceeded to give him a run down of the definition of the bases. Darcy had
interjected with, "Sure, that was what it was like back in the old days," and an argument had
erupted between Tony and Darcy, the former maintaining that the definition was unchanging and
he was not old dammit!

Eventually, after some half-hearted mediation by Bruce and a lot of eager fanning of the flames of
the spat by Sirius and Loki, they had arrived at a consensus, which they explained to a very
interested Harry.

"You've got to second base, but you missed out first," Tony informed him.

"What?" Darcy asked. "Since when?"

"Since you shoved his head into the Grand Canyon Mark Two," Tony said, nodding at Darcy's not
inconsiderable cleavage. Harry blushed a bright red as Darcy conceded this point.

"You lucky little bugger," Sirius commented enviously.

Harry blushed even further.

"I think we may now rejoin Thor and Jane," Loki interjected, taking pity on his nephew. "They
seem to be done now."

Rather relieved, Harry scampered towards the lift, followed swiftly by Loki, who wished first sight
of what promised to be a hilarious situation, and Bruce, who was not entirely sure

Thor reached out and stopped Harry. "I think, my son, that you will not want to sit on that sofa.
You don't know where it's been," he said, awkwardly.

"All the way to a home run?" Tony said, following Loki and Sirius into the kitchen for coffee.
There was sniggering from inside the kitchen.

Thor looked puzzled, while Jane went bright red. Noticing this, he turned to her. "Jane, what does
Tony mean by this 'home run'? Because if my understanding of Midgardian sports is correct, then
we would have had to have been playing baseball."

"Well I don't know about you, but I reckon Jane was handling some balls," Sirius called from
within the kitchen, and the sniggering was upgraded to the sort of cackling that would shame
hyenas.

Comprehension was slowly dawning on Thor, and he began to blush a little too.

"Thor, honey, how about I explain the base system. But not here. In front of your son," Jane said,
casting an embarrassed look at Harry, who was smiling angelically.

"Oh, I know it all ready. Tony and Darcy explained it to me," he said airily.

The cackling from the kitchen got louder.

Jane sighed. "Of course they did."

"First base is kissing and groping," Harry began cheerfully, then dissolved into uncontrollable
laughter at his father's expression. It was like he had glimpsed hell.

"Lily," Thor said faintly. "Is going to kill me. Somehow, she will reach out from the afterlife and
strangle me for this."

The cackling was by now evolving into howls of laughter.

"Can witches and wizards do that?" Jane asked curiously.

"Some ghosts can," Loki called from the kitchen.

Thor began to look at the walls mistrustfully.

There was some whispering from the kitchen.

A few moments later, a three dimensional image of Lily burst through the wall, and glared at Thor,
arms folded and looking furious. "James Charlus Potter," she hissed. "I want a word with you."

There was silence. Jane sighed and glared in the vague direction of the kitchen. Harry stared at the
projection, eyes wide. And Thor… well, as James Potter, he had feared no one but his wife. And
while as Thor he had little or nothing to fear, old habits, as they said died hard. With amusing
results.

Thor did something he would regret for the rest of his days. On seeing the apparently wrathful
ghost of Lily, he let out a small, high, strangled whimper. "I'm sorry."
The image disappeared and the laughter from the kitchen redoubled. Thor had smoothly segued
from frightened to sulky.

"Loki!" Jane said.

"Yes, Jane?" Loki asked, voice wafting through. In it you could literally hear a grin that would
have made the Cheshire cat feel inadequate.

"Stop bullying your brother. It's not nice."

"But –"

"No buts!"

Jane had learnt that, like toddlers, the best way to deal with Norse Gods who are acting up is to be
firm. If, that is, they are in anyway positively inclined towards you. If not, then you might as well
wag an admonishing finger at an avalanche for all the good it will do.

Thankfully, Loki was positively inclined towards Jane. Thor could be taken for granted, but Loki
had been impressed by the fact that, first time he met her, she punched him and said, "That was for
New York!" That and the fact that she, despite being physically delicate even by Midgardian
standards, had his brother wrapped around her little finger and didn't seem to know it or take
advantage.

Harry piped up then. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "Hermione and Ron are never, ever going
to believe this."

"If they ever come to stay they sure as shit well," Jane muttered, patting Thor reassuringly on the
shoulder. While she didn't often swear, immortal immaturity tended to get on her nerves.

Harry stared at her in awe. Like most thirteen year old boys, Harry thought that the use of rude
words by an adult figure made them just about the coolest thing ever. It was one of the reasons
Tony was so popular – charisma aside, he had a knack for tapping into everyone's inner giggly
teenage boy. Sirius was much the same.

Then, he spied something olive green behind the sofa and picked it up.

"Jane, are these yours?" he asked, holding them at arms length.

Jane sighed as the cackling renewed. "Yes," she said, taking them back. "Yes, they are."

Harry looked up and frowned. Jane followed his gaze, then gave Thor a dirty look. Her bra had
migrated to the bookshelves, courtesy of her enthusiastic boyfriend. Thor had the decency to look
embarrassed.

He gave her an innocent look, and asked, "Jane, what's that?"

Jane sighed again. It was just one of those days.

 Snapshots
Chapter Summary

A quieter, cuter one, which I'm a bit happier with compared to some of the other early
chapters.

After Jane had reacquired her underwear, Harry's innocent façade, already cracking, had fallen
apart proving that he did, in fact, have an excellent idea of what the bra was for and Thor had
decided that world peace would be assured if he took Harry elsewhere and bore the brunt of his
mischievous questions.

Or more accurately, Jane had said that it would probably be a good idea to make sure that Tony,
Sirius and Darcy hadn't confused/corrupted him too much in regards to the facts of life. Thor had
been about to point out that this was pretty much inevitable, but he had noticed the militant gleam
in her eye and decided that ground zero was not a safe place to be.

While Jane wasn't exactly Lily in terms of explosive temper and was, indeed, gentler, calmer and
more harmlessly scatty than Lily, she had carved out her career in a fairly sexist profession filled
with men who were likely to condescend and/or ridicule her because she was petite, pretty and full
of non-mainstream theories, making her easy to dismiss.

Those that weren't eating humble pie by the truck load found themselves running into the sort of
implacable determination and self-belief that would drive a brilliant young woman who could have
done anything with her life to chase storms and rumours in the heart of the New Mexico desert, and
damn the views of the scientific community.

In short, though she wasn't necessarily loud about it, she was determined, strong willed and had no
concept of being intimidated. By anyone. Anywhere. Ever.

Thor wisely beat a retreat.

As it turned out, Harry wasn't immediately interested in asking about sex. He seemed to mostly
regard it – for now – as a tool to embarrass his father with. That said, his reaction to what Tony
would later call 'Close Encounters of the Cleavage Kind', was fairly indicative that he was on the
point of becoming a sex obsessed teenage boy.

Thor felt proud of that.

He also felt reluctantly proud of the fact that Harry wasn't afraid to ask difficult questions. Difficult
questions like the one that Thor had simultaneously been hoping for and dreading. He had prepared
for it, by getting out all the photo albums recovered from the house and the vault, which he had
stacked in the wardrobe by his clothes in his and Jane's shared room. Aside from briefly asking
what they were, Jane had not paid any attention to them, presumably figuring that he would talk
about it when he was ready.

Thor wasn't sure he was. But some bullets must be bitten.

"Dad… can you tell me about mum?"

Thor sat back. "Where to start?" he asked.

"The beginning's usually good," Tony suggested from the doorway, before beating a retreat. Being
supremely nosy, he'd followed Harry and Thor, hoping for another amusing sex conversation into
which he could throw a few bon mots. When he saw that it was something infinitely more
sensitive, he left. Tony, though he hid it, had a reasonable sense of tact. In fact, quite a good one.
As he would say, 'don't confuse not caring with not knowing.'

Harry was one of four people in the Tower who missed their mothers. Tony, though he would
never speak of it to anyone but Pepper, was one of the other three. He could understand. He could
understand very well.

"Well, the beginning it is," Thor said, standing and going to the wardrobe, easily lifting the stack of
photo albums. Harry stared at them like they contained the answers to life, the universe and
everything. And from his point of view they did.

Thor, sitting back down, grinned at his son, who grinned back. He had shifted into James form. It
seemed appropriate.

He opened the topmost album, and was immediately confronted with a picture that made a lump
rise in his throat. He and Lily, waltzing by a fountain in the Autumn, as an indulgent Remus took a
photo. Sirius had got bored and wandered off to find a pub, as he remembered, dragging Pettigrew
with him. Even now, Thor wondered if Pettigrew had betrayed them by then. He didn't think so.
The war against Voldemort had barely gone beyond a few terrorist acts every now and then.

They had been so young, so carefree, so in love… and then it had all been shattered. He had
accepted Lily's passing. That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Not by a long way.

His melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Harry's excited cry of, "I've got that one!"

"Hmm?"

"At the end of First Year, Hagrid gave me an album of photos he'd managed to get from your
friends," Harry explained. "That was one of them."

Thor felt a massive swell of affection towards the half human Grounds Keeper. In all his thousands
of years of life, he had never met anyone so honestly and guilelessly kind as Hagrid. A warmer
heart there had never been, and clearly it had been one that had gone out to Harry. He'd bought
Harry his beloved owl and close companion, Hedwig, who had treated Thor with the sort of vague
ladylike tolerance that he had previously seen only in cats and very well bred noble women until he
had made a point of feeding her bacon every morning. That and Harry's obvious affection towards
Thor had made the magnificent Snowy Owl – who seemed to regard Harry as some form of
gigantic owlet, in sore need of looking after.

In that respect, Thor thought, she remarkably resembled Pepper, who she had taken an immediate
liking to. Naturally, Tony had made a crack about 'birds of a feather', and wormed his way into the
owl's good graces by accident as he scrambled to appease Pepper who had raised a single regal
eyebrow. He had claimed that both were equally beautiful, intelligent and magnificent, earning him
an affectionate nip from Hegwig and a lot of ribbing from Clint and Loki about having the hots for
an owl. Thor had been thankful that Harry had not been present, as he would doubtless have been
horrified at the insinuations and potential threat to his beloved pet's virtue.

As for the picture, Hagrid must have acquired it from Remus. He'd been the only one Thor knew of
that had a copy of that photo, at least, that Hagrid would be able to contact. Pettigrew had been
presumed dead, Sirius had been in prison, the Potter vaults would have been inaccessible, and even
if they hadn't, it is unlikely Hagrid would have known where to look, and Wanda, Lily's best friend,
was very firmly out of contact with the Wizarding World.

"Really?" he asked.

Harry nodded excitedly.

"Hagrid is a very resourceful man," Thor said. "I suspect that Remus gave him this."

Harry blinked. "It's still hard to believe that one of your best friends is now my teacher."

"That is somewhat ironic, since aside from the fact that he finds it very hard to get a job and is
consequently rather poor," Thor said. "You are probably the main reason he took the job."

Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"

"You were, until recently, Remus' only tie to better times," Thor said gently. "And I know that he
would have raised you in an instant if he had been allowed."

"Why wasn't he? Is it the same reason why he finds it hard to get a job?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Yes," Thor said. "You may ask him, but do not push. All you need know is that like Bruce, it is
something that he cannot help and that many, in their ignorance, judge him for. And," he added
firmly. "That is all I or anyone will say until he decides to say for himself."

Harry, clearly bursting with questions, subsided.

"Speaking of the past," Thor said, turning over a few pages until he found a large group photo. "The
Order of the Phoenix," he said. "Dumbledore's direct counterpart to the Death Eaters. Volunteers
all, willing to stand against evil simply because it was right. You could say that we were the
Avengers of our day." He pointed at a small cluster . "There's me and your mum, Sirius, Remus
and… Peter." He looked a little grim, then moved on, pointing out a scarred middle aged man.
"Mad-Eye Moody. The best auror the Ministry ever had. Also incredibly paranoid, and with good
reason. He put away dozens of Death Eaters."

Next he pointed to a tall caucasian man with dark hair that was white at the temples, a goatee beard
and a mysterious smile. He was also wearing a long, high necked red cloak, and a blue, intricately
patterned tunic, odd even by the standards of wizards. Next to him stood a beautiful young woman
with strong, clean cut and slightly elfin bone structure that spoke of Eastern European heritage,
warm green eyes and shoulder length curly brown hair, wearing a red shirt and jeans. She, like the
man, looked kind.

"Doctor Stephen Strange, Midgard's Sorcerer Supreme. He is essentially Earth's mystical defender
and he has the power and skill to match. No one knows too much about him, but he is, or was,
undeniably a good man and friend to all in the Order. Your mother knew him best, actually.
Apparently, like Nicholas – who is standing in the middle – he was a family friend, if not quite as
close. Next to him is his apprentice, Wanda Maximoff, one of your mother's best friends." He
chuckled. "Thick as thieves, they were. She was an exceptionally powerful wandless practitioner,
and was known as the Scarlet Witch."

Harry's eyes widened. "I've heard of her," he said excitedly. "Hermione told me when she was
reading a lot of books about the Wizarding War. Apparently she was up there with Voldemort and
Dumbledore and duelled two of Voldemort's Inner Circle at once and won."
Hermione had, after the appearance of Thor in Harry's life, dug out every book she could find on
the Wizarding War and committed them, or so it seemed, to memory, giving a running commentary
to Harry and Ron all the while. Some of it, surprisingly enough, had stuck.

"She did, something for which both Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy despised her. Their
mission was to capture her and they failed. I wouldn't go that far, not as she was then, though she
had the power for it. Stephen was stronger than her, and the implication, though he never really
showed it, was that he was capable of magic on your uncle's scale. As for Wanda, now, after a
decade of Stephen's teaching? She'd be a match for both Dumbledore and Voldemort," Thor said
musingly. "And I'm probably selling her short by quite some way."

His finger moved a little to the right. A blond, scruffy looking man in a dirty brown trenchcoat
glared back at them. He was smoking a cigarette, to the discomfort of several of his fellows. He
ignored them. Harry got the impression that this was fairly standard behaviour for the man in
question, whose demeanour suggested that if he didn't currently have a giant sign saying 'Fuck
You' for all the world to see floating over his head, he should.

"Her lover and Sirius' chief drinking buddy and partner crime, John Constantine. Not the world's
most powerful wizard – he was about average, maybe a little above in Defence - but certainly one
of the most cunning and clever, a world class expert on demonology when he wasn't drunk or
hungover and sarcastic enough for the entire Order. He was the best thing to come out of Slytherin
in ten years," Thor said, sounding nostalgic. "He was tough, smart and never fought fair. Though,
being a half blood from a fairly minor pro muggle family, raised in the muggle world, he needed to
be, just to survive in Slytherin as it was then."

"What happened to them?"

"Stephen is, apparently, still alive, though he's who knows where. Wanda, likewise. I think she
withdrew from the Wizarding World when Voldemort died and is now living in America, quite
possibly under an assumed name. Albus said she was very… emphatic about not wanting to return,
particularly not as the Scarlet Witch," Thor said. "John is, apparently, a freelance demon hunter
and detective in Northern England, being older, crustier and has recently conned three Arch-Devils
into healing his lung cancer and keeping his soul."

"How does that work?"

"As far as can grasp, he sold it to all of them, made them cure him, then watched as they went to
war over who should possess his soul. Knowing him, he's probably still smoking too," Thor said,
shaking his head.

"He sounds cool!"

"I knew you would say that," Thor said dryly.

Harry suddenly frowned. "I swear I've seen her before," he said.

"If you have, or anyone who looks like her, then you are blessed," Thor said. "Wanda Maximoff
was, and presumably still is, a rare beauty."

Harry blinked at him in surprise.

"What? I'm dating, not dead. Or blind," Thor said. "Nor is Jane, who I have seen admiring Clint's
biceps, which are admittedly impressive. Your mother used to admire Sirius' body, in between
being exasperated and yelling at him for doing something stupid." He shrugged. "It is not infidelity
simply to look and appreciate. Just because you love someone with all your heart does not mean
that you will no longer notice someone attractive."

Harry had the look of someone mulling something over, before he nodded, apparently storing this
little snippet of wisdom away for future use.

OoOoO

Jane, standing silently just by the doorway, watched as James and Harry pored over the albums.
While she knew intellectually that they were the same man, no more different than Tony Stark and
Iron Man, she couldn't help but feel that they were different.

And she had good reason to. When he took James' form, or even when he was simply around Sirius
and Harry, his speech patterns and accent took on a far more modern and informal lilt. He seemed
different. More human.

This left Jane wondering whether she'd fallen in love with the alien, the god, not the man. She
loved Thor. But did she love James as well? Was he the same man she'd fallen in love with?

She had no doubt that Harry, who she honestly liked, loved his father with a ferocity that only a
love starved child can muster. She'd half feared that he would go through a resentful, bratty stage –
which, considering how he'd been treated by his so-called guardians who, in Jane's opinion,
deserved everything they got and more besides, would have been understandabl – but, so far at
least, he hadn't. Instead, she was faced with a likeable, cheerful, mature, yet strangely childish boy.

His childishness had concerned her slightly, and she hadn't been the only one puzzled by it. Even
the journalist, Christine Everhart, who had the legs that had been denied Jane by fate and genetics,
the lucky bitch – Jane was instinctively nice. This did not mean that she felt an obligation to be
Mother Teresa – had picked up on it, though Jane supposed that that was her job.

Natasha had explained it. "Abused kids react all kinds of ways," she said. "Some get incredibly
introverted and defensive. Some latch on to any love they can get. And some are a mix of the two."
She shrugged in a uniquely graceful flowing motion. "That's a gross over simplification, but this
behaviour isn't abnormal for someone who's experienced the sort of upbringing he has."

Bruce and Clint had concurred. Since Clint's past was only somewhat more illuminated than
Natasha's and both changed the subject with deft skill when it was brought up, it was more than
likely they'd had a bit of experience in this regard. Bruce also didn't talk about his past much and
was the closest thing the Avengers had to a doctor, so Jane had accepted their reasoning. Like all
damage, she reasoned, it would heal with time and care.

But she was left wondering whether they didn't just love in two different ways, but love two
different people as well.

Then there was a question that suddenly got her attention and caused her to stop breathing.

OoOoO

"Dad… would you trade what you have with Jane now for mum back?"

Thor blinked. Now that one had come as a bolt from the blue. And he would know. After
collecting himself, he sat and thought. It was not a barbed question – that much he was grateful for.
Instead, it was honestly curious. Which was, in some ways, more difficult.

"Dad?" Harry prompted.

"One way in which you are so very like your mother is you ask incredibly difficult questions," Thor
said dryly. "But… it is a difficult question to answer." He rubbed his jaw. "I would
trade my happiness for your mother's life in a heartbeat, but I have no right to talk of trading Jane's
happiness. I could ask, if such a thing were possible, but it would not be fair, even though I know
Jane would do it. Just because you know someone would do something if you asked, that does not
mean you should. A valuable lesson," he said meaningfully. "That you should learn."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Thor continued.

"Your mother is dead, Harry. I have moved on and I love Jane. That does not mean I do not still
love your mother and miss her – I do, immensely, and Jane knows and accepts that. As I accept that
Lily is gone. While I miss her every day, I know that all that is left of her is pictures to be
treasured, memories to be honoured, a blood protection to be thankful for… and you, my son, who
should be treasured, honoured and thankful for above all," he said, reaching down and ruffling
Harry's hair. "And I am glad to have you."

He grinned. "Now, I believe I promised photo albums. With baby pictures. Lots of baby pictures,"
he said.

Harry flushed slightly, but grinned back, eyes full of anticipation.

OoOoOoO

Jane, feeling slightly ashamed of herself for eavesdropping and doubting Thor, made to slip away,
then barely stifled a scream. Loki had appeared right in front of her, apparently from nowhere, as
was his wont. He looked down at her, smiled, then leaned in and whispered, "Do not worry, Lady
Jane. Thor and James are different aspects of the same person. And all of that person loves you, as
all of that person loved Lily." He winked. "As far as I and JARVIS are concerned, you were in the
lab checking the diagnostics on the New Bifrost, on which everything is working as it should."

Then he stepped past her and walked into the room, striking up a conversation and allowing Jane to
make a smooth getaway.

OoOoO

Sooner rather than later, after Pepper returned from work, the Avengers found out about the
showing of baby pictures, and descended upon Thor and Jane's room like wolves on a fold. Since
Harry didn't object, Thro didn't eject.

Thor and Harry were sitting in the middle on one edge of the bed. Jane had claimed the spot next to
Thor, Bruce the spot next to her and Natasha the spot next to him. Tony had taken the spot next to
Harry, Pepper the spot next to him – largely to make sure he behaved. Loki was floating above
their heads like the Cheshire Cat in human form. Clint was perched on an empty and sturdy
bookshelf. Such behaviour was no longer unsettling for the rest of the Avengers after long
experience, and Harry just took it in his stride, while Sirius had seen far weirder.

Sirius, meanwhile, had shifted into Padfoot and rested his head on Thor's leg. Darcy and Steve
were peering over shoulders. Darcy was shameless and completely comfortable with using Jane's
shoulder as a head rest. Steve, on the other hand, spent his time awkwardly kneeling on the bed and
craning his neck over Thor's shoulder, or did until Harry noticed, just before they were about to
begin.

"Steve? Are you okay?" he asked.

Steve nodded awkwardly. Harry gave him a look of patent disbelief and concern. "You don't look
okay."

"Cap will be fine," Tony said casually.

"I don't think he will," Harry said firmly.

Tony blinked. Harry was not normally one to contradict people and asset himself. Then he half
smiled and took it as a sign that Harry was getting some sorely needed self confidence. That did not
mean, however, that he was going to give his space up without a fight.

"But I was here first," he whined.

Harry folded his arms. "Then it would be very nice of you to move up, wouldn't it?" he said firmly,
giving Tony a creditable impersonation of Pepper's 'You Are Going To Do This Tony' look. It
combined a raised eyebrow with politely cheerful expression that managed to combine silk and
steel. While Harry's was more polyester and pig iron, it was effective enough.

"Tony," Pepper said, and as Tony turned, he saw she was, right on cure, giving the unbeatable
original version of the Look. It was like being caught between a rock and hard place. "Budge up."

Tony pouted. Pepper's eyebrow rose. Harry's Look gained a bit of firmness. Then, deciding that
he'd been defiant enough to maintain face, Tony caved. "Fine," he mock grumbled, budging up,
enough to allow a rather embarrassed Steve to sit next to Harry. Out of the corner of his eye, he
caught Pepper's amused expression. She knew what had happened even if no one else did.

Then he realised everyone was watching, amused. "What?" Tony asked, throwing up his hands and
neatly smacking Steve right between the eyes. "Show's over. Now, pictures!"

Sirius barked his assent, and Thor, looking proud of his son, turned the page of the album.

"This one," Thor said, "Lily took."

It was of Thor in his James form, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a tan long sleeved shirt and
lying on a dark, slate blue sofa, head back, clearly soundly and peacefully asleep. Then there was
Harry, no more than a year old, equally asleep, dressed in rust red and tucked against his father's
chest, with a protective arm encircling his small body, while one of his own chubby little hands
grasped his father's glasses. It was an image of perfect domestic peace, and as the viewers watched,
photo James sleepily cuddled Harry closer.

"Awww!"

Everyone turned to stare incredulously at Steve, who had made the involuntary noise and blushed
under the scrutiny.

"What? It's adorable," he said defensively.

Tony, Loki, Clint, Darcy and Sirius all smirked. Prime teasing material.

"Cavities," Pepper said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. Unlike Steve, she didn't blush. If
she had been so easily embarrassed she would not have survived a day as Tony's PA, let alone his
girlfriend. "When we were flying back Harry after his first visit, he'd gone to sleep on Thor's lap,"
she explained. "And I said that if he was this sweet now, he must have caused cavities as a baby."

"I can see that," Darcy said, eyeing the photo and then Harry speculatively, before ruffling his hair.
"He's a cute little rug rat, however old he is."

Harry blushed and shied away a little with a mumbled, "Knock it off."

"You love it really," Darcy said, with a certain blithe certainty that came naturally to her. She was,
as ever, dead right. "Now, more baby pictures!"

Harry groaned, but Thor could see a sparkle of intense curiosity, wistfulness and a lust to know in
his eyes. He wanted to see the life he could not remember, and the one he could have had. In
response, Thor reached out and pulled him close, allowing him to nestle his head against Thor's
chest.

"This one," he said, "Remus took."

"Professor Lupin took this?" Harry asked, eyes wide as he examined the photo. It showed James
cradling and gently rocking a neatly and warmly swaddled up Harry, who was peacefully asleep
while his mother stood just by him, gently resting a couple of oh so careful fingers on him, as if she
couldn't quite believe he was there. Both parents looked down at him in utter love and adoration.

The little rust red beanie that Harry was wearing, from under which tufts of messy black hair were
visible, made several hearts melt and Jane give Thor speculative looks. Speculative looks that were
noticed by Pepper and Bruce, who shared a secret, knowing look and a secret, knowing smile.

"Yes. He took this one just after your first Christmas," Thor said, oblivious. "We were a little
wrapped up at the time." He looked down at Harry and smiled. "We both thought you were the
most beautiful thing we'd ever seen."

Harry blushed, then flailed a bit as Darcy reached over and grabbed him in a friendly headlock
before giving him an affectionate noogie. "And he's still adorable," she cooed in a voice that was so
ironically sweet that Tony had himself tested for diabetes afterwards.

Harry made a vague, mumbling sound of protest from Darcy's impressive cleavage, where, once
again, his head had been buried. He promptly crossed his legs awkwardly to hide the fact that parts
of him thought that this was the best thing ever.

This was just fine because Tony, Sirius and Clint thought that this was the funniest thing ever,
while Pepper just shook her head.

"Darcy," Jane said firmly, recognising the signs of her friend and former assistant in full wind up
mode. "Stop it, before you give him a complex."

Darcy pouted, but let go of a decidedly ruffled and dazed looking Harry.

"Harry?" Thor asked, grinning. "Still with us?"

Harry blinked. "Bluh?" He was clearly completely out of it.

Darcy smiled victoriously. Once again, her boobs had triumphed. Some women might be
embarrassed or bothered at the sort of attention that looks a body like hers would get. This was not
unreasonable, since Darcy fell very definitely into the category of 'smoking hot', which meant that
most heterosexual men, bisexuals and lesbians would turn for a second or even a third look. Darcy
had turned it to her advantage by the simple expedient of having no apparent sense of shame and
letting people underestimate her. No expected her to be clever. Equally, stupid people don't major
in Political Science, so no expected that either.
And if all else failed, there was always the taser. While some people expected it, it didn't do them
any good.

That said, the taser was rarely required these days. Thanks to a few lessons from Natasha, Steve
and Loki, she could kick serious ass if needs be. That and the usual looming presence of Thor
and/or Steve when they went out drinking together tended to discourage even the dumbest and
most testosterone fuelled suitor. No matter how big and tough you think you are, you don't want to
fuck with two guys who tend to block the light just by stepping forward.

She watched as Harry blinked, came back to reality, and blushed horribly. She gave him a broad
wink and ignored Jane's frown. The way she saw it, the kid needed a little normality – real
normality, not the sanitised, poisonously bitter and dull version those Dursley assholes had
espoused. Espoused, was, she thought, a good word.

Anyway, sure, Thor was a great dad, Loki was a great uncle, Sirius was well on the way to being a
great godfather as he recovered and the rest of the Avengers filled in as sort of surrogate Aunts and
Uncles brilliantly. But most kids didn't have their dad take them flying, their surrogate
mom/aunt/whatever-the-hell-Harry-saw-Natasha-as and uncle teach them super spy ninja moves or
even help their godfather and surrogate uncle refit a flying motorbike.

On the other hand, being teased by an older female friend? Pretty normal to her way of looking at
it. If he got a taste of normality, maybe a few friends – no offence to the Hogwarts kids, they were
great fun, particularly the twins, born jokers who had immediately started flirting with her in a
fairly harmless and hilarious fashion, but they didn't have much perspective on the rest of the
world. They were pretty isolated. And that really wasn't what Harry needed.

Partly because she felt it would only be good for him, and partly because she'd realised that,
Avengers excepted, almost no one without superhuman powers had been kind to Harry. Which,
while it didn't seem to have any effect on him, might cause trouble down the line.

Therefore, she was injecting a bit of the ordinary world into his mindset. And also because he was
really cute when he blushed, as some lucky girl – or boy – would find out. She smirked. The
Beaubier boy would pounce on Harry like a cat on catnip. Still, that was something Harry would
find out in his own time.

OoOoOoO

The rest of the evening was largely a parade of one photo after another, interrupted by Tony
commenting on Lily's 'seriously incredible cans', Sirius barking his agreement and Darcy nodding
sagely. In her opinion, they were pretty much as good as hers. Aside from that and Tony getting a
disapproving look from Steve, an eyeroll from Pepper and blushes of embarrassment from Harry,
the only interruptions were for dinner and, eventually, with many protests, for bed, which he was
shepherded to by Pepper and Jane.

Having got into his Loki pyjamas - he had one set for each of the Avengers, and wore them on
rotation, though he didn't wear the Black Widow set because they largely consisted of black cloth,
adorned with a SHIELD symbol, a painted zip and humorously large boobs. Naturally, this set had
been bought for him by Tony – he began to drop off to sleep.

As he did, reaching the stage halfway between the waking world and the realm of Morpheus the
Endless, he thought he felt a cool, soft hand with long, clever, but soft and gentle, fingers stroke his
forehead. "Mama?" he whispered, only half awake.

The response came in one of those soft whispers on the edge of hearing, one that you're
not quite sure that you heard and can easily dismiss in the rational light of day.

Hush, little one. Sleep now. Mama loves you, Harry. Mama will always love you.

Real or not, for the first time for a very long time, Harry Potter fell asleep with a smile on his face.
 Let's Get This Party Started
Chapter Summary

Honestly, I think that this is where the fic really hits its stride. Or at least, I wince a
good deal less reading from hereon in (I have been assured that my early chapters are
fine, but I'm a perfectionist). It is also the point where the world is expanded and some
rather important characters are introduced.

Thor smiled. It was the 23rd of December and he was in his James Potter form, walking with Harry
through the city and enjoying the thoroughly unique New York Christmas.

He breathed in deeply, savouring the smells of roasting chestnuts and warming mulled wine, an
invention which had delighted him on first encountering it. He listened carefully, absorbing the
crystal clear voices of the carol singers, weaving in amongst the sounds of traffic, retailers hawking
their wares, beggars pleading for a little Christmas Charity - though most of them had dropped by
soup kitchens and shelters funded by his brother. While Thor had much faith in his brother's good
nature, he was also perfectly aware that Loki rarely did anything for a single purpose - and young
children laughing and playing in the snow, swaddled up in warm clothes.

This last phenomenon appeared more and more as they got closer to Central Park, conducting
miniature wars, giggling and shrieking with delight all the while. In the park itself, a moderately
sized hill of snow – again, Loki's work – allowed sledding on every conceivable object from tea
trays to ironing boards.

The snow – which he may or may not have had a hand in – glittered in the light, both natural and
unnatural, like a field of soft, downy diamond, crystals shining like the finest cut gems with the
beauty that only nature can provide. For now, at least, it was pure and soft, perfect for snowballs,
and Thor resolved to keep up a light snowfall over the following days to keep it clear and beautiful.

He looked all around him. It was strange, he thought, that the darkest part of the year was arguably
the most beautiful. Mankind had seemingly looked at what nature threw at them, the cold, the ice
and the thick, inky darkness and raised the figurative middle finger. With their boundless energy,
imagination and determination, they transformed a time of darkness into a time of light, warmth
and wonder.

All the lights, all the smiles, all the happiness, all the hope… It was wonderful. It was the best of
humanity on display. But what shone the brightest was the smile on his son's face, his emerald
green eyes sparkling in wonder as he twisted his head to take in everything around him, while his
father's strong, protective arm was looped around his shoulders.

As Thor gazed down at him, he cast his mind back to a few days prior.

OoOoO

"What's this party for again?" Harry asked, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he was being
outfitted for a suit. He was currently in a shop that was so high class and expensive that you did not
ask the price. If you had to do that, you couldn't afford the price.
The discomfort was partly because of his awareness of the sheer expense that was not being spared
on his behalf – despite the fact that Tony made the cost of the suit back in about five minutes, if
not less – and the fact that he was having needles jabbed into him.

"It's the Stark Industries Christmas Ball," Loki said, naturally looking immaculate and totally at
ease in his tuxedo, long legs stretched out as he lounged in the chair in the fitting room. He had
volunteered to escort Harry for the outfitting of a suit on the grounds that he was, from Harry's
point of view, the most comforting Avenger that Pepper would let anywhere near an establishment
such as this. "And the Avengers have been guests of honour since the first year of formation.
Apparently Tony's rationalisation was, 'if I have to suffer through this, so do you'." He looked at
Harry. "This will also be your first public engagement, so people will be watching you."

"No pressure then," Harry muttered.

"Not really," Loki said mildly. "Just be yourself, smile nicely and stay out of trouble. Your father
managed the first two for a good millennium." He sighed. "Requirement number three was always
a little hit and miss, but I generally managed to clean up his mess in time." He smiled kindly at
Harry. "You're thirteen, Harry. No one will expect you to be an expert on politics and economics,
or to be a well-trained little socialite. They'll be expecting a polite, well-mannered teenage boy, and
as far as I can see, that is what they will get." He paused. "I will say not to start any fights or
arguments, but I am well aware that your father's hero complex runs strong in your veins, as does
your mother's passion for justice, so I will not be too surprised if something happens."

Harry looked rather relieved.

OoOoO

Harry looked rather nervous. A few days had passed. The suit had been put together and the sight
of Harry wearing it had been the cause of pride – in the case of Thor – adoration – Pepper, Jane and
Darcy thought he looked – restrained affection – Natasha had ruffled his hair and smiled, while
Bruce and Steve had nodded, smiled and voiced their approval – and good natured amusement –
Tony and Clint had giggled until Pepper had, smiling cheerfully, reached out, grabbed one ear in
each hand, and twisted. The giggling had swiftly turned to yelping and free entertainment for all
present, as Clint immediately smooth wriggled out of the hold then enjoyed Tony's misfortune as
his struggles proved in vain. Natasha had given him a look that made him sober, but there was still
a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Now, this was the night of the party and just down the stairs from him was the ballroom where it
was being held on a lower floor of Stark Tower, which seemed to contain at least one of just about
everything. His first public engagement, as Lolki had described it. No longer could he just hide in
the upper, private reaches of the Tower and remain a mystery to the world at large. Here and now,
he had to go out and meet a lot of people who were, as ever, interested in what he was rather than
who he was. His chances for relaxed anonymity were limited.

He shivered and nervously tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was comfortable, and unsurprisingly
considering the monstrous expense and perfect tailoring, fit perfectly. That said, Harry would have
preferred a long sleeved shirt and jeans to this get up, which Tony had referred to as a penguin suit.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Tony, who smiled at him when he looked up. "We got
your back, kid," he said, voice low. "Come on. Let's knock 'em dead."

Harry grinned up at him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

OoOoO
After the first few introductions, which first Loki, then Pepper when Loki got collared by a young
scientist in his early twentiescalled Reed Richards who radiated brilliance and amiable absent
mindedness – though his date, another scientist called Susan Storm, who was drop dead gorgeous,
gave him a nice smile and rolled her eyes in Reed's direction, as if non-verabally apologising, then
leaned down and whispered, "I've got a little brother your age, and judging by your expression,
you're just as bored as he would be." She sighed slightly. "But far better behaved," she added, in a
long suffering tone that made Harry laugh.

He liked Susan 'call me Sue, everyone does' Storm, who chatted with him cheerfully and
sympathised very much with his boredom and feeling of being treated as a curiosity rather than a
person. "Tell me about it," she muttered. "5 highly commended papers on extradimensional
physics posted and people still think I'm just Reed's arm candy."

Loki and Pepper had so far guided Harry round on the grounds that Thor had enough difficulties
being polite and diplomatic at the best of times on such occasions, and did not exactly present a
good example for his son to follow. Involving his son could make a bad but manageable situation
far, far worse. Since Loki was mired in serious intellectual discussions with Reed and Sue, though
happy to keep Harry company, rather wanted to join in, another guide was needed.

So Harry got smoothly passed on to Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. Harry, who was beginning
to feel like a package in a game of pass the parcel, bore this with superficial good grace and
growing internal boredom and irritation. All these people did was goggle at him like he was a
fascinating exhibit at a museum. He felt like saying, yes, Thor's my dad. No, I don't have his
superpowers. Not yet, anyway. Kindly stop staring at me please?

Still. He liked Rhodey. He hadn't met the man before, but Loki had broken off from Reed, who
Sue had assiduously distracted, to introduce them.

James 'Rhodey' Rhodes was a tall, handsome black man in his late thirties, about Tony's age, with a
warm smile and a friendly but professional demeanour. When he heard that Harry liked flying and
was, in fact, a natural according to Clint – whose opinion Rhodey clearly respected - his eyes lit up.
"Getting bored, huh?" he asked.

Harry, though realising he probably shouldn't, nodded emphatically. Loki sighed slightly from
above, but it was tempered with an understanding smile. In his opinion, Harry was doing far better
than Thor would have at the same age.

"Well, I'd love to talk to you about flying, but I'm pretty much on duty here, so I'm expected to
make nice with the stuffed shirts and make sure that Tony doesn't oh… I don't know," he said,
shrugging. "Cause city wide chaos? Scare the crap out of the fattest fat cats on the East Coast?" He
paused. "That would actually be kind of funny, but if you let Tony know that, you just encourage
him, right?"

Harry nodded again. Rhodey clearly knew Tony inside out, which therefore, in Harry's opinion,
meant that Tony liked him. And anyone Tony liked and liked flying and understood his plight had
to be pretty awesome and worth listening to.

"So I know just who to introduce you to," Rhodey said, standing. Harry obediently followed him at
Loki's encouraging nod. As he did, he gained a respect for Rhodey's expert ability to navigate
through crowds, picking out the easiest paths through the ever shifting forest of people with the
ease of a past master and giving out brief greetings and promises to chat later while never once
slowing down.

Harry was rather reminded of the scene in The Sword In The Stone, a book Steve had leant him and
had promptly enthralled him, where Wart, the boy who would become King Arthur, only keeps up
with Maid Marian, the skilled woodswoman, through being small and agile. Certainly, his passage
through the crowd was rather less smooth, and required rather more effort than Rhodey's, as well as
a lot of quick thinking and wriggling.

Finally, he popped out into a small clearing where Rhodey had stopped to wait for him, with a two
other people.

"Harry, this is Brigadier General Jack O'Neill," Rhodey said, nodding at a tall, powerfully built
man with neatly cut grey hair. There were hints of a former auburn streak in it. He looked like he
could be stern, but was currently wearing a kind smile. Next to him was a tallish blonde girl who
looked to be about sixteen, who was giving him a thoroughly curious look. "My predecessor in
weapons acquisition, and his niece, Carol Danvers. She's your age." Clearly appearances deceived,
Harry thought vaguely. He turned to them. "Jack, Carol, this is Harry Potter, Thor's son."

"He doesn't look much like his dad," Carol observed.

"Carol," Jack hissed.

"What? It's true."

"It's ok," Harry said. He gained a crooked smile. "It's a nice change after being told I look exactly
like my father by just about everyone I met." Rhodey silently squeezed his shoulder. It said 'well
done'.

"Thor was incarnated as a human baby by his father to teach him humility, and unfortunately he
and his wife made themselves the enemies of a very dangerous British domestic terrorist and paid
for it," Rhodey explained. "Or at least, that's the general gist of it. After that, it got a little mystical
for my liking."

"Dad looked pretty much like me, but with dark eyes," Harry explained. "He can change at will."
He glanced over at his dad, who was shifting between the two forms to gasps of shock and awe.
"In fact, he's doing it right now."

"Holy crap," Jack muttered, as his niece said 'cool!'. "World just gets weirder every day. Mind,
Mom always said that it was even weirder in Aunt Peggy's day." He nodded. "I can see the
resemblance, though." He glanced at Rhodey. "Oh, James, if you see Steve, tell him I want a word.
I managed to dig up a few of aunt Peggy's old photo albums that I thought he might like."

"Sure, Jack," Rhodey said. "In fact, I think he needs rescuing. Senator Stern's cornered him."

"That jackass," Jack growled. "You two have fun."

"Carol, Harry's flown a Quinjet," Rhodey said. "Under supervision. Hawkeye says that he's a top
quality pilot."

Carol turned to Harry, blue eyes sparkling. "Really?" she breathed. She grabbed his arm. "Come
on. I want to know everything. I love flying, and uncle Jack's taken me up a couple of times, but
dad hates it." She made a face. "He's all, 'no Carol, it isn't ladylike', 'no Carol, boys do that, girls
like pink and dresses'." She looked annoyed and Harry felt profoundly relieved. He'd been worried
that he'd be stuck with a Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil clone, but this girl… was more like Cho.
Yeah, like Cho. Or Natasha, he supposed.

"So, you like flying?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Love it. I want to be a pilot when I'm older, like Uncle Jack." She sat
down and Harry sat down next to her, sipping his coke. She sighed. "But Dad won't want me to."

"Why should that stop you?" Harry asked. She looked at him and he explained. "Until a month or
so ago, I lived with my aunt and uncle in the school holidays. And I hated it. They hated me
because they knew that my parents weren't… normal."

"Not normal?"

"Well, both worked for the security services and –"

"Like SHIELD?" Carol asked interestedly.

Harry nodded. "A bit, yeah. Dad knew Nick Fury, and I think Nick and Mum were friends.
Anyway, they both had a couple of special talents that I inherited. My aunt and uncle thought they
were 'freakish'."

"Like what?"

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at her glass. "Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered, swishing
and flicking. The glass rose, and Carol's jaw dropped.

"You can do magic? Like Loki?" she asked, eyes wide. Harry snorted.

"I'm nowhere near as powerful. It's like comparing an AA battery to the arc reactor powering Stark
Tower. And that's favourable to me. But yeah. He's teaching me," Harry said, lowering the glass.
"Anyway, there are other people like me, people who have magic – which is classified by the way,
as hard as it gets." Carol nodded seriously. "And there's a school, where we can learn how to
control our abilities. My aunt and uncle didn't want me to go and tried to hide it from me. But I
found out, I wanted to go, and the teacher they sent to collect me is about ten feet tall – I mean, he's
a complete softie, but if you don't know him, he's scary."

"Like Uncle Jack," Carol said.

"I suppose," Harry agreed. "What I'm saying is that you've got your uncle and grandma backing
you up, right? And this is something you really want to do?"

"Yes and yes."

"Then don't let anyone stop you," Harry said.

Carol grinned. "I like you, Harry."

Harry blushed, shrugged, and mumbled. He blushed even further as Loki caught his eye and gave
him a broad wink.

"Now," Carol said. "Tell me about the Quinjet."

So Harry did. And found that he was enjoying himself far more than he'd expected. Parties weren't
so bad. Nor were girls, come to think of it.

OoOoO

It wasn't too much later that a small girl came up to them and hovered a few feet away. Carol saw
her and said gently, "Hey, honey. Are you okay?"
The girl was sniffling. "I can't find uncle JJ or aunt Marla," she said, sounding upset. "And the
grown-ups are all scary."

Harry slipped out of his seat. "We'll help you," he said kindly. "I'm Harry, and this is Carol. What's
your name?"

"Mattie. Mattie Franklin."

"That's a lovely name," Carol said and gently took the little girl's hand and looked around. "What
do your aunt and uncle look like?"

"Um… Uncle JJ's got dark greyish hair that looks sort of square-ish and he has a big moustache,"
Mattie said, emphasising the impressive size of said moustache with a gesture. "Aunt Marla is
pretty and quite tall, with light brown hair and eyes. She used to wear glasses, but not anymore."

Harry scanned the crowd. He couldn't see anyone of that description. Neither could Carol.
However, he could see his dad.

"Okay, we can't see them, but," Harry said. "My dad or my uncle will be able to find them."

"Promise?" Mattie said quietly.

Harry nodded. "Of course."

As it turned out, Thor was somewhat surrounded by large, immovable suits who were busy talking
to him. His face was a polite mask that occasionally slipped to reveal an expression of utter
boredom.

Harry sighed, and quickly picked out his uncle, who was talking to a middle aged bald man in a
wheelchair. Quickly he tugged Carol and Mattie over, beating a businessman who had also picked
out that Loki was relatively unattended to it. "Uncle," he said. "Sorry to interrupt," he said,
shooting an apologetic look at Loki's conversation partner. "But Mattie here can't find her uncle
and aunt, me and Carol can't see them and dad's… surrounded."

Loki turned and smiled kindly down at Mattie, who looked at him shyly, hiding slightly behind
Carol's legs. He knelt down. "All right, Mattie. If you stay very still and think very hard about what
they look like, I can help you."

Mattie paused, and gave Harry a look. He nodded encouragingly. She nodded at Loki. "Okay, your
majesty," she said quietly.

"Stay still, this won't hurt a bit," Loki said softly, reaching up and touching her temples with the
middle and forefingers of both hands, closing his eyes for a moment, then nodding. He gestured,
and two images appeared in mid-air. "Are these them?"

Mattie said, "Whoa!" Then she nodded furiously.

"Excellent," Loki said. "Charles, if you will excuse me, I'll be right back."

"Of course," the man named Charles said politely, sipping his champagne. As he sipped at the
champagne, the businessman came up to him. "Ah," Charles said. "Sebastian. What a pleasant
surprise." His tone was carefully neutral.

"I would say the same, Charles," the man known as Sebastian Shaw the Second said. He suddenly
smiled as he saw a powerfully built man step through the crowd, a cold amber-brown gaze fixed on
Sebastian. "Ah, one of your loyal former students," he said, unconcerned, then stuck out a hand.
"Doctor Henry McCoy, is it?"

The man gave him a cold glare, then shook the hand with a gloved one of his own, which dwarfed
the other's. "Yes, it is. And I have the dubious pleasure of addressing Sebastian Shaw II, do I not?"
he said, voice decidedly chilly.

"Hank," Charles said warningly. Hank subsided somewhat.

"Ah," Sebastian said slowly. "You think I am a man like my father." He smiled charmingly. It
would have fooled most people. For those, like Charles and Hank, who knew what to look for and
knew what it was hiding, it was the smile of a Great White Shark – toothy, bright, cold and hungry.

"Your name does not bring back many fond memories," Charles said calmly. "This is true."

"There is a difference," Hank said, voice somewhat restrained into a form of cool politeness, "Mr
Shaw, between thinking something, having a hypothesis which may be proved or disproved at any
time and is thus flexible, and knowing. That is to say, having an absolute certainty that you
conclusion is correct and indisputable." He looked over his glasses at the businessman. "My
colleague and former teacher is more circumspect than I, but in simple terms, No. We do not think
you are a man like your father. We know who you are. We know what you are. Black King."

Shaw's smile disappeared, like the inverse of the Cheshire cat, slowly fading away until there was
nothing left but the man. Somehow, this was worse than the other way around. "Ah. You are
familiar with the organisation I represent."

"More than we would like," Charles said quietly.

"Then, gentlemen, you will know that a dispute would not be wise. For you. Hellfire burns
eternally, and consumes all things. Even dreams," Shaw said softly. "I am a good friend to have.
And a terrible enemy."

"I am sure you are," Charles said calmly, then fixed Shaw with a sapphire stare. "Speaking of
terrible men to have as enemies and, indeed, bring back memories one is not fond of, my old friend
Erik is still alive. And he does not have any reason to regard the Shaw name with any fondness, or
the organisation you represent." He smiled slightly. "We are good friends to have, Sebastian. And
terrible enemies."

Shaw's face had drained of blood. "Lensherr is alive?" he whispered. Hank was smiling a
vindictive smile.

"And thriving," Charles said cheerfully. "My old friend was always robustly healthy, unlike
myself," he said, ruefully tapping his chair. "And powerful. He was powerful then, and is infinitely
more so now." He smiled again. "Merry Christmas, Sebastian."

"Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men," Hank murmured.

Shaw glared at them both in a mix of anger and fear, before sweeping off.

"That," Charles said. "Was unwise."

"But enjoyable," Hank said.

"True," the wheelchair bound man acknowledged. "How does the Image Inducer hold up?"
"Excellently," Hank replied. "Especially since I built it personally. All I need do is wear gloves and
claim I have a mild but uncomfortable skin condition to stave off polite kisses on cheeks, and I
blend in as well as any other man."

"Excellent," Charles said. He half smiled. "If you get the chance, do talk to Thor's son. He's a
small, dark haired boy called Harry. He wears glasses and has the most remarkable green eyes."

Hank took a deep breath. "You don't think," he began.

"To take your own phrasing, I don't think, I know," Charles murmured. "He is a rather remarkable
young man, though I did not get to speak with him." He smiled. "He interrupted my conversation
with Loki by being on a mission of mercy, seeking to find the guardians of a small child in need. I
recommend you try and have a word with him."

Hank chuckled. "Well," he said softly. "I think I shall just try. Yes, if I can in my perambulations
around this gathering, I shall indeed speak to him."
 Party On
Chapter Summary

Some more characters we'll be seeing later - there's a fair bit of foreshadowing going
on here.

"Loki?"

Loki paused and turned, his collection of little ducklings stopping with him. The young man who
had called for him was recognisable for two reasons. One, very few teenagers were bald. Two, he
was one of the few humans who Loki considered a potential intellectual equal.

"Lex, I'm a little busy," Loki said.

"I know, I can see," Lex Luthor, seventeen years old, genius, occasional party animal and heir to
the Luthor fortune, said. "You're looking for J.J. and Marla, right?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Loki said. "Have you seen them?"

Lex hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "They're talking to Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne, and all
three are probably being bored stiff by Hank," he said dryly. "Just because I find his work with
Doctor Storm and Doctor Richards on extradimensional physics fascinating doesn't mean everyone
else does."

"That is because you are one of the few people with the intellect to understand it, unlike the
Jameson's," Loki murmured, and Lex smiled slightly. Compliments from Loki were fairly sparing.
The secondborn Prince of Asgard glanced at Mattie. "I mean no insult to your family, Miss
Franklin. But there are some things that most people cannot do. Understanding conceptual
extradimensional physics is one of them."

"I'm guessing that you're not most people," the dark haired boy said, eyeing Lex curiously. He was
thin, but not unhealthy – a recent development, if Lex was any judge. The boy looked like he'd
recently been fairly maltreated. Ah… so this was Thor's son.

"Not by a long shot," Lex said, smirking. "And neither are you."

The boy gave him a surprisingly dry crooked smile that made him look about three years older.
"What gave me away?"

"The fact that you look exactly your dad's alternate appearance helped," Lex said casually. "But
there's something about you two that marks you out as different."

"Hello to you too, Lex," Carol said, looking amused but a little wary.

"They actually use their brains, unlike many," Loki said, watching Jonah clamp his mouth shut,
having been on the point of saying something undiplomatic, as his wife, smiling sweetly, leaned
her stiletto heel on it with a smooth, practised grace that Loki admired. Previously, he had only
ever seen Pepper manage such a thing. "So that may be it."
Lex inclined his head. "Probably,"

"Lex, this is my nephew, Harry," Loki said. "I think I had better return this little one to her
guardians," he added, indicating Mattie, sticking close by Carol, who seemed to have adopted her
as a little sister. "And rescue them from the enthusiasm of Henry Pym before Mister Jameson
suffers permanent perforations to his feet. Come, Mattie."

Mattie, after a moment of wavering by Carol, follow him over.

The three were left in silence.

"Um…"

Harry provided this auspicious start to the conversation.

Lex raised an eyebrow. "I know. I have no hair," he said, amused.

Harry chuckled weakly. "I bet you get asked that a lot, huh?"

"A bit," Lex said, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"And you just want to say, my face is down here, right?" Harry continued.

"Generally, I end up wanting to say my face is up here," Carol muttered.

Lex's lips twitched, then he eyed Harry. "You know what it's like." It wasn't a question.

Harry silently raised his fringe, revealing the famous scar.

Lex winced. "How did you get that?"

"Trade you."

Lex grinned. Quick witted, non-judgemental – or maybe he just had no idea who the Luthor's were
– and willing to speak his mind. He could like this kid. "Okay. Well, about ten years back, I was
with my dad in a little Kansas town called Smallville," he said. "And there was a meteor shower.
And I was right in the middle of it."

Harry's eyes widened. "Whoa."

"Yeah, it was pretty terrifying," Lex said casually. "Anyway, it turns out that these meteors were
radioactive, and I was caught up pretty badly in them. When SHIELD tested everyone afterwards
for ill effects, it turned out that it was like I'd undergone an intense radiotherapy session – no hair,
but I'm never going to get cancer. In fact, any disease in my body – and I used to have asthma,
among other things – got obliterated. I also think I heal a bit faster than normal, but I've never had
that confirmed." He paused, watching Harry's reaction. "This is usually the point where people run
away, looking for Hazmat suits. Carol's heard this before, so she knows I'm not radioactive, but
you don't."

Harry shrugged. "I figured that if you were up and about, you couldn't be dangerous. Not like that,
anyway. Besides. I live with the guy who turns into the Hulk. You cannot possibly have more
radiation in you than Doctor Banner. And I have no idea what a Hazmat suit even is," he said
simply.

Lex nodded. "I appreciate that," he said quietly. "Your story?"

"Dark wizard," Harry said flatly. "Murdered my mother, sort of murdered my father – his mortal
body died, but his spirit survived, if you follow me – and then tried to murder me."

Lex winced. "I'm sorry about that. He gave you that scar?"

Harry nodded again. "He cast a curse called the Killing Curse at me. It's instantly lethal, and
whatever it touches it kills, if it's alive, or destroys, if it's not. The only way you can tell that it's
been used on someone is by ruling out everything else," he said. He smiled grimly. "Thanks to
something that mum did, some protection or power she invoked, whatever she did… it made the
curse bounce. I got the scar, Voldemort, the dark wizard, got discorporated like dad. But he didn't
have a body of his own to go back to."

Lex nodded slowly. "I see. I'm sorry."

Harry nodded.

"Why your parents?"

"They were part of the people fighting Voldemort, like SHIELD. High profile targets," Harry said.

Lex looked grim. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said.

He glanced up. Loki was walking back over. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Harry," he said,
shaking Harry's hand. "And nice to see you again, Carol. Anyone bothers you, you know where to
send them."

Carol rolled her eyes. "I can look after myself just fine, Lex. And we both know that my uncle
would beat you to it."

"A man can dream," Lex said cheerfully.

"You'll have to keep dreaming."

"'If a man's reach does not exceed his grasp, then what is a heaven for?'" Lex retorted.

"To keep those capable of dying inclined to behave decently to one another, for a given value of
decent," Loki said. "Valhalla serves that function well enough."

Lex inclined his head in agreement. "Well, I think I can see Professor Xavier and Doctor McCoy –"

Harry looked excited. "Bones is here?"

While he had not watched much Star Trek, there is, as previously noted, something about Tony
Stark that is infectious. Like a disease.

Lex grinned as Carol started giggling. "Star Trek isn't real, Harry."

"They said the same about magic, aliens and gods," Harry pointed out.

Lex paused and gave him a thoughtful look. "Good point." He shrugged. "Besides, whenever
someone makes that joke, he always says, as long sufferingly as it is possible to be, 'I'm a bio-
chemist, not a medical examiner!'"

Harry grinned.

Loki looked amused. "You two go and have fun," he said. "I wish to finish my conversation with
Charles."

Harry frowned slightly, feeling put aside, but Carol patted his shoulder. "Trust me. Professor
Xavier's one of the smartest guys on the planet. Lex Luthor and your uncle are two of the others.
When they go into geek mode, you won't understand a word they're saying," she said.

Harry sighed. "That's probably true," he acknowledged, and both wandered off. The last thing
Harry heard Lex say to his uncle was, 'What's your view on Xavier's theory of mutation?'

For a while, they merely drifted through the crowd, talking about flying, and about cabbages and
kings, and whether pigs have wings. Possibly.

Suffice it to say, it was the sort of organic, rambling conversation that friends have.

Then Carol suddenly squeaked. A large, hairy paw belonging to a large, hairy man had descended
to pinch her bottom. He was tall, built like a gorilla, all ugly, hulking features, thick wiry body hair,
a slightly hunched stance and there was a certain 'me Alpha male, you
female/victim/threat/irrelevance' aura about him.

"Hey good looking," he breathed, as the two whirled on him, Carol's cheeks with high spots of red
from embarrassment and anger, blue eyes sparking furiously. Harry also looked angry. "Why don't
you come back with me?"

"I'd rather eat dog vomit," Carol hissed.

"Now sweet cheeks, I think I can change your mind," the man began, then snarled as Harry got
between the two. "Move, runt."

"You're talking to royalty," Harry said coldly, eyes burning angrily, drawing his wand with no care
for who might be watching and exercising his rank for the first time in his life. "I'd change the way
you're speaking if were you. And I would apologise to Carol."

"Or what, runt?"

"Or I give you an object lesson in how to behave," another man said, his voice deep and well
educated and his tone stern. All three turned to look at the newcomer. He was a tall man, black,
and moved with a certain dangerous feline grace.

"Who're you?" the man growled.

"Prince T'Challa of Wakanda, Mr Krieger," T'Challa said, tone still stern. "I think that the young
lady does not want your attentions. Especially since she is fourteen, according to her uncle,
Brigadier General O'Neill, who I have just spoken to."

While Krieger was distracted, Carol, face screwed up with rage, drew back her long right leg, then
lashed out, in a magnificent rising kick that nailed Krieger square in the balls. Harry winced as the
man folded up. T'Challa smirked.

"Your uncle said you were many things. A skilled fighter was not one of them, though I see that it
is another virtue of yours," he said mildly. "Mr Krieger, I suggest you leave before Miss Danvers
kicks what you think with again. I do not think that it can afford another so mighty a blow."

"Fuck off, you self-righteous nigger son of a bitch," Krieger wheezed, straightening up. Harry's and
Carol's eyes widened. T'Challa's eyes narrowed. T'Challa moved in a blur.
Less than two seconds later, Krieger was weeping on the floor in agony.

"Hopefully tonight will be a lesson to you to mend your behaviour," T'Challa said coolly. "If you
use such language towards me again, I will not be so friendly as I was tonight." He glanced at
Carol and Harry. "Nor will our young friends," he said. His eyes lingered on Harry's wand and he
winked briefly. Harry got the sense that the Wakandan Prince knew exactly what it was. He
gestured imperiously, and a server came over. "Mr Krieger has somewhat overindulged," he said
formally. "Kindly call a taxi and have him sent home."

The server nodded, and beckoned one of his fellows over. Together, they carried Krieger out.

"Good riddance," Harry muttered.

"Well said, cousin."

"Cousin?" Carol asked.

"Um, I think it's how royalty address one another. Even if they aren't related," Harry said, thinking
back to his lessons with Loki. T'Challa nodded.

"Exactly," he said. "I have heard little about you, largely thanks, I think, to your watchful uncle. He
has done a masterful job of keeping you out of the spotlight." He gave Harry a knowing look.
"Something, I think, that you are thankful for."

Harry nodded, chagrined. "I don't like fame," he muttered.

T'Challa chuckled. "I don't think you would. As the famous 'Boy-Who-Lived', I imagined that you
would either be like Stark and milk it for all it's worth, or be rather like I was when I was young,
and seek to avoid the trappings of fame."

Harry's eyes widened. "How do you know that name?" he asked suspiciously.

"In Wakanda, magic and science work as one," T'Challa said. "I am more than aware of the
existence of magic. And by extension, of you."

Carol was looking between the two curiously. "'Boy Who Lived?'"

Harry paused. How was he to get out of this one?

"I think the Statute of Secrecy can be waived in the case of Miss Danvers, Harry," T'Challa said,
tone slightly reproving. "After all, her uncle is General O'Neill, and therefore she knows how to
keep secrets. Don't you?"

"I do," Carol said. "Harry?"

"There's a secret society of witches and wizards," Harry said. "People with powers like mine."

"Not entirely like yours," T'Challa said mildly.

Harry gave him a surprised look. T'Challa removed his glasses. "I don't actually need these," he
said. "They are designed to do several things. For one, they function as… I believe a British
television show called them 'brainy specs'. I am taken more seriously when I wear them. They also
give me a full view of the electromagnetic spectrum – including your powers. Your… aura, one
might say, is already well above average for a wizard of your age, and it is growing at an
exponential rate."
"So… I'm becoming more powerful?"

"Yes, though I doubt it will truly have much effect other than allowing you to perform more spells
for longer until your full inheritance comes through," T'Challa said. Harry stared. "European gods
are not the only ones to fall in love with mortals and gods do not only fall in love with white
people. They just tend to make the biggest fuss about it," T'Challa said dryly. "You are most
definitely not the first demi-god I have come across."

"They? European Gods or White People?"

"Both. Particularly Americans," T'Challa said. "This country has many great virtues. Subtlety is
not one of them."

Carol huffed as Harry nodded sagely. "He's right," he said. "Sorry, Carol, but he kind of is." He
glanced up at T'Challa. "Can you tell me anything else?"

T'Challa saw the pleading look in his eyes, the desire of a boy who had no idea what was
happening to him to understand, to have a base to work from because he was all at sea. And
doubtless he was too proud to admit to either father or uncle. He chuckled inwardly. He had been
much the same when he had first taken up the Panther mantle, thinking he had to master these
senses and abilities without help from others.

Then his father had taken him aside and firmly explained that while there was no crime in
ignorance, there was a crime in prideful stupidity. "Ask the questions you wish to ask. Learn what
you need to learn. Some you will discover for yourself, yes, but much must be taught. Listen, my
son, to those who are far further down the path you have now begun, because they can teach you
the best routes."

Of course, this was a slightly different matter. "Each demi god," T'Challa said slowly, "Is a
different story. Some develop no powers at all – this is not the case with you. The power that is
already building up will slowly change your body. Your appearance will remain the same, but your
abilities and the mechanisms that power them, will develop. What they will be, however, none can
say. While it is not uncommon for a demi god to inherit some ability similar to their godly parents',
it is equally not uncommon to develop a power set that is completely different."

He rubbed his chin, thinking of the best advice he could give. "Ask," he said eventually. "When
you encounter something new, something you do not understand, ask your father, your uncle and
any who can advise you. Even if they have no direct answer, they can still be there for you as you
explore this new aspect of yourself." He nodded. "Never be afraid to ask questions."

Harry nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"And thanks for the…" Carol paused, and waved her hand in the vague direction of where Krieger
was being half carried, half dragged.

T'Challa smiled. There was, Harry thought, something vaguely feline about that smile. "Both were
an honest pleasure," he said. He inclined his head. "Cousin. Miss Danvers. I bid you goodnight. I
have a business meeting tomorrow morning and if I must sufer another question about Vibranium
exports without the fortification of a night's sleep, I might kill someone."

Harry and Carol grinned. "I think we both get how you feel," Carol said.

T'Challa's gaze lingered on the both of them, particularly on Harry. "I would not be surprised in the
least," he murmured. He inclined his head to them both. "Good evening to you both."
Then he strode away.

"I like him," Harry said.

Carol nodded her agreement.

OoOoO

After a short while of further wandering, a new figure crossed their path, purposefully cutting them
off.

Harry eyed him. He was about a year older than Harry, maybe a little less, and tall for his age, slim
too, with the body of a dancer or an athlete. He had hair so black that it was almost a deep
midnight blue in places. His skin was fair, but not unhealthily pale, and his eyes had a wicked
twinkle that Harry recognised from Sirius, Loki and Tony.

Here is a rogue, it said. A bad boy. The guy all mamas warned their little girls about. He's bad
news.

But don't you want a closer look?

When he kissed Carol's hand, he figured that his assessment was dead on, and that poor Carol was
going to have to suffer another admirer.

"Carol, my dear, you are as beautiful as ever," the boy complimented, revealing a French accent.

"Hello to you too, Jean-Paul," Carol said, tones wry and affectionate, hugging him chastely, and
Harry immediately revised his opinion of this Jean-Paul. He was clearly an old friend. "Harry," she
said. "This is Jean-Paul Beaubier. Jean, this is Harry… do you prefer Thorson or Potter?"

"Potter," Harry said, reaching over to shake Jean-Paul's hand. "Harry Potter."

He got the shock of his life when Jean-Paul smoothly turned his hand over and laid a light kiss on
the back of it. "Why Carol, is he a Christmas present?" the older boy asked, eyeing Harry like a cat
that has seen a tasty mouse. "Because I must say, you have outdone yourself."

Harry, confused and surprised, blushed. Carol giggled. "Yes, Harry," she said, catching his
expression. "Jean likes boys."

"Out and proud," he confirmed. "And you, Harry mon petit, make me glad to be gay."

Harry bit his lip.

"Jean," Carol said, tone warning. "You're bothering him."

Quickly, Jean-Paul backed off. "Je suis desolé," he said smoothly and sincerely.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, that's what I said," Jean-Paul replied, grinning, and Harry found himself grinning in reply.
Once past the immediate shock – or rather, having put it to one side to deal with later – he found
himself instantly liking the other boy. He had a breezy, cheerful confidence that made him hard not
to like.

"You're French," Harry said, feeling a little slow.

"What gave me away?" Jean-Paul asked dryly.

"The greasy smarm?" Carol asked lightly. "The awful hair? Take your pick."

"Carol, you wound me," Jean-Paul said theatrically.

"Oh please, anything I say will bounce off your steel plated ego."

"Gold, actually. Only the best," he replied, grinning.

"Bright and shiny but soft and useless? Suits you down to the ground, Jean," Carol said smoothly.

"Game, set and match," Harry said.

Jean-Paul pouted.

"I won fair and square," Carol said firmly. "So stop sulking."

"I'm French. I am contractually obliged to sulk at anything," Jean-Paul retorted. "And I'm still
prettier than you are."

"Uh-huh. So that's why I've got the boys at school lined up round the block while you're still
chasing anything with two legs and a penis," Carol replied.

"The poor souls are in denial," Jean-Paul said firmly. "And are dazzled by my prettiness." He
shrugged. "Besides, I have a smaller pool to draw from. Don't pretend that you'd give ninety
percent of your suitors the time of day."

Carol wrinkled her nose. "True," she admitted.

"Is he one of the ten percent?" Jean-Paul asked, nodding at Harry.

Carol went pink. "Jean! I hardly know him! No offence, Harry."

"None taken," Harry said, honestly happy that he had found a girl other than Hermione who he
could talk sensibly with without worrying about relationships.

"That's not a no," Jean-Paul noted, tone dripping with mischief. Harry began to wonder if he wasn't
related to Loki.

"He's not. He's nice and he's a friend."

"But he's as cute as a button!"

"He's right here, you know."

"And he has an adorable accent too!" Jean-Paul continued, blithely ignoring Harry's interjection.

"He's also not my type. He's cute, sure, but I'm not interested, and thank god, he isn't interested in
me."

Jean-Paul gave Harry a calculating look. "He could still change his mind, but unless my gay-dar is
way off, he's as straight as an arrow. More's the pity," he said. "How could he not be interested in
you?"

"Attracted," Carol said tartly. "And interested are two different things. For instance, Jean, you may
be attracted to Doctor Banner –"

Harry filed this knowledge away for later.

"- But you aren't interested in trying anything."

"Yes, ma cherie. The two small matters of him being straight and two and half times my age just
happen to get in the way," Jean-Paul said wryly, then raised his hand to forestall Carol's reply. "Say
no more. I see your point."

"The Hulk doesn't bother you?" Harry blurted.

Jean-Paul gave him a surprised look and said, "No. Does it bother you?"

"No! He's my friend."

"Then why would it bother me? It's not as if I can throw stones in the mutation department," Jean-
Paul asked, then sighed at Harry's surprise. He raised his hand. "Look." It blurred suddenly. "Not
normal."

"What are you?" Harry asked curiously. "Is that super speed?"

Jean-Paul blinked. "Yes, it is," he said. "And I am a mutant, as is my twin sister, who is not here
tonight. She is feeling unwell. Anway, we were born different. It is something we cannot control,
like I cannot control my homosexuality. Why should I discriminate against someone for something
that they can equally not do anything about?"

As Harry mulled this over, there was a sudden wrathful cry.

"BEAUBIER!"

Jean-Paul gulped and began looking for an exit.

Carol sighed. "Who did you piss off this time?"

"I may have kissed the wrong councilman's son," Jean-Paul said, looking shifty.

"Of course you did," Carol said, shaking her head.

"He was hot," Jean-Paul protested. "And I didn't know his father was homophobic."

"Go," Harry said. "We'll cover for you."

Jean-Paul flashed him a grin, and blurred. Then he was gone. But not before leaving a kiss on
Harry's cheek and a whisper. "Merci, mon cher."

Harry slowly raised a hand to his cheek. "Well," he said slowly. "That was different."

Carol chuckled. "That's Jean for you."

Just then, a large man with salt and pepper hair, who might have been powerfully built in his youth
but was now running to fat in a big way, with the bright red nose of an alcoholic and the jowls of
an ill-made bloodhound, burst out of the crowd, panting with unaccustomed. "Where is he?" he
snarled.

"Who, sir?" Carol asked innocently. "And may I ask your name?"
"That little freak Beaubier," the man snarled. "He's corrupted my son." He paused and added, "I'm
Bolivar Trask."

Harry and Carol shared looks. "That sounds serious, Mr Trask," Harry said solemnly. He pointed
in the opposite direction to the one Jean-Paul had disappeared in. "He went that way."

The jowly man eyed him, then nodded curtly. "Much obliged," he muttered gruffly, before moving
off in the direction indicated.

Carol, her innocent façade falling, glared viciously after him, and spat, "I hate that word."

"Believe me. You cannot possibly hate it as much as I do," Harry said flatly. Carol glanced at him
and he explained. "My dear relatives, my former guardians, loved using it. It was their favourite
adjective."

There was silence. "I have powdered laxatives. Slow acting ones."

"I can flirt with a waiter to distract them."

Mr Trask spent the rest of the night glued to the toilet after an embarrassing incident in the back of
his limo, earning the nickname, Crapper Trask.

Neither Harry nor Carol tolerated injustice.

OoOoOoO

Jack drove back, glad to be out of there. While Stark threw decent parties and he always had a good
conversation or two with Colonel Rhodes, Pepper Potts and Director Fury, if and when the man
turned up, he mostly hated them. It went against his nature to make nice with creatures like Senator
Stern, career politicians, vultures, who made their success off their failures and misfortunes of
other, usually better, men and women.

In truth, he'd only brought Carol to maintain peace in the Danvers household, to get her out of the
unpleasant clutches of his brother-in-law and weak sister, and to allow her to meet some kids her
own age.

Sometimes this went better than others, so, out of the corner of his eye, he watched his niece.
Despite the incident with Krieger – he would spend tomorrow making sure that the drunken lech
was fired – ended by brilliant kick from her that would probably make his mother grin and his
deceased great-aunt look down from whatever heaven she was in and smile. Prince T'Challa's
intervention had also been welcome. There was a young man that Jack approved of.

The Luthor kid… maybe. He was a bit of a party boy, but he was genuinely good to Carol, which
was something that was guaranteed to put someone in his good books.

Beaubier, though he was a bit of a rake, he was good hearted and completely sexually uninterested
in Carol, which he knew she appreciated.

And now this Potter boy. Or Thorson. Even the kid himself wasn't too sure, but readily responded
to both. He also looked strangely like an old colleague who was now working for SHIELD's
fledgling extraterrestrial division. He couldn't quite remember his name… Daniel something.

Anyway, whoever he looked like, he treated Carol as a person, not a set of breasts, an ass and a
vagina to be tapped at nearest opportunity, and immediately came to her defence. Sadly, both
attitudes were all too rare.
"I like him," Carol said suddenly.

"Oh?"

"Harry. I like him. He's a good guy."

O'Neill smiled. "Good."

He hated these parties. But if things like this happened more often… they were worth it.

OoOoOoO

"I got kissed tonight," Harry said vaguely.

"Good on you, kid. What was her name?" Tony asked. "Did she use tongue?"

"Tony," Pepper said reprovingly.

"What?" Tony asked. "It's perfectly natural."

"Most boys don't start making out at thirteen."

"On the cheek, actually. And his name was Jean-Paul Beaubier."

Thor's jaw dropped in shock and Tony began to laugh. Loki, amused, caught Thor's expression.
"Relax, Thor, your son has not been corrupted," he said dryly. "Jean-Paul Beaubier is much like
Midgard's answer to Fandral, except he is around Harry's age and interested in handsome boys
rather than fair maidens."

"Will he treat my son honourably?" Thor asked, slipping into older mannerisms.

"He's not going to sweep Harry off his feet and into bed, Thor," Bruce said, lips twitching.
"Beaubier's harmless. And it's pretty obvious that Harry isn't interested."

Thor relaxed.

Harry caught that and asked, "Would you be bothered if I liked boys?"

Thor thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, as long as you picked your partners
wisely. I just think you're too young for either boyfriends or girlfriends," he said firmly.

"I'm not a baby, dad," Harry said, slightly exasperated.

"Thirteen is still too young," Thor said firmly. "For anything more than innocent kissing."

"Says the man who was chasing girls as soon as the idea occurred to him," Loki drawled, going to
make coffee. "Which if memory serves," he added, voice echoing through. "Was about thirteen
years old."

"Seriously? Thor was a player that young?" Tony asked, impressed.

"Oh, he didn't have much luck until he was fourteen or fifteen. But it wasn't for lack of trying. I
distinctly recall Thor being frustrated about it and not understanding in the least what the problem
was until a year or so later."

Thor glowered in his brother's vague direction and sulked.

OoOoOoO

Thor came back to the present as his son stopped and peered into the darkness under a tree. Thor
looked closer, thanking his all-round superhuman abilities for the night vision to see a small, pale,
brown haired boy sobbing in pain and holding his ankle, while a blonde girl comforted him.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned. Both looked up in surprise. Neither had noticed Thor and
Harry's approach.

"'M fine," the boy, thin and scrawny with a thin and slightly pointy elfin face framed by round
framed glasses much like Harry's, said, voice thick with tears and pain.

"Doesn't sound like it," Thor murmured, squatting down beside the two. "Here. Let me have a
look."

Unwillingly, the boy rolled up his trouser leg to reveal twisted ankle, covered in snow to cool it.
Thor sucked his breath in through his teeth in sympathy, all the while aware that his James side
was coming out quite strongly, to match his form. "Sprained?" he asked, gently brushing away the
snow and palpating it.

The girl nodded. She looked authoritative, concerned, angry and quite pretty. "Flash Thompson,
that great big bully over there," she said, jerking a thumb at a particularly raucous group of teenage
boys about fifty feet away. "And his buddies were chasing him. Probably wanted to dump him in a
snow drift for fun."

Right on cue, one of them who sounded like he had more testosterone than brain cells yelled
mockingly, "O puny Parker! How's the ankle, Puny Parker?"

Then, he and his buddies began to laugh as if they felt they had done something terribly clever.

Harry, eyes flashing with anger, plunged his hand into his pocket for his wand. Thor reached out
and stopped him, shaking his head. "Let me handle this," he said softly. "Stay with…" he trailed
off enquiringly.

"I'm Gwen," the blonde girl said.

"I'm Peter," the boy mumbled.

"Well, you Peter, are being very brave," Thor said. He was pretty much all James at the moment.
"Sprained ankles hurt like the devil." He smiled kindly. "I'd be blubbing like no tomorrow if it was
me."

Peter gave him a doubtful look.

"I'm not joking," Thor said.

That was when Harry broke in, magnificently deadpan. "He really isn't," he said. "Goes to pieces
over the least little thing." He gave his father a brilliant mock despairing look. "And you call
yourself an Agent of SHIELD." As he said that, he winked, so only his father could see. Thor felt
proud. Harry had simultaneously played along in a humorous fashion to cheer Peter up – the
smaller boy was giggling and his protective friend looked amused – and given him a neat cover for
any magic he was about to do.

He winked back, and then, for the benefit of Peter and Gwen, rolled his eyes extravagantly.
"Children of today. No respect for their elders," he muttered. Harry grinned shamelessly. Thor
suddenly looked serious, and straightened up. "Speaking of children with no respect for their
elders, there are some who need to learn that lesson," he said darkly, looking over at the noisy
group. "Stay here, Harry." Then he strode off.

On the advent of him having two forms, and indeed, meeting Janet Van Dyne, Thor had had a
wardrobe constructed for each.

Currently, he was wearing dark, three quarter length charcoal grey woollen coat that blew slightly
and flared in the soft winds, a tightly wrapped burgundy red scarf, a midnight blue jumper and
tough black trousers, all uniformly shadowy and intimidating against the bright white snow. It
would suit very nicely, and indeed, the group belonging to this 'Flash Thompson' quietened down
considerably when they realised that the tall, dark figure was coming for them.

And he was tall, standing easily at six foot three inches, and glaring down at the only moderately
tall by adult standards, though veritable giants to someone like Peter, dressed as he was, he made
an intimidating picture. "Which one of you is the leader of these bullies? I believe your name is
Flash Thompon," he said coldly. There was silence. "Speak up."

One, taller, thicker and blonder than the others, maybe five feet and eight inches, stepped forward
in, standing in fearful defiance. Thor recognised this time. All strong and brave, right up until they
were met by force. In other words, a coward and a bully. Thor grasped his chin and forced him to
look up at him. "You and your idiot friends chased that boy, Peter Parker, under that tree, didn't
you?" he said, tone as chilly as the winds that were beginning to pick up around them, howling in
an eldritch fashion through the trees and whipping up little flurries of snow. And they picked up
only around them, doing so slowly, but surely. Flash's friends noticed, and began to shuffle
nervously, but didn't dare run from this dark, angry figure who seemed to control the winds.

"Yes," Flash admitted, voice small.

"He sprained his ankle. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes."

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Somehow I don't believe you." The winds picked up even further, a thin,
racing screen of snow surrounding them. "Somehow, I think that you will forget this soon enough."
He let go of Flash's chin. "Somehow, I think that you must be taught what it is like to be afraid. To
fear someone who is more powerful than yourself, who you have no chance of beating."

At this point, he might have been expected to raise a fist. But Thor did not, as some might have put
it, punch down. Not when he could possibly avoid it. It was dishonourable and in many cases,
usually unnecessary. If nothing else, one of the things he had learned from his brother was the
value of a good spectacle. So instead, he allowed the winds to rise from a whistle to a roar,
engulfing the both of them in a maelstrom. Flash's eyes were now as wide as saucers, his face pale
with terror.

"Consider," Thor said coldly, pitching his voice to cut through howling of the powerful wind like a
knife. "The lesson taught." He cut it off with a slash of his hand, purely for effect. It had lasted
little more than ten seconds, enough to cause an effect and no more, and glared down at Flash, who
had recovered sufficiently to stare up at hi. "Next time you raise a hand to someone like Peter, or
seek to chase them for sport… all of you, remember this. Remember your fear." The wind whipped
up into a brief, raging storm once more. "Remember me. Because I will remember you."

Then, he turned and began to walk away. As he did, the miniature snowstorm began to subside. By
the time it subsided completely, he was gone from their view, a light wind erasing his footprints, as
if he had never been. All them would wonder if this was real, if they had encountered some
phantom or faerie, some dark creature of nightmare that came out in the darkest shadowed depths
of the dying year. In the end, it did not matter. The impression was made.

It did not make him proud or happy to have frightened the boy. Indeed, it was something he would
rather have avoided, and any man who raised a hand to Harry, or tried to intimidate, would find
himself losing the hand or otherwise severely regretting it. But Harry was not a bully who enjoyed
the pain of others and knew no form of persuasion but fear. Fear of superior power.

The only tawdry satisfaction he could draw from it was that it had been done in the defence of an
innocent and it had doubtless made an impression.

Meanwhile, Harry was chatting with Gwen and Peter, getting to know them and distracting Peter
from his pain. So far, he'd extracted that Gwen was Gwen Stacy, the daughter of New York's Top
Cop, Peter was Peter Parker, nephew of May and Ben Parker, and both were brilliant at science.

Both were also about the same age, and had been friends ever since Kindergarten – American pre-
school, as Harry recalled.

"We were examining the head of a robot, a Doombot the SHIELD guys called it, that fell out of the
sky right in front of me," Peter said enthusiastically. "It was amazing!"

Gwen nodded seriously. "The tech inside was beyond anything in the country short of Government
R&D and Stark Industries," she said.

Harry was pretty sure that his father had been the one to part that robot's head from its body, but
said nothing about that, instead nodding and looking appropriately awed.

His own answers were a little more difficulty, but the cover story was that his dad was an Agent of
SHIELD – sort of true – his mother had been also – definitely not true – and she had been killed in
action when he was a baby. As for school, he said he was good at sports that needed good hand-eye
co-ordination and academically was a general allrounder, though he was rubbish at Chemistry – i.e.
Potions – partly because he just was and partly because his teacher hated his dad, and by extension,
him.

Both had been very sympathetic about his mother, and Peter had said that he'd lost his parents
when he was little too.

"And Dad… he's got a few special talents," he said, nodding at the distant miniaturised snowstorm.

Gwen and Peter's jaws dropped. "How?" Gwen asked for the both of them.

Harry shrugged. "He was born like that," he said casually.

"Can you do that?" Peter asked, curious.

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, then paused. He wasn't exactly a master of wandless magic,
but he'd learnt a few basic spells. Reaching inside himself, going towards his core of magic – a
warm golden-white. Apparently the colour was different for everyone, with Loki's being golden-
green, Hermione's being a solid scarlet and the Twins sharing a flame like orange – and centring
himself. It only took a few moments now, by dint of much practice. "But," he said. "I can do this."
And a ball of golden light began to shine in his hand, glowing like a lamp.

"Whoa," Peter breathed. Gwen just stared, gobsmacked. "How are you doing that?"

Harry shrugged. "Magic?"

"Magic is just what people say when they don't understand something," Gwen muttered, annoyed.
"I mean, Loki manipulates some form of energy with his imagination, yes, so it does what he
wants, like Thor – and your dad, by the looks of things – can manipulate the weather. But it can be
understood and explained. It shouldn't just be pigeon holed under 'magic, unexplainable.'"

"Maybe," Harry said, desiring to keep the peace. "The thing that I was told about magic, by Loki,
actually, is that it's a fundamental force of the universe, like gravity, and it can affect the other four
to a greater or lesser extent, depending on how much you can wield, if any." He half smiled. "He
also said that it is powerful, mysterious and just a little bit alive, with a mind of its own."

Gwen raised her eyebrows, looking sceptical, then peered closely at Harry as if looking into his
very soul. Then she nodded. "I suppose he would know," she said, briskly, and moved the
conversation on. Harry would think thereafter that either she could read minds, or she had seen
something in him that made her recognise that he wanted to avoid an argument and agree with him.

Hermione, he thought ruefully, would probably have argued anyway until she had proved her
intellectual point and had it accepted as being the correct one. While he loved both his best friends
to bits, Hermione was naturally argumentative and Ron didn't help – hence why they tended to row
a bit, mostly with each other and sometimes with him.

He was, in summation, eminently glad that while this girl was similarly brilliant, she seemed –
from what little he could grasp – to be more perceptive.

She was also, as was clear to see, extremely protective of Peter, fussing over him and shooting
anxious glances at him whenever he looked to be in pain. However, when she saw that talking
helped, she didn't belabour the obvious point of him being injured, and kept up a steady stream of
chatter. Though she was more classically girlish than Carol, she was similarly strong willed and
had – thank the gods – interests other than clothes, boys and the colour pink.

"They're going to get me later," Peter said gloomily, nodding at the group. Thor was, by now, on
his way back.

"Oh," Harry said, watching them run like the hounds of hell were after them as soon as the pocket
snowstorm died away. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Peter shook his head resignedly. "You haven't met Flash," he said dolefully.

"Long may that last," Harry quipped, and Gwen giggled. Even Peter chuckled slightly.

"Yeah, but he'll catch me and beat me up. I know your dad was trying to help, but Flash…"

"He'll take it out on you?" Harry asked, realising.

Peter nodded.

"Not while I'm around he won't," Gwen growled.

Though she was a lightly built girl, already beginning to develop curves that would turn her from
pretty to beautiful as the years rolled by, Harry did not doubt it. There was an adamantine
determination in her that put diamond to shame. He was also surprised to note that he noticed that
she was pretty. He blushed slightly at this, and was glad for the darkness.

"Yeah, Gwen, but you're not always around," Peter said, showing no offended ego about being
defended by a girl, a point in his favour as far as Harry was concerned.

"Then fight back," Harry said. "Not with your fists," he added. "But with your brain."

"How do you mean?" Peter asked, puzzled.

Harry gave him the sort of smile that might be referred to as a Cheshire Cat special. "Pranks," he
said. "Stink bombs, tripwires, bangers, paint bombs, water bombs, itching powder in the pants,
even slip a little something in his science experiments to make them go wrong or go off in his face,
the works. You're the science genius, you can figure out far worse. He makes your life a misery?
Fine. Return the favour. With interest." He shrugged. "Way I see it, all he can do is hit you. That
hurts, but bruises fade. But indignity and humiliation? They last forever."

"But –"

"Peter, if you let him push you around, he's never going to stop," Harry said firmly. "I'm guessing
that he gets at you everyday?"

"Pretty much."

"Well… I'm not going to say he'll stop, because that would be the smart thing to do if you prank
him into oblivion," Harry said. "But he'll ease up a bit."

"Or," Gwen said, dryly amused. "You could go to a teacher."

"Meh. Why take all the fun out of it?" Harry asked.

"Because pranking could piss off Flash even more?"

"Point," Harry admitted. "But, even if it does…" He grinned. "Well, in my experience, it'll mean
you're doing something right."

Peter looked thoughtful.

"You don't have to prank him," Harry said. "But if you don't stand up to him… he'll walk all over
you. Forever."

"He's right about that," Gwen said. "If you're not afraid of him, he can't hurt you. Not really."

"Well… he can punch you."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Okay, so he can do that. But emotionally, I mean."

There was a silence. Peter looked thoughtful and nodded slowly.

Then, Harry, seeing the subject was in need of changing, asked, "How is it that we have the exact
same glasses?"

Thor arrived back at the tree to find the three engrossed in conversation about glasses.

Harry's and Peter's were being compared and Gwen was judging which was better. Thor naturally
thought that Harry's were better.
He would later run this train of thought back through his mind and make a spectacular face of utter
disgust at what his thoughts had sounded like, in the middle of 'The Two Towers'.

"I know the Uruks are disgusting, but seriously, you've watched this a dozen times," Tony
commented.

"It is not the Uruks," Thor said flatly. "Do not ask."

The rest did not, and the film would continue.

Here and now, he was happy that they were getting along so well. "Mr Thompson has learnt his
lesson, I think," he said, pitching his voice to carry. "And he will not be bothering you any time
soon."

"Thanks," Peter said softly. "You didn't have to do that."

"It was only right," Thor said, and knelt down by him. "How's the ankle?"

"Fine, until you asked."

Thor laughed ruefully. "Sorry," he said, and drew his wand, tapping the ankle. It glowed briefly,
then, Peter, disbelieving, moved it.

"Peter! Careful!" Gwen remonstrated.

"No, Gwen, look. It's fine. It's fixed!" Peter said, incredulous, looking up at Thor – who had
pocketed his wand – in awe. Thor winked, a classic James Potter a-wizard-never-reveals-secrets
wink.

"How?" she asked.

Harry grinned at her. He couldn't miss this. "Magic," he said.

Thor raised his eyebrows at Harry's casual admission, then, on seeing Gwen's stuck out tongue,
decided that his son was taking refuge in audacity. "Very funny," she muttered. "Was that SHIELD
tech?"

"You could say that," Thor hedged. "It's top secret," he added seriously. "Not a word. To anyone."

Both nodded solemnly, and he reckoned they would keep quiet.

Gwen and Harry helped Peter stand.

Then, when he stood – gingerly at first – by himself, Gwen let him go. Looking at Thor, she said
sincerely, "Thank you. Thank you so much. You've been really nice. But… who are you?"

Thor smiled a James Potter smile. "You can call me James."

Gwen raised her eyebrows, then smiled. "Thank you, James." She turned to Harry. "And you've
been great too, Harry, really nice," she said. "Thanks."

"It was nothing," Harry said, blushing slightly.

"No," she said, "It wasn't." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Thor, with his enhanced
night vision, could see Harry blush furiously. She smiled at them both, as did Peter. "Merry
Christmas!" Then they left, waving as they did.
There was silence under the tree. "Two kisses and you didn't even need mistletoe," Thor said,
grinning. "You're doing well, my boy."

"Shut up, dad," Harry mumbled.

"She was pretty too, that Gwen," Thor continued.

"Shut up, dad."

"I can see you blushing you know, and a magnificent blush it is too. Do you have a crush?" he
teased.

"Dad please! Shut up!" Harry cried, looking utterly mortified.

Thor let a deep, booming Father Christmas laugh that rolled richly through the snowy night like
the finest mulled wine in a glass. "Merry Christmas, Harry," he said softly.

Harry, sensing that the conversation was drifting away from embarrassing territory, sighed in
relief. Then, smiling up at his father, he hugged him, closing his eyes as he felt two strong arms
hold him close. "Merry Christmas, Dad," he whispered.

They stood like that for a long time. And as they did, the winds carried to them the smell of roast
chestnuts and mulled wine overlaid the clear, sharp scent of wind, ice and snow, and the sounds of
the city, among which songs of hope, love and Christmas charity weaved like patterns in a greater
tapestry.

At the same time, two young teenagers walked home, with hope in their hearts and smiles on their
faces.

Not all miracles are big and flashy. Sometimes, they are small and secret, part of stories that are
never to be told. This does not mean that they are any less precious, indeed, they are more so. And
these little miracles can be found in the everyday. In the kindness of strangers.

A Merry Christmas indeed.

 Here Be Monsters
Chapter Summary

This is easily the darkest chapter so far, and one of the darkest in the series.

It was Christmas Eve. Snow fell through most of the cities in the North, in varying quantities.
Some of this was down to nature, and some was down to Thor getting into the Christmas spirit,
both consciously and unconsciously.

It was still daytime in New York, and Harry was meeting the families of various Avengers, and
enjoying himself immensely. But that is another tale.

In Paris, night was falling, as was a light, powder snow from a thick covering of grey, overcast
clouds that promised far more in the way of oncoming storms than was being delivered so far.

Deep below the city, in the famous catacombs of Paris, far below the levels visited by tourists, far
even from the levels that the Resistance had used in wartime, Lucius swilled the liquid that he
hoped was red wine in his wine glass. It wasn't congealing, which was a relief, but he was aware
that certain substances existed that could prevent the congealing process.

And he waited. He was currently seated in the comfortably appointed receiving room of
Gravemoss' lair, buried deep in the catacombs. Lucius was uncomfortably aware that a lot of very
dark and dangerous things lived in the deep places of the world.

He was also uncomfortably aware that Gravemoss was one of them. Indeed, as he looked around
the residence of the most powerful necromancer on the planet, he wondered just what he'd allied
himself to. He knew little enough about the man – a tenuous description at best – save that he was
powerful, had fought Stephen Strange and was quite possibly completely batshit insane.

Still. He needed the Necromancer. He was powerful enough to discern and employ the darkest
secrets of the Darkhold, a book Lucius would otherwise have avoided like the plague. It was purest
evil, and the pages of that book held secrets that would make even the most hardened Death Eater's
mind melt in horror.

But it was also power. Pure, unbridled power. The sort of power that could baulk even Loki, the
God of Magic himself, and Thor. The sort of power that could sweep aside the Avengers, the most
formidable fighting force the Earth had seen since the last Frost Giant War, when Asgardian and
Wizarding armies marched to liberate the Earth from the Frost Giants who sought to initiate an
eternal winter. The sort of power that Gravemoss would wield in Lucius' service so long as he
brought appropriate amounts of carnage for the necromancer to indulge in.

So far, the Winter Soldier fascinated him, and probably would until Lucius was ready to bring his
allies and subordinates to bear on the muggle world.

That was another creature Lucius wasn't entirely sure about. He was certain that the man wasn't
entirely human, in the same way that John Constantine wasn't. Both had supernatural strength,
though Lucius had a reasonable suspicion that Constantine was part demon somewhere along the
line, underlining his nature as degenerate, muggle loving scum, and both moved with an unnatural
predatory grace. Admittedly, Constantine's had generally been somewhat diminished by his
previously impressive and nowadays truly vast intake of alcohol, but the principles were the same.

But what gave the Soldier his grace? What made him a silent nightmare to all his enemies? He
didn't know. But he certainly lived up to HYDRA's billing, in both action and reputation.

Lucius had done a bit of research on the Soldier's exploits, and had frankly, been astounded.

The man – or whatever the fuck he was – had slaughtered his way through 1 American President,
12 other Muggle Heads of State, 16 Generals of varying armed forces, 70 other military officers,
213 police men – counterparts of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or so Lucius
gathered – of all ranks, 79 general bodyguards, 9 Ministers of Magic, 16 Auror Commanders, 147
Aurors, 2 Directors of SHIELD, 5 Deputy Directors, 89 SHIELD/SSR Agents, 43 Agents of MI6
and MI5, 22 Agents of MI13, 200 members of other security agencies and at least 500 other
miscellaneous targets.

Among the higher echelons of the Security Services, he was also suspected of involvement in the
Lockerbie bombing, direct or indirect, and training anti-Western paramilitaries. Some IRA
bombings and assassinations carried his distinctive stamp, and the assassination of Lord
Mountbatten and the attempted assassination of Prime Minister Thatcher were two he was mainly
suspected of.

However, he was apparently not guilty of the latter by simple dint of the fact that the woman in
question survived. This spoke volumes of how dangerous he was and how he was regarded by his
enemies.

He also had a record of excellent performance against superheroes: the first Spitfire had died at his
hand, leaving nothing but ash and scorched weaponry behind, Weapon X – though apparently
unkillable – had been left a shattered mess under the main complex of the Weapons Plus program,
which specialised in superhuman assassins. Dyna-Mite and Union Jack a.k.a. Brian Falsworth, son
of Montgomery Falsworth, were two other superhero victims of the Soldier.

This last was especially remarkable as Union Jack had possessed the Mantle of Albion, channelled
through the Amulet of Right, granting him powers that at their fullest extent, Lucius estimated to
be a match for Thor.

Yet the Soldier had killed him. He had killed them all. The first Spitfire was the only one who had
ever come close to killing him, and she had apparently been close to unstoppable with a sword. The
second Spitfire had apparently escaped with her life on encountering the Soldier, and only done so
through a mix of luck and incredible speed.

And he was under Lucius' direct control. That made the Malfoy patriarch smile. Gravemoss was
deadly, sure enough. But Lucius had an attack dog that could bring even the unearthly
necromancer down.

With that in mind, he arranged himself more confidently, and waited.

In short order, Gravemoss entered the room from his lab, where he'd been in the middle of some
unholy experiment. His eyes were alight with a disturbing glee.

"Well? I trust the book lives up to expectations," Lucius said mildly. As he did, he took a risk and
nonchalantly sipped his miscellaneous red liquid. To his relief, it was a rather fine Beaujolais.

A dark and dangerous knife wound of a smile spread across Gravemoss' face. "That and more," he
said, voice low. "It is not just power… it is truth."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. A fanatic. Well, he could deal with that. "And what truth is that?"

Gravemoss' blood red eyes gleamed. "That true beauty lies in death. And as much of that beauty
should be created as possible."

Lucius smiled. "Well. I think I can accommodate that. After all, when Lord Voldemort comes to
power, the unworthy will need to be purged," he said. He looked Gravemoss in the eye. "Naturally,
your name came to mind."

Gravemoss smiled in reply. "It would be my pleasure," he murmured.

"I thought it might," Lucius replied idly, sipping his wine. "I have need of your services."

"In what capacity?"

"As you know, one of chief foes is SHIELD. A nominally American organisation, the hand of
Director Fury reaches far. And one of his allies is the British organisation, MI:13, that seeks to
shackle those such as we," Lucius said. "There are three bases in our area of interest. The Soldier
and some handpicked HYDRA soldiers are going to clear one. The wolves will clear the other,
preferably with the aid of your ability to induce their curse to become active outside of the Full
Moon. And you get one all to yourself." He smiled. "Or rather, you get two."

"Two?"

Lucius stood. "Lord Gravemoss, you and I both know your capabilities. But our allies have yet to
see a true display of your considerable power," he said. He gave Gravemoss a hard look. "More
considerable now you have begun your studies of the Darkhold."

"Yes."

"Very well. Destroy MI6. Raze it to the ground, and do it so that it will draw all focus," Lucius
said.

Gravemoss smiled slowly. "Lord Malfoy. It would be my honest pleasure."

OoOoO

Lucius watched from the north bank of the Thames. The headquarters of Britain's Foreign
Intelligence Service stood opposite him, sleek, modern and powerful. And exposed.

Suddenly, the entire building flared. Sparks flew and fires started as every electrical device in the
building was wiped out.

Then came the inferi. Or rather, the things that made inferi look like fluffy bunnies.

It had started when Gravemoss, after teleporting them into Central London, had stopped to
slaughter a couple of dozen muggle transients on the way. Lucius had watched, fascinated, as he
paralysed, them and picked them up one at a time. He had watched the unearthly necromancer, cast
as an ivory pale phantom in the moonlight, examined each terrified tramp with an evaluating look,
before, thrusting his hand into their chests, apparently unimpeded by little things like rib cages, and
ripping out their hearts in a gory display.

A little tastless, in Lucius' view, but it seemed to serve a purpose other than scaring the other
muggles into paralysed insensibility. Because, after dropping the heart, he thrust hand back in and
snapped an incantation that Lucius did not so much hear as feel, deep in his bones, as his very
magic screamed to him that this was wrong.

This did not bother him much. Lucius had long got used to ignoring little voices in his head. Such
as his conscience. He hadn't listened to that one in a long, long time.

The end result was that a pulsing ball of black, greasy, corrupt energy, pure dark, death magic, took
the place of the heart. The body rapidly paled, and all veins stood out, coloured darkest black by
the magic that now ran through them. The eyes were filled with a similar darkness, and they were
cold and empty of any spark of life, or intelligence. Indeed, Lucius could only discern one thing in
them. Hunger. A mindless, unrestrained hunger for life.

This continued, from old men to small children no older than six. In Lucius' view, nits bred lice, so
he wasn't inclined to care. Indeed, the muggles should be thanking them for this little bit of social
cleansing.

The last, however, was a small baby. Fundamentally useless to either Lucius or Gravemoss, though
Lucius supposed that Greyback would appreciate the snack. But when Gravemoss picked the child
up, he smiled.

Cradling it with a disturbing tendency, he silenced it, then removed the paralysis. In response, its
eyes filled with tears of purest terror, and it screamed silently, squirming and writhing in the
prescence of the creature that had murdered its mother, maybe its father too, one it instinctively
knew to fear.

Was that, Lucius wondered, how Harry Potter had felt when he witnessed the murder of his mother
and the Dark Lord bearing down on him? The child was about the same age, of indeterminate
gender, with mousy brown hair and innocent, frightened blue eyes.

"Watch, Lord Malfoy," he said, nodding at his undead creations. "Watch them." Lucius obligingly
turned his gaze to the creatures. And couldn't help but shiver. They were staring at the baby with
the singleminded intensity of a predator on sighting its prey, even the thing that had once been the
baby's mother.

Gravemoss bent down, laid the baby on the floor, then stepped away. Lucius followed suit. Then
he spoke. "It's dinner time, boys and girls." He lifted the silencing enchantment, and the baby let
out one terrified howl before the creatures descended on it in a blur of silent frenzy. Parts,
unidentifiable to any but an anatomist, went flying as the undead monsters ripped and tore.

This, this, managed to sicken Lucius, in the same way that Bellatrix's excesses had. There were
some things you didn't even do to animals, certainly not while crooning at your pet abominations
like a proud pet owner cooing over their little darlings.

And the sight of the thing that had once been the child's mother, with nothing in her – or rather, it's
– eyes but a terrible, insatiable hunger, gobbling up its innards with a savage abandon… that would
haunt his nightmares forever. Killing muggles, even muggle children, that was simply pest control.
But this was simply unnerving.

"Aren't they wonderful?" Gravemoss murmured in delight, as they lapped up the blood and sad
remains. "I got the spell from the Darkhold."

Somehow, Lucius was not surprised. He also suspected that this was only the least of the darkness
within the most evil book in history.
"I take it that these are the creatures you use tonight?"

"They are just the start," Gravemoss said, with a cruel smile.

And indeed they had been. Two more groups like the previous had been created, and in one case,
the two children too small to be of use had been fed to the ravenous rest. The other… Lucius would
remember much of this night to his dying day, when he would rather forget it.

One sight in particular he would never forget was Gravemoss' creations slinking along through the
shadows, moving with a deadly, unnatural grace, and apparently hunting as a pack.

Within a few moments, they picked out a four doored muggle conveyance at a traffic light. A
family, young parents, with two children, was inside. They looked happy, and cheerful. The
children seemed sleepy, but chattering with their parents. Maybe they were going to stay with
relatives. Maybe they were discussing the presents they hoped to get. It was Christmas Eve, after
all. A time for love, hope and family.

Lucius watched in disgusted fascination as the creatures surrounded the car, then attacked from
three sides, one through each of the four side windows, two through the back, while the rest waited
to see if any would come out through the front.

In the end, the mother, a young, brown haired, plainly pretty with a face made for smiling and
slightly plump around the middle – maybe from her latest pregnancy, as her face showed no signs
of running to fat, Lucius thought – broke through the windscreen, sobbing in terror, eyes wide with
fear, sliding off the front of the car. Then she was confronted with the rest of the pack.

She froze.

They watched her.

She let out a little mewling noise.

They descended upon her.

And Gravemoss let out a delighted little chuckle.

Lucius closed his eyes. He now knew exactly what kind of creature he was allied with. A monster.

"What are they?" he asked, voice strained.

"A subspecies of draugar, veidrdraugr," Gravemoss said, watching his charges with a proprietorial
eye. "'The Hunting Dead'."

Draugar. Norse nightmares. Appropriate, Lucius thought, considering who their enemies were.

"They haven't been seen in the Nine Realms for near four thousand years," Gravemoss went on.
"Odin destroyed every text containing knowledge of them, and obliterated any who knew of how
to create them."

"Except one," Lucius said quietly.

"Except one. The Darkhold. The book that cannot be destroyed, which you were kind enough to
acquire for me," Gravemoss agreed, with a smile that struck Lucius as being grateful. "Without
you," he said, as one of veidrdraugr pounced on a toddler's leg, still clothed, ironically enough, in
Iron Man themed trousers. No hero was there to save him. None could possibly save him now.
"None of this would be possible. Thank you."

Lucius looked at the shattered husk of the car, the blood spatters and the occasional piece of
cracked bone. "You're welcome," he whispered.

Now, as the building, still active this late at night on Christmas Eve because of an office party, was
shrouded in darkness, Lucius watched as Gravemoss unleashed his Hunting Dead on the
unsuspecting revellers.

Using Omnioculars, he could pick out the occasional pale shape flitting in and around the
windows. Occasional screams and sounds of sporadic gunfire were heard. Lucius pitied the poor
muggles. They weren't trained for this. They had no idea what they were facing. And often, the
first they knew of it was a weight bearing them to the ground and first one set of undead teeth
ripping into their flesh, quickly followed by others that would strip to the bone at a rate piranhas
would envy.

It only took twenty minutes for one of the most powerful security agencies on Earth to be
completely obliterated. And it happened in total silence. Lucius got a mystical message from
Gravemoss.

One draugar lost. None of the living remain. MI6 has been utterly destroyed.

Flames began to kindle within the building.

And now it will be razed to the ground.

Lucius turned away. He had seen enough for one night.

Good work, he thought back. Return to your base. And take your pets with you.

He shuddered to think of the horror that faced Paris' homeless and those who dared walk the
streets at night alone. Normally, he could not care less what happened to muggles. But there were
some lines that even a hardened Death Eater such as himself would not cross.

He apparated home, and let the house elves take his coat in silence, and ignored the twitterings of
'is Master Lucius well?'

Still in silence, he went upstairs and changed into his dress robes, receiving reports that the other
attacks had been a success. Two werewolves and three HYDRA troops had been lost. The Soldier
hadn't even taken a scratch. MI13 was, for now, effectively in the dark. The ground teams would
move in to set up their London base immediately.

Descending the stairs and walking through to the brightly ballroom, where the Malfoy Christmas
Ball was in full swing, he looked around. The room was, as ever, beautifully decorated with
magical snow, tastefully elegant red, green, gold and silver decorations and a towering Norwegian
Pine stood in the corner, decorated with charms and decorations that contrived to emphasise its
wild magnificence rather than diminish it.

Draco was sitting at a table with his mother, who absently smoothed his hair. He looked
embarrassed, but bore it with good grace and a secret happiness. Then she looked up at him and
smiled. Lucius gave her a grimace in reply. Directing Draco to join his friends, she joined him,
looking quietly worried.

"Lucius my love? What is it?" she asked, pulling him out onto the dance floor.
"I have shackled us to a monster," he said bitterly. Quickly and quietly, he relayed what he had
seen that night to his wife, edited of the worst details. Narcissa grew steadily paler and paler.

"Lucius! How can you work with such a creature?" she hissed.

"Now that I know what he is, I would rather have him where I can see him and in my debt,
however twisted that debt may be," Lucius responded quietly. "And I currently have control of the
one weapon that could stop him."

Narcissa gave him an odd look, then nodded slightly. "The Winter Soldier." She had encountered
both Gravemoss and the Soldier. Gravemoss had unnerved her, but the Soldier had outright
terrified her. There was something about his silence and the way he moved, the way he looked at
you as if you were a target and he was considering the best way to kill you.

But the one thing you could say for the Soldier was that with him it was in no way personal. There
was no malice in him, no ravenous hunger, no unholy glee. Simply professionalism.

"The Soldier," Lucius agreed. "The deadliest killing machine I can think of. Tomorrow, I will
command him to kill Gravemoss if he turns on us, and to do it immediately. I will give Draco an
emergency portkey that will act under similar circumstances."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Draco waltzing close by with Daphne Greengrass. He
hoped his son would never have any idea of the kind of creature that had, not so long ago, trod the
carpets of Malfoy Manor.

"What if he fails?" Narcissa asked softly. "If your monster turns on us."

"Then I will kill you before those monsters lay one finger on you," Lucius murmured.

Narcissa was silent for a moment, then kissed him lightly. "Thank you," she whispered.

Lucius nodded, and hoped desperately that, if it came to it, the Soldier, his silent nightmare was
deadlier than Gravemoss's.

OoOoO

Draco had been listening in to his father's explanation. Now, pale as the dead that had been spoken
of in hushed whispers, and at the urging of the voice in his head, which was giving him a detailed
explanation of exactly what the veidraugar were, he excused himself on grounds of illness. His
appearance made it easy to get away with.

As for the voice, the main thing that made him listen and act so abruptly was its urgency. Ariel, or
so it called itself, feared these creatures, in a way it apparently feared no other, and its precise
detailing of their abilities and habits was on the point of causing Draco to vomit.

As soon as he got to his room, he slammed his door shut, strode over to his desk, grabbed his quill,
inked it, scrabbled around for parchment for a few moments and, he scribbled a note on the nearest
piece he found.

Avengers, beware.

Dark magic destroyed MI6. Fear the Veidrdraugar.

A Friend.
He folded it, sealed it, and then, he called, "Lappy!"

One of the House Elves appeared in front of him. "Yes, young Master Draco?"

"Take this note to Avengers Tower. Get it inside and get it noticed without being noticed yourself,"
Draco said, voice deadly serious. "Return as quickly as possible and never, ever tell anyone,
especially not my father about this. If asked where you were, say you taking a note to Vincent
Crabbe. Understood?"

Lappy, well used to odd requests, nodded. "Lappy shall, young Master." Then, she took the note
and disappeared with a crack.

And Draco hoped to Merlin that it was not too late.

'Do you know how to fight these creatures?' He asked Ariel in the privacy of his head.

'You aren't capable of fighting one yet, even with my tutelage,' Ariel said bluntly. 'Only the greatest
warriors or sorcerers stands a chance. You might in a few years. Otherwise, only the terminally
well prepared survive.'

'If I face one, what do I do?' Draco asked.

There was a long moment of silence from his mental companion. 'These creatures are the monsters
that haunt Asgardian nightmares. They were wiped out four thousand years ago by Odin Allfather
himself, as was all knowledge of their creation. Or so I thought,' the spirit said quietly. 'Even the
Asgardians largely believe them to be myths. But they still remember the old ways of dealing with
them, recorded in a rhyme.'

'How does it go?' Draco asked.

As midnight tolled on the clocks and Christmas Day began, Ariel replied with a low, rhythmic,
spine chilling chant.

'Run, run when the draugar come,

Run, run to where the rivers run,

Run, run to where the flames rise high,

Run, run till you see the sun in sky,

Run, run from where the shadows lie,

Run, run or else you'll die.'

 Cloak and Dagger

Loki's head snapped around. A moment before, he'd been listening in amusement to his nephew
plotting mayhem with Stark, under the indulgent eye of his father, after a small informal dinner to
celebrate Christmas Eve.

The guests comprised of the Avengers, Remus, Darcy, Jane, Pepper, Erik, Charles Xavier – who
was Tony's godfather, Pepper's parents and Rhodey. All save Charles, who lived in Westchester,
were staying at the Tower, so none had any problem with getting to accommodation. Well, none
that wasn't Tony's fault.

What was studiously not mentioned was the fact that only Pepper, Thor, Loki and Jane had parents
who were alive and/or they were on speaking terms with. Jane's parents were living in Chicago, so
couldn't visit, but sent their best wishes. Loki had been planning to teleport her and Thor over. It
was too early, he felt, for Harry to meet Jane's parents, lovely people though they were, as they
were still adjusting to the fact that she was dating Thor. And, you know, her future brother-in-law
was a mostly reformed supervillain.

Now… now he felt an inhuman magical signature in the Tower. Powerful, by the standards of
Midgard, but nothing he couldn't handle. Slowly, silently, prepared for battle.

As he did, a note zipped over to him, landing in his hand. Then the magical signature disappeared
with a cracking pop. He mentally ran down a list of the things that could enter and leave the Tower
with so little fuss, concluded that it had to not have had hostile intentions, cross referenced that
with the familiar signature and came to a conclusion. A House Elf. How odd.

Frowning, he turned away and opened the note. He scanned it, then paled. It was impossible. This
could not be true. Still. He had to check.

Stepping neatly into a side room, he said, "JARVIS, kindly contact Director Fury for me, please."

"At once, sir," JARVIS said.

Fury's image appeared on a holographic screen.

"Loki? What is it?"

"Director, I have received a tip off from a source within the magical world," he said steadily. "Can
you inform me of the current status of Britain's foreign intelligence service, MI6?"

"Fine why do you…" Fury began, before an Agent called something urgent and impossible to
understand from off screen. Fury did, though, whipping around. "WHAT?!"

"It has been destroyed," Loki said flatly.

"Yeah," Fury said, the sounds of frantic activity going on in the background. "MI6 has been
obliterated. The building is currently on fire. Do you have any idea what did this?"

"I do. And Director… you had better hope that I am wrong," Loki said softly. "Pray to every higher
power you believe in, because if my source is right… we are all as good as dead."

Fury gave him a hard look. "Call in Romanov and Barton. I want you three in London as fast as
possible."
"And the rest?"

"Don't tell them," Fury said. "This is cloak and dagger stuff. Yours, Barton's and Romanov's forte.
Not theirs." He sighed. "Let 'em stay happy for now."

Loki nodded. "Understood."

"See you in London," Fury said, before signing off.

"JARVIS, could you please not inform my brother and the rest of this before I or SHIELD does?"
Loki asked.

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS asked.

Loki nodded his thanks, then stepped back into the room. Thor raised an eyebrow at him.
"Brother? Something bothers you?"

"The good Director has asked that I, Clint and Natasha investigate a minor matter. It is purely
routine, an O84 of possibly mystical origin, I suspect," Loki lied smoothly. "Essentially, our
expertise is briefly needed. We will be back soon."

"You have to go?" Harry asked, dismayed. "On Christmas Eve?"

Loki smiled kindly at him. "It is only a brief matter, Harry," he said quietly. "But one on which our
expertise is required." He briefly hugged his nephew. "We will be back soon."

Harry nodded, hugging him back. "Fine," he said quietly. "Be quick?"

"I will try," Loki said. "Clint, Natasha? The Director calls."

Both nodded. Natasha was giving him an evaluating look, but both said nothing as he led them
down corridors to the armoury. He summoned his adamantium stave and conjured his armour,
while both glanced at him.

"We looking at a fight?" Clint asked.

"Possibly for our lives," Loki said grimly. "Possibly none at all. But we cannot afford to drop our
guard."

"What's the mission?" Natasha asked briskly.

"MI6 has been destroyed. Completely and utterly, if my source is correct," Loki said briefly.

"Your source?"

Loki handed her the note.

"Parchment. British Wizarding community," she said briskly. "What are the veidrdraugr?"

She pronounced the word flawlessly.

"The Hunting Dead. An ancient terror, that was thought gone forever these last four millennia,"
Loki said quietly. "They are the creatures that Asgardians have nightmares about."

"Draugr… I've heard of them before," Natasha said, arming up. For Clint's benefit she added,
"Norse Undead."
He nodded.

"Those stories are a mix of ancient folk memory and infinitely weaker relatives that petty
necromancers manage to conjure," Loki said, waiting for them to finish their pre mission checks.
"The real thing… I have never seen them. A millennium of research has yielded little, except to say
that they were all destroyed by my father, early in his reign."

Both spies glanced at each other, and nodded. "Bad?"

"If they were created from mortals, yes, very. They will be some of the worst things we have faced.
If they were created from Asgardians or similar… may the Elder Gods protect us all," Loki said
flatly, taking their shoulders and teleporting.

When they appeared on Vauxhall Bridge, it was a macabre sight that confronted them. Snow as
falling thickly, as flames, apparently impervious to the streams of water being pumped from fire
engines and from fire fighting ships on the river, billowed from the windows, consuming the once
proud building.

Clint swore softly. Natasha and Loki looked grim.

"Magical fire?" she asked.

"It is," Clint said. "Right?"

Loki nodded, and strode forward. Both Agents fell into step with him, and the three moved through
the growing crowd. While both were comparatively short, they exuded such an aura of competence
and confidence that they got more respect and a wider berth than two male Frost Giants would
have done in their place.

Quickly, he reached the nearest policeman, and tapped his shoulder. The man whipped around,
then relaxed. "Loki," he greeted. "And… Black Widow and Hawkeye?"

"The same," Loki said grimly. "This fire is magical. It will not be doused by ordinary water. Please
tell your colleagues in the emergency services to move back."

The policeman nodded and spoke into his radio for a few moments. Then, a couple of minutes after
that, the various firemen and waiting paramedics retreated.

Loki examined the fire for a second or two, then nodded, and reached towards the river. Slowly but
surely, a ball of water maybe 50 feet across rose out of the water, stripping it of silt and dirt, which
fell back into the river. Then, faster and more smoothly, a supporting column of likewise purified
water rose to meet it, and the two merged. Loki paused, then feeling that a little display of power
was needed, did two things.

First, he infused the column and ball with power, lighting them up in a shimmering display of
green and gold power that lit up the city for nearly two miles around. Second, he shifted the shape
of both into that of a great sea serpent. It had eyes like gold cored emeralds, scales of shimmering
golden-blue and sea green, and a flaring mantle like a lion's mane of gold. It opened its mouth in a
soundless roar, mantle flaring, reared back, and struck at the nearest blaze, which resisted for a
moment, before being consumed by the water-serpent.

"Whoa," the policeman whispered in awe. Loki smiled briefly, then remembered what had called
him here, and sobered.

Loki directed it in attacking the flames with quick but sure flicks of his wrist and fingers, as if he
was conducting an orchestra, and, one after another, the flames were consumed. Within fifteen
minutes, the gutted remains of MI6 were no longer burning. And smelled rather strongly of damp,
but you couldn't have everything.

Dismissing the construct, he teleported them to the front of the building. It loomed above, them,
alternately pale and blackened, where the flames had found purchase, and the inside was a cavern
of stygian darkness, occasionally lit by sparking electrical cords. He bypassed the security barrier
and said curtly to the various policemen, "Were you planning to enter the building?"

The officer in charge nodded. "I was putting together a team to do so just as you arrived."

"Don't. The fire was set to cover the tracks of a necromancer. We are here to make sure that none
of the creatures that caused this remain. Do not send anyone into the building. Cover all exits and
challenge any that leaves. If they do not respond with words, do anything you possibly can to kill
them." He paused. "In fact, I would recommend you call in SO19, SO42 and any other combat
capable police units that can be spared. The creatures involved will not go down to anything save
extreme physical trauma and are consummate pack hunters. Where there is one, there will almost
certainly be at least three more. Have your superiors call up any special forces they can muster.
This is an Alpha Class threat at minimum, potentially an Omega class if their master is still in the
area and in the mood to create more," he said, using the now universal classing system for
superhuman threats.

Gamma was negligible. Beta was moderately dangerous. Alpha was very dangerous, but still
potentially able to be handled by trained human security forces if they knew exactly what they
were dealing with and planned to deal with it. Omega class was cause to a) immediately call in the
Avengers and b) run like hell, preferably to the other side of the planet.

"Sir," the officer in charge said, paling, but turning and snapping out commands to her
subordinates.

"Loki," Clint said.

Loki glanced at him. He looked grim.

"MI13 should be here by now. Their response time is good, and there are at least three known
bases in the Greater London area," Clint said. "If they're not here, then this wasn't the only attack
tonight."

"MI13… the British version of SHIELD, correct? One of the two successor agencies to SSR?"
Loki inquired.

Natasha nodded. "They are the one British organisation, save for parts of '5, '6, police detachments
to VIP's, the SAS and SBS that has any idea how to deal with the supernatural. They're the only
non-magical experts on the supernatural."

Loki frowned. "Plausible," he said. "Indeed, very likely. Natasha, could you discover their status?
Clint, I will need your eyes." He looked grim. "One of these creatures could pose a threat even to
me in such close quarters. Even half a moment could be vital."

"And someone needs to report to the Director if it goes wrong," Natasha said, nodding. While she
was the better fighter at close quarters, Clint was physically more powerful. Though Natasha
fancied her chances against any human opponent, up to include Steve and the Winter Soldier, she
had equally not lived as long as she had without an ability to calculate the odds. In such close
confines, her agility could not be brought to bear half as well, with potentially lethal consequences.
"Exactly," Loki said. "Clint, if you would join me?"

Clint gave Natasha a look. She nodded slightly.

Leaving his bow on his back – he wouldn't be able to use it to full effect inside the building - he
drew his pistol, shared a nod with Loki, then advanced into the shadows.

The inside of the building unnerved Clint. He had a working knowledge of the basic layout, and his
internal map was leading them through all the main areas of the building, or what remained of it. In
truth, this wasn't his territory. This was more Natasha's field of expertise, and she would arguably
have been the better pick.

But, on the other hand, he was the physically stronger of the two and the bulkier, meaning that he
could stand up to a sudden attack from what Clint had inwardly termed 'super zombies'. It was less
tongue mangling than veidrdraugr and less fundamentally creepy than 'the Hunting Dead'.

The tipping point, however, had been Loki stating that physical trauma rather than pain was what
slowed them down. Since Clint's blows, by and large, had more stopping power, and he could
stand up to them better. So he had been picked.

That didn't mean, however, that he liked this detail. He'd have been far more comfortable calling
targets from the roof of MI5 on the other side of the river, or one of the other skyscrapers on the
southern bank of the Thames.

However, he was required inside, in the dark. And he could do inside. He was one of SHIELD's top
two agents after all.

This, however, did not mean that he liked it.

A sweep of the upper levels, on which snow was already settling, backed up by a constant low
level magical scan by Loki - which, as far as Clint grasped, equated to basically listening really
hard with magic - revealed nothing.

Loki had nodded, as if he expected this. "They are creatures of the night, of shadows," he said in a
low voice. "If even one was left behind, it will seek out a dark place for its lair."

"No shortage of those around here," Clint said. "London's a rabbit warren at the best of times."

"Yes. It is also saturated with ancient and dangerous magic," Loki agreed.

Clint raised an eyebrow.

"The city is two thousand years old, Clint, if not older. Two thousand years of millions upon
millions living, loving, crying and dying on top of one piece of land. Two thousand years of people
and magics from all over the world flocking to one place, one place that once ruled an Empire that
covered a quarter of the planet and had strong trading relations with the rest. And on top of all that,
this entire Island is strongly connected to Avalon, a vast extradimensional realm, like Asgard. Its
power saturates Britain. It is for that reason that an unusual proportion of powerful mortal wizards
are born in Britain, or have blood family here. Voldemort, Dumbledore and Grindelwald, three of
the most powerful, if not the three most powerful in the world, wizards of the last century: two
British, one with British relatives. There is a reason that Merlin was born in Britain. Magic is an
intrinsic part of this sceptered isle, and London is a particularly strong example of that," Loki said,
voice low and intense. "This city is alive, Clint, in a way that few are."
"What? You can talk to it?" Clint asked, half joking.

"I could, I think. But I would rather avoid risking that," Loki said quietly. "I'm not entirely sure if it
likes me, and frankly, I would rather not antagonise such an old and powerful genius loci."

Clint nodded. If Loki was being cautious, it was generally for good reason.

Descending into the depths of MI6 was a risky experience. Some security measures, including but
not limited to, neodymium laser grids, sonic destabilisers and powerful electric currents, were still
active. A mixture of Clint's expertise and Loki's spellwork saw them through, but there were a few
close shaves.

It was when they were getting to the end, after Loki blasted through a blocked stair full of rubble,
when Loki suddenly raised a clenched fist, a military gesture to halt. Clint wondered vaguely
where he'd learnt it. Then, he followed it up with the gesture for non-combatant and eight fingers.
Eight civilians.

He then gestured for Clint to stay, and slowly moved forward.

As he did, out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw something tense in the shadows. "Left!" he cried,
just as the silent killer exploded out of the darkness, inhumanly pale, dark eyed, dark veined and
deadly, clothed in rags, but moving with the sort of speed and grace that a vampire would envy,
going straight for Loki's throat.

Loki was fast and responded immediately to the warning. Almost anyone human would have been
dead before they could move, but Loki was a Frost Giant, the equals of the Asgardians, and a Frost
Giant Prince at that. He was very, very fast.

Even so, he barely got his arm up in time, jamming his gauntleted forearm into its mouth. This
didn't seem to perturb the creature, with grabbed his forearm and bit down hard, shearing straight
through.

All of this happened in two heartbeats. Which was all the time Clint needed to bring his gun up and
double tap the monster with hollow point rounds, one going through its brain, the other aimed to
smash through its jaw, which it did, cutting off the power of the bite.

Loki was also acting, and thrust his right fist, burning with green and gold flame, into the black
hole where in life its heart had been. There was muffled explosion and the damaged monster
collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

Clint paused, put another two bullets in its head just to make sure, then went to tend to Loki's arm.
Taking it carefully, undoing the damaged gauntlet with quick, sure fingers. Each Avenger was well
versed in removing the uniform of the others or at least parts of it, as and when the need for a little
battlefield surgery arose.

He examined the bite and whistled, low and long. It had gone straight through to the bone. Which
was particularly impressive, considering what was known of Asgardian durability. "How did it
manage that?" he asked, grabbing a little sachet of alcohol from a pouch on his belt.

"Argh! Dark magic," Loki said through gritted teeth, as Clint poured the alcohol in, the swabbed
the wound clean. While Earth diseases were no match for the Asgardian immune system, these
were Asgardian nightmares, so Clint wasn't taking any chance. "The creature is – was – saturated
with it. It counters the inherent magic of Asgardian kind, essentially softening up the target to
allow the enhanced jaws to do more damage. These creatures were our predators, Clint, in ages
gone by. They were designed to kill us, which is presumably how it slipped under my senses. The
rubble must have trapped it, so it was probably waiting either for the civilians in the panic room to
come out or to ambush any who came for them." He grimaced. "The Asgardian version, created
from one of us, is far worse. If it had been one of them, I would have likely had to have the arm
reattached, assuming I survived."

"Can't say I'd want to meet one of those down a dark alley," Clint agreed, binding the arm up. "Is
the bite infectious?"

"No. They are created by an enchantment, not a virus, magically created or otherwise," Loki said.
"If they had been, they would have overrun the Nine Realms long ago." He paused. "You almost
certainly saved my life, Clint. Without warning, it might well have ripped my throat out. Thank
you."

Clint shrugged. "You're part of the team," he said simply.

Loki nodded, numbing the wound. "Yes. I suppose I am," he said with a slight smile. "Still. Thank
you."

Clint nodded. "Shouldn't we be getting those civilians out?"

Loki gestured, and the panic room door opened, revealing a small, light, secure room. The people
inside, a group of terrified revellers, shrunk away.

"Relax," Clint said, stepping forward into the light, keeping his hands up and looking non-
threatening. "I'm Hawkeye, Clint Barton. I'm one of the Avengers." He gestured at Loki, who
stepped forward. "With me is Loki. As you may know, he's another Avenger. We're here to get you
out."

"Are those… things gone?" a woman asked. Plainly pretty, brown haired and reasonably tall in a
torn blue dress, some of which had clearly been used as bandages judging by some of the other
civilians, she looked to be the leader of the group.

"They are, ma'am," Clint said. "The last of them is here. We destroyed it." He didn't mention that if
one could slip under Loki's senses, so could others, but he figured that if any remained, they would
have attacked them already.

"At some cost," Loki muttered, gesturing with his arm. "You have wounded?"

"Some. Are they…"

"It is not a pathogen that creates these creatures, ma'am," Loki said briskly. "But a spell, one that
cannot be transmitted by a bite or a scratch. I shall teleport the wounded to the surface first,
followed by the rest."

"I'll take guard. Just in case," Clint said, keeping his pistol up. It was too confined for exploding
arrows, and the ordinary kind would barely slow one of thesuper zombies down.

Loki nodded, and gently lifted the nearest injured person, a heavy set middle aged man, pale with
pain, the right leg of whose fine tuxedo had been ripped away to reveal a vicious bite to the
femoral artery. Only some quick work with a tourniquet and maybe some sort of heated iron had
stopped him bleeding out.

He teleported him to the surface, startling the emergency services. "We have eight survivors
including this man," he said briskly, as the paramedics hastened over to take him and get him onto
a stretcher. "Several will need acute medical attention. Look for and counter bacteria you would
expect to find in the mouth of someone only vaguely acquainted with the concept of dental care."

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

He turned to the police. "The building is almost certainly clear. However, do not enter until dawn,
armed and keeping your guard up at all times," he said. "We also discovered one of the creatures
responsible. SHIELD will want to examine it, doubtless, so be prepared for that."

"We will," the policeman said. "Thanks, Loki." He frowned. "Are you injured?"

"Slightly. It is more than manageable," Loki said briskly. He teleported away, both to evacuate and
avoid further questions.

After that, matters proceeded quickly. Those who required medical attention received it, while
others gave their statements to the police. The body of the veidrdraugr was taken aside and put in a
body bag. Clint reported that he'd seen no other signs of movement.

Loki had drifted away, seeing a homeless man trying to get his attention. "Money, sir? On this cold
night?"

Loki reached into his belt pouch, fumbled around for a few moments, and handed over ten pounds
in coins. He always kept dollars, pounds and yuan on him, just in case he needed change in
internationally recognised denominations, usually when dealing with part of his network. He
honestly hadn't expected them to have information so quickly, but mankind was excellent at the
unexpected. And something like this would make waves in the homeless community, choice prey
for the veidrdraugr and their masters.

The man slipped the money away in some recess of his tattered clothing, then said, "Mister, the
Voice says that the Huntin' Dead', them that destroyed the spies," he said, nodding at the gutted
building. "They came from down the Elephant, Brixton and Peckham."

The Elephant, Loki mentally translated, was the Elephant and Castle. Quite poor and conveniently
nearby. That must have been where the last of three batches. And the Voice… well, he hadn't been
lying when he said that London was alive. What he hadn't mentioned to Clint was that the city
chose, every now and then, a Voice. Someone who spoke for the city, willing to work as an avatar.
Loki had run across the current Voice before. Or rather, she had summoned him through his
growing network. While Loki didn't fear her, he respected her power and was polite, the sensible
course of action when dealing with the avatar of an ancient and powerful city.

"What else can the Voice tell me?" Loki asked.

"The man behind it ain't a man. He's… wrong. Tall, pale, like them Hunting Dead. Red eyes. Pure
evil. And he 'ad another man with 'im. Tall, but human. Bad, but not as bad as the other bloke," the
man said.

Loki nodded. "Give her my thanks. And tell any who will listen to get to a shelter if at all possible,
and to stay out of the dark places. Spread it as far and wide as you possibly can," he said.

The man nodded. "Thanks, mister."

Loki watched him leave, then withdrew his Stark phone from his pocket – unlike Thor, he had
taken to it quickly, and regarded it as being very useful for communicating with Midgardian
associates. He had a plan.
Clint and Natasha watched as he spoke into it for a few minutes, then nodded, turned it off and
pocketed it.

"All three MI13 stations have been destroyed," Natasha greeted him flatly. "Agent Wisdom is on
the run." She grimaced. "And the Winter Soldier was partly responsible, if that name means
anything to you."

"It does," Loki muttered. "To borrow a Midgardian saying, 'it never reains but it pours.'" He
grimaced. "I shall leave that matter in your hands. As to the veidrdraugr my father must be
informed at once. And I shall have to stay in Asgard for the next few days." He waved his injured
arm. "I shall have this seen to there."

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"And what was the call about?" Clint asked.

"To persuade my father not to call Thor and Harry back to Asgard, then raze the entire planet," he
replied flatly. "The call was part of my plan to convince him. Even with that, it may not be
enough."

"They're that bad?" Clint asked.

"If my suspicions are correct, in the distant past, armies of them nearly destroyed Asgard," Loki
said gravely. "Admittedly, those were created from Asgardians, making them infinitely more
powerful to begin with… but the mortal versions are more than bad enough, if only for the dark
knowledge they represent."

Natasha nodded. "Good luck."

"Present my apologies to the rest, particularly Harry, but this cannot wait," Loki said.

Natasha and Clint nodded.

"Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"

There was a roaring column of rainbow light. Then Loki disappeared.

A few minutes later, Fury arrived. "Well?" he demanded abruptly. "What happened?"

"The veidrdraugr, sir," Clint said.

"And what are they when they are at home, Agent Barton?" Fury snapped.

"Asgardian nightmares, sir, according to Loki," Natasha said. "Necromantic constructs. The
Asgardian version nearly drove the Asgardian people extinct several millennia ago."

"Fuck," Fury muttered. "Where's Loki?"

"Gone to Asgard to inform Odin. And to prevent him from destroying the planet," Clint said.

Fury stopped. "They're that bad?" he asked quietly.

"Odin apparently wiped them out four thousand years ago, sir, and attempted to destroy any way of
creating them," Natasha said. "And when Loki saw the one we found… he was terrified.
Completely and utterly terrified. I have never seen him that frightened. And I'm willing to bet Thor
hasn't either."
"Fuck," Fury repeated. "Any survivors?"

"Eight, sir. One young woman managed to lead some of her colleagues into a panic room. One of
the creatures was waiting outside to ambush them. The body's ready for examination," Clint said.
"As for the survivors, none are above middle rank. Aside from them, only foreign postings and
Agents on missions are still extant."

Fury nodded. "A team's coming in by plane to get what they can off the computers and see if they
can find any clues about those monsters and find out how to stop them," he said.

"Whose on the team?"

"Fitzsimmons, Ward, May, another senior agent and a civilian consultant," Fury said.

"Decent team," Clint said.

"Depending on the consultant," Natasha added. "May won't be doing fieldwork if she can avoid it,
Fitzsimmons are brilliant but useless in combat and Ward –"

"Has all the personality of a cardboard cut out?" Clint added.

Natasha half shrugged, half nodded in acknowledgement.

"Agent Ward wasn't recruited for his admittedly non-existent people skills. He was recruited for
his phenomenal skills at kicking ass and stealth. He's not as good as you two or May, but no one
else in SHIELD is," Fury said. "Aside from the above, the only person who can match him is
Agent 13, and she's on a separate detail at the moment."

"Who's the other senior Agent?" Natasha asked

"If your paths cross, you'll find out," Fury said. "They're coming in because they're some of the
best investigators on the SHIELD payroll and I am hiring Dresden again when hell freezes over,
even if this is right up his street."

He grimaced. He had thought that there was no man in the world more annoying than Tony Stark.
Harry Dresden had proved that thought wrong within two minutes of meeting him. The man did
good work, and if he'd been able to keep his mouth shut for more than five seconds, he'd have been
a good recruit, albeit a wild card. Fury had sounded him out for the Avengers on the grounds that
he would be vaguely under SHIELD jurisdiction without being an Agent, but he'd refused. The
man felt he had a duty to Chicago, and that wasn't changing any time soon. Fury could respect that.
Besides, the Avengers already had Loki, potentially Sirius, and, in the future, Harry. But that was a
matter for another time.

To Clint and Natasha, he said, "You two are with me. We're going to Hogwarts."

Three quarters of an hour on one of Stark's tricked out Quinjets – the man might be incredibly
annoying and borderline deranged, but he was an unsurpassed mechanical genius – took them over
Hogwarts, during which Clint and Natasha briefed Fury. At this point, Clint took over from the
SHIELD pilot to land, because having been to Hogwarts, the muggle repelling wards wouldn't
affect him.

Fury strode up to the gate. Hagrid was there to meet them. "Nicholas," he said. "An' two of yer
Agents." He paused and eyed Clint. "Ye're Professor McGonagall's grandson, ain't ya?"

Clint nodded.
"We're here on business, Hagrid," Fury growled. "Get us into the damn castle and wake up Albus
before I am forced to start shooting people!"

Hagrid blinked but, credit to him, opened the gate. "This' bad, isn't it?" he said quietly.

"Worse than Voldemort coming back," Fury growled. "Much, much worse."

"How?" Hagrid whispered, after taking a moment to process.

"You'll find out," Fury said grimly. "And soon."

Hagrid nodded, as Filch came to the doors. "What's goin' on?" the elderly caretaker demanded.
"Who are these people?"

"They're 'ere ta see Professor Dumbledore, ye mean ol' squib," Hagrid growled.

"Why? What authority do they have?"

Fury lost patience and pointed his gun at him. Filch froze in sudden terror. Mrs Norris hissed. "You
see this?" he snapped. "This gun is my authority. Respect my authority and move your ass out of
the way, because the why is none of your damn business."

Filch moved, and Fury left him behind, holstering his gun. Hagrid was frowning in worry. He
hadn't known Nick Fury as well as some, but he did know that the man did not lightly lose his
temper like that. And that he usually let people working for him do the shooting.

He wisely decided that this was a matter best dealt with by Professor Dumbledore.

As it happened, the man himself was awake, sitting behind his desk in a deep purple dressing
gown, and awaiting visitors in his office. Fawkes let out a welcoming cry that Fury ignored.

"What has brought you here so urgently, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "With two of your
finest agents as well."

"In summary?" Fury asked. Dumbledore nodded. "HYDRA is back. The Winter Soldier is under
their command. They have werewolves too, operating outside the Full Moon somehow. All MI13
base stations in the South East have been destroyed. Agent Wisdom barely survived and is now on
the run. And some punk ass necromancer just destroyed MI6 for a distraction!"

Dumbledore paled. "That is very serious," he said quietly. "Very serious indeed. You are certain?"

"Agent Wisdom fought the Soldier, and managed to escape," Fury bit out. "We found three dead
HYDRA Agents and two dead werewolves. And said punk ass necromancer destroyed MI6 with
monsters that got the drop on Loki, hurt him and had him running back to Asgard like his ass was
on fire to persuade his daddy not to destroy us because last time they were around they nearly
drove his people extinct! Yes, Albus, I am fucking well certain."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "How did you find out about this?"

"Someone in the Wizarding World, someone with access to a House Elf, tipped Loki off," Fury
said, calming down. "We've got the note."

"May I see it?" Dumbledore asked. He scanned it. "A child's handwriting," he murmured. "Hagrid,
kindly fetch Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Snape. I would like them to see if they
recognise this."
"Aye, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid rumbled, edging past Natasha and Clint and descending the
stairs.

"You have any idea who our informant is?"

"On the contrary, I believe I know exactly who it is," Dumbledore said, examining the note. "I
merely want confirmation."

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy, showing an uncommon streak of bravery," Dumbledore said, laying the note down
on the desk.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "And there was me thinking the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree."

"In his first two years, I would have reluctantly agreed with you," Dumbledore acknowledged.
"But in this last month or so… he has grown up. He is more mature now, unusually so for his age.
He and Harry seem to have a truce of some kind."

Fury rubbed his jaw. "If he wrote the note, then he's got balls, I'll give him that," he said. "Crossing
HYDRA, the Winter Soldier, Greyback's wolves, the Death Eaters and the necromancer who can
call on the veidrdraugr all at once… either he's got balls of steel or he has no idea of what he's
getting into."

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "He could be in severe danger."

"James won't kill him," Natasha said suddenly.

"James?"

"The Soldier," Natasha said. "He was my partner for nearly thirty five years, in the Red Room." No
one in the room missed the amount of what had not been said. No one commented on it. "He didn't
talk much, even with me. With most people, he didn't talk at all, unless he had to. If he's just being
given orders and used as a killing machine, then he won't talk at all. But I know him. And he
doesn't kill kids, not if he can possibly avoid it."

Fury gave her a slightly surprised look. "You never mentioned this."

"I never thought he'd be found," Natasha said bluntly. "If he was even alive."

"Natalia. Will he go out of his way to protect Draco?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's Natasha these days, Albus," Natasha said briskly.

"Ah. I was forgetting."

She gave him an unamused look that said that she knew damn well that he wasn't. He twinkled
merrily.

"I don't know. It depends how strong the conditioning has a hold on him," she said slowly.
"Ordinarily, it tended to wear off faster the longer he was out of storage, but if it's being
supplemented by magic, if they know about it wearing off, who knows?" She shrugged. "Maybe."

"Not something we can rely on, then," Dumbledore murmured. And just like that, the old,
eccentric, kindly headmaster was gone. The Machiavellian old campaigner who had dominated
European Wizarding society for well over half a century was revealed.
Albus Dumbledore, Fury thought, was an incredibly dangerous man. And the only reason he only
exercised direct control over Hogwarts, not all of Wizarding Europe, if not the entire Wizarding
World, was because he knew it. And he did not trust himself in the slightest. "How fast can you
extract him?"

Fury glanced at his agents.

"Depends how much we know about the defences, sir," Clint said. "But I'm pretty sure I can see
wards and magic."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said. "A by-product of your enhanced vision and magical heritage?"

Clint shrugged. "Maybe. I only noticed it after I came here. Before, I never noticed the Tower
Wards and other than those and Loki, never ran into magic that I know of."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said. "Maybe your magical heritage is making itself more known as you
know of it?"

"Conscious knowledge can bring forward untapped potential. Either that or long term magical
exposure could be enhancing it," Natasha noted. "But I think we're seeing the most of it."

"So, no magic stick for me," Clint said dryly. "Well, that's one thing to strike off the bucket list."

Dumbledore's lips flickered into a smile as Fury rolled his eye. "Enhanced eyesight takes many
forms," he said. "Your codename is well given – I suspect you have a form of telescopic vision,
with an added mystical component. I would not be surprised if you were able to, with time, see
through magical disguises and perceive astral beings. That, however, is likely its limit."

"X-ray vision?" Clint asked hopefully. He wasn't solely asking in hope of the ability to become the
ultimate peeping tom. He couldn't even begin to number the amount of times being able to see
through objects would have come in useful in his line of work.

Natasha gave him an 'oh really?' look, Fury wondered what it was about his superhuman strike
force that made them all crack jokes at the most inappropriate times, and Dumbledore chuckled. "I
am afraid not, Mr Barton. While my knowledge of non-magical science is limited, I think that
would require more than merely enhanced eyesight. I also think your grandmother and your partner
would disapprove."

Clint shrugged, as if to say that it might be worth it.

At that moment, the various heads of house arrived, followed by Hagrid, McGonagall in a tartan
dressing gown, Snape in a black robe that looked little different to the kind he wore every day,
Sprout in a voluminous white nightgown that looked like it had done previous duty on a ship, and
now the rigging had been co-opted to holding it in position, while Flitwick was wearing a set of
miniature burgundy pyjamas with blue and silver slippers.

All of them were giving odd looks to Fury, who was eyeballing Snape, and Natasha and Clint,
who, after a cursory examination, had relaxed into their best bland SHIELD Agent personas.

"Clint," McGonagall said steadily.

"Grandma," he said, matching her tone, completely poker faced.

The rest of the Heads of House gave her surprised and amused looks as she flushed. "You are as
bad as your grandfather," she muttered, glaring at him. "Yes, he is my grandson," she said briskly
to her colleagues. "Do not ask."

Clint smirked ever so slightly, but said nothing.

"Ah, Professors. I am sorry to wake you at this time, but I need you to identify this handwriting,"
Dumbledore said, sliding the note across the desk.

Still giving Minerva odd looks, they pored over the note. "Not one of mine," Sprout said firmly.

"Not mine either," Flitwick squeaked. "My Ravenclaws tend to be even less concerned with
neatness."

"Likewise," Minerva said.

"This is Draco Malfoy's handwriting," Snape said slowly. "Where did this come from? What is this
'MI6' and 'veidrdaugr'?"

"MI6 is, or was, non-magical Britain's foreign intelligence service," Dumbledore said.
"The veidrdraugr are an undead nightmare that was supposedly destroyed before the erection of
Stonehenge. They are powerful enough to injure, frighten, even terrify, Loki and send him to
Asgard to plead the case for our continued existence to Odin, who wiped these creatures out once
before."

There was a stunned silence.

Dumbledore stood. "Send letters to the parents of your students immediately," he said briskly. "Cite
the attack, and say that I recommend that all students return to Hogwarts at once. The Hogwarts
Express will be doing daily runs up to Hogwarts from midday the day after tomorrow. Those that
cannot and those who send their children to Hogwarts must find a place of safety, or go abroad and
find safety in numbers. For all those that this is not an option for, Hogwarts has accommodation."

The Professors nodded and left. Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Now. We need to find these
creatures and destroy them." His expression hardened. "And their creator."

Fury raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore's hawkish attitude.

"Second chances, Nicholas, are for those who we can afford to give them to and want to accept
them," Dumbledore said. "Such a monster as this is too dangerous to live. And," he said. "I
somehow doubt that they would desire such a chance."

"I think I can find them," Fury said.

"How?"

Fury smiled. It was a smile full of teeth and the promise of future suffering for whatever poor
bastard was in his sights. "Cerebro."

Dumbledore smiled back. "Ah… that creation of Charles'. Yes, of course… I take it you will be
going to contact him immediately."

"I am," Fury said. "If that fails, or if it needs to be narrowed down further, I have one of my best
teams on it. I want you," he said. "Albus, to co-ordinate with the Flamels."

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look. He didn't waste time saying, 'they are dead', 'they are deceased'
and 'they have joined the choir invisible', or even, 'inconceivable!'
Instead, he thought it through. It only took a couple of moments. "The Infinity Formula. The
muggle Elixir of Life," he said, nodding. "What did you offer them? They were rather looking
forward to death."

"The formula returns you to your physical prime, essentially reseting your biology and putting it at
full potential. Not supersoldier levels, not by a long shot. Olympic athlete, more like," Fury said
calmly. "Their bodies are now the same as they would have been in their twenties, except
everything is working perfectly. That appealed to them."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and he nodded slowly, as Fawkes let out a sorrowful cry. "I can see
how that would," he said slowly. There was a hint of dangerous coldness in his gaze.

Fury met his gaze. "I needed them," he said calmly. "You know that. Their expertise is unique. The
world's changing and we're going to need every bit of expertise we can lay our hands on. And if
they were dead, that expertise could have been at the disposal of the necromancer we're up against
now."

Dumbledore smiled thinly. "Yes. I suppose it could have been." He nodded. "I shall arrange a
meeting with them."

"Good," Fury said, making to leave. He paused at the door. "Albus?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever think of taking the formula?"

"Is that an offer, Nicholas?" Dumbledore asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Every bit of expertise, Albus. Every bit," Fury replied simply.

Dumbledore shook his head, suddenly looking a lot older and much more weary. "No, Nicholas. I
have accumulated enough regrets in my long and interesting life. When I was younger, maybe I
would have said yes. But now, as I come closer to the end? Another does not appeal," he said. His
eyes suddenly regained a little twinkle. "I do not fear death. After all, what is death but the next
great adventure?"

Fury nodded. "I figured," he said quietly.

"Good luck, Nicholas."

"You too, Albus. We're gonna need it. These guys are real bad," Fury said. "But we possess the
means to find them. Yeah, and fight them too."

"Father, we possess the means to find them and fight them," Loki said. He had arrived in Asgard,
with the full intention of immediately meeting his father. But he had run into his mother first, and
been dragged by the ear to the Halls of Healing she cleaned, cleansed of any residual dark magic
and rebandaged the wound.

Thereafter, she extracted the story of how he got the wound. Naturally, she had been horrified.
Odin might be a warrior, but she was primarily a mother and healer – which, arguably, made her
even more dangerous. There is no position in the universe more perilous than the one that is
between a mother and her child - and where to him the veidrdraugr were a grave military threat, to
her they represented a horrific tragedy in the making, dredging up terrible memories of a time long
ago, a time of maimed children, destroyed families and innocence corrupted.
She had also resolved to thank Clint profusely when next she met him. "He has saved a Prince of
Asgard this night, and more importantly, he has saved one of my sons," she said firmly, whilst
hugging Loki tightly. "He will be accorded great honour."

Once Loki extracted himself from his mother's grasp, he gained an audience with his father by dint
of looking grim and striding straight past the guards as if daring them to stop him.

Odin's reaction to the return of the veidrdraugr was scepticism, then, on seeing Loki's wound,
severe worry. Loki, on rebinding his wound for the second time, had immediately sought to calm
his father.

His father was indeed grimly calm, or appeared to be so.

"Heimdall? Aye, he could find them. But a necromancer powerful enough to

raise veidrdraugr could hide, and hide well. And what else would come out of the shadows while
Heimdall's gaze was elsewhere?" Odin asked. "There are many dark things in this universe that
hide because they fear the gaze of Heimdall and coming to the attention to Asgard. And if they
were loosed, then I fear for the universe."

Loki then played what he hoped was his ace.

"I speak not of Heimdall. There is a man on Midgard called Charles Xavier. He is a great sage and
an exceptionally intelligent man. He is also by far the most powerful mind walker I have
encountered since Godric Gryffindor when he accessed the gifts of his bloodline," Loki said. "And
many years ago, one of his students – he is a teacher to Midgardians born with unusual gifts –
designed a machine that enhanced his power so that he could find anyone on Midgard. It has been
improved repeatedly over the years."

"How powerful is this device?"

Loki smiled. "I sent him a message before I came. I shall let him demonstrate."

Right on cue, a polite voice said, Hello, your majesy. I am Professor Charles Xavier. It is my
pleasure your acquaintance.

Inside his head, just beyond his shields, Odin felt a powerful psi presence. Not one that was beyond
his power by any stretch, but the sheer fact that it was powerful enough to reach Asgard…

Odin was not often surprised. You do not become the King of Asgard, become the most powerful
man in the Nine Realms and stay that way from before humanity had figured out this little thing
called writing if you are. But this astounded him.

"This is only possible," Loki admitted. "Because Asgard is often connected to Earth by the Bifrost,
and because I laid a psychic trail for him to follow. He is also operating on the edge of his
enhanced range, and cannot bring to bear much more than communication."

"Yet it still shows remarkable power," Odin replied in low wonder. In his mind, he
replied, Greetings, Professor Xavier. I must confess to astonishment. Your power is remarkable.

Thank you, sire, though it is only through a combination of science and magic I was able to do so.

Nevertheless, Odin replied, this is an impressive. He paused. My son believes you can track and
destroy the veidrdraugr. Is this true?

There was a pause.

Track and disable, possibly not destroy, sire. Magic is not the most predictable matter to deal with,
especially not dark magic. What I am certain of is to have a pinpoint location of them whenever
they are using their limited telepathic abilities.

When they are on the hunt.

Indeed, sire.

So, if the necromancer understands what is happening, could he or she shield their monsters from
you?

Again, your highness, magic is a difficult force to quantify. But I will say that it would require all of
their power and concentration to maintain a shield. And unless it was a particularly sophisticated
one, designed to misdirect as opposed to merely block, I could approximate their location based on
the psychic blindspot.

Odin nodded slowly. "A good plan," he said aloud, so as to include his son in the conversation.
"However, a flawed one."

Sire?

"I do not doubt your power, Professor Xavier. You have proved it with your remarkable
technology, one that has never been developed in Asgard," Odin said. He extended the Odinforce
and reached out to psychically request entry into the mind of Professor Xavier. It was given
without hesitation, an act of courage that raised the mutant sage even further in Odin's estimation.
"And proof that there are things Asgard has to learn from Midgard," he continued smoothly, as he
leafed through Xavier's memories. "But you cannot be awake every hour of the day. Such things
would be a strain on even the youngest and most vital man. And you are not such a man. You have
not been such a man for many years."

No, sire, I am not. But these creatures are nocturnal, which narrows the time of their activity down
considerably, unless they are deep underground. In that case, they are little threat to anyone but
each other and their master or mistress, the Professor countered.

"Indeed," Odin said. "But you cannot deny that there will be a window of opportunity."

No, the Professor admitted. If this threat expands to a global scale, sire, then more drastic action
may be required. I have a psychic protégé who has great potential, potential that far surpasses
even my own abilities. Even at 16, she is very powerful. Though I would normally not try teaching
her to use Cerebro for another year or two at the earliest, I could do so if required. However, I
think that after the necromancer realises that their forces can be tracked, they will severely curtail
their movements.

"Containment," Odin mused. "A viable short term strategy. And in the long term?"

That, sire, is something I leave with you and your son. He came up with this plan in approximately
five minutes, if my estimates are correct. If not him, with Captain America. Mister Rogers, has an
incredible talent for strategy. However, if I may help, than I and my abilities, and those of my
associates, if not my students, are at your disposal.

"You have the thanks of Asgard, Professor Xavier. Your assistance will be invaluable, " Odin said.

I am glad that I can help, sire, Xavier said. He paused, and his psychic voice hardened. Those
monsters slaughtered innocent people, children. Nothing in them remains of their humanity. If
there is any way in which I can aid in their destruction, merely inform me, and it will be done.
My thanks once more, Professor Xavier.

I take my leave, sire.

Granted, Odin replied. Good evening, Professor Xavier. Aloud, he said, "Very well. Go, my son,
and return to Midgard. Inform your brother and your war brothers and war sister, the Avengers."

Loki blinked. He was also rarely surprised. Being easily surprised wasn't a survival trait in the
cutthroat world of the dark side of politics either. But now he was. He had thought that convincing
his father of the value of Midgard's continued existence in the face of such a potentially dire threat
would be a long, hard task. Yet his admittedly brilliant idea had convinced him.

Odin caught his surprise. "I trust you," he said simply.

And with that, Loki was reminded that he was only the second best manipulator in the Nine
Realms. In three simple words, Odin had placed the full burden of responsibility on him while
signalling his faith in him. It both touched him and annoyed him, which, he supposed, was in
keeping with Odin's signature carrot and stick style of rule.

Admittedly, you could say that he occasionally settled for beating you over the head with the
carrot, or painting the stick orange, making you think it was a carrot and tricking you into trying to
eat it, but there is such thing as taking a metaphor too far.

Touched him, because, despite knowing what he was, what he was capable of, his father trusted
him. Annoyed him because he was a) still half expecting his father to sweep in and destroy this
nightmarish menace, as he had as a child and b) perfectly aware that his father was manipulating
him and there was nothing he could do about it, because he both wanted his father's trust and the
truly free hand on Midgard that was implied by granting him such responsibility of such a terrible
threat. A carrot indeed.

"Any who discover the situation and inquire will be informed that the situation is in your hands,"
Odin continued smoothly. Here came the suspiciously carrot shaped stick, Loki thought. If I fail, I
am the one who will be to blame. "I will also send Lady Sif and the Warriors Three after Yuletide
is over, and place them under your command. Their primary command will be to exterminate
the veidrdraugr, and with the aid of yourself and others, the one who commands them."

"Yes, father."

"And their objective above all others is to keep my grandson alive and well," Odin said. "A
necromancer powerful enough to raise veidrdraugr in such numbers and control them is more than
powerful enough to capture and embody a houseless spirit in a form far more terrible than the one
it wore in life. If this happens, they will be at his side at all times."

This possibility had crossed Loki's mind, especially after he had deduced that the note had been
sent from a wizarding child, almost certainly the child of a former Death Eater. And the thought of
Voldemort as a lich or revenant of some kind was unpleasant. Such creatures could be dangerous.

On the other hand, however, it could equally be a form of therapy for both himself and his brother.
Beating the returned Voldemort into pulp would be most pleasant…

But he did not think it likely.

"I have no doubt that they could, father," Loki said. "But a necromancer so powerful is rare. They
will not want to reveal their full array of skills before time, not least in resurrecting a potential
challenger. If they have the support of Voldemort's former servants, they will want to retain such a
powerful bargaining chip for as long as possible." He shrugged. "It is what I would have done. And
it was what this necromancer will do if they have even a shred of intelligence."

Odin met his gaze, then nodded slightly, deferring to his son's judgement. "Nevertheless," he said.
"My grandson is still young. His mother's gifts and those endowed by Thor as a mortal are still
growing, though they are considerable for his age. The gifts of our bloodline, latent in him, have
yet to manifest. He is vulnerable."

Loki acknowledged this. "A wise decision, father," he said.

Odin nodded. "How does your teaching go?"

"The theory is slow, but once he starts the actual enchantment, he takes to it quickly. He is best
when learning in a practical manner, not through books," Loki said. "I would judge his progress as
well surpassing my expectations."

"And the others?"

"Miss Granger has more power than even she realises," Loki said. He frowned slightly. "I also
cannot pinpoint it, but there are aspects of it that are familiar." He shook his head. "Suffice it to say
that she will be a candidate for the office of Sorcerer, or indeed, Sorceress, Supreme in the fullness
of time. Her raw power will not exceed Harry's, I think, but if my judgement is correct, few will."
He smiled. "And she is exceptionally good at theory, and capable at practical magic."

He then grinned. "As for the Twins, I believe that their above average inherent ability and their
own unique brand of chaotic genius will carry them far. Where, even I could not say. They are very
good at altering spells to suit their own style of enchantment, admittedly, through an often amusing
process of trial and error. Never before have I seen such large canaries, and certainly never in that
particularly fine shade of magenta."

Odin chuckled slightly. "Midgard is in good hands, I think," he said. "Return to Midgard, my son.
And prove to this upstart necromancer that there are some things Asgard will not tolerate."

"Yes, father," Loki said, bowing slightly, before striding out, teleporting to the Bifrost gate. He had
work to do. As he did, he wondered just why his father was, though he hid it well, suddenly so
interested in Midgard. Because even the wonders of Cerebro and the courage of the Avengers
together would not have stayed the Allfather's hand if he had judged it necessary. And Loki would
not be willing to bet that he had mellowed since the first extermination of the veidrdraugr. No, he
thought, there was something on, or even about, Midgard. Something that had caught his interest.
Something big.

He grinned as he travelled back to Earth. He was going to find out. He would not be Loki if he did
not at least try. He could feel that tingling sensation he got as he embarked on a scheme or a trick,
or discovered a clue in his search for an ancient mystery. This, he thought, was going to be fun.

There is an apocryphal ancient Chinese curse. 'May you live in interesting times'.

To understand Loki, you have to realise that that would not be a curse. That would be the greatest
gift you could possibly give him.

And of course, Odin understood Loki very well indeed.

 Mysteries and Madness
Chapter Summary

Yup, there's a crack Omake at the end, which was spurred by lots of people
demanding Harry's animagus form.

Fury turned as Loki entered the bridge of the Helicarrier. "Well?" he asked.

"Father was… surprisingly easy to persuade," Loki said. "He is putting Sif and the Warrior's Three
at my disposal, to hunt down and destroy the veidrdraugr."

"Doubtless after tracking them with Cerebro," Fury said, slightly sourly.

Loki looked surprised for a moment, then grinned. "Ah, you had the idea after I did."

Fury gave him an annoyed look which was all the answer Loki needed. Loki smirked "How did
Odin respond?"

Loki chuckled. "He was very surprised at Charles' sheer power, which, even when not augmented
by Cerebro, is truly formidable."

Fury nodded his agreement. "I've never come across a stronger telepath," he admitted. "He was one
of the world's first superheroes of the modern era, you know."

Loki gave him an interested look. "Really?"

"Yeah, you might call them Generation 1.5. Generation 1 was Captain America, Spitfire I and II,
Union Jack and the Destroyer – not like the Asgardian one, and Namor," Fury said. "As for
Generation 1.5… Did you ever hear of Division X?"

Loki nodded slowly. "Vaguely. A scrapped CIA project, was it not?"

"Scrapped because half the team stopped playing ball and the CIA were shit scared of the other
half and tried to wipe them all out," Fury said. He paused. "Before you joined, I'd probably have
fancied them against the Avengers," he admitted. "Or at least given them even odds. Thor and the
Hulk might have tipped the balance. Stark too, if he learned to compensate fast enough."

Loki gave him a sharp look.

"Trust me – Xavier was not the most powerful member of that team," Fury said grimly, catching
the look. "And I can only thank any god that's listening that the most powerful member has
mellowed considerably since then."

"Magneto."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "I didn't expect you to know that name."

"When I was marshalling mortal allies and controlling them, I noticed the name in their minds,
particularly those with origins on the far right of the political spectrum. It was a common thread, a
common thought… a common nightmare," Loki said quietly. "I know little of the man save that, as
you say, he is truly a force to be reckoned with, even by the standards of the Aesir. And that it is
indeed a good thing that he has mellowed."

Fury nodded. "He would be a good ally to have," he admitted. "But even Xavier can't find him.
He's alive, but he doesn't want to be found." He grimaced. "And he isn't the only one who we can't
find."

"Doctor Strange."

Fury gave him a sharp look.

Loki shrugged. "That was a logical deduction. If Midgard's Sorcerer Supreme has not been
presented to fight these creatures, then it is because he cannot and does not wish to be found," he
said. "Maybe he is trapped in some other realm."

"Oh, he's around all right," Fury said. "He's consulted on a few matters recently, and always turns
up exactly when needed. But he finds us rather than us finding him. We can't find him because he
doesn't want to be found."

"Interesting," Loki murmured. "That suggests some degree of foreknowledge, or, at the very least,
a superlative knowledge of your operations."

"With Stephen? Could be either," Fury said grimly. "He knows things about SHIELD that even
you and Stark haven't managed to ferret out. Things that only I and one other know and have ever
known."

Loki smiled slightly. "Maybe I should meet him. Information such as that is valuable."

"I can't stop you," Fury said, in a tone that indicated that he would at least try, and try very hard.

Loki gave him a smile that suggested he expected nothing less.

Such are the games of spymasters.

"So. You're going to be hunting these veidrdraugr down?" Fury asked.

Loki nodded.

"After one of them nearly ripped your throat out, and if it wasn't for Barton, would have done."

Loki grimaced, and nodded. "I can force them into following my rules, Director," he said. "Before,
I descended into confined darkness – their realm. I followed their rules. I won't make that mistake
again." He smiled dangerously. "And one of the favoured tricks of any hunter worth their salt is an
ambush."

Fury nodded. "Will you want any support from SHIELD?"

Loki paused. "Maps of local areas, surveillance, communications, maybe an aerial bombardment or
two…" he shrugged. "I'll tell you what I require. Whether you give it to me is, of course, up to
you."

Fury nodded. "Will you tell the others?"

"I suggest we convene a team meeting on the 3rd," Loki said. "That is when the Warriors Three
will be arriving."
"Sounds good to me," Fury said. He grimaced.

"What?"

"One member of MI13 survived, a high ranking member," Fury said. "I need to debrief him. And
from what I know already… the veidrdraugr are only the tip of the iceberg."

Loki's lips thinned. "That is worrying," he said quietly. "But not unexpected. I have theories."

"You probably do. They're probably the same as mine," Fury said.

"They may well be," Loki said. "Merry Christmas, Director." He teleported away.

"A Merry fucking Christmas," Fury muttered. He snorted. "Like that's ever going to fucking
happen."

Then he went to debrief Agent Wisdom. It was probably going to take all of Christmas Day.

The only small mercy was that Nick Fury didn't have family. Spies generally don't.

The only family, by blood or by choice, that he could have claimed to have had left died with Lily
Potter twelve years ago.

Harry might change that.

But for now, there was nothing.

Nothing but the soldier. And his mission.

OoOoO

Remus had been teleported over by Loki on a crisp Christmas Eve morning, and, at first, had been
worried that he would be interrupting Harry's first Christmas with his father – or rather, first that he
could actually remember. After all, he was Harry's teacher.

Loki had sat him down before teleporting him over, and firmly stepped on this. And when Loki
stepped on something, it stayed stepped on, as it was a little known fact – Remus knew it - that
Asgardians – and Frost Giants – were three times as dense as humans. So while Loki might have
weighed 82 kg if he had been human, he actually weighed 246 kg. This meant that there was a lot
of weight to step with and step on. Ergo whatever was stepped on stayed that way.

"Harry considers you a friend, Remus," he said briskly. He had also insisted on first name terms
and no titles. "And the simple fact is, while an ordinary teenager would indeed be very awkward
having a teacher over for Christmas, Harry is not an ordinary teenager. He may be a little awkward
at first, but I suspect Sirius will break the ice." He paused, and glanced at Remus. "He's been
looking forward to seeing you, you know."

"Really?"

"You're his friend. Of course he has," Loki said calmly. "The fact that he's been reminiscing about
his school days and youth with Thor and Harry, the latter of whom is as curious as a cat about
anything relating to his parents and family, merely confirmed it."

Remus relaxed.

"Bruce is also looking forward to seeing you," Loki said. "He has taken something of a shine to
you. I suspect it is because you truly understand his former fear of the Hulk."

"Former?"

"He controls the Hulk now, to an extent," Loki said. "The beast follows commands, shows signs of
basic intelligence and is benevolently inclined to anyone not trying to hurt him or his friends. Or
Thor."

"Why doesn't he like Thor?"

"Oh, it isn't that he dislikes him as such," Loki said casually. "It's just that Thor is his only rival in
pure strength, and the contest of who is 'the strongest there is' is an ongoing one." He sighed
slightly. "It was amusing at first, to see them wrestle and punch each other when the other is not
paying attention, but now I worry for the collateral damage. I would hate to have to explain to
Nicholas Fury how his beloved Helicarrier was ruined."

"Nick Fury? Helicarrier?"

"Yes, he's Director of SHIELD, and supposed overall commander of the Avengers Initiative," Loki
said. "Was this not mentioned? You knew him before?"

"No," Remus said. "And yes, I did." He frowned. "Supposed commander?"

"He orders us," Loki deadpanned. "Occasionally, we decide to listen."

Remus snorted. "Director?"

"He is the undisputed Lord and Master of SHIELD," Loki said. "And quite the most powerful
mortal alive, in terms of sheer influence."

Remus blinked. "I mainly remember him as Sirius and John Constantine's drinking buddy and
Lily's adopted older brother."

Loki looked up sharply. "Adopted?"

"Not in so many words," Remus said. "He was the protégé of Lily's mother and father, and was
close to the family. Lily looked up to him as an older brother." He half smiled. "He was her older
brother in the way that Wanda was, in some ways, her older sister." His face darkened. "A better
older sister than Petunia ever was."

"That is something on which I will not disagree, despite not having met either lady," Loki said
grimly. "Hearsay, is, in this instance, enough." He paused. "This Wanda. She was the Scarlet
Witch, was she not?"

"Yes," Remus said.

"I understand that you were not able to adopt Harry because of your affliction, Nicholas was turned
down for his non-magical blood and Sirius was unjustly imprisoned," Loki said. "But why did
Wanda not try?"

"I'm not sure," Remus said. "Well, I have a theory."

"What is that theory?"

Remus hesitated.
"Remus," Loki said seriously, looking him in the eye. "I know my reputation is not stellar among
mortals, and is so largely through my own actions. But I am discreet. And I can be trusted."

Remus sighed. "I think she had a child, by John, and gave it away in secret. They were dating at the
time, and I'm not sure if she told him. But I know that she would have told Lily," he said. "Those
two were practically joined at the hip."

"Why would she do such a thing?" Loki asked.

"Fear. One thing I know for sure was that Wanda had, and still has, very many enemies," Remus
said. "I'm not sure if you knew, but she was the apprentice of Doctor Strange. And you know that
sort of things he fights. The sort of enemies he makes."

Loki nodded. "I do."

"Add to that John's enemies – he's got half of the Hell Dimensions out for his blood or his soul,"
Remus said. "And you can see why she wouldn't want a child." He shrugged. "I came up with this
theory based on a few half heard conversations and supposition. It is extremely ropey."

"How old would this child be?" Loki asked.

"A year or two older than Harry. Maybe even a year younger. I never got any indication of the
age," Remus said, shrugging. "For what it's worth, when I started teaching, I looked out for a child
that would seem right, but none of the students has a face that screams Wanda or John. A few
superficial resemblances, but no more."

"Pity," Loki said. "Though, I believe that this Wanda was a wandless witch."

"Meaning that any child of hers might not attend Hogwarts? A good theory, and possible, even with
the fact that John does and always has used a wand," Remus said. "However… magic is not the
only gift in the Maximoff bloodline. She confided in us the identity of her father."

"She is Magneto's daughter, yes," Loki said calmly. "I know."

Remus goggled.

"I deduced that from her face," Loki said. "There is a significant family resemblance to the few
images I have seen of him, largely in the minds of others. Enough to intrigue, but not to confirm.
What you have said now only confirmed my suspicions." He paused. "Well, I will admit, it was
something of a shot in the dark, but a shot in the dark aided by hazy night vision goggles."

Remus frowned in puzzlement.

"An informed guess."

"Ah."

"Yes… the other gifts in her blood could have awakened in her child," Loki said slowly. "An
interesting thought."

"If the child exists. Loki, this was just a theory."

"An interesting one," Loki said. He paused, and suddenly, a slow smile spread across his face.
"Tell me," he said slowly. "She was called the Scarlet Witch. Why?"

"The colour of her magic, of course. Why?"

Loki's smile widened even further. "Oh. No reason."

"You think you know who the child is, if the child even exists?"

"Maybe. I am reserving judgement," Loki said. "And it is entirely certain that the child, if I am
right, would be better off not knowing."

"How?"

"They could be happy. And establishing a connection to their mother could put both in severe
danger," Loki pointed out. "And not to mention the father." He shrugged. "And I also have far
more immediate issues confronting me. I can save this puzzle for another time." He offered Remus
his arm. "Now that we have ended this fascinating digression, shall we?"

Remus paused, then took the arm.

Loki had teleported them into the Tower. It was still early in the morning in New York, so Loki
made them both some coffee and they waited.

Tony had been the first in – or rather, he hadn't slept. He'd been busy cataloguing and trying to
discover the secrets of the latest batch of robots they had fought. As he had recounted to them in a
ramble that had shifted from sleepily demented to hyperactively demented halfway through.

OoOoO

Tony frowned as he went over the schematics of the latest robots.

"JARVIS, compare these bots to the Doombots we face in November," he said, and JARVIS
transposed the two sets of schematics.

A few moments later, the comparison of hardware and software was complete.

"Examination indicates 76.87% similarity, sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony sat back and rubbed his jaw, ignoring the war drums of exhaustion in the back of his head.
They would stop soon enough. And if they didn't, coffee would shut them up. "Doom never shares
his tech. I thought it was weird that those bots didn't self-destruct back in November once they
were beaten. They usually do. And now these too," he said. "JARVIS, what are the differing
components?"

"The latest robots have a more sophisticated artificial intelligence, with improved learning circuits,
sir," JARVIS replied. "They also have a more adaptive physiology."

"So they're learning," Tony said slowly. "Someone's testing their creations against us, and I'm
damn sure it's not Doom."

"Why not, sir?"

Tony recognised this as JARVIS saying that he agreed with him, but wanted to help him work
through his reasoning. It was little things like that, he thought, that made JARVIS a person rather
than an extremely advanced computer. It was also little things like the previous that made him
think he was God because he had technically created life, but Pepper tended to bop him over the
head when he said as much, or gave him one of her patented 'Really Tony?' looks.

He loved those looks. They made her look so fucking beautiful. She was his beautiful, brave,
brilliant Pepper Potts and she completed him and he really needed some damn coffee if he was
going off track like this.

So, pulling himself out of a pleasant mental image of Pepper in sexy lingerie crawling up their bed
towards him with the sort of dirty, dirty things in mind that you wouldn't have believed the
gorgeous, pure and pretty Pepper could think, the hint of her vast hidden depths that made Tony
love her all the more because she was a challenge and there was far more of her than met the eye,
to explore –

It was at this point that he slapped himself.

"Sir?"

"It's nothing, JARVIS," Tony said, adjusting his trousers. "Um, they aren't Doombots because this
lot behaved nothing like usual Doombots. Also, according to Thor and Loki, magical people
generally avoid fighting around this time of year. Something about it being a time for changes and
being too risky," he said. "Which I think is dumb superstition, but Doom buys into it. And so we
might as well treat it as real when it comes to predicting his behaviour, because he won't risk a
fight around now. Not only that, but his attacks generally have an ulterior motive. I'm not saying
that these don't, because they do, but even Doom generally doesn't just throw robots at us and do
nothing else. SHIELD surveillance says that everything's all quiet with Latveria. Most that's
happened there since July was a spat with Wakanda over Vibranium exports." He frowned.
"JARVIS, save these findings under 'Suspicious Robots'."

"Certainly, sir. That makes a total of 57 unresolved files that you have opened since May, and now
42 which are called 'Suspicious Robots', 'Fucking Horrible Robots', 'Evil Robots' and 'Terminator
Wannabes," JARVIS said. "Perhaps there is a pattern here, sir."

"Maybe," Tony said idly. "I'm off to get a drink."

"Ah, alcohol, the greatest aid to the investigative process known."

"Hey, that's what Hollywood tells us."

"Sir, I would not take scientific advice from the entertainment industry, especially while inebriated.
If you'll recall the attempts to make a lightsaber?"

"I paid for that chandelier and I swear I did not mean to fry that Pekinese."

"You claimed at the time that it was 'looking at you funny'."

"… Well, it was."

"Indeed sir," JARVIS said dryly.

OoOoO

Remus looked half fascinated, half disturbed, and Tony's verbally baring all to a complete stranger.
"Does he know who I am?" he whispered to Loki.

"No. It'll probably take him a few hours of sleep which Pepper will make him take later whether he
likes it or not," Loki replied, lips twitching. "To realise that you aren't a hallucination."

Remus watched as Tony removed a screwdriver from his back pocket and began fiddling with a
now defunct coffee maker. It was no longer used now that Loki was chief coffee maker, but that
didn't stop Tony tinkering with it. Hopefully it wouldn't achieve sentience, grow arms and try to
kill him, but knowing Tony, it was a) probably a vain hope, and b) something he would survive. He
always did. Lady Luck loved him, which meant that he regularly almost died in lots of strange and
interesting ways, some of which Loki would never have never even have thought of. They were
also usually self-inflicted.

This was largely why the Avengers viewed his antics mostly as free entertainment or a warning.

"I'd wonder why James let his son anywhere near such a bad role model," Remus said, watching as
part of the coffee maker exploded in Tony's face and he began swearing in French, Yiddish and
Klingon. "If I didn't know that he was planning to make Sirius godfather of his first child since
about five minutes after they had met and the idea of children occurred to him."

"Tony's not such a bad role model," Loki said.

Remus looked disbelieving and simply pointed at the scorched, dirty and insomnia crazed Tony in
silence.

"Point. He is, in fact, a terrible role model as far as behaviour goes," Loki said, watching Tony
stagger over. "Yes, Tony?"

"Please sir," he said, puppy dog eyes at full blast. A grown man, Remus thought, should not be so
good at that. But then again, this was Tony Stark, who generally regarded rules as convenient
guidelines for targeted disobedience. And Sirius was, or had last time he had seen him, been
equally good at them. "Can I have some more?"

He was holding out the mug and contriving to look very small and pathetic. Then Remus realised
that, in fact, Tony was actually a relatively small man. Not below average height by any means, but
not tall either. People tended not to notice this in the face of the sheer force of the man's
personality.

Loki sighed, and went to make some more coffee. Once Tony was happily caffeinated once more
and would be so for the foreseeable future – Loki had put a refilling charm on his mug to make
sure it wouldn't run out for another hour – Loki returned to Remus.

"Where was I? Oh yes. Role models," Loki said. "It is true that Tony's behaviour is… suspect at
best. And deranged at worst."

"Really? I'd never have guessed," Remus said mildly, as Tony ambled out in search of something
else to prod and poke.

Loki smirked. "Oh, I like you," he said, before adding. "But Tony is an exceptionally kind hearted
man. He hides it under the charm, bluster and bravado, but he also goes out of his way to be good
to people he likes, and, indeed, children in general. I put it to you, Remus, how many of the richest
men in the Wizarding World would put aside an entire afternoon to patiently teaching a child they
barely knew how to do something like fix a car engine, a complex art, I can assure you, and do so
happily and without fuss?"

"Not many," Remus admitted.

"He nearly gave his life to save this entire city. He flew a nuclear missile through my portal at the
Battle of New York and did so in full knowledge that he would die doing so," Loki said. "He cares
for and trusts few because so many, including some very close to him, have betrayed him sorely.
But for an innocent, he will fight an army. For someone he cares for, he will fight ten." Loki
watched Tony's progress through the living room, then gave Remus a serious look. "And for the
woman he loves, if all the warriors, gods and monsters who ever were, are and ever will be, were
arrayed against him, he would fight them all. He would never give up. Never give in. And he
would win. No matter what the cost to himself, he would pay it and call the price cheap."

Remus met his gaze and heard the sincerity in his voice. Loki was telling the truth. "I can see that,"
he said quietly. "Now that you say that. He reminds me of Sirius."

"I am not surprised. They are similar men. Rough on the outside, maybe. Strange, maybe. But they
have hearts of gold," Loki said. "It is not hard to see."

"For you, maybe," Remus said, and smirked. "You're a similar man. Like recognises like, after all."

Loki stared at him.

"It's the same with Bruce and I. From what I have been told and seen, James and Captain America,"
Remus said. "I have a functioning pair of eyes too, you know."

Loki half smiled. "You do. You see much. But you do not see everything," he said. "I am Aesir.
And there is more to me than you could possibly imagine."

Remus shrugged. "Maybe. But what I see says that you understand Tony and Sirius because you
are far more like them than you let on," he said.

"As far as what you see goes," Loki said. "You are not entirely wrong."

The rest of the Avengers filed in at different times. Harry had yawned and sleepily waved at
Remus, before stuffing a croissant in the microwave. It exploded a little, but that was because Tony
had come back in and tinkered with it while Remus and Loki were talking. In most other
households, this would have earned Tony a stern ticking off.

In this household, all they did was make him fix it.

At nine, Pepper came in, saw Tony, sat him down, drank some coffee and ate breakfast while
making sure he ingested something that wasn't liquid, then dragged him off for a shower and some
sleep. While her parents were coming later that day, she wasn't exactly worried since their first
encounter with Tony had been him running around his lab half naked and screaming because his
trousers were on fire, being chased by Dummy, who was wielding a fire extinguisher and beeping
merrily.

Pepper, long used to this and working on automatic, had tripped him, let Dummy put him out, and
apologised to her parents.

Eventually, she had managed to convince them that yes, Tony was insane, but only intermittently
and harmlessly. Well, harmlessly to everyone but himself.

After such a first impression, even Tony would have actually had to try to make it worse, so Pepper
didn't really feel annoyed and pressured into making him more than vaguely presentable. Or at
least, not more than usual.

Sirius and Remus' reunion, when it came, had been an interesting one.

"Padfoot."

"Moony."
There was silence. Awkward silence. What was there to say? 'Sorry I thought you were a traitor
who deserved to rot in Azkaban for over a decade?'

"Hey, guys, if you two are going have hot angsty makeup sex, then give me a heads up because I
want front row seats," Darcy drawled.

Remus' jaw dropped in shock, and Sirius cracked up, neatly breaking the tension.

Thor, watching with some satisfaction, caught Darcy's eye, and she winked at him. It had been
exactly what she intended. Many underestimated Darcy Lewis, not seeing beyond the louche,
flippant and well-endowed exterior. If they were lucky, they had time to regret it.

Speaking of her endowments, Darcy slept in a t-shirt, boxers and not much else. Everyone was
used to it, and even Harry hardly stopped to stare anymore. Though he generally still blushed, as
did Remus. This wasn't surprising, since Darcy did casually sexy in the same way that most people
breathed.

When she'd raised her eyebrows at him, smirked and shifted so that her curves were on full display
and looked over her glasses at him and said, "Like what you see?" He'd flushed even further.

She'd then said, "You know, Thor, all your buddies are actually pretty hot. I mean, Sirius has got
the whole Aragorn look and the gorgeous rogue thing, and this guy, Remus, right? Like the
Roman? Anyway, he's got the whole sexy British librarian thing going for him." She gave him a
critical look. "He seems kinda uptight, but I think he'd be a real animal in the sack."

At this moment, Remus resembled a tomato, something not helped by Sirius' howls of laughter,
Harry's sotto voce giggling and Thor/James' hearty chuckles. Clint, the man who was, surprisingly
enough, Minerva's grandson, was also laughing.

"Seriously he's got the whole Giles vibe going for him," Darcy continued. She smirked. "And I just
want to see the Ripper underneath."

Remus grimaced slightly. "I don't think you would like that, actually."

Darcy paused and eyed him. "Not the wolfy side – and yeah, I found out," she said, on his look of
surprise. "It's on your SHIELD file. And even if SHIELD weren't piss easy to hack, JARVIS likes
me and he hacks SHIELD regularly." She shrugged. "Seriously, I speak for us all when I say that
we don't give a damn what you are. We just care about who you are."

"Thank you," Remus said quietly, rather stunned by this casual acceptance of what he was. Then
again, he thought, these people lived with a man who could turn into something more terrifying
than any were at the drop of a hat.

"No problem. And when I was talking about the Ripper side, I meant the fun side, the party
animal, the one that thinks the dirty thoughts," she said, reaching over to idly play with his tie. She
smirked. "The one that really is an animal in the sack."

She had, it seemed, resumed flirting. So Remus naturally resumed blushing. Especially since her
breasts were in very close proximity and he hadn't got laid in far too many years.

"Darcy," Jane said. "Stop hazing the newbie."

Remus didn't understand the phrase, but got the meaning, and smiled gratefully at Jane, who gave
him a sweet smile in return. Thor's girlfriend was like Lily inverted, in some respects. Instead of
fiery with a sweeter inside, she was sweet with a strong inside. Either way, Remus decided he liked
her just for that.

"But she's right. We just care about who you are," she said, pausing to kiss Thor's cheek, as she
went to grab some cereal.

Thereafter, the rest of the day proceeded smoothly, and Remus found Loki was proved right. Harry
treated him with the same cheerful friendliness he did with all the others, tinged with a bit of
respect. Since the others seemed to form some kind of extended – and vaguely dysfunctional –
family for Harry, even the deadly and vaguely terrifying assassins, he felt rather touched by this.

As he observed, that was a rather common feeling around the Avengers.

OoOoO

After the informal party, which mostly consisted of old friends catching up and Charles Xavier
offering Remus a chance to stay at his Institute and see if he could help with Bruce trying to figure
out a way to control the wolf within, something interesting happened. Hank McCoy came to pick
up Charles Xavier. A fairly innocuous sentence if you didn't hear what happened next.

"Hank! I didn't know that you were in town," Bruce said, shaking the hand of the man who had
come to collect Professor Xavier.

"I was at the party the day before yesterday," Hank replied, revealing a voice that was deep,
educated and kind. "Unfortunately Aldrich Killian collared me for most of the evening, trying to
persuade me to join that wretched think tank of his. Has he bothered you?"

Bruce shook his head. "His money comes from army contracts, and he knows I won't go near the
army," he said.

Hank nodded. "Unsurprising."

"Hank, I'd like you to meet Harry, Thor's son. He's got a few talents that are closer to your fields of
expertise than mine," Bruce said.

"I should think so," the Professor murmured.

"Does he now?" Hank asked. He reached out a hand, which Harry shook.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," he said politely. Now that he got a closer look at the man in front of
him, he could see something interesting. He was tall, middle aged, clean shaven and wore glasses.
Yet he was also unusually powerfully built for an academic, and there was a certain grace to his
movements that Harry had previously only seen in cats and Prince T'Challa. And there was
something else, not something bad… but something off. Like he was wearing a mask. He cocked
his head and frowned.

Then he realised what he was doing, flushed and prepared to apologise. Hank shook his head, eyes
twinkling.

"No need to apologise, young man. And do call me Hank," he said. "It seems, Bruce, that one of
the unusual talents your young friend possesses is that of unusual perception."

"Is that really surprising?" the Professor asked cryptically.

"You're wearing a disguise, aren't you?" Harry asked, voice low, then added hastily, if it isn't too
rude to ask.
"It isn't," Hank said. "Like Bruce, I have my own little secret to hide. Unlike his, I can't hide it by
meditating, so I am forced to resort to the latest in holographic technology."

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Oh, I came to terms with it many years ago."

"No, not about that. I'm sorry that you have to hide," Harry said. Hank's eyes widened, and he
exchanged a brief look with the Professor. "It isn't fair," Harry said, oblivious.

"I'm afraid that is the way the world is," Hank sighed. "But thank you for the thought. It is most
kind of you." He peered closer suddenly, his eyes widened even further than before and he stepped
back. "Oh my stars and garters," he whispered, looking at the Professor. "So that's why –"

"Hank. Not now," the Professor said firmly.

Harry looked puzzled. Bruce was watching carefully. "What?" Harry asked.

"Oh," Hank said, blinking. "It's nothing. I'm dreadfully sorry, but it is just that your eyes reminded
me very strongly… very strongly of an old friend of mine, one who I haven't seen for many years."
His expression sobered. "One I have long thought that I would never see again."

"I hope you find them again," Harry said, a little puzzled by this turn of events, but sincere. Bruce
was giving his friend an interested look.

"Oh, I think I will. I don't think they're all that far away now," Hank said cryptically.

"Hank," the Professor said, tone warning.

"Now," Hank said, smoothly shifting gears. "I heard from Charles who had it from his godson,
Tony Stark, that you have an interest in mechanics, very like the little brother of a good friend and
colleague of mine, Susan Storm. Have you met her?"

Harry nodded. "I do and I have. She's really nice and Tony lets me help work on his cars."

Hank nodded approvingly. "I always like to see the younger generation take an interest in science,
of any form," he said.

"And, indeed, magic is a science in its own way," the Professor added. He mostly seemed, Harry
noted, content to observe.

"Dad says that in Asgard, magic and science are one and the same," Harry said. "Uncle Loki says
that they're very similar, but 'magic is just a tiny bit alive."

"How intriguing," Hank murmured. "I believe we have some time."

"We do," Charles said. "Both our charges are with their families, Logan is away on one of his cross
country trips and Ororo is…" He frowned. "I'm not sure where, actually."

"I believe she is staying with her sister, Vivian," Hank said, and the Professor nodded.

"That's it."

"So, we do have time," Hank said. "Could you tell me more?" he asked Harry.

Harry happily complied, and Bruce left him to his audience.

After fifteen minutes, those who were leaving bid the rest goodbye and Merry Christmas. Hank
rolled his old friend and teacher out into the corridor, down the elevator and towards the car park.
Charles could tell that he was full of questions, but both were silent as Hank carefully put him in
the passenger seat and folded up his portable wheelchair with practiced ease.

As they drove away, Hank broke the silence. "Charles," he said, voice measured. "I take it that you
know exactly who that boy is?"

"I do," the Professor said. "I had been wondering when you would see it." He smiled. "The eyes are
the key, aren't they? I've only seen that shade of green in one other person. It makes them both
rather distinctive."

Hank thought for a moment, then said, "Jean?"

Charles nodded. "Cousins, at least," he said. "Though he does not know, or, if my guess is right,
remember." He shrugged. "Or maybe he does not remember enough."

"They should meet," Hank said firmly. "After all, the poor boy's hardly got any family.

"No," Charles said sharply. "Leaving aside that he's still adjusting to the family he has recently
rediscovered, you know what we're dealing with, Hank. You know exactly why that cannot
happen."

"It seems cruel."

"Maybe," Charles said sadly. "But it is necessary. One wrong step…"

Hank nodded. "Very well. Permit me to register an objection."

"It is noted," Charles said heavily. He brightened slightly. "It is quite something, isn't it?"

Hank smiled. "Indeed it is," he murmured. "Welcome, Harry Potter. Welcome back."

And now, by popular demand, the reveal of Harry's animagus form…

"What's happening?" Sirius inquired.

Harry was meditating in a glowing mystical circle.

"Loki said he was discovering his preferred other form," Carol said. "Whatever that means." She
paused. "I think it's called… an animagus form?"

Sirius nodded.

"You know what that is?"

"You turn into an animal," Sirius said, shrugging. "It's a lot more complicated than that, but that's
the end result."

"Do you get to choose?"

"No. It tends to vary based on your personality, though," Sirius said. "I'm a dog."

He shifted into Padfoot, then back.

"Somehow," Carol said dryly, having seen Sirius in full Casanova mode. Thankfully, it hadn't been
directed at her, or Harry would have been deprived of a godfather. "I'd guessed."

Sirius paused. "Was that a compliment or an insult?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can figure that one out," Carol said, straight faced. "After all: you're hardly likely
to go barking up the wrong tree."

Sirius pouted and began to reply.

Just then, however, Harry began to glow from within, a blinding white light that enveloped him,
veiling him from Carol and Sirius.

"What's happening?" Carol yelled, covering her eyes.

"He's changing!" Sirius replied. "It'll be over soon."

Indeed, the light began to fade, revealing…

Carol frowned. "I thought he was supposed to be an animal."

The man before her was not an animal. Slightly spiky brown hair topped the face of the classic All
American hero, pale skin, with a lantern jaw, cerulean blue eyes and a face made for smiling.

"Umm," Harry said, revealing a strong American accent. "Can anyone tell me what just happened?
What I am?"

Loki poked his head around the door, and raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So you finished the ritual."

"Yeah. Uncle, what the hell am I, and why the hell do I sound American?" Harry asked.

"Your preferred form is, based on your personality, apparently," Loki said, blinking slightly in
surprise and amusement. "Is… Jack Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness."

"I knew I watched that show too much," Harry muttered.

"Nah. Can't be that," Sirius said dismissively.

"Why?"

"Because if it was based on what you'd been watching recently, I'd be Farrah Fawcett."

"I don't want to know," Carol said instantly.

It was a wise decision.

In the end, Harry developed the abilities to a) not die for long ever again, b) look good in period
clothing, and c) be irresistibly attractive to anything that moved, had once moved, or had even
vaguely considered moving once upon a time.

He was very happy. And Jean-Paul was even more depressed that he was straight than ever.

The end.
 Christmas Considering
Chapter Summary

Never one of my best, but it's here, for the sake of completeness.

It was 7 o'clock on Christmas day and Harry woke up with a smile on his face. He was spending
Christmas with his family.

Even the mere thought of that… well, elation wasn't quite the word. Somehow, it was better than
that. His gaze dropped to the end of his bed and the pile of presents. He blinked. It was… well, a
large pile would be understating it.

"Good morning, Mr Thorson," JARVIS said, making Harry jump. "I would like to wish you a
Merry Christmas."

"Thanks JARVIS. Merry Christmas to you too," Harry said, grinning, giggling slightly as Hedwig
fluttered over to his shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately, hooting softly.

"Thank you, sir," JARVIS said gravely. "Mr Stark, Miss Potts, your Uncle, Miss Romanov and Mr
Barton are awake, though Mr Stark and Miss Potts are still in bed."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

There was a slight pause. "I believe Miss Potts is in a particularly good mood this morning, sir,"
JARVIS said eventually.

"Of course she is, it's Christmas!" Harry cried. "But what's the real reason?"

This elicited a longer pause. "I believe that Mr Stark is giving Miss Potts a personal Christmas gift,
sir," JARVIS said.

"Oh, okay," Harry said, shrugging. He smirked. "I was joking, JARVIS."

"If I may say so, sir, you take after your uncle."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir. Your father is a terrible liar."

Harry frowned. "Hang on… don't you believe me? Or do you just think that I was good at hiding
my joke?"

"I could not possibly make a personal comment, sir. After all, I am merely an Artificial
Intelligence, here to assist you," JARVIS said, contriving to sound innocent.

Harry blinked. "I just got psyched out by a computer," he mumbled. Then he shrugged.
Considering who had built said computer, this wasn't surprising.

Then he scrambled over to his presents, dislodging Hedwig. He was still a child after all.
OoOoO

Tony also woke up with a smile, and snuggled up to Pepper in a manner that was so ridiculously
cute that anyone who thought they knew him would have scoffed at the very suggestion. Anyone
who actually knew him, however, would know that Tony had a softer side.

"Good morning Mister Stark," Pepper said softly, tone warm and teasing like it always was. It was
one of the things about her that had made him fall in love with her.

He savoured the way her chest rises and falls as she speaks, then said, "Good morning, Miss
Potts," in his own warm tone.

As he met her cornflower blue gaze, he realised, once again, that he was an extremely lucky man.
Not because of the money or the tech or even his friends, super or otherwise (though they are
pretty good and he is lucky to have them). But because of her. He had the love of a brave, beautiful
and brilliant woman, who somehow, for some unaccountable reason, loved him back. Loved him
back so much, he thought with a slight thrill in his heart, that she wanted to have his child, maybe
even children.

Tony Stark is not normally a man of great introspection, nor is he normally prone to dissecting the
meaning of each personal revelation. He just accepted things and moved on. But the fact that she
wanted to carry his child, to have her biological legacy on this Earth be his as well, to have a baby
with him… that just blew even his incredible mind.

While Tony Stark was not a man of great introspection, he was aware, at least intellectually, that he
had severe issues. One of them being insecurity. The belief that he was never good enough, that he
never deserved what he had, that, in fact, he was worth nothing to anybody.

But Pepper loved him and he loved her. And if she loved him, that means that he is worth
everything to her. Because that is what she is worth to him, that and more. And even if you stripped
everything else away, had everyone else turn away from him, he would stand strong. Because she
loved him.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Potts," he whispered, and kissed her gently on the lips. He can feel her
smile under his lips, and her arms stretch languidly up and behind his back to pull him closer.

"Merry Christmas, Mister Stark," Pepper replied, before smiling mischievously, blue eyes
sparkling with mischief, love and lust. "I want my Christmas present, Tony," she said. Her gaze
flicked up and down his body. "And it's already unwrapped," she says, voice dropping into a
smokier, more suggestive register.

Tony smirked and took a little bit of her the t-shirt she wore to bed between finger and thumb.
"Mine isn't," he said, before grinning. "I always enjoyed the unwrapping."

Anything he was going to say next was smothered by Pepper's mouth, as she pulled him into a
long, hungry kiss.

Pepper Potts once thought that she would never fall in love with someone as sarcastic, careless and
downright weird as Tony. That was before she found out that underneath the sarcasm there was
kindness (and more sarcasm, but of a lighter kind), underneath the carelessness there was an
occasionally irritating degree of protectiveness (though he still had no regard for his own safety,
which drove her up the wall) and underneath the weirdness, there was a down to earth decency and
perceptiveness (or as down to earth as Tony was ever going to get).
And, fuelling both sides of him, the image and the man, was a deep seated vulnerability, one that
the image masked. A deep seated vulnerability that was partially down to Howard Stark, who
Pepper sometimes wished was still alive so she could beat the ever loving shit out of him and show
him the myriad ways in which he had been wrong about Tony.

She never thought that the brilliant, handsome, charming and surprisingly kind (though he
pretended otherwise) billionaire would fall in love with her, his secretary, when he could have
crooked his finger and had practically every beautiful woman (and many beautiful men, for that
matter) in the world flocking to him. Indeed, she had been surprised when she had realised that he
was attracted to her.

She was extremely clever. Not to Tony levels, but well into the 'exceptional' category, which also
unsettled many men. She was tall for a woman, which unsettled many men, especially ones as
relatively short as Tony, and she had the slender figure that went with it. That had led to her being
dismissed on more than one occasion for someone a little further down the alphabet. And she
refused to be pushed around. That above all unsettled many men.

Unsurprisingly, this put her at a polar opposite to most of Tony's conquests, though he wasn't
exactly discriminating.

When she fell in love with him, she realised it was because what many men found unsettling, he
found alluring. Her height didn't bother him in the slightest. He admired her intelligence and
strength of will, encouraging, in a decidedly lopsided Tony Stark way, her interests at every point,
while paying careful attention to her opinions, if not to her objections (because Tony was just as
stubborn as she was, if not more, but at least he'd listen). While it wasn't obvious at first, being
easily dismissed as a symptom of his hatred of structure, it spoke volumes that Tony had trusted
her to de facto run his company within a week of hiring her, and had made her CEO in a heartbeat.

He cared for her because she had stood by him all those years. And he loved her precisely because
she was so different to those who had and would flock to him at the crook of a finger.

They loved each other with all their hearts. So, in life, love and lust, they held nothing back from
each other. And together, such love makes miracles.

Very appropriate, one might say, for Christmas Day.

OoOoO

The third person to wake up with a smile on their face was Thor. Unlike Tony, he was the one
being cuddled up to, largely because he was, well, the larger of he and Jane. He leaned down to
plant a gentle kiss on Jane's brown hair. She was tiny – indeed, if he had to estimate, she was only
marginally heavier than his son, and that because Harry was a) underfed, b) naturally slender. And
that made her all the more precious and wondrous to him.

Because that tiny frame contained a spirit that was bursting with intellect, passion and compassion.
She was small and fragile even by mortal standards, yes, but she refused to let that slow her down.
Thor was constantly amazed by her drive and limitless energy, the desire to succeed that, married
to her genius, had built a functional Bifrost in sixth months where it had originally taken centuries.

Admittedly, this came with caveats: first, she had had the working Bifrost theory, the concept of
the Einstein-Rosen bridge to start off with, something that the original builders of the Bifrost
hadn't had. She had not been blindly feeling her way through the cosmos like the builders of old.
Second, while it had been her work, in Erik Selvig, Bruce Banner and Tony Stark she had been
able to tap into three of the most brilliant minds of any era, the last of whom was practically a
magician when it came to machinery. Third, SHIELD had been able to give her a few pointers.
While not a primarily scientific organisation, Thor was certain that they'd had encounters with alien
life prior to the Chitauri, something only confirmed by Loki interestedly noting that there were
elements of the Kree in the power conduction process. Fourth, power really wasn't an issue when
you had 'the only name in clean energy' backing you up.

But none of that took away from her brilliance, which had the greatest minds in all the Nine
Realms staring in awe and envy, and in some cases, competing to be her praise singer in chief. It
merely made it possible.

Even Loki had tacitly acknowledged her intellect as being comparable to his own – which was
quite something, since the only others he considered to be on a similar level were Tony, Bruce,
Reed Richards, Susan Storm, Hank Pym, possibly Erik and certainly Nicholas and Perenelle
Flamel. Though apparently he had a good deal of regard for the Luthor boy.

And it wasn't just her mind that he loved, her stubbornness and refusal to balked by anyone. It was
her heart. She had a warm, kind and brave heart. She'd taken in a man who she had every reason to
believe was a potentially insane (and, quoth Darcy, 'pretty cut') homeless man, given him food,
drink and a place to stay.

Her bravery had been more than evident when she had not backed down in the face of machine
designed to slay god and monster alike, controlled by a cold, aloof and alien intelligence that had
no care for the lives of innocents and could have destroyed her in an instant. Yet despite that, she
had stayed to evacuate those who had no idea about the doom that was coming for them, the cold
judgement that would be rendered if they stayed.

As for her stubbornness… very few people were willing to stand up to SHIELD and call them out
on, well, anything – for good reason. While Thor respected SHIELD as an ally and knew Fury to
be a friend, aspects of the organisation genuinely unnerved him – and throw away a promising
career in the mainstream of science to investigate the impossible and theoretical, chasing dreams,
mysteries and will o' wisps in the middle of nowhere, taking every piece of criticism and derision
head on.

All of the above traits reminded him of Lily. They were not carbon copies of each other, by any
stretch – Lily was more organised and far more of a firebrand, just for starters – but they were
similar enough to a) be remarkable, b) show Thor that he very definitely had a type.

And in one way, both were just the same. Like Lily, who could have become a Master Potioneer or
a Theoretical Charmer, Jane could have settled for being just a little out of the ordinary. Instead,
she had become incredible.

And, as with Lily, he loved her for it.

"Thor?" Jane mumbled vaguely.

"Good morning, Jane," he rumbled softly. "Merry Christmas."

He could feel her smile against him. "Merry Christmas, Thor."

A Merry Christmas indeed.

OoOoO

Loki had been awake for at least an hour when the rest began to trickle in. He had never been as
much of a morning person as Thor, who could be up and disgustingly cheerful within a second of
sunrise, unless, funnily enough, it was winter. Then he usually rose before the dawn, giving him
time to admire the snow, ice and the crisp, clean cold winds.

Ice and shadow. When amongst them, he was in his element. Though nurture may have turned him
into the man he was today, nature still had her say.

This made him a good friend to have when planning Yuletide pranks or, more recently, plying his
fellow Avengers with coffee to wake them up. It was an attribute that had earned him Tony's
undying admiration.

He'd opened his presents already – a thoroughly ancient treatise on the nature of temporal magic by
Merlin from Thor (probably acquired from the Potter vault), a hoodie made of metamorphic cloth –
all one needed to do was will it and it matched the viewer's imagination – from Harry (it was
currently showing a golden triskelion on a forest green background),

And a coffee machine from Tony. Loki would say nothing, merely only make Tony coffee from
the machine, and decaf at that, until he apologised and the machine disappeared.

Thor came in first, hand casually but definitely resting on the waist of a yawning, somewhat
dishevelled and – though Loki would never, ever admit – rather adorable looking Jane Foster. She
mumbled her thanks when he greeted her and handed her her coffee – black, two sugars - in a mug
that he had long since charmed, like the mugs of all the scientists, to a) be unbreakable, and b)
return to the kitchen if left unattended for more than 45 minutes.

Thor, one of those disgustingly cheerful morning people, guided her to a seat, smiling down at her
and gratefully accepting a mug of coffee – some milk, no sugar - from Loki. He had taken up
drinking it in an earnest attempt to understand the customs of the homeland of his lady love. While
he had had difficulty with the concept of Independence Day and microwaves – no week in the
Tower was complete without a loud bang from the kitchen and a cry of 'Tony/Anthony/Friend
Stark, the microwave has foully consumed my foodstuffs again!' Suffice it to say, Tony now had a
kitchenware company on retainer – he had taken to food and drink with enthusiasm, regularly
snacking on coffee and poptarts.

Indeed, coffee was now gaining popularity in Asgard itself, and Loki entertained himself with the
amusing thought of Director Fury using the threat of an interdiction on coffee supplies to gain
concessions, thereby creating much lamentation in Asgard. It wasn't that he had anything in
particular against Asgardians, indeed, he tirelessly worked for their protection. It was just that the
concept of a caffeine dependent and deprived Asgard, stripped of much of its stuffiness and
dignity, absolutely hilarious.

As for the political question, Thor, and Loki himself, had been least surprised by the two houses of
Congress. As Thor explained to the rest, in Asgard, the Witan was convened, the most powerful
and, supposedly, the wisest, in the kingdom attending to debate issues of great importance.

What it actually was, in Loki's opinion, was a time wasting money sink filled with opinionated
morons that was only retained because it had always been present, the alternative was worse and it
provided a certain entertainment value. Which made it, in fact, exactly like Congress and, indeed,
most other gatherings of politicians. Thor regarded it in a similar fashion, though this was largely
because he regarded red tape as a scourge equal to any marauding monster, and one that was much
harder to hit.

Independence was a thornier issue, but one that had been got around when it was explained to Thor
exactly why the rebels had rebelled. He had then been a bit more understanding, as from an early
age, Thor had had it drummed into him that power was privilege, not a right, and it had sunk in,
even if it had taken quite some time to truly do so.

"An unjust King should not, and usually does not, remain a King for long," he had said, and had
been rather fascinated by the idea of a country being built on a dream, though he worried that those
who took power without being prepared for its burdens were wont to misuse it.

While it was generally accepted that he had a point, Darcy, political sciences degree coming to the
fore, argued that at least the people could usually winnow out the bad eggs come election time, and
even if they proved to be bad, one was very rarely stuck with them for life.

Issues with politics (resolved) and technology (ongoing) aside, Thor had taken very well to
Midgard, throwing himself into exploring it with a boundless enthusiasm that reminded most of a
particularly good natured Labrador.

Loki himself had been more methodical, but Thor had just thrown himself right in, and to this day,
Loki wasn't entirely sure who had the better approach. True, he had a far greater grasp on
Midgard's politics, economics and general idiosyncrasies, but Thor… Thor was more a people
person, discovering the nuances and differences that made life interesting, flinging himself
headfirst into it, a trait he rather shared with Jane. This was possibly because he did not fear
making mistakes, unless someone he loved was at stake. Loki, on the other hand, was terrified of
them.

Maybe, he thought, as Thor placed a gentle kiss on the cheek of his lady love, Thor had the right of
this one. Maybe it was better to act on emotion, to make mistakes and to learn from them. After all,
had he not learned much from his madness? Had Thor not learned much from the love he shared
with his lady fair?

He turned his thoughts away from this contemplative path as Tony sloped in, happily holding
hands with Pepper – Loki resolved to tease him later, just because – and wearing a white hoodie
with a grey wolf's head and the words 'House Stark' on it. Loki rolled his eyes.

He had picked up the book series, and had been pleased by its more realistic take on dynastic
politics than most.

Tony had picked up the book series, and had been pleased by one of the Houses being named after
him.

He'd even gone so far as to personally fund an (admittedly, very good) TV series.

Sirius was proudly wearing his 'I am the God of Tits and Wine' shirt – apparently Harry was on a
Game of Thrones kick. Or, more likely, Darcy was on a Game of Thrones kick and had suggested it
to Harry who had doubtless found it hilarious. It wasn't Tony because Loki knew for a fact that
Tony had bought him a ticket to the Playboy mansion.

At first, the ex-convict seemed to be cheerful and relaxed, if a bit sleepy. But to the trained eye, he
looked around the already cheerfully bickering group and seemed… wistful. Wistful and sad. Loki
had no doubt that he was remembering Christmas's past, when his best friends, Lily and the
Marauders, who as far as Loki could grasp, had been his only real family, had gathered, played
pranks, bickered, yelled, made up and… and were family, really.

Then he grinned and started flirting with Darcy. Though one member of the family he had chosen
was dead, another was a traitor, despite the fact that he had lost twelve of the best years of his life
to one of the worst prisons Loki had ever encountered, and he couldn't return to his homeland
because he still had a price on his head, he could still smile and have fun.
Loki envied him that ability, the way in which he could just set his bad memories and grief aside,
and make some better ones to temper them. It was truly an amazing piece of grace on the part of
whatever power watched over him, rare even among mortals. Yes, Loki thought. Sirius would be
just fine.

As for the other Marauder, Remus, when he entered the room, his gaze immediately settled on
Sirius, and rested there for some time, carefully evaluating. Then, finally, he nodded and settled
down to talk to Bruce. The two seemed to have hit it off rather well, matching temperaments,
strange friends and similar afflictions giving them much to bond over.

Sirius, of course, was practically Tony's British equivalent in many ways, though he'd never been
quite as prolific a playboy. That would have taken some doing, especially in a community that at
least appeared to be somewhat uptight and a large portion of the prominent members were directly
related to him and/or evil and insane. Either way, both found much common ground, and Tony had
a) adopted Sirius as his magical guinea pig, b) cleaned him up and taken him on a whirlwind tour
of New York's night spots, as chaperoned by Pepper.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him not to return with a blonde and a venereal disease, if he returned at
all, it was that she didn't trust him not to end up blacking out half the Eastern Seaboard.

Again.

Suffice it to say that Thor and the National Grid did not mix well.

On the other hand, Loki noted, the jury rigged solution of connecting the now almost fully self-
sustaining arc reactor to the Grid to take up the slack had actually worked surprisingly well and
proven an effective advertisement for its capabilities, rather denting the arguments of Roxxon
lobbyists in Washington (amounting to, 'arc reactors are dangerous/unreliable/unpredictable', their
creator was 'dangerously irresponsible' – there was a grain of truth in that - and, most laughably
considering that this was an oil company, 'ecologically unsound) and cutting through at least five
years of political wrangling and red tape.

Loki had just joined the Avengers as a probationary member at that point, and it had been that
incident that had convinced him that a) the Avengers were definitely worth hanging around with, if
only for their undeniable entertainment value, b) he should learn to conjure popcorn, a delightful
mortal foodstuff, as soon as possible, as it was apparently traditional accompaniment to such
amusements, and c) Tony Stark was far more cunning and rather less eccentric than he let on.

The latter part of point c, about the eccentricity, was occasionally challenged by Tony's acts of
alcohol or caffeine fuelled/alcohol or caffeine deprived insanity, but Loki's judgement that there
was method behind the madness held.

His gaze drifted over as Harry ran in, hugged his father and Sirius, got hugged by Darcy and
Pepper, then hovered uncertainly in front of Jane, began to chatter happily to all and sundry. And as
he came in, it was like everything was suddenly just a little brighter.

Now Harry was an interesting one. He was hardly the glue that bound the Avengers together –
while they all cared for him, it would have been hyperbolic and ridiculous to say that.

No, he was more like a star, connecting each of them together, a centre of gravity to which all were
being slowly drawn, all the while his childish innocence and happiness lit them and warmed them.
He wasn't aware of it, of course, but there was something magnetic about him. In that, he took after
his father. Thor drew companions to him like moths to a flame. And sometimes, just sometimes,
they got burnt.
Lily, Sirius, Remus, even, arguably, Harry himself… and that was just in his mortal life.

In his nigh immortal life, Loki could count himself among the burnt.

Yet, the curious thing was, no matter the suffering, you would always go with them, people like
Thor, and stand by them, regardless of the risks. Even he, Loki, was no exception to that rule.
Though he was predominantly logical, calculating and ruthless, qualities only enhanced by his
return to sanity. Madness may provide great inspiration, but it plays havoc with your probability
calculation, capacity for rational thought and ability appreciate the arts. Though it does do wonders
for your fashion sense. Black, after all, is always in style.

His renewed and re-forged mind, stronger and deadlier than ever, made him even more dangerous.
Madness does not just offer inspiration. It offers perspective.

Yet, now more than ever, when logic would dictate that he should not hurl himself into such
ridiculous dangers, face such unpleasant odds, he faced them regardless, and played his full part in
the Avengers adventures.

Why?

Well, from a logical point of view, it did wonders for his public image, reduced his likelihood of
being Hulk SmashedTM and paid much of the blood price incurred by his depredations on the
Earth.

From an emotional point of view, still fairly rational, it helped assuage his guilt and undo his past
wrongs.

But, with a sinking feeling, he'd realised that even if both of the above criteria were not satisfied, he
would still follow Thor and his similarly magnetic leader, Steve Rogers, into battle.

This was not mere charisma, relying on spoken word and imposition of personality. Loki was more
than familiar with that, indeed, he possessed it in great quantities. Tony did as well, it was one way
of many in which they were very much alike. But there was something about Thor, Steve and, to
some and growing extent, Harry as well. Something about their personality, their very nature, that
inspired loyalty.

It was a valuable trait, the mark of a leader, one that Harry was already becoming, if Loki was any
judge.

His father had been right when he said that Thor would be a great King, but equally, a terrible
statesman, or at least, one not good enough to play the bastards at their own game. Loki was good
enough, simply because he was one of the bastards. The biggest, baddest bastard of them all. In
both senses of the word, literal and pejorative.

Harry had the potential to be like that, indeed, be like both. To be either a great King, in the
fullness of time, or a great statesman, or maybe, just maybe, both. It was unlikely, but not
impossible. At the very least, Loki hoped to educate him and guide him into becoming a Prince
with at least a basic knowledge and understanding of the grim realities of politics, while having his
father's grace, kindness and decency. The best outcome would be for him to maintain the drive and
idealism which was the most striking characteristic of all three, while having the learned the ways
to navigate the dark paths of policy. And he hoped to teach him those lessons before life and
misfortune, the harshest teachers of all, beat him to it.

Because if such a magnetic, and potentially powerful, person were twisted like he had been, then
they would be a truly monstrous threat. And there was a darkness coming, a darkness far beyond
that of the veirdraguar and their master, he could feel it. What it's origin was, he did not know. But
it was undoubtedly terrible, and Harry would need to be ready for it.

Sometimes he thought that Harry might already be subconsciously preparing – while on the one
hand, there was childish innocence, sometimes Loki looked into his eyes and saw a sense of
wisdom and calculation far beyond his years. A blend of his good nature, near death experiences
and mistreatment by the Dursleys, who were now suffering the fate they richly deserved, were
undoubtedly responsible – Loki had seen such responses before. And though it was often a sign of
damage, such people tended to respond well to adversity, due to it being rather less of a shock to
them than it might to some pampered princeling.

He inwardly shook himself. Such things were far off, and while he must keep a vigilant eye on the
horizon, happiness and peace were more immediate.

He smiled as Harry came up to him, green eyes sparkling behind glasses – speaking of which, they
would need to be dealt with. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Loki," he said, so cheerfully childish that
you could almost forget the doom of prophecy that lay upon him, the storms on the horizon and
the dark path he may yet have to tread.

Loki smiled. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

And as Harry thanked him for his present – a golden rune enhanced finish to his Firebolt, which
meant it could now do 450 miles per hour, three times the ordinary top speed, with the requisite
protections from wind shear, and it would had such protection that if it and its rider hit the White
Cliffs of Dover, it would be broom and rider that would come off best – he thought that the speed it
provided, the friendships that were formed and the loyalties he won could yet mean the difference
between life and death.

For now, there was warmth and happiness. For now, it was truly the season of good will. For now.
But every season ended. And Loki would make sure that they were ready for it.
 The Season of Goodwill

Harry was… well, he wasn't sure how best to describe it. Immensely happy didn't even begin to
touch it.

A month or two ago, he'd only had Christmas at Hogwarts to look forward too. This was nice in its
own way, but all of his friends would have gone home for Christmas, and he'd effectively be alone.
He'd become good at being alone. Being the unwanted child/servant in the Dursley household and
having Dudley and his gang drive off anyone who might have wanted to become friends with him
meant that he'd had no choice.

But there is a sizeable difference between being good at something and liking it. While he wasn't
overly fond of large crowds and being fawned on, he liked a bit of attention, and desperately
craved being cared for.

And with the Avengers he had that. His father and uncle were always ready to give him a hug,
something which, Hermione occasionally excepted, he had absolutely no experience with – and
found he rather liked. Bruce and Natasha listened patiently to him, and he knew that they
really understood what it was like to be alone and unloved, as well as what it was like to suddenly
adjust to being valued for who you were. Tony, he suspected, understood more about that than he
let on, and had given him some surprisingly sage advice about fame.

"If you keep running from people, trying to hide, you'll become a mystery. And trust me, kid,
there's nothing more people like than trying to figure out a mysterious hero." He'd given Harry a
serious look. "So play up to it. If you give them a mask to write about and discuss, they won't think
to look further. But if you don't, you'll never get any peace."

"I know," Harry had said, frustrated. He sighed. "Well, I know now." He'd given Tony a mournful
look. "I just want to be left alone to live my life."

Tony had given him a grim half-smile and squeezed his shoulder. Tony normally did not do
physical contact. Normally. "I get that, kid, I really do. But that's not an option." He paused. "Well,
you could fake your death, grow a beard and move to Russia. The women are gorgeous, the
alcohol will kill you within a year and no one cares about your past." He smirked at Harry. "But I
wouldn't recommend it."

"Damn," Harry said, completely deadpan. "Well, I'll have to cross that off the list of plans. And I
was so looking forward to it, too."

Tony grinned, and ruffled Harry's hair. This was actually normal, as universal aversion to physical
contact (not counting Pepper) aside, he'd swiftly discovered that Harry's hair was delightfully
messy and lots of fun to ruffle. You never knew what it would look like next. Harry would put up
with it with good grace and mild complaining, as he actually liked the display of affection and
knew that Tony would be distracted by something else soon enough. "You'll do just fine, kid," he
said.

It was for the above reasons – and the fact that he was hilarious – that Harry honestly liked Tony,
and considered him the cool uncle he'd never had. Or rather, one of them.

Sirius was the second cool uncle of three, Clint being closer to the cool older brother age bracket,
Professor Lupin being his teacher and Bruce being cool but not in a cool uncle sort of way. Loki
was the third, naturally.
Harry hadn't been entirely sure about Sirius at first. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd earnestly
believed Sirius to be a mass murderer Death Eater bent on slaughtering Harry himself. And when
he'd met him, the older man had seemed a little disturbingly obsessed with Harry himself, but after
the first couple of days, had relaxed. His father had explained to him that Sirius, as his godfather,
had felt that Harry was his responsibility and was therefore rather desperate to find out everything
he could about Harry himself. The fact he'd spent 12 years in Azkaban had also apparently left him
a little unhinged, with no regard for his own safety – not that he'd had much to begin with – and a
rather strange outlook on life that hid a very sharp mind.

In other words, he was practically Tony's British counterpart, down to the roguish good looks and
dark hair and troubled upbringing.

However, like Tony, Harry soon grew to like him, as he relaxed and was demystified somewhat,
revealing a sharp, if somewhat kooky, wit, a warm kindness and, frankly, an ability to have fun.
That was something Harry valued in a person. He also didn't seem to care about the whole 'Boy
Who Lived' Thing, which was a merciful relief.

He felt that Harry was special, yes, but only in the way that family does, not in the awestruck belief
that he was suddenly going to start flying, emitting sunlight and thunderbolts from various
appendages and orifices, smiting the unrighteous, then lead the world into a glorious future,
surrounded by a harem of adoring and disturbingly subservient beautiful women.

This was doubly ridiculous on the grounds that Harry was only thirteen, a slightly stunted thirteen
at that, and was only just realising that he wanted to be more closely acquainted with pretty girls. In
other words, breasts were slowly becoming the centre of the universe with him, as with all straight
teenage boys.

Indeed, if you followed Freud's ideas and were a cynic, you might decide adolescence was like
toddler-hood, except the person in question was less discriminating about which breasts were
involved and had a larger vocabulary with which to complain.

While Harry was not showing (so far) any signs of becoming a bratty teenager, something for
which his father was exceedingly grateful, he was showing definite signs of interest in the fairer
sex. Signs that Darcy mercilessly exploited for her own amusement and to give him a taste of
normality. And possibly give him a complex, but that wasn't part of the game plan.

So, in other words, he took Harry as he was: a teenage wizard who could do with some godfatherly
advice/cheerful ribbing when it came to women. And he rose to the occasion magnificently. As did
Tony.

While the net result of this was usually Harry being disturbed/confused/intrigued, and asking
questions such as, "Dad, what's the best kind of lube?" and leaving Thor spluttering and
embarrassed and looking for the perpetrator upon who he would visit the wrath of Asgard, there
was some serious advice mixed in with the jokes.

Such as, there was nothing wrong with being a little assertive, but you had to be careful not to push
when it wasn't wanted, and to be able to read the signs so you could bow out with good grace.
Also, three points in your favour would be an ability to consistently look the girl/woman in the eye,
no matter how impressive her cleavage, an ability to listen, and crucially, to make her laugh.
Preferably on purpose.

This serious advice was primarily why Thor did not have a quiet word with the two about
corrupting his only son and heir, and tolerated the embarrassments that came with it.
Harry himself was mostly unaware of this, it going over his head, though he was aware that Sirius
and Tony considered him an excellent way to embarrass Thor, and as they explained to Thor
himself, Harry actually asked far fewer embarrassing questions in public than he might have done.

Harry Thorson né Potter was many things. Stupid was not one of them.

He was somewhat confused, however, by Natasha. She was extremely nice to him, in a somewhat
reserved way, as shown by the fact that he was just about the only person who could hug her
without explicit permission and get away with all their limbs attached, and the fact that she usually
smiled more when he was in the room. Yet she also maintained that she wasn't a good person,
which, in Harry's opinion, was bullshit. But she was unrelentingly kind to him, in a way that he
could hardly have hoped for outside of close friends and close family, Dursleys notwithstanding.

And there was something about her that triggered two different impulses, confusing Harry even
more. First, she was absolutely beautiful, redheaded, smart, strong willed and badass, thus playing
straight into Harry's interests. Also, her figure would have had any straight man turning his head.
Second, she was red haired, green eyed, pale skinned, about the right physical age and treated him
something like a surrogate son, thus reminding him of his half-memories of his mother.

The result was something of a mental short circuit for Harry, which he dealt with in the manner of
teenagers faced with problems everywhere: pretend it isn't there and hope it goes away.

Bruce he liked, simply because he was kind, quiet and extremely patient, which suited Harry when
the others were getting a little too exuberant, as sometimes happened. He was also a good listener,
a wise adviser and possessed of a dry, but not scathing, wit. It also helped that, to the bafflement of
everyone but Tony, Harry regarded the Hulk as a Big Friendly Giant, and basically, a big softie.

This was borne out by the fact that the Hulk honestly seemed to like him, referring to him as 'Little
god'. This might have been down to the fact that the Hulk was very protective of children, young
women and the vulnerable in general, and any villain who threatened them generally had to deal
with being Hulk Smashed into the bedrock.

While this came across to Harry and any who did not do their homework on Bruce as heartwarming
and the product of the Hulk's better nature, those who did do the homework found something
different: Bruce's father had been physically and emotionally abusive to both wife and son, with all
the evidence pointing to the fact that he murdered his wife in a drunken rage while a young Bruce
watched, unable to do anything to stop it.

For those who dug even further, SHIELD had suppressed reports that implicated Bruce in his
father's death, in what was almost certainly a case of self-defence at his mother's grave. Psych
reports from the original arrest of his father suggested that he felt both he and Bruce were
condemned as 'monsters' and both should die.

Despite the dark cause, the result was that Harry had another immensely powerful protector who
he was not averse to hugging, to the dismay of many and amusement of some.

As for Steve, well, he just plain liked Steve. It was pretty much impossible not to. He was
unfailingly nice, very patient, and an excellent target for pranks, so long as one was careful not to
steal his shield, damage the old picture of the beautiful woman by his bedside or indeed any of the
things from his past and never, ever to touch his drawing materials. Anything else was fair game.

But one thing the bonded over was missing mothers and difficult childhoods. Though Harry had
extreme difficulty grasping the concept that Steve had once been even tinier and scrawnier than he
was, as a grown man to boot, even when being confronted with visual evidence, both Steve's
obvious pain over the mother he had lost as a child and his stoic and matter of fact explanation that
his mental map of Brooklyn mostly consisted of dingy alleyways where he'd been beaten up by
either a bully who was bored or a bully he'd stood up to.

Darcy was warm, friendly, funny and, though he blushed to think about it, very attractive indeed.
Any other thoughts from there, save that she was a good friend who his other good friends
considered a very good friend, quickly took a turn for the embarrassing yet pleasant.

And Jane…

Jane was the one he was most conflicted about, and probably, knew the least.

On a personal level, he got on with her pretty well. She had a fair few funny stories about his dad,
she was charming, clever, a little odd, but in a good way.

However, she was his father's girlfriend, when Harry still mentally associated his father with being
married to his mother. This led to a little confusion.

He was also not sure to act around her.

Did he treat as a surrogate mother? Not on current evidence. She seemed to be unsurprisingly
awkward about the fact that she was close enough in age to be his big sister rather than his mother,
and it was a feeling Harry shared.

Did he treat her as a sort of older sister? Maybe, but that would make the fact that she and his father
might well have kids more than a little weird and disturbing.

Or did he just treat her as a friend? Maybe, but again with the awkward – 'oh, she's just a friend
who's banging my dad' awkward.

In the end, the two had mostly avoided each other by mutual consent, something which bothered
Thor.

"I do not understand," he complained. "They like each other well enough."

"Maybe Harry's got the hots for his future step-mom," Tony suggested, shrugging. Pepper glared at
him. "What?" he asked. "It could happen. Jane's pretty, he's a teenage boy, and she's not much
older than him in relative terms. Also, his best female friend is a brunette brain box."

"Who he is about as sexually attracted to as he is to mould," Loki said. "He would undoubtedly
find the suggestion of being attracted to her rather strange, and being attracted to Jane even
stranger, and rather more disturbing."

"It is plausible though," Bruce admitted.

Thor looked troubled. "I'm… I'm not sure what to say to that."

"I disagree with that, actually," Pepper said seriously. "I don't think that he's remotely interested."

Natasha and Clint both nodded their agreement.

"And I also. Fear not, brother. Your son has no designs on the virtue of Lady Jane," Loki said
dryly. "And I do not see any attraction, though I would not rule it out entirely." He shrugged. "After
all, I think all the men in this room can agree that at Harry's age, our tastes were not discriminating,
save for eliminating most very close friends and all close relatives."
There was a series of nods from the men in the room. "Definitely," Sirius said soberly. "I was a
randy little bugger back then."

"You still are, Padfoot," Remus said, with tired amusement. Only that morning Sirius and Darcy
had stumbled into his room, in his bed, so deeply… engrossed in one another that they hadn't
noticed that they were not only in the wrong room and the wrong bed, but it was occupied.

"Semantics."

"I'm not sure about Loki," Pepper said. "But I think that the reason they're avoiding each other is
because they aren't sure how to treat each other."

"Classic response when people are unsure in a social situation: avoid the issue, and if necessary,
avoid each other," Natasha said, shrugging.

"Surely they know to treat each other with civility and friendship?" Thor asked, puzzled.

"They do," Clint put in. "From what I've seen, they get on okay." He shrugged. "Not every
friendship is a close one, big guy."

"This is true," Thor allowed. "But I had hoped that they would become closer."

"It is early days yet," Loki said calmly. "I am sure they will come to get along." He examined his
fingernails. "Indeed, as we speak, I and JARVIS have managed to get them in a room together."

Tony leered in a perfunctory fashion, and got smacked by Pepper.

Ignoring this, Loki continued, "I told Harry that Jane wished to speak to him, JARVIS told Jane
that Harry wanted to talk to him. Things shall, or so I imagine, go from there."

"Not very subtle," Natasha noted.

"They would expect subtle from me," Loki countered. "And sometimes, simple suits better."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Steve said.

Loki shrugged. "I am a changed man," he said simply.

The rest of the Avengers accepted this. After all, Loki's atonement was pretty well advanced and he
hadn't tried to kill them during it. Indeed, he was a model, if mischievous and sarcastic, citizen.
Tony, however, snorted and Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly, but neither said anything more.
Like recognises like. Loki had not really changed all that much. The only differences between Loki
as is and Loki as was happened to be sanity and an appreciation for love and the value of life. And
the loss of the first could make him lose the latter two.

However, this was not about Loki. This was about Harry and Jane, and the conversation returned to
that subject. And as it did, another conversation, involving the two subjects of that conversation,
played out in a room a couple of floors down.

OoOoO

"So… you wanted to talk to me?" Harry asked. He was sitting down on one of the stools in Bruce,
Jane and Erik's lab.

"Um, actually, I thought you wanted to talk to me," Jane said, frowning in puzzlement as she
leaned against one of the work tops.
There was a pause. "Who told you?" Jane asked.

"Uncle Loki. You?"

"JARVIS."

There was a silence.

"Did JARVIS say what I wanted to talk about?" Harry asked.

"Apparently, you wanted to clear the air."

"Uncle Loki didn't tell me that," Harry said, frowning.

"Maybe he thought you wouldn't come if he did?"

Harry acknowledged this.

"Now that we're here, since Loki, JARVIS and probably Thor too, want us to talk so bad, we might
as well talk," Jane said.

"Maybe," Harry said, idly kicking his feet and staring at them.

"What's bothering you?" Jane asked eventually. "About me."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know," he said, looking up. He paused. "Well…"

"Come on. You might as well say it. I'm not going to be mad," Jane said. "Hell, I was half
expecting you to be mad at me."

Harry gave her an odd look, then said, "Well, it's just… I never really knew my parents. I never got
the chance to, until dad came back. And whenever I thought of them, even when I didn't know
what they looked like, I thought of them… together." He fidgeted. "All the photos and their friends
did was give them faces and names. One came with the other, you know?"

Jane nodded. "I understand that," she said. "I've been where you are."

Harry's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"Not exactly where you are. But my parents split up when I was eight, you see? It was fairly
amicable, like exchanging Christmas and birthday cards and being polite when they met up, but…"
Jane said, trailing off. "They split up. They didn't love each other anymore. And I didn't get that."
She shrugged. "Anyway, I went with mom. She got married again, had another kid pretty quickly –
he's in college now – and… well, I always felt awkward around my step-dad. I mean, I was quite
young, so for me, there was dad and not-dad. Yet not-dad was supposed to be dad."

She shrugged. "I was a pretty confused kid. And an angry one too. I blamed my step-dad for my
parents breaking up when they didn't meet until after the divorce," she said. "But as I got older, I
realised that this wasn't true. Both my parents were, and still are, happy. Dad is in a long term
relationship with a really nice woman, and Mom's still married to step-dad. Neither my step-dad
nor my dad's girlfriend pretend to be replacing my parents, and we all get on."

She paused. "And this sounds like I'm trying to convince you to like me and not resent me, doesn't
it?"

"A little, but I get that you understand," Harry said calmly.
"Really?" Jane asked, surprised. Then again, maybe she shouldn't have been. Harry seemed to take
a lot of things, like being the son of a genuine Norse god, in his stride. Then again, he'd probably
had practice.

"You sound like you do, and no offence, you don't come across as a very good liar," Harry
explained. "And it does explain why you thought I'd be mad at you."

"Um, thanks, I think," Jane said, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, what I'm
trying to say is that I'm not going to try and take your mom's place, Harry," she said. "I know it
may look like it, but I'm really not." She half smiled. "To be honest, I'm actually a little worried
about not living up to her."

Harry gave her a surprised look. "Really?"

"Hey, she was married to him and they loved each other so much that they had you," Jane pointed
out. "And when she died, he went mad from grief." She paused. "That's not a good thing, you
understand, but…"

"I think I see what you're getting at," Harry said slowly. "Because dad was so… dramatic?" He
shrugged and carried on. "Over mum, and she inspired all that in him, you're worried that you
won't be able to equal that and always be in her shadow."

"Pretty much," Jane sighed. She was silent for a moment. "You're pretty perceptive for a teenager,"
she commented.

Harry shrugged. "I notice things. I always have," he said simply. "And it's happening more and
more as time goes by."

"That's a useful gift."

"Maybe," Harry said flatly. "But it comes with a price."

"A price?"

"You don't always like what you see."

"That's true with everything," Jane pointed out. "For instance, I'm really good at astrophysics,
right?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I don't always like what I see in my calculations. For instance, after your dad left Earth after
we first met, I managed to figure out that the Bifrost wasn't being used on Earth. For whatever
reason, he wasn't coming back," Jane said quietly. "And then I found out after New York, thanks to
SHIELD's recording equipment, that he didn't return by Bifrost, which meant that something was
wrong. And since he went back by Tesseract, I figured that something was wrong with the Bifrost."

"So what did you do then?"

"I built my own Bifrost," Jane said simply.

Harry's jaw dropped. He'd never seen the Bifrost, but he'd heard stories from his father and the
others of just how powerful it was and how hard it had been to build first time round.

"It took a while, a lot of hard work and a lot of luck, plus the fact that SHIELD, though they can be
a bit creepy, do have a lot of nice tech, but I did it," Jane said. She smiled at Harry. "The good
thing about being able to see if something's broken or something's wrong is that you're halfway to
fixing it."

Harry looked thoughtful. "I suppose so," he said. "But what if some things can't be fixed?"

Jane paused for thought. "Maybe some things can't be fixed completely," she said. "But sometimes,
even a little bit is enough."

There was a pregnant pause. And speaking of pregnancy, Harry asked, "Are you and dad going to
have a baby?"

Jane's jaw dropped and she shook her head vigorously. "Hell no!" she said. "Or at least… not yet."
She glanced at Harry. "One of the reasons I've been a bit awkward around you is because… well, I
don't think I'm ready to have kids. And your dad knows that and respects it."

Harry nodded.

"Why? Were you going to get jealous?" Jane teased.

Harry grinned. "Maybe a little. Who would pay me attention then?"

"I hardly pay you any attention at all," Jane pointed out dryly. "Or at least, not before now."

"Yeah, but if there was a new baby, dad would have less time to obsess over me," Harry said,
smirking.

"Most teenage boys would consider that a good thing."

"My dad's family were and in some cases, still are, worshipped as gods. I have magical powers, a
hero complex and an amazing inability to die. What part of this is remotely like 'most teenage
boys'?" Harry asked.

"If you'd met my little half-brother, you'd take the amazing inability to die off that list," Jane
replied dryly. "He has no sense of self preservation."

"Really?"

"Yup. He's a real daredevil sometimes."

"Sounds like fun," Harry commented.

"Maybe," Jane said. "But I can't help but worry for him."

"You get on well with him?"

"I do. We don't talk much, but it's a good not talking: we're both busying doing the things we love
–"

"One of those being my dad."

Jane grinned and blushed slightly. "Yes, he's one of them. Don't interrupt and don't try and
embarrass me, I've had Darcy, Tony and Loki doing it for years. They're pros."

Harry was a polite young man, so he was quiet. He also took it as a challenge.
"Anyway, we both do what we love and yeah, our interests are pretty different. But that doesn't
mean we don't love each other and respect each other for it," she continued, then shrugged. "We
just don't feel the need to talk all the time."

"Okay," Harry said, puzzled but going with it.

Jane caught his puzzlement and smiled. "You'll get it when you're older."

There was another silence.

"So," Harry said. "We've cleared the air."

"Yup."

"Do we start treating each other normally?"

"Define normal."

"Good point."

Another silence.

"We could at least try," Jane said, shrugging.

"Well, we can see what's wrong," Harry said dryly. He smiled. "Yeah. We can try."

"Shake on it?"

Harry nodded, sticking out his hand, which Jane solemnly shook.

"You do realise this won't make it not awkward overnight, right?"

"Yeah. But we may have to explain that to dad."

Jane smiled. "I think we can both do that."

And Loki, on the other end of the listening spell, smiled.

OoOoO

In South London, it was a cold, sunny day. However, the weather had little bearing on the mood of
the city, except to lighten the nervousness somewhat. MI6 had been destroyed, its headquarters
gutted by fire and darkness.

The official story was that there had been a tragic accident that caused a fire, but the fact that
bystanders had spotted three of the Avengers, including Loki, arriving on the scene less than half
an hour after the first flames caught raised suspicions among the populace. Eyewitness reports said
that he and Hawkeye had entered the building, then come out with a group of injured and
frightened looking people.

Further rumours said that it looked like something in the wreckage had hurt Loki, and hurt him
badly, something backed up by the fact that he'd immediately summoned the Bifrost.

And the rumours that strange, deathly pale figures had been seen flitting through the destroyed
building, darting from shadow to shadow and preying on the unfortunate guests, only made things
worse.
Especially since no one could explain why both two groups of transients had disappeared, leaving
only dried blood and tiny, unsettling shards of human bones behind, and a young family had been
eaten down to the bone and beyond, with bones cracked open to suck out the marrow within. At
least one of the latter had been trying to escape. Trying to escape from what, no one knew, but it
was clearly something terrible.

Once, they would have been dismissed. But now, the magic was coming back to the world. And
not all of it was good.

So, while no one said anything, things changed:

Fewer people went out at night, fewer still alone.

More religious symbols were worn, churches filled even beyond the expected Christmas
congregation levels, Mosques and Synagogues filling at a similar rate as a frightened populace
clung to its faith and familiarity, resurrecting ancient pre Christian superstitions in the hope of
warding off the monsters.

And none of them dared go near the shadows.

That may have been why this building was not remarked upon.

It was a dark building. Not squat and menacing, or tall and intimidating, but simply dark and
unassuming, like the clothing of a strict Puritan. And much like a strict Puritan, it was austere,
somewhat boring and generally avoided in favour of something more interesting.

Since London had essentially been built on the instalment plan, then caught fire, been rebuilt on
the ruins amongst what had been left, with new bits being added as time went by, there was
invariably something more interesting. And now, people associated larger and familiar with safer.

This suited its purpose quite well. Because deep underneath lay a meeting room, one of the most
secure in the world. From within, one could survive several apocalypses. It was codenamed 'The
Crystal Cave'.

"The meeting is convened," the chairwoman said. She was plain. Not bad looking, simply
unremarkable, with dark hair, dark eyes and slightly tank skin. But if you looked into her eyes, you
would see the gleam of something formidable. If she let you, of course. And only if you knew what
to look for. The best disguise is, sometimes, a state of mind. "The heads of MI5 – standing for both
MI5 and MI6 in lieu of a successor, MI13, DGSE, BND, FSB, MSS, CIA and SHIELD, standing
for Britain, France, Germany, Russia, China and the United States of America, are present."

She looked around the room. "As you all know, UN protocol dictates that in the case of attack by
an organisation that can bring metahumans of any kind under its command and is judged to have
international goals and reach, the following are called to meet: the foreign intelligence agencies of
the permanent members of the UN Security Council, any other significant powers in the region,
and the internal intelligence and superhuman intelligence agencies of the attacked nation: MI5 and
MI13."

"And the presence of SHIELD?" the head of the FSB asked.

"SHIELD has both intelligence on the attackers and unique ties to the Avengers, whose assistance
may yet be required," the chairwoman replied smoothly. "Hence the presence of Director Nicholas
Fury."

The Russian nodded, disgruntled but accepting.

"I now yield the floor to Director Fury, who has intelligence on the enemy that threatens us all,"
the chairwoman said.

"Thank you, Madame Chairwoman," Fury said. He swept the room with a look. "I will not waste
time on niceties, pretty words or exaggerations. I will cut the quick." He looked grim. "HYDRA is
back, and with enough power and influence to deploy trained paramilitary soldiers, control some
kind of mutated werewolves, and two matters that are vying for worst of all. First, they were
behind the destruction of MI6, as confirmed by the Avengers and SHIELD operatives, controlling
a breed of necromantic construct that was thought destroyed four thousand years ago called
the veidrdraugar.Norse nightmares, you might say."

He paused. "To give you an idea of the threat they pose, one of them got under Loki's guard during
a sweep of MI6, when he was expecting it, and nearly ripped his throat out. The reason they were
wiped out? They nearly drove the Asgardians extinct."

In another room, that would have caused murmurs, gasps and shared looks. In this one, it only
caused carefully smooth faces.

"Second, HYDRA have rediscovered and managed to control the Winter Soldier."

That got more of a reaction, though not much. An involuntary frown or blink, here and there. But in
this circle, it was as good as shouting. The veidrdraugar were an unknown threat. But if you
moved in these circles, you'd at least heard of the Soldier. And what he was capable of.

"This is confirmed?" the Director of the CIA asked steadily.

"The current interim Director of MI13, Agent Peter Wisdom, encountered the Soldier during his
destruction of one of three MI13 bases in South Eastern England," Fury said, nodding at the
bandaged and slightly pained looking man in the seat beside him. "Despite having strong
superhuman abilities that you, our colleagues, know of, he was barely able to escape with his life."
He glanced at Wisdom. "I yield the floor to him."

Wisdom stood painfully, nodding his thanks to Fury. "I won't mince my words," he said, revealing
a rough London accent, one that had a tinge of class underneath. No one, save Fury, was quite sure
why this was, or even who Agent Wisdom was. He had turned up just over twelve years ago as
Fury's protégé, and risen through the ranks of MI13 ever since, earning a name for himself as a
deadly hunter of monsters and superhuman criminals too dangerous to incarcerate.

"The Soldier and his team broke into my compound at 22:47. By 23:08, I was the only person, save
the Soldier and all of his strike team save one man, alive in that bloody building. I managed to drop
one of them. The insignia was HYDRA all right. I leant forward to examine it, and that's all that
stopped the Soldier's bullet taking my head off," he said bluntly. "The stories weren't wrong, either.
I saw that man drop three good operatives with a pistol in half as many seconds, from ninety
metres, without even missing a step. He barely even looked their way. I also saw him punch
through a titanium door with his bionic arm, which has only been improved over time."

He grimaced suddenly and clutched at his side. "The only reason he missed me was because I
moved. My command was dead, so I ran for my life. He caught up with me. I managed to get rid of
his gun." He touched his side. "That was where he nearly caved me ribs in with one punch from his
left hand. The only reason he didn't was I managed to dodge and move with it. It was only a
glancing hit, but I've still got four ribs shattered by that bastard."

"How did you escape?" the Frenchman asked.

"I threw a hot knife at his face mask, got beyond the range of the wards while it was on fire, and
used my emergency teleport to get me the hell out of there," Wisdom said grimly. "I landed in Hull
of all bloody places. Thought I'd gone to Hell and they'd got a letter wrong."

That raised a soft susurration of laughter.

He smirked, then added darkly. "But that wasn't it. Somehow, the Soldier tracked me. He followed
me and winged me. He must have got new orders, because now he wanted me alive. I teleported
again, with all I had left, and ended up on the SHIELD Helicarrier. He didn't follow me there." He
looked grim. "And that's not the worst of it." He nodded to Fury. "I yield the floor to Director Fury,
because he has more intelligence and me ribs are bloody killing me."

He sat down.

Fury stood again. "HYDRA have magical people at their disposal. At least one powerful
necromancer, and by powerful I mean a high Alpha, if not an Omega, class threat, and possibly
several Death Eaters. For those who don't know, the Death Eaters were the servants of the not quite
as dead as we would like Dark Lord Voldemort, who hated non-magical people and magical
people of non-magical heritage. Many of them were rich, of what the magical people call 'pure
blood', so escaped justice, largely by claiming they were mind controlled. As a collective, they
wield formidable magical power. Enough to break the wards at MI13, and enough to track Agent
Wisdom's magic based teleport. If nothing else, they can bring to bear significant political and
financial influence, and if a powerful former Death Eater called Lucius Malfoy is involved, a spy
network across Europe, Asia, and the Americas."

He looked around the room. "Yes, they are focusing on Britain at the moment. I believe that they
are trying to carve out a home base in the South East, if not in London itself, trying to sneak under
the radar. I believe that the veidrdraugar, near invulnerable pack hunters, stealth specialists, are
not going to be confined to one part of the world, they're too powerful for that," he said. "And I've
been contacted by Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. Some of you may have encountered him,
all of you will have files on him."

There were general signs of acknowledgement.

"He has been quiet for most of the last decade, when he aided us in the first fight against Dark Lord
Voldemort," Fury said. "And before that, we only had sporadic contact going all the way back to
World War II, where he acted on a grander scale, simply because it was a grander scale conflict.
His pattern, such as it is, is to turn up whenever there is serious trouble brewing. He appeared to
consult with us on several cases, and has been dropping hints. Hints that worry me." He grimaced.
"And I don't think that it's a coincidence that this all happens a month or so after the sudden reveal
of the fact that Thor has a son. A son who was responsible for the fall of Dark Lord Voldemort."

He began to pace. "There was a prophecy about the kid. It goes on and on, but it boils down to the
fact that he's the only one who could defeat Voldemort," he said. "Now, I think that is bullshit,
because I have seen both Voldemort and Loki in action, and I can tell you that Loki would smoke
his ass in ten seconds, five if he wanted it over real quick." He folded his arms. "But. That depends
on Voldemort being as he was before. If he was re-embodied as some kind of undead being, in an
ascension that parallels Thor's from his time as a mortal, where he conceived the previously
mentioned son, then he could be a real threat."

"Your point, Herr Director?" the German asked.

"My point is that this is all connected. I think that Harry, the prophecy kid, turning out to be Thor's
son, lit a fire under the collective ass of the Death Eaters, particularly Lucius Malfoy, their leader,"
Fury said. "Voldemort's spirit has been active these last couple of years, and he think he took the
two things as a sign to act. I think he allied with HYDRA, gave them the funding, contacts and
magical firepower they would need, and pointed them at the rest of the world."

He saw a few sceptical gazes. These were not people who gambled lightly.

"I know. Ropey as theories go. HYDRA have been a problem since the Red Skull went down and
WWII ended, but we've had them under control. The Death Eaters have got a cushy lifestyle, if
they dodged jail. Why would they ally with a weak and apparently spent force of the people they
claim to disdain?" Fury asked.

He paused. "It holds up if you realise that Lucius Malfoy and Baron Von Strucker are past
associates, going back to the first fight with Voldemort. I weighed in against Voldemort, bringing
elements of SHIELD and MI13 with me. Malfoy, Voldemort's spymaster and general mover and
shaker, countered with HYDRA. They have a record of working together in the past that cannot be
denied. But that isn't all. We got a tip off from Malfoy's kid, who apparently heard what happened
at MI6 and freaked big time. That's how the Avengers and SHIELD were first on the scene. We
knew what had happened and who was behind it less than twenty minutes after it happened."

"HYDRA does have a reputation for global aims," the director of MI5 said quietly. "And let us not
forget that SSR, the organisation that thwarted them, was succeeded primarily by SHIELD and
MI13. Other members shaped the paths of the superhuman defences of other allied nations, as I am
sure my colleagues will know. They have proved a point by breaking the power of MI13 in
Southern England. It will take us months to reorganise, at least."

He grimaced. "I fear that MI13 was the practice run." He looked at Fury. "Practice for destroying
SHIELD."

"What does Malfoy gain from all this?" the Russian asked. "What is the, how do you Westerners
say… ah yes. Quid pro quo."

"My theory is that Malfoy wants the opportunity to extend his own influence through Britain once
more, something which MI13 blocked, and to grease the path for his master's return. He has a
necromancer powerful enough to do it," Fury said. "Not only that, but there are two other things to
take into account. One, he has a personal grudge against SHIELD. Me, to be precise. Two, he is
known for his strategies of deception and misdirection. If it hadn't been for Agent Wisdom's
escape, we would have known nothing about what we faced save what we learned from Loki at
MI6, and we probably wouldn't have found out about MI13's loss for a good while. I get the
feeling that he's using HYDRA to draw our eye. And to put it out."

"Some of us would know more about that than others," the Frenchman muttered, smirking, getting
amusement from some, and a frown from his Chinese counterpart.

Fury gave him a cold look. "Yes. I would know more about it than you. Including about how it is
fast, shocking, agonising, cuts off a lot that you unconsciously depend on, puts you off balance and
leaves you vulnerable for a long time," he said, silencing the room. "Malfoy put out my eye,
actually. In return, I gave him a limp and set his house on fire. That is more than enough reason for
him to want to destroy SHIELD in particular, and the rest of you in general."

That silenced the room.

"In summary," Fury said. "MI6 is down, MI13 is crippled. The Winter Soldier is loose and under
HYDRA command. They have powerful magic, werewolves that can shift outside of the Full
Moon, magical super-zombies dangerous enough to bite through Loki's arm down to the bone and
whose very name sent him running to Asgard to stop the Allfather obliterating us, because they
nearly destroyed Asgard when they were last active."

That caused some worry.

"Thankfully," Fury said quickly. "Odin seems to like us, rate us highly, or he has a game plan in
place, because, with a little convincing that we can track them if they hunt, which we can. In the
meantime, he's sending four of his best and brightest to hunt them down while they're still short on
numbers."

He looked around the room. "Malfoy and HYDRA have plans, ambition, and the cash and power
to back it up. We can stop them. But we need to work together on this or they will take us apart one
by one."

"You propose co-operation?" the Chinese man asked. "Under what conditions?"

"We pool resources. all share everything we currently know on HYDRA, the Soldier and the Death
Eaters. I know we can't prove the involvement of any but HYDRA, and even then, known HYDRA
members could claim it was imitators," Fury said. "So we don't try. We find them and we destroy
them. It's that," he said bluntly, standing up. "Or they destroy us."

"And afterwards?" the Russian asked.

"Afterwards we get back to business as usual," Fury said. He was lying, or at least in part. After all,
you can do more as part of a group than alone. "Are we agreed?"

There were a few brief shared glances.

"We're in," the head of the CIA said.

"Count us in too, or what's left. I'm want to give those HYDRA bastards a right bloody kicking,"
Wisdom muttered.

"British soil has been attacked, as have her citizens," the head of MI5 said steadily. "My agency
and my government wants revenge. Can you give it to us Director Fury?"

"It would be my honest pleasure," Fury said.

The head of MI5 nodded. "We're in."

"And the rest of you?"

There was silence, then the Chinese representative answered for all of them. "Trust, but verify. We
want to assess this threat ourselves before committing."

"Understandable," Fury said. "But make it quick." He glanced at the Chairwoman and nodded.

She stood. "The meeting is adjourned."

"I hope they decide fast," Wisdom commented, as the other spies got up to leave. "Or we'll all be
buggered."

"We might well be buggered anyway," Fury said grimly. He paused. "And seriously, do you have
to do the accent all the time? It's fine normally, but when you're around me, it sounds like you've
dropped Britain in a blender!"
"Aye, I do, even if it makes me sound a bit of Berkeley Hunt," Wisdom replied, slipping into a
hilariously bad Glasgow accent before revealing a more cultured accent, verging on a drawl.

"Yeah well, try and tone it down," Fury growled. "It pisses me off." Of course, as he well knew,
that was exactly why Wisdom did it.

"Sure," Wisdom said, with a complete lack of sincerity. He smirked. "Now, where are the apples
and pears?"

"And I thought your brother was bad," Fury muttered.

"No. Just mad."

Fury glowered at him. "Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"I am and I know that I'm probably zombie chow," Wisdom said, standing up and wincing. "Which
is why I feel the need to have a bit of a laugh while I still have the lungs to do it with."

Fury couldn't deny that.

 Power and Preparation

Lucius glanced up at Baron Von Strucker as he strode in, looking thunderous. A tad ironic, Lucius
thought, considering their enemy. "Ah, Wolfgang," he said calmly. "How pleasant to see you."

Von Strucker wasted no time on pleasantries. "We have been discovered, Lucius."

"Really, Wolfgang?" Lucius asked dryly. "I hadn't noticed. I mean, the constant probing attempts
on my wards, the quiet disappearances of five of the dimmer Death Eaters and the fact that the
Soldier has been working overtime to make sure the rest don't die through sheer foolishness hadn't
given me even the slightest hint."

"Your servant has ruined everything!" Von Strucker snarled.

Lucius gave him a cold look. "Gravemoss is not my servant, Baron," he said, dropping the pleasant
tone. "He was my ally. Now, since I know what he truly is, he is my pet monster. I merely now
have to make sure I keep a tight grip on his leash." He sighed. "True, his excesses have attracted
the attention of many I would rather have avoided," he admitted. "And while those excesses were
unforeseen, I should perhaps have examined his civilised façade more carefully."

"And your mistake threatens to destroy the work of years, Lucius, years," Von Strucker growled.
"Do you know how long it took to rebuild HYDRA into something resembling the force it ought to
be? Decades! All wasted! Because of you!" He shoved his gauntleted right arm at Lucius' face,
only stopping just short of touching him. The Satan Claw was a quasi-mystical artefact, gifted to
HYDRA by Baron Blood. It had many properties, including the granting of superhuman strength to
the wearer, and the ability to absorb lifeforce from its victims on physical contact. It was a
fearsome weapon.

Yet Lucius didn't even blink.

"Get that blasted claw out of my face, Baron, it doesn't frighten me. And nor do Zemo and Zola if
you think to threaten me with them," he said irritably. "And you forget: aside from the Soldier and
some dull witted minions, you have done little to further our cause, indeed, you have exposed it."

Before Von Strucker could marshal a coherent response, Lucius continued, tone gaining a bite
edge of anger. Gone was the polite and cultured – to his allies, equals and master – Lord Malfoy,
the civilised man with the long hair, stylish finery and more money than more than a few gods.

Here was the Death Eater spymaster, the man who had brokered deals with devils in the living
rooms of the rich and powerful, greased palms at parties and ordered the deaths of his enemies
over drinks and nibbles, even taking the field himself when it became necessary.

This was the man who had matched wits with Nicholas Fury himself when both were in their prime
and though the Light might like to forget it, had been winning. Only the unexpected survival of
Harry Potter had prevented him from standing as Voldemort's right hand in the steady ascension
to de facto rule of all Britain, magical and non-magical, that Voldemort had been undertaking.
Admittedly, Voldemort himself had been a blunt instrument at times, but he could be clever, and
where he was not willing to be clever, his right hand had been more than adept at coaxing him onto
the right path.

This, in short, was not a man to be trifled with.

"Yes, Gravemoss was and remains dangerously unstable. I made the mistake of assuming he would
think like me, and destroy MI6 by stopping the hearts of all within or a magical contagion,
something like that. I was wrong," Lucius admitted. "Yet Gravemoss succeeded in his objectives,
in some ways, better than I could have imagined. One of his creations, just one, succeeded in
gravely wounding Loki himself."

He paused to let that sink in.

"The Avenger who the rest were formed to stop, the God of Magic and constructor of Hogwarts
himself, was wounded, and sent running to Asgard." He stood and gave Von Strucker a cold look,
advancing on him now. "My mistake has paid the dividend of having our enemies tremble in fear.
Now they look into the shadows and shiver at what might come for them. And most crucially, it
did not give either of us away. Our enemies would have had nothing to chase but monsters and
mysteries. Yours, on the other hand, has let one of our most dangerous foes escape and report to his
master, revealed your involvement and by extension, mine as well. It has given our enemies a
target to aim at and rally against, and given us no benefit in return. Indeed, our allies drop like flies
and our funding is, at least, delayed."

He looked down his nose at Von Strucker. Von Strucker was not a short man, but Lucius was
taller, had a nose genetically predisposed for such things, had been bred with this impulse in his
blood and, as such, it required very little effort. "Think on that before berating me, Baron," he
hissed. "And remember that you are in my home. Remember what that means."

Von Strucker narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. This he could not contest. Angry as he was, he
was not so irrational as to take on a man like Lucius in his own home. The head of HYDRA was
many things. A fool was not one of them, not when his judgement remained unclouded. "Well," he
said. "What is your plan? How do you intend to respond?"

"I am sending my fellow Death Eaters to a series of safehouses worldwide, and having them give
me proxy control over their accounts in the interim," Lucius said. "Most of them are fearful enough
to accept without question."

"And you think that SHIELD won't notice?" Von Strucker asked sceptically.

"I have paid off several polyjuiced doubles to pretend to be me on a nationwide and worldwide
basis," Lucius said, smiling thinly. "That and Gringotts' reticence about its clients will buy me
enough time to drain the relevant amounts from their accounts, lay several false trails in their
directions, and disappear with the funds while SHIELD and their muggle allies chase the trails like
the tenacious and dim animals that they are."

Von Strucker nodded slowly. Misdirection. The favoured Malfoy strategy, which they defaulted to
even when a direct assault would be more effective. They would not strike until they were certain
of what was going to happen. It had saved them many times, true, but it had cost them much in the
past. Maybe it would again. "And where will you disappear too?" he asked aloud.

"A safehouse," Lucius said calmly. "Then to our compound in London. Now that the warding is
complete, it is merely a matter of waiting until it becomes liveable." He raised an eyebrow. "Are
your soldiers installed?"

"Yes," Von Strucker said, teeth slightly clenched. He considered Lucius a good ally, one to respect.
But the other man would never forget that Von Strucker's ancestors were swineherders and petty
soldiers when Lucius' were great Barons, with wealth and power that was the envy of Kings and
Emperors throughout Europe. Where there was money, the saying had once gone, there was a
Malfoy.
This sense of entitlement and arrogance had even transferred to the bloodline of a Malfoy squib,
which continued to carve out a reputation for power and riches in the non-magical world. The Frost
family was steadily becoming the power in the non-magical world that its progenitor had been, and
still was, in the magical world. And neither they nor their progenitors forgot where they came
from, nor the arrogance and belief of superiority that went with it.

It was not something that was brought up in conversation, but Lucius' silent and simple assumption
that he not only knew better, but was better, sometimes grated.

Still. HYDRA needed the power, cunning and most importantly, funding, that Lucius Malfoy
could provide. They needed it to ascend to the greatness that had been denied. To crush SHIELD.
And, most of all, Von Strucker thought, fist clenching, to bring down that cursed Captain America.
The bastard American, a man of no consequence and no breeding, had beaten he, the 13th Baron
Von Strucker, like a common animal, and destroyed HYDRA. But that same Baron would have his
vengeance, as he returned both favours. That was why he had put the Soldier at Malfoy's disposal,
an acknowledgement of his status, and as a means to advance their objectives. However, now, it
might be prudent to remind Malfoy that who his new favoured weapon ultimately listened to.

"They are installed, as are the wolves," he said. "But since we are now revealed, I will need the
Soldier back." His tone made it clear that this was not a request.

Lucius froze briefly, and for a heartbeat, nothing more, Von Strucker saw fear on his face.
Inwardly, he smiled. So, Malfoy feared Gravemoss. A sensible feeling to have when you and your
family were so close to such a creature. Well, Malfoy had called up this creature. Now he had to
deal with it, and without the sense of security the Soldier brought. And maybe the experience
would teach him a little respect.

"Of course," Lucius said slowly, after a long moment. "To deflect and destroy SHIELD and their
allies."

"Of course," Von Strucker said, mimicking Lucius' tone.

Lucius gave him a warning look, and Von Strucker reminded himself that when matters seemed to
be slipping out of his control and disaster loomed, that was when the serpent he had allied with had
the most fearsome bite. It was also more than capable of slithering out of trouble and triumphing
when that had previously seemed impossible. Lucius Malfoy was not a man to be underestimated.

"Very well," Lucius said eventually. "My fellow Death Eaters with sense have followed my
instructions. Those without are not fit to live."

"Indeed," Von Strucker said. "All those who act so foolishly doom themselves." He turned on his
heel and left, snapping a command word at the Winter Soldier, who waited outside. Silently,
seamlessly, the man – if you could call him that - detached from the wall like a shadow, drifting
over to walk one step behind him and to his left.

As he did, Von Strucker felt a warm feeling of satisfaction. For too long, he had played second
fiddle to Lucius and his disturbing ally. Now, he was going to take his place as an equal, if not
greater partner in this duumvirate. Unlike Lucius, he had manpower. Unlike Lucius, he could
easily recruit from a near limitless pool of the disaffected. And unlike Lucius, he could control his
killing machine.

Lucius said that his error had inspired whereas Von Strucker's had done nothing of the sort. That
would not do. "The world will fear HYDRA once more," he whispered, clenching his fist. "I vow
it."
OoOoO

"Dad!"

The excited cry ran through Avengers Tower, and as ever, it made Thor smile. It made him realise
just how lucky he was. He turned to see Harry running over, brandishing a book. He smiled, as he
usually did on seeing his son when he was happy and enthusiastic. "Yes, Harry?"

"I've been reading this book – Steve gave it to me for Christmas. He said that his friend Peggy
gave him a copy and he loved it and he thought I would love it," Harry said, eyes dancing, every
inch the chattering child. Sometimes Thor wondered at how his son could be so serious and mature
one moment and so young and carefree the next. He also noted, with a sort of bitter amusement,
that Harry had clearly missed how Steve really felt about Peggy. Reaching out, he said, "May I
see?"

Harry nodded, taking a look at the page number before handing it over.

Thor examined it. It was a colourfully covered book, with the title The Sword in the Stone standing
out in bold letters. A quick flick to the back confirmed his burgeoning suspicions. This was a book
about King Arthur, but, oddly enough, about his childhood.

King Arthur was an area of popular speculation in the Wizarding World, usually in connection to
Merlin, and Thor could actually claim to have met Arthur. He'd liked the man, all the more so now
that he looked back on him as a wise ruler, as well as a good friend, great warrior and an excellent
drinker. He was also memorable for the Lady Knight who had served Merlin in particular. Nimue,
some had called her. Those who had thought her a man called her Bedivere. In both cases, the
legends had not done her justice.

He had, however, not known that the non-magical world was one, so aware of Arthur, two, so
interested as to retell the stories over and over, as a quick look at the title page said that the book
had been in print since 1938, which was quite some feat, if he remembered Lily's complaints about
such matters well enough.

Shutting the book, he handed it back to Harry and asked, the model of the indulgent yet curious
father, "All right, so what is the story and why does it have you so interested?"

Harry took a deep breath and explained.

As it turned out, the book told the story of King Arthur as a boy nicknamed 'the Wart', who had all
sorts of adventures, particularly after he discovered his tutor, an eccentric and powerful old wizard
called Merlyn – emphasis was placed on the spelling – who aged backwards. He was turned into
all sorts of creatures, with no purpose that Thor could immediately discern. Then he got it.

"This teaching… it was to prepare him for kingship, correct?" Thor asked slowly.

Harry paused, then cocked his head. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he said thoughtfully. "I
suppose it was."

"Your grandfather would very much approve," Thor mused. "As do I. It looks like it is enjoyable,
yet carries valuable lessons."

At that moment, Steve walked in, and on seeing the book in Harry's hands, smiled. "Enjoying it?"
he asked.

Harry jumped in surprise, then nodded. "It's great," he said cheerfully.

"You'll be taking it to Asgard, then?" Thor interjected.

Harry nodded, then paused. "If that's okay," he said.

Thor grinned. "Of course it is," he said warmly. "Now, speaking of going to Asgard, you were
going to pack a small backpack, yes?"

Harry nodded. Thor raised his eyebrows. "Oh!" Harry said, and ran to do just that. "I'll be back in a
minute," he yelled over his shoulder.

"If it's less than ten, I'll be checking the bag," Thor called back.

Steve chuckled. "You've taken to parenting well."

Thor smiled slightly. "I'm glad you think so," he said. "Though… this is my first time as a father."

"And you're afraid of getting it wrong?"

"Absolutely terrified," Thor said, tone apparently calm.

"Maybe you could ask your father for advice?" Steve suggested.

Thor grimaced. "Father was the right sort of father for I and Loki, even if he made his mistakes.
But I am not sure that his style of parenting would suit Harry," he said.

"Your mom?"

Thor nodded slightly. "I was planning to," he said, in a mild tone that implied that he planned to
question his mother as closely as possible on this subject.

Steve caught the tone, and, if he hadn't known that Frigga would probably enjoy dispensing such
advice to her son after enduring over a millennium and a half of dual bachelorhood. She would
also, if he'd judged the lady right, prove an excellent grandmother to Harry.

"Is Harry looking forward to going to Asgard?" he asked.

Thor paused. "He is and he isn't," he said eventually. "On the one hand, he is going to a city of
legend, the Realm Eternal, and, crucially, where he has family and can find out some more about
where he comes from. On the other hand, he fears not being good enough, beign held in contempt
by those of Asgard, most particularly my mother and father. Neither will, of course, but that does
not allay his fears." He grimaced. "And he bears my father a rather large grudge."

"I'm not surprised," Steve said frankly. "No offence Thor, but your dad dropped the ball on that
one."

Thor nodded. "My father is wise. But he is detached, and makes decisions that often seem, and
often are, cold. He is also not infallible. Harry more than has the right to air his grievances…" he
said, then trailed off.

"But?"

"My father is much like I am. A proud man, and has only become more so through millennia of
rule," Thor explained, sounding somewhat troubled. "He is not used to being questioned."

"Something tells me that he'll have to get used to it," Steve said.
"I suspect, my friend, that you are right," Thor sighed. He smiled slightly. "If my father does not
adjust quickly, the same cannot be said of my son." He grinned. "You remember when Loki
endowed him strength yesterday?"

OoOoO

Loki had taken the Avengers and Harry to a private Stark Industries warehouse where the Hulk got
let out to play if Bruce was in the city and needed to let off a little steam. He had then endowed
Harry with the physical abilities of an Asgardian of his age and build ahead of his visit to Asgard.

As he explained, while Asgardian adults were more than capable of controlling their strength
around mortals, Asgardian children, like children everywhere, had impulse control problems. It
was better, he said, to be safe than to be sorry. Since an Asgardian boy of Harry's age and build
could bench press a medium sized car, this was a valid concern. Hence the enhancement.

However, as he had emphatically stated, he had not turned Harry into an Asgardian outright. That
particular power lay with the Allfather alone.

Tony had quibbled at the difference.

"Seriously, it's just about strength, molecular density and brain chemistry, right?" he asked. "And
sure, you've just done the strength and density, but I'm pretty sure you could do brain chemistry
too."

"I could," Loki said readily. "But there is more to being Asgardian, or indeed, a denizen of the
higher realms as a whole, than that. It delves into deep and ancient magics, ones that require the
might and skills of a Skyfather, a being of my father's rank and power, to replicate." He looked
serious. "Understand, Tony, that what truly creating an Asgardian requires is the ability to
manipulate the soulfire, the fires of creation, in which life was first forged, at the highest level.
And that is beyond even I."

"Soulfire?"

"It is the power of last resort among those of us in physical form," Loki said. "It is our very
lifeforce. Select humans have wielded it in the past, but only on a limited scale." He shrugged. "I
could use it to create a duplicate of myself, solid as I am, and it would remain so as long as I willed
it. Thor," he said, nodding at his brother, "Has an attack of last resort that has been called 'the
Godblast' by the unimaginative. It channels the same energies."

"What about those not in physical form?" Bruce asked. "Who are they?"

"Select beings, lesser gods, greater spirits… mostly those servants of the White God that you call
angels," Loki said casually. "They manifest a physical form from that energy as required."

There was a silence.

"Angels are real?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve looked a little worried.

"They are," Thor confirmed. He grinned. "Michael's good company." He rubbed his chin. "And I
suppose Aziraphale's all right. Handy with a flaming sword."

"I always liked Crowley best."

"You would. You share a taste in clothes and tinted lenses."

"Yes, but I don't have to hide the eyes of a serpent."

Tony turned to Harry, and hooked a thumb at Thor and Loki. "Is it just me or are your dad and
uncle bickering over their favourite angels." He blinked. "And now I say it, that sounds like a line
from a Christian Porn novel."

"You would know," Harry replied quickly. He grinned as Tony blinked in surprise, then smirked.

"Not my kind of thing," Tony said. "But seriously. Are they?"

Harry shrugged. "Looks like it." He shook his head.

"What?"

"Until a month or two ago, I used to pray to God," Harry said flatly. "I'm still trying to get used to
the fact that He's probably a distant relative on dad's side of the family."

"A cousin a few times removed, actually," Loki said. "All the pantheons are related, one way or
another. If you've heard of them, they're family."

Harry's expression said that this had somehow managed to be the weirdest thing he'd heard all day,
and that was really quite impressive, and, being very British, he was currently repressing the fuck
out the impending freak out. It was a very expressive expression.

"So, hang on. You know angels?" Steve said.

"Blessed, Fallen and those who Sauntered Vaguely Downwards, yes," Loki said.

"Jesus," Bruce said flatly. Like Steve, his tone was best approximated at, 'I can't believe I'm
hearing this, but I might as well hear some more, because damn, it's interesting'.

"Keeps himself to himself, mostly," Thor said. "Nice, though. Humble. A bit sarcastic. Excellent
healer." He made a face. "But he and his Father prefer the mysterious ways business."

"Whereas I prefer talking to people and using my magic in subtle fashions, and you prefer punching
the evil until they give up or are pulverised," Loki said dryly. "Each to their own."

"Okay. You just name dropped Jesus. Who is apparently snarky," Tony said slowly.

Thor sighed and Loki grinned. "We met a few times, before the turn of the last millennium. My
brother was a bad influence on him," he said.

"Of course he was," Bruce said. "Just when I thought my life couldn't get any weirder… this
happens."

"Right there with you," Harry said bluntly.

"And God?"

"Yahweh?" Loki asked, then shrugged. "Never met him. No one has. Father once mentioned that
he is the oldest of the Skyfathers, or at least, of those who have not been forgotten by even the
Gods. I suspect he may be an Elder God."

"Is Jesus as powerful as you two are?" Tony asked.

Thor and Loki traded looks. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I figured that we could offer him a spot on the team," Tony said. "I mean, come on, it
would be awesome!"

"It would also be someone else calling you out on your drinking," Steve said dryly. "And seriously,
I don't think fighting was the message of the New Testament."

Tony looked sulky.

Thor coughed. "He is as powerful as we are," he said carefully. "If in different areas. Maybe more
so as he is our elder. However, all gods are limited in their actions on Earth."

"How so?"

"Simply put, you have noticed how our powers appear to have grown since we came to Earth?"
Loki asked.

Everyone nodded.

"Well, they have and they have not. We have merely grown in our ability to exercise our powers. It
is much like if you went to a planet with Jupiter like gravity. Your abilities, your strength, would
be weakened and less effective. But then you would slowly adjust. You would become stronger
and more able to do what you had previously done with ease on Earth. Equally, if you had gone to
that planet before, stayed for an extended period, then left, there would be the ghosts of muscle
memory. Your body would have adjusted before and it would be faster in adjusting again," Loki
said. "So while on Earth and its dimensional plane we are merely coming closer to our former
strength, the strength we wielded when we first walked the Earth, in Asgard and the other realms,
we are stronger. Not greatly, but to an extent."

"Does worship count for anything?"

"Not direct worship. It is knowledge and belief that a God is real that counts, and that… I suppose
it speeds things up a little. For those who are not naturally physical beings, it matters far more, as
perception defines them," Loki said. "That, I suspect, is partly why Yahweh does not manifest
directly, or even act, usually." He shook his head. "Every human has a different idea of who he is.
It would be a nightmare."

"Um… what?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The more we are on Earth," Thor said. "The more of our power we can exercise, within the limits
of what is safe for the inhabitants. If a god has been on Earth before, as we have, it is easier to
readjust. The less we are on Earth, the less we can exercise. In essence, being on Earth makes us
stronger on Earth."

"Like high altitude training," Clint said. "Your body changes to fit. When you go back to sea level,
you're faster and have more stamina."

Loki nodded. "Exactly." He looked at Harry and smiled. "Now, my nephew, I am going to enhance
you and we are going to test your control of your strength."

"What if I hurt someone?" Harry asked, hugging himself slightly.

"That's why we are out here," Loki said. "And I have endowed those who could not naturally resist
your strength with a defence that will activate if you, say, accidentally hug them too hard."
Harry blushed slightly, and nodded.

The highlight, everyone agreed, was Harry's sprints, before he'd learned to apply the brakes. There
was now a series of Harry shaped holes in the warehouse wall. The worst Harry had got was a
couple of cuts and a nose bleed.

OoOoO

Back in the present, Steve nodded.

"Yeah, he adjusts all right. He's dealt with it all pretty fast." There was a hint of doubt in his tone
that Thor picked up on.

"Oh?"

Steve sighed. "Look, I'm not a psychologist or even close, like Loki and Bruce. But I've
commanded enough people that you just don't bounce back from a change, a trauma like that so
fast. Ever." He gave Thor a serious look. "Best you can do is suppress it and delay it. I like Harry.
He's a good kid. But he's just found out that he has family. Family that have been and are still
worshipped as gods. He's at least half an entirely different species now, and he's taken it in his
stride."

"What are you getting at?" Thor asked slowly.

"He's heading for a crash," Steve said quietly. "I've seen it before. Sooner rather than later, it's all
going to hit him at once, not just intellectually, but emotionally, and it'll hit like a bomb blast. It
won't just smash him around, it'll tear into him, and do so badly. If you don't believe me, ask Loki.
Ask Bruce. Ask Tony. They've all gone through changes like that: Loki discovered being a Frost
Giant. Bruce discovered being the Hulk. Tony discovered having to have an active electromagnet
in his chest for the rest of his life."

"Being an Aesir is different, Steve," Thor said, a hint of warning in his tone. "It is a good thing."

"Yeah, I know. And Harry will see it that way. Maybe I'm a better example," Steve said. "I
changed from 90 pound weakling to, ironically enough, the Nazi dream, the blond, blue eyed,
white skinned embodiment of physical perfection." He paused. "My entire self identity changed
overnight. Or at least, I thought it did. I figured out pretty quickly that I was just the same guy in a
bigger, better body. But in some wasy, I did change. The way people saw me changed. I was no
longer the skinny runt, the one who was either beaten or protected. Now, after a period as a
propaganda joke, I was the pin up, the hero everyone was looking to, darling of a nation, of two
nations really. For some reason, the British loved me too, in their own reserved sort of way. They
were like that with all of us, really. I remember that one old British man smiled and said, when he
saw the US forces marching in, that Britain's children were coming home. They accepted me,
accepted all of us, as long lost cousins from across the Pond. Some didn't, but most did." He shook
his head. "Now, if I'd come across as an immigrant, poor, tiny and weak, not a dashing, liberating
soldier, let alone Captain America, would he have reacted the same way?" He shrugged. "Maybe.
I'd like to think so."

"People saw you differently because you had changed," Thor said slowly.

"Yeah. People I'd known through basic, and in Bucky's case, all my life, treated me differently,"
Steve said. "They actively sought me out, they paid attention to me, they listened to me and they
wanted to be near me, some because they idolised me, some because they liked me and some just
to bask in a little bit of reflected glory." He grimaced. "And I just became Human Plus. Harry's
become, or at least, is becoming, something that never was and never has been human. Something
that's a long way further up the evolutionary ladder compared to us. Something that perceives the
world differently." He looked at Thor. "You got a dose of being human, sure, but when you were
really and properly human, you didn't know any different. And when you got those memories back,
you weren't really focusing on the physical and mental differences. But on what you lost."

He gave Thor a frank look. "But Harry? He's never known any different. Like me, he went from
skinny bully target to Human Plus in a moment, and like me, he became the darling of a nation
overnight, the guy everyone else wants to hang out with. That was a step up. And now? Now he's
that and more. Now he is essentially divine royalty. He is the son of one of the most famous beings
in Western Mythology, a traditional defender of humanity, who just so happens to be real and a
superhero as well. This isn't just a step up, it's a skyscraper up. All we're waiting for is for him to
get vertigo. And once that happens, you need to be there to catch him, to ground him and to remind
him that the important things haven't changed."

Thor nodded slowly. "Your counsel is as wise as ever, Steve. You may not have the mind of Tony,
Bruce or my brother, as I do not, but one thing you have above all of us is the gift of insight. You
understand the inner workings of the heart," he said. "Maybe that is a product of the serum. More
likely, it is a product of who you are. That sort of knowledge makes the bad powerful." He smiled
at Steve. "And the good… the good it makes kind. Kind and wise. Thank you."

Steve shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Just doing what I can to help," he said, brushing it off.

"And that help is gratefully received," Thor said.

"What help?"

Thor jumped slightly. Harry had come back in, back pack slung over his shoulder. It was a Captain
America backpack, cover modelled after the back of his suit and his shield when he wore it on his
back to keep his hands free. "Steve just gave me some advice," he said, opting for the truth. He
smirked. "Now, I had better check that back pack."

Harry's face fell comically.

"Aww, daaad!"

Steve chuckled. Harry might be headed for a crash. But for now, he was doing just fine. He paused,
and remembered a question that he hadn't asked before. If Thor and company were stronger on
Earth the longer stayed there to adjust, what would happen to Harry when his powers came
through? As a demigod, what would happen to him?
 To Asgard

"Are you ready?" Thor asked.

They were standing on the roof, because while Tony had objected volubly to the idea of an
Asgardian sigil being permanently burned into any part of Avengers Tower, he'd been persuaded
that the gravel could be sacrificed. And it looked badass, an argument which carried the day. Tony
had surprising hidden depths, but he was still impulsive.

Harry gulped. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said nervously.

"Don't sweat it kid," Tony said casually. "We've all been invited. Apparently Odin having a newly
rediscovered grandson means that all the A-List of the Nine Realms and beyond has been invited,
which, naturally, includes Earth's Mightiest Heroes."

"You really like that title, don't you?" Clint said, raising an eyebrow.

"What can I say? I love the truth."

"Particularly when it makes you look badass."

Tony shrugged in silent acknowledgement.

Harry had paled. "What?" he whispered. Thor sighed and Loki suddenly smacked his palm against
his forehead and began cursing volubly under his breath. This was one thing he'd forgot to prepare
Harry for.

"Tony," Pepper said. "You shouldn't have said that."

"What?" Tony asked, saw Harry, thought again, and winced.

"Dad? What does he mean?"

"I'll explain later," Thor said, looking up. The sky was darkening. "Get ready. Here comes the
Bifrost."

Harry, underneath the thoughts roiling in his mind, felt a thrill deep in his stomach and grinned at
his father, who grinned back. He was going to Asgard. He was going to a place that four years ago
had been nothing more than myth. He was going to a place that he'd read stories about growing up.
And as something deep within him whispered, he was going home.

The clouds began to rotate, dark, throbbing with power and crackling with multi coloured lightning,
then, in a half instant, the beam of the Bifrost roared downwards, enveloping them in a sheet of
rainbow coloured light. As it did, Harry felt his father clutch him close with one arm, and Jane with
the other, and then he giggled when he saw Jane's half fond, half exasperated look. She noticed and
spared a moment to roll her eyes in an expression that said, 'yeah, yeah, laugh it up kiddo'.

That gave Harry a warm feeling inside, and not for the first time, he realised that he was well and
truly part of the group.

Then they shot up the Bifrost.

And such sights Harry saw. Before Jane and the Avengers, not one mortal in a thousand years had
seen the splendour and glory he saw, the wonders of the universe, of stars being born and dying, of
galaxies whirling and flowing around one another in an eternal, ineffable dance proscribed by the
nature of the universe itself, planets of diamond, stars of ice, worlds of crystal, worlds of water,
worlds of aether and worlds of fire.

And behind it all, he could have sworn that he saw the shape of a face, a face drawn of the
universe, a face of creation incarnate.

Then, on impulse, he opened what Loki had called his Third Eye, the True Sight or more simply,
the Sight. It allowed you to see through every disguise, every mask, revealing everything as it truly
was and searing it on your mind forever.

And for a moment, a shining moment, he saw… he saw something impossible to truly describe
with words, especially in a language based on a proto human origin that boiled down to three
purposes. A) to discover the good fruit, b) to avoid the big hairy things with teeth, c) to get laid.

Those who have seen an English city on a Saturday night might suggest, and rightly so, that little
has changed.

But as for what Harry saw, it defied true description. That said, a reasonable facsimile can be
constructed.

He saw Ygdrassil. He saw the World Tree in all its primal glory, that which was an arrangement of
images of worlds long departed to pocket dimensions, an ash tree of incalculable size whose roots
spread into the netherworlds where Nidhogg chewed and spread his poison in dark veins of death
and decay, and whose branches spread from the middle realms to the highest heavens, atop which a
great eagle with feathers that seemed to burn like fire roosted, and every one of its infinite leaves
containing a world of life, some withering, most flourishing, amongst which Ratatosk scrabbled
and chattered, and a golden-silver-green-white tree shape of twisting, burning, incandescent
glorious light, a shining torch in the infinite darkness. It was all of these things at the same time,
and more.

For the first time, he walked in eternity. And it welcomed him like an old friend.

Harry mentally reeled, then suddenly, his Sight, which had only been open for half a heartbeat,
slammed shut, and he got a sense of disapproval and serious worry from his uncle, tempered by a
complete lack of surprise. And the worry was already fading, since Harry's mind was clearly intact.
Nevertheless, Harry expected a lecture later.

All of this had taken place in a scant handful of moments, and as soon as it had begun, it ended,
they were stumbling into a spinning golden room. Harry felt his father steady him, and as he was
steadied, he looked around in awe. The room they were in was a golden dome, which was slowing
to a stop, intricate designs carved into the metal.

He jumped as he heard a deep, booming voice.

"Welcome, Harry Thorson, Prince of Asgard," a tall, dark skinned man in golden armour said,
amber-gold eyes focused on him. He was standing on a podium in the middle of the room, and was
withdrawing an enormous sword from it. He gave off the impression of normally being the picture
of unruffled calm, Harry thought, but now, there was a slight smile on his face. " Welcome to
Asgard." He looked out the observatory's entry point. Harry followed his gaze, and gasped.

Asgard more than lived up to the stories. The pale crystalline bridge, projecting out over the
sparkling blue sea, which roared out over the edge into eternity, while the bridge stretched far into
the distance, pulsed with the rainbow energy that ran through it, and even his underdeveloped
mystical senses could discern the truly vast power within. And the citadel itself… Harry could
only see some of it from this distance, but it lived up to its name of the shining city, glowing
brightly in the sunlight. It took your breath away like a punch to the stomach.

Artists, writers and poets would have wept upon seeing it, because they knew could only ever
capture the palest shadow of its beauty and majesty. Harry felt his blood sing on seeing it, and on a
level beyond sound, beyond comprehension, he felt Asgard sing back to him, singing a song
without sound, without words, for she was older than both, that Heimdall summed up in two words.

"Welcome home."

OoOoO

Thor watched as Harry's eyes widened in awe and wonder, and he tried to take in all the beauty of
Asgard at once. And on an instinctual level, he could feel what was happening, though even if he
hadn't, he would have been able to guess. Asgard was calling to him.

"What's –" Tony began, then Pepper hushed him.

"Asgard is calling him, Lord Stark, welcoming him," Heimdall said gravely. "As she does
with all who call her home." His gaze settled on Loki, who smiled slightly back at him.

"Quite," he said. "Asgard is alive, Tony. It is a realm of magic. And like magic, she is just a little
bit alive." He glanced at Harry, and smiled. "If there was any doubt of Harry's parentage, there is
none now. Asgard knows her children and knows them well."

"The King and his land are one," Tony quoted, doing a bad Sean Connery impression.

"I think you are mixing up films," Loki said. "However… many a truth spoken in jest."

"It does make sense based on what you said about your powers on Earth," Bruce commented. "It's
like the story of Antaeus."

"That fellow Hercules defeated who drew power from the Earth?" Thor said. He nodded. "We've
met. Decent fellow."

Bruce stared at him for a moment, mutely shook his head, then said, "It's a bit like that."

Loki nodded. "There are parallels," he acknowledged. "Though as you well know, we are not so
easily defeated."

"Obviously," Bruce said. "I'm just saying that it reminds me of that."

Loki nodded.

"Do people normally take this long?" Tony asked.

"He is feeling Asgard for the first time, Lord Stark," Heimdall said, with just a hint of reproof.
"And she is accepting him as one of her own. This is a special time."

"It also comes soon after he saw Ygdrassil," Loki added.

"What?" Thor asked.

Loki sighed. "He did what every young sorcerer will do when first travelling by Bifrost, what I did
once upon a time – open his magical Sight."
"Doesn't that run the risk of insanity?" Natasha asked.

"Ygdrassil is a sight so profound that if it drove you insane, you would be driven so far that you
would have arrived back at sanity," Loki said simply. "It exists on so many levels simultaneously
that it simply is."

"Wasn't it what drove you mad?"

"No. That was falling into an unstable dimensional portal of my own creation, falling into some
rather unpleasant sub dimensions, whose very existence bends the mind to breaking point, before
returning to the mortal plane, spending several months floating through space, and then finally
landing quite literally at the feet of what is possibly the most evil being in the universe," Loki
replied, tone casually flippant.

He closed his eyes as he remembered.

OoOoO

Pain, so much pain, burning him from within and without. Ironic, that, since the cold no longer
bothered him. He was a Frost Giant, after all. A frost monster. A child of ice and death. Monsters
didn't feel cold. But they did feel pain. After all, every dragon roared its last agony as the hero slew
it, every giant had a death bellow and even a werewolf would howl its last with a certain
poignancy and pain.

But what was worst, he had long since decided, was the loneliness and emptiness. As he drifted
through space, too hurt to propel himself, but too hale and healthy to die, trapped in an eternal
limbo, he wondered if he was mad. Maybe he was. After all, they said that if you were, you never
knew.

He'd long since lost track of time. What meaning does time have in the endless void of space?

That said, he knew it had been a long time since he'd burst free of that final dark dimension,
fighting off its formless, nightmarish inhabitants, hoping that he'd finally land somewhere he could
recuperate and heal.

Now he still hoped to recuperate and heal, but revenge had now taken a place on that list. Because
when a mind has nothing to do but think and when it is assaulted by pain and horror, it will
inevitably turn to the dark places. It will inevitably embrace rage, anger and the comforting bitter
familiarity of vengeance. And that was what his mind had done.

He vowed vengeance. Vengeance upon all of Asgard, for what they had done, and most
particularly on Thor, the perfect son, that witless oaf in his shadow Loki had lived for so long. No
longer, he swore. From now on, the Nine Realms would know his name and they would tremble
when they dared to speak it. He was a god and he would have the respect he deserved. Even if he
had to take it by force.

It was during one of these bitter trains of thought that he felt a mind touch his own. A cold,
calculating, harsh mind. This was a mind with no care for sentiment, and Loki found himself
welcoming that. Love was for fools and for children.

Little Asgardian, it said. You are far from home.

I am King! Loki replied, stung into anger. The rightful King of Asgard! Deposed by traitors.

The mind was coolly amused. So I see, it said, and Loki felt it effortlessly rifle through his
weakened, maddened mind. Yes, you have definite potential, it said. If you survive what follows,
little King, then we shall see what shall come after.

And suddenly, Loki felt a vast pulling sensation, drawing him towards the nearest planet. With a
grimace, knowing what was coming, he mustered the best shields he could.

Re-entry was never pleasant.

Soon, the shields began to flicker under the strain and heat of the friction, which pushed through
his spells to play over his skin. He gritted his teeth and strengthened them again, reinforcing his
will. Briefly, amongst the immense strain, he allowed himself to morbidly wonder if Frost Giants
could melt.

As his vision began to tunnel, he realised that, he would probably find out very quickly.

Then all was darkness. Time passed. He felt a kick in his side and let out an involuntary gasp of
pain, looking up.

"He's still alive," the voice from before said. "Impressive."

"He is weak, master," one of the creatures had said. "Not worth your time."

"His form is weak. But within that form burns a flame. A flame that can become a conflagration fit
to consume worlds and stars," the being said. "He can be useful. Take him, feed him and heal him.
Then bring him to me."

"As you will it… Lord Thanos."

OoOoO

"Uncle?"

Loki blinked, startled out of his unpleasant reverie. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

"I will be fine."

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. Then hugged him.

"Ah. Um. Harry?" Loki said, blinking in surprise. He caught the rest of the Avengers smirking and
his cheeks turned pink. Even Heimdall had raised an amused eyebrow.

"Is that better?" Harry asked, looking up, still loosely hugging his uncle.

Loki gave him a small, gentle smile that he would deny for the rest of his days. "Yes," he admitted,
and pulled Harry close. "It is. Thank you, nephew."

Then he glared at the Avengers and drew the forefinger of his free hand across his throat as slowly
and threateningly as possible.

He was still Loki, after all.

After a few moments, they broke apart.

"Aww," Tony said, completely deadpan. Pepper smacked him around the back of the head.
"Thank you, Lady Pepper," Loki said, smiling slightly. Then, banishing the memories of Thanos,
he began to prepare his spell. "All those who do not wish to fly, be carried, or face a very long
walk, come to me."

"Dad, can we fly again?" Harry asked excitedly.

Thor chuckled. "I was going to ask you the same question," he said, grinning.

Tony was letting his armour form around him, having withdrawn the shrunken briefcase from his
pocket. Once, he would have needed to play an active part in this, but JARVIS and advancements
in the suits as a whole had rendered that obsolete. "Wanna fly, Pep?"

"I'm not sure."

"I promise, I'll be gentle."

"Tony, my hair."

"What about it?"

"It'll be ruined, and my dress too."

"Eh, Loki can fix both."

"Indeed," Loki said. "You would not believe the number of times I have had to neaten Thor up at
the last minute."

"94,678," Heimdall said.

Everyone stared at him. "One of my particular concerns is making sure my King's sons do not get
into too much mischief," he said calmly, though there was a trace of amusement present. "And this
means observing them when they inevitably do."

"My point made," Loki said.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Tony cajoled.

Pepper sighed. "The things I do for you…"

"Yeah, I know. You love me that much," Tony said, visor slipping into position.

"That," Pepper acknowledge, laying a kiss on the armour's chin. "I do."

With remarkable gentleness for such a powerful machine, Tony lifted Pepper off her feet and into
the classic bridal carry position. "Are you ready, Miss Potts?"

"I am, Mister Stark," she said, smiling.

"We'll catch you guys later," Tony said, as the boot and back thrusters powered up, then launched
him into the sky.

"I'd never tell him this to his face," Steve said. "But I think that armour is probably the most
amazing piece of technology I've ever seen, Helicarrier included."

"It's pretty impressive," Natasha agreed.

"But we're not going to tell him," Clint added.

Natasha nodded. "His ego's big enough already."

"That it is, my friends," Thor said, spinning his hammer. Harry's face was transformed into the
very picture of glee. He leaned over to give Jane, who was looking a little put out at apparently
being ignored, a deep, passionate kiss that left her very definitely mollified. "I will see you soon,
Jane," he said. "I'm just going to get some of the excitement out of this little hellion's system."

Jane giggled as Harry let out the age old cry of every embarrassed teenager in history.

"Daaad!"

Thor chuckled and took off, shooting off after Tony and Pepper, who were already a bright speck
in the distance, in a silver red blur.

Jane smiled after him somewhat goofily.

"You know," Darcy said, coming up beside her friend and following her gaze. "Sometimes I am
immensely jealous."

"What?"

"Oh come on, you managed to net one of the hottest guys in the universe who just happens to be a
total Prince! Literally and figuratively! And he's a superhero!" Darcy said, slightly exasperated.

"You wish you were in my place?"

"Oh, hell no. Not really," Darcy said, shaking her head. "Thor's a great guy and a wonderful friend,
but seriously. I would get so bored, so fast."

"Thor's not boring."

"Not as a friend, and not as a boyfriend, to you, anyway, but sometimes he's like Steve. A little too
All American/All Asgardian nice for my tastes. Not edgy enough," Darcy explained.

"I can be edgy," Steve muttered in the background, vaguely offended.

"Steve," Clint said. "Last time I and Nat went running with you, you stopped to rescue a little girl's
kitten that was stuck up a tree. You're about as edgy as cookie dough."

"He's right, Steve," Bruce said apologetically. "I know edgy. And you're nowhere near. Sorry."

Steve pouted ever so slightly.

Loki coughed. "Amusing as this is," he said dryly. "We have places to be, do we not?"

"Right," Steve said, glad for the distraction. "We don't want to keep the Palace Staff waiting." The
group gathered in close, and Steve nodded at Loki, who began to chant softly, magic gathering
around them.

Then, with a snap of energy, they disappeared. Heimdall turned and resumed his watch with a
small smile on his face. He liked the Avengers. Whenever they were around, amusing and
interesting things followed in their wake. They rather spiced up eternity.

And in a rather similar way, their youngest affiliate, his latest Prince and liege, was going to bring
change to all the realms. He could feel it.

As he felt it, he was reminded of a Midgardian turn of phrase that he'd rather liked on first hearing
it. He nodded to himself. Yes. Let the good times roll.

OoOoO

As soon as the Avengers arrived in the Palace, they were set upon by a ravening horde that swept
down on them like a wolf on the fold, snatched them up and dragged them off to their doom.

They were otherwise known as the staff, taking them to their rooms. The previous description may
have been a slight exaggeration, but it was undoubtedly more interesting than the alternative.

As it was, they cooed over Harry somewhat, to his discomfort, talking of how much he looked like
his father. This would have been confusing if one did not know that Loki had taken the precaution
of spreading leaflets with an image of Thor's prior appearance on them throughout the Palace and
the city. The people of Asgard took this in their stride, as they took many things.

After seeing things like one of their Prince's decide he wanted to be a Princess for a week, the
Allfather riding an eight legged horse that a very surprised palace mare had produced (rumours
suggested that Loki had hexperimented on the mare in question, adding a little bit of magic to the
pregnancy to see what would happen. The stories were garbled by the time they reached mortal
ears and puzzlingly cast Loki as Sleipnir's mother, much to his irritation) and the whole gamut of
strangeness that the Avengers ran, it took more than Harry to bother them.

Harry was taken away by Clint, who'd been collared by Ullr, the Palace huntsman, God of the Hunt
and Asgard's finest archer, who had developed an intense admiration for Clint's skills on prior
visits to Asgard.

In his defence, even the legendary elven archers of Alfheim did not usually richochet and arrow off
three walls to pin an apple ten feet behind their head to a fourth wall, or do it with such apparent
nonchalant ease. This was not to say that they couldn't if they practised, it was just that usually,
they didn't.

Also, Asgardians as a whole were firmly of the opinion that if you were good at something, you
should show it. Since Clint had a circus background and was something of a showman by nature,
he and Asgardians tended to get on like a house on fire.

Which was the occasional result, though with Clint, an explosion was more likely.

As for Loki, he immediately went to see Sif and the Warriors Three to brief them on
the veidrdraugar and to warn them on pain of pain not to bring them up around Harry.

As soon as Sif saw him, however, she immediately picked out his injury, simply by the way he
held his arm.

"Loki? Your arm…"

"It is nothing," Loki said swiftly.

Sif raised her eyebrows. "Loki. That lie was absolutely transparent. Even Fandral," she said,
casting a look at the sceptical looking blond. "Can see through it."

He sighed, rolled up his sleeve and held out his bandaged arm. Sif slowly unwound the bandage
and let out a hiss. "Elder Gods, Loki!" she said, looking at him in deep concern. "What could leave
a bitemark like this?"

"One of the veidrdraugr," Loki said flatly. "They are not myths. They are real, and the Allfather
destroyed them four millennia ago and all knowledge of their creation. Then a necromancer on
Midgard rediscovered the means and created some of his own." He nodded at the wound. "The one
that dealt me that wound was, in life, a mortal transient. And if it had not been for Hawkeye's
warning, it would have sunk its teeth into my throat. I was expecting an attack, I had a good idea of
what they were capable of, yet it slipped under my guard, beating my physical and mystical senses.
And it nearly killed me."

There was a stunned silence.

"Good grief," Fandral muttered. "You aren't joking, are you?"

Loki gave him a flat look. "I know this may challenge your views on my sense of humour, Fandral,
but I do not routinely let necromantic constructs bite through my arm down to the bone," he said
harshly.

Sif gave him a reproving look as Fandral winced. He sighed. "My apologies, Fandral. I have been
distracted of late and it has done my temper no good."

Fandral nodded his agreement.

"How do you intend to avenge this?" Sif asked.

"The Allfather has directed that you four come to Earth with the Avengers. You four and I will
work with SHIELD and other mortal allies to hunt these creatures down and destroy them and their
creator as a threat to the Nine Realms," Loki said. "Also," he said seriously. "We speak of this to no
one. Especially not my nephew. Understood?"

There was a round of serious nods. The Warriors Three could be serious jokers, but equally, they
knew when to get serious.

"Well, that answers that," Volstagg said jovially. "Where are these veidrdraugr? And is there going
to be a good tavern or food shop on the way?"

"I do not know. But, Volstagg, there is no shortage of taverns or food shops, of all kinds," Loki
said. His lips twitched. "Indeed, some allow you to pay a fixed price then eat as much as you
wish."

Volstagg's eyes widened. "Truly?" he whispered.

"Truly. And who knows? We may run into a fight along the way."

"I have reached Valhalla," Volstagg said, voice reverent. "While I still live."

"Unfortunately, most of them have banned Thor after Tony convinced him and Steve to have an
eating competition," Loki said dryly. "It could have something to do with the fact that they ran out
of food."

Volstagg's face fell.

"How is your arm healing?" Sif interjected pointedly

"Slowly," Loki said, annoyed that his distraction tactic had failed. "As the residual dark magic is
gone, it will heal faster." He grimaced. "Don't let them bite you. They have a magic in them that
adds power to their bite."

"Their strength?"

"Strong enough to get them in close, but not so strong a strong and skilled mortal could not fight
them off," Loki said. "They are pack hunters – they will try either ambush or distraction tactics,
and they will want to separate you." He gave them all an intense look. "That must not happen."

He sighed. "Enough war for now. I would like to introduce you to Harry. Thor's son," he said.

All four perked up at this.

"What is he like?" Fandral asked eagerly.

"Strong and tall?" Volstagg put in.

"Brash and arrogant?" Hogun added dryly.

"Brave and true?" Sif asked quietly.

"He is young," Loki said. "And I feel he will grow into height and strength, and there are signs of
it. But as yet, he is still a boy, a boy who spent his formative years being maltreated and poorly
fed."

"I hope those who did it get what they deserve," Sif growled.

Loki smiled dangerously. "My friends, believe me. You do not need to hope. I have attended to
matters."

"Good," Volstagg said gruffly. As a father himself, Loki knew, he would probably have gutted the
Dursleys on the spot. Or pounded them into paste. Whichever whim came to him first.

"Yes," Loki said. "Oh, and I believe Thor would benefit from your experience as a father,
Volstagg." He paused. "Thor is doing well," he said carefully. "As is Harry. But Harry is far more
damaged than he lets on."

Volstagg nodded. "I'm not surprised," he said quietly. "Going from such a home, from being a
despised pauper, to being a Prince, with such friends and family…" He nodded. "He masks his
pain?"

"And does it well," Loki said grimly. "I think we both know why."

Volstagg nodded.

"What?" Fandral asked, puzzled.

"When a child's cries are not answered by comfort, dashing one, but with blows and insults,"
Volstagg said quietly. "They stop crying. And learn to expect no comfort save that which they can
give themselves. They hide their pain and suppress, like a warrior in battle. But sooner or later,
they must face it, and the longer it is put off…" he trailed off.

"You do surprise me, sometimes, old fellow," Fandral said, blinking in surprise.

"What?"
"Well, I would expect such a speech from Sif or Loki here, or even the gentle Doctor Banner and
the wise Captain Rogers," Fandral said. "Yet here you are, holding forth like a learned sage."

"He is a parent," Hogun said briefly. "They know things."

"True," Fandral acknowledged. "Still," he said, clapping his hand on Volstagg's shoulder. "It is
remarkable."

Volstagg looked mildly amused, then embarrassed as his stomach rumbled.

Loki grinned. "See Fandral? Some things never change."

Sif looked amused. "Volstagg's hunger is as constant as your penchant for witticisms, Loki," she
said.

"Ah, but admit it, you would miss them both."

"I would not miss the constant snack stops on our adventures," Sif said. "Speaking of which, Loki,
we have missed you and Thor from our travels. You spend all your time on Midgard these days."

"Midgard is a land of adventure too, my friends. You only saw the slightest part when last you
visited," Loki said, smiling. "There are sights to be seen, smells to be smelled and foodstuffs to be
consumed that challenge your wildest imaginings." He paused. "And as Earth's Mightiest Heroes,
the Avengers often face challenges from the foremost villains on Midgard. We are steadily
developing quite the Rogues Gallery."

"Rogues Gallery?"

"A term to describe our foes," Loki said. "Though I might caution you that if our enemies are living
beings, not automatons or conjured creatures, we try not to kill them."

"Why not? Surely you leave yourself more trouble for the future?"

"The mortals tend to get rather nervous if we do that. Their line of reasoning is that if we start
killing villains, where do we stop?" Loki said. "And matters are not always a simple as they are in
Asgard. They have not had heroes for many years now, not such as we, and they are still
adjusting."

Sif nodded. "That seems reasonable," she said. "But we do still miss you here in Asgard."

"Well, with Harry, we shall now have more reason to come," Loki said. "And with the advent of
Asgardian monsters on Midgard, we shall have more need of your presence." He grinned. "So, my
dear Sif, never fear, you shall not be deprived of my company for much longer."

Sif raised an eyebrow at him and said dryly, "I am sure that it will be the greatest of pleasures."

"How could it not be? My company, the glory of my presence, is the kind which many would die
for," Loki said.

"And some have," Fandral muttered, before he was able to stop himself.

Loki froze. "Yes," he said, voice suddenly distant, as Fandral cringed under Sif's vicious glare.
"They have."

"Come, Loki," Sif said, still glaring daggers at Fandral. "The new Olympian ward arrived a few
days ago, and she's settling in. Would you like to meet her?" she asked, laying a hand on Loki's
arm.

He smiled slightly at her. It was ever so slightly forced. "I would be glad to have the joy of her
company," he said, stepping away. "But I must speak to my nephew."

"Oh. Understandable."

Fandral, while being as much of an expert at lodging his foot halfway down his throat whenever he
was not in the midst of a seduction as he was at wielding a blade, was one of the finest tacticians in
Asgard, and sometimes, he had flashes of pure brilliance.

"How about you both speak to Harry while we go to the kitchens for a snack?" he said, smiling,
tone persuasive and cajoling. "You know how you hate watching Volstagg eat, Sif, especially
when he's particularly hungry, like now."

There was silence. Then Fandral, smile fixed, elbowed Volstagg hard in the gut, drawing a truly
enormous belch from the Lion of Asgard.

"Not quite what I was going for," he muttered under his breath. "But it will do," he added on seeing
Sif and Loki's disgusted expressions. While both happily drank, fought and laughed with the other
warriors, Volstagg and food were two things that most were quite happy to turn away from, and
they were no exception. Like most lions, Volstagg favoured swift consumption of all food in sight,
lest it be taken from him, and mess, unless his wife was present, was most definitely a secondary
concern.

It seemed a little ridiculous, considering how often both had been coated in blood, mud and guts on
various adventures, but Loki was particularly fastidious and even Sif liked to at least be neat and
well turned out, given the opportunity, though that was more a matter of military discipline than
anything else, and Fandral was not about to miss this opportunity to make amends.

"Well…" Loki began. "I don't see why not." He made a face. "I would prefer my nephew be spared
the sight of the Warriors Three at feeding time."

"Quite," Sif said dryly.

There was a silence.

"Well, go on," Fandral said, frantically chivvying them away. "Before Volstagg starts eating his
way through the walls."

Loki chuckled. "I don't think matters have progressed quite that far," he said, good humour
apparently restored, and turned to Sif. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said, and both walked off, soon deep in conversation, laughter echoing back. And,
if Fandral's eyes did not deceive him, Sif's hand lay on Loki's arm.

He smiled, and turned. "A job well done, don't you think?" he said cheerfully.

"Nice recovery," Hogun said, nodding.

"Yes, I must agree," Volstagg said, then gave Fandral a reproachful look. "You did not have to
slander me quite so strongly, though."

"It was a necessary evil, my voluminous friend," Fandral said, giving him a consoling pat. "And I
am sure that you will agree, if it moves those two any closer to seeing what is right before their
eyes before the end of the next Midgardian century, which," he said with a flash of a grin. "I think
it has. Don't you?"

"True," Volstagg said, nodding. He paused. "We are going to kitchens now, are we not?"

Fandral laughed, and slung his arms around the shoulders of his friends. "Indeed we are, Volstagg.
Come my friends, let us avail ourselves of fine beer, dripping meat and pretty maids. They await
our presence, and it would be the height of bad manners to make them wait over-long."
 The Calm (Mostly)

While Loki had disappeared off to find Sif and the Warriors Three, Tony, Bruce, Erik and Jane had
disappeared in search of the mages, these being the rough equivalents to scientists, and share
knowledge. Or in Tony's case, annoy people, explode things and occasionally share knowledge.

Darcy, Natasha and Pepper went off in search of Frigga. Steve went in search of Odin so as to
formally state, as he always did when visiting Asgard, that the Avengers were guests of the throne
of Asgard while in Asgard, that they were, within reason, at Odin's disposal. And yes, he would do
his best to prevent Tony accidentally-on-purpose blowing up parts of the palace, no matter how
'pretty' and 'fucking awesome' the explosions were. In other words, he'd plead with Pepper to have
her make Tony behave.

Thor suspected that his father found Steve's earnestness rather amusing and rather admirable,
which was partly why he was content to let Steve indulge his formal impulses. And, of course, he
knew a fellow soldier when he saw one.

Only he, Harry and Clint were left.

"Hey, Harry," Clint said. "You want to meet an archer who's almost as good as I am?"

Thor smiled slightly. Ullr, God of the Hunt and Royal Huntsman, was the only man Clint could be
referring to. While once he would have considered it a case of supreme ego and near blasphemy,
the simple fact was that while Ullr could shoot far further because of his natural abilities, Clint was
the best shot in the Nine Realms, save only Prince Faradei, and that was debatable.

Even so, if your only competitor was quite literally the real life Legolas, you were doing well, or so
Clint had casually said.

Thor had been inclined to agree with him.

"Dad?" Harry said.

"Go on," Thor said. "I'm going to have a walk around. And think."

"Don't worry big guy, it'll stop hurting once you get used to it," Clint said with a smirk, guiding a
giggling Harry away.

Thor glowered at him, then strode off. Though he wasn't going to admit it, he was in search of his
mother. Because inside a pouch on his belt was a notebook full of questions.

OoOoO

Harry was more than happy to be led by Clint. He liked the youngest Avenger. To qualify this,
Steve was technically a year younger than him at 28 years old to Clint's 29. While both had had to
grow up fast even as they relied on an older brother or similar figure to guide and protect them,
Steve, as the nature of his command dictated, was far wiser than his years. Essentially, he looked
like a nice guy just out of college and the American Football team, but in many ways he came
across like a particularly nice priest.

Of course, 'nice' does not mean soft.

Anyway, however you sliced it, Clint was regarded as the youngest Avenger, and this came across
in his attitude. On the battlefield, he was a consummate professional, albeit one with an occasional
habit of showing off and snarking during lulls in the fighting.

Off it, however, he was more relaxed. Natasha, by contrast, gave off the impression of being
perpetually watchful, like a half tame stray cat, unless she was specifically pretending otherwise.
Clint was more like a particular outdoors oriented pet cat – comfortable both inside and out, and
completely comfortable relaxing with friends.

In between training, meals and sleeping, he tended to play a few pranks, snark with Tony, Darcy,
Loki and more recently, Sirius, watch films and occasionally do a bit of sightseeing.

Admittedly, this sightseeing was usually from the fine vantage point of the rooftops, but that was
just Clint being Clint.

It also had to be noted that part of the reason Clint was comfortable in Avengers Tower was
because Tony, being nobody's fool, had given him the highest apartment, with maximum access to
windows, lots of perches, a ladder to the roof and easy access to the air ducts. While Tony
generally panicked and flushed Clint out of said ducts when he detected him, not knowing what he
was, or, more recently, had taken to doing it even if he knew that it was Clint because it was funny,
this did a lot to make Clint feel more secure and thus more relaxed.

And when Harry had come to the Tower, he had adopted most of the Avengers and their affiliates,
aside from his father, as adopted uncles and aunt (singular). He had yet to figure out just how he
saw Jane – the feeling was mutual. He hardly knew Erik and Darcy served as an odd combination
of surrogate big sister, flirty friend and occasional lust object.

But Clint had slotted firmly into the surrogate big brother category, Harry being firmly in awe of
his archery and piloting skills.

While Harry wanted to learn from Bruce, Tony, Loki, Steve and the others, and indeed, admired
them greatly, they were removed from him by age and status. After all, everyone had heard of the
famous Tony Stark, Loki and Steve were fairly obvious and Bruce had a sort of zen aura that set
him a little outside of Harry's understanding. They weren't exactly relatable, or at least, not as Harry
understood. He hadn't quite developed the ability to see them as people, not yet. If he had, he'd
probably have related rather better to all three.

This wasn't to say that he didn't idolise them – he did, he really did, and would tell you at length
given the chance.

But Clint seemed more… human. Grounded. Easier to understand. And this was true, if you took
into account the fact that the only reason this last was true was because he allowed it. He was
easier for Harry to relate to, if only because they shared a passion: flying.

And so it was Clint who Harry was interested in impressing.

Thor had noticed this, and after a very brief bout of jealousy, had suggested that Harry and Clint go
out into the countryside and Harry could teach Clint how to use a broomstick.

One day of flying, three herds of frightened cows and six very confused farmers later, Clint had
proved to be a very capable broom rider (he did not mention that he had, in fact, flown before), and
had been extremely impressed by Harry's skills on a broom.

It is hard not to be impressed by someone so downright insane that they're willing to fly not over,
but under, a cow, just to prove that they can.
The cow in question would later become a global curiosity after being recorded the first cow to
produce yoghurt instead of milk.

After that and after Clint's heart returned to his chest from its front row seat in his mouth, he'd
realised that he'd truly found someone after his own heart. Slightly mad, completely in love with
flying, and with an excellent eye for angles and distances.

Working from this, he tested Harry's aim, first with magic, then with a baseball, then with a
repulsor glove, and finally, with a bow and arrow.

As it turned out, once his technique was corrected, Harry was a naturally very good shot. Nowhere
near as good as Clint, of course, but, he had a fantastically good eye and lightning fast reflexes, like
all the best seekers, and like his father, a decent natural throwing technique. All that was holding
him back was his glasses – which could slip off - and his lack of upper body strength – which was
about the level of a fitter than average thirteen year old.

His vision could, and after an eye exam by a couple of Asgard's best healers, would be corrected,
and Clint could see both the potential for and the beginnings of a lot of wiry muscle in Harry, as
well as a lot of growth. Wrenching his broom through the skies for the last couple of years had
certainly not done that any harm.

All in all, Clint regarded Harry as a sort of pseudo little brother/apprentice and Harry considered
him, in some respects, to be the big brother he'd never had.

"Who are we going to meet?" Harry asked, back in the present.

"A guy called Lord Ullr. Royal Huntsman, Asgardian God of the Hunt, crackshot with just about
anything he lays his hands on," Clint said.

"Is he as good as you?" Harry asked.

"There's only one guy alive who's as good as me," Clint said simply. "And he's the real life
Legolas."

Harry looked puzzled.

"You've never read The Lord of the Rings? Seen the films?Read The Hobbit?"

Harry shook his head to all three.

Clint shook his head slowly. "Okay, so we're going to need to rectify that as soon as possible," he
said seriously.

"Why?"

"Because I would be hard pressed to name a single person who hasn't even seen a little bit of the
films," Clint said. "Unless they consciously chose not to. Also, they're damn good films."

"Oh," Harry said, shrinking slightly.

Clint ruffled his hair. "It's okay, short stuff. It's not your fault, and it's hardly mandatory. Besides, I
can't really see people like your guardians taking you to see a film. Hogwarts, neither, but for
different reasons."

Harry smiled up at him.

"Anyway, Legolas is this impossibly good archer. Well, okay, so I've made every shot he did in the
films and improved on it easily, but the real thing is far better than he was depicted, so," Clint said,
shrugging. "You'll probably meet him soon. His name is Faradei, Prince of Alfheim. Pretty decent
guy."

Harry nodded. "Clint?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have superpowers?"

"I recently found out that I've got magically enhanced eyesight – I can focus further and see into the
electromagnetic spectrum," Clint said.

"Magically?"

"Long story. The short version is my grandpa was Steve's buddy Bucky and the best sharpshooter
in the Allied armies and my grandma is your transfiguration teacher."

Harry walked straight into a pillar.

OoOoO

"Thor!"

Thor turned, and a smile spread across his face as he saw his mother. "Hello, mother," he said,
hugging her. "I was looking for you."

"And I for you," Frigga said, hugging him and peering around him hopefully.

Thor chuckled. "No, mother, I am not hiding my son under my cloak. He has gone with Clint to
meet Ullr and his son and learn a bit more about archery. He has a good eye, according to Clint,
which is high praise."

"High praise indeed from one of the finest marksmen ever to grace the Nine Realms," Frigga
agreed. She frowned slightly.

"What, mother?"

"It's nothing… Ullr has a son, as you say," Frigga said. "A boy called Uhtred. I have heard, at
length, how good a fighter he is. In fact, he is probably the best of his generation. He is compared
regularly to you, Sif and Fandral."

Thor looked puzzled.

"How do you think he will feel if he sees someone who is less skilled than he is getting all the
attention, attention he will see as unearned? Even from his own father?"

The penny dropped.

"Ah."

"Yes. Ah."

There was a long silence.

"You know," Thor said thoughtfully. "This is exactly why I wanted to talk to you." He shrugged.
"Besides. One jealous boy means little."

Frigga fixed him with a pointed look "The last 'jealous boy' I remember was your brother, and I
think we all remember how that turned out," she said dryly.

Another silence.

"Fuck." This was swiftly followed by a sharp smack and a cry of "Ow!"

"Thor Odinson, I did not bring you up to swear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, mother."

"And you will not bring your son up to swear."

Thor gave this some thought, then gave his mother a sidelong look and said carefully, "… Mother,
you do realise just whose Tower we happen to live in on Midgard? It would be impossible."

Frigga merely smiled. "Doing the impossible is the heart and soul of parenting, Thor. You will get
used to it." Her tone stated that there would be no argument on this matter.

Thor sighed.

"Yes, mother."

OoOoO

Ullr, as it turned out, was a tall, broad man, built like a bear, easily upstaging most of the fixtures
of the communal courtyards of the palace with his sheer size. He had dark blonde hair, a neatly
cropped beard. craggy, weathered features and steel grey eyes. Dressed in practical clothing of
muted green and brown hues with a longbow and full quiver on his back, he seemed the archetypal
woodsman. Yet, Harry thought, despite his intimidating appearance – one bicep was about as wide
as Harry's waist – he had a kind smile and a warmth to his gaze. And in his experience, particularly
large people comprised solely of his father, Hagrid and the Hulk, all of whom cared for him and
protected him, so where his size would have bothered someone else, oddly enough, it actually
reassured Harry.

His enemies had also been lean, mean and dangerous – Tom Riddle, Quirrell, Snape, Lucius
Malfoy and, formerly, Draco Malfoy all came to mind. Of course, his uncle was also of that mould,
as were Sirius and Tony, to some extent, so he didn't think that lean equalled evil. Darkness, so
Harry had found, does not preclude goodness.

His son, introduced as Uhtred, was a smaller version of his father, being tall for his age, and
already putting on muscle. Indeed, Harry would have taken him to be sixteen or seventeen at a
glance, not his actual age of thirteen, and barely thirteen at that.

Unlike his father, he had immediately eyed Harry with suspicion, then barely concealed hostility
and disdain when he found out who Harry was.

He was also the youngest child of a large brood and had a raging inferiority complex, something
which Harry had seen before. And as he swiftly discovered, unlike in Ron, that inferiority complex
was not tempered by a relaxed attitude, an awe of Harry himself or bonding over sweets, shared
adversaries and, indeed, shared interests and experiences. That much was obvious just from what
Harry had heard on introduction and from how Uhtred held himself, tall and proud, as if daring
someone to challenge him.

So, in light of that, Harry's response was deeply unwise.

"I know," he said rather more sardonically than he intended, voice carrying. "You were expecting
someone taller."

Loki, who had since rejoined them (Sif had not, having got sidetracked by Algrim, who wished to
talk to her about security arrangements for the banquet the following night. This interruption had
irked Loki more than he'd expected), and Clint chuckled as Ullr let out a booming laugh, one
shared by others "He has your wit, Prince Loki," the other man said, clearly amused.

His son on the other hand, flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

Inwardly, Harry winced slightly. The other boy reminded him of Ron, and like Ron, he didn't take
ridicule, real or perceived, well. He did not take it well at all.

"Do you fight?" the other boy bit out. "Or do you spend all your time with your nose in a book?"

"A little bit," Harry said. He'd undergone a few self-defence sessions at the Tower through Clint,
Steve and Natasha – mainly Clint since Natasha grappling with him in exercise gear was something
guaranteed to lead to Harry's embarrassment at the hands of his burgeoning hormones, and possibly
dirty underwear as a result. Aside from that, his physical education had been somewhat eclectic:
Clint had taught him shooting, primarily with a pistol, Loki and Natasha had taught him some knife
work, both in hand and throwing (primarily the former as they stressed that without a great degree
of practice, good technique and serious amounts of power, throwing a knife would usually be
ineffective) and from Tony, Darcy and Sirius he picked up a bastardised mixture of mixed martial
arts, boxing and some down and dirty street fighting.

"When in doubt, don't go for anything fancy," Darcy had said. "Seriously, just kick 'em in the nuts,
and if needs be, keep kicking." She shrugged. "It's not very honourable, but it keeps you in one
piece."

And of course, Loki had started to teach him the applications of magic in combat, from a sudden
flare of light to misdirection to out and out combat.

Harry had absorbed all of this like a sponge in water, and, much to his own surprise, had the
makings of a decent fighter. Everyone else had just said, "Like father, like son."

Thor had added, "Like mother, like son, too. Lily was downright terrifying in a fight." He had gone
on to explain that not only did Lily have a ferocious temper, the words 'fair fight' might as well
have been in ancient Etruscan for all the relevance they had to her.

Of course, he thought back in the present, when compared to a taller, stronger and far more skilled
potential opponent who felt that he had something to prove like Uhtred, all he had on his side was
speed (debatable, since he had no idea how fast Uhtred was), magic and guile.

He blinked, as he realised to his surprise and slight worry, he had slipped into a defensive position,
body side on to Uhtred, weight centred and his right hand forward, ready to respond to an incoming
blow or attack with magic.

Uhtred had mirrored his stance, and as their gazes met, quiet, worried, yet determined green eyes
meeting stormy, volatile greys, Harry saw a glint of surprise, rapid reassessment, and a slight
lessening in the level of disdain.
The son of Ullr had clearly not expected the son of Thor to know anything about how to fight.

"Your stance is off," he said, tone slightly superior, making sure to take advantage of his superior
height to look down at Harry.

"Actually, I think you'll find it suits me just fine," Harry said, tones heating as his hackles rose. At
first, the other boy had reminded him of Ron. Now, he reminded him of Malfoy. "Though I can't
blame you if you haven't seen it before. It's a variation."

"I've seen a lot of stances. And there are stances and then there are mistakes. I know which one I'm
looking at."

"You might want to learn a few more stances, then."

Loki sighed as the two boys passively aggressively sniped at each other, eyes locked, muscles
tensed and generally looking like young wolves, circling each other, assessing, wondering if the
other was going to strike first and testing all the while, and drew off to one side, gesturing at Ullr
and Clint to join him. Neither boy noticed.

Ullr looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Prince Loki," he said.

"No need to apologise," Loki said. "I half suspected this would happen. Your youngest, by virtue of
being the youngest, feels that he has much to prove. And my nephew has both a hot temper and
little tolerance for being looked down on and posturing." He looked over at the two boys. "The
latter is rather ironic, considering."

"They're kids," Clint said, shrugging. "Posturing is what they do."

Ullr shook his head. "I expected it to happen," he admitted. "Especially after the trouble a couple of
days ago."

"Oh?"

"That little Olympian girl, Hercules' daughter. She wanted to see who was best in her age group
and how she compared. She's a year or two younger than my boy, and he is the best and he wanted
to prove that he was better and a little girl like her couldn't fight so…"

"They fought, she won?"

Ullr nodded. "They competed with swords, bows and wrestling. He was the better with a sword,
she with the bow, but it was close both times. Unfortunately, Uhtred still didn't take her seriously,
and I think her father taught her a few tricks in wrestling," he said. "I was watching. She crushed
him."

Clint winced. "That's gotta leave a mark."

Loki sighed again. "And now his fragile pride is wounded."

"Just so."

Loki looked back over at the boys. They were now nearly nose to nose, almost but not quite glaring
at each other, and their hands were balling into fists. The air was thick with the atmosphere of a
potential fight with people stopping to stare and whisper. He cleared his throat loudly, and the two
sprang apart.
"How about we go to the training yards, and you can show each other what you know," Loki said
pointedly. "I'm sure you both have much to learn from each other."

Both smirked darkly. To Loki's wry amusement, they were identical smirks on faces that could not
be more different, though Harry's eyes hinted at the reserve and caution he felt. Angry or not, he
was not a fool. He had the advantage in magic, and little else. Only one of them had been training
to fight since he could walk, after all, and it wasn't Harry, surprise aptitude for fighting
notwithstanding. Indeed, he had been training to avoid fights since he could walk.

But that didn't mean he was going to back down from a challenge, especially when Uhtred nodded
and said, giving him a sly look, "Some more than others."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Any remaining doubts disappeared. "Sounds good to me."

"Come on. The yards are this way. Keep up – if you can," Uhtred said, tone mocking as he set off
at a fast run. Harry ran after him, clearly – to Loki's eyes, trying to catch up before he got left
behind. He sighed. Like his father, Harry actually had quite a lot of pride in him, albeit fairly deep
down. While he was normally a humble, laid back child, he also had a ferocious temper and deep
down, the pride to match. Uhtred seemed to have struck a steady seam.

"Though that could be coming here too," he murmured aloud.

"Prince Loki?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that once those two unbend a little and get the dominance contest
out of their systems, they'll be the best of friends," Loki said mildly.

"You think so?" Ullr asked doubtfully. "They seem very… different. They look it too."

"So are Steve and Tony - Captain America and Iron Man," Clint pointed out.

"Quite, Clint. In some ways yes, some ways no," Loki said. "For instance, your son has a rather
sharper wit than I expected."

"As does your nephew," Ullr said. "He takes after you, very much so."

"As I am sure you know through the leaflets I had distributed, Thor looked much like me when he
was incarnated. Father's little joke, you might say, since he was incarnated as a magical mortal,"
Loki said. "His basic personality was the same, but there elements of mine present, that developed
quite by chance, possibly based on buried memories of me." He shrugged. "And I am his teacher. It
is understandable that he models himself on me."

Ullr nodded. "A teacher is often like a second parent," he observed. He paused after uttering this
nugget of wisdom. "Prince Loki, I don't like to ask, but…"

"Yes?"

"What are the chances of my son being turned into a frog?"

Loki chuckled. "Low, I think. However, I wouldn't rule out my nephew making sure something
else embarrassing happened, if the mood took him."

Ullr sighed. "Wonderful."

"Oh don't worry. I'm sure that this will help burn off a little of their desire to outdo one another,"
Loki said. "Possibly even snipping a potential and potentially tiresome rivalry in the bud. It can
only do them good."

Ullr's expression suggested that he disagreed. Strongly.

OoOoO

Thor smiled as he watched Harry practise a few sword forms with Clint, Sif and Loki, a blunted
short sword in hand. Uhtred, son of Ullr, the Palace Huntsman, was also practising, though it was
clear that he both knew these forms off by heart and that he was resenting the fact that Harry was
getting all the attention, which was particularly galling since Uhtred was potentially the most
talented warrior of his generation, and he was largely being ignored. A crowd of curious
Asgardians, young and old, had gathered, one larger than any gathering for an ordinary youth
training session, only reinforcing this resentment.

No matter. Ullr would probably speak to his son and explain why this was happening. Of course, a
small part of him noted, whether the boy would listen.

When Harry fumbled and dropped the sword, there was a sudden outburst of laughter. Thor winced
as Harry froze, then slowly leaned down and picked up the sword, and whispered to Loki, who
smirked and whispered back, before demonstrating a slow sweeping action with his hand. Clint
then leaned in, added something, before winking at Harry.

Harry nodded, and, as chatter grew in the background, copied it, a hint of his golden-white magic
around it. As he did, Loki announced, voice effortlessly "For those observing, my nephew has
merely sharpened the blade. Not enchanted it."

Then, Harry turned, and, taking full advantage of his temporarily enhanced strength and impressive
hand eye coordination - and thus, aim - hurled the sword at one of the man shaped archery targets.

It was fully thirty feet away.

The sword tumbled end over end, before lodging right in between where the man's eyes would be.

Harry then folded his arms and looked at the crowd. "I do throwing axes and knives too, if anyone
has a spare," he said casually into the stunned silence.

And the crowd cheered, some surging forward to offer axes and knives. At the sudden surge, Harry
instinctively took half a step back, then recovered and grinned, taking the first, moving down and,
taking a deep breath, throwing it. To Thor's relief, he repeated his success.

Asgardians were like people everywhere: if you tried something big and failed, they would laugh.
But if you tried something big and pulled it off, they would love you for it.

"He's a fine boy," his father said from behind him. "Though that is only to be expected from a fine
father." Thor turned to look at his father, who nodded down at Harry, who had made four throws
and then bowed out, letting Clint take the spotlight. The archer, a former circus performer, was
more than equal to the task. "He's even inherited your throwing arm."

"Not all the credit can go to me. After all, he was born to a wonderful mother," Thor said.

"Aye, Lily Potter was a very special woman," Odin agreed. "I hear that Miss Foster is just as
special."

In the background, Clint bounced a shot off three pillars and a helmet to skewer what Thor would
later find out turned out to be Volstagg's roast chicken sandwich (one roast chicken, served
between two halves of a loaf), pilfered from the kitchens, snatching it out of his hands and pinning
it to the wall, whereupon it exploded, drawing a roar of laughter from the audience and a roar of
sorrow from Volstagg.

It was only his third sandwich of the day, after all.

"In a different way, yes she is," Thor agreed, as the laughter died down. "Like Lily, she's beautiful
and truly brilliant. According to Loki, the Royal Astrologers and Sorcerers were bidding fair to
take up a new job as her personal praise singers after they exchanged knowledge when they first
met, after getting over their initial disbelief. Lily was all fire, though, and Jane is quieter, more
gentle. No weaker on the inside, but softer. More like mother. Tough when she needs to be, but
also exceedingly kind."

Odin inclined his head in agreement. "That she is. She will make a fine mother for your children."

Thor nodded, then turned back to his father, who had walked off. "Children? Is this your
foresight?" he asked.

His only answer was a knowing chuckle. Thor grinned.

"As you know," Odin said, serious once more. "I originally opposed your relationship with Lady
Jane. But I did not tell you why."

"Indeed you did, father," Thor said, remembering the furious arguments this had led to between
father and son.

"I suspect you now understand my reasoning," Odin said cryptically, watching Harry far below.

"I do not, father," Thor said, frowning. "All I know is that under Mother's influence, you accepted
it."

It should be noted that while Odin was King and Allfather of Asgard, master of the undisputed
hyperpower of the Nine Realms, a foe to be feared on a personal and political level, he had a
healthy fear of his wife's displeasure. In this case, it had been levied against him. Frigga was,
among other things, Goddess of Motherhood, and her sons love lives were one matter upon which
she refused to be gainsaid.

In other words, she had put her foot down. Hard.

After that, Odin had given his grudging blessing, and would privately admit that he liked Jane
Foster. She was demure, kind, beautiful, respectful, if a little scatterbrained, but also passionate,
brave, fiercely loyal and incredibly intelligent. All qualities of which Odin approved.

"I never bore Lady Jane animosity. This you must understand," Odin said. "But I feared for your
heart and mind, my son." His gaze settled on the fire. "Mortals. Their lives are like candles. So
bright and beautiful while they last, containing a unique fragile wonder. One that is so easily
snuffed out. And one that may also burn the unwary, causing wounds that far outlast them.
Wounds that can be truly terrible."

"You speak of my madness following Lily's death," Thor said, beginning to understand.

"Yes," Odin confirmed. "You ranted, you raved and you howled like a man possessed by pure
rage." His expression darkened. "You descended into the Curse of the Crown – the Warrior's
Madness." He caught Thor's eye. "I have spoken of this to you before."
Thor nodded. "When I was a century old. You warned me never to truly lose myself in battle, for I
might never find myself again, and become a threat to my friends as well as my foes."

Odin nodded. "Yes. It is an affliction not unlike that of Doctor Banner, except the Beast within him
is one that he can control, to an extent. It looks like a monster, yet I do not sense evil in it. Indeed,
it is kind, and has apparently taken a special protective interest in my grandson."

Thor nodded his agreement.

"I can only say that I approve. Such a valiant, noble, and above all, powerful, protector will be
important," Odin said. "However, when one of royal blood falls into the Madness, they may not
look like a monster, they may not have evil in their hearts, but they can do great wrong. It is that
Madness which Hera afflicted your friend Hercules, our ward's father, with." His face soured.
"Horrible woman. She is as beautiful as the fairest maiden and as spiteful as the bitterest crone."

"I cannot disagree," Thor said, remembering prior encounters with the Queen of Olympus, step
mother to Hercules, his friend. "She has done Hercules, and many others, great wrongs." He
paused. "Zeus is no better, really."

Odin inclined his head in agreement. It was generally accepted by the various pantheons that the
Olympians were fucked up. And their habit marrying close relatives got brought up at the Council
of Godheads and other meetings. No one bitches like gods. They've had millennia of practice.

"Aye. As I was saying, when one of royal blood grows into the fullness of their adult power, when
all there is to do is to hone your fully manifested potential power, develop the skills within it and
train it like a muscle, making it stronger and stronger, then they become at risk." he said. "So your
son will not be at risk for some time. Sooner, maybe, since he is of mortal blood as well as ours,
and a candle catches light and reaches the fullness of its flame far faster than a log," he continued,
gesturing at the fire. "But there is still time."

"But father, I have fought many battles, and aside from on Lily's death," Thor said, frowning. "I
have never fallen into it."

"It is not easy to inspire," Odin said. "A possibility rather than a probability. You suffered a great
blow to your heart, in losing Lily, and a great blow to your mind, in being so suddenly torn from
your mortal body and becoming Asgardian once more. The transition can be traumatic, if not
guided, as your banishment was."

"I am aware," Thor said grimly, remembering that night well, albeit in disjointed blurs through a
film of red. "You were the only who could restrain me."

"Aye, and that took all my strength. Your brother, distraught at what he saw as his failure to protect
you and your family, tried using his magics to bind you. But the enchantments were faulty, hurried
and you were too wild to be bound. The very best and strongest of the Royal Guard tried to hold
you down and restrain you. They failed, for who could bind the Mighty Thor in his Warrior's
Madness?" Odin asked, suddenly looking old and tired. He closed his eyes. "Only I could. My
heart ached for you, Thor. All of us mourned for the life you had lost, for what could have, should
have, been and for the pain that had torn your very mind apart."

"You feared that I would suffer like that again," Thor deduced.

"Yes. Jane is fragile even by the standards of mortal kind. I feared that history would repeat itself
and you would lose Jane, as you lost Lily," Odin said. He caught Thor's eye. "Now I think you will
understand my fear, the fear of all fathers: being unable to protect my son."
Thor stepped forward and embraced his father. "I cannot blame you for your fears, father. Not
when I feel them so strongly myself." He stepped back, holding his father's shoulders. "But you
cannot let your fear rule you. Jane can become one of us, in time."

"She can," Odin confirmed, stepping away. Odin stood strong. "But will she want to? Do not
forget that we see the world differently from mortals. We perceive some things that they cannot.
Not yet."

He looked out at the night sky. "One day, mankind will rise and walk among the stars as we do.
They have it in them to be a great people, Thor. I see across the evershifting seas of time, the mists
of fate and the winds of change. Midgard is on the verge of greatness."

Thor listened closely.

"Your son is one of two destined to guide mankind, and one of many who will provide an example,
who will inspire them to believe in something greater and protect those in need." He looked at
Thor. "Your son, Thor, shall be a shining beacon, a bright light that will bring hope into the dark
places of the universe." He looked up into the night sky. "It is hard to see the precise man he will
grow into," he admitted. "My foresight is only so strong, and what I tell you now is pieced together
from many flashes of insight over the centuries." He turned back to Thor. "But there is one thing
that is not in doubt."

"What is that?" Thor asked, with some trepidation.

"The man your son becomes, whatever kind of man that may be… he will change the world."

Thor was silent for a long moment. "He will never have the normality he desires, will he?"

"No," Odin said. "And I am not sure if that is what his heart of hearts. He would not be content
with a normal life, for he cannot stand injustice, and would not be content to stand aside. Sooner or
later, he would act."

Thor conceded this point with a nod.

"He shall not have what would be considered an ordinary life. Whether it is joyous or tragic is up to
him and the Three Norns who weave our fates, though I feel he shall carve his own path. He, like
you and your brother, was born to be great. Whether he likes it or not."

Thor nodded, storing the words away for further consideration.

"Come," Odin said abruptly, smiling. "It is Yule, and we are father and son. I wish to hear of your
exploits on Midgard." He paused. "And I would like to hear about my grandson in particular. I
believe that I am meeting him tomorrow after lunch, after your mother meets him in the morning,
and that he is to be presented to the court the evening after." The addendum, 'to give him time to
cool off if needs be' did not go unnoticed by Thor. Indeed, he thought, it was a rather neat schedule
– Frigga to keep Harry calm and happy and food to relax him some more. Would it be effective?
Considering Harry's previous grim reaction to even the slightest mention of his grandfather,
causing Thor to drop the subject very quickly indeed, he rather doubted it.

"Yes, I believe that is so," he said aloud.

"Then I would like to hear everything about him," Odin said, giving Thor a look that suggested that
he knew exactly what his son was thinking and probably agreed. Then his eye twinkled. "I do not
doubt that he is been pestering you and your brother on everything to do with Asgard and that you
are sick of questions. I also do not doubt that you could never tire talking of your son."
Thor grinned. "You know me too well, father," he said ruefully.

And so the ominous topics of fear, fate and destiny were discarded. For now.
 Before the Storm

Odin was King of Asgard, ancient, mighty and noble, if not immune to the occasional mistake.
Behind every powerful man is a powerful woman, in this case, Queen Frigga, kind, wise and
clever.

Legends and histories document this ideal of the Good King and the Good Queen well.

What they are less revealing on is the man (or woman, but usually a man due to patriarchal societal
conventions) who is simultaneously adviser, factotum, diplomat, accountant, PR officer, decorator
and occasionally, baby sitter.

Algrim was that man. He was one of the Light Elves of Alfheim, something he considered to be a
cosmic joke when weighed against his strangely purple skin, though his hair fit the Light part: it
was as white as snow. A clever child who had grown into a cleverer man, he was called the Strong
by those who wished to mock him, and the Clever by those who didn't. Others still called him
'Odin's Good Eye'.

Loki had learned his magic from his mother and his cunning from his father. But refining both and
developing his ability to observe, to perceive and to seek out the inconsistencies, the little things
hidden between words and numbers… those were arts he had learned from Algrim. There was only
one lesson that Algrim had tried and failed to teach him, eventually determining that he must learn
it himself: to judge without preconceptions. To take things as they truly are, not as prejudice and
previous experience twist them into shapes beyond recognition.

Thor had, at first, learnt little from Algrim, save basic manners, brushing off the softly spoken and
scholarly elf in favour of soldiers, his teachers in the arts of war. But he would always listen to
Algrim, however reluctantly, and would sit, enthralled, when he told them a story of the elder days,
whether they be of weapons and war, ladies and love or dungeons and dragons.

But since his second exile (or as Loki referred to it, 'glorified sightseeing and matchmaking
expedition') on Earth, he had paid far more attention to his father's Chancellor, the man who would
in all probability be his Chancellor one day, his right hand man, listening to his every suggestion,
every quiet notation on the situation and most particularly, every piece of advice.

He was a man who Kings listened to, Queens confided in and Princes modelled themselves on.
And for all that, he was a quiet and unassuming man. But not one above taking his amusements
where he could find them.

And so it was when he walked down the corridor towards the room that had been chosen as the
latest impromptu lab of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, occasionally referred to as 'the Sciencebros'
or 'the total maniacs' depending on who was speaking.

Of course, now they had a new friend, a certain Sirius Black, who had a certain demented genius
and no grasp of personal safety. Naturally, the Sciencebros had welcomed him with open arms.

When he reached the doorway, he said, "Ah. Lord Stark. I thought I heard the sounds of
destruction past, present and yet to come emanating from here."

Tony turned, and Bruce noted in slightly exasperated amusement that he was preening slightly.
Asgardians tended to refer to him as Lord Stark because of his riches and power, which was
arguably equivalent to that of one of the higher ranked aristocracy in Asgard. Tony, having
watched and read too much Game of Thrones for his own good, lapped it up.

"Hey Algrim," Tony said casually, looking up at the tall purple skinned elf. Apparently, he was
from Alfheim and looked the way he did thanks to a genetic mutation of some kind. Bruce had
taken it as read that he'd been bullied for it, and after spending a few minutes in his presence,
equally took it as read that no one would dare piss off Algrim the Clever, even leaving aside the
fact that he was Odin's Chancellor and one of his most trusted advisers.

It didn't hurt that he was likeable, being kind and friendly, in a quiet sort of way.

However, Bruce had decided that, equally, it did not do to underestimate the man who had helped
raise Thor and Loki and come out in one fundamentally unruffled and perfectly polite piece.

"I trust that the palace is going to survive your visit?" the fundamentally unruffled and perfectly
polite elf said.

"Probably," Bruce said. "I mean," he said, gesturing at the latest experiment they were running,
which mostly involved dissolving Asgardian metals in acid. "These metals seem to be fairly inert
and non-reactive."

"For now," Sirius put in cheerfully.

"Based on past experience and Lord Black's expression, despite your reassuring words, Doctor
Banner," Algrim said softly, a slight smile on his face. "I may send Hermod to gather artisans and
builders just in case." He paused and peered out the window. He chuckled.

"What?" Tony asked rudely without looking up.

"Your reputation stretches far, Lord Stark."

"What does that..." Bruce began, crossing to join the tall elf. "Oh. Right."

"What?"

"Tony, if I'm not mistaken, news spreads fast."

"It really does," Sirius said, having ambled over to join them.

"So?"

"There are already about a dozen different groups of tradesmen waiting outside."

"They look quite excited, don't you think?" Sirius said, then squinted. "Is that bugger praying?"

"They seem to regard your arrival as a windfall, Lord Stark," Algrim said, a hint of a smile on his
face. "I can't imagine why."

Tony gave him an obscene gesture, then returned to his work.

Bruce gave Algrim an apologetic look, then joined him.

Sirius looked between the two of them, decided that Bruce and Tony were more interesting, and
followed Bruce.

Algrim merely smiled, and walked out the door. Once he did, he began to count down from ten as
he walked, feet settling into a rhythm established through long experience of Loki's experiments,
now adapted to those of the Avengers. So, when he reached eight, he ducked smoothly into an
alcove.

On nine, he stuck his fingers in his ears.

On ten, there was an earthshaking boom.

Immediately afterwards, his sharp hearing caught the ragged cheer that rose from the artisans and
builders below.

Algrim chuckled. Since the day of Thor's birth, he had included a large part of the budget for
'repairs, miscellaneous'. Odin had asked why at the time, but Algrim had merely said, "It never
hurts to be prepared."

Now, he was proved very much right.

OoOoO

Sif strode into the practice yards, following the sound of cheering. Frowning in puzzlement, she
easily pushed her way to the front. Any who saw her coming parted to let her through, and any who
turned to remonstrate on being pushed aside saw who it was and thought better of it.

Whatever the Asgardian attitude to women warriors, there was one unspoken rule that all knew:
you did not fuck with Lady Sif. Ever.

As soon as she reached the front, she drew level with Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun. "What's
happening?" she asked with a frown.

Two boys, with less than thirty years between them if she was any judge, were duelling fiercely
with wooden practice blades. The larger and blond boy wielded a single bladed axe in grand
sweeps that were becoming steadily less and less disciplined. The smaller, darker haired boy, with
a battered pair of spectacles on, was wielding a sword in a low guard, darting in and out, probing
for a weakness.

"Thor's boy, the dark haired one, is fighting Uhtred – you remember, Ullr's boy," Fandral said
offhandedly, as if he didn't really care. But Sif could see his eyes tracking the fight and knew that
he was calculating every outcome, assessing every blow, parry and counter blow. Fandral was
much like a puddle over a pothole – it only looks shallow. "I'm not sure why they're fighting, but if
I had to guess, each is trying to prove the other's better."

"How is he doing?" Sif asked, turning back to the fight, focusing on the smaller boy, examining
him with her soldier's eyes. He was maybe a little shorter than average, and thin with it, but it
wasn't the pinched unhealthy thinness that she'd half expected – though it looked as if that had been
present not so long ago.

Now, it was closer to the whip cord thinness of Fandral himself, with a bit too much potential bulk
to be Loki like, and she could see the puppyish proportions that promised a good deal of future
height.

He was fast too, with lightning fast reflexes that helped him make Uhtred, who was not slow by
any means, look like a dancing bear.

There was a bit of Loki about him, in the calculation and wariness, but the way that when he
attacked he did so with the suddenness of lightning strike, hurling himself in with careless abandon,
a wild war cry torn from his lips as he leapt, eyes dancing with battle joy, albeit mingled with a
little surprise, then, on drawing back from the successful strike, the fierce snarling grin, lips rolled
back in a deady smile to reveal gritted teeth… that was all Thor.

And while she wasn't a betting woman, she would have thought it a safe wager that, even if Loki
had not been so diligent in establishing what Thor had looked like, and hence, what his son would
look like, she would have quickly recognised the boy as Thor's son.

After all, she could, as an equally safe wager, say that outside his parents and his brother, no one
alive knew Thor better than her. They had known each other since they were children. Fought
together, played together… even loved together, for a short while a long time ago.

And while the boy before her was a young man in his own right, a hero in the making. But he was
so very definitely his father's son.

"He's so like his father," she whispered, as the boys went blade to blade, teeth bared, one in anger
and frustration, the other in the devil may care grin of someone who just intends to enjoy the ride.

"Isn't he just."

Only long trained reflexes and nerves of steel prevented her from leaping a foot in the air on
hearing that voice right behind her left ear.

"Look at the way he moves," Loki went on. "There's a bit of me in there, I won't deny that. But
his…"

"Courage?"

"I was going to say 'total recklessness', but that works," Loki acknowledged. "Not many boys
would take on someone twice their size and far above their skill level with barely a month's total
combat training under their belt."

Sif and the Warriors Three all turned to stare at him.

"What?" Sif said flatly, ignoring Volstagg's puzzled, 'when did Loki turn up? I thought he was
watching on the other side'.

"His combat training, such as you could call it, is limited to two murder attempts, witnessing a very
basic demonstration of a magical duel and…"

"What we and the rest of the Avengers have given him," Clint said, on Sif's other side, causing the
Warriors Three to look around, puzzled and suspicious, as if they expected Avengers to start
popping up everywhere. Volstagg also kept half a suspicious eye on Clint, pocketing his half eaten
apple. He hadn't forgotten the exploding arrow and the chicken sandwhich.

"Then how has Uhtred not eaten him alive?"

"He's fast, very fast. And he spent a lot of his young life being bullied by his fatass cousin. When
that sort of thing happens, when you always fight the bigger guy, you tend to become very good at
dodging," Clint said. "And he's using tricks that Uhtred's never seen before." He glanced at Sif.
"You're the Goddess of War, so you'll know this better than me, but it doesn't take amazing skill to
win a fight, though that helps. All you need is a bit of luck and a new and fancy trick or two that
your opponent hasn't seen before."

"Very true, Agent Barton," Sif noted. "But still… I would have thought Uhtred would have adapted
by now. I've trained him myself – he's good, very good."
"Yeah," Clint said. "He's good all right. But he's too conventional. He's moving in patterns. He
hasn't learnt to mix and match." He nodded at Harry. "He has." He smirked at Sif. "I've trained him
myself – he's good. Very good."

Sif glowered at him slightly, but accepted the sly counter. The Midgardian was small, but when off
the field of battle and outside of a role he was forced to play, he strode like a giant. Since he was
undoubtedly one of the best fighters Sif had ever seen and a truly unsurpassed archer, that stride,
while perhaps it had a touch of arrogance, it was an arrogance long earned.

The title of Goddess of War was not given out lightly. Fandral may be the better tactitian, Hogun
may speak wise words when he chose to speak at all, Volstagg may be the master of keeping up
morale, Loki may be the master of plotting an escape route and Thor may be the inspirational
leader, but she was the commander. The one who saw all, understood all and who had the drums of
war beating in her chest every second of every minute of every hour of every day.

She was the one who could read the tides of battle like words in a book, the one who drifted to the
heart of the action, the key point in the battle, without even thinking about it, the one who could
tell exactly what sort of soldier someone could be, just by spending a few moments in their
presence.

She was the one who could master any weapon, simply by taking it into her hands. And in those
hands, which in another life would have darned socks, conjured magic or sewn wounds, in those
hands… they came alive.

It wasn't skill or even talent to her. It simply was.

And the Lady Knight had seen that. She had seen Sif and Fandral and in them, the makings of great
warriors. She had made them her squires and taught them the arts of the blade, the only two
Asgardians she had ever taught.

It was no coincidence that Sif and Fandral were the best in all the Nine Realms with a sword in
hand, each with only the other as an equal in skill.

She had felt that there was something special about them, and Odin had agreed with her
assessment. When the Lady Knight had disappeared once more, forced to the road of her eternal
quest against her will by the tides of fate and destiny, he had had the both of them trained by the
best arms masters in the Nine Realms, and had not batted an eyelid when Volstagg, an older
warrior, and Hogun, an exile from a conquered land, joined the group, possibly foreseeing the
formidable force they would become.

And in the fullness of time, shocking the realms, he had dubbed her the Goddess of War, the first
to be dubbed as such outside of an established royal or noble family, enhancing what she was.

Deep her bones, known only to her, the Allfather who granted it, Heimdall who saw all and Frigga,
who knew all her husband did, lay power. Deep within her lay strength to challenge Thor the
Mighty, swiftness to confound Hermod the Swift and base cunning to counter Loki the Trickster
himself. But she did not use it.

Because she was Sif. She would succeed by her own virtues or not at all. She would match and
beat the men at their own game, and do it without enhancement, without unnatural strength. She
wasn't a fool – she knew the weapons she had been given, and if ever the defence of her King and
Kingdom required their use when no others would do, she would use them gladly and without
hesitation. But until then, they would do as all weapons that were not needed do. Rest in the
armoury and await their time.
And there was another reason. The power the blessing of the Allfather offered came with a price. It
was addictive. Once you'd had one taste, you wanted more. And you would use it, for what seemed
like a good reason at the time, then again and again until you were using it simply for the thrill.
And if that took her, so would the Warriors Madness, the Berserker Rage of the Royal Family.

"What do you see?" Clint asked quietly. Of all the Avengers, he seemed to understand her and her
function best, in the same way that the beautiful yet deadly Black Widow understood Loki.

Like her, he had taken the outsiders path, one ridiculed and derided, coming from without to join a
group that was not used to accepting outsiders and excelling among them, even exceeding their
best.

Like her, he had mastered many weapons, fought in wars large and small, open and secret.

Like her, he had prepared for war, whether he knew it or not, since he was old enough to lift a
sword and string a bow.

He was also probably the one she liked least. It wasn't that she disliked him, but each of them had a
familiarity, something that drew her too them, a common ground.

Thor and Loki were her closest friends, closer than brothers. Bruce had Hogun's quietness and
wisdom and Volstagg's gentleness and rage. Tony had Loki's abrasive wit and Thor's
selfsacrificing courage, with a touch of Fandral's charm. Steve had Thor's nobility and courage, the
two being cut from the self same cloth. Natasha was practically Loki's mirror image these days –
brave, loyal and well intentioned, yet deeply stained and tainted by darkness and blood, with an
evershifting set of faces, masks and identities, changing so fast that you might be hard pressed to
tell which one was real, made all the worse by the fact that even they might not know.

And Clint reminded her of no one so much as herself. This was not necessarily a good thing.

After all. You don't always like what you see in the mirror.

"I might ask you the same thing," she replied evenly.

"You might," he said mildly.

After a few moments and a few more clacks of wood against wood, he eventually acquiesced. "A
hero, maybe even one like Steve," he said. "The courage, the idealism, the decency and the
talent… it's all there. It just needs refinement."

He then glanced at her, cocking his eyebrow in mute enquiry.

"A warrior," she said shortly. "Powerful, skilled and deadly. He just needs training."

Clint frowned slightly, and looked like he might be about to disagree. Let him. She was the
Goddess of War. She knew what she was, and she knew what she saw.

"Who says he cannot be both?" Hogun said, looking at her, Clint and Loki. "The three of you are
two things and one. Why not him?"

"I think our quiet friend is right, Sif, Clint," Loki said. "What I see bears that out."

"What do you see, Loki?" Sif asked. His face was unreadable, and that generally meant nothing
good.
"Potential," he said. "Potential greater than any I have seen for a very long time."

"Then why the long face?" Fandral asked.

"Because as father once looked on Thor and I as infants and saw our potential, as the Lady Knight
looked on you and Sif and saw your potential, someone looked on a young Surtur, someone else on
a little Thanos, and pronounced that they had potential too," Loki said flatly. "Potential is not good.
It is not bad. It simply is. Something to be moulded, guided and even managed."

As he spoke, he did not look away from the fight.

"Not squandered?" Clint asked.

"No. No, not squandered. I do not think that," Loki said quietly.

"Why?" Sif asked curiously.

As he spoke, Harry suddenly ran forward, and leapt, taking advantage of the enhancements Loki
had given him to sail over Uhtred's head.

A trained athlete, like Natasha, would have maybe flipped in mid air, or made sure to land in a
smooth roll, to spring back upright almost immediately, equilibrium never in doubt and advantage
in hand.

Harry was not such an athlete, so when he came down, having misjudged his leap, he came down
hard on his right ankle, which broke with a sickening crack.

Most boys his age, warriors in training or not, would have howled their agony, bit their lip or
clutched at their ankle, eyes watering in pain.

He was not most boys, and as Uhtred turned, in response to the leap and the crack, he scrambled
forwards in half dive, half leap, left hand supporting him as his left side took his weight, while his
his right arm and the wooden sword at the end of it, extended.

And when Uhtred turned, ready to bring his wooden axe down in a sweeping, bout finishing blow,
he found the blade of the wooden sword lying against his carotid artery.

Silence fell.

"Yield," Harry hissed through gritted teeth. The pain, of course, made him clench his jaw. It also
made him sound a lot more dangerous, belying the wobble in his body, caused by tiredness and
agony.

Uhtred was many things. Proud, yes. Competitive, yes. Arrogant, yes.

But he was honourable above them all.

He dropped the axe.

It landed with a thunking clatter.

Thunderous cheers erupted, and a group of healers ran out of the crowd to attend to Harry's ankle,
while Uhtred stormed off, face red with anger and frustration, the tears of humiliation pricking in
his eyes.

Those who think that is glorious to see the underdog win forget that it's a dog eat dog world.
More often than not, there is a bigger dog out there than the one they've just beaten.

And the world isn't black and white.

For instance, just because someone's disadvantaged and downtrodden does not mean that they
cannot be cruel, petty and unpleasant. Just because someone has every advantage in the world does
not mean that they cannot be kind, noble and decent.

Not that Harry or Uhtred fit into the description of the bad guy easily. Harry was far from cruel,
petty and unpleasant. So was Uhtred, at heart, though he was rather closer than Harry, at the
moment, simply because underneath the bluster, anger and inferiority complex lay the makings of
a good man and a hero.

He was the underdog in his own struggle with his successful family.

Good Guys and Bad Guys aren't easily identifiable by a system of colour coded uniforms, or even
hats.

But it's nice to think that they are. That's why people do.

"Why will his potential not be squandered?" Loki said. "Because of that. Because he will never
give up. He will never give in, no matter what it costs him. Because he will risk everything for
nothing. And down that path madness and greatness lie."

"Which one?" Fandral asked.

Before anyone else could say a word, Sif, looking Loki dead in the eye, said quietly, "Who says it
can't be both?"

Loki chuckled softly. "Quite."

Sif continued as if he hadn't spoken. "One following the other. Greatness forged in the flames of
madness, achieving a strength and temper beyond that which any thought possible."

"Great men are forged in fire and adversity," Loki said. "It is the privilege of lesser men to light the
flame."

"You are not lesser, Loki," Sif said, almost whispering. "You never have been."

"This is not about me."

"Whether it started that way or became it, it is," she said. "When I think of now, these present
events, I do not know why, but it all comes back to you. Even when it does not make sense."

She looked deep into his eyes, blue meeting green. Under those green eyes, so like his nephew's,
lay eyes amber-red, like fire, berries and rubies. Once, that and the implications it had would have
revolted her.

Once.

It was at that moment, she realised how close they were, her lips not three inches from his.

Well. This could be embarrassing.

She coughed and drew back as Loki cleared his throat and shot a poisonous look over her shoulder
at what turned out to be a smirking Clint, grinning Fandral, knowing Volstagg and amused Hogun.
"I," Loki said with great dignity, "Am going to find my brother and inform him of his son's injury.
If you would be so kind as to go and keep him company, I would be very grateful." Then he
teleported away.

It took Sif a couple of moments to realise that he'd left her to face the teasing.

Sometimes, just sometimes, she hated him.

OoOoO

As it turned out, Clint and the Warriors Three were either put off teasing by her forbidding 'annoy
me and die' expression or the fact that they wanted to save it for when the rest of the Avengers
were present. Particularly Lord Stark.

While she would like to think it was the former, she was a realist.

Still, she counted her blessings and decided that it was, on balance, a good thing that she wouldn't
end up murdering one of them in front of Thor's son.

That might make a bad first impression.

The healing rooms weren't far from the training yards, the architect of the royal palace of Asgard
having had a certain degree of foresight, or, at least, applied a certain degree of logic in the
designing process.

They were comprised of a group of large, spacious and airy rooms, with a lighter, more ethereal
touch to their decorations, in contrast to the sharp and bright palace, designed in a possibly vain
attempt to calm the residents.

The ward was a place of light and peace, though when a healer exited one of the other wards, the
blood curdling scream of a woman in the midst of childbirth followed him out until he shut the
door.

As he did, Sif heard a yell of pain. Thor's son had, if she had to guess, jumped at the sudden sound,
trying to hop out of bed and investigate, and had jarred his broken ankle.

Following the sound, she and the others crossed over to one of the few occupied beds on the ward,
where Harry was currently sulking slightly, face a little damp with tears of pain, which, on seeing
Sif and the others arrive, he hastily wiped away in a gesture so reminiscent of both father and
uncle, neither of whom could ever bear to let others see them cry that she had to laugh, just a little.

"What?" he asked, tone rendered slightly irate by a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

"You remind me of your father," Sif said, amused, sitting down beside him, the rest joining her.
Harry's eyes widened slightly, while the healer working on his ankle muttered a few choice words
under her breath about great galumphing soldiers. "I am Lady Sif, though you may simply call me
Sif," she said. "Agent Barton you know already, and these three idiots are Fandral –"

"The Dashing, at your service, my prince," Fandral said, grinning and executing a rather neat bow
despite his seated position, drawing a giggle from Harry. "As my Lady says, I am Fandral, the
Dashing, this is Volstagg the Voluminous and Hogun the Grim." He paused. "Hogun doesn't smile
much, so don't take it personally."

Volstagg nodded sagely. "We think his face got stuck like that a few centuries back," he said, in a
purposely confidential undertone.
Hogun rolled his eyes, then gave Harry, who was trying very hard not to laugh, a quick half smile.

"They are the Warriors Three," Sif said, tone wryly amused. "And though they may not look or
sound like it, they are three of the finest warriors in Asgard, and some of your father's oldest
friends. As am I."

"These four, your dad and your uncle are basically Asgard's version of the Avengers," Clint said by
way of explanation. "Asgard's Mightiest Heroes."

Volstagg puff his chest out proudly and Fandral preened. "I rather like the sound of that," Fandral
said. "Don't you, Sif?"

"It does have a pleasant ring to it," Sif acknowledged. "But what you are forgetting, Fandral, is first
and foremost, we serve the Crown."

"That technically means you," Clint said helpfully.

Harry went slightly grey at this thought. "Right," he said slowly. "Um…" he paused, then perked
up slightly. "Sif… could you answer a question? It could be a bit personal."

"Yes," Sif said, slightly worried by the look in his eye.

"Have you ever been… involved with dad?"

Sif gaped.

"Because the legends down on Earth are mostly useless and wrong, and they got you wrong, for
one thing, but they did say that you and dad were married," Harry continued, tone completely and
genuinely innocent. Somehow, that made it worse. "So I just thought I'd ask."

There was silence. Sif gaped. Fandral, Volstagg and even Hogun were grinning at her. Then Clint
collapsed into howls of laughter, largely at Sif's expression, and the rest followed.

"Sif and Thor. Sif and Thor. Sif and Thor," Fandral laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Well, my
good Prince, it is funny that you should say that, because once, many centuries ago when we were
all young, after a feast, we heard Sif moaning, and thought she was in trouble so we investigated
and lo and behold –"

Sif's eyes narrowed as she blushed furiously, and before Fandral could finish, being unable to get
proper leverage to punch, she grabbed his face and nutted him with a resounding crack. Fandral,
struck silent and insensate, went down like a felled tree.

"And that is what Nat calls 'cognitive recalibration," Clint observed.

There is a reason no one fucks with the Lady Sif. That reason is because she is a stone cold
badass.

Sif turned to the possibly unaware architect of her embarrassment, ready to give him a cold word
or two… and found him staring at her in unbridled awe.

"Whoa… that's cool," he breathed.

Sif was puzzled for a moment, then remembered that Midgardians tended to use cool not just as a
descriptor for temperature, but also as an exclamation at how impressive something was, or even
simply as an acknowledgement.
"How did you do that?" he asked in awe. "Well, I mean, I know how you did it, with your head,
obviously, but…" he paused and leaned over the side of the bed to get a look at Fandral, and his
face wrinkled up in a mixture of curiosity and concern. "He's going to be okay, right?"

"Thick skull," Hogun grunted. "He'll be fine."

"Worry not, young Prince. He'll find some fair maiden willing to salve the wound," Volstagg said
airily. "Which is mostly one to his pride."

Harry didn't look entirely sure, so Clint broke in. "It's like when your dad and the Hulk punch each
other all the time. They know that both of them can take it."

Harry nodded doubtfully, then watched with interest as one Healer, looking decidedly annoyed,
reached down, grabbed Fandral's ankle, and towed him away.

"See? They know he's fine."

OoOoO

After a couple of hours in their company, Harry felt reasonably comfortable around Sif and the
Warriors Three, or rather, Sif and the Warriors Two, since Fandral, while he had regained
consciousness, was a bit woozy, and as Volstagg had predicted, being fussed over by a pretty girl.

Volstagg was like Hagrid – he was large, loud, and lavishly bearded, but equally kind, gentle,
likeable and fundamentally benevolent.

Hogun, though he was rather quiet and at first sight, a little scary, revealed a dry and rapier sharp
wit that was often wielded against Volstagg and his weight, albeit in good natured fashion.

Sif was a bit sterner and cooler at first, but when she loosened up, Harry found that underneath the
deadly warrior lay a kind, clever and friendly woman with a ready smile, who spent much of her
time exasperated and/or amused by the foibles of her friends.

And since these friends included the Warriors Three, Thor, Loki and more recently, the Avengers
those foibles were many, something typified by the fact that Sif did not bat an eyelid when they
heard an explosion in the background.

"What was that?" Harry asked worriedly, batting both eyelids.

"Lord Stark and Doctor Banner are probably having fun," Sif said. "And the artisans of the city are
celebrating a windfall."

"Sirius is with them too," Clint put in.

Sif nodded her understanding."Yes… I thought the explosion was louder than usual."

"And somehow they are merely scorched. Or rather, Lord Black and Lord Stark are scorched, and
Doctor Banner has transformed into the Hulk, though he seems to have decided that he needed to
make the 'elf man', otherwise known as my husband's chancellor, Algrim, fetch medical assistance
immediately. And made this point very clear," a woman said. She was tall and beautiful in a
fashion that suggested age had merely changed the beauty of her youth rather than diminished it.
She chuckled. "I think he will recover his ability to hear by this evening."

Sif, Volstagg and Hogun immediately scrambled to their feet, bowing to the woman who had just
spoken. Even Clint stood and executed a surprisingly neat bow.
"Um… Hi?" Harry said, essaying a little wave.

The woman chuckled. She looked and sounded kind, with warm amber brown eyes, honey blonde
hair and a warm yellow dress. "Hello Harry. I am Frigga, your grandmother."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, in total shock. Behind the shock, he was weighing up all the
potential responses. Anger and contempt for his suffering at the Dursleys was immediately
considered and immediately discarded. From what he'd heard, his grandfather had been the one to
make that decision, with none able to disobey or countermand it, and Harry's issues with him were
set aside until they met. Bursting into tears from being emotionally overwhelmed again was
possible, even understandable, and there was something profoundly motherly about the woman in
front of him. Which wasn't exactly surprising, since his uncle had mentioned that she was the
Goddess of Motherhood.

"Hey," he said quietly, unable to think of anything else to say as he stared at this woman, his
grandmother, his blood, his family. His father was one thing, his uncle another… well, he wasn't
sure why this was so different. Maybe because they were paternal and Frigga was very definitely
maternal. Famously so.

Frigga crossed over to the side of his bed, drawing up one of the suddenly empty chairs. With a
start, Harry realised that the others had slipped out. Clint stood in the doorway, grinned, waved and
mouthed, 'good luck' at Harry, before disappearing.

Harry thought he heard Darcy and Pepper, maybe even Natasha as well, talking to him, before the
hushed voices receded into the distance.

"You look so much like your father," Frigga said after a moment, then glanced at the door. "I dare
say that he is going to be fetched now, if he is not alreay." She looked back at Harry. "You look
like him. And your mother too."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Really?" he blurted out, shocked, then bit his tongue in embarrassment.

Frigga chuckled. "Not as he is now, but as he was. Your uncle went to quite some trouble to make
sure everyone in the palace, if not the city, knew why your form looks as it does," she said.

"And my mother? Did you know her?"

"Not your form as such, but the way you act. Your eyes and your mannerisms make your mother's
identity very clear. And no, I didn't know her, not as such. But Loki was not the only one who kept
an eye on Thor during his time as a mortal. I kept my own quiet watch, as a mother will," she said.
She shook her head. "Thor is brave, courageous to the point of madness. That is not to say Loki is
not brave, because he is. But he keeps a cool head, judging, calculating and acting in a practical
fashion, where Thor will just hurl himself straight in. That is an admirable trait in some ways, but it
can lead to so much grief. Hence my worry." She gave Harry a fond look that warmed him from
head to toe. He was loved. Not just by his father, or his uncle, but by someone outside of those
two… that realisation made him smile. "And you are so much like him," Frigga added. She
reached out and took Harry's hand in her own, giving him an amused look. "I saw the fight just
now. You were the very image of your father in anger."

"Oh. Um… sorry?"

"Don't be sorry for who you are, grandson," she chided gently. "You have hot blood from both your
father and your mother." She smirked. "I rather think that your mother's hot temper did wonders to
your father's ego. She certainly knocked him down a few pegs." She looked thoughtful. "Jane can
be a little hot tempered too, though less often. Mind you, she does have a penchant for accidentally
ramming him with Midgardian vehicles that your mother didn't, so I suppose it all balances out."

Harry grinned. "I suppose it does." His grandmother had soft hands, but strong ones, with slight
calluses in them. These were hands that were gentle but well used to work.

Frigga smiled at him, then looked at his ankle. "Now, let's have a look at this ankle," she said,
briskly, carefully and professionally undoing the bandage and splint. She waved a hand and a
gentle green glow surrounded his ankle, flaring into red at one point. She let a slight hiss between
her teeth. "Oh, you really have managed to do yourself a mischief, haven't, you, grandson? And
you haven't even been here a day!"

Harry gave her a shy, awkward half smile. "Trouble sort of finds me, whether I like it or not."

Frigga shook her head in exasperated amusement, and gestured at the green glow. The red flare
within it dimmed to orange, and then to a pale yellow. As it did, the residual itching pain Harry had
felt diminished to little more than a background ache.

"Whoa," he whispered, abundantly aware that this was a word that he was using a lot. He suspected
that it was one that he would be using a lot over the next few days. "Thanks," he said, and made to
wiggle his foot. Frigga, already leaning down to get some more bandages from the bedside table
snapped out a hand and caught his foot in a not uncomfortable, but decidedly vice like, grip.

It could have been his imagination, but Harry could have sworn that she started to move before he
did. It wasn't impossible.

She was, after all, Thor and Loki's mother.

Quickly and carefully she resplinted his ankle. "Among other things," she explained as she worked.
"I am the Chief Healer in Asgard, and I train all those healers who work or have worked in the
Palace and the Citadel. Some generally, others personally."

"That's incredible," Harry said, remembering his last encounter with a broken bone.

She smiled at him. "Thank you. If it was required, I or any of those who I trained could have
healed it completely with a snap of the fingers, especially a simple break like that, but I find that it
is best to let the body do the last part of healing itself whenever possible. It teaches the body a few
lessons about taking care of itself, and," she said, giving Harry a pointed look. "Hopefully the
body's owner as well."

"Yeah," Harry said a little ruefully. "Much better than last time, anyway."

"You have broken bones before?"

"Once," Harry said. "It was fixed."

"How?"

"I was playing Quidditch – it's a sport that involves a lot of flying on magic broomsticks and iron
balls that try to knock you off your broom," Harry explained. "One of my teachers last year turned
out to be a fraud." He looked sour. "He tried to show off his amazing abilities by fixing my arm.
Instead, he managed to vanish the bones in it. All of them."

"They were replaced?"

"Regrown," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

"Remarkable," Frigga murmured. "I did not know that mortal medicine, magical or otherwise, had
progressed so far." She gave him a knowing look. "But judging by your tone, it has not progressed
so far that healing potions taste pleasant."

Harry nodded. "Do they taste nice here?"

"No. We do try to encourage people to not come back here, you realise," Frigga said dryly. "Now,
lie still."

Harry obediently lay, and let a blue-green line of light, one of Frigga's spells, run up and down his
body.

Judging by her frown, she didn't entirely like what it told her.

"What is it?" he asked, worried that he'd somehow upset her.

"Those former so called guardians of yours had better be suffering right now," she said darkly. "If
they are not, I will personally make sure of it."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, if they'd fed you properly, you would be at least three Midgardian inches taller," she said,
tone laden with disapproval. "And that injury to your arm, very nicely healed by the way, my
compliments to your Healer, is not the first such injury." She shook her head slowly.

Her grandson's poor body had been forced to work far harder to heal him than it should ever have
had to. The list of healed injuries included but was not limited to; a puncture wound to the arm
from some sort of gigantic fang, a poisoning the likes of which she hadn't seen for millennia,
probably from the puncture wound, six slightly fractured bones, two cracked ribs, a slightly broken
but carefully reset nose, innumerable bruises, a, no, several nasty burns to the right and left hands,
alternating in no particular pattern. Possibly some sort of barbaric disciplinary measure.

And it just went on and on, so much suffering that she almost wept. How could this happen to a
child? How could anyone do this to an innocent? Somewhere, she knew, Harry's mother had wept
long and hard for what had happened to her son.

Impulsively, she reached down and pulled him into a tight hug, barely hearing the surprised squeak
he let out, tensing then relaxing and wrapping his arms around her.

And as she held him close to her chest, she made a vow to the ghost of Lily Potter – her son would
be as safe as she could keep him. And he would be loved. Oh, he would be loved so very much.
 The Storm Breaks
Chapter Summary

This is the catharsis chapter, of Harry and Odin finally meeting. As such things often
are, it is not pretty. But it is necessary. And if it appears that Harry is quick to
forgive... that is for a certain value of 'forgive'. As he puts it later, forgiving is not the
same as forgetting.

Agent Coulson was not a happy man.

Dealing with a case that put him at risk of running into one of the Avengers before he was ready
for that to happen had him worried and annoyed.

Having many friends, good friends, among the casualties at both MI5 and MI13 hurt him deeply,
though he did his best not show it.

But what was bothering him the most was the fact that his team, only two out of five of whom were
combat trained, had been set on a collision course with things that gave gods nightmares. That had
him frightened, for their sakes.

And they weren't the only things that Coulson didn't want them running into. Things that were also
on the move.

Inwardly, he shuddered as he remembered. Pale masks, dark robes, and flashes of green light in the
darkness.

A combat trained SHIELD Agent could take the average Death Eater seven times out of ten. If,
and this was a big if, they knew what they were dealing with.

Someone like Ward or May would win ninety five times out of a hundred against the average
Death Eater.

But Fitzsimmons wouldn't stand a chance. And nor would Skye, who was currently in a rather
excited mood.

He half smiled. He couldn't blame her. Discovering new things, things you previously thought
impossible, was generally wonderous. Or terrifying. Sometimes both.

"I still can't believe that we're dealing with magic," Skye said, shaking her head, tone one of
mingled puzzlement and delight. "I mean, this really is magic, right?"

"Fitzsimmons would disagree, but what we're dealing with is not currently explainable by
conventional science," Coulson replied. "And it's not the first time that's happened. SHIELD deals
with magic too, with some help from organisations like MI:13, the occult arm of British
Intelligence."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. You know how the Antichrist nearly ended the world in 1990?"
"No. Are you joking?"

"No. Adam's a nice kid. He decided against it, in the end."

"Hold up," Skye said. "You know the Antichrist? Isn't he all evil and stuff?"

"We're acquainted," Coulson said calmly. "And he isn't. He's half demon, half angel – human,
basically. Neutral by default. He's a decent guy. Keeps his head down."

"If you're the son of Satan, I suppose I can see why you wouldn't want to broadcast your existence,"
Skye said, blinking. "This is a whole new layer of weird. I mean, if the Antichrist exists, then so do
Heaven and Hell, right? And God, with a capital G."

"There are a number of dimensions that could correspond to Hell which have been encountered in
the past," Coulson said. "Muspelheim, the world of fire, ruled by the demon lord Surtur is one."

"What, is that the Asgardian hell?"

"No, though there are a few parallels – fire, demons and the stories of Ragnarok say that Odin and
Surtur will face off at Ragnarok," Coulson said. "And there may be some truth in them."

"Weird," Skye said. "So, magic… it exists?"

"The force known as magic very definitely exists," Coulson said. "And while most people who
believe that they can do magic are either frauds, delusional or possess some other superhuman
ability explainable by science, there are some humans who have evolved or otherwise developed
the ability to wield that force."

"Whoa, wait up. There are actual human witches and wizards. Not Asgardians, Antichrists or
people like that, but actual human beings."

"Yes."

"Oh my god, that is so cool! What are they like?" Skye asked eagerly.

Coulson was silent for a long time.

"Like ordinary people. Some good, some bad. They tend to be more paranoid, though," he said
eventually.

"Did you know any?"

"A few. Very well, in fact," Coulson said quietly. "Or at least, I thought I did." He smiled sadly.
"Turned out that I was wrong."

"Oh? Someone magical do you wrong?"

"You could say that," Coulson said. "They're an insolated society, and in Europe in particular, they
tend to be very bad at dealing with anything outside of that society, regarding it as beneath them. It
isn't really surprising, considering that they were flying when everyone else was still riding horses
at best. In North America, it's a little different, with a greater focus on integration, but they all tend
to be very secretive."

"Why? They can't honestly think that we'll start up the witch trials and burn them alive…" Skye
began in a joking tone, then trailed off. "They actually think that?"
"They have reason," Coulson said. "A fully trained witch or wizard can be an extremely serious
threat to anyone who does not know exactly what they're capable of and getting into. If they're
combat trained, it's worse. If they're combat trained and have an adequate knowledge of non-
magical technology, they can be a complete nightmare. They have a lot of strange and dangerous
powers up to and including mind control and memory erasure. The former is a capital crime in
some jurisdictions, however, and the second is only used in dire need by those who aren't trained in
its use. But that doesn't matter. What they can do marks them out as both different and a threat to
humanity's status as most powerful species on the planet. Humanity as a whole tends to react badly
to people who are different and threats."

"So, if they have all these crazy powers, why aren't they ruling us?" Skye asked. "Why aren't we
bowing down to our wizarding overlords?"

"Because they're afraid of us. They aren't the only supernatural beings out there, and as far as I can
tell, they mainly disdain us, think we should be wiped out or enslaved, or regard us as so weak and
insignificant as not to be worth paying attention to," Coulson explained. "But equally, they come
down very hard on anyone who tries to make their existence more widely known."

"Why?"

"The numbers advantage. Sure, they could rule through fear, but eventually, fear turns into anger.
Wizards form a very small percentage of the global population, and they know very well how
dangerous 'muggles' can be. And a lot of them still think we're at seventeenth century technology
levels," Coulson said. "If they understood ordinary modern tech, let alone what SHIELD and
similar organisations possess, they would be terrified."

"Okay… how powerful do they get?"

"I'd say that the Sorcerer Supreme could challenge Loki on his own level," Coulson said.

"Whoa. They don't all get that strong, do they? Because that sounds like some sort of boss wizard,"
Skye said.

"He's not a boss. But he is the most powerful," Coulson agreed. "There are maybe five wizards and
witches on the planet that could constitute an Alpha class threat. And then you have the occasional
Dark Lords. Like Emperor Palpatine," he added at her raised eyebrows. "But less cuddly."

"Is there one of those running around right now?"

"No. There was a powerful one in Britain twelve years ago, and we know he isn't quite dead,"
Coulson said. "And there were two in Europe during World War II. The chief Dark Wizard of the
time, Grindelwald, controlled Nazi Germany and the Third Reich through a decidedly lopsided
alliance with Adolf Hitler, one that he quickly came to dominate. His empire extended further, too,
from the Atlantic coast of WesternEurope to the Pacific coast of East Asia. His second in
command, a necromancer, marginally less powerful, engineered World War I."

"This necromancer guy, do you think he's behind the night of the living dead thing we've got going
on here?"

"Unlikely. Some of SHIELD's allies made sure that he was very, very dead. The battle indirectly
caused the Buin Zahra earthquake of 1962 in Iran, resulting in well over 10,000 fatalities," Coulson
said. He looked grim. "What we're dealing with is potentially worse than that."

"Worse," Skye said flatly. "How can it be worse?"

"Very easily," Agent May said, passing by.

"Intelligence from the Avengers suggests that a variant of these constructs –"

"Super zombies."

"Constructs," Coulson said pointedly. "Nearly wiped out the entire Asgardian race over four
thousand years ago. They live on in nursery rhymes, folklore, that sort of thing. Odin apparently
went to extremely drastic lengths to obliterate both them and all knowledge of their creation." He
looked over at where Fitzsimmons were arguing over data, the remains of the creature in the
background. "And if just one, based on a human, is capable of that much… I can see why."

After all, Odin was a King, and judging by Thor, he wasn't completely heartless. He must know
what it was like to be afraid for people you cared for.

OoOoO

"So… Harry's been here, what, a few hours, and he's already got into a fight and broken his ankle?"
Pepper asked, frowning.

She, Darcy, Natasha had been intercepted by Clint, Sif and the Warriors Three outside the healing
rooms and diverted. Apparently Harry and Frigga were having some bonding time.

"And he won against some jackass twice his size," Darcy chipped in. "Go Harry, I say."

"He fought valiantly, Lady Pepper," Fandral assured her. "His injury was taken in the pursuit of
victory."

"I'm sure the fight was impressive," Pepper said, still frowning. "But what bothers me is how he
got into the fight so fast. I mean, he's brave, yes, and he'll stand up to people, but he didn't strike
me as particularly confrontational."

"He isn't," Natasha said firmly. "His psych report says that much."

Everyone save Clint, who already knew, looked puzzled, albeit for different reasons.

"Whoa, Harry has a psych report?" Darcy said, raising her eyebrows. "That's a few notches on the
barometer of weird.

"And that means he has a SHIELD file," Pepper said, frown deepening.

"What is a 'psych report'?" Fandral asked. "And a shield file?"

"Maybe it is a device for cleaning shields," Volstagg suggested.

"Yes, but even if it was, why would Harry have one, I mean, he doesn't have a sword, let alone a
shield," Sif pointed out, rolling her eyes. She looked at Clint and Natasha thoughtfully. "The
Midgardian organisation you work for is called SHIELD, correct?"

Both nodded.

"And this file… it is a compendium of information?"

Another pair of nods.

She frowned. "Why would Harry have one? He is a child."

"SHIELD has files on everyone who might be a Person of Interest. Harry definitely qualifies. And
yeah, he's a child, but one with powerful friends," Clint said.

"And powerful enemies," Natasha added. "And that was before we found out he was Thor's son."

"What sort of friends did he have before?" Hogun asked.

"One of the five most powerful people who is regularly on Earth, the Sorcerer Supreme, was his
paediatrician, his doctor when he was a baby. Another is his headteacher and mentor," Natasha
said calmly. "Both of his maternal grandparents were highly ranked SHIELD Agents and mentors
to Director Fury, the head of SHIELD, who was also a big brother figure to Harry's mother, and the
second placed candidate to be Harry's godfather. And SHIELD is currently monitoring people who
are possibly extended family on his mother's side." She shrugged. "He's connected. And he doesn't
even realise it."

"And then there's the whole magic thing, the Prophecy –" Clint began.

"Prophecy?" Almost everyone chimed in.

Pepper looked thoughtful. "Thor mentioned that, when he first told us about having been James
Potter," she said. "It was something about Harry and this Dark Lord, Voldemort, being prophesied
enemies. One would kill the other, right?"

"'Neither can live while the other survives,'" Natasha quoted.

"This Dark Lord… he is not as dead as he was thought to be, correct?" Fandral asked. His tones
were suddenly clipped and professional, and a quick glance at he, Sif, Volstagg and Hogun very
definitely said that any silliness had been put on hold. A potential threat to the life of a member of
the Royal Family had been discovered. This was serious business.

"He's been stuck as a wraith for the last decade or so," Natasha said. "And he's alone, to the best of
our knowledge, having got his last minion killed."

"Careless," Darcy said, shaking her head.

Natasha smirked slightly. "Quite." Then she sobered. "He's still dangerous, however. He's
attempted to kill Harry twice in the last two years, once directly through his minion, and once
through a fragment of his spirit that possessed, then made a spirited attempt to steal the lifeforce of,
the little sister of one of Harry's best friends, controlling a basilisk."

"A basilisk?"

"Sixty foot long magically created snake," Clint put in. "Smart as dumb person. Poison deadly to
humans and destroys most things on contact. It's gaze is instantly lethal if met."

"A worthy foe," Fandral said, hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

"Yeah, it's pretty badass," Darcy said casually. "Pity for you that Harry killed it last year."

Sif and the Warriors Three stared at her.

"What? You didn't know that?"

They shook their heads mutely.

"Well, he did, with some magic sword from an ancestor of Thor in his mortal bod or something like
that. Then he destroyed the fragment thingy and saved the girl." Darcy said. "I think he was, what,
twelve."

"Twelve," Pepper confirmed, in a tone that markedly conveyed her intense disapproval of twelve
year olds fighting anything, let alone sixty foot magical killer snakes OF DOOM.

Sif smiled slightly. "Definitely his father's son."

"Most certainly," Fandral said, slightly awed.

"And when he was eleven, he and Ron, his best buddy, took down a full grown mountain troll that
was trying to kill their friend," Clint said, having heard this particular tale from his grandmother.

"Really?" Fandral asked, fascinated.

"Yup. Harry jumped on its back and distracted it by sticking his wand up its nose and his buddy
knocked it out with its own club," Clint said casually.

The Asgardians all looked decidedly impressed.

"Well, it's certainly clear that he's started strongly," Fandral said, glancing at Sif who nodded
emphatically.

"Yes," Pepper said, once more in a disapproving tone. Mentally competent adult heroes throwing
themselves into danger were one thing. Children too young to make informed decisions doing the
same was another entirely.

"You don't approve, Lady Pepper?" Fandral asked, a little puzzled. "Surely valour is a thing to take
pride in."

"For an adult, yes," Pepper said frankly. "But you're forgetting he's still a child. He should have the
chance to be one a little longer, not go hurtling into life threatening danger time after time." She
sighed. "Of course, he'll probably end up wandering into it anyway." She smiled wryly. "He is his
father's son, after all."

"Yes he is," Thor boomed, walking towards them. "He is also injured. How and why?"

"He got in a fight with that Uhtred kid – I mean, a proper fight, like a duel. He won, but he broke
his ankle," Darcy said casually. "Your mom's fixing him up and doing the whole family bonding
thing at the same time." She smirked and took on the tones of a practiced shit stirrer. "I bet she's
telling him all sorts of embarrassing stories…"

Thor went a whiter shade of pale.

OoOoO

While Harry had got on very well with Frigga, his first meeting with Odin was, to put no finer
point on it, combustible.

As soon as his ankle stopped itching and his father made sure that he was, in fact, fine, hugged
him, told him he was proud of him, then, in a display of rank parental hypocrisy, told him that his
actions were irresponsible and he, Thor, did not want to see him do such things ever again.

Harry had then said cheekily, "But you didn't see me do it, dad."

Thor's response had been, "I'm your father, I see everything." What it lacked in logic, it made up
for in the pure dad voice it had been said in.

Harry had pouted and Frigga had been amused. In many respects, it was like seeing Thor and Odin,
all over again. Except, she thought, that Thor was a gentler, more lenient father, more prone to
laughter and outward displays of affection. He was younger than his father had been, of course –
Odin had famously married relatively late in life – and did not have the burdens of Kingship on his
shoulders.

Not only that, but his time on Midgard, among the strange, fascinating and downright bizarre
people of that world, and his stint as a Midgardian, had been good for him. It had changed him in
ways that were only just now being shown.

Frigga rather felt that this was an improvement.

However, all happy moments must end, and as soon as Harry was told that he was meeting his
grandfather, his expression had closed off.

"Good," he said flatly.

Frigga had left, doubtless to prepare her husband for the coming storm, but not before giving Harry
a kiss on the cheek and saying, with a smile, that she would love to spend some more time with
him soon.

Harry smiled back, but the smile soon disappeared. He had then got into more formal, Asgardian
clothing without complaint, a fetching arrangement of a dark red tunic finished and patterned with
gold, with earthy brown breeches, a neat blend of practicality and formality.

His expression was cloudy, with hints of rain and a high chance of storms later in the day – Thor
was actually quite good at reading people, if he put his mind to it and they weren't actively and
ably hiding things from him, though he tended to interpret them in weather metaphors.

Thor knew then that Harry's first meeting with his grandfather was going to be interesting, in the
same way that natural disasters, nuclear bombs and car crashes are interesting.

"Here we go," Thor muttered to himself.

Loki had joined them on the way, greeting his nephew, and getting a brief smile in reply. He'd then
glanced at Thor, who grimaced, and nodded grimly. They both knew what was coming.

This was the end of the calm. Now came the storm.

They proceeded without incident into the private chambers of the royal family, ushered in by
Algrim, who caught Harry's expression, nodded to himself and went to ensure the servants were at
minimum safe distance for a royal family argument. That is to say, at the other end of the palace,
cowering under heavy objects.

For a moment, the two parties, Harry flanked by his father and uncle, Odin with Frigga standing
close enough to be proper, but, tellingly, only just. She gave Harry a fond smile that was briefly
returned, before he glared coldly at Odin.

"The Dursleys," he said, tones cold and clipped, making him sound rather older than he was.
Anyone listening closely might have said that his voice like cast iron under strain. Strong,
unyielding, but starting to crack. "Explain."

Loki laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry shrugged it off angrily, but grudgingly added,
"Please."

Odin raised an eyebrow. "You ask, nay demand, that I explain my actions?" He said. "Not many
would dare." His tone was mild, and gave away nothing.

Harry folded his arms, glare instensifying to something approaching a green laser and shifted his
body position so that his right leg was slightly to one side, foot out at an angle. If you froze the
moment, and looked deep into his eyes, you might see a gleam of something else. Something
indescribably ancient and incredibly young. Something old, something new. Something… gold.

Then it was gone.

Meanwhile, Thor had spared a moment from his own flat stare at his father to look at Harry in
mingled worry, fondness and sadness. Right at that moment, he looked just like his mother. And
with Lily, that pose had never, ever boded well. Indeed, it was usually followed by a major
eruption of Mount Evans, in the form of quiet, seething rage, or, more usually, passionate fury with
added arm flailing.

Thor remembered being informed by his father-in-law that it was, in fact, the Grey temper rather
than the Evans temper, since it came from Lily's mother, who Lily had learned the posture, and
through some long buried memory, Harry had learned it from his mother.

"I dare," Harry said coldly. "Grandfather."

Thor and Loki simultaneously winced. That was the first shot across the bows. Harry couldn't have
invested the word with more anger and contempt if he'd tried.

Frigga looked slightly shocked. That said, she was currently giving a slightly taken aback Odin a
look that said, 'you have brought this upon yourself and it is well deserved.'

"Tell me, grandfather," Harry continued, voice getting louder and louder as his temper rose further
and further. "Were you just going to let me moulderaway at the Dursleys?"

Odin's expression and tone hardened. "Be careful of your words, boy," he warned. "I am your
grandfather, but my forbearance is not unlimited. I would have you remember who you dare raise
your voice to."

Loki winced. That was guaranteed to set Harry off. Maybe, he thought, that was why Odin had said
it.

Thor covered his eyes. He couldn't bear to look.

Frigga took a deep breath and braced herself. By Harry's reddening face and long honed mothering
instincts, she knew what was coming.

Off in the distance, Algrim selected a particularly heavy desk.

And Harry went off like a nuclear bomb.

"I DARE RAISE MY VOICE TO THE MAN THAT LEFT ME TO ROT! I DARE RAISE MY
VOICE TO THE MAN WHO LIVED IN THE LAP OF LUXURY, WIPED MY FATHER'S
MEMORY, REFUSED MY GRANDMOTHER AND MY UNCLE THE RIGHT TO TAKE
CARE OF ME, TO LET ME BE RAISED BY PEOPLE WHO LOVED ME, INSTEAD OF
PEOPLE WHO HATED MY GUTS!"
Harry was now bright red in the face, eyes burning with rage, right fore finger jabbing towards
Odin to emphasise each word like a sword. He was rage incarnate.

But it was not just rage. There were tears in those eyes. Because though he had faced more than
any child and most adults, though he was, in many ways, wiser than his years, he was thirteen
years old. Still a child.

And he was giving voice to the pain and anguish of a child abandoned to people who hated him,
one who had been left to rot in a cupboard, one, more to the point, who simply didn't
understand why.

Odin's face was carefully blank. But to those who knew him well, sorrow could be seen in his eyes.

"YOU SAY YOU'RE MY GRANDFATHER! REALLY! THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME
THERE?!" he screamed. "EVERY TIME VERNON USED HIS BELT, EVERY TIME DUDLEY
BEAT ME UNTIL I BLED AND MY BONES CRACKED, EVERY TIME TIME PETUNIA
WORKED ME TO THE BONE WHILE SHE AND HER FAT FAMILY SAT AROUND
DOING NOTHING, WHY DID YOU DO NOTHING?!"

Finally, Harry stopped, sucking in great breaths of air. His cheeks were crimson red with anger and
tears of rage, pain and confusion.

And much more quietly, bearely audible, he whispered, "Why didn't you wantme? Why didn't you
love me?"

He gave Odin a helpless look. "Just… why?"

Odin was silent for a long time.

"TELL ME!" Harry screamed, dredging up his very last reserves.

Then he broke down into helpless, emotionally exhausted sobs.

While Thor and Frigga immediately went to kneel by him and comfort him, Loki settled back on
his feet, having reeled at those last words as if he'd been slapped.

While Harry reminded Thor of Lily, Loki could see Thor in the scale and volume of his rage, in his
fearless and downright insane courage. And right now, he could see himself in Harry. It was like
watching his confrontation in the vault with Odin over his heritage from the outside, letting loose a
lifetime of resentment, anger and confusion.

And it was utterly heartbreaking.

While Thor and Frigga hugged him, rubbed his back and made reassuring noises in
parental/grandparental fashion, Loki found himself saying harshly, "Tell him."

He let his right hand go blue briefly. Odin's eye flicked down to it, then back up. "About all of it,
father. He deserves to know, as much as anyone."

If nothing else, it would make him feel that he had someone to turn to, someone who understood.

Odin bowed his head slightly, accepting the tacit permission to reveal Loki's secret to the newest
addition to the royal family. "Very well," he said.

Then, he knelt. And as if it were a fog in the light of the rising sun, the mask of the King, regal,
distant and mighty, melted away.

"Come on lad," he said gently. "Look at me."

A pair of bloodshot green eyes, swimming in tears, appeared from within the protective hug cage.
Frigga was giving him a warning look that said if he dared upset Harry further, he would be
spending the next half century sleeping on the floor. Remarkably, so was Thor, though his was
more implying sharp introduction of hammer to arse if Harry was upset further.

"As your father and uncle may have explained," Odin said gently, "I may look human, but I am
not. This you must understand. I am ancient. I am Aesir. And I see space and time in a way you
will not for years to come. To me, ten years is barely equivalent to one of your months."

Harry blinked a couple of times, but said nothing.

"I saw it as a brief trial you would have to undergo – painful, true, but temporary. It was an
unpleasant necessity, simply because if I brought you into Asgard or fostered you to one of the
other realms, there is every chance that your father would have remembered before he was ready,
and lose his mind in grief and rage once more. I could not risk that. As for other parents on
Midgard, the unique blood protections that your teacher, Albus Dumbledore, was able to put in
place were one of the few things that could be guaranteed to protect you from those who had not
forgotten what you had done and for those who would be interested in moulding the child of two
such illustrious parents, a child with a touch of destiny about him. Any other potential guardians
were unable to care for you, or rebuffed and turned away by an unknown force, one that I noticed,
but did not investigate, as it seemed not to have any intention of directly harming you." He sighed.
In the background, Thor glanced at Loki, who nodded and added investigating this unknown force
to his to do list. "And," Odin continued. "There are also laws. Rules that even I must follow. Your
father and uncle have a relatively free hand on Midgard. I do not, for, among other reasons, if two
skyfathers came into conflict on Earth, the entire planet would be destroyed in the crossfire. My
power, and the power of your elder cousins and fellow gods, skyfathers and skymothers alike,
means that we must all follow tight rules."

"Or what? Aside from bye bye Earth?" Harry asked, voice still damp and wobbly, a little curious.

Odin chuckled slightly at his phrasing, then sobered. "Or war, grandson," he said seriously. "War
that envelops entire dimensions, let alone worlds, on ascale unimaginable."

"Like the Time War," Loki supplied helpfully. "But worse. Much, much worse."

Odin gave Loki a vaguely puzzled look, a question in his eye.

"A comparison, father, drawn from a Midgardian fiction that Harry is familiar with," Loki
explained quietly. "It refers to a terrible war that destroyed stars, planets and peoples, being on
course to tear the entire universe apart as two great empires fought in higher dimensions and lower
alike, a conflict locked away to save the universe, ending only at great cost."

Odin nodded approvingly, seeing Harry's comprehension. The tears had since dried up, and the
anger, while not entirely gone, was now more banked embers than raging inferno. "That sounds
about right. While your uncle and grandmother wanted to do something that was undoubtedly
right, I am a King. My every action has consequences that echo throughout the Nine Realms and
beyond. So I must act rationally, even coldly at times." He looked grim. "I do not necessarily like
it. That same rationality that has protected Asgard and the other realms for so long has had terrible
costs." He reached out and gently ruffled Harry's hair. "Normally, they are only paid by me, I pay
them and give them little mind. Such are the burdens of the head that wears the crown. But this
time, they were to you, no matter how I wished otherwise. And I am sorry. I am so very sorry,
grandson. I do not apologise for what I have done, for I could find no other course. But I apologise
for failing. Failing to find another way, a btetter one. And I apologise for the pain that failure has
caused you."

His other hand went to Harry's shoulder. "There are few who would dare speak to a King as you
have today. And I am proud that you are one of them, grandson." He paused, and added, a slight
smile on his face, "Though I would prefer if you did not make it a habit."

"I'll try not to," Harry said softly. Then his eyes twinkled with mischief. "No promises, though."

Odin raised an amused eyebrow. "Is that so?" He shook his head. "Anyhow. You are your parents
son, and your own man. You have showed that today. You are brave, passionate, and you do not
flinch from speaking your mind." He smiled and looked Harry in the eyes. "The question,
grandson, is not, why don't I love you. It is, how can I not?"

Harry tentatively smiled. Odin's voice radiated sincerity and warmth, part of the privileged look
Harry was getting under the mask of the Allfather to the man beneath.

Of course, the cynical might say that this was just another mask. It was not impossible, but it was
unlikely.

In any event, Harry was not that cynical.

"You are well now, grandson. There will always be those who are cruel to you. Such is life. But
unlike before, you have a family that loves you. Including a grandfather who asks only the chance
to act, for once, not as a king, but as a grandfather should," Odin said.

Harry loked up at Loki, and over his shoulder at his father. Thor nodded slightly, smiling, and Loki
winked.

Harry looked at Odin.

Harry was many things. He had a furious temper, for one. But he was not, as yet, good at holding
grudges.

He nodded.

Odin smiled. "May I give my grandson a hug?" he asked. Odin was not a hug person, as a general
rule, but he did make occasional exceptions, in special circumstances. And this qualified.

Harry nodded again, and embraced his grandfather. This resolution wasn't perfect. But such things
rarely are. If it were perfect, it would not be real, and if it were not real, it would be entirely bereft
of value.

And to Harry, as he laid his cheek into the soft fabric of Odin's robes and felt the reassuring
solidity of the muscle and bone of his shoulder beneath, it was good enough. He let his
grandfather's beard rustle over his head, and breathed in the vaguely musty, comforting and
fundamentally grandfatherly smell of him.

Yes, this would do nicely.

 Wider Worlds
Chapter Summary

And the cosmos expands still further. Odin's good for exposition.

The rest of the day, what little of it was left, after the meeting and reconciliation between Harry and
Odin had passed without incident. Harry had had dinner with the Avengers and his family, the food
of which rather reminded him of a Hogwarts feast, and they had made conversation, which mostly
consisted of Harry giving a proud Thor and a gleeful Tony and Sirius a blow by blow account of
his fight with Uhtred.

The next morning had been quiet enough, though Harry had been mindboggled by the sheer size
and luxury of his chambers, even if Frigga had specifically tried to make sure that they were not
too overwhelming, the fact that rooms the size of the ground floor of Number Four Privet Drive
were all his was rather overwhelming.

After breakfast, he had mostly taken to exploring and wandering the corridors of Asgard, and,
eventually, he had sat down to think, the bright winter sun shining on him. While he was wrapped
up warm, he didn't really feel the cold, possibly as a result of Loki's enhancements.

After a little while of thinking by himself, he heard a young female voice say thoughtfully, "You
look sad."

He turned, looking up into a startling pair of blue eyes, framed by a pretty pale skinned face that
promised future beauty, near blossoming already, and wavy dark hair. This face, eyes and hair
belonged to a tallish girl who could not be more than eleven or twelve years old. Yet for all that,
she had a calm self-confidence about her. Not arrogance, merely certainty.

"I'm not," he said, surprised by the forwardness of this rather petite personage.

She looked at him closely for a few moments in a rather disquieting fashion, as if she could see
right through him, then nodded slowly. "No," she agreed. "Not sad. Confused."

"I'm not confused," Harry said, slightly annoyed.

"Yes you are," the girl said calmly, with total assurance.

"How would you know?"

"Auntie Frigga says that I'm an empath," she replied.

"You can read emotions?" Harry hazarded.

"Uh-huh."

"All the time?"

She shook her head. "Only when someone else is projecting," she said. She stuck out a hand. "I'm
Diana, daughter of Hercules and Hippolyta."
"I'm Harry," Harry said, then added, "Son of Thor and Lily."

"I know," the girl said placidly. "Everyone's been talking about you."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I didn't," Diana said calmly, though there was a distinct hint of a smirk.

Harry eyed her. "Auntie Frigga?"

"Auntie 'thena says that she's a cousin really, but it's easier to call her Auntie Frigga," Diana
explained. "So that makes you my cousin too," she added with a winning smile.

Just then, as Harry was trying to adjust, there was the sound of footsteps and Diana gasped, eyes
widening as she looked past Harry, who turned to follow her gaze.

"Hello Harry," Sif said, walking over to join them. "Oh, and I see you've met Diana, Asgard's latest
fosterling from Olympus." She smiled and waved at the little girl who was suddenly silent, staring
at Sif in awe, then blushing and looking away when

"Hi Sif," Harry said cheerfully, before giving Diana a decidedly odd look. "You're not talking," he
said slowly to the little girl. "I've known you for about five minutes, but this is the first time you've
stopped talking. And I don't think you stop talking lightly."

Diana glowered slightly at him and stuck out her tongue, but said nothing. She also clearly had the
intention of sticking to saying nothing.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Sif, who grinned, and mouthed, 'hero worship' at him.

Ah. So that explained it.

He suddenly got an idea. "Sif, may I ask where you're going?" he said slowly.

"To see your father, actually," she said.

"Can we join you?"

"I would enjoy your company," Sif said, and as Harry stood up and Diana remained seated, she
added, "I meant both of you, Diana."

"Would it be well with you both?" Diana asked quietly, eyes down.

"Yes," Harry said, "More than well." While Diana was definitely a little odd, he found himself
warming to her, and it cost him nothing to help her out. And, when it came down to it, Harry was
not the sort of person to leave a little girl sitting all alone while he walked away with the object of
her admiration.

With that in mind, he reached out with his magic, trying to project his emotions at her and the fact
he'd like her to join them and knew Sif would too.

Whether it worked or not – on balance, it probably didn't, Diana looked up, eyes sparkling with
happiness, just as Sif added kindly, "It would be our pleasure, Diana. I am sure Harry knows little
of Olympus, and I am equally sure that he would love to hear about your ambition to be a warrior."

Diana stood and blinked. "Really?"

"His mother was a warrior too," Sif said, and Harry nodded his confirmation. "Though she wielded
magic rather than a sword or a spear. And he is one too: I am told that he has defeated a great
serpent and, with the aid of a friend, a mountain troll."

Harry blushed.

"Whoa," Diana said, eyes wide. "That's… pretty impressive." She blinked at Harry. "You want to
hear about home?"

"Yeah, I've hardly heard anything about Olympus," Harry said encouragingly. He grinned. "And
you are family, so I at least have to pretend to put up with you."

Diana grinned, sticking her tongue out briefly. "Then I'd better tell you," she said cheerfully,
linking arms with him. "Let me educate you, cousin."

And indeed she did. She spoke at length about her warrior woman mother, selected on her death to
be raised to the status of an Amazon, the Valkyries of Olympus, and not only that, but chosen as
their Queen, her father, Hercules, who was often away adventuring in some other realm, but always
kind, smiling and cheerful, delighted to have a daughter who desired to learn how to fight.

"Though he did say that if I had not, he would have been surprised," Diana reflected.

"With parents like that, I'm not surprised," Harry said, vaguely gobsmacked.

Diana, picking up on a little of his awe and confusion, gave him a puzzled look.

"Hercules is a myth on Earth," Harry explained. "A great hero, one of the most famous."

Diana's eyes widened. "Really?" she breathed. "They remember him?"

"They never forgot him," Sif put in. "When I was first on Midgard, even the people of the ice
bound north knew his name, and when I was last there, five centuries gone, he was even better
remembered."

"I thought no Asgardians at all came to Earth after the early Middle Ages," Harry said, puzzled.
"Nearly eight or nine hundred years ago."

"We stopped coming in force," Sif said. "And only visited occasionally, once a century or so, and
for very brief periods, no more than a day or two at a time. That time, as I recall, we met a man
called Leonardo in the city that was called Milan. Excellent artist. Very strange, though. He and
Loki spent much time in animated discussion about flying screws and carts for one person, no oxen
and with two wheels." She glanced at Diana. "Your father was there too, as I recall. He, Thor and
the Warriors Three consumed as much wine as they could find."

Harry stared at her. "Leonardo da Vinci," he said flatly. "You've met Leonardo Da Vinci?!"

"Yes, I think that was his name," Sif said, surprised. "Are you a scholar of his time, to have heard
of him?"

"Nope," Harry said. "He's only the most famous inventor in all of human history." He shrugged.
"Every kid on Earth learns about him in school."

"He never seemed special," Sif murmured, puzzled.

"Maybe he did to Loki," Diana pointed out, suddenly emboldened enough to speak directly to Sif.
"After all, both were scholars. Maybe he saw something you didn't." She blushed as Sif gave her a
thoughtful look.

"I think you may be right," she said slowly. "I was never one for lessons and academics, though I
understood their place and admired the scholars for their abilities… but my path was the path of
the sword and spear, not the staff and pen." She nodded. "Yes, I can well believe that Loki saw
something we did not." She smiled slightly. "He did it so often that we hardly realised it, taking his
insights and cleverness for granted." The smile faded. "That was a mistake."

"Jane once told me that 'the good thing about being able to see if something's broken or
something's wrong is that you're halfway to fixing it'," Harry said. "I think that applies to mistakes
too."

Sif smiled at him. "I think you're right, Harry," she said. "And it is well that you listen to your
stepmother."

Harry gave her a surprised look. "They aren't married."

"Yet," Sif said, with a knowing smile. "It is but a matter of time. Would you not agree, Diana?"

"I do not know them well," Diana began diffidently. "I have only met them together once, earlier
today."

"Yet your aunt tells me that you can feel emotions," Sif said, gently and encouragingly. "Maybe
they have given you some insight?"

"A little," Diana admitted.

"What did you feel?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Love," Diana said simply. "Pure, true love."

Sif had a slightly smug and vindicated smile on her face.

Harry blinked in surprise, and looked very briefly resentful, before calming and looking
thoughtful.

"She isn't replacing your mother, you know," Diana said, voice far too knowing for someone so
young. "She doesn't want to and she isn't. You know that."

Harry nodded.

"In your head," Diana nodded, examining him as if she could see right through him. "But not
entirely in your heart."

"I'm only human," Harry said, shrugging.

"No you're not," Diana said.

Harry froze. Those three words, stated so simply, calmly and matter of factly raised a tidal wave
dormant worries. He wasn't human anymore, how would that change him, what would he become,
who was he now, none of this made sense!

If Charles Xavier, or indeed, any psychic had been present, they would have sensed a sudden,
strong and undirected flare of psychic power.
As it was, it was noticed. Odin paid it little mind, knowing that Loki, who also sensed it, would
investigate and bring it to his attention if needs be. Athena, the third to sense it, frowned. It was
near where her niece was. Quickly, she summoned a guard and sent him to fetch her niece
immediately.

"Stop it!"

Harry blinked back to reality at the sound of Diana's voice and saw, to his horror, that she was
clutching her head in pain, and blood was dribbling from her nose.

"I… I didn't… what happened, I didn't mean," he began, confused and horrified.

Sif, acting swiftly, sat Diana down at the side of the corridor, and said briskly, "Cloth."

"What?"

"Conjure a cloth, Harry, or replicate one, it matters not," Sif said firmly, gently tilting Diana's head
back.

Diana bit her lip, trying not to whimper with pain, and that sight snapped Harry back to reality.
Fumbling with his wand, he tried a spell, but his wand hand was shaking too badly. He couldn't
concentrate as the maelstrom of new worries wirled around his head.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, drawing on the techniques his uncle had taught him and
the others for clearing and calming his mind. He imagined a diamond clear lake of fresh water,
then focused on it to the exclusion of all else, letting it calm him and blot it all out.

As he did, Diana let out a sigh of relief, and stopped clutching her head, as if the pain had gone.

It was fast and a little rough, but a moment later, he was able get out the incantation to conjure a
handkerchief. It was plain, small and dirty white, but Sif didn't mind, taking it and swiftly but
gently wiping away the blood, then staunching the slowing trickle of blood as she supported

"I didn't mean –" Harry began, but Sif waved it away.

"I have seen such things before," she said quietly. "In your uncle, when he was little more than
your age. Your magic manifested by accident uncontrolled and not of your will. None nearby
would likely have even noticed it. However, Diana is an empath, and one young enough, I judge,
not to have learned to build any great mental shields. Is that right?"

Diana gave a shaky nod. She seemed a little pale, but otherwise fine.

Sif nodded. "It has passed," she said, reaching into a belt pouch and crumbling a healing stone over
nose. Said nose glowed softly, then dimmed. Sif nodded again, helping the girl up. "Hold this in
place for a few more minutes," she instructed. "The slight rupture that provided the blood flow has
been healed, but the blood itself remains."

Diana nodded, and gave Harry a gentle smile. "It's okay," she said, slightly muffled thanks to her
blocked nose. "You didn't mean it."

Harry could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who could forgive so quickly
and sincerely, because, somehow, he could tell that she was telling the truth.

As he would later discover, those with any great insight into human nature, such as psychics of all
kinds, followed two paths, becoming one thing or the other in response to such knowledge.
The good ones became kind.

The bad ones became powerful.

Diana was very definitely the first.

"She is right," Sif said seriously. "But I will be speaking to your uncle about teaching you control."
She half smiled as Harry looked a little downcast and guilty. "As you said not so many moments
ago, 'the good thing about being able to see if something's broken or something's wrong is that
you're halfway to fixing it', no?" she added dryly.

Harry smiled wryly as Diana giggle. "I did, didn't I?" He sobered as he looked at Diana. "I'm
sorry."

Diana shrugged, as if to say that it wasn't a problem. "I've had worse," she said calmly. "On the
training field, mostly."

Harry blinked, then nodded. "Could you tell me about it?"

"Only if you tell me something first. Was the story about you fighting a winged serpent the size of
the royal palace with a gaze that utterly destroyed any who met it and that breathed poison that
killed all it touched and had talons like swords and slaying it with an ancient magical blade while
you stared it in the eyes when you were ten true?" Diana asked, curious and slightly awestruck at
the possibility.

Harry stared at her, gobsmacked, as Sif sighed. When it came to rumours, particularly ones of
valiant warriors, terrible monsters and derring do, Asgardians tended to feel that the details should
not get in the way of a good story.

"Well," Harry began slowly. "First, it was only sixty feet long, ten times as long as Sif is tall, the
poison was in the fangs, and a phoenix put out its eyes…"

As Harry began to unravel the burgeoning legend around him, Sif smiled slightly. He may not have
been what was expected, but like Diana, who was listening raptly, the truth was far better than any
fiction.

OoOoO

The three walked on for a while more, Harry and Diana animatedly discussing various adventures,
mishaps and different cultures, and swapping notes over defeats of Uhtred (Harry admired Diana's
skill, Diana admired Harry's sheer insane courage) and Sif occasionally adding an observation, but
mostly just listening to the sounds of a growing friendship.

It was a pity, then, that they were interrupted.

"Milady Diana," a guard said. "Your Aunt, the Lady Athena, desires to speak with you in her
chambers. I shall escort you to her."

Diana sighed slightly in annoyance, then started slightly as Sif put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You had better go," she said gently.

Diana looked up at her, then at Harry, and managed to admirably convey that she would rather stay
with them without even opening her mouth.
"You're going to be at the banquet thingy later, right?" Harry asked, completely missing Sif's slight
wince at this cavalier description of his official introduction to the great and good of the Nine
Realms and other powers, such as Olympus, the latter represented by Athena herself.

Diana nodded.

"We can talk then," Harry said.

"Indeed we can. Allfather knows that I'll need some decent company," Sif muttered irately. "If one
more jumped up little lordling tries to court me in hopes taming the 'wild warrior woman'…" she
trailed off, hands clenching into fists and an expression on her face that left no doubt that anyone
stupid enough to try would lose something vital.

Diana grinned cheerfully. "Good." Whether this was at the prospect of talking to Harry and Sif
again or watching her idol kick the shit out of an unwanted suitor was ambiguous.

Then, she looked up at the guard and the grin took a slightly wicked slant.

Harry felt a little sorry for the guard.

"You can escort me… if you can catch me," Diana said.

And then she took off, hovering in mid-air for a moment, before zooming away.

The guard merely sighed, gave Harry a brief bow, murmured, "Milord," then turned to follow her
at a steady run.

Harry's jaw, meanwhile, was hanging loose.

"Yes," Sif said, voice thick with amusement. "She can fly."

Harry did not respond.

"Apparently, she's quite good at it. Very promising."

Harry let out a mournful and thoroughly envious little noise, which seemed to say, 'Why not me?'

Sif laughed, a warm smile spreading across her face. And it was at times like that, some would
observe, that she showed her true beauty.

"Worry not, my Prince," she said wryly. "If your father is anything to go by, you'll be flying in no
time."

In retrospect, Sif would understand why this did not seem to reassure him. For now, it puzzled her
slightly, but she brushed it aside as Harry commented, "She idolises you."

"That's putting it mildly," Sif said dryly. "She doesn't bat an eyelid at anyone and though she is not
an unusually talkative person, she is remarkably comfortable speaking her mind with all from the
lowliest servant to the Allfather himself. But whenever she meets me, she seems to have no words
at all."

"She doesn't want to embarrass herself, maybe?" Harry suggested.

Sif sighed. "Probably. I wish she would talk to me like she did just then – I have so much advice I'd
like to give her," she said.
Harry gave her an inquiring look.

"Asgard is not precisely unwelcoming to female warriors, and it admires their achievements. But it
does not encourage them, either. I found this out myself, and Diana and Volstagg's daughter, Hildy,
will be discovering it themselves," Sif explained. "I and the Valkyries are admired, yes, but parents
do not hold us up as examples for their daughters. Instead, they nod sagely, admire us as heroes and
legends, then tell their daughters to get on with their lessons."

"That doesn't seem fair," Harry said frowning.

"Is Midgard so different?" Sif asked. "Because from what Natasha and Lady Pepper have told me,
even the supposedly progressive men of western Midgard often become uncomfortable at the
thought of a woman warrior. The Avengers are notable exceptions. Do you find this to be true?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Ask me again in a few years."

"An honest answer, if not an informative one," Sif sighed. "No matter. Soon I will see for myself."

"You're coming back to Earth with us?"

"Yes. The Allfather has a mission for I and the Warriors Three," Sif said.

"What is it?" Harry asked, excited.

She grinned. "To quote Natasha, 'classified'."

Harry looked disgusted. "Typical," he muttered.

"And you know, I think she likes you."

"Natasha?"

"No," Sif said, smirking. "Diana."

Harry caught her tone. "Like… that?"

"Maybe."

He blanched. "She's eleven!"

"And how old are you, grandfather?" Sif asked teasingly.

"Thirteen," Harry mumbled, blushing. He frowned. "I didn't get that impression off her."

"Neither did I, really. She just seems to like you as a friend," Sif admitted. "I was mostly teasing
you."

Harry relaxed.

"But it could develop into something more," Sif added, smirking. "And not only is she growing
into a great beauty, a wise woman and a fine warrior, it is a match that your grandfather would
look very well upon…" she said, trailing off at Harry's expression of outright horror, chuckling.
"Oh, don't look so terrified. Even if you do end up having a match arranged for you, and I doubt it,"
she said, omitting to mention that while Frigga wouldn't directly set up a marriage match, she
wasn't above encouraging one. "It will not be for many years hence."
Harry relaxed and didn't speak for a little while. "Do you really think she likes me?" he asked,
sounding both sceptical and perplexed.

"I am not the best judge of such things," Sif admitted. "But she certainly didn't dislike what she
saw," she said, looking him up and down by way of emphasis. "And she likes you as a friend, if
nothing else. She is an empath, a good judge of character, and more to the point, you automatically
listened to her and respected her as an equal, with no regard to her gender or her lesser age. Do you
have any idea how rare that is? In any realm?"

Harry shook his head slowly, looking genuinely puzzled. "Is it?" he asked, a little puzzled. "Why?"

Those simple questions, Sif thought, said far more about him than they didn't. She thought for a
moment about how to answer. And then, because she was Sif, she answered with bluntness and
honesty.

"Let us sit down," she said, and they sat where Harry and Diana had sat only a couple of minutes
ago.

"The reason it is rare is because not everyone in this world is a good person, indeed, many aren't.
They seek to set themselves above others simply because of their differences," she said. "That is
not a reason to lose hope, however. When I first heard of the sheer number, brutality and nature of
the wars that have plagued your world, with the institutionalised slaughter of millions of innocents,
from Loki, I was horrified." She paused. "Of course, it should be said that your uncle was still not
entirely in his right mind and attempting to justify his invasion of Earth. And he always has been a
compelling speaker, knowing exactly which angle to take to persuade his audience. He portrayed
himself as a would-be benevolent overlord, his ascension somewhat bloody, but, in the end, noble,
protecting an imploding world from itself, bringing a violent and dissolute people together in
peace." Her expression was sober, and a little sad. "I am ashamed to say that I nearly fell for it. It
did not help that I was pulled between the conflicting impulses of over a millennium of friendship
with Loki, listening to his counsel when my life often depended on it and the knowledge that the
last time I had spent any great amount of time on Midgard, violent and dissolute was an accurate
description of the people."

"Nearly?"

"There was something nagging in the back of my mind, a little voice insisting that Loki was wrong,
pointing to Midgardians like Jane Foster as proof," she said. "And that voice was given physical
form. Steve, Captain America. We met when the Avengers first came to Asgard, and we spoke as
warriors. As equals, respectful of each other's rank and prowess. I must admit, I found it refreshing.
I raised the issue with him, and he was silent for a long time. I thought I had offended him, but
instead, he was taking the time to think."

Sif gave Harry a sidelong look then, to see if he looked angry, judging, cold, dismayed, or anything
that would indicate disapproval.

As it turned out, he wasn't. The son of Thor was frowning thoughtfully, without any sign of
judgement on his face, and listening with a calmness and patience that Sif, knowing both his father
and uncle as well as she did, he might not have credited him with. A trait from his mother, then. Or
maybe one wholly of his own.

"Eventually, he said that in some ways, Loki was right. Mankind was prone to starting vicious
wars, devising terrible weapons and turning on those different to themselves. He had grown up in
poverty, seen the cruelty of man towards man, and knew it well," Sif said. "But he also said that
mankind was capable of turning its ingenuity in weaponry to greater purpose, and reconciling with
their most bitter enemies. For the former, he spoke of mankind's exploration of space and landing
on the moon. The same impulses that had driven the race of men to conquer each other were turned
to competing in the exploration of space. The same technology, the 'rockets', that had rained death
and destruction down upon one of your greatest and most ancient cities, London, and the innocents
within, was used to reach out to the stars."

Sif seemed transported, looking off into the middle distance as she spoke softly, with just a hint of
wonder. As Harry would find out, even in memory, Steve tended to have that effect on people.

"That same technology made it possible for Midgardians to see their world from without, to study
it and understand it. They were now able to communicate across the world thanks to the devices
they put up around their world. Former enemies worked together to make the dream of one man
setting foot on another planet not only a possibility, but a reality. 'One small step for man. One
giant leap for mankind'. That is what the explorer who first stood on your world's moon said. And
he was right. He proved that yes, Midgard was prone to violence and dissolution. But only in the
same way that all the young are, whether they be worlds or people, as they feel their way towards
better days. And those days are already coming. Steve spoke at length of his nation's Constitution,
the ideals that the nation held most dear and he was intended to be embody, and I saw a brighter
future in that, in the ways that he described the selflessness he saw, even in the depths of war,
when he witnessed tired, hungry men give their last bread to someone they judged to be in greater
need than they." She smiled down at him. "And I think I see it in you."

"Me?"

Sif nodded. "I am no seer, like Karnilla of Nornheim or indeed, the Norns themselves. Nor am I
gifted with the sight of Heimdall, which pierces all the realms, even those of the heart. And I do not
have the foresight of the Allfather, or the wisdom of Queen Frigga," she said quietly. "But I am a
soldier. The Goddess of War. And I feel that you have the qualities of a born leader, Harry, like
your father and Steve, the sort of men who have dreams of better worlds and can make you dream
them as well, as effortlessly as breathing. They may not even know that it is happening, yet it does.
You have the quality to embody the best of Asgard and Midgard. When that happens, when the
mantle of leadership lies on your shoulders, and I feel it will," Sif said, giving him a knowing look.
"No matter how much you doubt yourself… there will be nothing you cannot do."

Sif was not noted for giving out such pronouncements. She was an eminently practical woman, not
easily swayed by fancies and trickery – which was partly why Loki liked her. She was a challenge
– and not prone to being overawed by the power and personality of anyone. It was this reliable
keystone of strength that made her so invaluable. She was someone on which people instinctively
knew that they could rely on. Because she was Sif. And that was who she was.

While Harry did not know her well or for very long, he was an observant child and some things are
blatantly obvious.

However, every rule has it's exceptions. Thor was the only person, until recently, who she would
have followed into battle without hesitation. Now, Steve was another. She couldn't explain it, but
both had a way about them, one she could sense, one that drew people in like like iron to a
lodestone. They were magnetic, far beyond mere charisma. Loki was charismatic, yes, and he
could inspire people with words in a way that almost no one else could, playing on their feelings,
skilfully pressing the buttons that would make them do anything for him.

Lord Stark was the same, though he had some small quantity of Steve and Thor's magnetic draw. It
was near negligible, but it was there. She could feel it, and it was one of the things that made her
look beyond the sarcastic and mildly deranged outer shell of the armoured hero. Occasionally, she
wondered what would have happened if that magnetism had been recognised and nurtured.

Maybe he would have turned out like Thor and Steve. They did not need words to inspire people,
though they could. They just needed to be present, living, breathing examples that people found
themselves unconsciously trying to live up to.

And in Harry, she could sense that same magnetic draw.

No one else would immediately sense it and recognise it, save maybe Loki, Odin and some other
great mage of the mind. Lord Stark had mentioned some adopted kin of his, a wise sage called
Charles Xavier, who, astonishingly, Stark seemed to have some very real respect for. Considering
his irreverence towards everyone, up to and including the Allfather himself, that was remarkable.
This Xavier person seemed to have such mental gifts and was apparently a teacher too. Maybe he
would help guide Harry, and mould him into the great man that he could yet become.

Of course, the same magnetism that defines the greatest heroes can also define the greatest villains.
She'd seen that close at hand far too many times, when the person had recognised the power they
had and it had gone to their heads. And they could be truly terrible opponents to face, if only
because, sometimes… they had set out intending to make the world a better place and honestly did
not know what they were doing wrong.

And she remembered from a long ago lesson that sometimes, the magnetism of one lodestone
would meet another equal and opposing magnetism. One evil as the former was good, or good as
the former was evil. Balance. It was a key part of the universe. For every great light, there is a great
shadow, after all. Thor and Loki were examples of that, after a fashion, though they were no longer
opposed. They were balanced. She knew this and she knew it well because there must always be a
centre for things to balance upon. And in the case of Thor and Loki strong, reliable Sif was that
centre.

Still. Harry was too good to fall to darkness, or so she liked to think. She hadn't known him long,
but she could see much of his father in him, tempered by a gentleness and a calculating good sense
derived from both mother and uncle.

"I didn't know what to expect from you," she said, then blinked. She hadn't meant to that aloud.

Harry turned to her in curious puzzlement. "How do you mean?"

"I… well, I suppose, I didn't know what you would be like," Sif said slowly. "I wondered if you
would be tall, strong, noble, arrogant and rash like your father at your age, or short, slight, fey,
quiet with hidden resentment for your mistreatment, much like your uncle at the same, or even
something completely different." She looked at Harry. "You aren't what I expected. At the very
least, I thought you would be volatile." She shrugged. "Both your uncle and father were like that,
and to some degree, remain that way, being easily provoked to anger." She gave him a thoughtful
look. "You, on the other hand… you are calm. I have no doubt that there is a lot of anger within
you." She half smiled. "The fact that I saw Algrim, your grandfather's Chancellor, sitting
underneath a very heavy desk when you were meeting the Allfather for the first time speaks
volumes. Algrim has a very good nose for trouble and exceptionally good hearing, so when he told
me that your temper was, 'the equal of his fathers', I believed him."

Harry looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"It's nothing to be sorry for," Sif said firmly. "You had a genuine grievance against the Allfather,
and you are of his blood. You had every right to give voice to that anger."
Harry gave her a surprised look, and she chuckled. "I have been friends with your father and uncle
for long enough and berated them enough times to know that in cases of close friendship or under
special circumstances, the bonds of rank are nothing but words," Sif said. "After all, you and I
speak as equals, indeed, you hold me in the respect of a teacher or authority figure. Yet you are my
Prince, and I am pledged to serve. If you give I, or any in Asgard below high noble rank, an order,
we are bound to follow it."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked. Sif thought it spoke greatly of his character that he didn't
gleefully pounce on the opportunity like another would, or speak with anticipation in his voice, but
instead spoke of it with… fear. Wariness. Caution. A good place to start.

"Unto death, my Prince," she said softly and seriously. In truth, if it was a questionable order, then
it would likely not be followed without confirmation from Thor, Loki, Algrim, Odin or Frigga, and
if it was a ridiculous order it would not be followed, period, but Sif sensed that now was not the
time for semantics. This was something he must understand.

"Why?"

"Because we are Asgardians, my Prince," she said, voice simple and matter of fact, as if stating a
fundamental truth of the universe. "And our word is our bond."

OoOoO

Later that afternoon, it was decided that Harry must be taught at least some of the nature of the
universe and the peoples who lived in it. Few of the pantheons who still looked anywhere but
inwards had managed to send representatives on such short notice, those who had sent
representatives were recognisable to Harry from Earth mythology.

While Loki had wanted to do the teaching, Thor had taken the responsibility, arguing that he could
summarise for Harry and that Harry was his son and he was going to damn well spend some time
with him.

"There are Nine Realms," Thor said, bringing up the display. Nine planets came into view, the
other eight neatly aligned in a circle, with Earth in the middle. "Each is on a different plane of
existence, a different dimension. Once, this was not so. Once, they were all on the same plane as
Midgard, Earth. That is why we can still see the shadows of an ancient Asgard at night from
Earth." He swept the display, and the Nine Realms changed position, rotating around Earth. And
connecting them, between them, formed a shining tree of golden light. "And this is when
Yggdrassil was truly formed."

Harry frowned. "I thought it was a metaphor."

"On one level, it is," Thor explained. "On another, it isn't, as you have Seen. It is folly to think
about such power in absolutes, my son. It can be two things at once." He gestured at the realms.
"Now. Asgard," he said, pointing at one. "Alfheim, home of the elves, and Vanaheim, a vassal
state – essentially, subordinate to us – are at the top of the world tree."

His finger descended. "Midgard and Jotunheim. The two middle realms. Properly, Jotunheim is a
little further down, but its position varies. Why, I could not say, but it does."

His finger descended further. "Nidavaellir, Muspelheim and Helheim. Nidavaellir is the realm of
the dwarves, ruled by King Eitri. They are fine artificers," he said, and patted Mjolnir. "My
hammer is a creation of theirs. And they are good friends to Asgard." He looked grim.
"Muspelheim is the realm of the fire giants, ruled by Surtur. A dangerous realm ruled by a
dangerous being."

"And Helheim."

"It is the realm of the dead, ruled by Hela," Thor said, then made Harry look him in the eye. "You
must swear never to bring up the subject of Hela with your uncle Loki, or indeed Helheim, save in
direst need."

"I swear," Harry said seriously, then frowned. "The legends say that uncle Loki was Hela's father.
Most of them are, well, bullshit, but…"

"This one is true," Thor said grimly. "And it is partly why Loki has such a hatred of death magic.
That is all I, or anyone, shall say."

Harry nodded, frowning slightly still, but accepting it. Though he had to admit, he was curious.

"Don't bother investigating, either. The records of such times are like the mouths of those who saw
them – few and tightly shut," Thor added.

"What?"

Thor grinned. "You're my son and Loki's nephew. If I had any doubts about your complete inability
to resist a mystery, they were laid to rest by my conversations with your teachers," he said, amused.
Then be sobered. "Let this stay where it is, Harry. In the past."

Harry nodded, then frowned. "That's eight realms. What's realm number nine?"

"The ninth realm is the Dark World."

Both Harry and Thor turned to see Odin walk in. "Svartalfheim, as it was once called," he
continued.

"Is that like Alfheim?"

"Not dissimilar," Odin said. "Both are, or were, inhabited by an ancient race of elves, one dark in
nature, favouring the shadows and the other light, as varied in nature as all that live are, but
predominantly good. The Light Elves are fine warriors, and fierce when called upon to be so, but
primarily bards, scholars and artisans in these peaceful days. They are a race older even than
Asgard, one that remembers the dawn times of the universe, and welcomed the light."

"And unmatched archers," Thor said. "Unmatched save for Clint."

Odin smiled slightly. "Indeed. His epithet, Hawkeye, is well earned." He sobered as he took up the
thread of the story once more. "The Dark Elves, however, were creatures of the eternal night that
came before. Some welcomed the dawn, saying that there could be shadow without light. Many did
not, and their faction, led by one called Malekith, triumphed. They sought to destroy the universe.
My father fought them, and the conflict was so great that Svartalfheim was scourged. None
survived. They are gone, now, and the universe is well rid of them."

"All of them? Isn't, Algrim, well… dark and an elf?"

"All of them. Algrim, though he may not look it, is of the Light Elves," Odin confirmed. "Their
skin tones favour those of the northern and western land of Midgard, but they are varied." He
looked up at the display. "The Dark World is desolate and empty. And it is place where only the
dark and the desperate go."
Thor cleared his throat. "There are also other species on the mortal plane, which is by far the
largest." He cleared the display. "Many species, peoples beyond count, including the Chitauri." He
began to bring up images. "The three cosmic powers, however, are these."

First came a man who looked human, except for strangely feather like hair. "The Shiar, whose
empire is based on Chandilar, in the Andromeda Galaxy. They are the weakest of the three and
currently embroiled in a civil war."

Next came two men, one blue in skin tone, the other looking for all the world like an ordinary dark
skinned human, before shifting to paler skin and Caucasian features, then Central Asian and so on.
"The Kree, one of the two greater powers. The elder strain of their species, the one considered to be
'pure' is the blue one. They dominate the empire. The other Kree have mixed with other species in
their empire, and consequently are as varied in skin tone as any in the Nine Realms. They are
considered to be lesser." Thor grimaced. "That said, they are possibly the most civilised of the
three. Especially more so than the Skrulls."

"The Skrulls?"

Thor silently brought up an image of a reptilian humanoid with batlike ears and menacing
demeanour. "The base form of a Skrull. They are a species of shapeshifters, lies, cunning and deceit
being part of their very being. They remind me of my brother at his very worst – they are cruel,
powerful and they can be anyone they wish."

"My great intellect tells me that you don't like them," Harry said dryly.

Thor's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"Your father has plenty of reason to dislike them," Odin said quietly. "Several centuries ago, one
replaced his friends and she who was close to his heart, in an effort to steal the secrets of Asgardian
power. She and her comrades failed, but only because Loki, having returned from an excursion of
his own, saw through their disguises."

Harry was tossing up whether to ask who had been replaced, when Thor said quietly, "They had
taken the Warriors Three. And Sif. She was more than just a friend, once."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

Thor half smiled down at him and squeezed his shoulder. "It was not you who committed the
crime. You have nothing to apologise for."

"And for once, I did not comment when you threatened to destroy the Skrull empire, and nearly
killed the Emperor," Odin said.

"Really? I distinctly remember you telling me that I should have hit him harder," Thor said, good
humour apparently restored.

"I am King of Asgard. I could not possibly have said such a thing about a race we maintain
diplomatic relations with," Odin said, but there was a gleam in his eye that suggested that Thor was
right. "And I did not comment because the Skrulls needed to be reminded that while Asgard was
benevolent, her patience with insolence was limited."

Harry sensibly swallowed a smart remark about the resemblance between Kingdom and King.

"And we have not had trouble from them since," Thor said, grimly pleased.
"There was a fourth race of power, one that would have ruled the others had it wished, and did in
the times when both they and Asgard were young, for they were our peers, equalling our feats in
magic with their feats in technology," Odin said. "The People of the Hidden World."

"Was?" Harry asked.

"They were destroyed not long before you were born, along with their world," Odin said grimly.
"Out of spite, by a race also native to their system, who were supported by another. One who had
his own reasons."

"Who?" Harry asked. "And why did that other help them?"

"Father," Thor said warningly. "He should not be hearing of this. Not yet."

"The one I speak of and his armies will come for Midgard, Thor. Whether it is tomorrow or in a
hundred years, he will come, and your son will be here to see it," Odin said fiercely, voice powerful
and thrusting, every point driven home with the instinctive rhetorical skill of a master statesman.
"He should know what this enemy is capable of. He should know why this monster is feared
throughout the cosmos. He should know what this foul thing worships, why his every step is
marked in the blood of billions, why he conquers and subjugates all that he can reach and
slaughters all that he can't, why he offers the entire universe as sacrifice on a cursed altar! He
should know why this being is now the fourth great power in the empires of the mortal plane, the
one none of the others even dares speak of save in whispers and rumour, myth and legend
and nightmare. The one who even mighty Gladiator and brave Mar-Vell would hesitate to fight if
they knew of him, the one who stalks the dark dreams of every being within a thousand systems of
his empire!"

His eye narrowed. "And he should know what this creature has done to the very heart of Asgard.
He should know why I will have my vengeance before a century is out!" His expression softened,
taking in the fact that Harry had reared back, pale and frightened. "This will affect him, Thor, as it
will affect us all."

"Not yet," Thor said angrily. "Not here, not now! He has faced great trials already, but he is still
young, father, still little more than a child, if that, by the standards of Midgard and Asgard alike!
Allow him at least some semblance of youth and innocence!"

He glared at his father with all the anger and righteousness of a father defending the innocence of
his child. Blue eyes locked and power crackled in the air between them, unseen, causing hairs to
rise up on the back of the neck of the observer, pure unbridled might thrown off in this contest of
wills between two of the greatest gods of legend.

"I want to know, dad," Harry said quietly.

Thor whirled on him, then, suddenly, deflated and sighed, the tension nd. "Harry, once you know
of this creature, there is no turning back, no undoing of that learning," he said quietly.

"I already know that he's willing to destroy a planet and an entire people," Harry said. "And if he's
coming… shouldn't I know about it?"

Thor sighed. "I shall tell you his name. And that is all that I or anyone," he said, glaring at his
father in a way that dared him to refuse. "Shall tell you."

Odin met his gaze, but calmly, and nodded his acceptance.

Harry frowned slightly, but nodded.

"This evil, this most ancient evil, has a name. And its name is… Thanos."
 Drawn In

Harry found that he actually rather enjoyed being outfitted for his Asgardian clothing. For one
thing, Asgardians were a practical people, by and large, and didn't see any reason why you should
choose between clothing that looked good and clothing that you could slaughter an invading army
in.

They also didn't try to put him in armour, and try and portray him as a young warrior lad in the
making, because he would, quite simply, look ridiculous and probably, quite uncomfortable. And,
to be frank, even Thor usually didn't wear armour to occasions like this these days unless he was
trying to make a point.

It consisted of a reasonably loose warm golden-yellow silk long sleeved shirt, a burgundy red, gold
edged cloak that was held up with a simple yet intricate feather brooch, made of gold. It also, to
Harry's relief, reached to his ankles and was designed specifically not to get tangled in his legs.

The ensemble was rounded off with a simple brown leather belt with a gold buckle and small
dagger in a sheath at his right hip set with a holster for his wand on the left, burgundy red breeches,
matching the cloak, practical warm brown shoes, and, finally and most crucially, a simple, yet
intricately designed golden circlet, with an elliptical triskelion incised in ruby set in the centre.

This circlet, the triskelion to denote his status as one of the House of Odin and golden to denote his
status as being in direct line to the throne, was designed specifically to make sure that everybody
knew who and what they were dealing with – a Prince of the Blood.

While this in and of itself made Harry feel a little awkward, he was rather cheered up by the fact
that the cloak would manifest a hood, if he willed it, appealing to his fondness for privacy.

This had been added at the suggestion of his uncle, who well understood what it was like to
sometimes want to hide.

"Just don't do it in the middle of the banquet," Loki had said, tone lightly amused. "And I won't get
in trouble with your grandfather for it."

That just left the banquet itself.

The banquet hall of Asgard was in one of the newer, metallic parts of the palace, a long,
rectangular hall, with two long golden tables, inscribed with swirling symbols, set apart to allow
people to circulate comfortably, pointing towards the top table, which lay across the room on a set
of dais. Above that hung three huge crimson banners, edged and embroidered with gold.

If needs be, it could seat thousands, and comfortably at that.

The sides of the room were relatively open, with a series of arches along the side, the left hand
ones leading to a stone balcony from which one could look out over the sea and the Bifrost and
enjoy the night sky.

To enter it, you could come in from the side, but on nights when it was being used, that was mainly
reserved for servants or those seeking a quiet exit. Entrances, however, were at the top of the steps
that descended into the room.

And that was the part that, right here, right now, with thousands of people looking up at him,
bothered Harry.
Then he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and looked up at his uncle, or technically, his aunt.
Tradition dictated that entering a banquet hall be done in pairs where possible, and also be man and
woman. Loki had neatly circumvented this by transforming into a female version of himself, and
since this was, apparently, far from the first time he'd done this, it garnered about as much
comment as a choice of outfit. With Loki, the strange was expected.

Indeed, Thor had merely raised an eyebrow, then smiled and said, "You look stunning, brother."
He managed to make it sound both dry and sincere.

"Thank you, Thor," Loki had said cheerfully.

Harry himself rather took it in his stride. After all, his transfiguration teacher – and, lest it be
forgotten, grandmother to the man who was the closest thing he had to a big brother – could and
did change into a cat. Changing gender, by comparison to changing species, was positively vanilla.

That said, seeing his uncle – or aunt. Harry was having trouble working out which pronouns were
appropriate - with truly magnificent cleavage would take some getting used to.

Even Clint had snuck a look, eyes glowing briefly, before he grinned and said to Tony, "They're
real. Pay up."

Tony, grumbling, had handed Clint a hundred dollar bill, which the archer had smugly pocketed it,
winking at a puzzled Harry as he did. Pepper merely sighed and shook her head, while Loki
smirked.

Darcy had merely looked over and said, "So many women would hate you for that."

"I know," Loki had said, still smirking. "And so do many men. In both cases, it stems from one
thing." The smirk widened to a wicked grin. "Envy."

No one had contradicted her, especially as she had rather dressed to impress in a simple emerald
green dress, embroidered with golden designs, artfully clinging to the curves beneath, hinting of
fascinating things underneath.

Back in the present, Harry heard Loki think at him reassuringly, 'calm, nephew. They're only
curious to see the newest Prince of Asgard'. She smirked. So let's show them a Prince.

Harry smiled slightly, and stood straight, tipping his chin in a slightly defiant fashion, staring
bravely at the waiting crowds, for who he was just out of sight. He looked every inch a Prince.

Then he scratched under the circlet, neatly ruining the regal impression.

Loki sighed, then chuckled and shook her head. Like father, like son.

"What?"

"Nothing," Loki murmured. "Now, pay attention. And smile."

Harry did. Another way in which he was so like his father was that his was a face seemingly made
for smiling. It lit up like a summer's day, eyes sparkling with mirth and happiness.

That, Loki thought, was a smile that charmed all who saw it, and in years to come would draw girls
to him like moths to a flame. And, naturally, he would have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

He glanced over at Thor, who caught his eye, looked down at Harry and grinned at him, a grin
identical in its easy, boyish charm.

Yes, very much like father like son.

OoOoO

Thor looked down at his son, standing by Loki's side, and smiled. Because when he looked down
at him, he felt an upswell of pure love and pride. Not so long ago, he would not have been able to
imagine a life like this.

Now, he could not imagine a life without.

His son. His little boy. Truthfully, he was already becoming a man, but parents never forget that
there children were once tiny babies. And they never let anyone else forget either. This is one of
the perks of parenthood.

Indeed, for just a moment, as he looked down at his son, he thought he saw a brief glimpse of the
man that boy would become.

And that was not all he saw. Because while Loki thought Harry smiled like his father, Thor
believed with all his heart that when Harry smiled, he could Lily's face in his. When he wasn't
moving, he looked exactly like Thor had as James. But when in motion, talking, walking, smiling,
laughing, he was so much like Lily that it hurt.

Maybe that was fitting, because it was a good sort of pain. It reminded him that Lily was dead, but
not gone. And Lily, while she had been pretty sitting still, had shown her true beauty when simply
doing something. She was a beauty in motion above all, and that was what Thor had loved about
her. Jane was much the same in that respect.

There were many statuesquely beautiful women in and around the Asgardian court, and Thor was
no fool. He knew that he was tall, strong, handsome and a Prince. All he had to do was crook his
finger and he could have had a different woman, or even a man, every night from solstice to
solstice, and still not even have run through a third of his admirers.

He also knew that they loved the crown, not the man beneath it. And they were beautiful in a
statuesque fashion: cold, hard and apparently incapable of genuine emotion. Or at least, genuine
positive emotion.

The men of the court, by contrast, at least appeared to be gregarious, decent and honourable, but as
Loki had pointed out to him on numerous occasions, that was because they were expected to be.
Even before his lessons on Midgard, Thor had found this to be true.

That was why Loki would be keeping a close eye on Harry tonight, and indeed on all other such
occasions until Harry was old enough and savvy enough to watch his own back.

He shared a grin with his son, then turned and briefly kissed Jane on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Jane asked, surprised and blushing slightly.

"Because you're wonderful," he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Loki and Harry, then at the
rest of the Avengers. "Like the rest of my family." He paused. "Strange, but wonderful
nonetheless."

"Well done, Thor, you successfully killed the moment," Loki drawled. "Shall I mount a plaque on
the wall?"
Thor stuck his tongue at him, then hurried retracted it at a meaningful cough from Algrim. The
Chancellor had, as ever, appeared without making a sound.

"If I may hurry you along, the guests are becoming restless," he said quietly.

"Of course," Thor said, looking a little embarrassed. "We are ready."

Algrim raised a solitary eyebrow, but nodded at the herald.

Thor and Jane stepped forward, into view, immediately getting the attention of all.

"Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard and Lady Jane Foster of Midgard," the Herald announced.

Algrim nodded at Harry, who glanced up at Loki, before the two of them stepped forward.

"Prince Harry Thorson of Asgard," the Herald said, and Harry almost completely missed his
announcement of Loki as he realised one thing.

His life had changed forever.

OoOoO

Despite the initial shock, Harry managed to smile and even essayed a little wave to general
approval along the 'he's so sweet and polite' lines, and let Loki guide him down the steps.

"Now," Loki murmured. "Let me handle the introductions." Then, suddenly, yet smoothly, she
steered Harry away from a large man who looked much like an ill-tempered Hagrid, except even
more powerfully built. "Him, I think we will be avoiding."

"Who's that?"

"Lord Tyr of Vanaheim, a vassal of ours. One of your great-grandfather Bor's illegitimate
children," Loki said quietly. "He spends much of his time trying to achieve greater independence
and marry one of his daughters to your father, though with the advent of first your mother, then
Lady Jane, that has rather diminished in recent years."

"Did he try with you? Do you think he'll try with me?"

"Once. Then he decided that he didn't like me," Loki said mildly. "And maybe. He'd certainly seek
to have you fostered with him and seek to push you with one of his daughters," Loki said. "They
are all rather lovely, in both personality and appearance, taking after their mother, so I doubt it
would be a hardship for you. But equally the way he would go about it would be deeply tiresome
for both you and the rest of the family, not least because Thor would object and I would have to
explain to the court just why Tyr was still being scraped off the walls. And the ceiling. And the
floor. And the roof."

Harry nodded slowly. "Did you know any of them?"

"The daughters?" Loki asked, then nodded slowly. "I know all of them, after a fashion. One I knew
better than the others."

"What was her name?"

"Sigyn," Loki said quietly. Then she smiled brightly at Harry. "Now, let us introduce you and see
how many foreign dignitaries my appearance scandalises, shall we?"
Harry was no fool, and the subject of Sigyn stayed buried.

The first dignitary was a tall man with tan skin, cropped blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Harry
liked him immediately, simply because the first thing he did was smile kindly, eyes twinkling, at
Harry, then take Loki's hand and kiss it, without any sense of irony. "My lady," he murmured.

Loki looked amused. "Harry, this Captain Mar-Vell of the Kree Imperial Navy, champion of the
Kree Empire," she said. "One of the greatest heroes in the universe." She turned to Mar-Vell.
"Mar-Vell, this is Prince Harry Thorson, my nephew."

"You flatter me," Mar-Vell chuckled, and dipped his head to Harry politely, before raising an
eyebrow.

Harry was staring at him in surprise. Loki sighed slightly. "Forgive my nephew, Mar-Vell. You are
the first person from another world he has met, Asgardians and one Olympian aside. He is
understandably a little surprised." He paused. "In fact, since this is your first such function, I feel
that it is my duty as one of the hosts to warn you that a small human called Anthony Stark will
probably be curious about you and your species to the point where it is well beyond offensive – my
advice would be to merely humour him until his lady finds her way over and makes him behave."

"I understand," Mar-Vell said calmly. Interestingly enough, he'd been giving Harry a long,
assessing look, as if there was something about him that was puzzlingly familiar. "After all, he's
had a lot to deal with, having discovered that he is no longer human himself." His lips twitched.
"Duly noted. Though I doubt he could be worse than some I have encountered."

"No," Harry said. "Thank you, but actually, it's not that."

Loki blinked in surprise. "Oh?"

"I just expected you to blue, since I heard that the blue Kree tend to dominate important positions
in the Empire," Harry said. He shrugged. "So I guess I was just a little surprised."

Loki wasn't sure whether to feel proud of his nephew for clearly thinking matters through, annoyed
that he'd missed it, or a little embarrassed at Harry's blunt statement on Kree race relations.

Mar-Vell just grinned. "In all that I have heard of, Loki, all the times I have seen you from a
distance, I never thought it was possible for you to look that surprised," he said.

Loki chuckled ruefully. "Neither did I." She turned, scanning the crowd. "Have you met or seen the
Summer Lady? Her name is Lily. She is quite short, stunningly beautiful with white-blonde hair,
green feline eyes and is likely to be shadowed by her Knight, a man of average height, average
looks and similar hair."

"No, though I have met a young woman called Maeve," Mar-Vell said, tone neutral. "Over there,"
he added, nodding to a dark alcove on the far right hand side of the room, where a beautiful young
pale woman in blue clothing that seemed to be shimmering with frost was holding court with at
least a dozen male and female admirers.

Loki sighed. "I take it you escaped with virtue intact?"

"Barely."

Loki glanced at a curious looking Harry. "Maeve is the Winter Lady, and one of the reasons I am
keeping you very close to me."
Mar-Vell glanced at Harry. "A little young, surely?"

"There is no depravity beyond Maeve," Loki sighed. "That is the nature of her people. However,
she does not have to strictly seduce him to cause trouble. Which, though she knows perfectly well
will not be brooked and that she is not her mother and nowhere near powerful enough to even
consider getting away with it, she will do it anyway."

"Then why invite her?" Harry asked.

"By the sounds of things, these Ladies represent two factions, powers great enough to be taken
seriously," Mar-Vell said shrewdly. "And you can't invite one power and spurn another without
causing serious problems and making yourself an enemy you do not need."

"There is that," Loki muttered. "But also the fact that where Summer goes, Winter must follow.
Maeve is tolerated because she can be made to behave and I'd rather not destabilise Midgard's
natural order. If nothing else, it would rather annoy Thor, Stark would whine about how his beach
house is now under a foot of snow, Banner would get upset, Romanova would probably poison me
and Barton would put an arrow through something vital."

"I wouldn't like it," Harry put in.

"I know," Loki said. "Which is why I do not. I have earplugs for the first two, I can teleport for the
third, I am immune to conventional Midgardian poisons and I can catch arrows. But I also have
over a decade of spoiling my nephew to catch up on." He paused. "And people might start thinking
that I am evil and insane again, which would be very tiresome."

Mar-Vell blinked, and seemed to be trying to work out if this was some sort of elaborate joke.

Harry gave him a sympathetic look that said it really wasn't.

"Now, Captain," Loki said, snapping back to reality with a pleasant smile. "I suggest you speak to
my brother," he said gesturing at Thor. "I suspect you and he would have much in common."

Mar-Vell inclined his head, gave Harry a quick smile, said, "My thanks, my lady," and strode
towards Thor.

"Now," Loki murmured. "Let us see… if Winter is in the darkest corners, then Summer will be..."
her gaze roved around the room and landed on the arches leading to the balcony. "There. Of
course."

"Who are Summer and Winter?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The Sidhe. The fae. Fairies, in a word," Loki said briskly. "Before they were sanitised by human
authors. The Wizarding World foolishly does not believe that they exist," he added, easily slipping
through the crowds, and ignoring the stares that both, particularly Harry, garnered as they past,
from dwarves, elves, Asgardians, creatures Harry could not even begin to put a name to, and even
one or two beings that he would put good money on being Frost Giants.

One of them, ignoring the occasional hostile glower he got, smoothly intercepted them.

"Prince Loki," he said, voice a surprisingly cultured baritone from a being that looked like he had a
small mountain somewhere in his recent ancestry. "Or is it Princess tonight?"

"It is always Loki, King Farbaut," Loki replied smoothly, curtseying slightly. Harry took the hint
and bowed.
Farbaut chuckled. "With a wit like that, I do not doubt it," he said dryly. "And the young Prince."

"Your majesty," Harry said formally.

"So well trained already," Farbaut said, raising his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"I have a good teacher," Harry responded.

"So you do," Farbaut said, eyes narrowing interestedly. He looked up, focusing on something over
their shoulders. Lady Amora is moving in on your brother again."

Loki turned to look, and sighed. "And he is more than willing to smite her these days," she said. "If
you will give me a few moments?"

"Not at all," Farbaut said, sounding like a genial rockslide.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "I can get to know my royal… cousin? Is that the right word?"

Loki chuckled and nodded. "It is," she said before teleporting away.

There was a brief silence as boy and Frost Giant stared at each other, one lengthened by the fact
that Farbaut was over twice Harry's height.

"Do you have trouble going through doors?" Harry asked abruptly, before flushing. "Sorry," he
mumbled.

Farbaut chuckled. "In Jotunheim, doorways are designed for my people, where we have them," he
said. "Come, let us sit. I know that such functions are a burden on young legs, not used to standing
still." He smirked a smirk that struck Harry is being almost exactly like those he habitually saw on
Loki's face. "They certainly were on mine."

Harry grinned. "Sure," he said.

They sat down on one of the nearby long benches. In the background, a minor spat was brewing
between Amora and Maeve, Loki having solved the problem of Amora bothering Thor by
teleporting the sorceress to the other side of the room, which just so happened to be right in front of
Maeve. Sparks, needless to say, were flying.

"I must admit, young cousin, I am surprised by your lack of reaction," Farbaut said.

"To what?"

"My appearance," Farbaut said.

Harry shrugged. "One of my first friends is almost as big as you are," he said. "And I'm also friends
with the Hulk, and he's green, so why should I be bothered about you being blue? It's normal for
you the same way being a sort of whiteish pink is for me."

Farbaut tilted his head thoughtfully. "I can see that," he said slowly. "Though not many think as
you do." He chuckled. "And I doubt that many have a close acquaintance with the Midgardian
beast known as the Hulk."

"He's a person, not a beast," Harry reproved firmly, then added, "Your majesty."

Farbaut chuckled, and the chuckle grew into a full blown laughter. "I consider myself reproved,"
he said, in between laughs. "And I apologise to your friend."
"I'm sure he'll accept gladly," Harry said, a puckish grin on his face. "In person."

Farbaut gave him an amused look. "I'm not a fool, little cousin. I've heard about what he did to
Loki during the invasion of Midgard, and I have no desire to be 'Hulk Smashed'."

Harry grinned. "It was worth a try," he said cheerfully.

The entire room turned to look and saw a scene not seen for millennia – an Asgardian Prince and a
Frost Giant King sitting as equals, even potential friends, comfortable in one another's company
and sharing in each other's merriment.

Asgard may have changed Harry forever. But who was to say that he wasn't changing it right back?

And as incredulous whispers spread through the banquet hall, Odin, Frigga and their sons shared a
smile.

OoOoO

Amora having been disposed of and the focus of the crowd having been drawn to Harry and
Farbaut, who were still chatting, Harry cheerfully, Farbaut politely, (though he was clearly
fascinated and somewhat bewildered by this strange child who didn't bat an eyelid at who and what
he was) Thor and Jane had experienced a pleasant lull for the last few minutes.

Those few minutes had largely been occupied by Captain Mar-Vell, who, as Loki predicted, had hit
it off rather well with Thor, and, as it turned out, Jane as well, heaping praise on her development
of the New Bifrost, discussing the scientific processes with the air of someone with at least a
working knowledge of the subject. As it turned out, he wasn't just a soldier, but a scientist as well.

Needless to say, Jane had been flattered and rather happy to talk at length with someone who
understood what she was working on. Thor had politely smiled, nodded at points he understood,
and zoned out entirely on points he didn't.

Thor watched Mar-Vell go. "A good man," he said approvingly.

"Yeah, and a military scientist with principles," Jane said. "That's rare. Very rare."

Thor glanced at her, a little surprised, and she nodded. "Oh yeah. I'm not sure what it is, but
working for the Pentagon makes people lose their morals, laugh insanely and start designing
impossibly expensive doomsday devices and supersoldier projects."

"The SHIELD scientists seemed perfectly normal to me," Thor said, then added slyly, "Inasmuch
as scientists usually are."

Jane elbowed him playfully and gave him a mock glare. She then shrugged. "SHIELD's practical,
I'll give them that. They have pretty stringent criteria on mental health. Weird is okay, outright
crazy is not."

"Surely your government would not employ the dangerously insane?" Thor asked, frowning. Then
he remembered the Ministry of Magic and thought that dubious employment practices were pretty
likely.

"Oh, they would," Jane said. "They'll pay whoever builds them the biggest gun, and they don't care
if they have all the morals of a tobacco lobbyist on crack." She glanced at Thor and added, "That
means none. At all." Her expression darkened. "Aldrich Killian, for example."
"Who is he?" Thor asked, tone gaining a slightly dangerous edge.

"Charming asshole with a nice smile and no soul," Jane said promptly. "He's been trying to get me
to join his think tank." She looked at Thor. "Basically, he wants me to build him either a portal
system to sell to the Pentagon for combat, or to build him a death ray. I said no. Again."

"Do you wish for me to speak with him?" Thor asked, in a tone that suggested that speak would be
synonymous with 'loom menacingly, crack knuckles and make unsubtle veiled threats'.

"No, he's not a problem. I dealt with guys worse than him in High School," Jane said dismissively.
"Besides, Darcy's already planning on tasing him, so I'm adequately championed already," she
added, smirking slightly.

"A small yet effective weapon for a minor irritation," Thor said, nodding slowly. "That sounds…
appropriate."

"Are you talking about Darcy or the taser?"

Thor shrugged. "Could I not be speaking of both?"

Jane had to admit that he had a point. "Harry seems to be making a stir," she observed.

"That the understatement of an Asgardian lifetime," Thor said, chuckling. "My son makes a stir
wherever he goes, simply because of who he is and what he does, and he is always bewildered by
it."

"I'm not surprised," Jane said. It was true, Harry did tend to have a certain effect on people. There
was something about him that was fundamentally likeable, even alluring in a strange sort of way.
He wasn't sexually attractive, save possibly to people of his own age - though Jane was willing to
bet that in a couple of years he would have the sort of looks that people would sell their souls for –
there was something about him that was simply attractive.

He drew people in, particularly the strange, the outcast, the ever so slightly different from normal,
simply because he didn't judge by appearance. That was obvious from the way he was happily
talking to King Farbaut, who to most people would be something out of nightmare, without an
apparent care in the world.

And he didn't even realise it. If he did… then who knew what he could achieve. Maybe it was
better that he didn't. Then he wouldn't be tempted to use it for all the wrong reasons that would
occur to a teenage boy, though, to be frank, Harry seemed to have all the makings of a more
sarcastic version of his father – slightly goofy, noble, sweet natured, good hearted and, frankly,
adorable.

He wasn't perfect, of course. No one was. And maybe that's part of the reason he attracted people,
why he didn't judge, because he knew that he was flawed, a little broken and insecure. And as he
was showing right now, he was ordinary in an extraordinary sort of way.

"Thor? Jane?"

Both turned and swiftly bowed and curtsied respectively, to Odin and Frigga.

"You both look wonderful," Frigga said, smiling. "Tell me, can I expect another grandchild any
time soon?"

"Mother, you already have on grandchild to spoil," Thor said, slightly embarrassed, as Jane nearly
snorted some of her wine down her nose, before coughing. "Jane?"

"I'm fine," she wheezed. "Wine went down the wrong way."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "But mother, is Harry not enough?"

"I want a full brood of grandchildren to spoil, Thor," Frigga said firmly, a twinkle in her eye saying
that she was teasing him.

"Maybe one day," Thor said. "For now, Harry is more than enough."

Frigga dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement, lips twitching with amusement. "I can wait,"
she said. "Until Harry comes into his inheritance."

Odin coughed pointedly. "I think we should go and join Prince Harry and King Farbaut. They seem
to have set up something of a report," he said. The glint in his eye said that he fully intended to take
advantage of it.

"Aye, father," Thor said, glancing at Jane.

"That sounds great," Jane agreed.

Odin nodded regally and proceeded, Frigga on his arm, a path opening up before them. After a few
moments, Thor and Jane followed.

"Your mom was kidding about the kids thing, right?"

"Of course she was," Thor said reassuringly. He paused. "I think."

OoOoO

"Loki."

Loki turned to regard the speaker. He was standing half hidden in the shadows of one of the
alcoves. He quite enjoyed standing there, as it allowed him to watch the people interact, allowing
him to take the temperature of the Nine Realms simply by observing, while simultaneously
allowing him to drop in and steer events to his liking.

He had also shifted back to male form, largely because he felt like it, and because regular
shapeshifting tended to unsettle people. This was both fun and useful. Unsettled people guarded
their tongues less carefully.

"Karnilla," he said, bowing slightly at the sight of Nornheim's Queen. Technically, she was
subordinate to him as a sub-Queen of Odin's, who essentially ruled an oversized fief in Odin's
name. The only reasons she was a Queen were her formidable magical power and the presence of
the three Norns in her realm. Another, not very public one was that she was a powerful Seer and it
is wise to be friendly to a woman who wields the knowledge of the future – a little information in
the right place is a lot more dangerous than a lot of information freely given. For that, among other
reasons, Loki liked her. It did not hurt that she was very beautiful, being tall with smooth, supple
curves, flowing dark chestnut coloured hair, near flawless skin, a neatly but gently defined facial
structure and clever blue eyes. "How are you this night? Enjoying the hospitality of Asgard, I
trust."

"Well enough. Like all the Nine Realms, I am very interested in your nephew," Karnilla said,
moving gracefully to his side. Loki watched her carefully. He liked her, but that didn't mean he
trusted her. He didn't totally trust anyone, save Thor, Harry and his mother. And maybe Steve,
because not trusting Steve is like thinking the sky is green.

Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Does this interest take any particular form?"

If he was speaking to another, he might have referenced Harry's conversation with Farbaut, which
had since been joined by Odin, Frigga, Thor, Jane and Farbaut's wife, Jarnsaxa, all of whom were
talking, joking and laughing together, something which was going to change things across the Nine
Realms. He would have probed their views on it, the ones they spoke and the ones they truly held
and the ones that they thought others held.

His views on it were another matter entirely.

Humans called it 'soft power' or 'champagne diplomacy', because, on the face of it, nothing
significant was being discussed.

Yet working relationships, even friendships were being formed, common ground was being found,
while the people of the Nine Realms, Asgard in particular, were being given a visible example to
follow. And the next time Asgard and Jotunheim met across the negotiating table, they would
know that the person on the other side wasn't so different. They were someone who could be dealt
with.

And that was just what Loki had intended when he left Farbaut and Harry alone together.

While he was fond of chaos, he also found war exceptionally tiresome. And besides – the stories
that would be taken away by party goers and shared with the rest of the Nine Realms, the reports
that spies would write – and there were spies, there always would be – to their masters… that
would cause more than chaos enough.

And it was all down to Harry, not that he knew it. Where he went, things changed. It was as simple
as that.

Of course, he had originally intended for Harry to speak with the Summer Lady, who could give
some advice on what it was like to go from mortal to immortal – for a price of course, everything
with the Sidhe was about bartering obligations - but there would be time enough for that later.

"He is very much a Summers child," Karnilla eventually said cryptically, drawing Loki out his
satisfied thoughts. It was a little hard to tell where she placed the emphasis in that sentence, Loki
thought, which was curious, almost as if she had intentionally obscured it. "Yet he is also of the
shadows and the grey – he is born to bring light, fire and a passion for justice into the dark places.
He shall be a shining beacon of hope, an everlasting symbol, if he is well tended."

Loki listened very carefully, memorising each word. He could hear the thrum of magic behind her
words. This was a prophecy, or something like it, and only idiots ignored such things. "Well
tended?"

"He shall rise, rise and walk among the stars. But it is a terrible thing, Loki, to walk the stars alone,
especially for one with so much love in his heart," Karnilla said quietly.

Loki thus deduced that Harry was going to fall in love, probably with a girl - he was open minded
on the subject, as was most of Asgard. As long as an heir was produced, same sex liaisons weren't
considered an issue. The lack of risk of the conception of a bastard was a bonus.

This probably female personage was going to be someone Harry would fall spectacularly in love
with, someone who would, presumably, keep him on the straight and narrow. This was confirmed
by Karnilla's next words.

"He shall walk in the darkness and set fires of hope and terror, life and destruction. He will walk in
eternity and it will change him," Karnilla said, tone forbidding. "This you cannot change. All you
can do is guide the changes that take place. It is not his body you should fear for, Loki. It is his
heart." She shrugged. "Whatever happens, it will not change who he is. Not entirely. He shall be
Asgard's champion, who shall tread in lands unexplored. A Knight Errant as mortals call such men.
But will he be a White Knight, or a Dark Knight? That is what is to be decided."

"Care to elaborate?" Loki asked lightly.

Karnilla gave him an unamused look, then gestured. Loki was assaulted by two images.

First, Harry, a grown man, tall and strong, no longer with glasses and wearing armour much like
his father's, gold and white, duelling a shadowy thing with long arms, horns and claws, while bright
power flared around him. His expression, one of firm determination, his eyes, warm and kind, but
strong and resolved… everything about him looked familiar, though honed by age, training and
combat. A hero in the truest sense of the word, Loki thought, as the sun shone in the background.

Second, Harry again. But this one… this one was different. He was a grown man, tall and strong,
wearing armour like his father, much like the last image. And that was where the similarity ended.
His hair was long, flowing to his shoulders in a black, leonine mane, and his mouth was framed by
a neat goatee. The armour was black and white in its design, with a hooded grey cloak rounding it
off.

He had a sword in his hand, one that burned with power, terrible white power that contrasted with
the grey, grim skies, and he was looking down at a man in a strange green mask with an expression
of cold hatred and savage delight. His emerald green eyes were no longer warm and kind. They
were cold and harsh as the stones they resembled and, even though the image was just that, an
image, it was very clear what was going to happen next. And he was going to enjoy it, not as a
matter of righteous vengeance, but simply for the joy of killing.

"These are but two roads which he could take. But elements hold true throughout," Karnilla said
quietly, as Loki reeled. "Beware, Lord Prince. Whether he is a force for good or ill, he will wield
more power than you would believe. The path has chosen its walker. Beware, for his enemies will
define him."

And then she swept away, leaving a suddenly very worried Loki in her wake.

"This," he murmured. "Just got much more complicated."

He strode into the crowd, purposefully aiming for the rest of his family. If his suspicions were
correct, Harry definitely needed to meet the Summer Lady.

OoOoO

Gravemoss was sitting in the comfortable armchair in his lair deep in the catacombs below Paris.
And he was bored.

His pets were moderately self-sufficient. All he had to do was implant a few suggestions, such as
not eating anyone who looked significant and not hunting where someone might see or scry them.
After that, they looked after themselves. He smiled slightly. They were excellent that way, and the
way they fed, the sheer speed of the death that they brought… it was marvellous.

He understood why he couldn't move openly. Malfoy had made that very clear.
He sneered. That arrogant little mortal. He had been a master in the sorceries of the Nine Realms
before Malfoy's people had even begun to decipher the knowledge and spell formulae that Prince
Loki gifted them with, he who had seen empires rise and fall, he who had been cast out from his
home ages past for crimes against nature.

Personally, he hadn't understood that last part. After all, death was part of nature. And it had only
been one zombie. Well, one zombie and several decades worth of experiments in creatively killing
people of all ages, from newborn elven babes and ancient Jotuns to proud young Asgardian
warriors and dwarven greybeards, and binding their spirits.

He shrugged inwardly. He'd never really cared to understand the living, unless it was in relation to
death.

He paused. Well, there had been one, the one who had found him after his banishment all those
centuries ago. He who understood his reverence of death, he who had encouraged it, he who had
given him ancient knowledge and sent him to Midgard, 'to show the people of that world the true
wonder of Lady Death'. Naturally, Gravemoss had happily complied.

Still, Malfoy, for all his arrogance, was clever. Not many could so swiftly formulate a plan to
liberate the Darkhold from its ancient imprisonment and hide the fact that it had been taken. Yes…
Gravemoss almost admired him.

He'd kill him eventually of course. He was going to kill everyone. Life, he'd decided long ago, was
wasted on the living. But he'd make it quick, out of mercy. Unless Malfoy annoyed him further
with his presumption, in which case he would turn the man's brownie servants, the so-called House
Elves, into miniature veidraugar and then have them feast on the flesh of Malfoy's wife, who eyed
him like a deer did a wolf, and his child, who eyed him like a wolf did a trap, while forcing Malfoy
to watch.

And then, of course, having had their starter and main course, they would have their dessert.

His warning was simple: to lay low. Not attract attention. And to build up an army. Malfoy would
have HYDRA send him the raw materials.

This last Gravemoss very much approved of.

It gave him the chance to experiment.

Of course, there was more than one kind of experimentation, he thought, as his eyes fell on the
Darkhold.

On the outside, it seemed to be a simple grimoire, with a blank cover, bound in rust red leather so
dark that it was almost black. It was what happened if dyed human skin with blood. Gravemoss
knew because he'd tried it.

But to any mystic, it sang with vast power, a haunting, siren song that whispered wordlessly of
power unlimited and glory undimmed.

And it could live up to those promises, making a god out of even the meanest reader, at the low,
low cost of your soul.

This was only a problem if you actually had a soul to begin with.

However, while he was insane by any reasonable measure and quite literally omnicidal, he was not
stupid. The Darkhold had a mind of its own, and the power behind it was one that dwarfed any on
the mortal plane, even the Allfather himself. It was a power that would quite happily turn
Gravemoss into its puppet, its vessel, and then discard him as needed, and he knew it.

Therefore, he was cautious, reading from it sparingly.

That said, he was bored, he had little else to do until the next delivery of raw materials, and his pets
hadn't done anything particularly interesting since they'd eaten that American tour group last week.
It had been hilarious watching them be picked off one by one, the fat ones at the back first, and the
last two, a pair of young children, by now crying in fear and saying that the joke wasn't funny.

Gravemoss had to disagree. Life was a cosmic joke. Death was the punchline. And every good
comedian knows that a swift punchline is the best kind.

He smiled contentedly. That had been a good day. Fear was a poor substitute for death by itself, but
it made a delicious flavouring.

That had also been last week.

He drummed his fingers in thought, then smiled as it hit him. The HYDRA commander who had
delivered the last batch of raw materials had asked, "Lord Gravemoss, why aren't we striking
against our enemies? With your power, HYDRA's might and the cunning of the Serpent, why do
we let them remain alive and in peace?"

He'd killed her of course. His pets had been hungry and had thought that she looked particularly
tasty. And he could never refuse them.

But she'd had a point.

He would send a strike force through the spirit world to the stronghold called Avengers Tower. A
few wraiths should do nicely, or some of those delightful Dementor creatures he had encountered.
They had been ridiculously easy to enslave, and they were invisible to those without at least an
aspect of the True Sight. He'd amused himself by sending a group of them into a terminal ward at a
hospital. It wasn't like anyone would notice the difference.

He paused, and frowned. "No," he murmured to himself. "That will not do."

For through his sources in the spirit world, among the dead and those who lay in between realms,
he had heard that the Avengers were in Asgard. Which was celebrating the introduction of its
newest Prince. A Prince who, in fact, Gravemoss had seen many pictures of, thanks to Malfoy.
Apparently the child had, as a baby, resisted the Killing Curse, the sheer power of his defence
obliterating the physical form of Voldemort, the Dark Lord of Britain. He had apparently also
survived the venom of a basilisk.

Such resilience was remarkable. Who knew what else the boy could resist? He would love to find
out. With such a fascinating test subject, he felt that he would be entertained for months, and create
more efficient killing spells as well.

Still… Asgard's defences were ancient and fearsome, long being a bastion against all attack. And
there were rumours that any attempt to breach them gave away the location of the attacker,
bringing down the wrath of Asgard upon them.

And in such a case, that wrath would be embodied in Loki.

Gravemoss feared no one. Except for Loki.

It was Loki who had first discovered his crimes, Loki who had hunted him relentlessly, Loki who
had forced a duel at the very heart of his place of power and overcome him with a faultless display
of deft skill and blistering power, cutting him off from one source of power after another, leaving
him with only his native power to throw against the unbridled might of the God of Magic himself,
the undisputed master of sorcery in the Nine Realms. While that innate power was considerable,
there was a sizable difference between 'considerable' and 'immense'.

But that wasn't why he feared Loki.

Loki hated necromancy. No, that did not do it justice. Many mages professed to hate necromancy
and abhor it, and some truly did. But none felt the same raging mixture of abhorrence and pure rage
towards it that Loki did. He was not merely a mage. He was magic, and the twisting of the very
powers of creation and life to a purpose that was anathema to him was one calculated to incite a
fury that made everyone with the wit to see what it portended tremble in abject terror.

And there was another reason. One little known, one hidden in legend, bound up in myth, one
whispered in the shadows.

Loki had once used necromancy to try and preserve life. Gravemoss snorted. Fool. Yes, if you were
so minded, you could bind the spirit to the body and give the body a little more time in which, in
theory, you could heal it, but necromancy alone? No. Even the pettiest dark sorcerer knew that.

But Loki had been young, barely more than a boy, desperate and either unknowing or uncaring of
that fact, thinking he could defy the rules of magic itself. Apparently, he had sired a brat on a
woman called Sigyn, a woman of low Asgardian nobility. A beauty, apparently, and a virtuous one
who truly loved Loki and was loved in return. Gravemoss cared little for such things. What
interested him was the fact that she had been pregnant. Loki, shamed and frightened by this
change, helped her hide the pregnancy from all, already being a master illusionist.

Odin had found out the night of the birth, and on hearing of this, Loki had panicked, taking Sigyn
out into the dark night, with a storm brewing and rain sheeting down, cloaking them both and
hiding even further away, fearing who knew what.

But it had been a baseless fear, one that condemned his lover. That irony of that part amused
Gravemoss.

Condemned her, for it was a difficult birth, and though Loki was a brilliant young man, already
magically powerful on a scale few had seen before and having memorised every medical treatise
he could find, he had been unable to do anything. The birth had killed the mother, and it was a
stillbirth to boot.

Frigga, who had been sent to find and help Loki by any means possible, finally found him with the
aid of Heimdall when his cloaking slipped. And what a sight it was: a little shack, out in the middle
of nowhere, only lit by candles, lashed by wind and rain, and when she entered, her younger son,
arms blood soaked to the elbow, kneeling in the rushes, weeping and cradling a dead girl child who
was as pale as ice, while his lover's body cooled on the rough little bed.

Frigga did her best to comfort her son. But he refused to accept her comfort. Because he refused to
accept the deaths of lover and child. He dismissed her, demanding he be left alone to mourn.
Reluctantly, she moved into the other room, while calling upon Heimdall to send a couple of
soldiers to help return the bodies for burial.

Then he reached for the dark magics, seeking to force both mother and child to return from across
the Veil.
The mother's soul resisted fiercely, or so it was said, and Loki was forced to let her go, focusing on
the child. And he succeeded.

Some say that the path to the afterlife is a river, with Nine Gates. And if it was a river, Loki
reached into the raging waters and plucked her spirit out.

His mother, so it was said, felt the flare of dark magic and raced back into the room… and saw
Loki laughing joyfully. Because his daughter was alive. Crying, wriggling, hungry and cold, but
alive nonetheless.

"See mother? I have saved her," he said, his face the very picture of tear stained joy as he cradled
his child.

And his mother's heart sank, for she knew the truth. But she humoured him, and let him bring the
child to the palace. However, she banned any from speaking of it, suspecting rightly what was to
come. Odin knew of it too, but at his wife's request, did not speak of it. They told their son that it
was simply a precaution, because of the troublesome circumstances of her birth that could cause
problems in infancy, particularly if she were exposed to disease.

Wrapped up in his child, he agreed. And he named her Hela.

Thor, unaware of all this, was enchanted with his new niece, and vowed to protect her until his last
breath and to teach her to be a warrior maiden like Sif. He also consoled his brother on his loss of
Sigyn. And that loss was grievous, but the joy of his child tempered that.

But as the child grew, she began to exhibit signs that something was wrong. Though still a baby,
she was a fair child, but one as cold as ice. Not cold in the way that Frost Giants were, that burned
to the touch, but the cold of a corpse. All who interacted with her began to find their vitality
slipping away. Plants and small animals when she passed.

She remained in the living world, yes. But at a price, her lifeforce being maintained at the cost of
others, and that price was growing all the time. Death became her and she became death.

She could not remain in the mortal world, and though Loki and Thor, the latter standing by his oath
to protect his niece, were obdurate, they eventually caved after they saw how they were wasting
away.

But Loki refused to abandon his child. "It was I who brought her into this half-life," he said. "And
the fault is with me, not her."

The realm for those Asgardian dead who were not slain in battle was already present, and roamed
by dark creatures, ones that burst through into other realms with impunity. Odin scourged the
realm of them, and made Loki a deal. He could raise his child in the realm of the dead, and she
would be its Queen, the Goddess of Death, and regarded with honour. But she could not return to
the living realms.

Loki, in tears, but seeing no other option, agreed. Thor went with him, citing his oath, saying that
at least he must stay until the young Hela could protect herself.

His parents reluctantly agreed, and put about a fiction that the young Princes had gone adventuring.
To support this fiction, they called upon a group of young, daring and eccentric warriors – the
Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. They asked that maintain the fiction and that they join Loki and
Thor the realm of death, and make sure that they returned safely.

Seeing adventure and a noble cause, they agreed instantly.

And so Hela became Queen of Helheim, sundered forever from her family, who never spoke of her
for the pain it raised in them. And in Loki was fostered a burning hatred for all practitioners of
necromancy.

This story Gravemoss only knew because he'd cobbled it together from a few spirits over the
centuries. And then had it confirmed by Hela herself, though her view was that she had been
abandoned.

While Gravemoss didn't care for others, and never had, he knew intellectually what love meant to
most, especially the romantic love of lovers and the fiercely protective love of parent and child. He
knew well the rage that someone who had lost the one that they loved could bring to bear.

And in Loki, that prospect frightened even him.

So, a direct attack was not in order, nor were enchanted servants. What instead?

"Something that they'll never see coming," he said aloud, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
"Something that will never be traced back to me."

He summoned the Darkhold, opening it, knowing that he would immediately find the page he
needed. He smiled and began to chant, harsh, discordant syllables in ancient, air burning tongues
echoing throughout the catacombs in a kind of nightmarish song.

And the end of it, though spoken in English, seemed to be more profane than all before.

"From the darkest shadows, I summon thee, the dishonoured!

From the mists of myth, I summon thee, the forgotten!

From the nightmares of Asgard, I summon thee… the Disir!"

 Into Darkness

Harry found that he was actually rather enjoying this banquet. Or rather, banquet to be. The food
was apparently not due for another fifteen minutes, to give the guests full time to circulate, chat,
threaten, backstab and subvert.

Parties like this, or so Harry had found, were like piles of autumn leaves – very pretty, ever
changing and there were probably snakes at the bottom. If this had been put to Harry, he would
have quite reasonably said that he could talk to snakes, but there is such thing as taking a metaphor
too far.

All in all, he was rather happy. However, he still wasn't sure why his father was glaring at the two
large, glossy ravens on his grandfather's shoulders, one of which cawed at him mockingly, before
looking away with lordly disdain.

He looked up to see Loki sweeping over towards them, in male form once more – though his
clothing was no less magnificent. He had a serious expression on his face, and while Harry was far
from an expert, he was pretty sure that his uncle was sending out tendrils of his magic to encourage
the crowd to move out of his way, which they did, allowing him to stride towards without breaking
step.

Harry frowned at him, puzzled, and Thor followed his gaze, also frowning at Loki's expression –
grave, worried and intense. As soon as he noticed their gazes however, he smiled, face
transforming into that of the genial uncle.

"Good evening to you all," he said. "Father, mother," he said, inclining his head to them. "And
King Farbaut. You look well, indeed, much as you did half an hour ago."

"I could not say the same for you," Farbaut said dryly, but there was an edge to it, Harry thought.
Yes, the Frost Giant King was eyeing Loki, not fooled by the genial, if somewhat rushed façade. "I
see you've changed your outfit."

"Well, variety is the spice of life, according to Midgardians," Loki said smoothly. "I'm afraid that I
have to deny you the further pleasure of Harry's company – there are a few more guests that he
should meet."

Harry was slightly puzzled by this, but decided to go with it. If nothing else, judging by the night
so far, he'd meet interesting people. And he might come closer to finding out just what had his
uncle bothered.

"I think that we can survive without," Odin said calmly. "And I think it will do you good," he said
to Harry. "After all. One day, Asgard will be yours."

Harry felt his eyes go impossibly wide and his breathing catch. Asgard. A world he'd only heard
about outside of myth and legend a couple of years ago, a world he'd only seen this last couple of
days, a world that was on a scale that he could feel was far beyond his current comprehension…
and one day it would belong to him, Harry, who could barely light a fire without his wand.

To say that that knocked him off balance would be an understatement.

"Father," Thor said, tone carrying a hint of reproof, and Harry felt his father's strong arm, which
had previously been holding him lightly, pull him close to his body, grounding him, letting him get
his bearings. "That day will be thousands and thousands of years away. He is already dealing with
much. Let him face one earth shattering revelation at a time."

"I am merely stating what he is, Thor," Odin said calmly. "Not seeking to overwhelm him. He
must get used to the fact that he is a Prince, in direct line to Asgard's throne."

Farbaut politely pretended not to pay attention, though Harry was pretty sure that he was listening
intently to every word.

"It's okay, dad," Harry said quietly. "I get it, grandfather," he said to Odin.

Thor looked down at him, and Harry gave him a reassuring smile. Thor gave him one in return, but
didn't seem entirely convinced. That was fair enough. Harry wasn't entirely certain himself.

And Odin smiled at him. It was small, brief, but genuine. That made Harry feel warm inside.
"Good," he said. "Now," he continued, turning to King Farbaut. "I believe we were discussing our
favourite kinds of game to hunt."

It was a clear signal that Loki was free to take Harry away now, and indeed, he immediately
beckoned Harry, who hugged his father, waved at Jane and his grandmother, both of whom smiled
at him – though Jane looked the tiniest bit bored. Harry hoped that his dad would stop by the
scientists.

As they moved on, Harry heard his grandfather say, "One of my favourites, as my wife knows and
regularly upbraids me about, is bilgesnipe…"

Just what were bilgesnipe, Harry wondered, then added it to the list of questions he was going to
ask his father and uncle.

One such question he took the opportunity to ask now.

"Uncle, did you ever meet the real Merlin?"

"Hmm?" Loki said, eyes coming down from where they'd been scanning the crowd. "Oh, yes I
did," he said, and looked reflective. "He was actually more powerful than I was."

Harry's eyes bugged out. More powerful than his uncle? Inconceivable!

Loki saw his expression and grinned. "I was barely four centuries old at the time, still exploring the
limits of my power, whereas he was in his prime. I have grown far stronger since," he explained.
"And while we were close to equal in actual power, he knew exactly how much power he had,
unlike I, and was far more capable of wielding it effectively."

"How was he so strong?"

"He was not entirely human, that I know for sure," Loki said slowly. "I think he was child of magic
itself. An aspect of magic incarnate."

"Isn't that what you are?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Yes, however, I am more than a mere aspect, not that I realised that at the time," Loki said. "I also
know that he mastered time magic. And a Lord of Time…" he gave Harry an ironic smirk. "Well,
you rather like Doctor Who, don't you? So you know some of what a true Lord of Time can do."

"So…" Harry said, still puzzled. "Is he stronger than you or not?"

"It's not all about power, Harry, it's about how you use it."
"I know. And I'm currently using my power to tell that you're not answering my question," Harry
said, smirking.

He'd never have said that a month ago, he thought. Tony was a bad influence. Or good. It depended
how you looked at it. And Sirius only exacerbated matters.

Loki smirked in reply. It was, Harry thought, strangely reminiscent of Farbaut's. "True. The answer
is, in truest terms, I am stronger. However, in terms of what I can do on the physical plane, that is a
little more difficult to discern," he said. He shrugged. "In any event, I would not pick a fight with
him." He gave Harry a calculating look. "Are you trying to work out where you will stand as a
power in your own right, and how long it will take?"

Harry fidgeted. "Maybe," he said, shrugging awkwardly. That had been another question he'd long
wanted answering, a more serious one. His desire to know had been re-ignited by his grandfather's
question.

"And you are wondering why that power hasn't developed yet. Maybe you are furthermore
wondering if you are truly your father's son after all in terms of power, whether the fact that he was
a mortal when you were conceived has affected your development," Loki said calmly.

Harry gaped.

"Stop looking quite so amazed, nephew mine, it's written all over your face," Loki said, amused.

"Oh," Harry said.

"To answer your question, every demigod is unique," Loki said. "But you have power, power that
is already pushing the boundaries of mortal power. Soon enough it will develop into special
abilities of your own, beyond magic."

"Will it turn me into an Asgardian?" Harry asked.

"Like as not," Loki said. "Though the full process could take some time." He gave Harry a
thoughtful look. "You're actually developing rather faster than I expected, even factoring your
mortal origins into my calculations. There is something else about you that is accelerating the
process." He shrugged. "Anyhow, you need not worry about how you stand among the gods, for
you are one, albeit one in waiting to some degree. And you have already impressed many here."

"Really?" Harry asked, honestly surprised.

"Yes," Loki said quietly. "You have." He smiled kindly. "Including your father, your grandparents
and me. Especially me."

Harry blushed and smiled, slightly shyly. "Thanks," he said quietly, lowering his gaze.

If he had been able to read Loki's mind, he would have been somewhat surprised at what he found.
And worried.

Because currently Loki was reflecting that it was hard to believe that the earnest, curious little boy
in front of him was either going to become one of the greatest heroes that he had ever beheld, or a
monster beyond imagining. No, not beyond imagining, he mentally amended. Very easily
imagined. Karnilla had made certain of that.

Harry was a good person, instinctively caring in a way few were. The very idea of becoming a
monster would bother him severely and lead to a lengthy and tedious case of angst. Therefore, it
was a good thing that he couldn't read Loki's mind.

So he remained happy and, relatively, innocent.

"Who do you want me to see?" Harry asked.

"Well," Loki said, steering Harry over to a pair of people who could only be described as beautiful,
even though one was male and beautiful was not normally used for men. No other word really
came to mind. However, Harry felt vaguely, this time it was justified. Especially with the woman,
who, even from behind – especially from behind, some might say, and Harry saw no immediate
reason to disagree. "These three, funnily enough."

Then Harry realised that there was a third person, a slimly built and average looking man of
average height with tanned skin and shoulder length white-blonde hair. And, much like the
woman, he wearing a finely tailored set of clothes, in warm colours flowing from burnt gold to leaf
green, with a ceremonial sword at his hip. While he looked comfortable in them, Harry felt that he
would rather be out of the formal wear and in a set of ratty, greasy jeans and a t-shirt.

Harry could empathise. Though his formal clothes were comfortable – even the circlet had stopped
itching a while ago – he preferred simple, comfortable stuff.

The man was also holding himself confidently, but not arrogantly, apparently totally at ease among
the gods and the peers of gods, but without feeling the need to show off. His lessons from Loki
whispered to him that this meant that this was someone who was a professional, and therefore,
dangerous.

Indeed, as they got closer and Harry reached out his growing magical senses, he could feel a sense
of dangerous, leashed warmth, which could be raised to a raging inferno at a moment's notice,
combining with a scent of pine and something Harry didn't recognise. The light seemed to touch
him and reflect off him clearer, purer and stronger. He was human, yet more than human, as if his
human form was a container for something far stronger. Yes, Harry concluded, he was very
definitely dangerous.

But nowhere near as much as his lady, who turned, smiling, revealing a face that made Harry's
heart skip a beat, and the rest of her, which was even more pleasant from the front than from
behind. This, Harry considered, was a remarkable achievement.

This woman – or whatever she was, since Harry retained enough self-awareness to realise that a)
she wasn't human, judging by her leaf green eyes that were shaped like a cat's and b), he was very
glad that he'd worn tight underwear under relatively loose breeches – was incredibly powerful.

Not as powerful as his uncle, father and grandfather, for sure, but far stronger than anyone else he'd
ever met.

Yet he didn't feel threatened, because there was something about her that was gentle, kindly and
warm, a lighter, gentler counterpart to the man. Whereas his presence was an amiable warning that
could become very much not amiable in a very short space of time, hers was a gentle caress,
reaching out like a soft, kindly hand to comfort anyone close to her. It reminded him of someone,
something else, something recent that he couldn't quite put a finger on. Words slipped into his
mind and then out again, like leaves on a fast flowing stream, a gentle whisper on the very edge of
perception.

'Mama loves you, Harry…'

And then they were gone, forgotten, sliding out of his mind leaving only a strange sense of comfort
behind. Looking at her, sensing her, he would have found it very hard to believe it if someone told
her that she wasn't purely sweetness and light.

She wasn't, of course. But she was close.

Her face was sweetly beautiful in a way that made her look both young and ageless at the same
time. She was also quite petite, being only a few inches taller than Harry himself, and
proportionately built, with curves in what Harry was beginning to recognise were all the right
places. In fact, he thought that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen,
even including Natasha.

That didn't mean he was going to fall in love with her. It did mean, however, that after falling under
her lovely gaze, he blushed horribly and wished for a large bucket of cold water.

"Greetings to you, Prince Loki," she said, curtseying. "And to you, Prince Harry." She curtseyed
again, both times deeply enough to be respectful to a host, but also shallowly enough that she was
establishing herself as of equal rank. Since Loki didn't object, Harry assumed that she was, and
bowed himself, but saying nothing, not trusting his tongue. The curtsey had served to tighten the
front of her orange-gold dress, revealing the curves of her breasts in enough detail that Harry was
left wishing for two buckets of cold water and feeling supremely embarrassed about it.

"Greetings, Lady Summer," Loki said, bowing smoothly. "Sir Fix," he said, inclining his head to
the smaller man. "And to you," he said, turning to the taller man, who had a kind expression.
"Prince Faradei of Alfheim." He turned to Harry. "This, as you may have realised, is my nephew,
Prince Harry Thorson."

Harry hurriedly copied him, mumbling his way through his greetings and going even redder as a
result. The Knight, Fix, gave him a sympathetic look, and the Lady gave him a kind, gentle smile
that relaxed him somewhat.

This relaxation allowed Harry to focus on the other man, Prince Faradei. The elf was tall, easily
being of a height with Harry's father, something only emphasised by his flowing robes, and had
long, braided blonde hair, with chiselled cheekbones that would make the entire female Hogwarts
population swoon. And, now that he thought of it, probably make Jean Paul swoon as well.

He was slender, but slender like a bow, slim build belying considerable hidden strength.

"So," Faradei said, blue eyes examining Harry intently. "You are Harry, Asgard's youngest Prince."

"If I'm not, he's going to be very annoyed when he finds me running around in his clothes," Harry
said instantly, then wishing he hadn't, as Loki snorted his amusement, Lady Summer let out a soft
musical laugh and Sir Fix grinned.

However, his worry evaporated as a boyish grin spread across Faradei's face and he laughed. "I
deserved that," he chuckled.

"Only you can decide that, old friend," Loki said smoothly. "We have much to discuss – if nothing
else, Clint desires another contest."

"The Hawkeye?" Faradei said, in the tones of one anticipating a challenge. As the two descended
into amiable chatter, Harry saw his uncle's gaze briefly meet Lady Summer's, then flick to Harry.

As it did, Lady Summer turned to him and smiled again. "Hello Harry," she said, tones and speech
less formal.
Then she chuckled slightly, before shaking her head and looking at him fondly, before sharing a
look with Sir Fix, who grinned and said, "same sense of humour. And he's as direct as him too."

"Yes, he is," Lady Summer agreed.

"What is it, Lady Summer?" Harry found himself asking.

"If I may call you Harry, you may call me Lily," she said.

"And I'm just Fix," Fix said casually.

Harry blinked, but nodded, a little surprised that this kind woman had the same name as his mother.
Then again, her kind, friendly manner, beauty, warm smiles and comforting presence were rather
close to how he imagined his mother – though he was rather thankful that his imaginings of his
mother did not achieve the same… distracting effect that her namesake's mere presence did. It
would have been fundamentally disturbing.

"So… I'm sorry, but I don't really know who and what you are," Harry admitted, a little
embarrassed.

Both grinned. "If I may?" Fix said, and Lily nodded. He inclined his head to Harry and said, "This
is Lily, Lady of the Summer Court of the Sidhe, and youngest Queen of the Seelie Fae. I am Sir
Fix, Knight and Champion of the same."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling decidedly puzzled.

"You don't really know what the Sidhe are, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "My uncle mentioned that they were, well, 'like fairies before the Victorians
got hold of them' or something like that. But that's it."

"He was pretty much right. And it's okay," Fix said easily. "Hell, I barely knew about anything
supernatural besides the Courts, the Vampires, the Wizards…"

"You know wizards?" Harry asked, surprised.

"A wizard," Lily corrected. "Singular. He was also called Harry."

"He looked a bit like you, too," Fix said thoughtfully. "Not too much, but you know, there's a
vague resemblance."

"I suppose there is," Lily said thoughtfully. She smiled at Harry. "He's a good man. He helped us
out when we needed it."

"Saved our lives is more like it," Fix said, and Harry noticed that his fingers and Lily's
thoughtlessly twined together.

Lily nodded, and a look of sadness appeared on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"Once, we were both ordinary people," Fix said. "For a given value of ordinary."

"Both of us had one faerie parent, from the Winter Court," Lily explained. "My mother was a nixie
– a water spirit. She left me on my dad's doorstep when I was born."
"My father was some kind of frost spirit," Fix said, and shrugged. "Mom didn't know and my dad,
whoever he was, didn't bother to contact me."

"We were changelings," Lily said. "Caught halfway between mortal and immortal." She fixed
Harry with a serious gaze, two shades of warm green meeting. "Much like you are now."

"Though you don't have Maeve and Slate to contend with," Fix muttered.

"Maeve's the Winter Lady, right? My uncle mentioned her," Harry said. "She's… not very nice."

"A bitch," Fix said matter of factly. "She's psychotic, depraved and spiteful. I'm saying this not as
the Summer Knight, but as someone she and her Knight spent years using as a toy." He gently
squeezed Lily's hand. "And I wasn't the only one."

Suddenly, Harry realised

"Eventually, Ronald Reuel, Fix's predecessor as Summer Knight, took us all, Fix, me, a boy called
Ace and a girl called Meryl, under his wing. He was much like Doctor Banner: kind, gentle, but far
more dangerous than he appeared. No one in Winter dared touch us after that," Lily said, smiling
slightly. "We managed to live relatively normal lives – I was a model, Fix was a mechanic, Meryl
worked in construction – her father was a troll – and Ace did whatever odd jobs he could pick up.
We were safe. And happy."

"What happened?" Harry asked curiously, then wished he hadn't as the smile slid off Lily's face
like raindrops off a spring leaf and Fix looked grim.

"He was murdered," Lily said quietly. "By Lloyd Slate. The Winter Knight."

"A murderous, drug addicted, psychotic rapist," Fix said flatly.

"On Maeve's orders?"

"No," Lily said, shaking her head. "By Aurora. The Summer Lady before me."

"She'd gone insane," Fix explained. "Aurora… she was like the world's big sister. She wanted to
help people, wherever she could. And maybe it was after she saw how we were victims of people
like Maeve and Slate, or even seeing centuries of the Courts fighting each other with mortals
caught in the middle… she tried to wipe the slate clean. She took the power of the Summer Knight
and put it into Lily, then transformed her into a statue, to make it look like the power had
disappeared."

"Once that was done, all she had to do was wait as the Courts prepared for war. Summer thought
that Winter was behind it, and Winter met their advance," Lily said.

"Enter Harry Dresden," Fix said. "The Winter Queen forced him to investigate for her, and he ran
across us. Meryl persuaded him to help look for Lily. In the end, he found her at a place of power
called the Stone Table."

"Half the year, it belongs to Summer," Lily said. "From the Winter Solstice to the Summer
Solstice, as the days grow longer. The other half, as the days grow shorter, it belongs to Winter.
And any blood spilled on the table provides power for the Court that controls it."

"The battle happened on Midsummer night," Fix said. "Aurora wanted to dump the power of the
Summer Knight into Winter. Put Summer and Winter out of balance, let them destroy each other,
then rebuild from the ashes. Create a world without the Courts."
This, Harry thought, was very fascinating and not a little confusing. But he wasn't entirely sure
what it had to do with him.

"Dresden, some of his friends, Meryl and Fix fought their way to the Stone Table, where Aurora
was about to sacrifice me," Lily said quietly. "Meryl was mortally wounded by Slate." She smiled
slightly at Fix. "Fix, when he was barely bigger than you are now, beat up the Winter Knight with
a monkey wrench."

"Cool…" Harry whispered. If nothing else, he could enjoy the story on its own merits.

"Dresden took on Aurora, and even though he was tired, far less powerful than her to begin with
and she was at the very height of her powers, he killed her. It was the only thing that could be
done," Lily said quietly. "And in the end… she wasn't mad. I think she was sad. And afraid."

Harry shivered as the enjoyment swiftly went down the drain.

"I was the nearest repository of Summer power," Lily continued. "And for the first time in history,
a mortal became one of the Queens of Faerie."

"And Lily made me her Knight," Fix finished, and the two shared a smile.

"However… things were different. We changed in a very definite way," Lily said quietly. "We… it
is hard to explain. But I now see the world differently. Every day, that view changes more and
more."

"But," Fix said, seeing Harry gulp. "It doesn't change who you are. It exaggerates some traits." He
smiled at Lily. "I'm more protective now, more watchful."

"And I understand more, about other people, their joy and their happiness, their pain and their
sadness," Lily said. "We became more of who we already were."

"Do you think it will happen to me?"

"Something will," Fix said. "Power changes you. Think about how much having magic has
changed you, how much being a Prince has changed you already. Everything changes."

"Not all things," Lily said quietly. "Summer and Winter shall always endure, so long as the world
remains."

Fix conceded the point with a nod of his head.

"Can… can you tell me more?" Harry asked.

Both nodded. "What do you want to know?" Fix asked.

OoOoO

A very informative ten minutes passed, and it was around that point that his collected him, thanked
both Lily and Fix, then said something formal about the acknowledgement of a debt. Harry thought
he was being flowery, so hadn't paid much attention.

"How was it?" Loki asked. "I assume that they helped."

"Yeah. Both of them were very helpful," Harry commented, nodding. "More straightforward than I
expected."
"Well, they are both still very close to human. They have yet to fully develop the instinctive mind
games of the Sidhe. And it is rather what I paid them for," Loki said dryly.

"What?"

"One overarching characteristic of all the Sidhe, one that their Knights and other associates tend to
pick up, is that they do not give anything away for free. It runs counter to their very nature," Loki
explained. "I have information that will be useful to the Summer Court and can be given away at
no loss to either I or Asgard, so we made a trade – her counsel for you in exchange for my
information."

"Oh," Harry said quietly.

"Don't look downcast, nephew. It does not meant that they would not have told you of her own
accord if they could. The sidhe and anyone empowered by them are very much defined by their
nature, as they will have explained. The deal was a physical necessity to allow Lily to speak, and
Fix has learned to mimic their behaviour for his own sake," Loki explained. "She wanted to open
the box of knowledge inside her head, if you will, but I needed to give her the key."

"Right," Harry said, puzzling this one out.

Loki chuckled. "Do not try to understand the minds of the Sidhe, nephew, it is pointless," he said.

"You seem to understand them," Harry snapped, stung.

"I am also over a millennium and a half your senior," Loki pointed out. "And like they, I think not
in straight lines, but in corkscrews."

Harry frowned, trying to get his head round this.

"Few understand the Sidhe – what motivates them is not what motivates even Asgardian kind.
They are truly eternal, unless they are slain in battle, and time is meaningless to them. That alone
sets them apart even from the higher inhabitants of the Nine Realms, as we are set apart from the
truly mortal men of Midgard," Loki explained.

"We," Harry said slowly.

"Yes. The short span of Midgardian mortality is your burden no longer," Loki said quietly. "I see
no point in lying to you on this: though you are caught between man and god and like the
Changelings of Sidhe kind, you will eventually be able to choose between, you will never be who
you once were. You are a Prince of Asgard now. And that you must accept."

Harry said nothing, merely nodding. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

His nascent brooding was disrupted by a familiar, warm presence, and he looked up to see Diana
making her way over, discretely but definitely towing a tall, beautiful woman who had similar
features to her and was built much like Sif, with the same subtle, powerful muscle and smooth,
sure movement. She had honey brown hair and amber eyes that were filled with fond exasperation
aimed at her young charge. But when they landed on Harry, they widened slightly, before
narrowing thoughtfully.

"Harry!"

"Hi Diana," Harry said, smiling. There was something about the girl that made him smile, a warm
presence about her that cheered him up. It was rather like being around a much watered down
version of the Summer Lady. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said cheerfully, and Harry smiled again. "And you?"

"Same as you – fine, really," he said. "No, better than fine."

"Good."

For some reason, she made him smile. If he'd known her for longer, he'd have seen that she
unconsciously had that affect on most people, in the same way that he drew them to him without
ever realising it. An untrained empath is like as not to project their emotions, so it was fortunate
that Diana was a particularly sweet natured girl.

But as it was, he didn't, and he bowed to her chaperone. "Lady Athena, I assume?" he said
smoothly.

If he'd had eyes in the back of his head, he'd seen Loki allow himself a small, proud smile.

Athena raised an eyebrow, then smiled slightly. "I am she, young Prince. Though I did not know
that I was so recognisable."

"I did not recognise you, but I guessed," Harry said. "Diana mentioned you when we met earlier."
He paused, and to his surprise, a rather courtly addition tripped off his tongue. "Though, I don't
think I could ever forget a face like yours."

He blushed as Athena smiled, flattered.

"You have taught him well, Loki. He has a courtly manner," she said, amused. "Your compliments
are fair, little cousin."

Harry blushed again and mumbled something indistinct, shuffling his feet. Loki nudged him. "It's
not a problem," Harry muttered, then blushed even harder as Diana giggled and Athena's smile
widened.

Loki sighed slightly, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Two steps forward, one step back," he
murmured.

Harry had, indeed, been doing rather well. However, until now, he hadn't met anyone he'd heard of
before. Athena, by contrast, was rather famous in both the magical and non-magical worlds.

"He is a little more reticent than I expected," Athena commented to Diana.

"He's just a bit shy, auntie," Diana said fairly. "This is his first banquet, after all," she reminded her
aunt.

"Shyness is not a bad trait, indeed, it is preferable to unwarranted arrogance," Athena said. "A sin I
remember his father being guilty of at his age."

Harry looked up suddenly, surprised. "You knew dad when he was a kid?"

"And your uncle," Athena said, and her eyes twinkled slightly. "Who do you think taught him all
he knows?"

"It wasn't you, that's for certain," Loki replied dryly.

"That is true. You learned all you could from whoever you could," Athena said. "The entire
universe was your teacher and you were a most willing and able student." She smiled, this time
slightly sadly. "But it took you a long time to learn the wisdom of why to use power and
knowledge, not merely how. In that way, you have always been so very like your brother, though
you were much quieter about it, so no one noticed. Not until it was too late." She looked at Harry.
"That mistake is one that I hope that you will not make." She inspected him closely. "Though
somehow, I feel that you will not. You know what it is to be helpless, don't you."

Harry met her gaze steadily, and any remaining embarrassment flowed away like water off a duck's
back. "Yes," he said. "I do."

"You're not now though, are you?" Athena murmured, glancing at her niece. "As Diana found out."

Harry flushed and Loki frowned. "Sif has spoken to me of that incident, as has Harry," he said, a
hint of rebuke in his tone. "Harry could not control his power and Diana did not have the shields to
withstand it."

"This is true. Both need to learn control," Athena said, and glanced at her niece again. "I think that
it will teach this young lady to attend to her lessons and not to make the lives of the poor, helpless
guards sent to collect her miserable."

"He felt bored," Diana protested. "And he wasn't bored when I was done."

"That much," Athena said, tone dry. "Is true." She gave Harry a long look. "Before stands a boy
who has chosen the path of a hero."

"I haven't chosen anything," Harry said, surprised.

"Have you not?" Athena asked, amused. "Maybe that is call to ask a question," she said, tone
cryptic. "Does the Walker choose the Path, or the Path the Walker?"

Loki gave her a sharp look. "Or is the Path undecided and the Walker unready?" he retorted.

"The Path is always decided. And readiness is ever mutable," Athena responded.

Harry frowned up at the two, puzzled and uneasy, before sharing a look with Diana, who shrugged.
Even empaths can only read so much.

Suddenly, there was a vast horn call, which was less sound than pure force, and Harry nearly
jumped out of his skin, whirling, eyes wild, to see the source of the sound.

It was Volstagg, who was standing on the dais, red faced and beaming as he lowered the horn in
the silence. "And now: food!" he cried cheerfully, to applause and scattering of amused laughter.

Loki sighed. "They never change," he muttered.

"I would say the same of you," Athena said dryly. "Come, Diana, we must go to our places. I
believe we are seated next to the Lady Sif."

OoOoO

The banquet itself present Harry with few enough difficulties – there was plenty of everything, and
the dishes varied from the familiar – roasted meats, vegetables, stews and pies – to the strange and
exciting – spit roasted game birds, boiled lambsquarters, skyr, and dishes, fruits, vegetable and
meats of all shapes, tastes and sizes that had no equivalent on Earth.
Bread of all kinds, all warm and freshly baked, was served in liberal quantities, and Harry rather
felt for the poor servers, rushing back and forth.

Why one of them, a girl only a few years older than Harry himself, had been so surprised and
gratified when he had asked if her if she was okay and offered her a drink of water – which she
refused in polite if somewhat flustered fashion - Harry did not know.

He put it aside as a mystery for another time, naturally having no idea what the ripple effect of his
actions woud cause. Servants saw everything, were as curious as anyone, particularly about the
doings of the mighty, and gossiped like there was no tomorrow.

Harry, unaware of this, was seated between Jane and Diana, two seats away from his father and
Athena respectively. Apparently everyone was seated in rough status order, and the highest guests
sat at the high table. While there were many high guests to seat, something which had to be done
without, for instance, putting two halves of a feud next to one another or slighting a noble guest by
misplacing them, Algrim, being the Chancellor had long experience and had mastered the art.

Where a powerful guest could not be seated as high up as they might like, they were artfully seated
with people of similar class who they would find interesting, and they were kept plentifully in
mead, ale, wine, spirits and other alcoholic drinks.

Harry himself had a mug of mild ale that had a rich, bitter flavour. Jane was keeping a close eye on
said mug, and he found himself being told in no uncertain terms that he was only having one.

"But Jane," he complained, if only for the sake of it.

"No buts," she said firmly. "And no giving scraps to Freki and Geri, either."

Freki and Geri were Odin's pet wolves, and while Harry had initially been intimidated by their
sheer size, he'd found that they were easily as amiable as Fang, if less demonstrative, and spent
most of their time alternating hopefully between Thor and Harry, trying to judge which Prince was
more likely to slip them a tasty snack. One would give Thor a soulful look, while the other would
give Harry a pathetic whine, hoping to time it right so Jane would be busy telling off either father
or son, allowing the other to slip something to a pleased wolf.

"Auntie 'thena says that they're sentient," Diana said abruptly.

They'd been chatting happily for most of the meal, Jane being occupied by Thor – who had seen
that his son was animatedly engaged with a new friend, smiled, and let him be - and Athena
discussing matters of state with Farbaut and a tall, lean young man with white hair and a matching
smile who had introduced himself as 'Hrimhari, Prince of the Wolf People'.

"Oh?" Harry said, pausing in his absent scratch behind both the ears of both wolves. They were
between courses, and both Freki and Geri had swiftly picked out Harry as a soft touch, who need
little encouragement to give both wolves some attention.

Diana nodded. "Or at least, they're much cleverer than most wolves."

"I can believe that," Harry said dryly, having witnessed their earlier begging tactics, and upping the
ante of the scratching. In response, he got a pleased rumbling noise from both animals, and
chuckled. "You're both old soppies, aren't you?"

"I can feel them," Diana said simply. Harry blinked at her in surprise.

"With your… abilities?"

"Uh-huh. I can't usually feel animals, but they're almost as clear as people," Diana confirmed.

"What are they like?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Simpler than people," Diana said. "And they like you. A lot." She tilted her head. "I don't think
they normally take to people like this."

Harry snorted in disbelief, but said nothing. "There's nothing special about it." Then he yelped
slightly as he felt two light thumps, one on each shoulder and felt talons digging in, like with
Hedwig, but these talons weren't as sharp.

He looked up slowly at his right shoulder, and then his left. Two ravens sat there, one on each. The
one on the right gave him a beady eyed look, and, then, astonishingly, spoke.

"Hey kid."

It was more of a harsh caw than any form of normal speech, but it was understandable. And, Harry
felt, it was very strange to hear a raven speak, no matter whether it sounded like a raven or a
person.

"Cat got your tongue?" the other raven asked.

"It wasn't us," the first one chimed back in. "The boss frowns on that sort of thing. Ever since the
Eyeball Incident." It glared at the second pointedly.

"The Boss wasn't using it!" the second complained.

"You still shouldn't have eaten it in front of him!"

As the two talking birds squabbled, Harry looked at Diana, completely bemused. "Who…?" he
whispered, otherwise lost for words. Diana shrugged helplessly.

"They're called Huginn and Muninn, I think," Jane said quietly. "They're your grandfather's
messengers."

"Oh," Harry said, looking up at the two ravens, which were still arguing. "Are they always like
this?"

"Yes," Thor said. "Mad, irritating, insolent beasts."

"You're just saying that because they don't like you," Jane said, amused.

"They used to shit in my hair," Thor growled.

"Yup," one of them confirmed, completely unrepentant. "Then you started using us for target
practice. Anyway," it said, addressing Harry. "Goldilocks can go –"

It said something that was both incomprehensible, and judging by the tone, obscene, before
finishing, "As far as we're concerned."

"Hey," Harry snapped. "He's my dad."

Both ravens looked at him. "So?" the one on the right asked.

"Do you like sitting on my shoulder?" Harry asked.

"It's okay," the one on the left said, giving a shrug that could only be achieved by a creature with a
uniquely flexible breastbone. "Nothing special."

Harry smirked, and murmured a couple of words. "Well, you're stuck there until you apologise and
prove that you can behave civilly to my father."

"Or until the Boss decides that he needs us for something," the one on the right said, trying to
subtly test the charm.

"That could be some time," Harry said. "And even if that does happen, one of my friends is my
teacher on the care of magical creatures." He smiled sunnily. "Meaning that he can teach me what
to add to your food to make your lives a misery. Still able to do your jobs, of course, but not very
well off otherwise."

"How would you know what we eat?"

"I'd ask around," Harry said calmly. "And look at it this way: you'd never be able to look at food
the same way again. You'd never enjoy it, always wondering if somehow I'd got to it first…
understood?"

"We could just start shitting down your back," the one on the left pointed out, though with a degree
of trepidation.

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I can guarantee that I've smelled worse."

The two ravens shared a look, then looked down at Harry, thus joining everyone else in the
Banquet Hall. Harry was wearing his father's patented 'Go Ahead, Make My Day (You Bastards)'
look, a cheerful grin that promised pain and suffering to whoever crossed the wearer of said grin.

"Kids got balls," the one on the right said, with a hint of admiration in there.

"Big brass ones," the one on the left agreed.

As they spoke, Harry felt something cold and damp nudge his hand. Freki had a note stuck through
his collar. Giving the wolf a scratch, he removed the note, opening it quietly. In hastily scrawled,
yet still neat, script it said:

Give them these. They love them. Take the credit and they'll love you.

- Loki.

Attached were two white marshmallows. Harry removed them, slipped them up his sleeves and
slipped the note to Freki, who gave a lupine smirk, then ate it. Harry gave the wolf a swift grin and
a whispered, 'thanks!', before looking up at the two ravens, coughing pointedly. "Do we have a
deal? You apologise to my dad and behave decently around him and I don't make your lives a
misery."

"Fine," the one on the right said.

"But only because we like your style, kid," the one on the left added. "We still don't like
Goldilocks."

"The feeling," Thor growled, "Is mutual, you glorified flying feather dusters."

"Oh good, something we can agree on, goat botherer," the right hand raven snapped.
Harry coughed pointedly, and then looked at his father. "You have to be civil too," he said sternly.
"You don't have to like each other, but no insults, no hair dumping and no target practice." He
smiled at his dad. "After all, I can make your life a misery far more easily than I can theirs."

"I am aware," Thor muttered, as Jane giggled. "I grew up with Loki for a little brother."

"Good," Harry said. "We're all agreed."

There three reluctant yeses and Harry nodded. "You can go now, if you want," he said, releasing
the spell. "But," he added with a flick of his wrists, causing the marshmallows to fall into his hands.
Both ravens focused on them like laser guided missiles. "You'd be missing out on these."

"Kid," the one on the right said after a moment, in tones of definite respect. "You're alright in our
book. I'm Huginn, that's Muninn," it said, nodding at the other raven.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Harry," Harry said, as the two ravens sidled down his arms, tickling
slightly through his clothes as they did. "But I guess you already knew that."

"Priddy muff," Huginn agreed, halfway through swallowing his marshmallow. "We ouffed –" He
finished swallowing. "We used to keep an eye on ya for the Boss." He paused and added, "And
make life difficult for those lousy bastards that were supposed to be looking after you. Sometimes,
we took a dump on the fat kids head. And in his food. Though we stopped that when we saw that
he just ate yours instead."

"I think I remember," Harry said slowly. And he did, in a vague sort of way. In the same way that
Dudley was terrified of redheads, Petunia and Vernon had been none too found of birds in general.
The owls had only made it worse.

"We did our best not to be seen. Someone smart might have put two and two together," Muninn
chimed. "And they did." He shuddered. "That Scarlet Witch is scary."

Harry blinked in surprise, but before he could, more food began to come in. As he looked up to see
that, he realised that most of the Hall was giving him wide eyed looks. "What?" he asked. "Why
are they staring?"

"Kid," Huginn said. "We don't talk to just anyone. And the Boss aside, we don't hang around with
many people."

"Think about how it looks from the outside," Diana chimed in.

Harry did. He thought. And his stomach lurched southwards. Because in his mind's eye, he saw
himself, conversing in a familiar fashion with the messengers of Odin himself, bending them to his
will, while the Allfather's wolves sat at his right and left hands.

"I'll give you this, kid," Huginn continued. "Whether you know or it or not, you can make a real
impression upon people."

"I figured," Harry said quietly. And for a moment, he wanted to slip away, run and find somewhere
safe to hide, wait it all out until it could be just him, his family and friends, where he was just
Harry… but he wasn't just Harry any more. And he'd get used to it. He straightened his back,
defiantly tilted his chin and added, "Good."

The ravens exchanged looks.

"Big brass ones," Muninn said.

"Definitely."

OoOoO

Gravemoss watched as a pulsing portal of dark light appeared, and several empheral not-solid-yet-
solid (English is, as yet, not a language that possesses the words to describe beings that, once they
were in it, could enter and exit phase with a dimension pretty much at will) beings passed through
it. They were all died in varying shades of grey, bodies dessicated, thin skin stretched over harsh,
angular bones, with sunken mouths full of teeth filed to points so as better to consume the flesh of
the living and the dead.

No one was quite sure how they had come to be, if they even believed that they existed. No one
save Odin. And the Darkhold.

Because the Darkhold never forgot.

They had been the Valkyries of Bor once, his iron fist, thirteen of his best and bravest. And Bor
was a man of his time.

This time somewhere in the early Neolithic period, around five or six thousand years before the
rise of Christ to approximate, around the time when mankind discovered the cause and solution of
all problems: alcohol. They doubtless found it very useful to deal with a world in which they
tended to hold the common positions of 'toys', 'minions' or in worst case scenarios, 'lunch'.

Those creatures who viewed mankind as category number three also doubtless appreciated both
slower prey and the impromptu flavouring, so everyone was either happy or too dead or pissed to
care.

Anyhow, Bor had made it very clear that they served him first. In all possible meanings of the
phrase.

Unsurprisingly, resentment built up. They were the mightiest warriors in the Nine Realms. One
was to be feared, four would send armies running and when all thirteen were together… they were
invincible.

So why did they bow their heads to a man who used them for his own glory and pleasure, putting
them away when he did not desire their presence? Why did they accept his rule? Why did they not
strike out on their own? The power of the young Allfather was hardly absolute – the continent of
Asgard was still being mapped out, the Bifrost was still in the theoretical stages, older civilisations
being destroyed or absorbed, and the Light Elves and dwarves carving out their own kingdoms in
Asgard while simultaneously chasing rumours of pathways to realms other than Midgard.

Oh, and the Dark Elves were trying to destroy the universe.

And it was in that conflict that the Disir's star began to fall.

As the very best of Bor's warriors – and in his view, the most expendable – they were at the
Vanguard. And they caused havoc, mowing through even the Kursed with incredible speed and
ferocity.

Malekith, King of the Dark Elves, saw this. So, using powerful dark sorcery, he turned them into
true Angels of Death – he reached, took their hatred of Bor, their ambition to break free of him and
make him suffer for what he done to them and tied it to their bloodlust. And tied that to their
simple hunger, amplifying it a thousand times.
Gravemoss could only admire the simplicity, style and utter genius of this idea.

The results had been utter carnage, the Asgardian army collapsing as the Disir turned on them with
feral howls and carved them up with blades, teeth and raw strength, devouring them with
unknowable hunger.

None could stand against their insane wrath, and the Dark Elf armies poured after them, bringing
Asgard to her knees.

In the end, the only one who could face them was Bor. And Bor was, for all his faults, no coward.
He decreed 'no more'. He would not sacrifice another of his men to the monsters the Disir had
become.

He faced them alone and barely survived. After all, they were the Disir. Together, they were
invincible. He could not kill them. But he finally succeeded in banishing them to a half life on the
edge of the Nine Realms, condemned only to be able to feed on the dead spirits of inhabitants of
the Nine Realms that left the living realms but did not reach the realms of the dead.

However, where most of the stories went wrong was that this was not because, in the heat of battle,
Bor, who was not the world's most complex man, had managed to put a complex binding on them.
He'd simply aimed for the bits in between the Nine Realms and given the Disir the biggest
metaphysical kick up the arse that he could manage.

In other words, if someone helped them out of there, everyone was screwed.

Gravemoss was very much aware of this. He was also very much aware that they were technically
dead.

So when they attacked, he merely smiled. And blurred.

While he couldn't exert full control over them – or at least, he could, but that would mean stopping
and if he did, he would probably be carved into several different pieces before he had the
opportunity to exert his will on them.

But he could slow them down. To him, it was as if they were moving in treacle. And he was still of
Alfheim. That meant he was fast. Very, very fast.

Moving like greased lightning, he wove among them, striking blows with fists surrounded by dark
energy, hurling spell bolts and bindings as he went, weakening them, harrying them and making
them lose their concentration and their cohesion. The fact he could even touch them was a very
nasty shock. Very few could touch wraiths who walked in the unseen, and even fewer without
delving into the dark arts. Those few light spells that had been devised were not widely
disseminated or widely learnt, save by the most skilled. Gravemoss had no such encumbrance. The
black arts were a part of him and death was his dominion.

After that, all he had to do was focus his will and test it against theirs.

He was focused.

They were not.

He had spent millennia as one of the living dominating the dead.

They had spent millennia having the living too afraid to even dare.
And in the end, his insanity was directed into the sort of madness that can put a fist through
adamantium.

Theirs was not.

"Enough," their leader snarled eventually. She was marked out as the one who wore a crown of
jagged, crudely carved bone. "You have your victory," she continued, adding, as if every word was
acid in her mouth. "And our allegiance. What would you have us do?"

"Kneel," Gravemoss said.

So they knelt before him. Much as they had before Bor. This was not lost on them, Gravemoss
could tell, feeling their seething hatred intensify. Yet another reason to keep them under close
control, he thought. At least until he could explain his part. And then such wonderous killing
machines could do what they were intended to do.

"Who are you?" the leader demanded.

"I am the Master of the Darkhold. I am the man who has summoned you. I am Gravemoss. A name
you would do well to remember," he said. "Now, stop your rage towards me. You will follow my
commands. But I believe that you will enjoy them."

"We have been told that before," the leader said with a cold sneer.

"I know you have, Brun," Gravemoss said, with a cruel smile. Of course, with him, smiles were
either cruel or insane and always unsettling. "But before you were not ordered to take the youngest
scion of the Asgardian crown, the great-grandson of Bor himself, and to do as you wish with him
and any who would interfere… now were you?"

As soon as he had spoken the word Bor, he had their unwavering attention. Good.

"Why would you do this?" Brun asked, tone a mixture of eager anticipation and ancient suspicion.
"Where does this benefit you?"

"The suffering of Asgard benefits me," Gravemoss said. "I was cast out, much like you, by one of
Bor's grandsons. Loki. A man, who, like his grandsire, does not understand the true beauty of
death." He smiled. "And death delights me, while death is what you ladies do best, is it not? All I
ask you to do is to what comes naturally."

Brun smiled like a shark. "It would be our pleasure. Lord Gravemoss."

OoOoO

After the banquet had ended, and the equivalent of after dinner drinks were being had, Harry, at a
nod from his father, had slipped out to catch his breath. Huginn and Muninn had returned to Odin's
shoulders and Freki and Geri had returned to his side, though not without a friendly goodbye to
Harry.

He smiled. For ten years, the number of good memories he had had been vastly outweighed by the
bad. Two years at Hogwarts had gone some way to improving the ratio. Now that ratio was
improving at an exponential rate.

Of course, Harry didn't really think of it this way, as another to add to the list. Even when learning
to cast the Patronus charm from his Professor Lupin, both before and during the Christmas
holidays on Earth, he had only had a vague appreciation of it, noticing that it was far easier to
immediately reach for a pleasant memory, rather than having to fend off a dozen foul ones.

Still, he was much happier in himself than he had been a few months ago, that was for certain.

"What are you doing out here?"

He looked up, frowning, and saw Uhtred. Great. Ointment, meet fly.

"I'd have thought you'd be in there, lapping up the attention," Uhtred continued, tone resentful. It
rather reminded Harry, as before with Uhtred, of Ron on a particularly bad day.

"Sometimes, it gets a bit much," Harry said, opting for cool politeness.

Uhtred sneered. "Oh, so you're too good for all of that, are you? The great Prince is too above the
rest of us to deign to meet the adoring masses?"

"No," Harry said, hackles rising. "I just like to have some peace every now and then." He sighed.
"Look, Uhtred, I don't want to be your enemy. We fought, I won, fair and square. Now go away.
I'm done with you."

That was the wrong thing to say. Uhtred's face went a mottled red and he charged Harry, who,
caught offguard, couldn't avoid being slammed into the wall with bone rattling force. If Uhtred
was anything, it was strong. Very strong.

"You. Did. Not," he hissed, as stars blotched Harry's vision. "You did not face me honourably,
setting skill against skill. Instead, you struck from behind, a coward's blow." He sneered, words
gaining. "You must take after your mother, or worse, your uncle, because Prince Thor, your father,
is above such things."

"Tell me," Harry growled, wincing. "Have you ever fought for your life?"

"What?" Uhtred asked, frowning. "Are your wits gone?"

Harry chuckled darkly. "I'll take that as a no. Because if you had, you'd know to watch your
opponent's hands. Look down."

Uhtred did. Just in time to see Harry's hands grab his waist and hold it as his knee came up with
vicious speed and force. Even enhanced, he was nowhere Uhtred's equal for power. That didn't
mean he couldn't hit very hard. "Thanks for that one, Darcy," he muttered, and drew his wand.

As Uhtred collapsed, eyes watering with pain, Harry said, "the thing about fighting for your life is
you learn one rule very quickly – the enemy does not fight fair. They don't care about the rules of
combat. Why would they? All they are is a list of ways and places you can't hit people." He
squatted out of Uhtred's reach, in case the other boy recovered faster than he expected.

"It isn't an honourable face off between noble warriors of equal skill. It's a messy, scrappy brawl in
which the object is to survive," Harry said. "Dying well sounds nice. If you're not the one left
behind." He reached out and grabbed Uhtred's face, a sudden anger taking a hold of him, a rising
firestorm of fury. "You think you're unlucky because you have a large family to live up to, right?
Lots of big brothers, a famous warrior for a father, all correct so far?"

Uhtred didn't say anything, but his stunned expression said it better than words ever could.

"I know a bloke like you, back on Earth – Midgard. He's like you, but he doesn't even have your
skill with weapons, and believe me, you have skill. Those people praising me after the fight? I
haven't been around Asgardians long, but the impression I get was that they wouldn't have done it
if you haven't been good," Harry said. "He's good at other things, but… they don't get seen much.
So most ignore him or compare him to his brothers. And he envies me for my fame." He shook his
head. "I think I should explain. I'm famous back on Ea –Midgard for amazingly not dying as a baby
when a powerful Dark Lord tried to murder me. He'd killed my father, or his mortal body anyway.
Then faced my mother. She refused to let him past. She was unarmed and she was begging him to
spare me. She wouldn't move. So he killed her."

Uhtred had, by now, mostly recovered, but hadn't moved. Asgardians have a weakness for a good
story. It was part of the reason why Loki was actually quite popular.

"Then, for some reason, thanks to what she did, his curse bounced," Harry said, drawing aside his
hair to reveal his scar. "She died well. And I got left alone. Famous, my face known by everyone
in my community, admired, surrounded by people who practically worshipped me… but unloved.
My guardians hated and feared me for my abilities. Even a whole bunch of my school friends did,
though that was because they thought I was controlling a giant snake that was trying to kill people."
He paused. "I killed that snake, by the way. Twelve years old, no magic to use, just a magic sword
which I'd never used before against a sixty foot snake with scales like armour and a poison that had
no cure that had been bred by Loki and enslaved by the spirit of the Dark Lord who tried to murder
me. And I killed it. But not before it killed me."

Uhtred stared at him, jaw hanging slightly loose.

"I didn't die all the way, I think," Harry said. "A Phoenix came, a magical bird, and healed me. But
I remember knowing that I was going to die. And do you know what I thought?"

Uhtred, sitting up now, shook his head.

"Not that it was a good death. Just that I was tired. And that I wanted to see my parents again,"
Harry said quietly. "I didn't have any family growing up. I don't have a mother. And…" he shook
his head. "I'd give everything I have. My money, my position, my magic… all of that to be where
you or my friend Ron are. With a family." He stood up. "You get all tied up with honour because
you want to prove yourself to your family and all of Asgard, to get the attention. That's why you're
angry at me. Because I came in, and, without any real effort, outfought you, took everyone's
attention away from you and humiliated you in public. All while being a tiny magical Midgardian."
He turned away from Uhtred. "So before you get angry at me again and come after me, seeking to
avenge your honour and all that, or eventually go on some quest to prove yourself… remember
what you have. Remember that I would do anything to have that. Compare yourself to me and see
what you have to lose." He looked over his shoulder. "Because being really, properly alone, like an
orphan? It's a crock of shit."

"Maybe I have misjudged you," Uhtred said quietly.

"Maybe you have."

Both boys jumped and whirled, to see Diana watching them.

"How long have you been watching?" Harry asked.

"Since you two started fighting," Diana said calmly. "Mother tells me that one day I'll enjoy the
sight of two handsome boys wrestling, but for now, I really can't see the appeal." She shrugged.

"So?" Uhtred asked, hackles rising. And as soon as they did, he felt a wave of calm blunt the edge
of his anger.
"So I used a trick my aunt taught me," Diana said. She made a face. "I don't like using it. It feels
wrong."

"You calmed us down," Harry said slowly.

"Mostly him," Diana said, nodding at Uhtred. "To stop him interrupting you. But you too."

"Why?" Uhtred asked, frowning.

"Because I don't like fighting," Diana said simply.

Both boys stared at her in mutual astonishment.

"But… your parents are two of the greatest warriors known," Uhtred said, bemused.

"And you idolise Sif! You want to be a warrior," Harry said, confused.

"Sorry. I wasn't clear. I don't like fighting without a good reason," Diana said. "My parents like
fighting for the sake of it. They pick the right fights, most of the time, but they still pick them."

"You don't?"

She shook her head violently. "No. I don't." She bit her lip and suddenly looked a lot smaller,
reminding Harry that she was actually about the size of Colin Creevy, if not smaller. More to the
point, she actually looked hear age. "I'm an empath. I feel what other people feel, and when I'm in
a fight… it's worse. It's more intense, stronger because people feel more during a fight and I can't
concentrate on it to even numb it. Their anger, frustration, fear and pain… I feel it all and more."

Harry wasn't sure what possessed him to do what he did next. Maybe it was having experienced
psychic attack himself, through his scar and the Dementors, even the Diary, to an extent, maybe it
was guilt for accidentally hurting her earlier and forcing her to use her abilities just now, or maybe
it was simply because Harry was a caring person and even because she was a little girl in pain and
Harry had a chivalrous streak that would have seen him Knighted by Arthur himself in a heartbeat.
But whatever caused it, he closed with her and silently hugged her.

They stood like that, silent, relaxed and comfortable. Harry would normally be excruciatingly
embarrassed about hugging a girl, let alone one he barely knew, let alone one who was already
showing signs of being absolutely drop dead gorgeous. But this wasn't normally. And already
wasn't the person he had been two months or so ago.

"Thank you," Diana said quietly, and Harry went move away, but she hugged him closer, so he
followed her unspoken wish and remained hugging her. "And it's not just the empathy. I admire
Lady Sif," she said eventually. "Because she fights to protect others, to keep her skills sharp or to
compete fairly. She doesn't fight simply from rage or for the love of the fight. I want to be a hero, a
person who does good and fights, not a warrior, who fights and does good."

Uhtred frowned. "There's a difference?"

"She means that she wants to help people and when she fights, be a champion, a hero, fighting for
people who can't," Harry explained. "I think."

"Something like that," Diana said, nodding.

"So, that's why you stopped us fighting?"

Diana shook her head. "You mostly stopped yourselves fighting. I just helped."

The three children stood, in thought. A tentative understanding was formed between the defeated
and his two conquerors, one winning through skill, one winning through luck.

Then a portal opened. Grey forms swarmed out, wraiths far worse than any Dementor, creatures of
ancient nightmare, things that even the gods feared, worse even the veirdrdraugar. Why?

Because you could run from the veidrdraugar. Hide from them. Out think them. Even fight them.

You could not run from the Disir. You could not hide from the Disir. You could not fight the Disir.
And even if you could out think them, they would still kill you.

Only the darkest arts and the rarest of spells could touch them.

So what hope did three children have? None.

Because what hope can their be when the monsters crawl out of the shadows and drag you down
into the dark and the cold, where light does not exist, and those who walk in it do not belong. Not
alive, anyway. And they rarely stayed that way for long.

The Disir swarmed back through the portal with their prey. And the passage from heartwarming to
horrifying had taken less then ten seconds. Such is the way of the world.
 Fool's Gambit

Everything was dark, Harry thought vaguely as his eyes blinked half open. It must be early
morning… no, wait… he remembered fighting Uhtred, talking to both Uhtred and Diana and
then… then a portal. And out of that portal things, grey things, wraiths even, creatures that despite
their lack of Dementor like aura managed to project far more menace and power than any monster
Harry had ever faced, had poured out, before one of them clobbered him over the head.

They were definitely on his monster list.

He found it depressing that he could actually make a list of monsters, a top five, no less. Prior
today, he would have said that in first place was probably Voldemort, the one he remembered in
his nightmares about his mother's death. Second was shared between the spirit fragment of Riddle
and the Dementors. Fourth went to Quirrel. Fifth was Sally the Basilisk, since she wasn't a monster
of her own will. The robots nabbed Sixth place, though if they appeared again, they'd make fifth,
easily.

Now, he got the feeling that these creatures would swiftly bump the Dementors down to fourth.

After a short while of bumping about and seeing a lot of things that both defied description and
would have sent his brain into a confused spiral if he'd not been half out of it, he was dumped onto
hard rocky ground. Employing half remembered muscle memory, he rolled with the fall, then
wondered why he hadn't done that fighting Uhtred. A different sort of fall, maybe.

He looked up vaguely at the wraith creature – who looked female in a dessicated and dead sort of
way that would normally have freaked him out far more - which had dropped him and mumbled
something incoherent.

"Wake up," one of the wraith like creatures said, slapping Harry into full wakefulness. Her skin
was cold and leathery. "Do not attempt to summon aid. If you do, we'll kill you and your friends."
She moved off. It was hard to tell whether she was walking or flowing, and on balance, Harry
decided that he really didn't want to know.

He winced, rubbing at his stinging cheek and looked around. They were lying on a grey, cold
rocky plateau. The sky was a solid, empty black and the only reason he could even see was an
eldritch cold light that cast everything in shades of pale grey.

He looked to his left, and then his right, seeing Diana and Uhtred seated either side of him. They
were a study in contrasts. Diana, the youngest of the three, petite and pale, was breathing fast,
frightened, but in control. Uhtred, possibly the oldest, about as big as Diana and Harry put together
with the physical abilities to match and an inferiority complex driven arrogance that was more than
justified based on his skills, however, was not.

Instead, he was trembling in utter terror, face wan and his horrified gaze fixed on the wraith like
figures in a fashion that Harry would have expected to see on himself if Voldemort had regained
his body and held him at wand point.

So, whatever had kidnapped them was known to Asgardians, but not to Olympians. And they were
really fucking terrifying, which was presumably why they hadn't bothered tying him up.

Also, Tony was a bad influence on him, judging by the language of the previous thought.

"Okay, we've been kidnapped," he said aloud. "Who by?"

The other boy opened and shut his mouth, until Harry elbowed him. "They… they are the Disir."

"Raised on Ear - Midgard, remember. I don't know what they are," Harry said.

"Of course. They are creatures that haunt legends. They served Bor," Uhtred said, nodding and
regaining some composure. He looked sidelong at Harry. "Your great-grandfather. They were his
Valkyries. They rebelled against him and nature, committing foul acts. Most notably, the
consumption of the flesh of the gods. He cursed them to devour only the flesh of dead gods
banished from their true homes. Now… I do not know where we are." "It feels like Tartarus,"
Diana said quietly. "But not quite. As if where we are borders it, but is not of it."

"Like Hel," Uhtred put in.

"Sort of a grey area, then. And Hell? Fire, demons and all that?" Harry said, eyeing the
surroundings as if he spontaneously expected them to catch fire.

Uhtred snorted, and his tone had some of its previous arrogance. "No. That is Muspelheim."

"Right. I think I remember dad mentioning that one," Harry said. "This Hel… Helheim?"

Uhtred nodded.

"Dad really didn't want me to mention it to Uncle Loki for a reason," Harry mused. "It's a realm of
the dead, right? Like Tartarus" he asked. He was surprised that he was so calm.

Uhtred and Diana nodded.

"Are we technically dead here?" Harry asked.

Uhtred nodded. Then, astonishingly, he began to cry. "I'm never going to see my parents again," he
whispered. "My body soul will be devoured and there will be nothing left!" He looked at Harry,
eyes full of tears. "You were right. This," he said, waving his hand at the Disir and their
surroundings, "Is not glorious. I did not know..." he trailed off and began to sob in earnest.

Harry stared at him, and decided that it would be in thoroughly bad taste to say, 'I told you so'.

Then he turned to Diana, who was shivering, damp eyes darting from left to right, but visibly trying
to get herself under control. "Diana?" he asked gently.

"Double fear," she said, voice thin, tapping herself and nodding at Uhtred.

"Uhtred," Harry said.

The other boy didn't respond, apparently being too far gone in his terror. So Harry punched him.

"Ow! Wha –" Uhtred began, rubbing his jaw.

"Shut up," Harry snapped, surreptitiously wringing out his knuckles. Uhtred had a jaw like
concrete. "Calm down and snap out of it. You're hurting Diana."

Uhtred stared at him in surprise, then saw Diana, who Harry had pulled close in to his side with his
left arm, and looked apologetic. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"It is well," Diana said quietly, relaxing somewhat, a fair bit of colour returning to her face. "But
this place… it feels… wrong." She looked around. "Anger. Pain. Sorrow. Hatred. They are a part of
it."
"Don't be afraid. I am a Prince of Asgard, in case you had forgotten. We don't go down easy. And
we don't leave our friends behind," Harry said, with far more bravado than he really felt. "I have a
plan. It relies on you both staying alert and doing what I say."

Diana gave him an odd look.

Uhtred sniffed a couple of times and didn't look entirely convinced. Harry could also see the
spectre of pride (extremely dented) rising in his eyes. Well, that was stopping right now.

"Uhtred Ullrson," Harry said seriously, imagining that he was his father for a moment. "I don't
need a whining child. I need a warrior. Are you that warrior?"

Uhtred nodded sharply. "I am," he said, drying his eyes.

"Good. Now," he said, looking from Uhtred to Diana. "I need you both to be brave and do what I
say." He grinned. "This isn't my first time."

"You… you're not afraid," Diana said, surprised, and slightly awed.

"I am," Harry said, and he was, a little. Not much. But, he supposed, that was probably because the
Disir hadn't done anything particularly frightening. He didn't doubt that they dangerous, the fact
they could break into the heart of Asgard itself and Uhtred's reaction said that much, but he wasn't
really feeling the mind numbing terror that he probably out to be feeling. "But not much. Like I
said, this isn't my first near death experience."

Uhtred nodded, and looked at Harry, a new respect in his eyes. "You have great courage," he said.
"Maybe…" he shook his head. "No, definitely. You are definitely deserving of the respect you
receive. And deserving of more respect from me."

Diana gave him a look that said, with raised eyebrows, 'and you're only just getting this?'

She'd seen it already.

Empathy powers have perks. But so does not being blinded by jealousy and newfound testosterone.

"I'm not brave," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "If you want a brave man, look at Tony Stark,
Steve Rogers, Clint Barton or Bruce Banner. Look at Natasha Romanov. They're the Avengers, and
all of them are heroes. Hell, look at my friend Ron. When we were eleven we were trying to stop a
Dark Wizard from getting to an object that would give him immortality. One of the things we had
to face was a giant chessboard."

Both Diana and Uhtred listened, clearly interested.

"But there was a difference. We each had to take the place of one of the pieces. Ron directed us
around, until we were on the point of winning. But to win, he had to threaten the enemy King, put
him in Check. And if he did that, he would be taken by the Queen, who had been hitting these
stone pieces so hard that they shattered whenever she took them," Harry said, warming to his
theme.

"What happened?"

"He moved without hesitation," Harry said. "Even though he might die, he moved to give I and
Hermione, my other friend, a chance at stopping the return of the worst Dark Wizard in recent
history."
"Truly, he is courageous. Does he live, or is he in Valhalla?" Uhtred asked, tone admiring.

"He's alive, but it was close," Harry said. "He's braver than I am." He gave Uhtred a sidelong look.
"You remind me of him, you know. He's the youngest of a bunch of successful brothers. I mean,
his oldest brother is an explorer hunts down rare and dangerous magical artefacts for a living, his
second oldest looks after and controls dragons, his third oldest is tipped for a high ranked
government position, like the, um, embetsadel, and the twins are two of my uncle's apprentices.
And his little sister is the baby of the family. It makes him a little resentful. Like you."

Uhtred screwed up his face in annoyance, but seemed to accept this. Then he shook his head. "I
have doubted you, Harry Thorson, because of your heritage, for which I am now ashamed. You
have your father's courage and nobility."

"And a bit of my mother's. She's the bravest of all. The Dark Wizard I was trying to stop, he's the
one who killed my father when he was mortal. He's the one who gave me this scar," Harry said,
drawing his hair back. Both Diana and Uhtred looked at it closely. "She was unarmed, helpless.
But she stood between me and Voldemort. He offered her two chances to stand aside and let him
kill me in exchange for her own life. She refused both times outright. I remember him killing her.
It's my earliest memory. Her sacrifice protected me from a supposedly unbeatable killing curse."

Uhtred's eyes were wide, then he said, "Your father chose well when he married such a one. A
woman that brave, whether she be of Midgard or Asgard, is more than worthy of a Prince of
Asgard." He gave Harry a comforting look. "She will be in Valhalla, Harry, among the mighty
heroes who have fallen in battle. She will be treated with the honour she deserves for all time."

"Or Elysium," Diana said. "Either way, she will be honoured." She gave Harry a serious look.
"Your mother, by the sounds of it, is the sort of person I aspire to be, and if I was half as brave as
one like her, I would be proud. Your mother was a hero, as great as any of the heroes of old. Mortal
or God."

Uhtred nodded his vigorous agreement.

Harry smiled. "Thanks, both of you." He sobered. "Now. This isn't the first bunch of evil soul
eating wraiths I've faced, so it shouldn't be too hard. Are you both with me?"

Both nodded. "What's the plan?" Diana asked.

"Well, it should go something like this…"

OoOoO

Loki's head snapped up as he felt a spike of dark magic, and glanced around quickly, to see who
else had sensed it. Surprisingly, the first gaze he met was Thor's, which was grim, and Loki could
see his fist clenching as he resisted the urge to reach for Mjolnir. He moved to join his brother and
parents, who were also wearing grim expressions.

"Thor, summon the guard, Loki, pick out the best sorcerers from the crowd. Isolate and destroy
this threat. Do it quickly and quietly," Odin said in an undertone. He turned to Frigga. "My dear, it
would be best if you were ready to receive wounded. Send a message to the healers to have them
ready."

Frigga nodded, and gestured slightly.

"What's happening?" Jane asked, voice low.

"Dark magic," Loki said briefly and grimly. "Dark magic right at the heart of Asgard. This is
intolerable!"

Odin's expression said that he could not agree more, then he frowned as Thor began to look about
him, paling rapidly, eyes wild. "Thor?"

"My son," Thor whispered. "Where is my son?"

Then he met Loki's eyes and a horrible thought occurred to them both.

Whatever the dark magic had been used for… it had been aimed at Harry.

Both turned to the exits and began to run, Loki gesturing sharply and wielding a far stronger
version of his earlier spell, sending a powerful mental suggestion to the guests to get the Hel out of
his and Thor's way.

And they did, parting before him before the Red Sea had parted before Moses, disciple of the
White God in times long past.

Now that incident had been one that had impressed both he and Thor. Thor, because of the sheer
elemental control and successful gambit to destroy an army, and Loki because of the trickery
involved and the raw magical power required.

He had been young then, a thin, weak little boy, trying desperately to keep up with his brother and
friends. Now Loki Odinson was known as a man who could part the oceans with a wave of his
hand (and a lot of concentration, but it always paid to make such visually impressive feats look
easy), a Master Sorcerer and a mage of near limitless power. Near limitless power that would be
unleashed on whichever foul thing had gone near his nephew.

He glanced at Thor, who was sprinting, muscles and veins prominent as the pale of fear began to
recede, to be replaced by the red of rage. Sparks crackled and danced over his body, and a distinct
smell of ozone coloured the air about him, while swift gusts whipped around his ankles.

Thor had changed too. Then, he had a lanky, puppyish boy who had breezed through life on a mix
of unusual physical gifts, arrogance and bluff, affable charm, thoughtless if not careless, with a
temper that flared into life at the slightest excuse. Now, he was a tall, powerful man of wise and
temperate mind with a ready smile, grown into his power and confident in it. Where Loki was
capable of parting the oceans, Thor could whip them into vast, planet scouring storms, the likes of
which Midgard had not seen for billions of years and unleashing lightning bolts that straddled
planets.

Between the two of them, whatever force that had come for Harry – though Loki had his doubts
about that. There were other reasons, after all – would stand no chance.

Whatever it was here for, it would be stopped.

OoOoO

Unlike his brother, Thor had no doubts that whatever had come, whatever had been done, whatever
this burst of magic heralded, it had been aimed at his son. Some of this was a father's immediate
assumption of the worst and fear for his child, some of this was the assumption of a Crown Prince
that the thing that was most precious to him would be taken and some of it was a grim knowledge
that where Harry went, trouble swiftly followed.

When he burst into the corridor just off the banquet hall where the darkness emanated from, his
blood ran cold. Because his eyes immediately alighted on something that confirmed his fears.

Something that glinted in the shadows of the darkened, cold corridor. Thor reached down and
plucked it from the darkness. He was greeted by a triskelion of glimmering rubies, set in a gold
circlet.

"He has been taken," he whispered, voice rising to a roar. "My son has been taken!"

Under other circumstances, Loki might have said something snarky about subtlety and how Thor
lacked it. Right now, however, he was too worried. And angry. Let us not forget the anger.

People began piling out of the banquet hall, drawn, as people of all races, colours, creeds and
species are to the enticing prospect of free entertainment, before stopping sharply about twenty feet
from Thor and Loki.

This was because Thor had turned and given them all a singularly foul and intimidating look, one
emphasised by the face that his face was drawn into a snarl, sparks danced over his body, and his
eyes crackled with lightning, thoughtlessly crushing the circlet in his fist.

Only a few dared step forward. The Avengers, armed and ready for battle.

Iron Man. Black Widow. Hawkeye. The Hulk. And their commander, Captain America.

Admittedly, armed was a somewhat dubious status when the deadly Black Widow was wearing a
long black dress that clung to her curves (yet somehow, to the eternal puzzlement of all, she had
successfully concealed two bulky Colt 1911's, three knives and two concussion grenades on her
person) and heels which, though doubtless as deadly as their owner, were not suitable for combat
and the ever accurate Hawkeye was left clutching his signature weapon while wearing fancy, but
admittedly practical, clothing, as opposed to his uniform.

And Captain America was completely unarmed.

Yet they were all ready to fight, and there were gasps of awe as the Iron Man armour, the piece of
battle wear that could turn a physically ordinary mortal into the equal of any short of Thor himself
and his few physical peers, strode through the crowd.

Tony had been immensely gratified when he'd first arrived in Asgard and, deciding that when
meeting warriors it was best to go as a warrior.

At first, the Asgardians in general had been sceptical of the armour's capabilities. This scepticism
had been dismayed when Tony had taken on Volstagg in a training bout in full armour and matched
one of the strongest Asgard had to offer, then choke slammed the other man in front of a stunned
audience. And he hadn't had to use his repulsors once.

While the relative ease of his victory could be partially explained by the fact that Volstagg was
wary of crumpling one of Thor's friends in his battle armour like a soft drink in a can, with
similarly messy results and hadn't expected any serious challenge, the stock of Lord Stark rose
even further.

He was the centre of attention for the whole of the visit, with warriors wanting to test their strength
against 'The Invincible Iron Man', scholars wanting to discern the inner workings of the armour
and being rendered incredulous by JARVIS, a spirit of knowledge – so they considered him to be –
that Tony had himself created, a feat that was rare even among the greatest of mages, while
searching the devices which gave it such incredible power, and artificers, Asgardian, elven and
dwarven, even giant, marvelling at how, with relatively flimsy Midgardian materials, Lord Stark
had devised a weapon capable of making a man into a god.

Indeed, they considered, that if Tony was able to design an armour entirely of uru, it would make
even the Destroyer itself look like a toy. That had made Tony blanch.

"On Earth, Midgard, whatever, we have this thing called mutually assured destruction," he had
said. "We've got nukes – missiles that can wipe out entire cities. One of them destroyed the
Chitauri mothership at the Battle of New York. But we don't use them, because if one nation did,
so would others. And then there'd be nothing left."

He'd looked around. "I hear you guys have got similar stuff. Hell, Mjolnir's bigger and badder than
any nuke, and I'm pretty sure the Bifrost is the biggest damn gun I've ever seen. But Mjolnir's
pretty proportional for the crazy shit you face up here and the Bifrost is mostly a transport device,
so that's all right. But then there's the bigger weapons. The ones you don't like to talk about. The
ones you know are too dangerous to use except when you don't have any options. So you know that
you lock that shit away and really hope you never have to even consider using it." He reached out
and tapped Mjolnir. "Sure, I could build an armour out of that stuff. And I would probably be the
next best thing to unstoppable. I could stop any bad guy in their tracks. I could build a nuke in my
basement, or something even worse. Just because I can, doesn't mean I should. Doesn't mean I
will." He looked grim. "Not unless there's no other option. Because if I did… well. No one's meant
to have that much power. And then… mutually assured destruction."

That had caused a fair bit of contemplation. And only the most perceptive would realise the
underlying message: Tony was afraid of a world where he was truly the Invincible Iron Man. He
was afraid of himself. Because he knew exactly what he was capable of – anything. And in his
view, no mortal was yet ready to have that much power, least of all him.

Nevertheless, he enjoyed the attention, the admiration that he gained and exulted in the title, 'Lord
Anthony of the House Stark.'

He had the power to protect those who were dear to him, the power to stand off the biggest of big
bads, or so he felt, and the ability to upgrade if necessary. He was content with that.

Right now, however, he was currently wishing that he'd upgraded his limited magic sensors. "I'm
just getting the remnants of a big pulse of energy."

"Can you scan for dimensional passage?"

"An Einstein-Rosen bridge?"

Loki shook his head. "This will be different," he said, fingers crooked as golden-green light
emanated from his hands, weaving enchantments. "Your technology may not recognise, but I will.
Any extra data could mean the difference between life and death for Harry."

Tony nodded and continued scanning.

"Can you find him?" Thor asked, voice low and thrumming with barely controlled power. "And
what will you need to do it?"

"I believe I can. First, we will need to be rid of this crowd," Loki said. "Second, I will need them all
to remain within the banquet hall. Even if no one presented is connected to this atrocity, then they
may be alternate targets, and dispersing them would leave them vulnerable. Third, I need all the
data I can get, every mage and scholar in the palace. Fourth, I need you to stay calm."

"Calm?" Thor asked, voice taking on a dangerous tone, gaining a harsh bite. "How, brother, can I
stay calm when my only child has been taken who knows where by who knows what? How can I
remain calm when my son, my blood, my baby, has been snatched from me when I had hardly got
him back? How can I be calm when I do not know whether he is dead or alive?" He flung out his
arms in anger and desperation, nearly smacking Tony. "Tell me, brother, you always have the
answers. How. Do. I. Stay. Calm?!"

Loki looked up at his brother, who stood, legs planted in a powerful stance, arms outflung, chest
heaving with hard, anxious breathing, muscles bulging, face red and eyes wild and dangerous,
crackling with power.

Then, without blinking or changing his expression, he stood. No, that was the wrong word –
he flowed from down on one knee to standing tall with serpentine grace, and gave Thor a steady
look.

"He is my nephew, Thor, as he is your son," he said, voice quiet and stern. "And I am not the only
one who cares for him other than you. We are not the only ones who love Harry, and we are not
the only ones who fear for him. Think on this: you do him no good by panicking and raging. You
will do him good by making sure that our audience is herded back into the hall, in good order, and
assist Algrim with the inventory of guests, because I do not believe that Harry was alone. Finally,"
he said, and paused. "Take up Mjolnir and stay with Jane. We will need it tonight, whether to create
a portal or for the purposes of battle, and Jane calms you. We do not need you witless and shaken.
We need you calm, steady and strong in the face of this, your worst of fears, showing the universe
the strength of Asgard in the face of such nightmares, no matter how hard that may be with the
thoughts that plague your imagination. Is that understood?"

Thor glared at him for a long moment, then subsided, losing an inch or two of height and his
menacing presence diminishing. In the background, those Avengers who were unoccupied and the
guards were herding the remaining guests into the Banquet Hall. "It is," he said quietly. "But
brother… I am afraid. So very afraid." He gave his brother a helpless look. "Not for myself, but for
my child, who I love with everything I have. I love him and I am unable to save him. I feel like my
heart is being torn in two."

Loki smiled sadly. "I know. This situation is one in which I know exactly what you feel," he said,
laying a hand on Thor's shoulder, as his older brother's eyes widened in rememberance. A fire
entered Loki's eyes. The fire of the House of Odin. "And I swear to you that Harry will fare better,"
he said fiercely. "He will come out unscathed. None shall harm him while I stand in defence of
him, I swear it." He smiled, this time dangerously. "And unlike last time, the darkness shall face
our full power."

"And Earth's Mightiest Heroes," Tony said. You could practically hear the capitals. "Anything that
even looks at the kid the wrong way is going to die a violent and agonising death courtesy of the
Avengers." He looked at Thor, and those his armour rendered him expressionless, Thor could feel
the strength of his feeling. "We don't leave a man behind. And we don't let monsters take kids
down into the dark. Ever."

Bruce glanced up. "Rest assured Thor," he said softly. "We will find Harry. We will find the
people that have taken him." His eyes briefly burned a deadly gamma green. "And
Hulk will smash."

Natasha cocked her pistols, checked her knives and gave Thor a look that said that the bad guys
were going to wish that they'd never even heard of the Avengers. Ever.

Clint strung his bow and said calmly, "Find him fast. I want to teach Harry to shoot and there's no
better way to do that than a practical demonstration."
Steve laid a hand on Thor's shoulder and simply said, "We'll get him back, Thor."

The words were simple. But from him, from all of them, they carried the ring of truth. And nothing
but the truth.

"Thor?"

He looked down and saw Jane silently pull him into a hug. "Come on," she said, guiding him
towards the door. And though Thor could have resisted the pull of the gravity of the sun at close
range, he could no more have resisted her than he could have emptied the oceans by drinking
them. "You get inside and do people herding with your mom and your dad. Help out. I'll see if I can
help here, and then I'll join you. Okay?" She gave him a gentle squeeze. "I will do everything I can
to get him back, Thor. We all will."

"Thank you, my love," he said, and placed a gentle kiss on her head. "As ever, you speak wisdom."
He looked up at the rest of the Avengers, focusing briefly on Loki. "As do you all."

Then he swept back into the hall. He had a job to do.

OoOoO

Harry looked at his friends – and to his surprise, they were his friends. Though they'd only met
today or the day before, being kidnapped by ancient abominations OF DOOM was not the sort of
thing you could go through without forming a certain bond. "Are you ready?" he asked.

They nodded.

"Good," he said. Now… think like Tony, he thought. And it came to him. He cleared his throat,
then took a deep breath and bellowed, "OI! EVIL ABOMINATIONS! I NEED A WORD! NOW
PLEASE, BEFORE I DIE OF OLD AGE, WHICH REALLY WOULD BE QUITE AN
ACHIEVEMENT."

This part of the plan he hadn't shared – well, he'd said he was going to get their attention, he never
said how.

"Harry!" Uhtred hissed, eyes wide with terror. "They'll kill us if you act like that! And we can't
escape if they've eaten us!"

"No they won't. We'd be dead already. They need us," Harry said, as the Disir drifted over.

"Impudent child," the leader of the Disir hissed. "Stay your tongue."

"No. You see, this is what's going to happen," Harry drawled, channelling Tony. "You need us.
That's why we're not breakfast, lunch and dinner to you lot. So you do what I say."

"Or what?"

"My uncle is Loki. I am his apprentice. Do you honestly think I don't know a million ways to
annoy you? And I'm guessing you've sent a set of demands off to Asgard, demanding, oh I dunno,
a few dozen souls a year for you to feed on in exchange for our lives? That about right?" Harry
asked casually. "Oh, and a name for you would be nice. Freaky Undead Wraith Valkyrie just
doesn't roll off the tongue like it should."

Uhtred and Diana shared a look, then both stared at him with an expression that was a mix of awe,
respect and a hint of what could only be described as holy-fuck-you-are-completely-insane.
"I am Brün, Thorson," the lead Disir said. "What do you want?"

"For me and Uhtred here to be untied, and me to be given back my wand, and him his sword,"
Harry said. "It's not like a little mostly Midgardian boy like me can really do anything to beings
like you with my wand, right? And you're pretty much immune to swords."

Brün eyed him. "Or we could just devour your little friends. We have no need of them."

Diana's eyes widened and she paled, while Uhtred tried to hide his fear. He mostly succeeded.

Harry gave her a cold, dangerous look. "That," he said softly. "Would be a mistake. A very, very
stupid mistake."

It wasn't a warning, a threat or a prelude to begging. It was a statement of fact, pure and simple.

OoOoO

Thor exited the hall, expression dark, followed by Lord Ullr and his wife and the Lady Athena.
Ullr and Athena looked grim, and Ullr's wife was quietly weeping. "Diana of Olympus is nowhere
to be found," he announced. "Nor is Uhtred Ullrson. Both we were last seen entering this corridor."
He looked at them all. "Do you have any answers? Do you know who took them? And why?"

The Avengers, Jane and various scholarly types looked up, and shared looks. "We do," Loki said
eventually. "The magic of the portal is of a kind I thought long gone. Its source I cannot identify,
but for now that does not matter. We need only concern ourselves with what passed through it.
What took them. And where."

"What?" Thor asked, clenching his fists and desperately trying to keep a lid on his rising, raging
fear, that his son had been killed. Or worse.

"I'm so sorry, Thor, Lord Ullr, Lady Aerin, Lady Athena," Loki said heavily. "But they have been
taken by the Disir."

There was silence. And then a guard hurried up, saluting.

"Lord Heimdall needs to speak with you all as a matter of urgency."

OoOoO

The standoff continued in silence as Brun eyed Harry. "Why would that be a mistake?" she asked,
voice dangerous. She smiled harshly. "We are always hungry. And indulging yourself is never a
mistake."

"Why? Because if you do that and you'll have to devour me as well," Harry snarled suddenly, green
eyes flashing. If anyone had looked at him at that moment, there could be no doubting his
parentage. On either side of the family. "Because I don't care if it takes me until I rule Asgard
myself," he hissed, a sense of wild, fey crackling power surrounding him as he got to his feet, took
a couple of steps forward and went nose to nose with a nightmare that had defied an Allfather,
looking her right in the eye. "I will do everything in my power to see you destroyed if you lay
one finger on them," he hissed. "No matter where you run, no matter where you hide, no matter
what you do… hurt them and I will burn you!"

And within his eyes, something ancient and young flashed like flame.

Brün stared at him in surprise at this furious, fearless response to her threat.
"I swear that oath on my blood as a Prince of Asgard," Harry said coldly. "On my power as a
sorcerer, and on my eternal soul."

He smiled. It was an unpleasant, cold smile, one that looked positively unsettling on a normally
kind, sweet face. "And if you devour me, you know what will happen. Asgard will come against
you in its full might. My father and uncle… oh their wrath will be terrible. Do you honestly think
that Odin could not undo the spells that bind you to this unlife and obliterate your essences if he so
wished? Do you not think he could cast you into the vilest realms of torment in a heartbeat." He
sneered and turned up the arrogance a few notchs. "The only reason he hasn't is because he has
more important things to worry about, such as what variety of mead to drink with his dinner. You
anger the Allfather at your peril. So, you either do as I say, or you face your destruction. And if it
is me doing the destroying, I guarantee that it will be not be quick. Your torment shall last as long
as I can make it. So swears Prince Harry Thorson."

Uhtred was staring at him in outright awe now and Diana was giving him a wide eyed and proud
look.

Brün drew her sword slowly. "You are arrogant, Stormborn. You are most definitely your father's
get," she said coldly. "But you are right. For now. Hold your tongue in the future. Or someone
might tear it out and eat it."

"Whatever," Harry said coldly. He briefly wondered, underneath the righteous anger, was this what
Draco Malfoy felt like all the time? He could understand the appeal. "Wand please," he said
impatiently, sticking out a hand and wiggling it. Brün nodded at one of the Disir, who handed it
over.

"Okay, if you would kindly back away, I just want to do something: Lumos," he said, and the wand
lit up as easily as ever. "Good."

"Does this have a purpose, child of Thunder?" Brün asked. "For you are trying our patience. And
our appetites." They floated back, however.

"Please, call me Harry," Harry said, absently conjuring first a large stick and then transfiguring it
into a large and very pointy metal bar. Scratch Draco Malfoy, this was more like what Tony felt all
the time. Or Uncle Loki. And it was awesome. "And yes, it does have a purpose."

OoOoO

"You've found them?" Thor asked, eyes wide. The group was standing in Heimdall's Observatory,
and staring at the inscrutable Watchman. "How is Harry, is he well? Are they all well?"

"They are," Heimdall said. "For the moment. They are being held hostage. The Disir seek to
exchange them for a tribute."

Odin, who had joined the group on the way to the Observatory, looked grim. "A terrible thing to
consider," he said. "But at least that means that they have an interest in keeping them alive."

"Can you get them out?" Thor asked.

"Not without risking bringing the Disir back with them," Heimdall said, and then smiled.

"What amuses you, gatekeeper?" Thor asked testily. "For I see nothing to laugh at."

"Because you do not see what I see," Heimdall said. "And I see that your son is enacting a plan.
One that will enable me to return them without putting all of Asgard in danger."
OoOoO

"What purpose?" Brun asked.

"Well, before I tell you that, I just want to say a few things," Harry said casually, jamming one
hand in his pocket. "One, your hospitality is terrible. Two, you're really ugly. Three, you're really
thick if you're going to trust anyone related to Loki. Four, you're not the first soul eating monsters
I've met, and you're not even the scariest either. You don't even make me relive my worst
memories." He grinned. "I know just the word for you: Pathetic."

He paused as the Disir snarled. "Oh hush, I'm getting to the good bit. Five," he said, focusing on
his father holding him for the first time in the hospital wing, and pointed his wand at them like it
was a gun. "Expecto Patronum, suckers."

The silver stag that was his patronus erupted from the tip of his wand, shining like an incandescent
silver beacon in the monochrome landscape. The Disir instinctively attacked it. And they were
treated to an unpleasant reversal of fortunes. For once, they were the ones struggling to touch a foe
that smacked them around with impunity.

"Come on," Harry said, as Prongs caused havoc. "While they're distracted." He ran, Uhtred
following him on foot, and Diana in the air, and as he did, he yelled, "HEIMDALL! OPEN THE
BIFROST! NOW!"

This was the risky part. If they were somehow outside the range of Heimdall's hearing, they would
be forced to stand and fight. And Harry wasn't sure how well he could fend off the Disir with his
patronus.

But equally, he wasn't sure how long the Disir would resist the urge to devour them there and then.

A shimmering rainbow portal appeared, with the roar of otherworldly sound that accompanied the
Bifrost's opening. It was less than a hundred feet away.

"THEY'RE GETTING AWAY," Brün howled.

"Statement of the blindingly obvious," Harry muttered between breaths, startling Uhtred into a
laugh. He glanced over his shoulder. Brün was coming after them, and closing the gap, while
Prongs fought the other Disir.

"We shall not cheated of our meat! If we cannot have our tribute, we will have you, Thorson!" she
cried, swiping her sword at Harry, who ducked, then stumbled, falling and cursing. Brün swung
again. Harry was helpless. She was going for the killing stroke. He was going to die and be
devoured by ancient abominations in a realm far from any sort of home.

Well, he reflected, at least he couldn't say that his life had been boring. The blade came in for the
killing stroke unhindered, glimmering dully, making the air scream with its passage. This was it, he
thought. No more second chances. No more last minute saves. He was going to die.

Until it was met by a conjured metal bar, which stopped it in its tracks. Though its owner was
knocked on his arse by the force of the parry, the fatal strike was stopped in its tracks.

"No," Uhtred said, standing as she stepped back. There was fear in his eyes. But it was covered by
wild courage. "No you won't. He is my Prince, and you will not have him, not while I still draw
breath."

She snarled. He gulped, but held his ground.

And then Diana grabbed them both around the waist, lifted them into the air with a grunt, then shot
towards the portal, gaining a fifty foot headstart. Brun swiftly followed and was gaining ground.

"PRONGS!" Harry yelled, and his patronus came sailing over, galloping faster than any stag in
history, magical or otherwise. The patronus hit Brün hard in the side, carrying her away. As it did,
the other Disir let out howls and came after their escaping prey.

"Time to go," Harry called.

"Couldn't agree more," Uhtred yelled.

"What do you think we're doing?" Diana snapped, half exultant on the impending success, half
irritated at the general idiocy of boys.

The portal was only twenty feet away, and shrinking. "Quick!" Uhtred yelled, and Diana put on a
final spurt of speed. Harry felt his heart beating like a snare. He hadn't been this close to death
since… well, not since the Chamber of Secrets.

They cleared it with an inch or so to spare, diving through as it closed behind them, cutting off the
thwarted howls of the Disir.

Harry found himself immediately lifted up and gathered in a tight hug by his father. A sidelong
glance showed that Uhtred was getting the exact same treatment from his own father, his mother
fussing over him, and Diana was being hugged to within an inch of her life by her aunt.

"I thought I'd lost you," Thor breathed.

"Well, you found me again," Harry said dryly, hugging his father back.

"I suppose I did," Thor said quietly, holding his son close. "I lost your mother, Harry. I can't lose
you." He paused. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but please try not to look for trouble."

"I don't look for trouble," Harry complained. "It looks for me."

"And judging by your display, it regrets it," Heimdall said. "Your display of courage and cunning
helped you and your companions do what few can ever claim to have done: to not only have faced
the Disir and survived, but to have matched them in combat."

Everyone stared at Harry, who blushed. He was no longer channelling Loki. "I thought that since
they were wraiths, the Patronus charm would work on them just as well as its supposed to on
Dementors. And I needed to do it, so I did," he said, shrugging. "Anyone could have done it if
they'd had magic. What Uhtred and Diana did was more impressive."

"What did they do?" Thor asked curiously.

"They saved my life," Harry said. "The leader of the Disir, Brün, tried to behead me when we were
escaping." He grinned at Uhtred, who was suddenly overcome by shyness with all these great
people looking at him. Diana merely smiled proudly, though there was a hint of a blush about her
cheeks, and not all was from exertion. "Uhtred parried her strike and said, 'You won't have him. He
is my Prince and you will not have him while I still draw breath.' And then he held his ground until
Diana grabbed us and flew us both through the portal, despite the fact that we were being pursued,"
Harry continued. "I'd be dead without them."

"Such service is to be honoured and commended, young Uhtred. Few have ever stood against the
Disir with such courage, and fewer still lived to tell the tale," Odin said, inclining his head. "You
saved my grandsons' life and you have my thanks."

"Begging your pardon, your majesty, we'd never have got away if Harry hadn't threatened the Disir
until they gave him back his wand," Uhtred said quietly, blushing. He smiled slightly. "He even got
in a few insults on the way. He called them ugly, said that they didn't scare him."

"Don't forget that he called them pathetic," Diana added, and Uhtred nodded his agreement. "Then
used his magic on them."

Loki was looking immensely proud, as was Thor.

"I was channelling you a bit, Uncle Loki," Harry admitted. "You and Tony mostly." He looked at
Tony and Loki. "I think I have some idea of how you two feel all the time when you're putting the
verbal smackdown on someone."

"You like it?" Tony asked eagerly.

"It's awesome," Harry said, grinning. "I should do it more often."

"High five," Tony said. Harry high fived him. "Come on, we'll teach you. When me and Loki are
done with you, you'll be making obstructive bureaucrats and random assholes everywhere cry in
less than a minute."

"Cool," Harry said in a low voice, grinning.

Thor looked at Jane. "My son is being corrupted."

"Yup."

"Can I stop it?"

"You can try, but, honestly honey, it's probably best just to roll with it," she said, smiling. "Besides.
At least it isn't Darcy. She'd probably be teaching how to make his own taser."

"…. And then, we can teach you how to make a pocket sized laser cannon!" Tony exclaimed.

There was a thoughtful pause.

"I think Darcy would be better," Thor said. "At least anything she teaches him won't lead to him
building homemade weapons of mass destruction."

"She'd also teach him how to seduce people."

"Do you honestly think Tony isn't going to do that?"

"True, but Tony doesn't have a woman's perspective on it. She'd teach him how to seduce
almost any unattached straight or bisexual woman, instead of maybe the seventy five percent of the
unattached female population that Tony could teach him to seduce," Jane said. "Trust me. When
she wants to, Darcy puts pre-Pepper Tony to shame."

"That is a vaguely frightening thought."

"Wait until you see her get to work," Jane said, then blinked as Harry walked up to her. He was
only a few inches shorter than her. They looked at each other.

"It's good to have you back," she said, slightly awkward. There was still a little bit of awkwardness.
"It's good to be back," Harry said, shifting his feet slightly. Then he hugged her. She hugged him
back, and smiled, ruffling his hair. She might not be the mother figure he was looking for, but,
frankly, every lonely little boy could do with a sort of big sister as cool as Jane. "Are you angry
with me?" he asked, anxious. "For upsetting dad?"

"No. I'm just glad that you're safe," she said.

Thor had to surreptitiously wipe away a tear. Unfortunately, it didn't go unnoticed.

"Someone get a packet of tissues for the big guy," Tony said loudly. "He's tearing up and this looks
to be bigger than the first time we got him to watch Romeo and Juliet. Those tearstains never came
out of the sofa. We're not sure why, but I'm pretty sure that the five boxes of Poptarts he ate while
watching it had something to do with it."

Thor sighed as Jane and Harry broke out into spontaneous giggles. Loki cracked up, while Frigga
and Odin looked regally amused. Uhtred looked like he was caught between giggling at Thor's
expense and fascinated horror that anyone but Loki dared mock Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of
Asgard and God of Thunder.

"Shut up Tony," Thor grumbled.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll bribe Pepper with a ladies night out in exchange for all the dirt on you," Jane said.

Tony gaped.

"Astonishing," Loki observed mildly. "When I threw him out a window, he wasn't even bothered.
A few words from you and he can't even speak. I can only say that I am impressed, Lady Jane."

"You were giggling as well," Tony muttered.

"He's my man. I'm allowed to both laugh at him and defend him. It's one of the perks," Jane said
cheerfully, planting a kiss on Thor's cheek.

Uhtred suddenly stepped forward and gathered his courage. "Harry, I misjudged you. At first, I
thought you were nothing more than a puny Midgardian with a little bit of magic. I was wrong.
You are a hero as great as any in Valhalla, and you have both my apology for my behaviour and,"
he said, drawing his sword, and offering it to Harry, "My sworn allegiance. I swear to be your man,
Prince Harry, until death claims me."

Harry blinked.

Take the hilt of the sword. Tell him you accept his allegiance, and that you swear to be his liege
lord for all time, Loki sent to him. Harry nodded.

"Um… I accept your allegiance and your apology, Uhtred. I swear to be your liege lord for all
time," Harry said slightly awkwardly, grasping the hilt of the sword. He heard a muffled mumbling
and looked behind him. Tony was trying to say something. Loki had gagged him.

"Well," Thor said, grinning. "I think this calls for a celebration, don't you?"

"And we don't even have to worry about inviting guests," Odin observed. "How fortuitous."

Frigga elbowed him discreetly.

Tony, meanwhile, had slipped free of Loki's grip. "A party?" he said, beaming. "I love parties!
Drinks all around!"

"Quite," Thor said dryly, holding Harry close. "Try not to overindulge." He nodded down at Harry.
"You have an example to set."

"I'd say I've set a pretty good example already," Tony pointed out.

"I think that my brother finds sarcasm and a penchant for doing the utterly insane completely
acceptable, since I normally provide the one and he provides the other," Loki said, smirking. "But
we both draw the line at alcoholism."

Tony pouted.

And Harry laughed and shared grins with Diana and Uhtred. Friendships forged in fire, near death
adventures and a party to round it all off? That sounded familiar. Indeed, the best thing about life in
Asgard, he thought, was that even when it was all so very different… it was all very much the
same as well.
 What's Past Is Prologue

The amount of fussing over the three of them, was, Harry felt, excessive. Diana smiled sweetly
enough, though she was clearly somewhat annoyed that most who had not seen or heard of her
skills on the training ground assumed that the boys had done all the work while applauding her for
being a 'brave little girl'.

This wasn't, Harry grudgingly supposed, an entirely unreasonable assumption with the little
information they had – Uhtred was the Asgardian ideal and well known in Asgard, while stories of
Harry's skills and courage, all wildly inflated, had been flying around the city for the last couple of
days. Diana, on the other hand, looked like nothing more than a pretty little girl, something Harry
suspected that she usually used to her advantage, and few knew that there was far more to her than
met the eye, something else she doubtless took advantage of.

This time, however, it undoubtedly grated on her, Harry and even Uhtred, who was frowning
slightly, and it had gone on until Harry had loudly and pointedly said in a carrying voice, "Diana
was arguably the main reason any of us got out of there alive. She flew through the Bifrost portal,
carrying both of us, while outrunning the leader of the Disir."

That had stopped matters cold, especially when his dangerous glare, reminiscent of his father in a
particularly foul mood, dared anyone to doubt his word, while Diana smiled gratefully at him and
Uhtred nodded.

None did.

For though Harry was fairly blasé about it all, the fact of the matter was that he had taken on the
Disir, the half-believed nightmares of the Nine Realms, with but two companions, neither warriors
of great renown or sorcerers brimming with arcane power, but children, both younger than he. And
he had won.

As it turned out, the celebrations went on long into the night, with much slapping of Harry's back,
congratulating on his skills and from younger guests, eager requests to see his magic. Harry had
complied with a few balls of light, and when that did not seem to overly impress, a spell that Sirius
had taught him, which hauled the unfortunate target into the air by his ankle, while his companions
roared their laughter.

Diana also got a fair amount of the attention, and Harry saw a few girls furtively inquire as to what
it was like, going on adventures, and a few boys blush whenever they got within five feet of her.

But Uhtred commanded the lion's share of the rest, recounting his side of the story again and again
to an adoring audience, including several very pretty girls. It so happened that they merely thought
that he was cute with potential, but since Uhtred had no idea what to say to even try to charm a girl
and therefore didn't even bother, it all worked out well enough And while he carefully made sure
that he didn't leave out Harry or Diana, he could be forgiven for the slight embellishments he
indulged in.

Finally, Odin stood. And silence swept over the hall in a wave. He didn't use any magic. He didn't
say anything. He didn't even change expression.

That, to Harry's mind, was pretty damn cool. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and twitched,
before looking up and seeing his father. "Hey dad," he said quietly. He paused, as something that
had been bugging him came up. "Do you know what happened to my crown thingy? I mean, I think
I dropped it when the Disir attacked…"

Thor looked shifty.

"Dad?"

Meanwhile, Odin had started speaking.

"This day is a day of celebration," Odin said. "It was originally intended to celebrate the
introduction of our grandchild, Harry Thorson, Prince of Asgard, to Asgard, the Nine Realms and
the Universe at large." He paused. "He has made quite the impression."

There was soft flutter of laughter, and a spotlight generated by who knew what shone on Harry,
who had been mournfully examining his somewhat mangled circlet, and had been caught trying
speculatively to see if he could put it back on. He froze under the scrutiny, eyes darting left and
right. "This isn't as strange as it looks," he said slowly. His eyes swivelled upwards. "Okay," he
amended slowly, in a silence in which you could have heard a pin drop. "So it's exactly as strange
as it looks."

Thor, also caught in the spotlight, was caught halfway between being somewhat mortified and
doing doing his best not to crack up laughing, shoulders visibly shaking.

"Yeah… you can blame him for the squashed circlet."

"I was worried for you," Thor said in an indignant undertone.

"You still squashed it! I liked that circlet!"

"You only had it for a few hours."

"Exactly. I hadn't even got it worn in yet!"

"You dropped it," Thor said feebly.

"That didn't mean you had to squash it," Harry said, shaking his head, before shooting a glance
over at the crowd. "Umm… dad?"

"Yes?"

"People are staring. And I think Uncle Loki's having some kind of fit," Harry said slowly,
squinting at the Avengers, Athena, Diana, Uhtred and his parents. Natasha looked amused, both of
Athena's eyebrows had shot up, Darcy was giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up, Sirius, Tony and
Clint were bent over with suppressed laughter, barely holding each other up, Steve and Jane looked
utterly mortified, Pepper and Bruce were merely shaking their heads in exasperated amusement,
Diana was giggling, Uhtred looked like he thought that Harry had gone completely mad, Ullr had
an expression that said clearly, 'I've seen weirder shit than this', while his wife looked thoroughly
confused.

And Loki looked like he was having a minor nervous breakdown.

"He's either laughing… or crying…" Harry continued, paused, and looked up at his father. "I
should really shut up, shouldn't I?"

Thor was grinning. "Maybe," he said. "On the other hand, I don't hear any protests."

Indeed, the crowd was, by and large, either thoroughly bemused, deeply disapproving or
desperately trying not to laugh, the latter contingent being by far the largest.

Harry glowered at him, then turned to the audience. "Sorry," he said. "About the rambling. And
the circlet," he added, waving the bent object in the air. He paused, then murmured,
"Reparo," snapping his fingers for effect.

The circlet mended itself, to whispers of impressed surprise from the crowd, and Harry happily
slipped it back onto his head. "Much better," he said. "If you want another demonstration, I'm
here…" he paused. "When does term start again, dad?"

"Soon," Thor said. "And I think the Allfather desires to speak."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Quite," Odin said dryly, though there was a slight edge to his voice that suggested that Harry had
better stay quiet. The Allfather was in an indulgent mood, but that only went so far. "I think my
grandson has not quite shaken off the rush of battle. That or he has followed the example of his
father at the same age, and drunk something that he should not have." His lips twitched slightly.
"And unlike in that case, he is not screaming about being hunted by invisible flying bilgesnipe, so I
think we have got off lightly."

That defused any disapproving tension and a wave of amused laughter swept the banquet hall as
Thor blushed. Clearly more than a few of those present remembered this particular story.

"Speaking of being hunted, my grandson was hunted by the Disir earlier this night, when they
kidnapped him and upon his escape," Odin said, and the mood swiftly segued into a sober one. His
grandfather, Harry thought vaguely, was a very smooth operator. "But he was not hunted alone.
Nor did he escape alone. Indeed, if it were not for the courage and skill of his companions, I fear
that we would not be celebrating, but mourning."

He turned his gaze on Diana and Uhtred, and just like that, they were lit up. "Thanks to the valour
of Lady Diana of Olympus and Uhtred Ullrson of Asgard, our grandson managed to enact a plan
that were required quickness of wit, courage and skill to succeed. And thanks to them, it did," he
said. "So we would like to commend them, thank them and state that they are favoured by the
crown. If they ever require aid, they need only ask, and it shall be given."

Diana curtseyed neatly, while Uhtred bowed hurriedly.

"Now," Odin said. "We bid you enjoy the rest of the evening and the hospitality of Asgard."

He sat and chatter arose once more.

Thor and Harry stood in silence.

"Well," Harry said. "That was embarrassing."

"Why did you do that?"

Harry shrugged. "I honestly have no idea," he said frankly. "And I think the fact that I embarrassed
myself like that is going to hit me in, oh… five minutes?"

Thor gave him a sidelong glance and began to steer him towards the doors. "I think you'd better get
to bed," he said.

"But," Harry began.

"No buts," Thor said firmly. "You've been kidnapped by the forces of evil."

"Uhtred and Diana are still up," Harry said, in a tone who would later realise to his horror was
perilously close to a whine.

"They aren't my son," Thor said, in a tone that said that that was final.

Harry sighed. "Fine."

"Besides," Thor said, recognising that a little balm for Harry's pride. "You are the eldest of the
three. The unofficial leader. You were the one who had to worry about getting them all out. It all
came down to you, and you rose to the occasion. Of course you are tired." He smiled. "And I am
so proud of you."

Harry smiled, and said, "I'm not tired." He yawned.

Thor smirked. "Whatever you say, my son, whatever you say,"

Harry gave him a glower that Thor recognised. He'd seen it often enough in the mirror, and smiled
fondly.

As they reached the doors, Thor stopped and said to a servant, "Please tell my parents, my brother
and the Avengers that I am taking my son to bed."

"If it's not too inconvenient," Harry added earnestly, and got a proud look from his father and a
surprised one from the servant.

"It isn't, your highnesses," the servant said, blinking and bowing, before sweeping off.

Thor watched him go. "You're remarkable, Harry, you know that?" he said fondly.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Harry snorted in disbelief, but said nothing more, eyelids beginning to droop. The evening's events
were beginning to catch up with him. "Okay," he said, yawning. "Whatever you say, dad."

Thor chuckled. You would be so proud of him, Lils, he thought. I can only hope that you'd be half
as proud of me.

He then turned back to Harry, making sure that he didn't collapse, hoisting his son into his arms as
he nodded off.

So he missed the whisper that wasn't a whisper, the words that weren't words, the things that were
heard and unheard.

Of course I am, my brave boys. I am so proud of you.

The tiniest of gusts flickered up, unnoticed even by Thor, brushing Harry's fringe aside. Harry, half
asleep, felt just the ghost of a feeling on his forehead. A kiss.

And as Harry drifted off to sleep in his father's arms, he smiled.

OoOoO
The next day passed relatively quietly. Harry woke up, feeling extremely well rested, and then
spent most of the day chatting to Diana and Uhtred, while trying to avoid whispering admirers,
more than a few of whom were giggling girls. This was an undertaking that achieved varying
degrees of success.

Harry had been worried, on waking up and after he got over his mortification over the events of the
previous night, that his grandfather would be angry. Thor had reassured him with a breezy, "Oh
don't worry, I and Loki have done far worse in our time and got away with it."

After a few further, more serious reassurances from his uncle and grandmother, Harry felt
reasonably confident that his grandfather wasn't going to summon him to yell at him.

Then he got summoned.

Algrim, who Harry swiftly decided he rather liked, lead him into an older part of the palace, made
of carved stone and rich wood panelling rather than golden metal, a part that somehow seemed
more lived in than the others, especially with the way that evening sunlight, streaming in through
high, clear glassless windows, reflected off it. It seemed like something from a bygone age, Harry
thought. Though that was probably because it technically was.

After some time, they reached a relatively small, yet ornately carved wooden door of chestnut
brown wood, inscribed with swirling golden designs.

"This is your grandfather's study," Algrim said. "He bid you meet him here."

"Um… what should I do?" Harry asked.

"Knock, and wait, your highness," Algrim said, dipping his head in a slight bow, before making to
go.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door. "Enter," his grandfather said.

Harry stepped inside. The room was not how he'd imagined. It wasn't cold and businesslike, full of
intimidating books and weapons. Instead, it was a rather cosy room, with a large desk on one side
that was strewn with papers, and a light fire crackled in a large, marble fireplace.

"Ah," Odin said, smiling. "Grandson. Sit down," he said, indicating the chair in front of him.
Between the two, there was a chess set. Harry obediently sat. "Do you play chess?" Odin asked.

"Yes, I do," Harry said. "With my friend Ron. I'm not bad, but he's a chessmaster."

"At such a young age?" Odin asked, raising an eyebrow. "Truly, he must have prodigious talent."

Harry nodded. "He doesn't see it that way, though. I mean, his oldest brother is a Gringotts Curse
Breaker, and you have to be really good to be one of those, his second oldest works with dragons
and could have been an international Quidditch star if he'd wanted, the third oldest is a Prefect at
school and gets perfect grades, the twins are Loki's apprentices and Ginny's the baby of the
family." Harry paused. "And you probably don't get half those references. Sorry," he said
apologetically.

"No, I do," Odin said. "I kept an eye on my son when he was on Earth, and Huginn and Muninn do
not go to Earth solely for their amusement." He paused and muttered, "Not since the incident with
that mare in Ancient Greece. Horses were never meant to have wings." He coughed. "Needless to
say, I am fairly well aware of the ins and outs of the Wizarding World."
Harry's eyes widened. Odin smiled at his honest astonishment.

"I am a king, grandson. It is my business to know these things," Odin said, amused.

He'd chosen white, and moved a pawn. Harry responded by moving one of his own.

"Maybe your friend Ron could do with talking to Loki. When the boys were younger, Loki often
felt overshadowed by Thor, and felt that he was his inferior. In fact, his skill set was merely
different," Odin said, responding with a move of his own. "Of course, Thor's skills were those of
an Asgardian warrior, and while sorcery is respected here in Asgard, it comes a long second to
warrior skill. That is changing even now, as Loki's prowess has been and is being displayed in a
manner that the people of Asgard can relate to, but there is still a way to go."

"Is that why he went… mad?" Harry asked tentatively. "All those years, did it just eventually get to
him?"

Odin smiled slightly. "You have your grandmother's and mother's perception, grandson," he
complimented.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly.

"You are right. That is a large part of the reason, and I have only myself to blame. I have kept
many secrets in my long life – such is the nature of kingship. But there are secrets I regret keeping.
One is a very long held secret, one that Loki has given me permission to reveal to you," Odin said.
"He trusts you to keep it, and make no mistake, it is a great privilege to know this. Aside from the
Royal Family, the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, only Thor and Loki's war-brothers and sisters,
the Avengers, and Director Fury know it."

Harry gulped and nodded. "Okay."

"What do you know of the Frost Giants?" Odin asked.

Harry paused. "Not much," he said slowly. "Hermione researched the old legends, and asked dad to
look over them. He said most of them weren't far wrong. Dad told me a little. They're a race of
people, about ten feet tall on average, strong as a strong Asgardian, with control over ice, and in
some cases, magic. They're old enemies of Asgard, but now there is peace. Some people call them
monsters."

"And what do you think?" Odin asked.

"I don't know. I've never met them, except for King Farbaut, and I liked him," Harry said,
shrugging as he examined the board. "I mean, they've been enemies, sure, but that doesn't mean
they're evil."

He looked up to see Odin smiling proudly at him. He looked puzzled. "What is it?"

"You have an amazing ability to look beyond the outer appearance of a person, grandson, and to
see the heart within," Odin said quietly. "That is a gift greater than any I could bequeath you. A gift
fit for a King."

Harry blushed a little. "Appearances aren't everything," he said quietly.

"Exactly. And so it is with Loki. He looks like an Asgardian, does he not?" Odin asked.

Harry looked up sharply. "Yes," he said slowly. "And he's about average height for an
Asgardian… or a short Frost Giant."

Odin nodded. "Just so. A long time ago, when your father was no more than a babe in his mother's
arms, the Frost Giants sought to extend their dominance over Midgard. They wished to bring a new
ice age, and with the Casket of Ancient Winters, a weapon of truly fearsome power, they could do
it. If it wasn't for four witches and wizards, they would have succeeded. They managed to hold off
the Frost Giant advance – their leader, Athelstan Gryffindor, fought the Frost Giant King himself
in a ferocious duel of swords and magic. Though Athelstan lost a hand and limped forever after, he
gave Laufey scars that he bore for the rest of his days, and forced him to retreat."

"Gryffindor? Like, Godric Gryffindor?" Harry asked curiously.

"Athelstan was his ancestor by a good ten generations. And his allies bore the family names of
their descendants, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff…"

"And Slytherin," Harry said.

"Exactly. Athelstan Gryffindor, Arianna Ravenclaw, Branwen Hufflepuff and Prospero Slytherin.
It was in memory of that alliance that their descendants came together," Odin said. "They
combined their power, and sent out a call for help, much like the one you sent. But they did not
have the advantage of a family connection and sheer dumb luck," Odin added, a small smile on his
face.

"It fatigued them greatly, but it succeeded, not that they knew at the time. I was newly made King
of Asgard, only just entering my middle years and my marriage was still young. I had just been
given a first born child, and the passion of the young and the strong was within me. I saw an
injustice, I saw those in need, and I stepped in. I had dealt with Britain before, with some success,
and I knew the land. My old enemies and current allies, the Avalonians, managed to slow the Frost
Giant onslaught, but were still gravely weakened from previous conflicts and swept aside by the
might of the Casket. As the four, the world's last real defence, thinking that their call had gone
unheeded, gathered in what you now call Scotland for a last stand, aided by the Lady Knight who
roamed the roads of time, Asgard mobilised."

Harry listened, words conjuring images of magnificent armour, ferocious battles and phenomenal
courage. Though Loki was the famous storyteller, he had clearly learned from the best.

"The Frost Giant armies were on the point of shattering the wards of the four's stronghold, the
castle that would later become Hogwarts, when I lead my army into their flank, shattering their
formations," Odin said. "As I did, Aethelstan saw it and cried, 'To arms! Asgard is here! Our
salvation is at hand! Now let us drive this enemy from our lands together!'"

Odin gazed off into the middle distance, lost in memory, the sound of clashing blades, war cries
and spellfire reverberating in his mind. Harry waited patiently.

"The four were, of course, very grateful, and they had invaluable intelligence on the strategies,
strengths and weaknesses of the Frost Giants. Cunning Prospero had developed a grand network of
spies, one that fed him information from the tents of Laufey himself. Before, they had not the
strength to use this information to do more than survive. Now, with an army that could meet
Laufey's on its own terms by their side, this information, so carefully gathered, was a weapon
mightier than any other. I provided them and their followers with weaponry, and Asgardian spells –
though not many, for at that point, my mystical skills were rather lacking. Before, I had not had
much respect for magic and its wielders, for one of my enemies, Byleistr, brother of Laufey, was a
master sorcerer, the Loki of his day in raw power. Naturally, I was loath to imitate him. But when I
saw the courage and skill of my allies, I gained a new appreciation for its value. The four taught
me much, more than I taught them, and inspired me to study the mysteries of magic myself as the
campaign raged over all the continents. Words were spoken, words of power."

Odin looked distant. "And there were days," he said. "There were many days, when those words
could raise up empires, and bring down gods. Words that gave their speakers reputations,
reputations that made entire armies turn and run when they heard the merest whisper of those
names."

"Do you miss it?" Harry asked.

"The war? Yes and no. Yes, because I was young, I was strong, and I made many friends, mortal,
immortal and some that walked in the strange realm between the two. Friends I lost and who I wish
to see again, and will, someday, in Valhalla," Odin said. "But also no. The bloodshed, the terror,
the meaningless, cruel, petty deaths far outshine any glory and happiness. There is a satisfaction in
fighting a war for the right reasons, for protecting those who cannot protect themselves, but it is
fleeting. The best thing that can be said for war is that it brings people together and makes peace
all the more enticing." He shook his head. "After the war ended, I visited my mortal friends, many
a time. I even took Thor and Loki, still babies or little more than so, both of whom immediately
charmed everyone in sight. But they grew old. And they died. They all died."

He looked sorrowful. "Why do you think Asgard has withdrawn from the mortal realms for so
long, grandson? Because getting close to mortals, who live such short, bright, magnificent lives…
it hurts. When they pass. Because, at best, you are denied their companionship for the long span of
the years. Mortals can be raised to become Asgardians. It is an easy process. But not many are
chosen or choose that path. It is hard, to find a reason so compelling as to make such a change."

"Will I be immortal?" Harry asked.

"Only time will tell on that one, grandson," Odin said. "You are… a special case."

"Like Hercules?"

Odin chuckled. "That rascal Olympian friend of your father's and uncle's, Diana's father? No,
Harry, you are very different to him. There is much more that is special about you. You are unique
in all the cosmos."

Harry thought he meant it in a grandfatherly way, and gave a self-deprecatory smile and shrug. Of
course, Odin did not mean it like that. Not solely, anyway. But Harry wouldn't find out the full
truth of that for a long time. Now, now was story time.

"Together, with the help of the dwarves, we forged Mjolnir, Gungnir, the Sword of Gryffindor and
Laevateinn. Laevateinn was a wand of unsurpassed power. Not even the famous Elder Wand was
its equal. Alas, it was lost in war, falling with its owner, Prospero, who died facing an army.
Though he died, he destroyed the entire army, one that was bearing down on a refugee column.
These days, you call the place where he fell the Grand Canyon. It was a smooth, fertile land with a
moderately sized river before Prospero went to work."

Harry's jaw dropped.

Odin chuckled. "Laevateinn was a weapon second only to Mjolnir, the Infinity Gauntlet, the
Twilight Sword and the Tesseract in pure power. We searched for it as we searched for Prospero's
remains." He reached behind him and held up a golden-red feather. "All we found was this. I have
never seen the like in any bird, nor was it to be found in the Bestiaries of the time. It is a mystery."
"Can I see?" Harry asked quietly.

"You may. But be careful. It is very precious," Odin said. Harry took it very carefully, then, on
instinct, drew his wand. Both wand and feather burst into flame. But the flame did not burn wand,
feather, or indeed, Harry himself.

"It's a phoenix feather," Harry breathed. Fire danced in his eyes, reflected light. For a moment, just
a moment, something flickered deep within them. Then it was gone.

Odin's single eye was wide. "What is this creature you speak of?"

"A phoenix… it's an immortal bird that lives for centuries, then burns itself to death, and is reborn
from the flames," Harry said. "They're really rare, and they sometimes choose a witch or wizard to
be their familiar. My headmaster has one called Fawkes. My wand's core is a phoenix feather." He
frowned. "But why would a phoenix feather be left behind?"

"Maybe it was his way of telling us he was still alive, for some reason unable to contact us," Odin
mused quietly. "He greatly favoured fire magic, and he had the greatest skill in mind magic seen in
recorded history, though Loki claimed similar for Godric Gryffindor. His skills aided greatly in
both communication and spying." He sat back. "And the old texts talk of a being called the
Phoenix, an immensely powerful entity, beyond even the greatest of the gods, who granted power
to her chosen." He sighed.

"I had long dismissed it as a myth, even forgotten it. But now… now I wonder." He looked
seriously at Harry. "Destiny warps wherever you go, grandson. Mysteries long held unravel,
impossibilities abound and things thought lost re-emerge. People, special people, are drawn to you
with inexorable force. Change and Chaos walk with you, hand in hand. A path of greatness reveals
itself to all with even a glimmering of foresight, and it may have chosen you as its walker." He
paused. "It is a puzzle for another time. Mjolnir was wielded first by Athelstan, Gungnir by myself,
and the Sword of Gryffindor by the Lady Knight in tandem with her own blade. Arianna was a
great researcher and teacher, and I even offered her Gungnir to wield. Cheeky woman said that she
didn't need to wave a long, thick spear around to prove how tough and manly she was," Odin
grumbled, and Harry had difficulty stifling a laugh. "Branwen was a healer, and though she was
loath to fight, preferring to tend to the wounded, the one time she did… it was a truly terrifying
sight."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Imagine, grandson," Odin said softly. "A woman who is as kind and gentle as a warm summer's
day. A woman who loves to laugh, to smile, to joke and play. A woman who seeks to do nothing
but to preserve life and bring new life into the world. Now imagine that woman has found the
mutilated remains her eldest child, a seventeen year old girl, tortured, assaulted and murdered by a
Frost Giant raiding party. Imagine her grief." Odin shivered. "The same talents that can be used to
heal, to bestow a merciful, quick and painless death upon those who are too hurt to live and have
nothing look forward to but pain, can be used to kill armies. She walked through an entire army, an
aura of cold, green light around her. And where she passed, Frost Giants died. They just… stopped
and fell, breathing no more. And she didn't say a word. Tears ran down her face, but she did not
stop. And to this day, the Frost Giants fear sorcery more than anything in all the Nine Realms."

"Whoa," Harry breathed.

"Indeed," Odin said gravely. "It was the only time she fought in battle. Ever after, her joy was
dimmed, her smile tinged with bitterness, and her eyes dulled. Stories raced all over the world. The
people of Greece knew her as Demeter, and they got the general gist of her story right, so much so
that it was conflated with the legend, an irony, for Prospero had indeed named his daughter by her
Persephone. We won, in the end, but at great cost. We all lost people we loved. I lost an eye.
Aethelstan lost his hand. Branwen lost her daughter. The Lady Knight was lost in time once more,
trapped on her endless quest, with me unable to help her for fear of bringing Time itself to an end.
Arianna was cursed by the Frost Giants – if she ever stepped out into the daylight, she would be
petrified, rendered into a stone statue. She remained in the shadows of her library, only venturing
out into the night, until, eventually, she grew old and tired. She called us all to her side, spent one
last night with us, then went to see the dawn."

Harry, unthinking, reached over and took his grandfather's hairy, calloused hand, gently squeezing
it. Odin looked down in surprise for a moment, then smiled, squeezing ever so lightly back.

"As for Prospero, it remains a mystery, though I now have hope that my cunning friend managed to
cheat death of her due. The war ended in the chief citadel of Jotunheim, where I held Laufey at the
tip of Gungnir. I longed to put it through his throat, and take his life in exchange for all that I had
lost. He was helpless. Cowed. Defeated." He sighed. "It would have been easy."

"Did you kill him?" Harry asked quietly.

"No. I did not kill him. Instead, I took the Casket of Ancient Winters. Without it, Jotunheim could
not regain its former glory. As my bodyguard took the casket from their chief temple, I saw a small
object out of the corner of my remaining eye." Odin smiled slightly. "I heard a small, weak cry. I
went to investigate. It was a Frost Giant baby, small by the standards of their kind, the size of a
Midgardian or an Asgardian child. A weak, abandoned, helpless child. One life, in that place of
such death. I took it as a sign of hope, a sign that life could recover from destruction. I looked into
his eyes, the orange-red of fire. Fire, that great destroyer, yet that which warms us and nurtures us.
A creator and a destroyer. He had the tattoos of a Frost Giant Prince. This was Laufey's own child,
abandoned to die."

Harry's eyes widened, and he listened curiously.

"As I held him, he looked into my eyes and changed. His skin became pale, like mine. His hair
became black. His eyes became a remarkable shade of green. It was a sign of how powerful a
sorcerer he was going to become. He wanted me to take him in. Though born of Jotunheim, he
chose to be one of Asgard. He was beautiful, I thought as I warmed him and dried his tears. I took
him home, and your grandmother fell in love with him on sight. She knew where he came from,
but she did not care. We named him Loki. Thor was, at first, a little annoyed that he had lost some
of the attention, but soon delighted in playing with his new younger brother," Odin said. "I hid the
truth from him because Frost Giants were not well looked upon in Asgard. In many ways, they still
aren't. My original plan had been to raise him in Asgard, to show that Frost Giants and Asgardians
weren't so different as they pretended, to be a bridge between our peoples. But I soon realised that
this would not work. The Frost Giants would regard him as a pathetic runt and an Asgardian
puppet."

"Then they're stupid," Harry said instantly. "Loki's not pathetic. Or anyone's puppet."

Odin chuckled, smiling at his nephew's instant defence of his uncle. "They had every reason to be
suspicious, but you are right. They are fools to believe that he could ever be pathetic." He sighed.
"He found out his heritage when Thor made an ill-advised sortie into Jotunheim. Three Frost
Giants attempted to retake the Casket during Thor's coronation. I had planned to hand over rule to
him, acting as his adviser. But this plan was undermined. The Frost Giants were enabled by Loki's
machinations. Through a mixture of jealousy and a not unreasonable concern over Thor's ability to
rule wisely, he sought to disrupt Thor's coronation. The Destroyer, Asgard's most dangerous
weapon, destroyed the three. But that was not enough for Thor. He wanted to find out why."

Odin shook his head. "Even at his most boneheaded, Thor has a knack for getting people to follow
him. Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three followed him into Jotunheim, to the citadel where I
defeated Laufey so long ago. They confronted Laufey, who alluded to a traitor in Asgard. Loki tried
to get Thor to leave peacefully. Unfortunately, according to those present, one of Laufey's
bodyguard landed a brutal blow to what was then Thor's most vulnerable and viciously defended
part. His ego. 'Run home, little princess', were the exact words."

"Oh no," Harry said, seeing where this was going. He was now in check, but if he got this move
right, he could checkmate his grandfather in three moves.

"Quite. Thor went on a rampage, massacring Laufey's finest warriors and his pet monster, a
creature that would normally take a battalion to bring down, with the same ease you would use to
crush a spider," Odin said. Harry looked faintly sickened. "Like many in Asgard, he regarded them
as little better than animals that happened to talk and had made this clear before. It is something he
now deeply regrets. So when Loki found out, in the middle of battle, just what he was, he reacted
badly."

Odin sighed. "He confronted me after confirming it by touching the Casket. I was nearing the time
of the Odinsleep, when I must sleep to recharge my power. I had exiled Thor to Midgard, and
stripped of his power. This time, however, I did not have the luxury of time, so I let him keep his
memories and his form. Possibly something deep within him remembered his time as James, and
was brought forth by his resumption of mortal form, aiding his quick learning of the qualities he
needed. I do not know. But when I tried to explain to Loki, I only managed to tell him of my
original plan before I collapsed into the Odinsleep. He not unjustly felt used. His whole world was
falling apart. He felt unworthy."

"That was when he went mad, wasn't it?" Harry asked.

Odin nodded. "In his madness, he tried to destroy all connections to his Jotun heritage. Laufey he
tricked into coming into Asgard. Laufey had me at his mercy. Loki obliterated him, leaving
nothing but ash behind. Then, he took his most drastic step. Using the Casket, he turned the old
Bifrost into a cannon. It was tearing Jotunheim apart. Thor, by now returned to his power with a
new sense of humility and a greater wisdom, in part because of Loki's attempt to murder him in
mortal form, fought him and destroyed the Bifrost, saving Jotunheim. The Bifrost bridge had
shattered as the explosion sent both Thor and Loki flying. Thor held onto Gungnir, which Loki still
gripped. I held them both. Then Loki let go. He fell through the collapsing Bifrost portal. Straight
into the arms of Thanos, the Mad Titan."

"You mentioned him before," Harry said quietly. "You said he was… evil."

Odin's face darkened. "Aye," he said. "I did. Thanos is pure evil. There is no good in him, and if
there ever was, it died in ages long past." He shook his head. "But we are not here to speak of
Thanos in any great detail. We spoke of Loki. Thanos used him as a weapon. He accelerated and
exacerbated Loki's brewing madness, pushing it down the path it was always going to take, but
doing it faster, and turned him loose on Midgard with an army at his disposal." He looked out into
the night. "One day, Thanos shall pay for what he has done. But that day is not today."

Harry was reeling from all he had heard. Revelations abounded. "I'll keep his secret," Harry said
firmly, then moved a piece. "Check."

Odin smiled, and made his own move. "Checkmate."

Harry stared at the board in shock. Odin's eye twinkled. "You have skill, grandson, but I am several
millennia older than you. I have had practice." He looked out the window. "I think it is time that
you went to bed."

Harry nodded, and stood up. Then he hugged his grandfather, who smiled and hugged him back.
"Good night, grandpa. Thanks for the chess game."

"Good night, grandson," Odin said. "It was my pleasure."

OoOoO

The next morning, Harry and the Avengers departed Asgard in a whirlwind of chaos. No one ever
quite figured out the circumstances that led to Sirius and Tony gleefully sledding down the palace
steps on Steve's shield, but it was generally decided that everyone was better off not knowing.
Indeed, Pepper just decided that it would be best that she just scold Tony and leave it at that.

She'd seemed a bit distracted, Harry thought. Apparently she'd been feeling a little ill this morning
and went to check it up with Frigga. It was probably nothing.

Harry didn't have much stuff to pack, and after a hearty breakfast, which Harry devoured at speeds
that Ron would admire, leading Thor to joke, "Am I raising a second Volstagg?", leading Volstagg
himself to firmly say that as a man of great experience in the raising of children, all of whom were
either at home with their mother or serving as Knights in Alfheim, he knew that keeping children
well fed was of paramount importance.

"A lesson you have taken it upon yourself to live as the prime example of," Thor had teased, and
the two had indulged in some good natured bickering, which was only stopped by Frigga herding
Harry away to get cleaned up, make sure everything was packed, that he hadn't left anything
behind and that he'd said all his goodbyes.

The goodbyes weren't too emotional – after all, Harry knew that he was coming back. He hugged
his grandparents, was told to behave himself and stay out of trouble by his grandmother – Harry
could have sworn that he heard Odin mutter something to the tune of "That'll be the day," under
his breath, shared a warrior's hand clasp with Uhtred – who had apparently spent a great deal of
time petitioning to follow Harry to Earth since he was his oathman now.

"My grandson will be more than adequately protected, Uhtred," Odin had said firmly. "You would
serve both him and yourself best by applying yourself to your lessons, both on the training fields
and off them."

Uhtred had reluctantly accepted this. Everyone else had been amused.

Diana had hugged Harry tightly. "I hope that I'll get to see you again soon," she said, and added
looking a little self conscious, "I don't have many friends."

"Neither do I," Harry said. He smiled. "That's why I just go out and make some more. And I'm
pretty sure that my friends will very quickly become your friends too." He shrugged. "Besides, you
can always come visit us on Earth. Right?" he added, glancing up at Tony, who, along with Sirius,
was giving him an amusing but wholly inaccurate knowing smirk. "Oh, knock it off," Harry said,
rolling his eyes as he picked up on it. "Can she come?"

"Sure," Tony said. "Any time." He paused. "Just warn us if you're bringing your relatives, okay?
Avengers Tower gets hit by lightning often enough as it is," he added, giving Thor a mild glare.

Thor looked away and whistled innocently. Or tried to. He failed at both whistling and innocence.
Diana smiled. "I hope so," she said sincerely. She looked up at Tony and Sirius. "And I'm afraid
you're wrong, Lord Stark, Lord Black," she said, tone not changing. "Harry's not interested in me
and I'm not interested in boys yet." She gave Harry a critical look. "Though I suppose that he is
quite handsome."

Both men's jaws dropped and Harry blushed slightly as the Avengers, Volstagg and Fandral
cracked up en masse.

Eventually, however, it was time to go. As Harry waved goodbye, he was almost certain that he
could feel Asgardian bidding her youngest Prince a fond farewell.

And as the Bifrost began to power up, Harry whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Then he and the rest roared off through the cosmos. From Asgard to Earth. There and back again,
one might say.
 Unresolved Issues

On return to Stark Tower, Harry, Sirius, the Avengers and the Warriors Three had immediately
been greeted by Remus. "Hello," he said, smiling. "And welcome back. I take it you enjoyed
yourselves?"

"Harry's got a girlfriend," Sirius said, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Diana is not my girlfriend," he said.

"Yet," Tony interjected, smirking. Harry made an annoyed sound and glowered at his godfather
and friend, both of whom grinned all the more.

Remus coughed, seeking to cut off the impending squabble. "Is this Diana a friend of yours?" he
asked, interested.

"Sure," Harry said, nodding in a little relief. "She's great," he began, then frowned at Sif. "Sif?"

Sif was staring at Remus, eyes slightly widened, breathing quickened, and every muscle in her
body tensed. Remus was looking at her with a dawning sense of resignation. Harry was puzzled,
and shared a confused look with Fandral. The rest, however, seemed to be figuring it out.

"Oh dear," Loki said quietly.

"We should have thought of this," Thor said grimly.

"What's done is done, or more accurately, what's not done is not done," Loki said.

Thor nodded. "Sif," he said suddenly, voice a bark so sharp and commanding that Harry found
himself instinctively coming to attention. "Calm yourself. You are among friends."

Sif jumped slightly, catching her breath, and her gaze shifted to Thor. "I am sorry, Thor," she said
quietly. "I recognised…"

"The taint. The curse of Fenris," Loki said quietly. "A creature that we," he added, for the benefit of
others, indicating himself, Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three. "Have history with."

"Ah," Remus said quietly, understanding in his tone. "You can feel my curse?" he asked.

"I recognise… something about you," Sif said, tone guarded. "It feels to me like Fenris."

"Like many Asgardians, Sif is sensitive to magic to a certain degree," Loki explained. "She does
not wield magic, but she has a sense for it, one that is stronger than most, and one that has proven
useful in battle many a time."

"Indeed," Thor agreed.

"I'll go," Remus said quietly.

"No!"

The word cracked like a whip, and everyone stared at Sif in surprise. "Do not leave," she said
quietly. "You are a close friend of Thor's, a teacher of his son, a friend of some of my dearest
friends. I would not have you leave on my account."
"If my presence upsets you," Remus said. "It would be cruel of me to stay."

Sif shook her head sharply. "It would not, since you stay at my behest," she said, in a tone that very
much said that that would be the end of it.

"I think we should take this inside," Steve said quietly.

They did, and a few minutes later, they had all arranged themselves in the living room.

As Harry looked around the room in question, he saw that it had been subtly and silently divided
into two camps.

The Warriors Three had, apparently completely unconsciously, arranged themselves in a protective
shield around Sif. Volstagg sat on one side, bulk dwarfing the chair he had sat in, resembling
nothing so much as a bear that has, for now, decided to be amiable. Hogun and Fandral on the
other side, Hogun in a state of casual watchfulness, hooded eyes sweeping the room, giving off the
impression of an eagle at rest, whereas Fandral had draped himself over a chair in so louche a
fashion that it should have been illegal, idly drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair.

Sif herself had sat down, and was looking casual in a rather forced sort of way. It took a lot to
unsettle Lady Sif. And when it did, it tended to communicate itself to the Warriors Three, who she
generally treated like exasperating, boisterous but much loved brothers. In turn, they regarded her
as a sister, and though they could be exceptionally dense, as is the way with brothers, they were far
from stupid. And though they followed her lead in battle and knew that she could beat any two of
them at once, they were also very protective.

On the other side of the room sat Remus. He was flanked on one side by Sirius, who was looking
utterly serious (and not in the mood to make stupid puns about his name) and dangerously
attentive. This was not the prankster godfather. This was the auror who had earned the nickname
'Marauder' in its darker sense on the battlefield.

Bruce flanked him on the other side, face carefully bland and expressionless. Though he looked
small, harmless and cuddly, the power of the Hulk was well known throughout the Nine Realms.

The rest of the Avengers had arranged themselves so that, by and large, they were nearer to Remus
than Sif. The exceptions were his father, who stubbornly sat in the middle, flanked by Harry
himself and Jane, Pepper and Natasha, who were eyeing both camps carefully, and Loki, who sat
just to the right of Fandral, fingers steepled.

There was a definite sense of tension in the room.

"I think," Steve said, voice calm but ringing with authority. "That we all need some explanation
about what just happened."

There was a round of nods.

"I feel I should apologise," Sif said softly. "I have, as Loki has mentioned, bad past experiences
with those suffering the curse of Fenris. There is a Midgardian word for them, is there not?"

"Yeah, people," Tony snapped, getting a supporting growl from Sirius

"Tony, Sirius," Steve said warningly, as the tension rose a notch or two.

Both subsided, but glowered.

"The word is werewolf, Lady Sif," Remus said calmly, while giving a look that said to Tony that
he was grateful for his support, but he could fight his own battles, thank you very much. He didn't
even need to look at Sirius. "Have you had an unfortunate encounter with one of my kind before?"

Harry was thoroughly surprised. He'd not expected the… well, to be frank, kindly and harmless,
Professor Lupin to be a werewolf. Though it would explain why he generally looked worn out and
Harry's father had noted that he found it hard to find jobs.

"Not quite. With Fenris," Sif said quietly. "I have encountered shapeshifters before, and Skrulls
excepted –"

"Alien shapeshifters," Thor supplied.

"I have not had a problem with them. Loki is one, and of our disputes, that has not been among
them. I have even spent time among the Wolf People, and befriended Prince Hrimhari, descendants
of Fenris," Sif said. "Asgardians of a kindred who can shift between wolf and man and halfway
between at will."

"Then what caused the problem?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Fenris was, and remains, a creature of powerful magic," Loki said. "He alternates forms between a
large man, larger even than Volstagg, and a wolf the size of a small house." He looked grim. "And
he is evil. He abuses those weaker than he and delights in it. He is cruel simply because it amuses
him to be so, and he destroys because that is all he desires in the end. Destruction. His presence is
also quite pervasive and memorable."

"I heard stories of him when I was young," Sif said. "We all did. And I desired to prove myself."

"So you went looking for him," Remus said, with a sigh.

Sif blinked in surprise.

"I grew up with Sirius and James, Thor as he was back then," Remus explained. "And I am a
teacher. I know young people reasonably well."

"Sometimes, Moony," Sirius said after a moment, "You sound like your bum is stuffed with
tweed."

"What is… tweed?" Sif asked.

"And how would one stuff someone's rear with it?" Fandral asked, curious. "Would it require use of
a device, a spell, or merely great force?"

The mental image that conjured broke the tension, and most of the group were at least sniggering,
if not outright laughing. Even Natasha had a slight smile on her face.

Then Sif looked serious. "Remus is right," she said. "I went looking for him. He was supposedly
impossible to kill, but I thought that that merely meant that no one who fought had been good
enough. And in my arrogance, I thought I was capable of doing what they could not. Eventually,
after a month's travel, following rumours, I found him as a man and challenged him to battle. We
fought, I lost." Her face was expressionless. "Then he transformed me into a wolf and treated me as
a toy. And once I provided no more entertainment, he ate me."

"He ate you?" Tony asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Sif said, voice distant. "I was already much chewed, so he simply swallowed me. I reached
down with my belt knife and cut my way out. Then, I managed to find my left hand."

Eyes widened around the room.

Sif smiled mirthlessly. "Yes. My left hand. He'd bitten it off. Presumably he wanted a taster," she
said, with dissonant calm. "I managed to find my left hand while he was struck down by pain, and
then found my way to the nearest village. The local healer managed to preserve my hand, and in a
matter of hours, Queen Frigga herself arrived to reattach it." She rotated her left wrist and pulled
down her sleeve, to reveal white pucker marks around her wrist. Steve looked horrified, Bruce and
Natasha looked grim, Clint's expression was carefully blank and Tony looked like he was about to
be sick.

"There's no stiffness," Sif continued conversationally, as if talking about the weather. "Though it
has been slightly looser ever since."

"In the myths," Harry said slowly. "That happened. But it was Tyr who had his hand bitten off."

"It was his right hand, and the circumstances were different," Loki noted. "Yes." He looked grim.
"There are grains of truth in some of those stories."

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered.

"You did not commit the crime," Sif said calmly. "So you are not to blame." She shook her head.
"Anyway, I was afraid of wolves for a long time afterwards." She shot a glance at Loki, who
looked rather ashamed, but said nothing. It wasn't difficult to deduce the sort of pranks a
shapeshifter and illusionist might play if feeling particularly spiteful.

"And now it is merely werewolves," Remus said heavily. "Under the circumstances, I really cannot
blame you."

Sif shook her head. "No blame attaches to you," she said firmly. "And I hold you no grudge. That
would be supremely unjust of me. It is merely that I have…"

"Unresolved issues," Loki suggested.

"Yeah, you'll fit right in," Tony drawled. "I'm an alcoholic with daddy issues, Bruce is a Hulk, Loki
used to be insane and evil and have more epic daddy issues than I thought possible, Steve spent
seventy years as a popsicle –"

"A frozen Midgardian sweet," Loki supplied.

"Right, and we have two former assassins who have more issues than I could list with a
psychology textbook," Tony said. He gave Sif a crooked smile. "Thor's the best balanced of all of
us, and he used to be a dead wizard."

"I spent twelve years in a horrible prison, and to be honest, I'm still a little mad," Sirius
volunteered, albeit a little grudgingly.

"Still?" Remus murmured. "More like, 'always were'."

"Everyone knows what happened to me," Harry piped up.

"Yup. We're all crazy here," Tony drawled.

"How tactful," Loki muttered. "But not at all inaccurate."

Sif looked slightly puzzled.

"We don't blame you for being traumatised," Steve said kindly, by way of explanation.

"The reaction, on the other hand," Sirius muttered. Remus simply looked at him. Sirius sulked.

"Thank you," Sif said quietly. "You have been very understanding."

"Well, I can tell you from personal experience that being eaten isn't a very pleasant experience,
even if you're doing it on purpose," Tony said.

Everyone but the Avengers stared at him.

"He flew into the mouth of a Chitauri Leviathan to destroy it from the inside," Thor explained. "It
was a most fell act of warfare."

"You didn't tell me about this," Pepper said, in tones that promised suffering unless he had
a very good explanation as to why he hadn't.

"I nearly died in an alien quadrant of space after flying a nuclear missile through a wormhole,"
Tony said, slightly caustically. "I was kinda worried about other things during and after the battle."

Harry poked him and frowned. "She's worried about you. Be nice, please," he said firmly.

Tony stared at him in surprise, then at Pepper and sighed. "Sorry. I… well, with the whole me
nearly dying through the portal thing, I felt you had enough to worry about. I didn't want to upset
you."

"Better I hear about it then than later," Pepper said, kissing his cheek, and smiling wryly. "And that
makes a change from the years you spent making my life a nightmare," she added, tone joking.

"Oh come on, I was hardly ever sober enough to have bothered you on purpose even if I'd wanted
to," Tony complained.

Before Pepper could reply, there was a tapping sound at the window.

"Sir, there is an owl outside that seems to be requesting entry," JARVIS said, the AI managing to
sound surprised.

Fandral jumped, hand on his sword hilt and Hogun and Sif began looking around suspiciously,
while Volstagg just looked puzzled.

Loki, nominating himself as tour guide, explained, "The voice, JARVIS, is a sort of artificial spirit
that serves Tony. Or more accurately, treats Tony like an unruly child. Something that is not
entirely unwarranted."

Tony absently gave Loki the finger, then said, "An owl?"

"A tawny owl, sir. And it's carrying a letter."

"Is the letter red?" Thor asked suspiciously.

"No, Mr Odinson. Indeed, it seems to be a rather pleasant shade of cream."

"You can let it in safely," Thor said. "It's just bearing a message."

"Sir?"

"What the hell," Tony said, shrugging. "Why not? Message delivering owls don't even rate after
those talking ravens."

The window opened and the owl fluttered in, dropped the letter right onto Sirius' head with an air
of expert aim, then flew to perch on the back of one of the chairs. The chair began to spin, but this
didn't seem to discomfort the owl in the slightest.

While everyone stared at the slowly spinning owl, Sirius slowly picked up the letter, frowned, then
sniffed at it. His eyes widened. "Merlin's balls," he whispered. "I know that perfume." He glanced
over at the dissonantly serene bird. "And that owl too."

"I recognise it too," Remus said distantly, sounding utterly shocked.

"That would make three of us," Thor said quietly.

"Uh, care to fill us in?" Tony asked. "Is Athena sending us a text or something?"

"No," Thor said. "That owl belongs to someone else entirely." He turned to Sirius. "Though I am
surprised that you recognised her perfume."

"She's the only person who wears it," Sirius said. "And I was snooping in her rooms once and
sniffed it."

"And she booby trapped it," Thor predicted.

Sirius nodded sourly. "That she did."

"I always wondered why you spent an entire week smelling like you'd been dipped in a vat of
perfume," Remus said idly. "And your hair glittered, as I recall."

Sirius looked sour as Thor grinned in remembrance. "Lily teased you mercilessly," he said. "She
referred to you 'the prettiest princess' all week."

"I like her," Tony said.

Pepper hummed her agreement, and smirked as Sirius sulked, while Jane grinned.

Darcy was not so restrained. "Everything you've said about Harry's mom makes her sound fucking
awesome," she said. She ruffled Harry's hair. "Hell, just look at her kid. He's all the evidence you
need."

Harry blushed. "Who's the letter from?"

"Wanda Maximoff," Thor said. "She is the legendary Scarlet Witch."

Sif and the Warrior's Three all reacted as if this was a name that they knew. Knew and respected.

"And," Thor continued, looking his son right in the eye. "She is also your godmother."

Harry's heart nearly stopped. This woman, this friend of his mother's, who he'd heard of as little
more than a legend… was his godmother?!
"Why didn't she…?" he began, then trailed off. It was just like with his grandfather Odin all over
again, Harry thought as the same feelings of sadness, anger, betrayal and confusion rose in him like
a tidal wave.

"Take you in?" Thor finished, looked puzzled. And angry.

Harry nodded paingully

"I do not know. Truly I do not. I have my suspicions, but none of them would stop the Wanda I
knew if she set her mind to raising you as her own. And I see no reason why not – she utterly
adored you."

"I suspect that one you might be forgetting is her enemies, Thor," Loki said. "And her teacher,
Doctor Strange." He turned to address Sif and the Warrior's Three. "Doctor Strange is Midgard's
Sorcerer Supreme."

There was a moment's pause. Volstagg, of all people, got it first, nodding grimly, followed by Sif,
Hogun, and eventually, Fandral.

"Um, what's a 'Sorcerer Supreme'?" Darcy asked. "Some kind of boss wizard?"

"In some ways," Loki agreed. "Though they do not rule. It is an office, passed from master to
apprentice, whose holder is tasked with protecting the mortal realm from, essentially, creatures that
make Cthulu look positively cuddly."

"There is a Cthulu plushie, y'know," Darcy pointed out, but nodded. "Okay, so, major badness."

"Quite. And discounting them, there are very many dark sorcerers, dark creatures, who exist in the
physical realms of this universe, by and large, and would love to have a way to get to the Sorcerer
Surpreme. That is why they are often very sparing in their choice of apprentice, as the chances of a
horrible death are worryingly high," Loki explained. "If Wanda had taken Harry in, she might have
been putting him in untold danger."

Thor nodded slowly. "She thought the Dursleys were a lesser evil," he said. "I can understand her
thinking, logically." He looked grim. "That is not to say that I like it."

Harry would previously have objected to this assertion, but recent experience with the Disir told
him that common or garden dark lords or their restless spirits/memories were far from the worst
beings in the universe. However, he found himself wholly agreeing with the last part of what his
father had said.

"I do not think she would expect you to, Thor, Harry, either of you," Remus interjected softly. "The
Wanda I knew was very compassionate. It would have broken her heart to leave Harry with the
Dursley family, no matter how many rational reasons there were for doing so."

"Yes," Thor said slowly. "The Wanda I knew was the same." He frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe
Stephen warned her to stay away."

"Why would she listen?" Sif asked, frowning.

"Because Stephen is centuries old and wise with it. He has some gift of foresight, like my father.
When makes a prediction, which he does sparingly, it never, ever, fails to come true," Thor said
seriously. "People disregard his warnings at their peril."

"Then why is she contacting you now?" Harry asked, voice nearly rising to a wail.
"Actually, she isn't," Sirius said quietly, examining the letter.

"What?"

"The letter. It's addressed to you, Harry. Not any of us," Sirius said, looking serious, and reaching
over to hand the letter to Harry.

And indeed, on the front of the envelope in a neat, flowing script was the name, Harry Potter
(Thorson). Harry slowly opened it, hands shaking with trepidation and excitement.

Dear Harry, the letter read.

By now, you may or may not know that I am your godmother. If you know that, and have not cast
this letter aside in disgust, then you know that I was your mother's best friend. You must also know
that I wanted to take you in, desperately. I had none of the impediments of Sirius and Remus, and I
was feted as a heroine by the Wizarding World, even if I could bear to live in it no longer.

But I didn't. Not because of you, but because of me. Or more precisely, my enemies.

I do not know if your father has told you, but I was apprentice to Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer
Supreme, and with him and my former partner, John Constantine, I fought dark sorcerers and
sorceresses, demons and abominations of that could have been, should have been, and never were.
Things that would prey on a small child such as yourself without mercy. All I could give any child
in my care was a life under siege, something which led to two of the hardest decisions of my life.
And one of those was not taking you in.

For the first few years, I tried to send you birthday and Christmas cards and presents, but as I
quickly discovered, all the cards were burnt or ripped up by the Dursleys, and all the toys were
either destroyed or given to their fat pig of a son.

I watched over you for a while, and occasionally sensed another presence doing the same (I
assume it was your uncle, barred from intervening), but then stopped, simply because it was
breaking my heart. As I write, I know it sounds cowardly, and I feel horrible for saying it, but it
was true.

Nevertheless, while I was there, I did what I could.

You may remember me as the brown haired lady who once drove off that gang of bullies your
cousin led and comforted you, or you may not. You were rather young at the time, no more than
eight. I remember that moment as clearly as if it were yesterday. You were malnourished, sad,
lonely and yet... you were kind. As goodhearted a child as one could wish for, despite it all. You
reminded me so much of your parents that it hurt, and I so desperately wanted to take you away,
protect you and love you like you deserved.

That moment above all others, I wanted to whisk you away from the Dursleys so badly, but I could
not. I was not allowed to intervene, both because of the danger it would put you in and because
Albus Dumbledore and my old mentor, Doctor Strange, warned of the consequences.

After that, however, I made the second hard decision. I abandoned you entirely, simply because I
could not bear to watch you suffer any longer. That decision was my own, unadvised and unguided
by any will other than my own. Therefore, I bear full responsibility for it, no one else. Not even
Stephen Strange.

Stephen Strange was another who watched out for you, and in many ways, was a second father to
your mother and I. He also has some gift of prophecy. Not like that idiot Trelawney, who has
squandered what genuine precognitive power she had, but a real degree of foresight. Maybe it was
that. Maybe it was, like Albus, his age, wisdom and his prediction of the consequences of my
intervention based on what he had seen before, but either way, I followed their advice.

I must sound pathetic to you, hiding behind fears, excuses and the words of others, and as I have
said before, I feel as pathetic even as I write to you, my godson.

But they are all I have, and no matter how justified, how reasonable, I will regret them until my
dying day.

Now, all I can say is this: I am sorry. I am so sorry that I could not give you the love and attention
that you deserve.

My only comfort is that you are with family that loves you now. Your father adored you from your
very first breath, even befor, like you mother. Your godfather fell in love with you as soon as he
saw you. Much like I did. And make no mistake, I love you, my much wronged godson. You were a
beautiful, friendly, happy baby, a beautiful, friendly and kind child and I've no doubt that you've
grown into a brave, handsome, friendly, kind and funny young man.

If you want to write back, I would truly love it. Your owl will be able to find me. If not, I will
understand.

For now, I will merely say, Merry Christmas, godson. I wish you as Merry a Christmas as you
could desire, a happy New Year and a bright future.

Your loving godmother,

Wanda Maximoff

P.S. Please give my regards to your father, Sirius, Remus and to Nicholas. And tell them that I'm
sorry.

As Harry finished, he found that there were tears rolling down his cheeks and that he was shaking
in earnest. He stood. "If you'll excuse me," he managed. "I…"

"Go on," Pepper said gently. "Take some time if you need to."

Thor reached out and took his son's free hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "We will be here when
you need us," he said.

Harry nodded, then left the room as quickly as he could without actually fleeing. He had much to
think about. And… he needed to be alone right now.

OoOoO

Thor watched his son leave, and sighed. "I hope he'll be all right," he said lamely.

"He will be…" Loki began confidently. Then he sighed. "In truth, he will probably be fine. But it
could take him a while. You saw how he reacted to Odin."

Thor chuckled softly. "Indeed I did. I do not think anyone has ever shouted at father like that and
got away with it," he said wryly.

"Harry shouted at the Allfather?" Fandral asked, incredulous, before looking in the direction Harry
had gone with a look of stunned admiration. "He is either courageous beyond measure or mad
beyond reckoning."

"He was angry, and rightfully so. Father knew this, and it was in private, so he could afford to be
much more forbearing," Thor said mildly. "And he is much like his mother, and Jane," he added,
giving Jane a warm smile. "In that he absolutely refuses to be intimidated. By anyone. Ever."

Jane flushed slightly. "Stop it," she said. "I'm not brave."

"So braving the wrath of the Destroyer is an everyday matter, is it?" Loki asked, tone deceptively
mild.

Sif and Fandral looked slightly grim at this reminder of what Loki had once done. Volstagg
ignored them, looking in the direction Harry had gone with a thoughtful expression on his face.
And Hogun was as expressionless as an overdose of botox.

"Well, no," Jane began, then sighed. "I'm going to lose this argument, aren't I? No matter what I
say, I'm going to lose."

"Yes," Loki said happily. "Yes, you are."

Jane glowered at him. "Thor, can I hit your brother?"

"Be my guest," Thor said, gesturing expansively. "But believe me, it will only make him worse."

Jane duly hurled a hardback book at Loki. He didn't even bother trying to dodge. It hit him square
in the forehead, and bounced off. Then he reached down and picked it up. "'How to make friends
and influence people,'" he read and smirked. "How appropriate."

"Does this often happen?" Sif asked curiously.

"With Thor and Loki, sometimes," Steve said, tone indicating that he definitely disapproved. Jane
wilted slightly. Steve was very good at making people feel guilty. "It does no harm, but it only
takes one accident for someone to get hurt."

"Yeah, he's the mommy," Tony said abruptly.

"What?" Sif asked. "Fandral, stop that."

Fandral, who had been giving a nearby chair and Loki considering looks, froze.

"Don't bother," Thor said, tone slightly weary. "When Tony has one of his little moments, only
Pepper has a chance of understanding him."

"Ah," Sif said, nodding.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered. "I am unappreciated in my time."

"Tony," Pepper said, tone slightly warning.

"I worry about Harry," Thor said abruptly. "He has had so much to deal with, and now… I wonder
if it is not beginning to weigh him down."

"Children are resilient little things, Thor," Volstagg said. "Especially that one. He just needs a little
time to himself." He chuckled. "He's as hard headed as his father."

"That I think we can all agree on," Loki murmured.

"His mother wasn't lacking in that department either," Remus observed.

Sirius snorted. "She didn't know the meaning of the words 'give in', you mean," he said, amused.

"Sounds like he got a double dose," Bruce said. He gave Thor a sympathetic look. "You realise
what this means?"

"What?" Thor asked.

"Well… do you remember what you were like as a teenager?" Bruce asked. "Because I kinda doubt
that you were rule abiding and good at being told what to do."

A series of amused noises from the Asgardian contingent, ranging from Loki's soft laugh to
Hogun's amused snort and Volstagg's booming laugh.

"As my friends and brother demonstrate by their reactions," Thor said. "I was not."

"Do you remember what Lily was like as a teenager?" Bruce asked.

Thor nodded vigorously. "Of course, what are you… are you…" he trailed off, going wan. "Oh."

Tony and Darcy caught on and both started cackling.

"What?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Doctor Banner is implying that Harry may have inherited stubbornness from both his parents," Sif
explained, smirking. "And is as stubborn as both of them put together."

Steve winced.

"Allfather preserve me," Thor moaned, putting his face in his hands. Jane patted him consolingly,
lips twitching

"Don't worry," Tony said cheerfully. "You've got at least another… year? Six months?" He
shrugged. "Whatever. My advice, big guy, enjoy it while you can."

"I will bear that in mind," Thor managed, voice muffled.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was alone with his thoughts. He wasn't exactly surprised to find that he was
more comfortable that way, or at least, more used to it. He loved his father and uncle, indeed, he
loved his newfound family and friends. But this last month or so, he'd be overwhelmed and now
with this letter from his godmother… well, it wasn't exactly unjustified for him to want a little
space.

His godmother. Now that… that was something to think about. She obviously felt sorry for leaving
him, very sorry indeed. Her reasons, logically speaking, made sense.

But he was a teenage boy. Logic didn't hold sway over much of his brain. All he could think about
was the cupboard, the childhood that had stolen from him and what could have been. Tears ran
down his cheeks as he imagined being raised by Wanda, beautiful, magical, brave, and judging by
her letter, warm, kind and loving.

Lost in his imaginings, he pulled his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth on his bed,
weeping for what could have been.
Harry?

Harry's head jerked up. "Who's there?" he asked, voice raw and damp.

I am Charles Xavier. Do you remember me? We met at Tony's Christmas party. I am his godfather.

Harry frowned, and nodded. "I do," he managed. "Where are you?"

Inside your head. I am an accomplished telepath.

Harry froze, then felt a gentle touch on his mind, like a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Relax. I
am not looking at anything private. I have merely established a connection between us, enough to
communicate.

Harry relaxed. So… do I just need to think my reply? He tried.

Exactly, Xavier replied, and Harry felt a warm sense of approval. Are you okay?

I'm fine, Harry replied.

There was a feeling of gentle scepticism from Xavier. Harry, I may not have told you, but I am a
teacher, he said. And I am well acquainted with the habit of teenagers to bottle up their problems
or try and deal with them alone.

Why are you contacting me? Harry asked bluntly I don't want to be rude, but it does seem a little
odd.

That is understandable, Xavier said. In truth, I've been keeping an eye on you. Most of my students
go through similar experiences to yours, discovering parts of themselves that they did not know
existed, aspects to their heritage that they could not imagine. My position is not unlike that of Albus
Dumbledore, your headmaster.

You know him? Harry asked, surprised.

We move in similar circles, Xavier replied vaguely. And when I first began teaching, he offered a
lot of excellent advice. Including not to let the problems of my students fester.

I'm not your student, Harry thought grumpily.

No, Xavier agreed. You are not. I speak as one who is concerned for you, as I am for all children
your age. Even without supernatural additions, adolescence is a time of great upheaval and
complication. Especially when family is involved.

Harry had to admit that he had a point.

Heaven knows I don't expect you to open up to someone who is practically a stranger, though some
find that easier, as a stranger is unbiased and there is less worry about giving offence, Xavier
continued. But you should speak to someone, whether it is me, your father, your uncle, one of the
Avengers or your other friends. Reticence will only hurt you in the long run.

Harry was silent for a long moment. He didn't really know this man. But Tony trusted him, and as
his uncle had observed, Tony didn't fully trust anyone except Pepper. While paranoia doesn't equal
good character judgement, it was close enough. Besides? What did he have to lose?

As it turned out, he actually had quite a lot to lose if he hadn't been talking to someone trustworthy.
A few moment's thought reminded him of Riddle's diary.
The last time a friend of mine confided in a psychic stranger, she nearly got killed, Harry said. How
can I trust you?

Take a look, Xavier replied, and in his mind's eye, Harry saw a door opening. Cautiously, he passed
through it, into the mind of Charles Xavier.

The mindscape manifested itself as a grand old house, with a surrounding forest, and if Harry
looked around, he could see a fountain and in the distance, the sea.

"Here you see the truth of me."

Harry whipped around, then relaxed as he saw Charles Xavier walking towards him. "In case you
were wondering why I am not in my wheelchair, it is because I tend to imagine myself without my
crippling injury," the older man explained.

He looked as kindly as Harry remembered, and his voice was warm and reassuring, like a gentler,
more mellow and less authoritative Odin.

"What is this place?"

"This is my home, and it has been since childhood," Xavier said. "It is now my school. I take in
students who are born with unusual abilities, some greatly resembling magic. In a few cases, there
have been some who were adept in both. I teach them to control their abilities and to live in
harmony with others."

"To be superheroes?"

"Not quite. Some become superheroes. Indeed, I'm sure that Mr Barton and Miss Romanov could
tell you a fair bit about my 'X-Men', who you might say are an occasional peace keeping taskforce,
one that is rather more low key than the Avengers," Xavier said, and cracked a smile. "Though it is
rather easy to be low key when your comparison is a team with my godson on it."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, subtlety passed Tony by."

"It passed his father by, too," Xavier observed. "Tony is very like Howard was, or at least, how
Howard was at his best. Or so I believe. I did not know Howard as well as I might have done."
Catching Harry's surprised expression, he explained, "His mother was a former student of mine."

"She had powers?" Harry asked, then shook his head. "No… Tony doesn't. Or at least, not that I've
noticed."

"Indeed. Maria Stark had no superhuman abilities, and she was no less valued for that. Nor does
her son, though his genius comes close, and I care for him very deeply," Xavier said. "Not all my
students have special abilities, though the vast majority of them do, simply because their needs
tend to be unusual and I am best able to cater for them. Not only that, but my students prefer their
privacy."

Harry nodded. "Like Hogwarts."

"Exactly," Xavier said. "And like Hogwarts, some students come to me having faced traumatic
experiences. Suffering like that which you faced at the Dursleys is often only the beginning, and
motivated by the same reason. Fear. In your case, fear of retribution preserved you from what
could have been much worse physical abuse. However, the kind of mental abuse you were put
through can be, in some ways, worse. Such wounds can be slow to heal, and I often have to counsel
those from broken homes. Which brings us to you."
"My home is fine," Harry said neutrally.

"Indeed it is," Xavier said. "Your father is an excellent parent and he clearly loves you very much,
as does your uncle. Your grandfather as well, and I am certain that your grandmother does too."

"You've met my grandfather?"

"We've been in telepathic contact on another matter."

Harry blinked and sharply revised his estimates of Charles Xavier's power upwards. He had no idea
how much power would be required to initiate telepathic contact across dimensions, but it was
surely titanic. "Whoa…" he breathed.

Xavier chuckled. "I have my talents," he said modestly. "And I was using a device that
dramatically amplifies my abilities in order to do so, along with a little assistance from your uncle
in showing me the way." He sobered. "We have got off track again." A pair of chairs appeared, one
behind Harry, who copied Xavier and uncertainly sat down. "When I felt your mind earlier, it was
in turmoil, your emotions running wild. May I ask why this was?"

"Are you an empath?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Among my other talents, though not the most refined of them," Xavier said patiently. "Where did
you come across the term?"

"One of my friends, Diana, is one."

"Really?" Xavier asked, sounding interested. "Did you meet her on Earth, or Asgard, if I may ask?"

"Asgard," Harry said. "She's the daughter of Hercules."

Xavier's reaction was entertaining – his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Well," he said
slowly. "That is a surprise." Then he chuckled ruefully. "I suppose it shouldn't be – after all, if one
pantheon is real, so should others." He gave Harry an interested look. "So, you understand that I
didn't even have to touch your mind as such to feel the emotions rolling off you."

Harry nodded.

"And so I wanted to help you," Xavier continued. "Which brings me to my question. What has
happened?"

"My godmother sent me a letter," Harry said quietly. "Explaining why she couldn't take me in and
asking if I wanted to get in contact with her."

"And you have some conflicted feelings over this," Xavier said.

Harry nodded. "She… well, my godfather was in prison for something he didn't do and my
grandfather had to worry about my dad's sanity because he went crazy when mum died."

"I can't imagine that an insane Thor would be a present prospect for anyone," Xavier murmured.

"And that meant that my uncle and grandmother couldn't take me in, otherwise, well… there'd be
the risk of dad going insane again," Harry said. His tone indicated that while he had mostly made
his peace with this, mostly was not entirely. "And Professor Lupin, my dad's other friend…
wouldn't have been allowed to adopt me."

"Because he is a werewolf," Xavier said equably. "They have a rather recognisable psi signature
and I recognised that he was one when I met him at Christmas."

Harry blinked. "I'd have thought…"

"That I would be bothered?" Xavier asked, then shook his head. "You aren't. Why should I be?"

"Because most people judge others by things that they can't control," Harry said, making a face
that said exactly what he thought of this attitude.

"And you do not," Xavier said. "Which considering your past, I am not surprised by."

"Oh?"

Xavier nodded. "Many students of mine who have been subject to treatment like yours tend to react
either the way you have, with tolerance and empathy, while others, regrettably, respond with knee
jerk intolerance," he said. "I do my best to guide them towards the former approach." He looked
Harry in the eye. "Now, your godmother had reasons for not taking you in. What were they?"

"Her enemies," Harry said succinctly. "She's the apprentice of the Sorcerer Supreme. Um, do you
know who that is?"

Xavier nodded slowly. "I've met him, and that means that your godmother is…"

"Wanda Maximoff."

Xavier rubbed his chin. "Now there is a name to conjure with," he murmured.

"You know her?"

"Her father is one of my oldest friends, and I knew her quite well when she was younger," Xavier
said. "Indeed, I was one of those who taught her how to control her powers. She was one of those
whose abilities overlapped with magic and my field of expertise." He nodded. "I now know why
she abandoned you. Her enemies would have visitied a terrible fate on you given even a fraction of
a chance, and those enemies include beings beyond even the imaginings of Lovecraft."

"Lovecraft?"

"An American author, famous for his cosmic horror stories," Xavier said. "I suspect that he ran
across information about the real creatures that he based his stories on. Suffice it to say," he
continued. "That what they would have done to you, given the chance, doesn't even bear thinking
about."

"That's what my uncle said," Harry said quietly. "She said it too. 'All I could offer you was a life
under siege'. She also said that Doctor Strange warned her not to and dad said that he could see the
future."

"They were right," Xavier said. "I believe that she was genuinely trying to protect you, Harry, as
best she knew how. And Strange is known in the supernatural community for his foresight. He is
rarely, if ever, wrong. I certainly can't remember an instance." He looked thoughtful. "He always
gave off the impression of knowing far more about you than you did. It could be somewhat
unnerving at points." He looked back at Harry. "That said, if he warned Wanda not to take you, he
very definitely had your safety in mind."

Harry sighed, and nodded. "That's what I've been told," he said, sounding frustrated. "And I know
its true, but I still feel… abandoned."
"I understand completely," Xavier said kindly. "My advice would be to talk to your family about it,
and to get into contact with Wanda. It will do you good. And I am confident that, in time, you will
come to accept what has happened. Not like it, but accept it." He sat back. "We cannot change the
past, and the future is often murky and unclear. But the present is ours to decide." He smiled
warmly, with just a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. And as Harry saw that, briefly saw a
much younger man overlaid on Xavier, a man with dark hair, an innocent smile and the same warm
blue eyes. "That," Charles said. "Is why it is called the present."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly, with a small smile. "I'm sorry if I've bothered you."

Xavier shook his head. "On the contrary, Harry. It was my pleasure."

"So… until next time?"

Xavier's smile widened, and if Harry hadn't known better, he'd sworn he could see tears. "Yes,"
Xavier said. "Until next time, Harry. It was truly my pleasure."

Then Harry found himself back in his room, lying on his bed. After a moment or two, he sat up.
And smiled.

OoOoO

"I've noticed a couple of things about Harry," Tony said thoughtfully. "Recurring patterns."

"He picks up friends in twos," Thor noted. "Forming trios which he seems to be the informal leader
of."

"A trio of trios, no less," Loki noted. "That will be important."

"Threes usually are," Natasha said. "There's the Roman Rule of Three." For those who were
looking blank, she added, "It's a rhetorical tool, where groupings of three are used to influence
crowds and make a message more effective."

"And then we have the Warriors Three," Steve pointed out, nodding at the mentioned Warriors.
Predictably, Fandral preened slightly.

"And the Nine Realms of Yggdrassil," Sif noted. "Three threes."

"This doesn't sound like coincidence to me," Bruce said. "It's proven that threes are more satisfying
to the human brain, and we tend to arrange things in patterns of three to maintain a form of
balance. Its an observable trait. So why are threes forming around Harry?"

"And not just any kind of three," Loki said. "Each member of each trio is… something special."

"Something special which he needed," Thor noted. "I am not entirely sure Harry would have
survived his first two years at Hogwarts without Ron and Hermione, nor they without him."

"He wouldn't have survived the Disir without Diana and Uhtred," Sif added.

"And he, Carol and that Beaubier kid have the makings of a good team," Darcy finished. "It hasn't
come in useful yet, but let's face it. It's only a matter of time."

There was a round of nodding. Harry was a universally recognised trouble magnet.

"It's like he's forming his own Proto Avengers," Steve said.
"Earth's Mightiest Midgets," Tony said flippantly. "I like it. Ow!"

Pepper had, without even looking at him, reached out and gently but firmly twisted his ear.

"You're one to talk," Sif muttered, looking Tony up and down. While Tony was not below average
height, there was not much up to look at.

"I'm feeling bullied," Tony whined.

"Steve may have a point," Fandral said. "After all, did we not come together under similar
circumstances?" he asked, glancing at his friends and Sif. "Maybe it is happening because Harry
feels the need for friends and allies."

There was a moment of surprised silence at this piece of complex thinking from the normally
lackadaisical Fandral, then a round of agreement.

"The Disir," Loki said. "Very definitely did not get into Asgard by accident. Somebody sent them."

"Who could do such a thing? Why would they do it?" Sif asked, worried. "Who would dare?"

"That," Loki said grimly. "Is a very good question. And that is not the only thing they have done –
it is part of the Allfather's reason for sending you to Midgard. I shall explain later."

All four Asgardian warriors straightened up, and Sif nodded briskly. This sounded like business
rather than play.

"Whatever reason they did it for," Thor said grimly. "Whoever it was who gave the Disir passage
between the realms nearly got my son killed. They sent them after him for that reason. If not for his
friends, they would have succeeded." His expression darkened. "This will not pass unchallenged."
He calmed, but remained sober. "But I think, for now, I shall thank whatever force is behind
Harry's acquisition of such friends. For without them, I do not think he would be alive today."
 Family Matters

The next morning, both Harry and Jane found themselves rising early, yawning, and in Jane's case,
kissing the still sleeping Thor, grabbing and belting on a dressing gown, and heading for the
kitchen. In Harry's case, he just rolled over and straight of bed.

After a moment of silent irritation, he got up and staggered, zombie like, out of his room.

Jane wasn't much better off, but ambled over the kitchen and began boiling water for coffee. Gag
gifts aside, the Avengers didn't really believe in coffee machines.

Harry walked in a moment later and Jane smiled in sleepy amusement at his hair, which made a
birds nest look positively neat. Of course, her own hair had a definite case of bedhead, and was
currently hanging loose, but Harry's almost defied description. It had tangled up into a nightmarish
thicket of fluffy black tangles that, along with his bright green eyes and pyjamas – Iron Man, this
morning - made him look rather adorable.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, looked up and peered at her. Then he mumbled something obscene, and
concentrated for a few long moment, then muttered, "Accio glasses."

A moment after that, the item in question flew towards Harry, zipped past him and bounced onto
the sideboard. Harry, confused, began looking around for them.

"Here," Jane said kindly, picking them up and walking over to put them on his face.

He smiled at her, blinking, still only half awake. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied. "Do you want anything to drink? Tea, hot chocolate…"

"Coffee?" he asked cheekily.

"No, the last thing the world needs is you on coffee," Jane said firmly, making her own. "You
attract enough weirdness," she continued, stirring it. "Already."

Harry wrinkled his nose in agreement, then got a glass, went to the fridge and picked out a carton
of orange juice, poured a glass, perched on a seat at the centre island of the kitchen and began to
drink, slowly and carefully.

As Jane drank her coffee, and slowly began to feel more human, she watched Harry, who was
clearly nodding off.

"If you want to go back to bed, that's okay," she said gently, talking to him like she would her half-
brother, Matt, as she went over to join him.

"'m fine," Harry mumbled, even though he was more likely to fall asleep than wake up. His head
suddenly lolled, resting against her side, and Jane… smiled, shook her head and slipped her free
arm around him, while taking an absent gulp of coffee.

"Silly boy," she said affectionately. Harry just made a sleepy mumbling noise and snuggled against
her. She couldn't see him as a would be step son. He was too old and just… no. But as a sort of
baby brother, ignoring all the disturbing ways you could think that through in terms of her
relationship to Thor… now that was easy enough. "It doesn't hurt," she observed aloud. "That you
are ridiculously lovable."

Harry didn't reply, and soon, Jane heard the light, even breathing of someone soundasleep. She
could have moved away and gently prodded him back to bed. Instead, however, she pulled up a
seat and sat down, careful not to disturb him, one arm still curled protectively around him.

The next person in was Clint. He probably wasn't the next person awake – Bruce rose early and
meditated, Natasha did tai chi in the light of the dawn, and Steve usually went for an early morning
run. After that, normal habits dictated that Thor would probably surface, then Loki quickly after,
and then eventually Tony, after a good deal of prodding from Pepper, or JARVIS if Pepper was at
work. But he was the next person in the kitchen. He walked in, took in the scene, and raised an
interrogatory eyebrow.

"Someone isn't a morning person," Jane said quietly, in a wryly fond sort of way, nodding at the
sleeping Harry. By now, he'd abandoned the orange juice and had put his arms around Jane,
something he would definitely not have done under the same circumstances if he had been awake.

"I'll bet," Clint said. "Don't think he ever got the chance to sleep in, though."

Jane paused. The Dursleys, then school. Yeah, she could see how that would impinge on a
potential lie in. "Yeah," she said, absently rubbing Harry's side. "I suppose so."

"Hey kid," he said.

He didn't even get mumble in response, as Harry wriggled and buried his face in Jane's side. She
smiled affectionately down at him. It was a lovely tableau, really.

Jane, looking pretty in an ungroomed sort of way in her duck egg blue and much loved dressing
gown, with the tank top and boxer shorts – pinched from Thor, so they looked more like actual
shorts on her – that she wore to bed peeking out from underneath, coffee mug in one hand, the
other wrapped around Harry, who she was looking tenderly at.

And Harry, in sleep ruffled Iron Man pyjamas, was snuggling against her, face buried in her side,
arms around her waist as his juice lay abandoned, looking completely at peace with the world. And
all of this was illuminated by the first, soft golden rays of the morning.

Clint couldn't resist. He snapped a photo on his phone. In fact, he snapped several. Since the flash
was off, Jane didn't even notice, so one caught her idly twirling a strand of Harry's hair around her
finger, so Clint had the time to send a round robin text to all the Avengers, Pepper and Darcy, with
the words, 'mornings, huh?' attached as a sort of caption. Then he added, looks like the midget
needs 2 go back 2 bed. Sending the text, he said, "Do you want me to take him back to bed? He
looks like he needs the sleep."

Jane paused, and Clint wished he hadn't said it. She'd clearly been enjoying the moment, as had
Harry. On the other hand, Clint had woken up after sleeping in a chair, and wouldn't wish it on
anyone. Or at least, not anyone that he happened to like..

"Yeah," she said quietly, slipping out of Harry's grip. "Can you carry him?"

Clint nodded, and gently reached down and swinging Harry into his arms. Harry merely mumbled,
before nodding off again. "Nothing much fazes him, does it?" Clint observed, with a swift smile.

Jane nodded, and gently stroked Harry's head. "See you later, Harry," she said softly. "Sleep well."
Clint tactfully pretended that he was deaf.

Then he nodded to Jane and carrying Harry back to his room, removing his glasses and putting
them on the bedside table.

The only evidence, he thought, was his and Jane's memories – he doubted Harry would remember
it when he woke up, or pass it off as a dream if he did – the juice glass and the pictures. Moments
like that were like dew beaded spider silk in the dawn. Beautiful, but fragile, and gone in a
moment.

"Well, I've got pics," he said, half to Harry and half to himself, with a crooked grin. "And it did
happen." He patted the boy. "Sleep well, kid."

Harry did.

OoOoO

A few hours later, Harry woke up properly, and ambled out into the Tower, yawning. As soon as
he got to the kitchen, everyone in there, Thor, Steve, Volstagg, Natasha and Pepper, turned to look
at him, with smiles of varying shapes and sizes appearing. Thor's was his usual beaming grin,
though tempered with tenderness, Steve's was warm and welcoming, Volstagg's was gigantic and
guilelessly cheerful and kindly, Natasha's, only appearing after she made certain with a glance that
this was Harry and he was in full working order, was soft, gentle and if you didn't know to expect
it, you might not see it, and Pepper's was warm and slightly amused.

Harry basked briefly in the attention, then mumbled, "Morning."

"Morning, lad," Volstagg said genially.

"Good morning, Harry," Thor said, getting up to hug his son. "I see you've got up. For the second
time."

"What?"

"You may not remember," Pepper cut in as Harry leaned into his father's hug. "But you got a few
hours ago with Clint and Jane, who put you back to bed when it was obvious that you were still
asleep on your feet."

Harry was, to put no finer point on it, puzzled. "Um…"

"The pictures were most adorable," Volstagg boomed cheerfully.

"Wait, what?"

Natasha pulled out her phone and brought up a couple of images. Harry shuffled over, curious, and
stared at the phone, absently sniffing as he did so. Pepper coughed to get his attention and
produced a small packet of tissues from her pocket, wearing a look that said that blowing one's
nose was not optional.

Needless to say, Harry immediately took a tissue with a quiet, "Thank you."

Blowing his nose, he examined the photos, and the caption beneath. They showed him snuggling
up to Jane, and for a moment, Harry thought he was the victim of some gigantic joke. While he
actually rather liked Jane, he just really didn't expect that he himself would do something like that.
And truth be told, he wouldn't have been entirely sure how she would react. If he'd had to guess,
he'd have thought that she'd awkwardly pat him and look to escape the hug as soon as was polite.

He'd never have imagined her looking down at him tenderly as she cuddled him close to her side.

Unbidden, a memory of softness against his cheek, a petite, warm body around which he wrapped
his arms and of strong, clever fingers affectionately holding him close bubbled to the top of his
mind.

"Oh," he said quietly. Then another thought came to mind, and he looked his father in the eye.
"She's right for you, you know."

He had no idea how much those casual words meant to Thor, who beamed like a ray of sunlight. "I
am glad you think so," he said quietly.

Harry returned the smile, then went to put together his breakfast.

"That must be something of relief," Volstagg murmured.

"You have no idea," Thor muttered, with a good deal of feeling.

"Did they not like each other?"

"No. They liked each other well enough. But it did not go beyond civility," Thor explained.

"There was no spark," Pepper supplied.

"Ah," Volstgg said, nodding his understanding. "And now there is."

"Of a kind," Thor agreed. "And hopefully, it shall not be snuffed out."

OoOoO

Harry had his breakfast and endured a fair bit of fond teasing from his father, which he didn't mind.
This was his father, after all.

Then Tony came up from his workshop, with a gleam in his eye that said that he had an idea. Harry
had yet to decide whether this gleam excited him or frightened him, which was unsurprising, since
it tended to inspire bother fear and excitement in equal measure.

"You know, kid," Tony said to Harry. "You make friends in pairs. Leading to a trio."

"I… suppose," Harry said, never having thought about that, and wondering what Tony was getting
at.

"Do you know why?" Tony asked.

"No idea. It just… happens," Harry said, shrugging.

Tony nodded. "I'll remember that when you have your first threesome. Ménage à Harry, we'll call
it."

Harry just stared at him, dumbstruck. "Wait, what?"

"Well, if you have friends joining you in twos," Tony said, trailing off suggestively, waggling his
eyebrows.
Harry just stared at him.

"Yeah…" Darcy drawled. "I think you lost him, Tony."

Harry looked a little relieved as Tony sighed.

But Tony wasn't giving up. "Look," he said. "You want to sleep with a hot girl, right?"

The relief slipped of Harry's face, and he began to take on the look of someone who has just
realised that the light at the end of the tunnel is, in fact, a flame thrower.

Darcy settled back to watch the fun.

OoOoO

Thankfully, Harry was swiftly rescued by his father and his arriving uncle, who swept him away
while Pepper steered Tony away, berating him for being intrusive and making Harry
uncomfortable.

In truth, Harry had mostly been confused, but he welcomed the escape as it gavehim the
opportunity to ask a question he'd been pondering.

"So, if there's the Odinsleep... is there Odinsleepwalking too?"

Loki and Thor shared a look.

"You know," Loki said thoughtfully. "I never thought of that."

"I don't think it happens," Thor said slowly. "I think we would have noticed if father was shuffling
around the palace whilst still in the depths of the Odinsleep, or indeed, sleep." He smirked slightly.
"It would be funny though."

"Hilarious, even," Loki said, smirking as well.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Thor asked.

"I may be."

"How good are your illusions? Can you make them solid?"

"I can but try."

"Excellent. We'll put it on the to do list."

Harry would later reflect that their smirks were exactly the same, and so were their tones of voice.
Of course, they were brothers, after all.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, in the labs, which Tony had escaped to after his telling off, Bruce was mentioning an
upcoming social event.

"My cousin, Jennifer Walters, says she can come up at New Year," Bruce said. "Is that okay?"

"The more the merrier," Tony said casually. "She can drop by any time she likes. I mean, this is a
Tower, even with Snow White and the Three Musketeers here we're not going to run out of space."
Bruce suddenly paled.

"What?"

"I'm imagining Jen and Fandral in the same room," Bruce said distantly. "This cannot end well."

Tony shrugged. "Hey, either she gets laid or she doesn't."

Bruce sighed. Tony, as he had long since found out, had a rather utilitarian view to casual sex.
"Tony, Jen's shy, and quiet, and really –"

"Kind of like you before you came out of your shell?"

"Yes," Bruce said. "But without the… you know. The Hulk."

Tony paused. "Is it just me, or would a female Hulk be really kind of hot?" he asked.

Bruce shrugged. "Well the reactions to the Hulk tend to be more 'monster' or 'monster that's beating
up other guys', or if you're Harry, 'teddy bear', than 'hot', so I doubt it."

"Actually, there are five very active fansites dedicated to fantasising about the Hulk," Tony said.

"… I'm not sure I want to know how you know that."

Tony shrugged. "I get bored. And that's nothing. Loki has thirty six, seven of which
are solely dedicated to working out what he'd look like in tight leather pants."

Bruce just stared at him. "You must get very bored."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. Now come on, I want to see if we can collect and contain
magical energy again." He reached out to turn on some machinery. It flickered on just before he
touched, and he blinked. "That was weird," he muttered, before shrugging. "Hey, Jane, could you
call Erik? He seems to have a better handle on this magic stuff than I do. Maybe it's because of
what Loki did to him or something."

Bruce went to help, while studiously trying not to imagine his cousin as a Hulk and trying not to
imagine her screwing Fandral. As a Hulk.

He paused. Surely that would mean neither party would have to hold back.

His brain then presented him with an image of a collapsing Avengers Tower and localised
earthquakes striking Manhattan, before pressing the emergency stop button on that train of thought
and evacuating.

"Bruce?" Jane asked, concerned. "What's up? Your eyes went a little green for a moment."

Bruce shuddered, took a deep breath, then said, "You don't want to know."

OoOoO

While Bruce was having disturbing thoughts involving one of their number, the Warriors Three
were in the main living room and staring at a strange device.

It beeped.

They twitched.
"What is it doing?" Fandral hissed.

"Maybe it is performing some arcane function," Volstagg suggested.

Hogun settled for glowering suspiciously.

"Maybe these buttons do something," Fandral said, tapping a few of them cautiously. Nothing
happened. A few more taps managed to turn the screen white.

"What did you do?" Volstagg asked, worried. "Is it broken?"

"No…" Fandral said slowly, as the screen reappeared with a 'Stark Industries' in the background. "I
think I have discovered the insignia of the makers of this device."

"A makers mark," Volstagg said, nodding his relieved understanding. "It looks like it was made by
some artisan called… 'google'."

Hogun grunted his disbelief as Fandral tapped away industriously.

"Look!" Fandral said suddenly, as a colourful box appeared on the screen. "Oh my… a most
comely Midgardian maid." He paused. "No, two." He paused again as activity commenced on the
screen. "Friends," he said, eyes wide as saucers. "Are they doing what I think they are doing?"

"I don't know," Volstagg huffed. "Because you won't let me see." He reached out and grabbed the
device.

"No, Volstagg," Fandral admonished, "You are a married man and… by Odin's beard! That is…"
he cocked his head. "Is that posture even possible?" he asked, half disturbed, half amazed.

"Possible," Hogun muttered. "But uncomfortable."

"They do not look discomfited," Volstagg said as gasps and sighs came from the device. "Say,
Fandral, what is that object?"

"I do not know… it appears to be a stick of some kind. A stick that… buzzes?" Fandral said,
unsure. He nodded as the object was applied. "Ah… how remarkable, don't you think?" he said.
"This Midgardian technology, it is amazing. Why, I think that this is a Midgardian scrying stone."

"Do they know we can see them?" Hogun asked calmly.

"No…" Fandral began. Things happened, and his eyes widened further. "Yes, they can." He smiled
cheerfully. "Greetings, fair maidens! I am Fandral of Asgard."

Volstagg frowned. "They do not respond."

"Maybe they are only aware of the scrying device, but not able to see back through it," Fandral
suggested, then saw Pepper out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, Lady Pepper! Could you do us the
favour of explaining this scrying device to us?"

Pepper turned, all polite smiles, and saw the device. "That's a laptop, Fandral, it used to belong to
Tony," she said. "And it's just Pepper."

"Ah, Lady Pepper, such beauty must be commended by only the greatest respect," Fandral said,
eyes dancing with delight at the chance to harmlessly flirt. He might be Asgard's Casanova, but he
was no fool, and knew that, fair as she was, Pepper was very definitely with Tony. "But that respect
shall be conveyed by obeying your wishes," he said, bowing. "Pepper it is."
"Thank you," Pepper said, amused.

"It is we who should be thanking you, Pepper," Volstagg boomed genially. "For you have given
this device, this 'lap top' a name."

Pepper began to say that it wasn't a problem, then stopped as a very recognisable kind of scream
came from the laptop, and sighed. "I'm going to make a guess," she said. "You're watching a
moving image. A moving image that features at least one naked woman."

Volstagg and Fandral stared at her as if she was one of the Norns, a great seer. Hogun merely
raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?" Fandral breathed.

And that was how Pepper Potts ended up explaining pornography to the Warriors Three.

It turned out that it was as much heavy going as she thought it would be, as apparently the concept
wasn't entirely unfamiliar to them. Dirty books and salacious images weren't entirely uncommon in
Asgard, nor was prostitution. And apparently acting out fantasies in private was a popular past time
for young mages refining their illusion casting skills (Pepper was sure that Tony would have
begged Loki for magic lessons much earlier if he'd known that he'd eventually be able to conjure
his own porn. She was also equally sure that this was why Loki hadn't mentioned it). However, the
idea of it being recorded to watch at leisure amazed them.

"Truly," Fandral had said in amazement. "Midgard is a place of wonders."

Pepper had stared at him for a long moment, then chuckled. "I suppose you could say that," she
said. "But I never thought that porn would be counted as one of them."She paused. "You know,
speaking of wonders, I can show the Seven Wonders of the World," she said, and shut the laptop.
"On a better computer."

"Seven Wonders?" Volstagg inquired.

"The seven most impressive buildings or sites in the world," Pepper said. "There are different lists,
modern wonders, ancient wonders and a few in between, but they're all pretty impressive."

The Warriors Three shared a glance. "Lady – I mean, Pepper," Fandral said. "You must certainly
have our rapt attention."

OoOoO

A day after the return to Earth, the day before New Year's Eve, Loki announced that he and Thor
needed to go to England. "We are having a meeting Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of
Magic, and Albus Dumbledore, the head teacher of Harry's school. In essence, Fudge is the ruler of
the British Wizarding society."

"They are separate?" Sif asked, frowning in puzzlement.

"Midgard has not always been hospitable to magic," Loki explained. "It is not part of the
fundamental way of life as it is in Asgard. Here, science has been supreme for much of the last
millennium."

Tony looked smug.

"Of course, it routinely makes the mistake of discounting that which it can't explain," Loki added,
giving Tony a pointed look.
Tony shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, magic's just a science that Earth doesn't understand yet," he
said. "Clarke's third law, and it's inverse, apply."

"Arthur C. Clarke was an author of speculative science fiction," Bruce explained, as all the
Asgardians but Loki, as well as Steve and Harry, were looking puzzled. "He suggested possible
futures for humanity in his writing. One of his 'laws' was that 'any sufficiently advanced technology
is indistinguishable from magic'. Tony's referring to that and the logical reverse, 'any sufficiently
advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology.'"

"Asgard's coming at it from the latter direction," Tony said, taking a gulp of his coffee. "Some of
your magical stuff, like the Bifrost and your quantum field generators."

"A soul forge," Loki translated, for the benefit of the Asgardians.

Tony had had an up close experience with one of them on a previous visit to Asgard when Pepper
and Frigga had ganged up on him and had him be examined in one, to see if Asgardian magic could
operate on the shards.

The answer had turned out to be, yes, but it would be inadvisable unless there was no other option.

This had not noticeably dampened Tony's spirits, since he'd spent most of his time in the device
chattering nonstop, questioning the healers and trying to find out every little in and out of what
they did and how they worked. Or he had until Frigga had sighed, then gagged him with a flick of
her fingers.

It was, she would later explain after apologising, for his own safety. The patience of a healer has
limits and it is unwise to annoy someone who knows exactly how to put you to inconvenience.

Tony had sulked, but accepted it.

"The Bifrost, for instance, is created on Asgard and based on magic. The New Bifrost was created
on Earth, and on the Earth end, is based on science," Tony continued. "But they're practically
indistinguishable. In function, that is, not form. The Asgardian one is prettier."

"I'm sure the most skilled artificers of the Nine Realms will be deeply flattered to hear their work
described as 'pretty'," Sif said dryly.

"They should," Tony said, completely unabashed. "Anything from me that isn't an actual insult is a
compliment."

"Oh I don't know. Some of the insults count too," Pepper muttered.

Tony shrugged.

"Anyway," Thor said, turning to Harry. "I'm afraid that we must go." He knelt down and gently
hugged his son. "We will be back soon."

It would take superhuman hearing to catch what Harry said next, whispered into his father's
shoulder. "Promise?"

Fandral blinked and opened his mouth, then wheezed as Sif, carefully expressionless, drove an
elbow into his stomach.

Thor hugged his son even tighter. "Always," he said quietly, voice thick with emotion. "I
will always come back for you, Harry. No matter what stands in my way."
"Thor will definitely be back tomorrow morning," Loki said kindly. "In time for New Year. If the
rest of us are not caught up in business in Britain, we will also."

"What is New Year?" Volstagg asked.

"A feast celebrating the end of the old year and the beginning of the new," Loki explained. "It is
essentially the end of Midgard's Yuletide."

There were nods of comprehension.

"Anyway," Thor said firmly. "I will see you tomorrow, Harry."

"See you," Harry said quietly, hugging his father tightly, before releasing him.

And when Loki teleported the five Asgardians away, Thor waving goodbye, Harry didn't cry. He
wasn't a little kid, after all. But he did look slightly bereft.

OoOoO

Thor was deep in thought as Loki's spell landed them in a quiet side street in London. Sif
immediately looked up and down, then jumped in surprise as her armour shifted and changed into a
short blazer under which lay a plain, opaque white shirt, a set of long, practical trouser and flat
shoes, all of which were cut in a manner that might best be described as professional, yet attractive
as well. "Loki?" she asked, in a tone that said she wanted an answer right now.

"It is only temporary," Loki assured her. His own clothing had shifted into an unsurprisingly
perfectly tailored business suit, with a deep green tie, gold tie pin and emerald set gold cuff links,
which, also unsurprisingly, he looked perfectly comfortable in. Thor and Volstagg were looking
slightly uncomfortable in their own suits, Hogun was looking as deadpan as ever, while Fandral
had taken to his rather happily, producing a mirror from who knew where and adjusting his warm
red tie.

All their outfits were overlaid with warm, and Sif presumed, fashionable clothing. Loki was never
anything less than well-dressed when he wanted to be.

"While we have no need to hide what we are, the British Wizarding Community is both secretive
and paranoid, preferring to avoid having attention drawn to it," he explained. "And the British
police, the keepers of the law, tend to take a very dim view of those who walk around heavily
armed." He gestured at his clothes. "These are designed to blend in. We look like, oh, I suppose the
equivalent would be moderately high ranked embetsadel, government clerks for the most part.
Who, before you ask, command a rather higher status here than in Asgard."

Sif nodded grudgingly, seeing the logic behind this, and noting that at least Loki had remembered
that she preferred not to wear dresses. "Very well," she said. "Our weapons."

"In your pockets," Loki said, and smiled slightly. "They are bigger on the inside."

Sif reached into her pocket carefully and reached around, finding her sword within easy reach. She
nodded. "Thank you, Loki."

"I say Loki, you really do have a fine touch," Fandral said, admiring his new clothes. "Perhaps you
should have become a tailor?" he suggested with a grin. Once, the comment would have been
edged, possibly mocking. Now, it was light and harmless.

"And perhaps you should have become a butcher," Loki retorted wryly, with a grin of his own.
Fandral laughed, and nodded, "Perhaps, Loki, perhaps." He returned to admiring his clothes, and
those of the others. "I must say, these all flatter us rather nicely, in a Midgardian sort of way."

"Indeed, brother," Thor said, before pausing and adding plaintively. "But could mine be a little
less… tight? And I think Volstagg is having trouble breathing."

Volstagg was, indeed, going somewhat red.

Loki chuckled and twitched his fingers. Both of the largest members of the party let out sighs of
relief. "My apologies, brother, Volstagg. I must have misjudged your measurements," he said, with
just a touch of wickedness.

Thor rolled his eyes. "Aye, brother. Of course you did," he said, tone heavy on irony. "Now, if
memory serves, the visitors entrance is this way," he said, striding off.

Indeed it was.

In every force of law keepers on the planet, there is a little one and a large one. They are usually
old friends, usually experienced, and usually take the quieter beats, keeping an ear to the ground as
they do and watching the world go by, occasionally indulging in a little bit of street theatre.

"Sarge," one said slowly. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"I think I am, Constable," the other said.

The sight they were being treated to was the fascinating spectacle of five large and well built
people, all in fine business suits and fetching winter coats, trying to fit into one red telephone box.

Telephone boxes are only designed to fit one, maybe two people, if both people are of about
average size and know each other quite well, or, at night in seedier areas, are getting to know each
other very well.

They were not designed to fit five people, none of whom was under six feet in height, two of
whom, a blonde one – who looked vaguely familiar - and a red haired one, were built like a better
class of rugby player.

In fairness, however, they did seem to know each other very well indeed, judging by the tenor of
the argument.

"Which department, d'you think?"

"You think they work for the government, sarge?"

The sergeant nodded sagely. "'Course. See, Constable," he said in a tone of wise authority. "In the
private sector, you can afford a bigger telephone box. And even the stupid tourists take turns. So.
Which department?"

"Hmm…"

Then there was an explosion of sound as the big blonde one apparently lost his temper.

"I SAY THEE NAY, BROTHER!"

The two officers looked at each other, then said in unison, "Foreign Office."

They continued watching as a few moments later, the five somehow managed to squish themselves
in. Even from fifty feet away, the carefully neutral expressions on the faces of the dark haired man
and woman as they were pressed together and very carefully not moving, were clearly visible.

Then, oddly enough, the two officers became very abruptly interested in something else. When
they turned back, the strange group was gone.

"Hey, sarge, where did they go?"

The sergeant shrugged. "Who knows, constable?"

"Why were they doing that, you think?"

The sergeant discreetly spat. "Diplomats. They spend time in foreign lands, they pick up foreign
habits," he said authoritatively, shaking his head. "It's not for us to reason why."

The constable correctly translated this as, 'I don't know, and it's above my paygrade to care'. Swiftly
deciding that both applied to him too, he followed his sergeant in resuming the beat and making
sure that no-one stole the duck pond.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, the five rather rumpled Asgardians spilled out
of the phone box.

"That," Volstagg said. "Was one of the least pleasant modes of transport I have ever encountered."

"Dear Volstagg, you have a gift for understatement," Fandral said, adjusting his clothing and
flashing a charming smile at some of the younger and prettier Ministry witches. "Though I think
two of our number found it bearable," he said, gaze slyly sliding over to Sif and Loki, who were
still standing rather close together.

Both flushed, and Loki coughed, embarrassed, while Sif was hefting her visitor's badge (Lady Sif,
body guarding and intimidation) and eyeing Fandral with a speculative gleam in her eye.

Fandral prudently shut up, and put Volstagg between himself and Sif. Just in case.

Thor chuckled slightly, then said, "Come, my friends. We have an appointment to keep."

As they strode forward, instinctively fanning out into a v-formation, Thor at the tip with Sif on his
right and Loki on his left, Volstagg and Fandral behind Sif, Hogun behind Loki. They walked with
the complete certainty that their long lives of adventure, war and heroism had given them, and the
crowds of Ministry employees parted before them. As they walked, the enchantments melted away,
and their ordinary armour was restored, weapons sheathed, or in the case of Mjolnir and Hogun's
mace, hooked onto their owner's belt.

"That," Sif said, with a fair degree of satisfaction. "Feels better."

There was a general sense of agreement. While Midgardian formal clothing looked rather fine and
was interesting in an exotic sort of way, nothing compared to what was comfortably familiar. The
only Asgardian who ever really felt comfortable in suits was Loki.

The man at the desk didn't even look up, engrossed in his cross word. "Wand on the scale," he said.

Thor stared down at him, then pulled out Mjolnir, and plonked it on the scale with a pointed
clanking sound.
The man looked up. And up. Thor was not a small man and there was a lot of up to look at. The
man blinked, glanced at the scale, and did a double take. Mjolnir was weighing it down.

A small piece of ticker tape appeared. All that was on it was a long string of question marks.

Then he stared at Thor again.

"We have an appointment with Minister Fudge," Thor said.

"Name?"

Thor stared at him, then looked pointedly at Mjolnir.

"Right," the man said, scribbling a memo, tapping it with his wand. The Asgardians watched with
interest as it formed itself into a paper plane and shot towards the elevator. "Go on up."

"Thank you," Thor said politely, removing his hammer from the scale and striding towards the
elevators.

Thankfully, the Ministry Elevators were not small and comfortably accommodated all five
Asgardians. This did not stop Sif and Loki unaccountably standing very close to each other.
Fandral considered making a comment, then caught Sif's expression, considered the feeling of a
metal badge being shoved somewhere unspeakable, and considered the virtues of silence.

On the next floor, they were joined by a very singular man. He was tall by human standards, and
bulky too. He was heavily scarred, missing a large chunk of his nose and had charcoal grey hair,
and though he walked with a stick, his eyes, one of which was dark and the other of which was
electric blue, Sif and the Warriors Three immediately marked him as 'old soldier, to be treated with
respect'.

Loki, meanwhile, knew him by reputation and occasional observation.

And Thor knew him personally. "Alastor," he greeted the other man cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Well enough," the older man grunted. He suddenly reached out with far more speed than anyone
would credit him with and grasped Thor's chin, looking deep into his eyes.

Sif and the Warriors Three immediately went for their weapons, and were halted by a swiftly raised
hand from Loki. Moody's magical eye swivelled over to look at them for a second, then swivelled
back to Thor.

"Change," he said quietly.

Thor shifted into his James Potter form.

Alastor Moody examined him carefully, then asked, "What were you going to call your first
daughter?"

"Eleanor."

Moody stared at him for a long moment, then released him and nodded. "It really is you," he
muttered, surprised.

"You didn't trust Albus' judgement?" Thor asked, shifting back to his Thor form.

"I wanted to see for myself," Moody replied. He gave Loki an unfriendly look. "So you're the one."
He grunted. "If I'd had my way, you'd have been locked in Azkaban."

"If you'd had your way, I would have been out within a day and become a Dark Lord to put any
mortal to shame," Loki replied equably, though there is a flicker

Moody gave him a long look. "Maybe," he said. "But that doesn't change what you did."

"What's done is done, old man, and belongs in the past," Sif growled, hand slipping behind her
back.

Moody's magical eye snapped over to her and gave her a cursory up and down. "I haven't seen that
much cutlery on someone since I found the last of the Thule society aiding Voldemort during the
war." He paused. "And it was less on him, more in him. Lehnsherr found him before I did." He
gave Sif a hard look. "It doesn't frighten me. Not even on the Goddess of War."

"It should. Outside of my brother, Sif is possibly the most dangerous person I have ever met," Thor
said, voice warning. "And he is my brother, Alastor. Watch your tongue."

Moody grunted. "That as may be," he said. "But I'm here to give you a warning, not exchange
pleasantries."

"That was pleasantries?" Loki murmured.

"For Alastor? It was positively friendly," Thor muttered.

"Fudge is afraid of you," Moody said abruptly, cutting across them. "You represent a threat to his
authority that he can't control, threaten or defame."

Thor frowned. "I don't seek power," he said.

"Doesn't matter," Moody grunted. "Fudge is a mediocre little twat and he knows it. He used to
worry about Dumbledore, when he wasn't pelting him with owls every morning, asking for
advice."

In the background, Volstagg mouthed, 'pelted with owls?' and looked puzzled. Fandral shrugged,
as if to say that the ways of Midgard were strange to him.

"But now, he's got you to worry about, James, Thor, whatever you call yourself," Moody
continued. "You were a war hero, husband of another and father of the biggest war hero of them
all."

"I don't think Harry would describe himself that way," Thor said, voice low. "And he would trade
all the fame and status he has for his mother back without hesitation."

Moody shrugged. "He's an orphan. Of course he would," he said simply. "But that simply doesn't
register with Fudge. He's scrambled for every bit of power and fame that he can and he can't
conceive of giving any of it up." He eyed Thor. "He's given Harry a bit of leniency in the past, and
he will still: he doesn't want to get on your bad side. You were a war hero, and now you're a
genuine deity as well. Some of the Wizarding community still worship you two," he said, nodding
at Thor and Loki. "And your father. Things are changing because of you."

"How do you mean?"

"Lucius Malfoy's active again," Moody said grimly. "He's gone into hiding, but there's every
indication that he's been working with –"
"HYDRA, yes, we know," Loki said. "I was going to tell you," he said to Thor, who had folded his
arms pointedly. "It is part of the reason our friends are here."

"When, brother?"

"After this," Loki said. "When I, Sif, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg did some investigating."

Moody gave Loki an interested look. "Where are you planning to start?"

Loki gave him a long look.

"You may as well tell him," Thor said bluntly. "He's an intransigent, paranoid, unforgiving old
bastard, but he's completely incorruptible." Moody showed no signs of disagreeing with this
assessment. He paused. "I would also like to know."

Loki sighed. "Very well. I wastipped off as to where the creatures that destroyed MI6 were
created."

"Non-magical intelligence agency," Thor said.

"Spies," Fandral said, with some distaste.

"A necessary evil," Sif replied. "And there is a kind of honour in defending your home from threats
that no one else can see, knowing that you will never be acknowledged."

Loki's lips quirked in a slight smile, as Fandral nodded his grudging acknowledgement.

"Malfoy is active again, then," Thor said, frowning.

"A lot of money has been moving through known Malfoy intermediaries, and a lot of his little birds
are tweeting again. He's also taking control of a lot of Death Eater vaults after their owners met
unfortunate accidents," Moody said grimly.

"Accidents?"

"Fury's work," Loki said quietly. "Malfoy has also been implicated in the destruction of three MI13
bases in the South East of England. He is believed to be working with the non-magical terrorist
agency, HYDRA."

"Steve's old enemies?" Thor asked sharply.

"Von Strucker," Moody growled. "I knew he was up to his neck in this."

"So… you hunt HYDRA?" Thor asked.

"No," Loki said curtly. "Something much, much worse. Malfoy has an ally from one of the higher
realms, he must have. One with the power and knowledge to slip the Disir into the very heart of
Asgard."

Thor's eyes narrowed, and his hand drifted to rest on Mjolnir's head. "It sounds like someone,
somewhere, needs to be hit with a very large hammer. And I will be happy to oblige."

"No," Loki said sharply. "This is dar work, brother. Not assassination, but quiet and secretive. We
hunt monsters in the shadows, and we will need to be quiet and quick. For all your virtues, you are
not suited for that sort of work."
"As James, I was," Thor retorted.

"He could be, when it suited him," Moody supplied grudgingly, at a series of interrogatory glances.
"Your brother's right, though. Your powers and that hammer will attract far too much attention in a
fight."

Thor scowled.

"Thor," Loki said. "We are cutting off their escape routes, their places to hide. We are forcing them
out into the light. And then, when they have nowhere else to go..." his gaze drifted to Mjolnir.
"You can bring the hammer down."

Thor was silent. "I do not like this," he admitted.

"Like it or not, the dark wizard's right," Moody growled, stepping off as the lift reached another
floor. No one had joined them at any of the others. If the sight of Mad Eye Moody did not
discourage them, the sight of Thor, Loki and the Warriors Three did. "After all… set a thief to
catch a thief."

"Well," Loki said after a moment. "That was pleasant."

"What a horrible old mortal," Sif said.

"Less horrible, more incredibly paranoid, if my sources are right," Loki said quietly.

"Which is justified, since he was an exceptional dark wizard catcher, one of the best there's ever
been. And this means that he has a truly phenomenal amount of enemies," Thor said. "He was even
attacked on the privy once."

"What, through the door?" Volstagg asked.

"No, through the actual privy."

Fandral shuddered. "I can see why that would leave a fellow somewhat disconcerted," he said.

"That does not excuse his rudeness, however," Thor said grimly.

"He is not wrong, Thor," Loki said. "I did more terrible things in a day than many of the dark
wizards he defeated managed in decades."

"You have changed since then," Thor said, frowning.

"It does not change the fact that I did them," Loki snapped. "I have blood on my hands, brother,
innocent blood! And if I ever forget it, I risk taking that path again. So I must remember, and if it
means having men like that remind me day in day out, so be it. That shall be part of my penance,
and I call it cheap at the price!"

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You gain nothing by torturing yourself, Loki," Sif said
softly. "You help neither yourself nor those you slew." Hazel eyes met green. "Remorse is good.
Remorse will help, and keep you on the right hand path. But torturing yourself is taking it too far.
If you do, you will never have peace."

Loki smiled sadly. "Peace was never an option for me."

Sif's eyes hardened and she slapped him with a resounding crack.
Loki's eyes widened as he stumbled, and for a moment, burned with a wild rage. Then they dimmed
and he chuckled grimly. "I think I deserved that."

"Yes. You did," Sif snapped, folding her arms. "For Yggdrassil's sake, Loki, as your nephew might
say, get over yourself. Self-pity makes you less than you are."

"Duly noted," Loki said, rubbing his jaw.

Sif's gaze softened. "You are a good man, Loki. Your remorse shows that much."

Thor coughed pointedly. The lift had reached its final stop.

"Well," Loki said. "I think the Midgardian phrase is… 'show time.'"

OoOoO

Fudge looked up at the knock on his door and pasted a smile onto his face.

"Come in," he said politely.

The door opened, and the man, the god, who had once been James Potter stepped through the door,
and everything seemed to brighten as he did. He was everything Fudge wasn't: tall, broad,
handsome, personally powerful and effortlessly charming. This last was a mixture of hearsay about
Thor, from Fudge's personal experience of watching James Potter command a room. Like Sirius
Black, he had exuded a kind of effortlessly magnetic charisma that positively demanded attention.

Oh, and let us not forget, popular. Fudge wasn't an unpopular Minister, though having the Black
escape happen during his administration was unfortunate, but he knew he was no match for the
fame and popularity of the Mighty Thor, whose name echoed in myth and legend, his earlier deeds
indelibly printed on the collective consciousness of wizardkind, and his current ones demanding
attention as he was part of some band of misfit adventurers who had successfully enchanted the
muggle world with their bravado. His name was on every child's lips, muggle or magical.

Fudge's was not, as he was painfully aware. He was also painfully aware that if Thor wanted to
take the Ministry, he wouldn't even have to lift a finger. If he decided to lift a finger… well, Fudge
knew that he was only a mediocre duellist, where James Potter had been well on the way to
becoming an internationally renowned master. As Thor, he was famous for having taught Godric
Gryffindor, one of the finest duellists in wizarding history.

And, most worryingly, Thor was not remotely intimidated, or indeed, respectful, of the office of
Minister of Magic. His short, rude note, to Fudge's mind, neatly summed up his attitude towards
the Ministry: aggressive, disrespectful and downright contemptuous.

It would have been bad enough if he had just been James, a respected war hero, husband of the
famously martyred Lily Potter, a heroine in her own right, and father of the legendary Boy Who
Lived. If that had been the case and he had behaved the same way, Fudge could have found ways
of quietly leveraging pressure against him, making him see reason.

Unfortunately, Thor Odinson was quite literally untouchable. Fudge was fairly confident he could
outmanoeuvre him. However, there was significant obstacle on that path, one that walked through
the door with inhuman grace. As his green eyed gaze swept the room, Fudge knew that Loki, the
younger and infinitely more dangerous Prince, would not tolerate any interference with his brother
and nephew.

Fudge might have been many things, but he was not so big a fool as to cross swords with the God
of Magic.

"Do sit down," he said, noting, to his displeasure that several other large people, one a strikingly
beautiful woman, all Asgardians judging by their clothing, filed in. Each of them glanced around
the room in a vaguely bored fashion, before letting their gaze settle on Fudge, who felt rather like
he was a fly they were figuring out how best to squash if he buzzed too loudly.

Then they flicked their collective gaze to Fudge's sole companion. Albus Dumbledore. His
steadfast ally and advisor. Once, he had feared that Dumbledore would seek to supplant him, but
the other man, foolishly in his opinion, did not seek power. Instead, he seemed happy at his school,
surrounded by his students, protégés and strange devices, eating his strange muggle sweets and, in
Fudge's considered opinion, slowly going senile.

This, Fudge was thankful for. He'd seen a Dumbledore who took power in Arthur Langtry, the
fearsome Merlin of the White Council, a wandless wizard of truly terrifying power and intellect, a
cold, cunning and extremely dangerous man. He was as arrogant as any man Fudge had ever met,
regarding him with obvious distaste, lacking any of Dumbledore's friendly twinkling demeanour
and amiable eccentricity. Alike they might be in intelligence and power, even in appearance, but in
personality you could not find two more different men. Fudge found this something of a relief. A
slightly mad but harmless ally was better than a coldly brilliant enemy.

That said, in his more paranoid moments, Fudge found himself wondering if Dumbledore wasn't
far more like Langtry than he pretended…

"So, Minister," Thor said, voice a deep, genial rumble. "You called this meeting."

"Ah, yes, I did," Fudge said. In fact, it had been Dumbledore's suggestion. "To discuss a few
matters outstanding."

"Such as the case of my son's godfather," Thor said, eyes narrowing slightly, and Fudge had to
remind himself that as James or Thor, the man sitting opposite him was not stupid.

"Yes," Fudge said, slightly feebly. "The position of the Ministry is, I am afraid, unchanged. Sirius
Black must face trial."

"However," Dumbledore said. "The Ministry will also not pursue matters if Sirius remains away
from British soil."

"Effective exile for an innocent man," Loki murmured.

"With respect, Prince Loki," Fudge said stiffly. "His innocence is a matter for a trial to determine."

"If only you had had that brilliant thought twelve years ago," Loki said mildly.

Fudge felt he was being mocked, something not helped by the muffled snickers from the other
Asgardians.

"Sirius could have claimed custody," Loki continued. "And so much unpleasantness would have
been avoided."

"Indeed it would," Dumbledore said quietly, sounding regretful.

"There were other potential claimants," Fudge said. "Harry's treatment by the muggle family is
horrific, however, none of the other claimants chose to contest – "
"Because they could not, Cornelius," Thor said, a hint of impatience and anger in his voice.
"Remus was impeded by his condition and the laws Dolores Umbridge sponsored, Sirius was
unjustly imprisoned, Nicholas was locked out of the process for his non-magical ancestry and
Wanda was the apprentice of Doctor Strange. She would only have put him in more danger. The
only eligible candidate under your laws was unable to take custody because of circumstances
beyond her control, and because of your laws, was forced to make an impossible decision."

"That," Fudge said pointedly, trying not to quail under Thor's suddenly piercing blue eyed stare.
"Was under the administration of my predecessor."

"Yet you still haven't repealed those restrictive laws," Loki observed. "And one of your closest
political allies has introduced more."

"Loki," Dumbledore said, tone warning.

Loki shrugged boredly.

"Come," Dumbledore said, smiling. "As much as we would like to, we cannot change the past. We
must look to the present and the future."

"Quite," Thor said, dipping his head in slight acknowledgement to his old headmaster.

Though he might be going senile, Fudge thought, Dumbledore's ability to calm people down was
undiminished, and in room of gods, all of whom could squash him like a bug if they so wished, it
was invaluable. The man was just so damned confident, giving off an aura of calm, serenity,
authority and power.

"Then," Thor said. "If we speak of the present, shall we speak of the Dementors? And their
presence at Hogwarts?"

Fudge was not a clever man. But he was not a stupid one either, and long years of political
manoeuvring told him that he was currently on thin ice. And it was creaking.

"Yes," Dumbledore said slowly. "Let us speak of the Dementors."

"To be frank, Cornelius," Thor said. "I cannot understand why you set them to guard in the first
place. Do you have so little faith in the Aurors?"

"Black escaped from Azkaban," Fudge said. "He was believed to Voldemort's right hand man and
therefore, capable of anything."

This time, there were undisguised snorts of contempt from two of the Asgardians at the back, the
blonde dandy and the man who resembled Rubeus Hagrid with red hair. Even the woman sneered.
Only the vaguely Asian looking one remained stoic, but Fudge felt that there was a hint of disgust
in his eyes.

"Voldemort's right hand man?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised. "Tell me, Minister, have you
ever met Sirius Black? He wears his heart on his sleeve. He could no more hide his true allegiance
than he could stop breathing. And he was fiercely devoted to my brother and his family."

"In fairness, Loki," Dumbledore interceded. "It is because of that closeness that he was believed to
be the secret keeper. He was the obvious choice."

"Did you think me so foolish, Albus?" Thor asked, frowning.

Dumbledore sighed. "No, James. I simply thought that it would be second nature to you. It would
not occur to you to think otherwise. You trusted Sirius implicitly. So did Lily, when pranks were
not involved and matters became serious," he said. "And on top of that, Sirius would die for you, a
logical quality to look for in a secret keeper."

Thor nodded slowly and bitterly. "Instead, we chose Peter," he said, voice low and angry, large
hands forming into fists that could crush planets, knuckles cracking like walnuts being stepped on
by a troll. A sense of vast, oppressive power began to build in the office, noticeable even to Fudge's
senses, and sparks began to dance about the metallic parts of the office. Fudge gulped and tried to
unobtrusively shift his chair away from the angry god.

Loki's eyes, previously lazily half closed as he lounged in his chair, flew open, and he snapped,
"Brother! Control yourself!"

Thor blinked, then relaxed, the since of power falling away. Fudge breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, brother," he said. "And sorry, Cornelius, for frightening you. My anger got the better
of me."

"Me? Frightened?" Fudge said, to his dismay, in a high squeak. More background snickering
greeted this. "No, Thor, not at all."

Thor raised an eyebrow at him, but shook his head, as if dismissing matters. "Anyway," he said.
"Now that Sirius has been established as not being a threat, the necessity for the Dementors has
passed," Thor said briskly. "Hasn't it, Cornelius?"

There was a hint of threat in his voice, one that after the slight outburst, Fudge wasn't minded to
ignore.

"Indeed," Dumbledore added. "I should mention, Cornelius, that Harry had a particularly bad
reaction to the Dementors."

"Oh? Why was that?"

Dumbledore gave him a patient smile. "Because he witnessed his mother's death, Cornelius."

"He was only a year old," Fudge said, feeling puzzled. "Surely he can't remember it."

"Small children can remember exceptionally traumatic events," Loki said. "And I think there are
few more traumatic than seeing your mother murdered right in front of your eyes." His gaze pinned
Fudge to the chair, and the Minister felt that his office had suddenly got a lot darker. And colder.
"Every time he is near a Dementor, he remembers her death. And it is the only memory he has of
her. I have a reputation for creative ruthlessness, Minister, some of it justified. I have come across
tortures that are so terrible that they don't even have names. And yet… I think you have
unwittingly stumbled upon one of the worst of them all. Tailor made for my nephew."

Fudge gulped. "Well," he began.

"It has caused my son such distress," Thor said. "That he has been forced to master the Patronus
charm. While it has come in useful in other matters, he should not have had to."

Fudge met the two implacable gazes, one blue, one green. He looked up, to see the four
Asgardians glaring at him, the woman idly resting her fingers on the hilt of a knife. Fudge got the
feeling that if she wanted it to be, it would be in his throat in less than a heartbeat. Finally, he
turned to Dumbledore. Who was giving him a cool inscrutable look that told him that no help was
coming from there.
Damned man. Putting his students ahead of everything else, even the dignity of the office of
Minister. How was this climb down going to look? Weak!

Then again, he thought. How was he going to persuade a room filled with six gods who'd walked
straight out of legend a matter of years ago, and a wizard whose might had not been equalled for
the best part of a century, Sorcerer Supreme notwithstanding, all of whom were united on this, to
change their minds?

He couldn't.

So he caved.

"Very well," he said. "I'll have the Dementors return to their posts –"

"As soon as physically possible, we know," Loki said, cutting across him. "Well," he said, rising. "I
think that concludes our business here. Do not let us detain you, Minister."

"Indeed it does," Thor agreed. "Good day, Cornelius, Albus."

He led the way out the door, and it was only after it shut that Fudge realised that he had been
dismissed with the abruptness he'd accord to a junior aide.

"Well," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I think I had better return to Hogwarts. The school will not
prepare itself for the student's return, you know."

He swept out as well.

Fudge stared after him, and got the distinct feeling that he was being side-lined.
 Preparing For Battle

After the meeting with Fudge, the six Asgardians made their way down, ignoring the stares they
got on the way. Thor occasionally shifted to his James Potter form if he saw someone he knew, and
the whole cavalcade would stop and wait patiently as Thor got the routine exchanges of, 'We
thought you were dead' and 'I wasn't but I lost my memory', out of the way, say goodbye, then
move on.

Finally, they reached the atrium, and stared at the telephone booth.

"I cannot say that I am looking forward to this," Fandral said, breaking the silence. He glanced at
Sif, and smirked. "Some of us, on the other hand…"

"Fandral," Thor said warningly.

Fandral piped down.

Loki rolled his eyes and said, "It is no matter."

Then he gestured, and there was no other words for it: the background shifted.

One moment they were standing in the Ministry Atrium, the next, they were standing in Trafalgar
Square.

Loki looked smug.

"What…?" Sif began

"A variation on the usual teleportation spell, one more akin to slipping through the gaps between
realms than blasting through like the Bifrost," Loki said. "Instead of suddenly appearing in place…
you seem to melt in." He shrugged. "It's stealthier, and a little fun to try, every now and then."

"Loki," Thor said slowly. "I think you have made a fatal miscalculation."

"What?"

"We aren't in disguise."

"Why would we need disguises?" Fandral began, then blinked as he noticed that just about every .
"I say… why are all those mortals staring at us?"

There was a long moment of complete silence.

Then, completely deadpan, Loki spoke.

"Oh. Damn."

Then there was a high pitched scream of delight.

"OMIGOD! IT'S THOR AND LOKI!"

There was an answering set of wild screams. Then, fangirls and fanboys of all ages charged.

OoOoO
The first few moments were fraught, Sif would later reflect.

Loki was first to fall, being occupied in making sure that she and the Warriors Three, hardened
warriors who had been trained to have a very particular kind of response to screaming hordes
charging them, didn't accidentally stab someone, dismissing their weapons into one of his pocket
dimensions. This meant that he was caught off guard and taken to the ground by approximately
half of a rather posh girl's school on a field trip.

The other half mostly went for Thor, but a sizeable proportion made a beeline for Fandral, deciding
that he was the prettiest.

She and Hogun were given a relatively wide berth, since both looked like they were about to kill
somebody, while the children in particular swarmed around Thor and Volstagg, the latter of whom
good naturedly took it in his stride. Sif would later suppose that he was well used to being
swarmed by small children.

Thor, after the first surprise, probably dealt with it best, if only because he strategically backed
himself up against the giant pillar guarded by finely carved great cats and topped by a statue of a
military looking little man, allowing him to face his… well, Sif might have called them enemies,
but instead, they seemed ecstatic and desperate to catch his eye.

Indeed, after a few moments, wherein she hopped on top one of the great cats, to appreciative cries
from the growing crowd, as she observed, it was a situation not dissimilar to how great and noble
warriors were greeted by the people of Asgard after completing a quest. Except it wasn't usually
this… obsessive. And the numbers were fewer.

Then again, she supposed, Midgard was both not accustomed to having heroes walk among them
once more and possessed of a truly vast number of instant communication devices – which would
explain the steadily swelling crowd.

She looked around, ignoring the Midgardians holding their devices up at her. She was Sif. None of
their weapons could hurt her, and in any case, she severely doubted that these were weapons. So
she paid them no mind.

Thor, as she had noted, seemed to have rallied and was now happily hugging and greeting
Midgardians of all ages, shapes and sizes, scribbling on pieces of paper, and posing for pictures,
("Please, good people, form an orderly queue.") while tactfully dodging any hopeful maidens
hoping to get a kiss with an air of long practice.

Volstagg had similarly rallied, and was now holding forth about some story or other ("And then,
just when the trolls were descending upon us, looking to slay us or eat us…") to what seemed
mostly to be children and their parents.

Fandral was happily lounging on a set of steps, surrounded by adoring maidens ("Ladies, ladies,
calm yourselves. There is more than enough of Fandral the Dashing to go around."), some very
young indeed – though Sif noticed that the inner circle tended to be the oldest girls and the age
decreased as one got further out. He was fine, she decided.

Hogun was perched on one of the other great cats, looking much like a great eagle at watchful rest,
and his only companions were a group of particularly intrepid small children, who he occasionally
gave a small comment to.

And Loki… Loki was a brilliant socialiser, charismatic, charming and smooth as melted butter. On
formal occasions, his sparkling wit lit up the room, while Thor usually looked stiff and awkward.
However, that was only in a setting in which he had at least some measure of control and some
time to prepare. When he was suddenly swamped by people, he was most definitely not at his best,
whereas Thor, by contrast, thrived. One son of Odin had always embraced the masses, revelling in
informality, while the other preferred to pick and choose his social contact carefully, truly in his
element in civil, mannered and controlled settings.

Here, he'd been swamped, and, while he'd managed to struggle to his feet without hurting any of
the deceptively fragile Midgardians, some of whom, male and female alike, were clinging to him
like limpets and crying, "He's mine!", "No, mine!" and variations thereon, he had not been able to
regain his metaphorical balance.

As she watched, Loki, who had been smiling uneasily and trying to play the charming good fellow
and was clearly unnerved at best, panicking at worst, looked up at her with an expression of mute
appeal and silent terror.

Sif nodded at him, then slid gracefully down the side of the statue she'd been perched on, easily
flipped down the ledge and strode through the crowd, leading with her shoulder.

When she reached Loki, she said firmly, using a voice pitched specially to cut through the sound of
battle, "I think you'll find I have a prior claim," reaching out and grabbing Loki by the shoulder,
pulling him firmly clear. One determined girl, little more than a child, clung to Loki's ankle. She
looked up, met Sif's gaze, and gulped.

Sif crouched down to her level and glared. "Move," she said softly. "Or be removed."

The girl let go and scrambled to her feet, melting back into the ground.

Loki chuckled and smiled, waving at the crowds as flashes emerged from their communications
devices, apparently designed for taking pictures as well. He was apparently now at ease. This was
revealed as a lie by the fact that he was clinging to her like a drowning sailor does to a rock.

He said, out of the corner of his mouth, "Sif, if there is anything I can ever do for you, you need
but ask and it shall be done."

"You may regret saying that," she murmured.

"Oh, I doubt it, believe me," Loki replied, pausing briefly to exchange words with a particularly
star struck young mortal. "Though you may regret the manner of your rescue."

"Why?"

Loki chuckled. "They'll believe us lovers. Though, it must be said, it has been speculated that just
about every possible combination of Avengers has been lovers, and then some," he said, cheeks
pinkening. "Even myself and Thor, which is beyond absurd and disturbing." He paused.
"Naturally, Stark and Darcy find it hilarious."

"Do they have nothing better to do than gossip about us? " Sif asked, shocked and, to her shame,
blushing slightly. In the background, she heard the puzzling cry of, 'Sif and Loki OTP!' "And
having met both Lord Stark and Lady Darcy, I am not in the least surprised."

"If you think this is bad, you should read the tales they invented when we were last on Midgard,"
Loki said, teleporting them both onto the back of the great cat statue that Sif had previously been
perched on. "For some reason, many of them are convinced that I am the mother of Sleipnir, and
father of Jormungand and… Fenris."
"Mother," Sif repeated, not believing her ears.

"Yes. Mother."

Sif paused. "You are a shapeshifter," she said slowly. "And you have spent time as a woman in the
past."

"Yes, so it is not implausible from that point of view," Loki said. "But…" He wrinkled his nose. "I
have always been choosy in my choice of bed partners. To think that beasts would be thought to
rank among them…" He shuddered. "I prefer not to dwell on the subject."

"I cannot blame you in the least," Sif murmured. "What do they believe of me?"

"Until Thor made it very clear otherwise, they believed you were his wife," Loki said, smirking.

"Harry mentioned that," Sif said calmly.

Loki looked mildly annoyed, as if he'd been hoping to drop that particular bomb. Then again, this
was Loki, so there was no 'if' about it. Then the expression faded, to be replaced by a thoroughly
inscrutable look.

"They practically worship me," he said softly. "In some cases, they actually do. They praise me,
adore me, and sing of my heroic deeds. Yet it was only three years ago that I came to their world
with the intention of conquest, and slaughtered hundreds, if not thousands of their people." He
shook his head slowly. "How do they forget so soon?"

"Maybe they do not forget," Sif said. "Maybe they forgive."

"Such sins as mine –"

"Have been committed by many Midgardian leaders as well," Sif said. "And many of them are still
popular, without making half as much effort to redeem themselves as you." She shook her head.
"Your sins were committed in madness. You bear responsibility for them, but diminished
responsibility, and that responsibility weighs heavily on you. Yet you bear it. And you stand as a
hero to these people. You fight for them, you heal their wounds, repair their cities and do your best
to improve their lot. They see that."

"My hands are stained with innocent blood, Sif," Loki said. He shook his head slightly as she
sighed. "I am not feeling sorry for myself. I am simply stating fact." He looked grim for a moment.
"And though I understand that I have harmed none of these personally, quite the opposite, in fact,
and there are few allies so loved as one who was recently a feared enemy… it feels wrong.
Unearned."

"Loki, if you are going to construct a balance sheet such as those Algrim uses to tally up the palace
accounts, you are always going to find that the reckoning is always short one saved life," Sif said
softly. "This I know from experience."

Loki blinked.

"I am a soldier of Asgard, Loki. Not all my kills have been made in the name of a noble quest. And
even some of those have not been so noble as all that," Sif said. "Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, even
Thor – especially Thor, after his rampage in Jotunheim – have killed those who might be described
as innocent. Never at will, never seeking the deaths of the most vulnerable… but battle is a hard,
unforgiving place. There is no time for second guessing, no time to inquire as to the moral status of
your enemies. You live. Or you die. Sometimes at the expense of what might be an innocent life,
say, a young lad levied by an outlaw band for another sword arm at the threat of his family's life."
She met his gaze. "I won't say that it happens often. But it happens. Your hands are not the only
one's stained with innocent blood. Mine are, Fandral's are, Volstagg's are, Thor's are, and I know
that each and every Avenger, has blood on their hands. Lord Stark is an artificer without equal and
for over half his life, he designed weapons of war. Weapons that fell into evil hands. The Black
Widow and Hawkeye, both are assassins. No more needs be said. The Hulk is well intentioned, but
not exactly careful, like an angry or frightened child. Thor I have spoken of. And Captain Rogers
was a soldier in one of the most devastating wars the Nine Realms has ever witnessed. While he
fought a force of true evil, I doubt that all the lives he was forced to take were cut of that same
cloth."

Loki was silent.

"Our hands are stained too, Loki. That is the price for leading lives like ours," Sif said. "You are
not alone in this."

"You all had good reason," Loki retorted.

Sif raised her eyebrows. "In your case, you had little or no capacity to reason with," she retorted.
"And do you really think that battered pride," she said, nodding at Thor. "Is a good reason to go on
a rampage that devastated vast tracts of territory and untold lives?"

Loki half smiled. "You've got me there," he admitted.

"Yes," Sif said. "I have." She smiled. "I, Lady Sif, beat Loki Silvertongue at his own game. This is
a victory to be savoured," she teased.

"Savour it while you can," Loki retorted, smirking. His smile faded. "We have work to do. Dark
work."

"The veidrdraugar."

"Yes," Loki said.

"We need to get out of here," Sif said, and noticed that the mortals surrounding them were
watching them with interest as quiet words were exchanged below their hearing. She caught a
knowing look and a saucy wink from a woman in late middle age and was struck by a realisation.
"Elder gods," she muttered. "They think we're flirting."

Loki chuckled and leaned close, looking for all the world as if to impart some lovers secret to her.
"Better that than knowing what we actually speak of."

"True," Sif acknowledged. And she would deny to her dying day that when Loki's breath tickled
her ear, she shivered.

OoOoO

"Thor!"

Thor turned, to see Fandral swaggering towards him, covered in smudged lipstick kisses and
looking supremely smug.

"Fandral," he said, amused. "I see that you have found that Midgardian maidens are appreciative of
your charms."
Fandral grinned. "Very appreciative," he agreed. "And I might have considered having a little
sport, but many of them seem a little young, and Lady Pepper gave me a long talk about the
importance of 'protection'."

Indeed, Pepper had, after being informed of Fandral's reputation as something of a Casanova, and
had made sure that the message was hammered in. She'd roped Tony in as well, who, to everyone's
surprise, turned out to be remarkably conscientious in that regard.

"I practised," he had explained. "So I could put a condom on even when I was so drunk I couldn't
see straight. Just to be sure."

Fandral, having long since identified Tony as a kindred spirit, had taken the message to heart.

"And we have other business in the city," Thor said pointedly.

"We, Thor, not you," Fandral said firmly. "I do not always agree with Loki, but this time, he is
right. The very nature of your abilities makes it impractical."

"What impractical?" a curious boy asked.

Thor and Fandral exchanged looks.

"Um… interior decorating?" Thor hazarded.

"Ah, yes," Fandral said, nodding and taking up the thread. "You see, uh, young Midgardian child,
whenever we try to hammer in a nail, Thor insists on using Mjolnir, and the entire wall collapses
and we have to start again. Foolish of him, I know, but every time he insists that he'll get it right."

The child stared at them both, then said sagely, "That sounds silly."

Thor, who was glowering slightly at Fandral. "Indeed. Child, this is Fandral," he said. "And
because he is so silly, as children, we used to call him 'Mr Silly'."

Fandral stared at him, jaw dropped, as Thor smiled an evil smile that had come straight from James
Potter and the words 'Mr Silly', travelled through the crowd in a rippling wave. "Turnabout is fair
play, old friend," Thor said.

"You," Fandral said after a long moment. "Sometimes remind me very much of Loki. And it is all
the worse because it is unexpected."

Thoir chuckled. "Well," he said. "He is my brother."

"Quite," Fandral muttered, then looked over at Loki and his expression seemed to brighten.
"Speaking of said brother, he and Sif seem to be getting on rather well." He preened slightly, in a
manner that suggested that he considered this to be thanks to him.

"They are," Thor agreed, pausing to sign a piece of paper. "But I think that they aren't touching on
amorous matters at the moment."

"Amorous? Are they in love?" one young woman asked curiously. She was of average height, with
a sweet face, brown eyes and brown hair. Really, she rather reminded Thor of Jane.

Thor hesitated. "They are friends of long standing, and affectionate with it," he said carefully. Then
he winked. "It is quite likely," he said, lowering his voice. "But best to keep it a secret, don't you
think? Let them find their own way."
Another young woman, friend of the first, stepped forward, grinned and nodded. She had purple
hair, Thor noticed, worn with an appealing kind of confidence. It suited her after an odd fashion.
Fandral had certainly noticed. "Definitely," she said, revealing an upper class British accent. "I can
feel them."

"Feel?" Thor asked.

In answer, the girl's eyes glowed purple and, astonishingly, purple butterfly markings, tattoos
almost, appeared around her eyes. "You guys aren't the only ones with talents," she said, voice low.

"I'm sure that you have a great many talents," Fandral said smoothly, gliding forward with
practised ease. "Miss…"

"Braddock. Betsy Braddock," she replied, smirking, looking Fandral up and down. "What's it to
you, pretty boy?"

"Well, I have always been fond of exploring talents, particularly of one so fair," Fandral replied
smoothly.

"Braddock," Thor said slowly. "I know that name." He gave Betsy a long look. "Are you the
daughter of Sir James Braddock, by any chance?"

Betsy blinked, then nodded. "How would you know him?" she asked, puzzled.

"I encountered him in my mortal life," Thor said, remembering a tall, blond man with incredible
strength and the ability to fly and project forceshields, an ally of Nick Fury's. "Only once or twice,
through a friend of mine, but he made an impression. Good man, brilliant, with some truly
remarkable abilities."

"Yeah," Betsy said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm not so much for the whole magic deal." She nodded at
her friend. "That's more Vicky's department."

"I dabble, Betsy, nothing more," the woman dubbed Vicky muttered, blushing.

"Do not be embarrassed," Thor said earnestly. "Magic is a noble path of study. And a risky one."

"Yeah," Betsy said. Then she stepped forward, grinned and linked arms with a surprised Fandral.
"If you don't mind," she said to Thor. "I'll be borrowing your pretty boy. I'm sure he has more than
a few talents of his own, and it would be shameful of me not to explore them."

Thor grinned at Fandral's half stunned, half delighted expression. He was clearly not used to being
pursued in so forward a fashion, and just as clearly enjoying the experience. "As long as you return
him in one piece," he said, amused.

"Righty-o," Betsy said cheerfully. "Come on, handsome." She and Fandral, who seemed happily
dumbstruck, made their way through the crowd.

"I hope your friend knows what he's got himself into," Vicky said, slightly worried. "Betsy's lovely
but she treats men like hats – she tries them out, maybe a few times, then discards them."

"Believe me, Miss Vicky," Thor said. "Fandral practically invented the adage, 'love them and leave
them.' You could say that he was Casanova a millennium before Casanova was born."

Vicky blinked, and looked after them. "They're bloody made for each other then," she said.
"I would agree," Thor said quietly. But he was no longer looking at Betsy and Fandral. His eyes
rested on his brother and Sif, who were speaking quietly and sitting very close together indeed.
Thor was an adept reader of his brother's expressions, when he actually made the effort, so he
didn't think that they were exchanging words as lovers do. Instead, they were speaking as friends.

And that is why he thought what he did.

Loki and Sif, OTP indeed.

OoOoO

In the end, there was another hour of Thor patiently signing autographs and posing for pictures,
while occasionally talking to Vicky, whose name turned out to be Victoria Bentley, a quiet, gentle
personality, who seemed to function as something of a foil to Betsy's wilder and more outgoing
nature, Volstagg entertaining children, Hogun imitating a particularly frightening gargoyle and
Loki and Sif interacting with the crowds – or rather, Loki interacting with the crowds and Sif
making sure that none of his more rabid fans tried to grab him and take him home.

This was less out of concern for Loki's safety, more out of concern for the fans in question. Loki
tended to react badly to people who tackled him unexpectedly, and rabbits could be so hard to
catch. And that was on a good day. On a bad day, it was lizards.

After that, they managed to extricate themselves from the crowd and, with a little magical disguise,
make their way down the back streets north of Trafalgar square.

"Well," Volstagg said, blinking. "I had no idea that the Avengers were so… beloved."

"We are the only public team of champions, Volstagg," Thor said. "And we have saved the entire
world where all of Midgard could see it."

"We are considered glamorous," Loki said. "Thor and I are considered to be handsome princes,
which Midgardians, particularly Americans, oddly enough, cannot get enough of, Tony is the
charming rogue, Clint and Natasha are all the more enticing for being mysterious, Steve was
Midgard's first hero of the modern age as well as being nigh on impossibly nice, and Bruce and the
Hulk are seen as different, and therefore, particularly interesting." He shrugged. "We are also a
team of misfits, brought together by chance – or rather, indirectly, me, which appeals very much to
certain sections of Midgardian society."

Volstagg nodded. "I take it that Fandral is off taking advantage of such fame?"

"I think he's rather being taken advantage of," Thor said dryly. "His latest bed partner is both
forward and formidable."

Loki chuckled. "That must be a novel experience for him," he said. "Do you want me to find him?"

"Give it a few hours," Thor said. He paused. "Brother, what is this matter which I am not a part
of?"

"In summary? The veidrdraugar are real, and a necromancer has loosed them on earth," Loki said
grimly. "Almost certainly by the same necromancer as the one who sent the Disir into Asgard and
has allied with Malfoy and HYDRA. I, Sif and the Warriors Three are to hunt them down and
destroy them, then slay the necromancer." He shook his head. "A lot of it will be tracking and brief
skirmishes in the dark. Not the sort of work that you and Mjolnir suit best. Besides, we will be best
able to do our work if you and the Avengers are keeping all eyes on yourselves. If asked about my
absence, merely say that I am guiding our friends around Midgard."
Thor nodded slowly. "Does Harry know of this?"

"Not yet. I do not propose to give him more nightmares, not unless he truly needs to know," Loki
said.

"And, brother, who decides that?" Thor asked, a sudden edge in his voice.

There was a long silence. "You do," Loki said eventually. "He is your son, after all. But I would
prefer it if you discussed it with me first."

Thor said nothing for a long few moments, then nodded. "Very well," he said quietly. "I am not
happy happy about this, brother. I have told you this before, and I tell you again: I do not like it."

"I do not expect you to enjoy it," Loki said calmly. "You never have taken well to sitting on the
sidelines. But it is as I said in the Ministry: we need to flush this necromancer out. Then you can
bring him to battle."

Thor nodded. "What would you have me do?" he asked.

"Be conspicuous, drop by some old friends, maybe visit Diagon Alley to get some souvenirs for
the Avengers," Loki said, and shrugged. "Really, just attract attention. We shall endeavour to do
the opposite." He paused as Volstagg's stomach growled. "After lunch."

Thor nodded. "Very well," he said eventually. "I beg of you: stay safe, my brother, my friends. I
could not bear to lose you."

Then, whirling his hammer, he took off, shoot upwards.

Loki watched him go, then turned to the rest. "Come with me. We have work to do."

OoOoO

A few hours had passed.

First, there had been a long lunch in a restaurant in Chinatown, in which Volstagg had eaten what
seemed like half his bodyweight in food and the small, elderly manager hadn't been able to stop
smiling – he hadn't had a windfall like this in years. Loki, naturally, had paid, being the only one
with any form of currency on them at all.

Second, they gone to find Fandral – according to Thor, he was having some fun with an
empowered mortal – which wasn't too hard. The mystical signature of an Asgardian was easy to
pick out in a city of mortals. It was like looking for a street lamp in a city that was, mostly, filled
with matches, though there were a few stronger signatures, denoting wizards and other
superhumans, some of which were remarkably strong. Really, all Loki had to do was differentiate
between Thor and Fandral, which wasn't hard. Thor's signature was, to put no finer point on it,
unique. And even a street lamp will pale in comparison to a military grade spotlight.

The man had, to Loki's amusement, come staggering out of a fine house in Mayfair, with only his
shirt wrapped around his waist – to the delight of some of the passers by – eyes wide in the fashion
of one who has experienced a great revelation.

"I take it you enjoyed yourself," Loki said, amused.

"After such a woman, I am spoiled for all others," he breathed, near reverentially. "She is a mind-
walker, and… she knew exactly what I liked best."
"Did she share her preferences with you?"

Fandral smiled smugly. "She didn't need to."

"Should we expect you to make return trips?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised. This, roughly translated,
meant, 'do you expect me to act as your chauffeur?'

"Oh, no," Fandral said airly. "She is a woman of the world, my friends. 'Twas very pleasurable, but
not the beginning of a grand romance. However, she did say that if I 'want another round', then I
could contact her by means of this spell." He rummaged about in his pockets and produced a
faintly scented scrap of paper. "I can't make head or tail of it, though."

Loki took it. "It's a telephone number, Fandral," he said. "It is like a sort of instant communications
spell. You input the number into the communications device and it contacts her." He paused. "Or
you get JARVIS to do it for you. Anyway, if she is present, she will likely respond."

"Even across continents?" Fandral asked, impressed.

"Even so," Loki confirmed. "Though it costs money."

"The two of you seem to have struck up something of a rapport," Volstagg added. "Maybe a
friendship, or even more, will grow of this?"

Fandral nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, my friends, this is food for thought." That said, he got
the feeling that he was missing something…

Sif was kind enough to point it out for him.

"For Asgard's sake, Fandral! Put your clothes on!"

OoOoO

"This," Loki said. "Was the site of the first creation of a batch of veidrdraugar."

He hadn't known the precise address, but he hadn't needed to. As soon as he got within a mile of it,
he could have found his way there if he'd been deaf, dumb and blind. The site itself was fairly
innocuous: an empty, rundown building, with, from the outside, only yellow police tape and a
watchful, if somewhat bored, police officer showing that this was a place of darkness.

The officer in question had perked up at the prospect of having something to do, and, after a few
questions and radioing someone higher up the food chain in the Metropolitan police, let them in.

"It feels foul," Sif said quietly.

"Truer words never spoken," Fandral said, shuddering. "I feel malice."

"Cold," Hogun said briefly.

"Rotting and greasy," Volstagg said, sounding uneasy.

"I am not surprised. Your senses are interpreting the remnants of what happened here as best they
are able," Loki said grimly. "Mine are… somewhat more extensive."

"What do you feel, then?" Fandral asked. Sif directed a truly vicious glare at him, and he snapped
his mouth shut. But it was too late. Loki had frozen.
"I feel… all that you feel. And more. I am not just a mage, friends. I am magic. It is part of me the
same way that storms are part of Thor. Do you remember how, as children, he always knew when
a storm was coming? How, as he got older, he could sense how far it was and what kind of weather
it brought?" he asked slowly, carefully, as if he was picking his words and examining them closely
until he was sure that they were suitable, then finally using them.

"We do," Sif said quietly.

There was a silence. He swallowed and closed his eyes. "It feels," he said eventually. "Like
someone has unjustly slain an innocent and let them rot until they are nothing but fetid soup. Then,
they have taken all my nerves, all that I feel with, and put them outside my skin, stripping me of all
protection. Finally, they have coated me with the thick, cloying, corrupt mass. It makes my nerves
scream, chokes me and clings to me like a nightmare that one isn't quite sure is merely a dream."

Sif stepped forward and gently squeezed his shoulder in support. When he looked round at her, his
green eyes were haunted in a way she had never before seen from him. Indeed, it was a look had
only seen in unfortunates who had come home to find everything they knew corrupted and
destroyed by monsters, their homesteads obliterated, their families strewn around like broken toys,
or taken away to be shattered and used.

She had known vaguely that sorcerers tended to react personally to dark magic in the same way
that a compassionate healer would react personally to a horrific massacre or crime perpetrated
against an innocent. Now, she was having the reality brought home to her.

"Loki?" she asked softly.

He straightened and she could almost see him drawing up the cold armour of his will around him.
"I will be fine," he said curtly. "Let us get this over with."

If she hadn't been looking for it, she would never have seen the ever so slight nod of thanks that he
gave her, before he began to cast spells.

"I never knew," Fandral whispered, Volstagg nodding his silent agreement.

"There is much we never knew about Loki," Hogun observed.

"And much we still do not know," Sif said quietly, watching Loki carefully. He had given no
indication that he had heard, but she knew that that meant that he probably had heard and was
keeping it to himself.

Sif was not Frigga - she was not exactly a 'hug it out and mother them to death' type. But that did
not mean that she was without compassion. Far from it. And currently she ached for Loki's pain,
hidden behind a cold, competent mask. She wondered just how many times he had done this
before, how many times he had done it and no one had seen.

OoOoO

Betsy stretched like a cat and let out a contented sigh. That man, that god, even, had
been amazing. Though, mind you, from what she'd picked up of his surface thoughts and his
irrepressible self-confidence, which only avoided tipping over into arrogance through a mixture of
charm and a sense that it was very definitely justified, she should have seen that coming.

She smirked at her unintentional double entendre, then stood, bedcovers pooling around her,
walking unselfconsciously over to the bathroom. After all, it was her house. And as Fandral would
attest to at length, she had nothing to be ashamed of.
She'd never read the mind of a god before. It was a bit like reading the mind of a human, but with
so much more depth and breadth. It was like comparing a small lake to a vast ocean. It wasn't
because Asgardians, and presumably any other gods, were necessarily smarter. It was just that they
had senses that she couldn't even name, for things that she couldn't even perceive. Sensibly, she
didn't even try. Some things people were not meant to know, if they were even capable of it.
Comparing Fandral to her, a powerful psychic, would be like comparing her to an ordinary child.

But in many ways, they weren't so different.

She liked Fandral. He was fun, straightforward and honest with enough twisty wit and charm to
make him interesting and… experienced. Good god, the guy had played her like a Stradivarius!
She hadn't even needed to give him hints.

She heard the doorbell ring, looking around the room. Had Fandral left something behind? No, she
decided. And he was properly more of a knocker kind of person. Maybe she should just leave it
and take a shower.

The doorbell rang again, so, with a sigh, she telekinetically grabbed a dressing gown and put it on
as she descended the stairs.

It rang a third time as she reached the door, tying the belt of the dressing gown. "All right, all right,
I'm here!" she yelled, opening the door sharply. And frowned in puzzlement. Not just because she
didn't know the man who was standing in front of her, but her ever-present passive psi senses were
picking up… nothing. Well, not precisely nothing. Just a smooth, purposeful blankness. So she
settled for looking the man up and down.

He was tall and darkly handsome with short cut and thick dark hair and grey eyes. He had bags
under his eyes, and he looked pale and tired, his stubble dancing on the line between 'rakish' and
'scruffy', verging on 'hasn't slept for a week'. His suit was rumpled and looked rather lived in. But
for all that, his eyes were piercing and very much awake, darting up and down her body with what
was mostly professional scrutiny, and he stood with a certain dangerous elegance.

Betsy was no fool, and she didn't rely on her telepathy as a crutch. She'd grown up the daughter of
a wealthy aristocratic family, the daughter of savvy parents, and she'd seen this kind of man before.
Dangerous and armed, though not so to the casual eye, which would dismiss him as a particularly
harried businessman or civil servant of some kind. To quote a man who knew what was what,
tinker, tailor, soldier… spy.

"Lady Braddock, I am Agent Wisdom of MI:13," he said, voice professional and polite. "May I
come in?"

She paused, then stepped back, mutely offering entry, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes.

He grinned briefly, brief and bright as a spark from a fire, and stepped in. "Oh, I picked the right
one all right. If I'd been a vampire or something similar, that would have screwed me right over,"
he said. "Did your father teach you that trick?"

"My mother. And it's Elizabeth or Miss Braddock if you really must," she said briskly. "What do
you want, Agent Wisdom?" she asked as she walked up the stairs. She was going to have that damn
shower.

"To recruit you, Miss Braddock," he said, following her without hesitation. "MI:13 is Britain's first
line of defence against the supernatural and the superhuman… or it was."
"Oh?"

"It was destroyed the same night as MI6," he said flatly. "All our bases in the South East are ruins
now. I'm one of the last agents left."

"And you want me to join you?" Betsy asked, raising an eyebrow as she pushed open her bedroom
door.

"Yes," Wisdom said bluntly.

"When you haven't even told me your real name?" she asked.

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

"I'm not a fool, Agent Wisdom. You're not the sort of man who would go to the trouble of setting
up powerful psi shields and then give out your real name so lightly," Betsy said, then, with a smirk,
undid her dressing gown belt, letting it pool around her feet, before turning to look at Agent
Wisdom.

Whose response was unexpected.

"Are you expecting me to be impressed?"

"I was expecting a reaction," Betsy said, shrugging in a fashion that, even fully clothed, would have
caused blood pressure problems in most men, before making for the bathroom.

"I've dealt with actual succubi before, and that's counting the bloody fairies, who are almost as
bad," he said boredly. "Since I'm still in possession of my free will and my life, I managed to resist
their charms. Yours aren't any challenge." He yawned. "There's also the fact that even if I wasn't
here on business, I'm too bloody tired to do anything even if you were trying to do more than put
me off guard."

"Fair enough," Betsy said, shutting the door and turning on the shower. "Why do you want to
recruit me?" she called over the sound of the running water.

"You're young, clever and a high Alpha class mutant," he answered, effortlessly pitching his voice
to cut through the water. "Magic is in your blood, much more than average. You'd have made a
fearsomely powerful sorceress if you'd tried for it. To be honest, my organisation has been
monitoring you for a while. The only reason I'm approaching you so early is that we've got what's
potentially one of the biggest fucking crises I've ever seen on our hands."

"And what's that?"

"HYDRA is working with Lucius Malfoy."

Betsy froze in the midst of shampooing her hair, and despite the hot water and muggy atmosphere
of the bathroom, she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

"I don't have to be a telepath to know that you know those names and know how dangerous they
are," Wisdom continued. "And it gets worse. They've got a necromancer on their side, one
powerful enough to create a small army of creatures called veidrdraugar, nightmares that last
walked the Earth when Stonehenge was shiny and new. Nightmares that Odin himself went out of
his way to eradicate. Your latest fuck buddy? He's Fandral the Dashing. He may look and act like a
harmless dandy, but he's one of the most dangerous men in the universe. He's damn near
unmatched with a sword in hand, taught by the Lady Knight herself, and he's part of an Asgardian
hit squad. Loki and four of his buddies, including Fandral and Sif, the Asgardian Goddess of War,
that's rolled into town. They're investigating the veidrdraugar as we speak."

"So why not leave it to them?" Betsy asked, turning off the shower and reaching for a towel. "Or, I
don't know, call in the Avengers?"

There was a cold silence. And when Wisdom's voice returned, it was cold, calm, soft and above all,
deadly.

"Because, Lady Elizabeth Braddock, hundreds of good men and women, loyal servants of the
crown, died horrible deaths at the hands of these bastards. I watched friends and colleagues gunned
down by the Winter Soldier, who's now under HYDRA command. I had to identify the remains of
old friends after the attack at MI6, and that was after I spent half a night running for my life from
the Soldier. This was an attack on Britain and her people, Lady Braddock. We are not helpless little
children, running to hide behind our big, tough friends after we get hurt. Any aid we receive is
welcome. But this is our country, and our problem. And I intend to solve it by hunting down every
single one of the bastards responsible for this and personally escorting them to whatever hell they
believe in, Avengers and Asgardians be damned."

Betsy, wrapped in a towel, stepped out of the bathroom and gulped slightly as she met the
dangerous gaze of the man who called himself Wisdom.

"But in the end, Miss Braddock," he said quietly. "It comes down to this. Are you the sort of
person who would let something like this pass? Are you the sort of person who would let evil win?
And above all, Miss Braddock: are you ready to serve your country?"

Betsy met his gaze. "What's the pay like?"

"Awful."

"Hours?"

"Worse."

"Perks?"

"You'll have all the murder attempts you could want and hot and cold running maniacs," Wisdom
said, with a touch of dark amusement. "And I can guarantee you this: it is never, ever boring."

Betsy half smiled. "How could I possibly refuse?" she asked sardonically.

"Knew you'd see it my way," Wisdom muttered, lighting a cigarette.

"Just one thing, first. Who are you, really?"

He hesitated for a moment, then told her.

"You're joking."

"I'm not. Now, we've got places to be, so hurry up."

Betsy grinned. "If you say so." Then she dropped the towel.

Wisdom rolled his eyes and sighed the sigh of the utterly bored.

"For heaven's sake, Miss Braddock! Put your clothes on!"

 Cooling Off

While Thor, Loki, Sif and the Warriors Three were in London, perhaps predictably with Sod's Law
being what it is, Harry got ill.

Harry was not a person who usually got ill. He hadn't been sick since he could remember. So the
vomiting bug, when it came in the middle of the night, was nasty and unexpected.

Even more unexpected was the fact that when JARVIS notified all the adults in the Tower,
because Thor and Loki were in London, the first one on the scene was not either of them, or
Pepper, who had long experience of night time vomiting, but Natasha, who barged in, took in the
vomit and the fact Harry looked utterly miserable and like he was desperately restraining the urge
to be sick again, and acted.

Quickly grabbing a bucket from the bathroom next door, she pulled the vomit stained covers off
the bed, sat down beside him and helped him throw up into the bucket, gently making soothing
noises, rubbing his back and making sure his glasses didn't fall in too.

All the while, she was only wearing a shirt and underpants, her usual sleepwear, which clung to her
ample curves and did nothing to hide her long, smooth creamy legs. If Harry had been less
monumentally ill, he might have noticed and blushed horribly. As it was, he merely moaned in
vomit induced misery and leaned into Natasha's hold. As he did, Clint, Pepper, Tony and Jane all
poked their heads round the door. Tony briefly took the opportunity to stare at less-than-fully-clad
Natasha in the flesh before looking to Harry. One, he had JARVIS' security footage, two, he'd seen
her in less, three, Pepper was watching, four, a vomiting child was more marginally more
interesting and a lot more worrying.

"Oh my god," Pepper said softly. "Harry, are you okay?"

"Feeling a little sick," he mumbled, before emphasising it by vomiting into the bucket. Pepper, who
wore a pair of Tony's boxers and a shirt, and would have caused similar blushes in Harry if he was
really able to pay attention, went and sat down beside him, while Clint and Bruce observed and
Jane hovered nervously. Tony was carefully avoiding making a threesome crack as he thought
Natasha might actually murder him this time. "Sorry I ruined the duvet," Harry mumbled.

"It's okay, honey," Pepper said gently. "You can't help it."

"Seriously, you would not believe the number of duvets I have wilfully wrecked. And then there's
the accidental ones," Tony said. "You only need to start apologising when you destroy a house."

"You never did apologise for that."

"I took you to Venice."

"That was to apologise for not telling me that you were dying," Pepper retorted dryly.

"It's different," Harry said suddenly, cutting off the impending squabble.

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"What's different?" Natasha gently prompted.

"Normal people being nice to me," Harry said quietly. The vomiting seemed to have abated for
now. "It's only really happened once before I came here."

All six adults stared at him, then Pepper hugged him and Natasha did a sort of semi-hold semi-hug.
Clint and Tony simultaneously smirked, but said nothing.

"Since when were we normal?" Tony drawled.

"Seriously, the whole concept of normal is total bullshit," Darcy said casually. "I mean, if you
think about, it's like the average of what everyone's really like. But if you could average out
something that complicated, how many people would hit the average? Not many."

"The Dursleys were kind of the exception to the non-magical rule," Bruce said quietly. "Most
people are decent enough. Easily frightened, maybe, but decent."

"I'd never have pegged you for an optimist," Tony said.

"I wasn't, not after the Other Guy's first appearance, until the Avengers… well, it began with one
time in Jamaica with some guys and a big bag of weed," Bruce said dryly. "I was still very careful,
but better disposed to people in general."

"I knew that was your secret!" Tony cried. "You have got to tell me, what's the Hulk like when he's
high?"

"Tony."

"Yes?"

"Quiet down," Pepper said.

Tony blinked and took in the changed scene. Harry, no longer vomiting, had been taken to the
bathroom to clean up and empty the bucket by Natasha and Jane, while Clint had gone to grab a
new duvet and duvet cover from the airing cupboard.

"Tony?"

"Yes."

"Hulk likes nachos. Lots and lots of nachos."

Tony stared at him. Bruce shrugged. Tony made a note to stock up on nachos. Just in case.

At that moment, Harry came back in, glass of water in hand, which he took small sips from, newly
empty bucket which was put beside his bed. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he did so holding
Jane's hand and cuddling into Natasha's side. Surprisingly, or maybe, unsurprisingly, particularly
after Jane and Harry's morning hug the day before, neither objected.

Jane eventually gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then released it. Harry responded by sleepily
mumbling and swinging it round to grab Natasha around the waist, cuddling in even more.

"Oh, how many men would kill to be able to do that without being murdered," Tony muttered.
Pepper arched a brow. He kissed her. "I'm not one of them. Anymore."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Steve asked, concerned. Everyone looked at Tony, Pepper and Bruce –
Tony and Pepper because they were more than acquainted with night time vomiting and Bruce
because he was the closest thing the Avengers had to an official Doctor of Medicine.
"It'd be best if someone stayed with him just in case," Pepper said eventually. Bruce nodded.

"It'll probably help him to sleep," he added. "Physically, he's not a little kid, but… he's still young
and he hasn't had the best childhood, so some of his emotional responses could still be a little…
delayed. He's more mature than most kids that age, but he's also a bit more tactile, like his father."

Everyone nodded. What Bruce was saying was that essentially, Harry's emotional development
was a little out of kilter with his age. Sometimes he acted older, sometimes he acted younger. On
top of that, Thor was well known, even pre James, for being very prone to hugging people. Even
Natasha had, to a limited extent, put up with it, because she knew it was entirely innocent and
merely Thor's way of showing he cared. That said, it could still get annoying, as she had quickly
made clear. After one surprise hug had led to her judo flipping him to the floor, Thor made it clear
if he was planning to hug her, and was quite happy not to do it if she didn't give her assent.

"He won't want to let go," Tony said, voice quiet. Pepper reached down, found his hand, and
squeezed.

"I'll stay with him," Natasha said, gently running a hand through his hair. She glanced up at Tony,
Clint and Steve. "He really looks up to you three, and it'll just embarrass him," she explained.
"Also, you," she said to Tony. "Would get bored." Tony conceded this point. She looked at Pepper
and Jane. "You two have work tomorrow." She glanced at Bruce who answered for her.

"And pulling all-nighters makes me cranky," he said.

"Yeah, that's the last thing we need," Tony said.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Steve asked gently.

Natasha nodded. "He's okay as kids go," she said lightly. "And I can get some sleep tomorrow if I
need to."

After that, she looked at Clint, then flicked her gaze to herself and Harry. Nodding, he laid the new
duvet over the top of them. Tony might have protested about the risks to the duvet if he didn't one,
have hundreds, two, have ruined thousands, three, know that Natasha made striking cobras look
like sloths when she felt the need.

When they discovered her and Harry in the morning, he'd unselfconsciously rested his head on her
bosom, wrapped his arms around her stomach, not far below her breasts, and Natasha, arms
protectively wrapped around him, had rested her cheek on his hair. Her eyes were shut, but as soon
as Loki poked his head round the door the following morning, they snapped open, as sharp and
alert as ever. Loki took in the scene, noticed the changed duvet and the bucket, nodded to himself,
winked at Natasha, and slipped out.

"Brother?" Thor asked, puzzled as Loki hushed him and stopped him entering his son's room.

"I think he was sick last night. The duvet is changed and there is a bucket by his bed," Loki said.

"Then surely I should go in and see him," Thor said.

"Natasha is also with him, presumably in case he was ill again during the night, and he is very
thoroughly snuggled up to her. She is not objecting. Indeed, last I saw, they are asleep together,
and she had rested her cheek against his head," Loki said. He smiled slightly. "Truth be told, it is
rather sweet."

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Harry has yet another maternal figure," he muttered, lips twitching
into a smile. This was something he approved of, since he was well aware that Jane and Harry's
tenuous relationship was, if anything, more like an older sister and her little brother, and he well
remembered how important his own mother had been, particularly to Loki's upbringing. "And they
all have red or reddish hair. Funny that."

"Is it not obvious?" Loki asked, raising his own brow. "Harry on a very fundamental level
associates redheads with good things. His mother started it, then some cousin of his continued –"

"Cousin?" Thor asked sharply.

"On Lily's side of the family. She stood up for him against the Dursleys and her parents were
thwarted in their attempts to adopt him by that outside force father mentioned," Loki confirmed.
"Unfortunately, all I have is that her name was Jean, she had red hair, possibly magic, and she's
American. Harry has no idea other than that, and with that little possibly unreliable information to
go on, I can't find her. We don't even have a picture to run through SHIELD's facial recognition
software."

Thor paused, and looked puzzled.

"They use a computer program to scan faces, brother, and compare it to a template," Loki
explained. Thor nodded. "Without a template, however, it is useless, and Harry's descriptions are
fuzzy at best. It was some years ago now."

Thor nodded.

"Anyway, the Weasleys were among the first magical people to be kind to him. That only
reinforces it. Therefore, I suspect he instinctively looks to redheads for comfort of different kinds –
friendship, maybe romance in future years and most particularly, maternal care," Loki explained.
"And Natasha does, at first glance, look superficially similar to Lily. Not enough that anyone
would mistake the two for more than a second, but to a little boy who barely remembers that his
mother has red hair, pale skin and green eyes? That is more than enough to mix associations." He
shrugged. "I dare say that the fact that she is highly attractive doesn't hurt, though it will leave
Harry very confused until he decides just how he sees her."

Thor looked thoughtful. "That does makes sense," he said. "As ever, brother, you are right. What
would I do without you?"

"Oh, cause mayhem no doubt. Maybe by successfully destroying every piece of technology in the
Tower, thus causing Stark to attempt murder?" Loki said dryly. "The possibilities are truly endless,
especially if you remember some of our youthful escapades.

"True," Thor said, chuckling. "Very true."

He slung his arm around Loki's shoulder companionably. "Come, brother. My son is like as not to
be late in rising, so we have time to share the tales of our trip to London."

"Must we?"

"Yes. You can tell the ambush of the hordes," Thor said kindly. "It'll find its way out somehow."

"True, true," Loki said with a sigh and a slight smile. "Let us go then."

The two made their way to the kitchen, while Harry slept on.

OoOoO
Harry didn't surface until ten twenty three, finally having woken up and worked up the courage to
let Natasha know, amidst going a fine rosy shade of crimson. While he saw her as… well, his
conscious mind had yet to figure it out, but his unconscious was slowly edging towards the words
'not-quite-sort-of-but-not-really family', he was still a teenage boy, he didn't know her very well,
and Natasha had one hell of a figure, all firm, smooth curves, a thin veneer of soft flesh buttressed
by taut muscle. Silk hiding steel. Not only that, but she was pretty much half naked, and Harry
found himself pressed very close to some of her more intimate parts when he woke up. Ergo, his
body was responding.

Needless to say, he was confused.

Before he could open his mouth to apologise, Natasha had gently cuddled him close, and said,
"Time to get up, malyutka." Then, she ruffled his hair, extricated herself from his grip, ignored his
deepening blush as she got up, swaying hips and all, bent down to pick up a pair of tracksuit
bottoms that Clint had left and put them on with a slight wriggle that could have commanded a
paying audience.

While Natasha wasn't entirely averse to walking down the corridor to her room as she was, Steve
would blush horribly, Bruce and Jane would be embarrassed, Darcy would check her out – not
something she minded, as such, but she'd rather avoid the younger woman hitting on her, Tony
would do his best not to stare and probably fail – though his success rate was rising - and Erik
would likely fall under the same category. According to his profile, his previous girlfriends had all
had similar body types to her.

Clint would give her one automatic long look to see if she was in good health and working order,
then not pay any particular attention to her lack of clothing. Pepper, long used to the weird shit and
perfectly secure in her relationship with Tony, would probably not pay her the slightest mind.

Thor and Loki probably wouldn't pay much attention, since both had spent many centuries
adventuring with the similarly gorgeous Sif, both had a fair amount of sexual experience and were
therefore used to and blasé about half naked women wandering around. Especially since neither
was interested in her that way. The most it would extend to would probably be a glance of
appreciation, but nothing more.

Therefore, despite total apathy in some cases, it was in general interest for her to cover up. Even
though blushing Steve was adorable.

She took one more look at Harry, who seemed to be debating changing while she was in the room.
She smiled kindly at him, to put him at his ease, and left. He really was adorable.

OoOoO

A few minutes later, Harry himself emerged, having showered and dressed, and made for the
kitchen. When he arrived, he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and looked up at his father, who
looked him over carefully, then hugged him tightly. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I
should have been there last night."

"S'nothing," Harry mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Still," Thor said, hugging him tightly. He looked up at the others. "You should have called. I'd
have come at once."

"It wasn't serious, Thor," Pepper said calmly. "And all it would have done is worried you when you
were coming back in the morning anyway. If we thought he needed to be admitted to the hospital,
we'd have called immediately." She smiled slightly. "Besides. Only you and Loki had phones, and
yours is rarely on."

Thor conceded this point, and hugged his son closer, gently rubbing his back.

This lasted for another minute or so, then Harry looked up at his father, who was now grinning.
"So. I go away for one day and one night," he said, voice thick with amusement. "And you spend
the night with Natasha." He shook his head. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"And he survived the experience," Tony chipped in. "Not many can say that. Hell, most don't even
get that far."

"No matter how hard they tried," Natasha said, giving him a slight smirk as he glowered half-
heartedly at her.

Harry frowned, puzzled.

"I was undercover at Stark Industries, keeping an eye on Tony before he'd stopped trying, and to be
fair, mostly succeeding, to sleep with anything female and attractive between the ages of 18 and 30,
and got together with Pepper," Natasha said bluntly. "He was also dying and self-destructing."

Tony rolled his eyes, but shrugged. "Yeah, it was a bad week. I wasn't exactly rational."

"So…" Harry said slowly and completely innocently. "Are you saying that the only reason you
would ever be interested in Natasha would be if you were single and about to die?"

Tony stared at him for a long moment. "… You're good, kid," he said eventually tone somewhat
admiring. "The shit stirring is all Loki, but the innocence is all Thor," he commented.

"I can do innocent," Loki said, offended.

"Aye, and in the self-same way that Fandral does chaste too," Thor said cheerfully. "With great
difficulty and only in great need."

Loki rolled his eyes, and Thor grinned. They both knew perfectly well that Loki was a consummate
actor when required to be, but when it came to matters of mischief, he did not bother, if only
because everyone suspected him. His grin faded. And in more serious matters, some still looked on
Thor's little brother with suspicion.

Such suspicions never died. They faded, as they had on Earth, and in Asgard, to an extent. Humans
were a strangely forgiving people, and had, by and large, accepted Loki. Thor suspected, however,
that that was partly down to Loki's charisma, his 'charity work' (Thor was no fool: altruistic his
brother might be, but he always had at least two reasons for doing something, three or four for
something of such magnitude) and his tireless work as a member of the Avengers.

But they did not forget. They forgave, certainly, and not all of them did that. But they remembered.

As Asgard did. While Loki's actions in Asgard had been relatively contained, and more than a few
of the civilians of Thor's father's generation and their children thought that Loki's attempted
destruction of Jotunheim was not a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact. Thor could hardly hate
them for seeing Frost Giants as monsters – after all, so many had lost family, fathers, uncles,
brothers and sons to Laufey's ambition, and when they thought of Frost Giants, they thought only
of the grim Frost Giant soldiers or the scary fairytale caricatures. They did not think of the families,
who, truth be told, seemed much like the families of Asgard to Thor's eyes, albeit blue and built on
a bigger scale.
It was true what they said: people were people everywhere.

When he had come to aid in the rebuilding work, they had shrunk away from him in fear, seeing
him as a bringer of destruction, the deadliest of their enemies save for Odin Allfather himself, who
had mowed through their best soldiers with careless ease and torn apart dozens of miles of territory
with one strike. Yes, he had fought for their sake on the Bifrost, but they did not know that. How
could they? They shrunk away from him in much the same way that many on Midgard, even
Asgard, had shrunk away from Loki. The monster was to be given a wide berth, for fear that he
might notice you.

And when Thor had seen that, it had been in that moment that he had truly understood his brother's
desire for redemption, why he had defended him so fiercely and worked so hard to persuade his
comrades to allow Loki to repair his wrongs to Midgard by joining the Avengers. Because he
would do anything to wipe away that fear, those mistrustful, fearful, hateful stares. And he and
Loki were not so different, deep down.

OoOoO

The next couple of days passed quietly. Harry was clearly enjoying his time with his father, learned
a few small cantrips from Loki – light creation, mostly and some small air manipulation. Fire was
being saved for the next term. Aside from Loki and his father, he was usually to be found in the
garage with Tony, elbow deep in a car's engine, learning how to fight from Clint and Steve and
learning how to shoot from Clint and Natasha.

The matter of the veidrdraugar remained untouched, though Thor knew the look his brother and
his friends had in their eyes – they were ready to strike, swift and deadly. All they needed was an
opportunity.

So it was in a state of watchful peace that Thor watched his son play in the hangar with Sif and the
Warriors Three with an indulgent smile on his face. Currently, Harry was teaching them how to
play soccer, the name by which Americans referred to football. Thor had never been a fan of the
sport when he was James, preferring Quidditch, but his father-in-law had taken him and Sirius to a
match at his local football stadium, Elland Road, home of Leeds United, against local rivals
Manchester United. Thor had gained an appreciation for the athleticism and skill of the players, as
well the sheer numbers of extremely passionate fans, which he would expect to see in Quidditch
only at an international match at best. Besides. His son enjoyed it, and leaving all else aside, that
was more than good enough for him.

He also noticed that whenever Sif came close, Harry blushed. It wasn't exactly surprising – Sif was
known as a beauty even among those who disdained her, with a lean, yet womanly figure that,
along with her clean cut features, made her very much a woman who men would turn to take a
second look at, even a third – if they thought that it would not leave them short something vital.
Her tight casual attire, combined with the fact that Harry's hormones telling him that girls were
really very interesting these days, did not really help matters. At all.

A few minutes later, Jane slid down to sit beside him. "Hey honey," she said, resting against him.
Thor smiled and wrapped an arm around.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, smiling. "How are you?"

"Great actually. Loki took me back up to Asgard to show me round his personal library, which is
awesome, really well stocked," Jane said, smiling. This was not quite the journey it sounded.
Through a mixture of Jane's New Bifrost technology and Loki's unparalleled knowledge of the
secret paths through Yggdrassil, they'd essentially built a back door into Loki's chambers. Of
course, Loki being Loki, he'd filled it with more security precautions than a nuclear silo and
anyone who tried to break in from either side would find themselves entering a new existence as
either a greasy smear on the wall or a hospital bedpan.

"That's a sign of how high a regard he holds you in. He is most jealous of his library, and the only
people he has ever let in there are father, who he can't reasonably keep out, me – once -, mother,
and Sif when he was trying to charm her," Thor said.

"Wow," Jane said, then blinked. "Him and Sif?"

"Yes, and I think he might have been making some headway until he turned her hair from blonde to
black, then failed in all attempts to reverse it," Thor replied. "The legends got that part right."

"What about… you and Sif?" Jane asked.

"Jealous?" Thor asked, then winked. "Briefly, when we were barely more than children, but not
much more than kisses." He coughed and went slightly red. "Well, in truth, it was a fair bit more
than that, but it wasn't…" he looked thoughtful. "It wasn't more than what you might call a teenage
fling. Fun, but inevitably brief." He shook his head. "Nevertheless, it was quite the source of
friction between myself and Loki at the time. Sif and I grew up, and realised that we were better as
friends. And judging by Harry's blushes, it runs in the family. Though, that is probably just be a
case of proximity to an attractive woman in tight clothing."

"With looks like that," Jane said dryly, "I'm not surprised."

"Aye. Sif is beautiful. Even a blind man could see that," Thor said, and kissed her. "But she is my
friend. And you are the only one for me."

"As Lily once was?" Jane asked curiously.

"Yes. As she once was. You'd have liked her. She was ferociously clever, and deeply loyal. She
also had quite the temper," Thor chuckled. "But I loved her, as I love you. I will never stop loving
and missing her. But I will never stop loving you, either."

Jane smiled slightly and kissed him. "I get that."

Thor breathed an inward sigh of relief. That had been a nervous moment.

"I'd never thought Volstagg would be so good with kids," Jane said, as Harry laughed at something
Volstagg had said.

"He has a large family of his own," Thor explained, "and he adores children of all kinds. They
adore him in return."

"I can see that actually," Jane said thoughtfully. "He's like a big, friendly, cuddly teddy bear."

"True, but a very dangerous teddy bear nonetheless," Thor said seriously. "Though the Warriors
Three are famed for the strange and spectacular mishaps, they are equally famed for being fighters
without peer. Fandral is the finest and fastest swordsman in all the Nine Realms. Only Sif could
claim to be his match." He paused. "Of course, they were both taught by the finest wielder of a
sword I have ever beheld. The Lady Knight."

"Oh yeah? What was she like?"

"I only met her once and I was very young at the time," Thor said. "She had come to Asgard
briefly, and Sif and Fandral – this was long before we really knew each other - were her squires.
She was very kind and very beautiful, but also… now that I look back on it, she was also very sad."

"Why?" Jane asked.

"Because she was lost, lost in time," Thor said. "Forever trying to return home."

"Do you think she did?"

Thor shrugged. "I know not. She reappeared a few times – Loki researched on Sif's behalf, and he
tells me that she was the best of Arthur's court and taught some of the finest sword fighters and
heroes in history: William the Marshal, who she treated like a son, Johannes Liechtenauer, Roland
of Roncesvalles, Gerard Thibault d'Anvers, Ridolfo Capo Ferro, even Chu Cuchulainn, Atalanta,
who she raised, most of the Argonauts and many others. The list of her students, let alone her allies
and her enemies, is a long one."

"I'll bet," Jane said, surprised. "That's… pretty impressive."

"Aye, it is," Thor said, smiling slightly. He shook his head. "Sif mentioned meeting her in Italy
about five hundred years ago, but as for her success… I would like to think so. But I do not know
and Loki could not find anything later than the 17th century. Whether that is because she took a
new identity to match changing times, or if…" He shook his head, and Jane knew very well what
he wasn't saying. "It is a matter for another time. Hogun is wise and sees much, his insight
allowing him to strike where and when he is least expected, making him a fearful foe. And
Volstagg's strength and pure power is near unequalled. And Sif can beat all three of them with one
hand behind her back. They are jokers on the outside, but in battle, they are some of the most
fearsome allies you could ever wish for."

Jane blinked in surprise. "I've got to admit, it's a little hard to see that right now," she said, as
Fandral cursed volubly, Harry having neatly nutmegged him, to the amusement of the others.

Thor inclined his head in acknowledgement. "That is understandable," he said. "After all," he
added with a sigh. "Who would expect that Asgard's finest could be conned into dancing in odd
wooden shoes to a strange song called…" He frowned, trying to remember.

"Mambo Number 5."

"Yes, that's it. Mambo Number 5."

Both paused for a moment to remember this. Sirius and Tony had, the day of Thor's return from
London, claimed that it was a Midgardian custom. Sif had seen straight through the bullshit and
stayed out of it. However, the Warriors Three were willing to try pretty much anything at least
once. Or rather, Volstagg and Fandral were, and Hogun usually got dragged along with them. So,
after a little bit of 'coaching' from the two troublemakers, they had given a performance.

Harry had tried not to laugh, then, when he'd seen his uncle, Clint, Tony, Sirius and Darcy laughing
their heads off, Pepper rolling her eyes in amusement, Natasha raising an eyebrow, Sif putting her
head in hands in despair, and Thor also laughing his head off, he'd cracked up.

While the whole performance had been hilarious, the facts that a) Hogun was completely deadpan
throughout while Fandral and Volstagg seemed to be having the time of their lives, b) that all three
were completely out of sync and finally, c) the attempted final leap had led to all of them getting
tangled and falling into a confused pile with Fandal somehow contriving to wedge one clog
wearing foot in Volstagg's ear.
After that, there had been a round of enthusiastic applause, Tony's calls for an encore – neatly
curtailed by Pepper stepping on his foot – and drinks all around.

"You know what I was thinking?" Jane asked.

"Hmm?"

"I was just wondering… why?"

Thor grinned. "When dealing with the Warriors Three, Jane, the question is not 'why?'. It is 'why
not?'."

Jane paused. "That… that explains a lot."

"Yes… they usually wander into trouble, and, somehow, wander out of it again, completely
unscathed," Thor said, shaking his head. "Then, they go looking for more trouble."

"Yes," Jane said dryly, looking at him. "I wonder where they learnt that."

Thor let out a booming laugh. "Oh, believe me, Jane, they were much as they are now when Loki
and I first properly met them befriended them."

"How did you meet them?" Jane asked.

Thor's smile faded. "That… that is a darker tale. A much darker tale. And it is one for Loki to tell,
if it is told at all," he said softly.

"Oh," Jane said, slightly taken aback.

He gently took her hand. "There is much in our past, particularly Loki's, that is… painful to think
of," he said gently. "I do not speak of it not because I do not trust you. But, in some cases, because
it is not for me to tell."

"No, I get that," Jane said. "I mean, you've been around for a while," she said, with a wry smile.
"It's just… sometimes I forget. That your past is so long, so… deep, even, that there's so much I
simply don't know."

"Aye," Thor said, sitting back. "In truth, there is much I have forgotten," he admitted. "Some of it
good, some of it less so. However, if there is anything you want to know, and I can remember it
and freely tell it, then I shall." He smiled at her. "My past may be a mystery in places, Jane, but
now… I have someone by my side who can untangle any future mysteries, for she shall see all of
them that she wishes."

Jane blushed. "Um… and the same to you," she said, fumbling for words.

Thor chuckled. "Then I am a privileged man," he said, with a warm smile. He leaned down to kiss
her. "And a happy one," he whispered, as their lips met.

It was a beautiful moment.

"I say, do Midgardians actually need to breathe?" Fandral asked curiously, about a minute later.

Thor and Jane ignored him – though Jane did, in fact, stop to breathe - and a momet later, there was
a thumping sound and a yelp of pain. Sif or Hogun, probably Sif – Hogun would just settle for a
withering look and maybe a sarcastic comment.
Finally, they looked up. "Are you still here?" Thor asked, lips twitching.

"We were… making a study of how kissing interacts with the respr – respi – " Harry said with
wide eyed innocence, then frowned clearly struggling with the word.

"Respiratory?" Jane suggested.

"Yup. The respiratory process."

"Aren't you disgusted by us?" Thor asked, amused.

"I covered my eyes," Harry said. "I worked out when you started and stopped by the weird sucking
noises." He paused, and then there was a look on his face that, for Thor, was exactly like looking at
his younger self when he was plotting a prank. "So…" he said casually. "When's the wedding? And
who's wearing the dress? 'Cos apparently the story about you wearing a wedding dress is true."

"I'm sure we could get one tailored to fit you, Thor," Sif said, eyes sparkling wickedly.

"Maybe Loki could help pick the dress: after all, he has a fine eye for such things," Fandral said,
smirking.

Thor's jaw worked soundlessly.

Jane had gone scarlet.

"Can I be best man?" Harry asked, still sounding casual.

"Actually," Jane said, having rallied. "I had you down as the page boy. I mean, the Best Man and
the Maid of Honour traditionally hook up, and since my Maid of Honour would probably be
Darcy…" She trailed off and smirked. One does not live in the same place as Darcy, then Tony
Stark, Clint Barton, Pepper Potts and Loki, for several years without sharp wits.

It was Harry's turn to blush now, as Thor stared at her. "You were… planning that we should
wed?" he asked.

"What, you don't –" Jane began, face falling.

"No, merely surprised," Thor said, blinking.

"He is," Sif said offhandedly. "He always gets the same look on his face when he's really and truly
surprised, as if he's accidentally managed to hit himself between the eyes with Mjolnir."

Jane giggled. It was an apt description for Thor's somewhat dazed expression."Oh, okay," she said,
amused. "And no, Thor, I wasn't. Not yet." She gave Harry a significant look as she said that, and
Thor, catching on, nodded.

He smiled. "That is well," he said, relaxing. "Forgive me, I was taken by surprise." He paused.
"Though if Sirius is my best man again, he and Darcy may get… distracted."

"There's no may about it," Jane said dryly. Sirius and Darcy had been flirting more and more
heavily in recent days, and there was now an ongoing betting pool among the Avengers about
when they were going to hook up.

"So… page boy. What does the page boy do?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Look adorable and carry the rings," Jane said, shrugging. "Both things you'd be good at," she said
with a smile.

"While the best man is there to prevent the groom's last ditch attempt to escape," Thor said,
grinning. Jane elbowed him and he chuckled.

"Okay," Harry said thoughtfully.

"You could be a bridesmaid if you wanted," Jane teased. "I'm sure we could find a lovely green
dress for you."

Harry blanched and shook his head violently.

"I'm sure that French boy would enjoy the sight," Thor added, amused.

"French?"

"France is a Midgardian nation just across the sea from Britain, where went with Thor and Loki,"
Sif said, having taken more than just a glance at a Midgardian map. "The boy, however…"

"His name is Jean-Paul, and he has been compared to Fandral by my brother, though he is fond of
men," Thor said. He smiled slightly. "He took a shine to Harry."

Sif raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "He is behaving properly?"

"He flirted, I was bothered, he saw that and he politely apologised and backed off," Harry said
calmly. "He's… I suppose he's a friend. But I don't know him very well."

"Then you shall get the chance to," Loki said, having appeared, a mobile in his hand. "Brother,
Brigadier O'Neill is calling and suggesting that Harry, his niece and Jean-Paul go ice skating this
evening."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Thor said. "Harry?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "Sounds great," he said. "I liked them. Can I go?"

"It shall be done," Thor said, with a smile, ruffling his son's hair and taking the phone.

OoOoO

And so it was that Harry James Thorson, Jean-Paul Martin Beaubier and Carol Susan Jane Danvers
went ice skating. Brigadier O'Neill had been planning to take them, but he'd been called away at
the last minute. Carol, being a resourceful personality, had called up an old friend.

So they found themselves being chaperoned by Lex 'someone mistook me for a responsible adult'
Luthor.

Harry was at first a little wary about the older boy, who made a play of grumbling about how he'd
been dragged into this by good for nothing little girls who took advantage of his good nature, but
quickly relaxed as it was obvious he was joking.

That didn't stop Carol from saying that she was not little and there wasn't a good nature for her to
take advantage of, however.

"They always do this," Jean-Paul reassured him. "She is like a little sister to him." He smirked.
"And she acts accordingly."
"And so does he," Carol said, catching their conversation. "A lot of boys who didn't like it when I
said no have suddenly become very polite and respectful," she said, sounding part pleased, part
exasperated. The latter was definitely

Lex looked unrepentant and smiled a toothy smile. "I just gave them a few hints in common
courtesy." Harry got the feeling that anyone on the receiving end of that smile would listen very
closely as long as it meant that the smile would go away and, hopefully, leave them intact. Or at
least, missing nothing vital.

"I can look after myself, Lex," Carol said tartly, folding her arms. Harry, remembering what she'd
done at the Christmas party to the man who'd grabbed her bum, found himself agreeing.

"I know you can, but it doesn't hurt to have someone watching your back," Lex said calmly.
"Someone who isn't ogling your ass."

"If I wanted someone to chase the leches off with a shotgun, I'd call my dad," Carol said. She made
a face. "And he'd only do that with the ones he thought were 'unsuitable'."

"I don't use a shotgun."

"Not the point, Lex," Carol said sharply. "Back up's a good thing. Putting someone on a plane to
Guantanamo Bay and only having it turned around when they promised never to go near me ever
again is not."

"Be fair, Carol – it worked."

"Wait, you're not joking?" Harry said, stunned.

"I'm not," Carol said seriously.

"She isn't," Lex said cheerfully.

"And it did work. It didn't stop his buddies and their soccer momlet girlfriends from trying to make
my life a misery," Carol said coolly. "And before you say anything, I didn't tell you because I was
worried about what you'd do next." She shook her head. "Lex, there's sweet and then there's
borderline psychotic."

Lex grimaced. "I don't like it when someone gets bothered for their appearance," he said. "You get
hit on, I get mocked, and he," he said, nodding at Harry. "Never gets a moment of peace without
people in that ass-backwards wand waving community staring at his forehead in the streets."

Harry was startled to put it mildly. "Wait, how did –"

"I'm a genius, I have too much free time and I have lots and lots of money," Lex said simply. "The
thing people forget is that money doesn't just talk. It listens."

Carol wrinkled her nose slightly in distaste

"Carol doesn't like it," Lex said, somewhat belabouring the obvious.

"It's corruption, Lex, of course I don't like it," Carol said flatly. "And this time, you're playing with
fire. The info you've got on those… Harry's community? I asked uncle Jack. It's classified up to
Presidential level. Only a few others in the administration and armed forces know about it."

Lex shrugged. "I hacked into the Pentagon when I was ten, SHIELD when I was fourteen. I've seen
plenty of classified stuff."

"I'm not sure about SHIELD," Harry said quietly. "But I'm pretty sure the Pentagon can't wipe your
memory."

Lex frowned at him. "What?"

"I'm not sure what it's like here," Harry said. "But in Britain, there's a memory removal squad –
Obliviators, I think they're called." He gave Lex a grave look. "They take their secrecy very
seriously."

Lex nodded slowly. "Thanks for the head's up," he said. He gave Harry a long look. "Why'd you do
it? I mean, you could just have let it happen."

Harry was silent for a long time.

"I don't approve of corruption. I'm pretty sure it's the main reason I stayed with my guardians for so
long, especially since I'm pretty sure that some of my mum's cousins tried to adopt me," he said
eventually. He shrugged. "But I think you just wanted to know and you aren't going to try and
show the world. If you did, who would believe you? People are still getting used to gods and
aliens. If you tried to go public, you'd be laughed at. And in the end… I felt that it was the right
thing to do."

Lex met his gaze, then looked at Jean-Paul and Carol. "It's official: you guys have got a keeper."

"We know," Carol said. "He backed me up at Christmas and told the creep to back off." She gave
Lex a pointed look at this point, suggesting that maybe he should limit his creep sweating along
similar lines in the future. "And he didn't even blink when Jean-Paul said he was gay."

"Actuellement, he did. But only because I was flirting and it caught him off-guard," Jean-Paul
noted. "Then he and Carol covered for me with Trask. And got a suitable vengeance." He gave
Harry a slight smile and dipped his head. "I am in your debt, mon chevalier blanc."

"'My white knight'," Lex absently translated, attention distracted.

Harry blushed at the praise.

Lex suddenly swore, and the group whipped around to follow his gaze, Harry only avoiding falling
thanks to Carol's quick reflexes and long arms. Harry steadied, they watched as a blond boy about
Jean-Paul's height shot past, skating like a maniac, while his mother or older sister – or so Harry
presumed, since she had the same hair colour as he did and looked a lot like him and fair bit older –
followed, yelling, "No, Johnny, don't! Stop!"

For some reason, Harry felt an intense sense of déjà vu.

The boy designated as Johnny did not, went to turn a corner, misjudged the timing, and slammed
straight into the side with a sickening thud.

Harry, Carol, Jean Paul and Lex all winced.

"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked.

"He will be," Carol said. "That's Johnny Storm," she said, nodding at the boy, who was sitting up
and looking a bit dazed, while his sister, who Harry now recognised as Doctor Susan Storm, knelt
by him and checked him over anxiously while clearly reading him the riot act. "He's got a head as
hard as steel. About as thick, too."

"Make that diamond," Lex commented. "He leads a charmed life."

"He's pretty too," Jean-Paul said, and sighed. "Alas, as straight as a ruler." He gave Harry a faux
mournful look. "All the good looking ones are. It's such a shame."

Harry merely rolled his eyes.

"Being pretty doesn't make him any less annoying," Carol growled.

"He…" Harry began.

"He flirts. Or tries to flirt," Carol said. "Stupid little shit."

"Lighten up on him," Lex said. "He's had a hard life."

"Johnny Storm? He wouldn't know a hard life it bit him on the ass!" Carol cried. "The little idiot
dances his way through life and expects people to love him for it!"

"You don't know his story," Lex said flatly. "His father murdered his mother when he was six.
Accounts differ, but some stories say that he saw it happen."

There was a dead, horrified silence.

"After that, he and his big sister stayed with an elderly relative, a great aunt, maybe. Then she died
and Sue had to raise him herself," Lex said, watching the woman in question remonstrate with her
little brother, while checking him over for injuries. "But she was nineteen, and in between doing
her degree and being tapped by Reed Richards, Hank Pym, Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy and
T'Challa for their so-called 'Illuminati' brain trust, she didn't have much time for Johnny." He
shrugged. "Now, she has a bit more. She does her best, and she loves him to bits, but… I don't
think they really understand each other."

"I… I never knew," Carol said quietly.

"Not many people do," Lex said. "He doesn't talk about it and neither does she. He deals with it by
playing the fool, she deals with it through her work, and I think by caring for him." He shook his
head. "She's a remarkable woman," he said quietly.

"Poor guy," Harry said quietly, as Jean-Paul muttered something that sounded like a prayer in rapid
French. "Growing up without a mother… that's bad enough."

Lex nodded. "Yeah. It's a crock of shit all right," he said.

"Sounds like it… god, I don't have the words," Carol said. She frowned. "But he's still an annoying
little shit."

Lex grinned. "No one's ever going to disagree with that," he drawled. His grin faded. "But he has
his reasons."

"Does he have many friends?" Harry asked.

"A few. I don't really know, they live out in Bayville," Lex said, shrugging. "I only see them at the
sort of party we met at, and maybe a couple of other times, through Sue's work."

"Oh?"
Lex grinned. "I have a Doctorate in Quantum Physics, though I'm conversant up to degree level in
Bio-Chemistry, Mechanics and Nuclear Chemistry."

Harry stared at him, jaw hanging loose. "But you're… you're only a few years older than me."

"I have the advantages of a genius intellect on a par with Tony Stark's, a lot of spare time and a
father who never thinks what I do is good enough," Lex said casually. "Though I could happily do
without the latter." He looked thoughtful. "Back to Johnny's friends, like I said, I don't know them
well enough, but I think I remember seeing a pale kid with dark hair and some eye condition that
meant he always had to wear red sunglasses around once or twice, when Sue was working and
Johnny needed someone to keep him distracted. Maybe Bruce Wayne, too. Master criminologist in
the making and he sure as hell gave your uncle a shock with his knowledge of fundamental magical
principles." He grinned. "I have never seen him look that surprised and believe me, it is an
experience to treasure. Your dad thought it was hilarious."

"Wait, what?" Carol asked incredulously. "The Wayne kid is into magic?"

"In a big way. Though it helps that they live in Chicago which has its very own professional wizard
who's apparently a friend of the family," Lex confirmed. "Bruce is the son of Thomas and Martha
Wayne, billionaires on a par with Tony Stark. You'll probably meet them sooner or later, though
Bruce himself tends to stick to Chicago. He's about your age, Harry."

"He's nice," Jean-Paul commented. "Very pretty, and, again, very straight. So far, anyway."

Lex smirked. "Tragedy of your life, eh Jean-Paul? All taken or not interested."

"Mais oui," Jean-Paul agreed, not looking too put out.

"You don't seem bothered," Harry noted.

Jean-Paul shrugged. "There are always others. And some become gay later in life." He grinned. "I
have time yet to find the right man." He gave Harry a pointed look. "And hopefully, he will know
how to ice skate. Prettiness only takes you so far."

"You are the only person who thinks I'm pretty," Harry muttered.

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. "Of course I am not, mon cher. Carol thinks you are pretty, for one."

Harry blinked at Carol in surprise. "You do?" he asked, incredulous.

"You're sweet looking enough," Carol said, shrugging, though her cheeks had gone slightly pink.
Whether from cold or embarrassment was hard to tell.

"Mm," Jean-Paul said. He gave Harry a long look. "You should have more confidence in
yourself, mon cher. Humility is a good thing, but you are too…" He glanced at Lex enquiringly.
"Quel est le mot?"

"Diffident," Lex suggested. "You're not assertive enough," he added, by way of explanation. "He's
got a point."

"And you need self-respect," Jean-Paul added, skating in a neat figure of eight before making a
balletic leaping spin and coming down neatly on his skates without any apparent effort.

"I do have self-respect," Harry retorted.

"Au contraire, mon cher," Jean-Paul said calmly. "You stand slightly hunched, you talk softly,
raising your voice only once that I have heard of, you defer to others and you flinch ever so slightly
if you think you have made a misstep in conversation." He shrugged. "I could go on, but I think my
point is made, non?"

Harry was abruptly reminded that Jean-Paul was not just a pretty face. Then a question struck, him

"Do you have family?" he asked.

Lex and Carol both winced as Jean-Paul's expression smoothed in a fashion that uncannily
reminded Harry of his uncle. "A twin sister, Jeanne-Marie. She… does not do well with other
people," he said quietly.

Harry did not pursue the subject. Even if he hadn't felt that it would be insensitive to inquire upon
such a touchy subject, there was a dangerous, almost frightening, look in Jean-Paul's normally
cheerful eyes, one that hinted very strongly that this someone not to cross. Ever. An awkward
silence descended.

"Hello," a familiar voice said, and it was with some relief that all four turned to see Sue Storm
skate over, wearing a pale blue jacket and trousers, golden blonde hair peeking out from under a
white beanie hat. They suited her, Harry thought, bringing out the blue in her eyes. "I thought I
recognised this little group."

"Hey Sue," Lex said casually, and Harry noticed that his back straightened a little and he looked a
lot more attentive. He also noticed Jean-Paul and Carol share a knowing grin, and when Jean-Paul
saw him notice, he winked. Clearly this was old news to them. "How's Johnny? I saw him get taken
off by the ice marshals."

Harry hadn't seen this, and chalked it up as support to Lex being interested in Sue.

Sue sighed. "He'll be fine," she said. "Just a bump on the head, thank god." She gave Harry a quick
smile. "Whichever one is listening, anyway."

"I'll put in a good word," Harry said gravely, and she laughed.

"Thank you," she said, eyes alight with amusement, before turning back to Lex. "Yeah, he's doing
fine. They've got someone keeping an eye on him, and he hates people watching when he's injured,
so I decided to come back out here."

"His pride will thank you," Lex said.

"I'm sure it will," Sue said dryly. "But I can bet you that whoever's watching him won't."

"Sucker bet," Carol drawled.

"Carol," Lex said, tone chiding.

Sue grinned. "Don't worry. I know that my little brother's annoying. After all, he's my little brother
and he practised on me," she said. She shook her head. "How Scott puts up with him, I don't
know."

Harry was suddenly struck by an idea. "Hey, Lex, we were going to go do some skating," he said,
glancing at Jean-Paul and Carol. Neither was slow on the uptake and both nodded vigorously.
"And you said you were a little tired. Why don't you and Doctor Storm go and…" he paused, lost
for words. "Grab a drink and talk about science stuff?"
"I've told you before, Harry. Call me Sue, everyone does," Sue said, conveniently not noticing
Lex's expression.

"Right, sorry," Harry said, looking a little abashed.

"It's okay," Sue said kindly. "And that sounds like a great idea."

"It does," Lex said slowly, in the manner of a man who is trying to keep calm. "But I'm meant to
keep an eye on you guys."

"We'll be fine," Carol assured him. "I'll keep an eye on these two."

"Well," he said, turning to Sue, who gave him a cheerful smile, one he returned. "Great. Shall we,
Sue?"

"I think we shall, Lex," Sue said cheerfully, taking his arm, and the two skated off.

The other three watched in silence. "That was good," Jean-Paul said eventually, impressed. "A
little sloppy, but excellent improvisation."

"That was a good thing you did," Carol said with a quiet smile at Harry. "Lex has had a crush on
her for a while, and while she's a few years older than him at 22, he acts older than he is, and I
think she likes him. It'll keep them both happy, keep Lex out of the clubs and give us a bit of free
time."

Harry shrugged. "He seemed to be interested in her and they both seemed to like each other," he
said. He paused. "Maybe we should go and find Johnny now?"

"Oh no," Carol said, shaking her head. "Trust me, he's way more obnoxious when he's injured."

"You've done your good deed for the day," Jean-Paul added. "Why ruin it by making yourself a
martyr?"

"Is he that bad?" Harry asked, frowning.

Carol siged. "He's mostly just annoying," she said. "I don't think he's a bad person, as such, but
among other things, he has no filters and says whatever comes to mind."

Harry blinked.

"Par exemple, he told her she had a great rack when they met a couple of months ago," Jean-Paul
explained. "From an objective point of view, he isn't wrong, but it isn't exactly something you
bring up." He shrugged. "I don't go saying to you, 'hey, great cock', because it is embarrassing and
impolite." He paused. "Also, I can't actually see it, but my point stands."

Harry flushed. "Good point."

"And he hits on me. Constantly," Carol sighed. "Forgive me if I don't want to spend time around
him."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said kindly. "You meant well and you don't know what he's like." She grinned. "So,
tell us about Asgard. And this… Diana, was it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Push off," he said. "She's only eleven and a half."
"You'll be saying different in four years," Jean-Paul predicted. "If she's as pretty as you say she is."

"I didn't say she was pretty!"

"You didn't say she wasn't, either," Jean-Paul replied.

"And from the way you described her, she sounds like she'll be very pretty when she gets older,"
Carol pointed out.

"He doesn't sound interested, though," Jean-Paul said.

"Not remotely."

Harry sighed. "Guys," he said, sounding long suffering. "I get enough of that from Sif, dad, uncle
Loki and the others."

"Sif's here?" Carol asked, surprised and a little eager. Harry had told her and Jean-Paul about Sif
and the Warriors Three earlier, and Jean-Paul, naturally, had expressed some interest in meeting
Fandral, and Carol had expressed a lot of interest in Asgard's Goddess of War, especially since she
wanted to join the armed forces someday. Apparently it ran in the family.

"Uh-huh. She and the Warriors Three have got some business on Earth," Harry said. "Maybe you
could meet her."

Carol smiled. "That would be cool, if you could arrange it," she said.

"I'll try," Harry said. "Though they could be busy." He paused. "Though, I remember Sif wanted to
talk to Diana, who hero worships her, about being a woman warrior, because Asgard and maybe
Olympus are…" He paused.

"Male dominated warrior societies?"

"Maybe. But she said, that people admire her and the Valkyries and praise them as heroes, but they
don't set them up as role models to follow," Harry said slowly, remembering his chat with Sif.

Carol frowned, then shrugged. "That's at least ahead of my dad," she muttered.

"He doesn't want you to join, does he?"

"No. Women shouldn't have careers, apparently. And especially, they shouldn't fight," she said,
glowering at her feet.

Harry muttered a rude word. "Ignore him," he said. "He's not worth listening to."

Carol suddenly grinned. "That's what uncle Jack and cousin Sharon say. But uncle Jack usually
swears a lot more."

"Sounds about right," Harry muttered. He looked thoughtful. "How about we introduce your dad to
the Black Widow and Lady Sif? Sif in particular would soon set him straight."

Carol paused. It was tempting. It was very tempting. Then she shook her head. "He's too stubborn,"
she said.

"He is," Jean-Paul said. "He called me… well, many things, but the word 'faggot' featured
heavily." His voice was carefully calm. He cracked a smile. "Carol, ma chevaliere
blanche, punched him."
Harry gave Carol an awed look. She flushed slightly. "I asked him to apologise, first," she said.

"Sif would like you," Harry said.

"Really?" Carol asked, blinking.

"We haven't known each other very long, but you're kind, friendly, loyal, take no bullshit, kick
arse, don't hesitate to stand up for what's right and wants to become a warrior. Trust me. She'll
definitely like you," Harry said.

Carol's beaming smile could have lit up the entire city. "Thanks," she said.

Harry shrugged. "It's the truth," he said simply. "Anyway, since we haven't known each other very
long," he continued, "I say we get to know each other."

"Intimately?" Jean-Paul asked, apparently on automatic since the majority of his attention was
occupied by a tall handsome man who looked to be in his early forties with dark hair that was
streaked white at the temples and a neat goatee beard, skating on his own. Jean-Paul would later
swear that the man had looked at him and winked, then disappeared right in front of his eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not that well," he said.

"But you wouldn't say no if Carol had said it," Jean-Paul replied slyly, his attention returned.

"Jean-Paul," Carol warned, as Harry wisely opted for silence as the safest course of action. Then
she turned to Harry and smiled. "That sounds like a great idea," she said. "Where do we start?"

"How about where all the best stories start?" Harry asked, with a grin. "The very beginning."

Jean Paul made a smooth, sweeping gesture that suggested in a thoroughly overblown way that he
agreed with Harry, who turned to Carol.

"The beginning it is," Carol said, with a slight smile.

In later years, Harry would reflect that there were many beginnings in his life, and many stories.
And not all of them would be happy. But this would be one he would treasure, a bright light in his
memory. One that shone all the brighter in contrast to the darkness to come.
 The Oncoming Storm

It was New Year's Eve. While there was a party that the Avengers had been invited to, since Carol
and Jean-Paul weren't going – the former had returned to spend New Year with her parents, but not
before Harry had, with Tony's help, set up an email address and a Facebook account under 'Harry
Potter' (Thorson would have been a tad noticeable) and 'friended' her. He'd also friended Jean-Paul,
who was also spending New Year with his family, and while he'd looked for Hermione, he hadn't
found her. He hadn't found Lex, either, though Tony had explained that if Lex had been on
Facebook, he'd be swamped with Friend Requests and hate mail from people who didn't like his
father, Lionel Luthor.

It then struck him how few friends he had outside Hogwarts. Carol, Jean-Paul, Uhtred and Diana
were the only friends he had of the same age. Sure, he could count the Avengers and Sif and the
Warriors Three as friends, but neither Tony nor Pepper had Facebook for various reasons, Clint and
Natasha preferred to keep a low profile, Bruce claimed that it raised his blood pressure, and Steve
and Loki had blogs. His father didn't really use technology, if only because he tended to break it.

Harry didn't mind so much in regard to the Avengers – he could just write them letters or use his
Stark Phone (Tony had insisted on giving him one and he'd found it, in all fairness, very cool).

But how would he keep in contact with the other two?

He put this question to his father.

"Worry not, Harry. You shall see Diana and Uhtred in Asgard," Thor said reassuringly.

"But… what if I want to send a letter?" Harry asked, frowning.

Thor looked thoughtful. "Well, you may not need to. After all, you are a Prince of the House of
Odin: it is well within your rights to call on Heimdall to open the Bifrost, or if one is nearby, to use
one of the New Bifrost portals."

Harry flushed and mumbled something.

Thor gave him a puzzled look. "Harry?"

"I… don't want to bother Heimdall," Harry muttered.

"Harry, you are a Prince, it is your right," Thor said gently. "You wouldn't be bothering him. In
truth, he would probably be relieved from the monotony. He spends most of his time as a
watchman and doubtless gets very bored." He paused. "Though I suspect it wouldn't be easy to tell
if he did."

Harry looked unconvinced, and Thor forcibly reminded himself that unlike Harry, he had grown up
taking such privilege for granted, whereas Harry… Harry had hardly had anything, when Thor
would have showered him and his mother all the glory of the Nine Realms. Suddenly, he pulled
Harry into a tight hug, drawing a surprised squeak from his son. "Dad?"

"Sorry," Thor muttered, going to release his hold. But Harry caught his arms.

"No, wait… I was just surprised," Harry said quietly, leaning against his father.

Thor smiled and retightened his grip. "I know that all this change… it's a little unsettling for you,"
he said quietly. "And now that I think on it, I'm not in the least surprised. You went from being
foully treated by the Dursleys, reckoned as scum or less, to a Prince of Asgard and one of the
Avengers family in next to no time." He paused. "Aside from my exile in New Mexico, which your
uncle perhaps rightly sees as a glorified sightseeing trip - he may have a point. It was only three
days, after all – I have… I have never known a time when I was not privileged. I have never
wanted for anything, save perhaps my father's attention, something restricted by his duties as king.
And even when I was New Mexico, I practically fell into Jane's lap."

"I don't think there'd be much left of Jane if you'd actually fallen into it," Harry said, a slight smile
on his face.

Thor chuckled. "No, there probably would not." He paused. "Was that a jab at my weight?"

"Me? Would I ever do such a thing?"

"Harry. You're my son. Of course you would."

Harry merely continued to look innocent and Thor shook his head in amusement, before sobering.
"What I am saying is that this transition you are going through… I know little of it. The best suited
to understand would probably be Steve," he said. "And I have been seeking his counsel on this
subject. The advice he has given has been kind and wise, and…" Thor sighed. "Well, if you feel
that you need to talk, I am here. I may not understand as well as I might like, but that does change
the fact that I am always here for you, and I will always listen, because I am your father. And I
love you."

Harry nodded quietly. "Thanks. Dad."

Thor smiled. "Good," he said. "Now," he continued, aware that he might be touching on a sore
subject. "Have you thought on your godmother's letter?"

Harry was silent for a long time. "I have," he said eventually. "And I talked to... you remember that
Professor Xavier person. The bald man in the wheelchair? Tony's godfather?"

Thor nodded slowly. "He is a teacher, a scholar and a deeply wise man," he said. "One who Tony
holds a very real respect for." He paused thoughtfully. "And in his presence, I always got a sense
of… power. Controlled, leashed, but truly immense power."

"He's a telepath," Harry said bluntly. "And he's a powerful one. Powerful enough to contact Odin."

Thor's eyes nearly popped out.

Harry smiled slightly. "Yeah. That was my thought too," he said dryly.

Thor nodded slowly. "What happened?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "He talked to me. After I got the letter from… my godmother," he said. "He
contacted me. Apparently, a lot of his students go through similar changes and similar stuff, so he
was keeping an eye on me with his empathy."

"Empathy?"

"Sensing emotions. Like Diana, but much, much stronger," Harry explained, and Thor nodded
slowly.

"So he sensed your emotional distress and contacted you."

Harry nodded. "We talked. He helped me work through a few unresolved issues," he said. "He said
I should talk to her. And he said something to me that I've been thinking about." He paused, cleared
his throat, then said, "'We cannot change the past, and the future is often murky and unclear. But
the present is ours to decide. That is why it is called the present.'"

Thor smiled. "Wise counsel indeed," he said warmly, inwardly making a note to thank Charles
Xavier at the nearest opportunity.

Harry nodded. "I thought so too," he said. "So… can you help me write a letter to Godmother
Wanda, dad?"

Thor's smile spread into a grin. "Nothing would make me happier, Harry," he said. He chuckled
and looked up at Hedwig, who was keeping a sharp eye on the both of them. "And you shall have
to work for your feed for once," he said cheerfully to the owl, who gave him a disdainful look, then
pointedly turned away.

"Dad!" Harry cried, somewhat embarrassed.

Thor laughed. "Sorry," he said. "Come, let us find something to write on and write with. We have a
letter to compose."

OoOoO

New Year's Eve came and went, without, surprisingly, much incident. Pepper was on hand to keep
Tony sober and prevent him from blowing up half the city with his latest hair brained experiment –
though Bruce pointed out that he probably wouldn't have succeeded. Reversing the polarity of the
neutron flow apparently doesn't work, no matter how fine a coat you do it in. And no, sonic
technology doesn't make it work – and the Avengers took the opportunity to enjoy a quiet night in.

Until the fireworks.

Tony had spent much of the last couple of days in his workshop building something. And, when
the final minute of 2006 began, he said, "JARVIS. Project Out With A Bang is a go."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said, and a five minute countdown began to appear. From above, the sounds of
the roof hangar door opening could be heard.

"Tony," Pepper said slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, Pep. This is going to be an absolute doozy. Come on, you're going to want to see
this."

Naturally, this only made her worry more, and she shot a look at Bruce, Jane and Darcy. The first
two looked equal parts puzzled and worried, while the third had a knowing smile on her face.

Pepper sighed and joined the others in following Tony onto the balcony.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, an Iron Man suit, glowing silvery-white, shot upwards from the roof. And then the strangest
thing happened. It opened up from head to toe and a fountain of multi-coloured light erupted from
within, roaring upwards.

"Loki," Tony said. "Now."

Loki swept both arms out, then in again, fingers crooked, eyes narrowed in concentration. A series
of branches shot off the main fountain of light, and Loki began to carefully manipulate the sparks.
And they took shapes.

A nuclear hazard symbol in a powerful gamma green. Bruce.

A mighty hammer, shining with silvery-blue light. Thor.

A red and blue shield, with a pure white star in the centre. Steve.

An hourglass of fiery crimson red. Natasha.

A bow of royal purple. Clint.

A golden green Asgardian triskelion. Loki.

A gaunt dark hound. Sirius.

A gigantic silver-grey wolf. Remus.

A telescope. Jane.

A copper lioness. Pepper.

A strange square object with lightning crackling at the tips. Harry would later find out that this one
was a taser, for Darcy.

And the Iron Man armour, closed up once more, still burning white hot, hung amoung them. Tony.

But that was not it, as one more shape formed, out of a ball of golden red flame. And completely on
impulse, Harry reached out to it, with his hand and his magic.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, Harry felt… a spark. Immediately after, he felt a powerful
warmth rush down his arm, and in his mind could have sworn he heard two things. Soft female
laughter. And a somehow triumphant cry of a bird of prey.

The form took shape, a golden-red firebird, burning like an inferno, let out a silent cry of challenge,
spread its wings and took its place in the constellation of light and fire.

Harry, who was staring at his uncle and Tony in awe, thought that, for just a half-heartbeat, his
uncle looked… surprised?

Then it was gone, and Harry gazed up at the shimmering, burning arrangement in awe.

"And now," Tony said, "for the coup de grace."

He slipped on a couple of gloves, then reached into his pockets and pulled out some small objects
that flashed silver in his hands, then flicked them upwards, towards the glowing images.

Now it was Tony's turn to gesture, as if conducting an orchestra, one moment fast and furious, the
next, slow and smooth, brow furrowed in total concentration.

And all around, a line formed, following the path of his gestures. Each symbol was linked by a
thick golden band of light, forming a neat circle. Then, in the middle, a letter appeared, carefully
sketched.
An A.

Thor laughed in utter delight, Jane stared open mouthed, Steve shook his head in incredulous
disbelief, Clint grinned, Sirius barked out a laugh, Bruce, Natasha and Remus shared a slight smile,
Fandral and Volstagg looked thoroughly impressed, Hogun was nodding slowly and Sif was
smiling. And all the while Harry gazed upwards, wide-eyed.

"So," Tony said casually, turning around and smirking. "What do you think?"

"Any feedback is welcome," Loki added lightly.

"Knocked it out of the fucking park," Darcy said, to general agreement.

"Pep?" Tony asked, turning to his girlfriend, who opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head, then
engulfed him in a tight hug, pulling him close and kissing him hard.

"Well," Loki said mildly. "I think that's a fairly definite expression of approval."

After a few moments, Tony and Pepper broke the kiss, still holding each other close. "Happy New
Year, Tony," Pepper said softly.

"So… you liked it?"

She smiled and leaned in to give him another kiss. "I loved it, Tony," she whispered, hugging him
again. "And so did everyone else."

Just then, the clocks began to strike midnight.

"Okay, everyone," Darcy called. "Find someone to kiss, it's a New Years tradition." Leading by
example, she grabbed Harry, laid a smacking kiss on his cheek – Harry promptly went a shade of
red that would shame a tomato - then turned to Sirius.

Harry took the chance to look around.

Both Jane and Thor and Pepper and Tony needed no encouragement.

Sirius and Darcy was just staying this side of public indecency.

Fandral smoothly took Natasha's hand and laid a brief kiss on the back of it. Harry noted that he
paused briefly, to give Natasha a chance to remove her hand if the attention was unwelcome.

Volstagg chuckled cheerily and seemed content to watch.

Hogun looked like he'd been carved out of stone.

Natasha gave Clint a brief, but not hasty, kiss on the forehead, which he returned. Harry got the
feeling that he was intruding on something intensely private and quickly turned away.

Remus, Professor Lupin, rather, was looking around, and seemed a little…wistful. He caught
Harry's eye, smiled slightly, and winked.

Bruce also seemed a little wistful, but, like Remus, honestly happy for the people around him.

And Loki… Harry's eyes nearly popped out. Because Loki and Sif had taken a long look in one
another's eyes, then Sif initiated a long, slow, luxorious kiss.
Everyone watched in hushed silence as, eventually, they broke apart. And everyone heard Sif say
softly, without looking away from Loki, "Happy New Year, Loki."

Happy New Year indeed.

OoOoO

The next couple of days passed quietly. Harry settled down to write his letter to his godmother with
the assistance of his father.

It ended up going as follows.

Dear Wanda, Harry wrote.

I have to admit, I didn't know that you were my godmother until I got your letter. Dad mentioned
that you were mum's best friend, but little more than that, because he was talking about various
members of the Order of the Phoenix, pointing them out in a photo.

I'm going to be honest: I was very angry and very upset when I found out. I wanted to know why
you didn't take me in. Your explanation was logical, and backed up by Sirius, Professor Lupin and
dad, who said that you would only have left me if you had no other option. Uncle Loki explained in
detail (detail I could have done without, in some cases. Yuck) how dangerous it would have been
for you, apprentice of the Sorcerer Supreme to take me in. By leaving me with the Dursleys, you
probably saved my life. But it still hurts. I'm going to be honest about that, too.

I also wasn't sure if I wanted to write back. I wasn't sure if I was able to. Then I talked to a man
called Professor Charles Xavier. He says that he knows you a bit. He suggested that I get in
contact with you, and so did Dad.

Then I remembered that time you talked about. You seemed kind, like you really wanted to help me,
that you actually cared for me, unlike the Dursleys. When you hugged me, I think it was the first
time I'd been hugged since I was a baby. Even if it wasn't, it… it was a new experience. Having
someone seemed to care for me. And when you let me go, you were crying. Because you couldn't
help me and wanted to so much. That convinced me to write to you, so here we are.

You may not know, but my grandfather was in a similar position to you, for slightly different
reasons. I ended up yelling at him. A lot. But in the end, I forgave him, even though it still hurts.
Uncle Loki (who's been in a similar sort of position) says that it'll hurt for a long time, but it will
get better, and acceptance is the first step and forgiveness is the second step. So, I accept what you
did and forgive you.

I realise that, well, I've probably rambled a bit. Sorry. I'm not much of a writer: I'd probably
explain it better in person.

What I want to get across is that I'm still upset, but I don't blame you for what happened. You had
a very hard choice to make and you made it as best you could, and it really hurt you to do it. I
accept that and I suppose I understand it logically speaking. Dad says understanding something
with your head and with your heart are two different things, and I can do the first. The second is
coming.

I want to get to know you, Wanda. I want to hear about my mum, about your friendship, about
everything. Because you're part of my family. And I want to know my family.

Love,
Harry

P.S. What's your owl called? Mine's called Hedwig. Hagrid bought her for me in Diagon Alley
before I went to Hogwarts.

Harry sat back. "Is that okay?" he asked, sounding a little uncertain.

Thor read through it. "That sounds fine to me," he said, before glancing at Sirius.

"Your honest about how and what you feel," Sirius said. "Trust me when I say that Wanda
approves of that sort of thing." He paused. "Or she used to, anyway." He shrugged. "In my book,
that's a good start."

Harry nodded, folded it up, put it in an envelope, and held out an arm for Hedwig, who fluttered
over. "You need to take this to Wanda Maximoff," he said.

Hedwig seemed to glare slightly at the letter.

"Be nice to her," Harry said firmly. "She did her best."

Hedwig looked unconvinced.

"Please?"

Hedwig seemed to soften, and she hooted softly, then nipped him gently, before taking the letter.

Harry smiled. "Thanks," he said quietly, going over to the window and opening it. Hedwig took
off, and flew gracefully away.

Harry let out a breath. Now all he had to do was wait for a response. He turned to his father, who
looked puzzled.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing… it's just that I always thought that Snowy Owls barked," Thor said, bemused. He
shook his head, and smiled down at Harry. "I'm proud of you, my son. That can't have been easy."

Harry smiled as his father's praise made him feel warm inside. "It wasn't," he said after a moment.
"But it wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be."

"That is often the way of it," Thor agreed. He ruffled Harry's hair. "Like I said. I'm proud of you. It
must have taken a lot to let go of your…"

"Unresolved issues?" Harry said dryly. "Professor Xavier helped."

"And I am grateful to him for that," Thor said.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, some way up state, the man in question – who would doubtless be gratified to hear
what Thor had to say – was welcoming two of his returning students.

"Professor!"

Charles smiled slightly. "Hello, Jean," he said. "I take it you had a good Christmas?"
Jean nodded. "It was great fun having Scott over," she said. "For once we could actually hang out
without everyone gossiping." She rolled her eyes. "None of them seem to get that we're just good
friends."

"I wonder why," Charles said, voice carefully devoid of all sarcasm, while wondering how such a
brilliantly intelligent girl as Jean, a developing psychic of potentially unequalled power, could miss
what was right under her nose.

Jean shrugged. "It confuses me too," she said. "But that's people for you." She looked a little sad.
"Be gentle with Scott – he and Johnny Storm had a bit of a falling out. A pretty major one, by the
sounds of things."

"Oh no," Charles said, frowning. "Over what?"

"Johnny went ice skating and got a bump on the head because he was skating like a maniac. When
Scott went to see him… well, he was maybe a bit harsh," Jean said carefully.

Charles nodded. Scott was a very serious young man, and preferred being sensible and following
the rules. Johnny was his polar opposite, considering rules as things to be followed only when
convenient and to be a helpful checklist for targeted disobedience, so it was inevitable that
arguments would arise. Yet the two remained good friends, if separated by distance.

As far as Charles was aware, Jean and Johnny had never met, but Jean at least had heard so much
about Johnny from Scott, mostly along the lines of, 'Johnny did something stupid. Again', and
considering how badly Scott had fallen for Jean, he didn't doubt that Johnny knew more than most
about Jean Grey and her personal life.

Not quite as much as Charles, of course. Not only had he been her teacher and confidant for nearly
ten years, he knew several things about her family that even she had forgotten. Speaking of which,
he might have to raise them with her family – something which could wait until after the
unpacking, he felt.

"Professor?"

"Oh? Sorry, Jean, I was miles away," he said, and sighed. "Jean, I must warn you that my time will
be somewhat limited for the foreseeable future."

"Why?" Jean asked, frowning, green eyes that were so like her cousin's filling with concern. They
were so alike, Charles thought. And they didn't even know it.

"I suspect you have heard about the attack on MI6 by now?" he asked.

Jean nodded, and shuddered. "It sounded horrible. Aren't the Avengers investigating what
happened?"

"They know what happened," Charles said grimly. "They know what did it. They and SHIELD
have enlisted my aid in tracking down the culprit."

"By using Cerebro," Jean said, nodding.

"Exactly," Charles said. "Hank, Logan and Ororo will take a greater role, though I suspect SHIELD
may tap up Logan as well. He has history with them."

"What kind of history?"

"The kind that he doesn't share lightly," Charles said, and Jean coloured slightly.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's not a crime to want to know, Jean. It only becomes one when you don't know when to stop," he
said kindly. He sobered. "Logan's past is a dark place, and frankly, we, you in particular, are
probably best off not knowing about much of it."

Jean nodded seriously, then looked up as she heard a yelp. Scott had been climbing the stairs and
slipped on some ice after his attention had got distracted. By Jean. Who was wearing tight jeans
and bending over slightly.

The poor boy had had no chance, Charles reflected, amused, as Jean hurried over to help him up,
check him over and remonstrate with him for being so clumsy and worrying her.

He watched as Jean left, waving goodbye at him briefly, telekinetically lifting the dropped bag and
scolding Scott. And, naturally, remaining, as ever, utterly oblivious to how deeply her childhood
friend was in love with her.

"How many more lies, Charles? How many more secrets?" Hank asked, from behind him. He'd
broken off from the Greys and his old friend Alex, who, like all of them, looked far younger than
he had any right to. The battle with Krakoa, what, a decade ago now, had paid unexpected
dividends.

Charles knew immediately what his old friend was talking about. His little counselling session with
Harry. The fact that he had been talking to Jean's lost little cousin, the one she'd spent years
wondering about, and, in fact, the subject he was planning to talk to both her parents and Alex.

"Too many, Hank," Charles said quietly. "Too many."

"And from those you are closest to as well," Hank said, and shook his head. "Sometimes, Charles, I
wonder what you are hiding from me. From Alex. From all of us."

Charles sighed. "'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown'," he said. "If I must take on the role of
being one of the unofficial leaders of mutantkind, I must bear the responsibilities as well. You
know that I have had to tread in some murky waters, my friend."

"Henry IV, Part II. Yes, Charles, known it and not liked it," Hank said grimly. "Your business with
SHIELD… this is probably your most honourable endeavour with them, that therapy business with
the Dresden boy aside. How is he, by the way?"

"I know, Hank," Charles said, wondering how much more reproach, justly earned, he was going to
face today. Most of it would involve Harry, he predicted. "And as for Dresden, he has moved past
his pyrophobia, though that is the very least of his problems." Hank nodded his acceptance, then
frowned. Charles braced himself for another diatribe.

So, when it came, he was very surprised by what Hank said next.

"Did you ever tell Tony who his mother really was?" the other man asked, tone suddenly accusing.

"No. And after he didn't manifest any mutant abilities, I decided to avoid it," Charles said sharply,
turning to face Hank. "I may change my mind if he has a child. Until then, Tessa's X-Gene, and the
cyberpathy that came with it, will remain in the grave along with the rest of her. You know as well
as I that informing Tony that his mother's name was Tessa, that she was my spy in the Hellfire
Club, and, indeed, married Howard to protect him and later, Tony, from the rest of the Club, would
not do him any good."

Hank acquiesced with a reluctant nod, as Charles looked into the fire, expression grim. "And you
also know that if he investigated, the Hellfire Club would either seek to eliminate him or court him
strongly to take his father's position in the club."

"The currently empty rank of White King," Hank sighed. "I know this, Charles."

"You know some, not all. They may even offer him the rank of Lord Imperial," Charles said.
"Though I believe young Sebastian has his eye on that position."

Hank grimaced. "And I doubt, old friend, that that is all he has his eye on. The Club will scent
opportunities in this new age of the superhero," he said.

"But they won't act on them," Charles said. "They respect me."

"That won't be enough, Charles."

"Of course it won't," Charles replied, with the air of laying down an ace. "Why do you think I
mentioned Erik to young Sebastian?"

Hank's countenance darkened, and he smiled mirthlessly. "Yes, I thought that was on purpose. Do
they fear him that much?"

"He broke, no, crushed three successive Inner Circles physically, mentally and spiritually, Hank.
The only one spared in the first two was Howard, and that is because he knew why Howard chose
to become the White King," Charles said. "And the third, Erik destroyed in response to the
assassination of Howard and Tessa. This last was the most thorough, down to root and branch,
from Lord Imperial to the Pawns. I suspect they are only truly recovering now. Yes, Hank, they
fear him that much and are right to. It was a great boon to the world, perhaps, but at such cost." He
looked sad. "Howard was one of the few non-mutants who could ever have claimed to be Erik's
friend."

"Was Obadiah Stane a member of the Hellfire Club?" Hank asked, knowing that Charles still had
resources inside the club.

"He succeeded Howard as White King, though both Emma Frost and her niece of the same name
played him like a harp until his death," Charles said grimly. "But he was clever enough to delay
until Erik's attention was elsewhere." He gave Hank a long look. "Why do you bring this up now?"

"It is a matter of family," Hank said pointedly.

Ah. That was it. So it did tie back to Harry.

"You know why we cannot speak of it, Hank," Charles said.

"He doesn't have to come to the Institute, Charles, we can arrange a meeting elsewhere," Hank
said, clearly upset. "Wanda's getting into contact with him."

"How do you know?"

"Eurasian Tawny Owls are not native to the United States. Nor do they commonly make a point of
tapping the windows of Avengers Tower and carrying letters, then flying out some time later
without said letter." Hank said dryly. He half smiled. "You have your methods of keeping an eye
on him, and I have mine."
Charles chuckled. "Your resourcefulness remains undiminished, old friend," he said.

Hank looked serious all of a sudden. "Charles, Shaw Junior seemed awfully confident when we
met him. Should we prepare for a fight of some kind?"

Charles shook his head. "They won't dare move if they think he will respond. They know as well
as I that though Erik has mellowed, he is still exceptionally dangerous and still despises the Club.
And he won't tolerate the Club interfering with either us or the Avengers. They know that. And
they have also found out, to their cost, that he is the most powerful mutant on Earth." He looked at
the door Jean and Scott had left through. "Except one."

Hank followed his gaze. "Oh my stars and garters, Charles," he said softly. "You think
she's that strong?"

"I know she is," Charles said. "She is Omega Class. A true Omega, like Erik, and not a borderline
candidate like myself."

"She hasn't displayed that level of power."

"Yet. Psionic powers are closer to magical abilities in that the potential to wield them increases
with age. The only barrier is physical form," Charles explained. "For instance, if I had a
supersoldier level body, while I might not necessarily develop any new abilities, I would have a far
greater level of stamina, and possibly even greater power, to put behind those I have."

Hank listened with interest. While he was a genius in the field of bio chemistry and was the
primary authority on mutant genetics, second possibly only to Charles himself, psionics were very
definitely Charles' field of expertise. Without being a psychic yourself, there was only so much you
could understand.

One thought was clamouring for attention, and he voiced it. "What if Harry manifests both
Asgardian abilities and psychic abilities?"

"It depends which manifests first," Charles said slowly. "If the psychic powers manifested first,
then I suspect the two would adapt and combine. If the Asgardian abilities manifest first, his brain
chemistry could be so altered that anything more than a very brief or very limited manifestation of
his psychic potential could kill him." He spread his hands. "I do not know."

"Yes you do," Hank said shrewdly. "We both do."

"Not quite. Nothing is certain," Charles said. He steepled his fingers. "In fact, there were certain
factors that suggest to me that he may yet develop psychic abilities. Remember, he was born with
magic, and Wanda in particular is proof that the X-Gene and M-Gene can work together, not in
opposition. He will retain his considerable magical powers, come what may."

"Whatever our thoughts on the matter," Hank mused. "It is undeniable that he will be a force to be
reckoned with."

"Yes," Charles said slowly. "Yes, that is very true." He looked up. "And that reckoning shall come
soon, I fear."

"Why?"

"A storm is coming, Hank, coming for him. I can feel it. What we are seeing now, this trouble with
the necromancer and HYDRA, that is just the beginning. The outward edge of the coming
darkness," Charles said, voice low and worried. "And he shall need all of skill, strength and luck he
can muster to survive it. We all will."

OoOoO

He was right. And the day after, the day before Harry went back to Hogwarts, the storm broke.
Because Fury decided that the holidays were over, having gone on for as long as he could afford to
allow them to, and briefed the Avengers on their latest threat.

"I've got bad news and worse news," Fury said. "Which would you like first?"

Tony glanced around the room and shrugged fatalistically. "Your call, Cap, but personally I prefer
to hear the bad news first. That way, I know how much scotch I'm going to need to deal with the
worse news."

Steve's lips thinned. He didn't exactly approve of the fact that Tony drank like a fish, but
understood why he did. However, his disapproval had markedly increased after the advent of
children living in/regularly visting the Tower. Tony, as ever, had ignored him. Right now, Steve
thought that Tony had reached the right conclusion for the wrong reasons. "Bad news first," he said
firmly.

"HYDRA is back," Fury said.

Steve suddenly thought that maybe Tony had been right about the scotch. The menace that he had
essentially died to destroy, the group that had killed countless good soldiers, friends of his,
including Bucky, his best friend in all the world, and, most painfully of all, had denied him the
chance to live his life in his own time, with the woman he had only realised he truly loved far too
late.

And it was back.

There was a shattering sound and sudden series of pains in his hand as if he'd been stabbed by a
bunch of miniature knives. He looked down and was surprised to see glass sticking out of his hand,
as water from the shattered glass mixed with blood. His blood. HYDRA had wanted the secrets in
that blood too, he muzzily thought. So badly that they'd killed another friend, his mentor, Doctor
Erskine.

Everything they wanted, they stole, and everything they didn't, they destroyed.

"Steve!"

He looked up to see Bruce's worried face looking back at him. Bruce looked up at Fury who raised
a concerned eyebrow. "He's responding to his name, means that the shock hasn't put him into a
fugue state or something like that, but we really need to get him to medical."

The pain came through then, in a searing molten hot tidal wave of agony. True, he'd had worse
wounds, but they were generally blunt impact trauma, resulting in a thick, dull ache, rather than a
razor sharp agony.

To distract himself, he assessed his team. Clint looked grim. Thor looked puzzled and concerned.
Loki's eyes had narrowed and Steve had no doubt that he was analysing everything. But there was
also concern there. Tony was looking grim and swearing a blue streak, alternating between
lambasting Steve for being 'a moron with motor control issues' and Fury for being 'an insensitive
asshole with no fucking tact'. Rich words indeed, Steve felt, considering who they were coming
from, but they weren't wrong.
Then Thor came over and helped him up, while Loki stepped in front of him, scrutinised his eyes
thoughtfully, then touched his forehead and murmured a few words. After that, the world seemed
distant, as if everything, including the pains in his hand were happening a long way away.

He caught the words 'Best I can do' and 'not sure how his mind and physiology would react' among
the low hubbub of voices, then felt Thor's strong but gentle hands steering him to medical.
Obediently, he followed the directions, then sat as the doctor gave him a local anaestethic and
slowly, carefully, with the aid of tweezers, removed the shards of glass.

After that, he drank something that made him sleep.

When he woke, he woke to the sight of Darcy. This wasn't an unpleasant sight by any stretch of the
imagination on pure aesthetics, but the expression of mingled worry and fury simultaneously
terrified and upset him. Terrified him because an angry Darcy was like a smart bomb – complex,
compact, hard to defuse and you couldn't make one misstep or you'd be, in Tony's words, 'fucking
annihilated', and upset because he didn't like making people he cared about, especially women,
worry about him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She stared down at him in disbelief. "You get twenty five pieces of fucking glass in your fucking
hand and first thing you do is ask me if I'm okay?" she asked, incredulous, then shook her head.
"You are unbelievable."

He gave this some thought. "Is that a good thing?"

She half smiled. "Yeah, Steve, it is."

Steve, relieved that he has passed the first test, is struck by how Darcy reminds him of Peggy. Both
were smart, gorgeous dames – women, rather – who took no bullshit, were fiercely loyal and
kicked ass.

Admittedly, Peggy had been supremely disciplined, clear and concise in speech and action and
never had a hair out of place, even when shooting at a HYDRA spy in a car that was coming
straight for her. She had also oozed the sort of classy cool and self-assurance that Steve had, back
then, associated with the more competent members of the British officer class. There was
something about ruling the largest Empire the world had ever seen that endowed its ranking
citizens with a certain self-possession.

Darcy, by contrast, slobbed around in t-shirt and jeans, only getting dressed up when it was a
special occasion, existed in a state of perpetual sarcasm and peppered her speech with so many pop
culture references that Steve and Thor weren't the only ones who looked at her askance.
Sometimes, only Tony – who was a fount of knowledge for all things pop culture related, up to and
including the measurements of most actresses – and Loki, who had absorbed pop culture like a
sponge - understood her.

They were people of different times, but sometimes, if Steve hadn't known otherwise, he'd have
thought they were related. It wasn't just the dark hair, pale skin and – Steve blushed on thinking
this – their similar figures. It was something about them. An aura that said, 'fuck with me and mine
and I will end you so fast that you won't know it until you find Saint Peter asking you what the
fuck you're doing outside the pearly gates'.

"You okay?"
"Hand's fine. The local stops it hurting, and it'll probably be healed up by this evening," he said.

"Good, because Harry might start asking questions," Darcy said bluntly. "But that wasn't what I
was talking about. The unwelcome blast from your past. Can you deal?"

Steve paused, then nodded. "I can manage," he said.

"Good. The rest are waiting for you." She paused. "You know, in case you were thinking it, you
shouldn't worry about it all by yourself. We've all got issues in our pasts. Least we can do is listen
to each other vent about them." She shrugged. "So if you feel the need…"

Steve nodded. "Thank you, Darcy."

"Not a problem," she said, before sauntering out, and preventing Steve with a fine view of her well
shaped ass. That was, he thought somewhat guiltily, one area in which she very much resembled
Peggy as well.

He sighed, and stood up. He might as well face his demons.

OoOoO

When he walked into the briefing room, the rest of the Avengers turned as one to look at him.

"Captain Rogers," Fury said. "Glad you could join us once more. How's the hand?"

"It'll be fine, sir," Steve said.

"Good," Fury said. "Take a seat. I was getting to bad news."

He turned to the Avengers as Steve sat down. "HYDRA have found and reactivated the Winter
Soldier."

Tony spat a foul curse, Bruce seemed to be doing some of his breathing exercises, Loki and Clint
looked grim, Thor frowned, as if he was trying to remember where he'd heard the name before and
Natasha looked carefully blank.

Clearly he was the only one who was drawing a complete blank. "Who or what is 'the Winter
Soldier'?" Steve asked.

"He's a living weapon, Captain," Fury said flatly. "He is a soldier without a country, an assassin
who kills because it is all he knows and all he cares about. He first turned up in late 1944, at the
back end of World War II, operating under Soviet command."

"Soviet? They were our allies," Steve said, frowning.

"It was an alliance of convenience, Captain," Fury said. "Stalin was as bad as Hitler, if not worse.
He butchered nearly thirty million of his own people in the great purges of the '30's. And he didn't
want anyone, not Britain, not America, interfering in Soviet affairs ever again. Little enough of this
got out to even soldiers during the war, but people knew. So he created the Soldier."

Steve looked grim, then nodded.

"The Soldier was the terror of Europe and most of the world for nearly half a century. Wherever
there was trouble, wherever the Soviet Union had a finger in a pie, wherever they wanted someone
dead, the Soldier was there. And he was terrifyingly good at his job. No one purely human even
had a chance. The Weapons Plus project, the follow on from Captain America's creation – you
were designated as Weapon I, Captain - was created specifically to stop him. The Soldier and
Weapon X, possibly the most dangerous superhuman the project has created to date, crossed paths.
Weapon X came off worse. Much, much worse. When the Soviet Union fell, the Soldier dropped
off the map. And the world breathed a sigh of relief."

Fury looked grim. "Then, a year after the Chitauri invasion, assassinations by someone with his
MO started happening again. Small, minor, blending in with the dozens of assassinations each
year, they weren't noticed for a while. Last year, a SHIELD team fouled up one of his hits, aimed
at General Lane. None of them survived the following fight, but we did get intel suggesting that it
was him. This intel was recently confirmed by Director, then Agent, Wisdom of MI:13, who barely
survived an attack by the Soldier on his base the same night as MI6 was destroyed. We have reason
to be lieve that '6 was a distraction."

"I wish I was surprised," Steve said darkly.

Fury grimaced. "I don't." He shook his head. "Someone, presumably HYDRA, had found him and
in the age of the superhero, wanted control of the most dangerous man on the planet. Either it was
HYDRA and they succeeded or HYDRA picked up the pieces when he went rogue," Fury said.
"I'm more likely to suspect the former. If it was the latter, we'd be looking at a global trail of
destruction."

"You fear him," Loki said slowly.

"I don't fear him. But I am terrified of what he's capable of," Fury said bluntly. "He's a killing
machine. He's what would happen if Steve went bad, and acquired the skills of Clint and Natasha.
He's fast, incredibly strong, a master marksman like few I've ever seen, and by the time you know
he's there, it is too late. He is the deadliest super soldier in history." He looked at the Avengers.
"He's the sort of threat SHIELD was formed to face."

"He's bad," Tony confirmed. Everyone glanced at him "When I was little, the Stark family
bodyguards had a protocol. If the Soldier came for my family, their job was to basically get
between us and the Soldier and hope we could run fast enough to get away while they tried to die
as slowly as possible."

"I remember hearing about him when I was growing up," Bruce said. He glanced at Clint. "It might
have been a little before your time," he added. "But every American kid growing up during the
Cold War grew up hearing about the Winter Soldier in the same way that nineties and early
noughties kids knew about Bin Laden, the way kids these days are learning about the Mandarin.
He was public enemy number one for three decades." He shrugged. "No one ever knew much
about him, far less than Bin Laden and those guys. Just the name. But that was enough. He was a
nightmare."

"He's worse than that," Natasha said, voice low. "He's taken the Infinity Formula."

Fury eyed her. "You never told us that," he said slowly.

"I thought, like you, that he was dead," Natasha said bluntly. "I didn't want to bring back old
ghosts. If he was alive, you'd have wanted to find him. At best, you'd have failed. At worst, you
would have succeeded."

"Agent Romanov, that was not your call to make," Fury said, sounding irate.

"You wouldn't have been able to control him, Director. And the protocols programmed into him
were simple. If someone without the requisite authority and methods to control him woke him up,
he would systematically destroy them and their organisation," Natasha said. She looked Fury in the
eye. "I weighed the options. It wasn't worth saying."

"You worked with him, didn't you?" Loki murmured.

Natasha nodded sharply. "He was my partner for nearly thirty five years," she said flatly. "From
1956 to 1990."

"Wait, what?" Steve asked, surprised. Thor too looked puzzled. Bruce, oddly enough, didn't. "You
look no more than twenty five."

Natasha half smiled. "Close. I was twenty eight when I was given the Infinity Formula."

"My god," Bruce whispered. "You worked for the Red Room, didn't you?"

"How would you know about the Red Room, Doctor Banner?" Fury asked, eye narrowed in
suspicion.

"I worked for Ross, remember?" Bruce replied. "He wanted a new supersoldier formula. I started
by looking through all the previous formulas and supersoldier programs and team projects. The
Red Room, Project: Black Patriot, Weapon X, The Mar-Vell Files, the CIA's ill-fated Division X
and the 'Angel of Cuba', Project: Pegasus and Project: Excalibur, all heavily redacted, of course."
He looked grim. "They weren't pretty. And the Red Room was the worst. But, aside from the
works of Doctor Essex and Doctors Mary and Richard Parker, it was the most helpful."

"Parker?" Thor asked, frowning. "I know someone by that name…" he paused, then nodded. "A
boy, about Harry's age. Brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, thin and with a striking intellect. He was
called Peter, I think."

"Their son," Fury said. "He lives with his aunt and uncle. We have a SHIELD team keeping an eye
on him."

"Why?"

"Because HYDRA and someone else tried to bribe his parents, for their research. When that didn't
work, they murdered them," Fury said grimly. "And made it look like an accident. We still don't
know who the third party was, but we do know that HYDRA were involved. They've been a
problem for decades, make no mistake. They've just become a bigger problem now."

"What was this… Red Room?" Thor asked, after a moment of collective sobriety. "And how does
it relate to what we face now?"

"The Red Room was Russia's answer to Captain America and the Weapon X project," Fury said.
"On the surface, Cold War military policy was dictated by advances in nuclear weaponry and more
conventional armaments. But underneath, buried far from the public eye, a new frontier of warfare
had opened up: genetic." He looked at Steve. "You were only the first in a new breed of soldier.
You were only a notch or two above peak human in every field, yet you nearly won the war on the
Western Front by yourself."

"I had help with that, sir," Steve said. "Dumbledore, Namor –"

"He was another example," Fury said. "A man who could breath underwater, swim faster than a
speedboat, fly faster than a fighter plane and rip tanks apart like they were made of cardboard?
That's the sort of man you want on your side. Especially when you're facing abominations like the
stuff Arnim Zola came up with."
"Namor?" Thor asked, thoroughly puzzled.

"Classified," Natasha said firmly.

"Anyway. The Soviets saw that. They saw the Commandos. They saw what the British had –
Blade, Dumbledore, Doctor Strange, Union Jack and the first Spitfire. They saw Grindelwald. And
they decided that they needed an edge," Fury said.

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Clint muttered.

"It wasn't," Natasha said, voice low. "The Red Room was designed on one principle: if it couldn't
break you, nothing could."

"Nothing?" Loki asked lightly.

Natasha met his gaze, two sets of green eyes locking. "Nothing," she said, with absolute conviction.

Loki inclined his head briefly.

"The first, and in some ways the finest, product of the Red Room was the Winter Soldier," Fury
said. "He was a one man wave of terror. Where he went, destruction followed. People started
calling him the Black Death, among many, many other things, because he always wore dark
clothing and no matter how you tried, you could not get away from him once he set his sights on
you. Not unless he was called off, or if you were very, very lucky."

"How bad is he?" Steve asked.

"He is the worst, Captain. He's a hero killer."

"Hero killer?"

"One of his first missions, that we know of, was to kill the first Spitfire. You knew her, didn't
you?" Fury said.

Steve nodded slowly. "Did she…?"

Fury looked tired. "I'm sorry, Captain. All they ever found was her gauntlet and her body armour,
both mangled almost out of recognition. That and some scorch marks. He left nothing behind
except some blood," he said. "If it's any consolation, all the evidence is that she put up one hell of a
fight. No one ever came as close to beating him as she did."

"Oh," Steve said quietly. "I thought…" He shook his head.

"Who was this 'Spitfire'?"

"She was a hero," Steve said simply. "She was an American girl who joined up with the
Commandos. She wielded a sword and a magically treated gauntlet from which she fired a 20mm
cannon, the main gun on a Spitfire, and a flamethrower." He sat back, and half smiled, clearly lost
in memory. "She designed it and built it herself. It was decades ahead of anything we had, though
that made sense, since she was a time traveller." He paused, opened his mouth as if to add
something, then bit his lip so hard that he nearly drew blood.

"Steve?" Thor asked, concerned. "Is there something that ails you?"

Fury cut in smoothly. "He's just found out he lost a friend, Thor. That's gonna be hard on anyone,"
he said, eyeing Steve with an expression that said that he knew exactly what Steve was not saying.
"Yeah," Steve said quietly. "Pretty much." He sighed. "Howard helped her build it and provided
the materials. Dumbledore enchanted it to her specifications, so that it balanced, which mattered
because she was almost as acrobatic as Natasha." He half smiled. "It was a four way choice
between which inspired her name – her agility, her armaments, her temper or…" he trailed off.

"There were other things that inspired it," Fury said, rescuing him. "But they aren't important right
now."

"Right," Steve said, somewhat relieved. "Anyway, she later had to redesign the gauntlet because
she replaced the cannon and the flamethrower with one of HYDRA's cannons that we captured.
And she was using it when I was frozen. Dating Monty too."

"Who is this… 'Monty'?" Thor asked, a little puzzled.

"Lieutenant Montgomery Falsworth, second son of an old British noble family," Steve said. "He
was one of the Commandos. When it became apparent that Spitfire was stuck in the past, they
began to get together." He glanced at Fury. "I guess he outlived her."

Fury nodded. "Damn shame," he said. "He never got over her death, and he and his sister had the
mother of all arguments when she wanted to take up the mantle of Spitfire. She won, but they were
estranged for a good while."

"I heard that he died," Steve said.

"Not quite," Fury said. "He's hanging on, and still compos mentis, but he's only hanging on out of
habit, if you follow me." He sighed. "Losing her did bad things to him. But he moved on and
married one of the MacTaggert family, an older cousin of the famous CIA agent and geneticist,
Moira MacTaggert. Her name was Mary. They had a kid." He grimaced. "Brian Falsworth. He
became the costumed hero known as Union Jack, operating in the early to mid-seventies. He had
powers. After Thor and the Hulk, and maybe Namor, he was physically the most powerful
superhuman in the modern era. They came from some Amulet, we never worked out what it was."

"What happened to him?" Steve asked, getting a strong sense of foreboding.

"He and his partner, the Destroyer, a non-powered martial artist and acrobat, crossed swords with
the Soldier. They lost. They outnumbered him and they definitely overpowered him. So he killed
them both from a distance with a sniper rifle. Classic Winter Soldier. One bullet, jacketed with
vibranium, killed Falsworth Junior, and one ordinary bullet did for the Aubrey," Fury said heavily.
"That pretty much broke Monty. His wife died of cancer, and now… now he's all but alone. Albus
and Minerva visit him, and so does Stephen Strange, I think. And his sister. She's still around."

"Really?" Steve asked, interested. "How's she doing?"

"Fine. Doesn't look a day over twenty. She's half vampire these days."

There was a pause. "Wait, what?"

"John Falsworth, their older brother, was a Nazi sympathiser who became the vampire known as
Baron Blood," Fury said. "First anyone knew of it was when he resurfaced one night after going to
ground for a while, sometime after you disappeared and drained his parents. He turned 'em and sent
them after his siblings. Spitfire got his dad, who went after Monty. And Jaqueline staked her mom.
With the help of a guy called Blade."

"The Daywalker?" Sirius said sharply.

Fury nodded. "You know him?"

"Ran into him in London, June 1993," Sirius said, nodding. He glanced at Thor. "You were staying
with Lily because she was eight months preggers and looked like she was going to pop at any
moment, remember?"

Thor nodded. "I remember."

"Well, we hunted vampires, compared motorbikes, that sort of thing," Sirius finished.

"Interesting," Fury said, clearly filing that knowledge away. "Anyway, she was half drained. Blade
has the universal blood type and gave her an emergency transfusion."

"Daywalker?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised. "I thought that was just a vampire bogeyman, a story
dreamt up to keep the fledglings scared."

"Wait, vampires?" Tony asked, puzzled. "Seriously?"

"They are very real, Tony," Thor said seriously. "And very dangerous."

Steve nodded. "I destroyed a couple of nests that were working with HYDRA during the war," he
said.

"So, vampires exist. Right. I have got to take a closer look at SHIELD's paranormal stuff," Tony
muttered. Fury glowered at him. Tony ignored it. "What's a Daywalker?"

"Half human, half vampire, if the stories are correct," Loki said thoughtfully. "With all of their
strengths and none of their weaknesses, save bloodlust, he is prophesied to be the father of a new
breed of vampires."

"That sounds ominous," Clint commented. "Vampires are bad enough as it is."

"Blade wouldn't do that. Not of his own will," Natasha said suddenly. Everyone looked at her. "I
know him. I've met him and we studied him in the Red Room. He hates vampires."

"He does," Steve confirmed.

"Yes," Loki said slowly. "But if you will forgive me for bringing this up, I think we are all aware
that wills can be subverted."

Clint's lips thinned.

"True," Fury allowed. "But that isn't an issue right now. Jaqueline Falsworth is on the side of the
angels. So's Blade, last I heard."

"So, Jackie's still alive," Steve said, clutching to the one fact he'd wanted in the first place.

"Mostly."

"Okay."

"Back to the Winter Soldier," Fury said. "You'll be getting dossiers on him, but the simple fact is,
he's fast, he's strong, he's incredibly skilled, he has a bionic arm that's about as tricked out as one of
Stark's suits and he never misses his shot. Evidence says that he was the gunman who killed
Kennedy, among other things."
"Seriously?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised. "If you released that information, you'd sort of solve a
forty year old mystery." He paused. "Though most people wouldn't believe you anyway, but you
know, the truth would be out there."

Fury's comms suddenly beeped. "Yes?" he said.

There was some chatter on the other end. His expression froze. "If this is a joke, I will have you
signed up to be sparring partner for the Hulk," he growled.

After a few more moments, he nodded. "I see," he said grimly. "Get me anything you can." Then
he sighed and rubbed his face. "I've just got news that comes under the category of 'worst news.'
The Darkhold has been stolen."

Clint frowned, puzzled. Natasha's eyes widened. Thor looked horrified and was about to speak
when Loki cut him off in a bone jarring shriek.

"YOU LET THAT BOOK BE STOLEN?"

Everyone stared at him in shock. He'd stood up and was now icy white with anger and, yes, fear,
breathing fast. No, not fear. That had been bad enough, when the veidrdraugr came. This was
terror. Complete and utter terror. And after a couple of years of Loki being cool, composed and
sarcastic, no matter the danger, two such cracks in the mask in quick succession were more than a
little unsettling.

"What's got you?" Tony asked, frowning. "What the hell is this darkthingy?"

"It is a book of foulest magic, Tony," Thor said, voice low. "It is the most dangerous artefact on
Midgard. And considering some of the things I know to reside here, that is saying much."

"So, book of bad magic. Not good, but not earth shaking," Clint said. "Right?"

"Clint, you have no idea how bad that thing is," Natasha said gravely. "If I remember my briefings
right, it's sentient."

"Tolkien based many of his stories on reality. Middle Earth was a composite of many of the Nine
Realms, which I showed him. While his narrative was his own," Loki said. He had largely
composed himself, but he spoke carefully, and his voice wavered slightly. "He took inspiration
from real artefacts. And from the legends of the Darkhold and what I told him of it, he constructed
the One Ring. In doing so, he watered it down. Considerably."

"So… it's like the One Ring but worse?" Tony said. Loki nodded. He clapped his hands. "Right,
we find it, take it to New Zealand and drop it in Mount Doom. Problem solved."

"This is not a laughing matter, Stark!" Loki spat furiously. "The Darkhold is
indestructible. No force, natural or unnatural, can unmake it. Time does not touch it. Entropy will
not damage it, for that book is a brother to it. It is sentient, and with it in hand, even the least
beggar and transient child could become a nightmare unlike any this realm has witnessed for a
thousand years! It is pure evil." He glared at Fury. " How was it in a position to be stolen? Surely
you did not move it."

"Until a couple of weeks ago, it was where it has been since the time of Emperor Constantine – in
what is now Castel Montesi," Fury said evenly. "The most we've done is beef the security up even
further." He grimaced as a report cam in on his phone. "We also have reason to believe the Winter
Soldier was involved. Half a company of the best soldiers in the world, including an assassin on
secondment from MI6, the best they had, were slaughtered. They were all killed with one shot or
one stab wound, except for the guy from '6. As far as we can tell, the Soldier was distracted by one
of the other soldiers and '6's man got the drop on him and very nearly killed him. Unfortunately,
with the Soldier, very nearly is nowhere near enough."

"He was wounded?" Steve asked.

"Not even a scratch. 6's man, Bond I think he was called, had him at gunpoint. The Soldier shot
him in the stomach, presumably to disable him, then executed him, judging by the post-mortem,"
Fury said grimly. "The theft of the Turin Shroud was a diversion. Whoever is behind this wanted
that book badly. And if they had the expertise to crack through the wards and raise an illusion
good enough to fool a cursory inspection for weeks, they have the expertise to use that book the
way we least want it used."

Loki had, to the shock, surprise and to some extent, the horror of the rest of his team mates, put his
head in his hands.

"This is really bad, isn't it?" Tony said, suddenly subdued. Loki subscribed fiercely to the notion
that being a mage meant that they should never see you miss a beat. The fact that he was royalty
and supremely intellectual only compounded his desire to never appear anything other than some
variety of confident. The veidrdraugr had clearly frightened him. That was bad enough. That he
was showing what appeared to be abject despair was extremely worrying.

Loki sighed explosively, drawing his hands down his face. "It is as bad as it can be," he said
heavily. "As the One Ring is an infinitely diminished and watered down fictional version of the
Darkhold, Sauron is an infinitely diminished and watered down fictional version of its author: the
Elder God, Chthon. Before he was banished from this dimension, he was, arguably, more powerful
than I, Thor and father put together. And that tome contains all of his knowledge, much of his
power and a goodly portion of his unlimited malice."

"Pretty much," Fury said. "It's an Omega Level threat by itself. And…" He paused. "Loki,
these… veirdr-things."

Loki nodded slowly. "I understand where your thinking takes you, Director. That book would
definitely have the method of their creation in its foul pages."

"Wait, what?" Tony asked. "Hold up. Eider whats?"

"Veidrdraugar," Loki said.

"They're like super advanced telepathic stealth zombies," Clint said. "One got the drop on both me
and Loki."

"If not for Clint, it would have ripped my throat out," Loki said, voice low. "As it was, it nearly bit
through my arm."

Thor stared mutely at Loki, then said, voice carefully measured, "You did not tell me this."

"Because you would worry."

"Of course I would worry! One of these beasts nearly kills you, and now you are going off to hunt
them!" Thor yelled.

"Feeling left out," Tony said, waving a hand. "Why is Loki making like Doctor Van Helsing?"

"That's vampires, Tony," Bruce said, rolling his eyes.

Tony shrugged. "My point stands."

"It is too much to explain now," Loki said. "Simply put, I, Sif and the Warriors Three are going to
hunt these monsters down and flush their creator into the open. We investigated one of the scenes
of their creation in London, but turned little save our stomachs. We have help in tracking them
down."

Tony frowned, and opened his mouth, before pausing. "You said telepathic, right?" he said slowly,
turning to Clint, who nodded.

"They communicate through a low level telepathic field," Loki said. "They are pack hunters."

Tony nodded and said one word. "Cerebro."

"I thought that was just a rumour," Bruce said, startled.

"My dad helped design the second version," Tony said casually. "And my godfather's the most
powerful psychic on the planet."

"So he can track them by their telepathic field," Thor said, nodding.

"Exactly," Fury said. "The basic plan is, Loki's team flushes their creator out with the aid of of
SHIELD's field teams, make him run to HYDRA and the Death Eaters, and then the Avengers and
whoever else we can muster will hit them and hit them hard."

"They are involved?" Thor asked, voice low.

"Draco Malfoy was the one who tipped us off to what was happening at '6," Fury said. "His dad is
up to his neck in this, if not masterminding it." Thor stood, hefting Mjolnir in a fashion that
suggested that he intended to put it through Malfoy's face. "He's gone underground, Thor," Fury
continued. "All the other known parties involved have either gone underground or been eliminated.
You can have a crack at him when we find him, and not before."

Thor glared at him, but sat. "The boy is brave," he commented curtly.

"Very," Fury agreed. "I'll be putting some pressure on his mother, to see what she knows."

Steve gave him a dark look.

"Nothing more than law enforcement would do, Captain," Fury said calmly. "Narcissa Malfoy
knows me of old, and she'll play me straight if she plays at all."

"She is not honourable and it is wrong to assume she will be," Thor warned.

"Of course she isn't. But if it gets out that her kid is the one to set us on the bad guys trail, which it
will, sooner or later, they'll need protection," Fury said. "She'll take the deal."

Thor paused, then nodded. "She will," he agreed.

Fury nodded. "Tactical and strategic briefings can wait for the moment. I think this briefing is
over," he said, and the Avengers stood up. "Oh, and don't tell anyone outside of Sif. I know that she
can be discreet."

"The Warriors Three, not so much," Thor said, nodding.

"Exactly," Fury said. "Thor?"

Thor paused, as the rest left.

"There's a storm coming."

"I know."

Fury met his gaze.

"Then be ready."

He swept past Thor and out. War was edging closer and closer.

OoOoO

On his way out, Fury was intercepted by Steve, who said bluntly, "Jackie's alive."

Fury nodded. "Yes."

"Why didn't she come to see me, write me, or at least call?"

"At first, she didn't know you were back. After that, she didn't dare believe it was really you," Fury
said. "And after that… maybe she wanted a clean break. Maybe she was guilty about taking up the
Spitfire name. It caused plenty of trouble between her and her brother, after all." He shrugged. "I
didn't ask. Maybe she wanted you to remember her fondly, or couldn't bear resurrecting old ghosts
by seeing you. It's all conjecture. I know someone might know more."

"Who?"

"A protégé of mine, Wisdom. I mentioned him. He's currently the interim Director of MI13," Fury
said. "If there's anyone that she answers to other than herself, it's him."

Steve nodded. "She's okay?"

Fury smirked. "Drinking the entire SAS under the table, last I heard. Sweetheart of the regiment.
And she's dating Blade," he said.

"The part vampire is dating the vampire hunter? Sounds like a match made in hell," Steve
commented.

"They make it work. And he was the one he made her that way in the first place, so…" Fury said,
shrugging.

Steve nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Not a problem, Captain," Fury said, as he left. "Not a problem."

OoOoO

"Everybody suit up. We've got orders from above," Coulson said. "We need to find where
the veidrdraugaar are based and to react when we do."

"The what?" Skye asked, frowning.

"Super zombies," Simmons supplied.

"Oh."
"Why so sudden?" Ward asked, frowning.

"Odin's reaction to the news of the veidrdraugar's creation was to send down a hand picked hit
squad," Coulson said. "Sif, the Asgardian Goddess of War, and the Warriors Three, three of
Asgard's most dangerous soldiers."

"Those guys with Thor and Loki in London?" Skye asked. "They didn't look all that dangerous."

"Neither do you," Coulson said, with a slight smile, which faded. "I saw these guys in action in
New Mexico. Trust me: they more than know what they're doing."

Skye raised her eyebrows, but nodded.

"We'll probably be linking up with them some time in the near future," Coulson said. "And we've
got an eye in the sky that's scanning for the veidrdraugar, but it can't work twenty four seven, or
even close. If we really want to track these things, we're going to need assistance on the ground.
Mystical assistance," he said. "Whether we like it or not," he added, raising his voice to override
the burgeoning protests from Fitzsimmons.

"But sir, magic is –"

"A science we don't understand yet, an unquantified one at that, I know, I do read the briefings,"
Coulson said. "There's more to it than that. But that doesn't matter. The simple fact is that we need,
to put it in terms you're more comfortable with, a scientist who specialises in that field." He paused.
"Commonly known as a witch, wizard, warlock, mage, sorcerer or sorceress, age, gender and
particular skills depending."

"What sort are we getting then?"

"The Detective."

"Sir," May said, paling slightly. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, but my first choices were Doctor Strange, who's currently who knows where and up to who
knows what, the Flamels, who haven't done fieldwork since World War II and are busy with
research, and Wanda Maximoff," Coulson said. "You know as well as I do that she doesn't want to
come and it really isn't worth it trying to push her."

"Why not?" Skye asked. Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged. "I mean, I'm seriously all for
people not being forced into doing things they don't want to, but doesn't the safety of the world
come first?"

Coulson smiled slightly. "You're thinking like a SHIELD Agent," he said.

"Uh… that's a good thing, right?"

"Most of the time," Coulson said.

"Okay, thanks, but why aren't we pushing her?"

"Because it isn't wise to annoy the nice lady who can pull meteors out of space and drop them on
your head," Simmons said with a slightly manic cheerfulness.

"Wait, hold up, I thought you two didn't believe in magic," Skye said, frowning.

"We don't. We believe in things with evidence," Fitz said, nodding authoritatively.
"And we've seen her do it," Simmons finished. "And a lot of other things."

"Scary things."

"Very scary things."

Skye blinked. "Whoa."

"She's gone by the codename 'Scarlet Witch' in the past, and is arguably one of the five most
powerful people on the planet," May said. "She's definitely one of the five most powerful humans."

"That we know of," Ward added.

"Right. So who's this 'Detective'?"

"He's a consultant," Coulson said.

"And he's completely unreliable. He doesn't follow any kind of command structure and does what
he likes," May said quietly. "And you know how dangerous that can be on a mission."

"She's right sir. His file compares him to Tony Stark for a reason."

"That's true. He's also the best person in the world at magical tracking, bar none," Coulson said.
"And even Stark can follow orders under the right circumstances and when they're given by
someone he respects. So can Dresden. He respects Lieutant Murphy of CPD and he respects me."

"Wait, Dresden. You're talking about Harry Dresden. The only Wizard PI in the world," Skye said.

"You've heard of him?"

"Rumours, mostly," Skye said. "But everyone who investigates the weird stuff on the net usually
finds their way to him sooner rather than later. Most people used to think he was a fraud, but now,
they're starting to think he's the real thing, and either Chicago's resident superhero or a hitter for the
mob."

"He's not a hitter," Coulson said.

"He has been known to associate and work with Marcone, sir," Ward pointed out. "He's also had
more than a few run ins with the law and wherever he goes, a trail of dead bodies and burning
buildings is left behind."

"He isn't," Coulson said seriously.

"With respect, sir, how do you know? Last time the Federal Government got involved with him,
four Agents of the Bureau turned up dead."

"I've Gazed him," Coulson said. "And those Agents were dabbling in dark magic in an attempt to
nail Marcone. They lost control of it, and it turned them into monsters. Dresden had to shut them
down."

Ward nodded slowly and May flashed Coulson a brief look that said that they would be discussing
that later, before settling into her usual composed state.

"Gazed?" Simmons asked, puzzled, sharing a confused look with Fitz, who shrugged.

"Oh, I know this one," Skye said eagerly. "I've heard about it. It's shorthand for something called a
Soulgaze, right?"

"You've come across the term before."

"Yeah. Aren't you meant to get a permanent knowledge of what the person's really like and it only
happens with magical people?" Skye asked. "It was kinda vague."

Coulson took a deep breath. "It's very hard to describe," he said eventually. "But that's the gist of it.
And it's only a certain kind of magical person. It's initiated by eye contact, so Dresden will
probably only look me in the eyes, not anyone else."

"So, he's a major tracker, then? That makes sense," Skye said. "Being a PI." She looked thoughtful.
"Him being the genuine article explains a lot, actually – police cases he's on have over a 90% solve
rate."

"You know a lot about him," Ward commented.

Skye shrugged. "I scoped him out. I figured that if he was the genuine article, he could help me…
crack SHIELD."

She paused only briefly, but it was a noticeable pause.

"Dresden's more of a blunt instrument," May said. "He's powerful, but he has the subtlety of a
battering ram."

"He's capable of being subtle," Coulson said. "I Saw that much about him."

"So, if he's the genuine article, is he on your list of supers? And how strong is he?"

"He is. SHIELD classes him as a moderate to high Alpha Class energy manipulator," Coulson said.
"It would be easier to say what he can't do, but a reasonable summary is fire, wind, lightning, some
magnetism, shields sufficient to stop machine gun bullets and superhuman strength blunt impacts
and powerful blasts of kinetic energy. He's also got considerable strength of will, which for
someone in his line of business translates to a lot of power, both in a straight up firefight and a
psychic brawl, something confirmed by another ally of SHIELD. In time, he'll be one of the top
twenty or thirty superhumans on the planet and at the very top of Alpha class, potentially even a
borderline Omega. Currently, he's known for routinely punching above his weight and taking
down people far out of his weight class. The sort of people that would require the attention of the
Avengers Initiative."

"Alpha class?"

"SHIELD classes superhumans based on power level," Simmons explained. "Alpha generally
means powerful, with no inherent drawbacks, though there's a lot of variation within that. Beta's a
step below. That generally means an average or weak power, but again, no inherent drawbacks, or
at least, none that go beyond cosmetic. Delta generally means a power so weak that you're unlikely
even to know that it's there – being able to see in the dark slightly more efficiently, for instance.
Gamma and Epsilon… both have powers that are genuinely harmful. Gammas are moderately
powerful, while Epsilon tend to have next to no actual powers."

"Okay. And Omega?"

"Omega's the word we use when the subjects power simply blows the scale," Coulson said. "It's
more a general ballpark and a lot of variation within it. There are quite a few borderline cases, and
a few that we know are definite cases. Thor and Loki, for example, and Odin, since he's stronger
than both of them. The Hulk is also classed as an Omega."

"Whoa… hey, could I see this list?" Skye asked eagerly.

She was met with a stony silence.

"I'm guessing that's a no," she said slowly.

"Access to the list is graded by clearance – only those with level 4 clearance and above can even
access it," May said coolly. "Aspects of the list are only accessible to those of certain clearance
levels and above. Some parts of the list are only accessible by the Director of SHIELD." She
paused. "It's also further complicated by a similar scale being used for threat grading."

"What's the difference?"

"The Index refers to inherent threat. The scale can be more general, based on what someone is
capable of," May said. "For instance, if you managed to get into the full Index, you would become
an Omega level threat."

"Okay. Right," Skye said, pasting a smile on her face. "No super database for me." She paused.
"Hang on, how do we know that Dresden's going to play ball? Because if these things are bad
enough to hurt Loki, he just might be against it."

"That is a valid point, sir," Ward noted, looking to Coulson.

"He'll do it for four reasons. First, he has a hero complex. He helps the helpless. Second, he doesn't
tolerate evil. He's made that very clear in the past. Third, he owes SHIELD a favour or two – we
recently put him in contact with a telepath who helped him deal with a few unresolved issues. Or at
least, lock them away," Coulson said. "And fourth, we're paying him. A lot." He looked serious.
"There's a storm coming. And we'll need every ally we can get to ride it out. Or it'll destroy us."

"Well, that's comforting," Skye muttered.

Coulson gave her a Look.

"It wasn't meant to be."

 The Board Is Set

Harry's return to Hogwarts passed, by and large, without incident. As soon as he arrived at the
platform, he was the centre of attention, though, to be fair, that was little different to usual.

But, to his everlasting relief, attention was quickly distracted by the Warriors Three, who were
gazing around in wonderment. Or at least, in Hogun's case, gazing around with a single raised
eyebrow.

"Daddy," one small child asked. "Are they muggles?"

Fandral turned and smiled charmingly. "Nay, small and fluffy one, unless muggle is another word
for Asgardian," he said, and dipped a neat bow to the warmly clad puffball. "I am Fandral, and
these two are Volstagg and Hogun. We are the Warriors Three."

The small child of indeterminate gender gave him a long, puzzled look, then his/her expression lit
up and he/she pointed at Fandral let out a loud, carrying cry, "its Mister Silly!"

Fandral's expression swiftly shifted from charming indulgence to shock and dawning horror as
laughter swiftly spread through the crowd, Thor's booming chuckle loudest of all. "Revenge,
Fandral," Thor called. "Is a dish best served cold."

Fandral opened his mouth, shut it again, then simply shook his head and resolved for dignified
silence. Though he did spare a poisonous glare for a sniggering Volstagg.

"So," Ron said. "Those are the legendary Warriors Three." He wrinkled his nose. "They don't look
like much."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But they've been adventuring with Dad, uncle Loki and Lady Sif for last
millennium and a bit, and they're still here," he pointed out.

"Speaking of Lady Sif, where is she?" Hermione said, looking around.

"At a guess?" Harry said casually, watching Fandral sulk. "Right behind you."

"I'm impressed."

Hermione whirled and looked up at Sif, who gave her a friendly smile. Hermione squeaked.

"It wasn't hard," Harry said, shrugging and turning. "Uncle Loki's getting me to practice extending
my magical senses. I suggested that I use it like Diana can with her empathy, extending them as a
sort of radar, so I can detect people. I can't do much with them, like detect an individual or extend
them more than ten feet away, but Asgardians tend to stick out a bit and you're the only Asgardian
I couldn't see."

"A fine deduction still," Sif said, smiling at him. Harry smiled back. "Your friends seem struck
dumb."

"They do, don't they," Harry said, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

"I take it that these are the Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger I have heard so much about,"
Sif said. "Fine friends indeed, from what I hear."

"Thank you, my lady," Hermione managed.

Ron was blushing and merely nodded furiously.

"Please, just call me Sif," Sif said seriously. "I have to deal with enough courtesy and etiquette at
court." She smiled slightly. "And after all, you are close companions of my liege."

Harry wrinkled his nose, but didn't bother trying to dispute this, well aware that, in part, she was
teasing him. He was also well aware that she was right. He noticed Hermione give him an odd
look, but she said nothing.

Just then, the whistle blew, and Harry heard his father say, "Harry! Time to go," and saw him heft
Harry's trunk onto his shoulder as if it weighed as little as an empty plastic bag.

"We'd better get going," Ron said, finding his voice.

"Indeed you had," Sif said. "Are your belongings on the train?"

Hermione and Ron nodded.

"Very well," Sif said. "Harry, your father will doubtless wish to say goodbye to you."

Harry nodded, then he did something that left Ron and Hermione extremely surprised. He hugged
Sif. It was a brief hug, but a hug nonetheless. Even more surprising from their point of was the fact
that she smiled, if somewhat awkwardly, and patted his back. Then, he broke away, said "Bye,"
and ran over to his father and the rest of the Avengers.

"Harry," Hermione began, making to go forward, but Ron snagged the back of her coat.

"Let him go, 'mione. We'll see him on the train," he said. When Hermione frowned slightly, he
added, "It's family."

Hermione nodded reluctantly – she clearly wanted to grill him about Asgard – while Sif gave him
an interested look and nodded slowly. "Remus was right about you. There is far more to you than
meets the eye, Ronald Weasley," she murmured thoughtfully. As Ron blinked in surprise, she
turned away and roared in her battle voice, effortlessly cutting through the crowd. "Make way!"

People turned, looked, and in some cases, looked again. Some recognised her, either from pictures,
or by process of deduction. Some had no idea who she was. And all of them, on seeing her
expression, decided that it was best to give way.

"Cool," Ron whispered, as they climbed onto the train. "Thanks!" he added, something echoed
vaguely by Hermione.

"Yes, thank you."

Sif smiled slightly dipped her head a little in acknowledgement, before gazing over at Harry and
Thor, who were sharing a final hug and a few words.

OoOoO

"I'm going to miss you, Harry," Thor said fiercely into his son's ear. Harry had said a brief but
heartfelt goodbye to all the others, and had saved his father for last.

"I'm going to miss you too, dad," Harry replied, hugging his father tightly.

Thor stepped back slightly, holding Harry's shoulders and looked into his son's eyes. They were
slightly damp, and Harry seemed to notice, as he hurriedly wiped them.
Thor chuckled gently. "Don't feel ashamed, Harry. Not all tears are an evil."

"Tears are for babies," Harry mumbled, embarrassed. "I don't normally cry."

Thor shook his head sharply. "Never, ever think that," he said seriously. He quirked a slight smile.
"I am over fifteen hundred years old, and I am definitely no baby. Yet I cry." He reached up to
cheek and gently collected a single tear. "See? There is no shame in tears. And this is not normally,
now is it?"

Harry didn't say anything. He just wrapped his arms around his father's neck and hugged him
tightly for several long moments, then broke away.

"Now," Thor said. "Attend to your lessons, have fun and whatever you do… don't get caught."

Harry grinned. "I'll try," he said, then with a last hug, he turned and ran onto the train.

Not a moment later, the whistle blew, and Harry's arm emerged from the door window to wave,
continuing to do so.

Thor waved back, until the train was out of view.

"Well," Fandral began, then yelped, grabbing at his feet. Both Sif and Loki had, in perfect unison,
stamped on the nearest of his feet.

Tony glanced at Thor, then said, "Is it tasteless to sing 'Sunrise, Sunset' now, or do I wait until he
gets a girlfriend?"

Pepper sighed, shook her head, then reached into her pocket and handed Thor a packet of tissues.
"Thank you," Thor said, blowing his nose "I do not know why –"

"He's your kid," Jane said gently. "Who you've just had to really let go for the first time since you
got him back. And there's some pretty bad stuff on the horizon, with… the people who murdered
Lily getting involved." She took a tissue and gently wiped his cheeks. "Honestly, honey, I'd be
worried if you weren't upset."

Thor didn't say anything, and for a moment, closed his eyes and leaned into her gentle touch,
resembling nothing so much as a shaggy maned lion. Then he opened his eyes and smiled at her.
"You are truly a wonder, Jane, do you know that?"

Jane flushed. "Well, you never stop telling me, so I figure it's going to sink in eventually," she
mumbled.

"I really do hate to interrupt this rather adorable moment," Loki said. "But we need to get back to
the Tower."

"Aww, can't we hang out in London for a bit?" Darcy whined.

"Not until Reindeer Games has exterminated the zombies," Tony said. "It would be… annoying if
you got eaten."

"Oh come on, it's broad daylight –"

"And the sun will be down in less than six hours, if that. The forecast is for an overcast afternoon,"
Natasha said briskly. "London is too dangerous, for you especially."

"What? Oh, come on, who's going to connect me to you guys?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Thor said grimly. "Voldemort's spymaster and right hand man. He is the power
behind this current crisis's a very rich, very clever and very powerful man. If he decides to capture
you as bait or leverage, the veidrdraugar will be the least of your problems."

"If he sends the Soldier after you, your highest chances of survival are if you stay with us,"
Natasha said, idly scanning the crowds.

"Wait, why would someone go after me?"

"Process of deduction," Clint said casually, scanning the rafters of Paddington station. "Of the
people affiliated with the Avengers, you've got Jane, who is pretty close to Thor, Tony or Bruce at
all times, Sirius, who's essentially a teleporting magical commando, decade or so of prison aside,
and Harry, who's going to be either close to one of us, in Asgard, or in Hogwarts which has some
pretty powerful defences, plus he's got a few tricks of his own. They won't stop the Soldier, but
they raise the risk level for him, enough maybe to tip the balance. Especially after Harry's escape
from the Disir. The bad guys made a play for him, and they failed. They'll think twice about trying
again."

"Then there's Selvig, but he's not often in town and when he isn't, he's usually working in the
Triskelion," Natasha added.

"And if the Soldier cracks that, we're all dead anyway," Clint finished.

"And Pepper?"

"Can more than look after herself, as well as being the CEO of Stark Industries, with the security to
match," Pepper said calmly.

"They won't stop him," Natasha warned. "Nothing stops him."

Pepper glanced at Tony, slipping an arm around his waist, and said quietly, "They can slow him
down. And everyone gets stopped eventually."

"Plus, last time someone kidnapped Pepper, a domestic terrorist organisation and three blocks of
flats got wiped off the map," Steve said, glancing at the uncharacteristically silent Tony. "From
what I hear about this Malfoy guy, which tallies pretty well with what I know of HYDRA, they'll
go for the easiest target. They'll want to make us angry, but not so angry that…"

"That everything gets smashed," Bruce supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, that."

"Which means you," Natasha said.

Darcy frowned, then sighed explosively. "Fine."

"Glad you see it that way," Loki said, and with a swift gesture, he teleported all of them into the
Tower living room mid step.

"That," Jane said. "Was pretty cool."

"But totally showing off," Tony said, apparently having relaxed a little.

"Like you don't," Loki retorted, and went to make a coffee for himself. Sif followed him.

"Loki, this Soldier you speak of… who is he?"

"The Winter Soldier," Loki said. "He is quite possibly the deadliest assassin in the Nine Realms."

"I find that hard to believe," Sif said. "Not because of the frailties of mortal kind, but simply
because he is mortal and will have had less time to practice his dark trade."

"He isn't exactly mortal," Loki said, and gave her a rundown of the Soldier's capabilities, history
and well-earned reputation.

Sif was stunned. "How does such a man exist?"

"Humanity has always had a remarkable genius for warfare," Loki said, sipping his coffee. "Not in
terms of personal combat, as such, not compared to the rest of the Nine Realms… but what they
lack in power, they strive to make up for in their technology, what some might call Ferromancy."

"Iron magic," Sif said, and smiled grimly. "Having seen the Iron Man in action, I find that an
appropriate name."

"Believe me, Sif, you have not seen the beginning of mortal weapons of destruction," Loki said
grimly. "They have weapons that can devastate worlds."

"Nuclear bombs," Sif said, nodding. Loki looked surprised. "I am the Goddess of War, Loki, I
consider it my duty to keep up with at least the basics of advances in weaponry across the Nine
Realms."

Loki nodded his acknowledgement. "So you do," he said. "But nuclear weaponry was just the
beginning. Steve is the very first example of a new kind of warfare. Genetic. Mortals have long
wished to enhance their bodies, but have mostly had to do so through spells and technology like
Tony's armour." He looked out the window for a long time. "A new breed of mortal is being born,"
he said quietly. "Like the magicals, but more… varied. They are few, for now. Some are near
powerless, say, always knowing which way is North. And there is one, who, admittedly through
artificial enhancement and thanks to me showing the way, could communicate mind to mind from
Midgard with the Allfather as he sat on his throne in the heart of Asgard."

Sif's eyes widened.

"His name is Charles Xavier. He is Tony's godfather, a sort of adopted kin, like Sirius is to Harry,"
Loki continued. "He is a wise sage and an extremely clever man. He believes that his kind,
mutants, have been being born on a very small scale ever since mankind first walked the Earth,
say, one of notable power every millennium or so. But now, their numbers are mounting. And as
their numbers mount, so will the small but growing number that are the peers of Thor, myself and
those gods of similar power. I only know of one for certain, but even so…"

He shook his head. "Even so, ever since mutants first came to be, mankind has sought to harness
their powers, replicate them, and control their bearers, using them as weapons. Even those who did
not know of them dreamed of creating a stronger man." He gestured out the door. "Steve is the
expression of that dream. He is the superman, the ultimate expression of humanities evolutionary
potential, taking its native strengths to the greatest limits that can be reached while still remaining a
member of humankind. He is the ultimate human. In times gone by, he would have
been worshipped. He could take control of this nation so easily, he has the strength, the wits and
the charisma to do it. And how fortunate humankind is that it does not occur to him."

"Maybe it does occur to him," Sif said after a long moment. "And maybe that is why he is such a
humble and good man. Because he knows what he could become." She shrugged. "Maybe he has
even seen it. After all, I know little of science, but I know much of weaponry. And I know for
certain that you always test your weapon at least once before you use it."

Loki nodded slowly. "Yes…" he said, as memories of witnessing memories of a shadowy

nightmare, a monster with a face that looked as if it had been flayed, one that took a name to match
its appearance. The Red Skull. The first master of HYDRA. He'd never thought that such a
creature was Steve's fellow supersoldier, but… "That would make a lot of sense."

"Of course it does," Sif murmured. "I said it."

Loki gave her a long look. "You sounded just like me there," he said eventually. "This worries me."

Sif smirked, flashing her teeth. "Good." She strode out of the kitchen, leaving a puzzled and
somewhat disturbed Loki behind.

What had she been getting at?

He shook his head. Give him veidrdraugar or the Darkhold any day. At least with them, he knew
what he was dealing with.

OoOoO

"We are facing the veidrdraugar," Loki said. "And when you fight that which is dead, there are
four cardinal rules: first always bring light and fire." He conjured four flaming torches that burned
with otherworldly green and gold flame by way of example. "Second, never go into the dark
places, not if you can avoid it. Third, when hunting, never do so alone. Fourth…" he met all their
gazes, one by one. "Never, ever drop your guard."

He brought up an image on the holotable. "This is the veidrdraugr that attempted to rip my throat
out. They look like mortals, with the exception of a deathly pallor, solid, empty black eyes, dark,
visible veins, and a ball of pure dark magic where their hearts would have been in life."

"How fast are they?"

"Over short distances, they are extremely fast, fast enough that even with Clint's warning, I barely
managed to get my arm up in time," Loki said gravely.

Grim looks were exchanged. Among other things, Loki was renowned for being very, very fast,
with reflexes that made lightning look slow, even by the standards of Asgard. Only Fandral could
hope to better.

"And their strength?"

"I did not have time to grapple with one, but what little I have managed to find about them, mostly
children's stories that survived and commonly agree on a single fact, suggests that their strength is
enhanced by a factor of between five and ten, no matter their mortal form. They also seem to have
instinctive predatory skills and possibly retain any hand to hand combat skill they had in life."

Fandral shivered. "I can only say that I am deeply glad that these were made from mortals," he
said.

"I can only say that I wish they weren't made at all," Sif said.

"Well, yes," Fandral said. "But if they have to exist, is what I mean. Facing one that was once an
Asgardian…" He shuddered.
"You are right to be concerned," Loki said quietly. "The last time the veidrdraugar ranged free,
they nearly wiped out our people."

There was a horrified silence.

"Yes," Loki said grimly. "It took the full might of the Allfather and assistance from our allies in the
other realms to destroy them. And thereafter, the Allfather destroyed all knowledge of them. There
was only one place in which that knowledge survived."

"Where…" Sif began, then abruptly went white. "Oh no."

"Yes. The Darkhold has been unleashed."

Fandral swore horribly, Volstagg let out an incoherent growling noise and Hogun grimaced.

"How could this happen?" Sif asked, frowning.

"Lucius Malfoy is, as Thor said, an exceedingly dangerous man. And what makes him dangerous
is that he is very, very clever," Loki said grimly. "Castel Montesi was protected by just about every
kind of defence under the sun, some technological, some of wanded magic and some of the more
ancient breeds of spellwork. HYDRA, SHIELD's opposite and antithesis, if you will, provided the
technology, the Death Eaters provided the wandwork and some unknown sorcerer provided the
ancient magic. And it was all done in such a manner that the theft was not noticed for nearly two
months."

"A dangerous foe indeed," Volstagg muttered. "But a truly mad one. What kind of fool would
unleash the veidrdraugar on the world?"

"I dare say we shall soon find out," Loki said, inwardly suspecting that Lucius Malfoy had no idea
how big a mess he'd got himself into. "While Lucius has disappeared, his wife is very much present
still. Director Fury has gone to interrogate her."

"She is a sorceress, is she not?" Fandral said.

"A reasonably powerful one by mortal standards," Loki confirmed. "But the good Director is not
going alone…"

OoOoO

"What's the mission, sir?" James Rhodes asked. He was in full War Machine gear in a SHIELD
Quinjet, and was currently wondering exactly what he was doing here, especially since his only
companion was the somewhat intimidating Director Fury.

"Primarily, Colonel, I just need you to be yourself and to keep that visor of yours down," Fury said.
Rhodes looked puzzled, and slightly offended, which Fury saw, so he sighed. "You are, of course,
aware of what happened at MI6."

"Of course, sir."

"Are you aware of what was behind it?"

"I heard rumours sir, but if every rumour I heard was true, the President and all his predecessors
back to Washington would be a member of a race of lizard people that secretly controls humanity,
the Chitauri were summoned by the White House as a distraction in election year from Afghanistan
and Tony is actually the father of about a billion C-List starlets kids," Rhodey said.
Fury half smiled. "True enough. Have you ever heard of the Darkhold?"

Rhodey thought for a long time. "An Italian artefact, roughly as powerful as the Tesseract, one kept
under lock and key at all times," he said.

"Close enough. It is the book of dark magic," Fury said grimly. "If you don't believe me, ask Loki.
When I briefed the Avengers on it being stolen, he completely freaked out. And Loki just
does not do that."

"No," Rhodey said slowly. "He doesn't." He shook his head slowly. "What is there about it that
could scare him that badly?"

"To give you a condensed explanation, apparently it was the inspiration for Tolkien's One Ring.
But the real thing is, according to Loki, infinitely worse. And the creature who created it and can,
theoretically, use it as a conduit, is even more powerful than Odin," Fury said.

Rhodey let out a long, low whistle. "Whoa. That's… that's pretty bad."

"Yeah," Fury said grimly. "Whoever's using it managed to resurrect a bunch of Asgardian
nightmares called veidrdraugar. They're basically telepathic stealth zombies, silent, fast, strong
and ravenously hungry. One damn near ripped Loki's throat out when it got the drop on him, and
four thousand years ago, their Asgardian counterparts nearly wiped out the Asgardian species."

Rhodey gave him a dumbstruck stare, then shook his head slowly and chuckled wryly. "If someone
told me five years ago that I'd be standing here in a suit of powered battle armour talking to the
Director of SHIELD about Norse Gods fighting stealth zombies, I'd have had them sectioned."

Fury glanced at him. "If you'd been working for SHIELD, you'd have come across weirder," he
said. "Ask Tony or Thor about Captain Mar-Vell sometime."

Rhodey blinked at him, then nodded. "Maybe I will," he said. "Can you give me a lowdown on the
perp? And the person we're interrogating?"

Fury nodded, withdrawing and unfolding a holographic pad. "Knock yourself out."

Rhodey settled down and began to read.

It almost beggared belief. An English Lord, of a powerful aristocratic family that, apparently,
passed on magic to its descendants as well as the usual: money, a superiority complex and a
moderate tendency towards inbreeding. One who had also been the right hand of a dangerous
domestic terrorist, a bona fide Dark Lord called 'Lord Voldemort', an Alpha class threat, who'd
terrorised Britain from the late 70's to the early 90's, before, apparently, meeting his doom at the
hands of a one year old Harry Thorson. The circumstances no one had ever really figured out.

All that was known for sure was the fact that Harry's mother, Lily, as striking a beauty as Rhodey
had ever seen, had been found dead in front of her son's crib, facing the door. The not unreasonable
assumption was that, though unarmed, she had refused to stand aside, protecting her son to the last.
And she had paid for it with her life.

However, this was only briefly touched upon, to give context to Malfoy's role.

His personal capabilities were extensive, but they amounted to, in summary, moderate to long
range teleportation, close range single target mind control, a freaking real life death ray, torture,
low level transmutation, conjuration, pyrokinesis, binding, paralysis and unconscious inducement.
Thankfully, all of this was channelled through a wooden stick. Remove the stick, remove the
problem. Besides, Tony had had Loki put up some basic mystical defences on the armour. It wasn't
going to resist a massive mystical onslaught, but Rhodey wasn't going to find himself trapped
inside a giant pink rabbit in mid-air either. Or at least, that was how Tony had put it to him, and
he'd been on his third tumbler of scotch at the time.

The man had been implicated in nearly eighty murders, three hundred disappearances and was
suspected of planning nearly a thousand others in Western Europe alone, he'd been Voldemort's
spymaster, controlling a formidable spy network that spread from the Shetland Islands off Scotland
to Rabat, Moscow and Jerusalem. At the time of Voldemort's fall, it had been extending into North
America and Asia.

Even more worryingly, he'd been an ally of Baron Von Strucker, the quasi immortal German
terrorist best known as the leader HYDRA. The report went into a lot of detail on the subject, and
mentioned that the two had apparently rekindled the old friendship.

But worst of all…

"The Winter Soldier. Sir, are you sure?"

"Certain," Fury said. "We have a positive ID from Director Peter Wisdom of MI13, who fought the
Soldier and barely escaped with his life."

"That's still pretty impressive."

"He's a pretty impressive man," Fury said. "And he had a few tricks up his sleeve that the Soldier
wasn't ready for."

"So, you're certain that it's him," Rhodey said, probing for confirmation.

Fury sighed. "Dead certain. Black Widow worked as his partner for thirty five years," he said. "She
knows his methods and she says its him. I trust her judgement."

"Thirty five years?" Rhodey said, incredulous. "That would make her at least –"

"Eighty this year," Fury said calmly. "She was picked out as the best of the Red Room, the Russian
supersoldier project, and received the Infinity Formula." He glanced at Rhodey. "You're a
candidate, you know."

"For what?"

"The Infinity Formula," Fury said. "And for SWORD."

Rhodey stared at him, stunned.

"I'd have recruited you for SHIELD a long time ago if you weren't doing such a damn fine job in
the Air Force and in making sure that Stark didn't fry his brain on a daily basis," Fury added.

"In point of fact, sir, Tony fried his brain at least three times a week," Rhodey pointed out.

"But never so badly that he couldn't function," Fury said. "Largely thanks to you, Mr Hogan and
Miss Potts." He looked seriously at Rhodey. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have Tony Stark's
genius to call upon. And if we didn't have that, among other things, the Chitauri would have
overrun us, New York would have been nuked, and Loki's heel would have rested firmly on
humanity's collective throat."
"Right," Rhodey said. "But I didn't do it for you. I did it for Tony."

"I know," Fury said. "And you did it much more effectively because of that."

"Okay, fine," Rhodey said. "I've got a few questions. First, what is SWORD? Second, why am I a
candidate for Infinity? And third, why would I want to have anything to do with the product of
Camp Cathcart?"

"SWORD is going to be a subdivision of SHIELD," Fury said. "One geared to protecting the Earth
from extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional threats. As for Infinity…" He grunted. "I see you've
done your research," he said. "Not many know about the Black Patriot. There's only one other
person I've even heard mention it."

"Yeah, three hundred black men were experimented on in a fashion that would have made the
Mengele proud," Rhodey said coldly.

"You aren't wrong," Fury admitted. "And by any reasonable standard, what happened there was a
war crime." He shook his head. "Rogers would never had stood for it."

"Well it was kinda because he wasn't there that it happened," Fury said. "Not many know about
the Black Patriot. The only other person I've even heard mention it was Bruce Banner, and he only
knew about it because he used to work on a supersoldier project himself." He glanced at Rhodey.
"If I had to make an educated guess, that's why he insisted on testing it on himself."

"I can see that," Rhodey said. "He's a good man."

"He is," Fury agreed.

"Tony knows about it," Rhodey said. "He was the one who dug up the information for me a couple
of years back."

Fury half smiled. "I thought he had a hand in the convictions," he said, remembering how a few old
soldiers found themselves being arrested for all manner of offences and swiftly being tried and
convicted. "But I'd have thought that he'd have gone public."

"He's biding his time," Rhodey said. Fury gave him an inquiring look. Rhodey sighed. "He hasn't
said as much, but he knows that the Pentagon is pissed at him and so are a lot of other NATO
states, pissed because they're not getting Stark Industries weapons any more. If I had to guess, he's
building a damn big gun to point at the Pentagon's head."

Fury nodded slowly. "If he puts Camp Cathcart and the origins of the Hulk out there, it could
destroy a lot of careers and completely shatter the US's moral credibility," he said. "And it wouldn't
do national morale much good either."

"Yeah. If they try and take him down, they'll face a scandal that'll make Watergate look like a
missed budget meeting," Rhodey said, with some relish. Fury, catching this, raised his eyebrows.

"I'm a company man, sir. I took an oath to defend my country and I'll hold to that oath until the day
I die, if not after. Being a soldier gives you a lot of power, a lot of respect, and I like to think that
that respect is well deserved, because it's a kind of power in and of itself. But these last few years,
after seeing the opposition to Tony as Iron Man, getting to know Doctor Banner… I've come to
realise that there's a good few people high up in the armed forces who've forgotten or disregarded
the moral responsibilities that come with that power," Rhodey said. "And if Tony sets a cat among
the pigeons, I'm not stopping him. Hell, I'd help him do it."
"Some might say that that is treason," Fury said calmly.

Rhodey snorted. "A lot of the time, sir, I find that treason is a word that's used whenever someone
down below does or says something that makes the people up top uncomfortable and the people up
top want to shut them up."

"Cynical," Fury commented. "But not entirely wrong." He turned to Rhodey. "And here's
something else cynical, but not entirely wrong: the result of Cathcart and later refinement is a
serum that, while not as effective as the original, has no recorded negative side effects. Out of
those crimes came immortality, Colonel Rhodes, the same way as out of World War II came the
rocket, the jet engine and nuclear technology. Immortality. And as you can imagine, it's not
something I offer lightly. You're a good man, a good soldier with skills that it would be a crying
shame to lose. You have no living family closer than third cousin once removed. You're the perfect
candidate."

"I… I'm not sure what to say, sir," Rhodey managed.

"I'm not asking you to decide right now," Fury said calmly. "It's an offer, nothing more. You can
take as long to think about it as you like. Hell, take years: Infinity has a powerful rejuvenation
effect on recipients." He glanced down at the pad. "You read what you need?"

"Yeah," Rhodey said. "The person we're meeting is Malfoy's wife, right?"

"Yeah, Narcissa Malfoy. I know how to deal with her," Fury said calmly.

"Do you… have history with her and her husband, sir?"

Fury was silent for a long moment. "Direct your attention to the date of the night that Malfoy
Manor nearly burnt down," he said. "Also direct your attention to the facts that Lucius Malfoy
walks with a limp and is on his second wand."

"Right," Rhodey said slowly. "Is anyone else on this mission?"

"MI13 have sent an Agent, a telepath with extensive mystical experience, to make sure that
Narcissa's telling the truth," Fury said. "A new recruit, admittedly, and a little wild, but very
competent according to Wisdom."

"What's his name?" Rhodey said, as the Quinjet came into land.

"According to Director Wisdom, she goes by Psylocke."

OoOoO

Steve sighed as he read the files.

"What's up, Steve?" Tony asked, swilling his scotch.

"It's just… what with seeing Albus and Minerva again, and being reminded of HYDRA and
Grindelwald, I decided to dig into SHIELD's files on Neo Nazism," Steve said, looking a little
downcast.

"Were you trying to depress yourself?"

"I'd heard of the phenomenon, but I hoped it was… tiny. Hardly heard about," Steve said. "And I
get this." He gestured at the very large pile of files.
"You want a heartwarming and upbeat one, try this one, from the late sixties," Tony said, drinking
the scotch and bringing up a file on the holographic screams.

Steve did. Steve read it. "Tony, this is about a cult of insane murderers who wanted to incite a race
war," he said, disgusted.

"Who got taken out just as they were going to murder the family and friends of a film director, by a
freelance Nazi hunter who operated in the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties. This was near the
start of his 'career'. No one knew who he was, but his trademark was getting his enemies to either
turn on each other or to stab or shoot themselves," Tony commented. "And they generally didn't
look like they'd done it of their own will. It was one of SHIELD's first cases."

"Did he ever bring anyone into custody?" Steve asked.

"Nope. They all died. Guy was ruthlessly efficient. And I think dad might have known him, though
he never said anything about it. He'd just look at the news stories and give a weird half smile, like
he knew something about it no one else did," Tony added, tone reflective.

"And that's your definition of heartwarming?"

"Well, since he saved a bunch of innocent people, including an unborn baby, from some total
psychos, I figure it counts," Tony said idly. "Besides, compared to that bunch of files, it's
practically It's A Wonderful Life."

Steve had to concede this point. It made grim reading for a man who had seen so many of his
friends die fighting the Nazis, and who had seen the concentration camps. There is no creed, no
matter how stupid, vile or discredited, that will not find followers.

But, then again, he thought, there were always people who would stand against that kind of evil.
No matter what it cost them. And that made him feel a little better.

"You've perked up," Tony observed.

"I just realised that no matter how bad things get, how evil some people are… there's always
someone in the way. Someone willing to tell them, 'no. No more.'"

"And mostly those people die," Tony pointed out, in a characteristically cynical manner. But what
followed reminded Steve that there was more to Tony Stark than met the eye. Far more. "But…
there are worse ways to go."

Steve smiled. "Yeah. There are."

He'd died once to stop HYDRA. And if push came to shove, if it would save even one life… he'd
do it again.

OoOoO

Coulson strode into the office block. Ward had tried to insist on coming with him, but Coulson had
stamped on that. He was exactly the sort of person that Dresden took a great deal of joy in
aggravating, and he was here to hire the man, not provide him with target practice.

After taking the stairs to the fourth floor – the elevator was out of order, apparently. They must not
have replaced the old one – he walked along until he reached a door that said 'Harry Dresden,
Wizard' on it. He knocked.
"Come in."

He opened the door. It was not exactly an expensively outfitted office, most of it being both second
hand and well used. But it was all serviceable, and somewhat idiosyncratic. Much like the man
who rented it.

And it was on that man that his gaze settled.

The first impression most people got about Harry Dresden that he was an extremely tall man. As
in, he was only a couple of inches off seven feet. Yet, strangely enough, he also hunched ever so
slightly, keeping his long, leanly muscled limbs close to his body, he almost never met anyone's
gaze for more than a second, and he spoke softly, as if apologising for his powerful baritone voice.
It was almost like he was wearing a body several sizes too big for him and gave most people the
impression that he was slightly autistic.

This could be accounted for by several things. One, with his sharp cut features, height and long
duster coat, often accompanied by his long staff, he cut an intimidating figure and he knew it. Two,
he never met anyone's gaze for fear of initiating a soulgaze. You saw the very heart of someone,
laid bare for examination, but it was a two way process: they saw yours as well. Warts and all.
Three, he was almost invariably the most dangerous man in the room. He could become something
close to a god with his raw power. Not on Thor or Loki's scale, maybe, but men with less power
than him had been worshipped before, and for good reason. If Dresden went bad, he had the
potential to make Voldemort look like a lightweight. He knew it. And it frightened him.

He undoubtedly cut a strange figure, one only made stranger by the fact that he now wore a black
glove on his left hand, something he did to hide something that was less a hand, more a prop from
a horror film, a scorched, melted, withered claw. The incident in which he'd got it – apparently
there had been a vampire's servant that had got creative with some homemade napalm and shield of
pure force doesn't do much to stop heat – had also left him with a severe case of pyrophobia, which
was an ironic affliction in a man some accused of being a pyromaniac. It had only shifted with a lot
patient telepathic therapy from Professor Charles Xavier.

But he was also a good, kind man and a deeply useful ally. Even if Coulson hadn't been able to
judge his character for himself, the word of Thomas and Martha Wayne was held in high regard.

Speaking of the Waynes, their only child, Bruce Wayne, was one of the other people in the office.
He was, what, fourteen now? Only a little older than Thor's son, and there was some similarity in
appearance. Both were good looking boys, with dark hair, pale skin, strong but differing bone
structure and both were showing signs of prodigious future growth to come, with slightly puppyish
proportions.

Oh yes. And both were into magic.

While, to the best of his knowledge, Bruce Wayne didn't have any magical talent, he had a truly
encyclopaedic knowledge of magical theory, and the only reason he didn't know more was that
there some aspects of the craft that Dresden outright refused to teach him. Instead, he'd settled for
initiating the boy into private investigation and criminology, which, again, young Bruce was
swiftly developing an expertise in.

The boy's piercing blue eyes had settled on him, doubtless trying to work out who was, what he
was, who he worked for. This was one kid who wasn't going to fall for the harmless bureaucrat
impression.

The third person in the room mostly resembled a cheerleader, being five foot and change tall, built
with the springy muscle of a gymnast that certainly didn't detract from her good looks. She had
pale, clear skin, golden blonde hair that was currently pulled back in a ponytail, crystal clear blue
eyes and a cute button nose.

Many men were fooled by her cute good looks.

Coulson wasn't, and accorded her the same sort of professional respect he accorded the Black
Widow, who tended to be underestimated for similar reasons. He didn't think even Natasha had
taken out a fullgrown troll Faerie with a chainsaw, something that was probably more down to a
lack of opportunity than anything else.

Her name was Lieutenant Karrin Murphy, and she did the job that SHIELD did – keep the bad stuff
down, and she did it on what was still a pretty sparse budget, despite significant funding increases
in the light of the Chitauri invasion, the existence of Thor and Loki and the dawning realisation that
mankind was not alone in this universe. She was a professional, but one who knew how and when
to think outside the box and bend the rules. Really, it was a pity that she had gone to the cops.
She'd have made a crack SHIELD Agent.

"Agent Coulson?" Dresden said, sounding a little wary.

"Hello Harry, Mr Wayne, Lieutenant Murphy," Coulson said.

"Harry," Murphy said slowly, in a tone that said she'd quite like some answers.

"Murph, Bruce, this is Agent Coulson of SHIELD," Dresden said.

This inspired two very different reactions: Murphy's eyes narrowed, while Bruce's lit up.

"SHIELD?" both said, in two very different tones.

Coulson smiled his bland official smile to mask the fact that he was, in fact, imagining them on
stage as a comedy double act. "Yes."

Murphy stood and very pointedly stepped forward, simultaneously putting herself between Coulson
and Dresden and very much in Coulson's personal space. Coulson carefully looked non-
threatening. Ten years ago, he'd have fancied his chances and even now, he felt he could take nine
out of ten people who came at him. Unfortunately, she was nearly twenty years younger than him,
her file said that she was a highly skilled martial artist and probably more in practice as far as hand
to hand combat went.

"Look me in the eye," Dresden said suddenly, voice tense. Coulson did, and after a long moment,
Dresden nodded, relieved. "It's him. Relax, Murph, he's on the level."

"You sure?"

"I've Gazed him," Dresden said quietly. "And he's helped me out of a tight spot or two before."

Murphy stepped back, giving Coulson a long, careful look, then nodded. Dresden turned back to
Coulson. "I heard you were dead. Killed in single combat with Loki himself, which gets you major
cool points," the man commented. His words were flippant, but there was something in the tone.
"And yet… you aren't."

"Loki skewered me, then I blasted him. After that, he decided to leave me for dead."

"Blasted him?"
"You know the Destroyer?"

Dresden's expression closed off. "I've heard stories," he said guardedly.

"Thor destroyed it in New Mexico, and SHIELD managed to salvage it."

"So you made a gun out of it," Murphy said.

"In the interest of accuracy, it was a very big gun," Coulson said.

Murphy snorted, and muttered something about compensating.

"Tell me Coulson, was it…" Dresden began, and there was a small grin on his face.
"Semiautomagic?"

Murphy groaned, while Bruce grinned. "Dresden, that was awful."

"I thought it was pretty funny," Bruce said.

"See? The minion agrees," Dresden said, folding his arms, tone, action and expression reminiscent
of Tony Stark.

Coulson decided there and then that they could never meet.

"I am not a minion!"

"Yeah, you are, kid."

"I'm an apprentice!" Bruce complained, pouting. "And you still won't turn me into animals, like
Merlin!"

"Because I told your parents that I wouldn't let you get melted into a pile of goo," Dresden said
patiently. He looked back at Coulson, expression hardening. "You died, man! Everyone in the
supernatural community heard about it!"

"I wasn't properly dead," Coulson said. "Doctor Strange saved my life."

Dresden froze. "Doctor Strange," he said slowly. "As in, Doctor Stephen Strange, the
freaking Sorcerer Supreme?"

"Who?" Murphy asked.

"He's…" Dresden began, then shook his head slowly. "The guy's a legend in the supernatural
community, Murph. You know how I told you about the Senior Council? Strange could probably
take them all on at once. And win. He's the first line of defence against the sort of things that
Lovecraft talked about and the really, really bad Warlocks. His last freaking apprentice was Senior
Council level by the time she was forty, if not before then. The one, some guy called Mordo,
before hit that level when he was fifty."

Murphy's eyebrows rose. "I thought you said wizards don't hit their prime until they turned one
hundred?" she said.

"I did," Dresden said seriously.

"I think Wanda, the apprentice in question, is a special case," Coulson put in. "She's stronger than
anyone short of Strange or Loki himself."
Murphy smirked at Dresden. "Yeah, Dresden. You hear that? Girls can do the wizarding business
better. Without the phallic symbology."

Dresden sniffed haughtily and clutched his staff close. "It makes me feel all manly."

Coulson coughed pointedly. "Now we have established that I'm not dead, I have a proposition for
you."

Bruce sniggered, and Dresden rolled his eyes. "What?"

"MI6 was destroyed by necromantic constructs referred to by Loki as veidrdraugar. You're

acknowledged as one of the top five trackers on the planet, and where magic is concerned, you are
quite possibly the best," Coulson said. "I've got a team working on tracking down the necromancer
and their servants."

"What kind of mission?"

Coulson's expression hardened. "Search and Destroy."

Murphy's expression grew harsher. "Agent Coulson, in this country, we have a little thing called
due process," she began.

"Murph," Dresden said quietly. "You can't mirandize someone that powerful. You can't lock them
up, they'd be worse than the Loup Garou. If you put a freaking necromancer into the general prison
population, you're just giving them a whole new undead army in waiting."

"SHIELD could hold them," Murphy said defiantly.

"Lieutenant Murphy, the person who is behind this attack is using an artefact called the Darkhold,"
Coulson said quietly. "Believe me when I say that they're too far gone. It is essentially the ultimate
book of dark magic."

Dresden went white. "What. The. Hell."

"Dresden?" Murphy asked. "Is it as bad as he's suggesting?"

"It is," Dresden said quietly, barely keeping his voice steady. He sounded shaken, and Coulson
couldn't blame him. "Murph, can you take Bruce home? Tell his parents to be on their guard, and if
the worst comes to worst, the wards I set up should protect them. Thomas could also lend a hand,
maybe." He raised a hand to forestall the objections. "I'll tell you later. But right now, I think Bruce
should get home."

Murphy's lips compressed into a thin line, but she nodded, taking Bruce by the shoulder. He shook
her off.

"I'm not a little kid, boss," he said stubbornly.

"You're fourteen, kid," Dresden barked suddenly, drawing himself up. And just then, worried and
angry, he looked a lot more like the man Coulson had seen take on three mountain trolls at once
and win, a powerful practitioner of the art who was feared by half the vampires in the Western
Hemisphere and roughly as many of his wizards too. "And believe me, what's going on right now
is way out of my league, let alone yours. So go home with Murph and stay there, or I'll tell your
parents that your apprenticeship is over since you clearly can't do what you're told!"

Bruce went pale, then red, then turned and ran out of the room.
Dresden sighed and rubbed at his face.

"Christ, Harry… I haven't seen you yell at him before," Murphy said quietly. "Not over something
so small. Teenage boys don't like being told what to do. You know that."

"Yeah, I know. But I don't have time for rebellion right now," Dresden said tiredly. "Hell, it's
probably overdue. The kid's clever, really clever. He also thinks that just knowing is enough and it
makes him invincible." He shook his head. "The Darkhold is world ending material. It's sentient
and it can turn anyone, literally anyone, into a near unstoppable nightmare. Even freaking opening
it violates the Seventh Law of Magic, and there's only one sentence for that. God help us if
whoever has the thing actually knows anything about what they're doing."

"If it helps, Lieutenant Murphy, Loki reacted far worse to the knowledge that it had been stolen,"
Coulson said. "He was genuinely frightened by the prospect. Which is, if my briefings are
accurate, a reasonable reaction."

"They probably are. SHIELD's intel is pretty reliable," Dresden commented. He stood. "Murph, if
you could…"

Murphy nodded, and turned to go. She paused. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Then she left without another word.

"Will you take the case?"

"I don't know, man," Dresden said, sighing. "The freaking Darkhold? That's the sort of thing you
mobilise the entire White Council and the Sorcerer Supreme to deal with."

"The White Council is at war right now," Coulson said. "And they don't have the resources to
spare. We can't find Strange. He's up to something, but we don't know what. The Scarlet Witch
isn't getting involved."

"She'd get involved if you dropped the Darkhold into conversation," Dresden said weakly.

"Not necessarily. She's off the board for now," Coulson said. "Besides. She isn't you. She's
powerful, yes, probably the second most powerful mortal practitioner alive. But she doesn't have
your gift for tracking."

"You're not going to need a tracking expert to find someone using the Darkhold," Dresden said
darkly.

"Actually, we will. The Darkhold has been gone for two months, but the current owner has, with
the exception of the attack on MI6, gone underground," Coulson said. "They're part of a wider
conspiracy, one involving the remnants of the Death Eaters, HYDRA, and a few others."

Dresden grimaced. "The wanded people are involved?" he asked. "Great. This case just gets better
and better. Why are they keeping quiet?"

"We don't know, but the fact that they are means that we've got a chance to nip this in the bud,"
Coulson said. "An Asgardian strike team is planetside and the Avengers are ready to strike but at
the very least, we need to know where to land the punch. At best, we're hoping to flush them out
into the open and sweep the board."

Dresden nodded. "That sounds sensible."

"So you're taking it?"

"No. Coulson, I'm out of my depth with the Darkhold," Dresden said, going to the door. "I'm sorry,
but this is just too much for me."

"They killed children," Coulson said quietly.

Dresden paused, hand on the door knob, staff under his left arm. "What?"

"The necromancer," Coulson said, tone completely devoid of emotion. "Investigation revealed that
he or she gave their monsters a test run first. They were made from small groups of transients,
some of which had small children with them. Babies, really. Too small to be of use as servants. So
they were fed to the veidrdraugar. Alive."

Dresden's hands clenched into fists, the burnt one with a creak of leather and crackle of dead skin.

"And then there was a young family, in a car," Coulson said, tone still unchanging. "The Collins
family. William Collins, the father and driver, was twenty eight. Elizabeth Collins, the mother, was
twenty nine. She was four months pregnant. They were hoping for a girl. Their twin sons, Jack and
David Collins, were four. They were looking forward to their Christmas presents and meeting their
little sister. It was Christmas Eve. They were driving to Cambridge, to spend Christmas with Mr
Collins' parents. They stopped at a red light, even though the streets were open. They might have
lived if they hadn't, though it's quite possible that the veirdrdraugar could run done a speeding car.
It doesn't matter in the end. They were caught. Mrs Collins managed to escape through the front
windscreen. She barely made it off the bonnet."

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folding tablet. Normally, technology exploded in
Dresden's presence. His kind of magic was more wild than the wanded kind, and so it often had
more effect on its surroundings, including messing with technology. Apparently Tony Stark had
solved that little problem in fifteen minutes. It wouldn't surprise him. Stark, for all his
abrasiveness, was undoubtedly a genius.

He turned it on, folded it out and laid it on the desk, bringing up a series of holographic images.
"This is the crime scene."

Dresden turned and flicked his gaze to the pictures, taking in the ruin of the car, the magnified
pieces of painfully small bones. His face was expressionless, but the careful kind of expressionless
that suggests that underneath the mask lay a bubbling volcano of emotion.

He turned his gaze on Coulson, and even though the SHIELD Agent had stared down Loki himself
in the past, even though he knew that Dresden wasn't his enemy and even though the anger wasn't
directed at him… he felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"I'll take the case," Dresden said curtly. "Give me two hours to make a few arrangements, collect
some gear, then I'm yours."

Coulson nodded. "Good. Welcome to SHIELD, Wizard Dresden."

 Overlord

When preparing for a mission with SHIELD, no matter what it is, from tracking a lost dog to
identifying an 084 (code for something superpowered/supernatural that has unknown properties),
you prepare for the worst.

Or maybe that's just me, because I'm Harry Dresden, and I'm careful. It's not paranoia if there
really is an invisible demon behind you about to eat your face. And believe me, that's actually
happened to me. Only a well placed mirror and spritz bottle of Febreeze saved my life. Not that
being chased by a monster that smelled of roses was much better, but at least I could smell it
coming.

Yeah. My life is weird.

Most the time, my job is playing repo, finding lost things and lost people for other people. I'm a PI,
it's kind of what I do.

And then, about once or twice a year, I end up in the middle of a major clusterfuck. And they're
only getting worse.

First couple of times, it was fairly localised – a powerful dark wizard looking to become the new
kingpin of Chicago, and a bunch of FBI Agents who decided that they were the law and no body
count was too small and no innocents too innocent to frame if it meant that they could kill
Gentleman Johnnie Marcone, the, you guessed it, kingpin of Chicago. Where I got involved was
when they used dark magic to turn into giant wolves. Which corrupted them and turned them into
the archetypal big bad wolves. Too savage to be human, too evil to be animal and too dangerous to
live.

Even the third threat, a vampire called Bianca who I'd pissed off a while back and who'd spent her
time alternately fantasising about vengeance upon me and building her power base, finally
ascending to become a member of the Red Court nobility, was only a Chicago level threat.

That was, until she kidnapped my girlfriend, the woman I loved and still love, a journalist called
Susan Rodriguez and turned her. Or more accurately, half turned her. There's lots of kinds of
vampire out there, but Bianca was Red Court. Basically, pretty humans on the outside, disgusting
bat monsters underneath. And when they turn someone, they don't fully turn until they kill and
drink someone's lifeblood.

She hasn't turned yet, thank god. But we can't be together any more. Bianca made sure of that.

And in return I burnt that vampire bitch and her coven to ash and started a war between the
supernatural superpowers.

The White Council of Wizards, of which I was the black sheep, was currently engaged in what was
mostly a cold war with three of the four Western vampire courts, the Red (which I've already
mentioned), who are mostly based in Mexico, around the Yucatan, the Black (classic Stoker
vampires, though ironically, Dracula isn't actually Black Court. Most powerful and with the most
weaknesses. Also the fewest in numbers at the moment) and the White (psychic vampires, that
feed off emotion – usually, lust, fear or despair - and thereby life-force. The most human and
physically the weakest, their holy water is the opposing emotion. They're also manipulators and
political players, making them arguably the most dangerous of the lot).
This time, I thought it might be vampires. It would make sense. The White Council's remit mostly
extended to protecting humanity from the monsters that most of the world likes to pretend don't
exist, and the war between the Council and the Courts had been a cold one, for a couple of reasons.

On the one hand, you can't replace wizards that quickly. Wizards don't hit their prime until they're
one hundred years old, and while I, on a good day, am in the top twenty of the White Council for
pure power and I'm not even a third of that age, power isn't exactly something I've ever had a
problem with. But it's not just about power, it's about developing refinement, skill and stamina,
several things which I have had problems with.

And not only that, but only a few wizards are actually suited for combat, temperamentally and in
terms of how their talents manifest themselves.

But. The wizards have one advantage.

The Senior Council.

They're seven most powerful wizards on the planet. To give you context for how strong these guys
are, one of them, my old mentor Ebenezar McCoy, had once pulled a disused satellite out of orbit in
order to flatten the base of a particularly powerful vampire. I don't think it had even tired him out.
And he's had practice. Tunguska, New Madrid, Krakatoa… all him. As for why, every
organisation has its assassins, after all, and he's known as the Blackstaff. The guy who can use dark
magic and break the Seven Laws with impunity and he taught me about the responsible use of
power. Yeah, I noticed the irony too. I'm still having trouble forgiving him for that lie.

Anyway, all that matters is that the Senior Council can, working in concert, can do horrendous
damage. The only mortals that pack a bigger punch than them are the Sorcerer Supreme and
possibly the Scarlet Witch. And while they're around and ready to kick some ass, the vampires are
going to be careful, because nobody likes having a volcano rammed up the ass.

Maybe they were making a new play, trying out a new strategy. And if I had my way, it wasn't
going to have time to get old.

But with vampires, things are rarely simple. Each Court is ruled by a King, except for the Black
Court, whose King and Elders were destroyed in the Carpathians in the 1920's. It's now a group of
powerful individuals and their minions. The White Court doesn't actually do much fighting, being
manipulators for the most part, so the Red Court is the most powerful one and the only one that can
take the field in numbers.

Except for one. The fourth Court, the Grey Court, ruled by its King, Dracula. They're basically like
the Black Court, traditional weaknesses and strengths of a vampire, but they look far more human.
They're staying out of the War simply because Dracula could not care less, and, more to the point,
despises the Red King, regarding him as a savage heathen upstart, and finds the Red Court as a
whole disgusting. You can't really dispute that.

The Red King hates him because he was a Crusader, of the same stripe as men like Cortes and
because Dracula is actually a baby by Vampire standards, being barely over five hundred. Yet,
somehow, he's got the power to match the Red King in combat and be ranked as a major player. No
one's quite sure how he got to be so powerful so young, but the fact is, he's just that: powerful. And
no one in their right mind crosses him.

As for the Black Court, they're basically what happened when a necromancer about eight thousand
years ago decided to experiment with turning dead people into vampires rather than living people,
so they decay over time. They also generally get treated like the bastard step-children by the Grey
Court. Everyone else is, or was, too scared of them to dare.

All the Kings are powerful, even the White King, Lord Raith (Raith's feed on lust, genuine incubi
and succubi) who used to be able to do a literal Kiss of Death. He did it to make sure everyone was
paying attention, apparently.

Then he ran across my mom, who, morally ambiguous though she was, didn't take being enslaved
lying down, and broke away. But not before she had a kid by him. My half-brother, Thomas Raith,
who does his best to rise above the demon inside him, feeding it only as much as is required to
survive.

To explain, White Court, instead taking bites out of the body, take bites out of the life-force and the
mind, which makes it easier to feed the next time round. And Raiths, in particular, tend to have this
aura which inspires lust, making it easier to feed. It's powered, along with their various other
superpowers and supernatural good looks, by their symbiotic demon. All vampires have it, it's the
thing that animates them.

Hell, Red Court vampires are only a demon, with a human mask. Black and Grey likewise,
inhabiting a corpse. White Court are both mortal and demon, and the demon needs to feed. If it
doesn't get fed, the vampire basically starves, and, in the end, the demon takes over and feeds by
whatever means necessary.

Thomas fends this off, so far as I can see, by having casual sex and taking as little life-force as
possible, all while knowing that if he wanted, he could take all of it in one big bite, sate his hunger
and the girl he was taking it from would love him for doing so.

If this wasn't bad enough, with the sort of luck that can only be genetic, he fell in love with the girl
he was feeding off and vice versa. And since love burns the Raiths, he can't touch her. Ever. Not
even hold her hand, unless he's wearing gloves.

Oh, and he has to live with the fact that his father is a monster who had our mother assassinated
and tried to get him killed on a number of occasions. Among many, many other things. Now, Lord
Raith is the puppet of his eldest daughter. She's nicer, easier to work with and infinitely more
dangerous, while he's basically her catspaw. And trust me. You don't want to know how he ended
up that way.

Yeah. And you thought Edward from Twilight had it bad. Speaking of the abomination in question,
I'm pretty sure that Meyer is in thrall to the White Court, or maybe the Red. I mean, those freaking
books have at least quadrupled the number of fatal vampire attacks in the States alone. And, from a
vamps point of view, what better way to feed than by essentially training the prey to come to you,
neck eagerly bared and waiting to be bitten?

In case you were wondering about the dissertation on vampires, I half suspected that this attack
was a ploy by the vampires, and the 'necromantic constructs' we were either dealing with were a
new breed of vampire, or an ancient one, resurrected by the Darkhold. I'm not sure which
possibility was worse.

Having looked over the crime scene photos, I'd ruled out the White Court, probably the Red Court
and definitely the Grey Court. The Black Court are savage enough, and it wasn't implausible that
one might decide to try eating flesh as well as blood.

Plus, where necromancers go, vampires are rarely far behind. Either way, I wouldn't know until I
got a good look at the corpse SHIELD had got hold of.
"It's not the vampires," Coulson said suddenly, heightening my suspicions that he could, in fact,
read minds. "We've checked. They're pretty quiet at the moment." He shook his head.
"The veidrdraugar are a whole different kind of threat. They're basically Asgardian zombies."

"What, 'Night of the Living Dead'?"

"Shambling, infect by bite and stupid zombies?" Coulson asked, then shook his head. "Try
superfast, superstrong stealth zombies. Oh, and they have a low level telepathic connection and
hunt in packs. The only reason we're not already overrun by them is the fact that they're created by
spellwork rather than infection."

Well. So much for my vampire idea. "What's the threat rating?" I asked.

"As individuals? Solid Alpha. As a pack? High Alpha. With their boss? Omega."

I grimaced. "Omega threats are out of my league, Coulson," I said.

"The previous Summer Lady was an Omega level threat. You killed her through ingenuity, not raw
power," Coulson said calmly. "And saved the world." He glanced at me. "Nicodemus was
definitely an Omega level threat. You stopped him."

"I had back up both times. Both times, good people died for me. And in the latter case, Nicodemus
was barely even pissed off," I retorted.

Nicodemus is a 2000 year old maniac powered by a coin with an actual Fallen Angel called
Anduriel, one of Lucifer's captains. He thinks that 'apocalypse was a state of mind' and considers it
his mission to cause as much suffering in the world. The more of that there was, the more power to
badness in general. His latest scheme to do this was to unleash a super plague on O'Hare
international airport, spreading a magical cocktail of diseases around the world, using the Shroud
of Turin as a focus. I managed, with help, to stop him. Barely.

Oh, and this coin powering him? One of thirty. Yes, those thirty. The Judas price. They each
contain a Fallen Angel and can turn just about anyone into a biologically immortal nightmare.
They can all be killed, though, or, in some rare cases, the host can be convinced to willing give up
the coin. I've got one. Nicodemus threw it at my friend's toddler, and I got there first. I've buried it
in my cellar. I don't like to think about it too much, especially since Xavier, during my therapy
sessions, said that he could sense something else, something dormant, hiding in my head.

Which scares me, because, frankly, if I ended up taking up the coin, I'd be… well, I'd be a
nightmare.

But I could still be killed. They all can.

Except for Nicodemus. He has a magical protection called the Barabbas noose, the one Judas
hanged himself with. No matter what gets thrown at him, he's pretty much immune to it. The only
thing that can hurt him is the noose itself.

"Speaking of Nicodemus, the Shroud's been stolen again," I said.

"Don't worry. Nicodemus was last seen in Madripoor and the Shroud was stolen as a distraction,"
Coulson replied. "None of the Denarians are involved." He glanced at me. "Not all the evil in this
world has a religious or mythological origin, Dresden, let alone a Judeo-Christian one."

That was true enough. I'm theological Switzerland, but I'd always figured that balance of
probability suggested that God was the top dog. There were other gods out there, but maybe it was
my vaguely Christian upbringing showing and the fact I've seen actual holy swords and chosen
warriors of God (one of whom is an agnostic) in action, but I always thought that Yahweh, Jehova,
whatever you want to call him, was top dog and Lucifer was the Big Bad. Or at least, the only one
actually paying any attention.

Then New Mexico happened. Mjolnir fell to the Earth, swiftly followed by its owner. The old gods
of the Norse went to war in a small American town and flattened it.

The supernatural community had barely recovered from that revelation when the battle of New
York happened, an alien invasion let by Loki, the Norse God of Magic himself, opposed by a group
of superheroes including his own brother, the Mighty Thor, God of Thunder and Lightning.

I asked my friend Michael Carpenter, staunch Catholic, an actual carpenter (well, builder really)
and wielder of Amoracchius (which may or may not actually be Excalibur), a sword blessed by
God, with one of the three nails in its hilt, just what he made of this. Because, to be honest, I had no
freaking clue.

He'd simply smiled and said, "Goodness is goodness, Harry, no matter whose name it is done in,
whether it is Odin's or the Lord'."

I'd given him a suspicious look. "Are you paraphrasing Narnia at me?"

He'd chuckled. "Lewis was a renowned theologian," he reminded me. Then he'd looked serious and
thoughtful. "In all seriousness, Harry, I have thought long and hard about this. How can I read
scripture that says that there is only one true God when others, who may well have reasonable
claim to be called Gods, walk the Earth and do good or evil according to their natures?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. In the end, I have simply resolved to have faith in the Lord and
his wisdom and to do His work as best I can. And if this Thor wishes to defend humanity in the
endless struggle against evil, then who am I to tell him no? Indeed, I shall welcome him as a an
ally and a friend." He smiled at me. "And what use is faith if it is not occasionally tested? Whether
it is my faith in the Lord or yours in your power, testing only makes faith stronger."

"Or breaks it," I said, being a cheerful, optimistic and generally glass half full personality.

He'd just smiled and said nothing.

From another man, this might have come across as a cop out. But Michael is cut from the same
cloth as Captain America – he's unbelievably kind, gentle and good. He's also inspiring. He doesn't
seek fame, simply lives in a way that makes you want to be a better person. And he's sincere. When
he says that he'll welcome a man, a god, who more than a few Christians believe insults their
religion simply by existing, a living challenge to his faith, as a brother, he means it.

Speaking of Captain America, how does he deal with the fact that he's living with two actual Norse
gods? Three if you count Thor's demigod kid, and seven if you count Lady Sif and the Warriors
Three, who are apparently hanging out on Earth for a while.

Maybe I'll get the chance to ask him one day. Which I will, in a manly and mature fashion which
will in a no way involve me being tongue tied and staring and begging on my knees for an
autograph, no siree.

Coulson was a fan, and a high ranking SHIELD Agent. Maybe he could introduce me. If he could
stop squeeing himself. He has the comics. And the trading cards. Mint edition. He's very proud of
them.
"And not every supernatural bad guy is connected to the White Council or to what you're used to,"
Coulson continued, snapping me back to the present. "Put aside all your expectations. This isn't a
case that's really connected to your part of the supernatural world. The White Council, the Vampire
Courts, the Sidhe... this is not their territory. They're not involved. Now, you're involved with the
Nine Realms, the Death Eaters and HYDRA. And that's a whole different ballgame." He turned
into a sideroad towards the back of O'Hare. "This isn't the world you grew up in any more,
Dresden. This is the 21st century. This is when everything changes."

I nodded soberly. Coulson had a point. I had been approaching it from a pretty wizard centric point
of view. New Mexico and New York had changed things, opening up new frontiers and reopening
old ones. The old status quo had been thrown out the window. The new one was still being defined.

Coulson saw me nod and looked satisfied. Then he looked in the mirror and sighed. "Did you have
to bring your dog?"

My eight month old walking rug panted cheerfully, jaws hanging open in a friendly doggy grin.
When I first got him, I could put him in my pocket, and I'd called him Mouse, because he was
small, grey and quiet. Now, he was still greyish and quiet, but he was only small in comparison to a
full grown rhinoceros.

"He gets lonely," I said defensively, reaching back to scratch Mouse behind the ears. "Plus Thomas
is busy keeping an eye on Bruce for me, Murph has big dog issues, so it's this or leave him with the
Carpenters or the Xavier people. And both of them will spoil him."

I shook my head. Xavier's protégé, Jean something, a young woman blessed with the sort of
stunning beauty and kind heart that would make many a man think thoughts he shouldn't and a
ferocious temper that would make him sorely regret it if he tried to act on them without her express
consent, had fallen in love with Mouse at first sight and had ended up spoiling him and feeding
him far too many treats.

Apparently she was a dog person, though, admittedly, Mouse had still been quite young and
therefore cute, and had long since mastered the art of PR.

Either way, while Mouse was grateful for the attention and I had been grateful for someone willing
to play with him while I went through lengthy telepathic therapy, I'd had to clear up the resulting
mess.

Never. Again.

While Jean had got the message when I'd made this clear, and I had no doubt that her serious
friend, Scott, (who seriously wanted to be more), would remind her, Mouse is a skilled wheedler,
unbelievably patient and absolutely shameless. And, to be honest, most teenage boys would
happily bow to Jean's will like a bendy straw for reasons that had nothing to do with her psychic
powers and everything to do with her being an exceptionally attractive young woman. Scott got the
double whammy, because it was painfully obvious that he was head over heels in love with her,
which is why I doubted that his resolve would last more than a minute.

And the Carpenter children would be even worse, even if I wasn't avoiding the family right now
for various Fallen Angel related reasons. If I ended up taking up the coin and going bad, I didn't
want the Carpenter family to be at Ground Zero. Also, seriously, they have a lot of kids who love
animals, he'd be the size of the Goodyear Blimp within a week.

"Dresden?"
"Hmm?" I said, and looked up. And my jaw dropped as a large, black plane came into view.

"This is our stop," he said, getting out of the car. "We'd better get moving. Operation Overlord is in
motion, and we need to be ready."

OoOoO

Rhodey steadied himself as the Quinjet landed smoothly, and followed Director Fury, who was
moving slightly stiffly, though that stiffness swiftly disappeared, down the opening ramp, where
they were met by a tall, gorgeous looking young woman, dressed in dark purple segmented body
armour topped off by a smooth, clear visored helmet, which looked both light and practical, if
slightly odd.

"Agent Psylocke, I presume," Fury greeted her, over the sound of the Quinjet's engines.

Rhodey heard the woman's reply in his head.

That's me. Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Director Fury, Colonel Rhodes.

"Whoa," he muttered, and Psylocke smirked.

Didn't see that coming, did you, big boy? She teased. It's easier going mind to mind than shouting
over the noise of the engines. Then her expression became more professional, as did her tone. Lady
Malfoy is expecting us, and while a basic scan of her mind revealed no hostile intentions, I would
be very wary. Reasonably solid intelligence indicates that the Malfoy family have used a Chimera
and a Nundu as guard animals in the past. With your permission, Director Fury, I would like to
create a temporary psi-link with your pilots. A moment of warning could prove vital.

"Good idea. Permission granted, Agent Psylocke," Fury said, who clearly had no compunction
about shouting over the sound of jet engines. Admittedly, if the stories Rhodey had heard were
true, he probably didn't have much compunction about shouting full stop, if he felt the need.

Rhodey remembered the creatures in question from the briefing – two creatures out of mythology,
both damn near unkillable with skin like armour and predisposed to regard humans as snacks.

Well, if they turned up, he thought as they made their way up the path, keeping his sensor array at
maximum alertness, he had a thousand or so pack of 7.62 mm ballistic bon-bons for them to choke
on.

As it turned out, nothing large, hairy and homicidal jumped out at them, and when Fury rang the
doorbell, it was courteously answered by a… he had no idea what, but it was greenish, with
enormous eyes ad wearing a very clean pillowcase.

"Okay, what's that?" he asked.

"He is a House Elf, Colonel," Psylocke said calmly. "Be polite." She smiled at the creature. "Hello.
I'm Agent Braddock from MI13, this is Director Fury of SHIELD –"

"YOU!" the little creature shrieked suddenly. "I is knowing you! You is bad man! You hurt Master
Lucius and burned down the poor house!"

Fury glared at it, then crouched down to look straight into its eyes. "Yes. I did," he said quietly.
"Would you like me to do it again?"

"No!"
"Then get out of our way."

The little creature didn't move, though it looked terrified. Rhodes couldn't blame it. It was dealing
with three people, each at least two and a half times its size, one of whom was outright threatening
it and another was a walking suit of battle armour.

"Please forgive Director Fury, he's had a bad day," Psylocke said, with the tone of someone
smoothing matters over. "We are expected by your mistress and we have no hostile intentions."

The little creature gave her a sceptical look, then nodded at Rhodey. "What is that being for, then?"
it asked, folding its arms.

"Because I trust your mistress about as far as I can throw her," Fury growled. "And when he's
around, I can throw her a lot further."

The Elf, unsurprisingly, did not look reassured.

"Unless your mistress starts something, I won't harm her," Rhodey said, feeling the need to break
the deadlock. "And if it comes to it and we're attacked by something else entirely, I'll protect her."
Psylocke gave him an approving look. Fury settled for glowering at the small creature, as if
calculating exactly how far it would fly if he kicked it.

The little creature jumped, then gave Rhodey a long look. "You swears it?" it asked seriously.

"Yes."

The House Elf nodded, satisfied. "At least one of the muggles is having courtesy," it sniffed. "And
honour." But it didn't move. "But I is not sure if I is trusting Director Fury."

"You may let them in, Drippy," a woman's voice called out from within. "If Fury sets something on
fire, then at least we shall have the opportunity to redecorate."

"Yes, Mistress," the Elf said, standing aside. "You be wiping your feets when you come in."

Fury glared at it, then wiped his feet and stalked inside, the rest following him into a large room
that exuded classy, beautiful and understated opulence. I am rich, it seemed to say. And I have
been so rich for so long that I do not feel the need to show it off.

The woman in the room seemed to give off much the same impression, a sort of armour of
arrogance and cast iron belief in her own power and superiority that she would remain unruffled by
anything she judged to be beneath her notice. At first glance, that is.

At a second, longer look, it was quickly apparent that she was frightened, eyes occasionally darting
from side to side, sweat beading on her brow, her knuckles were standing out as her hands clenched
and unclenched into fists, nails digging into her palms and her skin was looking paler, frankly, than
it should be. She was scared, waiting for the other shoe to drop, an impression confirmed by
Rhodey's armour, which was registering a slightly raised heart rate, breathing rate and raised body
temperature.

To compare, he briefly scanned Psylocke – normal, slightly heightened with mild nervousness –
and Director Fury's – perfectly calm and unchanging, almost unnervingly so.

Psylocke? He thought. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

Yes. She's scared. Very, very scared, and she has been for a while now.
"Lady Malfoy," Fury said, voice calmer now, if somewhat sardonically edged. "I'm glad you could
make the time to meet us."

"Time is one thing I do not lack, Director," Lady Malfoy said calmly, with a hint of haughtiness.
She had classically aristocratic good looks, Rhodey thought, and she would have been beautiful if
it wasn't for the fact that she was frightened and looked like she was doing an unpleasant but
necessary household task, like unblocking the sink. That said, Rhodey doubted that this woman
had unblocked a sink in her life. "Doubtless you believe that my husband is involved in this latest
incident."

"I wouldn't call it an incident," Fury said coldly. "An incident is usually pretty minor, like a vehicle
crash. The death toll for MI6 is still being estimated, but it's well into four figures. MI13 lost
nearly seven hundred personnel. In one night, nearly two and a half thousand people died."

"What's two and a half thousand muggles, more or less?" Lady Malfoy replied with a cool lack of
concern for those she considered lesser, even sub-human, that made Rhodey want to hit something.
He'd heard it before. Aimed at him.

Fury's expression hardened, and he said, voice low and measured, "I knew you were a cold
blooded bitch, Narcissa. So I'm not surprised." He leaned forward. "Your son probably wouldn't be
either. But he would be ashamed of you."

Narcissa blinked. "What are you wittering on about?"

Fury smiled like a shark. "Your son was the one who tipped us off, Narcissa. He clearly thinks,
unlike you, that non-magical lives have value," he said.

Narcissa went white as Fury went in for the kill.

"HYDRA don't take well to being double crossed, and don't think a necromancer with control of
the Darkhold is going to take it much better," he said. "They'll kill him. And worse."

"They don't know," Narcissa said softly. "They can't know."

"They'll find out," Fury said remorselessly. "One way or another." He sat back. "I am going to tell
you what's going to happen. This is not a negotiation, this is a simply a statement of fact: your
husband is going to pay for what he has done. But in return for your cooperation, if I get hold of
him, he's going to live. He'll spend the rest of his life locked away in the Triskelion, but
considering the alternatives…"

"What alternatives?" Narcissa whispered.

Fury gave her a calm look. "I have evidence that says he killed Lily Potter's parents," he said, voice
chillingly calm. "All I have to do is hand that file to Loki. And he will disappear. No one will ever
know what happened to him. No evidence will tie back to Loki, to anyone. It will be as if Lucius
never even existed." He met her gaze. "Or I hand it to Thor. And we'll see what happens when a
snake gets struck by lightning. My bet? The same thing that happens to everything else." He looked
around the mansion. "And hell, it's been a while since this place last burned down. Funny, that. It
goes up like a torch. All you need is a little bit of napalm." He looked back at Narcissa, who was
glaring at him as if she hoped to incinerate him with a look.

Rhodey kept an eye on her hands, just in case she pulled out her wand and actually tried to
incinerate him.

"Very well," she said voice low. "If I help you, you will keep my husband alive, correct?"
"If I can take him alive, yes," Fury said. "But to be honest, it's not really your husband who we're
trying to preserve. I'd have a hard time saving him from the mess he's got himself into even if I
actually wanted to." He shook his head. "No. Best thing I can do for you is to keep your son safe."

"How will you do that?" Narcissa asked after a long moment, voice rising to something that was
nearly a shriek. "How can hide him from the Winter Soldier?"

"Avalon," Fury said. "Otherwise known as Asteroid M."

"Whoa, wait up," Psylocke said suddenly. "I thought that was just a legend."

"It is very real," Fury said. "As its owner." He met Narcissa's gaze. "You'll have heard of him."

She nodded, trembling. If she'd been stressed before, now she was outright terrified. "You can't
mean to hand him over to that man, Fury," she managed. "He'll kill him, surer than HYDRA!"

"He doesn't kill children," Fury said. "And he hates HYDRA like few men I've ever seen. They
won't cross him, they won't dare. Short of shipping your son to Asgard, I can think of nowhere
safer. In fact, it's probably safer than Asgard – your husband's pet necromancer managed to sneak a
few minions into Asgard. They kidnapped Harry Potter and two of his friends, one of whom was
the granddaughter of Zeus himself. Thankfully, they got out intact. If they hadn't… you don't want
to know what would have happened. You really don't."

He gave Narcissa a long look. "This can go one of two ways. First, you can tell me nothing, trust in
Hogwarts' defences, and some of them are pretty damn good. But your husband will die and as
soon as it gets out what your son did, his chances of survival won't be looking good." He leaned
forward. "Or, you can tell me everything, and I mean everything, the truth and nothing but the
truth. In return, I will do my best to see your husband taken alive and I will give your son the best
protection this side of the Sorcerer Supreme."

"I…" Narcissa began.

Whatever she would have said was cut off as Psylocke let out a horrified cry.

"Agent Psylocke?" Fury asked. "What's happened?"

"They're dead," she whispered. "Both your pilots. Murdered."

"Damn it," Fury muttered, and opened his mouth to bark an order. He never got the chance.

The Quinjet, hurled by some incredibly powerful force, crashed through the far wall, slowing to a
stop barely ten feet away from the group. The cockpit was clearly visible, as were the two pilots.
Both were withered husks. Rhodey swore softly.

"Colonel," Fury said calmly. "Find whichever son of a bitch did that and kill them."

"No need to go looking, Fury," a coolly amused voice said. "I am right here."

"Von Strucker," Fury growled, voice full of hatred as the man in question strolled out from behind
the stationary jet. "I wondered when you'd crawl out from your rock."

Von Strucker smiled cruelly. "When I found that I found that I had enough strength to bring it
down on your head."

"Okay, enough of the banter, chump," Rhodey said, spooling up his minigun. "Surrender."
"I think not. CORBEN!"

Rhodey barely had time to register the blur that shot straight through the downed Quinjet and hit
him so hard that even the suit, he blacked out for a moment. When he came to, he found himself on
the back lawn of the Manor, with a tall white man with buzz cut dark hair and the cold, calculating
expression of someone who is about to indulge in brutal premeditated violence. He also had…
well, it looked like a blockier, cruder version of Tony's arc reactor. Except it was glowing a toxic
green.

"All right asshole," Rhodey muttered, blasting him with his repulsors. "Let's dance."

OoOoO

"Impressive," Fury said, impassive, examining the hole. "One of Zola's, I take it."

"Well deduced, Director," Von Strucker began. "We found some remarkable green meteor rock
that turns out to be both a powerful mutagen and a strong power source."

"All of that was in SHIELD custody," Fury said, eyes narrowing.

"Is it?" Von Strucker asked. "Or is that what you think, Fury?"

Any further discussion of this subject was cut off, as a blistering streak of spellfire shot towards
Von Strucker, which he barely dodged, accompanied by a scream of rage.

"Traitor!"

Both turned. Nacissa was glaring at Von Strucker, fire in her blue eyes, dust filled blonde hair
flying wild, lips peeled back from her teeth in a silent snarl of pure rage. She'd drawn her wand. "I
should kill you where you stand," she hissed.

"Ah, Lady Malfoy," he said, smile disappearing and a slowly growing anger filling his voice. "I
am not the traitor. Your son is the traitor. As are you, for aiding SHIELD. And as for killing me…
I think not, woman!" In a blur, he raised his gauntlet, and lightning roared out of it, striking
Narcissa and hurling her to the floor. "Traitors to HYDRA can only pay one price," he growled,
aiming the Satan Claw at her prone form.

"Price?" Psylocke said furiously, her eyes burning a deadly purple as the butterfly markings that
signified her power flared on her face. "I hope it's paid in cash that spends in hell,
you bastard!" And as she spoke, any with even a slight touch of psychic power within a five
hundred mile radius was affected by the backlash as she unleashed a tidal wave of psychic energy,
directed at Von Strucker.

Who glared at her. "Didn't anyone teach you manners, girl?" he asked. "Farouk, if you're done
killing the House Elves, kill her." He glanced at her. "Keep the body."

And as soon as he spoke, Psylocke felt a psi presence, one stronger and fouler than any she'd ever
encountered. One definitely stronger than her. But where was it?

Then, a shadowy cloud began to pour out of the downed jet. Before Psylocke's horrified eyes, it
coalesced into a tall, powerfully built humanoid creature, all shiny, dark armour, like that of a
Roman Gladiator, soulless blank white eyes shining out from beneath a helmet to match, and as it
looked down at her, a terrible, malevolent grin spread across its face.

Then, the physical plane fell She felt a sly, slippery, sleazy mind-voice speak.
Hello little spirit. I am the Shadow King. Any last words?

Psylocke was suddenly aware that she'd frozen in fear, like a small furry animal waiting for the
snake to strike.

Bugger that.

Concentrating, she formed her own psionic armour, a suit of plate armour that flexed in ways steel
never could. In her right hand, a longsword of incandescent purple-white psifire formed, in the
other hand, a kite shield.

Last words? My name is Psylocke, you arrogant son of a bitch, she said. And the only last words
that are going to be said around here are yours!

Brave, the Shadow King commented, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he drew his own sword, a
shadowy gladius. But stupid.

The two clashed in a blur.

OoOoO

"Well, Director," Von Strucker said, stepping forward. "It looks like its just us."

Fury glanced at Narcissa. The woman had long since collapsed, blood trickling from her nose and
ears. The fallout ferocious psi war that he knew was raging on the astral plane was unsurprisingly
taking a toll on her. Witches and Wizards, though they didn't know it, all had low level psi senses
by default. Not enough to do anything, unless developed, but more than enough to leave them
vulnerable to the fallout from a battle between two telepaths of the first order.

"So it is," he said.

Then he shot Von Strucker in the leg.

"That was to get your attention," he said as the head of HYDRA collapsed, cursing. Then he
stepped on the wound, getting a strangled scream. "And that was because I don't like you."

"The claw will heal me," Von Strucker snarled. "And I will replenish its reserves with enough of
your lifeforce to leave you an ancient wreck!" Moving in a blur, he grabbed Fury's ankle. Nothing
happened.

"What…" he began.

Fury stamped on his face.

"Do you really think that I would get within ten feet of that thing, let alone stand still while
you monologue at me?" he asked incredulously, nodding at the Satan Claw. "This isn't really me.
This is something called an LMD, a Life Model Decoy. I'm controlling it via a psi link from the
Helicarrier."

He stepped back.

"See, I figured that you don't trust Lucius Malfoy. Not the slightest bit. And, to be fair, I wouldn't
either," Fury said. "So when he went underground alone, you kept an eye on his house and his
wife. And when I came in, you saw who I had with me and grabbed the first assets you had to
hand. You must have thought you were clever, bringing the Shadow King. Discover the leak in
your alliance, take down a powerful enemy psychic and gain a man inside the new MI13, plunder
the mind of the Director of SHIELD for intelligence and take control of the man trusted to pilot the
War Machine and, more importantly, a close friend to Tony Stark, giving you a way in to the
Avengers. Maybe you might even have taken Narcissa as a hostage, to give you leverage over
Lucius. Add a bruiser to keep War Machine busy and you thought you could sweep the board."

Von Strucker, clutching his broken nose, stood. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know the moment this war began to turn against you," Fury said.

"How?"

Fury smiled.

OoOoO

Rhodey hovered about a hundred feet from his target. Trial and error had told him that this was the
rough distance he could get from his target and keep the man, or whatever it was, focused on him,
while having enough to react to the other man's speed and truly remarkable jumping abilities.

He was clearly an enhancile of some kind, and the green energy source in his chest suggested that
it was gamma, and while he wasn't Hulk strong, as Rhodey's ribs could attest, even through the
armour, he packed a serious wallop. He couldn't survive lengthy close quarters, and the guy
shrugged off repulsor blasts and the minigun barely penetrated, if the guy didn't just take
advantage of his enhanced speed and dodge. And even if it did penetrate, the bastard just healed
up, good as new.

Still. Rhodey had a theory. Hell, it was a pretty obvious theory, but he hadn't lived as long as he
had by snatching at the obvious.

He just needed an opening, a chance to start a conversation. Then he got it: the man, among many
other things, moved like a soldier. "Which service?" he called.

"What?" the man asked.

"Which service were you in? I recognise your moves."

"Marines," the man replied, ripping an ornamental bird bath out of the turf and hurling it at
Rhodey, who easily dodged.

"Then why you hanging out with HYDRA?"

"I got sent out on a suicide mission and got left behind, to face the Taliban. But you know what? I
survived. As a fucking cripple. I couldn't go take a shit without help," the man replied readily
enough. "HYDRA made me an offer, I took it." He grinned a grin with far too many teeth and as
Rhodey looked closely, he saw that there was something flickering in his eyes… something mad.
The enhancement process clearly hadn't done much for his mind. In fact, if Rhodey remembered
his history correctly, it would have poisoned it, twisting it beyond all recognition. And the thought
of that happening to a serving soldier, one who would have had no idea what might happen to
him… now that made him mad.

"They put this in my chest," the former Marine ranted. "And it made me strong. Strong enough to
crumple you like a tin can, War Machine!"

He leapt.
Rhodey raised an arm.

"Armour, activate sonic cannon."

The former Marine leapt straight into a weapon that had once brought the Hulk to his knees.

The effect was immediate. What had been a deadly agile leap with lethal intention became a
tangled ball of limbs and pain.

Rhodey landed and strode over to the man's side, keeping him under the sonic cannon's fire all the
while, before bracing himself on his chest, reaching down and ripping the spider like arrangement
out of his chest, crushing the core into crumpled ruin. Deactivating the cannon, he looked down at
the man. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For what happened to you." He saw a glint of metal under
the man's vest. A dog tag.

"Sergeant John Corben," he read aloud, before looking down at the shivering, bleeding wreck,
before slinging him over his shoulder. "You'll survive this mission, Sergeant," he said, adjusting
the man's weight. "Because whatever happened to you, I don't leave men behind."

And as he made his way back to the mansion, he vowed one thing. HYDRA would pay.

OoOoO

On the astral plane, a barren, featureless exapanse, Betsy took a step back. Her left arm hung
uselessly, she was bleeding from far too many places and hurting all over and her enemy, though
he was bleeding in several places from wounds her psi-sword had left in his body, she knew that
unless she had a plan B, she was going to lose.

Almost every cut she had made had been parried, every blow deflected, every gambit countered.
Only a few had snuck through the elder telepath's guard, and Betsy was pretty sure that was
because he wasn't taking this seriously. He was toying with her.

"You have fought well, little Psylocke," the Shadow King said in his slimy, serpentine voice that
made Betsy want to take a bath every time she heard it. "But you fought me on the astral plane. In
my own kingdom. This was inevitable. Any last words?"

Betsy grinned.

See, she had a plan B.

"Yeah," she spat, grinning. "Authorisation: Psylocke. Pass code: Foxtrot, Uniform, Charlie, Kilo,
Yankee, Oscar, Uniform."

In the real world, a green light on her helmet began to flash.

An artificial but very familiar voice echoed around the psychic plane.

"Cerebro uplink online. Welcome, Psylocke."

"Xavier," the Shadow King hissed. "This is his doing."

"It doesn't matter whose doing it is," Betsy said, psychic power roaring through her astral form, as
her psionic armour repaired itself, shining with new glory and power. "Surrender or be destroyed,
Shadow King," she said, fully aware that even with the raw power running through her
metaphorical veins, she was at the limit of what her mind could sustain. Before, she'd been at risk
of having her spirit crushed. Now, she was at risk of it burning up.

But the Shadow King didn't know that.

"I concede victory to you, Psylocke," he growled softly. "But know this. The Shadow King does
not forget. You won't always be able to hide behind Charles Xavier and his clever little devices.
One day, little Psylocke, I will come for you. I will peel apart your mind and feast upon the terror
within."

Then, with barely a ripple in the astral plane, he disappeared.

As soon as she was sure that he was gone, she began to return to her body. But no without one last
word.

"And I'll be ready for you, you son of a bitch," she whispered.

OoOoO

Rhodey walked in, Corben over his shoulder.

Betsy gasped awake.

Both focused on Von Strucker.

And both went to stand by the side of Fury's LMD.

The tables had been very comprehensively turned.

"Shall we take him, sir?"

"And in how many pieces?" Betsy asked venomously.

"No," Fury said. "He goes free." He glared at Von Strucker. "I want you to go back to your base,
Baron. I want you to see your bases, your cells, being rolled up, one by one by our counter
offensive that's going on as I speak. I like to call it, 'Overlord'." He smiled mirthlessly as Von
Strucker let out an involuntary snarl of rage. "Oh, you recognise that name. I thought you would."
The smile disappeared. "The heads are being chopped off, Von Strucker. And this time, they're not
growing back."

Von Strucker stared at him, frozen in horror.

"This," Fury said, voice suddenly soft and deadly. "Is the part where you run away."

Von Strucker got to his feet, eyes on Fury at all times, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a
portkey, disappearing in a flash of blue light.

"Director, why didn't we bring him in?" Rhodey asked. "Or have Agent Psylocke ransack his
brain?"

"Because a man as old and cunning as Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker has a few cards to play in
psychic combat and a lot of psi traps in his brain," Fury said. "I wouldn't want anyone short of
Charles Xavier himself at the top of his game going through his mind, and doing it carefully."

"We could have interrogated him," Rhodey pointed out.

"We wouldn't have got anything out of him, Colonel. Not without violating the Geneva Convention
in every conceivable way or handing him to Loki, which would be worse. And even then, there's
no guarantee that we would get real intel," Fury explained through his LMD. "Instead, we send
him back panicked and humiliated, with his tail between his legs. He'll be irrational. Frightened.
Angry. And that'll spread. Fear kills armies better than any weapon in existence, Colonel, Agent."
He folded his arms. "He and Malfoy have only got two cards left to play. The Winter Soldier and
the necromancer. They'll keep the Soldier close after this, only using him sparingly. The
necromancer's our wild card." He reached down and picked up Narcissa. "And we've got someone
who'll crack wide open as soon as she gets the chance." He touched his earpiece. "SHIELD
command, this is Director Fury. I want an extraction and a medical team at Malfoy Manor, ASAP.
We're done here."

OoOoO

Loki listened to his earpiece, then nodded. "It is complete, then?" he said crisply. "Excellent."

"Well?" Sif asked. She and the Warriors Three were all garbed for battle, ready and waiting on the
roof of Avengers Tower as the sun was setting.

"We are going to London," Loki said. He looked up. "Heimdall, open the Bifrost."

As the clouds began to swirl in preparation, he turned to his friends. "Operation Overlord is
underway. And our part in it is just beginning."

OoOoO

"It's done then?" a shadowy figure asked.

Wisdom nodded. "Yes, Prime Minister. Overlord is go."

"And MI13's part in it?"

"We don't have the manpower to set up teams to link up with SHIELD, sir, not after HYDRA's
attack," Wisdom said, lighting a cigarette. "So I took a leaf from Fury's book."

"What leaf was that?"

"I've reactivated Project Excalibur."

There was uproar. This was a government on the way out, and it didn't want to blot its copybook
any further.

"Calm bloody well down," Wisdom roared, then added, as an afterthought. "Sirs, Madames." He let
out a stream of smoke. "It has been reactivated on a temporary basis."

"That is what all of us thought about the Avengers Initiative," one pointed out.

Wisdom rolled his eyes. "Please. The bloody Avengers have Captain America. He could get a a
knitting circle to follow him into battle." He paused. "If only for the opportunity to admire him
from behind." He shook his head. "Whatever. He's the sort of inspirational leader type these teams
need to stick together. Not only that, but Stark was already a hero, Hawkeye and Widow were
basically doing what they do with the Avengers as their day job, albeit a lot more discreetly,
Banner has nowhere to go, and Thor was going to go adventuring anyway, he just needed someone
to do it with."

"And this group are different?"

"Two are university students. One's technically retired. Two are already Agents of MI13.
Constantine's only involved because he owes me a bloody big favour. And my ace in the hole had
to blackmailed into joining," Wisdom said dryly. "I had enough trouble getting them together in the
first place." He shook his head. "On a more serious note, I will admit that I am looking to build a
superhuman response for the new MI13. But it won't be like the Avengers. The world is not yet
ready for Excalibur."

"And I doubt it ever will be," the Prime Minister said. "Though that will be a matter for our
successors to deal with."

There was a general sursurration of relieved agreement. It was going to be a problem, yes, but
not their problem.

Wisdom just smiled. The world wasn't ready. But it would be soon, he thought. Because, like his
mentor, the man who called himself Peter Wisdom still believed in heroes.

Yes. Excalibur would have its day.

And a test run during Overlord should hasten the coming of that day. Or it would if he had
anything to say about it.

OoOoO

"What's Operation Overlord?" I asked, completely confused as I and Mouse followed Coulson up
the ramp.

"You tell me," Coulson said.

"The Western Allies invasion of Europe at D-Day," I replied, proving that my GED was well
earned. "But, Coulson, I know you like exploring the past, but that was sixty years ago."

"It was. But SHIELD borrowed the name for a reason. It's one of our oldest and most secret
protocols, specifically designed to neutralise or completely destroy HYDRA, put together in the
early fifties when it was apparent that they were still around," Coulson explained. "It's been
tweaked a bit over the years, but the essence is the same – if HYDRA ever managed to unleash a
devastating strike against an Allied nation, SHIELD would have a counter offensive ready to strike
back and strike hard."

"Why not just hat up and go for them?" I asked.

Coulson said nothing, but gave my burned hand a pointed look. The last time I had hatted up and
gone after the bad guys, my hand had ended up as a horror prop. I glowered at him. "Point taken," I
grumbled.

"It's not just that," Coulson said. "The urgency caused by an attack of significant enough scale to
trigger Overlord would be sufficient to get SHIELD and allied agencies permission to bypass a lot
of red tape and politicking, allowing us to act fast. This version of Overlord was put together in a
fortnight."

"Which is quick," I hazarded. I'm not an administrator. I do not know these things.

"Very," Coulson said knowledgeably and began reeling off forms, procedures and protocols that
had basically been thrown out the window. Unlike me, he's an administrator. He knows these
things. He really knows these things. Hell, if he'd been born with magic, he'd have been some kind
of Bureaucromancer.
When confronted with a pile of paperwork, people like Coulson see information.

When confronted with a pile of paperwork, people like me see kindling.

People like me are hell on wheels for the roasting monsters business. Not so much for filling out
tax returns and insurance forms.

Coulson is brilliant at the latter, while managing to be pretty good at the former too. Seriously, I've
seen him take out three muggers with a paperclip. You don't want to know what he did with it.

Then it occurred to me to ask one very important question. "Uh… where are we going?"

"You know your history," Coulson said, as he led me and Mouse up the stairs. Behind us, the ramp
rose, and I felt the engines begin to power up. "Where do you think we're going?"

I thought for a long moment. Then it hit me.

"France."

Coulson smiled. "Exactly. But this time, we don't need to bother with the beaches." He looked at
me. "Get some rest. In six hours, we'll be in Paris."
 The Dead Do Rise

By rest, Coulson meant sleep, but before he could guide me to a free bed, we were intercepted.

"Sir?"

I glanced up to see a tall, dark haired man with clean cut white-bread-American-as-ma's-apple-pie
good looks, the sort you might expect to see on 'be a man, join the army!' poster. He was built
along the same lines as a younger and slightly shorter Michael, which meant that his muscles
sniggered at mine and beat them up for their lunch money.

"Yes, Agent?"

"This is Dresden?" he asked in something that barely avoided being a monotone, giving me a look
that I'd seen on many a police officer, the one that automatically categorised me as 'annoying
weirdo civilian who is probably a fraud and does not belong in official business, but has been
brought in by someone more important than me so has to be left alone'.

The only difference this time was that this Agent tensed ever so slightly. You'd have to know what
to look for to see it, but it was there all right. He knew very well what I was capable of. And like
many people who knew very well what I was capable of, he was predisposed to treat me as a
ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

In other words, the suspicious government drone didn't like me. And didn't that just break my little
heart.

"If I'm not, he's going to be real pissed when he finds me wearing his clothes," I drawled. "And
since we're exchanging names, who are you? Agent Action Man? Captain Cardboard?"

GI Joe's eyes narrowed, then he glanced at Coulson who gave him Bland Government Official
smile #3 – mildly placating, with a hint of fellow feeling and a suggestion that going away might
be a good idea, and said, "Yeah. It's him."

Coulson has long since mastered the deadpan delivery. It's one of the things I like best about him.

Action Man nodded curtly, and left without another word.

"Real barrel of laughs, that guy," I said, watching him go. "I have no idea how you can possibly
drag yourself away from his company."

"I manage," Coulson replied calmly. "And he's a good field Agent. Terrible with people, but great
with guns."

"Ah," I said wisely.

"The others have been looking forward to meeting you," Coulson said. "Except for Agent May.
She thinks the same as Ward."

"He thinks?"

"Be nice. He does have a personality, you know."

"Did he leave it in his locker?" I asked, eyeing my very high tech surroundings and wondering
when something vital was going to explode and we were all going to fall out of the sky and die
horribly.

Coulson sighed. "I have noticed, Dresden," he said. "That you get more sarcastic the more nervous
you are."

"Well spotted. Would you like a Doctorate of the Obvious for that?" my mouth said without any
reference to my brain.

Coulson raised his eyebrows. "Dresden, even your dog's noticed it," he said.

I blinked and looked down at Mouse, who was, indeed, giving me a worried look. I ruffled his
head and said, "Okay, maybe you have a point."

"Of course I do," Coulson said calmly. "You can relax. Every piece of tech on this plane has been
shielded against the influence of your magic."

"What, a sort of anti-magic?"

"Not quite. If you were to try and blast your way out, it wouldn't provide much noticeable
resistance," Coulson said. "But it'll ground out your wild magic, so to speak. The stuff that floats
around you at all times."

"… Does this mean I could actually get a working boiler?"

"Sure. We'll even throw in installation costs," Coulson said casually. "Now, you should meet the
rest of the team."

"Do they have personalities?"

There was sudden boom from the lab below.

"You could say that," Coulson said, without even blinking. "We can leave Fitzsimmons until
they've cleaned up."

They? Was I dealing with some weird gestalt entity here?

Well, this was SHIELD. It could be anything.

At that moment, a young woman walked in. The first thing I noticed was that she was gorgeous,
with amber and chestnut brown hair, light caramel skin and curious, intelligent dark eyes. The
second thing I noticed, with a painful throb, was that she reminded me very strongly of Susan.

Susan Rodriguez is my ex-girlfriend, the one who's a half-vampire guerrilla in South America. She
got turned into a half-vampire by Bianca, and as a measured and reasonable response, I roasted
Bianca and her court. As for how Bianca got hold of her, well… she was an investigative journalist
who wrote about the supernatural, and in the end, I told her too much and not enough at the same
time about the supernatural world. She knew enough to get into trouble, for instance, but not
enough to know that forging an invitation to get into a Red Court function was basically suicide.

And it might just have been my guilt talking, but I thought that this woman had the same sort of
insatiable curiosity.

"Hey A.C.," she began, then spotted me and Mouse. I'm pretty hard to miss. And so is my dog. I
could pass as a basketball player, he could pass as a Shetland pony.

"Hi," I said.
"Harry Dresden, right?" she asked, a definite note of interest in her voice. No, not that kind of
interest. Unfortunately.

"That's what it says on my underwear."

She smiled, then raised an eyebrow. "I see you brought your pet wooly mammoth."

"That's Mouse," I said, as the ambulatory throw rug chuffed and trotted over to the woman mouth
hanging open in a doggy grin, who immediately started fussing over him.

"He's beautiful," she cooed, running her hands all over Mouse.

Yeah. My freaking dog gets more action than I do.

"This is Skye," Coulson said. "Our civilian consultant."

"Consultant?"

"I'm a hacker," Skye explained. "When A.C. wants information, I get it for him."

"What about D.C?" I asked, poker faced.

Coulson sighed as Skye grinned.

"Oh, I like you," she said. "But seriously… what breed is your dog?"

"Dogosaurus Rex," I replied, then shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea."

"He's huge," she muttered, and since he was already at her waist height, I couldn't disagree with
this.

"He's still growing," I said.

She stared at me in disbelief. "No. Way," she said, stunned.

"Yup, he's still a baby. Only eight months old," I said.

"That's one big baby," she muttered.

"He looks like a Caucasian," Coulson said thoughtfully.

"Impossible," I said. "He has rhythm and can dance."

Coulson merely gave me a Look and said, "They're a breed of guard dog used by the Soviet Union
at their installations, bred in the Caucasus."

I considered the possibility of the monk I had been dealing with when playing repo on Mouse's
dognapped litter back when he was a puppy acting as an agent for the FSB or, indeed, any part of
the Russian government.

I thought it was just a tiny bit unlikely.

"I doubt it," I said.

"Maybe Simmons will know," Skye suggested.

"Simmons is a bio-chemist, not a dog breeder," Coulson pointed out.

"She's still more likely to know than we are."

As it turned out, Jemma Simmons, a rather lovely pale, oval faced and dark haired young woman
with what we heathen Americans like to think of as a classic upper class British accent and a sweet
and ready smile, had absolutely no idea what breed he was.

"He could be anything really," she said, frowning in curiosity as she examined Mouse, who sat
patiently. Then she perked up and said "Maybe he's a genetic experiment!" in far too perky a
fashion for my comfort.

"Are Tibetan monasteries world renowned centres of genetic experimentation?" I asked.

"Well, no, not that I know of," Simmons said, face falling.

"If it helps," I said, taking pity on her. "The people who I got him from –" I omitted to mention the
fact that I'd been hired to retrieve his litter and Mouse had, apparently, decided to jump ship and
stay with me, something I hadn't noticed until long after his owner had returned to the depths of the
Tibetan mountains and passed well out of contact range. And believe me, I tried. I already have a
gigantic cat and my apartment is small enough as it is, so I didn't think I could deal with a dog as
well. When it became obvious that Mouse was sticking with me, I realised that I was extremely
fond of him, and if someone wanted to pry him away from me, they'd need one hell of a crowbar. "-
believed that he and the rest of his litter were descended from the union of a dog and a celestial
spirit called a Foo Dog."

The little Scottish scientist, Fitz, who was busying himself cleaning some equipment, snorted
derisively. He had quickly made it clear that, while he believed that I had powers, he was damned
if he was just going to put them down to magic which, being a man of reason, he dismissed. As
scepticism went, I felt that this was fairly arbitrary, but that's human nature for you. Also, I think he
disliked the fact that I was monopolising Simmons. Simmons, meanwhile, gave him a reproachful
look, then looked at me, frowning. "I'm not sure if that's likely," she said delicately.

I smiled. "Gemma – may I call you Gemma?"

She blushed slightly, and nodded. "Of course. If I can call you Harry," she added hastily.

"Of course," I replied, mimicking her tone and grinning as she blushed even further.

The equipment cleaning got more emphatic and I exchanged an amused look with Skye.

"Well, Gemma, I'm a wizard and I'm not entirely sure if I believe it," I said dryly. I shook my head.
"But there is something odd about Mouse."

"How do you mean?"

"You know that paw handshake thing he did?" I asked. Mouse usually did it to people he
particularly wanted to butter up and it almost invariably worked. Gemma was no exception. "I
didn't teach him that."

"Oh," Gemma said, frowning curiously. "Is that it?"

"No," I said, eyeing my dog, who merely gave me an innocent look. "Ever since he was a puppy,
he's been good at picking up… well, evil."

There was another snort from the equipment area. I ignored it. Skye and Coulson ignored it.
Gemma didn't, and the reproachful look crawled one notch closer to an outright glare.
"Really?" Gemma asked.

"Yeah. A friend of mine and I were in my car and had stopped at a checkpoint. It was a quiet
evening. Then, suddenly, Mouse, who was still small enough to fit in my pocket, started growling,"
I said. "I didn't know he was there, so I reached out with my magical senses to find him."

Another snort. Gemma's look was now only one step away from a serious glare.

"And I picked up on a Black Court vampire," I said. "They're Stoker standard, basically, except
that they look like mobile corpses as well as being mobile corpses, all the strengths, all the
weaknesses. And they don't have fangs. Ironically enough, the real Dracula is Grey Court. The
Black Court were an experiment, basically, and they hate being reminded of it." I shook my head.
"Anyway, if one of those things gets in grappling range, you're screwed. If Mouse," I said, ruffling
his head. "Hadn't warned me, I'd be dead. And so would my friend."

"That's pretty impressive," Coulson said, eyeing Mouse as if wondering where he could get a few
of his siblings for SHIELD.

"Yeah. Especially since neither I nor my friend, who's a White Court vampire are slouches in the
sense department. White Court are incubi and succubi," I added. "They feed off emotions, and
they're the weakest and most human breed," I added. "And probably the most dangerous."

"So, he can pick up evil, then," Coulson said.

"Or he could have smelt the walking corpse," Skye suggested.

I shook my head. "Black Court tend to dry out. If they're older than a year or two, they just smell
musty," I said. "And he's always been spot on about if people were trustworthy or not."

"And he lets you hang out with a White Court vampire?" Coulson asked mildly.

I gave him a cold look. "Yes. I've Gazed him, Coulson. He's trying to rise above the killer inside
him."

Coulson gave me a long look, then nodded slowly.

I glanced at Skye and Gemma. "Think Edward from Twilight, then think far less angsty with far
more reason to angst, far less creepy and far more realistic."

"So… not like Edward at all," Skye said. "Because I seriously doubt that you'd go within twenty
feet of Edward."

"Not unless I was about to set him on fire, no," I agreed.

"I liked Twilight," Gemma said, offended, proving that even the best character has blotches on it.

"I'm pretty sure that the author is in thrall to either the White or Red Court," I said. "Maybe the
Grey."

Gemma blinked.

I sighed. "Read the books more carefully. They're essentially teaching the reader to submit to the
vampire, accept them no matter what they do and all but walk up to them with your neck bared and
offered out to whichever vampire bites first," I said. "Or, alternatively, to put up with an
emotionally abusive and controlling partner because that sort of thing is apparently okay when 'true
love' is involved, and, in fact, to have all the spine of a piece of damp cardboard."

Gemma look somewhat surprised. "Oh," she said, somewhat taken aback.

"Sorry. But vampire attacks have at least quadrupled since those books were released, and so have
fatalities," I said. "And I don't think they exactly encourage battered women to stand up to their
partners and call the police."

"Seriously?" Skye asked.

"It took a bit of research, but I know the head of CPD's Special Investigations division, and they've
been getting more manpower and funding recently," I said. "She and I ran the figures and worked it
out."

Suddenly, Skye's phone beeped, and she checked it, then typed in what I assume wa a brief
message, before closing it. "I'm mentoring a young hacker," she explained. "Keeping her on the
straight and narrow, before you ask. Not going after anything classified."

"We know," Coulson said.

"Wait, what?"

"Miles mentioned it," Coulson said, tone neutral. "Though he embellished things a little."

For a moment, Skye looked a little betrayed. Then her expression turned angry. "I'll bet he did," she
growled. She shook her head. "She's good, Coulson. Really, really good."

"How good?"

"One day, she could be better than me," Skye said, with blunt honesty.

Coulson nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe we'll offer her a job," he said. "What's her handle?"

"She usually goes by Oracle."

"But she can't actually see the future," Fitz said, glaring at me slightly, as if I had somehow
personally affronted him. And since he was a scientist, and probably a deeply rational man, I
probably did that just by my existence.

Well, maybe I could rectify that.

"Look, magic isn't just an automatic exemption from reality," I said with a sigh. "There's a lot of
calculation that goes into it, because magic still has to obey the laws of physics. You conjure fire,
great. But it's still fire, and you have to use a lot of power to make it control it. Conjuring it is
actually the easy part." I gave the two surprised looking scientists a smug look. They'd come in
expecting a koan spouting mystic or someone who was, at the very least, vague about how his
powers worked. "You want to know about how magic works? Gimme a board marker."

"Here," Skye said, lobbing one across the lab.

And the strangest thing happened.

My burned left hand, the fingers of which I can barely twitch, snapped out and plucked the marker
out of the air. I stared at it for a long moment, then shook myself. I could worry about my weird
hand later. Right now, class to teach.
"Right," I said, removing the lid. "Magic is a force that's around us all the time, essentially, the
fifth fundamental force of the universe." I sketched a square. Being a wizard means I have long
practice in drawing. If you get one symbol wrong on a summoning circle, hell, if there's even a
break in the circle, you're not going to survive to repeat the mistake.

After half an hour of teaching class, the questions drifted towards my personal life. Specifically,
ones concerning my apprentice. Bruce Wayne.

"You saved the Waynes, didn't you?" Skye said. She seemed eager, curious and wanted fiercely to
know, well, just about everything. It looked sweet on her. It had looked sweet on Susan too.

I shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"Not that long. Only, what, seven years?"

"Hey, that's forty nine in dog years," I retorted, being a wizard and a holder of arcane secrets.

"What, so you're a dog now?" Skye asked, grinning.

Action Man gave us the sort of look I expect from senior wizards. It simultaneously conveys
contempt and disbelief. Or it did in my case. I think it softened microscopically when it turned on
Skye.

"I'm a dog owner," I corrected, with a sniff. "Which technically means that I'm the head of the pack
and thus, a dog."

"Well, alpha male, what's the story?" Skye prompted. I got the impression that she really wasn't
going to let this go.

"Just tell her," Coulson said, as if he'd read my mind. I wasn't ruling it out.

I sighed, and told her.

OoOoO

It was a dark night. Not stormy, as per narrative tradition, but this was Chicago in late Autumn.
Anything could happen.

And it could happen to me, so I kept my eyes open. I was a full Wizard of the White Council, a
magus, one of the Wise, and that did not leave me immune to being belted around the head,
dragged into an alleyway and undergoing the procedure that is carried out when someone is
actually dead, whether I was dead or not.

Though considering my bank account – thin – my clothing – thinner still – and my temper –
thinnest of all – I would probably come back from the dead through sheer frustrated rage if they
managed to find any loose change, something which Morgan would probably take as breaking the
Fifth Law and return me to my rest, this time in pieces, by way of surgically sharp broadsword.

It would be characteristic of my luck, so I kept a careful eye on my surroundings. Uptown was a

reasonably decent part of town, but this was Chicago, and I'd only just passed Graceland cemetery.
I didn't want to end up in it.

As for what I was doing out at this time of night, the simple fact was that I couldn't sleep. This
wasn't because I didn't want to, indeed, my brain was drifting longingly towards soft, fuzzy
thoughts of beds and sleeping, but because my new kitten, Mister, had vomited on my only set of
sheets. This meant that I'd had to wash them out by hand then hang them out in my cold and
occasionally damp basement apartment and hope they dried.

If I'd had a sofa, I'd have called it a night and slept on that. Since I didn't, however, I was walking
around Chicago in the vain hope of staying awake and passing the time, giving longing looks to the
various pubs and restaurants I saw as I plodded down North Clark Street. I wished I was in them,
especially when it began to rain. Hell, hugging my canvas duster close to my body, I just wished I
had an umbrella, or even a cool hat, like a fedora. I was a hard boiled PI, newly licensed too. Why
didn't I have a cool hat?

Oh yeah. I probably couldn't afford one. Not unless it was made out of cardboard.

After a few more minutes' walk, I had to stop at the intersection between North Clark Street and
West Lawrence Avenue. As I did, I looked up the avenue and saw people spilling out of the
brightly lit Uptown Theatre, just around the corner a little further down on the other side, all
chattering excitedly, talking, laughing and generally enjoying themselves. A new Zorro film was
out, apparently. I'd have gone, if I didn't have the issues of no money and magic.

Magic and movies do not mix. Just look at Excalibur.

Terrible Arthurian adaptations aside, magic tends to screw with technology something fierce,
which is why you won't find a wizard with a laptop. Or a cellphone. Or indeed, anything built after
World War II. At best.

As I looked away from them, I saw a small family, mom, dad and a kid no older than ten on the
corner on the other side of the road, turning to go down North Clark Street. The kid spotted me and
pointed excitedly, tugging at his mom's sleeve. Aside from the rain, there wasn't much sound, so I
didn't even have to Listen to get the gist.

"Look mom! It's Zorro!"

I couldn't resist a grin at the sheer innocent delight of the kid. He was clearly still at the stage
where he still half believed in heroes and the line between fiction and reality was still a little
blurred. Ironically, fiction and reality do blur a fair bit. I've met people who belong in history and
beings who belong in mythology. I've heard about more than a few others. And there are heroes.
I've met a few of them, too, including a genuine Knight in Shining Armour, and he deserves the
capital letters. He'd say differently of course, but he's humble like that.

Trouble is, the bad guys have them outnumbered.

She smiled at him, a warm, beautiful smile that belonged to a warm, beautiful woman, and
followed his pointing finger. As she did, seeing me, her smile faded to a grim look. She was clearly
from money, wearing a nice dress, beautiful pearls and an expensive looking fur coat, sheltered
under her husband's umbrella, and on seeing me, she slipped an arm around her son's shoulder and
pulled him closer to her and, coincidentally I'm sure, away from me.

I couldn't exactly blame her. In the darkness of the night and the curtain of rainfall, I must have cut
a fairly shadowy, indistinct and intimidating figure. I was tall, NBA tall, and still growing, if
admittedly not as fast as I once had, carrying a carved staff that probably only showed up in the
damp, dark night as a large potentially offensive weapon and wearing a billowing duster that, even
when pulled close, does a lot to bulk out my thin form.

In other words, I probably looked like a hardcase, or, at the least, someone she'd rather avoid.
The family disappeared, and I put them out of my damp, miserable and sleep deprived mind. They
were probably going to a warm, comfortable home, where mom and dad would dry their kid off
while listening to him prattle excitedly on about the film, re-enacting scenes and quoting the hero
as he defeated the dastardly villain, before sending him off to bed with a hug and a kiss.

That was a life I hadn't had since I'd woken up one day and found that my father hadn't. And wasn't
going to ever again. He'd died of an aneurysm in the night. I was six years old, and that was when
my childhood ended.

The kid across the road had years and years of parental affection to look forward to, years of
innocence and bliss ahead of him.

I'll freely admit that I envied him, and thinking of what I'd lost, the injustice of it… that made me
angry. Not at the kid and his family, but at the universe itself. Michael, that Knight I mentioned, is
a devout Catholic. Indeed, some of his ancestors are buried in the cemetery I was going to pass by,
St Boniface's.

He really, truly believes, and that's power in and of itself, serious power. Power like that can do
incredible things. One thing it does is make him kind, unbelievably kind, though I like to think that
he was always like that and religion just gave him the framework. But I can't believe. Because if
there's a God up there, he clearly does not give two shits about yours truly, Harry Blackstone
Copperfield Dresden.

A few minutes later, the green man lit up and I made my way across, long strides eating up the
sidewalk, anger spurring me onwards. I embraced it, letting it wash away the tiredness. I've always
been good at anger, and now it came in a bubbling pool of magma, warming me and giving me the
energy to keep walking, staff slamming into the ground with each step, driving me forward at a
ferocious pace.

If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have heard the terrified scream.

I've met heroes. I know I'm not one. I've listened to a man howl his agony as he burned alive in an
inferno of my making. His name was Justin Du Morne, my first magic teacher, my foster father,
and a wizard gone bad. I defeated him in a fair fight, more courtesy than he tried to pay me having
set an assassin demon on my tail, and he was as evil as they come.

But that didn't make it a good thing, let alone a heroic thing. How can it be good when I have
nightmares about his screams?

And he wasn't the only one to die in the flames that day. Elaine. My fellow apprentice and first
love. She'd gone over to the dark side, just like Justin. She'd tried to kill me, just like Justin. And
she'd died. Just like Justin.

I try not to think about her too much. It makes me angry. And it makes me sad.

I'm not a hero. But that doesn't mean I'm not trying.

I broke into a run, which turned into a sprint, following the sound of the scream into the Catholic
cemetery, and time froze.

The small family from before stood, father standing in front of his wife and son, between them and
a man with a gun. It wasn't an especially large or flashy gun, an old, battered .38 revolver, but that
didn't mean it wasn't very good at what it was designed to do – kill people.

The man himself was a man who would have been the typical Chicago fifty dollar bruiser if you'd
added about half a foot in height, twenty pounds of muscle and a diet that consisted of something
other than cheap booze and cheaper drugs. He was rail thin with dark hair that was greying before
its time, sallow skin, hollow cheekbones, an abundance of uneven stubble and sunken, desperate,
shifty eyes.

"Hand over the jewels and the money, nice and slow," he snapped, words coming out fast and
nervous. He probably wasn't one of the Outfit. If he'd been one of Marcone's people, he wouldn't
be doing this, and whether he was one of Marcone's people or not, if this went wrong and one or
more of the family ended up dead, he'd swiftly wind up the same way. Especially if it was the kid.
Marcone was the new Kingpin of Chicago, having taken over from old man Vargassi and word had
swiftly got around that murdering innocents was something he reacted badly to. Murdering children
was something he reacted murderously to.

Trouble was, by the time that happened, someone would be dead. And if the survivor was the kid,
who was trembling in terror… well, at least I hadn't had to watch my father be murdered by a punk
with a gun, which wasn't exactly unlikely. If the guy was desperate enough to do this in Marcone's
town, he probably wouldn't bother leaving witnesses. Not even the kid, who'd be an orphan at best,
a corpse at worst.

That. Made. Me. Mad.

The dad, being well endowed with sense, calmly dropped his wallet in front of the man, while the
mom, fingers trembling, undid her pearls.

Then the gunman saw me. And all hell broke loose.

He raised his gun, and I only had a second to act. Summoning up my will, powering it with my
suddenly howling rage, I screamed, "Forzare," and swept my staff across my body, knocking the
family down and to the side, out of the line of fire.

The first shot went wide, and I wasn't prepared to risk the gunman improving his aim, so I leveled
my staff and snarled, "Defendarius!"

While running water grounds out magic, I was pumping enough power into the spell that a
flickering argent quarter dome of force appeared between me and him, and shots two, three, four,
five and six hit the shield, sending out blue concentric ripples in the shield, but not breaking it.

By that point, I was within ten feet of him, and dropped my shield, drawing my staff back in a two
handed club grip.

I am not the world's strongest man, nor am I the fastest. But I am neither weak nor slow and when
it comes to having a long reach, I'm up there.

I swung and swung hard.

He leaned back got his gun arm up and in the way, meaning that my first blow knocked his gun out
of his hand and sent it flying off into the darkness. That was fine by me.

I was tall. I was armed. And I was really, really pissed off.

He was not more than average height. He was unarmed. And he was terrified.

So he should have been, a dark, furious part of me thought, as I smashed into him, leading with the
shoulder, and began hammering away with fists, elbows, knees, feet and staff. He was a coward, a
bully and a would be murderer. Let's see how he did against someone who could fight back.
Desperately, he hunched away from my blows, covering his head and softer parts, half rolling, half
scrambling away, drawing a knife, which he stabbed at me wildly with. He got lucky. It skittered
off by spell armoured duster and it sank into my side.

I stumbled away, clutching the bleeding wound and putting myself between the little creep and the
family. I was tired, tired after a long day and a longer night, lack of sleep made worse by a lot of
running, fighting and spell slinging, all in the cold and the rain. And now I'd been stabbed, a sharp,
vicious pain in my side that meant I wasn't going to be doing anymore running tonight. Power
doesn't come for free, and right now, I was getting the bill.

I darted a quick glance at the family. The dad was talking urgently into a cell phone, calling the
cops, while the mom was clutching her son close to her, eyes wide and frightened.

The boy, on the other hand, had wide eyes for a different reason. "Kick his ass, Merlin!" he yelled.

I grinned at him, a wild, fierce grin, and said, "One ass-kicking coming right up."

Of course, I figured that the dad was calling the cops and that I could stand between the former
gunman and the family until they came, or until the criminal lost his nerve.

The boy's expression changed, eyes widening as he looked at something behind me. I turned, and
saw that the knife wielding thief had decided that he didn't want to take his chances with me and
was going for a hostage, the mom or the son.

I wasn't sure if I could manage another heavy spell. Then again, it was a stormy night. Why not use
that to my advantage? I was pretty good with air magic, after all, and if I combined that with my
force magic, putting a bit of top spin on my usual force evocation, I might get a lot more bang for
my buck in this weather.

If I'd been less addled by tiredness, pain and anger, I'd have realised the insanity of making a new
evocation on the fly. But I wasn't. I didn't have any time to think. The jackass was running towards
them, past me.

Which left me with a clear line of fire.

I levelled my staff, shoved every bit of will and power I had left, throwing in my anger, harnessing
my pain and binding it all into one spell, and with a chest tearing bellow, roared, "Forzare
Fulmino!"

The effect was more than I could have hoped for. The runes on my staff lit up with a furious blue-
white light that shone like a beacon, and when the spell came rocketing out, it wasn't an invisible
ball of force. Instead, it was a crackling ball of lightning the size of an exercise ball that blazed
with heat and power.

For just a heartbeat, I could see the criminal's eyes widen as he saw my not so little ball of force
lightning (get it?), then it smashed into him and hurled him out of the cemetery and across the
road, lightning crackling over his body and striking with vengeful power as he bounced once,
twice, then rolled to a stop about sixty feet away.

After that, I practically collapsed, and would have done if the dad hadn't caught me and lowered
me gently to the ground. "Stay still, son," he said calmly. "I'm a doctor."

I began to laugh. Only began because little things like stab wounds tend to make it painful for chest
movements like laughter.
"Son?"

"Sorry," I gasped. "That's just about the only thing that's gone right for me today."

He half smiled. "Well, hopefully a few more things will," he said, tearing off his scarf and using it
as in impromptu pad. "Martha, if you would?"

His wife, still trembling, took a deep breath and nodded, before getting down on her knees beside
me in the mud without hesitation. "Don't," I managed. "Your dress'll be ruined."

She stared at me, incredulous, then shook her head. "You saved all our lives. The least I can do is
sacrifice a dress for yours," she said firmly.

"That was so cool!" the boy burst out. "You're like Zorro and Merlin!"

I grinned weakly. "You should see what I do for an encore."

"What's your name, son?" the man asked.

"Harry. Harry Dresden."

He frowned in thought. "I've heard that name before… you're a PI, aren't you? You rescued Faith
Astor from some drunk when she ran away and the Astors tried to frame you for kidnapping her,
didn't they?" he said.

"Actually, it was a troll," I mumbled. "And yeah, I am a PI. Most days."

"What are you on the other days?" the boy asked, nose wrinkled in curiosity. Kids bounce back
amazingly fast sometimes. Maybe, in this case, it was because he didn't really get what had just
happened, how close he'd come to losing his parents, or even his life. His mom did – I could feel
her fingers shaking – and so did his dad – I could see the iron control and forced casualness
overlaying genuine fear.

"I," I said with as much gravitas as I could manage whilst lying in the mud in a cemetery. "Am a
wizard."

"A real wizard?" the kid asked, jaw dropping.

I smiled. "Look me up. I'm in the phone book. Under 'Wizards'." I frowned suddenly. "Um, sorry
to ask, but who are you?"

The man grinned. "Now that's a nice change," he said to his wife.

"Come on Thomas, the boy's tired, it's a dark, cold, wet night and he's high on adrenaline," she
replied. "Did you really expect him to recognise us?" She looked down at me. "I think he may have
had other things on his mind," she added wryly.

"Just a few," I agreed.

"Well, I'm Thomas Wayne," the man said. "This is my wife, Martha, and our son, Bruce. And
Mister Dresden, I can honestly say that it's my very great pleasure to have met you."

OoOoO

A few minutes later, the cops arrived, and soon after, so did an ambulance. The gunman was found,
stunned, burnt and with a several of broken ribs on the other side of the road. The story that got
splashed all over almost every paper in the Midwest and on the East Coast was that I'd beaten the
crap out of him, then he'd been hit by lightning in what some called a case of divine intervention. I
suppose it didn't hurt that it was consecrated ground.

I was also kind of glad that he wasn't dead.

I ended up in hospital for a couple of days, for fatigue, hypothermia and, you know, being stabbed.
The Waynes came in and visited me the next day, both parents profusely thanking me for saving
their lives.

"If you hadn't come along, and did what you did," Martha said quietly. "We'd have…" she trailed
off and hugged her son close.

Thomas had nodded soberly and added, "You saved our lives Mister Dresden." He gave me a
shrewd look. "Most people would think that that entitled them to a reward."

The Waynes were one of the richest families alive, and in the States were rivalled only by the
Starks and possibly the Worthingtons. What to me would be a fortune would to them be pocket
change. I could name my price, and though I hadn't Soulgazed Thomas Wayne, I got the feeling
that he'd give it to me.

But I'm not that sort of guy. "I'm not most people," I said steadily. Thomas nodded slowly, and I
thought I saw a glimmer of real respect in his eyes.

"That you aren't," he said slowly. "You're an unusual young man, Mister Dresden."

"He's a hero, dad," Bruce chipped in. "Like Zorro! Evildoers fear his power!"

Zorro probably didn't have problems making rent, I thought, and evildoers only feared my power if
they believed in it and were rank amateurs (or were the White Council and thought I was a dark
lord in waiting, biding my time, practising my evil laugh and growing a goatee to stroke at
appropriate moments), but I didn't say anything.

Bruce excitedly asking if I could teach him magic. I told him I would, a bit, if only so I could make
sure that he didn't go looking in the wrong places. The boy was tremendously curious and even if
you don't have any inborn magical talent, with the wrong knowledge you can do one hell of a lot of
damage.

Their butler came too, a British guy called Alfred, who kept a close, fatherly eye on Bruce at all
times. When they left, he stayed behind for a moment and said, voice thick with emotion, "I cannot
thank you enough, Mister Dresden. I truly cannot." Then he left.

After I was discharged, I was swamped by reporters, leaving me in a bad mood. I may have hexed a
lot of cameras. And cellphones. And anything technological within a twenty metre radius.

When I got home, the surprises began. I found that, among many other things, my bed had been
replaced and I now had lots of new sheets, Mister had new bowls and a litter tray and I had a nice
sofa in my main room. All the cupboards were stocked with food and essentials, the floor had
several thicker rugs and, praise be to whatever divine being smiled on me just this once, I now had
a boiler that worked. That last may have been down to the fact that I explained to Bruce how magic
screwed with technology. His parents had clearly been listening.

Thankfully, they hadn't been able to get into the basement. I'm not sure how I would have
explained Bob, among other illicit objects, though at least the others didn't talk back and/or hit on
any attractive female in view.
And there was an envelope on the side. Inside, there was a note.

Dear Mister Dresden,

I've done a little asking around, and apparently you're not a man who prizes the material and nor
are you one comfortable with large rewards. You are a proud man, as your former mentor, Nick
Christian, informed me.

I snorted. I doubted that Nick had been half as refined in his language.

Actually, he told me that you were 'as stubborn a son of a bitch as I've ever met'. He also said that
you tended to treasure what you had and fiercely resent interference in that which you consider
yours. I hope your pride will not be too dented by the renovations I have had made. Your rent has
been paid on both your apartment and your office for the next five years and I have transferred a
fair amount of funds to your bank account.

Please don't think that I am trying to buy you, pay you off or treat you as a charity case. I am
merely trying to make sure that you don't starve to death trying to do the right thing, to give you a
chance to properly get onto your feet. The money, however, is yours to do with as you wish. I
suspect that my intervention notwithstanding, finances won't be a problem – there is no such thing
as bad publicity, and you have had a lot of it recently. I suspect that you will be getting a lot of
cases in the near future.

You will always be welcome at Wayne Manor, Mr Dresden, and you will always have a friend in
the Waynes. And who knows? Maybe we may one day have a case for you.

Regards,

Thomas Wayne

P.S. Bruce has decided he wants to be a 'wizard investigator'. He will almost certainly be in touch,
and if so, all I ask is that you put up with him for a short while. My son is a lovely boy, but he can
be very driven when it comes to his passions.

I put down the note. I'd have liked to nobly say no to the money and somehow return the paid rent.
But dammit, I was sick of just scraping by and living on Ramen noodles, hoping that someone lost
a ring and was desperate enough to turn to a professional wizard for help. And I may be a 'stubborn
son of a bitch' – though all I knew about my mom could be summarised in a sentence, it wouldn't
stop me blasting anyone who insulted her across Lake Michigan – but even I can bend every now
and again.

After all. There were wizards who'd made stupid amounts of money with their gifts. I wasn't out to
make more than a basic living. I wanted to help people. Anything over and above that was a bonus.
I had power and the responsibility to use it for good. But as Thomas Wayne had pointed out, I'd do
that a lot better if I wasn't starving.

I kept the money, in the end, though I did donate a fair bit of it to charity. But I did write a thank
you note.

OoOoO

"… and now Bruce is planning to apprentice with me to qualify as a PI," I finished.

"What do his parents make of that?"

"They don't mind as long as he keeps up with his school work," I said. "I've mostly been teaching
him the theoretical side of investigating and magic."

"Will he become a PI, do you think?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He's fifteen, he's still got plenty of time to change his mind. My guess,
he'll probably be God's gift to Criminology." I paused, and a phrase came into my mind unbidden
and fully formed. "The World's Greatest Detective." I blinked. I had no idea where it had come
from, but it seemed… right, somehow.

"You really think so?"

"The kid's got a brilliant mind," I said. "All he needs to do is apply himself, and when he's
motivated, he applies himself like nobody's business."

"Right," Coulson said into his phone. "Are you certain?" He listened for a moment, then nodded
and said, "Thanks." He looked up, pocketing the phone. "We've got three hits
for veidrdraugar activity – two in London, one in Paris."

"Anything more exact than that?" I asked.

"All three are in the centres of the respective cities," Coulson said. "We've got Paris."

"Who's taking the other two?" May asked, face a mask of calm, robotic professionalism.

"Loki's team is taking one, and Director Wisdom's put together an MI13 response team," Coulson
said. "A pretty impressive one, too."

"Wisdom… as in, Peter Wisdom?" I asked warily.

"You've heard of him?" May asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You could say that," I said. I'd sure as hell heard of Wisdom. The rumours said that he made
Inspector Javert look like Mother Teresa. I informed Coulson of this.

"I'm not surprised. He's not got the best reputation with practitioners," Coulson admitted. "Even I'm
not sure about his full story. What I do know is that he got in deep with dark magic as a kid." He
met my gaze. "Something you can relate to."

I bristled. "I don't go around hunting down everyone I think is a bad guy and bullying everyone in
my way," I said.

"Some might say that you do," Coulson said, calm and unruffled. "In the last five years, you've
hunted down and destroyed a powerful warlock, several users of dark magic artefacts, a Loup-
Garou, another warlock who became a powerful ghost, which again, you destroyed, and a member
of the Red Court's nobility, which started a war between the White Council and the Red Court.
After that, you destroyed the previous Summer Lady, crossed swords with the Fallen, destroyed the
scourge of Mavra, an ancient vampire of the Black Court, and brought about the downfall of Lord
Raith, King of the White Court of vampires. He's a mindless puppet now, thanks to you."

I stared at him, each word hitting me like a hammer blow. None of what he'd said was… well,
none of it was actually wrong. I'd done all of those things. And I was pretty sure that, if push came
to shove, I'd do them all again.

"You had your reasons for each incident. Sometimes you were backed into a corner. Sometimes the
entire world was at stake. Sometimes the bad guys did something that you couldn't, wouldn't, let
past. Those are good reasons. Understandable reasons," Coulson continued. "But the fact remains –
you've done the same things that Wisdom has done. And you've got the same kind of reputation as
Wisdom does these days."

"Who is this Wisdom guy, anyway?"

"The Director of MI13, Britain's answer to SHIELD," Coulson said. "And one of a very short list of
people who can claim to have faced the Winter Soldier in single combat and survived."

Skye let out a long, low whistle. "So how do you know about him?"

"Rumours," I said shortly. "Pretty solid ones that say that he's like Inspector Javert, minus the
agape love and lovely personality. He hunts down and kills rogue practitioners and dark creatures."

"And… that's not a good thing?"

"'Not all who wander are lost'," I quoted. "Tolkien had that one right. Sometimes people just need
to be shown the way back." I sighed. "And the world isn't just black and white. There's a lot grey
there too. If you work for SHIELD, you'll find that out soon enough."

"Sometimes you have to skirt around the borders of the law to do what's right," Coulson said.
"That's part of why you're here, Skye." He glanced at me. "It's the same reason Special
Investigations employ Dresden. You two can do things that SHIELD and the police can't."

"Sir?" Agent May said, walking in. "We're five minutes from Orly Air Base."

OoOoO

"Where are we?" Sif asked quietly.

They had, at Volstagg's insistence and with Loki's reluctant acquiescence, eaten a brief meal in
Asgard, on the grounds that Volstagg's stomach expressing its displeasure at the wrong moment
could give the game away, and, in any case, the longer London had been quieter for, the better.

"Victoria station, London," Loki replied quietly, letting them in a backdoor. "A transport hub."

Normally, the station was a full and bustling place. But since MI6 and the
various veidrdraugar killings no one wanted to be out after dark. So, by unspoken consent, the
trains had stopped running after eight pm at the very latest, and the station didn't open until well
after daybreak. Correspondingly, most businesses and the government started the day a little later
than usual.

"Why here?"

"Because London is possessed of a very large underground transport system, the oldest
underground rail system in the world," Loki said. "It is a rabbit's warren of tunnels, sidetunnels,
abandoned enclaves…"

"The exact sort of place that the veidrdraugar might make their lair," Sif finished grimly. "Dark,
secluded, and with easy access to unwary prey."

"How cheerful," Fandral muttered. "Can we just find these creatures and get this over with?"

Loki glared at him over his shoulder. "Finding," he said a touch sharply. "Is easier said than done."
Fandral folded his arms and sulked.

"This could be a long night, Fandral," Loki continued, not looking over his shoulder as he led the
way down the stairs, into the main station, then further down towards the underground. "You had
best get used to it."

OoOoO

Von Strucker stormed into the HYDRA base. "ZEMO!" he roared, voice echoing through the vast
steel and smooth concrete expanse.

"Yes?"

He whirled. The darkly clothed man had appeared right behind him without a sound. Von Strucker
wasn't entirely sure how he did that.

"I want status reports on our bases," he growled.

"Which vuns?" Zemo asked, revealing his slight German accent, which varied in thickness
according to his mood and desire or lack thereof to suppress it.

"All of them!"

Zemo dipped his head briefly and strode away, barking orders, as Von Strucker made his way to
his office. He needed a drink.

His office was, in contrast to the modern and minimalistic rest of the base, ornate in a gothic sort of
fashion, oak panelled walls adorned with old family paintings, books of genealogy, military
history, politics and more surrounding an ancient red leather inlaid mahogany desk, and when he
walked in, he instantly felt better. This was his sanctum, his place, his connection to his family's
noble past.

He smiled grimly, and poured himself a glass of brandy. Then the phone rang and he picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Every HYDRA base in Europe, North America, Australia, China, Japan and India has been
destroyed, save zhis vun," Zemo said grimly. "Our base in Wakanda has fallen as well, apparently
the young Black Panther led the attack. Our other bases in Africa and the rest of Asia, few as zhey
are, are falling one by one. SHIELD or their allies are behind each and every vun, Baron, zhey
have launched a truly massive offensive."

"I know, Baron," Von Strucker growled. "Fury called it… Overlord."

Zemo was silent for a long moment. "That insolent little man," he said softly, and for just a
moment, Von Strucker heard a pulse of pure rage in his voice. "We are being dismantled, Baron
Von Strucker."

"I am aware," Von Strucker growled, ignoring the fact that the glass of brandy in his hand was
beginning to crack.

"Zhen what do you propose to do about it, Master of HYDRA?" Zemo asked, voice as sharp edged
as his sword, and Von Strucker was swiftly reminded that Zemo would only serve him for so long
as he believed that Von Strucker was strong and worthy to serve under.
"Send someone expendable to Malfoy's pet monster," Von Strucker growled. "Tell him to go to
London and have some fun. I want a message sent to Fury – bow to HYDRA or be obliterated."

"As you wish," Zemo replied, cutting the call.

The brandy glass shattered as the Satan claw clenched. "I will have my revenge, Fury," Von
Strucker hissed. No one, absolutely no one, humiliated Baron Von Strucker.

OoOoO

Gravemoss was bored. His latest toy had stopped screaming hours ago, and while it was night time,
his pets had eaten most of the available subjects.

He idly scrutinised the corpse. Poor, dark skinned and dressed in poor but carefully maintained
clothes, if Gravemoss had been minded to guess, he'd have thought that the man was some new
transient who had either not heeded warnings or not understood them.

In that respect, he would have been right. Loki's homeless network had passed information about
the veidrdraugar around at lightning speed, and homeless shelters and charitable organisations
found themselves the recipients of large, anonymous donations.

He glanced up as a HYDRA Agent carrying a portkey appeared. The man was trembling. "Lord
Gravemoss, I bring you orders from Baron Von Strucker."

"Orders?" Gravemoss asked mildly, standing and drifting over. He smiled. Or more accurately,
bared his teeth. This one would die slowly.

"Suggestions," the man said hastily. "He suggests that you destroy London."

"London?"

"Capital of England, Lord Gravemoss," the man added. In Gravemoss' mind, slowly was upgraded
to very slowly. It was just as well, really, that he had some experiments he wanted to run with
undead rats, to see if they consumed flesh at comparable rates to other kinds of undead.

"I know," he said, bestowing a smile upon the man, who, uncertain, smiled back. "Destroy
London, he says." He smiled. "Finally, the man speaks my language."

He strode over to his desk and plucked a black scale the size of his palm. "This," he said. "Is the
scale of a Hebridean Black dragon. Males can grow up ninety feet long, females, eighty."

"Interesting, Lord Gravemoss," the man said.

Gravemoss idly wondered if he could throw in an experiment on how long a mortal spirit could be
forced to remain in its body and prevented from passing on when he fed the man to the undead rats.

He smiled again. "Yes. And for a sorcerer of my calibre, it provides a simple thaumaturgical link to
the rest of the species. Originally, the furthest the spell could be extended was along family lines,
those related to the target and those related them. An enhanced bloodline curse, in effect. The
incantation, in your primitive tongue, would be rendered as 'familicide', I believe." He examined
the scale. "I have, with the aid of the Darkhold, developed the means to spread it to the entire
species. And have altered the incantation to suit."

He held up the scale, which began to glow with an eerie, flickering purple-black light that was
reflected in his gleeful red eyes and whispered in a voice like rustling leaves, "Gereyða."
Every magic user and psychic in the world felt it.

Those who were asleep were plagued by terrible dreams of nameless terrors plucked from the very
depths of cultural and genetic memory.

Those who were awake were plagued by headaches and an apparently sourceless primal terror.

Thor, God of Thunder and powerful wizard, sat bolt upright in bed, instinctively summoning
Mjolnir to his hand, looking around wildly.

Albus Dumbledore, acknowledged as the most powerful wanded wizard alive, clutched desperately
at his heart, blue eyes focused on terrors he thought long destroyed.

In a black, SHIELD logo four by four in Paris, Harry Dresden, on course to become one of the
most powerful wandless practitioners in the world, near the very epicentre of the spell, collapsed,
going into a violent, screaming fit.

In Edinburgh, the seven most elderly and powerful wandless wizards in the world were knocked
unconscious or forced awake by the shock.

The man who called himself Peter Wisdom, in conference with Excalibur, clutched at his left arm,
knuckles white, leaning all his weight against the table in a desperate attempt to stay on his feet as
John Constantine swore a blue streak and bit straight through his cigarette and Betsy Braddock
clutched at her skull in silent agony.

Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, second most powerful mortal practitioner on the planet,
screamed in soul tearing pain.

Loki, God of Magic, felt it in an overwhelming wave of nausea, heartache and bone deep revulsion,
one that sent him staggering, with only Sif for support.

Jean Grey, young Omega psychic, woke up screaming herself hoarse in horror at a fundamental
sense of wrongness that she couldn't hope to identify.

Charles Xavier, the world's premier telepath, who could sense the slightest ripple on the astral
plane, would have felt such a thing like a dentist's drill on a raw nerve under normal circumstances.
Connected to Cerebro, however, linked up to the horror of the world… what he felt was
indescribable. Terrible pain flooded every fibre of his being, and he collapsed, bleeding from the
nose, ears, mouth and eyes.

And in Hogwarts castle, surrounded by his tossing and turning classmates, Harry's eyes snapped
open and he sat bolt upright, breathing fast. And anyone who looked at his eyes would have seen
something special as he stared into the middle distance.

His eyes were not their usual emerald green.

Instead, they were a solid, burning gold.

But of all of the people worldwide struck by ripple of wrongness, only one person spoke.

In a dark, deceptively large room in a dark, deceptively large house in New York, a meditating
figure floated several feet off the floor. Slowly, his eyes opened. And he whispered three words.

"So it begins."
OoOoO

Gravemoss put down the scale and smiled a satisfied smile. "Every Hebridean Black dragon is
dead. And what is dead… may never die."

And as he spoke, in the far north of Scotland, nearly one hundred and fifty black scaled bodies rose
to their feet and spread their wings. Then, with a clatter like a football pitch worth of damp leather
being slapped to the ground, they lurched into the air.

All headed for one place.

London.

"Is that it, Lord Gravemoss?"

"No," Gravemoss said. "It is just the beginning." He snapped his fingers and bound the unfortunate
HYDRA Agent, and suddenly blurred over in almost slithering motion, until he was right next to
the man's ear. "Death is a gift, little mortal. And tonight… I am feeling very generous."

OoOoO

Loki, to his shame, found himself vomiting, voiding the contents of his stomach.

"Elder gods, Loki," Sif whispered, holding him up. "What's happened to you?"

"Was it something to do with that skin crawling sensation I got just now?" Volstagg asked.

"I rather suspect so, old friend," Fandral said, shuddering.

Loki grimaced and wiped his mouth, managing to find his feet. "The necromancer," he whispered.
"He has acted." He suddenly clutched at Sif's shoulders, eyes wide and intensely staring. "He has
slaughtered over a hundred dragons," he whispered in horror. "Just… like this!" he snapped his
fingers for emphasis. "And it is just the beginning, I can feel it!"

"Then we had better stop him," Sif said.

"He is powerful, Sif," Loki whispered. "So very powerful. Maybe even… more powerful than I
am."

Sif and the Warriors Three exchanged looks. Whatever their prior or present views on sorcery, it
was universally acknowledged that save for the Allfather, and possibly Queen Frigga, Loki had no
true rivals in raw magical power.

"He shall still be stopped," Sif said firmly. She looked Loki in the eye. "Loki, Loki, look at me.
Are you with us? Or does your mind wander?"

Loki closed his eyes briefly. And when they opened again, they were sharp, focused and…

Sif actually had to take a step back at the sheer rage within them.

"Oh yes," he said softly, standing up straight and tall, a palpable sense power and anger rolling off
of him. "I am with you. And he shall be stopped." He looked northwards, and frowned suddenly.

"What?"

"Nothing," Loki said slowly. "Nothing at all."

And as he spoke that lie, he inwardly made a note to check on his nephew as soon as possible.
Something had happened.

OoOoO

The man who went by the name of Wisdom groaned, and rubbed at his forehead. He quickly
scanned his team. John Constantine was swearing, which meant that he was probably fine. Betsy
Braddock a.k.a. Psylocke was bleeding from the nose, but otherwise fine. The rest were untouched.

"Director?" Agent Jessica Drew a.k.a. Arachne asked, worried.

"It's tha' bloody necromancer, isn't it?" Sean Cassidy a.k.a. Banshee growled. The former X-Man
was the senior member of the team and probably the biggest oddity. At the age of sixty three, he
looked closer to forty, if that. So did the rest of his former team. Apparently an island called
Krakoa and lot of mutant lifeforce had been involved, Wisdom was a little fuzzy on the details,
and, for once, got the feeling that he wanted to stay that way.

"Yes," Constantine growled. "Of course it's the fucking necromancer you Irish-American halfwit!"

"Constantine," Drew snapped, tone warning.

Constantine glowered and muttered an apology.

Cassidy waved it away. "Leave be, lad," he said. "Ye were no worse than Alex with a hangover."
He paused. "In fact, ye were a lot better, so I canne go getting angry at ye."

Constantine nodded his grumpy thanks and resumed nursing his head and muttering swear words.

"It was the necromancer," Wisdom said grimly. "Agent Drew, call Downing Street. I want the
Prime Minister, the Queen, the core royals, and as much of the Cabinet as can be rounded up
evacuated to the Tower and I want it done yesterday. Then, get onto Edinburgh. I want to know if
they have any bloody idea where that came from and what it did to the Senior Council. After that,
call Fury. I want the Avengers on standby."

He stood up. "That bastard's throwing down the gauntlet," he growled. "And I don't know about
you, but I feel like picking it up." He paused. "After someone gets me a bloody aspirin."

Drew left, quickly followed by Sir Dane, likely out of a mixed desire to be helpful and to admire
Jessica Drew from behind. As Wisdom would admit, there was a lot to admire.

Wisdom snorted. Teenagers.

Constantine and Cassidy shared a chuckle and Betsy managed an amused smile.

"He wants to ask her out, you know," she said.

Worthington nodded. "He told me.

"She's nearly eight years older than him," Constantine said. "He's not going to get very far."

"Won't stop the horny little laddie from trying," Cassidy aided, grinning.

Wisdom let them joke. Relieving tension before battle could only be a good thing.

"Director?" Warren Worthington III a.k.a. Archangel asked. Wisdom looked at the Anglo-
American boy. He was tall, classically handsome in the sort of fashion that would have made
Michelangelo weep, with blonde hair, blue eyes and… oh yes. A currently mantled pair of wings,
made of an unknown and, according to Moira MacTaggert, vaguely organic metal. Wisdom wasn't
exactly sure how it had happened – or rather, he knew the details perfectly. The science, he wasn't
as strong on – but apparently using an unstable mutagen designed to reverse physical mutation that
just happens to be contaminated with who knows what on a teenage boy was not a good idea and
required desperate work to mitigate.

Either way, Warren Worthington III, son of Warren Worthington II and relatively impoverished,
having become estranged from his family following the above incident, tended not to have
problems with traffic. Or being argued with. Even if you feel like taking on a leanly muscled six
footer who looked like he could handle himself, you really don't want to annoy someone who
might cut you in half if he sneezes at the wrong moment. Unfortunately for Warren, even though
he'd demonstrated that he had complete control of them, razor sharp wings rather put a crimp on his
social life.

Yet he bore up well, well enough that Wisdom didn't even raise an eyebrow when the boy decided
he wanted to go by Archangel. A little expression of ego could soothe a lot of battered pride.

One of his more annoying traits, however, was the fact that he was observant.

"Is something wrong with your arm?" he asked, concerned.

"No," Wisdom growled. "An old injury flared up. A mistake from my younger years."

"Younger years?" Constantine snorted. "You're barely thirty, Wisdom." Wisdom glared at him.
Constantine smirked back. The older man knew exactly who he was. Or rather, who he had been.

"That's plenty of time to make mistakes," Wisdom said coldly, before glancing at Warren and
calming slightly. "I'm fine."

Warren nodded, not looking entirely reassured, but decided to let it go.

Agent Drew came back in. She was, by any objective standard, or any objective 21st century
Western or Western influenced standard if you wanted to be picky, extremely attractive, something
Wisdom had noted and set aside a long time ago. He couldn't bloody well be expected to give
orders to someone he might like to ask out to dinner some day, or ask out to dinner someone he was
expected to give orders to, so she either had to be transferred, or he had to get over himself. He'd
opted for the latter, since Agent Jessica Drew was phenomenally competent, the closest person
MI13 had to the Black Widow and, frankly, he liked her.

So he'd got over her. Which is more than could be said for Sir Dane Whitman, nineteen years old,
barely out of school and only on the team because he was a) a brilliantly talented swordsman, b)
had been picked by the Ebony Blade as its wielder. Since the blade in question was very powerful,
semi sentient and had a tendency to corrupt its wielders, Wisdom very definitely wanted the young
Black Knight where he could see him. And the young Black Knight very definitely wanted Agent
Drew, otherwise known as Arachne, where he could see her, being deeply infatuated with the older
woman who regarded him with a mild, distant fondness.

Wisdom rather suspected that Whitman was going to do something stupidly chivalrous, despite the
fact that Drew was rather more powerful than he was and far better able to look after herself, for
which reason, he'd delegated Cassidy to keep an eye on him. If the Banshee couldn't keep him from
getting himself killed, well, there wasn't much else Wisdom could actually do.

"The Prime Minister is in the heart of the Tower, sir, as is about half the Cabinet," she said. "The
Queen, Princes Philip, Charles and William are in the Tower. Prince Harry is still at university, so
not present."

Wisdom nodded. "We'll need to send a message to his security detail to keep him inside and their
eyes open," he said.

"I've already done that, sir," she said calmly, and Wisdom smiled slightly.

"Good," he replied.

"The Senior Council are all either unconscious or dealing with the wave. Edinburgh is in chaos, but
the Captain of the Wardens managed to instil some order and get a rough heading. It came from
Paris, sir," she said. "I called Agent Coulson and informed him. He said that he would deal with the
matter as soon as Dresden's fit stopped. Apparently he went into one when it happened, and started
screaming too."

"Can't blame the poor bastard," Constantine said, a hint of sympathy in his voice, lighting another
cigarette. "He must have been practically at ground zero."

"Quite," Drew said, nodding. "I notified Director Fury who is, in turn, notifying Loki and his team,
and waking up the Avengers."

"Good work," Wisdom said, nodding. "Now all we can do," he said. "Is wait."

OoOoO

I groaned as I came to, opened my eyes, then immediately wished I hadn't, as light stabbed into my
eyes like a white hot barbed fish hook.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

Coulson. Coulson was using my first name? Hells bells, something bad must have happened.

"Bluh?" I managed, before cudgelling my brain into sensibility, and, after several long moments,
managing, "Yeah. Ow."

"What happened to you?" Gemma asked, looking at me in concern. I noted a blossoming bruise on
her forehead and my eyes widened.

"Forget what happened to me, who did that to you?" I asked angrily.

I have a thing about innocents being hurt in general, but women and children tend to wake up my
inner Neanderthal.

She bit her lip. "Well, actually," she began.

"You did," Captain Cardboard said bluntly. "You went into a thrashing fit. I had to restrain you."

I had been wondering why I felt like I'd been given a bear hug by the Hulk, and felt a strange mix
of resentment and respect for the government drone. He was still a government drone, but going by
how my arms and ribs felt, he was the strongest government drone I'd ever met.

"Fuck," I swore. "Shit. Hells freaking bells Gemma, I'm sorry." I glanced at the Agent. "Oh, and
thanks. For restraining."

"It's all right," Gemma said. "You weren't in your right mind."
"Yeah, it was kind of obvious, what with the flailing and screaming," Skye said over the intercom.
"What happened to you?"

"I have no freaking idea," I muttered. "I just felt a vast, crushing psychic wave of…" I shook my
head slowly, unable to verbalise the concept. "Evil, I guess."

"Dark magic?" Coulson asked.

"If it is, it's more powerful than anything I've ever encountered," I said, and boy did that thought
frighten me. I've mixed it with Vampire Kings, Wizards gone bad, Demons, Werewolves, even one
of the Queens of the Sidhe at the height of her power. I've also only done it by having a lot of luck,
packing a lot of raw power, planning carefully and knowing exactly where and how to land the
sucker punch. "Short of Mab herself."

Coulson swore softly.

"Mab?"

"Think every wicked fairytale, every evil queen, dark sorceress, ogress, troll and mythic nightmare.
You thinking of them?"

"Yeah?"

"Mab could have given them all lessons," I said flatly. "Hell, she could have set up a certification
process to make sure that they were all up to snuff. She's the Queen of Air and Darkness, Queen of
the Winter Sidhe and someone you never, ever want to meet."

"She's that bad?"

"I've met her. She made me stab myself with a letter opener to make a freaking point," I growled.

"She can do that to people?" Coulson asked, surprised and a little worried.

"No, only to me and any idiot stupid enough to make a bargain with her," I said. "Or in my case,
make a bargain with her right hand woman, the Leanansidhe, when you're dumb, desperate and
sixteen, then have the freaking debt sold on. Lea's basically the same as Mab, but a little less
powerful and a lot more crazy." I paused. "And she's my faerie godmother."

There was silence.

"You have… a fairy godmother?" Captain Cardboard asked, with the most emotion I'd ever heard
from him.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I muttered.

"The whole bibiddy-bobiddy-boo could get you down," Skye agreed, barely swallowing a laugh by
the sound of things. "But surely the clothes changing thing is cool?"

"With Lea, it's less, 'bibiddy-bobiddy-boo', more, 'Mwa-ha-ha'," I said dourly. "And she's spent
most of last decade and a half trying to turn me into a freaking dog."

There was another silence.

"Wow, that sounds like it freaking sucks."

I shrugged. "I managed to get out of it. First, I poisoned myself with destroying angel –"
I heard a choking noise of shock from Gemma.

"Eh, I drank something to line my stomach first, then extract of milk thistle," I said, shrugging.

"That's insane," Fitz said, half admiring, half disturbed.

"Well, it saved me from being sucked dry by Red Court vampires. Apparently I made them sick," I
said lightly, scrupulously keeping my mind off the actual incident in question.

"What, you had to deal with vampires and your clearly psychotic fairy godmother in one go?" Skye
asked, incredulous. "What happened?"

It was an innocent question. But it touched on memories I was trying to avoid. "They dragged me
into the dark," I said emotionlessly. "They did things to me."

There was another silence, this one horrified. Gemma took my hand and squeezed. I gave her a
brief smile of thanks and said, "Coulson, Skye, a psychic wave that big would have been felt all
around the world. Have any reports come in about it?"

"I'm getting mass headaches and hysteria worldwide, all in apparently completely random people,"
Skye said. "I'm guessing magical practitioners, right?"

"And psychics," Coulson added, then swore and scrambled for his phone.

I blinked, then Gemma, Fitz and I shared glances. In my experience, Coulson never swore, and
very rarely even came close to losing his composure.

"One of our chief assets in tracking the veidrdraugar is Charles Xavier," he began to explain.

Oh god, I thought, my brain working double time to get to the train of thought.

"Cerebro," I interrupted numbly. "You think he was using Cerebro."

I didn't even want think what that would have been like for him, with the wave of darkness
magnified to an unbelievable extent, coupled with every psychic and magical in the world
screaming out in pain… hells bells, we'd be lucky if it only killed him.

"I do," Coulson said, after a moment, typing in a command. "SHIELD medics are being sent to
Westchester." He turned and looked at me. "Without him, we're in the dark," he said seriously.
"Can you find them?"

I nodded. I had a sample of black magic imbued veirdraugr flesh, which Bob expected would
work. And a chill ran down my spine.

Things had just got serious.

OoOoO

London. One of the oldest cities in northern Europe and one of the most powerful. From its place
on the river Thames, the largest Empire in history had once been ruled, something that was still
within mortal living memory.

Millions had died here, many far from the pitiful, but annoying, protection of hallowed ground,
many violently, alone, afraid and angry.

And not only that, but the vast confluence of peoples who had died here, often bringing their own
legends, myths and nightmares.

He let his mind wander, sweeping through the city, searching for spirits, bodies, demons and
creatures of darkness. Many felt his passing, his intention and his power, and welcomed him as a
brother. Others shied away in fear, while others still, both light and dark, prepared to face this
invader in their domain.

One, powerful, ancient, and bound to a mortal form… that one he avoided. Two others, ancient and
powerful as well, slumbering beneath the mighty Thames… they would be for another day. For
now, however…

He smiled, and gathered his power. "Come to me," he murmured, in his dry, lulling and compelling
voice, . "Come, spirits, come, cadavers, come, ye sons and daughters of darkness. Come to me." He
summoned his power. All of it, a great ocean of dark energy, which he luxuriated in for a long
moment. "By my power I break your bindings. You are free." He drew a knife and slowly,
ceremonially, slit his palm and clenched it into a fist, letting ruby red blood dribble onto the
ground. "And by my blood, I bind you to me. Your strength is drawn from mine. Your might is
augmented by mine. Darkspawn of London… You. Are. Mine."

And so they were, coming out of their lairs in silence, the Shadow People slipping sideways into
reality, the Sea-Draugar, the Bunyips, the Shellycoats, and the ancient sea serpents rising from the
depths, the Bone Dancers, the Wights, the Revenants, the Jiangshi and the lesser Draugar, forming
themselves of the bodies of the dead, flocking to his call.

Also came the spectres, the wraiths, of all kinds, from Asgardian Direling to Japanese Yaouguai
and the phantoms, the Black Dogs, the Ghasts and the Sluagh, all the way down to the simple once
human spirits.

And finally, there came the rest. Vampires of Red, Black and Grey Courts. Ghouls. Ogres. Trolls.
Forgotten household gods.

But still, he was not done.

For in the weeks since his assault on MI13, Gravemoss had not been idle. He had sent conjured
servants to kidnap people. Alone. Afraid. Uncared for. The people who slipped society's cracks.
And they had stored them, deep in the catacombs of Paris. They numbered nearly four hundred
now. In another week, he could have had a thousand.

And now he summoned them, pulling them through the fabric of space-time as easily as pulling a
rope through a hole.

They stood in front of him in serried ranks, empty, barely alive.

Gravemoss gestured, and suddenly, copies of himself, one for each of the first hundred mortals,
appeared, each connected to him by an invisible umbilical cord of dark magic.

He smiled.

And then, his hand crackling with dark power, he thrust it forward.

The Darkhold contained many things. The method of creating the veidrdraugar was one of them,
and that dark spell had once been widely known.

However, the Darkhold went one better.

It granted the means of creating them by mass production.

With a ripping gesture, the puppets of Gravemoss tore out the hearts of the living, throwing them
into the crowd of monsters, which descended upon them, silently feasting on the still beating
titbits.

And then, they thrust their glowing hands in, the dark spell took hold. Then, he repeated it, over
and over again.

Within a total of less than half an hour Gravemoss had assembled an army deadlier than any that
walked the earth, numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

Even if an observer had been unable to recognise any of them, had had no context, no way of
knowing what was happening, they were all unmistakeably one thing.

Evil.

He looked down at the city below. "Down their lie millions of mortals, dumb, fat and happy," he
murmured. "They do not believe you exist." He smiled a cruel smile. "Show them how wrong they
are."

And this time, the army was not silent.

As one, they gave tongue in a howling cacophony.

OoOoO

Loki's eyes widened still further and he swore viciously, fear swiftly turning to anger.

"Loki?" Sif said, with some trepidation.

"We aren't facing a nest," he spat. "Not anymore."

"Then what are we facing?" Fandral asked.

"An army," Loki growled. "And not just veidrdraugar. Every monster you can think of and then
some is massing outside the city. And they won't be outside for long, he's driving them in from the
West, up the Thames Valley." With a snarled word, he teleported them all outside London's
boundaries.

"I see nothing," Fandral said, after a long moment.

Hogun coughed. And pointed.

Fandral followed his gaze. "Ah."

Because a rolling dark mass, barely visible in the dim moonlight, was thundering with single
minded purpose towards London.

Loki's hands began to glow with golden-green fire. "We must hold the line," he said. "Or London
will surely perish."

OoOoO

"Sir?" Agent Drew said carefully. "You might want to look at this."
Wisdom crossed over to the display and stared at it from a long moment. On it were four figures,
illuminated by golden green light. Loki, Sif and the Warriors Three.

And about a mile from them and closing… a dark mass that even through the drone's camera,
exuded evil.

"And this, sir."

The second image showed a massive flock of dragons flying in a rough v-formation. Some had
mangled legs and wings, but showed no signs of pain, and all of them were moving far too fast.

"They're headed on a bearing for London, sir," Drew said quietly.

Wisdom responded the only way he could.

"Fuck."

"Orders, sir?"

"Call the Army, the RAF and the Navy. Tell the army to get ever tank they can down the M4 as
fast as possible. Tell the RAF to scramble every ground attack plane they've got. Tell the Navy to
get HMS Illustrious and Ark Royal active and launching fighters to counter the dragons, I want
them intercepted and destroyed no further south than Coventry. Dispatch Archangel to join them.
Either do it yourself or make sure it's done, those orders exactly. I trust you to get it right, no one
else," he said, voice carefully calm. "No, wait. Scratch the army order. Tell them to get tanks up
and running and going down the M4, then contact the Ministry. Have their best portkey creators
send the army to the battlefield. And if Fudge or any other Ministry tosser gives you lip about the
Statute of Secrecy, chop their balls off."

"And if they're a woman, sir?"

"You'd know better than me what to cut off. Use your discretion," he said, and Drew gave him a
hard, sharp smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Warm up Project Wolftrap, it may be needed, and it has the range to start doing damage if we
have to fall back. Dispatch Excalibur to join Loki and company, tell them to try and force the battle
on to the M4. If the worst comes to the worst, we might as well give the air force an easy bombing
run," Wisdom said grimly. "Get someone to contact Fury, tell him to get the Avengers here
immediately, and his flagship helicarrier too."

Then, he drew a wand and flicked it as his clothes, switching them with lightly armoured and
powerfully warded combats, complete with synthesised vibranium weave. "And once you've done
that, join me on the battlefield."

Suddenly, a powerful white light flared up near Loki and the Warriors Three, which the dark army
visibly shied away from, and Wisdom chuckled grimly. "Our odds just improved from next to nil
to marginally better than next to nil," he said. "One of the Three Swords has joined the party."

Now, he thought inwardly, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to play his ace card.

He turned to Agent Drew. "Oh, and Drew… make it out alive. Good Agents are hard to come by,
let alone ones with superhuman powers."
She rolled her eyes. "You're more likely to get yourself killed, sir," she said. "You shouldn't be
fighting. But you're going to anyway."

He grinned, and if Harry had been present, he would instantly have recognised that grin. "You
know me too well, Agent Drew," he said, before disapparating with a crack.

OoOoO

"Sir?" JARVIS said. "My apologies, but I have an urgent call from Director Fury."

"What?" Tony mumbled. "What's it about?"

"I'll let him tell you, sir," JARVIS said, and Fury's holographic face appeared.

"Stark, get up and get moving, assemble the Avengers."

"What, why?"

"That necromancer behind the veidrdraugar is back, and he's gone big," Fury said grimly. "There's
an army of monsters and the undead bearing down on London, hundreds of undead dragons
coming down from Scotland and only Loki, Sif, the Warriors Three plus Colonel Rhodes and an
MI13 strike team called Excalibur are in the way. The British Military is mobilising as fast as
possible, but it may not be in time."

Tony blinked. "Please tell me that this is another nightmare," he said flatly.

"It is not," Thor said, from the doorway, in full armour and looking grim. "We are needed, Tony."

By now, Pepper had woken up, blinking. "Wha's happenin'?" she mumbled.

Tony sighed, then gave her a quick kiss. "I have to go save the world," he said. "I'll be back later."

"Mhmm," Pepper said in reply, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Tony got out of bed. "I'm ready," he said. "Just let me get an armour."

"And some clothes."

Tony looked down. "Right, yeah. Those too."

Five minutes later, the Avengers were assembled, all costumed up and pretty alert.

"Heimdall," Thor said grimly, hefting his hammer. "Open the Bifrost."

The Bifrost descended. And Earth's Mightiest Heroes went to war.

 Burn

Betsy Braddock was a woman of great intelligence and perspicacity, with the supreme self
confidence that came with being beautiful and knowing it, and being a telepath. Few people can
claim to truly know their own mind. Betsy was one of them, and knew herself to be a sensible
person.

A sensible person who was currently fighting a battle against an apparently never ending enemy
only a few hours or so after taking on a telepath called the Shadow King in a gruelling psychic duel
that had left her mentally exhausted, so, understandably, she was currently questioning her sanity.

For goodness sake, she thought, as she cleared herself some space via a telekinetic pulse
specifically designed to knock some of the monsters onto the ground, tripping up their fellows and
giving her some breathing room. Speaking of the monsters, which she felt would require either a
bestiary or a grimoire to identify, if she'd been told a week ago that she'd be fighting an army of the
undead, she'd probably have laughed. That was the sort of thing that her twin brother would do, not
her.

Not so much right now. She was the one fighting the monsters, while Brian was safely away at
university.

Bloody typical.

Then, she let out a sulfurous curse as one of the Black Dogs snuck past a telekinetic bolt, leaping
for her throat. She put up her arms, desperately trying to rechannel her telekinesis into her muscles
to give her the strength to fling this creature off her… and then was a hissing sound, a silver blur
that described a shimmering, deadly half circle off to her left, followed by a pale and green blur
that slammed into the bull sized spectral creature like a wrecking ball.

The Black Dog, headless, went flying for over twenty feet, not stopping until it slammed into
several unfortunate and very squashed zombies of some kind that Betsy could not identify. Frankly,
she thought, I couldn't care less.

That said, she did notice that the neck and detached head of the very dead creature, which, without
its guiding sentience, was beginning to melt into some kind of ectoplasm, were smoking.

Then she heard the stunned voice of her saviour.

"Betsy?"

She looked up at the very surprised – and still very handsome – Fandral the Dashing and gave him
a grin, one rendered a little wobbly by the near deathe experience. "Oh. Hello Fandral. Fancy
meeting you here," she managed. "Hand up?"

He blinked, then nodded, pulling her up and scanning their surroundings for enemies. As it was,
there were none. The battle had, temporarily, flowed away from them, and those monsters which
did notice them seemed to have decided that there were easier pickings elsewhere.

"I never knew you were a warrior," he said.

"I'm not, usually," Betsy said. "But I was given the whole Queen and Country speech. And in light
of what happened at MI6, I joined up."
Fandral frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Ah, someone exhorted you to do your duty," he said.
"But I did not know that you had offensive talents."

"You should talk to my mother's friends," Betsy muttered, reconstituting her psisword. "They'd set
you straight."

"I am sure that they are all fine ladies," Fandral said, hefting his sword. "And I am equally sure,"
he said, flashing her a smile that was probably illegal on at least three different continents. "That
we would have many points of disagreement."

"I think that they're wrinkled up old prudes, but yeah, whatever you say, pretty boy," Betsy said,
shrugging and smiling.

"Glad that you agree," he said. "Now, Lady Braddock," he said, bowing neatly. A hulking, vaguely
gorilla shaped creature of hulking muscle and low intelligence tried to attack him from behind.
Fandral didn't even turn round, and continued his bow. The flourish, however, buried the long
knife that had been in his hand in the monster's eye. "May I have this dance?" he asked, over its
bellows of pain.

She grinned, telekinetically took control off the knife and cut the creature's head off. "You may,
Lord Fandral. But I am leading. I insist."

"But of course," he said gallantly, absently retrieving and cleaning the knife. "After all, I am but a
visitor to this land, and I know little of the local dances."

"Then, Lord Fandral," she said, her psi-sword transferring itself to her left hand. She linked her
right arm with his left and drew on her childhood memories, when her father had taught her and her
brother some of the dances of his own childhood. She'd never had much use for them, but now…
they seemed appropriate. To any with a mind to hear it, a soft, rhythmic, primal beat began to
echo, growing in volume and power with every moment. "Let's dance."

And the two leapt into the battle.

OoOoO

Sif, hearing the beat in the back of her head, glanced around the battlefield, catching the sight of
Fandral's blond hair and the astonishing purple of his partner's, as the two whirled, leapt and spun
in time to the beat. She shook her head.

Honestly, dancing in battle… yet, unconventional even by the standards of the Warriors Three as it
was, it seemed to work, as they were leaving a growing trail of corpses that were going from
undead to merely very dead. And at least, she supposed, it was an improvement on that strange
dance the Warriors Three tried in wooden shoes, which managed to be hilarious for all the wrong
reasons.

Sif was a practical woman, so, if something worked, her attitude was less 'why?', more 'why not?'
And she was well used to the foibles of the Warriors Three, so her reaction was less irritation at the
indiscipline, more, exasperation, mild amusement and incredulity and a general feeling of 'please
don't get killed you fucking idiot'.

The reason she could take the time to observe this was because she'd found that the opposition was
almost disappointingly easy to defeat. The veidrdraugar had proven to be relatively easy to
dispatch once they lost the element of surprise, though there had been a hairy moment when one
had managed to attack her from behind. She'd seen it out of the corner of her left eye, though, and
managed to turn anti-clockwise enough to rob its bite of killing force, pivoting and slamming it to
the ground with her shield bearing left arm, before swiftly beheading it.

The clever little things had adjusted their strategy, one attacking from each flank, trying to draw her
out.

It hadn't worked.

Of course, Sif mused, this relative easiness was probably because the battle field was open and
brightly lit up, robbing them of their usual advantages of darkness, confinement and stealth, she
knew to expect pack hunting strategies, the sort of thing she had faced tens of thousands of times
before and the simple fact was, leaving everything else aside, she was stronger and faster than they
were.

That said, she would not have liked to face them down a dark alleyway at night, much less ones
created from Asgardians as opposed to mortals. Their advantages had been stripped away, and with
those advantages, they would not be easy prey, something she was not minded to forget. It did not
do to dismiss your enemy's capabilities. Sif had seen many a warrior do just that. And she had seen
many a warrior die, in part, because they did just that. She did not propose to add her name to
theirs.

Still. It was a little too easy, even… boring?

Her attention was then distracted from Fandral and Betsy's antics and her own musings on the
quality of the enemy by an ancient and gigantic undead sea serpent of a breed which had not graced
the seas of Midgard for millions of years. One would think that such a creature, even reclothed in
conjured flesh, would not be adapted to life out of water and on a motorway.

Judging by the fact that it was charging towards her at speed, churning its way through its nominal
allies with the same careless and immense raw power that it would once have used to power
through the waves and the pinpoints of cold orange light that served as its eyes were focused on
her with predatory intent, it seemed to be doing very well.

It was two hundred feet long. Its scales were like armour. Its fanges were like swords. Its roar was
like an earthquake. And it was coming straight for her.

She grinned. She twisted her double bladed sword's hilt. The two swords separated, and she took
one in each hand, hefting them experimentally.

And she'd thought she was going to get bored.

OoOoO

I paused. "Ah."

"What?" Coulson asked, frowning. "Have you lost the trail?"

"No," I said slowly. "I've got it all right."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The trail goes downwards."

Coulson went carefully blank. "You're certain?"

I nodded grimly.

"Um, what am I missing here?" Skye asked.

"We hunting a necromancer," I said. "Right?"

"Yes. So?" she said. I realised that she had absolutely no idea what was down there.

"Skye," Coulson said. "Have you ever heard of the catacombs of Paris?"

Skye looked blank.

"Otherwise known as the Empire of the Dead," I added helpfully. "Home to three million dead
bodies."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence, then Coulson nodded briskly to himself. "Okay. We go back to the
Bus. From there, we get every piece of information on the catacombs of Paris we can – the layout,
what's down there both natural and supernatural, entrances, exits, unstable parts, the works." He
turned to me. "Can Bob handle recon?"

"Sure," I said, confident in the abilities of my handy-dandy portageek to find what we needed to
know. I was equally confident that he would hit on Skye, Simmons and May the first chance he got
and spend his time cruising the strip bars of Paris instead of doing anything useful, given the
opportunity. So I didn't intend to give him the opportunity.

"Bob?" Skye asked, eyebrow raised.

"He's a sort of magical artificial intelligence," I said, and Skye's eyes went round.

"Really?" she breathed.

"Yes," I said, getting a foreboding feeling.

"Can I –"

"No," Coulson said flatly. Skye looked at him askance.

"Bob's a complete horndog," I explained. "And it's hard enough to get him to focus at the best of
times."

Skye stared at me in surprise. "But… is he even tangible?"

"Trust me, that doesn't even slow him down," I said grimly. "I pay the little shit in romance
novels."

Skye… giggled. Then the giggles turned into gales of laughter.

I felt got at.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, catching my expression. "But I was just imagining you… arguing with
a skull... and bribing it with badly written mommy porn!"

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

"He's also got a very poor grasp on morality and the knowledge to be an Omega level threat,"
Coulson said seriously. Skye's eyes widened and she sobered immediately. "Will consulting him
take long?

"No."

I hoped it wouldn't, anyway.

OoOoO

Dane Whitman was, simultaneously, scared out of his mind and having the time of his life. On the
one hand, it was terrifying to face creatures that were quite literally conjured from the nightmares
of mankind. But on the other hand, as Winston Churchill had put it, 'there is nothing more
exhilarating than being shot at without result', and with every swipe he dodged, every blow he
parried and every foe he cut down, he felt a mounting sense of wild joy. He'd been trained to fight
since he was eleven years old and receiving the Ebony Blade at the age of sixteen had only
intensified his desire to take the fight to the evil and teach them to fear the name of the Black
Knight once more.

And now it was happening. It was really happening. He was being tested and passing with flying
colours. Every move he made was getting smoother, easier and more natural, as he executed forms
he'd previously struggled with as if he'd mastered them all his life. It was like life had slowed to a
crawl, and he'd sped up, leaving Banshee, assigned, he was sure, to babysit him, far behind. This
didn't bother him. After all, wasn't it perfectly obvious that he didn't need help?

He let out a whooping laugh of exultation. He'd heard about battle joy, but experiencing it was
something else entirely. He felt like a god, immortal, invincible and implacable.

Five demons, each eight feet tall and muscled, with the look of lieutenants about them, seeing the
swathe he was cutting through the demonic army, converged on him. They were fast. They were
strong. They were cunning.

He was faster.

He was stronger.

He was more cunning.

He was the Black Knight, Master of the Ebony Blade. And they were no match for him.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous impact on his back, and he was lifted off his feet like a rugby
ball off a kicking tee, flying a full thirty feet. As the tarmac came up to meet him, he closed his
eyes and prepared to roll with the landing. Even through his armour he knew that he was going to
have bad bruises at the very least.

He hit the ground and rolled, body operating on muscle memory and instinct while he cudgelled his
stunned brain into working, trying to work out what the hell had just happened.

Well, that part was fairly obvious, his abused cranium replied. He hadn't watched his six and he'd
been clobbered for it. And he'd better get up bloody quickly.

Scrambling to his feet, he whirled to face his attacker, stumbling as he did so, free hand going
around behind his back to feel what kind of damage had been done to his back armour.

The answer was a deep rent across the back of the enchanted steel, the blow only stopped by the
quilted kevlar infused arming jacket and titanium mail beneath. He gulped. If there'd been even a
little more force behind that blow it would have chopped him in half.

And all of a sudden, everything had snapped back into real time with the cold clarity of terror.
Because the creature that had caused the damage was advancing on him.

It was tall, at least seven feet tall in decaying mail armour, with the occasional piece of plate
armour around the shoulders. Its face was cadaverous, skin stretched taught like a drum over gaunt,
sharp features, pulling back from the mouth to reveal a rictus smile, set below a set of pale, dead
eyes, the whole thing framed by long lank hair. Judging by the size of the armour, the creature had
been powerfully built in life, presumably translating to a ridiculous degree of unnatural strength in
death. In his, no, its hand, it held a long blade. Unlike the rest of it, the looked clean, well
maintained and razor sharp.

The creature's rictus smile seemed to widen as it saw his fear, and began to close with him with
strangely graceful deceptive swiftness.

Dane tried to bring his sword up, but as he did, one of his back muscles screamed at him, sending
him into a staggering spasm of agony.

It was in that moment that he knew he was going to die, a cold, hollow realisation that he should
have listened, he should have stuck by Banshee, who, yes, he could see him now, desperately
fighting his way towards Dane, vainly shouting his name even though it was clear he would never
get there in time, that he was never... never going to do anything, really. He was going to die here,
a lump of regrets, impetuousness and unrealised potential.

The undead swordsman was ten feet away now. Dane desperately tried to stumble backwards, earn
another half second or so of life.

Then the world went white.

OoOoO

And as it turned out, the consult didn't take long.

"Up and at 'em, Bob," I said, opening my backpack. The eyeholes of the enchanted skull within lit
up at once as I put him on the bed of my temporarily assigned quarters on Coulson's plane.

"So, boss. What's the mission?" he asked. All he knew was that I had a job and he needed to keep
quiet until I called on him.

"I'm being employed by SHIELD to track down the necromancer behind the destruction of MI6," I
said. "Who has the Darkhold and just unleashed a gigantic undead army on London which is
sucking in all of SHIELD's resources and probably the Council's too."

"That's the mission."

"Yup."

Bob gave me a long look. "Why did you accept it?" he asked, in the tone of someone who is trying
to work out whether the person they're talking to is completely insane or merely phenomenally
stupid.

"I'm broke and SHIELD pays good money," I said. "Bob, we're on the clock here."
"That's not the whole reason," Bob said shrewdly. Sometimes, my handy dandy porta geek is just a
little annoying.

Well, actually, he's just a little annoying most of the time. It's times like this that normally have me
reaching for the claw hammer. But, as he said it, the pictures of the dead children swam into the
forefront of my mind and I was swamped with white-hot rage. "Those things killed children," I
snarled, voice coming out far harsher and more violent than I'd intended. "I'd do it for free."

"You might as well have done," Bob said bluntly. "You're not going to survive to collect your pay."

I frowned. "You seem pretty certain."

"Boss, I know the necromancer you're looking for," Bob said, sighing, an impressive feat for a guy
without lungs. "He's called Gravemoss."

"Like that's not ominous or anything," I muttered, picking up my notebook. I'd wanted recon, but
every bit of information could count. "What else can you tell me?"

"He's from one of the Higher Realms of the World Tree– Alfheim, and was banished 1500 years
ago for necromancy," Bob said.

I stopped. "1500. As in, one five zero zero?"

"Yup."

I sighed. "Great. Carry on."

"By the standards of Alfheim, he's a skinny geek. By the standards of Earth, even without his
magic he's a super fast, super strong killing machine, like one of the High Sidhe on crack," Bob
said. "But iron won't work on him."

"Right. And as far as magic goes?"

"Well, boss, you may not have noticed, but he's just raised an undead army," Bob said. "He even
subjugated the Disir. He's got chops on Loki's level."

"The what?"

"Think cannibalistic wraith Valkyries that go through Asgardian armies like a hot knife through
butter, and you've got a good start point."

Ew.

"Wonderful. Will I be running into those?"

"No. Word in the spirit world is that they did something stupid," Bob said.

"What kind of stupid?"

"Piss off the Sorcerer Supreme stupid," Bob said darkly.

"How did they manage that?"

"Use your imagination, Harry," Bob said, rolling his eyelights.

"I've been using my imagination a lot recently," I said.

Bob leered. "I'll bet. Coulson always has the hottest girls on his team."

"I'd tell you to say something like that to Agent May's face, but I think the French would notice if I
had to steal you a new skull," I muttered. "And it's mostly been thinking about
the veidrdraugar and what they might be doing."

"Ah," Bob said sagely. "The standard heroic spiritual self-mutilation."

"Yeah, whatever. How did they piss off Strange?"

"Word is Gravemoss smuggled them into Asgard," Bob said. "And they kidnapped Thor's son.
Whose mother just happened to have been Lily Potter, one of the Order of the Phoenix, who
Strange taught at Hogwarts and best friend of Wanda Maximoff, Strange's apprentice. Strange was
even the kid's paediatrician. It's safe to say that he has an interest in the kid."

I let out a low whistle. "I can see how that would annoy him," I said.

"And that wasn't all. They grabbed the daughter of Hercules too, and some Asgardian kid," Bob
said. "Apparently for ransom."

I considered this in silence. If the kids had died, it would be safe to say that Gravemoss would be
dealing with Thor, Loki, Odin, an Asgardian army or three, and pretty much the entire Olympian
Pantheon. Hells Bells, they'd go to freaking war! Which wouldn't be such a bad thing if three dead
kids would be required to start that war.

And, you know, the fact that a bunch of enraged heavyweight gods and two Skyfathers meant that
we would be looking at fallout on an obscence scale, like the biggest natural disaster since Atlantis
sank. At best. What Aurora was trying to do would have looked like a freaking joke.

I gulped, tried not to think about how phenomenally out my depth I was, and said, "Anything
else?"

"Well… he's obsessed with death, he likes experimenting on people – that's what he was banished
for, mostly, he was kicking around at Loki's level even before he got hold of the Darkhold, he's
duelled Doctor Strange and survived…" Bob trailed off, and shuddered. "Boss, he's evil," he said
quietly. Hells Bells, he actually sounded… afraid. "The real thing, evil with a capital E. You have
no idea how much danger you're in even by being on the same continent as him."

That scared me. Not much really scares Bob, mostly because he's a spirit, and he has enough
knowledge to translate to serious power. And he has a poor grasp on human morality. We see
things in black and white, he seems them in blue and orange, or colours that we can't even
perceive.

I have never heard him seriously describe something as evil.

I was in very, very deep.

"Oh, you're getting it now?" Bob said, reading my expression. He sighed. "Look, Harry, I know
you're insane you've got this crazy compulsion to help people even when it'll get you killed or
you're not even being paid for it, but even the Senior Council would want to avoid going toe to toe
with this guy. I'd only give Doctor Strange fifty fifty odds. You?" He shook his head. "You'd be
safer doing something quiet and peaceful, like storming the Vatican."

"That wouldn't be quiet and peaceful," I pointed out. The Vatican used to be the seat of the White
Council and it's chock full of some seriously powerful mystical artefacts. It makes Fort Knox look
like a children's tent.

"No shit, Dresden," Bob said flatly. "Get out of here while you still can, and preferably, take me
with you, somewhere warm, sunny and a long way from here. Like the Caribbean, or Australia."

"Bob, it almost sounds like you care," I said.

"Hey, if you pop it, I'm probably going to get locked away by SHIELD in a box in an anonymous
warehouse, probably right on top of the Ark of the Covenant," Bob said.

I snorted. "Indiana Jones isn't real, Bob."

"No," Bob agreed. "Good thing for you. If he was, I'd be working for him. He actually earns
money, gets the girls and doesn't –"

"Have a sex obsessed spirit advising him?" I said. "Bob, I'm doing this. End of story."

Bob sighed, something he does pretty well for a guy who has no lungs. "On your own head be it,"
he said. "And by it, I mean some kind of necromantic construct that wants to eat your brains." He
gave me a cheerful look. "Hey, you'd make a great zombie – you run around a lot, you do stupid
things for no reason and you don't have any brains."

"And yours too. I need recon and you're the one doing it."

Bob's eyelights widened and then he shook his skull so fast it was almost a blur. "No. Way.
Dresden, are you insane?"

"Jury's still out," I said. "Why not?"

"Because," Bob said, with the air of imparting knowledge to the slow. "I'm a spirit. He's an insane
and insanely powerful necromancer. He can do pretty much what he likes with me."

"And that would be?" I asked.

"Enslave me, destroy me, torture me, eat me," Bob said promptly.

"Eat you?"

"Some of them do it for power," he said vaguely. Then his tone changed. "I don't care what I have
to do instead, boss, I'll do it. Just… please. Don't order me out there."

Hells. Freaking. Bells. Bob was begging. Bob never, ever begs. I've sent him out and about playing
recon when the freaking Fallen were in town and he's been fine with it. And now… he looked
honestly terrified.

I've known Bob longer than pretty much anyone else who's still alive, short of my ex, Elaine. We
go back. And while he's technically my bound servant and I could compel him to do it, not only
would he probably put up as much of a fight as possible, but… it wouldn't be right. Just because
you can do something, doesn't mean that you should. My mentor taught me that, about magic and
everything else in life, and I've stuck to that all of my adult life.

"Fine. You… you just rest up, Bob," I said. I paused. "If I don't come out of this alive, I'll… you'll
have somewhere," I said, making a note to talk to Coulson about it. I didn't want Bob going into
SHIELD lockup.

"Thanks, boss," Bob said, sounding relieved, eyelights winking off. Then, they briefly winked
back on again. "Can I talk to the hot girls?"

"Bob, unless someone's life is literally on the line, you are not allowed to talk to anybody without
my permission," I said.

"You're no fun," he complained.

"Good. Your concept of fun breaks at least fifteen different laws," I muttered, as I prepared to
break a lot more laws than that.

OoOoO

"War Machine, this Director Wisdom, are you receiving me?"

"Loud and clear, Director Wisdom," Rhodey said, backing off from the long line of dragons. By
his count, there were well over a hundred. "What support can you give me? Because whatever it is,
it's going to have to be an absolute doozy."

"A squadron of Harriers and Typhoons, with another in reserve, though that one may be needed for
London," Wisdom said. "All else fails, ground them somewhere isolated and open and we'll send in
a Tornado squadron to finish them off. Oh, and I'm sending you one of my special agents. He
should be with you in fiv minutes."

"That's great, Director, but how I will know your guy?"

"Oh, trust me, War Machine. You'll know him when you see him. He should be with you in just
under five minutes," Wisdom said, slightly amused. "Oh, and… he generally goes by Archangel."

Rhodey put this puzzling thought to one side for a few minutes, engaging in harrying the dragons,
probing at their defences and seeing if he could break through. Unfortunately, their skin seemed to
have the rough consistency of high gauge steel. At least.

However, he thought aiming carefully, there were ways. And with that thought, he carefully fired a
missile into one beast's open mouth, just as it was about to breath fire.

The results were… spectacular.

"I'd say, 'eat this'," Rhodey muttered. "But that would just be far too easy."

Then, something whipped across his field of vision, shooting across and down, before stopping. It
was obviously humanoid in shape, and, indeed, Rhodey would have passed him or her off as just
another person wearing body armour. If, that was, it wasn't for the two vast metallic wings that
were very definitely not for show.

He watched, opened mouthed, as the humanoid figure shot upwards in a sudden clash of metal
wings, hovered for a moment, vast wings flapping, then tucked them into his body, descending in a
steep, silent dive, landing on the back of one of the undead dragons with thunderous force, and
grabbing the ridge of the spine with both hands, before snapping both wings out, and flicking them
in brief, economical and lightning fast slashes.

The metallic wings sliced through the leathery skin like a hot knife through butter, and as the
creature began to fall, bellowing its rage, the wings swept forward in one swift, scissoring slash,
neatly beheading the falling dragon, before using its remains as a springboard to takeoff once more,
shooting up past the dragons, just below the cloud layer.
"Director Wisdom, this is War Machine," Rhodey said, slightly stunned. "I'm just taking a wild
guess here, but I think your man is the guy with the metal wings."

There was a strained chuckle from the other end. "That kind of keen insight is why they pay you
the big bucks, huh, War Machine?"

"Only the medium sized bucks, sir," Rhodey said, dodging a blast of dragonfire. "The Air Force
isn't the most lucrative of careers."

"Public service generally isn't," Wisdom agreed. "And yeah, that's our boy. His comms are one
channel up from mine if you want to get in contact. He'll probably want to. He's something of a fan.
Wisdom out."

And, indeed, Agent Archangel was giving him an enquiring look. "War Machine, this Archangel,
do you receive me, over?"

"Archangel, this is War Machine," Rhodey said, opening fire with his gatling cannon on the
leading dragon. "I am receiving you, and I've got to say, that was a pretty impressive display."

"I'm glad you think so, sir," Archangel replied.

"That's a pretty impressive set of body armour you've got there," Rhodey said, pausing to punch an
undead dragon in the face. "How do the wings work?"

As he did so, he briefly reflected that in the last few years, his life had become so much weirder.
But, on the other hand, it was so much more fun than knocking the cocky out of wannabe pilots.

"I was born with them," Archangel replied, barrel rolling to dodge a stream of flame, and, shooting
along its side, lay open the side of one of the magical beasts.

"With those wings? Man, I feel sorry for your mom," Rhodey said, stunned.

Archangel chuckled. "They weren't always metal, and they didn't properly develop until I was
about seven. My back just looked sort of feathery until then," he explained. "As for the rest, I'll
explain it over a beer. You're paying, though."

"Sounds great to me," Rhodey said. "But why am I paying?"

"Because you're – argh! – a Lieutenant-Colonel," Archangel replied, getting clipped by the blunt
edge of a claw which wasted itself on his body armour. "I'm a university student barely out of
training. I have student loans to pay and piss all beer money."

"University student barely out of… Wisdom sent you on this mission?"

"All hands on deck," Archangel replied, with the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "We don't have
much choice. Team was scaped together at short notice. Besides, I love flying and I don't often get
the chance. And come on, are you telling me that you'd turn down the chance
to dogfight with zombie dragons?"

"You got me there," Rhodey admitted. At that age, he'd have leapt at the chance to do something
that mind-blowingly cool. Well, after making sure that whoever was giving the orders wasn't
hallucinating anyway.

OoOoO
Wisdom apparated out onto a road bridge, surveyed the battlefield and grimaced. Archangel and
War Machine seemed to be at least slowing the progress of the dragons, and a squadron of Sea
Harriers was en route, along with a mixed bag of other fighters, so he felt that they wouldn't be a
problem.

The battle here, on the other hand, was still a problem. Yes, they were managing containment,
having forced most of the army onto the M4, and Sif had brought down a grand total of five
serpents all by herself, an impressive feat for someone who couldn't fly, while Thor and Iron Man
had disposed of most of the remaining seventeen.

But the Hulk, their most potent weapon, was being soaked up by the enemy numbers, Thor and
Iron Man were now mainly restricted to picking off any would be escapees and Loki had been
forced to fall back and establish a perimeter to contain the intangible beings, or else they would run
rampant over the countryside.

On the plus side, one of the three Knights of the Sword, shining like a vast beacon of white fire,
whose presence put another god in their corner (Wisdom was of the opinion that you could never
have too many gods, so long as they were pointed in the right direction and stayed that way) was,
with the aid of Dane Whitman, the young Black Knight – and possible hindrance since Wisdom
suspected that Whitman was quite likely to be inwardly debating whether to ask for an autograph -
steadily chopping a large portion of the undead army to pieces.

And that which wasn't chopped up was being forced towards the Avengers and Excalibur or the
withering crossfire from the tanks.

Speaking of the tanks, the Royal Tank Regiment from Tidworth had been portkeyed in, and, after
silently staring at the enemy for a few moments, had basically shrugged and set up on the flanks at
an angle to catch the various monsters in a withering crossfire, which was slowly whittling down
the numbers. Any that got through the tanks were quickly chased down by a roaming pack of
armoured cars on the ground and Predator drones in the sky. But still the blasted things kept
coming.

He reached for his radio, ready to call in his ace, then froze as he saw a flicker of movement out of
the corner of his eye.

Instantly, he dropped and rolled, drawing his sidearm, a Colt. 45 with an extended magazine that
was loaded with blessed incendiary rounds, and opened fire.

The charging veidrdraugr was barely perturbed by the three shots that he sent winging towards it,
even though one blew a hole in its torso, and, swearing, he disapparated, a reappearing about thirty
feet behind it, putting up an extrasensory charm. He would need every advantage he had, and he
didn't want to be sucker punched.

As the creature turned, he considered one of those advantages. They were ambush hunters, and it
had lost the element of surprise. Indeed, it was watching him carefully. It had been an elderly
woman in life, and what rags it had had left had been torn or blasted off, revealing pale, wrinkled
skin, dried up and pendulous breasts and greasy white hair that floated around its head like a halo.
And that was another thing, one of its hands was missing, along with part of its torso, not that he
doubted that it could easily club him to death.

Its dark, soulless eyes focused on him, and he slipped his sidearm away, drawing his wand.

"Come on then," he said quietly. "Let's see what you're made of."
The veidrdraugr blurred. It was far faster than he was. Far stronger. But it still had to cover thirty
feet. His fingers had to cover less than thirty centimetres.

Mortal practitioners, wanded and wandless alike, aren't the most powerful players in the great
game. If caught off their guard, they're as good as dead.

Peter Wisdom wasn't caught off his guard.

A laser like jet of flame roared out from the tip of Wisdom's wand as he sprang away to the left,
widening the steadily growing hole that had been caused by his incendiary holy bullet. He felt the
wind of its passing as he got clear, but clear he was. Catching himself on the side of the road
bridge, he turned to look at his enemy.

White fire was eating away at the veidrdraugr, crawling towards its heart and power source.
Wisdom fixed his gaze on it. His plan was simple. Keep it at a distance, keep scoring hits that help
the fire along, reduce its mobility and wait for it to die.

It charged once more.

He flicked his wand again, unleashing another stream of flame, getting ready to spring away.

But this time, the veidrdraugar jinked, exploding off the ball of one foot directly into his leaping
path, tackling him to the ground, forcing him to spill his wand. Rolling desperately, he managed to
get an arm between his throat and its teeth.

Time slowed as the veidrdraugr's teeth, powered by jaws that could bite through light Asgardian
armour, descended, then shut on the fleshy forearm, protected only by leather body armour.

There was a series of cracking sounds. A lot of brown teeth fell out. The veidrdraugr looked almost
non-plussed.

Human teeth, even backed by an enhanced jaw, were no match for adamantium vambraces.

Another thing about mortal practitioners is that the sensible ones tend to be pretty good at
preparing.

And Wisdom laughed the mad, adrenalin fuelled, gleeful laugh of a person who has laid down their
last card. And it turns out to be an ace.

"Eat this, you bitch," he snarled, right hand glowing white hot with the flames of his mutation, the
ones he'd christened hot knives, and delivered it into the being's dark power core. For a moment, he
felt a terrible, life sucking cold on his fingers, then, with a flash and small explosion, the dark
magic core exploded, and the veidrdraugar sagged, going from the stuff of nightmares to the stuff
of nightheaps. With the smell to match, Wisdom mentally added, as scorched week old human
flesh assaulted his temporarily enhanced senses.

He sighed his relief, then pushed the body off, sitting up. Then he was grabbed in a literally rib
cracking bear hug and what felt like a set of shaped wire cutters bit deeply into his shoulder,
followed by another sinking into his upper left arm.

One thing, a small detached part of him reflected as he screamed in pain, that he had forgotten
about the veidrdraugr was that they also hunted in packs.

OoOoO
Thankfully for Wisdom's plight, he was being watched by Clint, who had admired his takedown,
and who also quickly calculated that nothing short of an exploding arrow would shift them, and
two exploding arrows would end up shifting most of Wisdom as well.

"Thor!" he yelled over the comms. "On the road bridge."

Thor didn't respond, but a moment later, a slim shape in dark combats darted from above, diving
like a peregrine falcon, landing beside one of the veidrdraugar and, moving in a barely perceptible
blur, ripping it away from the beleaguered Director by main strength, before frying it with a
powerful blast of what seemed to be some kind of electricity, then ripping its head off, again by
main strength. This all took less than half a second, and only someone like Clint would have caught
it.

By this time, Thor's response was clear.

The other veidrdraugr, which, apparently mindless or uncaring of its fellows fate, had raised its
head to gulp its mouthful. It didn't even manae to swallow. An even faster blur, this one silvery
grey, shot across Clint's vision, then, very suddenly, the creature no longer had anything above the
shoulder and Mjolnir was soaring back to its master's hand.

The slim figure, an MI13 agent that he recognised from SHIELD's files as Agent Jessica Drew,
a.k.a. Arachne, was tending to her commander, who had unsurprisingly gone into shock from the
sudden and violent physical trauma, blood loss and, probably, the unwavering realisation that he
was being eaten alive, and he was about to look away.

Then Clint saw a fourth creature readying to pounce. In one swift movement, he drew an exploding
arrow, nocked it and fired.

The arrow buried itself in the creature's eye and exploded.

Drew looked up sharply, glanced at the creature, then up at Clint, who nodded briskly. She nodded
back, then gathered Wisdom into her arms in a fireman's lift, and took off, flying at speed towards
the nearest hospital.

As he did, he saw Wisdom manage to whisper something to Drew, who paused, hovered, and
tapped him.

Clint couldn't hear what Wisdom said next, but he could lip read. And Wisdom said five words.

'Maximoff, your time is now.'

He tapped his comms. "Guys, we've got a friendly incoming," he said.

"Great," Steve said. In the back ground, there was a clanging sound as his shield hit something.
"Who is it?"

Before Clint could answer, the clouds began to throb, taking on a deadly scarlet tinge.

An incandescent column of crimson-white spellfire as wide as the Tower roared from the heavens,
slamming into the ground with a thunderous roar at the heart of the army.

Everyone turned their eyes to the heavens. And they saw her.

Outlined against the explosion of light she floated, a shadowed, female figure, her arms spread
wide and a cloak flapping in the wind caused by the thermal updraft like a battle flag.
And Thor laughed an incredulous, delighted, booming laugh.

The Scarlet Witch had entered fray.

OoOoO

"Bob won't do recon," I said. "But I do have some info on the necromancer."

"Why won't he do recon?" Skye asked, puzzled.

"He's a spirit," Coulson explained. "He'll be easy pickings for a necromancer."

"Ah," Skye said.

"We're facing someone called Gravemoss," I said, consulting my notes, and gave them the basic
run down that Bob had given me.

Coulson looked grim. "Okay. This could be a serious problem," he said. "Last time SHIELD went
up against someone from the Higher Realms, it was Loki, and he ended up killing every SHIELD
Agent that he didn't enslave. Fire from assault rifles didn't even faze him. Even Thor without his
powers and specifically avoiding doing lethal damage, managed to take out at least two dozen
SHIELD agents. The only way he was brought down was he went into shock after he couldn't lift
Mjolnir." He looked at me. "Set up your spell, I need to make a few arrangements."

In the end, setting up a spell to track the veidrdraugar wasn't that hard. The spell responded
strongly first time out, maybe all the more so because the profane black magic stood out like a blot
on the mystical landscape thanks to sheer contrast. It's not a concept I've heard of, not in a tracking
spell, and I'm pretty expert with them. If you've got someone's hair or blood and they're still alive
(and within about five hundred miles at the very, very most, because I have my limits) I can find
them.

Either way, I got it up and running pretty quickly.

"You've got it?" Coulson asked.

"Definitely," I said grimly. "They're close."

"Good."

Captain Cardboard then stepped up. While I'd been making my preparations with Bob, and then
with the spell, he'd clearly been kitting up with what looked like some very high tech lightweight
battle armour.

"Agent Ward will go with you as cover and if you come into contact, he'll engage. His body
armour is composed of a synthetic vibranium weave designed to absorb kinetic impact and resist
piercing impacts," Coulson said. Anticipating my many objections, he added, "And the simple fact
is that he is faster, stronger and better trained than you are. If you discover the veidrdraugar, do not
get bogged down in a fight. Agent Ward will mark their position. Your job is to find the boss. If
you have a kill shot, take it. Agent Ward is armed with one of SHIELD's Deity class submachine
guns, with comes with a semi automatic setting that allows for a degree of sharpshooting."

"Deity class?" I asked, giving the gun that Captain Cardboard was toting a long look. It was a little
larger than Murphy's boxy little gun, the P-90, though of the same general class of weapon, slim,
dark, with a forward grip to help steady the gun and a high tech looking scope.
"Based off the Asgardian Destroyer. One of the first generation versions of these weapons knocked
Loki through a bulkhead and visibly hurt him. This is a fourth generation version," Fitz said
cheerfully. "More powerful, more compact, more reliable and much more dangerous."

Captain Cardboard looked at me, then flicked a switch on the side of the gun. It audibly hummed
into life, orange bands appearing down the side of the gun in much the same way as the runes on
my staff lit up when I was using serious power.

"Like I said, if you have a kill shot, either of you, take it," Coulson said. "Otherwise, get the hell
out of there. You won't last two seconds longer than the amount of time Gravemoss wants you two
alive. We'll be following you over comms." He nodded. "Good luck."

OoOoO

Rhodey, hovering in a scorched, slashed and generally battered armour, felt that he'd done a good
job. All the dragons were down, all but one of the planes had come out intact, and even the pilot of
the Eurofighter whose wing had been damaged beyond functioning by a burst of dragonfire had,
after a few hairy moments, been grounded safely.

"Director Wisdom, this is War Machine, come in?"

"War Machine, this is MI13 command. Director Wisdom is out of action. What do you wish to
report?" a professional female voice asked.

"I hope he's okay. Command, every one of the dragons has been destroyed. And I never thought I'd
hear myself saying that," he said, chuckling.

"Not many would," was the brisk, yet amused reply. "And your status?"

"Battered and bruised and sweating buckets, but otherwise fine," Rhodey said. "That said, I
wouldn't chance my armour any further in combat. This baby needs some serious servicing."

"You shouldn't need to, War Machine. The battle on the M4 is now just clean up, and SHIELD has
a hot lead on where the necromancer behind all of this is," was the reply. "Though if you can repair
your suit, I'm sure the Avengers and Excalibur would welcome your presence. This guy's bad."

Rhodey surveyed the landscape below. A trail of very dead dragons littered the countryside for
nearly a hundred miles. "With all due respect, Command, I'd guessed," he said. "I'll be making my
way back to base. Maybe I can get some repairs done. And if nothing else, I owe Archangel a
drink."

"Good luck to you, War Machine. Command out."

Rhodey nodded to himself and surveyed the landscape once. Then stopped and focused on an
object that flickered into view just above the cloudline. There was at least one dragon left. "Son of
a bitch," he muttered. "War Machine to MI13 Command, War Machine to MI13 Command, I was
wrong! We've got one stray, hiding just above the cloud line."

"Received and acknowledged, War Machine. Do you need any assistance?"

"No, Command, thanks all the same. I know just how to cut one of these up now," Rhodey said,
his armour tracking the dragon's path. Shooting upwards and flipping onto his back, just below the
dragon's belly, he opened fire with his minigun and the machine guns on his wrists.

Nothing happened.
"Ah shit," he muttered, rolling until he was facing the ground once more and considered the
situation. His repulsors wouldn't cut through the dragon's scales, not fast enough to tell – it would
just move. His punches would annoy it, but little more than that.

"War Machine? Is everything all right up there?"

"I'm out of ammo, Command, and my repulsors won't do enough damage. But I have an idea. Can
you give me the coordinates of where the downed Eurofighter hit?"

"We can give you a rough estimate, War Machine. What are you planning?"

"Something insane, Command," Rhodey replied. "So have some birds armed and ready to fly."

"Very well. Good luck, War Machine," Command replied, before reeling off the coordinates. "But
we're going to have to scramble those planes immediately. That dragon's less than ten minutes out
from Luton airport at current pace, more like five. If it gets in amongst the planes on the ground
and start breathing fire the casualties could be in four figures, even five, very quickly. Whatever
you're doing, do it fast."

"Roger that, Command. War Machine out," Rhodey said, as his armour calculated the coordinates,
and set up a flight path, sending him arrowing towards the downed aircraft and a mad hope.
Astonishingly, he found himself grinning. Thousands of lives, resting on an insane gambit and his
flight speed. He was enjoying this. "Sometimes, Tony," he muttered to himself. "I understand why
you love being a superhero."

It didn't take him more than three minutes to reach the crash site. The plane had landed on a soft
hillside, and, had, apparently, mostly stayed together on impact. A quick, practiced survery said
that the fuel was still in the tank and a good few armaments remained on the left wing. More than
enough for his purpose.

A fully loaded Eurofighter Typhoon came in at eleven tons, and though this one was now probably
about nine and a half at most, and Rhodey's armour could lift up to seventy five, that armour was
beaten pretty badly. Would it take the weight? And what would the flight speed be like?

Only one way to find out.

"Here goes nothing," Rhodey muttered, getting under the jet and lifting it with a grunt of effort. So
far, so good. Then, very carefully, he took off.

Amazingly, it worked.

"War Machine, this is MI13 command. Not to hurry you, but that dragon's within five minutes of
Luton airport. The evacuation started as soon as you reported its position, but it won't be done in
time, and there are several very full passenger flights on the ground."

"Command, this is War Machine," Rhodey said, experimentally building up speed. "I'll have it
down in two."

And with that, he went supersonic.

Rhodey was acutely conscious of the way the downed jet was rattling above him, and was, now
that he thought about it, very aware of the way that if this went even slightly wrong, he could be
the first person in this part of England to die tonight.

However, within a minute, he was within sight of the dragon. The lights of Luton airport shone in
the near distance. He would only get one shot at this, and he wasn't even sure what this was. He
bent his flight path, angling away from the dragon in a long, careful loop, aware of both the need
for speed and the need to compensate for the drag the broken jet produced and his reduced
manoeuvrability.

Also, not to drop it. Accidentally bombing Luton Airport wouldn't accidentally be a strike in his
favour.

But, eventually, he lined himself up on an attack angle with the dragon. Rocketing upwards and
forwards, he lined the jet up carefully, aiming for the stomach.

He struck true, the nose cone of the jet, relatively blunt though it was, piercing like a lance, the
sheer force driving it deep into the undead dragon's innards, forcing its front upwards as it
bellowed, giant wings rowing at the air.

Rhodey, with one last shove to make sure it lodged, launched himself away from the dragon, and,
as the jet began to slip out and the vast, otherworldly creature regain its balance, he hit it with the
biggest repulsor blast he had. It was a sweeping shot, dragged across from fuel tank, to missiles.
Perfectly aimed. Perfectly timed.

The result was truly enormous fireball that had Rhodey briefly struggling for balance.

And then, pieces of exploded undead Hebridean Black dragon rained down over Luton.
"Command, this is War Machine. The dragon is destroyed. Though I really pity whoever's living
underneath."

There was a moment of silence. "War Machine, did you just use the downed Eurofighter as a lance
against the dragon and blow it up once it was lodged inside the creature's belly?"

"You might want to mention that I hit at Mach 1, Command," Rhodey said casually as he came
down off the adrenaline high.

"Duly noted," Command replied, clearly impressed. "War Machine, are you sure you don't want to
change your codename to 'Saint George'? Because it's well earned."

"I'm kind of attached to War Machine, Command, but thanks for the suggestion. Now if you
haven't got any more dragons to slay, I might just call this a night," Rhodey said.

"Get some rest, War Machine. You've earned it."

Rhodey rather felt that he had.

OoOoO

The tracking spell led us, unsurprisingly, underground, roughly a mile south of the Eiffel Tower.
Once we'd got as close as we could without being mobbed by monsters as soon as we went
underground, Captain Cardboard, following directions in his earpiece, led me to an old manhole
cover.

See, it turns out that during World War II, the French Resistance used the Catacombs as a way of
sneaking men and supplies around the city, with the Germans being loathe to follow them. For that,
I couldn't exactly blame them. I've gone down into the dark, after things that want me dead. At
best.

It's the reason my left hand doesn't work very well.

Which was part of why I was nervous about this particular venture. Slavering monsters, I can deal
with. Ambush, I can deal with. Dark magic, I can deal with - though, admittedly, I'd never gone up
against anything with anywhere near as much raw power as Gravemoss reputedly possessed.

Well, okay, so I'd killed the Summer Lady, but that had been with a sucker punch. While she was
distracted. And while she'd been a lunatic, she'd genuinely been trying to do the right thing.

Gravemoss was probably also a lunatic, but I really doubted that I'd get the chance to sucker punch
him the way I had her. For one thing, Bob had specifically mentioned that, unlike the Sidhe, he
wasn't remotely bothered by cold iron.

Also, Aurora hadn't been able to rip me in half like wet paper.

I got the feeling that if Gravemoss got hold of me, I'd be lucky if that was all he did.

As I descended, I saw Captain Cardboard slip a pair of apparently ordinary sunglasses on, pressing
something on the side. If that hadn't tipped me off to the fact there was something special about
them, the words 'Stark Industries', visible on the side in the electric blue-white of Arc energy for a
brief moment before they were covered by those little loop things people put on the legs of their
glasses to make sure that they don't lose them even if they fall off. When I reached the bottom, he
handed me a pair of my own.

"Night vision," he said curtly. "And thermal imaging."

I hesitated. Wizards and modern technology go together like politicians and honesty. The twain can
never meet. One has got to give. And I'd really rather it didn't give right into my face.

But then again, SHIELD had somehow figured out how to keep a plane chock full of tech several
steps ahead of what is commercially available running in my presence without the slightest blip.

I took a deep breath and slipped them on.

Nothing changed. My puzzlement and disappointment must have showed, because Cardboard
sighed, leaned over and squeezed part of the glasses.

Wow.

Really, just, wow.

There is no other way to describe how amazingly cool it is to suddenly have the darkness peeled
away like the skin of an orange. There's a reason that one of the superpowers kids always want to
have is night vision, before they grow up and decide that they want boob magnet powers instead,
and that reason is quite simply this: the human animal is oriented on sight. It's the sharpest of our
fairly feeble senses, and we use it to navigate and perceive our world, keeping watch for both prey
and threats. If you offered a hundred people the choice between deafness and blindness, most of
them would choose deafness. Without it, we're in trouble.

That's why we're afraid of the dark. Because we can't see and we know perfectly well that there are
things that know that and would love to take advantage of it. Night time is when we're bottom of
the food chain and top of the menu.

And that's without adding an insane godlike necromancer and his pack of super sneaky stealth
zombies to the dance card.

When I'd come down here, I'd worried that I would have to conjure a light, which might not be
such a smart idea. It's generally considered a bad idea to invade dark places which you know are
infested with things that want to kill you without giving them a freaking beacon to home in on.

So, although everything was in shades of monochrome, except for Captain Cardboard, who was
rendered in shades of red - that would be the thermal imaging part - I could see pretty much as
clearly as day.

Then I heard a cough, and Captain Cardboard gave me a look that said very clearly, 'get on with it'.

For the sake of it, I stuck my tongue out at him, unhooked my pentacle from belt, tracking spell still
running, and followed it.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

That instantly put me on my guard. A decade and a bit of wizardry has taught me that things only
get really quiet when something big and bad is about to try and eat you. A lifetime of horror
movies has taught me that nothing good ever comes of plucky protagonists wandering around dark
tunnels. It's like sticking an 'I am a moron, please eat me' sign on your back.

On that basis, I hunched up and tried to look inedible.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a coward. I'm too stupid to be something so sensible. But the back of
my neck was beginning to tingle in that uncomfortable way body parts do when they're trying to
convey to your brain just how vulnerable they are.

"Stand up straight," Agent Action Man hissed - I'd decided that Captain Cardboard was getting
repetitive.

"What?"

"You look vulnerable. Trust me, that'll just make them attack you faster," he said.

"How would you know?"

"Predators are predators, Dresden," he replied grimly. "And if you get eaten, so do I."

He had a point there. My recent experiences were, indeed, pointing out that while Agent Grant
Ward had not much of a discernible personality, he wasn't actually wrong.

So, reluctantly, I straightened up and tried to look intimidating.

It probably saved my life.

As I straightened up, I caught something pale in my peripheral vision, about fifteen feet away, and
whirled with a shout, hoping to simultaneously warn Ward and startle whatever the pale thing was.

The scream didn't slow it down in the slightest. Instead, as soon I began to move, it leapt at me
with superhuman speed.

Straight, in fact, into my upswinging staff. While I'm a lean man, I'm also nearly seven feet tall and
I've never been accused of being a lightweight. And in recent years, I've had to do lot more
infighting. So when the head of the oak staff struck, it struck hard, snapping the creature's head
back and sending it reeling.
I readied my shield and frantically scanned my surroundings, going back to back with Ward. I'd got
lucky. I'd got very lucky. I'd spotted the creature maybe twenty seconds before it had got into
position. It was an ambush predator, and the thing about ambush predators is that they like to get in
real close before they attack, so the prey is practically dead before it has time to react. The one that
had attacked Loki had, according to the SHIELD report, been no more than five feet away. This
one had been closer to fifteen, and unlike Loki, my brain hadn't had to process a warning before my
body reacted.

"How many?" Ward asked.

"I can see one," I said.

"Three. Hanging back for the moment. I destroyed one of them when it got in close," he replied.
"There'll be more. Will they be coming from your end?"

"Hang on," I said, keeping a gimlet eye on the one my end, then opened my Sight.

The Sight is this sense that we Wizards have. Some call it the Second Sight, the Third Eye or the
True Sight. What it does is strip away all illusions and reveal things as they truly are. Nothing can
hide from the Sight, and it can reveal quite a lot about the person you're looking at.

This is not always a good thing.

Because, first off, despite its name, it isn't restricted to Sight. It's not like an inbuilt magical pair of
Stark's Super Sunglasses. It simply appears that way, because, as I have mentioned, mankind is a
sight oriented animal. In reality, it's more like opening your mind to the universe, and all the good,
all the evil, all the beautiful and all the horrible things within it. I've seen things through the Sight
that have nearly driven me insane through their sheer scale, things mortal man was never meant to
witness. I've seen torture and cruelty of the most horrific kind. And I've seen some things... that are
truly beautiful.

And I'm never going to forget any of them. Ever. Things you see in the Sight don't fade away.
They're locked in your brain forever. And they change you. Which is why most Wizards tend to be
pretty damn careful about using the Sight.

Especially when dealing with monsters like these.

Me, I felt it would be better to be alive and insane than to be dead and perfectly rational, the key
word in this, of course, being 'alive'.

The tunnel as seen through the Sight wasn't dark and forbidding. Instead, it was lit by an eerie
silver ghost light emitted from the walls. And then I realised that was exactly what it was. Ghost
light. I looked closer, picking out an individual skull. But it wasn't a skull now. Instead, I could see
a woman, face locked in a rictus of horror and fear, eyes staring sightlessly into eternity. I looked
away as quickly as I could. Her spirit wasn't trapped here, that much I was certain of. Instead, this
was an imprint, left by her death, something that alone, she'd never have had. But the sheer number
of dead bodies down here meant that they seemed to almost feed off each other, the energy that
each imprint emitted, a tiny, tiny, thing, little more than a spark per year, keeping them something
approximating fresh.

Because while one spark per year can't power anything. But millions upon millions of those sparks,
when taken together... now that's a different story.

And that wasn't all. The silver ghost-light, eerie as it was, had a strange beauty to it, so long as you
didn't look too closely at what was emitting it. But running through it were thin, spidery black
threads, which radiated an unearthly cold and... evil. I shivered. If I hadn't known that there was
dark magic at work under Paris, this would confirm.

Then I looked at the veirdrdaugr.

It was only vaguely humanoid, a lean, predatory thing carved out of dark light, glowing a greasy
green-black, touched with unworldly purple. It was hunched over, permanently coiled to lunge, and
its solid black eyes glittered with hunger and a disturbing amount of intelligence.

It wasn't intrinsically malicious. It simply existed to hunt, kill and devour. It was a predator. That's
what they do.

But the magic that animated it... that just exuded evil. I've Seen many things. I'd seen Faerie
Queens prepare for battle. I'd Seen the soul of a man chosen by God Himself to defend those in
need. I'd Seen dark magic used to maim and destroy. And I'd never Seen anything like this.

It was pure Evil.

There was no other word to describe it. Every other piece of black magic I'd seen before, some of
them pretty damn horrific, paled into insignificance by comparison. This was something ancient,
primal and terrible, something that saw Civilisation, Progress, the Age of Reason and sneered at
them. This was a darkness older than time, immutable, unchanging and eternal. The entire
existence of humanity was but the blink of an eye by comparison.

And through it, I could sense something of its source. It was Power, ocean deep and mountain
high, something greater and more terrible than anything I had ever encountered, with the strength
to take the entirety of creation in its hand and crush it into nothingness. This was a power greater
than any God, any Archangel and any Faerie Queen.

This was the Power of Chthon the Elder One, born before time, of Chthon the Exile, banished
before creation, of Chthon the Great, progenitor of all black magic, a being with a strength I could
not comprehend, and a purpose I could never hope to fathom.

I was an insect before it.

Then, I heard soft laughter, cruel, quiet and somehow discordant, as if it did not belong in this
world.

And He spoke in a voice of overwhelming Power that made reality warp and scream in protest.

Hello, little Starborn. Enjoying the view? Well, I think you've seen enough. Back you go.

And just like that, my Sight shut down, putting back in the realm of ordinary perception.

The words were silken smooth and mocking, along with the display of Power, designed to show
me how insignificant I was, something to be brushed aside at will.

Big. Mistake.

Because that pissed me off.

There was only one of them in front of me, and at least three for Ward, who'd taken one of them
already, in such a fashion that they had clearly learned to respect him.
"How many?" I asked quietly.

"Ten," Ward said tensely. "And more are coming. They'll overwhelm us soon." I was guessing that
he hadn't fired in order to buy time. The longer he stayed still, a potential threat, the longer
the veidrdraugr would wait.

"Good."

"Good?"

I smiled. It was a cold, hard smile. Because I had a plan The runes on my staff ignited. "Good."

"I've got one, with no more coming," I said. "On three, we switch dance partners. You step back to
your left, I'll go to mine."

Ward tensed, then I felt him nod. "On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

We moved.

I lowered my staff.

I heard Ward's fancy gun open fire.

And I stumbled.

The veidrdraugar surged forward, looking to take advantage.

Suckers.

See, I hadn't stumbled. Not really. Instead, I'd gone down on one knee, and thrusting my staff
forward like a lance, I shouted, "Forzare!"

A thick, low inverted spearhead of invisible force roared out along the tunnel floor, stretching from
wall to wall, slamming into the calves of the veidrdraugar like a car doing thirty miles per hour. A
very concentrated car.

Needless to say, a lot of bones snapped.

And they fell forward, stumbling. Leaving them vulnerable. Not only that, but the shape of my
strike roughly funnelled them into the middle.

Normally, when I use fire, my favoured method of attack, I use my blasting rod, which is more
precise than my staff. That's more of a general purpose tool.

But since my targets were obligingly staying still - for the moment - and had been funnelled into a
tighter space - sort of - then it would do just fine.

So I shoved as much power as I could through my staff and roared, "FUEGO!"

It wasn't as focused as I might have liked, but the waist thick beam of white hot fire that howled
down tunnel, accompanied by the dopplering echo of my voice, more than sufficed, tearing six of
the monsters apart in one shot. I whipped my staff to the left, sweeping the beam through another
five and gouging a twenty foot long hole in the left hand wall of the tunnel.

I cut off the spell and paused to catch my physical and metaphysical breath. Just as one of
the veidrdraugr, clearly smart enough to play possum, erupted from my relatively untouched right.
It was covered in raw blisters and blackened burns, suggesting it was caught in the thermal bloom
of my initial strike, but that didn't seem to bother it in the slightest. It had waited until I stopped for
a moment, lowered my guard, then it attacked.

Clever, I thought vaguely, as it leapt towards me.

Then a bolt of orange energy smashed it out of the air, and hurled it into the wall, tearing open its
abdominal cavity and releasing a truly foul smell of excrement and rotting flesh.

"Chap with legs there," I managed. "Five rounds rapid."

Ward, whether responding to my sage quotation or simply operating on his own initiative, poured
another three blasts into it, two into the head, one into the heart, in a humming roar of sound. Then,
still moving, he picked out four more survivors, and took them out, one by one, with perfectly
detached calm.

I mean, Hells Bells, he only missed once, and that's because one of them freaking tripped.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "Nice work," I managed.

He grimaced. "I was lucky. They weren't able to move much after what you did to them."

He had a point there. If I hadn't spotted the one behind me when I had, or they'd sent more than one
around the back, we'd be monster chow.

"Nevertheless, it was impressive."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, and whirled on the speaker, bringing my staff up. So did Ward, gun
going to his shoulder so fast that it damn near teleported.

The speaker was a woman. She was tall and strikingly beautiful, with razor sharp features only
emphasised by her tied back raven black hair, and dressed in battle armour in shades of gunmetal
grey, though that was marred by the dark splatters all over it. She also had a black eye that seemed
to be fading before her eyes, though it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. In each hand, she
held a long sword, covered to the hilt in a dark, dripping substance.

She looked around and frowned slightly. "I seem to have missed the fight," she said, sounding a
touch disappointed.

"Yeah," I said slowly, taking it as reassuring that she didn't seem to consider us as potential
opponents, since I could feel power radiating from her twenty feet away. "And you are...?"

"Ah, my apologies," she said formally. "I am Lady Sif, of Asgard. I was dispatched to assist you.
Though, as I can see," she continued, examining the battlefield with a professional gaze. "You did
not need it."

"Yeah, past tense being the key word," I said. "I'm Harry Dresden, of the White Council, and that's
Captain Cardboard, of SHIELD."

Sif frowned, bemused, then nodded at me, "Wizard," and Ward, "Captain."

"I'm not a Captain," Ward said calmly. "Dresden just thinks he's funny." He saluted. "Agent Grant
Ward, of SHIELD, at your service."

Sif smiled slightly. "Ah. I understand."

"Can we go now?" I asked impatiently, very much aware that we had won this fight by luck. We'd
caught the veidrdraugar by surprise.

Now they knew we were down here. Hell, if I remembered what I knew of necromancy correctly,
their boss knew we were here too, and if he came along, we could kiss our asses goodbye.

The odds were very much not in our favour, even with the Goddess of War on our side - something
which I resolved to geek out about later.

Ward seemed to be of an accord, because he said, "Back to the exit. I'll cover you both."

I hesitated. I wasn't eager for another round against these things on their home turf, but I wasn't
going to leave Ward to face them alone.

"I'll be right behind you and I can pick them off better than you can. If we come across a big group,
or the necromancer, I'll need you at full strength," he said curtly. "Go."

I severely doubted that if we came across a big group we would get lucky again, and if we came
across the necromancer, it wouldn't matter if I had all the White Council backing me up.

So I started forward as quickly as I could without it looking like I was running. I didn't want to
encourage any lurkers to attack me, and if that didn't happen, then maybe we could get out of here
alive.

"You do not seek to pursue this battle to its end?" Sif asked, puzzled.

"We got lucky this time," I said curtly. "If the necromancer comes along..."

She nodded. "No amount of luck will help us," she said, nodding. "A tactical withdrawal then."

"Right," I said, and we started moving.

Then I heard a soft, whispering voice like the rustle of dead leaves on stone.

"Leaving so soon?"

And I knew none of us were leaving the catacombs alive.

OoOo

The white light flared and the undead creature shied away with a shrieking cry of mingled
frustration and terror.

Dane blinked, shading his eyes against the furious, blazing white light, and in doing so, made out a
tall, powerful figure within it, wielding a three foot long longsword with a classic cruciform hilt,
which was emitting the terrible light.
Then the figure spoke, in a deep, resonant voice that was as strong and as immovable as the very
foundations of the Earth.

"In the name of Almighty God, step away from that boy."

The creature howled with anger, and instead made to attack Dane once more. The figure took two
short, swift and sure diagonal steps forward, meeting the creature's descending sword in a perfect
parry, showing no sign of struggle against its superhuman strength, before performing a textbook
disengage that knocked it off balance and delivering a stomping kick to the monster's midsection
that sent it stumbling away.

"Yield," the man commanded sternly. "And I shall release you from this mockery of life."

This time, the creature seemed to let out a mocking laugh, and charged once more.

"So be it," the man said, with a quiet, terrible finality.

The blades clashed once, twice, three times, then it was over. The monster's head and body fell
separately, heatless, voracious white fire consuming them, shattered sword lying beside the
beheaded carcass. Jaw hanging loose, Dane looked up at his saviour, illuminated in the dimmed,
but still present white light of his sword.

He was a tall man, at least six and half feet, powerfully built. He was wearing classic mail and
plate armour, with a long, white cloak with a red cross embroidered into it. He had a strong,
appealing face and dark, salt and pepper hair, neatly cropped, and a matching beard. His nose
looked like it had been broken at least once, and where it would, in other men, have leant a roguish
cast to their features, in this one it gave a sense of strength, nobility and steadfast endurance. His
grey eyes shone like the steel of his blade, cold and focused.

And even in his current state, Dane recognised this man from the stories.

Michael Carpenter, Knight of the Cross. Michael Carpenter, wielder of Amoracchius, the Sword of
Love. Michael Carpenter, the Fist of God.

Who met his gaze and smiled kindly. "Are you okay, young man?"

Dane gulped. And tried very hard not to squee.

"I'm, um, fine, thanks," he managed, struggling to his feet and only halfway making it, his back
spasming once more.

Michael took him by the shoulders, quickly gave him a once over and said, "No, you're not." He
smiled. "There is no shame in admitting that you are hurt. You've fought well."

Dane blushed slightly at the praise, and noticed that the battle around them had entered a lull. None
of the monsters wanted to draw the attention of the Fist of God.

"Dane!" Sean yelled, the former X-Man gliding in to land beside them, performing his own once
over check of the younger man, before smacking upside the head. "By my bones, ye're a fuckin'
idiot sometimes, laddie! What were you thinking?"

"He wasn't," Michael commented calmly. "And that is no crime." He smiled slightly. "Maybe it
should be considered a misdemeanour, however."

"It bloody ought t' be," Sean muttered, then turned to the other man. "Sir Knight, ye're a sight f'r
sore eyes," he said, relief pouring from every syllable. "And ye have my thanks."

"All thanks rightly go to Him," Michael said with a gentle smile, in a tone that nevertheless
conveyed acknowledgement.

"I've had a hard time keepin' th' faith in recent - an' take tha', misbeggoten scunners tha' yez are!"
Sean began slowly, before an unfortunate pack of vampires decided to try their luck. Unfortunate
because he howled at them. And when the Banshee howls, nothing stays standing.

Or, in the case of the vampires, in one piece. Several pieces, even.

"Years," he finished.

"What point is there to faith if it is not tested?" Michael asked. "Whether it is faith in others,
ourselves, or even Him?"

Sean grunted acknowledgement, then activated a communicator. "Banshee to MI13 command," he

said, accenting shifting to a carefully enunciated standard RP. "I need a medevac for Black Knight
immediately."

"Whuh?" Dane asked, puzzled.

"Me accent's difficult enough f'r most t' understand in person. It's nae hard t' change it," Sean
explained.

Dane nodded, then regretted it as his world began to spin. He was beginning to feel woozy. The
adrenalin was running out, he was tired and the endorphins his body was producing for the pain
had decided to throw a party.

So it was in this somewhat drunken state that he asked, "Sir Michael?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have your autograph?"

OoOoO

I stared at Gravemoss.

He was tall, whip-thin and looked almost delicate in the half light of the tunnels. He could also
probably rip me in half with his bare hands. His skin was pale and thin, like paper, stretched tight
over his prominent bone structure and pointed ears. His hair was long and white, falling to his
shoulders like a frozen waterfall and his eyes were a disquieting shade of red. Not because he was
an albino. No, if you looked closely, you could see the fires of hell burning within. And if you
were someone like me, you didn't dare look in those eyes for more than a moment.

But there was something more there, something that frightened me even more than his power and
his reputation.

I recognised him.

Not him personally, but his type. You get them every now and then, the sort of children who never
grow out of burning ants alive under a magnifying glass on a sunny day, step on a cat's tail just to
hear it shriek and whip a dog just to hear it whimper and desperately subordinate itself, anything to
make the pain stop. Then, they move on to people. They work out to break them, physically,
mentally and emotionally, force them to obey their will.

And for some, it stops there. Control is enough.

But for some, it goes further. They just want to break things, not even to hear them shatter, but just
because they can. They'll test out new forms of destruction on people, toying with them, finding
new ways to break and burn, picking out their favourites. They kill because they want to know
which way is the most fun and that's all other people are there for – to amuse them, one way or
another. And no one can stop them.

And occasionally, just occasionally, turns fanatical. Suddenly, they're doing it not just for personal
pleasure, but for a higher cause. Killing becomes sacrificing, a dedication to a darker power, in
exchange or in return for strength, knowledge or favour, or worse, an intangible ideal.

I didn't know enough about Gravemoss to say what his motivation was, but if I had to guess, it was
the last and worst – an intangible ideal.

And that terrified me.

But.

It made me angry too. That anger combined with the simmering anger I'd felt since I'd taken this
case, rage at the suffering of innocents and revulsion at this perversion of the powers of life and
creation.

Suddenly, I didn't care that he was terrifyingly powerful. I didn't care that he was a godlike being
on a level with Mab. I didn't care that he had access to the Darkhold, the Big Bad Book of Evil,
behind which was Chthon, who was taking an interest in events. I didn't care that right now, there
was a pack of about seventy Asgardian horrors between me and him, any ten of which I could take,
until the other sixty ripped me apart.

I just wanted to smash.

"I hope you have something planned, wizard," Sif murmured, voice tense and twanging like a taut
bowstring. The Goddess of War was afraid. And I couldn't blame her.

"Or we're all dead," Ward added matter of factly.

"I do," I said.

"Is it a good plan?"

"No."

Ward looked thoughtful. "So we're only probably dead. That's an improvement," he said dryly.

I glared at him as Sif stifled a small laugh. Ward smiled briefly, then returned to carefully
watching the enemy.

Gravemoss cocked his head. "Probably," he said slowly and thoughtfully. Then, he disappeared.

Crap.

And then, it happened.

In retrospect, it should have been obvious. Of the three of us, a tired wizard, a mortal commando
and the Norse Goddess of War, which one of us provided the most threat?

Sif realised it before I did, and was turning as the necromancer appeared behind her, bringing her
blades around. But he was faster, reaching out, grabbing her by the arm and
freaking teleporting away, reappearing where he'd been. Sif broke away and lashed out, slicing
Gravemoss' left arm clean off. Before she could add his head to the category of limbs removed,
with a hand gesture, he bound her in dark, cold magical bindings, then looked down at the stump
and frowned, as if it was merely inconvenient. And presumably it was merely inconvenient since
the arm seemed to be growing back.

"What the hell," Ward whispered under his breath.

I rather agreed with him.

"Do what you will, monster," Sif hissed. "Kill me. Let them be, they are but mortal and cannot
harm you."

Well, that would be a blow to my self esteem if, you know, I actually had any and didn't heartily
agree with the fact that I was out of my depth.

That didn't mean I was going to give in. As I've said, I've got this thing about innocents,
particularly women and children getting hurt. It's not the world's most progressive attitude and I
cop to that. Hell, it's not practical either, and has nearly got me killed a few times. Actually, scratch
that, a lot of times.

It's not that I don't recognise that they can look after themselves, since even if I was an inveterate
member of the 'women-are-weak-and-belong-in-the-kitchen' brigade – which I'm not and never
have been – to start with, the number of times I've had the crap kicked out of me by women of all
kinds and/or seen them kick the crap out of something else would have long shaken me out of it.

A prime example of this would be Lieutenant Karrin Murphy. Looks like a particularly short and
cute cheerleader, once strangled a troll with her nightstick, took out another one with a chainsaw
and can beat me to a pulp every day of the week. Think Buffy, then take away the powers and
multiply the badassery by a factor of awesome.

But, I still have this thing, and even though Sif was one of the biggest badasses in an
entire world of badasses, and I wouldn't get in a fight with her if you paid me with a couple of
Caribbean islands and I had the Hulk backing me up, the sight of anyone, particularly a woman, at
risk of horrible death tends to set off my inner Neanderthal.

And leaving all that aside, she'd saved my freaking life. I owed her a debt.

But Neanderthals, inner or otherwise, aren't renowned for their brains and honour isn't a good
substitute for reason.

So when I unleashed a bolt of force with a snarl of, "Forzare" (gimme a break, I make up my own
spells and I go with what sounds good the time), one designed to dip, then deliver an uppercut to
Gravemoss like a speeding hummer, I wasn't exactly epitomising the 'wise' part of the wizard
stereotype.

He glanced at me, sneered, then flicked a finger. My bolt of force, visible only as a ripple in the air,
bounced and shot towards Ward, who'd opened fire as soon as I had. One shot grazed the
necromancer, and he didn't get the chance to make another one as he was hurled backwards by my
redirected force spell, slamming into the wall of bones at speeds that were bone crunching in
several painful looking ways.

"Death," Gravemoss said, in his soft, rustly, strangely lulling voice, as dark energy crackled around
his hand. "Is not a probability." Then, to my stunned horror. "He thrust it forward in a blur wrist
deep into Sif's chest, causing her to let out a gurgling cry. "It is a certainty." Then he tore her heart
out, and smiled.

The smile was probably the worst part.

Sif, glaring at him, wasn't done though. With the last of her strength, she spat a mouthful of spit
and blood right into his face.

He blinked, then wiped off the blood, and, hand crackling with dark magic, reached forward.

Then I realised with chilling certainty what he was going to do. He was going to raise Sif as one of
the veidrdraugar, something a dozen orders of magnitude worse than the ones we'd faced so far.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

OoOoO

The students in Hogwarts had quietened down, the nightmares passing. Nevertheless, on Professor
Dumbledore's order, the Heads of House checked their students just in case.

Minerva McGonagall had checked the girls and the first and second year boys, but when she
reached the third year dorm, she saw a light underneath the door.

Probably a student having awoken and deciding to read, she thought, or simply to have a light to
comfort them.

Then she paused. This was Harry's dormitory. The chances of it being anything so normal were
limited.

But even expecting the weird, when she opened the door, she let out a small gasp.

Because Harry was floating in mid air, completely limp, outlined in golden energy.

His dormmates were examining him from a distance, not going near him. The reason for this
surprising common sense was the fact that Ronald Weasley was cradling his right hand.

"Mr Weasley," she said softly. "What has happened here?"

The boys all started, then Ron said, voice taut with pain, "We had nightmares, professor, then there
was this flash of light and Harry was floating above his bed."

"Ron tried to touch him, Professor, to see if he was all right," Dean Thomas said nervously.
"And… he got burnt."

Before she could enquire any further, there was a sudden movement. Harry, glowing even brighter,
eyes discs of solid gold, had a look of concern on his face.

Then, moving faster than Minerva could register, he reached out and grabbed Ron's hand with
inexorable strength, yet surprising gentleness. One moment, his hand was by his side, the next, it
was wrapped around Ron's burnt one, the linked hands glowed golden-white for an instant… and
then Harry – or whatever he'd become – released the hand.
"It's… the burn. It's gone," Ron whispered, amazed.

"I can see, Mr Weasley. Nevertheless, I will have you checked by Madam Pomfrey," Minerva said.
"Who knows what kind of effects this magic could have?" She glanced at the boys, while keeping
one eye on Harry, who seemed to be staring off into the middle distance. He was facing
Southwards, and though she didn't know it, straight at the battle.

"What's happening, Professor?" Neville Longbottom asked, worried, worried enough to overcome
his usual diffidence. "We all had terrible dreams, then this happened and you came in. What's
going on?"

Minerva hesitated, then decided to give them a hint of the truth. "There is a battle going on just
outside London," she said quietly. "The Avengers, including Harry's father, are involved, so I
suspect what is happening is connected to that side of his heritage. I daresay you will find out
about the battle tomorrow, but Professor Dumbledore has been assured that there is no danger to
Hogwarts and the battle is ending with evil defeated. You may sleep well in your beds knowing
that you are safe."

"What about Harry, Professor?" Seamus asked, nodding at the still floating boy. "Is he going to be
safe?"

Minerva sighed. "I don't know. A lot of strange things have been happening recently, Mister
Finnigan. But so far, no harm is being done to him." She eyed Harry. "Though I have never seen
this before, he seems just to be floating."

Then, as if to disprove her, in a soft whisper underlaid by a sense of crackling, warm power, Harry
whispered, "Look," and thrust his right hand out, pointing at something only he could see.

"Look at what?" Minerva asked, before she could stop herself. She didn't get answer, as the light
around Harry winked out, his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the floor with a crack as his
head hit the carpeted stone.

As she went to his aid, she found herself inwardly reflecting that nothing with Harry Potter was
ever simple.

OoOoO

Thor hovered above the battle. Wanda's initial assault had delivered the death blow to the undead
army, and she had then moved on to systematic spirit banishing, taking advantage of the fact that
Loki had kept the intangible beings hemmed. It was all clean up now.

He himself was mostly limited to unleashing a set of three carefully confined but extremely
powerful twisters, and using them to hoover up stragglers. Loki, having caught on to what he was
doing and having been freed from the responsibility of locking down the spirits, had ignited the
three tornadoes, and that, pretty much – aside from a near miss when the Excalibur agent called
Banshee had nearly got sucked in. Thor had never heard so much inventive swearing from a
Midgardian in his entire life, which was really quite impressive.

But there were still a few pockets of combat, where ground forces engaged groups of undead that
had clumped together.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw an indistinct golden figure floating beside him. It
whispered, "Look," and pointed.

Thor followed the pointing arm and swore softly. He would later reflect that the voice was
familiar, somehow.

In the middle of one of the pockets of battle, the spiky haired figure of John Constantine was
standing over Volstagg, who had taken what looked like a vast, raking slash to the back of the legs,
forcing him to the ground, and defending him from a fairly generic looking undead demon. It was
the sort that Loki could identify by name. Thor generally identified them too, but usually ended up
giving them the same name.

Target.

As he wound up with his hammer, he heard Constantine complain,"I killed you last week!" in the
same sort of irritated tone you would use for finding that one annoying bt of plumbing that simply
won't stay fixed.

He smiled. Same old Constantine.

The demon began a reply, but didn't finish it. It's very hard to say anything when you don't have a
head.

As Thor flew down to land beside him, Constantine glanced around, raised his wand and loosed a
cutting curse that neatly beheaded three zombies, then took out a cigarette and lit it with the tip of
his wand with an air of practised ease in a motion that Thor had seen thousands of times when he'd
been James.

"I never asked," Thor said. "But how long did it take you to master that?"

"A week?" Constantine said, shrugging. "This a friend of yours?" he asked, nodding at Volstagg.

"Aye," Thor said, reaching down and rifling Volstagg's pockets.

"He's not even mostly dead," Constantine commented. "You can't go through the pockets for loose
change until he's all dead."

Thor absently gave him the finger, before finding what he was looking for. A healing stone. He
gently turned Volstagg over, examined his blood matted breeches and said, "Where does it hurt
most, old friend?"

"Upper left leg," Volstagg grunt. "The rest aren't too bad."

"Loki and Sif will be the judges of that," Thor said, ripping open the breeches at the site of the
mentioned wound and crumbling the stone over it. The wound quickly closed up.

"Not bad," Constantine commented, impressed. "What are those things?"

"Healing stones," Thor said, helping Volstagg to his feet. "My mother's invention, they are sort of
general healing spell. Not much good for serious injuries, but they serve well for gashes and the
like."

"I'll bet," Constantine muttered. "Do you know where I could get me a few of those?"

"Yes," Thor said, before letting out a low whistle as Wanda unleashed a powerful spell bolt that
vaporised a small pack of vampire. "Her powers have grown dramatically."

"Too bloody right they have," Constantine said. "She was always bloody strong, but I'm pretty sure
she didn't used to be able to fucking fly."
Thor coughed pointedly. Constantine glanced at him and rolled his eyes. "You can fly because
you're the God of Thunder and Lightning, I know," he said. "Must be like a dream come true to
wake up one day as a Norse God."

"When I first awoke after I died as James," Thor said slowly. "It felt like a nightmare."

Constantine grimaced and nodded. "I'll bet," he said. "About what happened to Lily... I'm sorry,
mate. Wish I could have done something."

"Don't we all," Thor said, with a sigh. "Wanda most of all, doubtless."

"Yeah, she was a bit of a wreck afterwards, as you can imagine," Constantine said. "Especially
when Strange put the kibosh on her adopting your kid. She loved the midget to bits."

"She did," Thor said, and smiled slightly. "I remember a certain someone cooing over Harry when
he thought no one was looking."

Constantine glared at him. "I can still put a shrinking spell on your pants, y'know," he said.

"John, I grew up with Loki for a brother," Thor said, amused. "You are going to have to better than
that."

"Don't bloody tempt me," Constantine muttered, reaching the end of his cigarette.

There was a moment of silence.

"You know, this is most interesting to listen to," Volstagg said. "You sound more like a
Midgardian when you speak to your old Midgardian friends, Thor."

"And what's it to you, dough ball?" Constantine snapped. The cigarette he'd finished was, as he'd
just discovered, his last, and he was consequently in a rather bad mood.

"Thor, is he insulting my weight?" Volstagg asked, sounding puzzled.

"Don't take it personally. He insults most people," Thor said. "Except Wanda."

"Who?"

"The woman who's bloody glowing red and teaming up with Loki," Constantine said. Thor looked
over and saw that Wanda and Loki were, indeed, now teamed up and alternating between sweeping
disoriented monsters into the other's path and incinerating those that came their way with
metronomic efficiency.

Well, incinerated wasn't strictly true, but there weren't words for some of the things that Wanda
was doing to them.

"A woman one would definitely not want to offend," Volstagg observed, sounding impressed.

"Indeed," Thor said. "John, do you have any friends or allies who manifest as golden figures?"

"Maybe," Constantine said, shrugging. "Why?"

"A figure of that description pointed out your plight to me," Thor said. "And yes, Volstagg, I do
take on more Midgardian mannerisms when I speak to those I knew as James Potter. I suspect it is
a trait derived from accessing those memories."
Volstagg nodded. "Sounds reasonable," he said, then looked around. "Is there anything to eat?" he
asked hopefully.

"Is there anything to smoke?" Constantine asked. "Conjured cigs taste like shit."

Thor surveyed the smoking battlefield, strewn with rotting, burning corpses. "There are things to
smoke and eat," he said slowly. "But I would be very worried if you smoked or ate any of them."

OoOoO

"Forzare," I growled again, this time pulling rather than pushing. This one Gravemoss didn't
deflect, having apparently decided I was beneath his notice.

Big mistake.

The force spell snatched Sif's body out of the air and sent her tumbling towards me, bouncing
along the ground before she came to a stop about ten feet behind me. Dignified? Not particularly,
but the alternative was worse.

Gravemoss looked annoyed, and glared at me somewhat coldly. Then he gave me a long look.
"You are touched by darkness," he said slowly.

"A little," I said. I've made some bad decisions in my time.

"More than a little, mortal child," Gravemoss said softly, drifting over to me. "You have the
shadow of Yahweh's banished children."

Okay. He could sense Lasciel in my head. That was an order of magnitude further up on the
disturbing meter.

He stopped about ten feet in front of me.

"Any last words?" he asked. "The living customarily like to say something fruitless about their
death just being the beginning."

Jeez. Talk about cliché.

Wait, did he just quote Obi-Wan?

Well, either way clichés and probably unintentional Star Wars quotes make great straight lines.

"A few." I levelled my staff. He smiled, amused. "I may not look like much," I said. "But I've got it
where it counts." My staff lit up. "You like death, big guy?" I said, a toothy, angry grin stretched
across my face. I was going down, but this bastard was coming down with me. It spread even wider
as I saw, for just a brief moment, a flicker of fear on the necromancer's face. This wasn't going the
way he expected. "Here's mine." I thrust my staff forward and bellowed, "BURN!"

I felt a ripping, tearing sensation deep inside, as if something was digging its claws into my heart
and pulling it out through my chest. It was pain, but it was good pain. It was the sort of pain that
was going to visit itself on someone else a thousand fold. My vision began to tunnel as the power
gathered in my body, then thundered down my outstretched right arm.

And dimly, as the life began to fade from my body, I saw a gigantic column of blinding white light
roar down the tunnel, felt the crisp dry air, heard the unique sound of immolating flesh…

Then all was nothingness.

OoOoO

Agent Ward groaned and sat up. The air was hot and dry, he noticed vaguely. Then he heard an
urgent voice.

"Agent Ward, this is Coulson, can you hear me?"

"I've got you Agent Coulson," Ward managed.

"What's going on down there? Your comms went down and a gigantic pillar of fire rose up over
Paris five minutes ago," Coulson said, worried.

"Agent Ward?"

Ward blinked, then frowned at Sif. There was a large patch of pinkish newly grown skin over her
heart, he noticed vaguely. "Lady Sif? You were…"

"Dead?" she said, then glanced to her left. "Only mostly."

Ward followed her gaze into the shadows. He caught the vague outline of a red cloak and a pair of
blank white eyes. Then the cloak swirled and the figure disappeared. "Who?" he began to ask.

"Doctor Strange, Midgard's Sorcerer Supreme," she said. "He is a healer of great skill and renown,
enough to keep me alive for long enough to regenerate my heart."

"Ward, what's Dresden's status?"

Ward paused to speak, then groaned as a wash of colours exploded across his vision. "I think I'll let
Sif explain, sir," he said, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. "I feel a bit rattled." He handed over
his ear piece. "Put it in your ear and speak. Agent Coulson, my commander, is on the other end,"
he said, before pinching his nose and beginning to breath carefully.

"Sif, this is Agent Coulson. Is Dresden down?"

"He is, Agent Coulson," Sif said quietly. "He is dead. He used his death curse to save us."

Ward looked up. "What?"

"Dresden is dead," Sif repeated, and nodded along the tunnel. "He bought us life with his death."

Ward followed her gaze, seeing the drastically enlarged tunnel. The night sky could be seen from
the far end as it opened out onto the sky.

He shook his head, wincing at the renewed sense of nausea. "He was a brave man," he said quietly.
"He deserved better."

"He did. And he will be honoured," Sif said, hard voice suggesting that anyone who did not believe
that he should be honoured would be introduced to her fist.

"He will," Coulson assured her. "Are there any more veidrdraugar present? Any sign of
Gravemoss?"

"None," Sif said. "Though he would be fast enough to raise a shield before Dresden's attack hit."

Coulson nodded. "Gravemoss is alive then," he said. "Make your way to the nearest exit. Bring
Dresden's body. We'll pick you up."
"Understood," Sif said, picking up Dresden's body carefully.

OoOoO

Coulson cut the connection, then let out a long, slow breath. "This my fault," he said to the world at
large. "I should never have brought him into this."

"He chose to get involved," May said. Coulson looked up at her. He looked sad. Tired. And for the
first time that she could remember, he looked… old.

"An uninformed choice. He didn't know what he was letting himself in for, not really."

"He could have pulled out at any time, and you know it. He didn't pull out because innocents were
in danger and he could stop it," May said flatly. "You said it yourself. He wouldn't stand by." She
folded her arms. "His sacrifice destroyed every one of those monsters in Paris. It'll have stunned
Gravemoss at the very least and it launched him northwards. And I'm pretty sure that leaves him in
striking distance of the Avengers." She met his gaze. "He gave his life to save others. And by
giving his life, he gave us the chance to end this tonight. You can grieve later. Right now… I think
he'd try and strangle you if you thought you were going to make his sacrifice a vain one."

Coulson nodded. "Get Fitzsimmons to calculate the trajectory. I want to know where he would
have landed."

"No need, Agent Coulson," Fitz said, scrambling in, followed by Simmons. "We've got the
trajectory calculations."

"Down to the last centimetre," Simmons said cheerfully, then her smile faded. "Is he… is he really
dead?" she asked hesitantly.

"He is," Coulson said, after a moment. "And he died in order to give us a chance." Then he turned
away so he wouldn't have to see her devastated expression. With a sharp series of tapping motions,
he brought up a comms link with Fury on the Helicarrier. "Director, Paris is clear and Gravemoss
is in the North Sea."

"Well done, Agent Coulson," Fury said. "Any losses?"

"Dresden, Director. He used his death curse to protect the unconscious Agent Ward and the body
of the temporarily dead Lady Sif. The resultant fireball blasted Gravemoss several hundred miles
north east," Coulson said.

Fury grimaced. "Damn shame," he said, shaking his head. "He was a good man."

"He was, Director."

"Coordinates?"

"Sending them now, Director Fury, sir," Simmons said, voice a little wobbly from grief and
nervousness at actually talking to the legendary Director Fury. Fitz merely nodded dumbly and
input the coordinates.

"Good work," Fury said. "Your job is done. Refuel at the Triskelion, then ship Dresden's body
home."

"Yes, Director," Coulson said. "Oh, and by the way, Sif should be arriving in London via Bifrost
any moment now. She was resurrected by Doctor Strange."
Fury glanced offscreen. "That wouldn't surprise me. And indeed she has. It's pretty much just clean
up here, unless that bastard Gravemoss manages to stir up more trouble. Safe travels, Agent
Coulson." He cut the link.

OoOoO

"Thor!"

Thor turned. "Steve?" he said, concerned, then relaxed. The other man was scorched, bloodied and
generally the worse for wear, but not gravely injured.

"I've got word from Fury," Steve said. "He wants you and anyone else who can keep up to get out
to sea. SHIELD's team in Paris ended up being forced to engage the necromancer."

"The necromancer was there?" Thor asked, frowning, suddenly worried for his friend. "I sent Sif to
assist them, but I didn't know that he was present."

"She's fine," Steve said. "Though I don't propose to tell Loki exactly what nearly happened to her
until we can put him somewhere safe to react to it. Like the middle of the Sahara Desert. Or the
Moon."

"What happened?" Thor asked, hefting Mjolnir.

"The necromancer ripped her heart out and was about to turn her into one of those things," Steve
said grimly. "The wizard that SHIELD contracted to track the veidrdraugar on the ground, some
guy called Dresden, managed to get her body out of the way."

"Body?" Thor asked dangerously as thunder rumbled ominously overhead. "I thought you said she
was fine," he said in careful tones that demanded an explanation before the owner of said tones
got angry.

"She is. Apparently Doctor Strange managed to save her," Steve said.

Thor nodded, subsiding somewhat. "Where is Gravemoss?" he asked softly. "For I would much
desire to speak with him."

Steve handed Thor an ear piece. "SHIELD will guide you in. Tony's already on the way."

"And I will join you."

Both turned to see Wanda join them. "I want this over tonight," she said in clipped tones. "This is
the monster responsible for having Harry kidnapped?" she asked.

Both nodded.

"Then he will be lucky if he dies quickly," she said.

"Indeed he will," Thor said grimly. "Steve, if you can find my brother, ask him to join us, please."

"I'll do that," Steve said, nodding. "Happy hunting."

Thor nodded, before whirling his hammer. "Can you keep up?" he asked.

"Watch me," Wanda said, a brief hint of a smile poking through.

"A pleasant activity I'm sure," Thor said, smirking. "But I have a girlfriend." Then he took off,
shooting upwards. Wanda rolled her eyes, then followed him a moment later, quickly drawing level
with him, even after he broke the sound barrier.

You thought you'd had the last word, didn't you? She sent, dryly amused.

I did, Thor replied cheerfully. You know, this is just like old times.

Wanda sobered. Yes, she replied grimly. Good people dying to stop bad ones. Oh yes, this
feels very familiar.

Thor's smile faded and his face settled into a grim cast. Indeed. This Wizard, Dresden, shall be
avenged. He glanced at Wanda. If you dislike combat, if you left the Wizarding World, why join us
now?

Because there are some things I can't let pass, Wanda said. And 'Peter Wisdom' is a blackmailing
manipulative bastard who just happens to have a point every now and then.

Thor blinked at this puzzling assertion, but nodded.

But most of all, Wanda said, and Thor could feel her anger. This bastard tried to get Harry, my
godson, hurt, even killed. I'd happily kill him just for that.

In that, my friend, we are of one mind, Thor said, angling his flight north-east. And storm clouds
followed his passage.

Quickly, they bore down on a thin, soaked bone white figure in a pale robe, who was busy fending
off Tony's repulsor blasts.

This, Thor realised with mounting rage, was the creature that had ordered his son's death,
attempted to murder and reanimate one of his oldest friends as an abomination and slaughtered
countless innocents. He. Would. Burn.

"GRAVEMOSS!" he roared, summoning the biggest lightning bolt he could manage. "I WOULD
HAVE WORDS WITH THEE!"

Tony, knowing that the phrase, 'I would have words with thee' meant 'I am going to smash you into
the bedrock', got out of the way as the gigantic bolt of fork lightning, at least fifty miles wide and
four hundred long, struck Mjolnir, which crackled with leashed power. And as soon as it struck,
Thor whirled it once, twice, three times, then hurled it as hard as he could at the transfixed and
rather stunned Gravemoss, who barely managed to raise a shield.

Mjolnir tore straight through it at an appreciable fraction of light speed, smashing the necromancer
into the sea, which briefly lit up a crackling white as the lightning discharged, doubtless frying
Gravemoss.

Thor, anger still pumping through his veins, summoned Mjolnir once more, just itching to make
the necromancer pay.

Then Wanda swore. "The bastard ran," she growled, at Thor's questioning look. "Teleported away.
He could be anywhere now."

And Thor howled with thwarted rage.

OoOoO
I don't remember much of what happened next. My old mentor, Ebenezar McCoy, suggested that
mortal men weren't meant to know what the next life was like, so I had forgotten or been made to
forget to preserve my sanity. Me, I was half expecting Valkyries, having fallen in battle alongside
the Goddess of War, but that's life. Or afterlife. Whatever.

I only remember two things. One, I was at peace.

And two, a soft, yet mind numbingly powerful whisper.

Wake up, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Wake up. Wake up because your time is not yet
done.

Then light exploded behind my eyes and I woke up, gasping and blinking. I looked around. I was
on the main table in the lab on Coulson's plane. And I was alive.

"I'm… I'm alive," I said, stunned. "How is this possible?"

"Someone interceded, of course," Sif said calmly. "Someone powerfully magical."

"Or they had powerful tech," Fitz said. "SHIELD has some pretty impressive machines to call on
and records of encountering technology capable of doing something similar." He shrugged. "It's not
always magic is all I'm saying."

He had a point there, but that wasn't it. "No," I said, levering myself up carefully. "They used
magic. I felt it." I shook my head. "Do you know who resurrected me?" I said. "Because I would
kind of like to know."

"It was Doctor Strange," Coulson said. I missed what he said next because a short dark haired blur
hit me at somewhere just south of light speed. It was Gemma.

"Um… Gemma?"

I heard a muffled noise from somewhere in the region of my torso and the squeezing got tighter. I
heard some stifled laughter, and glowered at the source – Sif, who remained resolutely
unintimidated. Fitz looked awkward, Skye looked amused, Ward was giving me a flat look, May
had raised an eyebrow and Coulson looked patient.

"Gemma," I said, trying again. "I just got back from the dead. So I would like to be able to breathe
some time soon, because I hear that it's kind of vital."

Gemma let go of me and glared. "What made you think that sacrificing your own life was a good
idea?"

"He didn't have any other option, Simmons," Coulson said, intervening. "It was the only play he
could make that Gravemoss wouldn't expect."

Skye turned, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Gravemoss is as far as I can grasp, a complete sociopath, with no empathy for others," Coulson
explained, as Mouse shuffled over to me and cadged a few scratches while he sniffed me over,
reassuring himself that I was still alive. "The idea of making the suicide play, of someone sacricing
their life for others, especially others that aren't even present… it's completely alien to him."

I caught the present tense. "Is? Hells bells, look at what my death curse did!" I yelled, gesturing at
the images of the molten walls of the tunnel and the very large hole at the far end, leading up to the
city. "That shot should have vaporised him!"

"If it's any consolation, it really pissed him off," Ward said. This time, there was a note of genuine
respect in his voice.

"As far as we can tell, he managed to get a shield up," Fitz piped up. "And we calculated his
trajectory."

"Where did he land?"

Fitz examined one of his gizmos. "Somewhere in the North Sea," he said. "You blasted him
a long way," he added helpfully, sounding a little impressed.

"I'd have thought I'd have launched him into orbit," I said weakly.

"Well, judging by my calculations, if you'd blasted him straight upwards, he would have at least hit
the stratosphere," Fitz said cheerfully. "The blast force was approximately equivalent to a railgun."

"The fire ball was pretty impressive too," Gemma added a little damply. "It burned at about 2000
degrees Celsius."

"And was less a fireball, more a stream of fire which shot about a thousand feet into the air," May
added dryly.

I stared at my cracked and ruined staff, then at the pictures of the long tunnel. It had been widened
by a factored of three as the fire I had summoned had bored a gigantic hole in the Paris bedrock,
evaporating all the bone. "I hope I don't have to pay for that," I said weakly.

"SHIELD will cover the clean up," Coulson said. "And the cover up. The public is ready for the
Avengers. Not for necromancy and the undead."

"How are you going to explain this?"

"Gas explosion."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"We'll doctor a few photos, alter a few films, make the pillar of fire about a third its actual size,"
Coulson said casually. "Human nature will do the rest."

"What about the London zombie apocalypse?" I asked,

"Robots, bio-borgs. Something supernatural, maybe, but like I said, the undead are a step too far
for now," Coulson said. He shrugged. "Honestly, it could be passed off as a biological terrorist
attack. Terrorists are popular at the moment."

I nodded my reluctant agreement. When newbies stumble into the supernatural world, they're
amazed at how it all gets hidden away, a world full of nations, nightmares, angels and demons. Me,
I'm just amazed that anyone notices. The only reason that New York wasn't rationalised away
because it was simply too big. It is very hard to ignore a couple of thousand tons or so of rotting
alien space whale when it's lying in Grand Central station.

I shook my head. "Right," I said. "But… Doctor Strange? The Sorcerer Supreme?"

Coulson nodded. I let out a low whistle. Strange, as I've mentioned, has something of a reputation.
"I swear that what he did was impossible," I argued. "Even for him."

"Strange has never really cared about what's possible," Coulson observed.

"Right," I said, stepping forward. "I'll ask Bob."

Then I paused. "Gemma… you can let go of me now."

OoOoO

Bob, as it turned out, wasn't much more helpful.

"Someone brought me back after I used my death curse," I said flatly. "That's impossible, right?"

"Not impossible," Bob said slowly. "If someone caught you quickly, grabbed your soul and had
enough power to restore your lifeforce, then they could do it."

"And how many people are there capable of doing that?"

"Mother Summer, Mother Winter, a few of the more powerful gods, a Phoenix host and maybe
an incredibly powerful wizard," Bob said. "Like, the original Merlin powerful."

"Coulson said it was Doctor Strange. Could he do it?"

Bob let out a long, low whistle, an impressive feat for a guy with no lips. "Put it this way, Harry, I
wouldn't bet against him. Strange doesn't really care much about what's impossible."

"That's what Coulson said," I said dourly, and supremely unhelpful it was too. Even magic has
rules.

"He was right," Bob said. "Hey, just be glad that you're alive to cash your paycheck." He looked at
me. "But you're not going to do that. No, you're not going to leave well enough alone, even when
you could be making time with the hot British scientist, because that would be far too normal."

"It's almost like you know me, Bob," I said with grim cheer.

For some reason, the Sorcerer Supreme wanted me alive. For some reason, he thought I still had
work to do in the world. For some reason, he'd given me a second chance.

This, Gravemoss, HYDRA, it was too big for me, and I wasn't too proud to admit it. But. I could
stop the veidrdraugar. Given the right time, the right preparation, the right things on the line… I
can and will stop almost anything.

I picked up Bob. "Come on Bob. We're going home. I've got a city to protect."

OoOoO

Thor let his gaze rove around the battle marked M4 and the smoking piles of formerly undead
bodies, which were now merely very dead. They were being vanished by Ministry officials.

He had landed back at the battle field a few minutes ago, his rage having mostly worn off. He was
very good at immediate rage, but not so good at maintaining it long term. It flared up swiftly and
with horrendous violence when caused to do so, but it would die down equally swiftly, and,
currently, Thor was dwelling on the positives.

All his friends were alive and well, the Avengers being uninjured, except for a broken wrist on
Clint's part, which he treated more as an annoyance than as a real injury, and the fact that Bruce
was really very sleepy. Volstagg had gone back to Asgard with the recently arrived Sif, who
reported that the veidrdraugar in Paris were all destroyed.

The day was won, the enemy had been destroyed or forced to flee.

Oh, and Wanda had departed with a promise to visit, though she had declined to meet Harry face to
face until their correspondence had developed or he desired it.

All was, for now, well.

Loki came and sat down beside him, and for a moment, both were silent. Then, Thor could resist it
no more.

"Quiet, you said. Subtle, you said. Cloak and dagger, you said," he said.

"Oh shut up," Loki snapped.

Thor chuckled heartily, and grinned as silence fell once more.

"It didn't go according to plan," Loki muttered eventually, as if this was a failing on the part of the
universe which personally offended him.

"Brother, it never goes according to plan."

OoOoO

Gravemoss staggered into his lair, and began wildly gathering his possessions. He must find
somewhere, somewhere else, somewhere that he wouldn't be found. He wasn't strong enough yet,
not to face Thor, for while Thor could be handled, where Thor went, Loki was rarely far behind.
Either alone, yes. Both together, with their bevy of mortal allies?

Well, if those allies were anything like the one who had proved so mad as to hurl all his lifeforce at
Gravemoss in a desperate, yet rather impressive attack, and he suspected that they were rather
stronger – the Scarlet Witch certainly was - then there would be problems.

He glanced down at his right hand. In it was the Darkhold. He went to open it. It would provide
him with the power he needed, all he needed do was surrender himself to it…

He shook himself. No. He would not round off such an evening by becoming the slave of the Elder
who had created that tome.

He looked around slowly. No, he would not. A new home was required. And fast. Then he smiled.

"Von Strucker," he murmured. "And Malfoy."

They wouldn't begrudge him the space.

They weren't that stupid.

OoOoO

A long way away from the sleeping Hogwarts castle, the flying SHIELD plane, the cheerful
battlefield and the grim catacombs, a small, non-descript looking man in SHIELD uniform walked
along the metal corridors of the SHIELD Helicarrier.
He looked up and around. No one observing. No cameras either.

He nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, nondescript looking device, and
planted it out of sight.

"Hail HYDRA," he whispered, as it came to life.

 Introspection

As soon as Harry had got on the Hogwarts Express, he had known that something was up. People
stared at him openly, when they thought he weren't looking, but when he returned their gazes, they
tended to look away, embarrassed. He was pretty sure that he saw some students of more obviously
wizarding background all but bow to him and heard them murmur, 'milord' in respectful
undertones.

When, distinctly unnerved, he broached this subject in the compartment they'd selected, Ron had
snorted. "Isn't it bloody obvious?" he said. "Mate, you're the son of Thor."

"That doesn't mean that people should be…" Hermione began, then slowed as Ron gave her a look
that suggested she was being extremely dense. "Oh," she said quietly. "Of course."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly. "This may be hard for you to hear… but your father was
worshipped, right?"

Harry nodded slowly. He'd known this in the abstract, and in any case, aside from the odd neo-
pagan sect, which his father seemed mostly to be embarrassed by, it was in the distant past.

"Well, in the Wizarding World, some people still worship him. Loki and Odin, too, and the rest of
your pantheon."

Your pantheon.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. From the Hulk.

Not, the still functioning part of his brain pointed out, that the Hulk would ever hit him. Where
Harry was concerned, he was the Big Green Cuddle Machine.

Harry brushed that aside, and gulped as he touched the edge of a fundamental truth that he'd been
skirting around, backpedalling away from and generally pushing to one side for most of the last
two months.

He. Wasn't. Human.

Not anymore.

Really, he thought distantly, it shouldn't be so much of a shock. His father, his uncle, Sif, even
Diana, had pointed it out to him.

But it did. Because just like that, there was an enormous gap between himself and his two friends.

His father had lived for nearly a millennium and a half, and still looked like a fresh faced young
man just entering the prime of his life. His uncle, likewise. His grandfather did, admittedly, look
like a particularly vigorous old man, maybe in his seventies.

But that was because he was well over five thousand years old.

As a matter of curiosity, Harry had inquired of his father how old the oldest Asgardian ever had
been.
Thor had given this some thought.

"It is difficult," he said. "To say for certain. Some men and women have been known to live to
seven and a half thousand years old, but they were severely aged on their death beds, and, frankly,
long into their dotage." He hesitated.

"Dad?"

"Well, it is little more than rumour," Thor said slowly. "But some say that my great-grandfather,
Buri, your great-great grandfather, is still alive. History tells us that he disappeared many millennia
ago, abdicating the throne to his eldest son, Bor, choosing to spend the remainder of his life
travelling the Nine Realms. Others have suggested that Bor did away with him."

Harry's eyes widened, and Thor gave him a grim look. "My father speaks little of his own father,
but what little I have gleaned from him, mother and history says that King Bor was a very hard
man. A ruthless one. Even a cruel one. So I would not rule the possibility out." He shook his head.
"But I think it severely unlikely. If nothing else, Buri was a Skyfather, and a renowned Master of
Sorcery, something which fell out of favour in Bor's time, making him a very hard foe to survive,
let alone defeat and slay."

"So you think he's still alive?"

"I think that he chose to spend the last years of his life in peace and quiet," Thor said. "But if that
were true, and he was still alive, he would be at least eleven thousand years old."

Harry's eyes bugged out, and Thor chuckled. "It is but rumour, Harry."

"Still," Harry said slowly, struggling to wrap his mind around the concept of such age.

"We are a long lived race," Thor said matter of factly. "And our dynasty is an ancient one. Our
ancestors have been kings and queens for over a thousand centuries, a royal line older than the
existence of mankind as we know it."

Harry stared at him, astonished, jaw hanging loose.

"We are an ancient people, Harry," Thor said gently. "Older than mankind, by a very long way."
He smiled slightly. "But it is not something you need, or even should, dwell upon. Older does not
mean wiser, after all. For instance, I am older than your uncle, and I think that it is fairly obvious
which of us is the wiser."

"Yes," Loki said, drifting past. "You. Wisdom is not the same as intelligence, brother, and while
you may lack sense on certain occasions… wisdom is not the same as sense, either. Though
Valhalla knows you could do with some more of that," he added, a touch exasperated.

Thor sighed, said, "Yes, brother," then comically rolled his eyes at Harry, who stifled laughter,
sharing a grin with his father.

That particular conversation had ended happily.

Harry wasn't so sure about this one.

"You know, I think we've still got an old shrine dedicated to Frigga," Ron said thoughtfully. "From
dad's side of the family. They used to pray to her for a girl." He shook his head. "It's bloody weird
to think of her as being your gran, mate."
"From my point of view, it's bloody weird to think of her as a goddess," Harry said quietly. "I don't
know her very well yet, but… she's acted just like I'd, well, expect my gran to act, I suppose."

"Harry," Hermione said gently. "This doesn't change who you are."

"Yes. It does," Harry said. He looked Hermione in the eye. "Hermione, when I was in Asgard…
my grandfather said that one day, all of Asgard would be mine." He shook his head slowly. "The
Realm Eternal, a place no one believed was real until two years ago, a world of gods… and it'll
be mine." He shivered, hugging his knees against his chest.

There was silence.

"It's a big universe," Harry said eventually. "There are empires the size of galaxies out there,
billions upon billions of species. There are monsters that make Voldemort like a baby throwing a
tantrum."

This got him a pair of sceptical looks, which he returned with a flat one. "Guys, I heard about how
an entire planet was murdered. Voldemort is a very long way down the scale by comparison."

"… Bloody hell," Ron said, voice low. "Is the person that still did it…?"

"Out there? Yes," Harry said flatly. "Uncle Loki ran across him." He was quiet for a moment. "He
doesn't talk about it."

There was a sober silence.

Then Hermione spoke. "What I meant, Harry, was while this changes what you are, it doesn't
change who you are," she said carefully. "You're still you."

"And you're still our mate, mate," Ron said casually.

Harry smiled, slightly wanly. "Thanks," he said quietly.

After that, his first couple of days or so at Hogwarts had been suspiciously… normal. No one
brought up his newfound status as a demigod any more than before, not even Colin Creevy –
though Harry was pretty sure that the somewhat reverent and thoroughly disturbing expression that
had taken up semi-permanent residence on Colin's face was new.

Then came the news of the battle.

Students pored over copies of the Daily Prophet in fives and sixes, each jealously jockeying for
viewing space, complaining that someone else was hogging all the space/reading too fast/reading
too slowly.

Harry bypassed this completely by opening up his Stark Phone – though only after he made sure
that Snape's attention was distracted – and Ron and Hermione crowded around him.

The details on major news sites were sparse and, Harry suspected, likely filtered, but the general
gist of it was that there had been a ferocious battle on the motorway just outside Windsor, where all
the Avengers had been present, along with a few other unnamed superhumans operating under the
command of MI13, Britain's answer to SHIELD. Harry felt that they rather sounded like
Torchwood, and the Royal Tank Regiment.

At the same time, several squadrons of fighter jets, War Machine and a mysterious silver 'angel'
had been spotted north of Luton, engaging an unknown aerial enemy, the last of which was
defeated by War Machine over Luton Airport.

Coincidentally, at roughly the same time, a gigantic pillar of white hot flame erupted from beneath
Paris, flash frying everything in its way – which, fortunately, did not include people, the area
having been deserted in recent months - doing millions of pounds of damage to roads, drains,
electrical supplies and just about anything else that involved pipes or wires.

The first two were ascribed to 'a series of uncoordinated terrorist groups testing out artificial
constructs similar to those used by HYDRA in World War II', though, defying all logic, the last
had been ascribed to a build-up of gas in the catacombs underneath Paris that ignited.

"We won't find anything on the news," Hermione said. "Not yet."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Because SHIELD will have covered it all up," Hermione said bluntly.

Ron's eyebrows rose. They had gone through fifteen separate news sites, including the BBC, CNN
and Al Jazeera. "Bloody hell," he said quietly. "Are they that powerful?"

"Probably," Harry said.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, and Harry half shrugged, half nodded, deferring to her.

"That's… that's a little scary," Ron said. "I mean, we know it was magic."

"We know that the first two were magic," Hermione corrected.

Ron had by this time acquired a Daily Prophet by promising Seamus that he could copy his
Transfiguration homework. Since it was commonly known that Ron and Harry either copied from
Hermione or had their work edited by her, this was considered to be a good piece of business.

"Oh come on," he said. "Dresden was in the city. It has to be him."

"Who's Dresden?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"A fake wizard," Hermione said dismissively, then stopped as she saw Ron's disbelieving look.
"What?"

"Why in the bloody hell do you think that he's a fake?" he asked.

"Well, he advertises, and the Statute of Secrecy," Hermione began.

Ron snorted. "He's White Council. It doesn't apply to them."

"White Council?" Harry asked, getting confused.

"It's like the Ministry for the most powerful wandless witches and wizards in the world," Ron said
casually.

"So, like a government?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, but they're bloody scary," Ron said with a certain dark relish. "Their version of the Aurors
–"

Harry's memory flipped a card, going off Sirius' mentions of his past career. "Dark wizard
hunters?"

"Right," Ron said, nodding. "Well, their Aurors are called Wardens, or Grey Cloaks, because they
wear grey cloaks, and they're really powerful."

Harry repressed a sarcastic comment and nodded. "So, wandless wizards with cloak wearing
police."

It was Ron's turn to look puzzled. "Police?"

"Muggle Aurors," Hermione said simply, and Ron's expression cleared, then resumed its previous
state of delighted horror.

"Yeah, right. But if cross the Aurors, they chuck you in Azkaban. If you cross the Wardens…
you're never seen again."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, getting the feeling that he already knew.

"I mean that if they come across a Dark Wizard, they call them Warlocks for some reason, they
don't mess about," Ron said darkly. "They just chop off their head, and good riddance. We should
have done that with the Death Eaters."

"Okay," Harry said, before Hermione could say something disapproving about Ron's blood
thirstiness – Harry was pretty sure he'd end up agreeing with Ron. If Voldemort had been caught
early… well, he'd still have a mother. "Wandless wizards with scary homicidal powerful
policemen, got it. Now who's Dresden?"

"Well… put it this way. You'd be scared of the Wardens, right?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly, and in all honesty, he probably would be.

"Well, they are scared of him," Ron said, and sat back, letting this sink in.

Harry munched on a piece of toast, wondering why this would be and preparing to ask Ron once
he'd finished his mouthful, then inwardly sighed as Hermione said, "That's ridiculous, Ron. If, I
repeat, if, Dresden was a genuine wizard and not some kind of conman, I doubt the White Council
– and yes, I have heard of them – and the Wardens – them too - would be scared of him. All seven
members of the Senior Council are all as powerful as Dumbledore, if not stronger. The only person
stronger than them is the Sorcerer Supreme. And maybe the Scarlet Witch."

"Oh yeah? Did you know about the White Council and the Vampire Courts being at war?" Ron
asked, folding his arms, temper rising. "'Course you didn't. Because it hasn't been in a book for
fifty years."

Harry sighed as the argument escalated, then opened the note function on his Stark Phone, noting
down the names of all these things that were either going straight over his head or needing a lot of
background. At the same time, he kept half an eye open. Loki hadn't taught them anything
dangerous yet, but Harry wouldn't put it past Hermione to spontaneously develop the ability to
throw fireballs. Or, he thought idly as she went redder and redder, maybe she would start breathing
it instead.

Eventually, he finished note taking – Hermione and Ron's argument had descended into their usual
and easily comprehensible slanging match – put the phone away, finished his breakfast and
snagged the Daily Prophet. He glanced up at Ron and Hermione, and considered throwing a glass
of water over each of them, then decided that all that would achieve was getting them both mad at
him.

So he tuned them out and examined the Prophet. It was rather more enlightening, presumably
because SHIELD hadn't got to it and there was no reason to conceal the details from the Wizarding
World, though Harry would probably have done just as well by searching the web, which
Hermione would have suggested if she hadn't been distracted. If nothing else, at least he'd have had
multiple sources and, to be frank, it would have been funnier.

As it was, the Prophet's reporting was accurate enough, though, naturally, it focused entirely on the
Wizarding World and only really mentioned the Avengers in passing. The front page read in big
bold letters, WHERE WAS THE MINISTRY?

Details were thin on the ground, though Harry was interested to note that the Royal Tank Regiment
had been transported to the battle by the Ministry's Department of Transport and that Obliviators,
who, from the context, he assumed that they were the same memory modifying wizards who had
dealt with Marge. He shook his head slowly. It hadn't even been six months ago, but it already felt
like a lifetime had passed. So much had changed, frankly, for the better.

"Oh, Hagrid's going to be upset," he said aloud, upon reading of the probable extinction of the
Hebridean Black as a species. Then he sighed as he realised he wasn't being listened to, and carried
on reading.

The tone, he thought, was grudgingly grateful towards the Avengers and the non-magical military,
but emphasised the failure of the Ministry. This was a magical problem, it said, so it should have
been handled by wizards, and it should be in the future.

The main piece of information he took away from it, however, was that the gigantic army – and it
truly was gigantic, pictures on the internet showing that the remains stretched for well over a mile
along the motorway, and the dragons were all undead, and raised in one night, by one
necromancer. Harry's mind had a very hard time grasping the concept of that much power.

He got out his phone again and typed, 'ask dad/uncle Loki about necromancer'.

Afterwards, he went back to the paper. There wasn't much else, he thought.

Page 2 – Massive Fireball sighted in Paris. Dresden and SHIELD involved?

That was just vague speculation, as well as quiet terror about the power required to fuel such a
blast, which neither Dresden nor SHIELD was believed to possess. But since all the other
candidates, according to the Prophet, were in Hogwarts (Dumbledore), in Edinburgh (that 'Senior
Council' Hermione had mentioned), on the battlefield (Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch – his
godmother), leaving only the famously reclusive Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Strange, as a
possibility. Harry was personally more minded to believe that they'd underestimated SHIELD.

Page 3 – Who is behind all this?

Again, vague speculation, with no real answers – apparently the only candidate was one of
Grindelwald's wandless lieutenants, a Dark Lord in his own right, called Kemmler, who was
apparently deader than dead – it had taken six goes for it to take - and had been for over forty five
years.

Page 4 – Is SHIELD dismantling the Statute of Secrecy?

Vague speculation once more – Harry was beginning to sense a pattern – mostly fuelled by
indignation that SHIELD had prevented the Obliviators from removing memories, and had
apparently done so at gunpoint, causing a deadlock, until Director Fury had personally come over
and told them to '**** off', whereupon they had. Harry could guess what the asterisks stood for.

Page 5 – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy still missing after battle at Malfoy Manor.

This one was more concrete, with a detailed report of the wreckage at Malfoy Manor, with bullet
holes being found in the walls of the Manor and the ruins of a SHIELD marked Quinjet found in
the house itself, which had been torn apart, along with several dead house elves. The head house
elf, one called Drippy, a long-time family retainer, was apparently missing.

Harry sighed and made a mental note to keep an eye out for Draco. He'd been friendly enough
recently, but this could, not entirely unreasonably because they were his parents after all, make him
revert. That said, Harry felt that if anything had happened to Lucius Malfoy, he'd had it coming.

The article also connected SHIELD to the disappearances of numerous 'prominent citizens',
something Harry was already learning was code for 'rich purebloods' in recent months, and shrilly
speculated that they were going to secretly take over.

Page 6 – Has the Winter Soldier Returned?

This one was more interesting, if genuinely chilling. It spoke of an unstoppable assassin, a
merciless creature in the shape of a man, a faceless wraith clad all in black that had stalked the
Earth until 1990, then disappeared, never to be seen again.

And now, deaths that apparently carried the hallmarks of his assassinations were appearing again.
He was back.

The article went into some detail about how no one had ever beaten him, accounts of how he'd cut
down two squads of Europe's best aurors in Krakow in 1973, witnesses saying that not one of them
escaped alive. The Soldier, apparently, hadn't taken a scratch.

He favoured Muggle weaponry, though, the author mentioned, this did not mean that he was a
muggle. That was patently impossible. Instead, it speculated that, like someone called 'the
Hellhound', he was some kind of half demon, without magic but with enhanced physical abilities
that compensated.

It concluded with a quiet hysteria that seemed far more unnerving to Harry than the hysteria
surrounding Sirius' escape, when he'd been believed to be Voldemort's right hand man, suggesting
that this man – or whatever he was – was well into the Voldemort category of evil. Indeed, in some
ways, he might be worse. You generally knew when Voldemort was after you. The Soldier, on the
other hand… he could kill you before you even knew to be afraid.

Page 7 – Where is the Sorcerer Supreme?

This article carried a tone of mingled panic and petulance, essentially asking where the Sorcerer
Supreme – Harry vaguely remembered a picture of a man in a red cloak with white templed black
hair, blue eyes, a short beard and a slight smile on his face – was. Apparently he was famously
reclusive, having last been seen in the aftermath of the fall of Voldemort, having aided the Order of
the Phoenix against the Death Eaters, and then before that, during World War II, aiding the Allies
against Grindelwald, flattening half of Berlin in a cataclysmic duel with the Dark Lord, which
ended in a draw, before Dumbledore had, soon after, duelled Grindelwald and beaten him.

Page 8 – Muggle Vigilante Peter Wisdom appointed Director of MI13.

This was, essentially, more of the same as Page 5, with further speculation that this Peter Wisdom,
vigilante implicated in the deaths and disappearances of a number of minor criminals and dark
creatures and protégé of Director Fury – Harry made a note – was working with Fury to remove
resistance to a SHIELD coup in the British Wizarding World as had, apparently, happened in
America.

Harry didn't know anything about the American Wizarding World, and realised that this was quite
simply because he'd never bothered to ask.

The article had also been full of indignance about the concept of muggles sticking their noses
where they didn't belong, with an undertone of 'the business of their betters', that Harry found rather
annoying.

"Well," he said. "The Prophet wasn't very helpful."

"Really?" Hermione asked, disappointed. She and Ron had stopped arguing, but they weren't
talking to one another either.

"Yeah," Harry said, and, on the way to lessons, relayed what he'd learned.

"You're right," Hermione said, frowning. "That is pretty thin." She looked worried. "But if they're
right and the Winter Soldier is back… well, heaven help us all."

"Who is he?" Harry asked, then paused. "What is he?"

"A nightmare," Hermione said darkly, as the lesson began. "Now sh!"

Harry sighed and acquiesced.

OoOoO

The following two days passed. The Prophet was filled with the same speculation, but it no longer
had the freshness of the original material and everyone had got bored with it. Everything was
normal. Or at least, as normal as Hogwarts ever could be with the Twins, apprenticed to Loki and
in cahoots with Tony Stark, itching to cause chaos.

"Behold," Probably Fred said, in the tones of a showman.

"Our latest –"

"Creation –"

"And innovation –"

"That will completely –"

"Revolutionise wizarding transport –"

"As we know it."

The trio stared at the object.

Harry broke the silence.

"It's a sofa," he said, in complete disbelief.

"But not just any sofa," Almost Certainly George replied, raising an admonitory finger. "This sofa
is enchanted."

"However did I guess," Harry said flatly, thinking that this sofa was also not just any sofa because
the Hufflepuffs had recently been complaining that one of the sofas in their common room had
gone missing. "Does it do cartwheels?"

The twins shared a thoughtful look.

"No," Maybe Fred said slowly. "But maybe we could add that to later versions."

"How does it work?" Hermione puzzled.

"Hover charms –"

"For hovering."

Harry had to go to quite some effort to stop himself from saying something sarcastic. As usual, he
laid the blame (in this case, quite rightly) at Tony Stark's door.

"And repulsors –"

"For propulsion."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That's… that's actually a pretty good idea," she said. Then she frowned.
"Wait… when did you two learn how to enchant things?"

"My dear Hermione –"

"We watched –"

"Our father –"

"At work."

"And practiced."

"On what?" Harry asked, suspiciously.

"Well…" On Balance, Most Likely George said awkwardly. "Ron, you know your second
puffskein?"

"The one I got after you used Henry for bludger practice?" Ron said, tone reproachful, folding his
arms. "Yeah, I do. Graham. One day, the year before I came to Hogwarts, he disappeared." He
caught Harry and Hermione staring. "What?"

"Graham?" they asked in unified disbelief.

"It's a good name for a puffskein," Ron said defensively.

"What is a puffskein?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"They're small, round, fluffy scavengers with yellow fur," Hermione said.

"Famous for eating bogeys," Quite Possibly Fred put in helpfully.

"Though they will eat anything from leftovers to spiders," Hermione continued, a touch sharply,
then rounded on the Twins, hands on her hips. "And really, Fred, George, how could you use one
for bludger practice? Your brother's pet, to boot?"

"Well –"

"To be honest –"

"Dad had got a bunch of muggle tennis balls."

"Ah," Harry said, seeing where this was going.

"Right," Maybe George said, nodding at him. "We'd never even seen one, and the late and much
lamented Henry was asleep, so…"

"You see, we thought that all tennis balls made that sort of squelching squeaking noise when you
hit them."

"So we didn't notice until he'd sort of… splattered."

"All over the walls."

Harry gulped, and choked out, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, mate," Ron said, subdued, completely unaware that Harry was trying desperately not to
laugh and feeling very guilty about it. Hermione, being more perceptive, wasn't, and was shooting
Harry an evil glare. Then Ron gave the twins a sharp look. "What happened to Graham?"

"Ah. Graham," Not Implausibly Fred said slowly. "Graham… well, he might still be alive."

"Might?" Ron asked, for one disturbing moment sounding very like his mother in sabretooth tiger
mode.

"Well," Likely George said. "We tested a hover charm on him."

"Both of us."

"At once."

"And we sort of…"

"Overpowered it."

"So Graham went shooting upwards –"

"And didn't come back down."

"We think he's living in the upper atmosphere now."

Ron stared at them. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, and shook his head mutely,
expression turning from disbelieving to miserable.

"Ron?" Harry asked gently.

"I've got bloody horrible luck with pets," Ron said. "These two bloody idiots killed my puffskeins
–"

"Well, Ron, both times –" Plausibly George began, before Harry shot him a very cold glare, being
upset by his friend's genuine distress
"Be quiet," he said, voice soft and dangerous and… strange. It was like there was a second voice
speaking, a fraction of a second behind Harry's own. And just for a moment, his eyes flared gold.

The Twins' mouths shut like traps.

"Good," Harry said, voice still carrying that dangerous harmonic. "Now, Ron. You were saying."

Ron shot him a grateful, if slightly unnerved look, and said, "They killed my puffskeins and my
rat… my rat was a bloody traitor!"

"Ron," Hermione said gently. "None of us had any idea what Scabbers was. No one but Professor
Lupin, Sirius Black and Thor knew that Pettigrew was an animagus."

Harry considered mentioning that Loki, Frigga and Odin, all of whom had kept an eye on his father
during his days on Earth, had known or probably known, but felt that it wouldn't really help at this
point. Instead, he said, "Ron, even Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't know."

"But he wasn't their pet, was he?" Ron said miserably.

"And he'd been Percy's for a long time before yours," Harry pointed out. His voice, by now, was
completely back to normal. "And Percy is…"

"Anal retentive?" both Twins said in perfect unison.

"I was going to say clever," Harry said. "But that fits."

"What, and I'm not?" Ron asked.

Harry would once have stuttered and stumbled over his words, digging himself deeper. Now he
took a leaf out of Pepper's book: he folded his arms, raised his eyebrows and gave Ron a 'we both
know that you know perfectly well what I meant' look. What he had, in fact meant was that if
Percy hadn't picked up on it in all the years he'd owned him, at least three times the amount that
Ron had owned him for, it was unlikely that Ron would pick up on it.

Ron wrinkled his nose, but his hackles settled. "Fine," he mumbled.

Hermione, meanwhile, was giving Harry a careful look, and, that evening, she cornered him in the
Common Room, leaving Ron to play chess on Harry's phone against JARVIS. It looked,
remarkably enough, to be a close contest.

"It happened again," Hermione said, utterly without preamble.

"What did?" Harry asked, tone evasive. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"The same thing that happened last night," Hermione said quietly.

"That was different," Harry said, folding his arms.

"Yes," Hermione acknowledged calmly, voice steady. "You started glowing and floating and you
burned to the touch. And then you somehow healed Ron's hand, something you shouldn't know
how to do, without your wand, which you shouldn't be able to do." She gave Harry a serious look.
"That time… well, from what Ron said, you didn't frightening. Just… odd. This time, though,
well."

"Well what?" Harry asked quietly.

"You seemed dangerous. Fred and George shut up at your command, something they never do.
With anybody. They always leave off with a little quip or something, even with teachers like
McGonagall. But with you, they shut up in an instant," Hermione said. "And your voice… Harry, it
was like there was two of you in the room. One of you was, well, you, and the other sounded…
older. Powerful. Authoritative."

"Frightening?"

"Well," Hermione said slowly. "Just a little, yes."

"I see," Harry said quietly. He was silent for a long time, and Hermione felt the need to break the
silence.

"Harry, I think, I think that this is your powers coming through. I think it was triggered by what
happened last night," she said, a cold shiver running down her spine as she remembered, mercifully
only in the vaguest of terms, darkness, writhing tentacles and the kind of horrors that had blazed
their way across Lovecraft's fevered imagination – though ever since she'd found out about magic,
Hermione had wondered whether Lovecraft had actually been onto something. "That power gave
us all a big jolt. Maybe in you… it woke something up?"

"That's not exactly the most reassuring turn of phrase you could have used," Harry said flatly.
"But, I think you're right." He sighed. "He pretty much told me that this would happen, at
Christmas. That I was changing."

"Who was he? And whoever he was, he was right," Hermione said.

"Prince T'Challa of Wakanda," Harry said casually. "What?"

Hermione was staring at him, dumbstruck. "You met the Prince T'Challa," she said slowly.
Graduated Summa Cum Laude from Harvard. Got a Masters Degree from Cambridge. Earlier this
year finished a PhD at Oxford, his thesis discussing the industrial applications of Vibranium. Heir
to the throne of Wakanda and the current Black Panther."

"… Probably?" Harry said, shrugging awkwardly. "I just know him as the guy who beat up a racist
lech who hit on Carol then used the n-word when he intervened. He also gave me some good
advice. He said that some things I would have to work out for myself, but I should ask people like
dad and uncle Loki about it. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. And isn't the
Black Panther an animal?"

"He probably would," Hermione said. "Harry, the Wakandan royal line claims descent from the
Egyptian Goddess Bast, or someone similar. Wakanda was, along with Ethiopia, one of the few
African nations that was never colonised, partly because of their advanced technology, organisation
and… the Black Panther."

"What is it?"

"A mantle of power," Hermione said. "When the firstborn heir to the throne, male or female comes
of age at 18, they go through a ceremony which tests their worthiness to possess the power of the
Black Panther. No one knows the details of the ceremony, but it is said to involve an extremely
rare sacred herb. The end result is a superhuman on par with Captain America, with additional
super senses, and, apparently, predator instincts."

Harry had seen Steve in action. It had been an impressive sight to put it mildly.

"Yes," Hermione said, reading his expression. "Even the British Empire at its height didn't want to
cross the Panther Kings. None of the colonial powers did. Not after a couple of battles." She
paused. "Well, I say battles… let's just say that the British had learnt the lessons of Isandhlwana
and didn't underestimate their opposition. So most of them survived. The French, on the other
hand… not so much."

"Isandhlwana?"

A light appeared in Hermione's eye and she opened her mouth.

"The short version," Harry added hastily.

Hermione huffed, then said, "In short, a British army invaded Zululand, in South Africa, on a
pretext in 1879 and got destroyed, because they didn't expect to face a disciplined, well trained and
well commanded army in the open."

"Oh. Okay. And the lesson was…"

"Don't underestimate your enemy. And don't get surrounded," Hermione said.

Harry got the gist of this and nodded. "How do you know so much?" he asked. "Seriously, it's
amazing."

Hermione blushed. "I read," she said. "Books, mostly, though I wish I could get bring my laptop."

"You could ask Tony to customise it for you," Harry said casually. "He'd love to do it." He paused.
"Of course, this does run the risk of your laptop coming back sentient and able to fly." He
shrugged. "Or uncle Loki could help you."

"Maybe," Hermione said slowly.

"If you don't want to risk your laptop, I can buy you one," Harry said.

Hermione gave him an astonished look. "You would do that?"

"You're my friend," Harry said, shrugging. "And, well…" he lowered his voice. "When dad went to
regain control of the Potter vaults, he found out that, well, we're rich."

"I know, Harry, but still –"

"The account is worth £1.5 billion. At a conservative estimate," Harry said flatly.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Billion?" she whispered.

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, don't tell Ron," he said. Before, he'd privately estimated his
wealth at 'buy a nice house in Chelsea' levels. Now, it was more like 'buy a nice island in the
Caribbean with pocket change'.

"How?"

"Apparently grandpa Potter was a very good investor and was one of the early investors in Stark
Industries," Harry said, frowning, trying to remember. "Rolls-Royce, Wayne Enterprises…"

"I thought he was a pureblood," Hermione said, the inference being that he would have known next
to nothing about the muggle world, nor likely wanted to.
"Who was friends with Howard Stark during World War II," Harry pointed out. "And apparently
Gringotts handled most of the rest of the investments, or at least the fine details." He shrugged.
"And as for the rest… well, the Potter family has been around for a very long time. If I had to
guess, they didn't do that by being stupid. Or all that nice, really. A bit like my Asgardian family,
probably."

Hermione was silent. While Harry was quite obviously dispirited, she wasn't sure what she could
say to make him feel better that wouldn't be outright lying. Asgard was a warlike realm, one that, as
far as she could grasp, had only relatively recently stopped smacking heads simply to stave off
boredom.

Of course, if you took relatively recently in a historical context to mean up to five generations, as
far as Asgardians were concerned, at the very least you were looking at 10,000 years.

"Harry, you aren't responsible for what your ancestors did," she said. She paused. "What did they
do?" she asked, well aware that she might not like the answer.

"That's the thing," Harry said, frowning. "I don't know." He looked away. "But I do know that my
great-grandfather Bor was bad enough that dad thinks that when he took the throne, it's likely that
he killed his father to do it."

"You aren't him, Harry," Hermione said gently.

"I have his blood in my veins though," Harry said.

"I thought that you thought that blood didn't determine who you were," Hermione pointed out. "Of
course, you might have forgotten that for the sake of indulging in pointless self-recrimination," she
added tartly.

Harry glowered at her half-heartedly. "Stop being logical," he said. "I'm trying to brood."

"That," Hermione said, with the air of someone laying down an ace. "Is exactly why I am being
logical." She sighed. "Around here, someone has to."

Harry considered that this might be a thankless task, due to the pervasive lack of logic in the
Wizarding World (don't know who was mind controlled and who wasn't? Why not use a powerful
truth potion to find out? Because we don't do things that way), and indeed the continued survival
and very existence of he, Harry Thorson, her one her two best male friends.

But he had to applaud her for trying.

So he did.

But as Hermione was trying to figure out whether he was being sincere or his
James/Sirius/Loki/Tony influenced 'snarky little shit' side was in charge, and therefore whether to
smile or glare, he considered that he didn't really know much about his family's past. And as a fair
bit of its more recent Earth related history – well, within his dad's lifetime, anyway – had been in
and around Hogwarts… maybe here was a good place to start.

OoOoO

However, before Harry could get his teeth into researching his family's past – something he still
boggled at. If you'd told him six months ago that he'd be looking forward to researching
something, he'd have thought you were insane.
Then again, he noted, he'd have said the same about being told that he was a demigod, son of Thor,
God of Thunder and Avenger, second in line to the throne of Asgard, the Realm Eternal. And he'd
have said it a good deal louder.

But here he was, and both had come to pass. Now all he could do was adjust to them.

One thing he certainly didn't mind adjusting to was his father, who arrived in the evening of the
day after the dream and the battle.

It was a cold, crisp January evening. The sun had set early, as it always did. This had been normal.
What hadn't been normal was Harry, despite having been in the dungeons about to have a Potions
lesson, had known it. He didn't know how he had known it, or why, but he had. The knowledge
had simply plopped into his brain with the same unthinking certainty that 2+2 equalled 4.

Otherwise, however, the evening had been normal. The moon had risen early. Frost had started to
form on the dead, cold grass and the bare, grim looking trees of the Forbidden Forest. Snow had
started to fall, covering the ground in a steadily thickening soft white coverlet and a bitter breeze
twined around the ankles of the unwary like an affectionate cat.

The first sign of his arrival was the wind picking up, swiftly progressing from breeze to gust to full
blown gale.

The second sign was the rumbling of thunder and the flashing of lightning.

The third sign was two hundred and seventy kilograms of free range Norse deity hitting the ground
at approximately half the speed of sound.

Thor had many admirable traits. Subtlety was not one of them.

As he straightened up from his three point landing position, he heard a dry voice effortlessly cut
through the still howling wind and say, "I see that you have not lost your flair for drama."

"Hmm?" Thor said, puzzled, then grinned in comprehension. The gale stopped as if someone had
flicked a switch, and the flashes of lightning stopped entirely. "Sorry," he said. "In these times it
pays to look dangerous. You know that as well as I, Albus."

"True," Dumbledore said, a touch amused. "But I would prefer, in future, that you didn't leave
craters in the path." He gave Thor a look over his glasses. It said, 'I don't care who and what you
are now, I remember when you were eleven years old and crying for your mummy at night. I have
entire portfolios of blackmail material. Watch it.'

Among Albus Dumbledore's many talents, one of them, as might be obvious, was giving very
meaningful looks.

Thor, God of Thunder, Crown Prince of Asgard and the Mightiest Avenger of them all, shuffled his
feet and looked awkward. "Sorry."

"Oh, no harm done," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, waving his wand. The ground rippled and
flowed back into place, though the snow was still rather muddy. "Do come in."

"Thank you," Thor said, following him in. "It amazes me that since I regained my memories, I have
a far greater appreciation for your powers than I would have as I was before my mortality, or even
during it."

"Oh?"
"Yes. As James, I simply assumed that you could do anything, but I knew the… difficulties, shall
we say, of magic," Thor said. "And before that, I had seen my brother do many amazing things
with incredible ease, things I now know to require incredible amounts of power and skill, which is
beyond most mortal wizards, but not you and…" He paused and frowned. "And this made a lot
more sense in my head."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Doubtless it did, though I suspect I have the gist of it: your knowledge as
Thor grants you a wider perspective on the scale of power being used and your knowledge as
James granted you perspective on the skill required."

"… I think so."

"So," Dumbledore asked, as they walked up the stairs. "What brings you to Hogwarts?"

"I wish to speak to my son," Thor said. "About the battle. If nothing else, to tell him that we are all
right."

"Many parents would send a letter," Dumbledore said, tone mild and inscrutable. "Or use a mobile
phone."

Thor blinked at him.

"Yes, I do know what a mobile phone is," Dumbledore said. He smiled. "After meeting Howard
Stark, I became interested in muggle technology. After all, I had seen the wonders it could achieve,
and I got the feeling that the only way was up. And I was right." He shook his head slowly. "In less
than a century, muggles went from barely managing powered flight to putting men on the moon. Is
that not a wonder?"

"Do you feel that magic cannot achieve wonders?" Thor asked, curious.

"On the contrary, I know it can, and, if you will forgive me, I know that rather better than most,"
Dumbledore said. "Asgard itself is evidence enough of that." He sighed. "But so many of my
fellows are complacent with their lot. To them, it might as well still be the Middle Ages. Many
have no idea, none at all, about just how dangerous muggles were by the time of Captain Rogers'
birth. They have become infinitely more so in the interim, now being able to meet the supernatural
on its own terms, or close to. And that is not even touching on their surveillance capabilities. But
the Death Eaters and their like would have us believe that we can remain hidden forever, or if we
revealed ourselves, easily rule openly as an elite. Fools."

They walked in silence for a few moments.

"The Death Eaters are, or were, the last death throes of an old order," Thor said grimly. "No less
dangerous, for all that, but you are right, Albus. The ordinary mortals of Midgard are beginning to
come into their own. They are starting to notice the strangeness around them and investigate it. The
Death Eaters were always a collection of individuals, held together by the will of Voldemort. When
he was removed, they fell apart. SHIELD, by contrast, is an entity composed of individuals. If you
removed Director Fury tomorrow, another would take his place." He shook his head. "What makes
Lucius Malfoy, possibly the most generally dangerous of our current foes, so dangerous is that he
understands this. Which is why he has co-opted the name and body of HYDRA. With them at his
side, he has a coherent organisation that works together for the same end."

"That and their high compliment of insane yet extremely intelligent scientists, who specialise in
creating extremely deadly weapons and artificial abominations," Dumbledore said. "I feel that that
would appeal to Lucius' preference for using catspaws. Bloody hands at arm's length, as it were,"
he added, with distaste.

"Quite," Thor said quietly.

"And then… there is the matter of the Winter Soldier," Dumbledore said. "Who is simply
dangerous because that is what he is."

"Yes," Thor said slowly. "I had not truly grasped how dangerous an enhanced human could be
until I heard about him." He shook his head. "One thing that I have come to realise is that mankind
has a genius for war."

"No," Dumbledore said. "Asgard has a genius for war. Your people evolved specifically for
combat. From what I have gleaned, each individual Asgardian is an army all by themselves.
Incredibly strong, incredibly fast, Humanity, on the other hand, evolved for something different,
and, in the long run, arguably far more dangerous. Survival."

Thor opened his mouth to dispute this, then thought about it. "Yes," he said slowly. "I can see
that."

Because survival carried the implicit hint of adaptation, compensating for physical shortcomings,
of which there were many. Humans, Thor knew, were, by and large, physically among the weakest
and most fragile species in the universe. Yet they produced men like Tony Stark, who in his
pursuit of survival, had refined a source of technology comparable to that used by most of the great
powers of the universe, and created a suit of battle armour that could take on gods on equal footing.

Under pressure, humanity adapted. And it evolved.

"You understand," Dumbledore said. "What I saw, indeed, what your mortal father saw, in muggles
was their potential. In order to survive and protect themselves against a harsh universe, one that
they are barely consciously aware, much of which sees them as entertainment or food, they adapt.
And they evolve. Technologically and biologically. I sensed that from people like Howard Stark,
Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter and the first Spitfire."

"The Earth is ready for a higher form of war," Thor said softly, repeating what he'd said years
before when Loki had invaded with the Chitauri at his back.

"Yes. Survival, after all, is often a matter of becoming strong enough to defeat all threats,
advancing, developing and growing. Charlus Potter exploited that knowledge for financial
purposes. I chose to follow the example of my mentor, Nicholas Flamel, and learn about the
muggles and their science. It was very illuminating," Dumbledore said. "And very humbling. Yet
also very frustrating."

"Frustrating?"

"In the view of the Wizarding peoples of the world, the three most significant discoveries are the
invention of the Wand, the creation of the Philosopher's Stone and the discovery of the Twelve
Uses of Dragon's Blood," Dumbledore said, and a hint of bitterness entered his voice. "One man
had a hand in two of those. In the muggle world, you could name a dozen discoveries, all of similar
significance and not one name would need to appear twice. The once noble calling of the
Alchemist and the Research Wizard has been cast aside. The greatest minds are limited to little
more than exploration of old principles, and that in their spare time. The only researchers and
innovators that remain in Britain are those at the Department of Mysteries, and their discoveries are
suppressed or used for the sole benefit of the Ministry and the current elite. There is no sharing of
information and no desire to use the information for the betterment of wizarding kind, let alone
mankind at large. The situation is much the same around the world."

Thor got the sense that he was witnessing long held frustrations coming forth, which was why he
was very glad that he'd had the sense to cast a privacy bubble before the conversation had really
got going. "This vexes you," he said.

Dumbledore gave him a wry look. "What was your first clue?"

Thor chuckled. "I have seen this before, usually in the very intelligent, frustrated by the foolishness
of the rest of the world," he said. "And a climate which seems to be almost afraid of cleverness."

"Sometimes it feels that way, I must admit," Dumbledore said tiredly. "The only reason that
Nicholas and Perenelle, and by extension, myself when I was working on the Twelve Uses of
Dragon's Blood, were allowed to work unfettered was because they were very powerful, personally
and politically. Now, I try to foster an interest in learning, to learn as much as possible, and a desire
to use that learning in order to aid others, or even simply to encourage learning itself." He shook his
head. "I would have loved nothing more than to be able to research, to explore the boundaries of
magic, and yes, science, to confer with minds such as Howard and Anthony Stark, Bruce Banner,
Reed Richards, Susan Storm, Brian Braddock, Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, Virgil Swann and
T'Challa Udaku. At best, I am limited to Nicholas and Perenelle, the occasional member of the
White Council – Wizard McCoy's book on the basic principles of moving energy was a fascinating
read, for instance, and I had a rather pleasant correspondence with him about it - and Stephen,
when he doesn't simply drop off the face of the Earth for a decade or three. And while they are all
fine minds…"

"Your circle of correspondence is rather limited," Thor said, nodding.

"It can be dreadfully frustrating," Dumbledore said. He chuckled. "Though complaining about it
does make me feel, what with all my advantages, like a man complaining that Heaven is too
comfortable."

"No," Thor disagreed. "You have just reason for frustration. In another life, well… what things you
might have achieved." He stopped. "But I disagree with your implication that all you want is to
learn and foster learning."

Dumbledore stopped, and drew himself up, suddenly looking a lot less like the slightly barmy and
amiable grandfather he pretended to be. The smile was still there, but it was harder, and the twinkle
had been replaced by a careful watchfulness. "Then what do I really want?"

"Power," Thor said simply. "You desire power. The power to change the world, to make it better,
improve it in the ways you know it can be improved. I heard it in your voice, in your frustration."
He gave Dumbledore a shrewd look. "But you realised long ago where that path usually ends,
didn't you?"

Dumbledore's face had turned inscrutable, and remained that way for several long moments. Then
he sighed. "Yes, I did. I learned that lesson as a young man. But I was not the one who paid the
price. And in many ways, that was so much worse." He turned away from Thor. "I learned that I
could not handle power save that which was mine by birth, so I restricted myself to that, and, later,
to teaching. And even then, I faced temptation."

His face was calm and impassive, but his hands had clenched into fists, knuckles white and
fingernails digging into the palm of his hands.

"I could easily have decided that I, who was born with so much power, should therefore take more,
because I was born to greatness. Voldemort would have been nothing compared to me. I could
easily have used my influence over the students to form an army, or, far more insidious, a group of
followers, dancing on my strings like puppets. Horace Slughorn would have been an amateur by
comparison. I could have done far more with my offices as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock
than I have done, becoming effective ruler of every wanded wizard on the planet."

He closed his eyes. "So I denied myself. I took every day as it came. I ignored that little voice
saying that it would be fine if I accepted one of those offers to be Minister, that the
people wanted me to rule them, refusing even a drop of power because I knew that one drop would
be one too many. I am a flawed, weak man. I am not of the calibre of that famous muggle
statesman of ancient times, Cincinnatus, or that famous muggle statesman of modern times, Nelson
Mandela. I would not know when to let go."

Thor was silent. While he did not know of Cincinnatus, he had heard a little about Mandela, leader
of an oppressed people who had, despite ample cause – Thor certainly didn't think he would be half
as magnanimous after being imprisoned for a third of his life - forfeited revenge and brought about
a peaceful revolution that united a country, before stepping down after only four years of rule. A
great man, to be sure.

But so was Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus," he said gently. "You are flawed. But only as we all are. And no man or woman with wits
in their head would call you weak, even without knowing how you have tortured yourself all these
years." He laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. "To resist such temptation for so long… it is a
feat of strength that astonishes me. Very few, of Earth, Asgard or any other realm, have the
courage to acknowledge their own failings, let alone confess them to another. You are truly a great
man, Albus."

"Thank you, Thor," Dumbledore said quietly. "Though you honour me more than I deserve." He
smiled slightly. "Now, I hear things about the Aurors having a run in with Nicholas and Wanda. Is
this true?"

"It is," Thor said, and explained what had happened immediately after the battle.

OoOoO

Director Fury was, on the whole, satisfied. HYDRA's desperate counter stroke had been thwarted
handily, with no more than half a dozen casualties, only one of those a death, and in that case the
poor bugger had been servicing a tank which had been transported early by the idiots at the
Ministry – though, he would grudgingly admit, they had otherwise done an excellent job with no
complaints, despite the circumstances and the time of night – and had been caught by a stray shell.

HYDRA was gutted. Now all that remained was finding and burning the rest of it to ashes.

Of course, the black spot on his good mood was that one of those non-lethal casualties had very
nearly been a lethal casualty, and that casualty was his protégé and, dare he say it, friend, Peter
Wisdom, formerly known as Regulus Black, one of only four people he both thought capable of
succeeding him as Director of SHIELD and that he'd trust to do it. The other three were, of course,
Coulson, Romanov and Hill. He'd trust Rogers to try, but the man had too good a heart for the spy
business.

Wisdom on the other hand, had the perfect balance of conscience, guilt and ruthlessness to make an
excellent Agent and Director, so he'd been pissed off to put it mildly to hear that he'd almost been
eaten. Part of the reason was that Wisdom had made him promise that if he was ever critically
injured and it was possible that he would die – and indeed, it was still a possibility, though one
shrinking by the hour according to the doctors – that he, Fury, would get Sirius Black out of prison
and to his bedside.

When he asked why, the answer he'd got was simply, "To apologise."

Of course, that now had a few other problems. Because, though Fury had brought some of his own
medical staff to work on Wisdom, they were at St Mungo's. Which was in the British Wizarding
World. Which Sirius was effectively exiled from.

He had, however, decided that his given word was more important than the feelings of Fudge and
the British Wizarding Community, who, as a collective, he could not give less of a fuck about for
several very good reasons, and had turfed Sirius out of bed and had him brought over by Bifrost
gate.

He hadn't told him that it was his brother – by now awake. He'd simply pushed him into the room,
shut the door, then leaned against the wall in a careful pose that combined comfort with a sense of
'if you fuck with me I will ram a red hot poker up your ass', and settled into wait. There had been
shouting from inside, but none of the healers had tried to enter after Fury had glared at one of them
and said, "Nothing to see here, just a family dispute."

This was technically true, but it left out a lot. Such as the fact that both brothers were wanted
criminals – or rather, one was a wanted criminal, and the other had been a wanted criminal until his
'death', and would be a wanted criminal again if anyone figured out who he was.

But news had inevitably got around, including the identity of Fury's guest, leading to the second
black spot. A group of five Aurors, led by one who Fury vaguely recognised. Dawlish, Fury
thought his name was.

"Director Fury, I am Auror Dawlish from the DMLE and I have been informed that Sirius Black is
-" Dawlish began.

"An innocent man," Fury said. Dawlish tried to push past him. Fury checked him effortlessly.
Wizards tended not to be very muscular. Fury was. "You're not going in there."

"You have no authority here," another auror snarled, drawing his wand.

"He doesn't," a female voice said from behind them. "But not only is cursing the Director of
SHIELD very stupid, if you're going after Sirius Black, you'll have to go through me."

The Aurors turned, and froze as they saw Wanda, who was striding towards them in a fashion that
suggested that they could move out of her way or be moved. The choice was theirs.

They moved.

"M-m-miss Maximoff," one stammered. "We weren't aware that you were..."

"Out of retirement?" she asked, turning and raising an eyebrow in a fashion that was
simultaneously gorgeous and terrifying. Fury took a moment to appreciate the sight. "This is a one
off. I owed Director Wisdom a favour."

There was a moment of silence, then Fury said, "You want my authority?" He hooked a thumb at
her. "She's my authority." He smirked. "Her plus the knife I'm holding to your balls."

Dawlish looked down. Dawlish gulped and considered future actions and their groin related
consequences. Dawlish wished that he hadn't come on this mission.

"You seem like a smart man, Dawlish," Fury said. "And I know just what you're thinking. You're
thinking that if you go back to base and say that Sirius Black was long gone by the time you got
here and that the friend he was visiting was Director Wisdom of MI13."

He paused and smiled as the other man's face drained of blood. Apparently he hadn't known who
was in the room, otherwise he would have thought twice and brought someone junior enough to
throw to the lions. Wisdom had a carefully cultivated and very well earned reputation for being an
exceedingly dangerous man to cross.

Wanda, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the show. The other Aurors, on the other hand, weren't,
split between their desire to help their leader and their desire to survive the evening, keeping one
eye on Fury and Dawlish and the other eye on Wanda. This, Fury felt, was the most sensible thing
he'd seen them do.

"Oh, you didn't know that?"

"No."

"Well, everyone makes mistakes," Fury said calmly. "Now, that's what you're thinking, right?" He
pressed the knife slightly closer for emphasis. Dawlish nodded emphatically. "Good. You can go."

"Knife?" Dawlish said, voice high.

Fury removed the knife. Dawlish breathed a sigh of relief, saluted, then apparated away, followed
by his fellows.

"You enjoyed that," Wanda said, amused.

"A little," Fury admitted. "People get frightened at the least little thing."

"Yes... You've changed," Wanda commented. "You're harder now. Colder. And much more
dangerous." She frowned. "You don't look like you smile any more."

"Don't have much to smile about," Fury said, shrugging.

"No," Wanda said quietly. "You don't, do you?"

"You haven't had much to smile about yourself, the way I hear it," Fury said.

"I've got by," Wanda said, arranging herself against the wall beside Fury. "Are they having a little
reunion?"

Fury glanced through the window. The two brothers were laughing and joking.

"Yup."

"Good," Wanda said.

"You should get to be with your family sometimes," Fury said.

"Well, since my family composes of my father and Pietro, my little brat of a half brother, forgive
me if I'm not exactly eager to do that," Wanda said dryly.

"Your daughter might appreciate your company," Fury said casually.

Wanda froze. Then, slowly, her face relaxed into something cold and frightening. "If you speak of
her existence to anyone," she said softly, with deadly sincerity. "I will dedicate my life to
destroying you as slowly and painfully as I know how."

"I thought so," he said calmly. "That was what Wisdom blackmailed you with, wasn't it? Her
existence."

"He's a good speaker," Wanda said after a moment. "He had me mostly convinced. And he didn't
threaten to reveal her."

"What did he do?"

"He threatened to tell her."

Fury chuckled grimly. "That sounds like him," he said, and indeed it did. Minimum civilian risk,
maximum emotional threat. "Before your arrival and Dresden's act tipped the balance, it was a
damn close battle."

"I know why he did it," Wanda said quietly. "And that was Dresden? He's not... oh. His Death
Curse?"

Fury nodded.

"The poor boy," she said softly. "He didn't even manage to kill Gravemoss."

"He saved Lady Sif from becoming one of that bastard's servants and one of SHIELD's best, as
well as vaporising every single one of the veidrdraugar under Paris," Fury said. "And don't go
mourning him yet. Your old mentor pulled a deus ex machina and brought him back."

"Stephen was there?" Wanda asked, astonished.

"Yeah. He's been more active recently too. Helped us out on the odd case," Fury said casually.

Wanda gave him a sharp look that said that she wasn't fooled by his tone, then chewed her lip.
"That's… well, obviously it's good that I might actually see him for the first time in a decade, but
when he gets involved…"

"Things get messy," Fury said grimly. "Yeah. I'm hoping that this is the worst of it."

Wanda snorted. "Since when were we that lucky?" she said derisively. "There's a necromancer out
there with the Darkhold. One powerful enough to get people into Asgard." Something bright and
furious flickered in her eyes for a moment. Her godson had been threatened, put in mortal danger,
and for that the Scarlet Witch would have a reckoning. "They'll be quiet for a while. But they'll be
back."

"And we'll be ready," Fury replied. He glanced at her. "Can I count on you?"

Wanda hesitated.

"I won't force you," Fury said, uncharacteristically gently. "And I'll tell Wisdom to back off if that's
what you want. I owe you that much at least."

Wanda was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "My godson is in danger as long as those people
are alive. Of course you can count on me, Nick."

"Thank you," Fury said.

They shared a companionable silence for a while. Then Sirius walked out, and started.
"Wanda?" he said in disbelief.

"Hello, Sirius," Wanda said, smiling. But her tone was slightly tense. Sirius noticed it and his
mouth went flat.

"So. You didn't adopt Harry."

"Not for lack of wanting to," Wanda said.

"Don't start, Sirius," Fury said. "The only people who have any right to call her to task are Lily,
James and Harry. Lily's dead, Thor doesn't seem to have made an issue of it and Harry's accepted
it."

"The hell I don't," Sirius snapped. "I'm his godfather, she's his godmother. One or both of us was
meant to take care of him."

"And neither of you could do it," Fury said. "You were bound by literal chains, she was bound by
metaphorical ones. But that doesn't mean they were any less tight where Harry was concerned."

Sirius glowered at him, then at Wanda.

"Sirius," Wanda said softly, fingers flicking and glowing red, bringing up a privacy enchantment. "I
was Stephen's apprentice, and when I became Harry's godmother… I always thought that if the
worst came to the worst, you, Peter or Nicholas would take him in. Remus and I could visit. But
then… Peter betrayed Lily and James, you were framed – and yes, I knew you were innocent.
You'd have had an easier job eating the Moon than betraying them. No, no one listened to me.
Nicholas was barred by the fact he wasn't a blood relative, and, less obviously, because he wasn't
magical. Remus… had his furry little problem. And me…" She shook her head. "Sirius, I had to
abandon my own child for her own safety."

Sirius' head snapped round, eyes widening. "Constantine's?"

"Yes," Wanda said quietly.

"Oh," Sirius said, and a fair bit of the anger seeped out of him. "Well, that… that explains a few
things. Did anyone else know?"

"Lily was her godmother. I wanted to give my daughter Lily as a middle name, but Lily dissuaded
me, saying it was too risky, so instead, for her middle name, I went for a name that ran in Lily's
mother's family for her. Jean," Wanda replied.

Sirius nodded slowly.

"There was no way I could take Harry in, when he'd have been at the same risks as her and worse.
Both times, it was logical. Both times, was the only choice I had. Both times, it hurt more than I
could bear."

She unconsciously crossed her arms under her breasts, hugging herself. "And it's killed me inside
every day for the last fourteen years." She met his gaze. "You may hate me right now. But rest
assured, Sirius, you cannot possibly hate me more than I hate myself. And I'm speaking as the
daughter of the man who wrote the bloody book on hatred."

Sirius gave her a long look, then looked away sharply. "Your accent has changed," he said roughly.
"I moved to the States," Wanda replied.

Sirius nodded.

"How is he?"

"In one piece, more or less," Sirius said. "Bloody idiot. Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because it would have put you both in danger," Fury said bluntly.

"I know that," Sirius said, shaking his head. "It's just…"

"No rational answer will satisfy you," Wanda said, and gave him a tight smile. "Daughter of
Magneto. I've been there."

"You know," Sirius said. "I didn't believe you at first when you said you were his daughter,
remember?"

"Yes. You were very tactless and Lily laid you out with one punch," Wanda said, lips twitching.
"She had a vicious right hook."

"Merlin yes," Sirius muttered. "One thing I'll say for James' girlfriend, she's not violent."

"What's she like?"

"Sweet. Kind. Brilliantly clever. Spine of goblin steel," Sirius said. "She and Harry get on pretty
well, after they got used to each other. She treats him as a sort of little brother." He grinned. "There
are some pictures that Clint took early one morning that you have to see to believe. They are, dare I
say it, adorable. So adorable that I had to drink three beers and make five rude jokes to regain my
manly status."

"I look forward to seeing them," Wanda said, amused.

"You should. Clint loves showing them off," Sirius said casually. "Mostly to embarrass Jane and
Harry."

Wanda was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure if I should go to the Tower yet," she said quietly.
"Harry says that he's forgiven me, or at least, that he understands, but that's in the head. In the
heart…" she shook her head. "Well, we're sticking to letters for now. And speaking of which,
Harry should be getting my next letter soon."

"Soon?" Sirius asked, eyebrow raised.

"I haven't got used to sending letters by owl again," Wanda explained. "If he's more comfortable,
we could email or instant message…"

Sirius looked blank. Email he'd got a basic grasp on, along with the internet. While living in the
same house as Tony Stark, this was less gaining knowledge, more self defence. However, it was a
broad strokes understanding.

"Instant message is like swapping notes through magically connected pieces of parchment," Wanda
said. "But the range is worldwide."

"Ah," Sirius said wisely. He looked thoughtful. "Well, owl post isn't quite that fast, and I haven't
sent any owls recently either, but if I had to make a guess… he'll probably receive the letter
tomorrow."
"That," Fury muttered. "Should be interesting." He stood up. "Come on you two. We'd better get
Sirius out of here before the locals get restless."
 Theories

Dumbledore chuckled. "Poor Dawlish. He was an exceptional student, but never the most practical
of men, particularly in regards to knowing how to pick his fights," he said, amused. Then he
frowned. "I did not know that Wanda had a daughter, however."

Thor raised his eyebrows. "You didn't?"

"Contrary to how it may appear, Thor, I am not omniscient," Dumbledore said dryly. "Though I see
no harm in cultivating the impression."

"I'll bet you don't," Thor muttered.

"Your James is showing," Dumbledore noted.

Thor shrugged. "That happens sometimes," he said. "Particularly here."

"Well, that's only to be expected," Dumbledore said, then his frown returned. "If Wanda has a
daughter, and she's wandless, then she'll be just coming into her gifts."

"And if she's wandless," Thor said slowly. "You fear that she will turn Warlock."

Dumbledore smiled thinly and mirthlessly. "Yes. As I of all people know, power corrupts very
quickly," he said. "And there is a dark streak in that family, much as there is in the Black family.
Not only that, but Wanda's own gifts are of a particularly chaotic bent…"

"Then there's Constantine and his enemies," Thor said grimly.

"All in all, a perfect storm," Dumbledore sighed. "It would be a case of like mother, like daughter,
if she got caught up with the White Council. Arthur is not renowned for his mercy and he is easily
as strong as I am, if not a good deal stronger."

"How did Wanda get free of them, then? And what was her offence?" Thor asked, frowning. "She
never said, on either count." Then he got it. "Stephen."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "And it wasn't an offence as such. None of the Laws was broken. I shall
not go into detail, but suffice it to say that the manifestation of her powers was strong, and a great
number of powers were after her. HYDRA, the Vampire Courts, SHIELD, the White Council,
MI13, the Fallen, every Ministry in Europe, and dozens of others, both fair and foul, all wanted to
get hold of her. Her father beat them all to her side, and managed to protect her. But her abilities
were growing out of control and Erik was soon running out of options."

"So he brought her to Stephen," Thor guessed.

"No, actually. He brought her to the one man he knew he could trust: Charles Xavier,"
Dumbledore said. "Who accordingly called me in, along with Howard Stark. We tried to help her,
Charles and I by trying to help her control her powers, Howard by trying to contain them, and Erik
simply by being her father. But she was terrified by her abilities, and they warped reality itself,
meaning that Howard simply could not block her powers. And as we worked, the White Council
lobbied me to have her handed over to their custody, either to be trained or…"

"Killed," Thor said flatly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. His eyes flared dangerously. "I refused to comply. Then Stephen
intervened, offering to train her, giving every assurance that she would be treated well and that he
would never give up on her. And, if all else failed… he would accept responsibility for that failure.
All parties accepted this verdict, especially after Stephen challenged the entire White Council to a
duel."

Thor choked in shock. The White Council were a genuine power in the supernatural world, with
each individual member of the Senior Council being a match for all but the most powerful
supernatural beings. The entire White Council acting in concert could challenge the full power of
anything short of a Skyfather on its own level. Even his brother would hesitate to throw down such
a gauntlet if he thought it might be picked up.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, quite," he said, then sobered. "But you see what I am saying, Thor? If
the supernatural world gets wind of the fact that the Scarlet Witch has a daughter, young, malleable
and easily influenced… I shudder to think of what could befall her if those benevolently inclined
do not find her first." He shook his head. "Unfortunately, we cannot do that until her powers
manifest."

"We will find her, Albus," Thor said. "If it comes to it. She may not possess any abilities, magical
or mutant."

"Maybe," Dumbledore said quietly. "But I don't think it likely. And I worry because if they cannot
have her, they will destroy her." He looked Thor directly in the eye. "As they will with your son."

"I'd like to see them try," Thor growled. Then he frowned. "We have had no trouble so far. Or, at
least, no trouble that cannot be traced back to HYDRA, Malfoy and their necromancer ally."

"That, Thor," Dumbledore said quietly. "Is because the factions of the supernatural world are
taking your measure, and Harry's too. They will wait until this crisis plays itself out, and then…
then they will move." He smiled grimly. "I almost hope that this alliance lasts."

"Because then at least we know where the attacks are coming from," Thor mused. "Yes. And
Harry will need protection."

"Are you here to provide it?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," Thor said, shaking his head. "I can best protect my son by finding the root of this evil and
destroying it." He looked Dumbledore in the eye. "I put my trust in you, Albus, to protect him." He
smiled slightly. "And father did mention something about security measures."

"Security measures?" Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are we to be inundated with a

battalion of Asgardian warriors, then? Should I inform the kitchens?"

"No," Thor said. He frowned. "Though I do recall him asking me if Harry liked dogs…" His eyes
widened. "Ah. Freki and Geri."

Dumbledore spocked an eyebrow.

"Father's… pet wolves."

Dumbledore spocked the other eyebrow.

"They're good with children?" Thor said feebly.

"Are they house trained?"

Thor nodded firmly. "Definitely. Mother and Algrim would have made sure of it a long time ago,"
he said.

"Well," Dumbledore said mildly, eyes twinkling. "I think I better had inform the kitchens, don't
you?"

Thor sighed, then frowned. "Albus… we are nowhere near Gryffindor Tower. In fact, we're closer
to your office."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, a puzzler that."

"Why are we here?"

Dumbledore smiled cheerfully. "Well, I was following you," he said.

Thor glowered at him. At least Harry wasn't here to see this, he thought.

Then he heard his son's voice from behind him. "Dad? What are you doing here? And… did you
get lost?" This last was laced with astonished amusement.

Dumbledore twinkled. And Thor sighed.

He was never going to hear the end of this.

OoOoO

After a hug and a few minutes of ribbing interspersed with questions as to exactly what he was
doing in Hogwarts, Thor managed to steer his on outside. "Walk with me," he said. "And we can
talk."

"Why not inside… oh," Harry said, looking around. "Walls have ears?"

Thor nodded. "Exactly," he said.

So Harry stayed quiet until they walked back out into the cold, crisp winter air, jolting him into a
surprised yelp due to its sharp contrast to the magically warmed halls of Hogwarts.

Thor looked down at his son, frowning in concern. "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, then under his father's politely disbelieving gaze, amended that to, "Well,
maybe a little."

"That is easily mended," Thor said, and in one smooth motion, reached up and whipped his cape
from around his shoulders, kneeling down to arrange it around Harry's shoulders.

"Dad," Harry began, but Thor shushed him, and, one hand holding the two upper corners of the
cape together, reached into his pouch and pulled out a brooch, which he showed to Harry. It was
beautiful, Harry thought, a piece of pure gold in the shape of a bird, with powerful wings
outstretched and flaring upwards. Its eyes were tiny emeralds, clearly cut with excruciating care.
Indeed, it looked, he thought, like someone had captured Summer sunlight and shaped it to their
own liking.

At the same time, he noticed that somehow, the cloak/cape/thing had shrunk to fit his proportions.
This was something of a relief, because even though he was now at the respectable height of 5'5,
above average for his age, his father was about a foot taller than him, and considerably broader.
"This," Thor said, looking his son in the eye. "Is a brooch that I gave your mother on our first
wedding anniversary. I chose it for a number of reasons. We were both members of the Order of
the Phoenix, for one, and the phoenix was used as an emblem in the Potter family for many years.
But the main reason," he said, carefully fixing the brooch in place. "Was because your mother
reminded me of a phoenix."

He chuckled slightly. "When I told her, she wasn't entirely pleased at first, to be compared to a kind
of 'pyrotechnic poultry', to use her exact words, but I explained to her my intent. To me, the
phoenix represent warmth, wisdom and vitality, all of which she possessed in abundance. She was
fire and life incarnate." He grinned. "And she was incredibly hot, but you didn't want to hear that."

"Not so much," Harry said quietly, smiling. Then the smile faded. "Dad, thanks, but –"

"But nothing," Thor said, gently but firmly. "It is yours by right, and I give it to you now because
you are far more like your mother than you think. In body, you resemble me, save for your eyes.
But in mind… you are so very definitely your mother's son." He fixed Harry with a wry look.
"Though your habit of leaping before looking is one you got from me, much, I think, to your
mother's despair if she were here to see it."

Harry was silent for a moment. Then, he asked tentatively, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Do you… do you think mum's watching me? From wherever she is?"

Thor smiled a smile tinged with sadness.

A gust of wind rustled through the frozen grass. And it almost, almost sounded like a feminine
voice.

Bloody right…

"Yes, Harry. I think she is. And I think that she is unbelievably proud of you," he said gently.

"You do?"

Thor smiled. "Yes," he said, taking Harry by the shoulders. "And do you know how I know?
Because I am too."

Harry blushed, the red showing up strongly against his icy pale skin. But at the same time, he gave
his father a dazzling smile, green eyes sparkling, in a fashion so likely Lily that it gave Thor a
slight lump in his throat. "Thanks, dad," he said, then, impulsively, hugged his father.

Thor simply smiled and hugged him back, enfolding him in warm, strong arms. "I love you, Harry.
You know that?"

"I do."

This said far more than two such innocuous words had the right to. It said, quite simply, that Harry
fully and unreservedly knew and accepted that he was loved. Something that was pretty remarkable
for a boy whose life, until recently, had known little love other than that of friends since his
mother's sacrifice.

They stayed like that for some time, until they naturally broke apart. "Now," Thor said. "I came to
speak to you about the battle."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I read about it in the Prophet. They were… pretty vague."

Thor made a disgusted noise. "Of course they were," he said. "The battle was… closer than I
would have liked."

"It was? But… only one person died," Harry said, frowning. "And the… undead? They were
stacked up in piles ten deep for a mile!"

"That was because of your godmother," Thor said. "Before her arrival, your uncle was effectively
unable to act, because he had to trap the spirits."

Harry looked puzzled.

Suddenly, Thor froze.

Harry looked more puzzled.

"Oh," he whispered. "We have been such fools. If my brother was here, he would laugh at us."

"About what?" Harry asked, frowning at this sudden change in tack.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing you have done, Harry," Thor said. "Your headmaster and I have missed
something blindingly obvious, proving that age is no guarantee of wisdom." He drew his wand and
conjured pen and paper. "Harry, can you call Hedwig?"

"Um, I'm not sure if I she'll hear me," Harry said doubtfully, deciding to go with it as this would
probably be the quickest way to get his explanation. "And I think she's out hunting."

Thor nodded, and muttered, "Accio Hedwig!"

He would later reflect that this was probably a bad idea.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, an offended, dopplering screech tore through the
clear winter air, getting steadily louder, emanating from a steadily growing white blob.

It got closer and closer and then, in proof that the universe has a sense of humour, hit Thor in the
face, whereupon it went mad.

Harry was, for a couple of seconds, torn between shock, horror and hilarity as his father staggered
around, wand forgotten, swearing foully – or was that fowly? – and trying to detach the furious owl
from his face without ripping her apart. Then his eyes widened as he realised exactly what kind of
damage an owl could do to someone's face and yelled, "HEDWIG! NO! GET OFF HIM!"

With a final offended screech, Hedwig did as bid and backwinged away from Thor, fluttering over
to land on Harry's shoulder. As for Thor, he was, to Harry's relief and surprise, completely
unscathed. "Dad? Are you okay?"

"I am well," Thor said reassuringly. "I have had far worse things trying to scratch out my eyes for
far less reason, than a justly offended owl." The next part was muttered in an undertone, but Harry
was pretty sure that he said, "Amora, for instance." He shook his head. "Bullets, blades, owls…
none of these will provide more than passing irritation."

"It didn't sound that way."

"I was surprised," Thor said, a touch peevishly. "And I have been attacked by Dire Owls before."
"Dire Owls," Harry said flatly, not believing his ears.

"Asgard plays host to many strange and dangerous creatures, Harry," Thor said seriously.

"Naturally?"

"Well… if you believe my brother, it used to be common practice for sorcerers to combining
different animals into one creature, usually while immensely drunk. This was recognised is being
both cruel, as while the process was usually painless, the results tended not to survive for long, and
stupid. Bilgesnipe are the exception."

"Bilgesnipe? Didn't granddad mention those?"

Thor chuckled. "I will never get used to hearing father be referred to as granddad," he said,
amused. "And yes, he did. He likes to hunt them."

"What are they?"

"A cross between a goat, a deer and a wyrm."

"A worm? Like a flobberworm?" Harry asked, puzzled. He couldn't imagine anything that was part
worm being a threat to anything other than lettuce.

"No, a wyrm like a gigantic lizard," Thor said. "The spelling is crucial."

"It is?"

"Yes. One day, when we were young, I, Sif and the Warriors Three were bored, so your uncle tried
to summon a wyrm to alleviate our boredom, reasoning that if it got out of control, he could banish
it once more," Thor said. He smirked. "Unfortunately, he made two mistakes in his spell. Instead of
summoning a three hundred foot wyrm that would emerge onto the Plains of Ida, half a mile
outside the capital, he summoned a three hundred foot worm… that, as it happened, emerged half a
mile above the capital. Above the palace gardens, in fact."

Harry stared at him and said, "You have got to be making this up."

Thor grinned. "I assure you, on my honour as a Prince of Asgard, that I am not," he replied. "Father
certainly remembers that day, as he was entertaining a Shiar trade delegation. Loki managed to get
us out of trouble by spinning a story that it was an experiment, intended to be used to spread
nutrients and fertiliser through the earth of newly colonised and unfertile planets."

"Did they accept it?"

"Father knew exactly what had happened, but he couldn't be too angry – it hadn't landed on
anything irreplaceable, and the Shiar delegation ordered a thousand of the wretched things on the
spot," Thor said. "I think he thought it was quite funny, to tell the truth. Everyone else did. Except
for mother."

Harry frowned. Frigga had come across, to him anyway, as, if anything, more likely to find it funny
than Odin was. "Why?"

"It landed on her private garden. And her orchard. And her gardener."

Harry's eyes widened.

"He was fine. Just surprised, and, in truth, delighted by the sheer amount of new fertiliser," Thor
said reassuringly. He paused and frowned. "Though, come to think of it, I don't think he ever
managed to get rid of the smell…"

Harry gave his father a long look, then, suddenly, smiled. "Can you alter the size of the worms?"

"Yes, I think so, though you had best ask your uncle," Thor said.

"And… did the worm actually do anything?"

"Until your uncle enchanted it to do what he promised the Shiar it would do, no. It just… oozed,
really," Thor said, frowning thoughtfully. He paused, and eyed Harry, then smiled a James smile.
"And, interestingly enough, all one has to do is recite the spell. I think it can even be translated into
English."

Harry smiled. "I'll bear that in mind," he said.

"I have no doubt of that," Thor said dryly. Then his expression sobered, he took out the conjured
pen and paper once more, scrawling a message, using his knee as an impromptu writing desk.
Harry got a glimpse of the message: What if she's Wanded? - Thor

"Dad?" he asked puzzled.

Thor smiled slightly. "A thought I had, that I want to convey to your headmaster immediately," he
said. "May I borrow Hedwig?"

Harry frowned, but nodded. Hedwig did not seem too enthused by this possibility, and glared.

Thor gave her an apologetic smile. "I am sorry if I harmed you, lady Hedwig," he said, voice
perfectly sincere. "That was not my intention. Instead, I hope to avert harm to another. Will you aid
me in that?"

Hedwig gave him a long look, then gracelessly stuck out a leg, taking the letter.

"It is to go to Albus Dumbledore," he said.

Hedwig gave him a look that suggested that she thought he was being an idiot, then took off.

"Was that note something to do with what you two were talking about earlier?" Harry asked.

Thor smiled slightly. "You are as inquisitive as your mother and your uncle put together," he said.

"And you're dodging my question," Harry pointed out.

Thor gave him a wry look. "Yes," he said. "It was."

"Can I ask what it was about?" Harry asked.

"You could, but I could not give you an honest answer," Thor said quietly. "This is not because I
don't trust you, but because I fear the consequences. Lives could be put at risk if the knowledge is
spread, innocent lives." He looked serious. "Now, speaking of innocent lives, I had got up to your
uncle containing the spirits to the battlefield."

Harry nodded.

"Good. If he had not confined them to the battlefield, they would have run rampant, using all the
dark energy to manifest, and then…" Thor shook his head slowly. "It would have been carnage."
He looked grim. "And it only got worse from there. Hogun was required to protect Loki and
prevent him from being interrupted, I and Tony were restricted to picking off small groups, Clint
and Natasha were sniping, the commander of Britain's defences, Director Wisdom, was severely
wounded, Colonel Rhodes and one of Wisdom's troops were occupied with the undead dragons,
Volstagg was wounded badly enough that John Constantine had to step in to protect him. He was
fine, by the way. Oh, and, of course the Hulk was there, but even he couldn't be everywhere at
once."

"John Constantine," Harry said slowly, remembering a man in a trenchcoat with dirty blond hair
and a 'Sod You' demeanour. "Was he the man smoking in that picture of the Order?"

"Yes, he was," Thor said, and smiled slightly. "The thing that bothered him most on the battlefield
was the fact that he ran out of cigarettes."

Harry grinned. "Really?"

"Yes. And Fandral seems to have struck up an… understanding, shall we say, with a young Agent
of MI13," Thor said.

"MI13," Harry said slowly. "The Prophet mentioned them. They're…"

"Britain's answer to SHIELD," Thor confirmed. "Her name is Betsy Braddock, and she is a most
formidable psychic."

"Like Charles Xavier?" Harry asked.

"Well, I doubt that Professor Xavier is exactly Fandral's type…"

Harry fixed him with a Look. It was, as before, a facsimile of Pepper's famed Look. While it wasn't
as yet anywhere near as effective, it was improving.

"Yes, Harry," Thor said, amused. "Much like Charles Xavier. But better looking."

"I don't know," an voice said from behind them. "I always thought that he looked rather
distinguished."

Both Potter men jumped, whirling to see Professor McGonagall, wearing a slightly impish smile.
Or at least, that's what Harry's eyes told him. His brain was simply going 'does not compute' over
and over again.

"Minerva," Thor said, recovering. "I, we, didn't see you there."

"I'd never have guessed," McGonagall said dryly. "I ran into Albus, who said you were here, so I
just came down to say hello." She gave Harry a sharp look. "And to remind you, Mister Potter, that
your homework is due tomorrow."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said.

"And you are not to help him, James," McGonagall added sharply. "None of the other students
would have the advantage of the aid of the finest transfiguration student in half a century, except,
probably, for Mister Weasley."

Thor sighed. "Yes, Minerva."

"Good," she said briskly. "Oh, and James?"

"Yes?"

"Could you say hello to Clint for me?" she asked.

"Of cour–" Thor began, then frowned and slowly pulled Harry closer to him.

"James?" McGonagall asked, reaching for her wand.

"We're not alone," he said, voice low, scanning the surroundings.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed and she began to look around.

Harry, who was half excited, half curious, and not remotely afraid – after all, his father and his
transfiguration teacher were here. Anyone who attacked them was going to regret it, he thought,
looking around.

"On the edge of the Forbidden Forest," Thor said softly.

"I see it," McGonagall said, matching his tone, and Harry did too. It was a vague outline, black on
a black background. It seemed to be watching them. Then it moved, slipping away into the Forest.

"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.

"It could be one of many things," Thor said softly. "But whatever it is, I doubt that it means us
well." He glanced at McGonagall. "By your leave, Minerva, I think I shall stay here tonight."

"I'm sure that would be fine, James," McGonagall said quietly, staring fixedly at where the figure
had been. "Yes. That would be just fine."

OoOoO

Location: Hogwarts Castle.

Mission: Reconaissance for potential assault. 96% complete.

Warning. Three Potential Targets/Threats. One familiar.

Familiar figure identified as Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Teacher. Alpha

Class threat. Secondary Threat.

Query, focus removed from Primary Threat: Thor Odinson, God of Thunder. Omega Class threat.

Query, basis of familiarity.

Not found. No memory.

Puzzling.

Tertiary threat, Harry Thorson/Potter. Nominally, Beta Class threat. However, files show near
superhuman knack for survival.

The Red Room would have loved him.

Reconnaisance complete.

Preliminary assessment: I've taken worse.

OoOoO

Less than ten feet from his previous position, the Winter Soldier watched the three figures
cautiously return to the castle. He watched for any search parties. None materialised. Satisfied, he
returned to what he'd been doing for the last week. Examining the castle's defences.

A couple of hours passed, as he finished his reconaissance. Then, his mission complete, he slipped
off into the darkness.

OoOoO

"So," Dumbledore said. "Someone was on the school grounds."

"Yes," Thor said firmly. "He was male, tall and from what little I could see, strongly built."

"Did he have hostile intentions?"

"There's no way of knowing for sure," Thor replied grimly. "But with HYDRA and the Death
Eaters on the loose? Almost certainly." He rubbed his chin. "If I had to guess, I would say that he
was on a scouting mission."

"Very well," Dumbledore said quietly. "I will have Hagrid scour the near reaches of the Forest, and
speak to the Centaurs."

"I would not advise it," Thor said.

"Why not?"

"Because if I were HYDRA and seeking to scout Hogwarts for attack, I would not send a wizard.
Non-magical troops operate very differently," Thor said. "So someone non-magical would be sent.
Someone stealthy, with experience of killing wizards and attacking magical fortifications."

"Someone, you mean, like the Winter Soldier," Dumbledore said heavily. "And after Operation
Overlord, there are likely to be even fewer of those than before under HYDRA command, and I
doubt that there were many to start with."

Thor nodded.

Dumbledore sighed. "I had hoped that the Soldier and his like were gone from this world," he said,
a touch bitterly. "I knew that Voldemort would return, but I hoped, and still do, that he may be
contained and destroyed before he becomes a grave threat once more. The Death Eaters are a
known quantity, and save for the Inner Circle, they were rarely a threat when met with organised
opposition. The Soldier, on the other hand, cannot be contained, nor is he a well known quantity.
He is a wildcard who may show up anywhere, from whom everything must be expected because
that is exactly what he is capable of."

"HYDRA will be wary," Thor pointed out. "Malfoy as well. The last time they launched a planned
attack, the backlash was truly vicious."

"The beast is wounded, not dead," Dumbledore responded. "And that makes it all the more
dangerous. HYDRA responded by giving their necromancer, an individual called 'Gravemoss', his
head. The result required the attentions of the Avengers, MI13's nascent Excalibur team, Charles
Xavier wielding the full might of Cerebro, the greatest of the Three Swords, War Machine, Wanda
Maximoff, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, as well as Harry Dresden, the White Council's black
sheep. Oh, yes. And two squadrons of extremely powerful combat aircraft as well as just about
every battle tank that the British armed forces could lay hands on." He looked at Thor over his
glasses. "And that was barely enough."

"Your point is made," Thor said, a touch grumpily.

"No, I am afraid it is not," Dumbledore said quietly. "That was one wild and undirected attack.
HYDRA's manpower was severely diminished by Overlord, but its threat is only concentrated. The
Winter Soldier and Gravemoss are still at large, as is Lucius Malfoy and the HYDRA high
command. While that state of affairs remains, HYDRA is a deadly threat, possibly even deadlier
than before. And we are, I fear, on the defensive once more." He looked up at Thor. "You said that
your father was dispatching his wolves to act as Harry's bodyguards?"

"He suggested so, yes," Thor said.

"How effective are they?"

Thor considered this in the light of his knowledge that Freki and Geri were a) intelligent, b)
bulletproof and probably capable of biting through titanium with little enough effort, c) extremely
vicious when it came to protecting those they cared about. "Anyone who tries to hurt my son while
he is under their protection will not realise how big a mistake they have made," he said slowly.
"Because it will be their last."

"How would they construe a threat?"

"They would not react violently for anything short of drawn weapons," Thor said. "And they would
adjust their approach."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that they are intelligent and well able to separate a genuinely mortal threat from childish
posturing. If a student challenged my son to a duel, for instance, they would merely body slam
them," Thor said calmly. "Broken bones, nothing more."

Dumbledore gave him a careful look. "Then you would swear that they are not threat to the other
students?" he asked. Thor didn't doubt that Dumbledore would trust his word. He equally didn't
doubt that if Dumbledore felt his students were threatened, Freki and Geri wouldn't get within a
mile of the school. No matter what Odin decreed.

Thor nodded. "I do so swear."

Dumbledore nodded. "Would it be taken as offensive if I sought further guards for the whole
school?" he asked.

"If it is made clear that they are for the whole school, no," Thor said. "My father could not take
offence even if he was so minded. After all, while Freki and Geri would seek to protect all who
inhabit the castle, their duty will be to Harry." He gave Dumbledore an interested look. "Who did
you have in mind?"

"Not one of the Avengers. You work best in concert. Nor an Asgardian, as they would be obligated
to put Harry first," Dumbledore mused, Thor nodding his agreement. "Wolverine could not be
pried from Westchester with a crowbar at the moment, nor will he be until Charles recovers. Lady
Braddock, perhaps, or maybe Mister Worthington," Dumbledore said. "In the latter case, I'm sure
that I could persuade Director Wisdom –" This was said with a wry inflection that quite clearly
meant that he knew exactly who Wisdom really was. "To have Her Majesty's government pay them
a salary to compensate for lost earnings. He is a student, isn't he?"
"Yes," Thor said, thinking. "I recall Colonel Rhodes mentioning that he was a very able combatant
and from one of America's more prominent families. However, apparently they had 'cut him off'
some years ago, and now he is barely managing to make ends meet."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Then maybe he is the best option, as I believe that Lady
Braddock is becoming Wisdom's right hand in the field following his accession to the
Directorship," he said thoughtfully.

Thor nodded, wondering at just how Dumbledore knew so much about the inner workings of the
non-magical secret services. Non-magical technology he could understand – after all, that just
required careful reading, nothing that would challenge a man of Dumbledore's intellect.

Dumbledore, as if reading his mind – something that was quite possible. While he was no Charles
Xavier, Albus Dumbledore was a formidable Legilimens – gave him a slight, enigmatic smile.

"No matter," Dumbledore said. "I shall deliberate on the matter." He smiled at Thor. "I think you
had better go speak to your son. After all, you were interrupted and he doubtless has many more
questions for you."

"That he probably does," Thor said dryly, standing up. "I shall leave you to your deliberations."

Dumbledore dipped his head slightly, rising with him. "Thank you, though if you have any
suggestions, I would gladly welcome them," he said.

Thor paused, then shook his head. "I have none. Yet."

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was waiting impatiently in the Common Room, pacing up and down, red cloak
swirling around his ankles, brooch gleaming in the fire light. Hermione noticed with vague
detachment that he was moving differently.

Before, in a similar situation, he'd have simply stalked up and down, stamping slightly, or sat down
and brooded. Now, his movements were smoother, more of a prowl. It would remind most people
of Loki, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong, but it actually reminded Hermione of the Black
Widow.

Though she hadn't met Natasha Romanov more than a couple of times, when she had, she had
noticed an unconscious predatory quality about the woman, one Hermione suspected was
omnipresent. Unless, of course, she chose to hide it. Hermione had no doubt that she was very good
at that.

The key point was that it made her look ever so slightly inhuman. Even if you didn't consciously
know it was there, part of you saw it. And part of you was frightened by it. That was exactly how
Harry looked right at that moment. It wasn't a grand shift in his appearance, just a slight shift in his
posture. She could well believe that he'd been learning to fight from most of the Avengers over the
holidays. It showed. He carried himself with more confidence for one.

Or maybe it was his visit to Asgard and his subsequent realisation that he wasn't human, combined
with the jolt that everyone had got via the worldwide wave of black magic on the night of the
battle. That might be it. This could merely be a more subtle sign of the changes he was going
through, as compared to the floating and glowing incident. No one was entirely sure what had been
up with that, but it had caused everyone to look upon Harry with more interest.

He was also growing taller, and filling out slightly, thanks to the attentions of his family, biological
and extended. Frigga was the Goddess of Motherhood, after all, and a renowned healer. Hermione
would be honestly surprised if she hadn't kept an eye on her grandson's diet and had it discreetly
altered to suit his needs. It was quite obvious that with regular exercise, proper food and frankly,
loving care, Harry was steadily growing into a powerful young man. And a handsome one at that –
though Hermione wasn't remotely interested in him in that sort of way, from a purely aesthetic
point of view, Harry was very cute, and well on the road to becoming genuinely very handsome.

In summary, her best friend was changing, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she felt about
this. On the one hand, change was natural. Everyone changed as they grew older. But on the other,
he was her best friend, damn it. Was it wrong that she wanted him to stay that way?

Ron and everyone else might not see it (well, the Twins might. They were far more perceptive and
intelligent than they let on), including Harry himself (though she suspected that at least part of him
was vaguely aware of it. Most likely he was repressing it, silly boy) but she did.

Harry had a destiny far beyond anything the Wizarding World could comprehend – which wasn't
much, she thought uncharitably. He was taking the first steps on a path that led up and away, into
the stars. One day, he would walk in eternity.

And that was somewhere she and Ron couldn't follow.

"Hermione?" Harry said, frowning in concern and curiosity. "Are you okay?"

But until that day, she would be his friend. She would walk as far along that path as she could. And
when eventually she had to turn back, she vowed that she would do it in friendship, not bitterness.

She smiled. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

Harry gave her a long look. And for a moment, she thought saw a golden gleam in his eye that most
would have dismissed as reflected firelight. Most wouldn't have been looking for it. Then he
nodded. "Good," he said, a little tightly, and glanced at the portrait hole. When it stayed resolutely
closed, he scowled briefly, then resumed pacing.

Hermione didn't interrupt. Nine times out of ten, she would have done, chided Harry about stress
and wearing a hole in the carpet. Social interaction wasn't where she really shone, and she knew it.
But this, she understood. Anger at not knowing something important, fear of the unknown and,
above all, a profound irritation at being ignored. She'd felt it often enough, with her own parents
and other authority figures.

Of course, both she and Harry were old enough and mature enough to know that when this
happened, they weren't being ignored, their parents/parent were/was just busy and frankly, there
were some things that they probably shouldn't know.

This had never really made Hermione feel that much better, and she doubted that it was helping
Harry, who looked like he was going to snap at the next person who engaged him in conversation.
Unless, of course, they happened to be his father.

Thankfully, she wouldn't have to play peacemaker, because there was no one present who was
likely to speak to Harry. The Common Room was empty, save for her, Ron and Harry. Everyone
else had gone to bed, but they had been given dispensation to stay up by Professor McGonagall.

Harry had got it because Thor had apparently insisted that he wanted to speak to his son before he
went to bed if he wasn't too tired and Harry had stated categorically that he wasn't. Ron and
Hermione had got it because McGonagall acknowledged the reality that, one way or another, they'd
stay up with Harry anyway. Also, leaving Harry to brood alone was generally considered to be a
bad idea.

She was occupied with her thoughts, and Ron, being a practical soul, had requested Harry's phone
early on and was using it to continue his chess game with JARVIS.

Harry glanced at the portrait hole again, and muttered, frustrated, "Where is he?"

As if on cue, the portrait opened, to reveal Thor. He looked around with the eyes of a soldier,
swiftly and decisively scanning the room for threats, then, when they lit upon Harry, clearly whole
and healthy, they relaxed and lit up. "I am sorry that you had to wait," he said quietly. "I was
speaking with Albus for a long time."

"Because of the spy," Harry guessed. "On the edge of the Forest."

Thor nodded gravely. "Because of who he is," he said.

"Who?" Harry asked impatiently, then sighed. "Sorry. But who is it?"

"There are very few individuals who could slip through the defences of Hogwarts. Even fewer are
men and even fewer of those would work for HYDRA," Thor said quietly. "The man you saw,
Harry, if you can even call him a man… was the Winter Soldier."

Harry shivered.

"Mister Odinson –" Hermione began hesitantly.

"Thor, please."

"Thor, then. Are you certain that it was him?" she asked. "Because… he's dead, isn't he?"

"Not dead. Dormant," Thor said grimly. "And I am as certain as I can be. He has been sighted
working for HYDRA. I trust that you have heard of Peter Wisdom."

"Yeah," Ron said. "He's bloody scary."

Thor smiled slightly. "Indeed he is. Which is why it is a blessing that he is on our side," he said,
then looked somber once more. "He fought the Soldier in single combat and barely managed to
escape. The rest of MI13… were not so lucky." He shook his head. "But that is another matter. All
that needs to be said is that the Winter Soldier was here, and for whatever reason, he let us see him.
Professor Dumbledore will doubtless announce it tomorrow, but we believe that he was here to
gauge Hogwarts' defences."

"HYDRA is going to attack Hogwarts?" Harry asked, shocked.

"It is a possibility," Thor said. "Even a probability. Not an immediate one, however. HYDRA are
licking their wounds now." He sat down as Harry looked puzzled. "Join me," he said. "All of you."

The three obediently sat down, Harry picking the chair next to his father. Thor cast a rather
forbidding figure, Hermione thought, half of him lit up in the orange glow of the fire, the other half
obscured by the shrouded darkness of the shadows of this winter's night. It, along with his serious
expression, could be considered an appropriate metaphor for their situation. Halfway out of the
dark.

Or half way in.

"What I am telling you now is to be kept secret," he said. "You must give me your word to tell no
one else without explicit permission. The very world is at stake."

"I'll keep it secret," Harry said quietly.

"Me too," Hermione added.

"'Course," Ron said. "Whatever it is, it probably isn't like anyone would believe me even if I did
tell. Them, maybe. Not me."

"You do yourself a disservice," Thor said, tone gently chiding. "You are a loyal friend and a wise
young man. My brother did not seek to exclude you by living you out of his apprentices. Part of
why he did it is because you have a mind like mine, or Clint's, even that of Captain America
himself. We are practical and earthly. We deal with what is present and what needs to be done. We
are creatures of Order. It is a gift, even if it may not appear that way as yet. But it makes us
unsuitable for studying the deep magic. All those who do so have more than the usual touch of
chaos about them. They see beyond what is present, sometimes to the point where it obscures the
here and now."

Harry looked a little confused as did Hermione. She wouldn't have classed her mind as that of a
dreamer. For goodness sake, her name quite literally meant 'earthly'!

Harry, she supposed, made sense if you thought about the fact that he was actually quite idealistic.

But her?

Nope. Not seeing it.

"You lose yourself in the search for knowledge," Thor said, looking straight at her. "It is common
to many great minds, my brother's included." He paused. "Though he, at least, has learned
pragmatism through experience. These days, he no longer forgets meals." He shook his head.
"These are broad statements, simple categories, and in my experience, people are rarely simple."

"Even gods?" Harry asked quietly.

Thor smiled. "Especially gods." He leaned forward. "Now. The enemy we face is not one evil, but
an alliance between HYDRA, the original enemies of Captain America, the Death Eaters, led by
Lucius Malfoy, and a necromancer who was defeated by my brother and banished from Alfheim
over a millennium ago for his evil when both of them were young," he said. "This last was a
mistake, as it allowed him to spread his evil to other realms. He is the recreator of
the veidrdraugar, the Hunting Dead."

"Recreator?" Harry asked, shivering. "And what are they?"

"They existed once before," Thor said. "Over four millennia ago. They are undead abominations,
animated by dark magic that takes the place of the hearts that they had in life. They are pale, with
dark veins that pulse with black magic, and solid black eyes. They are uniformly faster, stronger
and more agile than they were in life by a factor of ten, no matter what they were created from.
They are extremely stealthy, enough for one to sneak up on your uncle when he was expecting it.
And they all have a connection from mind to mind, making them formidable pack hunters."

"There were rumours of a pale creatures in the ruins of MI6," Hermione said softly. "Were they…"

"Yes. Those were the veidrdraugar," Thor said grimly. "It is believed that they were all destroyed
in battle in England and in Paris."
"Paris?" Harry asked, then got it. "That fireball."

"Yes. That fireball was the work of Wizard Dresden of the White Council," Thor said. Ron shot
Hermione a smug, vindicated smile. "It obliterated the dozens of veidrdraugar beneath Paris and
hurt their master, Gravemoss. Certainly, when I attacked him over the North Sea, he did not seem
in the best of shape."

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered. "The North Sea?" He shook his head slowly. "That's… that's
Dumbledore and Senior Council level stuff."

Harry looked like he was making a mental note to interrogate his father about the White Council.

"I think that such a strike would be beyond even Albus Dumbledore," Thor said. "And even one of
the Senior Council would have to go to some considerable effort to muster such power."

"Then how did Dresden do it?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"He used his Death Curse," Thor said. "Something made all the more remarkable by the fact that
he survived the experience."

Hermione gave him a look that suggested that this did not fit in her worldview. It simply was not
possible.

Thor must have read that look on her face and smiled. "Not impossible," he said. "Merely
extremely improbable. I am informed by the Lady Sif, who was present, that the Sorcerer Supreme
intervened."

"But even Strange shouldn't be able to do that," Hermione burst out, frustrated. "To capture a soul
and regenerate his lifeforce, that would take… well, someone like your father, Thor!"

"Aye, father could do it. My mother might as well. Maybe even my brother," Thor said calmly. He
smiled slightly. "But Stephen has never been all that concerned by what is possible and what is not.
He simply does things and the universe adjusts to fit."

Hermione huffed. In her view, magic enabled you to do amazing things. However, it still had to do
business with the laws of physics and nature. It didn't just give you a free pass to do as you wish.

Unless, apparently, your name was Stephen Strange.

"Anyway," Thor said. "Your grandfather, Harry, went to great lengths to utterly destroy
the veidrdraugar and all knowledge of them four millennia ago. They devastated the Nine Realms
and nearly drove the Asgardian people to extinction, something which they only failed at due to
luck, valour and their reliance on magic to propagate more of their kind."

"Then how did they come back?" Harry asked, his expression showing that he was somewhat
cognisant of the sort of things his grandfather would have had to do to achieve such things.

"There was one book that could not be destroyed," Thor said. "Because it is the product of an
older, greater and more terrible power than any in the universe today. The Darkhold. Malfoy
contrived to have it stolen and gave it to Gravemoss."

Ron made a strangled whimpering sound of pure terror. Hermione couldn't blame him. She hadn't
heard much about the Darkhold, but from what little she'd grasped, it was pure dark magic, so
ancient and evil that it had been locked away in a purpose built fortress for the best part of the last
two thousand years.
"He has only used a tiny fraction of its true power, suggesting that though he is by any reasonable
measure, evil and truly insane, he is perfectly aware of how dangerous it is," Thor said quietly.
"But if he ever throws caution to the wind and unleashes its full strength… the entire universe shall
know the consequences." He looked grim. "But there is a more immediate threat to worry about.
The one that was here today."

"The Winter Soldier."

"Yes. HYDRA have used him relatively sparingly – aside from today, the attack on MI13 and the
theft of the Darkhold, he has been almost totally inactive," Thor said.

"They're saving him for something big," Harry said shrewdly.

Thor nodded approvingly. "Exactly. But not entirely."

Harry frowned slightly.

"They're afraid," Ron said. Everyone looked at him and he shrugged. "What? I mean, if you've got
him on your side, you're going to want to keep him close."

"Why?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Two reasons," Ron said. "First, they're bloody terrified of him, aren't they? I mean, someone that
dangerous, even if you think that you've got them completely under control, you're going to be
more than a little nervous, right? Second, they're bloody terrified of everything else and they're
weak. Really weak. Down to their last base, even."

"How do you know that?" Thor asked quietly, giving Ron a long, calculating look.

"Dad mentioned something about Operation Overlord the week before the battle," Ron said. "And
you said that they were desperate. And after that… I guessed."

"A good guess," Thor said, sounding impressed. "Yes, we believe that they are down to their last
refuge. Operation Overlord was SHIELD's response to the destruction of MI6."

"And the name the Western Allies gave to the invasion of Europe in World War II," Hermione
piped up.

"I didn't know that," Thor said, interested, then looked thoughtful. "Though Steve might have
mentioned it once or twice…" He shook his head. "No matter. I do not think that the sharing of a
name is coincidence, especially considering when HYDRA was spawned. Overlord was, according
to Director Fury, designed to be a death stroke. And so it seems to have been. HYDRA is on its last
legs and has nowhere else to run."

Harry frowned. "If it's a death stroke, then why wasn't it used before?"

"It's like chess, mate. You don't just rush in and try and squash your enemy," Ron explained. "You
wait. You plan. Then you act."

"Exactly," Thor said, and made a face. "There was, apparently, also a lot of red tape." He
pronounced the words 'red tape' as if they were an evil on par with the Darkhold.

"Red tape?" Ron asked, confused.

"It's a term for bureaucratic obstruction. Filling out forms, that sort of thing," Hermione explained.
"And an evil unequalled in the Nine Realms," Thor muttered.

"Where do the Death Eaters come into this, dad?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Lucius Malfoy is high in the counsels of the enemy. This much we know," Thor said. "And he has
more than a few of the Death Eaters with him. That said, I suspect that he has thrown many of his
former allies to the wolves, in order to gain control of their vaults and distract those hunting for
him. Also, it was only a couple of days ago that Malfoy Manor was attacked."

"Yeah, a SHIELD quinjet was found there," Harry said.

"Yes. Director Fury went to speak to Narcissa Malfoy, escorted by Colonel Rhodes – War Machine
– and an extremely powerful Agent of MI13 who uses the name 'Psylocke'," Thor said. "And they
were attacked by the head of HYDRA, Baron Wolfgang Von Strucker, with two allies, who arrived
seeking to capture or kill them and Narcissa. One was a mutated human of extreme physical power
– he was the one who threw the Quinjet into Malfoy Manor. The other was an ancient psychic
entity called 'the Shadow King', one that has existed in one form or another since the dawn of
humanity. When the first human had the first nightmare, the Shadow King was born. It is pure
evil."

"What happened?" Harry asked, curious.

"Colonel Rhodes defeated the mutated human, Psylocke, despite possessing hardly more than a
score of years –"

Hermione mouthed 'twenty', to clarify for Ron and Harry. Oddly enough, Harry looked like he
already knew. Maybe he'd picked it up in Asgard, she thought.

"- managed to fight off the Shadow King, forcing him to flee. And Director Fury defeated Von
Strucker, letting him run to spread fear and panic among the rest of HYDRA," Thor said. He
frowned. "Why do you ask? Has Draco Malfoy – "

"He hasn't said or done anything," Harry reassured him.

"Yet," Ron added ominously.

"Well, you can tell him that his mother is safe and under SHIELD's protection," Thor said. "As
soon as she is able, a visit will be arranged."

Harry nodded. "I will."

"Good," Thor said. He looked around at them. "You are now apprised of the situation. HYDRA is
weak, but possesses two individuals capable of truly terrible things. They are dangerous, and that is
even before one takes into account the threat posed by Lucius Malfoy. We must be watchful," he
said seriously. "I am treating you as adults, if only because my son is directly affected. Not only
that, but he has, in my view, long since earned the right, and as his father, that is my choice to
make. And as his closest friends, you can help him bear that knowledge."

"Why can't we tell anyone else?" Harry asked.

"Mate, if we told people that the Darkhold was loose and the Death Eaters were working with
muggles, everyone would think that we were crazy," Ron said bluntly. He paused. "Well, they
might believe us about the Darkhold. But not the rest of it."

"And there would be mass panic," Thor said. "As well as the fact that we do no want our enemy to
comprehend how much we know about them."

This made sense, Hermione thought, and so did both boys, because they nodded seriously.

"Good," Thor said again. He smiled. "Now, Harry, I am informed that you have questions for me."

Harry grinned slightly and nodded. "A lot," he said, pulling out a list. It was quite lengthy. Thor's
eyes widened. "We can start with the White Council…"
 Loose Lips

The next morning, Thor joined Harry for breakfast, to the delight of just about all of Gryffindor
House. Previously, the regular visitor had been Loki, and while he was uncle to one of theirs and
teaching three others, he was also the patron of Slytherin House. That said, any who had taken the
trouble to observe him closely noticed that, teaching aside, he made a point to interact with students
of every house in roughly equal proportions.

But Thor was unreservedly a Gryffindor to the bone, being the patron of Gryffindor House, mentor
and teacher of Godric Gryffindor himself, and frankly, epitomising the Gryffindor ideal. And, of
course, father of one of the more famous Gryffindors of recent years.

"Harry, your headmaster told me this morning that on the night of the battle, you were seen…
floating. And glowing," Thor said quietly. "And that witnesses specifically record you pointing and
saying 'look'."

"Yes?" Harry said, tone inflecting the word into a wary question.

"You aren't in trouble, Harry," Thor said, with a slight smile, recognising the cause of the wariness.
Inwardly, however, he frowned. Harry seemed to think he was in trouble far too often, and much as
he would like to, Thor couldn't really ascribe that entirely to run ins with teachers. "It is just that I
was on the battlefield near the end of the battle and an image of a strange golden figure did just as
you did. That figure, which I believe was you, pointed me towards Volstagg and John Constantine.
Volstagg was injured and Constantine was trying to protect him, but he was outnumbered. Your
warning allowed me to go to the aid of two of my dearest friends." He smiled. "So I just wanted to
say, thank you."

Harry blushed. "It was nothing. I don't even know how I did it."

Thor chuckled. "It was far from it," he replied. He gently turned Harry's head to look at him. "And
often I have found that gifts manifest when they are needed – that unwitting act of astral projection
may well have saved two lives."

"But, I don't know how I did it," Harry repeated softly. "I don't know how to control it and ever
since… I've felt like there's something deep inside of me. Something new, something strange and
something… powerful." He met his father's gaze. "And it scares me, dad."

Thor smiled gently. "Power is often frightening to those who understand its perils best," he said.
"Your true strength is beginning to show. It will take time to fully manifest, I think, but that time is
such that it can reasonably be measured in months, not years. And I will be there for you every step
of the way. As will your uncle and your grandparents. And everyone else who loves you."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, dad," he said quietly.

Just then, the post arrived and a barn owl fluttered over to Thor, carrying a note, while Wanda's
tawny owl landed on Harry's shoulder and absently stuck out a letter bearing leg. Its attention was
quite obviously fixed on Harry's unfinished bacon.

Harry's eyes widened in excitement as he opened his letter, and Thor smiled to see it, before he
turned to his own missive. It was a short, simple note.

Thor,
Look to your right.

Albus.

Thor frowned, then looked to his right. Sitting there was Hermione Granger, one of his son's best
friends. Then he looked at her more closely. And it hit him.

At first, second, or even third glance, she didn't look very much like her mother. Well, save for the
hair, and Wanda's had always been rather more manageable, as far as he remembered. But when he
took a closer look, he saw some of her father's strong jaw and stubborn demeanour. Not only that,
but features that were quite readily recognisable as Wanda's were beginning to shine through.
While Hermione was by no means a bad looking girl, except possibly for the slightly oversized
front teeth – and in any case, those weren't immediately obvious – she wasn't especially good
looking either. That said, if he looked at her now and thought back to how she looked when he first
met her, she was showing signs of growing in her mother's image, with stronger hints of Wanda's
characteristically clear cut cheekbones and haunting beauty becoming apparent as time went on.

"Um… Thor?"

He blinked and realised he'd been staring. "My apologies," he said quietly. "I was lost in thought
and memory."

"Did someone call?" a sarcastic and incongruously Brooklyn accented voice asked.

Thor sighed. "Oh no," he said, looking around to see his son looking rather startled at the sudden
appearance of Huginn and Muninn on his shoulders. Thor wasn't so surprised. Huginn and Muninn,
despite the belief of many, were not merely hyper intelligent ravens. They were far more than that.
"What are you two doing here?"

"We're delivering a message from the boss, goldilocks," Huginn said.

Harry coughed pointedly.

"What?"

Harry gave the raven a Look.

Huginn sighed. "Fine. Thor."

"Thank you," Harry said, with a polite smile, then resumed buttering some toast. "Do you want
some of my bacon?" Despite the depredations of Wanda's owl, there was still quite a lot of steadily
cooling bacon on the plate.

"Sure," Muninn said, a touch enthusiastically, and hopped down to partake of the bacon. Huginn,
after a moment of hesitation, joined him.

"Aren't you two supposed to be delivering a message?" Thor asked rudely, ignoring the by now
considerable stares and whispers that were rising around them and spreading through the hall.

"We talk better on full stomachs," Huginn retorted indistinctly, around a beakful of bacon.

"How are you?" Harry asked politely, seeking to stave off an argument.

"Not bad. We haven't had much to do since Yule," Huginn replied. Muninn merely made a
mumbled sound of affirmation, then let out a squawk of delight.
Hogwarts was then treated to the sight of an overexcited raven falling beak first into the bowl of
boiled eggs.

Thor and Huginn let out sighs in stereo, as Harry stared, wide eyed at the flailing bird. "See,"
Huginn said. "This is why people still talk about the eyeball incident."

"Eyeball incident?" Ron asked curiously.

"Don't ask," Harry and Thor said, in unison, then shared a grin.

Ron looked puzzled, but Hermione, who'd figured it out, looked a little ill.

"That wasn't my fault," Muninn whined. "I was hungry!"

"You could have found something else to eat."

"After nine days on that –" Muninn paused to use an incomprehensible but obscene sounding
adjective. "- tree? Like what?"

Huginn ruffled his feathers slightly. "I managed to wait," he said tartly.

"Look, are you two here to do anything other than provide free entertainment and damaging
Asgard's reputation?" Thor asked irately. "Because if so, I might decide that I need some target
practice."

"Try it," Huginn said, giving him a beady eyed glare. "And it'll go badly for you."

Harry gave the raven a gentle prod. "Please, Huginn? Could you relay the message?"

"Fine, kid. Since you asked nicely," Huginn said, and opened his beak. But this time, the voice that
came out was not his. Instead, Odin spoke, voice booming and amplified.

"Ah, grandson. You should be getting this message at breakfast time. With the situation on
Midgard being as uncertain as it is, I feel that you are in need of bodyguards. To this end, I am
dispatching Freki and Geri. They will protect and be at your disposal at all times. As well, I have
asked Heimdall to keep a special eye on you. Oh, and be warned: if given the chance, they can and
will eat anything that isn't nailed down."

There was an outbreak of yells of shock, confusion and in some cases, fear as Harry stared wide
eyed at the raven, who was, if he wasn't mistaken, looking rather smug.

Dumbledore stood up and said, "Quiet!"

The sound levels descended to nothingness.

"Please be calm. This measure is one that I and the rest of the staff already knew of, and accepted.
It would not be the first time that Hogwarts has played host to bodyguards and I doubt it will be the
last," he said calmly. He sat down and smiled. "Now, do please continue with your breakfasts.
Learning, I find, is always best done on a full stomach."

There was an outburst of soft laughter, and then concerned and curious chatter rose up.

"Don't worry, people. It's just the voice of God," Draco said dryly, voice effortlessly cutting across
the room. Harry vaguely wondered how he did that.

"Not helping, Malfoy," Harry replied, raising his voice.

"Not trying to, Thorson."

Harry glowered and began to make an obscene gesture that he'd learned from Tony, before seeing
his father raise both eyebrows in an, 'oh yes? And you were about to do what?' fashion.

Harry looked sheepish.

"Who're Freki and Geri?" Ron asked, frowning.

Thor opened his mouth to answer, then, as if on cue, there was a burst of the otherworldly rainbow
light that signified the Bifrost flashed by the table to more shrieks and yells, which swiftly
descended to an awed silence.

Two enormous wolves, each the size of a large pony, trotted out, looked around, then went straight
to Harry, panting happily. He grinned and began scratching behind their ears. Wanda's owl let a
small squeaking noise that one would usually expect from its prey than the bird itself, and took off.

"They," Huginn said. "Are Freki and Geri."

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, face pale as the moon and eyes as wide as side plates.

"Cool," the Weasley Twins murmured in stereo.

Then Harry looked up and looked at the silent, staring crowd, then bit his lip. "Um… dad?"

"Staring is to be expected," Thor pointed out.

"Yeah, but you don't haveta endure it if you don't want to," Huginn said casually, then raised his
voice. "Carry on, mortals, nothing to see here. Just a boy and his wolves."

"And irritating talking ravens," Thor muttered.

Everyone stared at Huginn, then decided it was in their best interests to carry on as before, and,
once more, conversation rose up.

"I was not aware," a cool, sneering voice said from behind them a few moments later. "That it was
standard practice for parents to join students for breakfast, nor for students to accrue a…
menagerie."

"Severus," Thor said evenly. "Good morning to you too."

Snape gave him a poisonous look, then turned a distasteful eye on Freki and Geri. Who just looked
at him. They didn't need to growl, bark or make their displeasure vocally known. Then didn't even
bare their teeth. They just stared at him.

Snape looked away first.

"You're that Snape bloke, aren't ya?" Muninn said, suddenly, hopping back up onto Harry's
shoulder to get a better look at him.

"I am Professor Severus Snape," Snape said coldly. "What concern is it of yours?"

"We're the messengers of the Allfather, sonny boy," Huginn said, then suddenly moved so fast that
he might as well have teleported, flapping onto Snape's shoulder. Snape, very sensibly, froze.
"Wise move," Huginn said, tone conversational. "Now, see, we don't just carry the Allfather's
messages. We gather intelligence for him. We tell him what we see and what we hear, because
Heimdall can't focus on everything at once."

"So?" Snape managed, voice rather strangled. His fingers were reaching for his wand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Thor warned. Snape darted a furious glance at him. "Believe
me," Thor added. "It's for your own good. They tend to react… creatively when attacked."

"But sometimes the classics are the best," Muninn said, from the general region of Snape's groin.

Snape glared down at the bird. And crossed his legs.

"Anyway," Huginn said. "Point is, the Allfather's asked us to keep an eye on the kid, in case
Heimdall gets distracted. This ain't anything new. We've been watching out for him for years. Even
here."

"Get to the point," Snape growled.

"The point is that we saw how you treated the kid, and we reported back to the boss. He's a bit busy
right now, but if we give him a good reason, he might decide that he's not too busy to have a little
talk," Huginn said. "And he ain't half as forgiving as Thor." He leaned even closer. "Hel, we like
the kid."

"So if ya give us a reason," Muninn said, still staring at Snape's groin with an uncomfortable
intensity. "We won't bother involving the boss."

"Huginn. Muninn," Thor said firmly. "Your dedication to my son is impressive, but I have already
spoken to Severus about this. Nothing more needs to be said."

"And ya didn't crispy fry him?" Huginn said, surprised. "Damn, you really did grow up."

"It had to happen sometime," Thor said mildly.

"Are you quite finished?" Snape growled. Thor did not like Severus Snape for a number of very
good reasons. But for all his flaws, he was no coward, and that, at least, was something that Thor
could respect.

"Huginn," Harry said. "There's some bacon for you." He grinned. "And if you two stick around,
I'm sure I could find some marshmallows for you."

Both birds immediately turned to stare at him, and Huginn hopped down from Snape's shoulder.
The Potions Master relaxed, glared, then stalked back up to the Staff table, whispers following him.
Thor sighed. While that had been satisfying to watch, Snape, ironically enough, was guilty of the
same sin that Thor had been. Pride. And Thor somehow doubted that he would take well to being
threatened by a pair of talking ravens in front of a group of students who universally hated him.
The Weasley Twins constant low level sniggering probably hadn't helped matters.

He caught Hermione's worried eyes and saw that she knew it too.

"Aye," he said quietly. "He will not forget. Nor will he forgive. And he does not give up."

"Yes, he's like the Winter Soldier that way," Hermione muttered, voice tinged slightly with fear.

"The Winter Soldier?" Ginny asked, frowning. Both Thor and Hermione turned to look at the
small, previously silent form of Ron's little sister. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"He was on the grounds last night," Hermione said reluctantly.

Harry nodded. "I saw him," he said quietly.

"You saw the Winter Soldier?" Seamus asked loudly, proving that he had excellent hearing and
poor volume control. Harry sighed as everyone at the Gryffindor table turned to stare at him, eyes
wide, and looked at Hermione askance. She flushed.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he sighed. "Right, dad?"

Thor shrugged. "From what I remember of the Hogwarts rumour mill, it would have got out
eventually," he said.

Harry had to admit that this was probably true. "Okay, to cut a long story short I went out on a walk
with dad last night and we talked about the battle, I wanted to know if everyone was fine. Then he
noticed that we weren't alone. We saw the Winter Soldier by the Forbidden Forest, and dad sent
me back inside with Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "And here we are."

"What was it like?" one fourth year asked, staring a hailstorm of questions.

"Did he look human?"

"Is he a vampire?"

"Can he fly?"

Those were just the more sensible ones, and Harry involuntarily leaned back under this tidal wave
of curiosity, Thor putting a protective arm around him and preparing to call for quiet.

Ron beat him to it. He stood up, took a deep breath, cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled,
"SHUT IT!"

Everyone shut up and stared at Ron, who flushed and sat down again.

"Thank you, Ron," Harry said quietly. "I just saw him, like an outline, in the shadows. But he
looked human. That's all I saw, that's all I have to say, thank you very much."

"And the first one to badger him any further," Fred put in, tone menacing, having appeared by
Harry's left shoulder.

"Gets experimented on," George chipped in, from his right.

"By us."

"When they're least expecting it."

There was a very definite silence. No one particularly wanted to cross the Weasley Twins, all the
more so since it had become public knowledge that they were Loki's apprentices.

"Well said," Thor said quietly. He stood and Harry stood with him. "Harry, I must go. I'll see you
at Easter, maybe before." He hugged his son and when they parted, he had a sad smile on his face.

"Dad?"

"I was just thinking that I have missed so much of your childhood. I was only there for the very
start, and now, it seems, I have arrived in time for the beginning of the end," Thor said quietly.
"You are growing into a fine young man, son."

Harry flushed. "Don't speak too soon," he muttered.

Thor grinned. "Oh, I don't think I am," he chuckled. Then he looked serious. "I am proud of you,
Harry. Of the boy you are and the man you are becoming. I love you and I am proud of you.
Nothing will ever change that."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, dad," he said softly.

Thor clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Be good. Or at least, don't get caught," he said, with a wink,
then strode out of the Great Hall.

OoOoO

After this, breakfast quickly ended and the students went to their first lessons of the day, chatter
about the events of breakfast mixing in with the usual laments about unfinished homework.

"What was Asgard like?" Hermione asked. The reason that she asked so late after their return to
school was that after it became obvious that Harry was having a few issues coming to terms with
what he was, she'd realised that maybe bringing Asgard up wasn't the best idea.

"Cool. It's very… shiny. Oh, and I got kidnapped with an Asgardian kid who isn't all that bad when
you get to know him and a disturbingly insightful but really lovely eleven year old Olympian
demigoddess by these Disir things, which are sort of like talking Dementors with swords, we
escaped and the Asgardian guy swore allegiance to me," Harry said, shrugging. "Then I found out a
lot about the ancestors of the Founders, who apparently helped my granddad defeat a Frost Giant
invasion, and through Dad I'm descended from all four families, as they intermarried – for
instance, Salazar Slytherin actually had a decent amount of Gryffindor blood in him – as well as
from Asgard." Harry frowned. "Loki explained it as dad's human form as James served as a vessel
for his spirit, and so I inherited the spirit and the human genes. I think."

Hermione stared at him.

Harry shrugged. "That's pretty normal by Asgardian standards. But apparently the Disir are pretty
much impossible to kill, so the thing about me outsmarting them and using the Patronus got
blown way out of proportion."

"Harry, most adult wizards can't perform the Patronus," Hermione said. She left aside the issue of
genetics. It hurt her brain.

"Most adult wizards don't have Loki for an uncle and Professor Lupin for a teacher," Harry pointed
out.

He paused. "Oh, and the Scarlet Witch is alive and she's my godmother."

This time, it was Ron and Hermione who spoke in synchrony.

"WHAT?!"

OoOoO

Thor, as it transpired, hadn't left. In fact, he had gone up to Dumbledore's office. A meeting was in
progress. The appearance of the Winter Soldier, even if, for once, it was not followed by a trail of
corpses, was not something to take lightly. That was why Nick Fury, Deputy Director Jessica Drew
of MI13 – standing in for Peter Wisdom, who was still in hospital, Thor, Clint, Natasha and Steve
were present. Loki was busy 'researching' in Asgard, a euphemism which everyone took to mean
that he was using every morally and legally dodgy means he had at his disposal to get hold of
information that could end this conflict. At the same time, Tony and Bruce weren't present because
Tony was busy frantically building more Iron Man armours and upgrading all those he currently
possessed, and Bruce was trying to keep him relatively sane.

"Why did he do it?" Dumbledore mused. "All he did was put us on alert."

"And that's odd, since the Soldier is famous for not tipping anyone off to his presence unless he's
about to kill them. Most times, not even then," Fury said grimly. "He was doing this on purpose."

"Intimidation?" Snape suggested.

"No," Natasha said, tone utterly matter of fact. "If he'd wanted to do that, he'd probably have killed
Hagrid and left his body somewhere public."

"'e coulda tried," Hagrid growled.

Natasha gave him a calm, steady look. "No. He would have killed you," she said, tone unchanging.
"He's killed stronger. Far stronger."

"For example?" Snape asked. Natasha gave him a look that managed to combine coldness and
emptiness. It was like being stared at by the void of space. Then, after staring for just a few
moments too long, she looked away.

"Have you heard of the Mantle of Albion?" she asked.

"It is power," McGonagall said slowly. "Immense power granted by the Old Gods of Britain
through an artefact, usually the Amulet of Right."

Natasha nodded. "I don't know the details," she said bluntly. "But I do know that a bearer of the
mantle could take ninety five percent of Asgardians in a straight fight." She glanced at Thor, who
nodded his agreement.

"The Mantle and its wielder are a power that even the Allfather treats with respect," he said quietly.

"The Winter Soldier killed one without taking a scratch."

Thor's eyebrows shot up.

"How would you know that?" Snape asked, a touch of derision in his voice.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, tone warning, as those Avengers present all moved into ever so
slightly more hostile positions. Thunder rolled outside.

"No, it's okay," Natasha said emotionlessly, eyes cold and hard. "I know because I helped him do
it. I scoped out the target. I recorded his known abilities. I helped strategise. And I watched as the
Soldier put an enchanted bullet made of an alloy of adamantium and vibranium through his skull. I
was standing less than twenty feet away. In my pocket was a Makarov pistol, loaded with
matching ammunition. I watched as his lover cradled him, crying tears that didn't stop until a
second bullet took his own head from his shoulders."

Dumbledore's office was filled with a horrified silence.

"He was a secondary target, you see. He had no special powers, but he was quite a formidable
fighter. And, to be honest, he was a target of opportunity. We didn't have any reason not to kill
him," she continued, voice totally detached.

She looked Snape in the eye, and this time, he looked away, afraid of what he might see there. "I
know what he did because I was there when he did most of it. I was trained from the age of five to
be an assassin. A killing machine. I learned my lessons in the Red Room and I relearnt them on the
battlefield of Stalingrad at the age of 15. I have watched empires rise and fall and played my part in
both raising them up and bringing them down. And usually, that part was by the side of the Winter
Soldier. He was my partner for thirty five years. Almost everything he did, I had a hand in.
Approximately ten percent of his attributed kills were actually mine."

She paused and gave him a fake, polite Natalie Rushman smile. "Satisfied?"

Snape said nothing. It was the wisest thing he'd done during the meeting.

"But… that would make you eighty years old!" Professor Sprout said astonished. "How do you do
it?"

"I moisturise."

Clint snorted.

"That is not a matter that pertains to this discussion," Fury said. "Which is about why the Winter
Soldier was here."

"He was warning you."

Everyone turned back to Natasha. "If he didn't want you to see him, you wouldn't have seen him. If
he was on a mission, he wouldn't want you to see him. If he wasn't on a mission, he wouldn't be in
combats," she said. "That only leaves one purpose. He was warning you."

"Why?" Steve asked.

"He's not a machine, Steve," Natasha said. "I could always tell when his brainwashing was wearing
off because he'd bend the parameters of his mission almost beyond recognition, go out of his way
to minimise death for reasons other than convenience. And he'd wake up in the middle of the night,
screaming, horrified by what he'd done. I was moulded practically from childhood to be what I am.
I was specifically designed not to have a conscience. The fact I developed one later on merely
made me a statistical anomaly."

She shook her head. "He was different. Whoever he was, he was his own person before the Red
Room got hold of him. A good person. They had to break him to reshape him in their own image.
So they did. Over and over again." For the first time, she looked haunted. "I can still hear the
screams."

"He's brainwashed, then?" Steve asked.

"To one extent or another," Natasha said. "The Red Room was subtle. They'd make him think that
he was doing the right thing, that he was helping people. It was grim, they said, but necessary.
History needs its butchers, they said, as well as its shepherds. HYDRA…" she shook her head.
"They might follow that approach. Tried and trusted, and all that. But I doubt they'd bother. They'd
just brute force it. It's part of why, according to all reports, he's been totally silent. He either isn't
speaking because he doesn't have anything to say, or it's quite possible that he doesn't remember
how. All he'll remember is that there's a mission and that he has to complete it at all costs."
"What is the other part?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"He only spoke when he had to," Natasha said. "Or when he was with me."

"And why you?"

"Because he trusted me."

There was a long silence as all present mulled over the significance of these four simple words.

"Could you use that trust?" Dumbledore asked.

"Depending on how strong a hold the conditioning has on him, yes," Natasha said. "But it would
only work if they haven't stripped away his memory."

"They would do such a thing?" McGonagall asked, horrified.

"They want a weapon," Natasha said, and this time, if you really knew Natasha Romanov and knew
what to look for, you might hear a very slight tremor in her voice. "Not a man. And weapons don't
need memories."

Dumbledore nodded wearily. "That does not surprise me," he said quietly. "I wish it did."

"If it did, you wouldn't be able to protect this school," Fury said bluntly.

"I suppose not," Dumbledore said, then turned to the woman who had yet to speak. "Deputy
Director, does your organisation have any members who could be spared to protect Hogwarts?"

Drew nodded. "Two. They're not strictly Agents of MI13, but associates, in a similar fashion to the
Avengers Initiative," she said calmly.

"And they are?"

"Sean Cassidy," she replied.

"Ah," Dumbledore said softly. "The Banshee. Yes, I know of Mr Cassidy. He's one of Charles'
former students."

Steve looked puzzled, so Natasha murmured, "Professor Charles Xavier. He runs a school a bit like
Hogwarts."

"Oh," Steve said quietly, nodding. He'd heard of Charles Xavier, even met him a few times. He
liked the older man, in whom he saw something of a kindred spirit. They believed in the goodness
of humanity, even when they'd seen it at its worst.

"Is he capable?" Snape asked. "And more to the point, what is he capable of?"

"Cassidy's a former Interpol Detective – a muggle auror with an international remit," Fury said.
"He's also worked with and for SHIELD in the past, as well as MI13, being accorded Special
Agent status."

"And that means…?"

"That means that he was approached for the Avengers Initiative," Fury said coolly. "He turned the
approach down, saying that he was retired. Clearly that has changed." He folded his arms. "He's an
extremely well trained and experienced hand to hand combatant, first seeing action in Cuba, 1962."
"1962… that was the year of the Missile Crisis," Steve said, frowning.

"Yeah, Xavier's mob got involved in that," Fury said. "They saved the world."

"Surely that would make him quite old, now?" McGonagall asked, frowning.

"He's turning sixty three," Drew confirmed. "But he has the physique of a man in his early thirties.
The details are vague, but apparently he and all the others who were involved in the Cuba Incident
still living were rejuvenated fifteen years ago."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured.

"He's also one of the very few people still alive who knows who and what the so-called 'Angel of
Cuba' was," Fury muttered. "And for whatever reason, he's not saying."

"Is it important that we should know?" Thor asked, eyebrow raised.

"Not important as such," Fury said. "But it would be useful. The Angel went toe to toe with Namor
and Magneto in quick succession and gave a damn good account of himself. Someone with that
kind of power would be damn useful. And for some reason, Cassidy and company aren't saying."
He shrugged. "We can't dwell on it." He glanced at Dumbledore. "I could ring up a few other
members of the X-Men, actually. Summers senior might be game. He might be a gigantic pain in
the ass when the mood takes him, but he's powerful and a Vietnam vet, so there's no doubting his
capabilities and experience."

"Any assistance would be gratefully received," Dumbledore said. "And the second, Deputy
Director?"

"Warren Worthington III," she said. "Callsign, Archangel." She paused. "To be honest, Headmaster
Dumbledore, it's a sort of buy one get one free deal where Worthington is concerned. He's a more
than competent fighter, he showed that in the battle. Right now, he needs the steadying hand of a
mentor and Cassidy can provide that. But he also needs to be among people close to his own age –
he's eighteen, rising nineteen. People who don't bat an eyelid at how different he is."

"And how different is he?" McGonagall asked.

"He has wings," Drew said bluntly. "Made of some unidentified organic metal. Razor sharp
organic metal."

"That must make it hard for him to get close to anyone," Thor observed.

"Something which could leave a young man very bitter," Dumbledore observed. "But surely
Charles built his Institute for just this purpose?"

"He's not all that eager to live with his ex-girlfriend," Drew said. "Especially since she's a psychic
roughly on par with Agent Braddock and getting stronger every day."

Every man in the room winced.

"That sounds like the tenth circle of Hell," Clint said. "The one that Dante missed when he took the
grand tour."

McGonagall gave him a surprised look, to which he responded to with an amused one.

"Yes, I've read a poem. Try not to faint," he said dryly.

Dumbledore looked pensive. "If Mister Cassidy could be recruited, then that would be excellent.
The school more than has funds to compensate him for his time –"

"The British Government will be footing this bill, Headmaster," Drew replied firmly. "The students
are British citizens after all, and this is a matter of national security."

"The Ministry would be unlikely to fund such a matter," Snape began.

"The non-magical government," Drew said, a hint of steel in her voice.

"I don't trust the competence of the Ministry at large," Fury said. "That is a conviction that Director
Wisdom and Deputy Director Drew share."

Clint frowned "Aren't we all avoiding one very obvious candidate to protect this school?" he asked.
"The most powerful woman on the planet? Sorceress Supreme-in-Waiting, daughter of Magneto
himself and more than experienced in the art of handling both HYDRA and the Death Eaters?
Wanda Maximoff?"

"Otherwise known as your ex-girlfriend," Natasha said mildly.

Clint glared at her, then turned his glare on the rest of the room, every occupant of which, save
Nick Fury, who knew already, was looking at him with some degree of surprise.

"He has a thing for older women," Natasha said, tone completely matter of fact.

"We went on a few dates," Clint growled. "Nothing more."

Natasha raised an eyebrow that said that she was calling bullshit, but said nothing more.

Thor shook his head slowly. "This is ridiculous," he said, folding his arms. "Does every single
person connected in any way, shape or form to my son have some impossible connection to
everyone else?"

"I had been wondering that," Fury said, frowning.

"We could do a spider diagram and find out," Natasha suggested.

"Connections aren't entirely surprising, Thor," Dumbledore pointed out. "The powerful tend to be
drawn to each other. Also, you may recall Wanda's blessing."

"You think that's what's behind this?" Fury asked. If it was, it would explain a lot, he thought, not
least the Smallville Incident. And the physical appearance of the little boy at the heart of it. There
was something uncanny about the resemblance between Harry Thorson and Clark Kent.

"She once told me that Stephen suggested it. I don't think, I know," Dumbledore said quietly.
"Things are rarely coincidence where Wanda is concerned. Where Stephen is concerned,
coincidence does not exist."

"Blessing?" Natasha asked, frowning.

"After Harry was born, Wanda blessed Harry," Thor said quietly. "She said that he would never be
alone. He would always have someone to turn to."

"What power would such a blessing have?" McGonagall asked, still slightly stunned from the
revelation that her recently discovered grandson had had a close encounter of the intimate kind,
several, even, with Wanda Maximoff. "Wanda was always an uncommonly powerful witch, and
she learnt many things under Stephen's tutelage, but even so... no witch or wizard could do such a
thing."

"Then it is a very good thing that Wanda Maximoff is not just a witch, is it not?" a mild voice said
from by the door.

Everyone in the room whirled, Thor drawing Mjolnir, Clint, Natasha and Fury pulling pistols,
Drew readying one of her 'venom blasts' and McGonagall and Snape drew their wands, pointing
them at the speaker. Only Dumbledore didn't move.

"Hello, Stephen," he said calmly. "I wondered when you would turn up. Sherbet lemon?"
 Changes

Harry, rather belatedly, finally filled Ron and Hermione in on the full events of his trip to Asgard,
then spent most of the rest of the morning answering questions about it.

For instance, yes, his uncle had given him super-strength. No, he didn't still have it. And bloody
hell, Ron, of course he didn't have a bloody harem. What would he do with it, anyway?

"I'd have a few ideas," Ron had said, tone wistful. Hermione had given him an icy glare and then
launched into a diatribe about how harems were symptoms of the overall culture of objectification
and subjugation of women by patriarchal society throughout the ages, followed by an unabridged
history of feminism. Ron looked half defensive, half completely at sea.

Harry, meanwhile, tuned her out. While he understood the gist of what she was saying, and agreed
very strongly with it, that didn't mean he particularly felt the need to listen to it. He'd already got
the full history when he'd asked the room at large in Avengers Tower. Darcy, revealing her
carefully hidden depths, had sat him down and explained it to him.

The explanation had been concise, interesting and most importantly, easily understandable to a
complete beginner such as Harry, who felt that he was very much in favour of feminism, if only
because he regarded discrimination as both evil and utterly bemusing. He simply didn't understand
it. When he'd voiced this thought to Darcy, she'd given him a sad smile and ruffled his hair. "You
don't understand it because you're a rare kind of innocent, kid," she'd said. "People have always
hated other people because they're different. Because they're frightened. And I'm willing to bet that
you know that part as well as anyone."

"I've come across it," Harry had acknowledged, remembering the Dursleys. He shook his head.
"But it's so stupid!"

"Preaching to the choir, kid. Preaching to the choir," Darcy had sighed.

Harry had then asked where that phrase came from and they'd moved on to less depressing topics
of conversation. Afterwards, he'd suggested that she go into teaching. While she'd turned this idea
down flat (her exact words were, "Oh, hell no. I don't do well with kids, you excepted.") Harry
thought that having Darcy for a teacher would be cool. Though there was the risk that she'd taser
students instead of giving them detentions. Which, admittedly, could be considered a bonus.

Darcy was much like Fandral. She only looked shallow. And taking her at face value was
a very bad mistake.

So Harry therefore felt quite justified in tuning Hermione out. Her harangue – the diatribe had
stepped up several gears and Ron was now looking rather browbeaten. Harry inwardly debated
rescuing him, then decided against it. He valued his skin – was aimed at Ron, after all. That said, it
had acquired an audience and Harry could have sworn he heard a female voice say, in a tone that
might or might not have been serious, 'Preach it, sister!'

Freki and Geri, on the other hand, seemed to be quite interested for whatever reason. Harry felt that
it was perhaps best not to speculate.

"Um… Hermione?"

Harry glanced to his left and saw Ron's little sister, Ginny, hovering awkwardly. "Hi Ginny," he
said, giving her a friendly smile.
Ginny went red, and Harry inwardly sighed. So, she still had a crush on him. He thought she'd got
over that.

"Hi," she managed.

"How are you?"

"Fine. Um… and you?"

"Not bad."

There was a long, awkward silence. "It's a nice day," Ginny ventured.

Harry looked up at Hogwarts' famous ceiling. It was raining. A lightning bolt flashed across the
sky. Clearly his father was either in a bad mood, or not paying attention to the weather. Or, Harry
supposed, he could be showing off.

"You could say that," he said slowly. He paused. "Did you want to talk to Hermione?"

Ginny nodded. "She promised she'd help me with my Defence Against the Dark Arts homework,"
she said, sounding slightly more relaxed as the subject of conversation moved to more solid
ground. "And it's due this afternoon…"

Harry glanced over at Hermione. She was still going at full steam, while Ron looked like he
wanted the ground to swallow him or, better yet, for Hermione to shut up. "It could be quite a
while until she's finished," he said. "I could tap her on the shoulder to get her attention."

"You'd probably lose the finger," Ginny said with a slight grin.

"No probably about it," Harry muttered, smirking. Then he looked more serious. "Here, let me see
if I can help. Defence is my best subject."

"Really?" Ginny asked, surprised, then flushed. "I mean, really, would you help me, not really, is
defence your best subject. Sorry."

Harry grinned. "Really really," he said. "Really it's my best subject and really I'll help you."

"Oh, whoa, uh… thanks," Ginny said, stumbling over her words and getting her homework out of
her bag.

"Not a problem," Harry said, with a smile, then paused as Ginny squeaked. She'd just gone face to
face with a curious looking Freki. As soon as they made eye contact, he panted cheerfully, in an
attempt at friendliness. Unfortunately, it also revealed his fangs. Which were proportionate to the
rest of him, and thus about half a foot long. Really, it was to Ginny's credit that she didn't scream.

"Freki," Harry said, tone warning, and beckoned. Freki whined, but trotted over. Harry scratched
his ears. "They're perfectly harmless," he explained, to a slightly unnerved Ginny. "They're like the
wolf versions of Hagrid."

Ginny looked unconvinced, until Freki walked over to her, tail held low, eyes looking soulful and
whined gently, before presenting his head for stroking. Ginny reached out slowly, nervously, and
at Harry's nodded encouragement, stroked the enormous animal. "I didn't know that wolves were
this friendly," she said surprised.

Harry shrugged, as Geri trotted over, whining hopefully, and was rewarded with a scratch behind
the ears from Harry. "I don't know about other wolves, but the only thing I've ever seen these two
threaten is food and Jane's patience," he said. "Jane is my dad's girlfriend," he added. Once, he
wouldn't have been able to say that. Now, he nearly caught himself saying, 'Jane is my stepmother'.

Ginny laughed. Not a nervous, girlish giggle, but an honest to goodness laugh. "Sounds like Ron,"
she said.

Harry grinned. "It does, doesn't it?" he said.

"There are similarities. But personally, I find myself hoping that they're about more level headed
than he is," Draco said dryly. Harry blinked in surprise. Draco had appeared in complete silence,
and judging by the reactions of his fellow Gryffindors, been completely unnoticed by all and
sundry.

Freki barked suddenly, and Harry tensed, but the wolf merely trotted over to the other boy and
nuzzled at his hand, looking for attention, tail wagging, as if Draco was an old friend. Geri stayed
by Harry, but similarly indicated his welcome. Draco himself looked slightly surprised for a
moment, then blinked, as if in sudden comprehension, and smiled, fussing over the enormous wolf.

"Hello," he said. "Yes, you're a very fine animal, aren't you? You're both very fine animals."

Harry was dumbstruck, and he wasn't the only one. If nothing else, the contrast between Draco's
approach to Freki and the one he'd taken to Buckbeak was astonishing. Draco looked up and
smiled at him. "I find that it doesn't hurt to treat beings such as these with respect, Harry," he said.

"That's a change," Ginny muttered.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her then said, "Miss Weasley, if being attacked by an enraged
hippogriff wasn't enough to convince me of that, then I can hardly claim to be intelligent, let alone
cunning. I know your family doesn't think much of mine, and not without reason, but please give
me the credit of not being an idiot."

Ginny gave him a long look, then she said, in cool tones, "Well, your father didn't wriggle out from
being convicted as a Death Eater by being stupid, so I suppose you aren't either."

"The best I can expect from a Weasley, I think," Draco said. "But I didn't brave hostile territory to
talk to Weasleys, I came here to talk to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the comment, then glanced around. Draco wasn't exactly wrong. Most
of the Gryffindors were eyeing him with suspicion at best, hostility at worst. It reminded him of
how some of the Asgardian dignitaries had eyed King Farbaut, and it inspired a streak of
mulishness in him. "Sure," he said, and patted the space next time. "Take a seat."

Draco's eyes nearly escaped into his hair. This was quite an impressive feat, considering how far
said hair was slicked back. Then he smiled slightly, and took the seat. "You do realise that your
housemates will think that I am corrupting you," he said, tone conversational, not bothering to
lower his voice.

Harry shrugged. "Almost all of them thought I was the Heir of Slytherin last year. The only
exceptions were the Quidditch team, Hermione, Neville, Colin Creevey and anyone whose last
name was Weasley," he said. He didn't bother to lower his voice either. Nor did he bother to
disguise the slight edge in it that had more than few Gryffindors wincing.

Draco chuckled. "You're not pulling many punches, are you?" he said.
Harry thought for a moment. "Not as much as I used to," he said eventually.

"Good," Draco said.

"Good?"

"If you're too reserved in your opinions, people will take that as weakness," Draco said, voice full
of certainty that came from his psychic coach. "On the other hand, if you're too forthright, you
come off as rude. A balance must be struck."

Harry inclined his head. "Thanks for the tip," he said. "But I don't think you came into hostile
territory to give it, and I'm helping Ginny with her Defence homework."

"Then I will not keep you," Draco replied. "I just wanted to ask…" All of a sudden, the confidence
slipped, and he looked much younger. He took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask if you knew
anything about my mother. The Manor was attacked, as you no doubt know."

"Dad told me that she's fine," Harry said. "Under SHIELD's protection and a visit will be arranged
as soon as possible."

"SHIELD's protection? Harry, forgive me if that doesn't exactly reassure me considering that a
SHIELD transport was found in the Manor," Draco said, frowning. "And you may not know this,
but Director Fury and my father absolutely despise each other." He glanced at Ginny. "You think
that my father hates yours and vice versa?" Ginny nodded. "Well, they do, but that rivalry has
nothing on my father's with Director Fury. Fury is the reason my father walks with a limp and is on
his second wand. And my father is the reason Director Fury is missing an eye."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't known this. More to the point, how did Draco know? "How
do you know?" he asked.

"I watched the fight," Draco said softly. "It was the night after your mother was murdered, Harry. I
was in my cot and I heard shouting. I was quite small, but I managed to climb out of my cot, and
walk to the stairs. It was late at night, but the ground floor of the Manor was lit up by steadily
growing and furiously burning fire, more deadly and ferocious than any fire that I have ever seen or
heard of. Fury had by this point set the Manor alight, and he'd left my father for dead. The flames
had engulfed most of the ground floor and blocked off the stairs. He was about to leave, when
something made him turn. I think I must have screamed, though I don't remember it. He saw me
and without hesitating for a moment, he ran through the flames and up the collapsing stairs to get
to me. Then he carried me out and after that… I remember nothing." He gave Harry a solemn look.
"Without Director Fury, I wouldn't be here today." His tone turned dry. "Something I am sure that
most of Gryffindor house regrets."

"Where was your mother?" Ginny asked, puzzled. "Or your house elves?" She frowned. "And how
do you remember that much in the first place? You were two years old at most, weren't you?"

"A year and four months," Draco corrected. "And I've been doing a little research on Director Fury
recently. That triggered the memory, which was, as you can imagine, particularly traumatic."

Harry got a sense that this wasn't the whole truth, but didn't see any point in pursuing the matter.

"Like my mother's death," he said quietly.

Draco nodded. "Just so," he said. "As for the whereabouts of my mother and the House Elves… I
don't remember, though since apparition isn't safe for small children, it was possible that she had
left the country with most of the elves and I was to follow with father, in order to be away from the
anarchy that followed the fall of the Dark Lord."

This, Harry thought, was the most he'd really heard about the mysterious Director Nicholas Fury,
who, according to his father, had been the closest thing his mother had had to an older brother, and
had been his mother's candidate to be his godfather. So far, to Harry's disappointment, he had kept
his distance. Yes, he was doubtless a very busy man, but it had been three months now. Part of that
had been Christmas. Couldn't he have taken ten minutes to at least call? Or send a letter, like
Wanda?

Then, he realised that he hadn't read Wanda's letter, and resolved to read it once he'd helped Ginny.

"So," Draco said. "My mother is alive and well, according to your father, and a meeting will be
arranged soon."

Harry nodded.

"Good," Draco said, standing. He paused. "Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes?"

"My father is up to his neck in all of this, the monsters, MI6, even the Winter Soldier. He's behind
most of it," Draco said quietly. "Everyone knows it."

"And you wonder why we don't like you," a large Gryffindor fourth year boy drawled. "After all,
like father, like son."

"Apologise. Now."

Harry's words cracked like a whip, cutting off all chatter in the area around him. Even Hermione's
audience had stopped to pay attention.

The older boy gave him an astonished, even an offended, look. "Now, see here," he began. Then he
stopped. Because there was a slow, quiet sound of metal creaking and crumpling under strain.
Every eye, including Harry's own, was drawn to Harry's right fist, which had been holding a goblet.
Water was dribbling through his fingers. Slowly, uncertainly, he opened his fist to gasps.

The bowl of the goblet had been crumpled and crushed into a ball like it was made of tinfoil. And
Harry's hand was completely unmarred.

"Cool," the Weasley Twins whispered, as their sister stared from goblet to Harry with wide eyes.

The boy who had insulted Draco gulped. "Sorry," he whispered.

Harry nodded vaguely, still staring at the ruined goblet. "That good enough for you, Draco?" he
asked.

"Fine, thank you," Draco said, giving the goblet a long, long look. "I'll see you later, Harry."

"Right," Harry said, still staring at the goblet as normal chatter, if a bit more excited than before,
rose up, then shook himself and turned back to Ginny and smiled ruefully. "Now, I think I was
going to help you with your homework?"

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "I'd appreciate it," she said, voice carrying
just a hint of dryness. "Though if you don't mind, I'll be doing the writing."

At that, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

Yes, some of the changes he was going through were frightening. But one of the antidotes for fear
is laughter, and the company of friends only makes that laughter come more easily.

OoOoO

"Wanda is an incredibly powerful sorceress," Stephen said. "Something inherited from her
mother's side, the Maximoff bloodline. Of all mortal practitioners, only Victor Von Doom could
claim to be even close to her match. But the blessing… that came from the other side of her family.
The mutant side."

"Mutant?" Thor asked, frowning in puzzlement.

"Mutants are the next stage in human evolution," Stephen said. "They'll replace conventional
humans as the dominant species in a century, maybe two. Their 'X-Gene' marks them out as
different and gives them powers of varying kinds, ranging from the absolutely useless to the
absolutely immense. Charles Xavier is a powerful telepath, for instance. Wanda's father is
Magneto, able to manipulate the entirety of the electromagnetic spectrum." He looked at Thor.
"He's as powerful as you are, or in that region."

"I have heard stories about him," Thor said quietly. "I would not be surprised if that were so."

"And he's dangerous for reasons that have nothing to do with his powers," Natasha said.

"How dangerous?" Dumbledore asked. "I know little enough of his capabilities, as I only saw him
as a worried father, and even then, I was rather distracted trying to help Charles keep Wanda sane."

"Which you two managed admirably," Stephen said. "Erik Magnus Lensherr is one of the most
powerful beings on this planet. If he exerted his full power, he could tear it in half. Only a select
few wield similar levels of power." He glanced at Fury. "And yes, Nicholas, you do need to update
your files on him." Fury twitched and glared. Strange smirked, then sobered. "Wanda is one of that
select few. Her mutation is the power to manipulate probability."

"That sounds useful," McGonagall said slowly. "But how…" She paused and her eyes widened as
she paled, the implications settling in. "Oh my good lord."

"Yes," Stephen said mildly. "She has, among other things, been known to drop meteors on people's
heads. With what is quite literally pin point accuracy."

Snape looked visibly unsettled. Wanda Maximoff did not have much reason to like him and had a
famously nasty temper. If he'd known a few other salient facts, such as the fact that she was
Hermione's mother, he'd have been in urgent need of an underwear change. As it was, he merely
mulled over the fact that Wanda's probability altering blessing on that wretched boy had had the
side effect of making his life that much more difficult and humiliating in recent months.

"Yeah, Nicodemus certainly thought twice after that one," Clint muttered, then folded his arms.
"You're saying that Wanda essentially altered probability where Harry was concerned, something
that could potentially affect the entire universe for millennia to come, in order to make sure he was
protected."

"At my suggestion, yes," Strange replied calmly.

"Did that suggestion come from your foresight?" Thor asked.

"It came from necessity."

Everyone stared at Strange, waiting for him to elaborate. He merely smiled enigmatically.

"This blessing," Thor said slowly. "I had not been aware that it had had any effect, what with what
happened at the Dursleys."

"The blessing's effects have got stronger with necessity. Harry was never in mortal danger at Privet
Drive. Now… mortal danger, I suspect, is the new normal. And there was another factor at work
there," Strange said, tone suddenly grim. "A powerful and malevolent intelligence, one who
specifically sought to keep Harry alone. To that end, I suspect that he brainwashed Mrs Figg,
among others, to prevent her from noticing what was happening to Harry."

"I had wondered why she had not spoken of Harry's treatment," Dumbledore said, frowning in
thought. "She was never exactly glowing in her reports of the Dursleys as guardians, but there was
much, I think, that was amiss. Much that she did not mention. Now I suspect that she was coerced
into not mentioning it."

Thor frowned, and thunder boomed and rolled outside. "You know of this one?" he rumbled.

"Know of? Yes. Know where? No," Strange said. "He is an elusive man. If you could even call
him a man," he added darkly.

"Who is he?" Thor asked, voice a growl.

"He has had many names," Strange said. "He does not age, he does not die and he cares for nothing
but his own aims."

Fury's eye narrowed. "It's Zola, isn't it?" he said quietly.

Strange gave him a thin, bleak smile. "Zola? Oh no, Nicholas. He is much worse than Zola. Zola
was but an apprentice, learning at the feet of the Master."

"Can you help us find him?" Thor asked. "Because I would have words with this creature."

"I could not. He rarely surfaces and has been known to shake off all forms of magical tracking,"
Strange said. "Even mine."

"Is he a threat?" Fury asked.

"Does fire burn? Yes, Nicholas, he is a threat. One of the worst this world has ever known,"
Strange said. "But he is no fool. He will not cross you. So he will not harm Harry. His reckoning
can wait until he surfaces once more, and surface he will." He met Thor's gaze. "You will have
your chance, Thor. You merely have to wait for it."

Thor looked like he disagreed, but grunted in reluctant acceptance. "I did not believe that Wanda's
blessing had had any effect," he said. "Now, with the way you speak of the force that opposed it
and the family, friends and allies my son has gathered since that influence fell away and matters
became more serious… I see that it has had more effect than I believed possible."

"And more effect than you yet realise," Stephen said. "Far more. Harry's destiny was always
strong. Only the destiny of the Last Son compares." Everyone listening noticed how he managed to
vocalise the capital letters.

"The Last Son?" Fury asked. "Who is that?"

"A Beacon of Hope," Stephen said simply, the capitals once more sliding neatly into speech. "One
of two. Harry is the other. And their paths shall cross soon enough." He met Dumbledore's gaze.
"Hogwarts needs the Banshee and the Archangel. Leave Wanda be for now. She has a role to play
yet, but it does not take her to Hogwarts. Not yet."

"Why not?" Natasha asked. "She could get to know Harry." Her tone was outwardly mild and
completely innocent. In fact, she was testing Strange.

"The Darkhold is free. It is wielded by Gravemoss, an immortal necromancer powerful enough to

frighten Selene herself," Strange replied grimly. He sighed. "It may be that a new Sorcerer
Supreme, or rather, a Sorceress Supreme, will be required by the time that this is over," he said
heavily.

A wave of shock passed through the room. Stephen Strange was popularly considered to be nigh
invincible, an immortal guardian of all that was pure and good, an immovable bastion against the
forces that would unleash horror on this Earth. The thought that he could die was a troubling one,
to say the least.

"Stephen," Dumbledore began, stricken.

"It is not certain," Strange said quietly. "Not by any means. But it is possible enough that I need to
prepare."

"Nonsense, Stephen! I have seen Gravemoss fight. He is no match for you, Darkhold or no
Darkhold," Thor said in an attempt at his heartiest and most bracing voice. It rang hollow.

"Thor," Strange said, smiling sadly. "He survived one of your better strikes after taking the Death
Curse of Harry Dresden in the face from close range and being harried by Tony Stark. Dresden will
become Wanda's apprentice if I fall. He is one the forty most powerful mortal practitioners,
wanded or otherwise, on the planet, and he is nowhere near his magical prime. And Stark's armour
packs quite the punch. You know as well as I do that Gravemoss was young when you last saw
him fight, and he has grown exponentially more powerful since then, Darkhold aside. In any case,
it is not him that I am worried about."

He sighed, and suddenly, he looked tired. "The Darkhold is free and being used. As long as that
happens, the boundaries of reality weaken. Dormammu, Shuma-Gorath, Lucifer… all of them are
looking to capitalise. I can stop any one of them, two if I really must. But all three? And they are
only the worst of that which seeks a way into this world. The worst but for one." He looked away.
"I am needed at the Outer Gates. I have helped you as best I can. Good day." He whirled on his
heel and disappeared in the swirl of his cloak.

"That," Fury said, breaking the silence. "Is worrying. Very, very worrying."

"I am afraid that I must concur, Nicholas," Dumbledore sighed. "Now, I am going to write letters to
the parents, detailing the risks of their child's attendance, which, I think, are not as high as they
might appear to be."

"Headmaster, the Winter Soldier was here," Drew said, frowning. "Almost certainly on a recon
mission."

"I know, Deputy Director," Dumbledore said, a slight smile on his face. "As mentioned earlier, the
Winter Soldier is never seen unless he wants to be."

Natasha nodded her agreement. "He doesn't hurt children," she said. "He got creative every time
the Red Room tried to make him do it, finding ways around his orders that no one thought possible.
No one's sure why, but it was generally considered not to be worth the trouble of figuring out. And
it was one of the first things that told me that there was a person in there." She shrugged. "Child
killing missions were rare and the Red Room had plenty of other operatives who didn't have the
same scruples. A few of the really sick bastards like Rossovich actually got off on it. And the
Soldier performed his other duties to perfection, so no one really cared, either."

"Is he breaking his programming?" Fury asked.

Natasha was silent for a long moment. "As I said, he doesn't hurt children," she said quietly. "That
was standard behaviour for him."

"Are you saying that he never hurt a child?" Minerva asked, surprised.

Natasha was silent for a moment. "Whenever he had to disable a child, if he had business with their
parents –" It was clear that 'business' was a euphemism, and even clearer that it was one which
covered a multitude of sins. "He did it gently and painlessly. And in any case, most of the missions
we were sent on were either intel gathering or assassinations, usually of particularly challenging
targets. Children tended not to be involved." She paused. "Once or twice, we had to set bombs.
And bombs cause collateral damage."

There was silence.

"No children were killed," Natasha said. "But some were injured. Badly. They recovered, but
James never forgave himself." Her expression quite clearly said that he wasn't alone in that. Clint
silently reached down, took her hand, and squeezed. She frowned in thought. "All that said, he'll
know exactly how dangerous Professor McGonagall is, if not Thor, and I think it's very likely that
he'll have been briefed on the Avengers and Harry. So why would he risk appearing in front of two
people liable to react violently to someone who happens to be a serious potential threat to Harry?
He doesn't take any risk that isn't entirely calculated. And if he's running the risk of being struck
by a lightning bolt or a hundred…"

"And that's just for starters," Thor muttered darkly.

"Then he has to have a very good reason to put himself at that level of risk," Dumbledore finished.
"So it is not the warning itself that is the crucial factor, but the risks taken to give it. Which means
that the appropriate question is 'would the Winter Soldier take such a risk for such a reason?'"

"No," Natasha said, with rigid conviction. "He wouldn't. If he'd done it, he would have found
another more discreet way." She met Dumbledore's gaze. "But James, the man I knew, would. In a
heartbeat."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. I shall write to the parents, detailing the situation and the fact that
we are working with SHIELD and MI13 to protect the students. I shall not mention the Soldier, as I
believe that based on Agent Romanova's judgement, he will not be the one to attack. However, I
am not so arrogant as to believe that our current security could keep him out or anyone competent
who happens to be using information that he has acquired," he said, voice calm and firm. "I will
also seek to employ Messrs Cassidy and Worthington. If nothing else, he is an extra pair of eyes
and, I believe, an extremely capable combatant. Also, as mentioned by Deputy Director Drew, it
would do the young man some good, and I think that will go both ways. For too long has the
Wizarding World been suspicious of those who are different, especially those who look different.
The world is changing. It is time that we changed with it."

Fury nodded. "I couldn't agree more, Albus," he said.

"Maybe a SHIELD team might also be appropriate," Thor said.

"No," Dumbledore said. "Their presence would not dissuade either HYDRA or the Death Eaters,
nullifying their potential as a deterrent. I would also like to avoid causing a panic among the
students, and in any case, it would tip our hand. We do not want HYDRA to know that we saw the
Soldier. Mister Cassidy will be added to the staff as a part time Professor, starting an optional
evening class on non-magical self-defence, and Mister Worthington can come along as an assistant
flying teacher."

"That would be a good idea, actually," Clint said. "Harry's been learning the basics from us, and it
wouldn't hurt to keep him sharp."

"Which martial art?" Dumbledore asked.

"A mix," Natasha said. "Some judo. Some Krav Maga. Some Muay Thai. A few other techniques."
She tilted her head, as if briefly consulting her memory. "Cassidy's good. He's a skilled aikidoka,
among other things."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is settled then," he said. "If parents wish to withdraw their children, they
may do so." He glanced at his teachers. "The teachers will provide coursework that will allow the
students to complete at least the theoretical side of their courses, with arrangements being made so
that they can return to sit the exams. Accordingly, I will also contact the Ministry and have them
turn a blind eye to underage magic used in the households of the students in question." His tone
said that the Ministry would do as he asked, and no one present doubted it. He steepled his fingers.
"I suspect that most wizarding families will leave their children here. Muggle families, on the other
hand, I suspect will be divided fairly evenly."

"More muggleborn students will leave than stay," Fury opined. "Especially in the younger years."
He gave Dumbledore a look. "Maybe it would be better not to say anything."

Dumbledore gave him a look that was entirely devoid of twinkle. "Nicholas," he said coldly. "I will
not deceive the parents when their children's lives are potentially at risk. They have been placed
into my care. I am in loco parentis, a relationship based on trust, and I have an obligation not to
deceive them."

"Didn't stop you hiding the Stone here. Or keeping quiet about the Basilisk," Fury said calmly,
meeting Dumbledore's gaze. "Even if you didn't know what that thing was, you did know that it
could and had killed in the past."

"The Stone was Voldemort's target. However, even if he had acquired it, he would immediately
have departed as quietly as he could, in order to regain his body in private," Dumbledore replied
quietly. There was a hint of danger in his voice. "As for the Basilisk, I knew that it had killed
before, under the command of Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle as he was back then. I also knew that
it had only killed once, partly because of my presence and partly because Riddle recognised that if
he tried it again, his presence would garner unwanted attention. I judged that he would want
outside attention even less this time, something only reinforced by petrification. If, however, all the
students had been pulled out, he would have won and it would be unlikely that any students would
return to Hogwarts for a very long time. If, instead, teams of Aurors had been sent in, they would
either have found nothing, or forced his hand and resulted in the Basilisk going on a rampage."

Fury nodded. "Good. You haven't lost your edge," he said.

"You were testing him?" Thor asked, askance.

"If you're going to play with HYDRA, you need to play hardball," Fury said, not looking away
from Dumbledore, who was eyeing him with a distinctly unamused expression that said he knew
exactly what Fury had been doing and he hadn't liked it one bit. "I wanted to know if Albus was
still capable of that."

McGonagall stared at him, then at her grandson, who spocked an eyebrow, then shrugged. It was
in that moment that she was reminded quite forcefully that her grandson had, and possibly still,
killed people for a living.

He was a good person, but that didn't change the fact that he was extremely ruthless. A little thing
like manipulation was unlikely to register on his moral radar, especially considering the nature of
the woman he loved and who loved him in return – though the likelihood of either admitting that
within the next decade was, she judged, depressingly slim.

And, she felt, he was rubbing of on Harry, him and the rest of the Avengers. He walked differently,
talked differently, even thought differently if she was any judge. He looked older, sharper, and
more… edgy, as if the softer, childish side of him was being slowly washed away, something that
she could well believe would happen to a child in the care of the Avengers. They were all fine
people and Thor was as good a father as any child could desire, but with the exception of Captain
Rogers, she sometimes felt that there was more cynicism in them than there was in all the Ministry
put together.

As for Harry, she'd been watching him. There was something about him now, something that
whispered that, while he wasn't dangerous as such, he was not to be trifled with. His peers
instinctively deferred to him, his seniors treated him with respect and his juniors regarded him with
awe.

And maybe that was his due. He was, after all, a demigod, a Prince, firstborn son of the heir to the
most powerful throne in the universe. In all fairness, before this year, he'd been distinctly reluctant
to assert himself outside of a crisis situation. He'd preferred to remain among his close knit trio of
friends, one which he'd formed in the earliest weeks of his time at Hogwarts and one that seemed to
be settling in for the long term, with none others penetrating into that inner circle.

Now, he was associating more and more with the Weasley Twins, making friends in Asgard,
according to a proud Thor, one of whom was an Asgardian boy about Harry's age, the other of
whom was an Olympian girl, daughter of Hercules himself. She wouldn't have believed it only a
few months ago.

Now, she just had to take it in her stride, as she had with all the revelations that had come thick and
fast. For one, who would think that cheerful, outgoing young man like Agent Fury, rarely seen out
of the company of Lily Potter or his drinking companions and fellow rogues, Sirius Black and John
Constantine, would go on to become the Director of SHIELD, a cold, ruthless spymaster who
played mind games with Albus Dumbledore himself without batting his remaining eyelid, having
ascended to become arguably the most powerful man in the Western Hemisphere, all in barely
more than a decade?

Speaking of the muggle world, Harry was making friends there too. A boy called Jean-Paul
Beaubier, and a girl called Carol Danvers. She'd heard Harry talking about how good the latter was
at muggle sport, particularly the one called 'discus'.

Maybe some of this was Wanda's blessing, which even now she wouldn't have believed if it hadn't
been verified by Stephen Strange himself, but she liked to think that all that would do was
influence how powerful those friends he made were, not the making of the friends themselves. And
besides, from what little she knew, probability magic couldn't change the way you thought.
Therefore, any friendship formed was one formed on its own merits.

In short, it made her heart glad to see Harry opening up more, becoming a happier, more confident
and more outgoing individual. He was blossoming under the influence of his father, his uncle and
the Avengers, who, cynicism and oddball nature aside, all clearly cared for him.

Then she balanced that against the grimness of Nicholas Fury, no longer the laughing young man
she'd known, the unspoken darkness in her grandson's soul - killing left a stain, no matter how
noble the cause. She knew that better than most - and Harry's sharp edges. Then there was poor
Sirius, innocent and exiled from his homeland, having been betrayed by a friend and locked up in
Azkaban for over a decade, a place that Doctor Strange had once memorably called 'a little piece of
Hell on Earth'.

And that was just the personal consequences, to those she knew. There was a darkness spreading
across the world, and she had a horrible feeling that the Darkhold was only the beginning.

You see, what everyone also forgot about the Age of Heroes was that the heroes always had to
have something to fight against.

The heroes were coming back.

Trouble was, so were the monsters.

OoOoO

In the end, Ginny's homework was quickly done, which was a blessing, since if it had taken much
longer, they'd have been late for their respective lessons. So, with that in mind, she gave him a
hasty thank you, stuffed her books back in her bag, and dashed off.

"That was nice of you," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "I thought I could help. So I offered and she accepted," he said simply.

"Yes, but Harry… she's still getting over her crush on you," Hermione said.

Harry frowned. "Are you saying that I shouldn't have helped her?" he asked, a touch sharply.

"No! I'm saying that it was good of you just to treat her as a person. It shows her that you're one
too," Hermione said. "Which could be important."

"What? Why?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you are now quite literally Prince Charming. You're in direct line to the
throne of Asgard, the shining Realm Eternal. Harry, you're basically the Prince of Heaven
itself. And it doesn't hurt that your father and uncle are simultaneously gods who were and are still
worshipped in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds and superheroes, while you're the Boy Who
Lived and have saved the school twice in successive years," she said. "Harry, to people who don't
know you, you're larger than life. To people who do know you, you can seem that way
sometimes."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked. "Is it my powers –"

"No," Hermione said. "It was long before your powers started coming through."

"Though people are going to notice if you keep squashing goblets, mate," Ron put in.
"I fixed it," Harry replied, slightly annoyed.

"Yes, with a wave of your hand," Hermione said. "I know Loki's teaching us, but you have to
understand, Harry, wandless magic is incredibly rare among wanded wizards. Even the White
Council still prefer to use a focus, like a personally made wand, and only the really old and
powerful ones can reliably use magic without one. To see you doing it so casually… well, that does
rather make you seem to live up to the image people have of you." She glanced down at Freki and
Geri. "And then there's the wolves."

"I like them," Harry said, defensively. "So does Ginny."

"We think they're cool," one the Twins chipped in.

"So does Lee."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said, utterly ignoring the Twins. "But they're nearly as tall as you are."

"They're harmless," Harry protested.

"Mate, I don't think they were sent down here to play fetch," Ron pointed out in a reasonable tone.
He paused, and grinned slightly. "Hey, do you think they eat spiders? Giant spiders?"

Freki and Geri perked up at this prospect.

Harry paused for a moment, then shook his head. "It would upset Hagrid," he said.

"Harry, those bloody things tried to eat us!"

"Those bloody what?" the Twins asked, curiously.

Hermione sighed. "Hagrid's keeping a colony of Acromantulae in the Forest, and they tried to eat
Harry and Ron last year," she said. "That's one of the many very good reasons why the Forest is
Forbidden," she added pointedly.

"Brother dearest," one of the Twins (Harry was pretty sure that it was Fred) said, swinging an arm
round Ron's shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell us?" said Maybe George, mimicking his Twin's action.

"Because maybe I don't want to talk about it," Ron growled, "Geroff!"

Ron was a growing boy and already nearly of a height with his stockier brothers, and they didn't
put up much, if any, resistance, so he easily shrugged them off.

"Now, now, Ronniekins –"

"You'd better mind that temper."

Ron was steadily going red, Hermione had let out an irate tch sound and retreated into a textbook,
so Harry chose to change the subject.

"So… what did you do over Christmas?"

OoOoO

"Nicholas," Thor said as they descended the stairs. Deputy Director Drew had already left.
Through the window. Thor might have taken the same route except that he wanted to say goodbye
to his son, if at all possible. Also, he wouldn't fit.

"I cannot help but notice that you haven't made the time to meet Harry," he added. There was more
than a slight touch of rebuke in his voice.

"I do have something of a crisis on my hands right now, Thor," Fury said. "I'm too damn busy."

"You don't even have five minutes?" Thor asked, disbelieving.

Fury stopped, and turned. He met Thor's gaze. "Lily was the closest thing I've ever had to a sister.
Her parents were my mentors. Put together, they were the only kind of damned family that I've
ever known," he said, voice hard and level. "Sure, part of me wants to meet Harry more than
anything else. At the same time, part of me wants to stay the hell away, because seeing him will
open some wounds that shut long ago, and who knows what he'll make of me. Another part of me
says that it might help him. And most of me says that the best way to help him is by keeping my
head in the game, because if not, we could be looking at a disaster that wipes out all higher life
forms."

"Nothing left but dust and fundamentalists," Clint quipped. Natasha smirked.

"You can't avoid him forever, Nicholas," Thor said.

"I don't intend to," Fury replied. "One way or another, I have to see him, if only because I owe Lily
that much and more. Hell, I owe you that much and more. But right now, the best thing I can do
for Harry is to get the job done."

Thor nodded. "I understand," he said quietly. "But he has been asking about you. He wants to meet
you."

"Maybe it's better that he doesn't," Fury said darkly. Thor waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.
And on reflection, Thor found that maybe, just maybe, elaboration wasn't needed.

OoOoO

Three lessons and two hours of Ron complaining on and off about how the Twins had spent the
entire holiday practising pranks on him, and, unlike some people, he didn't get to hang around with
attractive American girls – Harry hadn't mentioned that Carol was attractive, which even he noted
would be far selling her short, much less the Avengers, much, much less actual deities – Harry had
made a beeline for the Library. This wasn't something he often did, unless there was a crisis afoot.
Ron hadn't actually been kidding about the shrine and was, while he treated Harry near exactly the
same way, having a little trouble getting his head around the concept that Harry was, technically, a
demigod.

Harry, understandably, was having a little trouble getting used to it himself. But since he was a
demigod and a Prince of Asgard, he thought he might as well find out about his family's past,
hence his visit to the Library.

And as he strode towards the Library, he tried to ignore the little voice that said that maybe
this wasn't a good idea. After all, it pointed out, you don't know what skeletons are in the family
closet.

That's the point, Harry thought. I want to find out.

Well, don't say I didn't warn you, the little voice retorted, in, what Harry would later reflect was a
tone very reminiscent of Hermione. While he loved her like a sister, no one else quite managed to
invest innocent, blameless words with that much of a holier than thou attitude.

Which was ironic, since as a genuine demigod, Harry actually was holier than thou, not matter who
thou happened to be.

Holiness notwithstanding, Harry entered the Library and asked Madam Pince if there was a section
on Asgardians. She'd given him a suspicious look, as if suspecting him of a joke, but had helped
him pick out a small stack of books, including one ancient and slightly moth eaten book that
proclaimed itself to be: Thee Deedes Of Heroes, ane Historie off thee Froste Gyant Warre.

Clearly, Harry thought, this one had been written back before the invention of spelling.

"Yeah, the syntax is gonna screw you over if you try to read that," a familiar voice said,
accompanied by a familiar weight on both shoulders.

"Hello Huginn," Harry said. "Uh… what are you doing here?" he asked, then gulped as Madam
Pince poked her head around the corner, glaring bloody murder.

Freki, Geri, Huginn and Muninn glared back. Their glares were less 'bloody murder', more 'bloody
and creative genocide'.

Both messengers and bodyguards get very good at glaring, especially after thousands of years of
practice. Not being humanoid only makes it a more important skill, since the humble glare has to
do the work of an entire body's worth of hostile body language.

Madam Pince shrivelled slightly, and slowly retreated.

"We're keeping an eye on ya," Muninn said laconically. "Boss's orders."

"The wolves are great for ripping things apart, but they're not so hot on conversation," Huginn
added.

"They protect your body, we protect your mind," Muninn said proudly.

"Unlike your dad, you actually –"

"Finish that sentence and I won't give you marshmallows ever again," Harry said flatly.

Huginn's beak snapped shut, and both wolves let out an amused chuffing sound. "Laugh it up
fuzzballs," the raven muttered. "So, ya want to find out about your family, do ya?"

"Yes."

"Well, you could start with that kind over there," Muninn said helpfully, indicating a quietly
hovering Ravenclaw student.

Harry blinked and met the other boy's gaze. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Maybe I can help you," the boy said, handing Harry a book. "I heard what you were talking about
and thought that this book might help. It talks about how Muggles and Wizards reacted to the
Norse Gods."

"Thanks," Harry said, looking down at the book. "But I'm looking for stuff about my family, like
these," he said, gesturing at the pile of histories.
The Ravenclaw student blinked and Harry reflected that he should probably ask his name. "Oh, I
would have thought that you wanted to know, about your father," he said, slightly downcast.
"Unless, maybe you know it already."

"Know what?"

"That they sacrificed in his name."

Harry's blood ran cold. Freki and Geri, sensing his distress, whined.

"Crap," Huginn muttered. "Look, kid, maybe we should take this somewhere else, and we can talk
to –"

Harry silently reached up and grabbed his beak.

"Who?" he demanded, in a low, soft whisper.

"The Scandinavian and Germanic peoples, all across Central and Northern Europe," the Ravenclaw
continued, utterly oblivious. "They sacrificed animals and people to Thor, Odin and Loki."

He gave Harry a concerned look. "Didn't you know that?"

 The Past Is Another Country

Albus Dumbledore was enjoying a quiet evening. He had made arrangements for the refreshing of
the wards, written letters to Messrs Cassidy and Worthington, requesting that they come and
detailing the arrangements that would be made, financial and otherwise, for their comfort and
convenience. He had also written the mass letter to the parents, which would be sent from the Post
Office the next morning, the school having only so many owls to call upon at once.

After all, they only needed to send out at any one time, at most, owls announcing the results of
OWL's and NEWT's, which, if there were about sixty students in a year, meant one hundred and
twenty owls.

The delivery of lists of requirements for the coming year, as sent to every student in every year
before the start of each of year, was also subcontracted to the Post Office. Indeed, Dumbledore
suspected that that was just about the only reason the Hogsmeade Post Office was able to remain in
business. After all, Hogsmeade was barely a village, and many witches and wizards owned their
own owls.

He might have said that it was subsidised by the Ministry, but in his experience, the Ministry
thought that money was very valuable, and therefore it was to be collected in as grand proportions
as possible, stored in very safe places (such as pockets) and only used for the public benefit as a last
resort.

It was one of what Dumbledore considered far too many symptoms of the sad fact that Magical
Britain was in steep decline. The rich grew richer, the poor grew poorer, and the mediocre
suppressed the intelligent. It was an unspoken truth that any young wizard or witch with the sense
to see what was right in front of them, the means to do so and without a burning desire to serve the
public/serve themselves would slip out of Magical Britain as quickly and quietly as possible, either
to Europe, or more commonly, the Americas and Australia. In recent years, Japan, Brazil, the more
stable parts of Africa and China were also becoming popular destinations.

Of course, this was a matter complicated by the fact that the Ministry as an institution did not like
the idea of the best and brightest witches and wizards leaving. It wasn't simply the financial cost,
or even the prestige cost, though Dumbledore knew for a fact that the American Ministry was in
the habit of sending their British counterparts a somewhat smug monthly bulletin on just how well
the émigrés were doing, and how many were flocking in every day, a habit that they'd picked up
from the French.

It was a habit which the Ministry found extremely annoying, but couldn't reasonably protest, as all
they would get was looks of milky eyed innocence and puzzled questions about why they didn't
want to hear about what fine young people Britain was producing, people to be proud of to be sure.
People, more to the point, who were leaving as quickly as they could, and going to other countries.
This habit had stepped up in recent years, along with a simplification of the immigration process
for European (read, British) expatriates, leading Dumbledore to suspect that Nick Fury was taking
his passive aggressive revenge on the Ministry and the British Wizarding World at large.

The Chinese and Japanese Ministries were far too polite to do such a thing, but they didn't need to.
Their newspapers were perfectly happy to do it for them.

In the end, what bothered the Ministry was not being in control. They considered all wanded
British magic to be their domain to do with as they pleased. Dumbledore rather uncharitably
suspected that they would consider all British magic, wanded or wandless, to be their domain to do
with as they pleased, if they weren't all scared stiff by Arthur Langtry and the White Council,
which was based in Edinburgh.

In fairness, he couldn't blame them for that. The Merlin taken as an individual was man who
wielded incredible amounts of raw personal power, and the other seven members of the Senior
Council were no less formidable.

Ebenezar McCoy, for instance, was the youngest and least experienced member of the Senior
Council. He was also the magical equivalent of a bare knuckle brawler – and had probably started
and ended his fair share of bar fights with said bare knuckles, no magic required, for that matter –
was the White Council's unofficial assassin and had pulled a disused satellite out of space and used
it essentially as a gigantic fly swat.

And then there was Harry Dresden.

Everyone was scared of Harry Dresden.

Even the Fallen were scared of Harry Dresden.

Dumbledore supposed that this wasn't exactly surprising, considering all that he'd done, but
apparently Harry Dresden was actually a rather nice young man. Until you tried to hurt an
innocent, or worse, one of his friends. Under such circumstances, he did things that made men and
monsters worldwide quake in their boots, and the Ministry found the concept of him coming to
Britain a terrifying one.

Apparently he wasn't all that fond of authority.

Really, Dumbledore was quite tempted to hire him as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, just
to see Fudge's reaction. Maybe he might be able to induce an aneurysm. Or a panic attack. Or
maybe it would scare seven kinds of crap out of Fudge, which Dumbledore would find immensely
interesting from a scholarly standpoint, as thus far, he had only discovered five kinds of crap.

On the other hand, the job was quite obviously cursed and Stephen appeared to have earmarked
Dresden for the Sorcerer Supreme after next. Wanda, naturally, would be his direct successor.

The Sorcerer Supreme. That was another thing the Ministry didn't like, since they couldn't control
it. Dumbledore recalled the story of one Minister in the 1820's suggesting that maybe, since Doctor
Strange was apparently a British citizen, he should work for British interests. Magical British
interests, of course.

As Dumbledore recalled, that Minister had been summoned to Strange's London apartments (he'd
moved to New York in the sixties, on the grounds that he blended in better there. Having visited
Strange's New York residence in his usual garb and not seen one batted eyelid, Dumbledore
thought that he might have a point). The Minister in question had entered as haughty as the
Pureblood Lord he was, and had left half an hour later, a pale, cringing wreck who gibbered at the
sound of bagpipe music and vomited uncontrollably whenever he heard the words 'authority',
'theoretically' and 'parsley'.

Stephen, needless to say, had a twisted sense of humour, and unsurprisingly, no one had ever raised
the idea again.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, and then picked up his latest book. The Sword In The Stone, by T.H.
White. He'd seen Harry reading it one afternoon, and inquired about it. He'd found the premise
interesting and acquired a copy of his own, and now he was rather enjoying it.
One might think that as Headmaster of a school under threat by HYDRA, he shouldn't be relaxing.
Instead, he should spend every waking moment worrying about the threat. Dumbledore would
reply that such a thing was pointless, since HYDRA were in no state to attack any time soon, and in
any case, to worry so much would only lessen his ability to protect the school. He was an old man
and had long learned that sometimes, it was best simply to relax.

Then there was a loud crash down below, a swift clacking sound up the stairs, followed by a thump
as whatever had apparently bulldozed its way through the gargoyle met the spell enhanced door.
This thump was followed by loud, frantic scrabbling.

Dumbledore put down the book, drew his wand, stepped off to one side, granting him the greatest
angle from which to attack and the most difficulty for any attacker to immediately turn and face
him (the door opened into the room for specifically that purpose), and flicked his wand.

The door opened, and not half a moment later, one of Harry's enormous wolves burst in, with what
looked like a vaguely motion sick raven clinging onto its back, looking frantic.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Good evening," he said dryly. "Would you like me to make you
some refreshment, or will you take it yourself? Considering what you've done to my poor gargoyle,
I think I would prefer the former to the latter."

"You gotta come with us," the raven said, stifling what sounded like a nauseous and faintly avian
belch.

"What's wrong?"

The wolf whined, and rocked from one foot to the other, clearly impatient to be getting going.

"Stop it!" the raven snapped, irritated. "I'm trying ta get my brains back in one place, no thanks to
you."

The wolf growled, a more than slightly disconcerting sound when emanating from an animal larger
than some cars, but settled down.

The raven took a deep breath. "The kid's upset. I mean, real upset," he said. "He… found out some
things that maybe he coulda been told a little more subtly."

"What things?" Dumbledore asked. "And where is he?"

"The library," the raven said, just as Fawkes let out a mournful call. The raven shot the Phoenix a
slight glare, then ignored him. "And… well, I'll explain on the way."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then let us waste no time."

He strode through the castle at a pace that belied his age, repairing the groaning gargoyle with a
flick of his wand and not a single break in step, long legs eating up the distance at speed.

The wolf – which one, he didn't know – was trotting alongside him, matching his pace, and the
raven explained exactly what had happened.

In short, Harry had, with the help of another, apparently utterly oblivious student, stumbled upon
the fact that the Norse and Germanic peoples, even a few of the Saxons, had sacrificed human
beings to his father.

"We wanted to ease him into it," the raven explained. "'Cos goldilocks and Loki were pretty
freaked out by it. Hel, it was the reason that goldilocks stopped coming to Midgard in the first
place."

"But you did not have the time to explain this," Dumbledore said, with a sigh.

"Right. And…" the raven shuffled its feet, then let out a squawk as it nearly fell off, then admitted,
"We ain't that good with upset kids. And we like him."

Dumbledore got the – correct – impression that this wasn't something that happened often. "I will
do what I can," he said.

"Good," the raven said.

The rest of the journey was passed in silence, and it wasn't long before Dumbledore entered the
library. There he found Harry curled up in a chair, looking small and miserable. In front of him
was, Dumbledore saw, a rather gory account of a Norse Sacrifice. A rather hapless looking
Ravenclaw student was hovering nearby, a boy who looked rather bothered by what he'd
unleashed.

Dumbledore recognised this student. It was not every young wizard that lived next door to the
Antichrist.

"Mr Thorson. Mr Device," he said. Normally, he would have used Harry's first name, but he got the
feeling that he needed to get Harry's attention if he wanted to help him, and in any case, it would
not be fair to do it in front of another student. Harry was the only student whose first name he
regularly used for a number of reasons, and Dumbledore suspected that it would be considered a
mark of favouritism that Harry would not need to be saddled with at any time, least of all this one.

Both boys looked up, eyes widening, then Harry shot a glare at the raven that had gone to fetch
Dumbledore that said very clearly in embarrassed and indignant tones (metaphorically speaking),
'what did you go get him for?'

The raven decided to reply verbally, as raven body language is somewhat limited. "You need help,
kid," he said. "Also between gol – Thor and your uncle, your family has gone way over its
brooding quota."

Adam Device (presumably, Dumbledore thought, his parents had named him as a way of saying
'thanks for not ending the world') shuffled his feet and looked awkward.

"I think you had better go, Mr Device," Dumbledore said kindly. "I need to speak to your fellow
student and his talking ravens. Twenty points to Ravenclaw for keeping Mr Thorson company."

That was a sentence he'd never thought he'd say. The closest the wizarding world had got to talking
birds in recent history was when the Marauders had enchanted all the post owls they could lay their
hands on to swear loudly at random intervals, using a spell based on a captured Jarvey.

It had been very inventive, though at least one owl had met a sticky end when it had called
Aberforth 'goat-fucker' several times in a row.

Well, Dumbledore said sticky… while the resulting splatter had taken several hours to clean up,
occasionally they still found bits of it wedged into buildings.

Still. Exploding, swearing owls were not the issue here, he thought, as Adam Device hurriedly
gathered up his stuff, said a hurried thank you to Dumbledore, a hurried apology to Harry, then
exited stage left, thankfully not pursued by a bear.
"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said, casting a privacy bubble with flick of his wand, in case any
inquisitive students sought to eavesdrop. "Your raven told me that you were rather upset."

"They're not my ravens. If they belong to anyone, they belong to my granddad," Harry said flatly.
"Professor."

"They care for you, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

The tone was slightly spiteful, but under the circumstances, Dumbledore was quite happy to let it
pass. "They did," he said calmly. "But I would like to hear it from you."

Harry was silent for a long moment, then eventually said, "People sacrificed to my family. Little
things, like beads and jewellery and food. Then bigger things. Like animals. Then even bigger
things. Like people." He met Dumbledore's gaze, and there were tears in his eyes. "How could that
happen? How could they let it happen?" he demanded, getting to his feet, the famous Evans temper
rising within him like a thunderstorm and making Dumbledore very glad that he'd cast a privacy
bubble. "How could they?!" he screamed, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks as the
floodgates opened. "Why did they?!"

The wolves let out whining sounds, and one tried to put its head on Harry's lap, then freezing in
place as Harry turned a furious glare on it. Dumbledore felt a pulse of energy and the wolf was
pushed away by an invisible force, to a yelping whine of dismay as it was sent spinning across the
library floor.

"Harry!" Dumbledore snapped, and Harry turned the glare on him. Emerald green flecked with
growing gold met diamond blue.

Then, after a long moment, Harry sagged and mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

"It is not me you should be apologising to," Dumbledore said, tone still slightly stern, but not
unkind.

Harry nodded, "Sorry, Freki," he said, sounding ashamed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Freki simply chuffed as if to say, 'hurt me? As if', then trotted over and laid his head on Harry's
lap, giving him a soulful look that said, 'I'm not hurt physically, but I need lots of scratches to make
me feel better. Hint. Hint.' Harry chuckled and started scratching. The other wolf, presumably Geri,
let out a solicitous sound and then let out a pleased rumbling sound as Harry paid him attention too.

As he did, Dumbledore caught the eye of the raven that had come with him, the one he presumed
to be Huginn, as he seemed to be the brains of the outfit. Huginn gave him a slow nod, and there
was respect in those avian eyes, a look that said, 'nicely done'.

Dumbledore inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement, then turned back to Harry.

"Harry, I have no doubt that none of your family knew what was happening. Often, what is done in
the name of a person, or an idea, is completely contrary to what that person would want, or what
that idea represents," he said gently. "Your family was not the reason for these deeds. They were
the excuse."

"Yeah, look at it from these Norse guys point of view," Huginn pointed out in a reasonable tone.
"They're dealing with these apparently all-powerful beings who seem to look out for them and do
them a good turn. They live in a feudal system, where a lord protects his people and rewards them
for good service. In return, they offer up taxes and tribute and do things for him. Now, these Norse
guys want to give something as tribute. And what's more precious a gift than a life?"

"At first, it's mostly animals and occasionally a King," Muninn chimed in. "Either to bring back
the sun, improve a failing harvest, or some mishegoss like that, and mostly to the boss as well, just
because. And it was mostly willing, anyway. Kings are meant to become minor gods, which is
bullshit, and maidens become Valkyries, which isn't always bullshit. But then, when these guys see
your dad and uncle first hand, they get thinking. The old sacrifices aren't enough. And what better
way to enhance your god's status by killing non-believers?"

Huginn took up the narrative now. "When your dad found out," he said. "I'll give him this much
credit – he was an arrogant jackass, but he was absolutely horrified. He wasn't against cracking a
few skulls, killing in heroic battle and all that shit, but this was a whole different story. This
was murder. He mostly abandoned Earth after that."

"And granddad and uncle Loki?"

"Your granddad never really noticed. He was more occupied with keeping an eye on Laufey and
Surtur and keeping peace in the Nine Realms. Plus, the Kree and the Skrulls were fighting, again,
and he got called in to mediate. And then there was that whole thing with the Nova Corps and
Krypton picking a fight with each other over jurisdiction. Not a smart move for them or the rest of
the galaxy," Huginn said, with an avian shrug. "The specific stuff a few mortals did to each other
on Earth, as compared to what he had to deal with in Asgard, when they already killed each other
so regularly, meant that the whole sacrifice thing mostly passed him by," Huginn said. "But he
would have put a stop to it, all right."

"And Loki?"

"Well… let's just say that he made his opinion on human sacrifice known. And funnily enough, not
many people sacrificed to him after that," Huginn said.

"Not for long, anyway," Muninn added.

Harry looked puzzled.

"It's kinda hard to sacrifice people when you don't have hands," Muninn explained bluntly.

"Apparently it was symbolic, you know? His exact words were, 'since your hands have been
dipped in innocent blood, they are stained. You shall be relieved of that stain. Permanently',"
Huginn continued. "He was consistent about that, wasn't he?"

"Oh yeah," Muninn said. "He tried to cut his own off. Now that's dedication."

Harry's eyes widened to near impossible extents. "He… he what?"

The ravens shared a look.

"When what he did during his invasion sunk in, he went a little crazy."

"Er. Crazier."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, he sorta spiralled into… what do Midgardians call it? Depression? Suicidal
tendencies? Something like that."

"Goldil – Thor managed to stop him. You'd never think something so big could move so fast…"
Muninn said thoughtfully.

"Anyway, him, your grandma and the boss managed to convince him that he wasn't in his right
mind when he invaded. Still culpable, but less than if he'd been sane. So the hands stayed."

Harry stared at them in total horror.

"What?" Huginn asked. "Did you think it was all sunshine and roses, kid? Your dad and his brother
have been in some pretty dark places. Sometimes, they were dragged there by monsters, down into
the dark. Sometimes... they did the dragging to themselves." He shook his head. "No, kid. Every
life story's got its shadows. Look at Sif - she's been eaten alive by freaking Fenris, and that's just
for starters! Even your dad has some really fucking deep shadows in his past. Some of them as bad
as your uncle's."

"Ask him about Gorr sometime," Muninn suggested.

"No, don't ask him about Gorr. Ever," Huginn contradicted sharply, belting his fellow raven over
the head with his wing and glaring. He looked at Harry. "Trust me, you don't want to know. And
your uncle's..." He shook his head. "Which is all before you take into account the past of the whole
dynasty. That's a whole lot worse."

Harry was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I think I should keep looking, then."

"Harry, are you sure?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"You're gonna go some dark places, kid," Huginn warned.

"You think this is dark?" Muninn said. "The other stuff is just as bad. If not worse."

Harry looked up, and his expression was calm and determined. "Then I'll just have to take a light,
won't I?" he said.

OoOoO

Fury sat in the back of the Quinjet, elbows on his knees, thinking. Thor, Clint and Natasha were all
sitting across from him, Thor having eventually elected to leave without dropping by his son, on
the advice of Natasha.

"You can't hover around him all the time, Thor," she'd said. "Or you'll smother him. You can
contact him by phone or fly over if you really need to talk to him, but I wouldn't recommend phone
calls more than once or twice a week, nor flying over more than twice a month."

"I don't want him to feel alone," Thor had replied, sounding somewhat upset.

"And he won't," Natasha had said, perfectly calmly. "Harry's perfectly self-sufficient. He's had to
be. I know that want to be with him all the time, but if you try, you will smother and overwhelm
him. You want him to look forward to your visits, not set his watch by them."

Thor had sighed and reluctantly – very reluctantly – acquiesced, and then taken the Quinjet back in
order to have some company.

In the light of what Harry was discovering at this very moment, it was quite possibly a very good
thing that he did.

"Thor," Fury said suddenly. "Mjolnir can be wielded only by someone who's worthy, right?"
Thor looked a little surprised, and nodded. "Yes, it is enchanted by my father to be so," he said.

Fury nodded. This tallied with all SHIELD's intel on Mjolnir, which was, admittedly, fairly limited.
All they really knew was that it was a damn big hammer that happened to be practically
indestructible, able to be summoned by its wielder and it was a method of focusing Thor's powers
and transferring them to its wielder. It had, so far, only been lifted by Thor and Steve, the latter of
whom had, totally unaware of the significance of being able to lift it, used it as a doorstop.

"Would it be possible to work out a spell to find others who are worthy?" Fury asked.

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Theoretically," he said after a moment's thought. "Though even as James,
that sort of thing was not part of my field of expertise." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Fury was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Do you remember Alan Scott?"

"You mentioned him once or twice, as did Stephen and Wanda," Thor said. "I got the impression
that he was a powerful ally of SHIELD's."

"He was a Special Agent," Fury said. "An elite Agent of SHIELD, codenamed Green Lantern. He
was SHIELD's most powerful asset and often served as our direct countermeasure to Magneto."

Thor's eyebrows shot up and he let a low whistle of awe that was very reminiscent of James.

"Yeah, he was Omega class," Fury said. "In his prime, he was possibly the only person on the
planet capable of stalemating Magneto in a straight fight."

"Was?"

"He retired in 1998, to spend more time with his family. As he pointed out, everything had gone
quiet. The Smallville situation had ended the year before –"

"Smallville situation?" Thor asked.

"Classified," Natasha said. Thor scowled. "Seriously," she said. "Even I don't know much about it.
The only person alive who knows the full details is Director Fury."

Thor gave Fury a hopeful look. Fury glared and said nothing. This, he would later think, was a
mistake, if an understandable one. Thor sighed. "Very well. Carry on."

"Everything had gone quiet," Fury said. "SHIELD could handle all the routine stuff, and Alan
promised to come out of retirement if the world ever needed him. He was a candidate for the
Avengers Initiative." He sighed. "He was killed during the Battle of New York. A couple of his
kids are magical, maybe as a direct result of him wielding the ring. SHIELD's funding their way
through Hogwarts."

"And his power is needed?" Thor asked.

"The Darkhold's on the loose and the Winter Soldier is strutting up to Hogwarts, bold as brass,"
Fury said. "We've never needed it more."

Thor grimaced. "I think it would be best if we didn't reveal that little fact to my brother until after
this emergency is over," he said.

"Yeah. Can't have one of our most powerful assets crushed by guilt," Fury said calmly. "He'll have
plenty of time for that later."
Thor frowned at this callous assessment, but said, "You need a wielder. And the ring…"

"Chooses its wielders," Fury said, nodding. "I've got two of my best people on it. All they've
managed to figure out is that it is pure magic and that the wielder needs to have great strength of
will combined with a vivid imagination."

"Then why not give it to Tony?" Thor asked. "He sounds perfect."

"Tony is too much like your brother for me to have any comfort in handing him the key to that
much power," Fury said flatly. "He's an emotionally damaged genius with a latent messiah
complex. He's like Dumbledore and Loki that way. He's also like Dumbledore and Loki in that he
knows his limits and is very careful not to overstep them." He shook his head. "He wouldn't take
the ring. His dad studied it in the eighties, looking to replicate it, so he knows exactly what it is,
exactly what it does and exactly how dangerous it is."

"He would if he thought he needed it to save Pepper," Clint said, breaking his silence.

Fury inclined his head in acknowledgement. "He would," he agreed. "But he's not exactly my first
candidate."

"Who is?" Thor asked.

"Captain Rogers," Fury said. "But Captain America has incalculable value as a symbol, a symbol
of hope. And that's what the world needs right now, not just another superpowered guy weighing in
as part of a big superpowered fight."

"Jordan could do it," Clint said, a touch of mischief in his voice. Natasha snorted.

Fury gave him a glare that could have melted diamond. "Hell. No," he ground out.

"Jordan?" Thor asked.

"Hal Jordan," Clint explained. "He's a particularly talented Air Force pilot that I used to work with.
Good guy. Probably insane, but a good guy." He turned to Natasha. "Remember?"

"I remember. Director Fury remembers," Natasha said, voice as dry as the Sahara. "Agent Sitwell
remembers, if the twitch he gets every time he sees a bungee cord is any indication."

Clint sighed happily. "Yeah… they were good times."

Thor looked vaguely intrigued. "Would this Hal Jordan be able to wield the ring?" he asked.

"Yes. God knows what he'd do with it," Fury muttered.

Thor gave him a puzzled look. "I don't know. That's why I was asking you," he said, tone perfectly
bemused and perfectly innocent. Only the gleam in his eye told Fury that he was being messed
with.

Clint started snickering and Natasha smiled slightly. "Dresden could do it," she said.

"He could," Fury said slowly. "But the funny thing about Harry Dresden is that you can tell where
he's been because it's always on fire."

Natasha gave a tiny shrug, as if to suggest that while this was probably true, they might not exactly
be in a position where they could afford to be choosy.
"So you want my brother to see if he can use magic to find someone worthy," Thor said. "Why did
you not ask before?"

"Because Strange has been dropping cryptic hints for the last few months when we've been
consulting him that it'll be important," Fury said. "And I was hoping that this time, for once, he
would say something useful," he added sourly.

"I can almost guarantee that it will fail, but I will ask him," Thor said. "In my experience, the
worthy person either becomes worthy or turns up exactly when they are needed."

Fury gave him a long look. "Please tell me that magic isn't that much like a story book," he said
eventually.

"Why shouldn't it be? People, whether human or Asgardian, think in patterns," Thor said. "And
magic is heavily affected by perception, particularly that of those who wield it. In turn, the stories
are usually based on actual events, meaning that they are merely copying the patterns, meaning
that it is a constant circle, with the stories reinforcing the patterns and the patterns reinforcing the
stories. And so magic, which is ever so slightly alive anyway, operates on patterns one would
expect in a story book. Quite simple, really."

Everyone stared at him. Even Natasha looked surprised.

"I do occasionally listen when my brother waxes philosophical, you know," Thor said dryly. He
glanced at Fury. "Have faith, Nicholas."

"As a general rule, I don't believe in generally having faith," Fury said. "I believe in having faith in
something. Such as a damn powerful weapon."

Thor shrugged. "A wielder will come forth, Nicholas," he said calmly. "When they are needed."

OoOoO

With that line, the conversation was ended. Dumbledore left and Harry pointed out to Huginn and
Muninn that they had a job to do and would presumably know if he needed their help. When they
didn't leave, he promised to bring them a bag of marshmallows each next time he came to Asgard if
they did as he asked.

He'd then added that he didn't intend to do any further research tonight. The revelation of the
sacrifice thing needed… absorbing. And it was getting late in any case.

And did he say that he was bringing two bags of marshmallows each to Asgard on his next visit?

On reflection Harry thought he'd never seen anything with feathers move that fast in his life.
There'd even been a small sonic boom.

Another reason he didn't want to do any more research was because he had a letter that was
burning a hole in his pocket (not literally, though he had no doubt that the author was capable of
making it do so).

So when he got back to the Common Room, he settled down by the fire and opened Wanda's letter,
settling down to read it. He fully intended to re-read it later, as he had done with her first letter. It
was a tangible connection to someone who loved him, and Harry wasn't ashamed to say that he
treasured it.

Dear Harry, it said.

Thank you for deciding to forgive me. I was afraid that you wouldn't, if only because I thought that
I didn't deserve it. As your mother often noted, self worth wasn't always one of my strong points.

So you've met Charles? That's good. He's a very kind man and he helped me out a lot when I was
your age. In fact, it could be said that he saved my life. You see, my powers aren't simply magical. I
am also what is known as a 'mutant'. In many ways, it's like magic – a twist of genetics that allows
the person who has it to do things humans can't. Though it tends to be much more specialised.

Charles' power, for instance, is telepathy, on a truly enormous scale. My father can manipulate the
electromagnetic spectrum – he mostly uses it to control metal. My own power is probability
manipulation. I can make things that are unlikely happen by increasing their probability. While
this sounds fairly harmless, and it was to begin with, it spiralled out of control. The laws of reality
bent and warped around me and I was being driven insane.

My father took me to Charles and your own headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who worked night
and day to save my mind and my life. They preserved both, but they couldn't find a permanent
solution, until Doctor Strange stepped in. It was Strange who found the solution and saved me, but
if not for Charles and Albus, I wouldn't have been in any state to save. They saved me as much as
Strange did.

What I'm saying – in a somewhat rambling fashion - is that Charles is a good man. And, most
crucially, as he may have told you, he is a teacher. He has helped mutants, the occasional witch or
wizard, and the even more occasional person who happened to be a bit of both, control and
understand their powers for over forty years. And unless I miss my guess, now is about the time
that powers from your father's side of the family would start coming through. If they haven't yet,
they will soon.

And you may find them frightening and hard to control. If you need a sympathetic ear, I am always
here. But if you need help beyond that, and you feel the need to turn to someone outside your family
– I have no doubt that your father and uncle would be your first port of call, and rightly so – for
help, Charles is the expert and he will be more than happy to help you.

Like Albus, who is in many ways his mentor, he has never turned away anyone who needed his
help, so don't be afraid to ask. Don't be afraid to ask anyone if you feel that you need help, ever.
Because I promise you, you'll always have someone to turn to, even if, for whatever reason, the
only person you can turn to is me.

Now, I have twelve years of inquisitive godmothering to catch up on, so I want to know everything.
What's your favourite food, who your best friends are, what spells you struggle with… everything
that you can tell me, I want to hear it. If there's ever anything you want to get off your chest, or you
just want someone to listen, I'm here for you. Never forget that.

Of course, I should add that everything that you really don't want me to hear on grounds of
embarrassment, I'll probably hear from your father and godfather, but I promise not to tell if you
won't.

Oh, and yes, I was at the battle. As you may have heard, I left the Wizarding World in part because
I was disgusted by it, and in part because I was sick and tired of losing people I cared about to
war. So you may wonder why I changed my mind. The answer is that Director Peter Wisdom, head
of MI13, Britain's SHIELD, is a persuasive man. And some things are worth fighting for. Your
future is one of them.

With Love,
Wanda

P.S. Your father told me that you have an email address. Do you want to talk that way instead?
Mine's WandaScarlet at gmail dot com.

Harry smiled slightly. No matter what revelations were to come, he wasn't going to face them
alone.

He went to get out some parchment from his bag, then he paused.

Why not. It was quicker after all, even if he hadn't yet got the hang of 'touch typing.

He reached into his pocket and got out his phone and opened it up, accessing the email app. On
cue, the virtual keyboard popped out, and Harry began to type.

Dear Wanda,

To answer your last question, yes I would like to talk this way. Hegwig's getting a little tired with
all the back and forth, and she's not in a very good mood at the moment. Dad needed to borrow her
urgently, and she was out hunting. So he used a summoning spell on her. You can imagine how that
went…

OoOoO

The following month was a quiet one, as Harry slowly got back into the ordinary rhythms of going
to school. It was almost normal, if you excepted the fact that some of the students were trickling
away, being taken home by their parents. Harry suspected that the brief presence of the Winter
Soldier on the grounds had something to do with it. That aside, he had a few new problems.

One of these was, briefly, some students treating him with something approaching reverence, but
this was swiftly punctured by the Twins mercilessly parodying this tendency, bowing and scraping
in an exaggerated fashion in Harry's presence, loudly announcing things like, "Move along, move
along, God's late for Transfiguration," in the corridors and saying, "What is thy bidding, my
master?"

Harry wasn't sure if they'd watched Star Wars, and wasn't sure how they'd have managed it in any
case, but equally, he wasn't sure that they hadn't.

One of the other new problems was fitting two pony sized wolves into the average classroom. The
issue of them entering the classroom quickly became a non-issue as even Harry was unable to
make more than one of them stay outside at a time, and after seeing one of them yawn, displaying a
large collection of enormous and very sharp teeth, no one felt particularly inclined to try. In the
end, a compromise was struck. One wolf would follow Harry inside and stand watch, while the
other would stand watch outside and act as an impromptu draft excluder. In the case of Divination,
owing to the small nature of the classroom, it would also act as an impromptu sofa for Harry and
Ron.

Speaking of Divination, no one was entirely sure how either Freki or Geri (they alternated) got into
the attic. They were quite simply at the bottom of the ladder one moment, and at the top the next.

Everyone put this down to the wolves being magical wolves, and didn't comment on it.

Most of the teachers were ambivalent to them. Professor Binns, as was his wont, completely
ignored them, Snape kept half an eye on them at all times, Professor Lupin was interested by them
and Hagrid loved them.
"These are fine boys yeh've got 'ere, 'arry," he said appreciatively, after giving them both a
professional examination. "Perfectly healthy." Then he chuckled as Freki gave him an enthusiastic
lick. "An' friendly too." He glanced back at his hut. "Fang don' like 'em, though."

"I'm not exactly surprised," Harry muttered. Fang was something of a coward, and was, by
comparison, about the size of a small Labrador. Since he was a fully grown boarhound, a relative
of the old English Mastiff, i.e. the sort of dog whose ancestors had in times gone by eaten Romans,
Lions, Christians and anything else that was too slow or too stupid to run away, this said a lot about
how large the wolves were. So under these circumstances, his attitude was perfectly
understandable.

Hagrid chuckled again. "Aye, I'm not either," he said. Then he gave Harry a sharp look. "I hear that
ye're somethin' of a vampire expert."

Harry sighed. "Uncle Loki talked to Professor Lupin over Christmas and got a few books for me
from the libraries of Asgard, and marked out a few passages," he said, in the tones of someone who
had explained this many times, but since he likes the person that he is explaining it to, he is making
an effort to moderate his tone. "Like a dutiful nephew, I read them."

Read them, he thought with just the tiniest bit of guilt as he began to explain, and used them to
show off.

OoOoO

"Today," Professor Lupin said. "We will be studying vampires."

This caused the entire class to perk up. Vampires had the draw of the mysterious, the dark and the
vampire, seductive even in image.

Also, they were interesting.

"There are many breeds of vampire," Lupin continued. "One muggle author compared them to
diseases for the sake of humour – some kill you outright, others just make you walk funny and
avoid fruit."

That got a smattering of laughter, and Lupin smiled briefly. "He wasn't wrong." He turned to the
board and tapped it. Words began to appear. "So we will be focusing on the three most powerful
and widely known breeds. The European Revenant, the Mayan Blood Demon and the Western
Anthrophage. They are usually divided into Courts – Grey, Red and White, if only for the sake of
shorthand. There's also a fourth Court, the Black Court. However, that one is both a shadow of its
former self and a subset of the Grey Court." He turned to the class. "Can anyone tell me a unifying
characteristic of all the courts?"

Ron's hand went up uncertainly. "Yes?" Lupin asked.

"Well… they all eat people?"

"Indeed they do, though the Red Court have also been known to feed on cows, starting the legend
of the Chupacabra," Lupin said. "If it is sentient and has blood in its veins, any of the Courts can
feed on it. Anything else?"

Hermione raised a hand. "They're all ruled by Kings," she said confidently. "The White King is
currently Lord Raith, the Red King calls himself Kukulcan and the Grey King is…"

"Dracula," Lupin said. "Vlad Tepes. Son of Vlad Drakul, called the Son of the Dragon and the
Impaler. An elder vampire of the Grey Court with all the powers of an Ancient of their kind." He
looked around. "Now, which is the eldest breed?"

"Red," Hermione said, at the exact same instance as Harry said, "Grey."

"Two differing answers," Lupin noted. "May I have the reasons for each?"

Hermione, who had the determined look of someone who would prove they were right and heaven
help whoever got in their way, said, "The Red King goes back beyond recorded history, with
estimates suggesting that he is anywhere between ten and fifteen thousand years old, though some
have said he could be as young as six thousand. The Grey Court was only recorded first during the
time of the Trojan war."

"Excellent, Hermione," Lupin said, and Hermione smiled. "And Harry?"

"Beyond human recorded history, yes," Harry said, with the air of someone laying down an ace.
"But Asgard's history goes much further. The Red King is ten thousand years old. The first Grey
Court vampire was called Varnae, born over seventeen thousand years ago on the lost continent of
Atlantis. He fought my father, my grandfather and great uncles, and my great-grandfather at
different points in history."

Hermione's jaw was hanging loose. Whether this was at Harry knowing something she didn't, or
her and by extension her beloved books, being proven wrong, was debatable.

"Correct," Lupin said. "Fragmentary records mention the existence of Varnae and his kind as far
back as 9,000 years ago, though their numbers seemed to rise and fall on a regular basis, possibly as
a result of Asgardian purges." He gave Harry a long look. "Do those Asgardian histories of yours
say what happened to Varnae? A creature of his power does not disappear lightly. Yet he did, being
last recorded marauding during the Black Plague."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't get that far," he said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Professor."

"No matter," Lupin said, smiling slightly. "You have already expanded our knowledge. It would be
a little harsh to complain that it hadn't been expanded enough."

OoOoO

"Hermione's not very happy with me right now," Harry said glumly.

"I'm not surprised," Hagrid grunted.

Harry gave him a surprised look.

"'arry, yeh've always been a talented lad. Ye're the best flyer I've ever seen, better even than yer
father, which we both know is sayin' quite a lot," Hagrid explained. "Professor Lupin raves about
yer work in Defence."

Harry blinked. He couldn't exactly imagine the calm and collected Lupin raving about anything.
Seeing his expression, Hagrid amended his words.

"Well, 'e was as excited as 'e ever gets, and 'e says that ye're the best in the school. Ye've got a
knack for it. Professor Flitwick thinks that ye're damn good at Charms, even if ye're not the
prodigy, yer mother was, and Lily was a phenomenon at Charms, the same way your dad was at
Transfiguration. Speakin' of Transfiguration, ye're pretty good at that, too," he said.
"But I'm terrible at the theory," Harry said, frowning.

"Maybe," Hagrid said. "But when it comes to practical spellwork, practical anything, ye're quicker
than Hermione is. Now, Hermione, she's brilliant at theory. Absolutely brilliant at it. She
remembers everythin'. She's good at spellwork because she learns, she practices and she works at
it. You pick it up, just like tha'. And ye're more powerful than she is. Ye always have been."

"What are you saying, Hagrid?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I'm sayin' that ye're good at just about everythin' that ye turn your hand to," Hagrid said seriously.
"Ye'd even be pretty good at Potions if Professor Snape didn't hate yer father and take it out on ye."
He rubbed his chin. "Though 'e's got reason enough for tha', I suppose."

"I heard," Harry said quietly. "Dad admitted that he bullied Snape when they were at school."

"Nah, it's not tha'," Hagrid said. "Believe me, Professor Snape gave as good as 'e ever got."

"Dad didn't mention that."

"Because 'e feels guilty, especially after all that ye went through with them Dursleys," Hagrid said.
"And doesn' want to look like 'e's makin' excuses."

Harry nodded slowly. "So what was it?"

"Yer mother," Hagrid said. "She and Professor Snape were best friends all the way 'til third year or
so. They grew up together an' all. Then, they began to drift apart. She was Gryffindor, an' 'e was
Slytherin, an' back then…" he looked grim. "Things were getting' dark. You-Know-Who was
powerful and gettin' stronger every day. Sooner or later, even at school, ye had to pick a side." He
shook his head. "They were bad times, 'arry."

Harry absorbed this. "So, mum and Snape drifted apart in third year?"

"Nah. Well, it started then," Hagrid said. "They still got on, if only because they both hated your
dad." He chuckled. "Or at least, Lily said she did. I think that she liked 'im more than she would
admit." He sobered. "It 'appened in their fifth year, just after they'd done their Defence OWL. Yer
da an' Sirius decided that they wanted to 'ave some fun with Snape."

Harry looked vaguely disturbed.

"Aye," Hagrid said heavily. "It wasn' their finest hour, though both of them 'ad good reason ta hate
him, and 'e 'ad good reason ta hate them. Like I said, it was a bad time."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Yer father humiliated Snape, and yer mother came over and gave 'im a piece of 'er mind," Hagrid
said. "Snape then said somethin' 'e shouldn' have done."

"What?"

"'e called her a mudblood," Hagrid said grimly.

"WHAT?" Harry yelled furiously, hands clenching into fists and a dangerous gleam entering his
eyes. The wolves, sensing their master's anger, began growling.

"Easy," Hagrid said. "Snape paid for it. I don' think 'e really meant it, but Lily didn' forgive him.
An' frankly, I think tha' was the right thing to do. She'd been turnin' a blind eye to a lot of what
Snape 'ad been doin'. She turned 'er back on 'im, and yer father put 'im in the hospital wing for most
of a month. Of the two, what yer mum did hurt 'im more. Much more." Hagrid sighed. "After tha',
yer da started growin' up, and yer mum started payin' more attention to 'im. They started datin'
officially in seventh year, though they were damn close in the second half of their sixth year."

"And Snape?"

"'e slipped inta the Dark Arts," Hagrid said. "Yer mum 'ad been the only thing holdin' 'im back, but
I think 'e would have gone tha' way even if they'd stayed friends. It woulda just taken longer." He
looked thoughtful. "No one's real sure why 'e became Dumbledore's spy, or when. But I think it
was when 'e heard that yer mum was in danger."

"Was he… in love with her?" Harry asked, somewhat nauseated.

"Probably still is, to be honest," Hagrid said, shrugging. "I think tha' she was the only person who
ever cared for 'im, 'cept for his own mother. And yer mum was very lovable. Yer father wasn' the
only one who fell for her. 'e was just the one she chose."

"Is that why he hates me?"

"Yes. Ye're the spittin' image of yer father Harry, but yeh've got your mothers eyes. An' her smile,"
Hagrid said. He smiled slightly. "Yer mum had a smile that could light up a midwinter's night. So
do ye." He gave Harry a sad smile. "When ye're movin', ye look jus' like her."

"Sirius said that," Harry said quietly.

"Well, I'm na surprised," Hagrid said, smiling. "They were close. After yer mum and dad got
together, yer mum always treated 'im like an annoyin' little brother."

"I wish I remembered her more," Harry said quietly. "I only remember... seeing her murdered."

Freki whined and leaned against him in an attempt to be comforting. Unfortunately, he leaned a
little too much and knocked Harry backwards, whereupon he tripped over an apparently surprised
Geri and fell flat on his back, laughing. "Be careful Freki," he admonished the wolf. "I'm not as
strong as dad."

Freki simply let out a cheerful bark and panted, before picking up a small log, dropping it at
Harry's feet and looking hopeful. Harry grinned, picked the log up, lobbed it into the air, then
flicked his wrist as he whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The log, instead of dipping, increased its trajectory under the influence of the spell and went
zooming off into the distance. Freki let out an excited bark and raced after it at speeds that would
have shamed a Formula One car. Geri looked like he wanted to join his brother, but knew that he
had to stay.

Looking back on the incident, Hagrid wasn't entirely sure that the wolves hadn't contrived it on
purpose.

But musings on that would have to wait until later, because the conversation drifted back to
Hermione. "What were you getting at about Hermione, Hagrid?" Harry asked, as he accepted the
damp log and threw it, enchanting it once more.

"Hermione's a brilliant witch, 'arry. She works hard a' it, but in a lot of things, ye're as good as she
is or better, without even really tryin'," Hagrid said gravely. "An' that bothers her. But she has ye
beat in theory, every time, an' she's happy enough with that. But, Harry, yesterday, ye beat 'er at 'er
own game. She's a proud girl, an' something like tha's got ta smart."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "I didn't mean…" he began.

"I know ye didn'. Ye just wanted to impress Professor Lupin, yer dad's friend, and maybe get one
over Hermione fer once, which I can't blame ye for wantin' to do," Hagrid said calmly. "But it gave
'er a nasty shock."

"So… what should I do?" Harry asked, feeling at a loss.

"Let 'er be for a bit," Hagrid said. "She'll be fine soon enough."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said. Then an enormous winged shadow passed overheard and Harry
looked up sharply, shading his eyes. The being casting the shadow was flying out of the sun, so
only the outline was visible, but it looked human and male, insofar as he could tell. "What's that?"
he asked.

"Tha'," Hagrid said, looking up and waving, receiving one in response. "Is Madame Hooch's new
assistant."

"What?" Harry asked astonished.

Hagrid paused. "Well, tha's wha' 'e is officially," he said. "'e's 'ere to protect the school. And so's 'is
mentor." He stood up with a grunted. "C'mon, 'arry. You migh' as well meet yer new teacher."

"Who? And what are they teaching?"

"I don' remember," Hagrid admitted, looking over at the gates, by which a slender man of above
average height with a shock of red hair that stood out against the winter landscape like a flame,
patiently waited. "But I do know 'is name. Sean Cassidy. Professor Sean Cassidy."
 The Game Changes

Carol Danvers was not in a good mood. This was not to say that good moods were uncommon to
her, because they weren't. They also weren't unusually common to her because she wasn't
unusually cheerful. Indeed, they were probably a bit less common than usual, because she had an
explosive temper and was blessed/cursed with a figure that made anything and everything that had
ever even considered being attracted to women sit up and pay attention. Jean-Paul didn't, but Jean-
Paul had always been gayer than the average Pride parade.

The explosive temper was, quite often, sparked off by the fact that she was constitutionally
incapable of taking bullshit, someone, say, staring too long or getting handsy with either her or
another girl and refusing to take no for an answer. This had, unsurprisingly and somewhat
depressingly, earned her a reputation as a ball breaker, because this is the parlous state of the
supposedly progressive society in which we live.

However, insulting as it was, in the literal sense, being called a ball breaker , since Carol was a box
to box midfielder for her school soccer team and the first name on the team sheet. She combined a
tackle like a cruise missile with a shot that earned comparisons to that of a soccer player in the
English Premier League, who had gained a degree of notoriety the previous year for hitting a shot
so hard that it simultaneously broke the leg and dislocated the ankle of one of the opposing
defenders who made the mistake of trying to block it.

The relevance of this comes in when it became clear that she had threatened on more than one
occasion to repeat this trick on a boy who got too grabby or to just cut out the middle man and
practice her free kick technique on his balls. Since she was one of the school's top athletes, had
fearsomely good aim, and her free kick skills were favourably compared to Bayville High's star
striker, Jean Grey, this was a threat that was taken seriously.

Also, no one particularly wanted to attract the ire of a young woman who'd beaten the entire
football team in arm wrestling matches, one after the other, the previous summer. Thereafter, the
boys fathers sought to bandage their son's masculinity by leaning on the school board to have Carol
tested for steroids. The results came up clear, twice, and as if to give them the finger, Carol broke
the state 100, 200, 400 and 1600 metres records for both boys and girls in her age group the next
week.

Lacking any other explanation, Carol Danvers was generally considered to be a freak of nature.

Naturally, her detractors focused on the freak part. And there were quite a lot of those. Having
developed curves about two years before the rest of her classmates and being a classic tomboy
(though how much of the latter was simply to spite her father was debatable), most of the girls
were ragingly jealous and most of the boys were only interested in her because she was gorgeous
and because they wanted to claim that they'd 'broken the ball breaker'. The aforementioned short
temper, while unsurprising, wasn't exactly helpful in the PR drive.

Peter Parker, for instance, who might under other circumstances have been a great friend of hers,
was absolutely terrified of her. This made a fair degree of sense, since the one and only time that
they'd really met each other, she'd been having a bad day and Peter had been left with the
impression that he'd narrowly escaped having his head ripped off. Also, she was of the sort of
appearance and sporty inclination as most of his tormentors, so, quite naturally, he avoided her.

As for Gwen Stacy, who was also congenitally incapable of being intimidated by anyone, ever, and
also had to deal with being judged by her appearance first and merits second, they quite simply
moved in different circles, though Carol had heard something about the her and Peter studying the
head of a robot that had had a terminal encounter with Thor's hammer until it had been confiscated
by the government. It was a pity. If they'd known each other, they'd have got on rather well.

That said, if someone actually took the trouble to get to know her, looking beyond her physical
appearance and not unjustifiably suspicious nature, they would find a brave, compassionate and
fiercely loyal young woman who dreamed of flying.

But, in truth, there was always something that set her apart. It was neither some kind inner nobility,
nor a Nietzschean sense of innate superiority, because, for one thing, it is hard to imagine the
Ubermensch naming their cat Chewie. Instead, it was simply something… different.

Maybe it was that she was a born leader. The soccer team loved her because they knew she would
go the extra mile for every single one of them and for the team as a whole. Jean-Paul was happy to
follow her lead, but that was not the remarkable part, as Jean-Paul was almost terminally laid back,
or, in any event, liked to give off that impression. The remarkable part was that Lex Luthor of all
people followed her lead. He claimed that it was to make sure that she stayed out of trouble and
because he could be her highly sophisticated thug and scare people (because with Carol's
escapades, there usually someone who needed scaring and Lex rather enjoyed it), but nevertheless,
he followed her.

Or maybe it was because she was one of those people who stands outside humanity at large. It was
something she had in common with Harry, and maybe it was why they got on, because they knew
what it meant to stand out as different. Such people take one of two paths. They either slip between
the cracks or they become great. Great, and in some cases, terrible.

But such speculations would be naught but hot air and wasted words to Carol, who was at this
point in the unenviable and uniquely unpleasant position of being simultaneously parched and in
desperate need of a toilet. And while she'd found a toilet, like many women's toilets, it had a queue.
Quite a long one, in fact.

So Carol was left bouncing from one foot to the other and hoping for either a Mary Poppins style
tornado that would leave her path clear or a distraction.

And lo and behold, a distraction appeared as her phone beeped. Carol fished it out of her pocket,
crossed her legs and brought up the screen. A facebook message. From Harry of all people.

She ran a quick mental calculation. Harry was at school in Scotland, which was five hours ahead of
New York… that meant it was about eight thirty in the evening there.

Perfect. A distraction from someone who, theoretically, could conjure a Mary Poppins style
tornado on the grounds of Midtown High. Or, at least, ask their dad to do it.

Hey, she wrote. How are you?

In Common Room. Just finished my homework. One best friend not speaking to me, other best
friend in food coma. You?

Thirsty and busting for a wee. In a queue for the loo. Food coma?

We found the secret entrance to kitchens. The staff love me. My friend, Ron, loves food. I
practically had to drag him up from the basement to the tower.

Carol blinked. Tower?

My school's a castle.

Whoa… that sounds cool.

Not in winter, it isn't. It's snowing right now.

Carol winced. Of course. No central heating. You must be frozen.

Nah, the tower's warm and so are all the classrooms, except the dungeons. The corridors not so
much.

Why not? Surely magic could warm them up? And you guys have dungeons? Do you have detention
there or something?

It could, and they're heated up 'til the end of January, but I think the teachers like them to be cold.
It encourages students to get to lessons quicker or get very good at warming charms. And yes, we
have dungeons. One of the teachers lives there and teaches classes down there. He hates my father
and hates me. He also dresses like a giant bat. I think that if he ever goes near a fire, all the grease
in his hair will ignite.

Carol snickered, and shuffled forward. Sounds bad.

It is. His house (he's head of one of the houses) lives there too. Their rooms go out under the lake.

That sounds pretty cool, not gonna lie.

There was a long silence, and Carol wondered if she'd driven Harry away.

I suppose it is, came the grudging reply. Doesn't change the fact that they're almost all dicks.

Almost all?

One's okay. Draco Malfoy. He used to be a dick, but he's grown up recently.

It's nice when that happens, Carol replied, a touch wistfully. Rare, but nice.

Tell me about it.

Carol could imagine the put upon sigh, and grinned. So, you've got this teacher who hates you.
Why?

He and Dad hated each other at school. Dad says that he bullied him, but one of the other
teachers, who was there at the time, says that my teacher gave as good as he got, and that dad
didn't want to sound to me like he was justifying what he did.

Carol digested this. While she'd always seen Thor as a nice, friendly and decent person, she could
well imagine him falling into classic jock territory. He'd been sent to Earth as an attitude
adjustment, after all. Everyone does things that they're not proud of, she replied. I know that I do.

Me too. That's why my other friend isn't talking to me.

What happened?

There was a pause, as if Harry was considering his answer, then he replied slowly, as if measuring
his response. My friend is a really good student. Top of our year, top in everything, she's really
clever and hardworking, with a memory like nothing I've ever seen. But that left her a bit alone at
first. She was isolated and became a bit arrogant and overbearing in response, maybe because she
felt she didn't need people, or she just wasn't very good with them. Then she, I and Ron
(who's still in the food coma. If he doesn't wake up in ten minutes, friend or not, I'm feeding him to
my pet wolves).

Carol burst out laughing at this, getting some odd looks. Pet WOLVES?

Yeah. Freki and Geri. Well, they belong to my grandfather, but he sent them down as sort of
bodyguards. They're each the size of a pony, but they're complete softies.

And you're going to feed your friend to them?

They're hungry and he still hasn't said thank you. He's bigger than I am and I had to drag him all
the way up from the basement to one of the towers.

Carol found herself grinning. Isn't that a bit much?

You try lugging sixty kilograms of overstuffed teenage wizard up eight flights of stairs. Stairs which
have a habit of moving around. Stairs which have trick steps. I had to retrieve him three separate
times and he didn't wake up even when his head had gone through the trick step. There was a
pause. He's not that bad really. I suppose I could just give them the legs.

He might need to use them.

He didn't use them on the way up. My motto is simple: you don't use 'em, you lose 'em.

Carol grinned. Fair enough, but we got off topic. What's this friend's name and what happened?

Her name's Hermione. And she's really good at theory because that's what she's naturally good at,
and she's really good at spells because she practices at them. She works at it.

With you so far.

And I'm not very good at theory. But I tend to pick up spells really quickly, without practicing
beforehand.

Carol winced. She could see where this was going.

Not only that, but you remember when I explained Quidditch to you?

Yeah. You said you were the Seeker and I said that the Seeker was like the striker in soccer. Does
none of the work, gets all of the credit.

Right. And the Seeker can't slack off for a moment, you know.

From what you told me, you spend most of the match floating above the other players, looking for
a golden ball.

That's hard work.

Right. In my book, the Chasers are the ones who do all the work and the Seekers are the glory
hogs, but by all means, carry on.

Thanks. I'm glad you think so much of my position.

Think nothing of it.

Trust me. I will.

Carol smirked. He so took after his uncle. So. You were saying?

Well, I'm the best flier in the school. I was the youngest Seeker in a century. This sounds very
arrogant, but it's true. It's what I'm best at.

So, you're the star sportsman, famous because of miraculously not dying as a baby and you pick up
practical magic like no tomorrow. And didn't Prince T'Challa say that you were unusually
powerful?

You forgot that I'm a Prince of Asgard, was the slightly dour reply. And yes.

Ah. So I'm guessing that this Hermione got a bit upset about you outshining her?

Pretty much. See, Hermione never gets questions wrong. She's always the first hand up. Except for
once, in my best subject. We both raised our hands at the same time and gave different answers.
The teacher asked us to explain our answers. Hermione went first, and based on all the books she'd
read and could reasonably get hold of, she was right. But I had an Asgardian book or two to call
on. And I contradicted her.

Ooh… this isn't going to end well. The teacher went with you?

Yeah. Apparently some really old records agreed with my answer, so Hermione was proved wrong.
In front of everyone.

Carol winced.

I was advised to let her cool down for a while.

Sensible advice. Seriously, whoever told you that probably saved your life.

Hermione's terrifying when she's angry. There's no probably about it.

How long has she not been talking to you?

Two weeks.

Whoa… that's a long time.

Hermione's stubborn.

Sounds familiar, Carol replied.

Takes one to know one. And that means you too.

Carol blinked. How do you know that?

Jean-Paul.

Remind me to kill him.

You'd have to catch him first.

I'll settle for killing you.

You'll have to catch me first.

I'm faster than you.

I'm sure you are. But I can fly.

Carol wrinkled her nose. If there was one thing that she envied about Harry, aside from, at the
moment, the fact that he was a boy and a male bathrooms rarely had queues, it was his flying
broomstick.

Ridiculous as the idea seemed, brooms were actually used to fly, and Harry, in the grand tradition
of vaguely guilt induced parental spoiling, had been given a top of the range example of the kind
by his father. Ridiculousness of the concept aside, Carol had to admit that the name 'Firebolt' was
pretty cool, and so was the actual broom. It looked sleek and fast, as if it was speed incarnate, just
waiting to speed away in a blur, leaving the competition spinning in its wake, wondering what the
hell had just happened.

True. But one day I'm going to have a jet of my own and I will hunt you down.

I don't doubt it.

Good.

Yeah. I get the feeling that if there was ever anyone who was born to fly, it was you.

Carol went slightly pink. That was the thing about Harry. He could be friendly, refreshingly able to
keep his eyes on her face and a touch sarcastic most of the time, and then, all of a sudden, he would
say something kind, touching and inspiring as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

What made Harry Thorson special was that he cared, even, perhaps especially, when other people
didn't.

Thanks, she replied, slightly dazed.

It's true.

She smiled and shook her head. She hadn't known Harry for all that long, but she'd known him for
long enough to know that he was capable of being simultaneously very insightful and totally
oblivious.

So, she typed. What else have you been getting up to?

Well, we've got two new teachers...

OoOoO

On being informed of the arrival of two new teachers, who were also bodyguards of a kind, Harry
told Freki and Geri to hang back at first, since he rather doubted that bodyguards would react well
to horse sized wolves trotting up to greet them. The wolves did as bid, but he could see them
lurking on the edge of the Forest, less than two hundred feet away, a distance they could cover in
moments. Indeed, he suspected that the only reason they obeyed was because of Hagrid, who was
large, protective and conveniently bulletproof. T

his done, he followed Hagrid down to the gates, watching as the winged figure glided over their
heads, rose up briefly, circled, then landed neatly beside the red headed man, Professor Cassidy.
And the red hair was really quite distinctive, a true red rather than the Weasley's ginger, wavy and
flecked with coppery-gold that caught the dying light and the wind and turned it into a living flame.
This attention catching hair was set above a freckled, weather beaten face, young looking and lined
only with smiles, out of which looked two sharp, intelligent and amused looking sea blue eyes.

"Good afternoon," Cassidy said cheerfully, with a strong, lilting Irish accent. "You would be
Professor Hagrid, I'm guessing."

"Ye guessed right, Professor Cassidy," Hagrid said, with a smile, opening the gates. "Welcome to
Hogwarts."

Cassidy chuckled. "Thank ye kindly," he said. "But as an old friend of mine once said, 'I'm not a
Professor until I have students.'"

"I don't count?" the young man with wings asked mildly. There were very few men who could
reasonably be described as beautiful, but like Jean-Paul, Harry felt that this was the only
appropriate adjective to describe the other man.

Indeed, he was like an older mirror image of Harry's friend. He was tall and well built, with
flowing golden blonde hair down to his shoulders that shone in the weak February sunlight. His
skin was clear and lightly tanned. His features were clean cut, strong and aristocratic, Harry
finding them vaguely reminiscent of his father and the statues and paintings of gods and angels that
Bruce had shown him pictures of. His eyes were silvery grey.

And then there were the wings, made of clear, silvery metal that caught the light, at least three
metres wide, reaching their apex with two pointed pinions, each feather gleaming with sharpness.
They were as beautiful as the rest of him. And they were as deadly as they were beautiful.

"The girls are going to eat you alive," Harry found himself saying.

The young man looked surprised at the unexpected speech from someone who he had until then
designated as 'munchkin, random', then let out a put upon sigh as Cassidy let out a hearty roll of
laughter. "Lad, if wizards are like the rest of us, it won't just be the girls we have to worry about."

Harry had to admit that this was probably true. Judging by his first impression of Warren, this was
going to be worse than Lockhart, and he was pretty sure he'd seen a few of the boys giving that
idiot lovestruck glances.

He looked at Cassidy, about to say something, then frowned as he saw Cassidy giving him a very
strange look, one of wide eyed astonishment and disbelief. "A Naomh Mhuire, a mhathair Dé," he
breathed.

"Professor Cassidy?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Cassidy blinked and his easy smile swiftly reasserted itself. "Sorry, Mister Thorson, I slipped into a
little Irish there. That scar looks painful."

"It doesn't hurt most of the time, Professor," Harry said.

"Most?" Cassidy asked, frowning. "It's twelve years old."

"It's a curse scar, Professor," Hagrid rumbled. "It's more'n a little out o' the ordinary."

"I'll bet," Warren murmured.

"Oh, aye, I know that," Cassidy said. "My family's got more than it's share of history with magic,
both dark and light."
Harry blinked in surprise. "You're not a wizard?" he guessed.

"No," Cassidy said. "Though I have a cousin who dabbles." He smiled. "But I'm not exactly
helpless."

"Oh?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued.

The smile grew wicked. "Let's just say that I'm not called the Banshee for nothing."

This would have been nice and mysterious way to end the conversation if Harry hadn't seen Warren
disgustedly rolling his eyes. The older boy caught his gaze and said, "He's far too melodramatic for
his own good. He's got powers, like me."

"You're mutants?" Harry asked.

The pair started.

"Where did you hear that word?" Cassidy asked, voice guarded.

"From Charles Xavier, Professor," Harry said.

Cassidy relaxed, though his gaze lingered on Harry for a moment. "Aye," he said. "I'm not
surprised." He smiled. "Charles taught us both – different classes, o' course."

"He's old enough to be my grandfather," Warren said. "He just refuses to have the decency to look
it."

Cassidy sighed. "Children today," he muttered. "No respect for their elders." He glanced at Harry.
"You don't seem surprised."

"My dad's fifteen hundred years old, give or a take a century, Professor," Harry said, shrugging.
"These days, I'm pretty difficult to shock."

Warren snorted. "Trust me, there's a lot in this world left to shock you," he said.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Like how people you think you know can change their attitudes in the blink of an eye when they
find out that you're different," Warren said flatly.

There was a long silence.

"It shouldn't be that way," Harry said quietly. He met Warren's gaze. "And I think I know that a
little better than you think."

Warren eyed him sceptically, and for a very moment, seemed to do a double take, then nodded.
"Maybe you do," he said quietly.

There was another silence.

"Well, isn't this cheerful?" Cassidy asked, a cheerful grin flashing across his face. "I've been all
around the world, and I make my home in Scotland, but I've never seen quite anything like this."
His tone was full of genuine awe as he looked up at Hogwarts, which was shining with light,
standing out against the darkening winter sky, looking warm and welcoming.

"Aye, Hogwarts is beautiful, Professor Cassidy," Hagrid said warmly.

"Please, call me Sean," Cassidy said easily. He gave Harry a slight smile. "But I'm still Professor
Cassidy to you."

"Damn," Harry said, totally deadpan. "I thought we had something special."

Cassidy goggled.

"'arry," Hagrid hissed, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by Cassidy's warm, bubbling
laughter.

"Well, that's me told," he said, voice still full of amusement, sea blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
"Though ye might want to keep a sharp hold of that tongue of yours, my lad. Take it from me, it's
far easier to talk yourself into trouble than out of it again."

Harry made a face. "Trouble finds me, Professor," he said. "Whether I like it or not."

"Then you should have plenty of reason not to go finding more, shouldn't you?" Cassidy said
shrewdly, arching an eyebrow.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I never used to be like that," he said frankly. "But Tony Stark is a bad
influence, Professor."

"I'll bet he is," Cassidy murmured. "I've heard the stories."

"And 'bad influence' is putting it mildly," Warren said.

"You said that you lived in Scotland, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Aye, up at Muir Island," Cassidy confirmed. "A friend of mine, Moira MacTaggert, leases it from
the government and runs a research station."

Judging by the slight change in intonation on the word 'friend' and Warren's raised eyebrow, Harry
suspected that this Moira person was rather more than a friend in Cassidy's eyes.

"If ye'll forgive me, Sean," Hagrid said. "Ye don' sound Scottish."

"I'm not," Cassidy said. "I'm Irish-American, born and bred in Chicago, Illinois, though I haven't
been back for more than a couple of weeks at a time in thirty years. And yes, as Warren says, I am
older than I look. I moved to Ireland in the early seventies to look in to my family history and
ended up staying. I used to work for Interpol, though, so I travelled all over."

This left open the reason for moving to Scotland, though Harry could make a reasonable stab at it.
He'd caught a glimpse at what was on the chain around Cassidy's neck. A simple gold ring. A
wedding ring, in fact.

Though he was all smiles for now, Harry was pretty sure that Sean Cassidy had more than his fair
share of mystery and tragedy in his past.

And then there was Warren. The younger man was only a few years older than Harry himself, yet
he seemed… sad. And lonely. Harry was a touch surprised by this, unsure as to why someone so
good looking was so alone.

Then he thought about Carol and Jean-Paul, both of whom were by any standard, astonishingly
good looking. And yet, Lex aside, they didn't seem to have any other friends, or at least, if they
did, they hadn't mentioned them, not face to face nor in their conversations on Facebook. Both had
a lot of friends on Facebook, hundreds even, but Harry got the entirely correct impression that
'friends' was a fairly loose definition.

As he thought about this, he realised he was staring at Warren, who, by this point was also staring.
Both blinked as they realised the other had noticed their regard.

"Sorry," both said in unison. Cassidy chuckled softly, but said nothing, thinking that it might be no
bad thing if the two became friends. If he remembered correctly, Harry was rather a fan of flying,
whereas it was one of the few wing related things that Warren actually enjoyed.

"How did you get those wings?" Harry asked curiously.

Said wings mantled slightly. "I was born with them," Warren said. "Though they weren't always
like this," he added, as Harry winced. "My back was just a bit downy at first. Then I grew feathery
wings."

"And then… they just became metallic?" Harry asked.

Warren's expression closed off. "Not quite," he said, voice low and bitter.

Cassidy placed a hand on his shoulder, and said to Harry, "It's a sensitive subject."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"You didn't know," Warren said. He glanced at Harry, grey eyes flicking up to the scar. "And I'm
guessing that you know a little something about those."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I lost my mother and got this stupid scar." He paused, then said, "It's not fair."

Cassidy's gaze flicked between the two of them, then he said sadly, "I don't think life has been fair
to either of you two," he said.

"Life isn' fair," Hagrid said bluntly. "No point in expectin' it ta be somethin' it's not." He gave
Cassidy a sharp look with his beetle black eyes. "An' I think ye know more than yer fair share of
how unfair life can be, Sean." Like Harry, he'd seen the glint of gold.

Cassidy gave him an even look. "You're right. I do," he said, and left it at that. He looked Hagrid
up and down with intelligent, calculating eyes, doubtless dramatically reassessing the bigger man.

Then, for the rest of the walk, he inquired about what Hagrid did at Hogwarts. Harry, since Warren
didn't seem to be in a particularly talkative mood, walked in thoughtful silence, and when he bade
his new Professor and Assistant Professor (the latter, he suspected, was only a job title, since
Warren could barely be out of school), interrupting a rather amusing story of Cassidy's involving a
selkie, a scientist and a tuna sandwich.

There were more than a few mysteries about the two new teachers to dwell upon (not least exactly
how the selkie did that thing with that sandwich to that scientist in that place – to Harry's mind it
was physically implausible) and that was exactly what he intended to do.

As he would later reflect, he never could resist a good mystery.

OoOoO

Unbeknownst to Harry, the dwelling was not confined to him alone.

"What did you make of the lad?" Sean asked quietly, half an hour later, as they left their first
meeting with Professor Dumbledore.

"Nice enough," Warren said. "But when I came here, I didn't expect one of my first sights to be my
ex's eyes in someone else's face." He narrowed his eyes. "And you recognised him too."

"Those eyes are pretty distinctive," Sean said mildly.

Warren raised his eyebrows. "Distinctive enough to spout off in Irish?"

"First, it's Gaelic," Sean said. "Second, I called Hank to tell him I'd got the job. I thought he'd be
chuffed, and he was. He also said that there was a student called Harry who looked very familiar."

"Very familiar?"

"He reminds me, and clearly Hank, of an old friend of ours," Sean said.

"One of Jean's relatives?" Warren asked.

"Yes," Sean said, after a moment. "You could say that." He glanced at Warren. "I wouldn't mention
Jean to him if I were you."

Warren's voice turned sarcastic. "Well, that might be difficult. I mean, however will I manage
resist the temptation to tell him how his eyes are exactly the same as my psychic ex girlfriend's?"

Sean glowered at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that his lips were twitching. "Ye're a
mouthy little git, you know that?"

"I leaned from the best," Warren said. "And seriously, I'd rather avoid bringing up Jean."

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to the two of ye, anyway?" he asked. "One moment,
she's only got eyes for you, you're both happy and smiling and Scott's sulking like there's no
tomorrow, the next moment you two can't stand to be in the same room as each other."

"My wings," Warren muttered.

"She had a problem with them?" Sean asked, surprised, other eyebrow raising.

"No, she didn't. Very definitely didn't," Warren said. "That was the problem."

"Ah, they turned her on, then," Sean said, innocent tone belied by a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Warren blanched. "What? God, no! No, they didn't!" He paused. "Or at least, I don't think they
did," he added, voice carrying a tone of disturbed curiosity.

Sean rubbed his chin, wicked twinkle remaining. "O' course," he said, Irish accent thickening
slightly, possibly on purpose. With Sean, it could be quite hard to tell. "That might explain why she
always liked birds. She always liked stories about phoenixes."

Warren grinned softly. "She did," he said. "She'd have loved it here. I mean, Professor Dumbledore
has one." He glanced at Sean. "And I refuse to believe that Jean had a wing fetish."

"Ye never know until you ask," Sean said, smirking.

"You're messing with me."

"Me? Would I do a thing like that to you, lad?"

"I don't know anyone you wouldn't do it to," Warren said dryly. He sobered. "She didn't care about
how dangerous they were. I couldn't make her understand that we couldn't get too close."

Sean stared at him, then sighed and pinched his brow. "Lad, didn't you think of maybe trusting
her?" he asked, tone full of forced patience. "And more importantly, yourself?"

Warren took on a slightly martyred look. "My wings could have killed her, if I'd lost control of
them."

"And she could have lobotomised ye and launched you into orbit if she lost control of her powers,"
Sean said, tone unchanging. "She trusted herself to control her powers and your trusted her too.
Couldn't you have extended yourself the same courtesy?"

"No," Warren said plainly.

Sean gave him a look, then, when he spoke, his voice was weirdly modulated. "Repeat after me: I
am a fucking idiot who is too scared to know a good thing when he has it and just has to go and
ruin it with his martyrdom thing."

"I am a fucking idiot who is too scared to know a good thing when he has it and just has to go and
ruin it with his martyrdom thing," Warren repeated obediently, then glared. "Did you just do the
thing on me?"

"Aye, and tell me if any of what I had you say was wrong," Sean said coolly. "Jean is genuinely
beautiful, inside and out, and she accepted you for who you were, shiny wings of death and all.
You could have had somethin' wonderful, lad. And you threw it away." He looked tired all of a
sudden, and a hand drifted up to finger the gold ring. "Trust me, lad. Life's too short to do that."

Warren didn't say anything for a while. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"Yes, lad, you're an idiot," Sean said kindly, then the wicked twinkle returned. "But you're a pretty
blonde, so everyone was expecting it."

"Hey!"

OoOoO

The Avengers Assembled.

In the living room of the Tower, drinking tea and Loki brewed coffee as preference took them. It
was not exactly dramatic, but it was mid morning on a fairly calm day, so what else was to be
expected?

This time, however, was fairly unique. The assorted friends and partners were all occupied by
something else. Darcy had collared Jane, Pepper and Sif for a shopping trip, with Warriors Three
coming along as clothes horses, entertainment and bag carriers. Oh, and bodyguards, though Sif
was more than enough bodyguard for both Darcy, Jane and Pepper put together. Erik, who tended
to steer clear of Loki at the best of times when he was visiting the Tower – Thor wasn't entirely
sure if he and Harry had even met – was on a lecture tour.

So the Avengers could talk about what they liked. In this case, Clint's mother's adopted family, the
Kents. Like any curious estranged family member, Clint had researched his family. Like any
curious estranged family member who also happened to be a high ranking SHIELD Agent, he'd got
just about every detail about them.
"Jonathan and Martha Kent. They're a fairly standard Midwestern farming couple, though the wife
is the daughter of William Clark, a high powered attorney, and has a background in business and
all evidence indicates that Jonathan's no hick farmer either," Clint said. "Vote for the same State
Senator each time, Jack Jennings. Hard working, friendly, hospitable people. She's about ten years
younger than he is. They take people as they are unless their name is Luthor. Lionel Luthor forced
a friend of Jonathan Kent's out of business and apparently there's other bad blood between him and
Jonathan."

"Luthor?" Thor asked. "Hasn't Harry befriended a boy called Luthor?"

"Lex," Loki said. "Son of Lionel."

Tony grimaced. "Lionel's a piece of shit," he said. "A dangerous piece of shit."

Steve gave Tony a look that said volumes about language, but nodded. "I take it that Lex and his
father don't see eye to eye."

"It's pretty well known that the Luthor's hate each other," Tony said. "And Lionel doesn't like me
because I was just about the only adult aside from Brigadier O'Neill to pay attention to Lex at the
high society dinners, when I wasn't drunk, so Lex likes me better than he does his father."

"That isn't hard, Tony," Loki said dryly. "Believe me, there are depths I had not believed possible
to Lex's hatred of his father." He sighed. "The boy was cursed with a terrible father, a distant
mother and a fearsome intellect."

"He's as smart as I am," Tony said candidly. "Or close to."

"I could not think of many mortals who I would definitively state were cleverer than Lex Luthor,"
Loki said. "Reed Richards is the only one I would state for sure, though from what I know of the
young ruler of Latveria, Victor Von Doom, he may not be the only one. Bruce and Tony, possibly."
He looked thoughtful. "Maybe Doctor Storm, who he is rather fond of."

"They're dating," Tony said casually. "Reed's jealous, he just doesn't know how to show it."

"That's because Reed could not be more uptight without thorough application of glue," Loki said.

"He's a nice guy," Bruce said fairly.

"Nice, but terminally oblivious," Tony said. "If he'd asked her out, Sue would have said yes, and he
had plenty of opportunity."

"Maybe he was shy," Steve suggested. "I don't really know Doctor Richards, but he's always
seemed more comfortable with numbers than people."

Tony shrugged, then turned to Clint. "So, Agent Locksley, what else did you dig up?"

Clint rolled his eyes at the billionth Robin Hood crack and said, "They've got an adopted son,
Clark, who they adopted quite late when it turned out that Martha couldn't have children. Nice kid.
Top grades, glowing reports from his teachers, he even writes a little for the school paper. Movie
star good looks, like a better nourished and outdoorsy version of Harry," he said, then frowned
slightly. "Actually, he looks disturbingly like Harry. They could be twins."

Thor and Loki's eyebrows climbed and they shared a look. This was yet another thing that Loki
would be investigating once this crisis was over.
"And it's odd," Clint continued. "He's never been ill. Not once in his life. And there's something
about his adoption…"

"What's wrong with it?" Steve asked.

"Nothing, that's the problem," Clint said, frowning. "It seems too perfect. Almost like it's a cover."

"It is," Natasha said, calmly. Covers and deception were her field of expertise. "In Coulson's style.
The kid's superhuman. He's a candidate for the mysterious Omega class that Fury's supposed to be
protecting."

"Omega class?" Steve asked, eyebrows shooting upwards. Natasha nodded.

"There's been stories floating around the intelligence community for the best part of a decade that
Fury dug up an Omega class kid somewhere, then hid him," she said. "Some people have tied it to
the Smallville incident, but others think that it was something else."

Loki nodded slowly. "I have heard those stories," he said. "And they tally with a few other very
interesting things that I have heard." He glanced at Natasha. "What do you think?"

"Occam's Razor," she said.

"That rarely accounts for the numerous absurdities of lives such as ours," Loki pointed out.

Natasha inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Doesn't mean that it doesn't apply here," she said.
"There's too many unanswered questions."

"True," Loki murmured.

"I heard rumours when I was working for Ross," Bruce said slowly. "Ross was trying to get hold of
the kid, or even just to find out who he was, but got nowhere. He claimed that Fury threatened to
set his 'attack dog' on him."

"That would have been me," Clint said, in a tone that suggested he was retrospectively annoyed
that he hadn't been able to give General Ross a little of the ole Soviet Re-education.

"So if he is this secret Omega class, who is, for some reason, being raised by Kansas farmers with
Director Fury's blessing," Steve said. "What is he?"

"Mutant?" Clint suggested.

"Probably," Natasha said. "Or he could be a mutate. SHIELD never managed to clear up all of that
meteor rock."

"I could ask my godfather," Tony said. "He can find out soon enough." His expression darkened.
"When he wakes up, that is."

"Is he improving?" Thor asked, concerned.

Tony sighed. "Yeah, he is. Slowly but surely. Hank thinks he'll come out of the coma by mid
March." He made a face. "Logan nearly filleted me when I came round to check."

"Logan's that way to most people," Steve said absently.

"How do you know Logan?" Tony asked, surprised.

"He and his brother were attached to the Commandos a few times," Steve said.

"Why not go and see him?"

"Albus said that he's lost his memories," Steve said.

"Yeah, but as it turns out, he got the World War II ones back," Tony said. "No one knows why. Or
how. It's pretty arbitrary."

Steve looked surprised. And hopeful. So hopeful that it almost hurt to look at, hopeful that he
might see one person who was as they had been in the old days, someone who was the way he
remembered them.

It was unfortunate that he did not articulate this thought, as if he had, when the time came he would
have been far less surprised by the metal claws and the fact that Logan now sank in water if he
didn't actively try to swim.

There was a long silence.

"So… has anyone got a new theory on why Strange wants Wanda away from Hogwarts?"

OoOoO

Lucius Malfoy idly swirled the wine in his glass. He would give Von Strucker this, he had fine
taste in wine. While he personally preferred elf made wine, this rather delicious Bordeaux was a
more than acceptable substitute. And in any case, the equating of muggles with elves rather amused
him. Both were born to serve, it was simply a matter of convincing the latter that that was their
place.

Of course, some muggles were worthy of consideration as near equals. Not actual equals, of
course. Director Fury was one. Malfoy hated him, but he equally acknowledged that Fury was
ruthless, extremely intelligent and had a will of pure adamantium. Those traits had allowed him to
accrue an astonishing amount of power in an astonishingly short time. And Fury had wounded him
in ways that no other had. The leg, well, everyone knew about that, though they didn't bring it up if
they had any sense. And the other ways…

His expression soured as he contemplated the wine and considered the other marks Fury had left on
him. Marks that he had gone to great deal of trouble to hide. Marks that were the chief reason he
despised Fury.

Despised, yet admired. He was a worthy opponent. An inevitably doomed one, but worthy
nevertheless. Malfoy accorded him the same level of respect that he'd once accorded Von Strucker.
He eyed the other man for a moment. Tall, powerful and with the commanding, arrogant air of a
man born to power, he was an impressive figure at first sight. Combined with the power HYDRA
possessed and a reasonable intellect, he was an impressive figure at many sights after that.

Malfoy had admired him and courted him as an ally during the first ascension of Voldemort, an
alliance that had served both well. Then Voldemort had fallen and he'd been left to die in the
burning wreckage of his family home while Fury returned to the Americas to make his legend, and
HYDRA had melted back into the shadows, fearful of SHIELD's vengeance.

When they had re-established the old partnership, Malfoy had been impressed by Von Strucker's
confidence and his quiet, deadly and terrifyingly sane shadow, Baron Von Zemo, whose face was
hidden behind a mask that concealed everything and moved disturbingly quietly and, when the
situation called for it, fast enough to make a vampire of any Court blink. And then there had been
the coup that was the discovery of the Winter Soldier.

Then Von Strucker's shortcomings had been painfully exhibited in his attempt to undercut Malfoy,
then his total humiliation by Fury and his moronic reaction. One did not give something like
Gravemoss the chance to do exactly as he wished. You could never be sure what would happen.
Plus, the upshot of that incident was that the Scarlet Witch was now back in the field and on all
evidence, more powerful than ever, more powerful than any mortal wizard that Lucius had ever
heard of.

Well, he supposed that there was Mordo, and his student, the mysterious and – if Lucius said it
himself, vaguely intimidating – deadly Victor Von Doom. But Mordo was very much his own man
and obsessed with destroying Strange. This was all well and good, except that everyone who had
any sense knew that if Strange was provoked into direct action, the results would not be pretty.

No one had forgotten Berlin and Strange's duel with the demon powered Dark Lord Grindelwald.
More damage had been done in the hour long duel than in a month of Muggle bombing raids and
Grindelwald had been left crippled, no stronger than any other unusually powerful wizard. Strange,
on the other hand, had ambled away, apparently without care in the world, leaving the Dark Lord
for Dumbledore to finish off.

Malfoy didn't doubt that Gravemoss could at least stalemate the Sorcerer Supreme, but there was
no telling what the resultant fallout would be like, nor what would happen if the insane
necromancer lost control of the Darkhold. Malfoy was no fool, he knew the stories. The damned
thing had a mind of its own and was connected to something far more terrible than even
Gravemoss could ever hope to become. No, Gravemoss was a resource to be kept on a very short
leash. And if this leash involved ignoring the fact that those who went into his basement rarely
came out again and even more rarely, when they did come out, come out either alive or the same
shape as they went in, then so be it. There were always others.

The last straw, for Malfoy, however, had been that in the attempt to capture or kill Fury and his
cohorts, Von Strucker had not only lost a number of powerful assets and destroyed much of Malfoy
Manor, he had attempted to kidnap Narcissa, doubtless for leverage over Malfoy himself, which
had resulted in her falling into Fury's hands. This made Malfoy's blood boil. While they might be
parted at the moment, he truly loved his wife, and the thought of Von Strucker getting hold of her,
or whatever she was suffering at SHIELD's hands, because Fury was little better disposed to
Narcissa than he was to her husband, utterly enraged him.

In short, Von Strucker was displaying inexcusable levels of incompetence and insubordination.
Malfoy glanced at him and noticed that the other man was having trouble focusing. Good.

"So, Wolfgang," he said idly, sipping his wine. "I am left wondering about how you would care to
explain your numerous failures."

"I –"

"Oh, no, wait," he said. "I don't care." He met Von Strucker's bleary gaze. He'd slipped a little spell
onto Von Strucker's glass, an old family secret. It didn't do much, it simply magnified the
intoxicating qualities of the alcohol placed within it, with the precise magnification at the caster's
discretion.

It had been one of the many little things that had greased the rise of the Malfoy family to power,
and that was it was all about really. Little things. Fools like Von Strucker and Voldemort thought
that great things were achieved by grand actions, and to be fair, sometimes they were. But more
often, they were the culmination of lots of little things, lots of little changes that no one noticed
until, one day, they woke up and everything had changed.

Of course, with men like Fury and Dumbledore watching like hawks, facilitating such matters was
not always easy. So he would give them the self same gift that Fury had given him.

Fire.

"Lord Malfoy," Von Strucker managed, tone angry.

"Hmm?"

"What… what have you done to me?" the muggle slurred.

Malfoy smiled thinly. "I have weakened your will. Not that it was very strong to begin with, nor is
it really required, but I am a great believer in not making things harder than they have to be," he
said softly. He drew his wand. "You only have one more function to perform in this life. And for
once, you will do it right."

Von Strucker snarled and stumbled forward out of his chair, Satan Claw crackling with power.
Malfoy flicked his wand, slamming him back into his chair. Another flick produced ropes that
bound him tightly. "Now that I have your attention," he said and raised his wand. "Imperio."

Von Strucker struggled for a moment, then his eyes glazed over as he gave in, as he was always
going to. Resistance was futile, Malfoy thought, as the wine glass slipped from the man's hand to
smash on the floor, dark wine spreading like blood.

Malfoy smiled at the aptness of this and leaned forward. "Now," he said. "Tell me how to control
the Winter Soldier."
 New Rules

The Conclave was nervous. They were an assembly of the highest ranked members of HYDRA, or
at least, those who still remained. They had been summoned by Lord Malfoy. Under normal
circumstances, they would have ordered him killed for the insolence.

This, however, was not normal circumstances. HYDRA's power base had been utterly shattered.
The ill-judged strike on MI6 and MI13 had given SHIELD the latitude to utterly savage HYDRA,
breaking them one base at a time. The even more ill-judged response by Von Strucker to that had
brought the Scarlet Witch back into the fray. Only this one remained.

And the simple fact was, Malfoy was dangerous. Even if one left aside his variety of superhuman
abilities, which, while they did not put him all that far up the superhuman scale, meant that he was
more than dangerous to most baseline humans, he was extremely intelligent. And ruthless. It did
not do to forget the ruthlessness.

What made it all worse was that it was common knowledge that Von Strucker had, in his last
debacle, attempted to seize Narcissa Malfoy, Lord Malfoy's much loved wife.

This was not normal circumstances. So who knew what was going to happen next.

Right on cue, the door opened and Malfoy strode in, his limp hardly hindering him. He exuded
confidence in a manner that drew the eye. What drew the eye more, however, was who, or what –
no one was quite sure which applied – was following him, like a guard dog called to heel.

The Winter Soldier.

"Gentlemen," Malfoy said, standing at the head of table. "Baron Von Strucker, my old friend and
ally, has regrettably passed away."

"How did he die?" Zemo asked calmly. He was the only one who looked unshaken by Malfoy's
entrance.

"Mysterious Circumstances, I believe," Malfoy said, in idle, ironic tones. "With his passing, I will
honour his memory by taking over HYDRA and will do what he could not – lay low the Avengers
and destroy SHIELD." He glanced around. "Are there any questions?"

One member of the Conclave, a short, thin man in his mid-fifties stood up and said, tone
contemptuous. "Yes. Did you really think that we would fall for that? You are arrogant, wizard,
and a fool." He looked at the Soldier. "Execute him."

A sharp retort echoed through the room and the man slumped face first onto the table, blood
pooling around his head from a hole right between his eyes.

He hadn't even had the time to look surprised.

"As you can see," Malfoy said, into the stunned silence. "Mysterious Circumstances can
be… catching."

Zemo smoothly got to his feet and met Malfoy's gaze with his own, blank one. With the mask over
his face concealing even his irises, it was near impossible to tell what he was thinking. Now,
Malfoy carefully relaxed, ready to bring his wand up if Zemo attacked. The man wasn't just a
muggle, that much was obvious.
Indeed, Malfoy rather thought that he was one of the few people who could survive more than a
few moments in combat with the Winter Soldier and he'd seen what the man was capable of with
his own eyes. He'd beaten Greyback in three moves and about as many seconds. If he'd wanted to,
he could have swiftly detached the werewolf's head from his body, and with very little effort.

Not only that, but his own observations had led him to conclude that Zemo was to HYDRA what
he had been to the Death Eaters: the sane one who kept everything ticking, kept the minions in line
and made sure that the leadership didn't do anything too stupid, occasionally steering their methods
of thought when required. The power behind the throne, the Chancellor, one might say. Yes, he
thought, an apt analogy. Kings, Emperors and Princes were all replaced. But the Chancellor, if they
managed matters correctly, was eternal.

So Malfoy was reasonably sure that Zemo, though best placed, wouldn't make a bid for power.

Reasonably.

After a long moment, Zemo inclined his head in a slight bow and said, "Hail Malfoy!"

Then Zola stood, smiling that unsettling little smile of his, and copied Zemo. "Hail Malfoy!"

The rest of the Conclave, seeing which way the wind was blowing, hurriedly followed suit. "Hail
Malfoy!"

Malfoy nodded acknowledgement while eyeing Zemo. The man had declared loyalty, but both of
them knew perfectly well that that loyalty was conditional. Yes, Malfoy thought, Zemo would bear
hard watching.

But, for now, he had the other man's loyalty, and with it, HYDRA, as well as the reliable support
of Gravemoss, who was happy as long as he had corpses to play with. And, of course, the Winter
Soldier under his personal control. Combined with just over two billion galleons, collated from his
personal vaults and those of the Death Eaters who died and bequeathed him their wealth or granted
him control of their accounts while they went into hiding, with each of those galleons worth five
muggle pounds, that were being liquidated and invested on the London Stock Exchange, apparently
the fourth richest of its kind in the world, he now had the finances to turn HYDRA into a serious
force.

And London, according to his goblin financial advisers, was apparently the leading commercial
city in the entire muggle world, meaning that the moneys invested could swiftly be turned, as it
were, into more money. Malfoy did not doubt them, and he would say this for the little gremlins,
they knew all there was to know about money. And muggles had a lot of it, simply because there
was so many of them. He would also admit that wizards had, in the past, become rich by investing
in the muggle world. Charlus Potter, for instance, had invested heavily in the muggle world and it
had increased the Potter family's considerable wealth by a third.

He had money, minions and two mass murderers, both of whom caused the muggle and wizarding
worlds to tremble in fear. Oh, and, best of all, he had a secure base from which to operate.

In other words, he had achieved exactly what he'd been planning from the start: to take the gestalt
entity that was the shaky alliance of the Death Eaters, HYDRA and Gravemoss, then take control
of it and forge it into a smooth running organisation that could challenge Nicholas Fury's SHIELD
on its own terms.

Admittedly, smooth was not a word one would usually use when dealing with something like
Gravemoss, who had more than once derailed the expected course of events, but never so badly
that it was irrevocably damaged. Indeed, it had actually helped matters, and Malfoy was
reasonably confident that he could keep him pointed in the right direction. And if not, well, that
was what the Soldier was for.

And his plan had succeeded. Well, the first part of the plan had succeeded

He smiled.

Now came the second step.

Now came the endgame.

Now, as they say, came the fun part.

OoOoO

Fury strolled into the prison wing of the Triskelion. While the Cube and the Fridge were nominally
SHIELD's superhuman prisons, with plans for a third somewhere off the East Coast, based on
Azkaban. While Fury despised the Dementors, he had to admit that the concept for Azkaban was a
good one. A prison smack bang in the middle of one of the wilder seas on the planet, with escape
only possible with either serious outside assistance or the hitherto publicly unknown ability to turn
into a dog combined with monomaniacal determination.

The Raft, as it was tentatively named, was going to be like Azkaban, but with all the knobs turned
up to eleven.

Except for the evil soul-eating demons floating around causing misery and despair, which Fury
strenuously objected to on humanitarian grounds, refusing to have them on SHIELD premises.
Except for the Congressional Oversight Committee. And really, he couldn't do much about that.

But, nevertheless, all SHIELD facilities were equipped with facilities for incarcerating prisoners or
protecting witnesses.

Fury wasn't really sure which applied to Narcissa. While she was technically in protective custody,
he didn't underestimate her. Proper Pureblood Lady she might be, she was also a highly
accomplished witch. On top of that, she was Black and far too reminiscent of her cousin, Regulus
a.k.a. Peter Wisdom, for his comfort. Both of them had the family passion/insanity under firm,
rational control, and Fury knew better than anyone exactly how dangerous Regulus was.

Also, for all that Lucius Malfoy was a monster, Fury would grudgingly acknowledge that he was
an extremely intelligent one, and was therefore deeply unlikely to marry and remain very much
attached to someone who was anything less than intelligent and dangerous in her own right and
didn't reciprocate that attachment. He refused to call it love.

So while she would be more than happy to sell out HYDRA, she would be decidedly hesitant to
give information to a man who had very nearly succeeded in murdering her husband, and scarred
him for life. Admittedly, he could claim to have saved Draco, who was, at long last, turning into a
decent kid, but Narcissa could equally point out that he wouldn't have needed saving if it wasn't for
Fury's actions.

Bad cop wasn't going to be enough. He needed another eye. His good eye.

"Director."

"Coulson," Fury said, without turning as Coulson fell into step alongside him, right on cue. He
suppressed a smile. It had always felt right to work with Coulson. The two had simply clicked the
first time they'd met in the Rangers, and had provided contrasting approaches – Fury was more hot
blooded, rough and domineering, but an incisive thinker. Coulson was calmer, more rational and
smooth, but ultimately trusted his gut. For reasons unknown, he'd also acquired the nickname
'Cheese'.

When they'd joined SHIELD, they'd gone their separate ways for a while. Fury had gone to Britain,
while Coulson had been mentored by Alan Scott and worked with Charles Xavier, establishing a
reputation as the go to guy for dealing with superhumans. Fury though that it probably explained
why he was, underneath it all, still an idealist at heart.

When Fury had returned to the US, single eye focused unwaveringly on getting to the top, getting
the power to protect people and stop men like Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy in their tracks, he'd
gone through partners like a hot knife through butter. None were able to keep up. Until they'd
partnered him with Coulson. And together, they swiftly forged a reputation as SHIELD's best
Agents, the ones who could be trusted with anything, the ones who did the impossible and the ones
who, above all, got shit done. Their dynamic in the Rangers smoothly translated to a good cop, bad
cop act which for three years, left all others in the dust.

Fury was the one who would terrify the perp, while Coulson was the one who would sooth them
with a cup of coffee and speak in a soft, polite and blandly friendly voice. Of course, both of them
could swap roles, with Fury taking the grumpy but noble Agent who was willing to bend the rules,
and Coulson taking on a genuinely terrifying cold and nigh on robotic demeanour.

But when he did the cold robot impersonation, it was just that. An impersonation. Coulson had
heart. After two decades working for SHIELD, almost all of his adult life, he still believed, and
was still a man who would do the right thing without blinking. Fury couldn't say the same about
himself, and hadn't been able to for at least a decade. He tried, but he recognised that he was the
one who walked in the dark places and beat the bad guys by thinking like the bad guys. Truth be
told, he wasn't sure if he had much of a heart any more. Most long term SHIELD Agents didn't, or
they kept it carefully locked away while they were one duty.

Coulson still had a heart, one mostly untarnished, but, at the same time, he wasn't naïve. It was that
heart which had, after the two had parted ways again, led to him giving first Clint, then Natasha, a
chance at redemption, turning them into two of SHIELD's finest Agents. That was a rare kind of
man, and truth be told, Fury had earmarked him as his eventual successor for the Directorship. Hill
was brilliant, but she was too young. She hadn't yet learned when rules could and should be bent or
even broken in aid of doing the right thing, to trust her instincts and, crucially, to realise the
difference between a vigilante and a hero.

He said eventual because he was still the youngest Director of any intelligence organisation, at the
age of 42, in modern history and he didn't intend on dying any time soon. And he had other plans
for Coulson.

"Why did you call me in?" Coulson asked.

"Because with your help, there's a chance that I can crack HYDRA wide open," Fury said. "We've
got Narcissa Malfoy in protective custody…"

"And since HYDRA tried to kidnap her and her son tipped us off, you think that she'll sell them
out," Coulson said.

"Exactly," Fury said. "But to put no finer point on it, she hates me."
"You did try to murder her husband and crippled him for life. You also burned down her house,"
Coulson pointed out.

"True," Fury said. "And I have neither the time nor the inclination to good cop her."

"Which is why you need me," Coulson said.

"You're good with people. The best, arguably," Fury said.

"Natasha's better, sir. She cracked Loki in ten minutes."

"Loki was insane and like Stark, he has a compulsive need to tell the world how brilliant he is. The
insanity took off the inhibitors and Widow exploited them. She's also publicly known to be one of
the Avengers and Narcissa's husband was and remains an extremely skilled spymaster. I wouldn't
be surprised if Narcissa knew exactly who she was dealing with and what was going on if the
Black Widow walked into her quarters," Fury pointed out. "She'd be put on her guard."

Coulson acknowledged this. "So, you want me to be the bland SHIELD flunkie?" he asked.

"Your amiable accountant act should do," Fury said.

Coulson nodded. "Gotcha."

They reached the door to Narcissa's quarters/cell. "All normal?" Fury asked the Agents on guard.

"She's been quiet as a mouse, Director," one said. "Though she was crying earlier."

Fury nodded. That was valuable information. A woman like Narcissa wouldn't break down without
adequate reason. He suspected that it was because of the danger her husband and son were in,
because they had both picked opposing sides and she wanted to keep them both safe.

"Thank you," Coulson said. "Let us in."

OoOoO

Narcissa's quarters had been carefully designed. They contained every modern amenity, including a
large, comfortable bed, a bed side table with a lamp, a desk, a bookshelf filled with a number of
newspapers, periodicals and books and both fiction and non-fiction. It even had an en suite
bathroom. In general, they resembled a comfortable hotel room.

Then you noticed that there weren't windows or a kettle, the lamp was bolted to the desk, all the
glasses were plastic, there was no internet or phone signal and all the books were paperbacks and
the door was designed to resist a standard assault team for fifteen minutes.

Anyone quartered in these rooms with even a little bit of perception was very aware that they were
very much in SHIELD's power. And more importantly, it gave SHIELD something to take away if
'guests' proved to be recalcitrant.

Fury was sure that Narcissa had picked up on this, but after three hours of him growling and
threatening (genuine) and Coulson calming and cajoling (probably not genuine, but even Fury
wasn't always sure if he could tell), they hadn't got all that much out of her.

What they had got out was moderately useful: Baron Zemo was still with HYDRA and, judging by
her recounting of his fight with Greyback, retained his enhanced abilities, the Winter Soldier had
been the HYDRA Agent to steal the Darkhold and kill Bond, and every single other member of the
ad hoc alliance was terrified of Gravemoss, an incredibly powerful necromancer who just
happened to be a complete lunatic and regarded anything that breathed, once breathed or had
vaguely considered breathing once upon a time as fair game.

Except for the Winter Soldier, who didn't seem to feel anything, at all, ever. That went for
speaking, either. Narcissa had been very emphatic on this point, noting that she was actually more
personally afraid of the Soldier than of Gravemoss.

"Hogwarts won't protect Draco against the Soldier," she'd said, tone slightly hysterical. "Nothing
will." She'd given Fury a sharp eyed gaze. "You said that you were going to find Magneto and
petition him to protect my son."

"We're still trying to find him," Coulson said, tone placating. Fury had noted with interest how
swiftly he'd established a rapport with her, and how smoothly. He'd quickly assessed her and
judged, correctly, that she would respond well to subtle high society manners, little cues that would
tell her that he was 'of the right sort'. The fact that he wasn't magical was less of a problem.
Narcissa might regard muggles in general with indifference, but she knew enough to treat Agents of
SHIELD, particularly ones trusted by Director Fury himself, with a wary sort of respect.

Coulson had managed to translate that into a certain degree of warmth and understanding, by
working at a gentle counterpoint to Fury's threats. Any fool could offer cups of tea while
admonishing a shouting colleague. It took a professional to offer tea as a prelude to a discussion of
favourite types of tea. All Fury had had to do was growl and glare every now and then.

He'd even managed to make her laugh, something which Fury counted as a surefire indicator of
hitherto undiscovered supernatural powers.

"We know that he's in orbit above Earth somewhere, but the very nature of his abilities means that
he is well able to essentially ward against technological detection." He sat back. "In any case,
Thor's son is currently attending Hogwarts."

"Despite the fact that the Soldier was sighted on the grounds," Fury said.

Narcissa looked like she was about to have a heart attack.

"But I wouldn't worry," Fury said casually. "All our intel says that he never kills children. Hell, he
never raises a hand to 'em if he can possibly avoid it. According to the Black Widow, every time
someone tried to make him, he got creative and wriggled out of it."

"Then why was he there?" Narcissa asked frowning.

"We think he was present as an advance scout," Coulson said. "Headmaster Dumbledore has since
employed measures to protect the school."

"What measures?"

"Beefed up wards and recruited two superhumans handpicked by Peter Wisdom himself," Fury
said.

Narcissa shuddered slightly. She'd heard of Peter Wisdom. So had most of the supernatural world.
"Dare I ask which?" she asked, tone calmer. One of the things most people knew about Peter
Wisdom was that he was no fool. If he felt that these two superhumans, whoever they were, could
defend Hogwarts, then he was unlikely to be wrong.

"That is classified information, but we can tell you that one of them has proven capable of taking
down zombified dragons singlehandedly," Coulson said, tone carrying just the right amount of 'you
know how it is' regret and reassuring mitigation. "And the other has worked with and against
Magneto in the past."

"The Green Lantern is back?" Narcissa asked, surprised and a little hopeful.

"No," Fury said flatly. "The Green Lantern is dead and has been for a couple of years now. Agent
Coulson was referring to another."

"And what is he capable of?" Narcissa asked.

"He's Xavier trained," Fury said.

"Rest assured, Narcissa, he'll be able to protect the school," Coulson said gently. Fury noted with
interest that she didn't object to his use of her first name. "I've seen him in action. It's an impressive
sight."

The incident Coulson was referring to was when the newly minted Agents Coulson and Fury,
chosen for their military experience, covered Cassidy as he hunted down the IRA cell that had
killed his wife and promptly gone on a rampage that Cuchulainn and the Hulk would have been
proud of. Impressive, Fury thought, was a significant understatement, since Cassidy's vocal talents
had comfortably liquefied granite and, focused into a lance, punched holes in sheet steel. And then
there was his hypnotic voice. Fury still occasionally had nightmares about what he'd done with
that.

Narcissa nodded slowly. "How is Draco?" she asked.

"According to the Avengers, who had it from Harry Thorson, he's worried about you and wants to
see you as soon as possible," Coulson said. "Harry promised that a meeting would be arranged as
soon as possible, and we intend to follow through on that promise as soon as possible." He smiled.
"You will see your son soon, Narcissa. I promise."

Narcissa met his gaze and saw only benign honesty staring back at her.

Coulson was very good at what he did.

She nodded slowly. "Thank you, Agent Coulson," she said.

"Please, call me Phil, or Philip," he said.

She smiled slightly. It might still be slightly frosty, but that frost was swiftly thawing. "Thank you,
Philip." She glanced over at Fury, and the frost returned. "Will you support this, Director?"

"I see no reason, as yet, to stop you meeting your son," Fury said, tone purposefully implying that
he was looking for one and would probably find it soon enough. "Though we will have to arrange
it carefully."

"He means yes," Coulson said, deadpan.

And Narcissa… giggled.

Fury hadn't even been sure she was capable of something like that. Laugh, yes, but giggle? Sure,
she stopped after a moment, embarrassed that she had done something so lacking in gentility as
giggle, and her expression sobered. "Please, Agent, no, Philip. Please make sure that my son is
safe."
"I will do everything I can."

"I note that you don't ask me to do that," Fury said dryly.

"Oh, I already know you will," Narcissa said, a touch of the old arrogance returning. "After all,
how else did my infant son get out of the burning remains of Malfoy Manor without a scratch on
him?"

Fury said nothing, and Narcissa smiled slightly.

"Exactly," she said. She paused. "Tell Draco that his mother loves him, would you? And misses
him?"

"I'll pass it along, Narcissa," Coulson said, giving Fury a carefully measured sharp look to match
the carefully measured roll of the eyes Fury had given.

She smiled her thanks, and in that moment, Fury understood something about her. As far as she
was concerned, all that mattered was her family being safe. The rest of the world could go hang for
all that she cared.

Coulson had got under her skin partly by being the apparent antithesis of the grim, ruthless and
Malfoy Hating Director Fury, but mostly because he'd promised to help her son, and because he
genuinely seemed to care. Of course, this was Coulson, so it was quite likely that there was no
'seemed' about it.

"Coulson," Fury said, standing. "We're done here."

"Very well, sir," Coulson said, then paused. "Do you want to write a note to Draco? I'll make sure
that it gets to him."

Narcissa blinked, and looked touched. Then she shook her head. "Thank you, but no. I have yet to
master writing notes on muggle paper, with muggle pens. I fear that the result would only be an
unholy mess," she said.

"I don't think that Draco would care," Coulson said, turning the sincerity up several notches. "He'd
treasure it because it was from you, legible or not."

"Perhaps, though I think it would help if he could actually read it," Narcissa said dryly, crossing
over to her desk and writing a short note, which she handed to Coulson with a slight, genuine smile.
"Thank you, Philip."

"You're welcome," he said quietly, holding her gaze. Coulson really was going for the flirting
route, Fury thought. That was risky. Very risky. Especially in a woman as loyal to her husband as
Narcissa. But as long as he kept it to charm, it could be extremely effective, as it was exactly the
opposite of what she'd been expecting.

They turned to go, then Narcissa said, "Wait!"

They stopped.

Narcissa took a deep breath. "Once, I saw the Soldier unmasked," she said, and both Coulson's and
Fury's eyebrows shot up. No one in the last half century had ever seen the Soldier unmasked. No
one who'd lived to tell the tale, anyway. "He was handsome in a sort of remote, distant way. The
way his face looked, you couldn't imagine it smiling, frowning or showing any sign of life, like a
sculpture. He had very pale skin. It looked as if it was pale naturally, but also very rarely saw
sunlight. He had long, thick brown hair, a stubbled chin and a pair of very blue eyes."

Fury and Coulson exchanged looks, then Coulson said, "Thank you very much for that, Narcisssa.
After this, if you don't mind, we'd like to have you talk to a sketch artist after this, so we can get a
clear picture."

Narcissa frowned, then comprehension dawned. "Ah, yes. Muggles don't have pensieves," she said,
a slight hint of a sneer in her voice.

"No," Coulson said gently. "But Pensieves are rare items even in the magical world, good ones are
even rarer. The best ones were based on Asgardian technology, and the notes were lost over the
years, so the newer ones are mimics, like comparing an ordinary wand to an Ollivander or a
Gregorovitch." He half smiled, eyes distant. "My mom always swore by Ollivander."

"You're a wizard, Philip?" Narcissa asked, astonished. Coulson froze. But it was on purpose, Fury
knew. He'd meant to let this slip, a distinctly calculated gesture, one designed to build trust even
further. And, from what Fury knew of this particular secret of Coulson's, it was neither particularly
valuable as leverage, nor was it particularly hard to figure out if you suspected it was there.

"It seems the secret is out," Coulson said, with a self deprecating smile. "I'm a squib," he corrected.

"Oh," Narcissa said. Though Fury could barely believe he was hearing it, there was more than a
hint of sympathy in her tone. Coulson really had got under her skin. "I didn't know that Ollivander
sold wands in the Americas."

"He doesn't, my mom was British," Coulson said. "We moved to the States once it turned out that I
didn't have magic."

"What was her name?"

Coulson met her gaze and said calmly, "Julie Coulson. She was born a Prewett."

Narcissa's eyes widened, then she smiled slightly. "So you're the one. Molly always said that you
were an accountant." The smile developed into a full on smirk. "And here you are, a high ranked
Agent of SHIELD, a trusted member of Nicholas Fury's inner circle, the man, who, if rumour has it
correctly, took on a mad god with a weapon that you had no idea would work." She held her hand
out, palm up, in an indicative gesture. "You are full of surprises, Philip."

"For the record, it did," Coulson said, with a slight smile.

She chuckled and shook her head. "I can only wonder how she didn't know."

"Molly is a very kind, loving woman. She also sees what she expects to see. And she's not very
good at understanding anything that doesn't involve magic. It tends to make her nervous. So once it
became clear that I wasn't magical, we drifted apart. We haven't talked in nearly thirty years,"
Coulson said mildly. "It's not her fault. She was raised that way."

"Are you going to tell her?" Narcissa asked, amused. "Because if you are, I can only hope that I get
a chance to see her face."

Coulson smiled. But this time, it was a polite, official smile. And ever so slightly brittle "I don't
think so," he said. Then his apparently/possibly actually genuine smile returned. "I think your
husband might be surprised, though."

"That he would," Narcissa murmured. "And profoundly irritated that he didn't find out before. I
mean, it's not as if you've gone out of your way to hide it."

"It's hidden in plain sight," Coulson explained. "Not many wizards care about a distant American
Squib relative of the Prewett family, or what's left of it and not many non-magicals believed in
magic until a couple of years ago. Even now, there's still a lot of scepticism."

"And I suspect that you do a very good impression of being a mild mannered and harmless
accountant," Narcissa said.

"SHIELD has accountants too," Coulson pointed out. "All of whom are combat trained."

"That may be true, but one thing my husband did discern was that you were Nick Fury's shadow
and right hand for a number of years and a former 'Ranger', an elite muggle soldier," Narcissa said.
"I don't know of many accountants who can do that, Philip."

Coulson smiled slightly. "Maybe you haven't met the accountants that I have," he said, tone lightly
bantering. "And I've got to admit, I was always more comfortable with people than numbers."

"I can see," Narcissa said, an amused smile on her face.

"I'm sure you can see a very long way, Narcissa," Coulson said. "But I like to think that there's a lot
more to me than meets the eye."

"Considering what I already know, I don't doubt it," Narcissa replied. "And I do admit that I find
myself curious."

"Then maybe we can discuss the matter some other time," Coulson said, standing. "And your
curiosity can be sated."

There was an ever so slight emphasis on the word 'sated', and Fury had to stop himself from raising
an eyebrow. Coulson wasn't just flirting, Narcissa was flirting back. Fury severely doubted that
there was any intent on her part, but the fact that she felt relaxed enough to flirt with Coulson was a
tribute to his capabilities.

Narcissa rose to join him. "I look forward to it," she said.

"Until next time, then, Narcissa," Coulson said. "Director?"

"We're done here," Fury said, and shot a perfunctory glare at Narcissa. It was punctuation, really.

"Until next time, Philip," she said, matching Fury's glare with a frosty one of her own.

The two left the room, and, once they were well down the corridor, Fury said, "Nicely done."

"Thank you."

"You're playing with fire, though."

"I know," Coulson said. Fury eyed him, then nodded.

"Good," he said. He paused. "It's good working with you again, Phil."

"The pleasure was all mine, sir," Coulson said.

Fury gave him a Look.

Coulson smiled. "Nick." He frowned suddenly. "Nick, when am I going to be allowed to reveal the
fact that I'm still alive to the Avengers?"

"Soon," Fury said. "I've got plans for you."

"Can I ask what those plans are?"

Fury was silent for a long time. "Let's just say that I'm thinking of taking a leaf out of Xavier's
book," he said. He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of Xavier, I've got business down at his
Institute."

"Of course," Coulson said, a touch distracted, mulling over what Fury had said. What had he
meant? He blinked as he saw Fury's hand appear in his field of vision. Then he met Fury's cycloptic
gaze, and shook it.

"Stay safe, Cheese," Fury said.

"You too, Marcus," Coulson said.

Fury chuckled. "It's been a long time since someone called me that," he said.

"I was the only Agent you ever let call you that. And I could say the same," Coulson said.

"I've missed this," Fury admitted, as he began to walk towards the Hangar.

"Me too," Coulson said, falling into step beside him. "But we're not young field agents too dumb to
know better."

"Well I don't know about you, but I sure as shit don't feel old," Fury said.

"The Infinity Formula will do that," Coulson said.

"You haven't reconsidered taking it?"

Coulson paused and they walked in silence for a minute or so. "I've given my life to SHIELD," he
said eventually. "Literally."

"True," Fury said.

"And given the chance, I'd do it all again, twice as hard," Coulson said. "I've had the chance to see
and do some amazing things. I've thrown down with a mad god. I've held tangible proof that there's
life on other planets in my arms. I've even met Captain America." He smiled. "And I've got maybe
forty years to go. One lifetime is enough, Nick."

Fury nodded. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I understand."

There was silence.

"That isn't going to stop you from asking, though."

"Of course it isn't."

Coulson smiled. "It's nice to know that some things don't change."

OoOoO
Harry was rather enjoying his evening. That is to say, he was sitting, or rather, sprawling in an
armchair, legs resting on the back of Freki while he idly scratched Freki's ears, reading Quidditch
through the Ages and wondering what new moves he could pull with his FIrebolt. The speed could
be a problem, as he hadn't had much practice getting a handle on its speed. It had already been
faster than his Nimbus, being clocked at 300 miles per hour. Now it could, according to his uncle,
do half that again, topping out at 450 miles per hour, which, according to Tony, meant that it could
comfortably outrun a Spitfire.

Needless to say, Harry's mind was somewhat boggled, and that boggling had been shared by the
rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"What did your uncle do to this thing, Harry?" Angelina had asked, astonished.

"Enhanced it, I think," he'd replied.

Oliver Wood had thereupon let out a disturbing cackle of pure glee. "Ravenclaw won't know what's
hit them," he had crowed.

Harry felt that this was probably true, especially if he accidentally ran into one of them at top
speed. Admittedly, this wasn't likely. However, there were a couple of caveats. First, he likely
wouldn't have time to build up to top speed in a match, second, his uncle had enchanted the
Quidditch pitch so that Harry's Firebolt would be limited to its usual top speed or rather, a little bit
above that, in the interests of fairness.

This had led to Tony asking what the point in enhancing it in the first place was if Harry couldn't
use it to absolutely flatten the opposition, to which Loki had said something vague about quick
escapes, which Harry supposed made sense.

Either way, Harry was happy with his new broom and so was the rest of his House. And he wasn't
going to lie to himself, he hoped his dad was going to be watching when they played Ravenclaw.

After all, what kid doesn't want to show off for their dad?

"Harry, did you say that Professor Cassidy had special powers earlier?" Hermione asked, frowning,
snapping Harry out of an enjoyable reverie which involved him beating Ravenclaw, being
congratulated by his father and being hugged by both Carol and Darcy.

"Of course he does, he's a Cassidy of Cassidy Keep," Seamus said derisively, before Harry could
answer her. Part of this was because he was quick off the mark, part of this was because Harry was
astonished that Hermione was actually speaking to him again.

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The Cassidy's are an old Irish family," Seamus explained. "Me mam told me stories about the
Cassidy's when I was small. She said that they were descended from the Bean Sidhe, the Banshees.
They protected their lands and people. No vampire, demon or any dark wizard dared set foot on
Cassidy land."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"The monsters went away," Seamus said. "Or got better at hiding. The Cassidy's kept protecting
people though. They ran out of money during the Potato famine, because they spent it all buying
food and medicine for the people."

Everyone, even the wolves, was, by now, paying close attention.

"And then?" the Weasley twins asked in unison.

"In the end, they did what everyone else did," Seamus said, rather enjoying the unaccustomed
attention. "Moved to America, to make a new life. Some stayed on, living in the local area. Then,
thirty years ago, a Cassidy came back. He took over the castle and fixed it up. He said that the
Cassidy's of Cassidy Keep were back and here to stay. He called in the rest of the clan and they
came, and they helped fix it up."

"Was the man who fixed it up Professor Cassidy's father?" Hermione asked. "Or grandfather?"

"No," Seamus said, grinning. "The Cassidy who came back was Professor Cassidy."

"That's not possible," Hermione said, astonished. "From what I've seen, he can't be more than
thirty. I think he looks really… young." She went slightly pink at this admission.

Harry, mindful of what Professor Cassidy had said earlier, did not jeopardise the sudden thawing in
relations between himself and Hermione by saying, "I know, I saw you staring."

Hermione had been, not to put too fine a point on it, interested by the two new teachers. And she
had not been the only one. Half the school had instantly fallen in love with the angelic and slightly
melancholy Warren, while a large number reserved more than a little affection for the dashing
Professor Cassidy.

"Hermione, he all but told me himself. And my dad's over fifteen hundred years old, my uncle's the
same, give or take a decade, and my grandfather's about five thousand years old," Harry said dryly.
"Steve's ninety something, and Natasha's eighty this year."

"She's not," Ron said, eyes wide.

"She told me," Harry said.

"She could have been joking," Ron said.

Harry fixed him with a Look. "Ron, think about who we're talking about."

Ron paused, then shuddered slightly. He had a crush on the Black Widow. He also found her
absolutely terrifying.

"Doesn't she make jokes?" Fred asked, in mock dismay.

"Lovely though the lady is –"

"Superlative though her beauty may be –"

"And undoubted as her arse kicking abilities are –"

"What is life without laughter?"

Harry shrugged. "Nat would probably say 'longer'," he said.

"Nat?" Hermione asked.

"She lets me call her that," Harry said. "Though from what dad said, bad things happen if she
doesn't let you call her that and you try anyway."

"What kind of bad things?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, but they're the kind of bad things that made Tony stop, so I'm not sure that we really
want to know," Harry said. "Plus, she's been known to do things to my dad's Pop Tarts."

"Pop Tarts?" Ron asked, perking up at the mention of food. "What are they?"

"I don't know, but dad eats lots of them and he usually cooks them in the microwave. Well, I say
cooks them… the microwave usually explodes," Harry amended. "And then there was that thing
with the toaster." He paused and looked up, murmuring under his breath.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I was just trying to work out if it ever came down again."

Hermione opened her mouth, then decided that, for once, she was better off not knowing.

"Uh…" Everyone turned to Ron. He looked puzzled. "What's a microwave?"

Hermione launched into an explanation of microwaves, which Harry tuned out – while he didn't
really know what made them work, he knew how to operate them and considered this to be enough
for the time being – and frowned thoughtfully. "Professor Cassidy said that he lived up North,
somewhere called Muir Island, with a friend of his called Moira MacTaggert."

"Moira MacTaggert?" Hermione asked suddenly. "The Moira MacTaggert?"

"There's more than one?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Living on Muir Island? Probably not," Hermione said. "Harry, she's won a Nobel Prize for her
work on human genetics, and has collaborated with everyone from Charles Xavier to Susan
Storm."

"Charles is nice," Harry said absently. "And Sue's brilliant." She was also incredibly attractive, but
a small part of Harry registered that mentioning this would inevitably lead to Hermione either
going 'boys' or giving him an earful for objectification of women. Harry would strenuously object
to this assertion: he knew perfectly well that Sue was a genius, if only because the snatches of
conversation he'd caught her engaged in with Lex, Doctor Richards and his uncle went several
thousand miles over his head. He admired and respected that. This did not mean that he failed to
notice the fact that she was absolutely stunning in a sweet sort of way.

Hermione's eyes practically bugged out. "You met Charles Xavier and Susan Storm," she
whispered incredulously.

"Well, Charles is Tony's godfather," Harry said, eyeing Hermione warily. She looked like she was
about to scream or explode. Possibly both. He edged away, hoping to get a little further out of the
blast radius. "And Sue was at the Stark Industries Christmas Ball."

Hermione simply settled, however, for staring at him with an expression that spoke volumes of
how unfair she felt it was that Harry was the one meeting some of the finest minds on the planet –
and getting on first name terms with them – when he had absolutely no interest science beyond
Tony's brand of practical mechanics and pyrotechnics.

In this she technically had a point – after all, there could be little more galling from her point of
view then what was transpiring. But it might not exactly be fair. While she would doubtless
appreciate the chance to converse with those mentioned above on scientific matters, the thing was,
she was still fourteen. An extraordinarily clever fourteen, but fourteen nonetheless. Most of what
they discussed would have flown straight over her head.
And, more to the point, if she'd been in Harry's place, Harry would never have had the chance for
the psychic counselling which Charles had given him. If Hermione had known of this, she'd have
been a bit less envious and a lot more understanding, but Harry had considered this private, so
hadn't told her or Ron.

This was not the last secret he would keep from them. Indeed, it would become a bad habit, a very
bad habit indeed. But that was yet to come.

"Hermione," Harry said. "If there's another one of those stupid parties and you want to come, I'll
invite you as my plus one and you can talk to the nice scientists."

"You would?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"Sure," Harry said casually. "You're my friend, and I'm sure that you, Charles and Sue would get
on. T'Challa too." He grinned. "T'Challa's a badass."

"I am aware," Hermione said, slightly dryly.

Ron coughed, feeling slightly left out.

"Trust me, Ron, you wouldn't want to come," Harry said. "Those parties are unbelievably boring."
He cocked his head slightly. "Though King Farbaut was good conversation."

"King Far Out?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"King Farbaut, of Jotunheim," Harry corrected casually. "Nice guy. Blue. Bigger than Hagrid."

Hermione and Ron's eyes were the only ones that didn't widen. Much. They were vaguely
accustomed to the thought of their best friend being buddies with beings out of myth and legend,
or, at best, distant history.

OoOoO

Fury strode out onto the Westchester lawn, feet crunching on the frost grass and breath clouding
the air before him, and waited. A few minutes passed, then a moderately tall, powerfully built man
clad in white vest and jeans, in utter defiance of the fact that it was still deep winter and stalked
over.

"What do you want, Fury?" he growled, utterly without preamble.

"I've got a job for you, Logan," Fury said. "One that can wait until Xavier is better," he added,
before Logan could bite out a vicious retort.

"It's not urgent, then."

"I'd prefer Xavier to recover sooner rather than later for a number of reasons, but yes, it's not as
urgent as it might be," Fury said. "And I think you'll like this one."

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that?" Logan asked sceptically.

"Because I'm pretty sure that you want another crack at the Winter Soldier," Fury said. "The one
guy who ever took you in a straight fight."

"He dropped a building on me!"

"That was just to keep you down. He'd beaten the crap out of you beforehand," Fury said. "Man,
you're lucky that we didn't have YouTube back then, or you'd never have lived it down."

Logan glared. "I know what you're trying to do," he said. "It's not gonna work."

"Well, I was going to try to appeal to your sense of patriotism, but as everyone seems to forget,
you're Canadian," Fury observed. "And after Weapon X, I can't say I blame you for bailing on
SHIELD."

"You had me doing wetworks missions, same as them," Logan said curtly. "Got to the point where
I was having a hard time telling the difference."

"Sometimes the good guys need to get their hands dirty," Fury said. "You know that as well as I
do."

"Whatever," Logan said, turning away. "You've wasted your time, Fury. I'm not killing the Soldier
for you, even if I could find him. I'm not that person anymore."

"I'm not talking about assassination, Logan," Fury said. "I'm talking about protection. I need you to
play bodyguard."

"For who?"

Fury told him.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not," Fury said. "If I were HYDRA and I'd taken an asskicking like the one they have, I'd pick
a high profile target to prove that HYDRA was still a relevant threat. And targets don't get much
higher profile than the President of the United States."

Logan grunted. "Why me?"

"HYDRA were the ones who hurt Charles Xavier," Fury said. "I know you. You want to hunt them
down and make them pay." He met Logan's gaze. "I am offering you an opportunity to get payback
without having to leave the country."

Logan paused, clearly tempted.

"He has kids. The President, I mean," Fury added, turning the screw. "The Soldier may have a rep
for not harming children, but I doubt his HYDRA buddies give two shits about it. Hell, some of
them enjoy it. You ever heard of a son of a bitch called Fenrir Greyback?"

Logan half turned, and he clenched his fists. Fury could see the claws pressing against the skin
between his knuckles. "Yeah," he managed, voice choked with rage. "I have."

"You might just get a crack at him, too," Fury said. "Hell, who knows. They might be employing
your old pal Sabretooth. He's the best at what he does, after all, and it sure as hell ain't nice. And
that suits HYDRA down to ground."

"Second best," Logan said.

"I'm sorry?"

"He's the second best, Fury."

"Then I should, as a precaution, call upon the best, shouldn't I?" Fury said.
Logan was silent. "This job," he said eventually. "I'll do it. But only once Charles is better."

"Of course," Fury said.

"And two other conditions," Logan went on. "First, you never ask me to work for you again."

"I can't guarantee that," Fury admitted. "But I will promise to make you my last port of call."

"Good enough," Logan replied.

"And the second condition?"

"You're paying for the suit."

Fury smiled. It was a predator's smile. "Done."

OoOoO

Soon after, everyone began to go up and get ready for bed. Once everyone was changed, Harry
took Seamus aside. That wedding ring had been nagging at him, and maybe he had a quick and
easy way to get an answer.

"Seamus," he asked. "Did your mum's stories ever mention anything about Professor Cassidy
getting married?"

Seamus frowned. "No, they didn't," he said. "But bear in mind, me mam hasn't lived in Ireland for
over fifteen years. And she never mentioned that he looked about half as old as he is."

"Yeah I was wondering about that… what happened to him?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Harry. Maybe better, since your dad is older than the school,"
Seamus said, shrugging. He paused. "You could ask Luna. She might know."

"Who?"

"Luna Lovegood. She's a second year Ravenclaw, a friend of Ron's little sister. Her mum's family
are Irish, and I think her mum was close to the Cassidy family," Sean explained. He made a face.
"She's a bit weird, though, so I'd check whatever she says before believing it."

Harry nodded. "Thanks Seamus," he said.

"No problem," Seamus replied, yawning. "Night, Harry."

"Night, Seamus," Harry said, climbing into his own four poster. He might not have the answer to
his mystery, but he did have… how did those American tv shows put it?

Oh yes.

A lead.
 A Little Bit Of Chaos

Harry had intended to start looking for Luna Lovegood the next day, but events conspired to make
this impossible. Because his uncle came to Hogwarts.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked curiously. They were talking in an old, disused classroom,
sitting in conjured armchairs, each using one of the wolves as a footrest. Both were apparently
asleep. The emphasis, however, was on the 'apparently'.

"With my nose buried in books and in mugs of ale and wine, searching for information," Loki said.

"What information did you find in alcohol?" Harry asked.

"In your father's case, usually a hangover," Loki said wryly. "In my case, however, alcohol is a
means to an end." He glanced at Harry. "There is a saying that holds true in just about every
culture: in vino veritas. 'In wine there is truth'. Many cultures across the universe have some
variation on it. When someone is drunk, or even mildly tipsy, they become less careful with their
tongue. And they become vulnerable. So drink, nephew, but do so in moderation, unless you know
for certain that you hold your alcohol better than your drinking partner. And listen to the words of
drunkards. Often what they say is dross and useless, but if you listen attentively… there could yet
be gems of great value to be found."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Was that why Jane wouldn't let me drink more than one mug of ale?"

"No, Jane wouldn't let you drink more than one mug of ale because you are too young to start
drinking and she regards you as a younger brother of sorts, feeling the need to keep you away from
vice," Loki said. "Also, I suspect, as she probably did, that you would not enjoy the experience of
your first hangover, most particularly the crippling headache and the copious vomiting." His lips
thinned. "In truth, drinking to excess is a filthy habit."

"So why do Tony and Darcy drink?" Harry asked. "And doesn't dad drink?"

"They both have their reasons. Neither has had the world's easiest past and I suspect that Tony
picked up the habit from his father. As for Darcy… you would have to ask her. She might tell you,
as she is clearly fond of you, or she might not." He sighed. "And your father drinks, yes, but I am
convinced that his stomach is lined with uru, the self-same material of which Mjolnir is made," he
muttered. "He has beaten giants in drinking contests. I think he once out drank a dragon. Not one of
the giant lizards that are relatively common to Midgard, but an intelligent Wyrm."

"Wyrm. The dragon, not the giant worm that dad said you once dropped on grandma's orchard,"
Harry said.

Loki sighed. "I'd hoped that he wouldn't tell you that story," he said. "But yes."

"Can you teach me how to make one?" Harry asked.

Loki eyed him. "Why?"

Harry gave him a look of pure, seraphic innocence.

Loki merely raised an eyebrow.

"I was thinking that Snape would find it interesting to experiment with the effects of an Asgardian
worm, as opposed to ordinary Earthworm, on his potions," Harry said innocently. "And a large one
would be better, so he'd have a lot of material to work with."

Loki smirked. "Yes, he would, wouldn't he?" he murmured. "Of course, I'd need to instruct you as
to the precise proportions of what would be workable, and it would need to be self-dissecting, so as
to greater ease the study…" He nodded. "It is a simple spell. And," he added ironically. "I am sure
your teacher will thank you."

Harry smiled sunnily. "Thank you, uncle," he said.

Loki nodded. "You are welcome," he said, then his tone and expression took a turn for the serious.
"Now, I hear from your father that you have been developing abilities."

Harry nodded.

"What have you done with them so far?"

Harry explained everything, from the floating and burning, then healing, Ron, which, according to
his father, had also led to him appearing as a golden image on the battle field and pointing out the
in peril Volstagg, to the double voice thing and the golden eyes, to the crushing of a goblet.

Loki listened attentively, letting Harry tell the story in his own time. When it finished, he nodded.
"It is as your father and I suspected, as you say Prince T'Challa told you," he said. "Your powers
are developing. In truth, I didn't expect them to reach this stage for another six months at least,
even a year, but the wave of power unleashed by the Darkhold –"

"The Darkhold?" Harry asked, interrupting. "Sorry," he added, somewhat abashed.

Loki smiled slightly. "No, it's all right," he said. "You're only curious." He sighed. "The Darkhold
is an exceptionally powerful Dark artefact. It can turn the kindest, mildest and least magical man in
the whole world into a nightmare that I would balk at fighting under all but the most desperate
circumstances. It is indestructible and it can be read by anybody, in any language, for the language
it is written in is a universal one. That language is the language of destruction, perversion and the
will to power." He met Harry's gaze, green eyes unusually serious.

"It is pure evil, nephew," he said softly. "And it was written by an entity more terrible than the
living universe has seen since before even Asgardians arose. He was banished, billions upon
billions of years ago, with many of the other Elder Gods, fleeing for fear of his life from one even
more terrible than he. One, thankfully, who sleeps and will sleep until the end of all things." He
shook his head. "If that entity returns to the universe, which he ever seeks to do so through the
Darkhold, then he may very destroy it, simply by being present." He paused. "The Darkhold is
indestructible and it is dangerous for the knowledge within it. And for the fact that it is sentient. It
seeks to enslave its wielder and bring about the return of its master."

"Like Riddle's diary," Harry said.

Loki nodded. "Like that," he said. "Very like that. But infinitely worse." His hand began to glow.
"Now, sit still. I am going to scan you, to see where we are on your abilities."

Harry obediently sat still as a sheath of golden-green light settled upon him, then bled through his
clothes and skin, leaving a tingling sensation behind that steadily permeated through his entire
body, focusing on his brain. Then, a ball of that same light collected between his eyes, causing him
to nearly go cross eyed trying to look at it, and floated over to Loki's hand, were it dissolved into
him once more.
Loki closed his eyes briefly, and nodded, before flicking both hands outwards, in a gesture almost
like he was pushing something away. A stream of magic shot out, and a pale blue image of a body,
which Harry could only presume was his own, appeared. Superimposed on it were a delicate
tracery of lines of golden-white light, the colour of his magic, which all led back to his head, in
which was, apparently, the source of that power.

"Your physical growth has been accelerated," Loki said, gesturing again, and bringing up another,
smaller image. Harry noticed that not only was the figure noticeably smaller, the tracery of magic
was far thinner, practically invisible, and the core of his magic was considerably smaller. "This
image is the state, or an approximation thereof, you were in when Thor rediscovered his memories.
As you can see, much has changed. You have grown at least three inches and I would expect
another three before the school year is out." He gave Harry a sidelong glance as he perked up.
Growing taller was, since he'd always been the short one, something that appealed. He was now
nearly as tall as Ron, who was one of the tallest in the year, excepting Crabbe and Goyle. "This
does mean, you realise, that you will outgrow you clothes and Pepper will drag you out shopping,
possibly by your ear," his uncle said dryly.

Harry winced. He'd been taken shopping by Pepper once before and had found that his father's
comparisons to a Viking raid (and he would know) were accurate. Shop assistants trembled before
her and mutely granted her the freedom of the shop in the hope that she would leave faster. It
wasn't that she was unkind, far from it. She was just very determined, very insistent and she had a
very clear vision of what she wanted done, how she wanted it done and when she wanted it done
by. Much like with the Vikings, people realised that it was best to get out of her way and hope that
it ended quickly.

"Don't look so glum, nephew," Loki said, with the smug amusement of a man who does his own
shopping to general satisfaction and therefore does not have to endure such trials. "Your muscles
are developing, both in mundane and mystical strength in order to accommodate superhuman
strength. Your magic is growing and beginning to flow into your body." He smirked. "If nothing
else, it will help you to carry the bags." He glanced down at the wolves. "Or they could do it, I
suppose. It would certainly aid you in getting swift service."

Harry followed his gaze. "No point," he said bluntly. "Pepper's scarier than they are."

"This is probably true," Loki said. "And unlike some, she doesn't drool," he added pointedly. The
wolf that he was resting his feet on pointedly rolled over, letting said feet slide off. Loki glowered.

"The power," Harry said, desiring to get the conversation back on track. "Wasn't it already?" he
asked. "I mean, there were lines already. Very small ones, but they're there."

"Hmm? No, that's normal for a wizard," Loki said absently as he re-established his feet on the
wolf. "Wizards and witches are very slightly more durable than their non-magical cousins. It's a
function of channelling and wielding magic. They heal faster, too, though wanded wizards aren't
half as good at it as their White Council cousins. A White Council wizard can heal from anything
short of death or dismemberment, given enough time, and do so perfectly." He paused.
"Admittedly, a broken back might take forty years to heal from, but it would be healed in the end."

"Forty years," Harry said, eyes wide.

"Better to be healed eventually than never to be healed at all," Loki pointed out, and Harry had to
admit that his uncle had the right of that.

"Uncle," he said quietly. "My powers. They've been flickering on and off pretty much at random."
"Not quite at random," Loki disagreed. "When you're upset or excited."

"Well, yeah, that's the problem," Harry said. "What if… I don't know, I got into a fight. I punched
someone and my powers came on. So the punch wouldn't hit them as such, but… go through and
come out the other side." He looked a touch sickened by the prospect.

Loki was silent for a long moment. "If it were permanent, constant strength, I would be able to
teach you how to control it, though I think your father or Steve would be better in that regard,
particularly Steve. I can buffer your friends and the Avengers against it, both here and in New
York, but I cannot buffer an entire school," he said.

"Can't you buffer me? Suppress it?"

"If I did that, if I could manage it without suppressing your magic as well, I would merely be
storing up trouble for later," Loki said, frowning. "Your power would find a way out, a violent one
at that. It would turn you into a time bomb."

"Oh," Harry said, subdued.

"I can only caution you to be careful," Loki said. "Try not to suppress it, but to control it. Control
your emotions." His lips twitched. "Something which, if you pull it off, will make quite a change."

Harry gave him a reproachful look.

The twitch of the lips became a full on grin. "Nephew," Loki said. "You are like your father, and
your mother too. All fire and life, thunder and lightning, wild and proud."

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Believe me, nephew, that is what you are," Loki said, and his expression saddened. "And were it
not for those so-called guardians of yours, the world would see it all the more clearly." His lips
thinned. "They taught you to repress."

"They didn't teach me anything, except that…"

"You were a nuisance, a burden, that you should do as told without question, that you shouldn't
speak unless spoken to, that your opinions didn't matter and that drawing attention to yourself
would only bring scorn and pain?" Loki said softly.

Harry's jaw dropped.

"You are not the first child I have seen who has been misused by those supposed to love and
cherish them. Sometimes it is not as bad – the parents had honestly good intentions, but had
horrendously bad ideas about how to implement them. Sometimes, the case is far worse – there is a
vicious malice, where the supposed guardians seek to craft refined cruelties to practice upon the
innocent for one purpose or another. The Dursleys were somewhere in between. They practiced a
very mundane sort of evil, seeking to suppress anything about you that would stand out, with it be
your powerful magic, your sharp mind or your good heart. They ground you under their heel, but
didn't practice refined cruelty simply because they thought it was beneath them to do so."

"And because I couldn't cook and clean if I couldn't move properly," Harry observed. "Not that
that stopped Dudley, once or twice. Or Vernon, come to that."

Something dark and dangerous flashed in Loki's eyes. "Yes," he said. "They are being well paid for
their sins."
Harry gave him a sharp look. "What happened to them?" he asked. "I never thought about it
before."

"As you should not," Loki said.

Harry gave his uncle his personal version of Pepper's Look. It was, Loki noted wryly, improving
with time and practice.

"I do not know the precise details," Loki said. "But I believe that the boy is in foster care now. As
for the parents, Director Fury handled that matter. For their bodies, at least. Tony went about
destroying their reputations." He smiled slightly. "That man has a truly vicious imagination when
he chooses to put it to use. It is no wonder that he was such a fine weapon's designer."

Harry blanched slightly. "Are they dead?"

"No, I think not," Loki said. "And, personally, I would not be too concerned if they were."

Harry bit his lip.

"But you would, because you are a kind hearted boy and have not been marinated in fifteen
hundred years concentrated cynicism," Loki said, a touch wryly. "Your father would probably have
killed them, or come very close, though I suspect that he would have regretted it later. I doubt he
would miss them, as such, quite the opposite, but he would bitterly chastise himself for losing
control of his temper."

"And you?"

"I would do it in a heartbeat and not miss a moment's sleep," Loki said bluntly. "I am the cold one,
nephew. I always have been, something I once ascribed to my Frost Giant heritage." He shrugged.
"Now, I know it is simply who I am. I am Thor's shadow. I do the things that he, and you, could
never do. Natasha and Clint do much the same for Steve. We do not kill wantonly, but, unlike
Steve, Thor and yourself, we are willing to kill off the field of battle. In cold blood."

"I don't think I could kill at all," Harry said quietly. He paused and shuddered as he remembered
Quirell screaming from the burns Harry's hands had left on his face. "Not on purpose, anyway."

"You refer to Professor Quirrell, the one possessed by the shade of Voldemort," Loki said. "That,
nephew, was not you."

"I chose to touch him," Harry said.

"When you were in fear of your life," Loki said gently. "The protection on you is a powerful one,
incredibly so. And in any case, Quirrell was already as good as dead, according to Professor
Dumbledore. I see no reason to believe that the shade of Voldemort was a gentle passenger, and I
suspect that he drained his servant's life and fled when he saw how strongly you were still
protected."

Indeed, it was a protection so powerful and of such a character that Loki was beginning to think
that there had been far more to Lily Potter than met the eye. Far more than even she had been
aware of. Love and willing sacrifice, by a powerful witch, no less, was not, he thought, enough to
stop the killing curse. After all, he had designed it. Tens of millions of mothers had done the same
as Lily through history, he was certain, tens of thousands of those witches. There had to be a factor
that separated her from the rest. And with a sense of growing unease, Loki had certain suspicions
about what that factor might be.
Of course, it could also have been Harry's latent powers as a Prince of the Aesir coming to the fore.
He had a definite affinity for fire, as strong a one as Loki had ever seen.

He cast his mind back to earlier that day and their lesson.

OoOoO

"Today, we will be studying fire," Loki said. "You will note that we are doing so in Professor
Binns' classroom. This is because if the classroom gets wrecked, few are likely to notice and even
fewer are likely to care." This got three grins and a worried half frown, half smile from his
students.

Freki, the wolf in the room today, gave the door a plaintive look and whined slightly.

"I'll be okay, Freki," Harry said cheerfully.

Freki, who had rather more experience of fledgling pyromancers, cast him a grumpy look, then
settled down with a thump, covering his nose with his paws.

Loki smiled, winked at his students, then his expression turned serious, even stern. "Fire is the
most unforgiving of the elements. It must be treated with care and respect, but not with fear. If it
senses fear or hesitation, rest assured, it will bite. Water, Air, Earth, even Spirit, are more
forgiving, though they too can teach hard lessons. But none so swift and hard as fire. Arrogance
will be punished. As will fear. Treat it with respect, however, and it will serve you well."

He conjured a ball of fire. "Conjuring fire is simple, Apprentices. It is the easiest element to
summon," he said. "All you have to do is close your eyes. And think of fire. But be careful to think
of it under your control. The fire must obey your will, not its own. So you must remain calm. Is that
understood?"

"Yes, Master," all four chorused, then sat and closed their eyes. Loki eyed all of them, keeping a
special eye on Hermione. The other three had an intuitive grasp of magic that she did not, if only
because they were more intuitive by nature. It was like comparing Tony and Doctor Richards. One
achieved greatness by leaping from idea to idea, inspiration to inspiration, letting his imagination
run wild. Doctor Richards, by contrast, was supremely logical, dissecting the universe one equation
at a time, learning how it worked. And once he did that, with another equation, he could make it
work to his own satisfaction. That patience and logic made both he and Hermione superb at theory.
It rather remined him of Rowena, always looking for a reasoned solution out of matters. The others
knew to trust their hearts, though, arguably, they had done so far too often.

Unfortunately, Hermione did not have the same instinctive genius of Doctor Richards. She was
extremely intelligent, maybe even a genius, but she wasn't anywhere near his level. Reed, Loki
judged, was also far too absent minded to stay angry for long. It would take an event of great
significance to make him truly angry. Hurting Doctor Storm or her brother, or that pilot friend of
his, Benjamin Grimm, might do it. If that happened… then the Nine Realms would tremble.

Hermione, however, was a fourteen year old with somewhat dented pride. She was also far from
absent minded. She was somewhat sensitive (Loki could empathise, considering how her
intelligence would have isolated her the way his own gifts had), very focused on her academic skill
(presumably because of her lack of ability or interest in social and sporting pursuits) and therefore
had a very brittle pride in her academic reputation (one probably developed because if she could
not be popular, she might as well be the best). Though she was making strides to be more than just
the class bookworm, and grand strides they were, it still rather defined her. Again, Loki could
empathise. He'd gone through the same thing himself.
She was used to being always right and, Loki judged, Knowing Best. He'd seen that before. In the
mirror, more often than not. It was something, he felt, that would lead to friction between Harry
and Hermione. Before, Harry had been a quiet, laidback personality, quite content to let Hermione
boss him around. Now, he was beginning to assert himself with confidence.

Confidence and pride, which, if not monitored carefully, could easily tip over into arrogance.
Certainly, however, he would not take lightly to being lectured or told what was best for him.
Indeed, if Loki remembered Thor's teenage years, both as Thor and James, well enough, then he
would be contrary just for the sake of it. And Hermione wouldn't like that. It wasn't, he judged, that
she sought to control him, certainly not for some nefarious purpose. That was simply ridiculous.

It was simply the fact that she genuinely felt that she knew what was best for him and would
expect him to go along with it, as he had, crisis related exceptions aside (from what Loki had
grasped, when matters became serious, Ron and Hermione fell in behind Harry without question)
for most of the last two and a half years. How she would take Harry deciding that, no, he was going
to do things his way, thank you very much.

And she hadn't yet adjusted to Harry's changes, possibly because her senses were telling her that
this was still the same Harry as always, save possibly a little taller and a little less reserved. Ron
had simply rolled with it, taking the changes in his stride with a philosophical sort of relaxation. As
the song had it, Que Sera Sera. What will be, will be. This, possibly, was born out of both Ron's
more laidback nature and the fact that he had five older siblings and one younger. Two of those
were working adults, both successful in their fields and changed with it. He was well used to
people changing as they grew older and their circumstances changed. It was a fact of life.

Hermione, on the other hand, was an only child, and, as he recalled, had not had many friends
before Hogwarts. She was not used to those close to her changing, and those unused to change
tended not to react all that well to it. She'd accept it, he felt, but there would probably be teething
problems.

From what Loki had heard, she hadn't spoken to Harry for two weeks after he got a question right
that she had got wrong – not through any fault of her own, as it happened, but simply because she
was working with limited sources. This was, he felt, in part one of those teething problems. And, in
part, it was the fact that Harry, though he was very modest about it, was highly capable at whatever
he turned his hand to, if he put in the effort. Much of it came without even trying, while Hermione
had to work extremely hard to achieve similar results. One could hardly blame her for being
frustrated.

There was also another problem. Her mother was Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. The most
powerful mortal practitioner in three centuries, second only to Stephen Strange himself. In a fight,
she was not someone he would take lightly. Part of the reason for that was that both her magic and
mutation tied back to chaos. True, her mutation was probability manipulation, but was that for?
Making the unlikely into the everyday and the impossible into… well, into whatever she wished.
She was an Omega class entity, and that, all else aside, earned her a great deal of respect.

Loki had dark suspicions as to where that chaos came from. True, the powerful magic and mutation
was inherent to her mother and father respectively. The Maximoff clan was known for producing
powerful sorcerers, or more usually, sorceresses. And as for her father… Magneto had a certain
reputation.

He'd heard stories, however. Stories that said she'd been born on Mount Wundagore on the night of
a terrible storm. Mount Wundagore, banishing place of Chthon himself. Mount Wundagore, lair of
the mysterious creature that called itself the High Evolutionary. Mount Wundagore, a place with a
well-earned reputation for being a place dark power.

Loki could only wonder at what terror had driven a pregnant sorceress of the Maximoff bloodline,
one who would know very well what the Mountain was and what kind of things it attracted, to go
there. Or maybe it had not been her. Maybe it had been her husband, Erik Lehnsherr, later to
become Magneto. He was a man of science with, as yet, little belief in the supernatural, or enough
desperation to ignore the warnings in the back of his mind.

The stories also said that another was there that night. A young man, seeking power and
immortality, who tapped into the reservoir of dark power beneath Mount Wundagore, seeking to
take it for his own. One who was starting to use the name 'Lord Voldemort'. But the dark power
that he sought was darker than most, for it was Chthon's power, remnants left over from his
banishing. It was the power of chaos. Its raising threw nature out of balance, brewing a vast storm
that alternately rained ice and fire. And that forced Lehnsherr's hand.

A young Omega class mutant and one of the most powerful wanded wizards in a century duelled
on the slopes of the mountain while reality itself warped and convulsed around them, until
eventually, the young Voldemort was forced to flee. But not before he brought the mountain down
on Lehnsherr's head with the last of his stolen power.

Lehnsherr survived.

His wife did not.

He assumed that his daughter died as well. But she did not. By some twist of fate, she had been
spared.

Twists of fate.

No great trouble for even the remains of a God of Chaos.

In other words, Loki was almost certain that she had been marked, that her magic and mutation had
been nudged to suit Chthon's purposes. After all, he would need a body, if he returned. Preferably
one altered, as they say, to fit.

As for Wanda, no one was really sure what had happened next, and Loki had been sure to ask. The
most plausible explanation put forward was that the mysterious Evolutionary had taken her in and
given her to his servants to raise or had handed her off to another Romani clan passing through the
area. Then, when powers had first appeared, doubtless violently, she had run off, and the rest was
history. That was not what concerned him.

What concerned him was that Wanda's potential might have been guided to suit Chthon, making
her very much attuned to Chaos. Loki did not sense any such Chaos about Hermione, but maybe he
was missing something. After all, it was hardly likely to be a coincidence that her magic was red.
Scarlet, to be exact.

This would not normally be a problem. Chaos magic was a relatively rare affinity, but not so
uncommon as to call for dire proclamations of doom from every corner. If Wanda had been
moulded to be a suitable potential host, then all that had been done was to nudge the course of her
power. In other words, it would not inherently be evil and bring about the end of reality. Under
other circumstances, both Wanda and Hermione would live out their lives entirely unmolested by
an Elder God determined to return and destroy all of reality.

But the Darkhold was free and it was being used. Its very existence, freed of its prison, was
weakening the borders of reality, forcing Strange to work to his limits and beyond to resist the
invaders, patch the holes and protect the Earth. The fact that it was being used made this all the
worse. And the power that was causing this was chaos. Chaos that would be looking for a suitable
place to earth itself. Wanda was far too experienced to let this bother her: a sorceress of her calibre
could comfortably earth vast quantities of chaos magic while doing her tax return.

But Hermione seemed to have enough of a touch of Chaos about her – and wasn't that ironic in a
girl so obsessed with ordering her life and all around her – that she might very well be considered a
very attractive potential lightning rod.

Most teachers of magic would stop immediately and put her in quarantine. Loki was different. He
felt that all this would do was push the problem further down the line and make the eventual
explosion worse. Better for it to happen under supervised conditions, where he knew what to
expect – insofar as one did with Chaos magic – than later on. Loki, it was generally considered,
liked to live dangerously. And he wasn't going to lie, he was rather curious as to what would
happen.

He hadn't told her about this, however, because first, she would inevitably try to solve it with
reason – a pointless exercise, since Chaos and Order, which reason fell under, were poles apart –
and second she was more likely to panic and unconsciously warp reality around her. Which could
be amusing, horrifying or merely inconvenient by turns. Third, there was no guarantee it would
actually happen.

But it was rather more likely if she got frustrated.

As now, he thought with a slight sigh, as she glared helplessly at Harry, who had, with a cry of
delight and wonder, summoned fire. It was a respectable sized ball of flame, and, inevitably, Harry
immediately began to play with it. Loki began to warn him, then paused, eyes widening.

The fire danced in his hand, obeying his will as he rolled it from his palm to the back of his hand,
then flowing up to the tips of his fingers in a manner reminiscent of candles or Director Wisdom's
hot knives.

Then, he twisted his wrist, and the fire danced down his arm like a playful kitten, flowing over his
clothes, up his shoulders and down to his left hand. It was all very impressive. One could even
ignore the smell of slightly scorched clothing.

"Whoa," the Twins murmured.

"Continue working, Apprentices," Loki said quietly. "Harry, I want you to try and control the fire.
Make it grow and shrink, growing hotter and cooler, but without losing control of it."

Harry nodded obediently, casually tipping the fireball back into his right hand. Hermione looked
somewhat crushed.

The rest of the lesson continued without major incident: the Weasley Twins managed to summon
fire and promptly set their hair on fire. Loki, in the midst of wondering what he was going to have
for dinner, didn't even miss a beat, absently extinguishing them. Soon afterwards, they managed
balls of fire of their own, and though they were smaller than Harry's and they showed nowhere near
the dexterity Harry had with it, Harry seemed to be a prodigy where fire was concerned, and they
were well above average.

Hermione had, by the end, managed the smallest ball of fire, one that she had some difficulty
controlling. Loki tried not to obviously watch her too obviously, as that would only make her more
nervous and frustrated. He did, however, discreetly fix her hair a couple of times. She had enough
issues to deal with, he thought, without being bothered by frizzy hair. Though it was less bushy
than it had been when he'd first met her, he noted. It wasn't anywhere near straight, but it was now
rather closer to the description of wavy or curly. She was definitely beginning to resemble her
mother, he thought.

It was with this in mind that, as the lesson began to reach its end, he'd already prepared. To be
precise, he'd braced himself and placed himself out of the likely trajectory of heavy objects and had
a pair of passive magical shields on Harry and the Twins.

So when Hermione let out a cry of what sounded like severely pent up frustration and her magic
lashed out, he was not in anyway caught by surprise.

Though, admittedly he had not been expecting the shockwave of crimson fire, nor had he been
expecting a chair to spontaneously transform into a Rock Hopper Penguin as it shot out the
window. The scorch marks were impressive. So was the Penguin, though judging by the mournful
sounds that were floating in through the window, it had transformed into some kind of whale on
the way down.

He glanced out the window and his suspicions were confirmed. An orca, if he wasn't mistaken.
Thankfully, it hadn't been that high a fall, or it might have splattered. A wave of the hand healed it,
and a flicked gesture dropped it into the lake.

Hermione stood, blinking. "Did I do this?" she asked vaguely. "And what is this?"

"Well, one of Professor Binns' chairs is now embarking on a new life as a very surprised Orca
whale, after a brief experience of being a Rock Hopper Penguin, and the rest are are on fire," Loki
said.

"Oh," she said.

"Don't worry," Loki said airily, absently fixing the window. "This is the History of Magic
classroom. As I said earlier, no one is going to notice the missing chair, or the burn marks. Or at
least, no one who is likely to care."

"Filch probably will," the Twins pointed out.

"Let me rephrase that: no one of significance will notice or care," Loki said. "And besides, it will
give him something to complain about. I believe he enjoys that." He paused. "Though, I think that
someone will notice the whale."

OoOoO

Indeed, the whale had been noticed by Dumbledore, who thought that it made the lake rather more
interesting. Since the lake itself was a sea loch and it was simultaneously too large for the Giant
Squid to regard as lunch and too small to attempt to make a meal of the creature, the orca was
perfectly happy. Since it had already proven particularly fond of eating Grindylows, of which there
were many, this had all the hallmarks of working out rather nicely.

Loki had wondered about its possible impact on the Merfolk colony, i.e. it might regard them as far
game. Dumbledore seemed to be totally unworried by this, Loki could only assume that they had
some of the capabilities of their open sea brethren of Atlantis and could exert some degree of
control of marine life.

"Uncle?" Harry asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Yes, nephew?"

"You said I was good with fire. Very good," Harry said quietly. "Is that connected to what
happened to Professor Quirrell? And my mum's protection?"

"It is possible," Loki said. "It is even likely. Though, I suspect, you were always going to have a
knack for fire and that is why it manifested as heat. You have always had an affinity for facing and
defeating dark force, after all. And what the darkness fears most is fire. Fire and light."

Harry nodded.

"You are unusually gifted," Loki said. "And I would not worry about accidentally setting people on
fire, as you doubtless are." Indeed, Harry started and looked vaguely abashed. "Fire takes a will
conjure up, as do all the elements, far more than just blind intention, especially at your age."

"And when I get older?"

"You will not have to worry about control," Loki stated with reassuring certainty. He stood up and
gently ruffled his nephew's hair. "Now, I must go."

Harry nodded. "Give my love to dad," he said.

"I will, but you do have his number," Loki said.

"He sat on his phone last week. Darcy texted me a picture."

Loki sighed. "Of course he did. You have JARVIS' number?"

Harry nodded.

"Then that should prove sufficient to contact him, broken phone or not," Loki said, then shook his
head. "I thought he'd stopped doing that." He sighed. "Though at least he didn't accidentally put
this one in the microwave."

"How did he do that?"

"It was the middle of the night and he thought it was a poptart," Loki said. "Sometimes I think he
does it on purpose, to drive Tony mad, and I as well."

"Does it work?" Harry asked.

"Tony mostly finds it funny, and he destroys enough appliances anyway," Loki said. "Now, I need
to go."

"More leads to follow?" Harry asked.

Loki nodded, and made for the door.

"Uncle?"

"Yes?" he asked, with a slight sigh and a half smile that defused the sigh. "One more?"

Harry nodded looking rather embarrassed. "Do you know anything about Professor Cassidy?"

Loki frowned in thought, then nodded. "I know something of him," he said slowly. "A mutant and
a former member of Interpol. A highly accomplished detective and one of Charles Xavier's X-Men,
the so-called 'First Class', with highly flexible abilities, he was an excellent choice to protect this
school. He is also an extremely dangerous man as, I believe, the IRA cell that murdered his wife
found out. He is widely feared in some circles as a result."

Harry blinked in surprise at this sudden revelation. Professor Cassidy had been married, but his
wife had been killed, by some group called the IRA. They sounded familiar for some reason. He'd
ask Hermione about them.

"In the same way that the Avengers are dangerous," Loki explained, misinterpreting his nephew's
surprise. "We fight the good fight, but to those who oppose us…"

"You must seem pretty nightmarish," Harry said, nodding.

"As you might," Loki said. "After all, you have survived the killing curse as a baby from the most
powerful wanded Dark Lord in half a century, defeated an accomplished Dark Wizard, an ancient
Basilisk under the command of a powerful spirit and you have outfought and out-thought the Disir
themselves. You have accrued an impressive collection of friends and allies beyond those bound to
you by blood, and those are more impressive still. Where you lead, others follow. Your resume is
an impressive one and it is growing. Dark things are taking notice and they are beginning to think
that you are dangerous prey for reasons that have nothing to do with your father and I, even other
protectors such as Dumbledore."

Harry looked more than a little troubled by this. "I don't want to be feared," he said quietly.

"You're going to be," Loki said bluntly. "If only by your enemies. It will not be so many years,
nephew, before the dark stops hunting you. And you start hunting it. You have an exceedingly low
tolerance for evil, I have found." He smiled slightly. "And skill with fire. There is another wizard
called Harry with a gift for fire and a low tolerance for evil. A Wizard of the White Council. And if
he is anything to go by, nephew… evil will be afraid. Yes, it will be very afraid."

And with that rather satisfied pronouncement, he left.

Harry would ordinarily have mulled over this for some time, but instead mentally shunted it to one
side and considered what his uncle had just revealed about Professor Cassidy. A large part of him
felt guilty about snooping in the Professor's past, but an equally sized part was extremely curious.

It was only a couple of hours after his uncle left, however, that he realised that he hadn't enquired
about Hermione's outburst of accidental magic, which had led to her speaking to his uncle after the
lesson and not, when asked to do so, saying a word about it.

When he remembered that little bout of forgetfulness, he swore loudly and volubly, using a word
he'd learned from Uhtred, earning a startled and scandalised look from Hermione and an awed one
from Ron.

"I do not believe that I have heard that particular phrase before," came an amused voice from
behind him. All three whirled, and Harry gulped, when he saw Professor Dumbledore. "I am afraid
that will be ten points from Gryffindor for swearing."

"Sorry Professor," Harry sighed.

"However, I also feel that ten points should be awarded to Gryffindor for reintroducing fellow
students to what sounds very much like an Asgardian language, the likes of which has not been
spoken in these halls for over a thousand years," Dumbledore continued, eyes twinkling madly.
"Even I have never heard such words used so fluently. May I enquire as to the definition?"
"Uh…" Harry said, floundering. Both wolves wagged their tails, jaws hanging loose in canine
grins.

"Maybe another time," Dumbledore said, clearly enjoying himself immensely. "As your non-
vocalisation so eloquently indicates, words are no substitute for action. Particularly since I believe
that you have Care of Magical Creatures now. You should make it if you run."

"Yes Professor," Hermione said, grabbing a slightly gobsmacked Harry. "Thank you, Professor."

"Oh, it was no trouble," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "I am always glad to encourage learning and
scholarly enquiry." His expression abruptly turned serious, eyes losing most of their twinkle.
"However, there are some subjects that should be approached with a great deal of care, if at all. I
would like to see you three in my office, after dinner to discuss the matter."

"Yes Professor," Hermione and Ron chorused, while Harry merely nodded dumbly, then the two of
them dragged Harry away, wolves trotting behind him.

OoOoO

"Okay," Ron said, as they fed Flobberworms. Though Lucius Malfoy's disappearance and Draco's
retraction of his accusations meant that Buckbeak was no longer on trial, Hagrid was playing
things uncharacteristically safe. Since this meant minimal likelihood of someone getting eaten or
something getting eaten, probably by Freki or Geri, who were boredly eyeing the Flobberworms as
if judging whether eating one was worth it in order to break the monotony. "Which one of you two
asked the wrong question and what was it about?"

"Honestly Ron, why would you assume it was me?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Because you want to know everything," Ron retorted. Hermione was a little taken aback by the
unusual insightfulness this statement displayed, meaning that Ron was not interrupted. "And,
Harry, you're my best mate, but you don't know when to stop looking for mysteries to solve."

Harry had to admit that there was some truth in this.

"So, which one of you was it?"

"Me," Harry said, with a sigh. He lowered his voice. "Professor Cassidy wears a gold wedding ring
around his neck. He worked for Interpol and his wife was killed by the IRA."

Hermione gasped.

"Interpol? IRA? Who are they?"

"Interpol is an organisation that helps police forces around the world, Muggle Aurors and DMLE
operatives, to work together," Hermione said quietly. "If Professor Cassidy worked for them, then
he was probably a detective, and a very good one." She looked grim. "And the IRA… well, they're
the reason that no one non-magical thought there was anything suspicious about the Death Eater
attacks. They were all blamed on the IRA."

"I think I've heard of them," Harry said frowning.

"You probably have, on the news," Hermione said. "IRA stands for Irish Republican Army. They
wanted the British out of Ireland, essentially, and they fought the British for seventy years. Their
predecessors have been around for centuries. But they were most active during the Troubles, a
period of just over thirty years. It only ended in 1998, and at the height of their power they very
nearly killed the Prime Minister."

Ron let out a low whistle. "That's like the Minister for Magic, but for muggles, right?" he said.

"Pretty much," Hermione said. "If the hotel had been a little weaker or the bomb a little stronger,
she and most of the Cabinet would have been killed." She shook her head. "It wasn't just the IRA
fighting during the Troubles. I don't know that much about it because people who lived through it
don't necessarily like talking about it all that much. I do know that there were lots of other groups
fighting, on both sides – there were a lot of people who didn't want the British to leave Northern
Ireland, the Loyalists." She sighed. "But a lot of it, I think, it was about religion. The British and
the Loyalists were Protestants, the IRA were Catholics."

Ron looked like he was about to ask the difference between a Protestant and a Catholic – as far as
Harry could tell, the Wizarding World tended towards a vague acknowledgement of Christianity, or
worship of other gods. Including his family.

He still hadn't forgotten the little shrine that Ron had mentioned. There was also the fact that his
father (as a mortal) and Sirius had built a shrine to Loki, but Harry was half certain that that was a
joke. If nothing else, the implications boggled his mind.

But this wasn't the time for that.

"Ask later," he said. "So, you're saying that the IRA were terrorists?"

"Yes. Lots of people died on both sides, nearly two thousand of them civilians," Hermione said.
"And almost as many again in combatants and police officers."

Ron let out another low whistle. "I can see why they got You-Know-Who mixed up with that lot,"
he said. "Dad said that he didn't really start operating until the mid-seventies, and these IRA blokes
were already up and running, weren't they?"

"Voldemort, Ron, the name is Voldemort," Harry said, and sighed as Ron twitched slightly.

"They were," Hermione confirmed. "And they still are. It officially ended nine years ago, with the
Good Friday Agreement, but there's still killing because not everyone agreed. Dozens have died
since then."

"Bloody hell," Ron said softly.

"Almost as many were killed by 9/11, Ron, muggle warfare is a lot more destructive than
wizarding warfare," Hermione said.

Harry could wholeheartedly agree with that. He'd seen what Tony's armour was capable of. And
then there had been the robots. He'd almost rather face the basilisk again than face those.

"9/11?" Ron asked.

"Ask later," Harry said. "It's a long and complicated story and I'm sure Hermione will be glad to
tell you all about it, but we don't have time now." Hermione's eyes lit up at the prospect of
Imparting Knowledge To The Ignorant and Ron paled, leaving Harry feeling slightly guilty for
throwing his friend under the metaphorical bus. "Anyway," he said, lowering his voice again and
feeding his Flobberworm a piece of lettuce. "My uncle suggested that Professor Cassidy killed the
people behind his wife's murder and that the way he did it terrified a lot of people."

"What can he do?" Hermione asked. "Seamus never actually said."

"I don't know," Harry said, frowning. "But I'm sure it has something to do with his voice. He said
he used to be known as 'the Banshee'."

Hermione and Ron's eyes widened immediately. "He can't be an actual Banshee," Hermione said
slowly. "They're all female."

"But if he can do stuff like a Banshee, then, mate, I can see why people are afraid," Ron said. "If
you hear the Banshee, you die. Simple as that. It makes the Grim look like a fluffy pet."

"Oh, not the stupid Grim again," Hermione said despairingly.

"That was my godfather," Harry said absently. "Sirius."

"What?"

"He's an animagus. He turns into a big black dog, which I saw outside Privet Drive and Ron said
was a Grim," Harry explained.

"An animagus," Ron said, sounding awed. "They're really rare. Your godfather must really good.
And he'd have had to be one by, what, 20? I don't think he'd have time to learn in the War. He must
have learnt at school."

"I think he did," Harry said. "My dad was one too."

"No way," Ron breathed.

"Yup. He can still do it, too. He turns into a stag," Harry said.

"Like your patronus," Hermione said.

Harry nodded, getting a warm, satisfied feeling from this palpable connection between himself and
his father.

"I still can't believe you can perform a proper patronus, mate," Ron said.

Unfortunately, Harry misinterpreted his tone.

"Look, I'll show you," he said, drawing his wand and thinking, as he had before, of meeting his
father again. "Expecto Patronum!"

Prongs burst forth from his wand to widespread gasps and trotted around the grass, tossing his head
and showing off just a little. Hagrid chuckled. "Professor Lupin was right," he said. "Ye really can
perform the Patronus."

"It's saved my life already," Harry said.

"Aye, I've heard," Hagrid said. "And 'e's a fine lad. A double royal at least, maybe even a triple,
though I'd 'ave to get a closer look at 'im."

"Double royal?" Harry asked, as Prongs trotted over to stand beside him.

"A double royal is when a stag 'as twenty poin's on 'antlers, ten on each side," Hagrid explained,
raising his voice for the benefit of the stag. "A triple royal 'as thirty, but they're really rare. Most
stags jus' make do with twelve."

Harry felt obscurely proud of the fact that his Patronus, and by extension his father's animagus
form, was unusual and smiled, patting the stag's flank.

"It's impressive, 'arry," Hagrid said. "Not all tha' many grown wizards can even conjure a basic
Patronus." He lowered his voice. "But could yeh put him away? It's not really th' time."

"Sorry," Harry said, flushing.

"Don' apologise for bein' good, 'arry," Hagrid said. "Jus' remember that there's a time an' a place
Harry."

Harry nodded, a touch abashed, and Prongs faded, leaving impressed and resentful whispers
behind. Harry ignored those and turned to Ron, whose eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Bloody
hell," he managed.

Harry grinned.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, tone determined.

"Yes?" Harry replied, recognising that the coming question wasn't, in fact, really going to be a
question.

"Could you teach me how to perform the Patronus?"

"Me too," Ron said.

Harry frowned. "I suppose so. It isn't as hard as you might think to learn how to do it, but learning
how and doing it, especially when you're fighting, aren't the same things," he warned.

"Isn't hard," Ron scoffed. "Not all of us can do what you can, mate."

"No," Harry said, tone quiet and somehow mournful. "No, you can't."

He paused. "Hermione," he said, lowering his voice again. "What was with that wave thing you did
in class with my uncle?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Hermione, you set all but one of the chairs on fire. And that one is currently enjoying its new life
as an orca whale in the lake," Harry said.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"It only happened earlier today, and I was going to ask her when I swore and Professor Dumbledore
heard," Harry said.

"Oh yeah… it's about you investigating Professor Cassidy, isn't it?" Ron asked. "How did he
know?"

"I think my uncle told him," Harry said, shrugging. "After I asked him about it."

"That was the right thing to do," Hermione said. When both boys looked at her, she said, "Harry,
look at it this way. Imagine if you weren't famous."

"As if," Ron sniggered. Hermione glared at him.

"Okay," Harry said.

"Imagine if someone was digging into how your mother was murdered," she said. "Would you like
that?"

"No," Harry admitted. "But if you hadn't noticed, everyone knows. Half the time, it seems to be the
national obsession," he said bitterly.

"And do you like that?"

"No, of course not!" Harry snapped. Hermione gave him a pointed look and he sighed. His guilty
part was swiftly growing, while the curious part was swiftly shrinking. "I see your point."

"Good," she said, a touch primly. "I thought you would."

A shadow passed over them, and there was the sound of two giant wings flapping. All three looked
up to see Warren flying overhead. "I wonder what his story is," Hermione said, then saw both boys
raising their eyebrows at her. "What? It's not as if I'm investigating him."

"Yet," Harry replied, tone more than slightly smug. Ron snorted his amused agreement, which
became outright laughter when, apparently out of sheer boredom, Geri ambled over and ate
Hermione's flobberworm.

Hermione refused to talk to them for the rest of the lesson.

 Lighten Up

"Now," Dumbledore said. "I think that, judging by your expressions, you know why I have called
you here."

All three nodded.

"Harry, I was informed by your uncle earlier today that you were investigating Professor Cassidy,"
Dumbledore said. "You may be wondering why he didn't discuss the matter with you himself, as I
did." His expression turned slightly wry. "He said that he couldn't give you a lecture about
invading other people's privacy with a straight face. I think we both know why."

Harry grinned briefly, then gave Ron and Hermione 'I'll explain later' looks.

"I, on the other hand, can," Dumbledore said, tone grave. "I do not intend to lecture you, browbeat
you and seek to make you ashamed. I would, in fact, like you to explain why you felt the need to
delve into the private life of another, a teacher, in fact, without asking their permission."

"Well," Harry said, slowly. "Last year, Professor Lockhart tried to wipe my and Ron's memories.
All of our memories, to be exact. The year before, Professor Quirrell tried to kill me." He gave
Dumbledore a helpless look. "Can you blame me for half expecting one of my teachers attacking
me, especially when they turn up at random in the middle fo the year?" He half shrugged. "I'll
admit I was curious, too, but mostly… cautious."

For the first time that Harry could remember, Dumbledore looked taken aback.

"Professor?"

"I must admit," Dumbledore said. "I had not expected such…" He cocked his head thoughtfully, a
wry smile on his lips. "I am not certain whether to call it maturity or paranoia."

"My uncle is the Norse Trickster God and I live with the Black Widow," Harry said flatly. "I also
live with Tony, who's pretty bloody paranoid, Clint, who's a SHIELD Agent and Bruce, who's
spent most of a decade on the run from the US Army. Even dad's pretty cautious. All the Avengers
are. The only one who isn't is Steve." He shrugged. "You could say that I learned from the best."

"Oh, Captain Rogers is more cautious than you might think," Dumbledore said. "He certainly was
when I knew him. Of course," he add. "Special Operations will do that to a person."

All three looked surprise.

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said. "There is far more to Steve than meets the eye. He is, after all, a Super
Soldier, with all that entails. Caution was part of it." He paused. "Though he had nothing on Agent
Carter. But she had reasons for that. Reasons, that, I think would shock him. Maybe less so since
the revelation of Mister Barton's identity, but I digress."

His gaze suddenly flickered over Harry's shoulders to look at something behind him.

"Under the circumstances, lad, I can't blame ye for being a little suspicious."

The trio whirled, to see Professor Cassidy standing behind them. He grinned at their obvious
surprise. And they weren't the only ones. Even Freki and Geri looked a little shocked.
"I can dampen sound in a small area around me. It's one of me party tricks," he said.

"Professor, I'm sorry that –" Harry began, a sense of crushing shame consuming him.

"It's nothing," Cassidy said calmly. "Like I said, I can understand ye being suspicious. And
curious." He half smiled. "I was the same at your age." He walked over and leaned against the
wall. "But like I said earlier. Not everyone's going to be as understanding as me. You need to start
learning to tread carefully."

Harry nodded, contrite.

"And the both of you," Cassidy said, looking at Ron and Hermione. "Are going to have to help him
with that. To be the eyes watching his back." His eyes drifted back to Harry, who squirmed slightly
in their uncomfortably knowing gaze. "Because I get the feeling that you're the sort of boy who
lives and breathes adventure. The one who takes a lantern into the dark places, trying to make them
a little brighter. The one who never knows when he's in over his head."

"A hero," Hermione said quietly, startling Harry.

"Aye. A hero," Cassidy said. "I've seen a few in my time. And a lot of them got into a lot of
trouble, for want of someone to watch their back. Or…" his expression saddened. "Or they took a
different path. A darker path."

"Professor?" Harry asked.

"When you go into the dark places, you see the things the people that live there, if you could even
call them people, do. And sometimes they're done to you. Sometimes they're done to someone
close to you," Cassidy said, voice carefully level. "And after that… it's very easy to take the darker
path." He looked away. "I saw it happen, to a good friend of mine, Erik. You might know him
better as Magneto."

Ron gulped and Hermione stifled a gasp. Harry looked puzzled. "Who?"

"Magneto's someone of mine and Charles' persuasion, you could say," Cassidy said. "And he and
Charles were the best of friends. But when the two suffered… Charles became kind. Erik became
angry. And in a man powerful enough to do what he did, who can manipulate metal..."

"Manipulate metal?" Harry asked sharply.

"Aye," Cassidy said.

"Is… is Magneto Wanda Maximoff's father, Professor?"

Cassidy's eyebrows shot up. "He is," he said slowly, ignoring Hermione and Ron's startled
expression. The Scarlet Witch was a fêted heroine in the Wizarding World. Magneto, by contrast,
was a whispered nightmare. Needless to say, their connection was not widely known. "And how
would you know Wanda?"

"Wanda is my godmother," Harry said. "We're exchanging letters and emails."

Cassidy's eyebrows couldn't climb any further, but they made a valiant attempt. "Well now," he
said quietly, thoughtfully. "There's a thing." He glanced at Dumbledore. "I'm guessing that she was
part of that Order of yours."

Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement.

Cassidy looked thoughtful, then waved a hand as if waving it all away. "Interesting though that
may be," he said, looking serious. "The point, lad, is that you need to start being more careful.
From what I've heard you've nearly got yourself and your friends killed three times now,
investigating something that maybe you shouldn't have, not without a teacher. You need to
start thinking before you act."

"I understand, Professor," Harry said, a little subdued.

"Do you?" Cassidy asked sharply. He frowned in thought. "Have you heard what I'm teaching?" he
asked abruptly.

"Non-magical self defence," Harry said, with a fair degree of certainty. His hearing had sharpened
in recent weeks and he'd heard a few things he'd rather not. Such as a number of the older girls
discussing what it would be like to 'grapple' with the handsome Professor Cassidy.

"Are you signing up?"

Harry nodded sharply.

Cassidy smiled. "Good," he said. "I think normally the punishment is detention and for quite a
long time," he continued. "So I'm giving all three of ye detention for the rest of the year."

As Ron and Hermione's eyes widened in dismay, he added, "So I can teach you some more
advanced techniques. You say that trouble finds ye, Mister Thorson, and with Wanda as your
godmother, I can well believe that. And you two follow him into that trouble come what may. So
you might as well at least be prepared." He caught Hermione's continuing dismayed expression –
Ron was mouthing 'cool!' – and said, "You may not like it, Miss Granger, but you can't think and
magic your way out of every bit of trouble. Sometimes, you need to do a bit of brawling."

Hermione looked a little unhappy, but nodded.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said sincerely, something Ron quickly echoed, followed, a touch
more reluctantly by Hermione.

"You're welcome," Cassidy said.

He shot a speaking look at Dumbledore, who cleared his throat and said, "You three may go now,"
he said.

The three stood, then Harry paused. "Professor Cassidy?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about your wife."

Cassidy eyed him for a long moment. "You know," he said quietly, with a touch of wonder and
surprise in his voice. "You're the first person who didn't know her who actually sounded like they
meant it." He smiled slightly. "Thank you, lad."

Harry nodded, then he, Ron and Hermione quickly said their goodbyes and left, followed by the
two wolves, leaving the office feeling a rather emptier place.

"Sean, I would like to thank you for your forbearance. You were much more understanding than
most teachers would be," Dumbledore said.
"I'm not most teachers, Albus," Sean said calmly. "And I know the lad meant no harm. All he
needs is to be reined in every now and then."

"And you think that Ron and Hermione are the people to do it?"

Sean, surprisingly, shook his head. "They follow him without question. They're good friends, the
best of friends, but he needs someone who doesn't buy even a little into the legend," he said. "Ron
was raised in it. Hermione picked it up with the magic."

"That may very well be true," Dumbledore observed.

"And there's more," Sean said. "The lad's growing into his power, personal and political. If they
don't recognise that, if they try to act as if he's the same as he's always been…" he looked grim.
"Then mark my words, there'll be trouble."

"I very much hope not," Dumbledore said quietly. "But I fear that it's already starting, with Miss
Granger at least."

"Oh?"

"Harry is more powerful than she is," Dumbledore said bluntly. "He always has been, but now the
gap is noticeable and it is growing. He also takes to spells far more intuitively than she does, with
far less effort. For someone like her, that can only be extremely frustrating."

Sean winced. "Aye," he said. "I've seen that once or twice too." He glanced at Dumbledore. "Do
you think they'll adjust?"

"As a matter of fact, I rather think they will," Dumbledore said. He sighed. "Though I have been
wrong before." He sat back. "It depends on a number of factors that I cannot predict. But, in the
end, I like to think that their ties of friendship are stronger than the adversity that they will face.
Strong enough to weather the coming storm."

"You think there's a storm coming?" Sean asked.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said grimly. "That I am certain of. The creation of the Avengers, the rise in
the number of mutant births," he said, glancing at Sean. "The renaissance of HYDRA, the return of
the Winter Soldier, the unleashing of the Darkhold, the war between the White Council and the
Vampire Courts… they are just the beginning." He went to the window. The skies were cold and
grey, like frosted steel. Winter had dug its claws in deep and wasn't going to let go any time soon.
"We are on the threshold of a new dawn, Sean, a new golden age of heroism. A Heroic Age,
even."

"But the heroes have to have monsters to fight," Sean said grimly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said heavily. "Yes they do." He looked out the window again. "I wonder if in
decades and centuries to come that they will call these the last days of peace. The last days before
the world caught fire, fire in which it would either be forged anew or destroyed utterly."

"I don't know," Sean said, glancing at the door. "But I do know that it all depends on the lad there."

"Yes, it rather does," Dumbledore said. "Harry could very well become the brightest light of this
coming age. A beacon of hope." He paused. "One of two."

"Two?" Sean asked, eyebrow raised.

"Doctor Strange came to Hogwarts only a week ago," Dumbledore said. "He recommended that I
appoint you and Mister Worthington. He also said that Harry would be a beacon of hope, and that
he had a strong destiny."

"That's true enough," Sean muttered.

"And he said that only one destiny would compare," Dumbledore continued. "That of 'the Last
Son'."

"'The Last Son'?" Sean asked, scratching his head.

"Ring any bells?"

"No," Sean said slowly. "Not directly." He paused. "But Strange… Strange is famous for knowing
things that he shouldn't possibly be able to, right?"

"He is," Dumbledore said.

Sean nodded slowly. "Aye, that would make sense," he said quietly.

"What would?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion that Strange is talking about the so-called 'Lost Omega'," Sean said.
"There's been rumours going around the intelligence community for the best part of a decade.
Rumours that said there was supposed to be a child, an Omega class child, that Fury found and
hid." He met Dumbledore's gaze. "Is there any chance that Strange knows who the child is? Knows
more about him than Fury himself?"

Dumbledore paused. "That," he said slowly. "Would make a lot of sense." He frowned. "And it is
something that neither of us would have put together alone," he continued. "Which also tallies very
closely with Strange's usual modus operandi."

"It does seem a little too contrived to be coincidence," Sean agreed, then a grim look crossed his
face.

"What is it?"

"I don't know magic as well as I'd like," he said. "But I do know patterns. There's a balance. There's
always a balance."

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, I think you know what I mean, Albus," Sean said darkly. "We're lookin' at one of two things
here. First, one of the lads, one of the beacons of hope is going to go dark. Very, very dark."

"You can't mean…"

"I can," Sean said. "There's something very familiar about the boy, Albus. He's got traits I last saw
in two people. He's got the kindness and thoughtless desire to help of Charles Xavier. But he's also
got the anger, and, mark you, the charisma of…"

"Erik Lehnsherr," Dumbledore finished heavily. "Otherwise known as Magneto."

"Aye," Sean said grimly. "The passion, the hatred of injustice and the desire to prevent it from ever
happening to anyone again… that's all Erik. He could become the next Steve Rogers, aye, and
under the guidance of the Avengers, I think he will."
"Not the next Charles Xavier?"

"Nah. He's more of a fighter than Charles ever was," Sean said. "Charles'll fight if he has to, but it's
last resort for him." He sighed. "But the lad's got the potential to turn into a new Magneto. And one
without half the restraint of the original."

"We all have the potential to go bad, Sean," Dumbledore said calmly. "I know that far better than
most. Sherbet lemon?"

Sean took one with a nod of thanks and ate it. "You do?" he asked sceptically of the benevolent,
grandfatherly old man.

Dumbledore said nothing. He simply gave him a look that was utterly devoid of his usual twinkle.
His eyes were cold and harsh, like blue diamonds. His face looked like it had been carved out of
stone, not in thanks to a wise old sage, but in homage to a terrible, godlike figure, offered in hope of
placating the man in question.

Sean met that gaze and nodded slowly. He'd seen that look in the mirror, after Maeve's murder.
"Aye," he said slowly. "You do, don't you?"

"Why do you think I have chosen to be a headmaster and nothing more?" Dumbledore asked
rhetorically. "Power does not agree with me." He paused. "But I think Harry will manage it. He
will not be alone in the way I was, in the way I sometimes feel I still am. He will have peers,
friends, family, to love and support him. Particularly his father." He glanced at Sean. "He will not
fall, Sean. He may walk close to the edge sometimes, like us. But, like us, he can and will find it in
him to turn away. And I think that will in large part, be down to James. Or Thor." He smiled
slightly. "He answers readily enough to both."

Sean eyed him for a long moment. "Aye," he said quietly. "I think that too. Everything I hear about
Thor says that he's a good, kind, warm hearted man. Not one to cross, mind you, but mostly like a
thunder god shaped Labrador."

Dumbledore chuckled. "In terms of his attitude, that description does have its merits," he said,
amused. He sobered slightly. "Though he is wiser than it implies, wiser by far."

"The man's lost a wife," Sean said. "That teaches ye a lot, about yourself, about how unfair life is,
and about how ye've got to keep on living even when you just want to lay down and die." He
nodded. "He'll be a good father all right. And I think you're right. He'll keep the boy on the straight
and narrow." He looked out the window at the grey, forbidding sky. "And that frightens me even
more."

"Because if Harry and 'the Last Son' are not destined to oppose each other and thereby balance each
other out," Dumbledore said, picking up his train of thought. "Then what darkness is so great that it
will need them both to face it?"

That was a question neither of them could answer. And neither of them was entirely sure that they
wanted to.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was not currently burdened by such thoughts. This did not mean, however, that
he was not also aware of the coming storm. It was like a whisper on the edge of hearing, the muted
roar of a faraway ocean and the slowly encroaching shadows at the end of a long Summer's eve. It
was there.
And it was growing.

Instead, he was mulling over the matter of Luna Lovegood. While he hadn't actually needed her
help to find out about Professor Cassidy, Seamus' proclamation that she was a bit strange… well,
he had to admit, it interested in him. After all, in many ways, he was a bit strange himself.

She was apparently a friend of Ginny's, so, after dinner the next day, he went over to go and talk to
Ginny. Who, as it happened, was talking to a small girl with waist length dirty blonde hair, slightly
protuberant misty grey eyes that gave her a perpetually surprised look, and at a counterpoint to this
last, a remarkably serene expression that Harry found was rather reminiscent of Diana.

Oh, and she had a necklace of butterbeer corks around her neck.

But this was not the strangest thing about her. She was, Harry also noticed, not wearing shoes.
Instead, she was wearing a pair of rather thin, damp looking socks, which had to have been
absolutely freezing.

"Aren't you a little cold?" he blurted out.

"A little," the girl said, as if having questions about her sartorial choices blurted at her by random
strangers was perfectly normal and as if frostbite wasn't an issue.

"She can't find her shoes," Ginny said, with a sigh. "Hello Harry."

"Hi," Harry said. "Why can't you find your shoes?"

"Oh, people take them," the girl replied, tone perfectly serene. "And they hide them. They're very
inventive, so it's really quite fun finding them again."

Harry goggled.

"She gets picked on by her housemates," Ginny explained. "They call her Loony Lovegood." Her
tone and the thinning of her lips in a manner remarkably reminiscent of her mother spoke volumes
of what she thought of this.

Personally, Harry found himself entertaining the thoughts of a violent pyromaniac, and idly
wondered if stone, say, the stone that made up Ravenclaw Tower, was flammable. All prior
evidence suggested that it wasn't, but maybe all prior evidence simply hadn't been trying hard
enough.

He blinked out of these thoughts as Luna let a surprised sound of exhalation. Freki and Geri had
skilfully manoeuvred themselves so that, with a quick bump to the back of her knees, Luna was
forced to sit on Freki's back, while Geri wriggled under her feet, burying them in his fur.

"Oh," she said, then she smiled a misty smile. "Thank you."

Ginny looked surprised, and glanced at Harry, who shrugged as if to say, 'don't look at me, I didn't
tell them to do that.'

"They're very warm," Luna observed, wriggling her toes in the Geri's fur.

"Well, Asgard can get very cold," Harry said vaguely. "I think." He paused. "I think I can get your
shoes back," he added. "Though it would be probably best if you ducked." He focused and said,
"Accio Luna's shoes!"
There was few moments of silence, wherein, very conspicuously, nothing happened.

"That was a summoning charm, wasn't it?" Ginny ventured. "Mum uses them, and I think it doesn't
work if the thing's locked away – Ow!"

She was cut off by Harry, who tackled her to the ground, just in time to avoid a hailstorm of shoes
which zoomed overhead, coming from all sides. Both wolves had flattened their heads against the
ground, but Luna sat up in the middle of it all, perfectly serene, not being hit by a single shoe.

"Sorry," Harry said apologetically, straightening up, as Ginny winced, rubbing her head.

He didn't hear her reply, however, as it was at that exact moment that a pair of size three wooden
clogs struck him in the back of the head at high velocity. Everything, needless to say, faded to
black.

OoOoO

Harry woke up to the pervasive, persistent feeling that the Warriors Three had taken their clog
wearing rendition of Mambo Number Five on tour, and were starting on the inside aand outside of
his skull.

He groaned, and blinked his eyes open, then mumbled a swearword and fumbled for his glasses,
looking around, then groaned again, this time not in pain. He was in the hospital wing.

"Ah, Mister Thorson. I see you are awake," Madame Pomfrey said briskly.

"Huh?"

"And minus some of your brains, too. Not that that's surprising, considering how you managed to
concuss yourself twice, in the same place no less, within a month," she continued sharply.

"Twice?" Harry mumbled. "When was the first time?" Then he winced again as the effort of that
much speech made his head pound all the more, and to add insult to injury, induced a stabbing pain
in the back of the head.

"Try not to speak too much," Madame Pomfrey replied, by now scanning him with her wand.
"Your first concussion was when you were in that strange trance state last month, the night of the
Battle of the M4. According to Professor McGonagall, the glowing and floating parts of the trance
cut out rather suddenly and you landed head first on the floor."

"I don't remember that," Harry said.

"Of course you don't," Madame Pomfrey sighed. "A little short term memory loss can be expected,
but really, I am astonished that even you failed to notice a concussion."

"Well, I did have a slight headache…"

She sighed again. "And felt it was too trivial to bring to me, despite the fact that you had gone
through who knows what changes the previous night."

"… Yes?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder how you're still alive, young man," she said. "Miss
Weasley and Miss Lovegood were here earlier, as were Mister Weasely, his twin brothers, and
Miss Granger. They sat by your bed for quite some time." She passed him a glass of water. "Mister
Worthington was here too, since he was the one who carried you here."

"What?"

"As soon as you were knocked unconscious, Miss Weasley went to find help while Miss Lovegood
stayed by your side," Madame Pomfrey explained. "The first person she found was Mister
Worthington. That was about ten hours ago."

Harry glanced out the window. It was night time.

"Yes, you've been out for quite some time," she said. "You had me worried at first, but it quickly
became apparent that you'd ceased to be unconscious and had fallen asleep. After that, I decided
that since you had, as seems to be your habit, simply ignored your previous injury, you should at
least have some uninterrupted time to heal before you went gallivanting off again."

Harry struggled to sit up.

"And no, that does not mean that I am releasing you," she said tartly. "Apart from anything else, its
night time and it does not matter which bed you sleep in. If nothing else, tomorrow is a Saturday
and you have no lessons to get to." She waved her wand and a covered tray floated over, which
Harry quickly found was his belated dinner. Chicken pie with vegetables, as it happened.

He obediently ate his dinner, drank a potion that nearly made it come back for an encore, then
went to sleep. And as he did, he found himself thinking, in a somewhat peeved fashion, that he'd
barely had a chance to say hello to Luna.

OoOoO

The next morning, Harry woke early and groaned, fumbled for his glasses, then blinked as a gentle
hand put them on for him.

"We," his father said, tone a mixture of wry amusement and worry. "Have got to stop meeting like
this."

Harry let a soft laugh and sat up. His head was hurting rather less this morning, for which he would
once have thanked god. Now, he thanked his grandmother, which was still a little weird to deal
with. If he'd been Twitter savvy and pretentious, he might have posted it as #demigodproblems.

Thankfully, he was neither.

"There are worse ways to meet," Harry said.

"Well, yes," Thor said. "You could have been attacked by Dire Owls."

"I'm still not sure if those are really a thing."

"They aren't a thing. They're birds," Thor said, frowning. "Monstrous birds."

Harry paused, then sighed. "I blame Tony," he said.

"An undoubtedly wise course of action, Harry, but what are you blaming him for?"

"Calling Dire Owls 'a thing'," Harry said. "When I said that I didn't think that they were a thing, I
meant that I didn't think that they were real."

"Ah," Thor said, comprehension dawning. "Thank you for enlightening me, your elderly father."
Harry snorted. "Elderly? As if?"

"I am older than this school."

"So's Sif and I'm calling her elderly the day I want to die."

"It would probably be just as dangerous to call Fandral such," Thor observed. "I dread to think
what will happen when he actually starts ageing past his youth."

"When will that be?"

"A millennium or so," Thor said carelessly.

Harry paused.

"Harry?"

"Don't mind me. Just mentally adjusting my time scale," Harry said.

Thor nodded soberly. "That, I fear, is something you will have to get used to," he said quietly.
"Natasha is effectively immortal, and so, I believe, is Steve. Clint will follow that path, I think.
Bruce… well, Bruce is an oddity, but I suspect he shall live for far longer than most. But Tony?
Pepper? Darcy? Erik? Remus? Sirius? Your friends, Ron and Hermione, Carol and Jean-Paul?" He
shook his head. "Pepper has fifty years more. Tony could probably find a way to make sure he
survives his body's death, and easily, but when you see the look he gets in his eyes when she walks
into the room…"

"You know he couldn't bear to lve without her," Harry said, subdued.

Thor nodded. "He once confessed to me, while very drunk, that on his bad days, Pepper was the
only thing that made his life worth living," he said. "Remus and Sirius will live longer than most.
Each has maybe another century. Ron and Hermione, likewise. Darcy has maybe sixty years more,
Erik, twenty or thirty. Carol and Jean-Paul, maybe have seventy years apiece." He sighed. "And all
of this, of course, presumes that their lives are natural ones."

There was a long silence.

"Why do you come to Earth at all, then, if all the friends you make are going to die?" Harry asked.

"Because everyone dies, some day," Thor said, voice gentle. "And because the experiences had
and friendship shared make the happiness greater and longer lasting than the sorrow of their loss."
He sat back. "Think of it like a firework. It rises and it explodes in a flash of light and a shower of
sparks. Then it fades away. But for a few, shining moments, it stands out against the darkness." He
met Harry's gaze. "Mortal lives are indeed brief, and fragile. But they are all the more beautiful and
all the more cherished because of it."

Harry nodded. "And Jane?" he asked.

Thor was silent for a long time. "I have hopes that she will consent to marry me," he said quietly.
"And be raised up as an Asgardian. If she does not… she has mortal family, after all, a half brother
who she might not expect to outlive." He frowned. "I think he is called Matthew." He shook his
head as if . "If she does not, then I will survive." He paused, and eyed Harry. "You are comfortable
with us being together?"

"Dad, I've nearly referred to her as my stepmother," Harry said dryly. "Take a wild guess."
Thor chuckled.

"On two conditions, though."

"Oh?"

"First, try not to have sex anywhere I'm likely to see it," Harry said. "Or on any surfaces I'm likely
to use."

"I can't guarantee that."

Harry revealed an admirable poker face. "I know," he said, tone understanding. "That's why I said
'try'."

Thor eyed him. "Tony is a bad influence on you."

"He's a bad influence on everyone," Harry observed. "But a fun one."

"That is most certainly true. And the second?"

"I get to be Best Man."

Thor smiled like a beam of sunlight coming down from a clouded sky. "I think I can manage that,"
he said. He looked over to Madame Pomfrey. "Is Harry cleared to leave?"

"He is," Madame Pomfrey said. "Though I would not recommend any strenuous activity for at least
a day."

Thor nodded soberly. "I will make sure that he does not over exert himself," he said.

OoOoO

Thor glanced at his son as he walked out of the hospital wing. "Sooooo," he said, drawing out the
word. "Where's your broomstick?"

Harry grinned. "You mean…"

"Well, we haven't really been flying as father and son," Thor said.

"You did take me flying," Harry pointed out. "And it was amazing, by the way."

"I remember," Thor said. "But what I meant was us flying together."

Harry's grin got even wider. "I know," he said. Then he looked past his father, out of the window,
expression turning doubtful. It was another cold, grey day. "The weather, though."

Thor grinned. "What about it?" he asked, without turning around.

Harry's eyes widened as the clouds rolled back like a gigantic blanket, letting down the sun like
vast curtain of warm light, flooding in through the windows in thick beams, turning everything they
touched to gold, including Harry, which it seemed to be drawn to like iron filings to a Magneto.

For a moment, he looked like he was made of light itself, all golden skin and flashing solid white
eyes, so bright that they almost hurt to look at. And his expression when he turned to look at his
father was one of complete and utter delighted wonder.
"That looks like flying weather to me," Thor said, glancing out the window. "Don't you think?"

Harry nodded furiously.

Thor paused thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. "It could be a little bright, though," he added.

"No," Harry said suddenly. Then he looked embarrassed. "Sorry. If it's too bright for you…"

Thor chuckled. "Harry, I have walked on the surface of stars," he said. "A little bright light is
nothing to me, provided I have a moment or two to adjust." This pronouncement nearly caused
Harry's eyes to pop out. This, under the circumstances, could be considered more than a little
ironic. "But it truly doesn't bother you?"

"I can see just fine," Harry said. "My eyes adjust really quickly these days."

"Maybe it is your Aesir heritage showing through," Thor suggested.

"Great. That probably means I'll be shooting eyebeams by next week," Harry said, a touch sourly.

"That was actually a party trick of your great-grandfather's, if I remember the stories correctly,"
Thor said thoughtfully. "He used it to incinerate enemies, destroy citadels and open canned goods,
for which I am sure that your great-grandmother was ever grateful."

Harry gave him a look that said 'since it's our family that we're talking about, it's insane, but insane
enough to be true.' He might not be in Dumbledore's league as of yet, but he was getting pretty
good at the expressive looks thing.

"Are you still worried about your growing abilities?" Thor then asked, concerned, proving that he
had not, in fact, missed most of what his son had said. "Have matters changed since we last spoke?"

Harry explained his goblet related issues and how he was worried that something more fragile
might next. Like someone's fingers and other assorted appendages.

"And my brother has said that this cannot be suppressed without storing up trouble for later," Thor
said frowning in thought. "If it could be suppressed at all. Instead, he recommends caution." He
rubbed his jaw. "Wise, but not entirely helpful. Are you sure you weren't speaking to your
grandfather instead?"

"Dad," Harry said, a touch reproachfully.

"Sorry," Thor said, then frowned. "I think he does have the right of it, though the person who
would know is your grandmother." He nodded. "We can speak to her about it during the Easter
holidays."

Harry half smiled. "You know, it's kind of ironic that I'm taking a holiday for something that
happened to one of my more distant relatives."

"What, the death and resurrection? That's very popular with some pantheons," Thor observed. At
Harry's astonished look, he explained. "Death is a somewhat fluid state for gods. For instance, your
uncle accidentally got beheaded –"

"How do you accidentally get beheaded?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I'm not sure," Thor said, frowning. "Though I think we were all very drunk and he did it for a bet."
He gave Harry a wry look. "As you can see, mortals and gods are not so different. It only takes a
little alcohol for a stupid idea to seem stupendous."

"So… he was fine without his head?" Harry said, finding this something of a sticking point.

"Oh, yes. He always likes to say that 'the first thing any sorcerer of quality does is make themselves
as hard to kill as possible'," Thor said casually. "It was the rest of him trying to find it again that
was the difficult part." He paused. "Well, difficult for him, funny for us. Then he retaliated by
turning me into a woman. Now that was fun."

Harry stared. "Whatever you did," he said flatly. "I don't want to know."

"Well, whoever might be more accurate."

"DAD!" Harry wailed, clapping his hands over his ears.

Thor grinned. "I'm teasing you," he said gently. "Come on, let's go get your broom."

Harry relaxed, grudgingly, and, a few minutes later as they were ascending the stairs asked, "Dad,
what's it like to be a girl?"

"Well I was one for all of twelve admittedly very interesting hours, so it wasn't the most exhaustive
experience," Thor said. "Though I would say that it was very much like being male, except with
different parts."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Women are not some great unsolvable mystery, Harry," Thor said. "They are only a little different
to men and men are only a little different to women. It is just that some people make an awful lot
of fuss about the supposed importance of those differences and that leads to differences in the way
men and women are treated." He shrugged. "But in the end, man or woman, god or mortal, we're
all just people and each of us should be treated as such." He glanced at Harry. "It's something that
you do remarkably well."

"I do?"

"You treated King Farbaut with friendship," Thor said. "Jean-Paul, Carol, Ron, Hermione, Uhtred
and Diana. Many would not, mocking them for things they have no control over. King Farbaut did
not ask to be born as a Frost Giant, Jean-Paul did not ask to be attracted to men, both Carol,
Hermione and Diana did not ask to be born brave, beautiful and intelligent, Ron and Uhtred did not
ask to be born poor or relatively so."

"I never really thought of Hermione as beautiful," Harry said, blinking. "I mean, not that she's ugly,
far from it, but…"

"You never actually thought of Hermione as a girl," Thor said wryly.

"Well, yes, I suppose," Harry said. "She's always just been my friend. My slightly bossy, brilliant
friend."

Thor eyed Harry for a moment, but saw not the slightest spark of romantic feeling when he
mentioned her. What Loki had said was clearly holding true: Harry was about as attracted to
Hermione as he was to mould.

"She's been a bit more bossy recently, though," Harry added, frowning.
"Or you're just noticing it more," Thor pointed out.

"Maybe," Harry allowed, as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Give me a couple of
minutes."

"I can wait," Thor said, leaning against the wall and looking out the window. The sun was still
shining brightly. It was going to be a glorious day, if he had anything to do with it.
 Perception

"Dad," Harry said hesitantly.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I really want to go flying – and, I mean, really – want to go flying," Harry said. "But… with all
these bad guys on the loose, aren't you busy?"

"A little," Thor said, looking down at his son, and pulling him into a one armed hug. "But not so
busy that I can't spend a little quality time with my son." He smiled down at Harry. "And believe
me, I would have to be very busy not to be able to do that."

"What if you had an important meeting?" Harry asked, flushing slightly and leaning against his
father. His head now came up to his father's armpit, something which Thor noticed with a chuckle.

"You, my son, are growing," he said. "And that is what I have your uncle for," he added, tone
playful. "He has answers to everything." He paused. "Well, most things. There are certain matters
to which he has no answer to."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that Sif is in love with him and he with her," Thor said, and sighed. "But, though you
uncle possesses one of the finest minds in the universe, he does not seem to realise that the regard
is mutual."

Harry frowned. "But… she kissed him!" he said incredulously. "On New Years Eve!"

"And very tenderly she did too," Thor observed. "I suspect that he is either afraid of rejection or
falling prey to one of his many… I believe the phrase is 'hang ups'."

"Probably," Harry agreed.

Thor sighed. "It is really blatantly obvious that he is in love with her," he said. "There was his
reaction to her temporarily being killed during the battle –"

"WHAT?"

"Oh, she was fighting under Paris and the necromancer killed her," Thor explained. "The Wizard
she was aiding in battle at the time, Harry Dresden of the White Council, responded by retrieving
her body and blasting Gravemoss several hundred miles northwards, into the North Sea."

Harry let out a long, low whistle.

Thor gave him an odd look. "I already told you this."

"That doesn't mean it's any less impressive than the first time," Harry said.

"True," Thor acknowledged. "Though I told Loki on the moon. Which now has a few new craters."
He rubbed the back of his head selfconsciously. "There are now a lot of very confused and
annoyed astronomers and star gazers wondering what has happened." He looked thoughtful.
"Though the conspiracy theorists, according to Tony, are very happy indeed. He told Loki and I not
to say that it was him. Apparently it would ruin all his fun." He paused, frowning. "Which, now
that I think about it, is very worrying."
"You know, I thought it was looking a bit weird," Harry said slowly. "Hmm? What was that about
Tony?"

"He is probably doing something nefarious."

"I think he usually is, to be honest. Good word, by the way."

"Thank you," Thor said. He paused. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you, how is
Divination?"

"Easy," Harry said. "I put in earplugs before each lesson and I nod and smile when she pauses for
breath. If we get homework, Ron tells me about it afterwards."

Thor nodded. "A sound strategy," he said. "Though be careful not to show too much interest, or she
might suggest that you possess the inner eye and have the aptitude to unfog the mysteries of
the future." This last was said in a mocking tone with much wiggling of fingers.

Harry stifled a laugh. "Does she have any actual powers? To see the future?" he asked.

"No," Thor said. But he hesitated a moment too long.

Harry stopped and folded his arms. "Dad," he said.

Thor sighed. "To an extent," he said. "She has made one true prophecy. One true prophecy which
has caused no end of grief and suffering."

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Thor reached down and gently brushed aside Harry's fringe. "Because that prophecy is the reason
that you have that scar," he said quietly. "And, indirectly, it is the reason that your mother is dead."

Harry felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "What?" he whispered.

Thor sighed. "It is a long story, and I do not remember the prophecy in full. But, in essence,
Professor Trewlawney made a prophecy. One that was overheard, in part, by one of Voldemort's
Death Eaters. That prophecy said that one child born at the end of July would be a threat to
Voldemort. There were two candidates."

"Me," Harry said. "And…?"

"Neville Longbottom," Thor said.

Harry looked incredulous. "Neville?" he asked, stunned. "He's… well, he's brave. Sometimes."

"His grandmother has thoroughly crushed his spirit by constantly comparing him to his parents,
particularly his father," Thor said grimly. "She is obsessed, in some ways, with turning him into
his father. She has even forced the poor boy to use Frank's wand, when everyone knows that no
wand will work as well for you as your very own." He shook his head. "Frank and Alice wouldn't
stand for it, if they were in any state to do so."

"What happened to them?" Harry asked.

"They were tortured into insanity," Thor said, voice thrumming with barely contained anger. "By
Voldemort's most fanatical supporters."

"Because of the prophecy?"

"No," Thor said, shaking his head. "That happened after Voldemort's fall. I only found out once I
rediscovered my memories. The Death Eaters were trying to find out why Voldemort had fallen in
trying to slay you and they would not accept that the Longbottoms simply did not know."

Harry shivered. "They're still alive?"

"If you can call it living," Thor said quietly. "The Healers at St Mungo's told me that Alice seems
to recognise her son on some level. She gives him bubble gum wrappers when he visits."

"Neville never said," Harry said.

"Under the circumstances, would you?" Thor asked. "Of course not. Besides, the cruel and ignorant
would find their enfeebled state amusing."

"Not for long they wouldn't," Harry said darkly.

"Indeed," Thor said grimly. "But remember that not every problem can be solved with power." He
smiled. "By the way, your uncle is hailing you as a prodigy with fire. I cannot remember the last
time he said such a thing. You should be proud. I certainly am."

Harry flushed. "It… it just comes naturally, I guess," he said, shrugging.

"Sometimes things do," Thor said simply. "That is no reason not to take pride in them."

Harry nodded. "What were Neville's parents like?"

"Kind. Clever. Funny," Thor said. "And heartbreakingly brave. Alive would hurl herself into any
sort of trouble for a friend, or even for someone she'd never met who she felt needed protecting.
Frank was more practical and cautious, but just as brave." He looked out over the grounds for a
moment, lost in thought. "Alice and Lily were close. Not as close as Lily and Wanda, but close all
the same. Frank was a bit more reserved, but Nicholas, Sirius and John got him to loosen up once
or twice." He half smiled. "They always intended for you and Neville to be best friends growing
up."

"I like Neville," Harry said, a touch defensively.

"It wasn't a criticism," Thor said gently. "Neville seems to be a nice boy. But he's nervous. I have
no doubt that when it comes down to it, he is truly brave. Indeed, I have seen it first hand." Harry
gave him a quizzical look and he elabrorated. "I spoke to him briefly before Christmas. He had the
courage to ask, quite emphatically, that I not follow my planned course, which was to give his
grandmother a hard word or two, in order to have a quiet Christmas." He smiled slightly, then
frowned. "But his grandmother…" He shook his head. "The Alice and Frank I knew would be
shocked by how little self-confidence he has, something which is no fault of his own. Rest assured,
I will be having words with Augusta soon enough."

Harry nodded. Then a thought struck him. "Dad," he said. "You said that Nicholas Fury was almost
my godfather. That he was like mum's surrogate older brother or something."

"He was," Thor said heavily.

"What's… what's he like?"

Thor was silent for a long moment. "He has changed," he said slowly. "Since I first knew him.
Before, I would have described him as charming, intelligent and funny. He was always a little
watchful, a little wary, always ready for trouble."
"Like Clint and Natasha," Harry said promptly.

"You noticed?" Thor asked, a little surprised.

Harry shrugged.

"I'm impressed," Thor murmured. "You clearly have your mother's eyes in more ways than one.
And yes, he was. Partly because he was a SHIELD Agent, partly because he was a former soldier,
a 'Ranger' I think it was called. He mentioned serving in somewhere called Panama, I believe. So
yes, he was always a little on guard, except when he was very drunk. And when he was around
Lily. No matter how serious he was, she could always make him smile, even laugh."

"So why hasn't he… well, sent an email? Called?" Harry asked, sounding slightly whiny and hating
himself for doing so.

"Because your mother's death killed him," Thor said quietly. "Or at least, it killed the man he was.
He lost his sunnier nature with your mother and his eye. Now… now I would describe him as cold.
Ruthless. And very, very dangerous." He sighed. "I have seen brief hints that there is some of the
man I knew still in there. But not much. He hasn't even told me the details of how he lost the eye -
I know who he lost it to, but not how - though I can see why he would not wish to dwell on that. It
is an ugly subject."

"Draco said that he lost it fighting Lucius Malfoy the night after mum was killed," Harry said. "If I
had to guess, I'd say that he was why Lucius Malfoy walks with a stick."

"And he's probably on his second wand too," Thor murmured. "Lucius probably blasted his eye
out. Something which does not surprise me in the least." He cast a side long look at Harry and
added, "Nicholas always hated Lucius."

"Draco mentioned that," Harry said, frowning. "Why?"

"Nicholas was our chief spy. He had a near magical talent to construct webs of informants and seek
out information. However, he did not have the resources or the experience that Lucius had. Not
only that, by Lucius' spy network, already considerable, was deeply embedded and growing.
Nicholas had to play catch up, and though he did well, like the Order as a whole, he was
outnumbered and outmatched."

Harry looked surprised.

"Oh yes. We were losing the war," Thor said, noting his expression. "Without Dumbledore and
Stephen Strange, we would have all been dead or worse." He looked reflective. "Though if Stephen
had been able to fully take the field, well, we'd have been picking bits of Voldemort out of the
walls within an hour."

Harry's eyes widened. "Is he that powerful?"

"The last time Strange cut loose it was in 1945 and he was fighting the Dark Lord Grindelwald,
who had cut deals with several demons, and, according to my brother, who was passing through
Europe at the time, his power was quite literally godlike. Between them, they flattened Berlin.
Grindelwald was severely weakened and stripped of almost all his enhanced power."

"And Strange?"

"He walked away whistling, apparently," Thor said. "He has no shortage of power. He once
challenged the entire White Council to a duel. As a collective, they possess truly vast power, power
enough to defeat I or your uncle, under the right circumstances. They backed down."

"Whoa."

"Quite, though he usually limited himself," Thor said.

"Why?"

"Because Strange is either a time traveller or a seer, or in my personal belief, a little bit of both,"
Thor said. "He rarely predicts the future, but when he does, he is never, ever wrong."

"Seriously?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

Thor nodded. "He limits himself normally, presumably to maintain the integrity of the timeline, or,
possibly, because he needs to save his strength."

"For what?"

"Strange is the Sorcerer Supreme," Thor said seriously. "It is his duty to protect this dimension
from those who would subjugate it or even destroy it. Hell Lords, the Fallen, Elder Gods, the Old
Ones, the Outsiders… there are many. One whose name you will know."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Lucifer," Thor said grimly.

Harry's eyes nearly popped out. "As in, Satan?"

"Yes."

"Have you met him?"

"Once. And I pray that I shall never do so ever again," Thor said darkly. "Strange fights such
creatures on a regular basis. I do not envy him the task." He shook his head like a dog shaking off
water and grinned. "But never mind that. We have flying to do."

Harry nodded, then froze and swore under his breath. Thor raised an eyebrow. "I forgot my
broom," he said.

"That isn't a problem," Thor said, drawing his wand.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry cried. There was a moment of silence, then a crash of breaking glass. Harry
winced. "I can fix that," he said sheepishly, as his broom came shooting towards him.

"I'm sure you can," Thor said, lips twitching. "Why did you not want me to summon it?"

Harry looked even more sheepish. "Well, last time you summoned something, it was Hedwig. And
I figured that if my broom hit you in the face, it would lose," he said.

Thor chuckled. "Probably true," he admitted. "And I am a little rusty with my wand."

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"I'm not touching that one," Harry said, eventually.

"No, Jane usually does that," Thor said.

"DAD!"

"What? She wanted to study magic, so I lent her my wand," Thor said, in a tone of contrived
innocence. "How could possibly have thought anything different?"

Harry glowered at him. "Would you like me to list my reasons alphabetically, or chronologically?"

Thor chuckled. "You sound like your uncle," he said. "And look just like your mother." He paused.
"And that is a mildly disturbing combination."

"Oh," Harry said, taken aback.

"No, no," Thor said quickly. "My brother just has a habit of using his shapeshifting abilities to
unnerve people. So I was briefly presented with the mental image of your uncle in the form of your
mother."

"Would he actually do that?" Harry asked.

"Probably not. He prefers to avoid taking the form of the deceased," Thor said. He glanced up and
chuckled. "Now there is a sight that brings back memories," he said.

Harry followed his gaze and saw the idly graceful form of Warren swooping through the air.

"Shall we join him?" Thor asked, whirling his hammer.

Harry mounted his broom. "I think we shall," he said, before kicking off with a whoop.

Thor let a warm chuckle and followed him into the air.

OoOoO

Sean wandered through the corridors of Hogwarts. He'd set up his classroom for his first lesson,
which would be on the Tuesday after the Quidditch game, giving the elder students' hangovers
time to wear off and everyone else time to get into the week and get up and running.

Now, he was getting an idea of the layout of the castle. He was, after all, here to protect the school,
and to do that, he needed to know where everything was. He was doing that by a mixture of simply
walking around while the main school was relatively empty and by listening very carefully to the
sound his footfalls, using his powers to turn that into a form of sonar.

Which was why he knew that there was a student standing behind him, patiently waiting.

He turned and saw a small girl with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, misty grey eyes and an air of
simultaneous serenity and unselfconscious weirdness. The former was defined by her misty smile
and the latter was defined by her necklace of corks and, visible beneath her loosely worn robes,
and thoroughly mismatched clothing, a purple shirt with distressed green trousers. The way the
light of the slowly setting sun shone through the windows and down onto her didn't exactly help,
preventing her shadow from staying the same shape for more than few seconds at a time

And he recognised her. Or rather, not her, not at first. He recognised her mother's features in her,
then, after a moment, her herself. She'd been nine years old on the first and, prior to today, last,
occasion that he'd seen her, and had grown up a bit in the meantime.

Seamus, it turned out, had been correct. Sean had very definitely known Luna Lovegood's family,
specifically her mother, for Luna was the girl who stood before him. With the unusual sartorial
choices, it couldn't really be anyone else. They'd met when Sean was rebuilding Cassidy Keep and
Luna's mother had approached him with the offer of magical assistance. This had sped the building
up and a friendship had kindled. Not a romantic one, because, though these days he did not look it,
he had been close to thirty years older than her.

"Did you want something, Miss Lovegood?" he asked. She really did look a lot like her mother,
Pandora, he thought, though the somewhat kooky style came from her father, Xenophilius. Him,
Sean had not liked very much.

When they'd first met, about twenty years ago, Sean had immediately filed him under 'Gobshite,
Complete and Utter', and in the intervening years, through intermittent encounters, occasional
issues of the Quibbler and eventually, Pandora's funeral, he had not encountered anything that had
changed that opinion, save possibly to add the supposition that Xenophilius was a temporally
displaced hippie. He had undoubtedly loved his wife and Sean was certain that he loved his
daughter. He was equally certain that the man's grasp on reality was tenuous at best.

While Sean had no objection to being different – after all, few people got more different than him,
so he was more than usually sympathetic to the treatment they received – he felt that Xenophilius'
brand of harmless lunacy, while it encouraged a mind so open that the only way it could be more
open was with the aid of surgical equipment, which was a good thing, so far as it went, it also
encouraged a complete disengagement from reality.

While Sean was an easygoing fellow, by and large, it was an inevitable clash for a very simple
reason.

In Xeno's world, proof was something that happened to other people and the establishment was an
enemy. As a detective, Sean was, needless to say, professionally opposed to this point of view.

But he'd been fond of Luna when they'd met, if only because she'd reminded him of her mother,
displaying the same unusual degree of perception, wisdom beyond her years and unflinching
honesty that had characterised Pandora Lovegood. Hopefully she hadn't inherited the same
curiosity, so great that it led to a lethal disregard for her own safety.

"Oh yes, Professor," she said. "I wanted to find Harry Thorson and say thank you. He helped me
find some of my things that had got lost by summoning them, even though he didn't know me. That
was how he ended up in the hospital wing, you see. And he helped my friend with her homework
over lunch."

"That was very nice of him," Cassidy said, privately thinking that it sounded exactly like Harry.
The boy did kindness the same way most people breathed. Without thinking. Of course, he did
most things without thinking, which was, if memory served, what usually got him into trouble.

"Yes, it was," Luna agreed. "He's a very nice person, really. But he's also very angry and I'm not
sure if he realises it. Maybe it's the Nargles trying to get in."

Sean eyed her. Still scarily perceptive, then, if you filtered out the gibberish she'd been fed by her
father. "You might be right about that one," he said. "I think he was discharged from the Hospital
Wing a little while ago, and he should be with his dad. But if I know the boy the way I think I
do…" he crossed over to the window and looked out. After a few moments, he caught sight of a
black robed blur zooming over the Lake, behind two other blurs, one silver winged, the other red
caped. "Yup. He's outside. Flying. Against orders."

"He doesn't really think much before he does things, does he," Luna said vaguely. "I suppose that's
what makes him such a good Gryffindor. Though I suppose that could be the Nargles trying to get
in."

"Nah, I think that one's just him," Sean said. "Come on. I'll take you down to the pitch."

"Oh, would you, Professor?" she asked, surprised and pleased.

"Sure. I haven't had much of a look around the grounds and I might as well get to know the
students," he said.

"Maybe I'm not the best person to talk to, then," Luna said. "I'm not like most of the students. They
think I'm a little strange." This was both matter of fact and, Sean judged, an understatement.

So he flashed her a warm smile and ruthlessly squashed the urge to find and strangle whichever
students had bothered her about being different. Or have a little talk with them. Of the hypnotic
variety. On the battlements. "They thought the same about your mother in her day and they thought
the same about me in mine," he said. "All the best people are a little strange."

"Thank you, Professor. It was nice of you to say that," she said, smiling serenely.

"You say that like you think I didn't mean it, Miss Lovegood," he said. "Come on. If he doesn't see
us, I'll get his attention."

"How will you do that?" Luna asked curiously.

Sean grinned. "I'll scream," he said.

"Will that get work?"

"Miss Lovegood, if it doesn't, he's stone deaf."

OoOoO

"Sean flies by screaming at the ground and you worry about the logic of my speed?" Warren
asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry and Thor had joined the winged teaching assistant in the air and engaged him in
conversation. One of the first subjects that had come up was the simple question of how each flew.
Thor and Harry were answered easily enough. Magic. Thor spun his hammer to achieve takeoff
speed, and Harry kicked off to achieve the same. Warren, obviously, flapped his wings, but that
didn't account for how fast he was.

"No, he doesn't," Thor said absently. "The screams generate a form of psionically controlled energy
which he wraps around himself and thereby powers his flight. However, it runs out, so he needs to
replenish it periodically, and therefore screams again."

Both Warren and Harry stared at him in surprise.

Thor shrugged. "It is the only logical explanation," he said calmly. "And since my son said that he
can deaden sound around him at will, this suggests that he has mental control over the sound
around him."

"Wow," Warren said. "No offence, but I never thought you were that smart."

Thor chuckled. "Most do not," he said. "But though I am not a genius like my brother, Tony or
Bruce, I am not an idiot and I have lived for a very long time, by mortal standards. I have seen,
heard and done many things, and learned much thereby." He looked serious and thoughtfully eyed
Warren's wings. "Your wings are not made of any mortal metal."

"Yeah? How do figure that?"

"Because you would not be asking that question if they were," Thor said. "You would be dragging
them behind you." He rubbed his chin. "Some magical metal, perhaps? They have something of
the shine of mithril about them."

"Mithril? As in Lord of the Rings?" Warren asked incredulously.

"My brother is fond of authors," Thor said, waving it away. "He took Tolkien on a tour of the Nine
Realms."

"Oh," Warren said. "I would say I find that hard to believe, but I'm the guy with the metal wings. I
can't exactly throw stones." He paused. "And, actually, that explains a lot." He paused. "He was the
Cheshire Cat, wasn't he?" he said, tone tone laden with suspicion.

"Yup," Harry said matter of factly. "He's very proud of that one."

"Great," Warren muttered. Harry gave him an odd look. Warren sighed. "I read the book as a kid,"
he explained. "The creepy illustration gave me nightmares. You know the one, where the Cheshire
cat is perched on a branch in a dark forest, grinning down at Alice? Well, now I'm going to have
nightmares about Loki perched on that branch, grinning that same grin at me."

"That," Thor said after a moment. "Is a very strange image."

"Then why do I get the feeling that he might just do it?" Harry asked, frowning.

Thor sighed. "Because you have a perfectly serviceable sense of intuition and you you're your
uncle," he said. "Your uncle is very like Tony in that he will do things simply because he thinks
that they will be funny."

"You are not helping," Warren said flatly. "Really, you aren't."

"And you're not flapping your wings," Harry observed. "Which kind of proves dad's point about it
being a magical metal."

"Well, it could be an alien metal," Thor said, as Warren looked startled. "But I feel that magical is
the most likely." He smiled. "I must commend you. Most, when told that they're flying by accident,
tend to fall."

"I'm not most people," Warren said, this time a touch bitterly.

"No, you aren't," Harry agreed. "You can fly any time you want. Do you know how amazingly
cool that is?"

Warren gave him a fixed look, then dived suddenly, building up speed, then with one powerful
beat of his wings, levelling out about thirty feet above the ground. Then, for just a moment, his
wings flexed, and, astonishingly, pointed forward, tips extended like swords. After that moment, he
pulled them back and beat at the air, launching himself upwards and away, displaying a climb rate
that would have shamed a Spitfire.

As he flew away, there was a loud, creaking wooden groan, then eleven separate trees collapsed,
neatly sliced.
"Whoa," Harry breathed. "That…"

"That is what could happen to anyone who gets too close to me," Warren said coldly. "One wrong
move, one involuntary twitch and friends, family, even a girlfriend… they're falling to the ground
in neatly sliced pieces."

Harry winced. Thor frowned in thought.

"Warren," he said. "Am I right in believing that your wings were once natural?"

"You mean, not made of metal? Sure. They were feathery," Warren said, tone turning bitter again.
"Then dad had the brilliant idea of remaking Doctor McCoy's serum and using it on me."

"Doctor McCoy? Hank McCoy?" Harry asked. "And what serum?"

"Yes. He created a serum when he was younger to get rid of the physical appearance of his
mutation – basically, it gave him big, unusually dextrous feet," Warren said. "He wanted to hide
them. What it ended up doing was the opposite. Now he looks like a big, blue teddy bear."

"So that's why he was wearing a hologram," Harry said.

"You've met him?"

"Once," Harry said. "I liked him."

"Most people do," Warren said, smiling slightly. "He's a nice guy."

"Didn't he try and help you?"

"He saved my life," Warren said. "Him and Doctor Moira MacTaggert. See, the serum, which
McCoy specifically told my dad not to use, was killing me. They managed to reverse it. But some
things stuck."

"Like your wings," Thor said quietly.

"Not just them. I can benchpress at least two tons, if someone hits me with a car it's just going to
piss me off and I heal fast. And that's on top of what I could already do, which mostly amounted to
not needing to breathe very much and not really getting cold," Warren said. "That, I could get used
to. I could live a normal life." He glanced at his wings. "These? Not so much." He gave them a
bitter half smile. "Dad wasn't too happy when he saw that his freaky little angel had become a
freaky little angel of death and he didn't exactly resist when I told him to stay the hell away from
me."

"How could he do that to you?" Harry asked, confused.

"Because I was his dirty little secret," Warren said, bitterness more prominent than ever. "He was
always afraid that someone would find out about my wings and how it would reflect on him."

"I've been there," Harry said quietly. His father put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

Warren looked sceptical, then nodded. "Your guardians."

Harry nodded silently.

"Warren," Thor said. "I cannot promise to be able to help you. But if you give me a feather from
your wings, I shall take it to Asgard and have the finest healers study it and see if they can reverse
the process. Or, at the very least, find out what it actually is."

"You would?" Warren asked, half surprised, half hopeful.

"Of course," Thor said, a touch puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"

Warren was silent for a moment. "Not many people have ever tried to help me," he said. "Professor
Xavier, Doctor McCoy, Doctor MacTaggert, Sean, and…" he sighed. "My ex-girlfriend."

"Ex?"

"She's a student at Professor Xavier's Institute. She didn't have a problem with my wings, she
refused to see…" Warren said, trailing off. "She… It wasn't safe for her." He sighed at Thor and
Harry's identical expressions. It was one of those little things that showed that they were very much
father and son. "And yes, Sean, Professor Cassidy, has already told me how much of an idiot I
was."

"Professor Cassidy is a wise man," Thor said. "One whose judgement should be trusted." He shot a
look at the wincing Harry. "And yes, I do know," he added. "Your uncle told me."

"Did he tell everyone?" Harry asked, despairingly.

"No, just myself and Professor Dumbledore," Thor said calmly. "We will speak on this later."

Harry flinched slightly.

"I am not angry, Harry," Thor said gently. "But it is still something we need to talk about."

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said, still a little subdued, though he perked up when his father gently
ruffled his hair.

"I'm missing something here," Warren said. "Family business?"

"Yes," Thor said.

Warren nodded. Then he looked thoughtful. "You know," he said. "Since I got these wings… I
never went all out. I never tried to go as fast as I could. I don't know my limits."

"Maybe now would be a good time to find out," Harry suggested.

Warren smiled. It was bright, honest and, Harry thought, a very rare smile. Warren gave off a
perpetual air of Byronic melancholia, which, naturally, made him even more desperately attractive
to the girls. It was startling, but pleasant, to briefly see the miasma dispelled, especially by
something so dazzling. "It would, wouldn't it?" he said, and began to flap his wings, rowing at the
air with unconscious skill, rolling with the flick of a wingtip to take advantage of a temporary
cessation of headwind or an updraft. All things told, he was moving faster than anything Harry had
seen that wasn't his father or powered by repulsors.

"He looks like he's having fun," Thor said. He looked at Harry, and grinned. "I think we should
join in, don't you?"

His only reply was an impish grin and an accelerating blur as Harry rocketed after Warren.

Thor let out a deep, boom chuckle, pointed his hammer towards them and willed himself after the
teenagers. As he did, he spared a moment to give them a favourable tailwind and eliminate
turbulence.
After all. It was the little things that mattered.

OoOoO

Harry poured on the speed, flattening himself against the broom, instinctively angling to catch the
smoothest winds he possibly could. The landscape was a pale grey and brown blur, seguing into
blue-black as they shot out over the lake, raising a trail of spray in their wake. He estimated that he
had topped out at four hundred and fifty miles per hour, faster than any wizarding broom had gone
before.

Warren, however, was making him look like a snail, his body straight as an arrow, wings flashing
as they sculled at the air with deadly smooth efficiency. But that wasn't what was making him go
so fast. It couldn't be.

Harry remembered reading somewhere that the fastest winged flight recorded was by a Peregrine
Falcon, just below 400 kilometres per hour, considerably slower than Harry, let alone Warren. And
that was in a dive. Warren was flying perfectly straight. That was Harry's first clue that his father's
supposition that Warren's wings were supernatural was correct.

The second, and perhaps more transparently obvious clue was that they were glowing.

It wasn't a particularly bright glow, as these things went. It was just a shimmering. A soft,
understated hum that spoke of one thing.

Power.

Harry got the very definite feeling that Warren's speed was not limited by anything so prosaic as
the laws of physics.

And, well, laws. Harry supposed that they were more like guidelines, really.

He saw something red flicker past, then heard a cracking boom. He grinned slightly, knowing that
his father was showing off, red cape flaring out behind him. But there was something beyond that
in his recognition. A strange sense of déjà vu. Then it passed as he watched the two recede into the
distance.

For a moment, Harry was slightly put out that he was by far the slowest of the three.

Patience.

Harry started violently, pulling his broom to a stop and whirling around, looking for the source of
that feminine voice, the one that he thought he'd heard before, wrapped in the whispering of the
wind and the rustling of the leaves, heard on the edge of sleep, hidden on the edge of hearing.

But this time, it had spoken loud and clear.

"Hello?" he asked. "Who are you? Where are you? Why are you talking to me?" He frowned. "And
what did you mean?"

There was a soft feminine laugh, one Harry was sure that he recognised, warm, lively and caring.
But this time, it was sad.

"Hello?" Harry called again, this time a little desperately.

This time, there was no answer, save for an unseasonably warm breeze that, for a strange instant,
seemed to cup his chin and caress his cheek. Unconsciously, he leaned into it.

And then it was gone, leaving Harry feeling strangely bereft.

"Harry?"

Harry glanced up, to see his father giving him a concerned look. "Dad?"

"Are you all right?"

"I…" Harry paused. "Look. I'm not going crazy. Or I don't think I am. But I heard a voice."

"A woman's voice? One on the edge of hearing, caught between dreams and reality," Thor said
sharply.

Harry nodded. "Yes. Mostly. How did you know?"

Thor looked grave. "Because I have heard this whisper too, several times." He cocked his head.
"Mostly?"

"Every time before, it's been like that. I've never been sure whether it was there or not, I barely
even registered it… but this time, it spoke. Loud and clear."

"What did it say?"

Harry gave him a puzzled look. "Patience," he said. "Whoever she is, she just said 'patience'."

"Did you say anything before that? Even to yourself?" Thor asked.

"No," Harry said.

Thor nodded.

"But. I thought something. I thought that I was the slowest of us three," Harry said, arm sweeping
in all inclusive gesture that took in himself, his father and the happily swooping Warren, who was
catching the gaze of both the weak winter sun and probably most of the students.

"And this voice said 'patience'," Thor said. He smiled slightly and his tone took on a teasing edge.
"This may meant that one day you will be faster than me. I am not sure whether to be proud or
worried."

"Dad," Harry said, a touch embarrassed. Then he looked serious. "Who do you think it is?"

"I do not know," Thor said, frowning. "But that is not because the voice is unfamiliar." He shook
his head, frustrated. "I know it, I swear I know it, but every time I dwell on it, it burns away like
mist under the morning sun."

"Maybe Professor Xavier could have a look?" Harry suggested.

"He could," Thor said. "But I have a certain feeling that as soon as I set out, I might very well
forget why I was going to visit the good Professor, and find that I had pressing business
elsewhere."

Harry blinked in surprise.

"Telepathy, Legilimency, the Mental Arts, whatever you chose to call it, is a very dangerous and
very powerful art," Thor said grimly. "It is nothing more and nothing less than the ability to turn
the mind itself into a weapon. Your uncle is capable of it, though he rarely uses his talents in that
direction." He smiled slightly. "He says that it takes out all the fun." He sobered. "And it is
something best not attempted by magic until you have a great deal of experience in controlling both
the power and yourself, or you could very well end up abusing that power and being abused by it.
Magic, after all, is alive, and it has a mind of its own. The invasion of a human mind is forbidden
by the White Council is forbidden under one of their Laws of Magic, the Fourth of Seven."

"I… Dad, I think…"

"That you have some talents in that direction?" Thor asked. "I know. Your uncle has mentioned it
to me." He smiled slightly. "Apparently you gave poor Diana quite the headache."

Harry flushed.

"He also said that it was not born of magic," Thor added. "So you need not worry about the dangers
of dark magic." He looked sober. "There are dangers in using and misusing any kind of power, of
course, and telepathy… oh, that one is very easy to misuse. If it starts coming through more often,
to the point where you are starting to be able to control it, we shall definitely need to get you
instruction." Harry looked slightly unnerved.

"All power comes with temptation, Harry," Thor said. "My own… I could hold the entire world to
ransom. I could unleash storms that would scour the planet clean of life itself, just with an effort of
will. I could summon lightning hot enough to melt cities. I could summon winds that could drive a
stalk of grass through steel. And a billion other things. Power comes with temptations." He gently
tapped Harry's nose. "Even if that power is merely the power to find things out and delve into dark
secrets in darker pasts."

Harry looked abashed.

"You were curious," Thor said. "And that I understand. I cannot number how many scrapes your
uncle and I and our friends got into because we just had to stick our noses where they didn't
belong, and often it happened when we were far older and, supposedly, wiser, than you and your
friends."

"It wasn't just curiosity," Harry said.

"Oh? What else?"

"Well… I've been at Hogwarts for three years. First year, my Defence Against the Dark Arts
teacher turned out to be sort of possessed by Voldemort. Second year, my Defence Against the
Dark Arts teacher was a fraud with a neat line in memory charms. He took the credit for other
wizards' achievements, then wiped their memories," Harry said. "He tried to do that to Ron and
me." He smirked. "Joke's on him. He used Ron's broken wand and now he can't remember a thing."

"Good," Thor said flatly, as thunder rumbled over head. "Or he would soon wish that he couldn't."

Harry patted him gently. "He's no harm to anyone now," he said. "But my point is, since Professor
Lupin is, obviously, not out to kil me… then which teacher is?"

"I would say that that was paranoia," Thor said. "If your prior experience had not very much
justified it. So you investigated Sean, then?"

"He turned up in the middle of the year when there was a whole lot of evil running around. I was a
little suspicious," Harry admitted.
"What about Warren?"

"I may be wrong, but I think that Warren is too preoccupied with his own problems to cause them
for someone else," Harry said, looking up at the man in question, who was currently looping the
loop. "Though he seems to have cheered up a bit."

"You may have a point there," Thor said, following his gaze. "Though, like my brother, he has
hang ups. Albeit of a different kind."

"And, to be fair, they are pretty justifiable," Harry said. "I mean, those trees." He shivered.

"Quite," Thor said.

"Can you help him?"

"I can try," Thor said. "In truth, his healing might not lie in Asgard, but on Earth."

"What?"

"Harry, your headmaster is the most powerful wanded wizard on the planet and one of the five
most powerful practitioners, wanded or wandless," Thor said, slightly amused. "He mastered the
art of transmutation under the tutelage of Nicholas and Perenelle themselves. It is safe to say that
he knows more than a little about it. And Professor McGonagall is, if not quite as powerful, nearly
as skilled." He smiled slightly. "And as James Potter, I was something of an expert at the art. It
can, I think, be done."

Harry nodded. "So you think that you can help him?"

"I think that I will do all in my power to do so," Thor said.

Harry nodded again. "Good. He should be able to smile more often," he said.

"I agree, though I think that his smile is a weapon that, if used incautiously, could cause mass
swooning," Thor said wryly. "I have met worse looking angels."

"Jean-Paul would probably agree," Harry said.

Thor chuckled. "From what you've told me, he probably would," he agreed. "And I think you
would agree as well. In respect to Carol."

Harry flushed. "Dad!" he protested. While he wasn't interested in pursuing a romantic relationship
with Carol, he would have to be blind not to appreciate the simple fact that she was incredibly
attractive. Also, she was pretty badass, which Harry had to say, carried an attraction of its own.

Thor grinned. "What are father's for if not embarrassing their offspring?" he asked cheerfully. He
sobered. "And for telling their offspring to look before they leap. You have power, my son. Be
careful in how you use it."

"What if I slip up?" Harry asked quietly.

"Then I'll be there to catch you, of course," Thor said, hugging his son. "I've got you, Harry."

Harry eyed his floating father. "Who's got you?" he asked wryly.

"Literally? Me," Thor said, amused. "Figuratively? My brother. My parents. My friends. You can
bet that I won't be the only one catching you if you fall, Harry. There are too many who care for
you, love you, for anything else."

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Now, are we talking, or are we flying?" Thor asked.

Harry grinned and shot straight upwards. He might not have his father's and Warren's speed, but by
the gods, he had manoeuvrability. After about a thousand feet, he slowly pulled back on the
broom, in a smooth, graceful loop, rolling over and accelerating in a stooping dive that a Peregrine
Falcon would envy, pulling out only a few feet above the grass, being sure to avoid the Quidditch
Pitch. It had been enchanted by his uncle to make his enhanced broom unable to exceed the
Firebolt's normal top speed in its confines, and Harry wasn't too eager to find out what happened
when a broom lost a third of its speed very suddenly, least of all what happened to its rider.

So he rocketed around the edge briefly disappearing in the shadows cast by the already setting sun.

He slowed as he saw two people sitting in the top of the stands, and flew over. One he immediately
recognised as Professor Cassidy, who was nodding slowly. "Nice flying," he said, tone slightly
wry. "For someone with a concussion."

Harry paused, then smiled his most cheerful and appealing smile. "Thanks, Professor?"

Cassidy chuckled, then said, "Well, I didn't come here just to watch ye fly, though I'll admit, I am
genuinely impressed. Ye've got a knack for the air." He turned to the girl next him. "I was
escorting this young lady. She says she wanted to say thank you to ye in person and she couldn't
find ye."

"How did you find me, sir?"

Cassidy's voice turned dry. "I looked out the window." Then he stepped aside, revealing Luna, who
gave Cassidy a misty smile, then looked at Harry.

"Hello, Harry," she said. "I just wanted to say thank you for finding my shoes."

"It's okay," Harry replied, then frowned. "You said that people were hiding them."

"What?" Cassidy asked, expression turning sharp.

"Oh, it's not their fault really," Luna said serenely. "They've just got Nargles on the brain. And
finding them again is really quite fun."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nargles?"

"Luna," Cassidy said seriously. "If people have been takin' your things, then you should be telling
your teachers."

"I don't mind, Professor," Luna insisted. "And it's all the Nargles fault, really."

"Ye should," Cassidy said. "They shouldn't be taking your things, nargles or no."

"And if you tell the teachers, maybe they can get the Nargles out of their heads," Harry suggested.
Luna seemed to be giving this some thought. Cassidy gave him a brief look and a briefer
wink. Nicely done, it said.

"Maybe," she said eventually.

"Luna," Cassidy said. "You and I are going to have a talk with your Head of House, okay? I think
Professor Flitwick will want to be notified about the… nargle infestation." Harry was rather
impressed by both his straight face and the fact that he barely missed a beat.

Luna frowned thoughtfully. "You don't believe in Nargles, do you, Professor?" she said. She
looked at Harry. "And you're not sure."

"I'm a demigod Prince of Asgard who somehow survived the killing curse and whose dad talks
about Dire Owls with a perfectly straight face," Harry said. "I'm a bit on the fence about what's
possible and what's not these days."

Luna nodded, expression perfectly matter of fact. "And I would have thought that you would be
more tolerant of the impossible, Professor Cassidy. My mother said that two years before I was
born, she met you back in Ireland and you looked nearly thirty years younger. And it hasn't worn
off, so it can't be a deageing potion. Which is impossible, isn't it?"

Her tone was perfectly polite and there was not an ounce of disrespect in it, and both her face and
her peculiarly serene eyes showed no hint of anything but total innocence. Fred and George would
have gone on bended knee to beg her to teach them that expression. Harry was willing to bet that
his uncle, if present, would have been taking notes.

Cassidy's eyes narrowed. "That was different," he said. "Tha' was the result of an encounter with a
living island, name of Krakoa."

Harry blinked. "A living island?" he asked, astonished. Then he frowned. "Is that why Professor
Xavier looks young, Professor?"

"Aye, it is," Cassidy said, in a tone that declared that this conversation was over. "Luna, I knew
your mam, and even if I weren't your teacher, I owe her more than enough to keep an eye on ye."

Luna's reply was drowned out by a powerful rushing of the wind as Thor came into land with
remarkable grace and gentleness. Harry felt that this remarkable grace and gentleness was used
because if it wasn't, his father would have gone straight through the stands and out the other side.
Which would have been embarrassing. Funny, but embarrassing.

He gave Harry and Cassidy quizzical looks, which Harry answered, expression as serious as he
could make it, "Nargles are making Luna's housemates steal her shoes. And other things, I think."

"Mostly shoes," she said. "Sometimes socks and robes. I have plenty of spares."

Thor's eyes narrowed. "Are they now," he said.

"Aye," Cassidy said, a hard gleam in his eyes. "We're going to be having a little talk with Professor
Flitwick about exorcising those Nargles."

"I know that you don't believe in Nargles, Professor," Luna said. "You don't have to pretend."

"And you don't have to accept how you're being treated," Harry said. "Nargles or no nargles,
this will stop." He cracked a smile. "That or I'll just have to resign myself to getting my head
cracked open every time I summon your shoes back."

"What attracts Nargles, Luna?" Cassidy asked. "I know I don't believe in them, but for the sake of
argument, pretend that I do."

Luna cocked her head, then nodded. "Close minded people," she said. "People who only believe in
what they see and hear, in what is written down. People who get afraid at the possibility of
something that breaks the mould." She smiled. "They're not bad people. They just don't want to
see."

"And what do the Nargles do to them?" Thor asked.

"They make them angry and confused. And they play tricks," Luna said. "Those tricks can be quite
fun sometimes."

"Can they," Thor said, eyes narrowed. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"Luna," Harry asked slowly. "Is anyone on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team infested with Nargles?"

"Most of them," Luna said readily enough.

Harry smiled a wicked smile.

OoOoO

"One broken collarbone, two cracked skulls, three concussions, four broken legs, eight broken
arms, thirty seven broken ribs, seven broken noses - one of which was broken on two separate
occasions, fourteen black eyes, two crushed testicles and one severely squashed ear," Professor
McGonagall said, reading from the rather before sighing.

"While I applaud your taking up of Miss Lovegood's cause, in the finest chivalric traditions of
Gryffindor house and the flying skills which you displayed in doing so, but did you have to send
the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team to the Hospital Wing? Professor Flitwick was quite put out
and Mister Worthington's catching abilities were quite sorely tested. The students are already
calling it 'the match of Raining Ravenclaws'."

"I don't know what you mean, Professor," Harry said, admirably poker faced. "Though the Raining
Ravenclaws does sound like a good name for a band."

"Harry, I am not an idiot," Professor McGonagall said. "I saw you conferring with the Weasley
twins before the match. You made a point of flying towards the bludgers whenever possible,
then unaccountably flying towards Ravenclaw players. Your father, Mister Stark and Professor
Cassidy were running a betting pool in the stands. I think you know perfectly well what I mean.
What did you hope to achieve?"

"Well, Professor, Luna told me that they were suffering from Nargles, which were affecting their
brains," Harry said seriously. "And I asked my dad how to fix it. He directed me to Nat, who told
me that the best way to fix it is through cognitive recalibration." He gave McGonagall an innocent
look. "It was for their own good, Professor, really."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Harry nodded, innocent expression intact.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Was this Nargle infestation severe?"

"I asked around a little," Harry said seriously. "Apparently it was very severe."

"Very well," McGonagall said briskly. "Noble intentions aside, your behaviour was reckless in the
extreme. I will be seeing you for detention next Saturday." But as she turned away, she eyed him
briefly. "And next time, I expect to be informed of such a... Nargle infestation before you take such
drastic measures."
 Not Black And White

The Staff Common Room was designed to be a place of calm, tranquillity and quiet conversation.
A chance to relax after however long dealing with and attempting to educate magical teenagers,
then handling the inevitable mishaps that resulted.

Now, however, Minerva noted that the atmosphere of the room was charged with tension. On one
side of the room, the diminutive Professor Flitwick sat, boosted by a number of cushions, flanked
by Professors Snape and Sprout.

On the other side, Professor Cassidy sat, though lounged might be a more accurate verb to describe
his posture. He seemed perfectly relaxed, blue eyes half closed as he perused a detective novel
with a wry smirk on his face. But there was something about him that suggested alertness, a slight
tension, like a spring ready to be released.

He was flanked by Mister Worthington, who sat with his wings mantled and looking like an angel
charged by the Almighty with the task of considering Creation, mulling it over and examining it
from all sides.

In Minerva's considered opinion, he was probably just thinking about what to have for dinner that
evening.

Or perhaps he was dwelling on his conversation with Harry and his father, Thor, when the three
went flying. No one was precisely sure of the details, but Warren had come away from it a happier
individual, his silence tending more towards the pensive rather than the brooding. Minerva found
this something of a relief. While the poor boy had had a thoroughly trying past and had plenty of
reasons to be grim, his mournful demeanour had been a little trying. Indeed, Minerva had, at first,
dismissed him as window dressing and Professor Cassidy's pet project/assistant.

Then she had seen his speed and grace in the air, easily outstripping what she was certain was the
fastest broom on the planet. That had made her think twice. And then there was the fact that
Hagrid now had a lot of firewood to chop up. According to him, Warren had cut down eleven large
trees in a single pass, wings slicing through them like they weren't even there.

This, at least, certainly gave Minerva a certain respect for Warren's abilities that she hadn't
possessed before. And it gave her a greater degree of understanding about exactly why he was,
well, so prone to moping. Whenever he spoke, his tone was possessed either a mournful tinge or a
bitter aftertaste.

With wings that sharp, the slightest flinch or twitch of a muscle, could cut a loved one in half,
something which meant that Warren had to keep people at arm's length, everyone, even those who
knew him for what he was. And he knew it. He had been that way for years. How many, Warren
hadn't specified, but it was somewhere in the region of half his short life. He would probably have
difficulty remembering a time when he could hug someone without worrying about keeping his
wings or his enhanced strength in check. A time when he could be free and joyful, open and
friendly, without caution or reserve. A time, in other words, when he had been innocent.

But there was a little hope for Warren, a light at the end of tunnel. Thor had taken a feather to
Asgard, to be studied and examined by the most advanced civilisation in the universe, one built on
magic. Not only that, but Professor Dumbledore was examining one too, and had requested her
help in doing so. Even if she hadn't had this newfound insight into his character, she would have
done it. But now… well, maybe she might be a little more determined about it.
A storm was gathering, a dark storm, and she considered it her personal duty to shine just a little bit
of light, brightening up the world where she could. This was one way to do so.

Speaking of brewing storms, Hagrid had just sidled in, politely greeted his fellow staff members.
Then his beetle black eyes swept the tableau, darting back and forth, clearly working out the
context. After a moment, and to Minerva's complete lack of surprise, he sided with Professor
Cassidy.

While Hagrid was polite, respectful to all his fellow staff members, and, in truth, a little deferential
to them all due to the newness of his appointment, he was a man of unshakeable conviction and,
crucially, unshakeable loyalty to three things. Harry Thorson, Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts.
Which order they took was anyone's guess, but the first one was what had prompted him to pick
his side.

"Ah, Minerva," Flitwick said briskly, as if just seeing her. "Has your student been punished?"

"For his recklessness? Yes," Minerva said. "He has detention with me on Saturday, Filius."

"A single detention?" Flitwick demanded in dignity. "Minerva, my entire Quidditch team is in the
Hospital Wing!"

"Because they were bullyin' one of your other students," Cassidy said, without bothering to look
up. "Harry took badly to that."

"Took badly? Half of them won't be discharged for over a week!" Flitwick spluttered.

"He didn't actually break any rules, Filius," Minerva said. "He was very careful about that. And
what he did… it is actually a valid Quidditch strategy, albeit one considered very risky for both the
Seeker and the opposition, and rather unsportsmanlike. I know because Oliver Wood went on
about it at length, with the support of Cedric Diggory, who I believe to be Hufflepuff's Vice-
Captain. And as I think we all remember, the young man who offered to replay the Gryffindor and
Hufflepuff match after he saw that Harry had been attacked by Dementors, even though he had
caught the Snitch. His grasp of fair play, at least, is not in doubt, so it should be noted that while he
disapproved of the lack of sportsmanship, he did confirm that it is a valid Seeker tactic. And he
approved of the intent, if not the method."

Professor Sprout frowned. "What was that?"

"To chastise bullies, Pomona," Minerva said. "It has been brought to my attention that a large
number of the members of Ravenclaw house, indeed, of all of the houses of Hogwarts, including
my own, have been bullying a girl called Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw second year."

"Unless I have been misinformed," Flitwick said a touch archly. "Proper procedure is to bring such
matters to the Head of House, or another teacher."

"Unless I have been misinformed," Snape observed silkily. "Mister Thorson regards proper
procedure as being beneath him."

"Well, Professor Snape, unless I have been misinformed, it takes one to know one," Cassidy said
coolly, eyeing Snape.

"By the boy?"

"Oh no. He hasn't said a thing and hasn't needed to," Cassidy said calmly. "I've got very good
ears."
"While that is indeed proper procedure," Minerva said, cutting off the incipient argument. "Mister
Thorson has been the victim of bullying himself, in the past, primarily at his previous school,
though the behaviour of his fellow students last year was hardly anything to write home about. I
think he has limited faith in the ability of teachers to curtail such behaviour."

"An' I don' blame 'im," Hagrid rumbled. "I see Luna a lot – she can see the Thestrals, ye see, and
she likes to come down and feed 'em every now an' then. They like her."

Minerva was very glad that Trewlawney wasn't present, or they would all have been treated to a
lengthy treatise on the evil omen nature of the Thestral. As far as Minerva could see, they were
perfectly inoffensive and friendly creatures, provided that one did not go out of one's way to annoy
them.

They looked a little unusual, but to be frank, so did a number of the staff. Hagrid was the size of a
large muggle refrigerator, Flitwick was rough size of a side table and Warren, lest it be forgotten,
had metal wings. Admittedly, while the former attracted odd looks, the latter generally attracted
looks of the more lovelorn variety.

"And," Hagrid continued, tone hard and unrelenting. "I keep an' eye out for her. She goes through a
lot of robes, a lot of shoes, books an' papers. She gets a few detentions and lost house points fer
homework tha's mysteriously disappeared. Just about the only thing that don' mysterious disappear
is her wand." He frowned. "Yeah, she's a little odd. So what? Hogwarts isn' a place for mockin'
differences and pickin' on those who're a little out o' the ordinary."

"Indeed it is not."

Everyone turned to see a grave looking Professor Dumbledore, who was shutting the door behind
him. "Well said, Hagrid," he said quietly. "And he is right. I have spoken to the school about it, and
once she managed to narrow down which student I was referring to, she had number of very
interesting things to say."

Warren looked a little puzzled, but Cassidy seemed perfectly unbothered by the concept of the
school being sentient. Then again, she thought, he was one of Charles Xavier's former students,
and as a rule, they had a high tolerance for weirdness.

"Filius," he said. "Your students have been victimising Miss Lovegood. Little things, here and
there. Stationary and clothing stolen, more personal possessions moved about or hidden, and a
truly astonishing number of shoes stolen. It was the recovery of this last that put Harry Thorson in
the hospital wing." He gave Flitwick a serious look. "You will speak to them about this and let
them know that this will not be tolerated. You might also suggest that they are less likely to arouse
the ire of Mister Thorson or his friends. Since the Weasley twins are among them and on the
evidence of today, I think it is likely that that ire will be expressed in a number of… creative
ways."

Flitwick nodded. "But Albus, my team didn't even know why they were being attacked, and I
couldn't tell them," he said, a note of genuine upset in his voice.

"And that makes it worse," Warren said. The interjection was unexpected and so was the tone, as
deceptively soft as an Arctic breeze. "Because that just means that, to them, what they're doing to
her is just background noise. Not something they expect to be called up on." He gave Flitwick a
piercing look, cold grey eyes flashing like steel in the dawn, wings rising slightly. "I wonder why
that might be."

"Lad," Sean said, tone warning, placing a hand on Warren's shoulder. Warren glanced at him, then
nodded curtly, wings mantling once more.

"Some of them or their friends… well, you know how children are. They will be looking for
revenge," Flitwick warned.

Cassidy laughed softly. "To paraphrase my mentor, I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul
who comes to that boy looking for trouble," he said. "Whatever cards are dealt and the chips are
down, he always has the cards for a winning hand." He looked up, eyes glinting. "Not only that,
but he's got anger in him and the way I hear it, a talent with fire. I wouldn't want to make his anger
burn too hot, or believe me… it won't be the only thing burning."

"That sounds like a threat," Snape said.

"It's a warning," Cassidy snapped. "For the love of all that's holy, the boy's powerful and he's
getting stronger every day! His father could lay waste to the entire planet!"

"He will probably not be as powerful as his father is," Snape said. "He is, after all, only half Aesir
and very young with it."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Severus," Sprout said. "I've found that hybrids and mongrels can be
some of the toughest plants."

"Same with animals," Hagrid said.

"And ye're overlooking the part where he would only need a fraction of his da's power to flatten the
castle," Cassidy said flatly. "Ye're also overlooking the fact that Lily Potter was no ordinary
witch."

Snape's face abruptly lost all expression.

"That she was not," Dumbledore said quietly. "Her sacrifice for her son did the impossible."

"Aye, exactly," Cassidy said. "Hundreds of millions of mothers have sacrificed their lives for their
children. Maybe a million or so were witches, how many doesn't matter. But none of them ever did
what she did. There's a fearsome protection on the boy. It incinerated one of the last people to
attack him, a Professor Quirrell, I think."

He grinned slightly at the surprised reactions.

"I'm a detective. I do my homework." He sobered. "He was a powerful dark wizard, possessed by
the spirit of an incredibly powerful Dark Lord. Last time one that strong was running around, he
took over a continent. Of course, there were other factors there, if I remember my reading, but the
point is, that protection is not just a mother's love, even a powerfully magical one." He shook his
head. "Mark my words. He got something from her too."

"And you've seen it before,"

"Maybe. Maybe not," Cassidy said. "But if he reminds of what I think he reminds me of… well.
The psi-wave on the night of the Battle of the M4, that would have felt a little familiar, if any of
you were particularly psychically inclined, oh, about… ten years ago now."

"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "Yes, as it happens, it did."

"Though it did not feel evil, as the psi-wave on that night did," Snape added.
"How did it feel?" Cassidy asked.

"In a word? Terrified," Dumbledore said quietly. "There was also sizeable helping of grief."

"Albus, Severus… you never said," Minerva said, astonished.

"I investigated the matter and found that it was being handled by the one man in all the world truly
able to handle it," Dumbledore said calmly. "And I asked Severus to keep it to himself. The wave
itself had drawn enough hostile attention from those who could sense it, without inadvertently
alerting those who could not."

This was said in a tone that seemed to suggest that that part of the conversation was over, and his
expression reflected that. But his eyes suggested that this was the final piece of a puzzle, and the
complete picture left him very worried indeed.

He turned to Flitwick. "Filius, Minerva, Pomona and Severus, I would suggest that you speak to
your students. Tell them why Harry reacted as he did. Impress on them that bullying is wrong and
can cause violent reactions in those who oppose to it."

He paused. "I do not agree with Harry's methods. As immediately satisfying as they might be, it
does not change the fact that he delivered retribution without recourse to school authorities,
imposing his will on his fellow students by force. Of course, he had personal reasons not to do that,
one being experience, the second being a ferocious temper. It does not justify them, but it does
explain them. And if the past is any indicator, it could well be in the blood. His mother, as many of
you may remember, put more than one bully in the Hospital Wing during her time at Hogwarts, his
father too."

"I never really thought of him as being very angry," Sprout said, puzzled. "In my experience, he
was always a quiet, polite boy who worked reasonably hard and stuck to a small circle of friends."

"Oh, he has always had a temper, Pomona," Minerva said. "Believe me, it has always been there.
Before, he repressed it. Considering his, well I hesitate to call it an upbringing, but since no better
word occurs to me… I think he learned that showing any emotion was a bad idea, anger
particularly so. After all, he lived with a physically more powerful cousin who would probably
enjoy provoking him into fights in order to beat him down."

"So he learned silence," Cassidy said. "To blend in, stay quiet and say as little as possible. But I'm
willing to bet that his anger broke through every now and then."

"One of the later recorded incidents of accidental magic involved Harry vanishing the glass on the
cage of a Boa Constrictor, one that, we can surmise, he had a lengthy discussion with,"
Dumbledore observed. "His cousin and uncle were right in front of it, and as I recall, when the
glass reappeared, his cousin was trapped inside the now empty cage, behind exceptionally strong
glass, with no explanation for what had just happened. And then he blew up his aunt."

Cassidy's eyebrows shot up.

"Not literally. She inflated like a balloon, though considering certain flight mechanics, it would
probably have required hydrogen, which is somewhat explosive," Dumbledore added. "She was an
aunt by marriage, Vernon Dursley's sister. She insulted Harry's mother and he rather lost his
temper." He smiled slightly. "I believe she was caught and deflated over Sheffield."

Warren, surprisingly, let out a cruel little chuckle. "Good on him," he said darkly.

Cassidy raised an eyebrow at him, then said, "I thought so." He sat back. "And now he's more
powerful, personally and politically, he's becoming more assertive. And freer with his
emotions. All of them."

There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed this.

"Well," McGonagall said quietly. "This could be a problem."

Truer words never spoken.

OoOoO

"You have an idea about what protected Harry," Cassidy said, not beating about the bush.

The impromptu staff meeting had broken up, with the teachers filtering away, and Warren going
for the roof to get some fresh air. Cassidy, however, felt that Dumbledore knew something that he
hadn't been saying.

And he was right.

"A very good one," Dumbledore said grimly. "The telepathic connection that you suggested,
combined with the protection's… incendiary tendencies, shall we say, reminded me of an incident
that was, oh, over a century ago, now." His eyes grew distant. "Vienna, 1897. I was travelling
Europe and, well, I encountered my fair share of trouble." He smiled faintly. "And I like to think
that I righted my fair share of wrongs, too. But that is another story."

"What did you see?"

"What indeed?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically. "I had emerged from the ashes of a tragedy, the
death of my younger sister. My brother still blames me for it, and as a matter of fact, so do I."

"What happened?"

"She had been psychologically and physically damaged by an attack by a number of local muggle
boys. Personally, I suspect brain damage as a factor. My father took a murderous revenge,
suggesting that, perhaps, what those boys did to Arianna was even worse than I had previously
suspected," Dumbledore said quietly. "She was unable to control her magic to any great extent, and
she had inexplicable rages, tantrums and the like. My mother was a very proper lady and wanted to
protect Arianna from the public eye, so she kept her at home. My brother, Aberforth, possessed a
remarkable ability to calm her down. I could occasionally get through to her, but I didn't have his
calm patience. He has envied me my power and intellect, but his human touch… that was a gift
that I had to work for. And I never mastered it the way he did." He paused. "However, he wasn't
able to calm her down at the crucial moment. A three way duel began between myself, my brother
and my best friend. Gellert Grindelwald."

He smiled sadly as Sean started violently. "Yes, Gellert was living with his aunt, in the same
village. He and I were once friends, as Charles and Erik once were. Though Erik, I think, has
managed to turn from his dark path. As for Gellert and our friendship, I could say that he nearly led
me down dark paths, but that would be abdicating responsibility. I was walking them myself, of
my own free will and with the best of intentions. Needless to say, I was shocked out onto the right
hand path, seeing him for what he was, what he was becoming. But that it came at such a cost…"

"She died, didn't she?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "She tried to stop the fight the only way she could, and one of of
our spells…" He trailed off. "To this day, I do not know whose it was. But I suspect that it may
well have been my own. Aberforth certainly did, and broke my nose for it at the funeral. I never
had it fixed. He blames me to this day. As well he should."

Sean took in a deep breath, opened his mouth, then, wordlessly, shook his head and squeezed his
shoulder.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. But it was a sad smile. "Thank you. On my travels, I had heard
mention of sinister groups of powerful individuals that desired to control humanity's fate. Once, I
would have been one of them, though my intentions were, at least theoretically, benign," he said.
"They were simply out to enrich themselves, indulging in hedonistic pleasure at the expense of
others. The White, Black and Grey Vampire courts vied for power and influence, though the Black
Court was rather on the decline." He smiled with grim satisfaction. "I played my part in that." His
grim smile disappeared. "But some of those groups were, in the main, human. The Maggia, the
Hellfire Club –" He paused as Sean flinched. "You know them?"

"Aye," Sean spat. "I know those Hellfire bastards as well as anyone." He looked at Dumbledore,
blue eyes intense. "Please tell me that you killed at least some of them."

Dumbledore blinked, taken aback by his vehemence. "No, as it happens. I merely persuaded them
that I was not to be crossed and that they would be well advised to cease their more exploitative
activities."

Sean grimaced, and said, "You should have killed them all."

"Sean," Dumbledore said, voice quiet and concerned. "This hatred… I do not think that it is
characteristic of you. What on Earth did they do to you?"

Sean was silent for a moment. "They destroyed us. The first team of X-Men. They even killed two
of us. The first one, Darwin, poor, brave bloody Darwin… he didn't stand a chance. He went up
against Shaw and Shaw killed him. Howard, Howard Stark, was basically our tech support and one
of our backers. He left SHIELD and walked into the Hellfire Club as Charles' man inside the Club,
rising to the position of White King. They base their ranks on chess pieces, you know. He married
another of Charles' spies, though I'm not goin' to be telling Tony that any time soon."

"Why not?"

"Because 'Maria Stark' was as much a philanthropist and socialite as the Black Widow," Sean said
grimly. "Oh, she loved Tony, but… I'm not sure how he'd take the knowledge that he'd been lied to
about and by his mother." He shook his head. "Eventually the Inner Circle clocked the fact that
Howard and Maria tended to survive Erik's occasional purges of the Club. So they arranged their
deaths."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Poor Howard," he said. "He was a good man, a kind one, even.
But he was not good at letting people into his heart. But losing Steve, Spitfire and then, finally,
Peggy… it destroyed him. He walled off his heart."

"Aye, that he did. And Tony suffered for it, the poor lad," Sean said. He smiled slightly.
"Now there was a sweet little boy." The smile faded. "The sweetness left him, though. It withered
in Howard's coldness and Maria's distance. The only one who was really capable of caring for the
boy was Jarvis."

"Ah, yes, Jarvis, the faithful butler," Dumbledore said. "And Stane, for as long as it suited him."

"He was Hellfire too. Smart enough to stay out of it until Erik had finished razing it to the ground
again," Sean said, and shivered. "I was pretty angry myself, we all were, but Erik… our anger was
a firecracker. Erik's was an atom bomb. I don't want to see anyone that angry again. But…" He
grimaced. "I didn't know Erik as a child, but that stunt with the Quidditch team, that was straight
from Erik's playbook. He'd have done it differently, but the message it was designed to get across,
the anger behind it… that was very familiar."

"You seemed to enjoy it," Dumbledore said, a hint of reproof in his tone.

"A little," Sean admitted. "Revenge is like a drug. It feels good, but only for a moment. And when
it's done, you feel empty. You want more. It's addictive." He sighed. "I found that out after my wife
died."

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said softly. "That is very true."

"But there was something else too. Harry planned it. He made sure that there wouldn't be any
permanent injuries. Painful, but not crippling," Sean said. "Erik wouldn't have bothered with that,
and, to be honest, he'd probably have then given the school a speech or gone on a full blown
rampage."

"That still sounds a little worrying," Dumbledore said.

"Ah, not as much as you might think," Sean said. "I compared him to Charles and Erik."

"And you believed that he could be this generation's Captain America."

"He could, though he'll have to do a lot of mellowing before that happens," Sean said. "He's a good
boy and nice as they come, but he's got anger in him. Until he learns how to really handle that, he
can't really claim that title." He wrinkled his nose. "He reminds me a bit of a nicer vesion of Alex,
really."

"Alex?"

"Alex Summers," Sean said. "His grandson is one of Charles' students. Scott's nice, a bit uptight
and rules conscious, but not half as bad as that Percy Weasley." He shook his head slowly. "Tell
me plain, Albus: was he born with that stick up his arse, or did it grow there?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "I think that Percy Weasley's rules conscious tendencies evolved in
response to his unruly younger siblings. I believe that he felt that someone should try and keep
Fred and George in line."

Sean's snort eloquently demonstrated his opinion of the chances of success of this thoroughly
doomed enterprise.

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore agreed, amused. "But one does have to give him credit for trying."

Sean nodded. "Well, Scott's reason is that the poor boy can't control his powers."

"Ah, I think Charles mentioned him to me. Optic blasts, controlled by a pair ruby quartz glasses,
and in training, a visor of the same," Dumbledore said. "I can well understand his general
preference for caution in that case."

"Aye," Sean agreed. "His grandpa, though, was a bit of a hell raiser in his youth, once he got past
his immediate reserve. Three years of voluntary solitary confinement will do that to a man.
Sarcastic, short tempered and powerful and he tended to get into more than his fair share of
trouble. He liked the taste of freedom, I suppose, and he had anger in him, like Harry did. He was a
natural leader, too, like Harry. He learned to control his anger rather than let it control him. Harry's
got the basics of that, I think."

"How did Alex learn?"

"Vietnam. We were both drafted and… well, we both did a lot of growing up. I'd rather not go into
the details, but Alex controlled his anger. He left a Captain."

"And you?"

Sean smirked slightly. "I had a certain knack for sniffing out trouble. I transferred to Intelligence.
That gave me the skills I used working for Interpol, not least the ability to lie creatively about how
I'd got certain bits of intel. And, well… I was persuasive."

"I'll bet you were," Dumbledore murmured. "You didn't mention this before."

"Most people are a little reluctant to employ a former spy," Sean said. "They might think that I
would be reporting back to Wisdom."

"I do hope you are," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "He always liked to be kept informed."

"Well, sucks to be happen, because I'm not, as it happens. And we've gone off point," Sean said
wryly. "Alex always said that I liked to talk a bit much."

"Don't we all?" Dumbledore asked, then said, "Well, as I was saying, I encountered number of
groups that manipulated and exploited humanity. The Vampire Courts, the Hellfire Club and an
ancient and mysterious group that I have only seen fleetingly mentioned, and that in the library of
the Flamels. Clan Akkaba."

Sean frowned. "Them, I haven't heard of," he admitted. "What were they?"

"I believe that they were mutants," Dumbledore said simply. "Capable of various degrees of
shapeshifting. Others possessed other powers. A young man called Frederick, for instance, was
rather pleasant, unlike his relatives, and I was rather pleased that he survived the events to come.
He could teleport himself and others. Or, indeed, parts of others."

Sean winced.

"Yes, I saw him use that ability on a Grey Court vampire. The results were not pretty, but did
happen to be rather effective," Dumbledore said. "In essence, the Clan was under attack from
Dracula, the Grey King. Apparently they had wronged him centuries before, and he sought
revenge. I observed them for a week or so, and saw that they were being picked off and turned. I
played my part in picking off the vampires in turn, and Abraham Van Helsing was in the area, but
we barely made a dent. Dracula, it seemed, had mobilised most of his children in this assault."

"They must have really pissed him off," Sean said.

"I rather think that they did," Dumbledore said. "In any case, my observations indicated that the
Clan became desperate and chose to summon something immensely powerful and harness its
power to scour Dracula and his forces from the Earth, and then… well, I doubt that they would
have relinquished such power, and the power to vanquish an entire Court of Vampires would be
nigh godlike. So, naturally, I felt it incumbent upon me to prevent them acquiring such power.
First, I offered my services in transporting them somewhere else, somewhere beyond Dracula's
immediate reach."
"And they didn't take that well, I'm guessing."

"You guess correctly. They tried to kill me," Dumbledore said. "Their creed was survival of the
fittest. They alluded to the fact that normally, they would summon 'the First One' rather than rely
on the aid of someone like me, but this time, they had apparently found something even better."

"This is not going to end well," Sean predicted.

"No, indeed it did not. A few illusions and a well placed ambush allowed me to replace one of the
Clan and I joined the summoning ceremony, seeking to destabilise it," Dumbledore said. "But I
arrived too late. They had summoned the being. I never learnt its name, its purpose or its
intentions. All I know was that it was powerful on a scale which I have never since seen equalled,
not even by Thor and Loki."

Sean's eyebrows shot up and he let out a low whistle, as many would. As many wouldn't, however,
he managed to whistle in a neat two part harmony with himself.

"It manifested in a burst of fire that did not burn in the physical world. It possessed the host, chosen
for her strength of will. Supposedly, she would master the entity and use its power for the Clan,"
Dumbledore said. "At first, she seemed to comply and incinerated every vampire in the city.
Certainly, of them, only Dracula escaped the city intact, and there were a lot of blackened patches
throughout the city and stories of spontaneous combustion. She didn't even seem to make an effort.
The reaction was jubilant."

"And premature, I'm guessin'."

"Just so. It quickly became very much apparent that the host was not in control. The entity spoke in
our minds, in a voice of fire. She, and I say that because she felt like a she, said that she rid the city
of vampires because she found them to be offensive to her very being. She then said, 'you have
determined the time of my arrival here. But I, and only I ,shall decide the time of my leaving. I
cannot be bound, save by my own will. I am life, I am fire, and I shall not let such insolence and
evil intent as yours go unanswered.'" He grimaced. "Then she burnt them all alive, with flames of
such intensity that there was nothing left. And once that was done… she turned to me."

He glanced at Sean. "I will be honest with you, Sean, I truly thought that I was about to die. I have
never been so afraid in my life. I had seen the not inconsiderable power of both the Grey Court and
the Clan Akkaba, and she had extinguished the lives, or unlives, of both with no effort at all. I am a
man of considerable magical power, and I can stand as an equal with all but the very mightiest in
this world and beyond it. Even then, I was strong, very strong. But before her, I was a gnat."

"I cannot blame ye," Sean said quietly. "I've been in a few fights like that, though the scale… it
wasn't quite that dramatic."

"For your sake, I hope so," Dumbledore murmured. "Thankfully, however, she smiled at me. She
said, 'You tried to stop them. Thank you.'" He smiled wryly. "She was reading my mind like it was
an open book, so I felt that I should be honest. I said, 'I did not do it for you, though I do not want
to see any enslaved. That was why I did it. Because I felt that these people would have used your
power in order to crush those who could not defend themselves.'"

"Risky," Sean said.

"A risk worth taking, I think, since I was dealing with a being that could see the best and worst of
me laid out before her. Lying would have been pointless," Dumbledore pointed out. "She then
said, 'Once you might have joined them. But not now. Now, you champion the helpless, wielding
the fire of your power in defence of fragile lives that would otherwise be extinguished. This pleases
me. Go in peace, Albus Dumbledore.'"

"And she left?"

"Not quite," Dumbledore said. "I thanked for her praise, but asked her to spare the host. I said, 'I
have seen enough death for one night, for a lifetime. Spare this girl.' And she was a girl, barely
seventeen years old."

Sean choked, then managed, "Albus, there's a thin line between brave and stupid. If you'll forgive
me saying so, ye crossed it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "So I did. But the entity granted my request, albeit in a rather abstract
fashion."

"How so?"

"She disappeared in that same flash of flame. And she left behind her a baby girl, newborn and
wailing," Dumbledore said.

"Mary Mother of God," Sean whispered.

"Yes, it was a casual display of power that bordered on omnipotence," Dumbledore said. "In any
case, I took the child and found a home for her in Vienna. Afterwards, I kept an eye on the family,
out of a sense of obligation and, I will admit, curiosity as to whether the child would manifest the
abilities her ill-fated relatives had displayed. She eventually made the spectacularly unfortunate
decision to move to Russia in 1913, and I lost track of them in the chaos during the Russian Civil
War. I heard stories suggesting that their descendants were working on a collective farm in
Southern Siberia, but I never managed to have them confirmed."

"Why not leave her with that lad that you said you liked?" Sean asked.

"I liked him, but I did not entirely trust him," Dumbledore said. "And I felt that she deserved a fresh
start, away from the clan."

Sean nodded. "I get that," he said. "So. You think that the entity which you spoke to is the one that
is protecting Harry, which his mother somehow called on."

"The telepathic connection that you suggested was what made me consider it, and the more that I
do, the more the pieces fall into place," Dumbledore said slowly. "Soon after my encounter with
the entity in Vienna, Fawkes, my phoenix, found me. Though it be more accurate to describe me as
his human," he added, with a self-deprecating smile. "And she said that she was 'life and fire'. What
better to oppose the killing curse than a being that, at the very least, can manipulate age, even life
itself?"

On the edge of hearing, a breeze whispered, clever boys. A little too clever, unfortunately. Sorry
about this.

Sean frowned. "What were we talking about?"

"Warren's integration into school life, I believe," Dumbledore said, frowning. "He seems to be
doing reasonably well, though he holds himself slightly aloof."

"Ach, that's because he's not sure where he stands with the students and they're not sure where they
stand with him," Sean said casually. "Though at least half of them want to get into his pants."
Dumbledore chuckled wryly, and briefly consulted Hogwarts on a hunch, to see if anything
unusual had happened a moment ago.

Nothing, apparently.

He frowned, thanked the school, then returned to the conversation.

"The curse of beauty is the same as the curse of ugliness, merely inverted," he said dryly. "No one
bothers to look beyond the obvious."

Sean grinned slightly. "It is, isn't it?" he said. "Lord knows that Warren's whined about it often
enough. The lad's probably brooding about it right now. That or his wings." He looked reflective.
"Loves a good brood, does Warren."

"Well, he is a teenager," Dumbledore reminded them. "In my experience, thy tend to get a little out
of sorts if they do not have sufficient brooding time. He merely has more material than most."

Sean's deep, rolling belly laugh echoed through the castle.

OoOoO

And, among other things, it startled two ravens that had been perched on the battlements.

"Bloody Irish," Muninn muttered.

"They were our people once," Huginn reminded him.

"Well, that was a bloody long time ago, wasn't it?" Muninn snapped. He did not like being startled.
And something was setting his feathers on edge. Midgard had been doing that more and more
lately, to the both of them. It was the Darkhold at work. But this was different. "There's a Power
lurking around here, and it just did something to someone's memories," he said.

"I know," Huginn said, tone a touch tense. "Keep your feathers on. I'm pretty sure that the Boss has
some idea, otherwise he wouldn't have sent us her again."

"Who do you think it's interested in?"

"Who else?" Huginn asked rhetorically, glancing over at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Harry
was sitting at the top of it, wolves flanking him, talking to Warren.

"Oh. Yeah," Muninn muttered. His tone turned sympathetic "Poor kid. Not even kissed his first girl
and he's got half the cosmos poking around in his life. The Boss and this Power, and that's just for
starters."

"Plus Chthon. And it's only going to get worse," Huginn predicted. "Even if someone sticks that
fucking book back where it belongs and shuts its owner up for a good long while. Strange is
playing a long game and the kid's involved in it. Then there's that guy with the red eyes."

"Gravemoss?"

"No, the other one."

"Oh. Him. Yeah, he's creepy."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Huginn said, shuddering. This is a singularly amusing action in a
raven, if only because they tend to puff out and shake like the latest children's toy. No one,
however, mocked either raven for it. Not if they valued their long term health, anyway. "He's got
an eye on the kid."

"Then there's that guy with the helmet, up on that asteroid which he thinks no one can see,"
Muninn added. "He's been watching him too,"

"Apart from us, and Heimdall, not many can," Huginn said. "No mortal, anyway." He looked at
Harry. "An Age of Heroes is coming."

"Yeah. Heroes tend to be interesting."

"They fight, suffer and often die horribly. Then come back. Then die again. And repeat as
necessary."

"Same thing."

Huginn shrugged, conceding this point. This is a time of change. And the kid's at the heart of it."
He sighed. "Poor kid. It's bad enough being a god. Being a mortal at the same time is a nightmare.
Being a god, a mortal – a magical mortal at that - and a hero, the saviour type? That's gonna
be hard."

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"No. Not yet. He's got that, at least," Huginn said grimly. "But if that Power felt the need to mess
around a little bit, he won't have it for much longer." He glanced up at the clear skies.

"Storm's coming."

"How big?"

"The biggest. And I think that it's coming to stay."

OoOoO

Harry was, meanwhile, mostly unaware of this doom and gloom. Instead, he was talking to Warren,
who some might say was doom and gloom enough to be going on with. Right now was a case in
point.

"Your stunt at the Quidditch game could have consequences," he warned.

"Professor McGonagall only gave me a detention," Harry said, shrugging. "And if they come after
me looking for a fight, then they'll get one."

"I wasn't talking about her. And I wasn't talking about that, either," Warren said quietly. "Think
about it. You just mowed through seven witches and wizards, all older than you, all reasonably
powerful and all very skilled fliers. You treated them like they were target practice." He smiled
slightly. "I was impressed. So were Sean and your father, by the looks of things."

"Thanks," Harry said.

The smile faded. "And you put them all in hospital. Not with anything permanent, but you did. And
you didn't even take a scratch," he said. "And they didn't even know why."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again.

"You probably thought that the way they treated Luna, it should have been near the top of their
minds. That the house of the clever should have figured out why you were taking them down,"
Warren said. "But they won't. See, what they were doing to Luna… to them it's just background
noise. It's normal." He spat that last word. "They don't expect to be called to account for it."

Harry looked puzzled for a moment, then grim comprehension dawned.

"You've seen it before," Warren said.

"Just a little."

Warren nodded and spread his wings, testing them. "It gets annoying when they freeze up," he
said.

"Does that often happen?"

"Sometimes. It's never much fun," Warren said. "I came here hoping that people would be more
receptive to those who were different. More tolerant."

"They love you."

"Because I'm pretty and wings aside, I seem to be fairly normal," Warren said. "I don't change their
lives in any way." He eyed Harry. "But you do. You turn things upside down wherever you go."

"I don't mean to," Harry said defensively.

"It's a good thing," Warren said. "But people don't always like it very much." He looked out over
the grounds. "What most people want, what they really want, is for tomorrow to be much the same
as today. There are exceptions, of course. People fighting for a better lot for themselves, for others,
but most people are content just to keep everything ticking over. And they react badly when they
think that is threatened."

"Wow, you're cynical."

"I think cynics are cute. Pessimist would be a more accurate description," Warren said dourly.

"You don't have any hope, do you?"

"Hope of what? Acceptance? Understanding? Being able to hold someone I love without being
terrified of hurting them?" Warren asked. "Look at me. What do you think I look like?"

"An Angel."

"Yeah. An Angel of Death," Warren said bitterly.

"No, actually," Harry said, with calm sincerity. "A Guardian Angel. Someone who catches people
when they fall." He folded his arms. "You think your wings are bad? My dad is as strong as the
Hulk, all the time, and believe me, his girlfriend is pretty petite, even by ordinary human standards.
She's about four inches shorter than I am. He gets it wrong and, well… I hope I don't have to paint
you a picture, because I'm an awful artist. And it would take a lot of red paint." He sat back. "But
she isn't afraid of him. She's one of the smartest people on the planet and she isn't afraid of him.
You know why? She trusts him. And he trusts himself."

Warren gave him a sour look.

"And, I mean, I've got the power to hurt people too. At least you know your wings are there, all the
time, and you know how to control them. My superstrength comes through at random. One day, I
could shake someone's hand and they'll end up with a squished hand," Harry said. "It sucks. But
being depressed about it isn't the way to handle it. You have to hope."

Warren eyed him. "You actually believe that, don't you?"

"It's probably that or go mad, so excuse me if I prefer this option."

Warren inclined his head. "Speaking of your powers…"

"What?"

Warren was silent for a moment. "I came here hoping that people would be more tolerant. And
they are. As long as you don't rock the boat. Turns out that being isolated for being different didn't
make them more tolerant. It made them less tolerant. Your friend Luna is an example of that. She's
a little different and she says things that worry people. So they pick on her. Steal her things. And it
gets worse because she doesn't react. So they do more, hoping that she will." He glanced at Harry.
"Some of them might consider what you did as an achievement. Getting a rise out of someone."

"So I shouldn't have taken down the Quidditch team?"

"Well, I personally quite enjoyed it," Warren said. "It's nice to see bullies forced to take some of
their own medicine. But bullies are cowards. They'll fear you for that, especially once they figure
out why. So they might start escalating things with Luna."

Harry's eyes gleamed dangerously. "They'd better not," he snarled. "It'd be the biggest mistake of
their lives."

"Bullies aren't noted for having much common sense," Warren observed. "And your powers will
make it worse. Now, you're still just an unusually powerful wizard. But your dad's side is
beginning to make itself heard. You'll be as far beyond wizards as they are beyond humans, power
wise. Beyond me, too. And history tells you how humanity reacted to that."

"You don't think much of ordinary people."

"I don't think much of people in general, whether they have powers or not," Warren said,
shrugging. "There are a few exceptions."

"You don't really think that," Harry said.

"Oh? Are you a mind reader now?"

"I might be," Harry said. "I think I've got some kind of psychic power, but I can't consciously
control it."

Warren eyed him, gaze settling on his eyes. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me in the least," he
said cryptically.

Harry frowned, then said, "You stepped up and fought the dragons. Why would you do that?"

"I'm a student with little to no spare cash, and Peter Wisdom was offering good money," Warren
said. "Plus, I don't often get to fly and I got to work with Colonel Rhodes, who's pretty cool."

"Seconded," Harry said, and grinned slightly. "And I don't believe you. You know what I think?"

"What?"
"That deep down, you're a hero. Under all the grumpiness, brooding and cynicism, which, to be
fair, you've got good reason for, you want to help people," Harry said. "You think that they're
worth saving."

Warren glowered at him. "You seem very sure that I'm lying," he said.

Harry's eyes gleamed gold briefly and he smiled enigmatically. "Not sure. Certain."

"Well, good for you," Warren said shortly.

Harry sighed. "Look, I don't want to be insufferable," he said.

"You're doing a good impersonation of it," Warren observed loftily, testing his wings again.

"Takes one to know one," Harry retorted, then his tone softened. "What I'm saying is that I think
you're a knight in shining feathers."

Warren's lips twitched into a slight smile.

"I really do. I think that you help people because it's the right thing to do. Not easy, not fair, but
right," Harry continued.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I believe in heroes."

There was a long silence.

Then Warren said two simple words.

"Thank you."

He stepped forward, onto the parapet. "But a word of advice. I recognise the signs. Your house
goes in for the whole chivalry thing, so most of them probably love what you did."

"Hermione wasn't too pleased," Harry observed. Ron had thought that it was 'absolutely bloody
brilliant', and majority opinion had agreed with him. That said, most of it was because Harry's
tactics had led to a victory.

"But the other Houses, once the why of it gets out, they're going to wonder if they're next," Warren
continued.

"Good. Bullies should be afraid," Harry said.

"They should," Warren agreed. "But what I've found is that when people are afraid, they lash out."

"So?"

"God, you're confident," Warren muttered. He shook his head. "For what it's worth, I think you're a
hero, Harry. Well-intentioned, anyway. But I don't think you get how much trouble that'll bring
down on your head. So I'll be watching your back. So will, Sean, Professor Cassidy. A few others
too, your friends among them. But you'd better get used to watching it yourself."

And with that warning, he leapt off the parapet, taking to the skies with a powerful beat of his
wings, leaving Harry with his thoughts.
OoOoO

Those thoughts were worried thoughts. Not worry about revenge. Harry wasn't afraid of that, even
if he possibly should have been.

No, his worries were more along the lines of what he had done. Had it been the right thing to do?

Warren, Sean, Professor McGonagall and his father thought so. But Warren was possibly the
bitterest person that Harry had ever met, which was really saying something. Sean had known
Luna's mother and had therefore probably enjoyed the vicarious payback. Professor McGonagall…
well, Harry felt that she was a reasonably good arbiter of right and wrong. And his father was
certainly a good man, but based off Harry's limited experience of Asgard, it was a much more…
honourable society. For instance, if someone was hurting your friends or family or even those who
could not help themselves, it was positively your duty to start cracking skulls.

This part, Harry didn't exactly have a problem with. What was bothering him, really, was the
proportion of his response and the fact that the Ravenclaw team didn't seem to know what they'd
done was wrong. On one level, this made him even angrier. On another… well, he hadn't even
talked to them about it, tried to get them to back off peacefully. He'd just let his anger control him
and cut straight to the fight.

His conversation with Luna, unfortunately, did not assuage these worries.

"Hi Harry," she said.

"Hey Luna. How are you?"

"I'm pretty well, thank you," she said. "I was feeding the Thestrals this morning."

"Thestrals?"

"They live in the forest and they pull the carriages at the start of the year," Luna said. "You can
only see them if you've seen death."

"I saw my mother die," Harry said quietly.

"So did I," Luna said calmly. "But I was nine and you were a baby. Maybe you couldn't understand
it at the time?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "What they look like?"

"They're winged horses. They're a bit thin and they eat meat. They're nice," Luna said. "There's a
picture in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

Harry made a mental note to look them up later.

"Thank you for standing up for me, by the way," she said. "It was very nice of you."

Harry flushed slightly. "No problem."

"Did it make you feel better?"

Harry looked at her, puzzled. "Me?"

"Yes. You looked very angry, and I was wondering if letting the anger out had made you feel
better," Luna said, then eyed him thoughtfully, with misty grey eyes that weren't so much piercing
as all pervading. If a piercing look, like one of Warren's, opened you up and had a look inside, one
of Luna's simply drifted straight through you, taking in the sights along the way. "You're very
angry, you know."

"I am?"

"Oh yes. You're very nice too, of course, so it isn't always obvious," Luna said, tone perfectly
serene. "But sometimes you get angrier than you are nice, and you start scaring people."

"Do I scare you?" Harry asked, a sick feeling curdling in his stomach.

"Oh no," Luna said, bestowing a smile on him. "I know that you're just angry because you think
you should be able to make everything better and that everyone should be trying to as well. And
they aren't. They simply don't see and that upsets you."

"A little," Harry said, tone guarded. He cocked his head. "Did what I did make you feel better?"

Luna paused, then considered for a long moment. "No, not really," she said.

"Great," Harry muttered.

"I appreciated the effort," Luna said.

"Maybe the rest of the nargles will leave after they saw what happened," Harry suggested. But it
was thoroughly half-hearted.

"Oh no. I don't think they will," Luna said calmly. "They're not gone, I don't think. They're
attracted to fear as well, you see." She then smiled and said, "It was very nice of you to try, and
once you explain it to them, the nargles will probably stop hiding things. But I'm not sure if it
worked very well, in the long run. They always find new tricks to play."

Harry felt crushed.

"You tried, though. Ginny has too. And that's more than anyone else has done," she added,
reaching out and squeezing his hand. "So, thank you."

Harry nodded listlessly. Warren had been right. As Luna had pointed out with what he'd recognised
as characteristic honesty and perceptiveness, he hadn't made things better. He might just have made
them worse.

OoOoO

Harry was left in something of a state. Hermione had adopted the wholly unhelpful attitude of 'I
told you so', which had caused the rather more sympathetic – if somewhat puzzled – Ron to snap at
her. This had led to an energetic screaming match to which one of the more active parts of Harry's
mind felt merited the response of 'get a room'.

Thankfully for Harry and his attachment to both life and limb, he did not say this out loud. Instead,
he did what any sensible boy would, and call his father.

Thor listened patiently as the whole story of his son's worries, then was silent for a moment.
"Harry, I am sorry that this has caused you to be so upset," he said eventually. "If I had known, if I
had thought…" He sighed. "But I did not. In Asgard, such vengeance would be considered fair and
just. But in Asgard, almost all are roughly equal in strength, whereas you will soon stand far
beyond your peers, if you do not already. A god among men, rather than a god among gods, or
even heroes. I should have realised that."

"I think the culture down here is just a little different," Harry said.

"I think so too," Thor said, and paused.

"Dad?"

"As heroes, we fight for those who cannot protect themselves, against bullies of all shapes and
sizes," Thor said slowly, as if measuring his words. "But it is all too easy to become that which we
stand against."

"Did I –"

"No," Thor said firmly. "Intent matters, and your intent was good, if a touch wrathful, and that
would be understandable in a grown man, let alone a boy of your age." He chuckled slightly.
"Goodness knows, Harry, you are already more mature than I was just a few years ago. Oh, and
your uncle, by the way, thinks that it was brilliant."

Harry smiled slightly. "Tell him thanks."

"I shall, when I next dig him out of his researches."

"Dad?" Harry asked after a moment. "Was I doing the right thing?"

"One of the things I have learned as I have grown older is that we do not live in a black and white
world," his father replied. "There is right and there is wrong, but there is a lot of… uncertainty,
shall we say, in between. Grey areas. What you did, what I encouraged and helped you to do
resided in those. On the one hand, you broke the bones and bodies of a number of students who had
absolutely no warning of what what was coming. On the other hand, for a long time, bullies have
persisted at Hogwarts and done so relatively unchallenged, since it is considered weak to come
forward."

"Take it from me, dad. That isn't just Hogwarts, that's everywhere," Harry said flatly. "Either that
or you're not listened to, or it just gets worse. Something needed to be done."

"And you did it. But I think that your next way of getting through to them that Luna is protected
must be through words."

"Yeah, I kinda need to explain why, don't I?"

"That would be a good start. Maybe explain that you do not want to hurt people and that you
simply wished to make a point, which you do not and did."

"Actually, dad… sometimes I do. Want to hurt people," Harry said quietly. "It can be a little
frightening, how much I want to make them pay for something they've done."

"And so do I," Thor said gently. "So does everyone. Even Steve, the most noble man or woman I
have ever known, feels that way sometimes. We are Avengers, after all. We avenge the wrongs
done to the innocent by bringing those who did them to account. And you were doing a little
avenging yourself." He chuckled softly. "I think Hogwarts will be better for this. Your approach
may need a little tweaking, and again, much of that is my fault. But, for once, someone said, 'no,
no more. I shall not let this pass.' And said it unequivocal fashion."

"So you think I did the right thing?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. The intent behind it, though, was certainly right."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, my son."

Harry, however, was still not entirely certain. He was, after all, a thirteen year old boy and his prior
life experiences hadn't exactly developed his self-esteem. He was a more confident boy these days,
to be sure, but it was still a somewhat fragile thing. And he thought that not only was his father
from another culture, he was also kind of duty bound to try and make him feel better. Any one of
his friends/family would have pointed out that this might be true, but it didn't meant that Thor was
right.

Unfortunately, the only two of those friends were caught up in an energetic screaming match. So,
unsurprisingly, he sought further validation.

He fired off messages to Carol and Jean-Paul, and got quick replies. Carol, perhaps somewhat
predictably, thought that it was awesome. Jean-Paul was a little more cautious, applauding the
intent as 'very knightly and noble', but warning that it could inspire fear and anger born from that
fear.

He considered firing off messages to the Avengers, but Tony knew already and had probably told
them all. And Harry didn't want to bring it up with Steve. He might be disappointed, and the
disappointment of Captain America can be a crushing thing.

So Harry composed an email to Wanda. What she would think of all of it, he was not sure, but he
resolved to be honest with her and hope that she didn't hate him for it.

Harry, naturally, was assuming the worst. It was one of his less helpful traits. So Steve's response
would have surprised him and exactly no one else.

"Ultimately," he said. "I think he overdid it a little, and maybe he did it the wrong way - it's all too
easy to become what you're trying to stop. But in the end, he was trying to do the right thing."

Darcy stuck out her phone and wiggled it. "So tell him. Text him. Tell him that you've been talking
with his dad, then type those exact words. Also, say that it's from you, otherwise he's gonna be
kinda confused," she said.

Steve blinked in surprise and Darcy sighed.

"Look, the kid's got seriously dodgy self esteem. So it can be taken as read that he's probably
freaking out a bit right now," she said. "And a bit of guidance from Captain fucking America
himself would go a long way to stop him freaking out. Got it?"

Steve nodded. "Are you sending a message?"

"Already done it."

"What was it?"

Darcy smirked. "'Nice one kid, you should take up Ice Hockey'."

And, when it came in less than twenty minutes later, Wanda's reply was swift and soothing.

Harry, of course I don't hate you. You did what you did with the best of intentions, and, frankly,
I've done far worse. It would be hypocritical in the extreme for me to hate you. I'm not even
surprised, really. Your mother tended to react the same way to injustice, except with more hexing.
Your father, too (which is why I am equally unsurprised by his role in this scheme).

Do I think you should have done it? Well, I think you might have gone about it the wrong way. But
it won't have you put down as the worst of the worst. Hogwarts sees this sort of thing a lot. I've
seen worse incidents, far worse, at professional Quidditch matches. It'll blow over soon enough, if
it's even an issue.

Also, even if it was the wrong thing, even if you'd done it for the wrong reasons, you still wouldn't
be the bad person you seem to be worried about becoming. Do you know why? Because you're
feeling bad about it, about hurting another human being. And bad people don't care about hurting
other people, not even after thinking it over.

So, my advice is this. Stop beating yourself up about it, and explain why you did it, otherwise
people might think you did it to win the match. Maybe apologise to the Ravenclaw team, because
you did go overboard. But otherwise, relax. You're not a bad person. Quite the opposite, in fact. I
don't know of many people who would stand up for an eccentric little girl (and if she's anything
like her father, eccentric is an understatement) simply because it was the right thing to do. You're
a good person, Harry. One of the best. And I'm not the only one who knows that, I'm certain of it.

Love, Wanda.

P.S. I'm guessing that I'm not the only one who you've come to with this. I'm also guessing that I'm
not the only who has reassured you. I suggest that you listen to your friends and family. Why?
Because being someone's friend or family carries an obligation. And that obligation is to be
honest. We're not just saying these things to make you feel better. We say them because we believe
them.

As Harry sat back, having read over it three times, he went over what others had said to him. And
as he did, a weight slipped off his shoulders, one he hadn't even realised was there. His friends and
family supported him. They might acknowledge that maybe the method was wrong, but in reality,
it wasn't that bad. The intent, after all, was good. He just had to be more careful, as was becoming
obvious.

Really, it was kind of becoming a theme.

But he didn't have to do it alone. And if he slipped up, well, there were people who would catch
him when he fell.
 Refrain

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," Cassidy said. "You've probably been wondering, who is this
devastatingly handsome Irish bloke? What's he doing here? Why's he, a 'muggle', teaching at a
school of magic?" He smirked. "And maybe a few other things, but they aren't appropriate for a
teacher to say in public."

That raised a flutter of laughter, particularly from the older students. Cassidy's first class was
taking place in the Great Hall, being one of the few rooms large enough for all the students who
wanted to take part to fit. Harry privately felt that at least half would drop out when they realised
that they wouldn't be getting handsy with the handsome Professor Cassidy, or his charming
assistant, Warren, who was lounging against a wall off to one side and ignoring the admiring,
envious and occasionally coquettish looks thrown his way.

The entire floor was also covered in blue crash mats, designed to make the experience of falling
somewhat less painful.

He sobered. "Well, first off, I'm Irish-American. I've just lived in Ireland and Scotland for pretty
much all of the last thirty years, around two thirds of my life. And yes, I said thirty and two thirds. I
don't look it, and that's because I've led a pretty interesting life. The details aren't important," he
said. "As for why I'm here… the world's getting darker and more dangerous every day. Hogwarts
is as safe a place as you'll find, a fortress of wards. But the Winter Soldier waltzed straight onto the
grounds, the straight off them again. According to Professor Hagrid, who followed his tracks, he'd
been living in the forest for days, maybe even a week. And no one noticed. Not Hagrid, not the
centaurs, none of the teachers… no one."

There was silence.

"And the Soldier was a scout. There's a storm coming, ladies and gentlemen. And you'd better be
ready," he said, then paused. "Professor Dumbledore employed me for two reasons. First, I've been
going toe to toe with the likes of HYDRA and the Death Eaters for forty years. I've fought as a
superhero in Cuba, as an intelligence officer in Vietnam, as a cop in Ireland, and as a spy in Bosnia
and Serbia. I've spent most of my life working for Interpol as a detective." He took a moment to let
this sink in. "And aye, I said superhero. My power is audiokinesis. I can control sound in a limited
radius around myself. Amplify it, mute it, detect it and…"

He whirled on a line of six wood dummies and let out an unearthly scream. Not a moment later,
they exploded into sawdust.

"Project it," Sean finished, turning back with a slight smile to face the stunned crowd. "It has a
number of applications. I can even use it to fly and by controlling the frequency, I can do all sorts
of interesting things like ruin your balance, knock you out, shatter your bones, even control you, if I
catch you off guard. And that's just the start." He waved a hand. "But this isn't about me showing
off. Because, see, my powers helped me out a lot. At first, I was pretty much only good for flying
and smashing things. And occasional sonar. But even as I diversified, I found out something. There
were ways to neutralise my advantages. A power suppressor, a Silencing Charm, sleeping or poison
gas… even being whacked on the head from behind would do it – I'm no tougher than any other
man. So I learnt how to fight hand to hand. Which is what I'm going to teach you."

He scanned the crowd. "Now, some of you, I can see by your faces are sceptical," he said, then
picked one student out of the crowd. "You, Miss… Why are you sceptical?"
The Slytherin student, who Harry thought was probably in his year, looked a little uneasy at being
picked out, said, "Miss Greengrass, sir. And, well, Professor, with magic, surely a muggle couldn't
even get close? A supersensory charm would detect them and then a stunning spell would bring
them down."

"That would be a sound strategy," Sean said. "If you knew for certain that a muggle was following
you. If you could maintain the charm and remembered to do so. If you were certain that they hadn't
found a way around your magic, and believe me, a few of them have. If they even needed to get
close. And even if you knew that… can you dodge a spell?"

"I suppose so, Professor."

"Can you move or react faster than sound?"

"No, Professor."

"Then you aren't faster than most bullets. A good muggle sniper with the right gun could put a
bullet through your head from a mile away. At close range, you're at a disadvantage against a
competent gunmen, because by the time you've responded, they've put three rounds in your chest.
Competent gunmen aren't that common, but they're not likely to be shooting at you unless they're
competent. And let me tell you from personal experience, it's very hard to concentrate once you've
been shot," Sean said. "Not only that, but what wood is your wand made of?"

"Laurel, Professor."

Sean nodded, and turned around, pulling out a rack of sticks, each of a different wood. "I prepared
these earlier," he said. "They're wand blanks. Each one is the same thickness and consistency as a
wand. This one," he said, picking one up. "Is laurel." And with a sharp jerk, he snapped it.

The sound echoed like a gunshot throughout the shocked silence of the room. Snapping someone's
wand was something that simply Was Not Done. It was the invisible line which was not crossed,
save by Ministry Officials on rare occasions.

"That," he said. "Is exactly what will happen if you get in hand to hand combat with someone who
knows what they're doing and what your wand does. Even if they don't, they'll disarm you, just so
you can't poke them in the eye with it. It could even get snapped in the tussle. Someone might land
on it. It might get hit by a stray bullet or knife. A supernaturally good marksman might even shoot
it, or your hand, on purpose. And if you're facing some drunk who has no idea what he's doing, it
could still end up getting broken. Why? Because you don't know what you're doing either. Point
being, wands are vulnerable. And what is a wizard or witch without a wand?"

There was silence.

Then Harry spoke up. "Vulnerable," he said.

"Attaboy," Sean said. "Though maybe ye're not the best example, since your uncle's teaching you
and a couple of others wandless magic."

This created a sursurration of interest. Not many knew what Loki was really teaching Harry,
Hermione and the Twins, but you could bet that they were curious about it.

"Though, even then, you still have to think, to concentrate, to aim. All of which is very hard to do
when you're being punched in the face," Sean said. "So come on up onto the stage. See if you can
stop me taking your wand."
Harry walked up to the stage, thoroughly aware that he was probably about to look like a complete
idiot. Cassidy was an extremely experienced fighter, with and without powers. Him? He was just a
teenager with quick reflexes and a little bit of training.

And the element of surprise.

The two faced each other, ten feet away. Sean half turned as if to speak to the audience once more,
then whirled with the speed of striking snake, flicking a punch at Harry's face. He doubtless
expected Harry to raise both his hands in a block, and leave his wand free for the snatching.

Instead, Harry dropped, scything his legs around, taking out Sean's legs.

It was a trick that Harry didn't expect to work twice.

As it turned out, it didn't even work once.

Sean dropped into a forward roll, twisting and grabbing Harry's wand hand, which he pulled into a
painful lock, forcing Harry to drop his wand, which the older man picked up. Then, he stepped
back, and clapped. "Very nicely done," he said, tone impressed and amused. "Let me guess: the
Widow taught you that one."

"Clint, actually, Professor," Harry said. "But he said that he learnt it from her, so sort of, yeah."

Sean nodded. "And you very nearly made me look like a proper idiot with it," he said, grinning.
"Well, that should teach me not to pick the lad who lives with the Avengers." He turned to the
class.

"Why? Because he used one of the few hand to hand advantages that you kids have. Surprise. No
one who knows wizards, wandless or wanded, expects them to get physical. There's too many
superhumanly strong monsters and well trained humans for it to be a successful standard strategy.
But it is good for a surprise, which can buy you just a moment. And with the supernatural
firepower that someone like you or I possesses, sometimes just a moment is enough. If Harry had
pulled that move on someone else, he might have sent them flying, giving him time to get up and
start going to town with his magic." He gestured. "Now, pair up, and not just with your friends. Try
and pick someone larger than you, not about the same size."

This order didn't always achieve the desired effect, so Sean and Warren went through the class,
firmly separating pair ups such as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who got paired up with Ron
and Seamus respectively.

"Oh, and for any boys or girls thinking of taking advantage of this position to feel someone else up
without their explicit consent," Sean said, tone turning cold and harsh. "If it's an accident. Then
fine. These things happen. Lord knows I'm not expecting you to be perfect, that's why I'm teaching.
But I will be able to tell if it's not an accident. And when I call you up in front of the class, I will be
able to hear if you are lying. I can hear a single heartbeat from across the room and your heartbeat
changes when you're lying. I will then take away one hundred house points and give the
perpetrator a month's detention with Mister Filch. He's been telling me that he wants assistants to
help unblock the school sewage system, and he would like lots of them. Warren also has views on
the subject, and trust me, you don't want to argue with the man that can fly and bench press a troll.
And I might just look the other way if I see Harry reaching for the bludgers."

Harry felt that it was an appropriate moment for an evil smile, though his heart wasn't exactly in it.
So he smiled. A shudder went through most of the class, one that made his smile falter slightly. So
they were slightly afraid of him. Then his expression hardened. Good. Some of them should be.
"Is that understood?" he asked.

The reply was immediate and enthusiastic. "Yes, sir!"

"Good," he said. "Now, what I want you to practice is simple. Someone is going to try and grab
you from behind. You have to use their momentum to throw them over your shoulder."

Then he demonstrated on Harry, who slapped the ground, dropping into a forward roll. That had
been one of the first things Clint had taught him.

"Aye, nicely done," Sean said approvingly. "That'll be what ye'll be learning next," he said to the
class. "How to fall. It's harder and more important than you'd think, but once you've got the hang of
it, you'll be thankful that you do.

As it turned out, he was right on all three counts: it was what they were learning next, it was much
harder and more important than it first looked and most of the students were very grateful when
they learned how to do it. Landing flat on your back is something which quickly loses its appeal.

OoOoO

These lessons continued, with Cassidy only having to make good on his threats three times to
ensure that people kept their hands away from private places, twice boys, once a girl, dragging all
three away separately to have a little talk with them. No one knew precisely what he said, but one
of the boys and the girl had come out white as sheets and shaking and the other boy had come out
weeping.

Needless to say, the message was conveyed.

Harry, for his part, occasionally casually summoned a ball of fire or mentioned the word 'bludgers',
which added an extra spice to Cassidy's threats. While the Irish Professor, charming, friendly and
kind right up until someone did something he'd specifically told them not to, had ears that a bat
would have envied and the ability to move absolutely silently, he could not be everywhere at once.

So where he wasn't, there was either Harry, always different, now carrying a touch of the
otherworldly that others instinctively knew to treat with respect – and that was before one took the
wolves into account - or Warren, whose cool, hawklike gaze saw everything and missed nothing.

This was not to say that this class was particularly likely to cross certain lines that went beyond
mere rule breaking, nor that those three went out of their way to intimidate the students.

On the contrary, Harry found himself joining Warren as Cassidy's teaching assistant, correcting
stances, offering words of encouragement and, occasionally, sparring against other students. Harry
preferred not to do this, since he pretty much invariably won. This wasn't because he was
invincible, or anything like that. It was simply because he was now quite tall, unusually strong and
extremely fast. That, combined with the basic training he'd received from the Avengers, the tricks
he learned in Cassidy's class and the techniques that he, Ron and Hermione were being taught in
the supplementary classes, meant that he was streets ahead of the competition.

Speaking of said supplementary classes, Hermione and Ron had both grumbled about them for a
while, but eventually, Hermione had decided to treat it as a new subject and thrown herself into it.
Ron, Harry felt, only tagged along out of friendly loyalty and the chance to see his friends perform
some rather amusing pratfalls.

This latter did not seem to faze Cassidy, who simply said, "You can bring a horse to water but you
can't make him drink. He'll come round in time or he won't. In the mean time, he's learning well
enough."

Harry was not entirely reassured.

OoOoO

When it came to learning, there was another group who were learning a lesson. Or had learned it.
This was what Harry wanted to find out. So, when all seven of them were released from St Mungos,
he tracked them down.

"What is it? Come to hit us with a bludger again?" one of the players - Harry thought that his name
might be Bretton - asked resentfully.

"No," Harry said quietly. "I came to say sorry."

"Why did you even do it, anyway? Did you want to win that badly? Were you that scared of
Chang?" Roger Davies, the Captain, asked in a puzzled tone, gesturing at the pretty fourth year
whose prettiness was somewhat obscured by the sizeable lump on her head. The sight made Harry,
a Gryffindor to his core, with the latent chivalry of a Round Table Knight, feel more than a little
bad.

"No!" he said indignantly. "It had nothing to do with the match. It was about Luna Lovegood."

"What, Loony?" one Chaser asked incredulously, then shrivelled under Harry's glare, which bored
into him like a pair of green lasers.

"If you call her that ever again," he said softly. "Then I will make you wish that I had brought the
Bludgers." He turned to the rest of the team. "I met her only a few weeks ago, just before the
match. And when I did, she didn't even have any damn shoes. All of them had been stolen, and
believe me, there were a lot."

He shook his head slowly. "A little girl," he said slowly, softly, with mounting anger. "A little girl
was wandering through the castle, in Winter, without any shoes. And if you didn't take them, you
sure as hell didn't try and get them back. Have. You. No. Shame?"

On one level, he was aware of the fact that he was not so much older than Luna, younger than most
of these students. But that, he realised, was only in body. In mind, in experience… they were
children. And while he might not be an adult, he was a good deal closer to it than they were.

It showed in the way he stood tall and proud, in his straight back, which made the most of his spurt
in height, five feet and eight inches, taller than many grown men and in his eyes, which gleamed
dangerously.

"Since none of you noticed, or if you did, you either caused it to happen or simply, didn't care, I
stepped in," he said harshly. "So I summoned them back. And got knocked out by one of them, but
that's beside the point. I talked to her about it. Turns out, she found it amusing. She enjoyed the
games that people who were apparently 'infested with nargles' liked to play."

"You don't actually believe the things she says, do you?" one of the beaters asked, then flinched
slightly as Harry eyed her.

"I'm a demigod Prince of Asgard who somehow survived the Killing Curse. My father routinely
talks about things like Dire Owls with a perfectly straight face. I think that I'm not in much of a
position to call things impossible," he retorted. He folded his arms. "I don't know whether it's
simply people being cruel or actual nargles, or maybe a little bit of the two." He paused, and took a
breath. As he did, the Ravenclaws noticed that the temperature had risen, blunting the bite of
Winter's last. This was not the boon it might have been. Because while Winter is cold, Summer
burns. Oh, how it burns. "But I don't find it very funny. In fact, it makes me angry. It makes me
very angry indeed. And I'm not going to put up with it."

"So why us?" Davies asked, eyeing Harry nervously. It wasn't just the tone, the expression, even
the palpable air of authority. He was a wizard, and a reasonably powerful one, possessed of senses
that allowed him to pick up things beyond the ordinary. And those sense were currently screaming
at him. It was the warmth, they said, the soft, unseasonal breeze that could only have come from a
Midsummer's day, carrying the peculiar scent of sunlight with it. It was a warning, they said.
Because the boy standing before him was not merely a boy. He was far more than that.

"I was playing you soon after I found out, so I asked if the Quidditch team was infested with
nargles. She said that most were, which I took to mean that most of you were bullying her," Harry
said, voice carrying a soft crackle of flames. "That made me mad." He narrowed his eyes, which
burned like a caged firestorm, before shutting them and sighing. "I overreacted. I get that now. It it
wasn't personal, and if it had been the Slytherin or Hufflepuff team that I was playing next and
they'd done it, I'd have done the same, but even still..." He trailed off. "I will say this, though, and I
suggest that you pass it on to anyone and everyone you meet: anyone bullies Luna Lovegood, I
won't be happy. Anyone picks on anyone, I won't be happy. I won't be happy at all."

He laid his hands on Freki's and Geri's backs. They didn't growl. They didn't roll their lips back
from their teeth. They simply stared. It was, somehow, much more intimidating.

"Do we understand each other?" he asked.

Davies eyed him. "Yeah," he said.

"Good," Harry said, and, just like that, the fire and danger drained out of him. Not all of it. But
enough that the warm breeze was a warm breeze, not the herald of a firestorm. Summer, after all,
does not always burn. He smiled slightly. "I hope you get better soon."

"You actually mean that, don't you?" Chang, the seeker, said, a touch incredulously.

Harry shrugged. "I think I've made my point," he said. "More than I meant to. That's the end of it,
as far as I'm concerned."

And with that, he left.

"That guy's just weird," one of the beaters said, subdued and unnerved. "How is he even human?"

"He's not," Cho said softly, and tentatively rubbed her head. It seemed to be aching less. "Not
entirely."

OoOoO

Harry was watched carefully over the next month or so, but even the most hawk eyed observer
didn't pick up on any incipient inhumanity. Oh, there will little flashes here and there – he was
stronger than any boy his age had any right to be, and there was an air of authority about him,
when he chose to exercise it (though whether that choice was conscious or not was another matter
entirely). And his eyes… there were the most interesting part. They were more knowing. Not wise,
as such, though there was an element of that in there too. No, it was simply as if the mind, the soul,
behind those eyes simply knew more than any would believe. Not mundane things, like spells and
magic, things that could be explained and related. But something beyond.
This did not make him wiser. Knowledge is no guarantee of wisdom, and never has been. Albus
Dumbledore could attest to that. After all, he had known so much as a young man, and thought
he'd known so much more. But it was his younger brother, Aberforth, who'd been wise. Maybe not
sensible, nor outstandingly intelligent, but wise.

And, in any case, none of this prohibited Harry from being a teenage boy. Because those eyes that
seemed more knowing still had the light of innocence in them. Not naivety, as such, but a
gentleness, an untarnished decency. It was the same sort of innocence that Steve possessed in such
quantities, Thor a little less, and even Tony, just a little bit. It was less innocence, more a belief. A
belief that things could be better, that people could be better, if only they were shown the way.

Of course, that was a path that must be walked with great care, but that was another matter entirely.

The salient point was this: in many ways, Harry was still a boy. And, towards the end of term, he
showed it, eyes alight with something else.

Mischief.

Needless to say, what happened next was inevitable.

He was, you see, planning a prank. After his father had related the worm story to him, Harry had
begun to plan. Then Loki had dropped in via astral projection to teach his apprentices a couple of
further lessons – though in those, he always seemed a little preoccupied, and the lessons primarily
focused on solidifying what they had learned and making sure that they wouldn't set themselves on
fire by accident than breaking new ground - and Harry had quizzed him on the details of the story.

Once he had pieced everything together, with the connivance of the Weasley twins, now his most
willing accomplices, a week before the end of term, he put it into action.

OoOoO

"Mister Potter," Snape said, glaring at an admirably poker faced Harry. "Would you care to explain
why the corridor to my classroom is blocked by what, if I am not very much mistaken, a sixty foot
long earthworm?"

Harry shrugged and eyed it. It was, indeed, sixty feet long, or thereabouts, and it filled the corridor
to bursting point. Also, it oozed a lot. Occasionally, it squirmed sluggishly.

"Maybe it's an ordinary earthworm fell into a vat of toxic potions, Professor," he suggested.
"Maybe its sanity has been destroyed and it's about to embark on a life of crime."

Hermione let out a strange sound that was half giggle, half squeak, and desperately covered her
mouth, going red with supressed mirth.

Snape's left eyelid twitched. "Mister Thorson," he asked, with carefully enforced calm. "Are you
mocking me?"

"No, Professor," Harry said, still impressively poker faced. "I would never do that."

How he managed to keep a straight face and say that in a level tone, he wasn't sure, but he managed
it.

He looked at the worm. "I mean, it, the worm, could have decided to start its crime spree by
blocking your corridor, preventing students from getting to class." He shrugged. "Not all that
ambitious, I know, but everyone's got to start somewhere, right?"
"Maybe it got stuck?" Ron suggested, grinning.

Snape gave him a look that, if it could have killed, would have been banned by the Geneva
Convention. That said, Ron did have a point. The gigantic worm was wedged in the corridor.

"I know one of you did this," Snape said softly.

"How, Professor?" Hermione asked, having regained her calm.

"I do not know, Miss Granger, but since you, Mister Thorson and the Weasley Twins are
apprenticed to the Norse God of Magic and Mischief, and you have a nigh obsessive devotion to
the rules, my suspect list is not a long one," Snape growled. He waved his wand at the worm,
doubtless intending to vanish it.

Nothing happened. Except for a large, red number ten appearing on the worm's backside. Or head.
It was really impossible to tell.

Then, precisely, one second later, it changed to a nine.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, sprinting for the top of the corridor. The rest of the students followed suit,
either catching on or responding to Harry's voice, some slower than others.

They reached the end of the corridor with two seconds to spare, Harry diving to one side, the rest,
again, following suit.

There was a lot of scrambling, yelling and complaining that someone's foot was wedged in
someone else's ear and if said foot was not removed by the owner, the owner would no longer have
a foot to remove, comprende?

This was all drowned out, however, by a loud, damp and somehow flatulent explosion, followed by
a lot of splattering.

Then, a couple of moments, there was a loud scream from down the corridor.

"POTTER!"

Harry grinned.

Boys, as they say, will be boys.

OoOoO

Easter came without further incident, even without a further detention, as Snape could not prove
conclusively that Harry had been responsible for the worm. Indeed, with the discovery of traces of
Swelling Solution and a broken bottle, it was chalked up to an unfortunate, but amusing, accident.

It wasn't, of course, and everyone knew it. But no one could prove it, and, with the exception of
Snape, no one really wanted to either.

That was the last incident during the term, if you could call it an incident. Hogwarts was peaceful.

But beyond Hogwarts, things were changing. Chaos magic drifted through the air, invisible,
insidious and everywhere. Moves and counter moves were being made. The future of the planet
was being decided. Things dormant for decades, centuries, millennia, were moving.

The Powers were rearming, girding themselves for combat, preparing for a war unlike any other.
Observers far beyond the Earth, mortal empires, ancient beings and cosmic gods, turned their gaze
upon the Earth with fear. The Dreamer shivered in his long sleep beneath the Earth. And dark
forces sensed an opportunity. So they tested the barriers, tested the will of the man who held them,
Stephen Strange, who held them at all costs.

And all of this was happening because they were aware of one thing, feeling it in their bones, in
their very souls.

A storm was coming.

Even the students of Hogwarts were, on a certain level, aware of it. They moved from class to class
quickly, eyes darting towards the shadows, ever aware of the prickling sensation on the back of
their necks.

Yes. A storm was coming.

OoOoO

Reykjavik was not a very large city. It's population, including the Greater Reykjavik area, was
smaller than a single one of London's thirty two boroughs. So it followed that it was a fairly quiet,
close knit community. Peaceful, friendly and civilised.

Really, Natasha thought, wearing a blonde wig, a pair of sunglasses and an outfit designed to make
her look a little tacky and touristy, of all the places to go to ground, this would be the one most
people would not think to look to. And a murder, or a disappearance, would be investigated that
much more closely, giving the one who lived here that much more chance of finding out if one his
old enemies, or worse, his old friends, decided to pay him a visit.

This, however, was no reason to make it harder for him, hence the disguise of both body and mind.
When greeted by others, she replied in a bubbly, airheaded tone and said that she was visting her
uncle.

In a way, this was true. The man she was visiting had been like an uncle, or a father, to her, all
through her very long life.

That, however, was not why she was visiting. Ivan Petrovitch might be the closest thing she had
had to family for a very long time, one of the very few constants in her life, but he was also one of
the finest information gatherers and analysts on the planet, capable of sifting through piles of
reports, picking out the forgeries, the disinformation and the mistakes to find the real intel buried
within. There was very little that happened in the world that he did not pick up on, and that was
part of the reason he had been allowed to stay with Natasha.

She was the best at what she did, and he was the best at what he did. It made sense for them to be
close, and if they were close to each other, then maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. After all, Ivan
was totally loyal and had Natasha's loyalty and her ear. She listened to him. When dealing with the
Black Widow, who was trained to be the most treacherous individual on the planet, such a
connection was thought by the Red Room to be invaluable.

And they had been almost completely right. Ivan was completely loyal.

To Natasha.

When she had defected, he had been forced to drop off the map and she hadn't seen him for the best
part of a decade. They'd exchanged coded messages, but those had dropped off once she had
decided that she was loyal to SHIELD. After that, he'd occasionally updated her on his location,
but they'd never previously got in contact. There were a very large number of groups that wanted
both of them dead or on the dissecting table for the Infinity Formula in their blood, and only one of
them was under the protection of SHIELD.

Clint knew about Ivan, as had Coulson. She had, eventually, confided in them both about her past,
though she suspected that Coulson had cracked her code some time ago. But they'd never met him,
nor spoken of it, as they were both well aware that Fury would either want Ivan working for
SHIELD or dead. He knew far too much about Natasha. And the Red Room. The last thing anyone
wanted was to bring that particular nightmare back from the grave.

Ivan, it turned out, was not in the least surprised to see her, though micro-expressions of caution
and wariness passed across his face when he recognised her. Ivan was, above all, a spy. He had not
lived as long as he had without being very careful. And that was before one took into account his
knowledge of the existence of shapeshifters, telepaths, magic and mundane brainwashing
techniques.

"Natalia," he said, greeting her affectionately. "You are well?"

"Hello Ivan," Natasha said in a surprisingly fond tone. "I am, as far as it goes. And you?"

"I survive," Ivan said, stroking his thick mustache, standing aside in a mute invitation. Natasha
stepped inside, in a way that she couldn't if she'd been a vampire, a faerie or a construct. Ivan had
been born in the old country, and the old ways persisted. They had, after all, kept him alive this
long.

And though he had been a man when the Tsar's had fallen, he looked to be only a few years older
than Natasha, in his early thirties, the Infinity Formula working its magic. But the hints of grey in
his hair and his eyes marked him out as being far older than that, older than Natasha herself.

"So," he said, once Natasha had sat down and he had set about making coffee. "I hear that you
have set down roots at last, with a team of Western superheroes, no less."

Natasha chuckled slightly. "I suppose I have," she admitted. "They're good people. Annoying, in
Stark's case, but good."

"What makes them so good? An inherent morality? A certainty of purpose?" Ivan asked, tone
carrying a hint of mockery as he added milk to his coffee.

Natasha gave him a level look. "They don't judge," she said. "No matter who you are, what you've
done… if you want to help, to be better, to atone, they accept you."

Ivan met her gaze for a moment, then grunted his acknowledgement. "Well, if you ever need
anywhere," he said. "I will always have a room for you."

"Thank you, Ivan," Natasha said. "I'd love to catch up, but –"

"This is not a social call. I know. You have not visited me since you defected, and for good reason.
But these are dark days, darker days than I have seen for many years. and you know as well as I do
that I still keep my ear to the ground," Ivan said, with no rancor in his tone, but, perhaps, a little
sadness. He sat down and sliding a mug of coffee across to Natasha. Strong and dark, with just a
hint of sweetness. Just how she liked it. Exactly how she liked it, in fact. One of Ivan's many good
traits was his excellent memory.

"Very well," he said. "Let us get down to business. The Red Room has been reactivated."
Natasha managed to keep her coffee steady. It was an effort. "You're sure?" she asked in a carefully
neutral tone.

He dipped his head briefly. "I am, unfortunately," he said. "And I hear more. The motherland
wants you back, Natalia. Dead or alive, they're not very choosy which."

"I've dealt with them before," Natasha said. "But I'll keep an eye out. Are they planning to move
soon?"

"No. You're not top priority. Part of that is orders from above – the government recognises the
danger that HYDRA poses to us all and has no desire to do their work for them by antagonising
you, Fury or the Avengers."

"But once HYDRA is defeated, I'm fair game," Natasha said levelly.

"Naturally."

Natasha nodded. "I thought so."

"But, perhaps, they will not be so interested in you. Not immediately. At the moment, their
attention is elsewhere. But not, perhaps so far from you as it might be."

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Think, Natalia, what was the Red Room always looking to do?"

"Create better soldiers."

"So. Who would want above all else?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed with cold fury as she understood. Harry. Of course the Red Room would
want Harry. "They can't have him," she said growled.

"And I was not going to suggest that you would think otherwise," Ivan said. "Nor that his father
would."

"They won't get past me, let alone Loki or Thor."

"But they might try. That boy is the key to bridging the gap between man and god. They'd kill for
even a scrap of his DNA. I dread to think what they would do for the boy himself," Ivan said
grimly. "And he is still a child. A magical child, a powerful child, but still a child. Still
vulnerable."

"I'll protect him," Natasha said instantly.

Ivan chuckled softly. "I never doubted that," he said. "You're fond of him, aren't you?"

"I care for him. He's a good boy, one who deserves kindness more than most," Natasha said.

"You love him. You love him like a nephew, if not quite your own child," Ivan corrected her. "You
can hide the truth from many people, Natasha. You are the best at it, better even than the God of
Mischief and Lies himself. But you cannot hide it from me. I have known you too long for that."

"I suppose I do," Natasha admitted. "He's very lovable. And he reminds me of Charles."

Ivan's eyebrows shot up. "Does he now?" he asked softly.

"It's not an exact comparison," Natasha said. "But they share the same instinctive kindness,
decency and desire to help. I've seen him go out of his way to stand up for people he barely knows,
simply because that's who he is. And he doesn't judge. I saw him happily chatting with the Frost
Giant King in Asgard. This Frost Giant was at least nine feet tall, blue skinned and red eyed. He
could have crushed Harry like a can. He wouldn't have, of course, but most people would have
realised it and been afraid. Harry wasn't. He just treated him as another person. No matter how
strange or different someone is, he doesn't care." She paused. "And he thinks I'm a good person. He
believes it, he truly does."

"And you don't believe that you are."

"I know that I'm not," Natasha said. "But he makes me want to be. Not just to atone, but… to be
something more."

"A hero?"

"I suppose so, yes," Natasha said, tone contemplative. Then, after a long moment, she looked up,
expression businesslike. "Where is the Red Room operating out of?"

"Siberia, I believe," Ivan said. "Though very little is being said about it. I'm also hearing rumours
about something setting up in Pripyat. What, I do not know. However, I know for certain that
they're reactivating the Archangel base."

"Archangel?" Natasha asked, eyebrows shooting up. "That was destroyed in '82."

"When the Red Room made the supremely stupid decision of taking on Simon Pietrovich and his
brute squad, yes," Ivan said. "What possessed them to think that they could take on even one
member of the White Council's elite, let alone some of their most powerful soldiers, I do not
know." He shook his head. "I think that they may have been involved in Pietrovich's death. I also
think that they may have cannibalised his personal library."

"Why?"

"The White Council is a very knowledgeable body, Natasha. And one thing they have a lot of
experience with is parallel dimensions," Ivan said. "I think that they're trying to pull the Rasputin
siblings back into this world."

"They've been frozen there for fifty years," Natasha said. "I doubt a few White Council grimoires
are going to get them out again. And even if they did, I doubt that Piotr would cooperate." She
looked thoughtful. "Jane might be able to, with the help of Doctor's Storm and Richards."

"Jane?"

"Jane Foster."

"Ah, the scientist. She's also Thor's girlfriend, isn't she?" Ivan said, and looked serious. "Watch her,
Natasha, the Red Room might want to use her for leverage."

"I'm eighty, Ivan, not eight. I know what I'm doing. She's protected."

"By your partner?"

"No, Clint's working at the moment," Natasha said. "Loki's keeping an eye on her, though he
always does."
"Yes, Loki… I've been hearing stories about him, too," Ivan said. "His eyes are moving. They're
looking for information about magic, chaos magic and HYDRA."

"That's not exactly surprising, considering what we're up against," Natasha said.

Ivan looked at her strangely for a moment, then chuckled softly.

"What?"

"So quick to use 'we'? They do have a strong hold on you, don't they?" Ivan said. "Stronger than the
Red Room ever did."

"I suppose they do," Natasha said, then eyed Ivan suspiciously. "You're not going to say anything
about the bonds of love, are you?"

"Oh no. I would never do anything like that," Ivan replied innocently. His moustache was
twitching, however, and Natasha's eyes narrowed. He sighed. "Natalia, I have only wanted one
thing for you: happiness. Maybe with these Westerners, these Avengers, you might find it. Maybe
you now have the chance to be one thing and whole."

"To settle down?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.

Ivan chuckled. "No, not that. I'm not sure that you're capable of that," he said, then sobered. "But
maybe, for the first time in your long, long life, you will have constants. Friends. A home. Family,
of a kind. Even someone to love. Like that partner of yours."

Natasha opened her mouth.

"Don't," Ivan said sharply, cutting across her. "Don't give your usual line, the 'love is a lie for
children.' That is an evasion and we both know it." His eyes narrowed. "As I said, Natalia: you can
fool everyone else, even the God of Lies himself. You are the best at what you do, the very best.
But I raised you. And you cannot fool me. You are in love and you are terrified of admitting it."

Natasha's expression smoothed, going blank. "Then why am I terrified of admitting it?" she asked.
"If you know me so well, as you have felt the need to explain to me twice today," she said, voice
carrying a hint of irony. "Tell me."

"James," Ivan said. "Comrade Winter Soldier. You loved him once."

"I cared for him."

"As American children say, 'I call bullshit'," Ivan said coolly. "I was there, Natasha. I have watched
over you since you were a little girl. I know what it looks like when you are in love, possibly all
the more so since it is so rare. You were in love with him. And the Red Room tore you apart."

"I know," Natasha said, a definite edge to her tone. "I was there."

"And you are like that now. When you are with him, Clint, the Hawk, I see it," Ivan continued
doggedly. "I watch over you, Natasha. I always have and always will, and I know what I see.
You're more reserved about it, afraid of losing him, and in this crazy world with its gods and
monsters, heroes and villains, angels and demons, I can understand why you are. After all, you
nearly lost him to a god once, as you lost the Soldier to men. Men who wiped his mind with
technology and magic, as a God did to the Hawk."

"And I got the Hawk back," Natasha said sharply, and stood, pushing out her chair. "I came for
information, Ivan, not advice on how I should live my life. Thank you for your warnings, but I
don't have time to listen to this."

"Natasha," Ivan said quietly. "You don't need to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid. I'm cautious. You taught me that," she said, getting her coat. "And it's kept me
alive.

"No, Natasha. It has not. It has allowed you to survive. There is a difference," Ivan said, and
sighed. "No matter. I have more information. I shall send it through the usual channels."

"Thank you," Natasha said, tone softening slightly. She leaned over and gave him a brief, chaste
kiss on the cheek. "Stay alive."

"You too, malyutka," he replied.

Natasha smiled slightly. "I'm not little anymore."

"You are practically my daughter, Natalia. You will always be little to me," Ivan said. "And
Natalia?"

"Yes?"

"Keep a close eye on the boy. His coming has woken up a lot of things long thought dead or
dormant. The Red Room is only the beginning," Ivan said seriously. "Dark forces are stirring.
Things thought long gone are re-emerging. The Soldier is proof of that. And those dark forces are
looking at that boy. They are looking at him and they are afraid of him."

"Why? He's just a kid. What threat is he to them?"

"For now," Ivan said. "He is 'just a kid' for now. It is what he represents and what he may become.
He is an unknown quantity. And that frightens them."

"Haven't they tried looking into the future?" Natasha asked, in the full knowledge that the Red
Room had occasionally employed Seers and had, periodically, attempted to snatch the seer known
only as Destiny. Since he or she was the most powerful precognitive alive, this was an exercise in
futility. But it didn't stop them trying.

"They have. And whatever future comes, that boy is at the heart of it," Ivan said. "But what worries
them is something that is appearing more and more in their visions."

"Chaos."

Ivan looked a little startled.

"I guessed. The Darkhold's on the move and in use," Natasha said dryly. "And we both know what
that means."

"Yes. We do," Ivan said gravely, and pulled her into a tight hug. "You are going into
danger, malyutka. More than you ever have before."

"Is this more intel?" she asked, relaxing into the hug for a moment.

"No. Just an old man's feeling," he said. "A storm is coming, Natalia."

"I've survived storms before, Ivan. We both have."

"Not one like this," he said softly. "It is coming. And it is coming to stay."

Natasha noted with more than a little unease that this was not the first time she'd heard that
particular refrain. But she concealed it. "Goodbye, Ivan."

"Goodbye, Natalia. And good luck."

Natasha smiled at him, and left. Once she was several streets away, she made a phone call to
SHIELD. She needed to talk to Fury immediately.

OoOoO

Thor waited on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, lost in his thoughts. Jane, Bruce and Tony were
doing science, trying to work out how the Platform worked, how it was separate, yet part, of the
station. Since Loki was, yet again, away on his information gathering and research endeavours,
they had dragged an incognito Sirius into the discussion.

Thor loved his girlfriend and his friends, but he was really glad that it wasn't him that they were
interrogating. And he shuddered to think what would happen if they were unleashed on the
Wizarding Public. It was, he thought, probably best that Steve was keeping an eye on them.

Pepper was talking to Molly, who had at first seemed to be a little in awe of the tall, brilliant and
thoroughly glamorous woman. But a few minutes conversation had relaxed matters somewhat, and
now they were getting along famously. Thor had resolved to keep an eye on her since as her paler
than usual face showed, she'd been a little ill recently. Not vomiting or anything obvious like that,
but just generally under the weather. Now, however, he felt confident in looking away. Molly was,
if nothing else, a more than capable Healer, even if not officially trained, and the most motherly
soul alive. Darcy, meanwhile, was chatting up Bill, who looked rather intrigued by the American
woman.

As for the rest, Clint and Natasha were both 'working', which Thor took as code for spying or
assassinating.

So, Thor was left alone to think. Once, this might have bothered him considerably, as it meant that
he was not the centre of attention. Now, as a mature adult, he found that, every now and then, he
liked having the chance to simply think in private.

And so he might have continued to do, if he hadn't spied Augusta Longbottom waiting on the
platform. His eyes narrowed as he remembered a certain overdue discussion that he was going to
have. After a moment's consideration, he shifted into his James Potter form. For what he intended,
this appearance would carry the most punch.

He strode over. "Augusta," he said, greeting her.

"James," she said, nodding to him. "Or is it Thor, now?"

"I answer to both," Thor replied politely enough.

"Here to collect your boy, I assume."

"And you, yours," Thor said. "Speaking of Neville, I want to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Thor said, folding his arms. "Frank and Alice would be horrified to find that their son's
confidence had been so thoroughly crushed."

"Excuse me?" she asked, astonished.

"I met him," Thor said. "At Hogwarts. He came across as lacking any kind of self-confidence.
What Harry and Neville's teachers told me bore that out. With the exception of Herbology, which
he has a prodigious talent for, he is at best average in every class. He's almost permanently afraid
of being told off by people around, friends, teachers and… family."

"Are you saying that I have improperly raised my grandson?" Augusta asked dangerously. That
might have made James Potter think twice. He'd have carried on regardless, but he would have
thought twice and been wary.

Thor, on the other hand, did not.

"Yes," he said simply, tone carrying a suppressed fury. "I hear stories that frankly beggar belief.
Almost entirely isolated from infancy, snapped at and raised in the shadow of his parents, most
particularly his father, never thinking that he could live up to them. And when his magic didn't
seem to come through, you let members of your family do the most ridiculous things to him in an
attempt to force his magic to appear. Your brother dropped him out of a window. Do you not see
anything wrong with this?"

"It was an accident?"

"He was dangling the boy by his ankles, something which I very much doubt Neville agreed to,"
Thor snapped. "I have no doubt that he was terrified."

"Neville must be strong," Augusta said, wrapping herself in a cloak of cold dignity and
haughtiness. "He is the only heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom."

Thor's eyes flashed electric blue and the skies clouded over as quickly as someone pulling a blanket
over the sun. Lightning flashed, dancing from cloud to cloud and thunder rolled with a deep,
threatening rumble. "Remember who you are talking too, Augusta," he said, voice low and
dangerous, looming over the old woman, long shadow engulfing her. "I am the Crown Prince of
the Realm Eternal. I have lived for over fifteen mortal centuries and I have seen strength and
weakness in all their forms all across the universe. I know more of what makes someone strong
than you ever will."

He glared down at her. "You sought to force Neville into his father's mould. And in doing so, you
practically broke him. You took a cheerful, laughing child and turned him into something just this
side of a nervous wreck. He has proven to be brave when he must be, very brave. But that is in
spite of what you have taught him, not because of it," he said, voice throbbing with power and
anger. "You even forced him to use his father's wand, when he could never use it as well as his
father for the simple reason that he is not his father. And that is symbolic of what you did to him.
You did not allow him to become his own person, to encourage him and support him. Instead, you
tried to turn him into his father, made him believe that he had to be his father, something that, no
matter how hard he tried was doomed to failure. And in doing so, you practically destroyed him."

He shook his head. "My son was abused by his guardians, treated as a slave. And yet, he did not
come to Hogwarts a cringing wreck the way that Neville did. For all the Dursleys' flaws, they
never intentionally risked his life, if only for fear of what vengeance would follow, from mortal
authorities and the Wizarding World. You and yours risked Neville's, because you could not bear
the possibility that he might be a Squib, that he could not be moulded in his father's image." He
leaned forward, tall, dark and ominous in the cloud induced darkness, backlit by flashes of
lightning. During his speech, he had shifted back to his Thor form. "The Dursleys are being
punished for their crime," he said. "So, Augusta, this leads me to very interesting question. How
should you be punished for yours?"

Augusta, for all her flaws, was no coward. She glared up at Thor. "Who are you to judge me?
What right do you have?"

"I am a father. For right of judgement, in this court, on this subject, that is enough," Thor said.
"And the right of friendship. I am a friend of your son and his wife. I cared for their son, held him
and played with him, as did Lily. Frank and Alice did the same with Harry, and Alice and Lily
vowed that Harry and Neville would be best friends. And they were playmates, if only for a short
time."

"Thor?" Jane asked quietly. Needless to say, Thor's little display had caught the eye. "What's going
on?"

"Augusta, this is Jane Foster, my girlfriend and a noted scientist. Jane, this is Augusta Longbottom,
a witch and the mother of a friend who could not let him go and sought to mould his orphaned son,
one of Harry's friends, in his father's image. To create a substitute, if you will," Thor said, cold gaze
never leaving Augusta. "Measures she took to do this included raising him in his father's shadow,
forcing him not merely to try and live up to his legacy, but to practically become his father,
isolating him from all other children. Apparently, none of them were fit companions for an infant
Lord of an Ancient and Noble House."

As he spoke, his words gained an extra bite.

"Then, his magic did not manifest in a timely fashion, which it had done as a baby, when he was in
the care of his loving parents rather than a woman who snapped at him every time he made a
mistake and crushed his self confidence. So Augusta let her relatives do a number of insane things.
Such as dangle him out a window by his ankles from several floors up."

"What?" Jane asked incredulously.

"Yeah, that sounds like it comes from the Michael Jackson book of parenting," Tony said, having
ambled over. "I mean, even my dad was better than that."

"Augusta. Is this true?"

Everyone turned to look at Steve, who was giving Augusta his patented I-am-disappointed-in-you-
because-I-know-that-you-can-do-better look. And, as ever, it proved to be extremely effective, with
Augusta looking stricken.

"You know vulture lady?" Tony asked, gesturing at Augusta and, in particular, her vulture themed
hat.

"She was at Hogwarts when I was working with Albus Dumbledore during the War. She was a
friend of Minerva McGonagall's, Peggy's and Spitfire's," Steve said, still giving Augusta that
disappointed look. "Is it true, Augusta?"

"I… Captain, Neville is my grandson. I have only tried to do what is best for him," she managed.

"Then you've clearly made a mistake," Steve said. "Neville is not his father. He never will be. Thor
isn't his father, Tony isn't his and I'm not mine."

"I'm definitely not mine," Bruce said quietly. Tony gave him a quizzical look, but came away with
nothing.

"You need to accept that," Steve continued. "I don't know much about Neville, but I've heard a few
things. From what I hear, he's a talented young man who just needs to believe in himself. Give him
the chance to be his own man, starting with getting him his own wand and I am certain he will
show you what he is: a grandson that you, or anyone else, can be proud of."

"Nicely put," Thor said mildly.

Steve shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not a parent," he said. "I just figured that's all he needs."

"Maybe a few more friends would be helpful and actually supporting him rather than solely telling
him off," Thor said, the only parent present. "But yes. A new wand would be a good start."

"And maybe a little less emphasis on the Ancient and Noble bullshit," Sirius said, startling
everyone as he dispelled his disguise. "I grew up with that hanging over my head, as did my
brother. And he ended up joining the Death Eaters."

"My grandson would never –"

"I never said he would," Sirius said mildly, and smiled a sharp, mirthless smile. "Though I find the
fact that you feel the need to get defensive about that interesting."

"Sirius," Steve said warningly.

"No, Steve, she needs to hear this," Sirius said harshly. "The stuff she's feeding him about being
heir to the Ancient and Noble whatever isn't the stuff I was forcefed. But it's close enough. It's
piling expectations on the head of a bloody kid, saying that he has no choice not only in what he's
going to do, but who he's going to be. It's pure poison and it drove me just a little bit crazy before
the Dementors ever got their hands on me. What happened to Reg shows that. He was a sweet kid
before my mother really got her claws into him. And look what happened to him!"

This had a double meaning to those who Sirius had confided in about the fact that his brother was
now the deadly Peter Wisdom, Director of MI13, Britain's shield against the dark side of the
supernatural, existing in form or another for centuries. He was alive, and on the side of the angels.
But he was also cold, manipulative and ruthless, just like his mentor, Nicholas Fury, who had
transformed from someone Thor called friend and trusted without reservation, to someone who
Thor called ally and watched with care.

Both were on the side of the angels. But as Thor knew better than most, not all angels are very
nice. There was a reason that the children of Yahweh had had to preface knowledge and warnings
with the phrase, 'Fear Not'. And both Fury and Wisdom, as he was now, were not so different from
that.

Part of Sirius' anger was at the fact that, though his little brother was alive, he wasn't going to get
his innocent, cheerful baby brother back. Not now, not ever.

Augusta seemed to be caught between anger, shock and just a little fear.

"All right," Steve said firmly. "You've said your piece, Sirius."

Sirius met his gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly, replacing his glamour before he stalked off,
muttering.

"I'm sorry about that," Steve said quietly. "And I'm sorry if Thor scared you. But both Thor and
Sirius were friends of your son and his wife, close friends. Their feelings come from the heart. And
I think, harsh as they're being, they're right." He gave her a serious look and he let some sympathy
into his voice. "I know that losing someone you're close to, losing family, is hard. It's incredibly
hard. And being handed a baby to raise while dealing with that, a little boy who'd just lost his
family… It must have been difficult."

"It was," Augusta said quietly.

"But what you did to Neville was wrong," Steve said. "Letting your brother dangle him out of a
window?" He shook his head in disbelief. "What were you thinking?"

Augusta had no answer.

Steve nodded, as if this had been what he'd been expecting. "What's done is done," he said, looking
up as the train pulled in. "Your grandson's on that train. It was hard for you, but it was far harder
for him. You were an adult, he was, and still is, a child. You need to cut him some slack. Lots of it.
Just... step back and support him. Let him be his own man. Do you think you can do that?"

Augusta nodded silently. She seemed to be crying slightly.

"Good. I think we're done here," Steve said, turning away. "See you around, Augusta."

The rest followed him. "Should we leave her with Neville?" Bruce asked. "I mean, the things you
were saying that she did, Thor. Those are, at best, borderline emotional abuse. And then there's the
fact that she was enabling her brother and others to commit some pretty serious physical abuse, or,
at least, child endangerment."

"Where else would he go?" Steve asked. "Besides. If she thought he was in danger, Minerva would
come down hard on Augusta. Harry's circumstances with the Dursleys were different in that he
couldn't be taken from there because of the unique protections that applied there. Here, Minerva
wouldn't hesitate before tearing Augusta a new one." He smiled slightly. "Probably literally, if the
Minerva I knew was anything to go by."

"Yeah, I can imagine her doing that," Tony said, shuddering slightly. Minerva McGonagall scared
him just a little bit. Then again, she had that affect on most people.

Steve glanced at Thor. "Weren't you a little hard on her? I mean, she is an old lady."

Thor snorted as he looked out for Harry. "Steve, Augusta Longbottom is about as fragile as
Mjolnir," he said. "The thunder and lightning was just to get her attention." He smiled grimly.
"Ironically enough, she's one of the strongest people I've ever encountered." He eyed Steve. "You
managed to break through her armour with only a few words and a disappointed tone."

Steve shrugged awkwardly. "I just knew that she was better than that," he said.

"How are you even real?" Tony asked, a touch admiring and a touch disgusted.

"It's his superpower, sweetie," Pepper said.

"Yeah, making the rest of us feel insecure by being walking perfection," Tony grumbled. He was
mostly joking, but Steve's expression was a little uncomfortable.

"Or showing the rest of us how good we can be," Pepper said, giving Tony a quelling look. "Now,
what was all that about?"
"I'll explain later," Tony said.

Pepper nodded her acceptance, though it was tinged by the fact that she very definitely was going
to get this explanation and it would be full and accurate. "Molly's invited us all to lunch a couple of
days before Harry goes back to Hogwarts."

"That sounds wonderful," Thor said. "All in favour?"

"Free food? I'm in," Darcy said laconically, and looked defensive at Steve's disapproving look.
"What? I'm a student. You accept any free meals you can get."

"She's right about that one, Steve," Bruce said.

Steve's disapproval lightened marginally.

"All in favour?" Pepper asked.

There was a round of affirmatives.

"Great," she said. "I'll be right back."

As she disappeared, Thor's face lit up. Tony looked up at him, judged the angle he was looking at,
then plunged into the crowd.

"What's he doing?" Jane asked.

"Using Thor as the compass to Harry's magnetic north," Bruce said.

Indeed, Tony came back a minute or two later, helping Harry carry his trunk, the wolves trotting
along side and acting like snowploughs, carving a path through the crowd. Though the inventor
didn't immediately look it, he was very strong. Still an ordinary human, but strong for all that. He
did pout slightly when Steve tucked it under his arm as Harry greeted his father with a hug.

"Hey dad," he said, a natural, delighted grin on his face.

"Hello, Harry," his father replied, the mirror image of that expression on his own face. "How was
the rest of your term?"

Harry promptly embarked on an explanation of his martial arts training, flying and various worm
related shenanigans, only breaking off to wave goodbye to Ron and Hermione and to greet the
others with unselfconscious hugs that anyone who had been asked not so many months ago would
have not thought he was capable of. It was entirely possible, however, that his hug of Tony was
partly to troll the older man, whose face was a picture of surprise. A few moments later, he'd got
his composure back.

"Okay, kid, break it up. If this gets out, my reputation will be ruined."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, the trolling impression only solidified by the impish twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah," Tony said, looking a little uncomfortable and trying to hide the fact that this unprompted
gesture of affection had genuinely touched him.

Though in Darcy's case, he had met his match. He was now tall enough that his face did not go into
embarrassing places when he hugged her, to his apparent surprise, chagrin and relief.

"Yeah, from now on you gotta buy me dinner and ask real nice if you wanna get permission to
shove your head in my rack," she said dryly. Darcy, as may have been observed, did not miss
much.

Harry went red as a tomato.

"Darcy," Jane said, frowning and putting an unconscious arm around Harry. "Stop it."

"Relax Jane," she said. "I'm just messing with Harry. Seriously, cute he might be, with promise of
serious future hotness, but he's way too young for me. No offence."

"None taken," Harry mumbled.

"And look at you," Darcy said. "Getting all maternal and protective. You getting broody? I know
Pepper is. Is it infectious or something?"

Jane flushed, Thor's eyes widened, Tony, who'd been drinking from a hip flask performed an epic
spit take into the back of Steve's head and Harry looked thoroughly startled. Darcy grinned. As
Bruce would later observe, she was a catalyst. She kept everything moving, and just a little off
balance.

Some, however, were equal to her efforts.

"I've been thinking about children," Pepper admitted calmly. "But I've got plenty of time. So does
Jane, if she's having thoughts in that direction." She reached down and gently ruffled Harry's head.
"And let's face it, Darcy, he inspires maternal feelings in everyone, even Natasha." Her smile
turned teasing. "Maybe you'll be next."

"Ugh, hell no. My maternal instincts are about on par with those sharks that eat their babies,"
Darcy said.

"You would eat your own babies?" Thor asked, sounding convincingly shocked.

Darcy's eyes widened. "I didn't mean it literally," she said hastily, then glowered when she saw
Thor's grin. "I swear, you are worse than your brother," she said, ineffectually hitting him on the
arm. "With him, you expect it. With you, it's like a fucking Predator drone."

"Darcy," Pepper, Jane, Bruce and Steve said in disapproving unison. "Language."

"... That's just creepy."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "I've heard much worse."

"When?" Thor asked, frowning.

"Ron accidentally kicked Professor Cassidy in the balls in practice," Harry said. "He went on for
quite a while."

"I'll bet he did," Thor said. "He nearly got sucked into a tornado during the battle earlier this year."
He shook his head. "I have never heard a human swear so much in all my years."

"Really?" Sirius asked.

"Sounds like we've been challenged," Tony said.

"So we have."
Both of them grinned evil grins.

"Which, of course, you will not take up because there will be a child in the building who regards
both of you as role models," Pepper said, voice calm, sweet and about as soft and yielding as
adamantium.

Sirius and Tony shared a look. "Right."

"Of course."

"Good," Pepper said.

"Where are Clint and Natasha?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Doing spy stuff," Tony said, glad for the distraction. "So, kid, I've just got one question. This
worm incident. Did you take pictures?"

"No."

Tony's face fell.

"I paid a photographer instead. He's really quite good. And the pictures move."

Darcy let out an impressed whistle.

Tony turned to Thor. "You have raised him well," he said solemnly.

"Under the circumstances, I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

OoOoO

Many a true word is spoken in jest.

Harry was indeed a well raised young man, thanks to Thor, and he had gone out of his way to make
new friends as a result. Before, he was content to stick with his limited social circle of Ron,
Hermione and occasionally the odd other Gryffindor. Now, however, matters had changed.

For instance, though Harry, Thor, Jane, and Loki, who had returned from his latest expedition,
were travelling to Asgard for a few days a week after he got back from school, he was looking
forward not just to seeing his grandparents but his two friends, Uhtred and Diana. He was even
planning to see Carol and Jean-Paul after he got back.

In other words, Harry now had the rudiments of a social life.

As they made ready to go, Harry took a small bag with a little homework and a copy of The Once
And Future King which Steve had acquired for him. It contained The Sword In The Stone and, to
Harry's delight, it's sequels. He might have been less delighted if he'd been more aware that it didn't
end very happily. The rest went as they were. Most of Thor and Loki's possessions were in Asgard,
Jane had accrued a number of books, clothes and other possessions there.

"Hey, Thor," Tony said, poking his head in the room. "Could you get some snow going over the
ski resorts in the Rocky Mountains? They're the big mountain range running up through the States.
Nothing major, just steady snowfall."

"Of course," Thor said. "But why?"

"We're going skiing when you get back. Team outing," Tony said casually. He glanced at Harry. "I
already invited Danvers and Beaubier on your behalf, which is okay with you, I presume?"

Harry nodded, a little dazed. He and Carol had chatted over Facebook for a while now, and made
the occasional video call, when time allowed. Jean-Paul had occasionally joined in, but wasn't
often available. Carol explained that he wasn't being snubbed, it's just that Jean-Paul was very
close to his sister. "And she isn't very well," she'd said.

Considering her tone and how Jean-Paul had reacted when he'd last brought her up, this was likely
quite the understatement.

"Great, uninviting people is kind of awkward. Also, if your two Asgardian buddies, hell, your
school friends Ron and Hermione, the Twins too, want to come, they can."

"Um, thanks, but isn't that a lot of people?"

"It's not a problem," Tony said casually. "I own five chalets at the resort. Well, really, I own most
of the resort."

Harry's mind boggled.

"Give me a few minutes," Thor said. "I need to see the Rocky Mountains from above." He took off
and shot straight upward.

"He's looking at them from space," Loki explained.

Harry's eyes widened and his mind boggled still further

"I think you had better write notes to Ron, Hermione and the Twins inviting them to come, since
your father is occupied," Loki advised. "And I'd hurry up if I were you."

Harry nodded. "Right," he said, dashing off.

So the holidays began. Harry hoped that they would be quiet and uneventful.

On balance, however, this was about as likely as Hell freezing over.

 Omnia Mutantur

Harry found himself grinning as the Bifrost deposited him in Heimdall's observatory. There was
something about Bifrost travel that gave the traveller a sense of how vast and beautiful the universe
really was, a constant symphony of dancing stars, planets, comets, novas, nebulas and black holes,
all shining like gems on a cascade of black velvet. Harry was, perhaps, a bit of a poet at heart.

His grin redoubled when he felt that warm, welcoming feeling that had greeted him when he'd first
arrived in Asgard. Welcome, it said. Welcome home. "Does it feel like that every time?" he asked.

"Yes," Thor said.

Jane didn't say anything, but looked like she was feeling a touch left out.

"Asgard recognises its children, Jane Foster," Heimdall said.

"And I'm not one," Jane said. "Yeah, I got it."

"That is not quite true," Heimdall said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"You were not born or raised as a child of Asgard, but Asgard knows you," Heimdall said. "She
knows how you worked to reconnect her to the rest of the universe and how you love her future
King." He looked at Jane with a slight smile. "You merely cannot hear her."

"Oh," Jane said, somewhat taken aback. "Really?"

"Of course," Heimdall said, descending to stand in front of her, and reaching out a hand. "Give me
your hand."

Jane did, her small hand being engulfed by his far larger one. Heimdall's hands could crush
mountains and reshape continents, but when grasping Jane's hand, he was as gentle as a mother cat
with her kittens. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Jane gasped. "Oh my..." she began
breathily, then closed her eyes, blinking away tears of wonder. "It's beautiful." She chuckled
slightly. "And intense. Is it always like that?"

"No, Asgard has merely been waiting to greet you for quite some time," Heimdall said. "Given the
opportunity, she was perhaps a little enthusiastic."

"Why couldn't I feel it before?" Jane asked.

"But only those inherently magical or psychically gifted can sense it," Loki said. "Harry, for
instance, is both."

"Really?" Jane asked, interested.

"I've got some sort of psychic powers, but I can't really use them consciously," Harry said, a little
embarrassed.

"For which I am ever thankful," Thor muttered. Jane promptly went bright red and Harry sighed.

"Believe me, I'm glad about that too," Harry said. "I get that you too love each other, but could you
please not be that enthusiastic around the Tower?"
"Harry!" Jane squeaked.

"Oh, Heimdall isn't hearing anything new," Loki said, slyly. "He perceives everything. Everything."

Jane let out another squeak as Thor went steadily redder and redder and Heimdall let out a soft
chuckle. "Prince Loki speaks truly, but he neglects to mention that I don't dwell on such private
matters," he said.

"My memory is ever fallible, good Heimdall," Loki said smoothly.

"Fallible my arse," Thor muttered darkly.

Harry's grin could not get any wider.

This did not say that he did not give it a go.

OoOoO

After this amusing interlude, Loki teleported them into the palace, and Harry was struck by a
question. "Dad, could I go down to see the city?" he asked. "Not yet, but sometime this week."

"That's a rather good idea, actually," Thor said. "You just have to promise to be better behaved than
your godfather."

"What did he do?"

"He almost started a tavern brawl."

Harry grinned. "Cool."

Thor and Loki shared a glance. "That one's on you, brother," Loki said. "Clearly your influence
shining through."

"Mischief is your domain."

"But you have always been the one to react with glee to the possibility of a good fight."

"How about it we agree that you're both a bad influence on him," Jane said.

"How very true," a new voice said.

"Grandmother," Harry said, delighted, on seeing his smiling grandmother, and took a step forward,
before hesitating.

"Hello grandson. Come and give your grandmother a hug," Frigga said.

Harry duly did.

"So," Frigga said. "Is what I hear about an exploding worm true?"

"That depends what you've heard about it, grandmother," Harry said, expression innocent.

Frigga eyed him critically. "The tone and words can be laid at your door, Loki. However, the
expression of wide eyed innocence can only have come from you, Thor," she said. "Jane, as ever,
your sight is clear."

"Thank you," Jane said, slightly flustered and bobbing slightly.

"Haven't I told you that you don't need to resort to formality?" Frigga chided her gently. "My
husband has been called away to a meeting of the Council Elite."

"The Council Elite?" Thor asked, surprised. "That hasn't met..."

"For a thousand years," Loki said. "And that was to deal with the matter of the Celestials."

"Chthon has been judged to present as great, if not a greater, threat to Midgard than the Celestials,"
Frigga said.

"Celestials?" Harry mumbled, puzzled.

"Search me," Jane replied, shrugging.

"I'll leave that to dad, if you don't mind," Harry said, poker faced.

"Will you stop that?"

Harry smiled slightly.

Jane sighed. "Okay, you can add Natasha to the bad influences pile," she said. "Only she's able to
teach him that good a poker face."

"What about Tony?"

"I thought that that was a given."

"Good point."

Frigga hid a smile. "Your wit has grown quicker, grandson. And it was not slow to begin with," she
said.

"I've been practising, grandmother," Harry said.

"So I see," she said dryly. "The Celestials are a race of extremely powerful entities with a long and
somewhat mysterious history. Their servants, the Eternals, are better known. Jane, my son has a
number of treatises and works based on them. Grandson, Heimdall will teach you about them."

"You will be having a couple of lessons with Heimdall," Loki said. "As he did with us, he will
show you the universe and some of the greater powers within it."

"Which ones?" Harry asked curiously.

"Whichever ones you find yourself drawn to, nephew," Loki said. "I believe it is something
Heimdall does to prevent those who are less than studious from getting distracted."

Thor flushed slightly.

"What did you see?" Jane asked, curious.

Thor flushed still further.

Harry sighed. "Typical,"

Thor eyed him, then let out a suspicious cough. It sounded like 'Carol'.

Harry rolled his eyes and began to open his mouth.

"Carol?" Frigga asked, in the tone that grandmothers use when faced with the prospect of their
grandsons develop a romantic interest in someone and don't tell them about it. This is something
they regard as both interesting and mildly offensive.

Of course, it should be noted that while Harry was physically attracted to Carol, simply by
expedient of being straight and alive, he wasn't interested in a romantic relationship. This is a
relatively fine distinction, particularly with a teenage boy. Lust and love start with the same letter
and are the same length. This can lead to the inexperienced mistaking them for the same thing.

Harry was, on some level or another, aware of the difference. However, whether this was due to
being unusually perceptive or unusually repressed (or perhaps a shaken, but not stirred mixture of
both) was up for debate.

However, Frigga did not know this, and Harry shot his father an injured look, receiving an innocent
smile in return.

"I think," Frigga said, slipping an arm around her grandson's shoulder. "That we have a lot to talk
about, grandson. I trust that you can guide Jane to your library, Loki? And Thor, it would be no bad
thing if you brushed up on the Celestials as well, and learned about what your brother's researches
have uncovered."

"Yes, mother," Thor and Loki said in practised unison, both casting amused and pitying looks at
Harry, as Frigga piloted him away with deft grace.

"Okay," Jane said. "I've changed my mind."

"About what?" Thor enquired, puzzled.

"You're not a bad influence on Harry. You're all a bad influence on each other."

OoOoO

As it turned out, Harry found that his grandmother's questions were only mildly embarrassing. Part
of this was his growing self-confidence and part of this was a degree of awareness on Frigga's part
that any romantic attachment of Harry's at this stage would probably go no further than kisses, and
fairly clumsy ones at that.

So after a few questions about who she was - an American girl who he'd met at the Stark Christmas
Party, how old she was – about Harry's age, give or take a few months, what she was like - kind,
friendly, badass (this lead to an explanation of what badass meant and how Carol had proved to be
so) and generally fun to be around. This further lead to discussions of Prince T'Challa, who Frigga
very definitely approved of, based on what little Harry was able to relay to her.

"A fine man," she said. "Though the Sons of Bastet always were wise and noble. It is good to hear
that the latest scion of that line is proving to hold the qualities of his ancestors."

"You knew them?" Harry asked, curious.

"Knew them and fought beside them in battle three thousand years past," Frigga said, smiling at
Harry's surprise. "I was not always a Queen, a mother, or even a healer."

Harry nodded slowly. "Sorry," he apologised. "It's just, three thousand years..."

"Is that your way of telling your grandmother that she's an old lady?" Frigga asked, tone teasing.
"No," Harry replied hastily. "It's just... I'm thirteen. The scale's a little different."

"That is true," Frigga agreed. "Asgardians age at the same rate, or close to, as humans, until they
reach adulthood. After that, the ageing process slows to a crawl that covers eons. Your friend,
Uhtred, for example. He will still be considered little more than an adolescent until he is two or
three hundred years old, though he will have the rights of an adult." She sat back. "In truth, in
Asgard, age is less of an issue. Respect is, broadly speaking, granted partly based on experience,
partly on skill, partly on rank and partly on personality. And power, of course. Your father and
uncle making a name for themselves at an age that even Midgardians consider young."

Harry nodded. "Why do they, we, grow up so fast?" he asked.

"Because Asgard, and the Nine Realms at large, were once a very dangerous place, even for gods.
In many ways, they still are. We developed not unlike Midgardians, but we took a slightly different
path. They could not do much to improve themselves, so they improved their weapons. They
evolved to survive at all costs. And make no mistake, for their size and physical abilities, the
average human is the ultimate survivor. Within their constraints, they are swift, strong, with great
stamina. And they are unbelievably determined." She smiled slightly. "It is rather why Asgard at
large has always had something of a soft spot for them."

Harry nodded. "What about us?" he asked.

"We harnessed magic to strengthen ourselves, to train our very being for combat," Frigga
explained. "We still needed to master weapons, magic and develop our knowledge beyond the
primal, much like Midgardians. But we needed to become weapons even to have the chance to do
that."

"I think I understand," Harry said, frowning.

"Good," Frigga said. "I sense that you are fond of this Carol, but more as a friend."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so," he said. "I think... well, she looks a lot older than she is. She's
about my age, but she looks like a grown woman, with... um."

"The figure to match," Frigga said calmly.

"Yeah," Harry said. "And..."

"And it is a very attractive figure indeed," Frigga predicted.

"Right."

Frigga sighed. "It is far from unheard of," she said. "And often a great trial to the young woman in
question, as many men assume that a mature body indicates not only a mature mind but a
willingness to share that body. It is much less of a problem in Asgard, for various reasons. For one,
most women learn at least some magic." She smiled slightly. "Many an overenthusiastic suitor has
found himself uncontrollably spouting all sorts of embarrassing secrets , or simply that he has
unaccountably tripped and fallen face first into something unpleasant." Her smile turned slightly
grim. "And because, since we are gods, none can justify their misdeeds by the purposefully
mistranslated and misapplied orders of a higher power."

"Huh," Harry said. He hadn't really thought of the religion question. It wasn't really surprising that
Asgardians didn't have a religion. After all, they knew what they were, why they were here and
what was going to happen after they died. It must, Harry thought, be very comforting.
"Then there is the fact that, with truth spells and various forms of scrying spell, it is usually simple
to discover the true nature of what took place. That combined with the risk of being challenged to
single combat if they are caught in a lie means that must do not even bother lying," Frigga
continued. "And, simply put, in Asgard we have had much longer to develop as a society than the
people of Midgard, and our history, excepting the reign of your great-grandfather, Bor, has largely
been one of social progress."

Harry frowned. "Dad said that he thought that Bor might have..." he trailed off as he realised that
perhaps this was not the best subject to broach.

"Whatever it is your father said, you may as well say it. I doubt that it is worse than many of the
things I witnessed at first hand," Frigga said.

"Dad said that Bor might have murdered his father. Or if he didn't, he would have done it if he
could," Harry said.

"Your father, despite his pretensions to the contrary and the beliefs of many, is nobody's fool. I can
well believe that Bor would consider it," Frigga said bluntly. "Though I'm not even sure if it would
have been possible for him to catch Buri offguard, and that would have been the only way he'd
even have had a chance."

"Why?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Because King Buri was the God of Time, grandson," Frigga said. "And that made him incredibly
powerful and incredibly wise. He was also close to the House of El, and even Bor would think
twice before angering even one Child of the Thirteen, let alone an entire House."

"Child of the Thirteen? House of El?"

"Have you heard of Krypton?" Frigga asked.

"Yes. Grandfather said that it was Asgard's closest ally and that it was murdered by something
called Thanos," Harry said.

"Accurate enough," Frigga said. "Asgard's history with Krypton goes back tens of thousands of
years, back to when your ancestors first developed the ability to fly through space unaided."

Harry's eyes nearly popped out.

"At the same time, the most powerful Kryptonians had developed that ability as well, and indeed,
those particularly powerful Kryptonians took their conflicts to the stars, for fear of destroying the
planet that they lived on," Frigga said. "Asgard was undergoing one of its periods of expansion at
the time, involving itself more in the other Realms, your ancestors carving out the Empire that you
shall one day inherit. Krypton, correspondingly, was going through what they called 'the Age of
Wars.' Your ancestors and the ancestors of the House of El met and found that they had much in
common. The two groups allied with each other in war, exchanged children for fostering, even
potentially engaged in a marriage alliance. No one has ever been quite sure about that last one, and
in any case, it was so long ago that any remaining influence is all but gone."

Harry listened, fascinated.

"Then, Buri, your grandfather's grandfather, came to the throne, just as Asgard was stabilising once
more. It was not yet as it is now, but it was getting there. At the same time, Krypton was emerging
from its Age of Wars, under the authority of the Council of 13. They were the 13 most powerful
Kryptonians. Each Kryptonian, under a yellow sun, has the rough strength and power of an
Asgardian. The 13, however, were on a par with Asgard's mightiest, and that was how they ended
the Age of Wars: by charisma, leadership and overwhelming force. A full grown member of the
House of El or Zod, for instance, could match your father for strength, or come so close that the
difference would be immaterial."

Harry looked astonished.

"They also possessed several futher abilities; flight, incredibly enhanced senses, the ability to see
through walls, launch beams of energy from their eyes and breathe out howling gales. This was
simply because their bodies more efficiently processed the solar energy, and occasionally, a few of
the ordinary Kryptonians developed one or two of these extra abilities, to one extent or another.
Under a red sun, however, there was no difference. They were much like the mortals of Midgard,
perhaps slightly stronger. That was one of their weaknesses. Another was magic."

"Magic?"

"Yes. One of your stunning spells would affect a full grown Kryptonian the same way it would a
human, though the House of El always displayed an unusual, but not complete, resistance to magic.
Perhaps this was proof that they and the House of Odin shared blood," Frigga said. "But we shall
never know."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "Grandfather said that they were Asgard's equal," he said.

"And they were. Under a yellow sun, they were our equals for strength, though magic and innate
warrior skill gave the average Asgardian the advantage over the average Kryptonian. Without it,
their technology developed to the point where it could match the mightiest of magics," Frigga said.

"Why was Asgard so close to the House of El?" Harry asked. "I mean, if grandfather went so far as
to mould dad, well, dad as a mortal, in their image..."

"That is a good question. Of the thirteen Great Houses of Krypton, most who knew something of
us would think that it was the House of Zod that we would be drawn to. They were the warriors
and the soldiers, brave, noble and loyal to a fault. They were Krypton's sword and her shield. A
fine match for a race of warrior gods, or so one might think," Frigga said.

Harry nodded his understanding.

"But the House of El... they were dreamers," she said. "Explorers. Heroes. And that, I think, is
what made them stand out. It is all very well to be a soldier, loyal and true, but a hero... that is
something much rarer. The House of El usually followed their consciences, and they were raised to
be free thinkers, to choose their own destinies. Most of the Houses had particular occupations. The
House of Zod tended towards soldiers, the House of Ur tended towards scientists and the House of
Ze tended towards artisans. The House of El, however, produced all three, and any number of
explorers."

She chuckled slightly. "Most of them were indomitably curious. You could always tell which
member of a Kryptonian expedition was an El or influenced by them, because they usually
wandered straight into trouble. They were always looking for something new. In later centuries,
they tended towards science, but they never lost that streak of wanderlust and fascination with the
world around them. And they always did what they thought was right. That is why we admired
them the most: they valued the same virtues that we did. When there was a call to adventure, they
answered. Courage, justice and curiosity." Frigga smiled slightly at Harry. "So perhaps you share
more with them more than merely outward appearance. Certainly, they would have liked you."
Harry flushed slightly. "Are... are there any left?" he asked tentatively.

Frigga sighed. "We have looked," she said. "And there are rumours that some still remain. A solar
powered Kryptonian can live for as long as an Asgardian, after all, and your grandfather's foster
brother, Kal-El, first of his name, may still remain within the Nine Realms. Or he may not. He may
have flown somewhere far away to mourn his people, particularly his descendants. He was always
a good friend of mine, and he doted on Thor and Loki as children." She chuckled slightly. "Your
grandfather thought that they were going to grow up horribly spoiled, but Kal shrugged him off.
He was one of the few who could do that and get away with it."

"They were close?"

"Very. They were raised as brothers, you see. I was close to Kal as well, and when I came to
Asgard – I was of the Vanir, you see and my marriage to your grandfather was arranged," Frigga
explained.

"Arranged?"

"Yes, it was political," Frigga said. "It was not love at first sight, but we liked each other well
enough, particularly once I realised that your grandfather wasn't half as gruff and grim as he liked
to pretend. As time went by, we came to love each other very much."

"Are arranged marriages still a thing? I mean, do they still happen?" Harry asked, slightly worried.

"Not officially," Frigga said. "Odin and I took that law off the statutes. While it ended happily for
us, and for others, for many it does not. Kal pushed for it, believing, so typically of his house, that
people should have the right to choose their own destiny. When I came to Asgard, he took me
under his wing, so to speak. He was an exemplar of a great and noble people. And now they live on
only in memory, their home..." She shook her head. "Oh, you should have seen it, Harry. There
were cities of pale, shaped crystal and sleek, graceful metal, copper coloured grass, waving in
gentle winds and silver leafed trees that bore golden fruit. There were waterfalls of liquid fire,
flowers of living ice and forests that sang and glowed like lanterns in the night. And then there was
Argo, a green and verdant world, not unlike Earth, which had so many wonders of its own. All of
them, destroyed utterly, for the sake of the ambitions and obsessions of the Mad Titan."

Seeing that his grandmother's grieved and bitter expression, Harry impulsively reached out and
hugged her. Frigga let out a startled chuckle, and hugged him back.

"It sounds like it was beautiful," Harry said quietly. "And I'm sorry that it's gone."

"I am too," Frigga said, just as quietly. "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. "You looked like you needed it, grandmother," he said.

Frigga smiled. "You somehow manage to be as complex as your uncle and as straightforward as
your father, both at the same time," she said. "I am not sure how you manage it, but it is
undoubtedly part of your unique charm."

"... Thank you?"

Frigga let out a soft laugh. "It was a compliment, grandson," she said. "Now, let us get on with this
check up."

It was, Harry found to his relief, swift and painless, even the taking of a blood sample. Apparently
it was perfectly simply to numb a small area of skin, take a blood sample, then heal it. All the
while, his grandmother kept up a steady stream of questions, asking about his schooling, his
lessons, his pranks – while she did not entirely approve of these, as she put it, "I would almost be
worried if you weren't playing pranks on your fellows. Elder Gods know that your father and uncle
were infamous for it." – and, teasingly, girls.

Occasionally she asked him questions of a more medical bent. How many times had he broken
bones, how many times had lost consciousness and if he had any allergies.

"Not that I know of," Harry said, in response to the last one. "Do Asgardians have allergies?"

"Almost invariably not," Frigga said. "I have only come across one case in your father's life time,
though I have heard of others, and in very few cases are they severe."

"Oh. Do you think that I'll have them because I'm half human?"

"Maybe," she said. "But it is standard procedure." She smiled briefly. It seemed slightly strained.
"Just in case."

Harry nodded. "What was the person allergic to? If I may ask?"

Frigga paused for a moment. "Mistletoe," she said eventually. "He was allergic to mistletoe."

She looked up, and for a moment, it looked like her eyes were damp with unspilled tears. Then, the
moment passed and she gently removed his glasses. "Now," she said, tone firm yet kind. "Let's see
about fixing your eyes."

OoOoO

While Harry was unknowingly treading close to a very painful part of his family's history, Loki was
explaining to Thor and Jane what he had discovered.

"I can confirm that HYDRA are down to one remaining base," he said. "Unfortunately, that is not
necessarily a good thing."

"Why not?"

"Because their remaining power is concentrated, for one," Loki said. "Because they are now led by
Lucius Malfoy, for two. And because they will be desperate, for three."

"Wait, Lucius leads HYDRA?" Thor asked.

"Apparently he decided that Baron Von Strucker was less of an ally and more of an inconvenience,
so he killed him and took over HYDRA," Loki said. "I have not had that confirmed, but all the
indications, including what I know of Malfoy's mind, suggest that it is true.

"That's good, right? One less enemy to worry about."

"I am afraid it is not, Jane," Loki said. "Von Strucker was competent, but arrogant. He was no
match for Nicholas Fury, no matter how much he pretended he was."

"Whereas Malfoy is Fury's shadow, his mirror image," Thor said grimly. "Just as intelligent, just as
ruthless and, unfortunately, just as dangerous."

"And he has control of funds from his account and a number of old pureblood accounts," Loki said.
"The exact amount is unknown, but in the billions, maybe even tens of billions. And that is leaving
aside what HYDRA possesses." He paused.
"Brother?"

"I am uneasy," Loki admitted. "I think... it is almost certainly not true, but it is nagging away at
me."

"What is it?" Jane asked. "Because in my experience, gut feelings should be listened to."

"After World War II the Allies took Nazi scientists for their expertise. This would have included
HYDRA scientists," Loki said. "In the Soviet Union, I am certain that this partly led to the creation
of the Red Room. In the United States... I am not certain."

"What's the Red Room?" Jane asked, glancing at Thor, who shrugged.

"The Red Room, Jane, is evil. Pure, refined evil," Loki said softly. "America committed its share of
atrocities upon its own citizens – Camp Cathcart comes to mind."

"Camp Cathcart?"

"It is an episode of American history not taught in the schools," Loki said. "In essence, hundreds of
African-American serviceman were used as guinea pigs for an attempted replication of Erskine's
Formula. I never met the good Doctor, but everything Steve tells me says that he was a very kind,
very wise and very gentle old man who, despite being a Jew in Nazi Germany, believed in the
goodness of humanity. And he would have been utterly horrified by what happened there." He
grimaced as Jane looked at him in horror. "It was a spinoff of Project Rebirth, begun after Captain
Rogers' disappearance and the death of Spitfire at the hands of the Winter Soldier."

"So it was the Soldier who killed her," Jane murmured, horror momentarily put aside by curiosity.
"Sorry. I read about her in school and no one was ever sure what happened to her." She frowned.
"Didn't anyone know her real name?"

"I'm sure that some did, but for some reason, she was extremely evasive about handing it out,"
Loki said. "No clear photos survive of her, either." He frowned. "And no one has ever paid much
attention to investigating her, which is surprising."

"Another mystery, brother?"

"They are rather piling up, aren't they?" Loki observed. "Harry's mother, the force that worked to
keep him isolated at Privet Drive, the unnerving resemblance that Clint's adopted cousin, a certain
Master Kent, bears to Harry..."

"Brother?"

"Resemblance," Loki breathed. "Resemblance!" He stood up and paced. "Oh, it cannot be... but
what if it is? What a thing that would be!"

"Brother?" Thor asked.

"No, I can't tell you," Loki said, waving him away. "Sorry, brother, but the Darkhold is abroad.
Chthon is moving in the shadows, waiting for his chance. The Hell Lords test their bonds. The
creatures of deepest, darkest Winter still slip through the gaps. Many of these beings can pluck
knowledge from one's mind. And this knowledge... oh, this knowledge is immensely valuable."

"How valuable?" Jane asked.

"Oh... equivalent, perhaps, to the knowledge of the whereabouts of an Infinity Gem," Loki said.
Thor's jaw dropped.

"What's an Infinity Gem?"

"The Tesseract is one," Loki said. "Progenitor of the Cosmic Cubes."

"Erik said that Fury called it that. You say it like there's more than one," Jane said, frowning.

"There is only one Tesseract, but there are a number of copies," Thor said. "Made by those who
studied the Tesseract. Less powerful, but still..."

"That power was truly vast," Loki said. "The Tesseract, in the right hands, can warp reality itself,
all across the universe. The Cosmic Cubes tend to be more limited and, occasionally, sentient."

"Sentient?!"

"They develop minds," Loki said. "I am not clear on the process of how, but they do."

Jane shook her head slowly. "Loki, if that was studied, we could understand how sentience
evolves, why it evolves," she said. "It would be the scientific discovery of the century!"

"Jane, if you wish to study a nascent sentience in the form of a reality warping cube, I applaud your
bravery but question your good sense," Loki said, laughing softly. "It would almost certainly kill
you, completely by accident. It would be like a kitten or a puppy, testing its limits, maybe even
trying to play with you, and being magnificently innocent of the consequences of its actions. And
in a reality warper, that is a very dangerous trait. It would turn you inside out to see what you
looked like on the inside, and then it might forget to put you back together again."

"Oh," Jane said, going pale.

"Yes. Oh."

"You said something about the Red Room."

"Yes. Where Camp Cathcart was a particularly evil act on the part of the United States, by the
standards of the Red Room, it was fairly ordinary," Loki said. "Jane, Natasha is afraid of almost
nothing. Even the prospect of imminent death does not faze her. But they created her, they used
her, and, even after all these years, they still haunt her dreams. Imagine how terrible they must be."

Jane shuddered. "I'd rather not," she said. "And how do you know this?"

"Observation," Loki said. "And..." he coughed. "Clint told me. When I had him under my control."
He looked distant. "Also, it only makes sense. They dictated the course of her life practically from
infancy, and did so for decades. She existed only at their will. Everything she did was either
ordered or allowed by the Red Room. They controlled her almost completely." He shook his head.
"I do not even want to begin to think about the effort it must have taken her to break away, the
courage required."

"Natasha is a very brave woman," Thor said. "As brave as any I have had the honour to know. But
even the bravest warrior knows fear. Only a fool does not."

"Yes, brother," Loki said quietly. "But most fears can be confronted, faced, even destroyed. The
Red Room... it is like HYDRA. When you cut off one head, two more grow in its place, wiser and
fiercer than their predecessors, and vengeful to boot. That organisation was dormant for years after
the Soviet Union fell. But now it has been reactivated." He met Thor's gaze. "She thought it dead
and buried and now it has come back. Can you imagine how that must feel?"

"Well enough," Thor said quietly. He glanced at Jane and his brother. "You both know what
nightmare stalks my dreams. And if he returned..."

Jane reached out and squeezed his hand. It had come as something of a surprise to her that Thor
actually feared someone. Not something abstract, like, say, losing someone he loved, but an
individual. Then again, what God would not fear a self-proclaimed 'Butcher of Gods'? Sensibly,
she changed the subject, before it could get too mired down in grim darkness. "What are the
Celestials?" she asked.

"The Celestials..." Loki said. "Where to start?"

OoOoO

"The Celestials are a race of immensely powerful entities that inhabit the mortal plane, space gods
as some call them," Heimdall said, replying to the self-same question from Harry. "Or at least, their
physical bodies do. Very little is known about the true origins of the Celestials. Some believe that
they come from some other reality. Some believe that they are an ancient race of scientists, to
whom all the mortal realm is an experiment. And some believe that they are the universe's immune
system, created by Eternity."

"Eternity?" Harry asked, as, unbidden, an image came into his mind. It was of a vast face,
constructed entirely of stars, planets, galaxies and firmament, as clear as the moment he had Seen
it, on his first passage through the Bifrost.

"He is the incarnation of the universe itself," Heimdall said. "You Saw him when you travelled
through the Bifrost. Most young sorcerers do. As for the Celestials..." He took Harry's hand, and
Harry found himself abruptly gazing upon a group of immense entities, the largest of which were
the size of mountains, armoured in shining metal, vast circuit like lines of light shining on them.
"This is a Celestial Host. Eson the Searcher. Exitar the Exterminator. Gamiel the Manipulator.
Devron the Experimenter. Gammenon the Gatherer. Hargen the Measurer. Jemiah the Analyzer.
Nezarr the Calculator. Ashema the Listener. And their usual leader, Arishem the Judge, though he,
she, or it, is second to the one they call 'the One Above All'. Each name describes their function as
part of the Host."

"Is this all of them? I mean, apart from their leader?"

"No. These are merely some of the better known and more powerful Celestials," Heimdall said.
"There are other Celestial hosts, but this is the most powerful one. It is the one that approaches
worlds of particular interest and, potentially, particular threat. Midgard is one such world."

"Earth is dangerous?"

"Extremely," Heimdall said. "It is sometimes known as the God Nexus, for the sheer name of
powerful pantheons, heavenly and demonic, that take an interest in it and have, in the past, made it
their home. It is where the Dreamer sleeps his long sleep. It is where the Elder Gods were born and
resided for billions of years. It is where they were banished, save for Gaea and her son, Atum.
Atum resides in the Sun for much of the time. His stirring, as he does now, is a sign of impending
doom. As for Gaea, the Mother of Midgard, she became mother to many of the godly pantheons.
You are descended from her, as is your friend, Lady Diana, though the connection is very distant in
your case. Less so in hers."

"Do alien worlds have fewer pantheons?"

"Far fewer. Most have only one, not the dozens that Midgard does," Heimdall said.

"Why is that?"

"No one knows," Heimdall said. "But perhaps it is because it is one of the most powerful
wellsprings of magic in the universe. And that wellspring resides beneath your home nation."

"Britain?"

"Yes, partly as a product of the fact that the barrier between mortal Britain and Avalon is extremely
thin," Heimdall said.

"Avalon is real?" Harry asked, startled, then shook his head. "Of course it is. I've got to stop being
sceptical."

"A little scepticism is no bad thing," Heimdall said. "As long as it is not arbitrary." He glanced at
Harry. "And I would advise not attracting the attention of Avalon. For a millennium, like most of
the pantheons, it has been dormant. It is now waking up, and the Avalonians, for the most part,
have little reason to look on the House of Odin with fondness."

"Were we enemies?"

"Your grandfather and they fought, then allied to face the Frost Giants in the Last Great Frost
Giant War," Heimdall said. "But it was an alliance of convenience. There are only two Avalonians
that regard your house with fondness."

"Who?"

"You know them as Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory. Before, they were known as Bran
and Bard, the Raven-Lords of Avalon. Bran, who you know as Huginn, was even a King of Old
Britain, many millennia ago. Bard is less well remembered, though I believe that Master Tolkien,
your uncle's friend, named a character in his epic after him at his request."

"How old are they?"

"Older than I, maybe even older than Lord Odin himself," Heimdall said. "Little is known of them
and, truth be told, I think that they prefer it that way."

"Yeah, we like to encourage a little mystery," Huginn said conversationally. Harry jumped, slightly
startled, as he adjusted to the sudden weight on both his shoulders. "Hey kid."

"Hi," Harry said. "I've got marshmallows in my room."

"See, this is why we like you, kid," Huginn said.

"You put our stomachs first."

"Right."

"If you feed them too many, you'll spoil them," Heimdall warned, amused. "And while he may be
considerate to your stomachs, our young Prince has lessons to learn."

"Right," Huginn said. Harry vaguely noticed that Muninn's feathers were rather rumpled and that
he looked a bit subdued. Before he could ask, though, Heimdall took his hand, and he was sucked
into the strange, distant yet intimate awareness that the Watchman possessed. This time, Harry took
a moment to admire the shining array of the heavens, worlds hanging like jewels in space. One
world was a pale, dusty blue, a world of vast seas and clouds that chased each other over the
shining seas like puppies at play. Another was a shining red, burning like fire. Yet a third was a
milky white, broken up by streaks of emerald green.

And that was just the planets. Vast nebulas, clouds of stardust, shimmered and flowed in the
vastness of space.

"It's beautiful," he breathed. "Dad once said that you probably got bored... but how could be bored
watching all this?"

Heimdall let out a soft chuckle. "Your father is a very practical god. He deals with what is in front
of him. He perceives beauty, but of a more earthly kind. Every now and then, he looks out at the
stars and wonders in their dance, looks down at planets and admires them. But for the most part, he
is concerned with the physical and present."

"He said as much," Harry said.

"I am not surprised. These days he is fairly self aware," Heimdall said. "And with it, wise. Now.
Look."

Harry looked. And saw.

A silver figure, streaking through space.

At first, it was just that, a streak. Then Heimdall's vision focused, zooming in, along Harry to pick
up the details.

It was a man, no, not a man. Surely it was some kind of angel. It had the body of a naked man, but
it was somehow cool, distant and impersonal, with blank white eyes. It looked like a statue carved
of living silver, but it, or he, lacked certain parts of anatomy that Harry might expect a naked man
to possess. Maybe the silvery skin was a type of armour, he thought.

"His name is, or was, Norrin Radd. Many centuries ago, he was known by that name, but one day,
his homeworld was threatened by an entity called Galactus," Heimdall said. "In exchange for his
world's survival, he became the entity known to some as the Silver Surfer, others as the Silver
Searcher, and others still... as the Angel of Death."

"Galactus?" Harry asked puzzled.

"Galactus is a natural force. He feeds on living worlds."

"Living... he kills entire worlds? Like Krypton?" Harry asked, dismayed.

"No. That would imply that what he does is senseless murder," Heimdall said. "He exists as a
lynchpin of reality. He prevents life from overrunning the universe, and uses his immense power to
hold entities far more terrible than he in check. In any case, most advanced worlds have plans for
his arrival. He gives a world time to evacuate, and his Heralds have sometimes gone with the
refugees, to guide them to a new world if they have not found one themselves. It varies from
Herald to Herald."

"Herald? They tell worlds that Galactus is coming?" Harry asked, frowning, still not entirely sure if
he was happy with this.

"Yes. And they lead him to those worlds in order for him to feed," Heimdall said.
"Don't people try and stop him?"

"They do. But a hungry Galactus is a fair match for Lord Odin, and Odin is, for a number of
reasons, the mightiest of Midgard's Skyfathers," Heimdall said. "But such a battle would be truly
cataclysmic and the winner would be impossible to predict. In any case, only Krypton ever
succeeded in staving him off, and that was with Lord Odin's aid."

"How did they do it?"

"They raised their system shield, which held off Galactus for a short while. As they did, Lord Odin
expanded Asgard space, and with the use of the Bifrost, brought the Rao system into the expanded
realm, arranging it with his will in order to prevent Asgard and its star from being too close to the
temporarily transplanted Rao system. When Galactus broke through the shield, he found nothing."

Harry's jaw dropped. The power required... he couldn't even begin to imagine it. Then he frowned.
"Couldn't grandfather do that every time?"

"No. As I said, Galactus is a force of nature, as natural as the tides and the turning of the seasons.
And nature is not always nice. But it is necessary," Heimdall said. "In any case, the effort required
forced your grandfather to enter the Odinsleep for nearly half a year."

"It wasn't moving the system that was the problem for the Boss, it was keeping everything in
balance, compensating for the changes and the lack of planetary rotation, that sort of thing,"
Huginn explained. "It's like trying to play a million different board games at once, while juggling
explosives. One mistake..."

"Thus kablooey, thus death."

"Right."

Harry blinked.

"He's doing the face again," Huginn observed.

"What face?"

"The 'I can't comprehend this face'."

"He's a teenage boy. They're much more interested in comprehending breasts."

Harry went violently red and tried very hard to ignore the thoughts of the breasts of a number of
female acquaintances, primarily Carol, Darcy and Sif. Sif was a little bit of a surprise to him, since
he hadn't really thought of her that way, being more preoccupied with her general awesome, save to
acknowledge that she was an exceptionally attractive woman who his uncle was hopelessly in love
with and refused to admit it / who was hopelessly in love with his uncle and refused to admit it.
This bothered him somewhat.

"Don't bother, kid. We read minds. We ain't gonna judge."

"Though, in the interests of accuracy, Sif's are a bit bigger than that. No, not quite... yeah, that's
about right."

Harry went even redder.

"Huginn. Muninn," Heimdall said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't turn it harsh or hard. He
didn't need to.

"Right. Sorry," Huginn said a little sheepishly, while Harry tried to put naked friends out of his
mind. He was, by and large, failing.

The next thing Harry saw, however, drove all other thoughts from his mind.

A giant bird, carved out of pure golden-red flame, flecked here and there with white, blue and red,
circling a world that, to Harry's eyes, looked somehow sickly, the clouds an unnaturally purple hue,
the seas dark and stagnant, and the vegetation a dun yellowish. Harry frowned. Something inside
him said that this wasn't right. That it must be judged. Was it too far gone? Or could it be saved?

Harry had the strangest feeling that it was asking him. Saved, of course, he thought indignantly.

And there it was again, that soft feminine laugh, sad and gentle, and this time, approving. Then that
voice, that strange mysterious voice, so quiet that Harry could not be sure that it was even there,
spoke.

Fire.

The vast firebird plunged towards the planet, descending in a step dive and exploding againt the
planet's surface. As swift as thought a golden-red inferno engulfed the planet, a scene of such
horrific beauty that stole Harry's breath away, combined with a peculiar sense of resignation. So it
was death, anyway.

Life.

Or perhaps not, he thought, with a sense of wild, incandescent and somehow inhuman exultation.
The inferno receded, reforming into that vast bird of flame that erupted from the earth with one
vast beat of its wings, sailing into the stairs, beak opening in a triumphant, soundless cry, leaving
behind a purified and renewed world, with strange, but lively, pale blue clouds, vital orange grass
and shining white seas.

Balance.

And then, it was gone. Harry was still rather unsure if it was there in the first place. He looked up
at Heimdall, who stared down at him, expression very carefully revealing nothing. If he'd been
looking at them, he'd have seen Huginn and Muninn exchange looks that spoke volumes of their
recognition, with a little residual confusion. This puzzle piece was one that fit, but perhaps not
perfectly.

"Heimdall? What was that?"

"That, my Prince, is the entity known only as the Phoenix."

OoOoO

Heimdall smiled as he watched Harry go. He was a fine boy, he thought. Young, brave and clever,
full of optimism and still, in many ways, touchingly innocent. Yet he kept a cool head in combat
and had an undeniable knack for command, inspiring loyalty in the same way that most people
breathed. His potential was near limitless.

But, he thought as his smile faded, potential was not always turned to good purpose

Heimdall had kept his watch for three and half thousand years. Never in all his years of watch had
he witnessed He bowed his head in thought, considering what he knew of the Phoenix and its
hosts. It was a mysterious being by nature, unbelievably ancient and unbelievably powerful,
working to ends that even gods had trouble grasping and propelled by motivations none had ever
succeeded in divining. The most basic one seemed to be maintaining universal balance. But how
that balance was determined was another matter entirely, if that was even its intent.

But this much was known.

The good hosts wore green, healing, preserving and protecting.

The dangerous hosts wore red. They were described as dangerous, as they were not uniformly bad,
but they trod a fine line, being capable of great good and great evil. They existed for one purpose:
to make and enact the Judgement of the Phoenix.

And that judgement was simple. All which did not work would burn. It would simply be a matter
of deciding what did not work. This could either be a surgical destruction of a dead world, or the
wanton devouring of an entire star system.

Heimdall was almost certain that Harry had, whether he knew it or not, made that judgement.
Maybe he hadn't. Maybe it was already decided. But while he had chosen the Celestials as a subject
to teach, he had not chosen the Surfer, nor the Phoenix. Harry had been drawn to them both. The
Surfer, perhaps by his endless flight, which would naturally fascinate Harry, and he possessed a
sense of melancholy that perhaps echoed some of the boy's own quiet sadness.

But the Phoenix... Heimdall had heard and seen how the young Prince was gifted with fire, how he
defied death again and again and had wondered at such resilience. Now, he felt that he had the
answer. Or at least in part. Harry was certainly not a Phoenix host. They tended to be rather
noticeable. But the Phoenix was, for whatever reason, taking an interest in his affairs, in a way it
had not done in all his years as Asgard's Watchman.

Indeed, he could only remember one occasion that he'd seen the Phoenix manifest in the Nine
Realms, little more than a century ago. Some foolish mortals had summoned it somehow, seeking
to constrain it. And they had paid the price. One still living, Albus Dumbledore, had witnessed it,
and, remarkably, successfully pleaded with the Phoenix to spare the one who she possessed. For
that act of courage and mercy, if nothing else, Heimdall held him in the highest esteem.

Of course, if any being could evade his gaze, it was the Phoenix. After all, She controlled minds
and perceptions, and for all his power, near equal to the Allfather himself, he was no match for her.
He might not even notice her manipulations. And if what Huginn and Muninn had suggested was
true, manipulations they were.

But to what purpose? Was the Phoenix manoeuvring to stand against Chthon and his agents? Or did
She have some different purpose in mind? Why was she doing this?

Maybe a clue lay in a glimpse. One glimpse, just one glimpse, that suggested that there was a third
kind of Phoenix Host. One that didn't wear green or red.

It wore white.

He hadn't seen much, just a hint of a gently curved woman with a cascade of rich, dark red hair,
hair which, taken by itself, would have made Amora green with envy. Heimdall did not doubt that
the rest of the woman, or whatever she was, perhaps a host, perhaps the way the Phoenix
visualised herself or perhaps a form that she felt that he would be comfortable with, was just as
lovely. Whatever she was, she had laughed softly. And then it had ended, gone like mist in the
Summer sun. She'd known he was there. Not there in the abstract sense, but looking at her
specifically. No one had ever done that.

She was familiar, for some reason. But for once, Heimdall could not put his finger on it.

And that, if nothing else, troubled him deeply.

OoOoO

Harry, however, was remarkably innocent of troubles, having spent a busy couple of hours tracking
down Uhtred. While some might have said that, as a Prince of Asgard, who could have ordered
someone to help him, Harry not unreasonably felt that this was something he should do himself
and, in any case, everyone seemed to be busy with their own things. Also, he felt that it was
unlikely that people would actually recognise him. While he was wearing a loose red cotton shirt
and a pair of dark breeches, and thus fitted in perfectly well, he didn't look particularly regal.

He was actually wrong about this, as first Loki, then Algrim, had taken a great deal of care to make
sure that Asgard's youngest Prince was recognised by, at least, those who resided and worked in
the citadel, even having the foresight to leave spectacles out of the description, but it didn't really
matter. Harry preferred to do things himself.

Though he did eventually ask directions.

And that was how he found Uhtred, who had a bow on his shoulder and a quiver at his hip.

"Hello Uhtred," Harry said, and was rather startled when Uhtred whirled, looked puzzled for a
moment, then respectfully went down on one knee.

"My lord," he said.

"What? Oh," Harry said, remembering that Uhtred had pledged allegiance. "Please get up," he said,
tone slightly anguished. "We're friends. Friends don't bow to one another."

"I consider you a friend, my lord, but you are also my sworn liege lord," Uhtred said, standing.
Harry inwardly noted that he probably needed to look up the details of that sort of arrangement. "I
must show you the proper respect."

"Well... as your liege lord, I declare that outside of formal situations when you feel that you really
must do it, you don't bow, don't go down on one knee and definitely don't call me 'my lord'," Harry
said firmly. "Just call me Harry. All my friends do."

"Yes, my... Harry," Uhtred said.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Archery practice?"

Uhtred nodded. "It's not what I'm best at," he admitted. "And I don't have your eye, but I like to
keep my hand in."

Harry nodded. "I'll walk you down," he said, and added wryly, "it might help me find my way
around this place." He paused, and frowned. "My eye?"

"I'd be glad of it," Uhtred said, setting out, Harry falling into step alongside him. "As for your eye,
as far as I can see, you're excellent at judging distances and aiming. You did throw a sword into a
target from fully thirty feet away. That is impressive by any standard."
Harry felt a brief warm glow and shrugged. "I didn't know it would work until I tried it," he said.
"And actually, I can't believe I was stupid enough to try it. Imagine if I'd missed."

Uhtred chuckled. "I think you'd have found something else to impress," he said. "Such as your
height. Before, you were small. Now, we are almost of a height."

"I've been catching up on some growing," Harry said, having grown fully five inches since he'd last
seen the other boy.

"And you no longer wear spectacles," Uhtred observed.

"Yeah, my grandmother fixed my eyes this morning," Harry said. "It feels a bit strange," he
admitted.

"I suppose it would do."

They walked in silence for a little while.

"So, how have you been?"

"Well, thank you. I have been practising against agile swordsmen," Uhtred said, a touch wryly.
"That trick is one that will not work twice."

Harry grinned. "That's the thing about tricks. They only need to work once," he said.

"Maybe," Uhtred said. "And you getting to be of a size where you will not need tricks. You look
not just taller, but stronger."

Indeed, Harry did. His loose shirt did not hide the fact that he had bulked out somewhat in the last
few months. Not to the point where it was remarkable, but it was quite obvious that scrawny was
no longer a remotely accurate adjective where he was concerned. He could quite comfortably have
passed for fifteen or sixteen and, indeed, though he did not notice it, he attracted more than the odd
admiring gaze from young ladies that he passed by.

"It's always good to have a trick or two," Harry said. "There's always someone bigger, better,
stronger or faster, or all four at once."

"I suppose so," Uhtred said thoughtfully. "Have you been practising?"

"Not with a sword," Harry said. "I've mostly been working on magic." He conjured a fireball by
way of demonstration, casually expanding it, shrinking it, changing the colour and heat, and
generally toying with it. "And hand to hand combat. I can show you some if you like."

Uhtred nodded. "I would like that," he said, smiling. "I know little of hand to hand combat, other
than basic wrestling, and less of Midgard's martial arts. After all, it is always possible to be caught
without a weapon."

"I can teach you a bit," Harry said. "And it'll be easier if you know the basics of how to fall and
stuff like that."

"Thank you, my – Harry," Uhtred said.

"No problem."

Soon, they reached the archery butts. "Uhtred," Harry asked. "Have you seen Diana anywhere? Do
you know where she might be?"
"Not much," Uhtred said, poker faced. "But if I had to hazard a guess, I would say about five feet
above your head."

Harry looked up sharply and jumped as he saw Diana grinning down at him in a fashion somewhat
reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. Considering said cat's origin, a fashion somewhat reminiscent of
Loki might have been a more accurate way to put it. "Hello," she said cheerfully.

"Hello to you too," Harry said, blinking in surprise, and rather glad that Diana was wearing a
relatively tight shirt and trousers. In other words, there would be no embarrassing wardrobe
malfunctions. Considering that Diana, to his practised eye, showed the sort of skill in the air that
only came through long practise, she'd probably learned – or been taught – about it some time ago.
"How are you?"

"Well, thank you," Diana said. She had grown taller, Harry noticed, and was starting to develop the
beginnings of curves. Then again, if he remembered correctly, she was about twelve, and therefore
on the edge of adolescence. They were all growing up so fast, he thought. He was evidence of that,
more obviously than most. Ron was slowly filling out too, as, he supposed, was Hermione, in a
different sort of way. Or she probably was. He hadn't really noticed. Uhtred had also put on an inch
or two of height, and a few more pounds of muscle.

Omnia Mutantur. Everything changes. The motto of the Xavier Institute, which Harry would, under
the circumstances, think probably applied to his life. Before, he'd been a teen wizard with two close
friends. Before that, he'd been a bullied, abused and ignored 'freak' with no friends at all. Now, an
honoured Prince of Asgard, with more and more friends as time went by and a somewhat dodgy set
of developing superpowers. Everything changes indeed.

Change, on balance, was a good thing, and Harry found himself enjoying the ensuing chat, in
which Harry showed off his skill with fire, compared hand to hand techniques with Diana,
promising to teach her some of the aikido that Professor Cassidy had taught him in exchange for
the chance to learn some pankration, which Diana was something of an expert at. It only made
sense. After all, her father had invented it.

"You know," Diana said thoughtfully. "Maybe you're going to be the God of Fire."

"You think so?"

"You do seem to have a gift with that element," Uhtred observed.

"I suppose I do," Harry said dubiously.

"Asgard hasn't had one for a while," Diana said. "The last one was generations back."

"Really?"

Diana nodded. "Her name was Sunniva. Auntie 'thena says that she might have been the Goddess
of Life as well."

"That's a strange combination," Uhtred said, frowning. "I mean, fire destroys, doesn't it?"

"Maybe not so strange," Harry said slowly. He glanced up and saw two enquiring expressions, then
shook his head. "Maybe they balance each other out. And fire is pretty important for staying alive,
if you control it properly. Particularly if you're fighting the undead."

Uhtred and Diana both acknowledged this, apparently unfazed by the concept of the living dead. It
wasn't for a lack of scepticism. It was simply an awareness that such things existed.
"So," Harry said. "I'm going skiing on Earth – Midgard – with the Avengers and a few friends for a
few days. Do you want to come?" He paused. "And this may sound like a very stupid question, but
do you know what skiing is?"

Diana frowned. "I don't," she admitted.

"I do," Uhtred said. "It is a sport in which people strap carved wood to their feet and travel down
snowy mountains."

"Pretty much," Harry said. "Tony, Tony Stark, says that it's the closest thing you can get to flying
while staying on the ground. And when we're not skiing, we could hang out."

Diana looked thoughtful, then nodded with a smile. "It sounds like fun," she said. "When are we
leaving?"

"When I return to Earth – Midgard – in a few days."

"Excellent."

"I'll have to ask my parents," Uhtred said. "But, if nothing else, I would like to see how
Midgardians ski." He paused, puzzled. "There is only one problem."

"What?"

"What do you mean by saying that we can 'hang out'?"

OoOoO

One explanation of Midgardian slang later, the three split up. Uhtred was getting permission from
his parents and packing, Diana was simply packing and Harry was left to wander alone. He didn't
mind this, until he very nearly ran into someone. That someone was Diana's Aunt, the Goddess
Athena.

"Lady Athena," he said, rather startled, and bowed. She was, he noticed, an exceptionally beautiful
woman, every proportion perfect, a mixture of smooth curves and powerful muscle, the latter at
least as prominent as the former, and both amply displayed by the classic Greek gown she wore.
She was, after all, a Goddess of War. Harry found both disquietingly attractive, something that had
been happening more and more recently. It was more than a little distracting.

"Prince Harry," she said gravely, bowing in reply. She smiled slightly. "I take it that you are the
reason that my niece is packing."

Harry flushed slightly. "I invited her to come skiing with me, along with Uhtred, the Avengers and
a couple of my other friends," he admitted. "Though I thought she'd ask you first."

"As it happens, she did not," Athena replied. "But I think that it will be good for her. She really
likes you. That's rare."

Harry looked puzzled.

"Diana likes most people and is well disposed to strangers as a matter of course. She can tolerate
the company of most, though if they do something she finds severely offensive, that can and does
quickly change," Athena explained, her lips quirking slightly in a fashion that suggested that Diana
made her displeasure very definitely known. "But there is a significant gap between a general good
disposition and actually liking someone for who they are. And make no mistake, she likes for who
you are."

"Oh. Right. Great," Harry said, blinking slightly, a little surprised. He liked Diana, but he didn't
know her so well, per se. That was part of why he had invited both her and Uhtred – so he could
get to know them better.

"You listen to her and you treat her as an equal," Athena explained. "And her empathic abilities
grant her a rather greater degree of insight than most."

"That one cuts both ways, though," Harry said. "Sometimes you see things that you don't like."

Athena gave him an approving look. "Well said," she said. "You're a good match, for my niece, I
think."

"Match?" Harry asked, worried, his grandmother's mentioning of marriage alliances and arranged
marriages coming to mind.

Athena let out a throaty laugh. "Not like that," she assured him. "Both you and she are too young
for that." She looked him up and down. "That said, in years to come..."

Harry gulped.

Athena smirked. "I'm only teasing," she said, amused. Harry noticed, vaguely, that she'd slipped
into more modern syntax. "I'm not going to push you or Diana into anything." She smiled wryly.
"As stubborn as you both are, it would be a wasted effort."

"Thank god," Harry muttered, then paused, and sighed. "I'm going to have to change that."

"Yes, you are," Athena agreed.

Harry looked at her thoughtfully. "If I may ask," he said. "What are you Goddess of? I know that
you're the Goddess of War and Wisdom, and I think that there might be something else...?"

"I am the Goddess of tactical warfare," Athena corrected. "Of strategy, logistics and planning. My
half brother, Ares, is the God of the other kind of War, the part that involves fighting and killing
simply for the joy of it." She glanced around. "As you can imagine, he's quite popular round here."

"He visits?"

"Not since Lady Sif beat him in a duel five centuries ago," Athena said. "I think he's still sulking
about that."

"That's a bit..." Harry began.

"Pathetic? Yes, yes it is," Athena said, shrugging. "He'll get over it, some day. And I am the
Goddess of a few other things."

"Like what?" Harry asked, curious.

"Justice, the Arts and Heroic Endeavour," she said.

This, Harry felt, was an interesting mix.

"Heroic Endeavour. Does that mean... you guide heroes?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, it does," Athena said, and there was something in both her expression and tone that inspired
Harry to be bold.

"Can you guide me?" he asked. Before, he hadn't really thought of himself as a hero. But now... the
idea seemed right.

"It depends on the circumstances," Athena said. "I cannot tell you too much, or other forces would
intervene to balance it out." She glanced over her shoulder. "And you have something of a guide
already."

Harry looked over her shoulder, and saw Hedwig swooping in to land on Athena's upraised arm,
hooting in greeting.

"Hail, little sister," Athena said solemnly. Owl and goddess shared a long look, watchful amber
staring into inscrutable grey. Harry got the strangest sense that they were communicating, a sense
reinforced by Athena covering her mouth to hide laughter.

"You can talk to her?" Harry asked, when a break in the silent conversation seemed to come.

"I can. She loves you to bits, you know," she said. "And thinks that you're very brave and very
kind."

Harry looked startled, then let out a startled laugh as Hedwig fluttered over to his shoulder and
gave his ear an affectionate nip.

"She also thinks that you're a bit of an idiot and you're essentially an overgrown owlet that doesn't
take very good care of himself, but that's just about every hero in history," Athena said, and smiled
wryly. "You're all far too busy taking care of everyone else to worry about yourselves."

"She's probably right," Harry said, gently stroking his owl. "Is there anything you can tell me, Lady
Athena?"

Athena was silent for a moment. "I foresaw your coming centuries ago," she said. "I am not the
only one. For now, you are the hunted. But soon, it will be your turn to be the hunter. You come as
the herald of a new age, an age of heroes. And the destiny of that age will be in your hands."

"What should I do with it?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat helpless and stupid.

"Choose," Athena said.

"I'm not sure if I'm very good at that," Harry said.

"Oh, I think that you are," she replied, a touch mysteriously. "Keep your friends by your side. They
will keep you grounded."

Harry nodded seriously. "Thank you, Lady Athena."

Athena inclined her head, which Harry took as a signal to go.

"And Harry?"

"When in doubt about what to choose... choose life. Always choose life."
 Winter Is Here

The rest of the week passed relatively without incident. Harry, Diana and Uhtred stuck to one
another like glue, which Harry was rather glad of, particularly during one of the official banquets.
While his grandfather was discussing matters on Earth with the Council Elite, a convocation of the
leaders of the Pantheons of Earth – and that thought rather boggled Harry's mind – at some place
called the Infinite Embassy, these things still happened, and Harry was consequently closer to the
centre of attention. Matters were made worse, of course, by the fact that he was still something of a
novelty and suspected that he would be considered such for a while.

He also rather suspected that if it weren't for his father's protective arm, the company of Diana and
Uhtred, and occasional intervention by his uncle and grandmother, he'd have done his very best to
set half the guest list on fire. Whether he would have succeeded was a moot, but interesting point.
While Asgardians were notably fireproof, as, indeed, were most denizens of the Higher Realms,
surely at least one or two would, with sufficient encouragement, catch alight.

One very nearly did. But how much of it was to do with Harry himself was another matter entirely.

OoOoO

Harry had found himself standing with his father when a beautiful woman with honey brown hair
and hazel green eyes in a vaguely Greek dress not unlike Athena's strode over, her every footstep
exuding an apparently invincible sense of self confidence.

"So," she had said, looking at him. Not so long ago, she'd have been looking down at him, but
Harry, to his own surprise, had found himself able to look her in the eye. "This is your son, Prince
Thor."

"He is," Thor said, tone guarded, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulder and giving the woman a
wary look that combined respect, revulsion and just a little bit of... fear. Not personal fear, judging
by the way he was holding Harry close to him. No. Whoever this woman was, Harry thought, she
was a danger to him. Or at least, his father saw her that way. And he wasn't minded to disagree.
Though she was beautiful, there was something cold, almost reptilian, about her gaze. It utterly
lacked anything resembling kindness or empathy. "Harry, this is the her majesty Queen Hera
Argeia, of Olympus."

Harry bowed. "Your majesty," he said, as alarm bells started ringing in his mind. Like just about
every school child, he'd learned something of the Greek myths. He didn't know how accurate they
were, but if they had even the slightest bit of truth about them, he could be in trouble. And judging
by her general demeanour, they were very much true to life.

"How courteous," Hera said, voice lightly amused and tinged with mockery, as she reached out and
took Harry's chin, turning his face to examine it. "A true demigod. Supposedly."

"Supposedly?" Thor asked, tone outwardly polite but carrying a dangerous edge.

"Well, were you not mortal when he was conceived?" Hera asked. "Who knows what effects that
might have..." She smiled slightly. It was not a pleasant smile. "Or might not have."

Harry breathed in sharply.

"It would be rather embarrassing," Hera continued.

"Lady Hera, I would advise you watch your words," Thor said, tone turning hard.

"My words? Lord Thor, my words are only speculations," Hera said, smiling a smile that did not
reach her eyes. "Why would they bother you?" Her gaze slid over to Harry. "Unless there are
already doubts in your mind..." she trailed off suggestively. She shrugged. "The half born are
always unpredictable. Why gods ever chose to consort with mortals, I will never know. They're like
pets. Amusing and entertaining, if only briefly. And so unfortunately fragile. But you know that
better than most, don't you?" She shook her head. "And slain by a spell created by your own
brother, too." She glanced at Harry. "Did the boy know?" She examined Harry. "He's certainly got
a close acquaintance with it. So young and already so targeted. It makes one wonder how he'll
survive to manhood."

There was a crackle like gunfire as Thor's hands balled into fists, knuckles pale against his skin.
"You go too far, Lady Hera," he said.

"How? I am merely stating fact," Hera said. She was enjoying this, a cool, detached part of Harry
thought as his own temper began to rise. Rise and burn. Yes. Burn. That seemed like a very good
idea.

Wait.

"Do not play word games with me," Thor replied, voice soft. "I am the brother of Loki. I know
dissembly when I hear it." He looked down at her, eyes aglow from iris to sclera with the deadly
blue-white light of lightning. Thunder rolled outside and the guests looked around warily. "Have a
care, Lady Hera. I have changed. If you continue to insult my dead wife and my son, I will demand
satisfaction." Lightning flashed outside, and thunder rolled, even louder than before. "The skies of
Asgard belong to me, Lady Hera," he said quietly, ignoring the fact that every eye was on him
now. "Even if your husband were here in all his might, he could not stop me from striking you
down."

"You would do such a thing?" Hera asked, apparently surprised.

"As I said, Lady Hera," Thor said. Lightning was dancing through the skies, now, streaking across
the aether like ribbons of fire, thunder building into a continuous rolling roar, a world shaking
tsunami of sound, underscored by the soft, deadly whistle of cold, sharp winds that whipped
through the now jittery crowds, converging on Hera and slowly rotating around her in a wordless
threat. "I have changed."

"It would start a war," Hera said, voice taut and, suddenly, afraid.

"Where you go, Lady Hera, demigods disappear under mysterious circumstances," Thor said, tone
unchanging. "If I see you anywhere near my son again, I do not care if the resultant war sets the
entire cosmos alight: I will strike you down."

"And we haven't started a war for a couple of years," Loki said, drifting over to Harry's right
shoulder and subtly squeezing his shoulder. "There is also the fact that, regrettably, I have not
managed to catch up with either of the last two people to threaten my nephew. What is that the
mortals say? 'Third time's the charm'."

"You're both mad," Hera murmured, eyes moving from one to the other. She clearly hadn't
anticipated this response. Harry could hardly blame her for being surprised. Judging from what
he'd seen, she hadn't been stood up to in a long time, relying on her power and influence to escape
the consequences, pushing people to the edge and watching them flounder, either striking out at her
in anger and thus playing right into her hands, or squirming impotently.
And then, all of a sudden, he felt a warmth, like a fire in his mind. First, there was a question. A
polite inquiry.

May I?

May you what?

Show you. Show her.

Show us what?

The Truth.

Harry thought for a moment. All right, he replied.

The fire flooded throughout his being, warm, gentle and comforting, like a warm embrace after a
long, cold, tiring day. And he Saw the Truth. She was hurting, and had been for a very long time.
Jealousy and bitterness had turned her cruel, so she took out her pain and anger on those She hated
the status quo, but she resisted any attempt to change it unless she could control it, because she
hated not being in control. And that was why she hated demigods and heroes. Because they
changed the world and they did not take orders very well.

"Mad?" he found himself saying. "Isn't the definition of insanity trying the same thing over and
over again?"

Hera slowly turned to look at him, her will focusing on him like a physical weight. "Excuse me?"
she asked softly.

Once, Harry would have been terrified and awed. Even a moment ago, he'd have gulped and
thought twice. But now, he looked at her with a complete lack of fear, as fire danced in his mind.
Then it flared, shrugging her will off like a damp coat. She blinked.

"You heard me," he said. It wasn't a challenge. It was a simple statement. "You hurt other people
over and over again, simply for existing, in a vain attempt to make your own pain go away. You
love your husband." He cocked his head. "And you can't understand why he doesn't love you back.
Because if he did, then surely he would stay faithful."

Hera went red with anger. "You speak of things you know nothing of, mortal child," she hissed.

How little she knows, the voice said softly. It thrummed with a sense of anger, all of it directed at
Hera, anger that resonated with Harry's own.

"I see your soul, Lady Hera. It's not a very nice sight," Harry said. Except he didn't. This was not
the double voice speaking. That was him. Mostly. This was something different. And yet... it was
familiar. He had heard this voice before, he knew it. It was familiar, so painfully familiar. It was
the one that had made that polite enquiry, the one he'd half heard so many times, that he'd properly
heard once, just once. Part of him wondering where the words were coming from and where this
power was that made his entire body hum with energy, that whispered secrets in his mind's ear,
opened his mind's eye. "All dark and twisted." He reached out and took her hand. "See?"

The power flared, travelling down his arm and into Hera's, zipping up into her mind like a little
comet.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Hera's face slowly drained of all colour. She opened her
mouth and closed it, but nothing came out.
"I know you, Hera Argeia," Harry's mouth said. "I know what you are. You think you're special,
but you really aren't. There are uncounted billions like you all through the universe. I've seen
your kind at close quarters. And none of you are that complicated. The only difference is that
you have just a bit more power than most. You're upset and you just want to lash out. You want
to make other people suffer because, just for a moment, it distracts you from your own pain. And
you don't care what happens when you do. You don't care when parents lose children, children
lose parents, sisters lose brothers and brothers lose sisters. No. In your mind, you're the only
person that matters. Or you were. I've shown you how much you don't matter."

"Harry?" Thor asked softly, expression worried.

"Don't interfere," Loki said.

"Brother –"

"Whoever it is isn't hurting him," Loki said quietly. "He trusted them enough to let them in and
they're being very, very gentle. They're protecting him."

"What?"

"Watch Hera," Loki said softly. "And tell me if you think she'll be in any condition to threaten
Harry any time soon."

"You turned your own children into your pawns," the voice that had borrowed Harry's mouth
said, investing every word with contempt. "The agents of your vengeance. You never paid them
attention for very long. You loved them, but only so long as they did want you wanted, they were
who you wanted them to be. And that's not love. Queen? Goddess? Mother? You're not even fit
to be a person. And now you know it."

Hera stared at him, then whirled, striding away, almost running in her haste to get away. As she
did, the feeling of warmth, power and fire began to leave Harry

Who are you? He frantically thought at the voice. Why did you do this?

I can't tell you, little one. And for that I'm sorry. For what it will cost, I'm even more sorry. But I
did this... because I'm not like her. There was that sad, soft laugh. Try and stay out of trouble.

Harry felt soft whisper of wind against his cheek. It felt almost like a feather light kiss. Almost.

And, all of a sudden, he realised what the voice had meant by cost, as he felt a fearsomely strong
sense of loss. While the enemy was routed and fleeing the battlefield, Harry felt like he just wanted
to curl up in a corner and cry.

OoOoO

Afterwards, as it happened, he had. His father had recognised the danger signs and neatly steered
him out of the hall, leaving Loki to make excuses and weave a suitable story about Harry sneaking
a little too much drink for his own good at getting a headache from it. This lie was aided by the
fact that it seemed that no one but Harry, Loki, Thor and Hera had actually heard what the voice
that had borrowed Harry's mouth had said.

In any event, the gossips were well enough occupied by Thor's threats to Hera. This amused rather
than scandalised those present, as it turned out that Hera was not very well liked. In fact, 'roundly
despised' would be a more accurate turn of phrase. Harry wouldn't have been surprised by this or
by the fact that his grandmother had had Words with the Queen of Olympus, Words that had,
according to Uhtred who reported it with some considerable relish, left said Queen somewhat
cowed. Jane's expression said that if she'd been present, Hera would have had much more than
Frigga to worry about, Goddess or not.

She had come in to find Harry in bed, curled up in his father's arms, weeping inconsolably. And
though Harry hadn't been in much of a state to notice anything but his own senseless misery, he'd
felt her sit down on the bed beside him, wrap her arms around and say, voice hard, "Who?"

That was the only part of that conversation that Harry had heard clearly, as his father and Jane had
thereafter conversed in whispers, outraged whispers on Jane's part, but he'd appreciated the instant
willingness on her part to confront the cause of his suffering, whoever it happened to be, and make
said cause pay. Jane might be tiny and mostly quite mild, sweet and somewhat absent minded, but
she took absolutely no bullshit.

Diana and Uhtred, the former of whom had begged off ill despite not looking particularly
unhealthy, and the latter absent from the party because Harry had finally resorted to ordering him
to keep Diana company, came around shortly after. Uhtred had fidgeted and looked awkward,
while Diana had given him one of those far too wise looks, then pulled him into a tight hug.

His grandmother, needless to say, had mothered him to an almost embarrassing extent, simply by
holding him and letting him know that she was there.

The planned trip to the city did not go beyond the planning stage, partly because Thor judged –
correctly – that Harry would not be in a fit state to appreciate it, so put it off until the Summer.
Instead, he stuck around, chatting to Harry, making him laugh and, sometimes, just being present.

Those, among other things, made it better. And in a couple of days, the peculiar sense of loss
faded. If Harry had had to have pinpointed the moment, he'd have reckoned it was when he felt one
of those almost-not quite-maybe touches on his cheek and soft could be-maybe not whisper.

I'm sorry.

"It's okay," he said aloud. "I'll be fine. And thank you."

OoOoO

Harry was in good humour by the time he returned to Earth, a good humour bolstered still further
by the fact that Carol, Jean-Paul, Diana and Uhtred all clicked immediately. As it turned out, Mrs
Weasley had declined on behalf of her sons, doubtless wanting to keep them close in these troubled
times, while Hermione had had other things on. While Harry regretted this, it wasn't a bitter regret.

As for the rest, this wasn't to say that they became instantly best friends, but they seemed to get
along rather nicely, once both Carol and Jean-Paul got over their surprise at his lack of glasses.
Disappointingly, Sirius hadn't been present, as Harry had been hoping to surprise him, but his
godfather had gone on a cross country trip. Apparently he'd been feeling a little cooped up, which
he could hardly be blamed for after his experiences in Azkaban. He'd also left an email address and
a phone number, in case Harry felt the need to talk. Nevertheless, Harry did feel a slight pang.

"He'll end up in Vegas," Tony predicted. "And no glasses is a good look for you. You'll be getting
the girls in no time."

"Tony," Pepper said reprovingly. "It suits you very nicely."

Indeed, the general consensus was that Harry without glasses looked good.
"It makes you like different," Carol said thoughtfully. "Older. More serious."

"And cute," Jean-Paul added.

Carol had, at that point, merely rolled her eyes, then started bonding with Diana, probably over
being a badass and the stupidity of people in general. Being treated as an adorable little munchkin /
a sex object with the metaphorical pats on head/ass (and sometimes those pats were not so
metaphorical) whenever one demonstrates that one is actually really quite smart/talented is not
going to do much for your perceptions of people in general.

After that, to no one's surprise, Jean-Paul flirted playfully with Uhtred. To everyone's surprise,
however, Uhtred did not react with surprise, offence, disgust or even utter obliviousness. In fact, he
actually flirted back.

Even Jean-Paul himself was struck dumb, if only for a second. Then his expression lit up with
incredulous delight and he renewed flirting.

The only people who didn't seem surprised by this turn of events were Thor and Loki. Thor simply
said, "In Asgard, such things are not obsessed about the way they are on Midgard. We do not draw
distinctions the same way you do." He chuckled. "To quote a character on that show Harry enjoys,
'you people and your quaint little categories.'"

"Seriously?" Darcy asked, surprised.

"While a man is expected to have children, or at least aid in the raising of his nieces and nephews,
no one is particularly concerned with whom he takes to bed, particularly not Uhtred, for he is a
youngest son and not in line to inherit. It is more common among soldiers, who are often away
from young ladies and close to their comrades in situations of life and death." He shrugged. "Some
simply take comfort where they can find it."

"Does this mean that you were getting down and dirty with, say, Fandral?" Darcy asked hopefully.

Thor chuckled. "No, Darcy, I am afraid I must disappoint you. I have never found my interests
running that way."

"Dammit," Darcy muttered. "That's one fantasy down."

"Darcy," Jane said, as Harry went slightly green, Diana raised an eyebrow, Uhtred looked
embarrassed and both Carol and Jean-Paul looked like they were going to a happy mental place.
"Sometimes, we really don't want to know."

"Why do you think she does it?" Bruce asked, amused. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that she and
Tony were related."

Everyone's gaze swivelled to Tony, who looked like a rabbit in head lights.

"She is about the right age, you know," Clint said, smirking. "I mean, you'd have been pretty
young."

"She's not," Natasha said calmly. "SHIELD ran tests."

"Dammit," Darcy said again.

"Darcy?"
"Come on, Jane, my dad could have been an insanely rich guy who blew shit up in the name of
world peace. And Pepper would have been my stepmom. That would be so many kinds of
awesome," Darcy said.

"You'd probably have had bodyguards following you everywhere," Pepper said. "Tony can get
protective."

"And he is right here," Tony said.

Pepper leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "I know. And it's very endearing. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

"It can get a little annoying," Pepper said. "You used to have Happy follow me everywhere."

"I don't any more."

"That's because he does it of his own accord," Pepper said wryly.

"Happy?" Uhtred asked, puzzled. "How do you order happiness to follow someone?"

"Happy's the nickname of Tony's former bodyguard," Clint explained. "He's the head of Stark
Industries' security and he's a little overzealous."

"I always liked him," Carol said, shrugging. "He was the only bodyguard I ever met with an actual
personality."

"Why do you think I kept him around?" Tony asked casually.

"Because he was good at his job and managed to resist the urge to kill you?" Pepper asked.

"That too."

Uhtred looked a bit startled.

"Lord Stark likes getting on people's nerves, just to see what happens," Diana informed him.

"Lord Stark?" Jean-Paul asked, amused and surprised. Tony preened.

"Hey, Pep –"

"No, you can't add it to your business cards."

Tony pouted.

"It is not entirely inappropriate. Tony is richer and more powerful than many of the Kings, even
Emperors, that Midgard has seen," Thor said. "And wiser, too."

"Jury's out on the last one," Steve said. "Is everyone packed and ready?"

"Steve, we're not going until tomorrow."

"I know, I just like people to be prepared."

"Yeah," Tony said. "He's the boring, responsible one."

Diana smiled sweetly. "I noticed," she said, tone and expression angelic.
Tony stared at her. "Okay, I'm trying to work out if she just dissed me or not," he said. "Natasha?"

"Figure it out for yourself," was the amused reply. "It should keep you busy until tomorrow."

"And out of everyone's hair," Loki said. "How very convenient."

"I'm being mocked," Tony whined.

"Don't worry, Tony. I'm sure you'll get used to it," Steve said casually.

"Great. Now even grandpa is snarking at me. Does nobody love me?"

"Pepper does," Harry pointed out.

Tony opened his mouth, then found it muffled by a small hand. "Mmph?"

"Trust me," Diana said, tone somewhat apologetic, removing her hand. She'd covered the distance
between them in a blur. "But you'll probably be glad that you didn't say that."

Tony frowned, thought, and winced as he saw Pepper's raised eyebrows. "Right, good call,
Blossom," he said.

"Blossom?"

"Earth culture reference," Loki said. "He makes a lot of them. You either learn to keep up with
them or tune them out. That one was actually a compliment, surprisingly enough."

"Ah."

OoOoO

Over the next day or so, Tony managed to avoid requiring emergency action to prevent another
outbreak of foot in mouth disease. Indeed, the next person to, arguably, put their foot solidly in
their mouth was Harry, during the four and a half hour flight on Tony's jet to the resort in the
Rockies. Normally landing would have been a problem, but Tony had said something about
vertical landing and a temporary giant helipad arrangement. Apparently the alternative was landing
at a local airport followed by a two hour drive in what Tony called 'a couple of hideously practical
cars'. For Tony Stark, boredom was anathema.

And it was on the plane that Harry strayed into dangerous territory. About half an hour into the
flight, he found Jean-Paul, who was lounging in his seat gazing contemplatively out the window,
his long hair tied back.

"Hey," Harry said.

Jean-Paul turned and smiled slightly. "Hey," he said.

There was a few moments of silence.

"Penny for your thoughts, mon cher?"

Harry paused. "I was just wondering about your sister," he began.

Jean-Paul's stance immediately changed, as if marble had flowed into both muscle and bone, and he
gave Harry a long, cold look.
Harry regarded him steadily. "I just want to help," he said.

"What makes you think you can?"

There was no gratuitous French thrown in here, and his tone was as cold as ice.

"I'm guessing that you're not the only talented one in your family," Harry said. "And I know a little
something about having abilities you can't understand, let alone control. About people thinking
that you're crazy and you not being sure if they're wrong or not." He sat back. "You want me to
drop the subject, I will. But I want to see if I can help."

"Why?"

"Like I said. I may know a little something about what I'm guessing your sister is going through,"
Harry said. "And if you let me, I will at least try to help."

Jean-Paul was silent for a long moment. "You actually mean that, don't you?" he said. "You
genuinely do." He eyed Harry with the beginnings of a kind of disbelieving wonder. "I
wonder, mon cher, I truly do, at how a world like this can produce someone as kind as you. Then
again, you were born of Heaven, were you not?"

Harry flushed and mumbled.

Jean-Paul let out a soft laugh, then sobered. "My sister, Jeanne-Marie... she is not well. Does she
have talents? We think so. She is stronger and faster than she should be. Her hair and her face,
sometimes, they subtly change. And once, she was upset, she electrocuted my father with a touch."
he said with a shrug. "And she is..." He took a deep breath. "She sees things that are not there.
Someone who is not there. Someone she calls 'Eva'."

"An imaginary friend?"

"That is what every psychiatrist thinks," Jean-Paul said, shrugging. "But every now and then... I
wonder, mon cher. I wonder."

Harry was silent for a moment. "I've had therapy," he said. "Or, sort of. It was more a chance to
vent. Telepathically."

Jean-Paul's eyebrows rose. "With who?"

"Charles Xavier. He helped me."

Jean-Paul's eyebrows rose still further. "The scientist?"

"He's a telepath," Harry said. "And a ridiculously powerful one. He was chatting mind to mind with
my grandfather, who was in Asgard at the time."

Jean-Paul's eyes nearly popped out. "Mon dieu."

Harry decided not to comment on the irony.

"He's nice," he said. "And a good listener. He's also Tony's godfather, so if you're unsure if you
trust him or not..."

Jean-Paul frowned.

"Xavier's a good person."

Both boys looked up to see Natasha standing in the aisle. She had appeared in total silence. "I
caught the end of your conversation," she said. "I've known Charles for a very long time. He helps
people just because that's the way he is. He's like Harry that way. He's saved any number of
people, including Harry's godmother."

"You have a godmother, mon cher?" Jean-Paul asked, surprised.

"Her name's Wanda," Harry said. "I think I mentioned her to you."

Jean-Paul frowned, consulting his memory, then nodded. "Mais oui," he said. "But of course. I
remember now." He looked at Harry and Natasha. "You think that this Professor Xavier can help
my sister."

"If anyone can, it's him," Natasha said. "Tony trusts him without reserve and that only goes for a
few people in the world. Excepting Charles, all but two of them are on this plane right now."

Jean-Paul seemed to take this in, then nodded. "Merci," he said, voice soft and achingly
sincere. "Je vous remercie de tout mon coeur."

Natasha later told him that what Jean-Paul had said was, 'Thank you. I thank you with all my heart.'

OoOoO

"So," Lucius said. "We have spies inside SHIELD."

He was standing at the centre of HYDRA's last base, examining a set of holographic screens and
being briefed by Baron Zemo. As ever, the Winter Soldier stood at his shoulder, a silent
watchman. Lucius wasn't sure if he actually slept, and if he did, it wasn't in anything more than
catnaps.

The screens were not unlike those used by SHIELD and Tony Stark. They were one of the muggle
achievements that he found impressive. It was almost as if the muggles had recognised their many
short comings, their inferiority, and had made vast strides to overcome it. They hadn't completely
managed it, but, even still... it was moderately impressive.

"We do, Lord Malfoy," Zemo confirmed.

Lucius smiled. "Excellent. What have they turned up?"

"They are far more than mere spies, Lord Malfoy. Almost every SHIELD secret is ours," a voice
said from behind him. Lucius turned to see the mechanical body of HYDRA's foremost scientist
and, along with Baron Zemo, its most powerful living member. Well, if you could say that he was
living. Lucius was uncertain of the details, but apparenty Zola had managed to transfer himself into
a series of automatons, ones that were outwardly indistinguishable from humans, bolstering his
already formidable intellect and allowing him access to vast libraries of information.

Though he had supported Lucius during his ascension, the former Death Eater trod carefully
around him. He was an extremely intelligent man, one to be respected. He had rebuilt HYDRA
from nothing and commanded the loyalty, or at least, the mingled fear and respect that, in a bad
light, passed for loyalty, of many of its members. He was also completely mad, but as far as Lucius
could tell, most members of HYDRA were a little mad. Zemo was the exception, and was possibly
even more frightening in his pathological sanity. And while Zola was mad, he was at least
functional.

"Oh? And how is this so?" he asked, intrigued.

Zola smiled. "When I rebuilt HYDRA, I did it twice. One part is that which you see here," he said,
gesturing around at the base. "That part was always at risk of destruction. So I took care to make
sure that there would be those with the power, knowledge and will to resurrect HYDRA time after
time, to protect it as it grew from any SHIELD assault."

"How would they do that?" Lucius asked.

"By being part of SHIELD, Lord Malfoy. Agents loyal to HYDRA have been within SHIELD ever
since it was created," Zola said softly, and let that sink in. "In many ways, SHIELD is simply
another branch of HYDRA."

Lucius stared at him. It was… simple. And absolutely brilliant. Oh, the Death Eaters had always
had sympathisers in the Ministry, but they had tended to be rather obvious. And in any case, no
Minister since the fall of Constantinople had been as formidable, intelligent and ruthless as
Nicholas Fury had proved to be. While Lucius hated the man, he could only admire the way in
which he'd lured out Von Strucker and played him for a fool. And someone who could fool Fury
and all his predecessors…

"Doctor Zola," he said slowly, a touch of genuine respect in his voice. "I feel that I have severely
underestimated you."

"Most do," Zemo observed.

"More fool them," Lucius murmured. "The late Baron mentioned something about green meteor
rock from some town in the Americas. Apparently you used it to create a very powerful super
soldier, Doctor Zola."

"Yes," Zola said, nodding. "Sergeant Corben. Unfortunately, War Machine managed to get the
better of him and he is currently imprisoned by SHIELD, but we gained much valuable data from
the fight."

"This meteor rock… what is it?"

"Unfortunately, we know relatively little about it," Zola admitted. "Other than what we can glean
through experimentation."

"And that is…?"

"Stripping away the expected carbon and iron, it is not composed of any element in the periodic
table," Zola said, and sighed as Lucius looked blank. "It is a substance completely unknown to
both science and magic, as neither Lord Gravemoss nor our other mystics had any idea what it
was."

"Interesting," Lucius said, not missing the significance of this. "So, what can it do?"

"Well, its most immediately obvious property is that it is radioactive, giving off energy that would,
in the long term, be lethal to a human," Zola said, tone clinical and efficient. "I am reasonably
confident that this could yet be magnified and that it could be used as a weapon. However, this is
not its most interesting application: it is a powerful mutagen. The effects it has on human genetics
are quite simply random. It is very hard to cause a particular mutation, indeed, it took me ten years
to work out how to do so."

"Ten years?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was not my highest priority," Zola admitted. "And I chose to work carefully after a mishap
destroyed one of my previous bodies."

Lucius nodded. "So you can induce a specific… mutation? I take it that you mean you can cause a
specific superhuman ability to appear," he said.

"Yes," Zola said. "Power levels and precise manifestation, however, are up to chance and the
subject in question." He paused. "There is also the issue of psychosis, but I have methods of
counteracting that."

"Psychosis can be useful," Lucius said, thinking of Bellatrix. "Properly channelled, of course."

"Indeed," Zemo agreed.

"Quite so," Zola said. "It also shows some promise as a power source, though for now it is…
unstable."

Lucius nodded. "Something with potential, then," he said. "You said that you did not know much
about it, Doctor Zola, and your tone suggested that you feel that you should."

"Yes," Zola said grimly. "We should. We know that something else landed amongst the meteors
on the day of the meteor shower. However, we do not know what it was, as the matter was largely
handled by two Agents completely loyal to SHIELD. The then Agent Fury and Agent Coulson."

"Fury will be of no help," Lucius said. "Capturing him and holding him under our current
circumstances would be near impossible, and his will is strong. But this Coulson… I have heard
that name before."

"Coulson was Fury's right hand, his 'good eye', for many years. He was the third most senior Agent
in SHIELD, after Fury himself and Deputy Director Maria Hill. He was being groomed as the
Head of the Avengers of Initiative. He faced Loki in single combat during the Chitauri invasion
and managed to hurt him," Zemo supplied. "A brave man," he added, sounding slightly admiring.

"Yes," Lucius said. "That is one time I have heard the name. But not the only time…" He frowned.
"I will think on it later." He looked up. "I presume he is dead?"

"So Fury would have us all believe, Avengers included," Zemo said.

"But thanks to one of our operatives in SHIELD who is part of Coulson's team, we know that
Coulson was somehow resurrected," Zola said, picking up the thread. "We believe that something
called 'Project TAHITI' is the cause."

"Resurrection?" Lucius asked sharply.

"Seeking to bring back your master, Lord Malfoy?" Zemo asked, tone indicating a raised eyebrow.

Lucius sneered. "Good heavens, no. Lord Voldemort was personally powerful and very intelligent.
He was also a blinkered fool," he said. "He was simply incapable of recognising what organisations
such as HYDRA, and, yes, SHIELD, are capable of. And he limited himself to Wizarding Britain."

"You do not," Zemo said.

"No," Lucius said softly. "Wizarding Britain is not enough. The world is not enough." He regarded
the screens before him. "But it's a start."

Both Zola and Zemo smiled. Or, at least, Zemo probably did. It was nearly impossible to tell. "It is
good," Zemo said, tone satisfied. "To have a Master of HYDRA who speaks of such things with
conviction once more." His tone turned serious. "As for Coulson, however he was brought back,
Fury has dispatched him with a team of investigators. They hired Wizard Dresden and confronted
Gravemoss under Paris."

"Yes," Lucius said, a slight chill going down his spine. He'd heard of Dresden. Most had, if only in
stories, stories that spoke of a man had started a war for his principles, slain the previous Summer
Lady in single combat and taken on the Fallen. And now he had taken on a godlike entity in single
combat, launched him most of the way into orbit, and walked away, apparently unscathed.
"Gravemoss believes that Dresden used his death curse, and yet he lives. How is such a thing
possible?"

"I do not know," Zola admitted. "Mysticism is not my field of expertise, but I do know that a 'death
curse' utilises all the energies a body requires to live. Those energies must have somehow been
replaced, and in a Wizard of Dresden's obvious power, those energies must have been
considerable."

"Patronage, then," Lucius murmured. "One of the Powers feels that he is useful to them." He shook
his head. "That is an issue for another day. For now, we avoid forcing a confrontation with him. He
can be dealt with in due time. What else have Coulson and this team of his been doing? Can we
capture them?"

"They have proved a severe nuisance to one of our offshoots, Project Centipede," Zemo said. "And
based on the general competence of Project Centipede and our diminished resources... no."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Project Centipede?"

"A supersoldier program," Zola explained. "Created after we managed to get hold of Maya
Hansen's Extremis process. It is truly phenomenal work. For an amateur." His tone carried more
than a hint of a sneer. "Though, naturally, she did not even begin to comprehend the
sheer potential of what she had on her hands." He looked at Lucius. "You remember that I said that
the meteor rock was an imprecise mutagen?"

"Yes."

"Extremis, perfected by me, means that I can program in any superpower required," Zola said.
"You want men to attack a submarine? I can make them able to breathe underwater, resist pressure
and possess senses that will allow them to detect even the meanest minnow in the dark of the sea
floor. You want men to fly? I can do that too. You want them to be able to take over computer
systems with their minds? Simplicity itself! And that is just the beginning."

Lucius raised the other eyebrow. "Then why hasn't this… Project Centipede singlehandedly
destroyed SHIELD? Moreover, why haven't they swatted this group of nuisances aside?" he asked.

"Because it is led by a man who is loyal only to himself," Zemo said. "Garrett is a fool, and one
who would use our Extremis for his own gain, and that alone. Hence why he has been given the
imperfect version, which he combined with a number of other supersoldier creation mechanisms to
create a poor man's Project Rebirth." He shrugged. "It works well enough and his Centipede
soldiers may yet prove to be useful as cannon fodder. Possibly even beyond that, especially if their
sale to the United States Army succeeds."

"Why would you… ah. I see," Lucius said softly. "You want to destabilise the power structures of
the muggle world. Cause chaos."
"A chaos that will cry out for HYDRA's order," Zola confirmed. "Yes." He paused. "There are
limitations, however."

"Naturally," Lucius said. "What are they?"

"The more complex the change, the fewer subjects survive, and few enough survive to begin with,"
Zola said. "This would be less of a problem if we had more subjects and that those that died had
the decency to do so without exploding."

"We do not lack for men," Lucius observed. "And women."

"Lord Gravemoss," Zemo said. "Takes a certain toll."

Lucius sighed. Of course he did. The worst part of being cooped up in this damnable base wasn't
the lack of sunlight. It wasn't the lack of power and prestige. It wasn't even the lack of his favourite
elf made wine.

It was the fact that that he had an insane necromancer living in the basement.

The best that could be said about the situation was that while Gravemoss had colonised the
basement, he rarely ventured out of it. Instead, he spent his days studying the Darkhold and doing
indescribable things to his test subjects. Lucius was of the opinion that this was a disaster waiting
to happen and wanted to have him killed. But the simple fact was that he was one of their chief
assets. And, to be frank, Lucius wasn't sure if something like Gravemoss was actually capable of
dying.

Zola's eyes, by contrast, lit up. He was just about the only one who willingly worked with
Gravemoss, and the two shared a twisted sort of mutual respect. "Speaking of Lord Gravemoss,
Lord Malfoy… working with him has been a revelation. He can do anything with a human body."

Lucius thought that this was probably true. He also thought that this was because
Gravemoss would do anything with a human body, if only out of sheer boredom. He shuddered to
think what that creature would do, and probably had already done, in the spirit of scholarly
enquiry. "And what have his experiments achieved?"

"He has prepared a briefing for you, Lord Malfoy," Zola said.

Lucius' lips thinned. He'd hoped that he'd be able to avoid the entirely too creepy and utterly
depraved necromancer, but clearly, this was not an option. Meeting that monster made his skin
crawl. There was something about him that, once you acknowledged it was there, grated,
something that was just… wrong.

Also, he still hadn't got the stains out of his robes from the lasttime he'd been briefed by
Gravemoss. Good robes were not cheap.

He sighed again. "Very well. Doctor Zola, prepare some as many basic Extremis samples as you
can. I hear that the muggle militants in Afghanistan are fond of turning themselves into bombs," he
said.

"And with Extremis, they can," Zola said, more than a little gleefully. "This will provide a lot of
very valuable data."

"And it vill throw the Western forces in Afghanistan into chaos," Zemo commented. "It might take
several months to enact, under current circumstances, but once it is in motion... yes, this could
work very nicely. In sufficient numbers, it could force them to commit greater resources or
withdraw entirely."

"Greater resources," Lucius said. "Such as Captain America."

Zemo let out a dark little chuckle. "Oh, that would be a sight to see," he said.

"And it would provide data on how close the basic Extremis enhanciles are to the good Captain,"
Zola said. "Though I fear that the answer is 'not very'."

"All in all, an effective strategy," Zemo said. "One that could bear fruit."

"Oh, that is just the beginning," Lucius said, with a slight smile on his face. "Baron, what status are
the new recruits at?"

"Both magical and non-magical? Most of them are skilled, though only one shows a spark of true
talent," Zemo said. "And he is part of the non-magical contingent."

"What is his name?" Zola asked curiously.

"Todd. Jason Todd. He is the one with the strange white lock in his hair."

"Ah," Zola said, nodding. "I know the one you mean. And I must concur in your assessment."

"Genius is always welcome, but rarely necessary," Malfoy observed. "And our magical recruits are
in small enough numbers that one man could gain control of the lot of them out from under us."

"That will not happen," Zemo said calmly. "They know their place."

"Good," Lucius said. "But we do not have any game changers."

"That may soon change," Zola said.

"Oh?"

"We are tracking a young, newly manifested mutant," Zola said. "And we can do so at leisure
thanks to Lord Gravemoss disabling Professor Xavier."

"What about Magneto?" Lucius asked.

"Magneto's methods of detection are not so precise as ours or those of Professor Xavier," Zemo
said. "And he is occupied elsewhere."

"How powerful?" Lucius asked.

"Omega class," Zola said, tones full of relish. "A god among men."

Lucius turned to stare at him in astonishment, remembering his briefings on mutant power classes
and their rarities. "The odds of one of those," he began.

"Are long indeed," Zemo said. "Including this one, there are only six Omega class humans on the
planet. Magneto, the Scarlet Witch, Doctor Strange, Xavier's protégé, the Hulk and now this boy.
There are any number of borderline candidates, of course, but those six are the only ones that we
can confirm."

"Xavier's protégé?" Lucius asked.

Zola brought up a picture. "Jean Grey," he said. "My mentor was always rather obsessed with her
bloodline, among others. It is only now that I realise why." Then frowned as he saw Lucius staring
at the picture in pure shock. "Lord Malfoy?"

"Impossible," Lucius breathed. He shook his head. "That girl is the spitting image of Lily Potter."

"Otherwise known as the mother of Harry Thorson," Zemo said slowly. "This could be an
unforeseen problem."

"Yes. Merlin knows that the boy caused enough trouble with just magic, let alone whatever powers
his father has gifted him with," Lucius said grimly. "What can the girl do?"

"She is an Omega level psychic, or at least potentially," Zola said. "At the height of her powers she
could read our minds as easily as a book. From the Moon. While cooking a five course meal and
reading a book. At least." He spread his hands helplessly. "In theory, Lord Malfoy... she can do
anything."

"A god among men indeed," Lucius muttered.

"She is not that strong yet. Not by a long shot," Zola reassured him. "She will take years to grow
into that kind of theat."

"Then we will not give her those years," Lucius decreed. "Once the Avengers are dealt with, Zemo,
I want her killed."

"It shall be done."

Lucius glanced at Zola. "And if possible, I want Doctor Zola to have a chance to study her brain
and blood. Perhaps we can replicate her abilities in a more pliable host."

Zola let out a little chuckle. "You are only too kind, Lord Malfoy."

Lucius smiled briefly. "I thought you would enjoy that prospect," he said. "But if we can replicate
her powers... then we shall have no limits. No boundaries. Nothing."

"Perfect," Zemo murmured.

"The boy. How strong will he be?" Lucius asked, all business again.

"He is eleven. A child, only," Zola said. "And he will have little or no conscious control of his
powers."

"And what are they?"

Zola showed him the file.

"Yes, that could be very useful," Lucius murmured. "But we do not have the time for him to grow
up. Nor do we have much time to capture him in."

"Speeding up the ageing process is simplicity itself, Lord Malfoy," Zola reassured him. "I can have
him as an adult in a matter of days, hours if necessary."

"And his family has booked a trip to a private ski resort in the Rocky Mountains. They will be there
tomorrow," Zemo said. "A team of the Wolves and a few other experts is already in position and
waiting for the word."
"Excellent," Lucius said. "Step up the recruitment drive, Baron. Doctor, work with him. Baron, you
can have the Soldier, maybe with one or two of Gravemoss' creations to slow the Avengers down if
they get involved. Otherwise, continue as you are."

"We still lack manpower," Zemo warned.

"Let me handle that, Baron," Lucius said. "Wherever SHIELD and their affiliates have enemies,
HYDRA has friends. And friends… do each other favours."

Then he strode away.

"What do you make of him?" Zola asked.

"Arrogant. Ruthless. Extremely intelligent," Zemo said. "Perhaps overly cautious. He will never
fully commit if he can possibly avoid it."

"Useful?"

"I have worked for HYDRA for over thirty years, Herr Zola," Zemo said. "And I have never seen a
head of HYDRA quite like him." He nodded. "Yes. He could be very useful indeed." He glanced at
the file. "Now... I had better see to capturing this 'Robert Drake'."

OoOoO

The rest of the flight passed relatively quietly, with a snack dinner that mostly consisted of
admittedly excellent sandwiches, and, soon enough, the jet began its final approach.

"Those," Tony said, pointing out the window. "Are the Rocky Mountains."

Harry's eyes widened as he took in the mountain range, black, jagged peaks jutting out of the earth
like dragon's teeth, with trees softening their harsh edges and all being covered in soft snow that
sparkled like diamonds in the evening sunlight. "Whoa," he breathed.

The others also looked out the windows, with varying different reactions. Jean-Paul eyed them
with mild interest, tempered by the fact that he'd seen the Alps before, and when you saw one
mountain, you saw them all. Unless you were a geologist. His attention was mostly benevolently
amused and focused on Carol, who stared down at them with a sort of gleeful anticipation that
made her look years younger.

Uhtred's expression was one of curiosity, wanting to see how Midgardian mountains compared to
the ones of his home, and Diana regarded them with outright fascination, having never seen
mountains up close before. The closest she'd come was seeing the ring of mountains between
Asgard's capital and the Plains of Ida.

And Harry? He was looking out the windows and wondering what it would be like to fly over
them. Not on a broom, in a plane, or even in something like Tony's armour. Just to swoop and dive
over them, free as a bird.

OoOoO

Once the jet landed, and the group disembarked, Harry found himself startled by the cold, crisp
mountain air. It was early evening, but the sun had already set, meaning that almost everyone was
inside. Tony had chosen this time so that they wouldn't have to deal with being stared at by their
fellow guests and Harry found himself appreciating that. He glanced to his left to see Diana let out
an experimental breath and watch the resultant cloud of mist with an expression of childish delight.
She blew out again and, astonishingly, giggled.

She noticed him staring and flushed slightly, before grinning. It was the first time, Harry realised,
except for when he'd first seen her with Sif, that she actually looked like a little girl regarding the
world around her with wonder, enjoying the chance to simply be.

Maybe this wasn't so surprising. After all, she was an Empath. And while that was a gift, in its own
way, it must also have been a tremendous burden, to know exactly what others around her
were really feeling, all the time. Everyone else looked at the world through a haze of
misperceptions and assumptions, all designed to shield them from the hard truths. She didn't. She
lived in a world of pure clarity. She knew everyone's pain, hatred and grief, unlimited and
unfiltered. And Harry found himself feeling very sorry for her.

As if she'd heard his thoughts – and after a fashion, maybe she had – she turned to him and smiled.
"It's okay," she said gently. "I'm learning to control it. And I don't just feel the bad things."

"Huh?" Carol asked, puzzled.

"I'm an Empath," Diana said. "I feel people's emotions."

Carol thought about that for a moment, then cringed. "Ouch," she murmured.

"It's not all bad," Diana said. "And like I said, I'm learning to control it. To shut the feelings out."

"Well, isn't this cheerful," Clint said. "Come on kids," he said. "Let's find the chalet things."

"Does anyone have a flashlight?" Carol asked. "Because I'm having difficulty seeing."

"I can see in the dark," Clint said. "But you guys will need one."

Harry casually conjured a fireball.

Jean-Paul let out an impressed whistle.

"You can play with fire now?" Carol asked, surprised.

"Yes," Harry said smugly, spinning the fireball on one of his fingertips.

She rolled her eyes, amused. "Show off."

Harry smirked a smirk that he'd had to have learned from Tony, and flicked the fireball, sending it
bobbing out ahead.

"Nice," Carol said.

"Thank you."

"Uh, yeah, cool," Darcy said. "Now can you get it out of my face?"

Harry looked over to where Darcy was staring cross eyed at the ball of fire and slowly edging
backwards, winced, and summoned it back to him. "Sorry," he said.

"No problem," Darcy said. "Your step mom once warped me into some alternate dimension when
she was getting our Bifrost working."

"First, that was an accident," Jane said calmly. "Second, you enjoyed yourself and I quote, you 'did
shots with a hot goth girl called Didi'."

"The weirdness never ends, does it?" Carol said.

"No," Harry said, playing with his fireball, making sure his luggage, such as it was, didn't fall over
and waiting for everything to get unloaded. "No, it really doesn't."

"And third, I'm not Harry's step mother."

"Yet," Darcy said smugly.

"It would be cool if you were, though," Harry said absently, before Jane had a chance to reply.

"Hey, kids, this way!" Tony said, waving his arms. The children duly trooped off after him while
Jane stared.

"Did he just say what I think he did?" she asked.

"Jane, he's been cool with the idea of you and Thor being together for months," Clint said casually,
hefting a bag onto his shoulder and giving both women a fine view of his famous arms as he
followed the kids. Jane watched him – and his arms and various other parts of his anatomy go. She
was in a relationship, not dead.

"I know, he's told me as much, but to hear him just up and say that," Jane said slowly. "I mean,
once he said he wanted to be the Best Man at my and Thor's wedding, but based on the context, I
thought he was joking."

"Well, he isn't now. He ships you," Darcy said.

"What?"

"Ships, it's when –"

"I know what it means, Darcy, you explained it to me when you went off on one
about Supernatural," Jane said.

"Right. Well, Harry ships you and Thor. He thinks you're good together. He has for a while, you
just haven't noticed," Darcy said.

Jane blinked.

"Jane?"

"Sorry, my Asgardian boyfriend's teenage son just gave me his blessing," Jane said. "Forgive me
for being a little distracted."

"Harry does have a tendency to absently drop surprises in people's laps," Thor observed, having
joined them.

"Hey big guy," Darcy said. "Why's it not snowing?"

"I stopped at Clint's request. After all, even he needs to see to be able to fly Tony's jet," Thor
pointed out. "However..." He snapped his fingers, and just like that, it started snowing again.

"Show off."
"But of course," Thor said, grinning, before turning back to Jane, tucking their bags under his arm.
"And Jane, Harry has told me several times that he is fond of the idea of us together." His grinned
slightly. "In fact, I suspect that soon enough, my mother may not be the only one badgering us for
children."

"Well, no offence, but that's going to have to wait at least a couple of years," Jane said firmly.

"Of course," Thor said, giving her a smile to show that he really did agree with her on this score,
and no, he wasn't just reassuring her. From most, it would have come off as patronising. Thor,
however, had that rare ability to easily convey genuine sincerity. Maybe it came from the fact that
he almost invariably was sincere. That was one of the things that Jane loved about him, and she
showed it by going up on her tip toes and kissing him on the cheek.

"Thank you."

Thor gave her a quizzical look.

"Some guys would have argued," Jane said.

"I am not, 'some guys'," Thor said. "Besides, Jane," he continued, dropping their luggage and
pulling her close, staring into her eyes. "We have all the time in the world."

"Hey, lovebirds, we've got rooms to get to and I'm getting cold," Darcy said, after allowing them a
few moments of romance. "You can be cutesy inside, where it's warm."

OoOoO

Harry, by this time, fireballs aside, was already warm. It was, however, fireballs aside, because
starting fires outside of fireplaces in picturesque wooden chalets is generally considered to be a
Very Bad Idea.

Indeed, he had already unpacked, by which he meant that he'd stuffed his bag in a corner of the
room that he was sharing with Uhtred and Jean-Paul. The girls, naturally, had a room of their own.
He had sat on his bed, kicking his heels, while Carol and Uhtred had unpacked with military
precision.

"Are you sure that they're not related?" Jean-Paul commented. "They're both blond, gorgeous and...
disciplined."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am gay, mon cher. I am not blind. I am perfectly aware that Carol is, physically, extremely
attractive," Jean-Paul said calmly. "Much like Uhtred."

"You're not too bad yourself," Uhtred replied casually.

"Merci, mon cher," Jean-Paul replied.

"It is true," Uhtred replied. Jean-Paul stared at him. "What?"

"You speak French?" the other boy asked, stunned.

Uhtred simply looked more puzzled, as did everyone else.

"It sounded like English to me," Harry said.

"Adult Asgardians possess an ability called the All-Speak," Diana said. "It allows them to be
understood in the native language of whoever they speak to. In Uhtred, it must be just starting to
develop."

"Like a translation spell," Harry said thoughtfully.

Diana nodded. "It probably began as one," she said. "Cast by one of your ancestors. Auntie 'thena
says that people are more likely to trust you if you at least try to speak their language."

"I have never heard of it before," Uhtred said, frowning.

"When would you have needed it?" Diana asked, and Uhtred inclined his head in
acknowledgement.

"That trust thing must be pretty helpful for dealing with freaked out people who've just seen you
come down from the sky with superpowers," Carol said.

"That's probably why it started," Harry said thoughtfully. "To help people get to know each other
and avoid misunderstandings. There probably enough of those anyway."

"Speaking of which," Carol said. "We should all get to know each other. I mean, we all know
you," she said, pointing at Harry. "And you know all of us. But we don't really know each other.
Our real unifying factor is you." She had, Harry noticed, sort of taken charge, though she still...
deferred to him was the wrong way to put it. Listened to him might be better. They all did. For a
brief moment, Harry felt like he was in charge of a super team. Then the moment passed and he let
out a soft laugh at himself.

"Harry?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"He's laughing at himself," Diana explained.

Harry grinned. "There's a lot to laugh at," he said self-deprecatingly.

"Not that I've seen, mon cher," Jean-Paul said quietly.

Harry found himself without anything to say.

"So," Carol said. "Let's get to know each other. Full names, basic background and interests and
how we know Mister Ex Specs."

"'Mister Ex Specs'?" Harry asked, slightly indignantly, then sighed. "I've been called worse."

Carol gave him a look that combined amusement, understanding and sympathy. "So," she said.
"We all know each other's names, ages, stuff like that. That's a good place to start from."

"Agreed," Uhtred said. "Now, perhaps, would be a good time to share details about ourselves."

Harry sat back and listened as the four exchanged basic personal information, keeping an ear out
for anything he didn't already know. As it turned out, there wasn't anything. Diana was an only
child, so far as she knew – she probably had half siblings, but she didn't know any of them. Carol
had two brothers, Uhtred had four brothers and three sisters, and he was the youngest of them all,
while Jean-Paul had a twin sister, Jeanne-Marie. The only time Harry had to step was to give
Uhtred a warning look and a slight shake of the head when he looked like he was about to ask after
her. While Jean-Paul had opened up to him, he probably wouldn't want to talk about the matter
with others.
At first, Uhtred was a little reserved, a little afraid of giving offence and feeling somewhat out of
place on Midgard, among Midgardians, but he soon relaxed.

The conversation swiftly moved on to a discussion of favoured pastimes, and from there onto first
preferred combat styles, which led to Harry occasionally throwing in a thought or two, then flying,
which absorbed Carol and Diana, then Harry himself, while Uhtred and Jean-Paul discussed the
differences between Earth and Asgard and flirted slightly.

They kept talking until well into the night, when Thor stuck his head around the door and gave
them a pointed look. He didn't need to say anything, and the five quickly got ready for bed, though
Harry stopped to give his father a hug. "Goodnight, dad," he said quietly.

"Goodnight, Harry," his father replied. "Sleep well."

"You too."

And with that, with ice encrusting the window panes and snow lightly feathering the ground, they
went to bed.

OoOoO

The next morning, everyone got up in good order. Well, almost everyone.

"Carol?" Harry called, cautiously poking his head around the door of the girls' room. "Everyone's
up and dressed."

There was mumbling sound.

"Breakfast's ready?"

The mumbling continued, a little louder, with a notable 'fuck off' component.

"Carol," Harry said, opting for sternness. A moment later, he had to duck a shoe that was hurled
with pin point accuracy straight at his head, which Uhtred caught and examined quizzically.

"Are shoes normally offensive weapons on Midgard?" he asked.

"Search me," Harry said, then paused and added, "I mean, I don't know. Not that you should
literally search me."

"Let me handle this, mon cher," Jean-Paul said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Carol, ma cherie?"
he called.

"Go 'way."

"All right, but then you won't see my pictures of a shirtless Colonel Rhodes."

Carol sat bolt upright, revealing a truly epic bedhead and looked about wildly. Then paused as she
saw Jean-Paul, Harry and Diana smirking at her. She glowered. "I hate you all," she said sourly.
"And I would like it on the record that I did not get up solely because Jean-Paul used his smarmy
cunning to make me think he had sexy man pictures."

"Mais oui," Jean-Paul said, expression saintly. "We know. We believe you. Really, ma cherie, we
do."

Carol glared, then rolled over and mumbled something along the lines of, "gonna kill you, you
lying French jerk." She then waved at them. "All right, I'm up."

The four duly retreated, and a couple of minutes later, a dishevelled but dressed and mobile Carol
emerged, looking pale, grumpy, and potentially violent.

"Feeling awake, now?" Jean-Paul asked. Carol glowered at him and let out an incoherent growling
noise. Jean-Paul prudently skipped out of range.

"Coffee," she said.

"Coffee?" Harry asked. "My uncle makes coffee." He made a face. "Which I'm not allowed to
have."

"Merci de dieu," Jean-Paul murmured. "Literally, in this case." He gave Harry an apologetic look.
"No offence, mon cher, but you on coffee is a recipe for disaster."

"Jane said that."

"Jane is a very intelligent woman."

Harry could not disagree with this.

As for Loki's coffee, it very definitely met with Carol's approval, at least once she'd inhaled a mug
of it. "Good coffee," she commented. "Great coffee."

"It is, isn't it?" Darcy said. "Like, I swear, next time you take over the world, just say that under
your rule, everyone gets that coffee."

"Darcy," Steve said reprovingly.

"What?"

"Would you like some more?" Loki asked, deftly ignoring Darcy's not entirely inaccurate
comment.

Carol nodded enthusiastically.

"Could I try some, my lord?" Uhtred asked, having seen the way Carol chugged the last coffee.

"Yes, and it is merely Loki outside of formal situations," Loki said firmly.

"And that goes for all of us," Thor said. "I am merely Thor and Lord Stark is merely Tony."

Tony pouted, then said, "Yeah. We don't do formality."

Uhtred blinked, then nodded, and took his coffee with mumbled thanks, before eyeing Carol out of
the corner of his eye. She saw his gaze and smirked. "Oh," she said. "This is the way it is, huh?"
Then she knocked back her coffee with practised ease. Uhtred made to copy her.

A moment later, he was coughing, spluttering and covered in coffee while Carol, Tony and Clint
were howling with laughter. Everyone else was, at the very least, trying to conceal smiles, even
Pepper, who handed Uhtred a handful of tissues to wipe his face.

"Give it a few years and they'll be doing that with booze instead of coffee," Clint predicted.

"Now that is frightening thought," Natasha said wryly.

"We could send Darcy with them," Tony said.

"That would be worse than sending you with them, Tony," Jane said. "Darcy has a near
supernatural knack for finding dive bars."

"Yes I do," Darcy said, perfectly matter of factly.

"That sounds pretty cool, actually," Carol said.

"It sounds like a stupid idea, yet kind of fun at the same time," Harry observed.

"If a dive bar is what I think it is, it should be enjoyable," Uhtred said, wiping the last of the coffee
off.

"What is a dive bar?" Diana asked, puzzled.

Jean-Paul shuddered. "Mes chéris, I value my stunning good looks far too much to risk them in
such a place."

"Oh. Yeah, you'd have a few problems," Carol said.

"Just a few," he agreed.

Breakfast arrived shortly after, large, hot and filling, with eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes
(which were, as Harry explained to a surprised looking Carol, a British thing) and fried bread in
abundance, though a galette, a kind of pancake, was prepared for Bruce, with orange juice as well.
And it was at breakfast that who was skiing and who wasn't was established.

As it turned out, the category of those not skiing consisted of only one person, and the identity of
said person wasn't really surprising.

"I'm not skiing," Bruce said. "It's… it's a pretty scary sport sometimes, and I don't really play
sports. Anyway, it's not good for my blood pressure."

"And you don't want the Hulk starting an avalanche, got it," Tony said. He paused. "You know,
you could hire yourself out to resorts to start controlled avalanches."

"Controlled isn't a word I'd really use about the Hulk, Tony."

"What? You control the Hulk all the time!"

"I point him at the bad guys, Tony, it's not exactly precise."

Tony waved a hand as if to say that this was a minor detail. "I'm sure we can work something out."

OoOoO

Thankfully for the sake of everyone else, something was not worked out and after breakfast was
had and coffee was inhaled, the next step was getting ski gear. This passed rather quickly, since
Jean-Paul and Carol already had the appropriate gear and Loki and Pepper had, between them,
acquired suitably sized clothing for the rest, which was further adjusted by magic. Harry's was
emerald green with gold accents and a crimson red helmet, Uhtred's was a soft grey and Diana's
was a gentle shade of powder blue. Each outfit succeeded in bringing out their eyes.

Getting skis and boots – bought, since Tony was casually waving his check book and insisting -
was, naturally, a fairly frenetic and disorganised activity, only made more so when Thor, trying to
get his boots on, managed to put his foot through the wall, causing a mixture of hilarity and
mortification.

"I am so sorry," Thor said, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Harry said confidently. "I've got this." He concentrated and gestured, murmuring,
"Reparo."

The hole sealed itself as neatly as if it had never been there.

"Very nicely done, nephew," Loki said approvingly.

The shop owner, a middle aged woman with all the signs of a sportswoman going somewhat to
seed, with greying brown hair, simply goggled at the wall, then Harry, then shrugged. "Cheaper 'n
quicker than calling a repair man or boarding it over," she said. "Thanks, young man."

Harry grinned. "No problem," he said.

"Maybe it wasn't, for you. Maybe it was a little thing, to you. But one thing that I've learned is that
little things for you can be big things for other people," she said.

Harry flushed and nodded.

OoOoO

When they actually got on the slopes, the discrepancies were rather clear between who was skilled
and who was not. All of the group, save for Bruce, were out and about, since Bruce had previously
mentioned issues with sports in general. Most of the group had offered to stay behind and keep him
company, but he insisted that he would be fine.

"Sometimes, I like to get a little alone time," he said, and that, in the end, was that.

Clint, though he hadn't skied before, took to it quickly and enthusiastically, his natural agility,
athleticism and low centre of gravity. Natasha did it as she did everything else: with effortless ease
and grace, while simultaneously looking absolutely fantastic. And, of course, she wore black,
while Clint favoured a suit accented with purple chevrons

Pepper and Tony provided entertainment for the rest of the group and some of the few other guests,
as there was much gesticulating and occasionally panicked yelling as Pepper lost her balance or
Tony barely avoided accidentally by dint of not paying attention skiing straight into something or
someone with much of said arm waving.

Steve tended to go a little fast and didn't corner very well, often crashing into something at speed.
He was always fine, thankfully, though more than one tree looked a little the worse for wear for
the experience.

Darcy also tended towards much of the previously mentioned arm flailing and much more creative
swearing, and soon found that her metier was in one of the bars, cosying up to the cute Instructors.
This was, perhaps, in retrospect, inevitable. Indeed, Tony, or more likely, Pepper, had predicted it,
and Darcy was soon enjoying the dividends of Tony's extensive bar tab.

Jane was nervous and being patiently taught by Thor, while Loki tended to ski literal circles around
them, sailing around without either helmet or any apparent care in the world. What he did have was
a perpetual smug smirk on his face.
As for Harry, he found that his Quidditch experience served him well. Skiing, he found, was very
like flying, except you used your lower body more, had to deal with obstacles and were far more
likely to run into a tree. Or a rock. Or someone else.

It was exhilarating.

Sure, you could go far faster on a broomstick, or in an armour like Tony's, or even if you just flew
like his dad did. But none of the above had the same sense of knife edge speed of constantly having
to concentrate, to watch for trouble, to guide yourself perfectly down the run because if you lost
your balance for more than a moment, you would go down in a probably painful heap.

Harry had already gone down in several such heaps, and would have gone down in several more if
not for the skills, quick reflexes and long arms of Carol and Uhtred, who were both experienced
and skilled skiers.

He might have felt bad about this if Diana hadn't gone down in a few similar heaps, though, he
noted, she adjusted far faster than he did, zooming about the slopes in a powder blue ski suit that,
combined with her natural looks and friendly disposition, drew a lot of, 'aww, isn't she sweet?', or
looks and words to that effect.

Carol skied with practised expertise, as – after a short adjustment period – did Uhtred.

"I'm from the mountains near Nornheim," he explained. "We ski there as well, very often, and it
was my father, grandfather and their vassals who taught mortals the art of skiing and much
snowcraft. Admittedly, the style was usually different, the heels not locked in, but the essence of
the craft remains." He looked down at his skis with some admiration and a somewhat childish
delight. "But I had no idea that mortals had developed such skills at craftsmanship. Well, aside
from Lord Stark. And so many varieties!"

"We adapt," Carol said, shrugging. "If you don't have special abilities, you have to find other ways
to make your life easier, or to stand up to people who do have them. That's why Tony wears his
armour."

Uhtred nodded thoughtfully, and skied down the slope with idle skill, examining his skiis with
interest and apparently not paying the blindest bit of notice to his surroundings.

"He's going to hit a tree," Carol said, fretting slightly.

Harry gave her a long look. "Carol, if he hits a tree… I'm going to worry about the tree." Carol
gave him a surprised look and he elaborated. "When Uncle Loki gave me powers when I was going
to Asgard, I ran into a metal wall. The wall lost. And Uhtred's stronger and tougher than I am." He
waved casually. "He'll be fine. The tree won't, but he will."

"If you say so," Carol said sceptically.

Jean Paul, clad in ice white gear that was shot through with pale icy blues and greens, skied the
same way he seemed to do everything, with a thoughtless athletic grace. He also tended to blend in,
giving his fellow skiers the occasional surreal experience of watching what appeared to be a pair of
floating ski goggles making their swift and graceful way down the slope.

"When you can see the world moving in slow motion at will, mes amis, you have a lot more time to
get things right," he explained.

On the slopes and off them, he was developing a fan club, which was, to his mild regret, almost
exclusively female. This was partly because of his skills, partly because of his instinctive charm
and partly because he was, as Darcy put it, 'ridiculously pretty'.

Harry was rather glad of it, as, for once, the attention was off him, and Jean Paul was taking up the
attention that was not being grabbed by Tony.

The only time he got any attention from passers-by was when he saw a large boy looming over
another, smaller boy, who was maybe eleven years old. The smaller boy looked frightened and
upset, so naturally, Harry's White Knight instincts went into overdrive, and he skied down.

As he did, he noticed that one of the younger boys ski poles had fallen – or, considering how far it
was, been thrown – several feet away. Discreetly, he summoned it, then came to a stop in front of
the two, hearing the tail end of a conversation.

"... you're doing it again, aren't you?"

"No, Donnie, I'm not, I swear!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I don't believe you!"

"Here," Harry said loudly. "I think this is yours."

The younger boy turned to him, expression a mixture of surprised, embarrassed, frightened and
relieved, as Harry held out the pole. It was oddly rimed with ice, he noticed, as the smaller boy
took it. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Not a problem," Harry said.

"What are you doing?" the older boy, the one called Donnie, asked aggressively. He was a couple
of years older than Harry, but Harry found to his surprise that he had at least two inches on the boy,
and took the opportunity to look down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Helping him," he said eventually. "By retrieving his ski pole. Which you were about to do, right?"

Donnie looked at Harry, then frowned, as if something had just occurred to him, glancing at
Harry's tracks and where the pole had been. Then he looked back at Harry, who smiled. It was not
a nice smile. In fact, it was his father's patented, 'Go Ahead Make My Day (You Bastards)' smile.
"Thanks," he said, after a moment.

"I was just doing what any decent person would have done," Harry said calmly, eyes narrowing
slightly. He glanced at where the pole had been. "Funny how it fell all that way," he said, eyes
narrowing further. "Especially when it would have been looped around his wrist."

Donnie gulped. "Yeah. Funny," he said. "I've gotta go."

"You do that," Harry said, and Donnie half turned with a look of wounded pride and anger on his
face, then thought better of it. Though Harry wasn't really aware of it, he was as tall as a grown
man now, albeit one of average height, and steadily bulking out. He had a look about him too, a
gleam in his eye that said that you'd better think twice, and a sense of the otherworldly.

Needless to say, Donnie skied off in short order.

"Thanks," the smaller boy said.

"No problem," Harry said. "Did he throw your pole? And by the looks of things, he was bullying
you too."
The boy hesitated, then shook his head.

"I've been where you are," Harry said. "I'm guessing that that means that he did, and you don't want
to say because if I tell someone and he gets in trouble, he'll take it out on you."

The boy stared at him in naked astonishment. He was fairly plain looking, with brown hair and
brown eyes.

Harry grinned. "Like I said," he said. "I've been where you are." He glanced over and saw that
Donnie was still in his line of sight and smirked. "Want to see a magic trick?"

The boy looked puzzled.

Harry grinned, then turned and gestured, murmuring, "Expelliarmus!"

One of Donnie's skis detached from his boot and shot off as if fired from a gun, bouncing down the
slope on its side as its owner tried to adjust to this sudden loss of one ski, spinning around and
coming down in a heap with a pained and surprised yelp.

"How did you do that?" the boy asked, incredulous and stifling laughter.

Harry glanced over at Donnie, then grinned. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked.

The boy nodded very seriously, far more seriously than Harry would have expected.

"Magic," Harry said.

The boy stared at him, then smiled slightly. "Nice," he said.

"You seem pretty quick to believe me," Harry said.

"Well..."

"You've got a special talent of your own?" Harry guessed.

"How did you..." the boy began.

"Like I said. I've been where you are..."

"Bobby," the boy said. "Bobby Drake."

"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Thorson. I know someone who might be able to help..."

OoOoO

"You're looking chipper," Carol observed, as Harry skied down to join them.

"Well, I scared off a guy who was bullying his little brother because that little brother had a special
talent of his own and directed the kid to Charles Xavier," Harry said.

"Do you direct everyone to him?" Jean-Paul asked.

"Just the unusually talented ones," Harry said.

"Unusually talented?" Uhtred asked.

"Superpowers, mon cher," Jean-Paul explained. "People with abilities beyond the ordinary."
"Isn't that simply magic?" Diana asked. "I mean, I can fly, and most Olympians can't."

"Hang on, Olympians?" Carol asked. "I think I missed something here."

"My father is Hercules," Diana said matter of factly.

"The Hercules. Son of Zeus Hercules. 12 Labours Hercules."

"Yes."

Carol let out a low whistle. "And you can fly?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "Don't think that I'm not envious. Because I am. I really am."

"Auntie 'thena says that you'll be able to fly sometime soon," Diana said.

Harry blinked at this.

"Do you mean..."

"Athena?" Jean-Paul said. "She probably does."

"Yes," Uhtred said.

Carol stared off into the middle distance. "Right," she said slowly.

Harry gave her a quizzical look.

"Sorry, I was just adjusting."

"You were fine with me being the son of Thor," Harry pointed out reasonably.

"Oh, I'm fine with it," Carol said. "My mind's just a bit blown. I mean, we've all had a few years to
get used to Thor and, you know, Asgardians in general. Also, Hercules, Zeus and all that... we
learn about that at school. There are movies. Lots of movies." Her eyes widened. "There are movies
about Diana's dad," she managed.

"Movies are," Harry began to explain.

"I know," Diana said. "Auntie 'thena explained them to me after I asked her when you told me that
my father was still famous on Earth."

"Famous is putting it mildly," Carol muttered.

"He is?" Uhtred asked, surprised.

"Before the Avengers, he was probably the god everyone had heard of," Harry said. "Well, except
for God."

"Who?"

"Christian God. I think his name is Yahweh."

Carol's eyes bugged out. "He's real?"

"Dad and uncle Loki have met Jesus," Harry said. "Apparently they corrupted him."
Carol goggled, then started laughing maniacally.

"Carol?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"Carol does not get on well with her father," Jean-Paul said. "He is devoutly Catholic – Catholics
worship Jesus Christ and His father, Yahweh, you see - or at least, he pretends that he is. Carol is...
well, she used to be an atheist."

"Oh, I believe that Gods exist, crazy as that is," Carol said. "I just don't worship them."

"Thank," Harry began, then sighed. "One unforeseen downside of being a demigod," he
complained. "Is that I now have no one to swear by."

"Your dad?"

"'Thank dad' doesn't really work. Nor does 'thank granddad'," Harry said. "But yeah. Worshipping
is really not good. Don't like it. At all."

"Why not? I know plenty of guys who want to be worshipped," Carol said. "Like most of the
football team."

"Skilled sportsmen, and often rather attractive," Jean-Paul explained for Uhtred and Diana's
benefit. "Not very bright, usually, nor particularly pleasant, but, mes chéris, you can't have
everything."

"That's a different kind of worship," Harry said, a little uncomfortably. "And it just feels...
disturbing."

Carol frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose I get that," she said. "It's like guys following me when I've
said no."

"Well, they're not usually after my body, but yes."

"Give it a few months, mon cher, give it a few months," Jean-Paul said laconically.

"Why am I getting a feeling of intense foreboding?"

"Because you have a brain," Carol said calmly. "And you have some idea of how really fucking
horrible it is."

Uhtred frowned. "You mean, some men..."

"Think they know what a girl wants and that it's them, no matter what she says?" Carol asked.
"Pretty much."

Uhtred's frown deepened. "In Asgard, such people are... dealt with. Usually by the women."

"Magic is involved," Diana added.

"And there's a lot of nasty things that you can do with magic," Harry said.

"I'll bet," Carol said. "I mean, the fireballs must come in useful."

"They're fun," Harry said, lighting the tip of one finger. "But yeah. Jesus and his dad apparently
exist. So do angels."
Carol nodded. "Right," she said. "Is, like, every god real?"

Harry glance at Uhtred and Diana, who exchanged a look. "Probably," Uhtred said helplessly. "I
don't know too much about other pantheons."

"Unless they're obviously made up, probably," Diana said.

"What they said," Harry said. "I've heard of the Avalonians, the British gods, if that helps." Carol
nodded thoughtfully.

"Cool," she said. "So... how you guys," she asked, directing the question at Harry and Diana, who
hadn't skied before. "Liking skiing?"

And the conversation went on.

It all seemed fairly normal.

It couldn't last.

OoOoO

The Soldier stood, silent and patient. His principal, Lord Malfoy, was conversing with one of his
subordinates. He often did this, or worked in his office, with the Soldier standing guard outside.

This left the Soldier idle at most times, though more recently, one of his secondary commanding
officers, Baron Zemo, had taken him aside for planning meetings based on the acquisition of a
target.

He wasn't expected to do anything more than nod and take in the information. And normally he
didn't. Normally, he just stood, silent, patient and blank, waiting for the next order, the next
mission, for something to define him.

But now... he was starting to think.

OoOoO

Symbol. Skull inside circle with six tentacles emitting from within. Mark of Principal: Lord
Malfoy's servants. Mark of allies.

Where is Natalia?

Error.

Symbol familiar. Correct.

Error. Symbol familiar and inspires... anger?

Solution: report for maintenance.

Query: Why?

Why does this symbol inspire anger? Why does... why do I feel angry?

Natalia would know. Where is Natalia?

Query: Natalia? Who is Natalia?

Answer: Deadly. Red hair, green eyes, pale skin, quick smile, quick mind, icy face, warm heart,
broken, broken, broken.

Error. Natalia corresponds to Black Widow. Enemy. Alpha Class threat. Peak Human abilities.
Biologically Immortal. Master spy, master combatant, Avenger. Dangerous .

Query: Why? Why is Natalia my enemy?

Error. Black Widow is an enemy of Principal: Lord Malfoy. Protect the Principal at all costs.
Always protect.

Query: Misunderstanding?

Error.

Natalia? Where am I?

Error.

OoOoO

"Soldier."

The Soldier turned to look at Baron Zemo.

"It is time. Your flight leaves at 0900 tomorrow. You are fully apprised of the mission's details?"

The Soldier nodded.

Zemo seemed to examine him for a moment, then nodded his satisfaction. "Excellent. Prepare
yourself and join the rest of the team. You are in overall command. Responsibility lies with you. Is
this understood?"

The Soldier nodded again.

"Excellent. Do your duty."

The Soldier turned and strode down the corridor. He had a mission to perform.

OoOoO

As the days wore on, the kids were left to their own devices, on the grounds that not only could
they more than look after themselves, Loki could track them down very easily indeed through hair
samples and a little thaumaturgy. By this time, Harry and Diana were now more than comfortable
with at least the basics of skiing.

So, naturally, one afternoon they went for a Blue Square run – challenging, daringly so for the two
newbie skiers, but not as dangerous as the next step up, the Black Diamond.

But as they were halfway up the chair left, the wind began to pick up. At first it was minor, but
then it began to grow stronger and stronger.

"Harry, was your dad in a particularly bad mood earlier?" Carol asked, worried.

Harry shook his head. "Not that I noticed. He seemed fine." He looked around, worried. "Maybe
he's got into a fight?"
"What manner of creature would there be to face here?" Uhtred wondered.

"Maybe the legends of Bigfoot are real," Jean-Paul said thoughtfully.

"What is a Bigfoot?" Diana asked suddenly, as if the word had snapped her out of a reverie.

"It's meant to be a giant, hairy ape-man," Carol said. "No one's sure if it exists." She shrugged. "A
couple of years ago," she added. "I'd have said no. These days? Who knows?"

Harry noticed that she'd quietly reached out and protectively pulled the younger girl closer to her,
playing big sister.

"I'm fine," Diana said quietly, barely audible over the rising winds. Carol blinked, and began to
move away, making to apologise. Then Diana cuddled up to her slightly. "That doesn't mean that I
don't like it."

Carol blushed slightly, but smiled and extended her arm around the younger girl once more.

"There's something out there," Diana said, voice quiet and calm, though there was an undertone
of… fear. "Something powerful, something scared and something else. Something that is very,
very angry."

"Is it dad?" Harry asked.

Diana shook her head. "It's… I don't recognise it," she said slowly. "Let me look." She stripped off
her gloves, which Carol absently took and pocketed without being asked, and slipped loosened her
helmet slightly, before slipping her index and middle fingers up to touch her temples.

Five seconds later, she let out an ear splitting scream.

OoOoO

"Brother?" Thor asked, tone tense, as his brother opened his eyes, which widened to near
unbelievable extents.

"Landvættr," Loki whispered in awe.

Thor's eyes widened. "You are certain?" he asked, as Natasha's eyes widened.

"I am. It is ancient and powerful," Loki said. "Not as powerful as London, but that is another
matter entirely."

"What are we dealing with?" Steve asked.

"A Genius Loci," Natasha said. "If I've got the translation right. It's a spirit of place, or a local god.
Some are confined to trees…"

"And some are great and terrible," Thor finished darkly. "No wonder this storm has resisted me so
effectively."

"Can you stop it?"

"I can stop it spreading," Thor said. "And yes, I could break the storm, quite easily if it came to it.
But I do not know what fallout that would have." He looked grim. "I could very well kill my son
and his friends while trying to save them."
OoOoO

The Soldier examined the terrain.

OoOoO

Anomaly: storm does not conform to meteorological predictions. Size and speed of genesis suggest
supernatural origin.

Query: creation of Thor?

Answer: unlikely. His son is on the mountain. Likely the inadvertent creation of Target: Robert
Drake.

Assets: self. 6 wizards trained in non-magical paramilitary techniques by Baron Zemo. 6 enhanced
werewolves. Squadron of 'Slender Men' can be called upon if required. Winter Fae. Enter the
world through shadows – ergo, insertion not a problem.

Response: Advantage – concealment + isolation of target. Easier to minimise disturbance and loss
of life.

Easier to keep the child safe.

Conclusion: the Wolves can track Drake. All of them, so they won't run amok. Their actions and
the saboteurs will be covered by the storm. Strike quickly.

OoOoO

He turned and gestured to his subordinates. The group, half mutated werewolves, each now the
size of a small car, the largest, the pack leader known as Fenrir Greyback, being the size of a
hummer, half wizards who understood the muggle world, split off. There were only twelve of them
in total, not including the Soldier himself, but more, he judged, would not be required.

One of the wolves let out an ear splitting howl.

The hunt was on.

OoOoO

Uhtred frowned and knelt down by the slick patch of ice, removing a glove and running his hand
over it, before rapping it gently with his knuckles. Then he stalked back to cover. The children had
got off the ski lift, with Harry passing Diana a succession of conjured handkerchiefs to deal with
her psychic nosebleed, while Carol kept her firmly tucked to her side, treating her like a little sister,
and Uhtred had led them with unerring accuracy to an overhang. It had been intended to be brief,
while they saw to Diana's nosebleed, but the storm had brewed into something far stronger and
more terrible.

"This ice is not natural," Uhtred said flatly. "It is far too strong and far colder than the air, snow
and ice around us."

Carol raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You got all that from just tapping it?"

"My family's holdings are in the Nornheim mountains. That makes them part of the Ice March, the
northernmost reaches of Asgard's rule." Uhtred said. "I know mountains. I know Winter." He
gestured out at the storm. "This storm is not natural, but it isn't the creation of Prince Thor, either."
"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"No thunder. No lightning. No flying hammer," Uhtred said. "Mjolnir tends to be fairly
distinctive."

"You don't say," Carol muttered and Harry nodded thoughtfully. It was a fair point.

"And the patches of ice mark a path leading further up the mountain," Uhtred said.

"Like footprints," Diana said quietly.

"Let me guess," Harry said. "If we follow those footprints, we'll find whatever the Genius Loci is
protecting." He looked around. "Well, I suppose we'd better get going."

"It would be more sensible to ride this storm out," Jean-Paul said, and sighed. "But no. Being
sensible is boring."

Harry flashed him a grin. "It's almost like you know us, Jean-Paul," he said merrily.

Jean-Paul sighed. "Let us go, mes amis. Before I think better of it."

Harry suddenly frowned. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

The howl came again, low, haunting and somehow, eager. And it was getting closer.

"I hear it," Uhtred said grimly. "There are wolves of a kind in these mountains."

"Why do you say, of a kind?" Carol asked tensely.

"Because I have heard wolves howl and I have heard the Wolf People howl. This is not like either,"
Uhtred said grimly.

Carol turned to Harry. "Harry, you know about magic on Earth, right?"

"Yes."

"Tell me straight – do we have werewolves?"

Harry looked her dead in the eye. "Yes. Yes, we do," he said. "And if Uhtred's right... they're
coming for us."
 The Heart Of Winter

Harry hunched against the blizzard, ducking his head beneath his shoulder and offering his body as
a wind break, allowing Jean-Paul, who was visibly suffering, to gain some respite. He'd tried to
offer a fireball, but Carol had, while herself sheltering Diana, who, though stronger and tougher
than any adult human, let alone child her age, seemed to also be suffering, pointed out that this
would just give whatever was hunting them a nice, shiny beacon to home in on.

Since Carol was also showing the effects of the cold, if not half as strongly – though the gleam in
her eyes had suggested that she took this more as a personal challenge than anything else – this
could not easily be contested on the grounds of 'it's all right for you'. Also, it wasn't exactly the first
time that Harry had been hunted in a dark forest by hungry monsters.

This, he reflected, was just a little bit depressing.

Inwardly, he shrugged. At least it could be said that this was his first blizzard.

As for himself, he found that, strangely enough, the cold wasn't bothering him. He wasn't exactly
warm, but the icy winds lacked the edge he'd expected. If anything, he was only cool, at worst,
slightly chilly.

He'd have found this a bit more unnerving if he hadn't seen how Uhtred was calmly and
determinedly ploughing his way through the snow, following the trail and forcing a path for the
others. Indeed, he seemed to be in his element.

So, as it was, Harry put his resistance to the cold down to his latent Asgardian abilities and/or his
ability with fire, and thought nothing more of it.

Under the circumstances, he probably should have done.

However, if nothing else, the occasional howl - getting ever closer - occupied more of his attention.
After he'd first noticed that they were closing, and how fast, he'd exchanged a speaking look with
Carol, then the two of them had started scanning their surroundings, trying to pick movement out
from the whirling, vicious dance of the snow in the storm.

If they hadn't, they wouldn't have got off the mountain.

OoOoO

A howl echoed through cold, still air, a disquieting contrast to the howling mass of dark clouds that
had coalesced around the upper reaches of the mountain.

"What was that?" Steve asked, voice tense and low.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. "Wendigo?" he suggested.

"No, it's too far south," Natasha said. She frowned. "One of my sources said that HYDRA were
experimenting on werewolves, mutating them and using them as shock troops. SHIELD forensics
teams found evidence that seems to corroborate the intel."

"Where?" Thor asked shortly, staring fixedly at the storm, jaw muscles bunching as he ground his
teeth.
"In Britain. At the fall of MI13," Natasha said quietly. "MI13 possessed, and still possess,
considerable resources. Conventional small arms fire didn't hurt them, rocket launchers only
slowed them down and only a few of MI13's plasma cannons and the spells of their staff mystics
managed to hurt them. It didn't stop them."

Another howl rose up, in communion with others, and Thor snarled, reaching for his hammer.
"Then we shall see whether lightning stops them," he said.

"No," Steve said, voice hard and authoritative. "The storm's still growing, in size and strength.
There are innocent people down here and who knows what it'll do to them if it gets down here.
Can you contain it?"

Thor paused. "Captain, my son is up there, if I cannot retrieve him, then at least," he began.

"The kids will be safe," Steve said calmly, striding over to his bed and picking up a large, object
wrapped in a string pull bag beside it. The covering came away with a brisk tug at the mouth of the
bag, and, gleaming in the warm yellow light, the shield came free.

It required no further description. It was simply the shield. In millennia to come, when someone
spoke of the shield anywhere in the universe, people would always know what they meant. A
shield was meant to stand for protection. And so this shield did; steadfast and unbreakable as its
master's will, something that even gods put their trust in.

Steve looked up at the storm. "I've fought in worse," he said. It was not a boast. It was a simple
statement of fact. If nothing else, the Alps were treacherous in Winter at the best of times, and
Grindelwald had had a neat line in weather manipulation. He met Thor's gaze. "They'll be safe," he
said calmly. "I'll make sure of it."

"Not alone," Natasha said.

"Natasha –"

"Steve, I was surviving storms worse than this before you even got to middle school," she said
briskly, checking her pistol's ammunition. No one knew where she'd been hiding it, and, on
balance, no one was entirely sure that they wanted to know either.

"Make that three of us," Clint said. "You won't be able to see in a blizzard. I will."

Steve sighed. "Fine," he said. "But that leaves aside our gear. Which we don't have."

Loki absently gestured, and their relevant combat gear popped into the room, landing with a thump.

"How did you do that?"

"I placed a tracking signal on each of them, each unique," Loki said. "Just in case one of you was
kidnapped. Tony and SHIELD use similar precautions. It was simply a matter of using a spell that
resonated with the particular energies of your signals."

"I'm not sure whether to be grateful or paranoid," Clint commented wryly.

"Is there any reason we can't be both?" Natasha asked, unselfconsciously stripping.

"Natasha," Steve said, voice strangled.

"I know for a fact that it's nothing you haven't seen before, Steve," she said, tone cool and
professional, not even slowing down. Tony had been caught between staring and turning away in
order not to stare, and had come to a compromise – to be exact, he was staring vacantly at the
ceiling. Clint, meanwhile, was changing as well, though he spared a cheeky smirk for the
appreciative Darcy and the embarrassed Jane. "There are innocents in danger and I don't have time
to spare your tender sensibilities. Get changed quickly or we're going without you."

Steve sighed, then, cheeks slightly red, began to change himself.

"Wow," Darcy said, drawing the word out. "Gimme a second, I'm gonna get my wallet."

"Darcy," Jane said sternly.

Darcy sulked, but didn't go and, when Jane pointedly turned her away, to give Steve some
modicum of privacy, she didn't resist.

Steve zipped up the last part of his suit, and turned to see that Clint and Natasha were already
ready. He hefted his shield.

As he did, the power went out, and Loki looked up sharply. "Magic," he said softly. "Wanded
magic."

"You can smell magic?" Tony asked.

"Sense it," Loki said briefly, turning to set a fire going in the fireplace, bathing the cabin in warm,
golden light, full of flickering shadows.

"Whoever's using it knows what they're doing," Natasha said. "Concerted acts of sabotage on non-
magical power lines aren't the usual wizarding MO."

"Aaand they've taken down both phone signal and wifi," Tony said grimly, checking his phone.
"Which means that I can't contact JARVIS and get an armour sent up here."

"Loki, can you track them?" Steve asked.

"Captain, I could do it blindfolded and drunk."

Steve nodded. "Take them down. I want at least one for questioning. Once they're dealt with, Tony,
Jane I want you to help him fix what's been damaged," he said. "Pepper, Darcy, Bruce, I want you
to work with the resort staff, get everyone rounded up in one of the larger buildings. If this is
HYDRA's work, they'll be going for hostages."

"And if it is the Death Eaters, they will kill simply because it is fun," Thor said flatly.

"Then they'll have to get through the Other Guy," Bruce said quietly. It might just have been the
firelight catching his eyes, but just for a moment, they seemed to go green.

"Quite," Loki murmured, then gestured at Steve, Clint and Natasha, who all glowed a pale gold
briefly. Clint flinched imperceptibly. Everyone else pretended not to notice. While Clint and Loki
had made their peace, Clint was understandably still a little jumpy about Loki using magic on him.
"There. That will keep you warm and, crucially, it will also allow you to run on snow like springy
turf."

Steve nodded gratefully. Hiking through the snow wasn't exactly something he had a problem with,
but it was often slow going. This should speed up matters greatly.
He turned to the others. "Let's go," he said.

OoOoO

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a dark shape slowly crawling down the cliff face above
them. As he focused on it, trying to figure out whether it was just a dark rock, a patch of shadow or,
in fact, something worse, it tensed, then launched itself down towards Carol and Diana like an
arrow of darkness.

Harry's response was instinctive. Reaching inside himself, he called fire, more than he had ever
before, and directed it at the creature in a wrist thick beam of white-gold energy that turned snow
to steam in a heartbeat. It was an impressive strike, but the side effects were arguably more potent
than the actual shot.

Despite the fact that it was a snapshot, the blast clipped the creature, causing it to twist in pain,
letting out a jarring hollow shriek that warred with thunderous detonation the sudden superheating
of the air had caused. This, along with the bright flash of light alerted the others in a way that even
a loud yell wouldn't have done, causing Carol to step back against the cliff wall, pushing Diana
behind her. Harry mimicked the gesture with Jean-Paul, gathering fire to his hands.

Uhtred, however, reacted differently.

He pounced.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat as the other boy, tall and strong, but still a boy, slammed into the
writhing shape, which expanded from something vaguely humanoid into an indistinct shroud with
a blank white face, seeking to envelop Uhtred. But both it and Harry had made one mistake in their
calculations. They were budgeting for a mortal. Not a god.

Uhtred pounced, grabbing the creature by the face and rolling, all in one smooth motion, pulling it
with him, knocking it off balance. As it reeled, face still in his now crushing grasp, he delivered
two brutal punches that would have torn through steel.

The creature responded with another mouthless shriek, and its essence came to life, forming into
tentacles that broke Uhtred's grip, grabbed him, and slammed him against the cliff wall twice, with
sufficient force to crater it, knocking him out. The creature, focused totally on Uhtred now, flowed
over the ground, not seeming to sink through the snow as it reeled itself in towards him. Harry
readied a strike, then swore, as Carol charged in with a wild yell, tackling the creature to the
ground, slamming its head against the ground over and over again, stunning it. As she did, the
tentacle that was still attached to Uhtred contracted, preparing to draw him in. Harry responded
with a lash of fire that sliced straight through it, causing that which remained to retreat sharply,
while the sliced piece collapsed into some kind of strange, slippery substance.

"CAROL!" he yelled, at the top of his lungs. "GET CLEAR!"

Carol shot a half glance at him, saw the fire, and flipped to her feet with the sort of speed and grace
that Harry had last seen in Natasha, backing away.

The creature regained its equilibrium, looking around, apparently rather dazed. Then, despite
having no eyes, it seemed to see Harry gathering fire. Instantly, it leapt into the sky, body morphing
into a giant pair of bat like wings, driving it up and away into the storm with supernatural power. In
response, the storm seemed to pick up, slowing it and forcing it to struggle for height.

Which, Harry realised, as a wild anger rose in him, left him with a clear shot. A clear shot on the
thing that had had the temerity to come after his friends, to hurt one of his people and now thought
it could get away.

He smiled a hard, vicious dagger slash of a smile as the fire in his hands began to glow gold.

Well. It had another thing coming, now didn't it?

"Burn," he snarled, voice taking on the double harmonic once more. And this time, it was not
merely deadly in the figurative sense.

A vast tree trunk thick column of golden flame roared out, shaking the earth with the thunder of its
passage, and slammed straight through the middle of the shadowy creature. It let out one last ear
splitting hollow shriek, then spiralled down into the forest far below, burning like old newspaper.

Harry watched it fall with a distinct sense of vicious satisfaction, the wildness within him crowing
its victory despite the sudden wave of tiredness that was creeping through his limbs, then looked
up at his friends. Though the howling winds precluded conversation, their awestruck stares said it
all.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Harry shrugged, then froze, as a howl echoed up through the
mountains, somehow triumphant now. He gulped, adrenaline shooting through his body as he
shared a look with the others.

They had been spotted.

OoOoO

When the bolts of burning fire roared out, once, twice, then no more as the burning shape of the
Slenderman spiralled down to break itself in fiery ruin upon the mountainside, visible even through
the whirling curtain of the storm, the Soldier, observing from a peak across the valley, did not
jump. Many people would have, startled by the explosions carried on the wind.

But he was not many people.

OoOoO

Slenderman scout has been engaged and been terminated.

Query: Who terminated it?

And how do I thank them?

Query: Why would I thank someone who terminated an ally?

Answer: Because they're monsters.

Error. Designation 'monster' is irrelevant.

Am I the sort of person who thinks that?

Error. Irrelevant. Mission has been endangered. Slenderman scout's termination implies an Alpha
Class Threat.

Omega Class Threat: Thor and Omege Class Threat: Loki both observed at resort. Thor is
containing the storm. Loki is apparently at rest.
Correction. Loki is hunting the magical squad.

Good riddance to them, too.

Error. The Magical Squad are our allies.

Query: is Iron Man responsible?

Answer: unlikely. No spike in arc energies has been detected.

Query: New player?

Yeah, like this isn't convoluted enough.

Error.

Answer: unlikely.

Conclusion: Prince Harry Thorson is the most likely candidate. Threat rating raised from Beta
Class to Alpha Class.

Query: is he protecting Drake?

Answer: Likely. Personality evaluations suggest chronic heroism, self-sacrificing tendencies and a
pronounced habit of protecting those who he feels cannot protect themselves.

Heh. Sounds familiar.

Error.

Threat reported: the last Wizard has observed three threats spotted climbing the mountain.
Interference likely. Hawkeye, Captain America and... Natalia.

Conclusion: Intervention required. I will complete the mission, accompanied by the wolves, while
the Slendermen handle the other three.

OoOoO

The Soldier activated his jetpack and took off. He had a mission to complete.

OoOoO

Clint froze. He didn't need to make a signal, the other two stopping with him, and watching as he
slowly scanned his surroundings, flicking through the different parts of the visual spectrum
available to him.

Then, when he dropped into the magical spectrum, he spotted them, moderately sized shapes of
merciless icy blue-black power.

Steve tapped his shoulder in silent question, the winds being too loud to ask discreetly. Clint
thought for a moment, then whirled, adjusted his aim to compensate for the winds and the angle
they were coming at, and opened opened fire with his pistol.

Three steel tipped bullets ripped through a dark shape, spindly and only vaguely humanoid, that
stumbled, melting out of the shadows of the tree it had been lurking in and let out an unearthly
hollow screech of pain as white fire began to burn at the edges of the bullet holes.
This screech was made all the more unnerving by the fact that it had no mouth.

"They're in the shadows!" Clint said, changing clips on his pistol and picking off another.

"What the hell are they?" Steve asked, drawing his shield and hurling it, neatly taking out two at
once. The third, however, extended some kind of tentacles, snatching the shield out of the air, then
hurling it back with a whiplash action. The shield flew at Steve in an almost invisible blur, and it
took every half instant of reaction time his body could muster, every moment of experience of
dodging flying objects, to get out of the way. The shield carried on, scything straight through the
trunk of a pine tree, scoring a deep gash in an outcropping rock, slamming into a cliff face, before
bouncing back towards the fight, emitting a deadly humming sound, like it was Satan's own discus.

"No idea," Natasha replied, drawing her own pistols and picking her shots. "But they're Winter
Fae."

"Fairies?!" Steve asked, astonished.

"Fae," Natasha corrected, shouting over the wind. "Think every dark fairytale you've ever heard,
every monster story, every urban legend and you've got the basic idea! They hate iron and steel!"

Steve frowned inwardly. He vaguely remembered, on one of the Avengers' first visits to Asgard,
being presented to an astoundingly beautiful young woman with cat like eyes and white hair who
Thor had said was the Lady of the Summer Fae. Maybe these were their darker counterparts?

He shrugged, and resumed watching his shield's trajectory. It didn't really matter. They were
monsters and they were trying to kill him and his friends. At the very least, they were impeding
their progress up the mountain. And unless he missed his guess, his shield would be coming into
range just about... now.

Taking advantage of Loki's spellwork and his own enhancements, he sprung a full ten feet off the
ground from a standing start, snatching the straps of the shield and pulling it into his body as he
rolled over in mid-air, coming down into a three point landing, not even breaking the snow, just in
time to body check one of the creatures which had chosen that moment to try and rush between the
group, shooting across the ground like a living shadow.

It had been looking to get in among them and split them, leaving them to be picked off by its
fellows, two of which were feinting at Clint and Natasha, forcing them to keep their eyes front.

"Big mistake," Steve muttered, wrenching an ankle out from underneath it as it reeled, yanking it in
close, then bringing his shield down hard on its neck, separating head from shoulders.

That checked the creatures, which Steve didn't find exactly surprising. In his experience, the
various supernatural monsters running around the world were perfectly accustomed to humans
having developed methods of fighting them from range, whether that method was magic or
mundane weaponry, like bows or guns, or some combination of the two – enchanted weaponry, for
example.

What they were rather less used to was the idea that a human, even an enhanced one, could take
them down in single combat. That was what had given the Allies something of a fear factor among
Grindelwald and his pet monsters – they had a man, a human, on their side who overpower
vampires and demons in single combat, hand to hand, facing them on equal terms. Namor and
Blade could explained away – one was Atlantean royalty, the other was the legendary Daywalker,
part Grey Court vampire, with all of their strengths and none of their weaknesses. Other human
hunters required special weaponry and preparation. Steve didn't. And that had made him into
something that the supernatural world had been entirely unprepared for.

He took advantage of the lull to step back, going back to back with Clint and Natasha, feeling the
reassuring presence of their backs against his – though their shoulders were somewhat lower down.

It was little things like that which reminded him how large he actually was. As astonishing as it
sounded, he found it very easy to forget, and sometimes found himself looking at his hands as if
they belonged to someone else, because surely these hands were too big to be his. It was happening
less and less often now, but it still happened, every now and then.

He could see it happening with Harry, too. Like Steve, he'd got used to being small and scrawny,
but in a matter of months, he had shot up, to the point where he was now about as tall as Clint -
who was, himself, of average height and stocky with it – and showing no sign of slowing down. He
was also developing, albeit more slowly, the muscle to match.

He looked around, studying the territory and the opposition.

It was reasonable territory, a moderately sized clearing with only a slight gradient, giving them
maybe thirty feet of clear ground on all sides. Much less and even Steve's superhuman reflexes
would be taxed by how fast these things were.

And they were fast. Not quite blurs, but getting that way. They were strong, too, far stronger than
their spindly frames suggested, and there was a strange fluidity to their forms that suggested that
their size was variable. But, crucially, they didn't have the mass to go with it. The one he'd body
checked would probably have been able to tear through a concrete wall fairly easily, but it had had
maybe the mass of a young teenager, if not less.

So, superhumanly quick, superhumanly strong and shapeshifters, able to reshape their forms into
weapons, with a base form of an indistinct, dark humanoid male approximately eight feet tall, with
a blank, pale, oval shaped face. Capable of strategic thinking, too, judging by the way the one he'd
killed had rushed in, while its fellows had attracted Clint and Natasha's attention. And there were at
least two dozen of them.

"Eight each," he said.

"Nine," Clint corrected, and both Steve and Natasha took him at his word.

"No need to be stingy, then," Natasha said lightly.

Steve frowned suddenly. This wasn't just classic 'predator reacts to something new' wariness, it had
gone on too long. No, they were waiting. "They're stalling us," he said. "Clint, get their attention."

Three shots rang, a smooth, pulsing hammer of sound that was immediately whipped away by the
wind. Three shapes dropped with crunching thumps, silvery fire eating its way out from the bullet
holes. "That do?" the marksman asked casually.

Steve glanced at the dark figures surrounding them. Reluctantly, the dark shapes began to flow
forward, not seeming to employ their legs in any recognisably humanoid form of motion, some
growing tentacles which they wielded like spider legs, scuttling across the snow.

"Not bad," he said. That was another thing about them, he noted. They weren't sinking through the
snow either. Well, he thought as he prepared to meet the rush. That was just another part of the
challenge.

Then, an enormous flash of light scoured the mountainside, throwing the shadows into sharper
relief and lighting up the snow like it was midday, drawing more of those strange mouthless
screeches from the creatures, throwing their charge into disarray.

"What the hell was that?" Clint demanded tensely.

"I'm not sure," Natasha said. "But if I had to bet my last dollar, I'd say that Harry was involved."

Steve had to say that she was probably right.

OoOoO

With triumphant howls ringing in their ears, Harry and his friends quickly reached the end of the
trail, a cave, that, by all indications, led deep into the mountain.

Well, Harry thought as they made their way inside, out of the wind, this wasn't ominous at all.

"Harry," Carol said softly. "Light?"

Harry blinked and nodded, conjuring a fireball. As he did, tiredness settled on him like a lead
blanket, causing him to stumble, the fireball, weak and stutter, flickering out. Indeed, he'd have
fallen if Uhtred hadn't caught him. Clearly, he thought muzzily, the adrenalin had run out.

"Harry?" Jean-Paul asked, worried. "Are you okay, mon cher?"

"What's happened?" Carol asked.

"He's exhausted himself," Uhtred said. "Killing that monster took it out of him."

"Really?" Carol asked, surprised. "It's just..."

"What?"

"At Christmas –"

"Yule," Harry managed, on seeing Uhtred's puzzled look.

"Right, well, we met Prince T'Challa of Wakanda. Long story short, he said that he could detect
Harry's, well, aura, and that he was more powerful than most adult wizards," she said.

"He probably is," Uhtred said, slinging Harry's left arm over his shoulder. "But he's still physically
mortal."

"So?"

"So his body can't take the strain as well as Uhtred or I could," Diana said. "And I think he was
unconsciously using his magic to keep himself warm."

Carol frowned, then nodded. "I think I get it. And he did look unusually comfortable in the storm,"
she said. "He's been running on fumes, hasn't he?"

"If I understand your meaning correctly, yes," Uhtred said, casting a concerned look at the
shivering Jean-Paul. "Jean?"

"I will be fine, mon cher," Jean-Paul said, and his outline abruptly blurred. As it did, the air
temperature seemed to rise.
"How?" Diana asked, astonished.

"I can vibrate exceptionally fast, which makes me hot," Jean-Paul said. He smirked. "Of
course, mes chéris, I am always hot."

"Doesn't that mean?" Uhtred began to ask curiously.

"Don't," Carol said flatly. "Just... don't."

"I really wouldn't, mon cher," Jean-Paul warned. "Not when she uses that tone."

"Anyway, we need to get inside," Carol said, before casting Jean-Paul a dirty look when he
snickered. "And find out what's causing this. Before those things find us." She glanced at Harry,
worry on her face. "Is he going to be okay?"

"If those things catch us," Diana said quietly. "I don't think any of us are going to be okay." She
looked down the tunnel. "And he knows it. It's part of why he's afraid."

"Who?" Carol asked warily.

"The boy. The boy that the mountain is protecting," Diana said. "The boy that Harry tried to help."

"Then we'd better go find him, hadn't we?" Carol said, striding determinedly down the tunnel, the
others following her.

As they did, Harry, though his view of the world was decidedly fuzzy, felt the hairs rise on the
back of his neck and an icy feeling run down his spine.

He recognised this feeling. He'd felt it before. But this time, he wasn't with his father and Professor
McGonagall.

"He's here," he breathed.

"We know, Harry," Carol said gently. "God, he's really out of it, isn't he?" she murmured to the
others.

"Not him," Harry snapped.

"Who, then?" Jean-Paul asked, frowning.

Harry tried to enunciate the name, but his tongue, numb and heavy, wouldn't let him. "Him."

There was a deathly silence, and in that silence, the word echoed down the tunnel, going from soft,
intense warning to sinister whisper.

"Harry," Carol managed, as her face, rosy from the cold, paled slightly. She didn't know what was
outside, but after the howls, after the monster that had seemed to be entirely made of shadows had
attacked them, she knew it could be nothing good. She shook her head and glanced at the others.
"Please tell me he's just talking about those wolf things that are following us."

"No," Diana said softly. "He isn't. They worry him, but they don't scare him the way this does."
She looked outside, a wary expression on her face. "Whatever this is... it has him terrified."

"Thenn we don't stick around to find out what it is," Carol said quietly, tone indicating with calm
authority that she was taking charge. Harry found that he approved. Before, they'd followed him,
and now, since he was fairly useless – and wasn't that annoying – someone else needed to take
charge. It looked good on her. "Uhtred, carry Harry. Diana, watch our back. Jean-Paul, scout
ahead. I don't want to have any more nasty surprises."

Jean-Paul nodded, zipping ahead, as Uhtred slung a mildly protesting Harry over his shoulder and
Diana turned, carefully watching the way they had come.

And as they descended into the heart of the mountain, following the trail of frozen footsteps, one
questioned preyed on their minds.

What had Harry been talking about? What had him so scared? And why was it following them?

OoOoO

Alpha Class threat Harry Thorson apparently neutralised. Likely cause: exhaustion. Likely cause
of exhaustion: fighting and killing the Slenderman scout.

Thorson accompanied by three unknown quantities and an Alpha Class superhuman.

Name: Jean-Paul Beaubier.

Age: 14 and a half years old.

Powers: Superspeed, limits unknown, according to the SHIELD Index. Alpha Class potential
estimated.

Could be problematic. Speedsters are hard to immobilise without harm being incurred.

Error. The speedster could remove Robert Drake from the scene in a moment. Neutralisation
required.

No. He's just a kid. They're all just kids.

Note: the Wolves are coming. ETA 5 minutes.

... That wall of ice wasn't there a moment ago.

OoOoO

Even half a mile from the edge of the storm, snow had, at first, poured down in thick waves,
obscuring visibility. Indeed, the comparative lack of wind had made it all the worse. But once Thor
had got to work, the snow had stopped, as if cut off by a knife. Instead, there was now an eerie
stillness on the lower parts of the mountain, as not even the slightest gust of wind disturbed the air.

That, Loki felt, suited him just fine. Though he was a master of illusion, it was much easier to
concentrate if you weren't constantly adjusting your spells to take into account ever changing
currents of wind and weather. Of course, in such an instance, simpler measures would be
employed, such as a simple chameleon spell, or, perhaps, a little manipulation of light and shadow,
or a subtle encouragement to look elsewhere.

Of course, each of those had their own downsides, particularly against a magical opponent with, by
all appearances, a functioning brain. The thing about magical disguises was that they were still
magical. No matter how well disguised, if someone knew what they were doing, they could still
pick up that it was there.

That was why Loki had learned to employ more mundane methods of stealth and the liberal use of
red herrings. Being able to detect magic was relatively useless if your opponent knew it and either
didn't bother or you couldn't actually tell what the magic was doing (for instance, when you
thought you were about to sneak up on someone, you could be, in fact, about to step on a mystical
landmine. This is both unfortunate and messy).

Of course, if you knew that your opponent knew it, then the fun really began. Of course, if your
opponent was Loki, then trying to second guess him was generally useless save for a few select
individuals. This was after all the man, or rather, god, who had long since earned the nickname of
'the Prince of Lies'.

Two of the five witches and wizards he'd faced so far, all trained paramilitaries, had nevertheless
tried to do so and had paid for it, swiftly being disarmed, petrified (as in, literally turned to stone -
a little gauche, perhaps, but fun) and stacked neatly in a nearby closet.

The third had tried to sneak up on Thor, who was standing outside, concentrating on restraining and
calming the storm. A very precisely aimed lightning bolt proved that Thor was, in fact, still paying
a fair amount of attention to his surroundings and that the natural state of someone who tries to
chump shot the God of Thunder is floating ash.

One of the other two, cornered, had tried to fight. That, Loki had considered to be brave, but utterly
pointless. Even if he wasn't the superior sorcerer by a truly ridiculous degree in both power and
skill, able to counter each attack as it began, he could quite simply shrug off most of the spells
thrown at him. As it was, he'd settled for blowing up his opponent's wand and petrifying the
shocked witch.

The fifth had opted to run, trying to apparate away.

That one had been a little messy.

And now he was watching the sixth. She'd holed up in cover, specifically, a relay station for phone
lines. In recent years, a small tower for mobile signals had been added. She and her fellow Death
Eaters – or at least, that's what Loki supposed they were. It didn't really matter, in any case – had
sabotaged it.

The phone lines had been cut, the electricity pylons had been downed and the signals tower had
been dismantled, quickly and efficiently. The snowmobiles had all been turned to scrap, the fuel
for the various forms of transportation and the backup generators had been transfigured into water,
frozen, then vanished and if not for Loki's intervention, the chalet in which the guests had holed up
would have been set on fire.

This part hadn't made much sense to him. While he knew very well that Death Eaters killed simply
because they enjoyed it, that didn't tally with the way this group was operating. They were silent,
efficient and operating on a set of pre-planned objectives. Indeed, they'd already been mostly done
by the time he had detected their presence. And if this group was so, well, sensible, why were they
attacking a resort full of holidaying Avengers, without an army on their side? What was their
ultimate objective?

At first, Loki had thought it was his nephew, but even then, with himself, Thor and the Hulk
present, let alone the rest of the Avengers, this was one of the worst times that anyone could
choose to try and grab Asgard's youngest Prince.

Then Pepper had found out something very interesting, that she'd relayed to him through an
earpiece.

There were a few people still on the mountain, his nephew and friends among them. Most of the
rest had already come down for the evening, or had managed to make their way down before the
storm got going, citing a strange feeling that had told them to get off the mountain immediately.
The spirit at work, doubtless.

And one of those was a boy called Robert 'Bobby' Drake, whose father had, on seeing the storm,
hearing the unearthly howls and noticing how the Avengers were moving out, taken Pepper aside
and said that he was worried that this was about his son. His wife had tried to stop him, saying that
her son was perfectly normal in tones that Pepper had immediately pegged as 'denial, total'.

Further inquiry had revealed that for the last three months, Bobby had proved to be... different. It
had started when his parents had heard an argument, followed by a scream. Rushing upstairs,
they'd found that Bobby and his older brother, Donnie, had had an argument over who could take
the already run bath first. Donnie had won out based on superior size.

Bobby had responded by freezing the bath.

While Donnie was inside it.

And, at the same time, he'd frozen the water in every single pipe within five miles.

Though the older boy had managed to get out before the tub had turned into a block of ice and,
since it was Winter, the matter of the frozen pipes had gone largely unremarked, the incident had
left a mark.

Ever since, Donnie had treated Bobby like he was a freak, half hating him for being different, half
fearing him for his obvious power, picking on him, bullying him, trying to establish himself as his
brother's superior. This, Loki felt, was stupid on a suicidal scale, but that was people for you.

Almost as bad was the mother's reaction, which had been a complete and total lack of
acknowledgement that there was something different about her younger son. This was equally
stupid, and arguably more dangerous, though not actively malign, and Pepper had quite clearly held
a dim view of the woman's judgement, if not being entirely without sympathy.

The father had tried to, discreetly, find help, but was afraid of people treating Bobby like a freak, or
taking him away and experimenting on him. Considering what Loki knew of the Red Room, the
Weapons Plus Project and Project Pegasus, he felt that this was an entirely rational fear. In the
interim, the man had told his son to go with the 'conceal, don't feel' approach – stay calm, maintain
control and make sure that no one sees it.

This was only marginally less stupid than outright denial, but under the circumstances, it was
probably the least terrible stop gap method.

But all the while, Bobby's talent had found its way out, in little ways. When he got angry, the
temperature dropped. When he got upset, parts of him seemed to go a pale blue and were icy cold
to the touch. And when he cried, he cried tears of ice.

And he was alone. Alone in a world where even those with the best intentions were telling him to
hide who he was, to suppress his gifts and lock it all away, a world where members of his blood
family hated and feared him for who and what he was, a world where he stood out as a changeling,
a freak of nature.

To say that Loki was aware of the parallels was like saying that the Hulk was green. And unlike
him, Bobby had not had a surprisingly supportive family and even more surprisingly supportive
friends, who did not actually give a damn about what he was, underneath the ordinary mask. He
was truly alone.

And that sort of loneliness and bitterness could fester, fast. It had turned Magneto, prior to his
mellowing, into a ruthless terrorist savagely bent on making sure that what had happened to him
could never happen again by any means necessary. Loki himself had become a nightmare, leader
of an army of intergalactic reavers and scavengers, serving a creature that had drenched the space
ways in blood, sacrificing billions on a cosmic altar. Who knew? Maybe even Thanos of Titan had
started out that way, hated and feared for being different, until it twisted him.

Loki dismissed the thought, not merely because he disliked dwelling on Thanos (and that was
putting it mildly), but because he had a witch to defeat. So he did.

When many people imagine magical duels, they imagine cataclysmic battles, with sorcerous power
flashing in any imaginable colour and with more than a few unimaginable ones as it seared the very
aether itself, or perhaps both contestants changing shape in the blink of an eye, always seeking to
gain the advantage.

Transforming opponents into stone statues is a classic, and much applauded, though it is usually
expected after a long and exhausting duel. It adds a certain mystique to the battlefield.

Shrinking them down and pocketing them, however, does not.

The amount of fucks that were given by Loki at this point coincidentally happened to be exactly
zero.

As he scanned the surroundings, dismantling several rather nasty magical traps, he reached up to
activate his comms and call in Tony and Jane.

Then, a gigantic flash of white light caught his eye and words came unbidden to his lips in the
form of a sigh.

"Oh nephew mine... what have you done now?"

OoOoO

"Carol," Uhtred said, voice suddenly quiet and edgy. "Look at the walls."

Carol did, and started violently. A delicate tracery of gleaming ice wove its way along the tunnel
walls, like veins, leading towards the tunnel entrance.

Then, Diana audibly gulped. "Carol," she began.

Carol turned, dreading the sight. And that sight was ice, growing across the tunnel entrance, at first
in a thin web which grew steadily thicker and thicker as moments passed, quickly forming into a
thick and near impenetrable barrier, plunging the tunnel even further into darkness.

It took her breath away. Up to this point, the only magic she'd seen was either tricks, such as those
Harry had displayed, harmless and domesticized, or vast and impersonal enough that it seemed less
like magic, more like a simple force of nature, like the storm. This, however... this was the sort of
power that sent a shiver down her spine. Though her conscious mind didn't recognise, a primal part
of her, hidden in the back pocket of her genes, filed under 'racial memory', knew it for what it was.
Power. Ancient and untamed and controlled by an intelligence that regarded most humans much
the same way most humans regarded most ants.

But Carol was not a young woman who was easily intimidated. Instead, she merely set her jaw and
said, "Come on," determinedly striding deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain.

And if she had had magical senses sufficient to reach out with, and the knowledge to recognise
what she was sensing, she would have discovered something rather interesting – this power was
guided and shaped by an intelligence that was indeed ancient and untamed. But the power itself...
now that was another matter entirely.

A minute or two of walking brought them out into a cave. It was hemispheric in shape, perfectly so,
and about twenty feet across. It also looked suspiciously new.

This was, however, not the strangest part.

The walls were lined with strips of white quartz which, despite the storm, reflected moonlight
down into the room, bathing it in a cool, silvery glow.

This was still not the strangest part.

The strangest part was the figure at the centre. At first glance, it looked like an ice statue dressed in
ski gear, some strange mannequin come to life. Then he looked up at them, and though the
translucence of his icy body made his expression hard to read, it was quite clearly pained and
afraid.

"That," Uhtred said slowly. "Is a very small Frost Giant."

"Not Frost Giant," Harry mumbled.

"He's the kid you tried to help, isn't he?" Carol said, walking over slowly. "Hey," she said gently,
as he shrank away with a sound of crackling ice. "It's okay."

"We're here to help," Diana said earnestly. "I'm Diana. This is Carol, the dark haired boy is Jean-
Paul, the blond one is Uhtred, and the dark haired boy slung over his shoulder is Harry. What's
your name?"

"Bobby," the boy whispered.

"What happened to you, Bobby?" Diana asked.

Bobby hesitated, then took a deep breath, and began to talk. And in a matter of minutes, the whole
story had come tumbling out.

After Harry had helped scare off his brother, he'd had a fairly normal day. Then his brother had
cornered him up at the top of the mountain and attacked him, calling him a freak and a monster.
When Bobby's powers had flared up in self-defence, cutting Donnie's face with a jagged piece of
ice, the other boy had responded by knocking Bobby down, taking both poles and skis. He threw
the skis away and broke the poles, before repeating the trick with Bobby's arm, leaving him to run
off, sobbing.

As he'd reached out to his powers, trying to dull the pain, he'd found that he'd touched something
else. The spirit of the mountain. It had recognised him as an elemental and had been curious. Then
it had felt his pain and anguish. And that had angered it, truly waking it from its state of dormancy
for the first time in millennia.

At this point, Diana cut in, noting that that was why she'd felt the backlash – Bobby's pain,
physical and emotional, combined with the spirit's rage had been a potent mixture - it was afraid.
Because it did not see time the same way that most living beings did. It could sense that things
were coming for Bobby. Monsters, predators of the spirit world, and other predators, ones that
walked the line between the two worlds and were twisted by dark magic, led by something it did
not recognise. What it did know was that that something was a creature terrible enough that the
monsters that came with it did not dare incur its wrath.

"That must have been what Harry sensed," Carol murmured.

"Almost certainly," Uhtred said, carefully laying his liege on the ground. "Bobby, may I see your
arm?"

Bobby eyed him reluctantly, then held out his arm. Even iced up, it was twisted and obviously
damaged. Uhtred's eyes narrowed. "I think that when this is over, your so-called brother shall learn
a few lessons in respect," he said, voice quiet and dangerous.

"You got that right," Carol growled.

"Not to rain on your parade, mes chéris," Jean-Paul said. "But while that sounds very appealing,
wasn't it Harry teaching Bobby's brother some respect, no matter how mildly, that led to this
trouble?"

"Maybe," Diana said, frowning. "Or maybe he was already going to do it."

"He's been afraid of me since I got these freaky powers," Bobby said, tone subdued, wincing
slightly as Uhtred ran his hands over the broken arm with astonishing delicacy, proving that,
somehow, he could still feel in this icy form. Perhaps it was because he expected to.

"Well, one way or another, there'll be a reckoning for this," Carol said. "And is it just me, or
should we be getting some unwanted visitors by now?"

"It's blocking them," Bobby and Diana said in synchrony.

"For how long?" Carol asked.

"I can reset your arm," Uhtred said suddenly. "But it will hurt. And it would be best if you
transformed back to your mortal form when I did so. I have reset Asgardian broken bones before,
but never the arm of a being of living ice." His tone betrayed the tinge of wonder he felt at this
prospect.

Bobby froze. "I... I'm not sure if I can," he said quietly. "I'm..."

"It's not wrong to be scared," Diana said, tone soft and reassuring. "Ten minutes," she added.

"What?"

"That's how long it estimates it can hold them. I am guessing, though, as it doesn't have the same
grasp of time as we do," Diana said.

Carol chewed her lip. "Great," she muttered. "On one side, we've got a bunch of werewolves, some
more of those weird dark things, and something that scares the crap out of both of them. On the
other side, we've got a speedster, a kid demigoddess, a kid god, a kid with ice powers and a broken
arm and me. Oh, and our big gun is completely out of it, while we're cut off from all help by the
storm." She glanced at Diana and paused. The smaller girl now had a hand on Bobby's shoulder,
murmuring meaningless, reassuring words to him. Carol noticed that he was slowly turning pale
pink once more.
A moment later, Uhtred eyed him, took hold of the broken arm and pulled, then twisted. There was
a grinding crack, Bobby let out a cry of pain, and the entire mountain rumbled ominously.

"Uh, Diana, could you convince it that we're helping and to please not cave in on us?" Carol asked,
as dust and small rocks began to fall from the ceiling.

Diana said nothing, and Bobby was busy gasping in pain, but a moment later, both Bobby and the
mountain subsided. "Thank you," he said softly.

"It was not a problem," Uhtred said, then frowned. "If only I could splint it..."

"Where did you learn that?" Carol asked curiously.

Uhtred shrugged. "I was taught on my father's estate. When you're out in the wilds, there is rarely a
healer to hand," he said. "Sometimes, you have to do things yourself."

"Oh, Uncle Jack is gonna like you," Carol said, smiling slightly. "If we survive this." She glanced
at Harry. "And it would be really helpful if he was up and throwing fireballs." She glanced at
Bobby. "Unless you can freeze them."

Bobby shook his head violently.

"They're here for him," Diana said. "Not us. If they see him..." She trailed off. No more needed to
be said.

"Okay, forget I asked," Carol said, then shook her head. "I..." She took a deep breath. "I don't know
what to do." She folded her arms. "I mean, if Harry was up, then I suppose he could summon that
broom of his and give us a distraction while he flew Bobby the hell out, Jean-Paul carried Uhtred –
or maybe the other way around – and Diana carried me, then we'd be free and clear..." She sighed.
"But we can't. I'm not Sharon, or uncle Jack. I mean, Sharon's a crack SHIELD Agent and Uncle
Jack is just that badass... what?"

Everyone was staring at her.

"You came up with that strategy off the top of your head?" Uhtred asked, eyebrows trying to climb
into his hairline. "I am most impressed."

"You are?"

"I am," he said. "And my mentor, Lady Sif, would be as well."

Carol went slightly pink. "Whoa."

"It sounds effective," Diana said. "It doesn't have the advantage of complete insanity that Harry's
plans usually have, but, on the other hand, it does at least make sense."

"What do his plans involve?" Carol asked. "And how many have you seen?"

"One," Uhtred said flatly. "We have seen one, and believe me, that is more than enough."

"It did work, though," Diana pointed out.

"Against all logic, yes."

Diana turned to Carol. "And we've heard a few stories. Harry's plans usually involve him doing
something that shouldn't work, but does, and usually get made up along the way," she said. She
frowned. "It's a pity that he isn't awake. Your plan might have worked." She glanced at Jean-Paul.
"Can you run on snow?"

"Ma cherie, I can run on water. Snow is easy."

"Why didn't you walk on the snow?"

"For the same reason I cannot walk on water. I need to pick up a little speed first."

"You need him to wake up?" Bobby asked.

"That would be helpful, but he's exhausted. He's going to be out for a while." Carol said.

As if right on cue, Harry sat up with a gasp.

"Or not."

Harry winced and stood up. "How long was I out for?" he asked, then blinked. "And, uh... where
am I? Oh, hello, Bobby."

"Hi," Bobby said.

"Long story short, we're near the centre of the mountain, and we're about to be eaten by
werewolves," Carol said. "Can you summon your broomstick?"

"How long do we have?"

"About..."

"Three minutes," Diana put in.

"Right."

"Then... no, not really," Harry said. "I left it in New York."

"I could carry two people," Diana suggested.

"That still leaves us with one person left behind," Carol said.

"Maybe we could leave someone behind to protect the other person."

"No," Harry said quietly, face grim. "You'd get shot down."

"You sound pretty certain about that," Carol said. "Does this have to do with the thing that's out
there? Because according to Bobby and our friendly neighbourhood mind reader –"

"Empath."

"Right, that," Carol said. "According to them, it's something that all the other monsters are afraid
of."

"They should be," Harry said quietly. "I've seen him before. He'd walked straight through a
thousand years of wards to get into my school, then disappeared without a sign into a forest full of
centaurs, trolls and car sized sentient man-eating spiders. He broke into the most secure vault on
the planet, Castel Montesi."

"Who is this foe?" Uhtred asked. "What is his name?"

"The Winter Soldier."

The name echoed around the chamber, emerging into a deathly silence.

"Please," Carol whispered. "Please Harry, I am begging you, tell me that you are joking."

Jean-Paul was shivering, and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Who is he?" Uhtred asked, frowning.

"He..." Carol began, then shook her head.

"He is a nightmare, mon cher," Jean-Paul said softly. "For nearly fifty years, he terrorised the
world. For an Asgardian, that may seem like little, but you must understand, a healthy human is
happy to live to see eighty or eighty five. And he was at least in his twenties, maybe even his
thirties when he began his career. Yet, somehow, he has not aged."

Uhtred nodded soberly.

"Wherever he went," Carol said, having found her voice. She took a deep breath. "People died. He
was like some sort of wraith, a ghost. You couldn't stop him, you couldn't even slow him down. If
he targeted you, you were dead. It was as simple as that. And no one even knew his name, let alone
what he looked like. They just knew him by his title. He was the Winter Soldier. He was the
monster that my parents and my grandparents grew up having nightmares about. He
killed hundreds, and that's only the ones we know of."

"Then he vanished, nearly twenty years ago," Jean-Paul said, subdued. "When the empire of his
masters, the Soviet Union, collapsed. Everyone thought he was dead." He glanced down the
corridor and shivered. "Until now, it seems."

"Even the Wizarding World was terrified of him," Harry said. "When they figured out that he might
be back, they did an article. It said that he cut through two squads of Europe's best Aurors in
Poland in 1973."

"Aurors?"

"Combat wizards," Harry said. "The best and strongest. Sort of like a magical version of SHIELD."
He shook his head. "Apparently, they couldn't even touch him."

Carol, Jean-Paul and surprisingly, Diana, nodded in comprehension at this comparison.

Presumably, Harry thought, Athena had taught her niece about SHIELD. Uhtred still looked
puzzled.

"Point is, they're pretty powerful," Harry said. "Point is... even if we were adults, we couldn't stop
him."

"Couldn't we?"

Everyone turned to Diana. "If we were adults," she said. "You and I would be nearly as powerful as
your father. Uhtred would be a powerful Asgardian warrior." She glanced at Carol and Jean-Paul.
"And –"

"Jean-Paul would be faster, while I would be an adult, but still human," Carol said, and shrugged.
"Look, I'm not bothered by the fact that you guys all have superpowers."
"Technically, I don't have superpowers. I'm an Asgardian," Uhtred said, slightly puzzled. "My
abilities are natural for me."

"Mes chéris, why are we beginning a rambling discussion when we're on the brink of impending
doom?" Jean-Paul asked. "And why do I get the feeling that this is going to be a habit..."

"That presumes that we're going to survive this," Carol said. "What are you getting at, Diana?"

"She means that the spirit wants to help you," Bobby interjected quietly. "It says that…" He
frowned, puzzled. "It can show you who you really are."

The group shared a look. An eerie howl wormed its way down the tunnel, echoing, increasing in
volume and intensity as other werewolves took it up.

"Guys?" Harry asked.

"I'm for it," Carol said. "This thing is powerful and it wants to give us a few buffs? I'm not going to
say no."

"Buffs?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"Temporary enhancements, mon cher," Jean-Paul explained.

"Oh."

"We need more power," Diana said. "We'll pay a price for it later, but if we don't take it…"

"We won't be alive to pay that price," Harry said, very much aware of the exhaustion that lurked at
the edge of this temporary clarity like a wolf in the shadows. Considering what was outside, that
had, perhaps, a touch of irony.

"And we have someone to protect," Uhtred added.

"Yes," Harry said. "We do." He turned to Bobby. "We accept. Do we have to do anything?"

Bobby didn't get the chance to answer as, at that very moment, the cave was engulfed in white
light.

OoOoO

The Soldier instinctively covered his gaze, ducking back into cover, as the furious white light
shone through the ice, reaching out across the mountains like heaven's own spotlight.

The wolves let out defiant but uncertain snarls. This was not so surprising considering that they'd
never seen this before.

The Soldier had, though, or something like it.

OoOoO

Warning: Ascension ritual has taken place.

Threat Level raised to Omega.

Wow. We're screwed.

OoOoO

Harry blinked the spots away from his vision and experimentally stood up. When he did, he
realised that he was about a foot taller than he had been. If he'd had to guess, he was about the
same height as his father, if not slightly taller. He examined his hands and let out a yelp. They were
red! And gold!

Then he flexed his hands and realised that it was, in fact, armour, more classic European than the
arm scales his father favoured, but just as close fitting. A quick scan of the rest of his body
revealed that it was similarly armoured, bearing similarities to both his father's gear and Tony's
armour.

His chest was covered with crimson plate inlaid with deep gold, including a strangely stylised bird,
the wings of which swept up onto his shoulders, from which hung a rich crimson cape. This
surprised Harry slightly. He'd been expecting a Gryffindor lion if he'd been expecting anything at
all. The red theme continued, down the armoured legs, all the way down to a pair of deep gold
boots which rose to the knee, melding with the rest of the armour.

The overall effect was not one he recognised, save that he though it made him look like a badass,
which was, as far as it went, perfectly true. His father and uncle would have, however.

Most of the mighty recognised the mark of the Phoenix when they saw it.

A wary viewer who knew what the Phoenix symbol generally meant could stand easy, however.
Harry was not wielding the Phoenix, consciously or otherwise.

Yet.

"Well," Harry said, the deepness of his own voice, now a resonant baritone, surprising him. "This
is different."

"I'll say," said a familiar voice. But it was no longer the voice of a girl on the cusp of adulthood.
Now it was the strong alto voice of a grown woman. Harry turned to look at Carol Danvers.

She was now six feet tall, or close enough that it made no difference, but that wasn't the striking
part. Her build had filled out with muscle, slightly puppyish proportions having been grown into
their full glory. Her cornflower blue eyes gleamed dangerously and stared out of her smirking face,
surrounded by long blonde hair. In summary, she looked badass and absolutely stunning and Harry
was very glad that his groin was covered by inflexible armour.

Her uniform also drew the eye. It was a practical suit, not unlike the pictures Harry had seen of
Steve's wartime uniform, but leaner due to more modern materials. The shoulders, high neck and
glove-like gauntlets were all rendered in a rich shade of burgundy red, while gold stripes followed
the line of her collarbone and framed a classic five pointed star in the centre of her chest. At the
same time, gold chevrons stood out on her arms, just below her shoulders.

The rest of the arms and upper body were a strong cobalt blue all the way down, only broken up a
burgundy and brown belt with practical looking pouches. Below the waist, it was navy blue, almost
black.

"Oh yeah," she said, with a tone of intense satisfaction. "I am liking this."

Harry didn't exactly find himself rushing to disagree. Though the suit was eminently practical, it
didn't exactly conceal Carol's full and athletic figure, which temporary ageing had only refined.
"Wow," a new voice said, also a woman's. "This armour is incredible." Harry turned to look at the
woman who could only be Diana. And his jaw dropped.

Carol was, to put no finer point on it, hot. Gorgeous. Stunning, even. Diana, however, was quite
literally breathtaking. Every inch of her seemed calculated to remind the world that this was the
niece of Helen of Troy herself.

She had gained at least a foot in height, and was built much like Carol, but with perhaps a little
more muscle, her figure literally Amazonian. Her black hair fell in waves, framing her face and
slate blue eyes, which Harry observed, fit her face far better now, being far too wise and knowing
for her chronological age.

This was, perhaps, something of an irony since many would say the same about Harry's own eyes.

Carol let out a long, low whistle.

"What?" Diana asked, a frown marring her lovely face, which resembled a softer, gentler, but no
less strong version of Sif's, and folding her arms defensively.

This caused her silver bracers, the only adornment on otherwise bare arms to clank against her
breast plate, which was modelled after Sif's, but cast in crimson enamelled metal, and adorned with
a silver eagle, which reached up to the shoulders. Said breast plate was affixed to a backplate by a
series of leather buckled straps.

The armour below her waist, again, mimicked Sif's, with plating, again silvery, on the outside,
front and back of her thighs, above silver greaves and boots. The inside of her thighs, and
presumably those parts covered by armour, were covered by the tight cloth like substance that
Harry recognised from his father's and Sif's armour, which he suspected was rather stronger than it
looked.

While her father's clothing, or lack of it - this was, after all, the man who spent his pretty much his
entire time in an ensemble that consisted of a green skirt, leather sandals, a sash and a smile, lion
skin optional - might have led someone to expect her to wear, say, bracers, sandals, a cleavage
baring swimsuit and, perhaps, sparkly hot pants, Diana was a practical young woman who idolised
Sif and was well aware of the utility of armour.

Besides. What kind of real warrior voluntarily wore cleavage baring swimsuits and hotpants into
battle?

"Di," Carol said. "You are going to grow up hot." She examined the other girl's – woman, really –
armour and frowned slightly. "Dammit. I should have got some of that action. I've just got Kevlar.
Though doesn't it get a bit cold, with the metal?"

"Goddess, remember?"

"Oh."

"Though," Diana said, frowning at her chest and worming a finger underneath the armour. Harry
tried to avert his gaze. "It's a little... unfortunate."

"Certain bits itching?" Carol asked, tone sympathetic.

"A bit, yes," Diana said. "And it's a bit tight."

Carol nodded. "Right," she said. "Your armour has got straps, so maybe we can work something
out." She turned to Harry. "You, pretty boy, can go find the others. That ageing mojo seems to have
separated us." She made a face. "And isn't that a metaphor and a half."

"Pretty boy?" Harry demanded indignantly.

"I'd call him more handsome than pretty," Diana said.

"Harry, stay still," Carol said. "Diana, come and look at him from my angle."

Diana duly did, then nodded thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. His features are a little more
delicate in this light," she said. "But if you look at it from here…" She pulled Carol over to her
original angle.

"Mm," Carol said appreciatively. "I see what you mean. Beefcake."

Harry let out a put upon sigh.

"Oh don't give me that. You were checking both of us out," Carol said. Harry couldn't exactly
dispute this. "Now, I'll adjust Diana's armour, while you can look for the boys. Make sure that
Bobby's fine and I dunno, Jean-Paul and Uhtred aren't making out or something." With that, she
turned to Diana's armour, fiddling with the straps. Harry stared at her for a moment, then sighed
and wandered deeper into the cave.

He didn't have to go far to find the other boys, as it happened. Jean-Paul had grown into a t lithe
figure of average height whose very being suggested speed and grace. He also had his head tipped
back and a sour expression on his face as he pinched his bleeding nose.

"What happened?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I misjudged my new speed and ran into a wall," Jean-Paul said, voice slightly muffled.

Harry tried not to laugh. He really did.

"Oh yes, mock my suffering," Jean-Paul mumbled, before descending into muttered and probably
obscene French.

"Where's Uhtred?" Harry asked, getting himself under control. They didn't have much time, after
all, he thought, a spurt of nervous energy running through him like quicksilver.

"Here," a gruff, deep voice said, and Uhtred emerged from the tunnel. Aside from Diana, he had
probably changed the most of them all. He had gained most of a foot in height, but the real gain
was in bulk. He resembled his bear like father in build, albeit a little leaner. His features were
stronger and harder, with the last puppy fat having drained away. They were tough, craggy, and
just a little roguish.

The most notable thing about him, though, was his development of a full but carefully clipped
beard. Unlike most of the guards at the palace, he didn't wear a helmet, instead settling for a
cowled cloak and armour in uneven camouflage style patterns of white, icy blue, icy green and
pale grey. His boots, pale and practical looking, clicked on the floor. It suited the other boy's, or
rather, man's, serious expression.

He was also, to Harry's surprise, taller than him. Not by much, maybe two or three inches, but
certainly more than could just be put down to the studded shoes.

While Harry wasn't used to being the tallest person around, quite the opposite, in recent months,
that had been changing. And now he'd grown to heights that, he was fairly certain, rivalled his
father, who was tall to put it mildly. Not only was Uhtred tall, he was, as previously noted, bulky
too.

As Harry noticed this, Uhtred dropped to one knee, hand going to his heart. "My lord," he rumbled.

"Uhtred," Harry sighed. "We have talked about this."

"Aye, my lord," Uhtred said, tone polite but unyielding.

Harry sighed again. "Rise."

Jean-Paul, despite his nose bleed, found the time to leer.

Uhtred stood, and eyed Harry, eyebrows rising. Then he nodded, expression more than a little
impressed.

"You got big," Harry said.

Uhtred chuckled slightly. "So I did," he said, a definite note of pride in his voice. "And so I will.
So you will," he added, nodding at Harry.

"Yes, you're both très mignons," Jean-Paul said, a touch impatiently – though not, Harry noted,
without an appreciative gleam in his eye. "Now could one of you lend me something to wipe my
nose with before the blood freezes?"

Uhtred immediately went to tear off part of his cloak, but Harry stopped him. "Let me," he said,
and strode over, tapping Jean-Paul's nose. "Episkey," he said, ignoring the startled and muffled
swear word. Then he conjured a handkerchief, much like he had for Diana only a few months
before. "There. Your nose is healed. Wipe up the blood and you'll be fine."

"Merci."

"Where's Bobby?" Harry asked, turning back to Uhtred.

"He's at the heart of the cave, and I had him ask the spirit to move it a little deeper and make it
larger," Uhtred said. "It'll give us more room to retreat if needs be."

Harry nodded approvingly. "Let's go and join the girls, we don't have much time," he said. "And
Jean-Paul?"

"Oui?"

Harry smirked. "Try not to run into any more walls, there's a good chap."

The resulting cluster bomb of French swearwords practically turned the air blue.

Harry chuckled softly, then set himself. It was almost time. He could feel it.
 The Soul Of Winter

"Damn!"

This was Carol's reaction to Uhtred, as he loomed out of the tunnel.

"And I thought you were big," she added to Harry.

"No comment about me, ma Cherie?" Jean-Paul asked, eyebrow raised.

"Like your ego needs boosting," Carol scoffed, then frowned as she saw the bloody handkerchief.
"Are you okay? And where did you get that?"

"He's fine," Harry said. "He ran into a wall. And I conjured the handkerchief."

"You can do that?" Carol asked, surprised, cutting off her incipient mockery of Jean-Paul for
running into a wall.

Harry nodded, and went to the icy wall, gently running his hands over it.

"It's tougher than steel," Carol said. "At a guess. I didn't actually try and break it down."

Harry rapped it gently.

Cracks spread throughout the block of ice like wildfire. Then, a moment later, they fused, closing
as if they'd never been there.

"Well," Harry said slowly. "I guess I got dad's strength." He glanced at the others and noticed that
Uhtred was conspicuously trying not to stare in astonishment at Diana. To be fair, he was
succeeding. "Do you guys have any idea what's going on out there?"

"I can feel them," Diana said. "The wolves, they're nervous. But excited. And... hungry." She shook
her head slowly. "It is disturbing," she said frankly. "They have the hunger of wild animals but a
kind of evil that requires a thinking mind to create." She glanced at the ice. "If they get hold of us, I
doubt that they will be merciful."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, wouldn't be the first time I've run across something like that," he said. At the
questioning looks, he added, "Acromantula. Spiders the size of cars. Sentient, moderately talkative,
very hungry. A bunch of them live in the forest near my school, we had a run in last year."

Everyone stared at him. "Harry, I wonder if I could visit this school of yours," Uhtred said, tone
interested and speculative.

"No, one of the teachers – who is also the Groundskeeper – happens to like them and is a friend of
mine. He'd be heartbroken if you want on a spider-slaying spree. The head of the colony used to be
his pet," Harry said, then made a sour expression. "Didn't stop the fucking thing from telling his
children that they could eat me and Ron."

"He... had a pet giant spider?" Jean-Paul asked, somewhat disturbed.

"That's nothing. A couple of years ago, I and a couple of friends had to persuade him to give up a
baby dragon," Harry said, frowning at the ice. "Hagrid's a great friend of mine but he has very poor
judgement when it comes to pets." He shook his head. "I wish I had X-Ray vision right now," he
muttered.
"Oh?" Diana asked, eyebrows raised.

"Uh huh?" Carol added, eyebrows also rising.

"What? Oh, no, I didn't..." Harry began, going bright red.

Carol grinned. "We know. You didn't mean it that way," she said, voice thick with amusement.

"I didn't!"

"I know. We believe you."

"Really," Diana added innocently. "We do."

Harry sighed and turned away shaking his head.

"Mes chéris... we have got distracted again," Jean-Paul said. "The Winter Soldier and his hungry
werewolves are outside, remember?"

That poured a bucket of iced water on the humour.

"Right," Carol said. "I don't want to put too fine a point on it, but... I think I'm going to need some
kind of weapon." She glanced at Harry. "Can you..." She wiggled her fingers. "Magic one up?"

Harry frowned. "I haven't learned how to conjure weapons yet," he said slowly. "But..." He turned
to Diana. "Can the spirit conjure up rock in certain, precise shapes?"

Diana frowned, then closed her eyes. "Yes," she said, after a moment.

"Uh, how's that going to help?" Carol asked.

Harry grinned. "I can't create weapons... but I can transfigure rock to steel."

"Oh... wow. That's... that's actually kind of brilliant," Carol said.

"Indeed," Uhtred said quietly. "I would like a war axe."

"I know the kind you usually use," Diana said, nodding, and closed her eyes.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, there was a sound of grinding rock and a perfectly
axe shaped piece of rock seemed to flow out of the floor.

Harry bent down, half drew his wand, then shook his head. Instead, he snapped his fingers.

In an instant, the axe turned from dark stone to shining steel. Harry picked it up, hefting it, and ran
his hand over the edge. "Here," he said. "One axe, made of steel, sharpened to a razor's edge."

"The grip could be a problem," Diana said. "It could slip."

"There's a simple solution to that," Uhtred said calmly. Then he dug in his nails and began carving
diagonal lines in the handle like it was butter, not steel.

Harry winced at the screeching sound. "Jean-Paul," he said. "Go and tell Bobby that Uhtred's just...
making a grip for his axe. Or he's going to think that someone's dying up here."

Jean-Paul nodded, then disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving a gust of displaced air behind
him.
"And I thought he was fast before," Carol muttered.

"Carol?" Harry asked. "Do you want something?"

"Um... let me think."

"We don't have much time," Diana warned. "And no, I don't need anything. Not with this armour."

Harry nodded. "Why don't we have much time?"

"Because the Winter Soldier, the one you mentioned?"

"Yes?"

"He seems pretty sure that he was going to get through."

OoOoO

Warning: storm is slackening slightly. Thor getting through? Time is running out. Deploy
countermeasure.

Ice is tough, sure, but it breaks, like it did a couple of minutes ago. That suggests that whoever
ascended in there is ready.

God, I hope they are. The wolves are hungry.

OoOoO

"A shield, then," Carol said. "I don't know how to use an axe for anything but chopping wood and
in my experience, trees never actually fight back."

"They don't?" Uhtred asked, apparently genuinely surprised.

Carol stared at him for a moment. "I so don't want to know," she said. "But yeah. Cousin Sharon
always said that any weapon you don't know how to use might as well be in the hands of your
enemy. And a shield... well, how hard could it be?"

"Famous last words," Harry muttered, trying to ignore the screeching sounds of protesting metal as
it fought Uhtred's fingernails and lost. "Any particular shape?"

"Well, since it probably won't bounce like Captain America's... Kite shape. That way, you can
sharpen the edges and I can use it to stab things," Carol said matter of factly.

"Diana?"

Diana nodded and closed her eyes.

A few moments later, a shield appeared. Harry gave Carol an inquiring look then, when she
nodded her satisfaction, transfigured it.

Then Carol frowned. "Crap."

"What?"

"Straps."

"That's easy," Harry said, picking up a rock and transfiguring it. "I figure," he said, as his hands
began to glow and the metal rock began to glow cherry red. "If I inherited dad's powers, then I can
do things like walk on a star."

"Wait, what, your dad can actually do that?"

"He can," Diana said calmly.

Jean-Paul, who had returned, let out a whistle.

"Right, what he said," Carol muttered. "Jesus."

Harry debated mentioning that Jesus was, in fact, technically a relative, then decided that this
wasn't the time.

"I would not recommend doing that," Uhtred said.

"It won't hurt me," Harry said, more in hope than expectation.

"I didn't think it would," Uhtred said. "But I've seen blacksmith's at work. We don't have much
time, and you'll have to cool it fast, which could make it brittle."

"Which means that it would break," Diana said helpfully.

"Oh," Harry said, dropping the now half molten metal.

"Don't get rid of it so quickly," Carol said. "You could throw it at the bad guys."

Harry eyed the slowly cooling metal. "I think I can do without," he said. "But that means we still
need straps... ah ha!"

He muttered something, and out of nowhere, popped several feet of strong rope.

"You... can summon rope."

"It's a binding spell. For tying people up," Harry said.

"That sounds like it could be fun," Jean-Paul said, eyeing Uhtred slightly lecherously. Uhtred
merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say that puny Midgardian ropes wouldn't hold him.

"It does, doesn't it," Diana agreed.

Carol eyed them, then shook her head. "Still, how are going to stick them to the shield?"

Harry smirked, cut off a couple of lengths, attached them to Carol's shield, then muttered a sticking
charm.

Carol picked it up and tested it. "Okay... magic is cool."

"We'd better stand back," Diana warned.

"What? Oh," Carol said. She took a deep breath. "Right. Looks like we can't put it off. You ready?"
she asked.

"Ready," Uhtred said calmly.

"As I'll ever be, mes chéris," Jean-Paul said, laconic tone at a contrast to his tensed body.
"Yes," Harry said, raising one glowing hand as he saw a shadow pass in front of the ice. He closed
his eyes briefly, feeling the ocean deep and mountain high power that coursed through his veins.
When he opened them again, they burned a solid gold. "And he's the one who'd better stand back."

OoOoO

"How's it coming?" Jane asked.

There was a flash of electricity, a crackle and a yelping cackle.

Once, this was would have unnerved Jane, even in the confines of a safe and well lit lab back at
Avengers Tower. But now, even in this freezing, dingy shed on an eerily silent night when dark
things stalked the shadows, it didn't even make her twitch. Years of life with the Avengers had
accustomed her to strange noises, particularly where Tony was concerned.

"It's good," Tony said eventually, peering down at her, his hair slightly on end. "You got a
connection down there?"

Jane tested the transformer cautiously, ready to dodge a shower of sparks. To her relief, it hummed,
and the fuse box came to life. "We've got power back," she said. "Now we need phone lines."

Suddenly, furious golden-white light lanced through the windows, followed a moment later by a
truly colossal roar.

"Uh... What was that?"

OoOoO

Holy Shit.

OoOoO

Harry stared at his fist, wide eyed. "I was just going for a small fire blast," he mumbled, for the
third time.

The ice barrier had evaporated. That had been immediately obvious, but closer observation, once
they'd emerged from the cave, revealed that so had everything in a straight line across the valley.
The blast had even, briefly, parted the curtain of the storm, boiling the snow to steam. Several
trees, which had the misfortune to be slightly too close to thick bolt of burning power, were now
steadily crackling.

"Clearly, your body's definition of small has changed," Carol said.

"Seulement un petit peu," Jean-Paul said slowly.

"You know," Diana said, descending. She'd gone above the storm to check what had happened. "I
think you bored a hole straight through that mountain."

"Great," Harry said. "Now I don't need to worry about my life, just the clean-up bill."

"Don't go getting too cocky," Carol warned. "Not all of us can do that. Plus, we don't know how
many more of those you have in the tank."

"Also," Uhtred growled. "One of them is trying to eat me."

Everyone whirled to see Uhtred struggling with a large werewolf that had pinned him.
With a battle cry, Carol hurled her shield, sending it skimming through the air to smash into the
wolf's jaws, cracking two of its teeth before pinwheeling away. The wolf reared back on its hind
legs, letting out a sound that was more of a roar than anything else.

"I thought you said that you weren't throwing it?"

"Yeah... now I remember why I said that."

Jean-Paul sighed. "Never mind, ma cherie. I have this."

In a blur, he darted in, grabbed Uhtred, shot back out, then darted in and out again, grabbing
Carol's shield, all in a matter of two heartbeats.

"Nice."

"I try."

Then, Diana moved in, yelling her own battle cry, ready to hit the werewolf with a right cross that
would drop it into the Atlantic. It almost worked perfectly.

But, instead of pawing at its teeth in pain, the wolf's eyes glowed a dangerous chaotic red. It's teeth
glowed the same shade, healing in the blink of an eye, and it snarled, jaws that could swallow a
grown man whole, edged with razor sharp teeth, opening wide and snapping Diana out of the air
like a dog with a treat.

"Diana!" Harry yelled, and went to help, but before he could, a vast weight slammed into him from
the side, sending him flying across the battlefield and slamming him into the mountainside.

As soon as he fell to the ground, he rolled forward and sprang to his feet, whirling to face the
enormous wolf that had smacked him across the miniature plateau. Unlike the others, it stood on its
hind legs, albeit hunched over. It was massively muscled, so much so that it had something of
hunchback, and it eyed him hungrily.

For a moment, Harry felt a stab of fear.

Then he remembered what he'd done to the other werewolf. He noticed how, aside from being
winded, hitting the mountainside hadn't even annoyed him. So he looked the werewolf in the eye
and smirked.

"Is that the best you've got?" he asked.

The werewolf roared and surged towards him, enormous muscles bunching and propelling it
forward with supernatural power.

Harry responded by dropping, but instead of going flat and trying to scythe away its footing, he
dropped into a crouched and exploded forward with all the power at his disposal, tackling it in the
body.

That part might have been a mistake.

The next thing Harry knew, the two of them shot up through the storm like a cork from a bottle, up
into the clouds and beyond, the air growing thinner and colder. Their ascent slowed, and with a
sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry prepared himself for what he knew was coming next.

He could only hope as he began to fall and the surprised werewolf began to snap, snarl and claw at
him that Diana was doing better than he was.

OoOoO

As it so happened, she was. After snatching her out of the air, the wolf shook her, like a terrier with
a rat, biting down, causing her to let out a cry of surprised pain, which swiftly morphed into a
scream of rage as she twisted ninety degrees, reached out, grabbed the wolf by the jaws and pushed
outwards in one explosively violent shoving motion.

The results were not pretty, as Diana, eyes wild, ignoring the wolf's whimpered pleas for mercy,
ignoring the jutting spurs of broken bone and the blood that flowed like water from a spring, got
her feet under her. Then, she slammed the wolf into the unforgiving ice and stone of the plateau,
over and over again, before tossing it into the air, following it up and delivering a brutal double axe
handle strike that sent it hurtling into the forest at barely subsonic velocities.

The wolf lay still, and the entire battlefield froze. Carol and Uhtred, back to back, looked away
from the two wolves that had been circling them, while the miniature tornado that Jean-Paul had
been whipping up around the remaining wolf died as he stopped in place.

Even the other wolves turned to watch as a goddess, clad in her bloodstained raiment, hair clumped
with gore that dried and froze in the icy cold, face seething with wrath, descended from the
heavens. She was beautiful still, but it was the beauty of the sword, beauty that was as deadly as it
was beguiling.

The calm, collected and sweet natured Princess was gone. This was the daughter of Hercules, the
Prince of Power, and Hippolyta, Warrior Queen of the Amazons, the Valkyries of Olympus. And
the mortal world would know her immortal wrath.

"Who," she said, voice low. "Is next?"

OoOoO

"What the hell is going on up there?" one of the female guests demanded, as the mountain shook
with yet another thunderous impact.

"I don't know," Pepper said, opting for bluntness. "But getting agitated isn't going to stop it."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" her partner demanded, voice shrill. "You're Pepper Potts!
You're with the Avengers! You run Stark Industries! Of course you know!"

"I'm one of the Avengers," Bruce interjected. "And I don't know." He glanced over at Pepper.
"We're not omniscient, either of us. We're as much in the dark as you are."

"A likely story," the man sneered, striding over to Bruce and looming over him. "I want the truth!"

"Sir," Pepper said carefully. "We have told you the truth. We don't know. For now, all we can do is
sit tight."

The man turned to the resort staff, who were sitting with the guests and, in many cases, looking
equally nervous. "Are you guys gonna take this? These people just ordered us all out of bed and
into this building. All the power is off, the heating, the phones, everything. You people run this
place, but this woman is running you!"

"I'm under orders from Captain Rogers, who is, along with Black Widow and Hawkeye, up on the
mountain trying to resolve this matter, something which they are doing at a great deal of personal
risk," Pepper said coolly. "The staff know this, and like me, they don't think that they know better
than Captain America himself."

The man stared.

"Now, sir, if you could just sit down and calm down, that would be very helpful," Pepper said.

"No, because I want to know why, if that freaky storm hasn't come down our way and there's
something dangerous at the top of that mountain, why we haven't got the hell out," the man said,
and this time, there were some murmurs of agreement. Sensing this, he turned to the crowd. "Hell,
the Avengers can grandstand and fight all they like, but I don't see why us normal people should
stick around, especially when there's a Stark Industries jet waiting just outside."

"That would be a nice idea, except that the only qualified pilot is already at least halfway up the
mountain," Pepper said coolly.

"And who sent him up there?" the man demanded, jabbing one meaty finger at her. "Huh? Answer
me that one, you stuck up bitch!"

There was a moment of dead silence. Darcy, who'd just returned from the toilets, was drifting over
with surprising stealth, eyes narrowed and taser at the ready.

Then it was broken.

"What's your name?"

"Huh?" the man asked, turning, disarmed by this mild inquiry, to look at Bruce. "Jack. Jack
McGee."

"Well, I suggest you apologise to the lady, or you'll make me angry," Bruce said in the same calm,
mild tone. But his eyes were glowing green. "Don't make me angry, Mr McGee. You wouldn't like
me when I'm angry."

Mr McGee stared at him for a long moment, audibly gulped, then mumbled, "My apologies,
ma'am," before sitting down quietly. He was trembling slightly.

"That's okay," Pepper said, opting to pour oil on troubled waters. "We're all a little scared and
frustrated."

Silence fell, then was broken only a few moments later by a crash that shook the entire building,
followed by a furious roar.

Pepper went to the window and looked out.

A red eye looked back, large and menacing. All the better to see her with, she thought dazedly, as a
growl like the world's biggest chainsaw reverberated in her very bones.

The big bad wolf was outside. And it was highly unlikely that he would stop at huffing and
puffing.

"I've got this," Bruce said quietly, and went to the door.

But before he could do anything, the still air was rent by a defiant scream of challenge that sounded
like it came from some kind of bird of prey.

The wolf whirled, and Pepper saw just what had let out the cry.
A tall, dark male figure, illuminated by glowing eyes and a simplistic bird like symbol on his torso,
both shining with an incandescent golden-orange light which burned away the darkness . He was
dressed in some kind of close fitting armour in shades of red and gold, and a long red cape fluttered
out behind him.

The wolf leapt towards the figure who, though tall, was dwarfed by the veritable avalanche of
supernaturally powerful muscle and bone that was coming down on him. But he stood his ground,
thrusting out his hands, grabbing it by the muzzle and stopping it cold.

Then, holding the shocked wolf in place with one hand, he set about delivering punishing blow
after punishing blow with his right fist, striking like a jackhammer.

Pepper's self-defence training and years of observing some of the best fighters in this world and
several others training at close quarters told her that whoever, or perhaps more pertinently,
whatever their unexpected saviour was, they were only semi trained and seemed to have a
somewhat dodgy grasp of their own reach. Nevertheless, raw power made it an effective tactic.

After a full fifteen seconds of this kind of punishment, the wolf managed to stumble away, and
turned towards the chalet, leaping with lurching grace towards the defenceless people within, who,
perhaps predictably, started screaming at this primordial nightmare.

Well. Not quite defenceless.

With a gigantic bellow that matched the monster's own roar, the Hulk blindsided the vast wolf,
hurling it off to one side. The other figure, cast in a blend of harsh light and deep shadows, froze
for a moment, then bunched up.

And, just before he exploded after the battling monsters, Pepper got a good look at his face.

"Harry?"

OoOoO

Harry was, for a moment, stunned by the entry of the Hulk into the fight. After that moment
passed, he felt a strange mixture of relief and irritation: the monster had been intercepted before it
could hurt any innocents and, you know, a full grown Avenger to take control of the situation.

Admittedly, control was not a word usually associated with the Hulk.

The irritation came in because this was his fight.

In some respects, Harry was very definitely his father's son.

All of this was processed in a split second, then he charged after them, part of him revelling at the
raw power running through his enhanced body. In a matter of moments, his muscles carried him
from a standing start to speeds that most road legal cars would have trouble matching. A single
leap carried him hundreds of feet at a time. Once he'd got the hang of his greater limb length and
physical power – and that had, after the first spectacular misjudgement, happened surprisingly
quickly – he found himself practically dancing down a cliff, following the roaring ball of fur, claws
and rage monster as it bounced down the mountain.

Of course, he mused as he misjudged where they were going to land and overshot, ploughing into a
frozen lake, this adjustment wasn't exactly complete.

A powerful kick of his legs caused him to erupt out of the icy cold waters like a missile – and they
might as well have been a warm bath for all that they bothered him – and while the landing was
slightly messy, he was soon on his feet, impatiently shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, blood
singing with power that burned, power yearned to be used, power that was his birthright.

Now to get their attention...

"Hey!" he yelled.

Uncreative, perhaps, but it proved to be effective.

Or maybe the bolt of fire he lashed at the ground next to them, turning snow and ice to vapour with
a cracking detonation was what did it.

Both turned, and snarled.

"Easy, Hulk," Harry said. "It's me."

The Hulk frowned, eyes narrowing, then widening, puzzled. "Little god?" he asked, confused.

"I got big," Harry said, grinning as he strode towards them. Normally, he wouldn't have been half
so cocky. But with the power he had now... he felt like he could take on the world. Plus, the Hulk
liked him.

He strode forward as the werewolf kept up a low chainsaw of a growl. It was a growl designed to
turn the blood of anything small, fleshy and edible to ice.

Harry ignored it, and the growl took on an uncertain edge, as inhuman instinct and bloodlust
collided with vaguely human intelligence. This was a monster that was smart, yes. That meant it
could strategize, reason and perform feats that no true animal ever could. But that meant it was
smart enough to doubt, too. It already knew that this particular morsel packed a serious wallop and
now it wasn't sure how to react. For the moment, at least.

Harry turned to the Hulk. "Thanks for the help, Hulk," he said. His eyes narrowed. "But this one's
mine to smash."

The Hulk nodded. "Hulk understand," he said, patting Harry on the shoulder. Harry felt himself
sink a little into the ground. "This fight little god's fight."

"Exactly," Harry said, cracking his knuckles. "There's more like him to smash back up there. More
that might go after Pepper, Jane and the others." He glanced up the mountain and his eyes
narrowed as he looked up into the storm. "More that are going after my friends."

"Hulk protect puny people," the Hulk assured him. "Little god smash?"

Harry smiled a dangerous smile and turned on the wolf. "Just watch me, big guy." He beckoned at
the wolf. Suddenly, the fact that it was a hummer sized canine didn't really seem all that important.
That just meant he had more places to hit. And that suited him just fine. "Come on, Fluffy. If you
think you're hard enough."

The wolf roared.

Harry grinned.

The wolf pounced.

OoOoO
The Soldier had retreated to the mountain's peak, and now observed from above in camouflage.

The fight was not going as well as he'd hoped.

OoOoO

Ascension ritual has manifested as temporary ageing.

Two Omega Class threats observed.

Primary Omega Class threat designated Harry Thorson has developed the following: Extreme
Super Strength. Immediate Estimate, Class 90. At minimum . Equivalent Durability. All other
known abilities of Asgardians, similarly enhanced, can be safely assumed. Energy Projection is
also observed, on levels comparable to Thor, Loki and Iron Man's Unibeam.

Possible Abilities: Flight

It's that or leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

Error.

Possible Abilities Continued: Based on file, Telepathy, Telekinesis, wide range of Magical abilities.

Secondary Omega Class Threat: Designation Unknown. Armour suggests Asgardian origin. Blue
eyes + Pale skin + Dark hair + Flight – child of Thor and Sif? Unlikely, but plausible.

Possible. She is astonishingly gorgeous. Which is really disturbing, since intel says that she was
only about twelve until ten minutes ago.

Error. Observation irrelevant.

Accurate, though.

Error. Still irrelevant.

Observed Abilities: Extreme Super Strength – likely even greater than Thorson, but this is as yet
unconfirmed. Similarly enhanced Asgardian (or Asgardian like) abilities. Flight. A skilled
practitioner of Pankration, mixed in with a few other unidentified martial arts disciplines. Some
resemble Sif's observed style.

She knows what she's doing, all right.

Note: Thorson's Magical abilities limited by relative lack of knowledge of spells. General
limitations of inexperience are also present in both, though she is rather more skilled than he is.

Thorson has also temporarily exited the battlefield.

Other threats observed: Jean-Paul Beaubier. Alpha Class Threat. Little change, save for greater
speed.

Aaand he's running literal rings around one of the wolves. It's trying to chase him. And falling
over. I'm not sure if this is funny or tragic.

Error . Amusement at the failings of an ally is inappropriate.

Other threats: Alpha Class Threat, Unknown Designation (Male). A full grown Asgardian, armed
with an axe (provenance of axe as yet unknown. Conjured?). Highly skilled combatant.

Alpha Class Threat, Unknown Designation (Female). Grown woman. Supersoldier? Unpracticed,
but capable with a shield. An Alpha Class threat due to her position as team strategist. She's
keeping them in line. For the most part. Impressive.

She's got an eye for tactics, that's obvious. And... she's familiar, somehow.

Error . Unless familiarity renders tactically useful information, it is irrelevant.

Conclusion: Werewolves barely holding on. The cave is still defended. And time is running out. A
breakthrough must be made.

Logical Target: Strategist.

OoOoO

The Soldier opened his backpack and swiftly assembled a sniper rifle. Then, he levelled it, looking
down the scope.

OoOoO

Target in sight.

Range: 616 yards.

Cross Wind: None.

Being at the eye of the storm is very handy.

Coriolis Effect adjusted for.

Speed of target's movement estimated and adjusted for.

...

...

She's just a kid.

Error. She is an Alpha Class Threat and impeding the Mission. The Mission comes first.

No. She looks like an adult. But she's a kid underneath.

Error. The Mission must be completed.

No. Not this way.

Error.

NO.

Alternative: A wounding shot. That would force her allies to attend to her while Drake was
acquired.

Plausible. But... why? Why are we here 'acquiring' this kid anyway?
Error.

But, why?

ERROR!

Alert: Incoming threat. Captain America, Hawkeye and Natalia are closing in. Interception
required.

Thank god.

OoOoO

The Soldier dismantled his rifle and readied his pistols, before climbing down the mountain with
superhuman speed and grace. Once he reached the bottom, he deactivated the camouflage. He
wouldn't need it.

Then he slipped into the forest, adding another nightmare to the many that had already haunted
these forests tonight.

And this nightmare was by far the most terrible of them all.

OoOoO

Carol shivered slightly. It felt like someone had just walked over her grave.

Of course, she thought, considering the situation, this could be entirely literal.

She took a step back and a quick look at the battlefield. Whatever that spirit had done to her, it had
jacked her brain right up, allowing her to process input far faster than she could normally have
done. Faster, indeed, than any human ever could.

A small part of her supposed that this was probably because the spirit had interpreted the 'be all
you can be' enhancement as turning her into a supersoldier, and she wasn't exactly complaining.

As for the fight, it seemed that they were winning. Despite the Wolves' healing capabilities and
supernatural power, Uhtred and Diana were each more than a match for them. Harry still hadn't
come back, but under the circumstances – and having seen what Diana had done to the wolf that
had tried to eat her – she wasn't exactly worried, especially since he'd taken the enormous pack
leader with him. And he'd already blasted another one straight through a mountain, with what he'd
intended to be a small fireblast.

Yeah, he'd be fine.

There were only six to begin with, which meant that left four. Between them, Uhtred and Diana had
disposed of two, with the connivance of the mountain spirit – i.e. they pounded/hacked them into
whimpering mush, then the mountain spirit, presumably using Bobby's powers, froze them into
blocks of almost opaque ice.

Carol tried not to look at them. A large part of her was enjoying this fight, the rush and the sheer
power that she now had. Sure, it wasn't on the scale of what the others were enjoying, but it was
still considerable.

A smaller part, however, was sickened. Monsters they might be, but they were people once.
Diana and Uhtred seemed to be less bothered, the former because she seemed to be more occupied
with restraining her rage and the latter because if what Carol had heard about Asgard was true, had
been raised to do exactly this: slay monsters. Diana had probably got a dose of that too.

Only two remained. One was whimpering as it was cornered by Diana and Uhtred, while Jean-Paul
was a black and white blur around the other. Though he had little enough in direct offensive
capabilities against something so large, he was driving it to dizzy distraction. He had also found a
sharp rock the size of both his fists and hurled it into the wolf's eye at supersonic speed.

The results were not pretty.

While Jean-Paul was probably the least eager of them all to get into this fight, or indeed any fight,
this did not mean that he felt any inclination to play nice once he was in said fight. In fact, he could
be downright vicious.

It was one of the things that they had in common.

Another thing that they had in common was occasional instances of exceptionally bad luck.

Because, you see, at exactly the wrong moment, the werewolf lashed out blindly. And Jean-Paul
was hit.

It was only a glancing blow, but it sent him tumbling across the battlefield in a tangle of
pinwheeling limbs, coming to a stop in a snowdrift fifty feet away from the wolf, and eighty feet
from Carol herself.

The wolf adjusted far too quickly for Carol's liking, turning its remaining, malevolent, red eye on
the stunned boy, and began to lumber towards him, picking up speed. It would be on him in five
seconds.

Carol was on it in one.

In a silent, cold fury, she flung herself onto its back, digging her fingers into the thick coating of
rank fur on its back, ignoring the smell, and clinging on as the wolf, registering a passenger, began
to buck and whirl, snapping and snarling.

But Carol was not so easily deterred, and slowly began to crawl up the creature's body, until she
reached its head. Clinging onto its neck with one hand, she began to clumsily hammer at the stone
that Jean-Paul had lodged in its right eye with her shield, twisting it and driving it deeper.

The wolf quite simply lost its mind.

Writhing in wild anger, it tried to shake Carol off. But she clung on, still single-mindedly hanging
onto its back, hammering at the stone.

When this didn't work, she adopted a new strategy.

The shield rose.

Blood fell.

Carol, grim and blood spattered, leapt off the now staggering and blinded beast, which was pawing
at its eyes, and howling in agony. Her shield was a lodged a third of the way into its head.

"Well done," Diana said quietly, and cracked her knuckles. Carol glanced over her shoulder. The
fourth wolf had clearly been pummelled into submission.

"It is all but unable to fight," Uhtred said. "All that remains is to retrieve your shield. Then we can
freeze it."

"No."

Both looked at her.

"That thing hurt Jean-Paul," she said, voice hard. "Diana, check on him."

"But," the other woman began, blue eyes alight with battle anger that strained against her will.

Carol turned and simply Looked at her.

Diana took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course," she said. The thanks went unspoken.

Carol nodded curtly. "Uhtred?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Axe."

Silently, Uhtred handed it to her. It was, she noticed, slick with blood, and notched where it had
impacted against stone and bone. A butcher's weapon, she thought. For a butcher's work.

She slowly strode forward, hefting the weapon, mind cold and clear, seething with icy fire. The
wolf was cowed now, whimpering, but it snarled slightly as she closed.

"Not so big and bad now, are you?" she said softly, lightly swinging the axe. For all its weight and
power, it might as well have been a rolled up newspaper in her hands.

The wolf let out a defiant snarl.

The first swing, therefore, took it in the muzzle, shattering at least five teeth, drawing an agonised
roar and a wild swipe, which she easily dodged.

The second swing took out the left foreleg, the one that had swiped at Jean-Paul, slicing deep into
the hamstring, causing the vast animal to lurch and whine as with a phenomenal effort, Carol
wrenched the axe free. Then, she reached out with the axe, braced herself, and hooked the leg out
towards her, causing the animal to collapse in an agonised ball of meat and bone.

It was beaten now, remaining foreleg pawing at its wounded muzzle, whining, as if begging for
mercy from this girl who had brought it down in a matter of moments.

None was forthcoming.

The axe rose.

The axe fell.

Blood started spreading.

Carol turned, face hard and blood spattered. She was every inch the supersoldier. She looked at
Uhtred and Diana, the former having gone to the assistance of the latter by Jean-Paul's side. This
spoke of a confidence in Carol's abilities that would, when she registered it, touch her.
"How is he?" she asked.

"Alive," Diana said. "And..." She grimaced and took another deep breath, calming herself.
"Thinking. He'll come to soon."

"I think it's all over," Uhtred said quietly.

Then, a red-gold-silver blur rocketed down from above the storm, slamming into the ground with
literally earthshaking force, raising a cloud of snow, earth and flying ice.

Out of the cloud strode Harry, largely unscathed and idly levitating a ball of burnt fur and
blackened meat.

"You think it's all over?" he said. "It is now."

"Harry," Carol said, relieved. "Is that..."

"The pack leader?" Harry asked. "What's left of him. Oh, and I can fly now, possibly thanks to the
latent psychic powers. Who knew?"

"That you're a psychic? I did," Diana said dryly. She seemed to be visible calming down.

"Fair point, well made," Harry said, then frowned. "Jean-Paul?"

"A few cracked ribs, but nothing permanent," Uhtred said calmly. "He's already healing."

Harry nodded, then looked up sharply and made a beckoning gesture. From above, a floating
camera flew down into his hand, quite obviously resisting the whole way.

"It looks," he said softly, taking the camera and examining it. "Like someone has been watching
us."

The camera was watching him, almost warily.

"Who sent it?"

"I don't know," Harry said quietly.

OoOoO

At least, Steve reflected, finding the kids wasn't all that hard. Whatever had happened up there had
instigated a battle royale. He'd have thought it was more of those Fairy things, and maybe they
played a part, but there was something else up there.

Something enormous, judging by the tracks that they'd found, and they were less tracks, more
paths, ploughed through the snow.

That only caused them to pick up the pace, something aided by Loki's spell – though, as Steve had
found out the hard way, it didn't do much for ice.

But now, he slowed. Something was wrong. The storm had slackened off a bit – indeed, around
them, it wasn't half as fierce as it might be. Perhaps whatever intelligence controlled it recognised
them as friends – but that wasn't it. The hairs had risen up on the back of his neck.

Then, everything happened at once.

Natasha sprang to her left, tackling Clint to the ground as the crack of a gunshot snapped its way
through the gale. Clint grunted in pain. Blood stained the pristine snow.

A scant half moment after he registered that, a muted explosion emerged from beneath a vast snow
drift, which promptly buried both Clint and Natasha.

Before Steve could even think of going to their aid, or start looking for the gunman, a shadow
exploded out of the shadows like a leopard from cover, slamming into him like a missile of flesh
and bone.

Steve fell back into the snow, winded, and immediately got his arm up to protect his face and
throat, thinking that he'd been attacked by one of those werewolves that HYDRA apparently had.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had.

As he looked up during the tumultuous confusion as the two grappled, Steve trying to push his
attacker back, to give himself some space to move, his attacker trying to give him no room to
move, to bury him, he caught a glimpse of his attacker. That glimpse showed him a flat, dark,
expressionless mask below a pair of dark goggles. The first blow, coming from a fist harder than
anything nature could produce, one which gleamed in the scant light, confirmed the identity of his
opponent.

With a great effort, Steve managed to force his opponent up, allowing him to get a leg between the
two, which in turn allowed him to kick his opponent away sending him flying through the air.

Most opponents would have been stunned by this, but the Soldier, true to his reputation, tucked
into a ball, rolled and bounced to his feet, drawing a combat knife which made a strange humming
sound.

Steve recognised it.

Vibranium. One of the strongest substances on the planet, indeed, in the known universe, if Thor's
judgement was anything to go by. The only two things in the world were known to be stronger.

Since one of them was Steve's shield, which he slung onto his arm, this worked out rather nicely.

He flicked a glance at the snowdrift. There was some movement there. At least one of Clint and
Natasha was still alive and conscious. Good.

He eyed the Soldier. The other man, if you could even call him that, didn't have the advantage of
being able to stand on the snow the way that Steve could, which gave him the advantage in
mobility.

On the other hand, the snow didn't seem to be very deep here and he'd very clearly prepared the
battlefield beforehand. For all Steve knew, he could be being walked into a mine. And that rather
impeded his mobility. Which the Soldier knew.

"I'll admit it," he muttered, wiping blood away from his split lip. "You're good."

The Soldier eyed him, then seemed to shrug.

This very human reaction puzzled Steve slightly, before he set himself warily. This was the first
time he'd faced a fellow supersoldier.

Schmidt had had the abilities, sure, but his combat skills had been fairly rudimentary. It had been
his mind and his ambitions that had made him dangerous – both were insane, to be sure, but as
Zola had pointed out in that cell all those years ago, the sanity of either mind or ambition did not
matter: no matter how crazy his plans were, he had the means to pull them off.

No, here, Steve was facing a living weapon, one who knew how to use every ounce of
enhancement to best effect, one who had mastered countless forms of weaponry and combat. One
who was, if he was being brutally honest, probably better than he was.

From what he could tell from their initial encounter, he was the stronger, by dint of greater bulk,
but the Soldier was faster. While this advantage was somewhat blunted by the snow, at close
quarters, it could be deadly.

That didn't faze Steve as much as it might have. He'd sparred against Sif and Loki, who were snake
fast, and Fandral, who was even faster. Thor was no slouch in the speed department either, as he
would repeatedly demonstrate if you gave him the opportunity to do so.

"Come on then," he said quietly.

The Soldier obliged, knife flicking from mortal right hand to metallic left, his body moving in a
deadly swift stabbing lunge that Steve batted away, only to catch a powerful punch to his shoulder
that sent him spinning as the Soldier twisted with impossible speed and grace, shifting his weight
in a way that Steve had only ever seen from Natasha in full flow.

As Steve stumbled, he pressed his attack, trying to duck past the shield, but Steve managed to keep
it between the two of them, taking advantage of his ability on the snow to take a couple of quick
steps back and brace himself, like a proud stag facing down a lean and cunning wolf.

And that proud stag was very aware that it was in for the fight of its life.

OoOoO

For a moment, there was silence and Harry stared coldly at the floating camera.

Now, he didn't look a brave boy in a man's boy, Carol noticed, as he had when he'd first
transformed. He looked like a man, confident in his power and wise with it, the sort of man that
armies would follow into the bowels of Hell, any Hell.

"I know you can hear me," he said, voice low. "Malfoy. HYDRA. Whoever you are. My name is
Harry Thorson. I am a Prince of Asgard. As you may have noticed, I've done some growing up
recently. So have my friends. Thanks to that growing up, we've crushed your pet monsters. A few
of them are in blocks of ice, while another has been cooked and wrapped in a piece of Tony Stark's
plane. And I'm pretty sure that there's one stuck halfway inside the mountain opposite me. Or
maybe the mountain beyond that. I'm not really sure. You've been watching, so you would know.
We know why you sent your pets here – a kid's developed superpowers and you want him for your
own. And you can take him. Feel free."

He held it up close.

"But you have to get through us first."

There was a moment of silence, then Harry shrugged and dropped the round camera, cleanly
catching it on the volley, launching it into the storm and presumably, the middle distance.

"You ever thought of playing soccer?" Carol asked, impressed.

"I've played in a few kick abouts," Harry said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I nutmegged Fandral once."

"What do we do now?" Uhtred asked.

"Some of us need to stay here and protect the cave. We don't know how quick HYDRA can
respond," Harry said. "And some of us need to start looking for the quickest and safest way down."

"Why not just fly?" Jean-Paul asked.

"Visibility's shit," Carol said bluntly. "And the Winter Soldier's watching, remember? Either they
get picked off or they go into the storm and get turned around before they know it. Or crash."

"Could this Soldier hurt us?" Diana asked, frowning.

"Let's just say that I wouldn't bet against it," Carol said.

"Flying in a storm is never fun. And if there's more of those shadowy things up there, we could get
jumped," Harry agreed. "Carol?"

Carol nodded and ran her eye over the group. "Harry and I should stay here and Diana and Uhtred
should go looking," she said. "Jean-Paul and I are the least mobile at the moment, and Harry can
send up a flare if we get hit before the other two get back."

"Sounds good," Harry said. "Let's get to work."

OoOoO

"What assets do we have left?" Lucius asked, controlling his temper as he stared at the now static
ridden screen. Harry's kick had utterly destroyed his floating camera.

"The Soldier?" Zola suggested.

"No, I want him for the capture. That group, and I have no idea how, is too powerful to throw him
at head on. At the very least, two of them are quite literally faster than a speeding bullet, even if
one is injured, and the Thorson boy's range of abilities seems to have few limits, meaning that he
may well be capable of the same," Lucius said sourly. "The Soldier could take one of them by
surprise, but the other would probably take violent revenge."

"I think you underestimate the Soldier's skills at strategy, Lord Malfoy, but I agree. The risk is too
high," Zemo said. "And in any case, he is unavailable."

"Why?"

"He ambushed Captain America, Black Widow and Hawkeye," Zemo said. "He has incapacitated
the Widow and her partner and has engaged the good Captain in single combat. And I believe that
he is winning."

Lucius' eyebrows rose. "Every time I think that that creature can impress no more, he does," he
murmured. "However did you find him?"

"HYDRA have long been at odds with his former masters, the Red Room," Zemo said, and Lucius
suppressed a shiver. He'd heard of the Red Room. Sometimes, he wished that he hadn't. "And,
well, know thine enemy."

"You knew where they were storing him," Lucius deduced.

"Not quite," Zola said. "But we could make an educated guess."

Lucius nodded thoughtfully.

Zemo glanced at Lucius. "We could send Lord Gravemoss up there," he suggested. "We are
running out of expendable Agents and I believe that he is getting bored."

"Clone some, then, and send some of the wizards out to kidnap some muggle transients," Lucius
said. "He's easily enough amused and the prospect of him running rampant like he did last time is
not particularly pleasant. Also, it runs the risk of Thor catching him and having words with him.
Unpleasant as he can be, he is one of our most powerful assets and we are not exactly spoiled for
choice."

"True," Zemo acknowledged. "How are your forays into robotics going, Doctor Zola? Are any
combat capable?"

"The Hammond synthezoid we took from SHIELD is showing depressing signs of a conscience,
and I haven't had the time to reprogram him yet," Zola said. "The Ultimatum Project, however, has
shown promise."

"What does it do?"

"Do you know of the Asgardian Destroyer?"

"By reputation," Lucius said guardedly.

"Like that, but with greater mobility, limited shapeshifting capabilities and the ability to fly," Zola
said. "Though it lacks the original's durability. I have also been having difficulties with the AI. The
last one spontaneously mutated and started screaming 'Exterminate' over and over again."

"There is a simple solution to that, Herr Doktor," Zemo said, examining the footage of the fight.

"Oh?"

"Don't let it access the internet."

"So how does it move?" Lucius asked, disregarding this last, slightly puzzling exchange. "Does it
require a pilot?"

"In a manner of speaking," Zola said. "It would be controlled by means of a headset, which,
unfortunately, could potentially be traced."

Lucius was silent for a long moment. "The Avengers have not yet intervened, though Loki has been
preoccupied hunting down our magical forces, while Captain America, Hawkeye and the Widow
are occupied on the mountain," he said.

"The Soldier is on the way to intercept," Zemo said.

Lucius nodded. "I suspect that Thor and his fellows are trying to find a way to break the storm
without harming those on the mountain. It is, I think, worth the risk." He glanced at Zola. "Could it
kill them?"
"Yes."

"Good," Lucius said.

"There is another option."

Lucius started violently. He'd never thought that he'd hear that dead, rustling voice outside of its
owner's lair in the basement. And his nightmares, but that was another matter entirely. After all,
Gravemoss couldn't enter his dreams.

Probably.

"Lord Gravemoss," he said, regaining his composure. "This is... unexpected."

Gravemoss smiled an unsettling smile. "I heard that there was a battle," he said. "And that you
were using Slendermen."

"Emphasis on the were," Zemo said, a touch sourly. "Captain Rogers, Black Widow and Hawkeye
seem to have slaughtered most of them."

"I can get you more," Gravemoss said.

"How many?" Lucius asked. "And how much will they cost?"

The Slendermen were Winter Fae, and nominally owed loyalty to Queen Mab, and their father, the
Shaed, but they often operated independently as mercenaries. Expensive mercenaries. Expensive
mercenaries that were, apparently, no match for the three least powerful (but probably, depending
on how one defined it, most dangerous) Avengers.

Gravemoss chuckled softly. "Thousands," he said. "And the cost... five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Lucius asked, then smiled as he understood. "Ah. By all means, then, Lord
Gravemoss." He glanced at the screen, then frowned. "Zemo, have one of your underlings apprise
Lord Gravemoss of the situation and the objectives."

Zemo nodded. "Jason," he said, not even raising his voice.

A tall young man in his mid-twenties with the build of a close quarters fighter stepped out of the
shadows. He had dark hair, Lucius noticed, and within it, a distinctive lock of white hair. "Sir," he
said.

"How long has he been there?" Lucius asked quietly.

"Since we came in," Zemo said laconically. "He is my protégé."

"I am impressed," Lucius murmured, being very aware that this Jason Todd could have put a bullet
in his head any time he wished.

"Indeed," Gravemoss said, eyeing the man with a lesser, but similar, kind of interest to the kind he
usually expressed towards the Winter Soldier.

"You should be, Lord Malfoy," Zemo replied mildly. "Jason, I take it that you heard everything?"

"Yes, sir."

"See to it."
"Yes, sir."

Lucius nodded, and turned to Zemo and Zola.

"Zemo, I want you to pilot the machine. Gravemoss' Slendermen will either act should the machine
prove insufficient, or wipe out the resort and take with them as many Avengers as possible," Lucius
said. "Act as you see fit, but I want Thorson dead. He is unpredictable and has a talent for meddling
in what he should not."

"It sounds like you have encountered this talent before, Lord Malfoy," Zemo said, as a HYDRA
Agent carried over a headset.

"Yes. I have," Lucius said coldly. "And I fully intend for this time to be the last."

OoOoO

Loki made his way into the cabin and took Pepper aside. "Is there any reason that the Hulk is
lurking outside and there is a lot of churned up snow in front of this building?" he asked abruptly.

Pepper raised her eyebrows briefly, but recognised the abruptness as being born of worry. Heaven
knew that she had enough of that herself.

"Yes. One of HYDRA's werewolves, it was enormous – size of a hummer, maybe, a small tank? –
came down."

"And Bruce transformed to deal with it."

"He did," Pepper said. "But it was pretty well dealt with. By Harry."

Loki's eyebrows shot up.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it," Darcy chipped in, having wandered over.
"But I did."

"He's changed. Whatever happened on that mountain, it aged him, literally," Pepper explained in an
urgent undertone. "He's about Thor's size now, maybe a little leaner built. And he's got power to
spare. I only saw him for twenty seconds, maybe, but based on what he said and what the Hulk
said, he's got a serious upgrade, somehow. And you don't seem that surprised."

"Not entirely," Loki agreed. "I have encountered things not unlike this before." He nodded up at
the top of the mountain, still veiled by the storm. "The spirit of this mountain has enlisted Harry
and, presumably, his friends, probably to protect Master Drake. In which case, I almost feel sorry
for HYDRA."

"Sorry?" Pepper asked, astonished.

"If Harry is anywhere approaching his full growth, there are precious few on this world with even a
chance of harming him," Loki said. "Diana is perhaps even more formidable, with the ability to fly.
Uhtred will be a match in strength for Volstagg, and probably a good deal faster. Jean-Paul will
live in a world of statues if he so chooses. And Carol... I have no doubt that she will be formidable.
Or, at the very least, well protected."

Pepper frowned, but nodded. "Still... Clint, Natasha and Steve are up there."

"Ah, yes, I'd almost forgotten," Loki murmured. "Now I really do pity HYDRA." He shook his
head. "Do not worry about the Widow and the Captain. They faced worse things before the end of
the last World War."

"I keep forgetting Natasha's that old," Pepper said. "And Steve, well... he basically got his personal
pause button pressed." She shook her head. "Is there anything more we can do?"

"Yeah, kinda feeling a little cooped up in here," Darcy said. "It gets awkward answering the same
questions over and over again."

"Which is why you started a poker game with the instructors," Pepper said.

"And you stopped me."

"Darcy, you were cheating."

"I was not."

Pepper Looked at her.

"... Much."

Loki chuckled softly. "I always thought that cheating was part of the fun," he said.

"He gets it," Darcy said.

Pepper frowned, then said, "Look, are Jane and Tony all right?"

"Yes, and they've got power back, as you may have noticed," Loki said. "They're working on
communications." He sighed. "And as for your question... I am afraid that I have nothing. You
might as well let Darcy fleece the instructors."

Pepper nodded and absently reached out, hooking the retreating Darcy by the back of her shirt.

"No, Darcy."

OoOoO

Steve gasped painfully as the Soldier's metal hand wrapped around his throat. The gasp, however,
did not come from an exertion of pressure.

That came from at least five cracked ribs and two that were actually broken.

Other pains came from the large black eye, which he'd got by being hit in the face with his own
shield and a dead leg from a brutal punch to the right thigh.

The Soldier wasn't unscathed – Steve knew that he'd got a few good blows in – but you wouldn't
know it to look at him.

But no, the metal hand wasn't crushing his throat, or even ripping out. The threat was there, and
while it wasn't comfortable, as such, it wasn't causing any pain.

That puzzled Steve. Throughout their fight, the Soldier had been swift, skilled and economical, not
wasting a millimetre of movement. A consummate professional, in other words.

So why wasn't he dead?

To get the answer, Steve looked into his eyes, having knocked the man's goggles off during the
fight. They now lay about ten feet behind of him.

He had been expecting, based on Natasha's brief description, cold, calculating and icy blue eyes,
devoid of any hint of empathy or compassion. Though she had said that there was more to the man
than met the eye, that there was, in fact, a man inside the killing machine, Steve hadn't really
understood it.

Until now.

The man's eyes, a cold blue, were not cruel, or even blank. They looked... confused, perhaps.
Conflicted. And something about them rang a very distant bell.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Steve said softly. "You..." he winced. "You don't have to be their
pet murderer, their killer. You can be something better. You can get help."

The Soldier met his gaze, then cocked his head. The confusion grew, then, like a switch had been
flicked, they went hard and cold. Then back again, as if there two minds struggling for control of
one body.

This, Steve thought, was what Natasha had meant: there was the Man, and then there was the
Machine.

This was what it looked like when a man was fighting for his soul.

"James."

The Soldier's head snapped up, and his eyes widened. Steve followed his gaze to see Natasha down
on one knee, her tone and expression wary, but non-confrontational, like a ranger dealing with a
wounded and possibly dangerous animal. Lying next to her was Clint, who was slightly groggy, a
bandage on his head, but otherwise fine.

He looked down at Steve, who, trusting his instincts, carefully lay still. Then, he looked back up at
Natasha.

Several long, tense moments passed, as the Soldier cast a long glance up the mountain. The sounds
of battle, carried down by the wind, whispered around them.

He closed his eyes briefly and clenched his fists.

Steve let out a gurgling noise and immediately, the man's eyes snapped open and his hand jerked
away from Steve's throat. He looked almost apologetic, like he'd forgotten his hand was there.

"It's okay," Steve managed. "I wasn't using it."

The Soldier stared at him and said nothing. But the corners of his eyes seemed to crinkle slightly.

Then he stood up and stepped away, picking up his goggles. After that, he turned to Natasha,
making a series of hand gestures that seemed to indicate that they should stay there.

"You know that we can't do that," Natasha said levelly. "We're here for the kids. We won't stop
until they're safe."

The Soldier glanced pointedly at Clint and Steve, clearly implying that their injuries wouldn't allow
them to get far.
"I'm fine," Clint said cautiously, having shaken off some of the grogginess. The Soldier, for some
reason, suddenly gave him a long, penetrating look, then looked back at Natasha.

"James," Natasha said. "What Steve –"

She didn't get any further. The Soldier froze. Slowly, he turned to Steve and stared at him for a
long moment. Then, astonishingly, he bolted.

"What the hell was that?" Clint demanded. "First, the living nightmare shoots me, buries us and
beats the crap out of Steve, then you two go all Lifetime on him and he bugs out."

"I don't know," Steve said slowly. "But he didn't want to kill me. He could have killed me at least
three times, including just now. I don't know why, but I think he was... stalling."

"You're right. If he'd wanted us dead, he'd have picked us off one by one," Natasha said.

Clint coughed pointedly.

"That shot was going for your torso and that's because he didn't want you picking him out. If he'd
wanted you dead, he'd have gone for your head," Natasha said curtly. Clint looked thoughtful,
frowned, then nodded reluctantly. "Like I said: if he wanted us dead, we'd be dead. But he did want
us disabled." She glanced up the mountain. "If the fight is still going on, it's not going HYDRA's
way. And if they haven't cut their losses, if he's involved, they're really invested in this."

"Which means that they're sending in something else," Steve said slowly.

OoOoO

Harry was scanning the woods for more werewolves.

Carol was leaning against the cliff side, also keeping watch.

She was also keeping half an eye on Jean-Paul, who was warily testing his body, which had mostly
healed from the blow it had taken. He too was aware of his surroundings, and kept a distance from
the tree line, just in case.

They had every angle covered.

Almost.

You see, no one was looking up.

So when it came, they were completely unprepared.

In the first moment, it hit Carol, snatching her up and hurling her to the ground like a ragdoll.

In the second moment, Jean-Paul snatched her out of the way of the orange energy blast it
unleashed from its face that melted rock.

In the third moment, Harry loosed an energy blast into the skies as he flew at it in a wild tackle.

In the fourth moment, it caught him by the thoat and stopped him cold.

In the fifth moment, Carol's shield, thrown by Jean-Paul, hit it in the back at the speed of sound.

In the sixth moment, Diana ripped Harry free of its grasp as it moved impossibly fast and caught
Jean-Paul by the ankle as he passed by.

In the seventh moment, Uhtred went to distract it, and was speared in mid leap by an arm that had
morphed into a sword.

In the eighth moment, it crushed Jean-Paul's ankle and dropped him, while at the same time, it
obliterated Carol's shield.

In the ninth moment, Jean-Paul and Uhtred screamed in pain as Harry summoned them both to him.

In the tenth moment, they saw what it was.

It was a robot, tall and vaguely humanoid, made of silvery metal and articulated, with lines of that
same, deadly orange power running through it. It looked out at the world through two narrow and
soulless white eyes. It could be compared to an Iron Man armour in basic shape and design, but it
was somehow more sinuous, more alien and much more... callous.

Yes, Harry thought as it paused to regard them as they regarded it. Callous. It didn't bear them any
particular malice, but equally, Harry felt that this was what it must be like to be the bacteria under
the microscope.

There was a long moment as the two stared at them.

Then, silently, Harry summoned Uhtred's discarded axe, so that it slammed into the metallic
monster's back.

The creature turned, and as it did, Harry unleashed another blast.

This time, however, it wasn't set to small.

OoOoO

The mountains for thirty miles around were lit up like a midsummer's noon.

Thor saw it and felt an abrupt swell of pride at what he knew to be his son, countered by a surge of
fear, as he wondered what had caused him to strike so.

Heimdall saw it and felt trepidation, for he knew that Midgard would never be the same again.

Doctor Strange saw it too. And smiled.

OoOoO

They were not the only ones to notice it.

A thirteen year old boy in Kansas leapt out of bed as the roar of sound shook his house.

A sixteen year old girl in New York gasped awake as the astral plane convulsed.

And a forty five year old woman in Berlin, dressed all in red, whirled and cursed.

OoOoO

"Zola, where am I?" Zemo said, tones slightly peeved.

"Your display should tell you that."

"My display is telling me little, beyond the obvious: that I am surrounded by mud, fields and a lot
of squashed potatoes. Perhaps I am in Ireland, or one of the other hundred or so countries East of
the United States that farms potatoes, Zola, I really can't tell."

Zola checked the computers. "Russia, actually. Fifty seven miles outside Moscow. I am sending
you the co-ordinates now," he said.

"Sweet Merlin," Lucius sighed. "Please tell me he can only do that once. Ever." He glanced over
his shoulder. "Someone call Gravemoss. We may actually need him."

"No, I think not," Zemo said. "This machine is, astonishingly intact and functioning."

"So? That is impressive, but..."

"But that was the boy's attempt to sucker punch me with everything he had, before I could engage
any defences," Zemo said. "Decent improvisation, under the circumstances. I am impressed." His
eyes narrowed as he adjusted the headset. "But he is a fool if he thinks that will stop me."

OoOoO

"Did you..." Carol began, awed.

"I don't know," Harry said grimly. "Carol, Diana, get Uhtred and Jean-Paul inside and ask Bobby if
the spirit can make another way out, somewhere discreet. Get them to Dad and the others, however
you have to do it, and tell them what's going on. Diana, get the spirit to lock the door behind you."
He took a deep breath. "I'll stay, in case it comes back."

"I'm not leaving you to face this abomination alone," Diana said, glancing at the skies.

"Yeah, what about you?" Carol asked.

Harry took a deep breath and massaged his bruised throat. All the casual overconfidence, even
arrogance, that the rush of power and the sense of invincibility that came with it, had brought, had
drained away, leaving only the bitter dregs behind. Now, he wasn't too big to admit it.

He was afraid.

For the first time in a long time, he was really, properly afraid.

But he had a plan.

"If it comes back, and I kind of think that it will, I'll draw its attention," he said. "If it finds you,
Carol, Diana will protect you and I'll join her. If it engages me, Diana, don't join in. Not unless the
others are safe and the rest of the Avengers are with you, is that understood?"

Diana glared at him, then, reluctantly, nodded.

"Good," Harry said. "I will deal with it," he said. He refrained from adding, 'or it will deal with
me.'

He could practically hear Carol stiffen, then she and Diana carry the injured and agonised pair into
the cave. Once they did, ice began to form after them.

Harry took to the skies, shooting up above the clouds, and waited for his opponent.

This time, he would pick the territory.

He didn't have to wait long.

The machine shot at him like a gigantic bullet, and Harry only barely dodged it. On the second
pass, however, he dodged it more easily, rolling away from the energy blast that it fired at him, and
returning fire.

As he did, he found himself grinning.

His plan was working.

OoOoO

"Oh, you idiot."

Zemo eyed Lucius. "What?" he asked.

Lucius sighed. "If there is one thing that that boy is good at, really, irritating good at, it is flying.
He is a natural." He took a deep breath. "And I have to admit, possibly the most talented flyer that I
have ever seen," he said.

"Ah."

"Yes," Zola said slowly. "Baron, your skills are supreme in close combat, there is no doubt about
that..."

"But he has suckered me into a dog fight, and by virtue of being the superior flyer, it is going to be
rather difficult to ground him," Zemo finished. He seemed to smile. "I will say it again: I am
impressed."

Lucius glowered. "Just shoot him, Baron, and save us all much future grief," he said shortly.

"That will be rather easier said than done, I feel," Zola said.

"I am aware," Lucius said dourly.

"This situation does have advantages," Zemo said. "The Soldier has disengaged from the good
Captain and his fellows leaving them either injured or dead. That leaves the tunnel unguarded."

"In case you had forgotten, the other Asgardian or whatever she is, is in that tunnel," Lucius said,
through slightly gritted teeth. "Which could lead out somewhere on the other side of the
mountain."

"That will not be a problem," Gravemoss said.

This time, Lucius managed not to jump, and turned, to see Gravemoss drifting over silently,
followed by Zemo's protégé. "How so?" he asked.

"They are being powered by the spirit of the mountain," Gravemoss said. "And it created that
tunnel for them and has used the elemental child's power to block it twice now." He smiled slightly
as Lucius wondered exactly how the necromancer had found out about Drake. "And after
summoning the Slendermen just now, I made sure that it could not cast any new spells."

Zola chuckled cruelly. "You see, Lord Malfoy? She will be in the tunnel, yes. Trapped. In the dark.
Afraid. And listening to the sounds of her wounded comrades. Believe me, she will be terrified.
The situation could hardly be worse. For her."
Lucius nodded slowly. "Very well. If you can, put what Zemo's seeing on the screens," he said. "I
want to be sure that that boy is dead."

OoOoO

The Soldier stopped by the plateau, watching the battle. He was calm, having restored his goggles,
a cold, deadly sentinel in the shadows.

OoOoO

Steve...

That name...

That face...

Why do I recognise him?

Error.

Shut up.

Error.

Shut up.

Error.

SHUT UP!

OoOoO

The Soldier clenched his fists.

OoOoO

And Natalia. God, she's hardly changed. No, she hasn't changed. She's still... amazing. Beautiful,
brilliant and brave. So brave.

I love her.

I nearly killed her.

And him, that man, Captain America, Steve, she called him. I had my hands around his throat. I'd
beaten him up. But... he offered me mercy.

Why did he offer me mercy? Why do I recognise him? And why am I fighting him?

Why?

OoOoO

The Soldier folded his arms and let out a long breath.

A message came in. Orders.

He listened. He sent an acknowledgement.

OoOoO

Orders. Good. That'll help make sense of things.

Orders: tunnel unprotected. Alpha Class threat Jean-Paul Beaubier disabled. Alpha Class threat
unknown, male, disabled. Omega Class threat unknown, female, and Alpha Class threat unknown,
female, are burdened down.

Capture Robert Drake. Eliminate Others where possible.

Eliminate?

Correct. With extreme prejudice.

OoOoO

The Soldier made his way up the mountain and looked over at the frozen access to the tunnel. He
could blast his way in, easily.

OoOoO

Fuck that. They're children.

Error. The Mission requires it.

OoOoO

The Soldier froze. Then he reached up and crushed his comms.

OoOoO

Well. Fuck the Mission, then.

OoOoO

"My god," Steve breathed, unaware of what his earlier sparring partner had decided, as he stared up
at the two battling figures. "Is that..."

"It's Harry," Clint said, frowning. "But he's... he's older, somehow."

"How old?"

"Mid-twenties, maybe?" Clint said, shrugging. "It's hard to tell with Asgardians. Thor and Loki are
over a millennium and a half old and they look about twenty five or so."

"What's he fighting?" Steve asked.

"Hang on," Clint said. "I'm going through the EM spectrum."

"Show off," Natasha murmured.

"He's fighting... some kind of robot. It looks a bit like the Destroyer did, but it's... thinner.
Honestly, it looks more like Tony's second Iron Man suit than anything else. And its flying."

"How's he doing?" Natasha asked.

"He's holding his own pretty nicely," Clint said, as Harry's indistinct form unleashed a vast blast of
energy at the robot. "He's by far the better flier. But whoever's in control of that robot's cannier
than he is, and a much better close fighter. Much better." He shook his head expression worried.
"Hell, Nat, as far as I can tell, they're better than I am. And they've got a lot of power to back it up.
If they manage to grapple for long, or worse, ground him... then Harry's in trouble."

OoOoO

Harry jinked right and upwards, neatly avoiding yet another beam of deadly orange energy,
flipping over and unleashing a golden-white energy bolt of his own.

Unlike his opponent's, it hit its target, lashing against the robot's arm and causing its flight path to
wobble. Beyond that, though, it didn't do that much damage.

Harry had found out the hard way that the reverse was not true.

On the other hand, he had the clear advantage in mobility and speed – his opponent's flight
capabilities were somewhat limited and it seemed to only now be adjusting to the fact that they
were fighting in three dimensions.

Which left them at a stalemate – Harry had the speed and mobility, but not the power to make it
count. The robot had the power, but, save for straight lines, it wasn't much on speed.

Not compared to him, anyway, he thought, with a tinge of pride. But that tinge of pride was
sobered by his grim awareness of how serious this was. The monster had tried to kill him and his
friends, and had very nearly succeeded without even apparently trying all that hard.

Energy blasts – or, at least, the kind that he could fire on the move – weren't getting through, and
Harry was acutely aware from his experience with bludgers that it only took one mistake for it all
to be over.

So. He'd better not make that mistake.

But he couldn't keep dodging forever. His father hadn't stepped in, which he reckoned had
something to do with the storm. His uncle hadn't stepped in because, well, Harry wasn't sure how
far his flying skills went. And Tony hadn't intervened because he was short his armour. That, of
course, presumed that any of them knew what was going on.

Harry had briefly contemplated leading the robot down to the resort, where the Hulk could get at
it, then immediately dismissed it. That would only put more people in danger.

No, for now, he was on his own.

And that scared a very large part of him to death.

But.

There was another part, another, steadily growing part part, that was not afraid.

It was angry.

And it was that part which made him stop in place, a hundred feet above the robot.

This machine had hurt his friends. His friends. It had tried to kill them.

"No," Harry said quietly, as the robot focused on him, blank face glowing orange as it prepared a
blast. "No more running."
And with that, he rocketed straight downwards, shattering the sound barrier as he went howling
past, coming within an inch of it, the monstrous jet stream and turbulence of his passage sending
the robot spinning through the air like a leaf on the wind. And it wasn't exactly soaring, either.

Before the machine could right itself, Harry was rocketing past it again in a crimson blur, the wind
of his passage and the raw power of the sonic boom hammering into his opponent like a wall,
buffeting it every which way as it struggled to stay in the air.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

After the last, he managed to position himself so that it would come spinning towards him,
winding up.

"This," he said, every word humming with rage. "Is for my friends, you son of a bitch."

Then he drew back his fist and punched. The fist of god met the artifice of man and the resultant
thunder clap shook the valley below. Harry didn't hesitate, ignoring the stinging sensation in his
right fist - what the hell was that thing even made of? – and pressed his advantage, chasing the
metallic monster and delivering a succession of body blows, upper cuts, kicks and elbow strikes,
using every trick, dirty or otherwise, that he'd ever learned, sending the robot whirling towards the
ground.

Harry followed it down, vision going red with rage. The steadily building pain in his hands as they
hammered against unyielding metal again didn't slow him down. All it did was give him fuel for
his anger and for fire, which covered his fists, burning with incandescent fury. And those fists
were now moving so fast that they were generating sonic booms of their own, making it look like
the robot was being bombarded by laser fire.

Wind laced with ice rushed past his face, fast enough to scour mortal flesh to the bone, as he
thundered down towards the harsh and unforgiving ground at speeds that were barely perceptible
to the human eye and hammered at an opponent few mortals would dare to face.

But he was not mortal.

He was a Prince of Asgard, and in the frankest terms possible, he was really pissed off.

Which was a rather mixed blessing, since if he had not been so angry, he might have noticed
something rather important.

OoOoO

"Zemo," Lucius said through gritted teeth.

"Relax, Lord Malfoy. I have matters in hand," Zemo said.

"You're not doing anything!"

"Precisely," Zemo said. "I am letting the boy exhaust himself on armour that is resisting his blows
tolerably well and letting him walk straight into a trap."

"What?"
"Lord Malfoy, I think we are agreed that I would never catch him in the air, not with his talent and
this machine's... slightly rudimentary flight capabilities," Zemo said.

"I had mostly intended the flight to be for the purpose of greater mobility, rather than aerial
combat," Zola said, a touch defensively.

"Yes," Lucius said impatiently. "So... oh. How brilliant."

"Now you see," Zemo said softly.

OoOoO

Harry saw the mountain, storm still surrounding it, closing in and angled towards it. Good. He
could finish this where it had begun. He slammed the robot into the cliff face with an impact that
juddered down his arms and set the mountain to shuddering, dragging it down the mountain side,
ignoring the shrapnel of stone, ice and splinters as they gouged a deep trench through snow, earth,
ice and forest, before coming to a stop.

Recovering quickly, Harry stood over the robot and threw a punch with all his body behind it,
planning to drive the thing that had hurt his friends into the bedrock.

And that was when everything went horribly wrong.

Because the robot caught his punch and said, with a soft, German accented voice.

"Not bad. But not good enough."

OoOoO

"What do you mean, it's not letting us out?" Carol demanded, voice rising an octave.

"It wants to," Bobby said.

"But it can't," Diana added. "There's..." She frowned. "There's something wrong."

"Yeah, no shit," Carol snapped.

"No," Diana said. "Not wrong. Wrong. Unnatural."

"What do you mean by that?" Carol asked slowly, then swore as the entire mountain shook. "Okay,
who pissed it off this time?"

"None of us," Uhtred managed, sitting up.

"Uhtred!" Carol said in alarm, then frowned. "Your wound..." The nasty chest wound, which had
only by some strange miracle and the sheer size of Uhtred's adult body, avoided any major organ,
was disappearing before her eyes.

"We of Asgard heal fast," Uhtred said gruffly. "It is the only reason that I did not bleed out."

Carol shuddered slightly. She didn't need reminding of how close that they had come to death.
"Then what was it?"

"Harry," Diana said, and her eyes widened. "He's in trouble." She stood. "Hiding be damned, I'm
going to help him."
"I will come with you," Uhtred said.

"No," Diana said.

"He is my liege," Uhtred began angrily.

"And you will not serve him well by dying," Diana snapped. "You will serve him best by
protecting those who cannot protect themselves! No offence."

"None taken," Carol muttered, glowering slightly. "But, Diana... you're 12. You're a child."

For a moment, indignant anger flared in Diana's normally calm blue eyes. Then it died away. "No,"
she said, voice soft and tired. "I'm not. None of us are. Not any more."

Carol had to concede that she was probably right about that one. "It still doesn't feel right," she
said, standing. "Let us come with you. At least we can distract it."

"Yes," Uhtred said eagerly.

"You would distract us," Diana said flatly. "And get all of us killed. Then who would protect Jean-
Paul, and Bobby?"

"I can protect myself," Jean-Paul managed, having so far remained silent.

"You can't even fucking walk, and don't even think of trying to prove me wrong," Carol snapped.
She sighed. "Fine. And Diana?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

Diana smiled slightly. "Thank you. But I intend to make my own luck."

And with that, she made her way down the tunnel, jogging at first, then running. She'd nearly
reached the ice barrier when her foot brushed against something. Reflexes ready for battle and
consequently as twitchy as a cat on amphetamines, she leapt sideways into the wall and dropped
into a defensive stance, then relaxed as the dim ice-light revealed what she'd stumbled into.

It was just the rest of the rope that Harry had conjured earlier, maybe fifteen feet of it.

Slowly, Diana picked it up, coiling it carefully, before hanging it through a strap.

Somehow, it felt right.

Then, she winced as she felt a spike of fear and pain, mixed with impotent anger, from Harry.

She needed to get out there, and fast.

So, naturally, she took the direct route.

OoOoO

Harry was in a world of pain and orange fire. He'd tried to fight back at first, but the machine, or
more accurately, whoever was controlling it, had proved to be a far more skilled combatant and it
had taken them only a matter of seconds to disable them. He had tried to get clear, but before he
could, its face had opened and fire roared out.
All Harry could do was close his eyes and hunch himself up against it while marshalling the one
shield spell he knew to blunt the worst of it and wait for it to end, an end that seemed like it would
never come.

Then, after eternity, he had a yell of rage, an earsplitting crack like that of a whip, and the robot
was torn away from him.

Still in agony, he could only watch as Diana, wielding some kind of improvised lasso, hauled the
robot towards her, eyes wild with an unreasoning rage. Whatever strategy she'd had when she'd
come out here had clearly been driven out of her mind by the sight of her friend being slowly
incinerated.

The robot managed to grab the rope and tried to use it to pull off balance.

That was a mistake, as Diana simply set herself and began to spin, whipping the robot off its feet,
through a neat three quarter circle and into the mountainside in a silver blur. Not allowing it to
recover, she hauled on the rope with a snarl, pulling it towards her, tangling it still further in the
lasso like a yo-yo and snatching it out of the air. Then, astonishingly, she grabbed the robot's chest,
digging her fingers in between the slats of its armour and slowly, astonishingly, began to pull it
apart.

The robot strained against the ropes and would have broken them if Harry hadn't reached out and,
with an effort, transfigured them to steel. This, since the robot was exerting enough strength to snap
rope not steel, held it for just a moment longer, just a moment, one crucial moment. In that moment,
Diana tore the chest open that little bit more and the robot's controller responded by opening the
robot's face and blasting her with everything it had.

Harry, still too injured to stand, to do anything really, watched helplessly as a vast bolt of orange
energy engulfed Diana, eliciting a high scream. For a moment, Harry feared the worst. Then, the
scream of pain slowly began to morph into one of pure rage and, visible within the beam of
burning orange energy, Diana's arms flexed. There was a horrible screeching tearing sound and a
muted explosion as Diana's arms flew apart. The orange light slowly faded to reveal a badly burnt,
but already healing, Diana, chest heaving with effort, eyes dangerous, with one half of the robot in
each hand.

Harry gaped. "... I got nothing," he said eventually.

"Harry! Diana!"

Harry managed to look round to see Carol and Uhtred scrambling up towards them, with Jean-Paul,
who was being carried by Uhtred. "Mes chéris," he said, worried. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Harry managed. "Diana... Diana?"

Diana's eyes were smouldering with that same wild anger, and Harry realised with a sinking feeling
what she'd meant when she'd said that she didn't like to fight without good reason, she didn't want
to get caught up in the anger and fear and bloodlust. She was afraid of losing control. This entire
fight had stretched her control the limit, throwing her in the deep end with a pack of psychotic
werewolves long steeped in dark magic and evil, the cold, alien cruelty of the shadowy monsters
and the terror good and evil alike felt towards the Winter Soldier. And that had been before she had
faced a monster that had tossed her friends around like ragdolls, hurt them, nearly murdered them
and made a very creditable attempt to incinerate her.

Hell, that had driven Harry to blind rage, and he was older, more experienced in the battles of life
and death department and, lest it be forgotten, not a powerful Empath.

This would have to be handled with care, but Harry felt that he could do it. The Hulk liked him,
after all, and you didn't get any more rage filled than that.

"Harry?" Carol said quietly.

"Quiet," he snapped. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Just... think calm thoughts."

"What?"

"She's an Empath, remember?" Harry said, voice carefully calm and level. "And she's in pain and a
little bit afraid. For us, mostly, but also of herself."

"And she's caught in the battle madness," Uhtred said quietly.

"Pain leads to anger, anger leads to hate and hate leads to the dark side?" Carol asked.

Harry nodded. "Something like that. Uhtred?"

Uhtred nodded, handing Jean-Paul to Carol, and helped him to his feet. "Diana," Harry said quietly.
"Calm down. It's over. Come back to us. It's over. Listen to my voice. It's over."

Diana's fists clenched, knuckles popping.

Harry took a deep breath, and took a gamble.

"Diana Herculeis," he snapped, voice ringing with that strange double harmonic of command, the
first time he had ever consciously used it. "Hearken to me!" He shook off Uhtred and strode over to
her, taking her by the shoulders and looking deep into her eyes. "It's over." Then he hugged her,
gently rubbing her back through her torn, damaged armour. "It's over."

Diana tensed, entire body thrumming like a high voltage wire, then, slowly, relaxed, hugging him
back, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I... I thought that you were
dead."

"I nearly was," Harry said softly. "We all nearly were." He glanced at the robot. "Uhtred, get
Bobby. We need to go, before another of those things comes for us."

"You think there's more?" Carol asked.

"I don't want to take the chance," Harry said grimly, wincing as the burns on his skin healed up. If
anyone ever asked if there was anything to be said for being half Asgardian, he thought, he would
personally recommend the ridiculously high threshold and even more ridiculously fast healing.

He just hoped that he wouldn't need to rely on it any further.

OoOoO

"By Merlin," Malfoy whispered. "She..."

"She ripped it in half," Zola said, half stunned, half fascinated. "That..." He shook his head. "I had
considered that the Hulk, Thor or Magneto would be capable of such a thing, but this woman,
this wonder... who is she, Lord Malfoy?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said quietly.

"An Olympian," Gravemoss said softly. "A scion of Hercules himself, if I'm not mistaken."

"That is rather precise."

Gravemoss shrugged. For a moment, it made him look almost human.

"There are plenty of them," he said. "And I've studied a few of them. Inside and out."

Almost.

"Her identity is immaterial," Zemo said. He glanced at Gravemoss. "Lord Gravemoss. Those
Slendermen... are they ready?"

Gravemoss bared his teeth. "Yes," he murmured, in a voice like the rustle of leaves in a tomb.
"Yes, they are."

OoOoO

Uhtred had ducked into the cave, leaving the others to their thoughts for the moment.

"We survived," Carol said, slightly stunned, into the silence which was only otherwise broken by
the occasional falling tree. "We... we won." She shook her head. "Sorry, it's just..."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "We get it."

"Much as I would like to believe that, ma cherie, but the vast and ominous glowing portal in the
skies says otherwise," Jean-Paul said, staring upwards and slowly moving his ankle, testing it. The
fact he could move it, Harry thought grimly, was a good sign. He might need to move it very fast
indeed.

Everyone followed his gaze. About two thousand feet above their heads, a portal the height and
width of a football pitch had opened, shimmering like some kind of dark aurora.

"You seen anything like this before?" Carol asked tensely.

"Well... it does remind me a little of the time that we got grabbed by the Disir," Harry said. Diana
nodded grimly.

"Very much alike," she said.

"Disir. Evil cannibalistic wraith Valkyries, right?"

"Yeah. But that portal was much smaller."

"So, what are we looking at here?" Carol asked.

"Trouble," Uhtred said succinctly, returning with Bobby, who was eyeing the frozen werewolves
with a certain degree of disquiet.

"No shit," Carol said. "What kind of trouble?"

"And more to the point, mes chéris, why aren't we taking this seriously?" Jean-Paul asked, voice
slightly tired.

"Because if we did, we'd be running around screaming," Diana said in matter of fact tones. "Would
that help?"
"Well, it would make sense... but no, not really."

"That kind of trouble," Harry said grimly, as the portal was obscured by a vast, dark mass, one that
blotted out the stars. His hands began to glow and he took off. "I'll slow them down, you guys go!"
he called, then shot upwards, breaking the sound barrier with an ear splitting roar.

The mass pivoted, turning as one to face the glowing comet that was flying straight at them.
Conversely, as it did so, the light given off by Harry and the moon revealed that it was not, in fact
one creature.

It was thousands.

OoOoO

The horde, the swarm of Slendermen spread itself out in a graceful flowing motion, then collapsed
in on itself, around Harry. There was a bright flash, a muted explosion, and maybe a hundred
Slendermen spiralled away, like Chinese Sky Lanterns burning and broken. Then, just like that, the
light was blotted out.

"HARRY!" Carol yelled, horrified.

"Get me up there, now!" Uhtred demanded.

"I'm not sure if I can fly," Diana said bluntly. Considering the still noticeable burn wounds on her
body and the ginger way she was holding herself, this was a valid statement. She pointed at the
sky. "And look."

Because, above the Slendermen, storm clouds were gathering. Storm clouds, thick and dark, dark
even in the shadows of the night, through which threaded serpents of white fire, which grew and
multiplied until they teemed and there was practically more lightning than cloud. All of this
happened in less than ten seconds, long enough for the still growing mass of Slendermen to register
it, and hunch in on itself, an aurora like barrier of pale blue, ice green and deep purple power
forming around it.

That was their first mistake.

The first strike, a jagged white bolt as thick as the Thames lashed out, striking the portal,
overwhelming it in a gigantic flash and a terrible, earth shaking rumble.

And just like that, the portal collapsed.

One did not grow up as the brother of Loki, or, indeed, as a mortal wizard, without learning a thing
or two about magic.

As the swarm of Slendermen let out, in unison, a vastly magnified version of their hollow shrieks,
one that reeked of defiance mingled with dismay, they made their second mistake.

Their shield dropped. Just for a moment.

And into the gap roared wind, vast, controlled gales that sliced at the swarm like giant knives,
carving vast holes and sending dozens of dark, broken shapes spiralling to the ground with every
pass.

Lightning came next, reaching down like probing fingers of fire, carefully picking away at the now
spherical mass of Slendermen.
"Behold," Uhtred said quietly. "The power of the God of Thunder."

"He's taking it apart," Carol murmured. She glanced at Diana, noting that the worst of the burn
wounds had already healed. "If you get close, do you think you could use your empathic powers to
find Harry?"

Diana chewed her lip slightly. "I think so," she said slowly. "It's just... something's controlling
those creatures. Something... evil."

"And you think that you're going to get the backlash?" Carol asked.

Diana nodded.

"That makes a depressing kind of sense," the older girl muttered. "Well, Diana, I hate to say it,
but..."

"I either have to face them up there, or down here," she said. "And Harry needs me. I know." She
took off and flew up, cautiously.

Though Thor's control of his lightning was near absolute, he was a worried father who was
simultaneously controlling one vast storm, restraining another, and trying to pick apart a mass of
powerful supernatural creatures which were rather resitant to that idea to get at his son. Indeed,
they were beginning to generate a shield once more, one that was blunting the razor sharp gales
and dissipating lightning strikes.

"What is she waiting for?" Uhtred demanded.

"The right moment," Carol said quietly.

Indeed, not a minute later, Diana backed up, then darted into the swarm, and emerged with an
unconscious Harry, before rocketing down towards them.

Unfortunately, the swarm of Slendermen followed her.

Before Diana could do more than land, the vast mass of white dotted shadow came down upon
them like a breaking wave.

"Stand ready," Carol said, as the group went back to back, putting Bobby at the centre. "Don't let
them separate us."

As it turned out, however, that was not their intention.

Instead of overwhelming them, the apparent hive mind flew around them in a neat circle, gouging a
circle in the rock.

Carol staggered, suddenly feeling exhausted, like someone had switched off her body's energy
supply. She glanced at the others and saw that they were now children again. Even their armour
had melted away, leaving ski gear behind.

Whatever these things had done, they'd cut them off, she thought, sick with horror. They were
defenceless.

And, worse, like kids coming off a sugar high, they were struggling to stay awake. She, the oldest,
and Uhtred, who was Asgardian and therefore seemed to take just about everything in his stride,
were mostly fine, but Jean-Paul and Diana, more strained and fragile, had fallen into an exhausted
sleep. Harry was blinking awake from his unconsciousness, but with everything he'd been through,
he was barely there.

As if things could not get worse, the shadowy monsters began to circle in a vast column only a
couple of dozen feet away, flying round and round, faster and faster. The winds picked up and
began to suck the children towards the edges of the vortex.

Instinctively, Carol pulled herself over to the others and lay on top of them, holding on tight, trying
to keep the smaller and lighter individuals from flying away. She felt a hand take hers, and saw
Uhtred, who nodded briefly, clearly doing the same thing, his right hand digging right into the
rock, like an anchor.

But, no matter how hard she tried, she felt herself beginning to drift up into the air. It was almost
fun, she thought for a brief moment. She'd always wanted to fly, after all. This was followed by a
swift stab of fear, then relief, as she felt Uhtred's grip lock like a vice. A boy he might still be, but
he was an Asgardian. Even now, he could probably juggle Ford Fiestas without too much effort.

Then, she noticed that the others were beginning to drift away to. Uhtred could hold them down,
she thought, until help came. It might not, of course, but it was a chance at least.

But if he continued onto her, she realised, Diana, maybe Bobby too, would be caught by those
things, alone and afraid.

She was damned if she was going to let that happen.

She looked up and met Uhtred's gaze. His expression was one of resolute, stubborn determination,
and it made her smile briefly. The Asgardian boy and she were more alike than she'd realised.
Maybe that was why Jean-Paul liked him. Who knew.

She pointedly looked at the slowly drifting Diana, and Uhtred's eyes widened. With a colossal
effort, he tried to bring his arm down to the ground, to cover Diana too, muscles straining, tendons
visible on his neck, but to no avail.

Carol took a deep breath. Hell, everyone had to go out some time. Might as well go out in style.

"Get them down safe," she yelled, then let go of Uhtred's arm. His eyes widened, and he shook his
head furiously. She glared at him, then sighed and reached forward with her other arm. With a
great effort, she managed to unzip her jacket, pulling her arms out of it.

For a moment, she just hung there, floating in the air. She gave Uhtred a sad smile.

That moment passed in a heartbeat and she was whipped into darkness. Uhtred, tears forming in his
eyes, reached out and clung to Diana and Bobby for grim death.

A moment later, a flash of light, followed by another, then followed by dozens lit up the sky, and
he craned his neck to see white and red lightning crisscrossing the sky, illuminating two figures,
one male, one female.

The cavalry had come. But too late. Far, far too late.

OoOoO

Pepper looked up as the door opened, revealing Thor and a woman she didn't recognise, dressed in
red. Thor was carrying a semi-conscious Harry, who looked like he'd somehow recently suffered a
series of burns and healed from them – having worked with, then lived with, Tony for the best part
of a decade and a half, Pepper was more than familiar with burn wounds – and the woman was
levitating Uhtred, who had a hole in his ski gear and a nasty red mark on his chest, Jean-Paul,
whose ankle was wrapped in a glowing band of energy, Diana, who had similar injuries to Harry,
and a small brown haired boy who she could only assume was Bobby Drake.

"Are they all right?" she asked, worried.

"They'll live," Thor said grimly. "How well they are, I do not know." He glanced at the other
woman. "This is Wanda, Harry's godmother. Wanda, this is Pepper Potts."

Pepper nodded at the other woman, who returned the nod, then conjured a series of beds with a
flick of her wrist and laying each down on them. Bruce followed her, and immediately set about
examining them. After a moment, recognising what he was doing, Wanda engaged him in a
hushed, professional sounding conversation and they started working together.

Thor, meanwhile, laid Harry down on a bed, and had drawn his wand, gently tapping Harry's
fading burns, surrounding them with a cool blue light which seemed to soothe them and heal them
still further.

"Dad?" Harry mumbled.

"I'm here," Thor said, voice thick with emotion and, carefully, hugged his son tightly. "You're safe.
I swear, you are safe."

Pepper frowned. "Where's Carol?" she asked.

"She..." Uhtred began, tears forming in his eyes, and he angrily cuffed them away. "She..."

Pepper felt a sick feeling develop in the pit of her stomach.

"Say it in your own time," Bruce said gently.

Uhtred took a deep breath and nodded. "She is gone," he said, voice clear and miserable. "She
sacrificed herself to save them."

With that, he burst into tears.

Wanda pulled him into a hug and hushed him, and exchanged a speaking look with Pepper and the
other adults.

This, the look said, was their worst nightmare made manifest.

OoOoO

What is gone, however, is not always lost.

After their arrival, Wanda had shattered Gravemoss' hive mind connection, neatly returning the
favour he had bestowed upon the children, scattering the Slendermen to the winds, winds which
gathered them up and pounded them, Thor's lightning lashing out and burning Slendermen by the
score.

Loki's later estimate was that there had been approximately four thousand Slendermen in play
before Wanda and Thor's intervention.

Within two minutes, there were barely a dozen, as monster after monster fell to vengeance of the
God of Thunder.
As individuals, however, the Slendermen were not stupid. One had managed to snatch Carol,
reasoning that she would be a good hostage. Or, if it got away clean, she might serve another
purpose. Young, attractive and vulnerable mortals were valuable currency in the Unseelie Court,
one with enhanced abilities, or, seemingly, the potential for them, was all the more valuable for
being unique.

All it needed was large patch of shadow...

This would normally be easy to find, but the various battles had levelled half the forest on the
mountainside. Even the boulders had been flattened, or outright obliterated.

Whenever a predator finds something valuable, however, other predators are drawn to it, looking to
scavenge.

This proved true as a low growl rumbled close to the Slenderman, which set itself cautiously and
let out a challenging hollow shriek.

In response, a werewolf, eyes glittering, limped out of the shadows, ice riming its fur. It was one of
the smaller ones, only the size of a town car, but it had the look of a survivor about it. It had, until a
few minutes ago, been frozen in a block of ice, courtesy of the mountain spirit. It had been close to
the tornado of Slendermen, however, which had sent it flying into mountainside, shattering the ice
and freeing the frozen wolf which was, remarkably, still alive. Just about.

And it was hungry.

The Slenderman put itself between the now feebly stirring Carol and the wolf, letting out another
warning call. The wolf, impatient, hungry and thoroughly pissed off, ignoring this warning, let out
a defiant howl and attacked. In response, the Slenderman pounced, and the two monsters started
grappling.

Carol, wincing, managed to sit up, then froze at the sight of this fight. Slowly, quietly, she began to
crawl away, periodically attempting to get to her feet, before, eventually, managing it. Limbs
leaden, she stumbled down the mountain, acutely aware of how slow she was going, even more
aware that she wasn't sure where she was going, only knowing that anywhere that was away from
the monsters was good.

Then, her exhausted limbs got a jolt of adrenalin, as a triumphant howl echoed behind her. The
werewolf had managed to rip its opponent apart and was now feasting on its steaming vitals. Carol
managed not throw up, barely, and gulped as the creature, muzzle dark with Faerie blood, eyes
gleaming with hunger in the moonlight, spotted her. She glanced around. Nowhere to hide. It
would do in a moment in the open. There was, however, a rock, which she picked up.

"Come on then, ugly!" she yelled defiantly. "I took your big brother down already, and I forget to
take his head for my wall! Yours will do nicely! Let's go!"

The wolf roared, there was really no other word for it, and charged. It was injured, with only three
good limbs.

That was all that saved her, allowing her to throw herself to one side and clear of the creature. But it
turned, faster than should have been possible, and lurched at her, pinning her under half a ton of
muscle and bone. She gasped, then growled, slamming the stone in her hand into its nose. In
response, it whimpered and shook its muzzle, slamming it into her arm, jarring the stone. Then, it
focused on her.
Carol gulped as the werewolf snarled at her. Her arms were pinned, and the creature's weight was
crushing her lungs. She didn't have any leverage, any wriggle room, any opportunity. She didn't
even have the breath or energy to scream, to scream. She was stuck with only one option.

She spat into the creature's face and hissed, as darkness crept at the edge of her vision, "I hope I
give you the shits."

The creature's yellow eyes narrowed with hatred and as Carol's vision faded to black, the last thing
she was its jaws, powerful enough to bite through steel, let alone temporarily enhanced flesh and
bone, opening wide enough to swallow her whole.

It was odd, she thought, as she drifted off. She almost thought that she heard a cracking sound...

OoOoO

The Winter Soldier. They called him that for many reasons. For his original Soviet masters, for his
defining part in the darkest days of the Cold War and for the fact that he was, apparently,
completely cold. Emotionless. Pragmatic. And ruthless. He could fake emotion when called upon
to do so, yes, and do it incredibly well but he didn't actually feel.

But that wasn't quite true.

After all, he was human still, and when the programming loosened, when he'd been with– Natalia -
his partner, he'd felt… felt many things. Anger, happiness, hope, despair, love and hate. Slowly but
surely, in between sleeps, he had discovered what it meant to be human again. To make your own
choices. And so had she.

Since he'd awoken - without Natalia, wrong, wrong, WRONG – he had felt nothing. This did not
bother him. He hadn't even noticed it. He'd followed orders.

But now, he was feeling again. Orders weren't enough, orders were... wrong. An enemy had fought
him on his own level, then, despite being at the Soldier's mercy, had offered him mercy in turn, a
chance to come in, to change sides.

And Natalia had been there, waking feelings, waking thoughts, that had been dormant for decades.
One of them was a question.

Why?

That question had, along with confused recognition of the man who had offered him mercy,
Captain America, Steve, who he knew, somehow, he knew, had sent him running, trapped with two
sets of thoughts locked in opposition.

And now, he watched the girl grapple with the werewolf.

OoOoO

Female, blonde, tall, approx. one point seven five metres.

Age? Difficult. Coordination, features plus companions suggest mid adolescence.

Could pass for twenty, though.

Combat Skills: moderate – elements of karate, aikido, jujitsu, plus brawling techniques. Fast,
strong, agile, unusually so. Strategy clearly her forte. Still faster than expected. Hangover from the
enhancement?

But where did the supersoldier powers come from? The power supply was cut off by a circle trap,
suggesting that they were powered by magic, but that magic had to work with what was already
there – the ordinary Asgardian didn't start flying and breathing fire, for example. The speedster
just got faster. Does this mean all humans are latent supersoldiers.

Query, known supersoldiers: Captain America, self, Black Widow, Weapons Plus enhanciles. None
fit. Mutant? Switch to EM spectrum viewer. Not mutant.

Facial image capture. Examining. No match. New supersoldier?

Let me look… Impossible.

OoOoO

The girl was being pinned by the werewolf. It was about to devour her.

He didn't have any orders and the two sides of him were locked in opposition.

The cold side, the Soldier, said that he didn't have any reason to intervene. She was surplus to
requirements. At best, it was an unnecessary risk.

The man was not quite so eloquent. Fuck that, he said. I never liked those fucking animals any
way.

One side won out.

OoOoO

Too distant for an immediate physical attack. Distraction required.

Three pistol rounds should do it. One for an eye, one for a paw, one for the throat.

Shots fired, all targets hit. Werewolf successfully distracted and coming for me. Perfect.

Snow, deep. Inconvient. Immediate solution needed. Solution: remove backpack, use as boosting
point.

Assessment -

Enemy: werewolf.

Enemy Advantages: powerful jaws, claws, superhuman strength, agility, speed, animal instincts.

My Advantages: Weaponry. Enhanced Physical Abilities. Combat Skill. A functioning brain.

Weapons required: bionic arm.

That's all I need.

OoOoO

The Soldier unslung his backpack, eyed his opponent, waited, then sprang off it in a perfect leap,
taking the wolf around the neck in a flying tackle.

OoOoO
Leap successful. Enemy tackled.

Crush throat, expand eye wound.

Make the bastard bleed.

Enemy trying to break free. Presumption: to escape and resume attack on girl.

Response?

Kill.

OoOoO

The Winter Soldier stood and examined the feebly twitching werewolf, its torn out gullet clenched
in his fist.

Even from this wound, it would heal. It would remember.

OoOoO

Neutralisation required.

Options? Destruction of the head.

Method: thermobaric nano-thermite grenade.

As Jacques put it, there is no such thing as too much explosives. Mind you, he was completely
insane.

Wait... who the hell is Jacques?

OoOoO

The resultant explosion destroyed the creature's head.

The Soldier examined it, nodded to himself, then turned to the girl and walked over to her.

OoOoO

Confusion can wait.

Breathing, normal, somewhat wheezy. Bruising to the arms, torso and upper thighs, cracked ribs
from prior fight. Scratches to the same. Bite marks? None.

Thank god.

Option: Take her to extraction point.

Conclusion: Counterproductive.

Option: Leave her.

Conclusion: Possible. Flare would attract attention. Frostbite and rising gale. Rescuers would not
arrive in time. Too risky.

Option… dammit.
OoOoO

An outside observer would have seen the Soldier stare at Carol for a long moment, then, as calm,
swift and efficient as ever, collect his backpack, then walk back to her and, with almost paternal
care, pick Carol up and begin to walk down the mountain, head bowed against the blizzard.

Behind him, the werewolf's head exploded in a muted but fierce conflagration.

OoOoO

"Anything?" Harry asked, as Pepper got off the phone. He was fully awake now, and apparently
staying that way through a mixture of hot chocolate and feverish strength of will.

The children, save for Bobby, who was with his ecstatically relieved parents, were now all in bed
and in pyjamas. Jean-Paul's ankle had been mostly healed already and had been fixed the rest of
the way by Wanda, who had given Harry a tight hug, a kiss on the cheek and a hurried promise to
talk to him later, before taking a thoroughly reluctant Thor to search for Carol. Harry had not
objected to this, and indeed, had had to be prevented from joining them.

Diana was also awake, and mostly healed from her wounds, burnt hair notwithstanding. Neither
she, nor Harry, who had much the same problem, seemed to register it.

Once Uhtred had calmed down somewhat, the full story of what had happened to Carol had come
out. In essence, the monsters had created a living tornado to separate the children, presumably to
deal with them separately. Uhtred had managed to resist, digging his hand into the very rock and
had managed to hold the others down. But he couldn't do this while holding onto Carol and was
thus caught in a classic Catch-22. Carol had resolved it for him by making him promise to get the
others down safe, leaving him holding an empty ski jacket.

Pepper's heart broke for the poor boy, who was clearly wracked with guilt, believing that he'd
failed, despite the fact that he'd done everything he possibly could and more, far more than anyone
would ever reasonably expect.

They'd been given hope, however, when Loki tried one of his thaumaturgy spells, a tracking spell,
on the hair of Carol's that he'd kept for that purpose. While the sheer amount of magic that had
been hurled around had prevented him from getting a precise fix, it had worked, which meant that
she was still alive.

The others were mostly sleepy, but Harry was animated with feverish energy and had been pacing
until she had forcibly sat him down.

"No," she said, in response to Harry's query. "All we've got is a flash of light further down the
mountainside from the cave you talked about, and there's apparently evidence of a vicious fight and
the dead body of one of the werewolves."

"Yes, but is there anything else?" Uhtred began impatiently, until Harry gave him a quelling look.
Uhtred subsided mutinously. "My apologies, Lady Pepper," he said quietly.

"It's okay," she said kindly. "You're just worried. We all are." She gave them all a serious look.
"Carol is alive. A body was found, yes, but it belonged to one of the werewolves, and they found
tracks leading away from the fight, into the forest."

"And?" Harry asked.

"Nothing yet," Pepper said. "Sorry."

There was silence, then, with a yell of frustrated rage, Uhtred whirled and punched the wall. His
fist went straight through the wood, and after a moment, he slowly withdrew it, the anger on his
face fading away, to be replaced by utter misery. "I abandoned her," he whispered.

"She told to you to let her go, and made the choice for you," Diana said fiercely. "You saved us."

"If not for you, mon cher, we would not be here," Jean-Paul said soberly.

"Carol told you to let her go," Harry said quietly. Pepper noticed that all three immediately turned
to him. "To get us out of there. She was already gone. Your only option was to hold on and risk all
of us dying, or to take the chance she bought to hold on." He gazed moodily out the window, and
his voice began to rise in frustration. "What pisses me off is the fact that we couldn't do anything to
stop them and we can't do anything to try and find her!"

"You're exhausted, Harry," Tony said bluntly. He'd brought up communications ten minutes
before, and, after calling JARVIS to get a suit sent up, calling mountain rescue and SHIELD, had
settled down in the cabin while the others were searching. Everyone else was involved. Steve,
Natasha and Clint had, after brief check-ups, insisted on going back out, Bruce was playing doctor,
Darcy was mission control and taking it very seriously, while Jane, who had more than a little
experience with maps and hostile wilderness thanks to New Mexico, worked with the staff to plot
out Carol's likely whereabouts - waiting for his suit.

"All of you are," he continued. "Trust me, you'd be more hindrance than help." He sighed. "I feel
the same way. I want to go out and help, but I won't be useful until JARVIS flies one of my
armours up here, and it won't arrive for another hour. So we're all kinda useless in here. Except
Pepper. We'd all go a bit crazy and give Diana a psychic nosebleed if she wasn't here."

Harry made a face that eloquently stated exactly what he thought of this point, accurate though it
may be. Then it faded as he accepted it, and he glanced at the hole in the wall. He concentrated.
Slowly, the hole began to repair itself. About twenty seconds later, it was down, and Harry looked
like he was utterly exhausted and had the beginnings of a splitting headache.

"That was great, Harry," Pepper said encouragingly. "But not the best idea."

Harry nodded, now looking thoroughly miserable, and, indeed, this seemed to be the straw that
broke the camel's back. He sniffed once, then twice, and Pepper, seeing a meltdown in the offing,
swiftly crossed over to his bed and wrapped him in a hug. "It's okay, sweetie," she said gently as he
began to cry.

Diana slipped out of bed and shuffled forward slightly, before pausing and giving Pepper a mute
look of appeal. Pepper smiled sadly and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. The girl
needed no further encouragement, and hopped onto the bed beside Pepper, completely
unselfconsciously burrowing into the older woman's side.

Jean-Paul was staring off into the middle distance, lost in thought. The only signs of his worry
were the thinning of his lips and the slight twitch in his jaw.

This left a thoroughly conflicted looking Uhtred, who was clearly doing his best to repress his
worry, self-recrimination and sorrow.

Tony gave him a long look, then sighed, and sat down next to him. "Look, kid," he said gently.
"I've been where you are. I really have." Uhtred gave him a sceptical look, one rather ruined by the
fact that his lip was wobbling. "You don't believe me? Well," Tony said. "Let me tell you about a
guy called Ho Yinsen…"
The story went on for nearly half an hour, slowly drawing in its audience.

"In the end," Tony said. "All you can do, when you're handed a second chance like that… is to do
right. In every part of your life, you have to do the best to live up to what the person who put
themselves on the line for you believed you could be. Be the best person you can be."

"He's right, mon cher," Jean-Paul said quietly. "I've known Carol since we were both petits enfants.
Little children. And I do not blame you."

"But I blame me," Uhtred said, in a small, slightly damp voice.

Jean-Paul gave him a kind smile, then gently hugged him, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.
"Everyone blames themselves, mon cher," he said softly, gently holding the younger boy. "Even
when they shouldn't."

Tony half smiled at this, and glanced over at Pepper, who was gave him a knowing look, before
gently rearranging her grasp on the two small people who clung to her for comfort, both having
since fallen into an exhausted slumber.

As she gently stroked Diana's hair, she smiled softly in a fashion that, Tony was very suddenly
aware, would make her an incredible mother.

He'd always been aware in a sort of distant fashion that she'd be great at parenthood because she
was a brave, kind, patient, organised and deeply caring person, because she'd had about ten years
of practice with him and let's be honest, she was Pepper Potts, and awesome at anything she turned
her hand to.

But now, in the soft, buttery warm glow of the cabin, as she gazed tenderly at her two sleeping
charges, he knew in his bones that she would be an amazing mother.

Himself as a father, on the other hand…

Suddenly, the door slammed open. And framed by the doorway, a shadowy figure was silhouetted.
Tony froze. "Steve? Thor?" he said slowly. "Is that you?"

The figure turned to look at him.

Then it stepped forward into the light.

Tony's heart stopped.

He was tall, how tall Tony didn't know, but the important thing was that he was tall. That height
was balanced out by a powerful build and a strongly muscled right arm complimented by a
gleaming bionic one. His face was, as the stories said, completely masked, his nose and mouth
covered by an almost respirator like guard, and his eyes were covered by soulless black lenses.

The Winter Soldier stood in the door of the cabin. The deadliest assassin in history, the Soviet
Superman, the figure that had stalked his childhood nightmares, was less than ten feet away from
him, and he was completely unprepared. His armour was at least twenty minutes away. The nearest
potential weapon was a hairbrush, and somehow Tony doubted that one short, terrified – and he
was terrified, sweating bullets in fact – scientist armed with a hairbrush would stand a chance
against the Winter Soldier.

Then he noticed several things.

First, he had taken several steps towards the Soldier, putting himself between the Soldier and the
others.

Second, a glance over his shoulder told him that, Pepper had done much the same, pushing the
children behind her, though she'd gone completely white, eyes wider than he'd believed possible
and she was biting her lip hard in an attempt to keep her fear under control.

Third, the Soldier hadn't attacked. In fact, he'd turned away from them and carefully taken a large
snow covered black lump off his shoulder, removing the black wind cheater he'd put on the object,
which he cradled with the utmost care.

Fourth, the object was not an object. It was Carol Danvers, and Tony watched, completely
flabberghasted, as the most dangerous man in the world gently laid her on a nearby bed, and in a
completely no-nonsense fashion, removed her outer gear. Then he beckoned Pepper over.

Pepper looked hesitant, and the Soldier beckoned again, before miming stripping Carol. "Tony?"
she asked quietly.

"I think," Tony said quietly. "That he wants you to change her."

"It is what we do back home when someone's suffering from the cold," Uhtred put in. "You strip
them, dry them and warm them, then change them into new clothes."

The Soldier's gaze lingered on him for a moment, then he gave a nod that seemed somehow
approving.

Pepper took a deep breath, nodded, then strode over. "Turn and face the wall, then," she said, tone
business-like. "And that includes you," she added, to the Soldier.

To Tony's unending astonishment, the Soldier nodded meekly, and did as bid, walking away and
facing the wall. He even took Harry, who was shooting Carol worried glances, by the back of the
head – something that nearly gave Tony a heart attack – and gently but firmly turned him to face
the wall, before letting go. Under any other circumstances, Tony would have found it extremely
funny. Now, his brain was having trouble registering what his eyes were seeing.

"Diana, honey," Pepper said. "I'll need some help, if you're up to it."

Diana nodded and trotted over.

A few minutes and a number of strange shuffling noises later, Pepper said, "You boys can turn
round now."

Carol was tucked up in bed, and judging by what was visible, she was fully clothed. She looked
better now, with more colour in her face, and she was breathing evenly. The Soldier strode over,
stripped off the glove covering his human hand, and carefully took her pulse. For a moment, he
lingered, staring at her with that sightless gaze of his. Then he stood and picked up the wind
cheater. He gave the group a long look, and dipped his head ever so slightly.

"Why?" Pepper asked suddenly, before her eyes widened still further in horror, and Tony tensed,
ready for any hostile response from the Soldier. He'd been friendly so far, behaving almost
normally, but that didn't change what he was: the ultimate killing machine, the ghost in the
machine, a nightmare that stalked the waking world. This could just have been a glitch in his
programming, it could be resetting itself.

The Soldier simply stared at her, then looked down suddenly, tensing.
To Tony's absolute horror, Diana had somehow slipped over unnoticed. And now, before his
disbelieving eyes, the granddaughter of Zeus himself and Ward of Asgard, a VVVVVVIP, was
giving the Winter Soldier a hug.

Pepper was hyperventilating. Harry and Uhtred both seemed poised to spring forward, or would be
if Pepper didn't have a very firm grip on their waists. Jean-Paul was watching the scene with
narrowed eyes, and his outline was ever so slightly blurred – he'd dropped into bullet time.

The Soldier, however, didn't respond with violence. He simply reached down and after a moment's
hesitation… ruffled her hair.

It was such a completely normal, harmless, human thing to do that it left Tony completely
dumbfounded.

Then, he reached down and gently tipped her chin upwards, cocking his head to one side in
unmistakeable query.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Diana said softly, before stepping away.

The Soldier stared at her for a very long moment. Then he nodded slowly, before leaving as quietly
as he had arrived. He even shut the door behind him.

And for a long moment, no one could say anything, mostly because they were coming down off
the adrenalin high.

Then Diana said quietly, thoughtfully, "He's not angry. And he's not empty. I think…" She turned
to Tony and Pepper. "I think he's sad."

And she was right. Because even in winter, the cold isn't always bitter and not every day is cruel.

OoOoO

The Soldier walked out and under his mask, sighed.

"You don't have to go back, you know."

He turned, to see Natasha standing behind him. "I followed your tracks," she explained. "From
when you ran off." She glanced at the cabin. "I saw what happened in there. They'd accept you,
you know, especially after that."

As she spoke, she slowly walked towards him. "James, please," she said. "Come in. We can help
you."

The Soldier shook his head.

"You can't talk at the moment, can you?" Natasha said. "They haven't ordered you to."

The Soldier nodded, and signed at her. They'd invented the language for when speech was not
practical and when they wanted to secretly convey messages. Sometimes it had been deadly
serious, sometimes it had been the equivalent of passing love notes across a classroom.

"I know they'd come after you," Natasha said, frowning. "The Red Room's active again. You think
they won't come after me. Don't let them make you be alone."

The Soldier signed again.

"Oh," Natasha said softly. "If you go back... you can do more like this. Sabotage missions." She
reached up and took off his goggles, looking him in the eye. "That's risky," she said. "You know
what they can do to you if they figure it out. Lucius Malfoy is not stupid, James. He's arrogant, but
he's also one of the smartest people I've crossed and he suspects betrayal from every angle."

The Soldier nodded seriously.

"Okay," Natasha said quietly. "You know that we can't count on your support. It's not that I don't
trust you, but the risk of you being caught and wiped again..."

The Soldier nodded again and signed at her.

Natasha smiled sadly. "'It needs to be done'? When did you come over all hero?"

The Soldier shrugged.

Natasha nodded, and stood on tip toe to kiss him on the forehead. "Good luck," she whispered.

The Soldier removed his mask. And, for the first time in over thirty years, he smiled, and dipped
his head briefly.

Then he turned, and melted into the shadows, but no longer as a wraith. Instead, perhaps, as a light
in the dark. He'd found his way again, at least for now, fighting a battle for heart and soul, one
that, eventually, he'd won.

OoOoO

"… No, I am not fucking joking!" Tony hissed into the phone. "The fucking Winter Soldier just
walked into our fucking cabin!"

There was a worried reply. "No," Tony said with a sigh. "For whatever reason, he didn't attack us.
He didn't even look like he was considering it. In fact, you can call off the search for Carol. She's
right here. He seems to have carried her all the way down the mountain, fuck knows why." He
glanced at her. "She's fine. She had a few bruises and scratches when she came in, but those healed
up pretty quickly. Long story short, she was temporarily enhanced to supersoldier levels to help
fight off the werewolves and the remnants of that took care of the healing. That weird spirit thing
you guys were talking about did it."

Another question.

"The kids?" Tony asked. He smiled slightly and glanced over at the bed. "They're all fine."

Indeed they were. Harry and Uhtred had insisted on sitting up by Carol's bedside, to make sure that
she was all right and Jean-Paul had been keeping an eagle eyed gaze on all of them.

Diana had just straight up climbed into bed beside Carol, who had mumbled vaguely, stretched out
an arm to pull her close and thereafter treated her like a teddy bear. Jean-Paul had eyed this, then,
perfectly innocently, persuaded Uhtred to come to bed with him, after pushing said bed up next to
Carol's, playing the big spoon and absently carding his hands through the younger boy's hair,
before drifting off to sleep.

Any attempts, even Pepper's, at persuading Harry to got to sleep, however, were met with stubborn
refusals, and considering that he was now of a height with Tony and possibly stronger, leaving
aside his hand to hand training, manhandling him without his consent would be a difficult
proposition.
Pepper, however, had come up with a simple solution. Since Harry was extremely tired and
therefore, not firing on every mental cylinder, Pepper, using a tactic well practised on Tony, had
nodded, smiled, then persuaded to set himself up on the bed and in between the two pairs of
sleepers, ostensibly so he could watch and protect all four of them.

His serious expression as he set himself up, carefully clambering over the Jean-Paul and Uhtred –
presumably on the grounds that if he lost his balance, he would be sure to step on Uhtred, who was
by this time snoring softly, on the grounds that the other boy was unlikely to actually notice – was,
Tony thought privately, kind of adorable.

He sat up, green eyes serious and vigilant for approximately ten minutes, fighting off sleep, before,
eventually, he slumped down onto the bed. Before he went to sleep, however, he wormed his arms
under both pairs and pulled them close.

Perhaps it was the action of a boy clinging onto people he cared for, afraid that they would go
away. Perhaps it was the action of a hero, making a statement that these people were under his
protection.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it was just a little bit of both.

 Beneath The Surface

Carol's eyes slowly blinked open, and she frowned in slight puzzlement as she felt her cheek rub
against a thin layer of soft fabric, under which was a hard surface.

Weird. She'd thought the mattresses in this place were softer.

Then, as her brain began creaking into life, she sat up with a gasp, as she was bombarded by a
hailstorm of memories.

The bitter cold of the storm.

The frightened little ice sculpture of a boy.

The singing of her blood at the height of battle.

The rank smell of a werewolf's fur.

The sharp, gasping pain of broken ribs.

And twice, the cold, clear certainty that she was about to die.

She was brought back to the present by her strained muscles registering their severe displeasure at
this sudden movement, letting out a cry of pain that she tried to swallow.

Sitting back, she looked back down at the bed, noticing the medium sized warm bundle pressing up
against her torso and stomach and an arm resting loosely on her waist. Or rather, she corrected
herself, beds. Two had been place side by side. One was occupied by her and Diana, in a long
white nightdress, who had snuggled up between her and Harry, who seemed to straddle the two
beds. It was his arm around her waist, which, under other circumstances, Carol would have
objected to violently.

Right now, she was too tired and pained to care and, in any case, she could see that his other arm
was wrapped around the occupants of the second bed, Uhtred and Jean-Paul, unselfconsciously
spooning. Since Harry had been similarly exhausted, expressed absolutely zero sexual interest in
either of the boys, and previously seemed perfectly happy to treat her as a friend and nothing more,
she concluded that it was all entirely innocent, something she wasn't exactly used to.

She actually rather liked it, a touch of intimacy, warmth and affection without any sexuality
involved. It wasn't something she often experienced.

Of course, this wasn't to say that Harry wasn't attracted to her. On a purely physical level, he was,
as were most other straight men. It was something that she'd had to deal with, to one extent or
another, since she was twelve years old. But, one way or another, he had managed to put that aside.
Maybe it was simply friendship. Maybe he was excellent at compartmentalising. Or maybe it was
the fact that they had faced death together, fighting side by side and forging a bond that ran far
deeper and far stronger than any fleeting lust.

The reason, ultimately, did not matter. It simply was.

And if nothing else, you could hardly fight a pack of werewolves, a killer robot and a swarm of
evil fairy-tale monsters without becoming friends.
Interestingly, despite the amount sweating, dirt and blood, they didn't smell absolutely awful, and
Diana's hair wasn't clumped with blood, the way it had been last night. They must have been
cleaned up last night.

Carol's thoughts were disrupted by the door opening and Pepper making her way in and, on seeing
that Carol was at least half awake, smiled. "Morning," she said.

"Morning," Carol managed, blinking slightly in surprise.

Pepper interpreted the look correctly and said, "We've been checking in on you every fifteen
minutes in shifts. Thor's been doing the lion's share of it, and believe me, it took quite a lot of
persuasion to shift him."

Carol nodded, and frowned slightly. "Last night... did it actually happen?"

"Yes," Pepper said, then added dryly, "And I think you've got the bruises to prove it."

Carol winced as the hitherto unattended throbbing pain of her bruises made itself known.

"Yeah," she mumbled. She shook her head, then winced again as her neck muscles protested. "I
mean, I know it happened, but... being caught up in a blizzard summoned by an angry nature spirit,
tracking down a kid who could control ice, being aged up and given superpowers to protect him
and then attacked by everything from giant werewolves to killer robots and whatever the hell those
shadowy things were... it all seems so..."

"Surreal? Unbelievable? Ridiculous?" Pepper offered.

"All that and then some," Carol said. "I mean... it's the sort of thing you read in books and see in
films, not actually live through yourself."

"You do when you're around the Avengers," Pepper said. She glanced out the window at the
steadily falling snow and the dim half-light of a daytime snow storm. "You see all sorts of things
that you'd never believed possible, wonders, miracles... things from a storybook. And some of
those things, some of those wonders and miracles and storybook things are dark and terrible." She
looked back at Carol. "You got a taste of that last night. And if you stick around, you'll learn that
there's no such thing as impossible." She shook her head. "But that's enough of that. Do you want
some breakfast?" Her sharp eyes examined Carol. "Or perhaps a hot bath might be favourite at the
moment. The dirt was taken off by magic last night, but it's not quite the same, I find."

Carol nearly collapsed. "Oh my god, yes," she groaned, making to get out of bed, then cursing as
she stumbled. She would have fallen if Pepper, seeming to have developed superspeed to rival
Jean-Paul's or some kind of precognition, hadn't caught her.

"Easy," the older woman said gently, propping her up. "Come on. I'll walk you there."

"I'll be fine," Carol insisted.

Pepper simply Looked at her.

"... Fine," Carol said. "But you don't have to do this. I mean, you're, well, you're Pepper Potts, CEO
of Stark Industries –"

"This is hardly the first time I've helped someone who'd overstretched themselves stagger into a
bath," Pepper said dryly. "Just because I now run one of the largest and most successful companies
on the planet doesn't mean that I've forgotten how."
And indeed, she had not. Briskly, professionally, but not unkindly, Pepper helped Carol strip as a
hot bath ran. Once the full extent of Carol's bruising became clear, marking, to one extent or
another, the side of her neck, much of her back, stomach, breasts, arms, thighs and ankles, she
hissed in sympathy. "God, you really got put through the ringer last night, didn't you?" she said,
frowning.

"We all did," Carol said. "The others, they're..."

"All intact. Jean-Paul's ankle was broken, but that's been fixed, as have the other broken bones.
You had a few cracked ribs, for instance, but they've been fixed up," Pepper said, as she added a
green and mint smelling liquid to the running bath.

"Pity they couldn't do the strained muscles and bruises," Carol muttered, as she slowly lowered
herself into the bath.

"That's what this stuff is for," Pepper said, indicating the bottle of green liquid. "It's for bruising.
Harry's godmother swears by it, as does Thor. Apparently he and his friends used it a lot when he
was human and, I quote, 'it works like a charm: literally.'"

"That still gets me," Carol said, half smiling at the terrible joke. "I mean, that Thor was human and
had a kid..."

"Despite the empirical evidence, it's still something to get used to," Pepper agreed. "But you do."

Carol nodded, and sighed as she relaxed in the bath, drawing across the shower curtain for privacy.
"Wait, Harry's godmother?"

"Wanda Maximoff," Pepper said. "She's one of the most powerful people on the planet and she was
the one who bailed you guys out, along with Thor. She also cleaned you up when you got down
here."

Carol frowned, then took a deep breath as momentarily, she was taken right back to the night
before, being whipped helplessly into the maelstrom. It had been her own doing, her willing
sacrifice, but still...

"Carol?"

"I don't remember her," Carol said eventually.

"Maybe it happened after you were separated," Pepper said. "But she brought the others down,
along with Thor, after helping him wipe the monsters out."

"Uh-huh. Whatever's in this stuff, it works all right," Carol said, changing the subject and watching
as bruises disappeared before her very eyes.

"Magical medicine is amazing, streets ahead of anything but the most theoretical non-magical
stuff," Pepper agreed, taking a seat on the toilet at the other end of the bathroom and not
commenting on the subject change. "Particularly for physical injuries. I've seen Loki heal broken
bones with a wave of his hands, for instance."

"So why don't we have magical doctors in every hospital?" Carol asked. She wasn't entirely sure
why Pepper was staying, but figured it probably had something to do with her injuries and the fact
that Pepper wanted to keep an eye on her. And at least it gave her the chance to ask some questions.
"I mean, Harry did mention that there's a whole community of people with powers like that."
"There is, and much more besides. They have their own nations, governments, laws, economies,
everything," Pepper said. "But they're very secretive. After all, humanity hasn't always been all that
accepting of that which is different, and with the power that magic has... well, even the weakest
wanded wizard can do some very nasty things if they want to, and if you don't have magic and you
don't have a gun or can't get close enough to disarm them, then you're effectively helpless. And
people don't like being helpless. Just look how they respond to man-eating tigers, lions and other
predators."

"You're saying that they're afraid of the whole 'burn the witch' routine?" Carol asked.

"Or having their powers exploited," Pepper said. "Or even simply being treated like freaks of
nature."

"Yeah," Carol said quietly. "I can understand why they'd not want that." She glanced through the
shower curtain at Pepper. "So, if we don't have magical doctors, why don't we have a whole bunch
of magical supervillains running wild?"

"The more human kinds, magical practitioners, police their own, and fairly efficiently," Pepper
said. "Others, vampires –"

"Vampires are real?"

"Very real, and very dangerous," Pepper said grimly. "They like to prey on humanity, but not too
overtly, to avoid getting attention and various groups try and prevent them from doing so. But in a
world where you can have a war in Africa that kills millions of people and no one in the
industrialised world really notices, much less cares, while hundreds of thousands of people go
missing in the United States every year and are never found... that's not as hard as it might seem to
be."

"Wow, that's depressing," Carol commented.

"It's not all bad," Pepper said. "There's meant to be a war going on behind the scenes between the
vampires and a different kind of wizard than Harry is and Thor used to be. They don't use wands,
and apparently there a few other differences. It's a cold war at the moment, but it shows that there
are people willing to stand up to the monsters to protect those who can't protect themselves. People
like you."

"Huh?"

"You faced some absolutely horrific creatures, practically unarmed, in order to protect a little boy,"
Pepper said. "In my estimation, that makes you a hero. All of you are heroes. Though I think I
speak for us all when I say that we'd rather that you hadn't had to."

"It had to be done," Carol said, shrugging and finding to her delight that her shoulders were moving
normally. "And it wasn't like we had much choice."

"Maybe not. But you still did it," Pepper said. "And that, I've found, is what counts." She stood up.
"If you need anything, just call. I'll be back in to check on you every few minutes. Apparently that
bath stuff sometimes makes you relax a bit too much.

"Uh huh," Carol replied, and sighed, relaxing. Then, she frowned. "Pepper?"

"Yes?"

"How did I get off the mountain?"

Pepper paused. "Let's just say that there was an angel watching over you," she said, then left Carol
to her very puzzled thoughts.

OoOoO

"We're going to have to tell her sometime," Pepper said to Natasha, who was waiting outside.
"There's an outside chance that she'll let it go, but Harry never will."

Natasha nodded. "He's curious," she said. "To put it mildly." She glanced through the window at
the pile of children. "They haven't stirred," she added. "Beyond Diana cuddling up to Harry a bit
more in Carol's absence. How is she?"

"Thoughtful, mostly, but more than a little shaken," Pepper said. "The events of last night will be
featuring in her nightmares for a while, unless Loki can do something about it, maybe Thor, if his
magical talents run that way."

"Or Diana," Natasha said. "She's a strong empath." She frowned slightly. "Speaking of which, I
think she should start getting more intensive training. She held up well, from what I heard, but the
fact remains that it's a weak point."

"She's not a soldier, Natasha."

"Maybe not," Natasha said. "But if it's not addressed, she could very easily become a casualty."

This calm pronouncement chilled Pepper to the bone. She took a deep breath, then sighed. "She
could, couldn't she?" she said sadly. "They all could." She shook her head. "I mean, I know that
every day, children all over the world face death, but..."

"You didn't think it would happen to a group of relatively to extremely privileged children in the
Western world under the protection of the Avengers," Natasha said. "I can't blame you for that. I
didn't see this coming, and I should have."

"Natasha, no one saw this coming..."

"I should have," Natasha repeated, tone carrying a harsh edge. "I know how HYDRA and their ilk
operate. They don't give a damn about civilian casualties, not even children."

"The Winter Soldier did."

"Yes," Natasha said, after a long moment. "Yes, he did."

"Why did he do that?"

"Because he's never stood for children being hurt," Natasha said.

Pepper gave her an expectant look, but after a few moments, saw that nothing more was
forthcoming. "Speaking of children, how is Bobby?" she asked. "I know that we couldn't do much
more than fix his arm and send him back to his parents last night, but I really don't think that it's a
good idea for him to be around his brother."

"Clint and Steve are looking after him," Natasha said. "Clint's got a way with kids and Steve..."

"Has just got a strange way with people in general," Pepper said. "If you could bottle it, you'd make
a fortune."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "'Charisma by Steve Rogers'. Is Stark Industries moving into the
perfume and cologne industry?" she asked, amused.

Pepper chuckled. "No," she said. "Though I've got to say, it would sell."

"Can't argue with that," Natasha said. "Though you'd risk ending up with 'Starch by Steve Rogers'."

"That's mean," Pepper said reprovingly, lips twitching. "Occasionally true, but mean."

Natasha smiled slightly. "Team mate privileges: I'm allowed to make fun of him, just a little bit,"
she said. "Speaking of Steve, he's waiting in the wings and said that he would appreciate your help.
Loki's gone to talk to Mr and Mrs Drake, and while Mr Drake is accepting of the idea that his son
is a mutant and needs training in his powers..."

"His wife is in total denial," Pepper said. "I remember. She just couldn't accept that either of her
sons was anything but nice and normal."

"Exactly," Natasha said.

Pepper sighed as she remembered her own experiences with denial, inside and outside the business
world. "I honestly don't envy Loki," she said. Then she frowned as she heard the sound of engines.
"Is that a jet?"

OoOoO

This was a fair comment, since, at this point, Loki felt like he was bashing his head against a brick
wall.

One thing he found simultaneously admirable and irritating about humanity as a whole was their
predilection for stubbornness.

Mrs Madeline Drake, however, had started in the irritating category, quickly progressed to
infuriating and was now well on the way to falling into the people-who-make-me-question- why-I-
gave-up-being-a-supervillain category.

"No," she repeated, blankly and dully insisting. "Bobby's a normal kid. He and Donnie have fights,
but that's what all brothers do."

"For God's sake, Maddie," her husband snapped, and Loki felt a certain degree of fellow feeling
with the man. "How many times does it have to be shoved in your face? How many times does Mr
Odinson have to tell you? Bobby's a..."

"Mutant," Loki supplied.

"Right. He's a mutant. He's got power, incredible amounts of it," William said. "And he needs to
learn how to control it. Away from Donnie," he added, as his wife opened her mouth. "Who,
frankly, I'm going to have a long, hard talk with, because we did not raise a son who would break
his little brother's arm just for being different."

"Will, brothers fight," Maddie pleaded. "You and your brothers fought as children, didn't you?"

"We did, but we never left more than cuts and bruises on each other," William said evenly.

"If I may be blunt, Mrs Drake," Loki added. "Both boys are afraid of each other. Donnie fears
Bobby's powers, while Bobby fears Donnie's violent responses. I am afraid that if this is left
unattended, like an infected wound, it will fester. Fear will turn to hatred and, I fear, one of them
will do something that cannot be undone."

Mrs Drake simply, silently shook her head. Her husband stared at her, askance, then turned to Loki
and sighed. "Mister Odinson, Prince Loki... I'm sorry."

Loki plastered a smile on his face. Inwardly, however, he was at his wits end. Though he was one
of the most persuasive speakers and finest manipulators in all the Nine Realms, even the legendary
silver tongue came to nothing, it seemed, when it fell on deaf ears.

As she'd shaken her head, he'd known with utter certainty that without actually going into her mind
and breaking through the haze of denial, he would achieve nothing here. Even Steve, with his
legendary nobility, charm and charisma, wouldn't be able to dent this obstinacy. And he was
somewhat uncomfortable with using telepathic magic for anything beyond basic communication.
Considering what had happened the last time he'd been using it for anything more invasive, i.e. his
invasion of Earth, this was perhaps unsurprising.

Plus, she wasn't exactly a Death Eater (several of which were, as it happened, still quite literally in
his pocket), so threatening torture really wasn't on. Unfortunately.

There was nothing more he could do, save perhaps get SHIELD to throw around some of their
considerable weight.

Then, the door opened.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry for interrupting, but I think I can help you. My name is Professor Charles
Xavier. May I come in?"

OoOoO

The rest of the day had passed relatively quietly. The children had spent most of it asleep, only
being awoken by the sound of a jet landing and taking off, which they were later informed
belonged to Professor Charles Xavier, recovered from his psychic injuries.

He had managed to gently dissipate the haze of denial around Bobby's mother's mind by turning
the psychic equivalent of a leaf blower on it, and persuade her that Bobby was different and that he
needed both guidance and the company of others like him. Both of which, conveniently, could be
provided at his Institute.

After further discussion, it was arranged that Bobby would be accompanied by his father to the
Institute, while his mother and brother would be taken home by SHIELD, who were now
swarming all over the mountainside like extremely agitated ants.

Most pertinently for Harry, however, was, after much fussing from his father and the other
Avengers (but mostly his father), which he bore with good grace, that he finally got to meet his
godmother.

The night before, she had dropped in for long enough to give him a quick kiss and a hug, before
dashing out to go and search for Carol. She had apparently popped in during the night, but by that
time, he'd been dead to the world, something for which he felt the need to apologise.

She laughed softly. "I'm just glad you weren't dead," she said. Her words were light, but there was
an underlying anxiety and tension.

After that, there was an awkward silence, as neither godson, nor godmother, really knew what to
say to each other. It had been simpler, it had to be said, communicating via first letter, then email.
"There are booksabout you," Harry said, eventually. "You were part of the First Order of the
Phoenix."

"I was learning under Stephen at the time, and I've never been one to let innocent people suffer,"
Wanda said. "How's Remus?"

"What? Oh, Professor Lupin. Fine, really. He's teaching at Hogwarts now. They'd probably
appreciate a chance to catch up," Harry said.

"I'd enjoy that. I'd also enjoy getting to know my godson," Wanda said, with a hint of hesitancy.

It was at that moment that Harry realised, really, truly, realised, that she was just as nervous as he
was, even more so for being wracked with guilt. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He hugged her.

For a moment, she froze in shock, and he thought that he'd done the wrong thing, then she
responded by hugging him back as tightly as she could. "I'm sorry," she said, voice thick with tears.
"I am so, so sorry."

"I know," Harry said quietly, fighting back tears of his own. "I forgive you."

He'd told her before, on paper, but some things need to be said out loud for them to really sink in.

They sat in silence for a long time, both content just to be close to each other.

Eventually, they broke apart, both wiping at damp eyes and cheeks, and with that first barrier
broken down, they began to talk. They discussed everything that Harry hadn't been able to put in
his letters/emails because of time constraints or simply remembering to do so.

As they talked, it occurred to Harry that there was something strangely familiar about her that he
couldn't quite pin down. Later, he would dismiss it as babyhood memories. Then Harry realised
that he was staring at her.

"I'm forty five," Wanda said, misinterpreting his expression. "And I know," she added dryly. "I
don't look it."

"Huh," Harry said. "Because you're a magic user, right?"

"Trained by Doctor Strange," she confirmed. "We're don't talk much, but we're on good terms. I
used to go and Sanctum sit when he had to leave for a long time. Speaking of Stephen, he's been
keeping a close eye on you. We had a chat recently and he has a lot of good things to say," Wanda
said, gesturing at Harry with her coffee mug, who blushed, this time from the praise.

"Probably all over exaggerated," he mumbled.

"Stephen does many things, including theatrics, but he doesn't exaggerate," Wanda said dryly.
"Harry, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people on Earth who I would be sure
could survive the Disir one on one. And that's just the start."

Harry half smiled. "Who?"

"Your dad, your uncle, the Hulk, Stephen, and me," Wanda said calmly. "Your headmaster would
be in with a shot, as would a few others, but those are the only certainties. And in the Hulk's case,
that's just because I'm pretty sure that he can't die."
"That puts you in pretty lofty company," Harry said mildly, smirking.

"Well, I am the Scarlet Witch," she said, with a smirk to match his.

"The one, the only, the best," he agreed.

She grinned. She had a nice smile, Harry thought. Warm, kind, with just a hint of wickedness. In
many ways, it was not unlike his father's. "Well, if I wasn't the best at being me, I'd be in trouble,
wouldn't I?" she said.

Harry chuckled, then changed the subject. "Wanda, what do you do as a job?"

"Well, a number of things really," she said. "Normally, however, I travel around the world,
searching for newly manifested wandless Wizards."

"Not witches?"

"Where the wandless community is concerned, Wizard is a general term for a magical mortal,"
Wanda explained. "I do my best to help them, teach them about their talents and how they work,
teach them the Seven Laws, then pass them on, either to a White Council Wizard or Warden, or
hand them off to local practitioners, who can give them a good grounding in both magic and right
and wrong. Occasionally, I find mutants like Sean and Warren, and I help them too. They're
generally simpler, since even if they misuse their powers, by accident or on purpose, it doesn't
affect their minds the way dark magic does."

"It affects your mind?" Harry asked, worried.

"Only if you're wandless and human," Wanda said. "Wanded magic provides a bit of a buffer,
though most people practising wanded dark magic aren't going to be all that sane anyway.
Wandless magic, on the other hand, is far more emotion based. There's no buffer."

"What about me? Would it affect me?" Harry asked, thinking back to his conversation with his
father. While Thor had said that it wouldn't, and Harry was certain that his father was an authority
on a great many things, the minutiae of wandless magic and the strange place that Harry occupied
on the spectrum of magical practitioners as a demigod who was part wanded wizard but wielded
magic wandlessly were probably not among them. And it never hurt to get an expert opinion.

Wanda eyed him thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "You're half human, half Asgardian,
and you are naturally inclined to wanded magic. Your uncle would be more likely to know, but off
the bat, I don't think so. Trouble is, it could either be better, because you're not born wandless, or
worse, considering how intensely magical Asgardians are, and how magical you're becoming." She
smiled slightly. "Though I severely doubt that you would ever use dark magic." She looked a little
distant. "I have."

Harry gave her a startled look.

"It's part of the qualification for being eligible to be Sorcerer, or Sorceress, Supreme," Wanda
explained. "You need to be able to use and channel dark magic without being changed by it, if only
because more often than not, you end up needing to ground a lot of very dangerous energy. And
that, let me tell you, requires immense skill, or an extremely rare inborn talent." She grimaced. "It's
not something I enjoy. Chaos Magic, Wild Magic, I can handle and ground out comfortably.
Straight up Dark Magic? Not fun."

Harry took her hand and gently squeezed. She smiled fondly, and squeezed back.
"You said 'normally'. What are you doing at the moment?"

"Aside from sitting here with you?" Wanda asked, with a slight smile. She sobered. "I've been
helping Stephen, Doctor Strange, in sealing off incursions into this world and destroying the
demons that come through. Primarily, they're a species called the N'Garai, which serve Chthon.
Tough, disgusting, fond of eating humans, but, thankfully, most of them aren't very bright. The
Generals, the Mabdhara, on the other hand, are much larger and much smarter. And then there's
also the Mindless Ones, which as the name suggests, they aren't very bright either. Most demons
aren't. A few, however, are very, very clever. They're basically mystical rent-a-thugs created by a
nasty little Demon Duke called Plotka. They're good for smashing and not very much else."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Alone, or in small numbers, no. In large numbers, however... well, think of the Slendermen, those
dark creatures you fought last night. Alone, they weren't too much of a threat, right?" Wanda said.

Harry nodded. "But when they got together in a giant swarm..." he began, and shivered as the
memories came back. Wanda slipped an arm around his shoulder, and Harry let her pull him close.

"They were much, much more dangerous," she finished gently. "Though the Mindless Ones don't
really do the hive mind thing, as that would require a mind to begin with."

Harry nodded again.

"I've been stopping them from entering this world, though I'm beginning to have trouble keeping
up."

"Why?"

"The Darkhold is free," Wanda explained. "It's sort of like the One Ring, but much, much worse.
It's very existence, outside of its prison, is wearing the walls of reality thin. Stephen is contending
with Hell Lords like Lucifer, Mephisto and Surtur, who sense an opportunity, while Chthon, is
biding his time." She smiled bitterly. "He's waiting for both Stephen and I to be exhausted before
he makes his move."

"Do you have anyone helping you?"

"I've been working with a few other monster hunters. Elsa Bloodstone, Blade and Spitfire, Sir
Sanya, Sir Michael, Peter Wisdom, even John bloody Constantine... and you don't know who they
are, do you?"

"I've heard of Wisdom and Constantine," Harry said, frowning. "But not the others."

"Sir Michael and Sir Sanya are two of the Knights of the Cross," Wanda explained. "They are
meant to be three, but no one's claimed the third sword yet. They wield swords with nails from the
True Cross, the one that Jesus Christ – a distant cousin of yours, I believe - died on. They're
empowered by Yahweh and His Archangels to fight supernatural evil wherever they find it and
guided to it by... contrived coincidence, you might say. Their mission is to try and turn people
away from the darkness wherever they can and help them find redemption."

"Not just fight them?"

"Not every victory is won through force of arms," Wanda said. "After all, what do you think was a
greater victory? The Avengers uniting to defeat your uncle, or them redeeming him and having him
fight by their side? Sir Sanya took a similar path."
Harry frowned thoughtfully and nodded.

"They tend to be very nice people, and when they're on a divinely ordained mission, they can be
very, very powerful," Wanda said. "Elsa Bloodstone is one of a dynasty monster hunters. She's got
enhanced physical abilities and her blood poisons vampires. As for Blade and Spitfire, they're both
part vampire, Grey Court, and she's a speedster as well." She smiled slightly. "And then there was
Harry Dresden."

"I've heard of him," Harry said, noticing an interesting look in his godmother's eye. "Wasn't he the
one in Paris on the night of the battle?"

"Yes," Wanda confirmed. "I teamed up with him and a couple of friends of his when I tracked an
N'Garai infestation to Chicago. I was also there to offer him a place as my apprentice."

"You're taking an apprentice?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Uh-huh," Wanda said. "Stephen's got the feeling that he might not be the Sorcerer Supreme much
longer, and I'm his successor, which means that I'll need to take an apprentice. Dresden's the
strongest candidate. Powerful, noble hearted and, crucially, with experience of the temptations of
dark magic." She smirked slightly. It was, Harry thought, a rather wicked smirk. "Also, he wears
the hell out of a leather duster, but that's another story." She chuckled. "Meeting him was certainly
quite the experience. If the N'Garai didn't hate fire before, they do now. Dresden's very fond of
using it." She smiled at Harry. "As, apparently, are you. I hear you're something of a prodigy."

Harry flushed slightly. "I'm okay with it," he said.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "I think you're a bit more than okay with it," she said dryly. "Your
mother certainly was. A very powerful witch, was Lily. If she hadn't had you and the war hadn't
been on, she might have become my apprentice, or Stephen's next apprentice. She had the aptitude.
And I think you've inherited her talents as well as your dad's."

"You do?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"I do," Wanda said, and shook her head. "God, you're so like her. I mean, you look like your father,
or the way he did when he was James..."

"Except for my eyes," Harry said, tiredly repeating the classic refrain. "I've got my mother's eyes."

Wanda chuckled ruefully. "You probably hear that a lot," she said. "Don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"It's not just the eyes. You've got her mannerisms and a lot of her personality. too. Particularly your
smile," she said. "And I mean the proper smile, not the smirk that you seem to have picked up from
your father and Tony Stark."

"Not my uncle?"

"Not quite. His is a bit more evil," Wanda said. "Not as in supervillain evil, but mischievous evil.
Constantine and Sirius come close." She looked thoughtful. "Clint was pretty good at it too."

"You know Clint?" Harry asked, surprised.

Wanda's eyes widened and she flushed slightly.

Harry's eyes nearly popped out as his mind made a sudden and entirely correct leap.
"You and Clint?!" he asked, astonished.

Carol poked her head in from the next room. "Is everything okay?" she asked, puzzled.

"Everything's fine," Wanda sighed. "I just let slip something I shouldn't."

Carol nodded. "If it was you dating Clint, then there's nothing wrong with that," she said casually.
"I mean, god, those arms."

"Seconded," Jean-Paul said, voice floating through the open door.

Wanda smirked wickedly. "Oh, believe me, I know," she said.

Harry sighed a put upon sigh. "Carol? Please?"

"I'm going," Carol said, grinning, and shutting the door behind her.

"Sorry," Wanda said, sounding anything but.

Harry sighed again. "It's nothing. Trust me, I live with Tony and Darcy, I've heard much worse,"
he said.

"You probably have at that," Wanda observed. "Darcy's a very interesting young woman. She was
cleaning me out at poker earlier. Then I noticed that she was cheating."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, curiously.

Wanda grinned. "I cheated back, of course," she said. "And I'm better at it."

"But seriously, you and Clint?"

"It was some years ago, and it didn't last that long," Wanda said, a touch embarrassed. "I was quite
a bit older than him, after all."

"Well, he likes Nat, so he probably doesn't see that as a problem," Harry said. "Besides, Dad's well
over a thousand years old than Jane and there's no problem with that."

"Fair point," Wanda said. "Though it did make things a little awkward when we ran into each other
last night."

"I suppose it would," Harry said. "Could you tell me about the monster hunting?"

"Sure," Wanda said, with a smile. "But you'd better get comfortable. It'll take a while."

Harry duly did.

OoOoO

Outside, as the sun began to set, things were not half so cozy.

Thor was standing as a wary sentinel, looking out over the mountains and valleys of the Rockies.
He had his eyes half closed, which would apparently defeat the purpose. However, Natasha knew
perfectly well what he was doing. He was reading air currents, searching for disturbances, a sense
that went out even further than his impressive sight, and wasn't blocked by mountains.
"Hey," Natasha said quietly.

"Natasha," Thor said, nodding slightly.

"HYDRA aren't going to pull anything, you know," she said. "Bobby's safe in Westchester and they
know that the Avengers are on guard now, never mind the fact that the mountain's awake and
crawling with SHIELD Agents."

"My head tells me that," Thor said. "But my heart tells me that I must stand watch until Harry is
back at the Tower or Hogwarts, somewhere safe." He sighed. "Or as safe as anywhere is in these
times," he added.

Natasha cocked her head at his tone in silent query.

"The days may be growing longer, but, even in the bright light of day, I cannot shake the sensation
that there is a shadow growing over all the Nine Realms," Thor said. "We are on the brink of
something terrible, I can feel it in my bones."

"Your bones are reading it right," Natasha said quietly. "The world is on edge. The Avengers,
SHIELD, Maximoff and Dresden may be playing firefighter, but sometimes... fire can hide. It can
lie in wait under the ground for a very long time." She looked out over the valley. "This isn't just
HYDRA and Lucius Malfoy's machinations. It isn't just the Darkhold. No, there are a lot of things
that have been biding their time, waiting for the right moment, for the right incentive."

"Malfoy," Thor growled.

"No," Natasha said. "It started before Malfoy allied with HYDRA. Not long before, for the most
part, but before."

Thor frowned. "What do you mean, Natasha?"

"I mean that the unwitting trigger for all of this is sitting in that cabin with his friends, talking to
his godmother," Natasha said, voice even. "Harry is your son, Thor. When you reclaimed him, you
showed the world a demigod, a Prince of Asgard who is also the godson of the legendary Scarlet
Witch, has been taught by Albus Dumbledore, was the focus of prophecy before he was born, who
was a legend in supernatural circles before he could talk. He even had the Sorcerer Supreme
himself for a paediatrician. And now he's living with the Avengers, befriending a daughter of
Hercules, among others, and protecting a young Omega Class mutant. That's leaving aside his gift
with fire."

"Much of that is because of Wanda's blessing," Thor said.

"Yes, a blessing she cast at the behest of Doctor Strange," Natasha said. "That may not be common
knowledge, Thor, but the fact is, Harry has incredible amounts of potential. Last night showed that.
And that means that a lot of people and not-people will see him as either a threat to be destroyed or,
worse, an opportunity to be exploited. They already are, that's part of why Malfoy got his band
together."

"That's not Harry's fault," Thor said, voice low.

"Of course it's not," Natasha said. "It's not his fault and it's not fair, either, because you know as a
well as I do that until he can turn the tables, he's going to be hunted. We can only protect him so
far. Last night showed that, too."

Thor was silent. It indicated that he understood, but he was very much unhappy about it.
"You know," Natasha said eventually. "I compared all the groups and people that are popping up,
probing around, and watching us and HYDRA to see what happens, watching to see what happens
to Harry and waiting for an opportunity to fires, hiding underground. But really, they're little
patches of shadow, growing slowly, when they think we're not looking."

"While Harry is the light in that darkness, the one they fear could burn all the shadows away,"
Thor said quietly. "So they are looking to snuff him out."

"In simple terms? Yes. That or twist him to their own agenda," Natasha said. "He's not ready to
face that. He and the others did incredibly well last night, and went above and beyond everything
that could be either asked or expected of them. But they only survived thanks to intervention, first
from the genius loci, then from you and Wanda, and thanks to pure luck."

"I know," Thor said, voice rising in frustration. "Do you think I have not realised how close I came
to..." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and clenched his fists, calming himself. "To losing
him?" he finished in a quieter tone. "I know, Natasha. And the answer is this: too close. Much,
much too close." He paused for a moment. "What you say is true. My brother tells me of the
whispers he hears, whispers about my son, emanating from the dark places of this world and many
others. Threats wait on all sides." He gave her an anguished look. "And I do not know if I can
protect him from them."

Natasha gently put a hand on his arm. "You can't, not alone," she said. "But I think that Strange had
Wanda put that blessing on Harry for a reason. He'll always have someone to turn to. Part of that
includes those kids in there. It may have taken a far bit of luck and a lot of outside help, but the
fact is, they survived a series of assaults that I think even the Avengers would have found
challenging. It wasn't quick, clean or easy, but they managed it. Who knows?" she added lightly.
"Maybe, eventually, they'll be as good at getting out of trouble as they at getting into it."

That made Thor laugh. "We can but hope," he said.

"And you know what?" Natasha said, serious again. "That someone, the people who have Harry's
back, includes the Avengers. And with all the Avengers, along with whoever else pitches in,
working together to protect Harry?" She smiled a slightly crooked smile. "I think that whatever
dark forces are after him had better start running for their lives, don't you?"

Thor smiled. "Yes," he said. "Yes, my friend, I do."

OoOoO

"Okay," Harry said quietly. "We grew up. Temporarily." He looked around. "And we became
strong. Very strong."

It was night time. The children were in their cabin and had been left to their own devices, if one
ignored the small platoon of SHIELD Agents standing guard outside. Since Tony's jet had been
damaged in the fight – to which his response had been, "Meh. I wanted to get a new one anyway."
– they were being flown out tomorrow. SHIELD was keeping names out of the press, so, if they
chose, the kids could deny everything.

This was a tad pointless in Harry, Diana and Uhtred's case, since wizards didn't read the muggle
press, Athena probably already knew/had been informed, Uhtred's parents likewise. Jean-Paul had
called his father to inform him that he was fine, while Carol had likewise called her uncle.
However, she wasn't telling her parents, on the grounds that she would 'never be allowed to go out
every again, let alone go on holiday', and displayed a staggering level of indifference towards the
idea of lying to her parents.
"Yeah," Carol said. "It was cool."

"And a little bit… unnerving," Jean-Paul said. Everyone looked at him in surprise, except for Harry
and Diana. "I felt like… I felt like I was fast. Faster than ever before by an impossible degree. I felt
like I could keep running and running and running until I became nothing but speed." He frowned.
"And, mes amis… part of me wanted to. Just because I could."

"I felt like I could level the entire mountain range and burn the seas," Harry said. "And that would
just be the beginning." He made a face. "Until I got flattened by the suspiciously German sounding
killer robot. Then it was just pain. Lots and lots of pain."

"And I'm pretty sure that I was stronger than him," Diana said calmly. It wasn't a boast. It was a
simple statement, one that no one really contested (Harry certainly wasn't going to, not after what
he'd seen her do to the robot), though Uhtred pointed out a salient fact.

"That may well be true, but we won't find out more for at least a decade," he said bluntly.

"Would it even matter? To me, it sounds like debating the difference in size between Venus and
Earth, or Earth and the Moon," Carol said. "There may be a difference between the two, but they're
both enormous."

"Pretty much," Harry said quietly. "You don't seem bothered by the upgrade," he said to Uhtred,
Carol and Diana.

"We have always expected to be powerful," Diana pointed out. "Uhtred is going to be a good deal
stronger than the average Asgardian, but there will be many like him."

"And you?"

"I am Diana Herculeis. Daughter of Hercules and Hippolyta. Granddaughter of Zeus Panhellenios,"
Diana said calmly. "I have always know that I would be powerful." She grimaced slightly and
glanced down at her chest. "Though there were other... parts that were inconvenient."

"Yeah, girl, you, I and probably Darcy too, are going to need to have a serious talk about getting
some support," Carol said. "Sports bras will be a must."

Diana made a face.

"Yeah, I know, it's not fun, but you get used to it," the older girl said bluntly.

Diana nodded. "I suppose so," she said. "But, as I said, I know that I am going to be powerful." Her
face shadowed slightly. "And I am not the only one who knows that."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.

"Have you read your mythology?" Diana asked. "Particularly concerning my father?"

"Some," Harry said, exchanging glances with Carol and Jean-Paul. "Though a lot it is fairly
common knowledge. But I thought that, like Norse mythology, most of it was made up or
mistaken."

"Some of it is," Diana said. "But Hera's attitude to my father is generally accurate."

"She tried to kill him," Harry said slowly, but without surprise.

"Repeatedly," Diana said calmly. "You don't seem surprised."

"Well, I have met her," Harry said flatly.

"What's she like?" Carol asked.

"She was pretty subtle about it, but she implied that she'd like to see me dead. Dad saw through it
and threatened to incinerate her," Harry said. "He was about two seconds from following through
with it, as well. She backed off."

"Is she why you were upset?" Uhtred asked.

"No. Not directly," Harry said, slightly distantly. "You were talking about how she was to your
dad, Diana."

"Yes. When she couldn't kill him, she drove him insane." She smiled sadly. "You see, he was a
living insult, in her eyes. A son of Zeus who was not also a son of Hera, living proof that her
husband had strayed. And to make matters worse, he was a hero, one who outshone her own son,
Ares."

Harry had a very nasty feeling that, based on what he already knew of Hera, he knew where this
was going.

"Once my father died and ascended to become a god, Hera considered him not to be a problem,
since he was no longer making a name for himself, and he was married off to her daughter, Hebe,"
Diana said.

"Wait, hang on," Carol said. "Unless she was fooling around on the side, like Zeus, wouldn't that
mean Hebe was Hercules's half-sister?"

"Oh yes," Diana said calmly. "My father will fuck just about anything, if it's gorgeous enough and
it's interested. My mother's not much different."

The sheer bluntness of this statement and the language used shocked everyone.

"Zeus and Hera are siblings, after all," she continued calmly. "We are gods. We do not have the
same problems with genetics that you do." She shrugged. "Personally, I find it strange. But that's
because I was mostly raised by my Auntie 'Thena and more recently, in the court of Asgard."

"Less weird, more disgusting," Carol said. "Sorry, but I'm calling it like I see it." She glanced at
Uhtred. "You don't do that in Asgard, do you?"

Uhtred emphatically shook his head. "Definitely not," he said, shuddering. "It is
considered… wrong."

"Thank god," Harry muttered.

"Which one?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"What? No, I meant… oh, never mind," Harry said. "I'm just relieved."

"Ditto," Carol said flatly.

Jean-Paul merely nodded, expression disturbed.

"Auntie 'Thena says that it always gets brought up in the family arguments," Diana observed.

"Why didn't your parents raise you?"

"Mother tried," Diana said. "She was a good mother, from what I remember. And my father came
round every now and then. He loved me too and he was always full of laughter and stories. Even
Hebe was kind."

"That is… unusual," Uhtred said, surprised.

"Hebe is a nice person," Diana said simply. "And she knows, I think, that my father married her to
placate Hera. He cares for her, but…"

"He doesn't really love her, as such."

"Yes," Diana said. "But Hera.. she hates me almost as much as she hated my father," she said.
"You see, Hera is the patron goddess of my people, the Amazons. The first time that my father and
mother met during his labours, my father got side tracked. They were attracted to each other. The
inevitable happened. Hera was incensed and intervened, lying to the people and raising them
against my father. The end result was that he had to jump out the window and run for his life,
naked all the while, to his ship where his friends were waiting."

"But that was not the end of it," Jean-Paul surmised, smiling slightly. Carol was trying to hide her
laughter and Uhtred was trying to figure out whether it was proper to be amused at the misfortunes
of an Olympian Prince. Harry, however, wasn't smiling. His knuckles had gone white. Because he
could guess what was coming.

"No. After my father's ascension, he and my mother often kept company," Diana said. "In secret, of
course. Not only was my father cheating on Hebe, he was doing so with the leader of Hera's patron
people, some of her last semi-mortal worshippers. But, despite the fact that my father is not exactly
the sharpest arrow in the quiver, they managed it. And then I was born. That, they couldn't hide."
Diana was silent for a long moment. "And soon, my mother couldn't raise me."

"Why?" Carol asked, her tone tinged by a mixture of bemusement and dawning suspicion.

"Because Hera tried to kill her," Harry said, voice low and, like the rest of him, shaking with anger.

"Merde," Jean-Paul whispered softly.

"Yes," Diana said simply. "She tried something like what she tried with my father: scorpions in the
cradle. It was a test, I think, to see if I would become a threat. I passed, or perhaps failed, the test
by crushing them," she said calmly, apparently oblivious to the horror her words inspired.

"Hang on, she straight up tried to murder you?" Carol demanded, half furious, half incredulous.
"And she wasn't punished for this?"

"Hera's hatred of demigods is infamous and it has progressed from simply being a murderous
hatred of those Zeus fathered to embrace all demigods," Diana said.

"Dad said that demigods tend to die mysteriously when she's around," Harry said, voice low.

Diana nodded. "She probably went after you because of that and because you're my friend," she
said. "The only difference is that because of the living insult she feels that I represent, she hates me
that much more. For existing."

"Okay," Carol said. "So we've got the reason why this crazy bitch hates you both. Why hasn't she
been punished for it?"

"Only Zeus has the authority to punish her. And he rarely cares," Diana said bluntly. She shrugged.
"Anyway, my father may not have a reputation as a very intelligent man, but he is no fool. He
knew what was happening and he knew that he couldn't force Hera into an open fight, the only
kind he could hope to win. So he called the most intelligent people he knew. His sister, my Aunt
'Thena, and his friend and second cousin, Loki, and begged them for help."

"You're related?" Jean-Paul asked, a touch surprised.

"Third cousins," Harry said.

"His great-grandmother is my great-great aunt," Diana explained.

"Okay," Carol said. "So, what did they do?"

"Athena protected me and concealed me from Hera's sight while Loki, with Odin's blessing, began
negotiating with my grandfather to have me fostered in Asgard," Diana said, totally matter of fact
about this. "My grandfather wouldn't be too bothered about one demigod or demigoddess more or
less, but Hera, despite the fact that she believes she is untouchable, can't get away with harming a
ward of the House of Odin." She smiled a thin smile that belonged to someone far older and far
more cynical. "And she knows it."

"Based on what I've heard, I wouldn't want to cross Odin either," Carol observed. "Let alone Thor
and Loki." She glanced at Harry. "I mean, your dad threatened to incinerate her, right?"

"Pretty much," Harry said. "Dad's kind of scary when he wants to be."

"Sounds like it runs in the family," Jean-Paul observed, giving Harry a significant glance.

"Yes. Though, it's Auntie Frigga she's afraid of, really," Diana said.

"C'est vrai?" Jean-Paul asked, surprised. Harry didn't understand the words, but the tone was easily
comprehensible.

"I thought she was the Goddess of Motherhood," Carol said. "And you said that she was basically a
cool grandma, Harry."

"She is," Harry observed. "She also taught my uncle most of what he knows."

"Queen Frigga was a mighty shield maiden before she married the Allfather," Uhtred said. "Lady
Sif says that even now, she has few peers with a blade in hand."

"And think about the Motherhood part, ma cherie," Jean-Paul said, tone thoughtful. "Think of
what a mother will do to protect her children." He nodded at Harry. "Think of what his mother
did."

"Good point," Carol said, then added, tone sour, "Unfortunately, some of us have mom's who do a
perfect impersonation of a doormat, so wouldn't really know."

"What is a doormat?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"It's something you wipe your feet on when you enter a house so as not to dirty the floors, mon
cher," Jean-Paul explained.

"Oh," Uhtred said. "And Carol is –"

"Referring to the fact that most people, usually my dad, walk all over my mother?" Carol asked,
tone slightly manic. "Yes, yes I was."
"Not literally walking all over, though," Harry added. "She just lets other people have their way."

"Oh," Uhtred said, nodding. "Some in Asgard favour that, or used to. It was popular in King Bor's
day, though not in his father's." He frowned. "I have never understood the appeal, myself. Why
would I want to marry a woman who does not think for herself? It would be very boring."

Carol smiled sadly. "Because some people don't like the idea of women thinking, Uhtred," she
said. "They think it threatens them."

"How?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Search me. I guess there's just a lot of very insecure guys out there who want to make themselves
feel better by putting other people, usually women, down," Carol said, shrugging.

"That's not right," Harry said. A hint of anger had been lurking in his tone, his expression, his very
stance, for a few minutes now, like an ember.

Now, that ember was burning.

"Of course it isn't, mon cher," Jean-Paul said, but Harry continued as if he hadn't even spoken,
voice carrying a calm that was very obviously the calm before the storm.

"It isn't right that people are put down for being born different. For being a woman. For being gay.
For being born to 'the wrong people'," he spat. "It isn't right that people should think that way and
persecute others."

"But they do, mon cher," Jean-Paul said, a touch bleakly. "Misogynists, homophobes, racists and
bigots of all kinds are there and they do what they do. It's a fact of life."

"It's. Not. Fair," Harry said, enunciating each word.

"Life isn't fair," Carol said. "You can't change the way people think."

"You can," Diana said, voice strangely flat, blue eyes fixed on Harry, as if she was reading him
like a book. As it happened, that was exactly what she was doing. "But you shouldn't."

"Why not?" Harry snarled, springing to his feet, suddenly crackling with a wild,
manic, angry energy, green eyes literally flashing. "Why shouldn't life be fair? Why shouldn't
I make it fair?" He clenched his fists. "Hera. Carol's dad. Bobby's brother. People like that stupid
Trask man. Voldemort. The Dursleys. They take their prejudices out on people, innocent people
who can't fight back. And it's wrong."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Carol asked slowly. This was a new side to her friend. One that was
beginning to frighten her.

"I'm saying that I'm going to powerful one day," Harry spat. The room seemed to be rapidly filling
with a sense of pressure, and Harry's eyes seemed to burn in response as he crackled with energy.
"Powerful enough that I can make sure that they can't do that, not now, not ever. I can make it
fair."

"How?" Diana asked sharply. "By changing the way people think?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry demanded, whirling on her. "I'd have the power to and if they won't
think properly for themselves, then… then…" He trailed off, face growing wan with horror.
Slowly, he sat down again, and as he did, the sense of pressure began to drain away.
"Because then you wouldn't be any different," Diana said, in a voice that was wise far beyond its
owner's years.

"I've found that it's easy to be angry," Uhtred observed. "To blame others. To lash out. But even if
they are to blame, it doesn't make you better than them. It only makes you worse." He met Harry's
gaze. "You helped teach me that."

"You just carry on," Jean-Paul said. "If you rise to it, mon cher, then they can mock you and
dismiss you for it. They will feel that you have justified their belief that you are lesser."

"They're right," Carol said, and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I may not be as superpowerful as
you, Diana, Uhtred or even Jean-Paul, but I have the ability to lay out a lot of hurt on someone.
Sometimes, there's people who need punching. Who need stopping. But there's a line that people
with power have to be careful not to cross. Or we become the people we're trying to stop."

Harry nodded somewhat shakily. "I get that," he said. He looked around. "I'm sorry if I scared
you."

"You did frighten us a little bit," Jean-Paul admitted. "But what you were saying… I think I speak
for us all when I say that we have all thought it at some point."

"I nearly," Harry began.

"You nearly did nothing," Carol said firmly. "You nearly said some things you probably shouldn't
have, but there's a big difference between saying and doing. And you stopped yourself before you
said those things, which is more than most do."

Harry nodded again. "Thanks," he said quietly. "But if it hadn't been for the way you guys were
looking at me, what Diana said… I might have said those things." He shivered. "I might have
started on the path that led to me doing them."

"That's what friends are for," Diana said, smiling slightly.

"And oathmen," Uhtred said seriously.

"You're my friend, Uhtred," Harry said.

"That too," Uhtred said calmly. "And I thank you for it. But you are still my Prince and I have
sworn myself to your service. And part of that service is the requirement to speak my mind." He
smiled. "In other words, to tell you when you're going too far."

"Like an Asgardian Jiminy Cricket," Carol said.

"But much cuter," Jean-Paul said.

"Oh, definitely."

So it went, with Uhtred saying, puzzled, that to the best of his knowledge, there was no man or
beast known as 'Jiminy Cricket' in Asgard, and Diana adding that no such creature existed in
Olympus, either, leading to Carol and Jean-Paul explaining Pinocchio and, thereby, much of
Western popular culture.

All the while, Harry smiled, laughed and enjoyed the company of his friends. And all the while, he
tried to forget what had very nearly been said and what might yet have been done.
But the flame within, though banked to embers once more, was not gone.

Not quite.

OoOoO

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from her homework to see her mother's worried face poking round the door.
"Yes, mum?"

"There's something going on," Mrs Granger said, nervously running a hand through her black hair.
"Is it something to do with, well, magic?"

Hermione frowned and followed her mother into the living room, where her father, a sandy haired
man in his mid-forties, was watching the news.

"... Last night local time, weather satellites picked up a powerful localised storm developing in the
American State of Colorado, specifically, deep into the Rocky Mountains, apparently
spontaneously. Going against all natural weather patterns, it held its position, shape and strength.
A couple of hours after its development, satellites detected a vast spike in heat, with local
temperatures jumping from well below zero to, in a localised area, thousands of degrees Celsius,
caused by some kind of gigantic energy discharge.

Whatever it was, according to local witnesses it manifested as an enormous column of light that lit
the surrounding area for close to a hundred miles up 'as bright as day', and the detonation of
sound was heard as far away as New York, San Francisco and Mexico City. Amateur camera
footage shows that, unlike the gas explosion in the Paris Catacombs in January, this is no
exaggeration by frightened and doubtless overawed witnesses. Viewers should be aware that this
footage contains bright lights and may not be suitable for some viewers."

The presenter cut away to reveal shaky footage of a dark, snowy landscape. In the distance, on an
otherwise clear night, a storm was raging. A few seconds in, the peaceful darkness was torn to
shreds by a colossal pillar of incandescent golden-white light that lit up the mountains and the
surrounding landscape like it was midday, followed soon after by a wave of sound that sent the
unseen cameraperson staggering.

The light faded away, but not before it had left an indelible mark on the astonished Hermione.

She stared, open mouthed, as the presenter began to speak again.

"According to the US Government, the matter is being investigated but there is no danger to the
life and property of its citizens, but this has not stopped speculation that it was some kind of
botched weapons test or, as some are calling it, 'the judgement of God himself'.

At approximately the same time, something large landed in Eastern Russia, not far from Moscow.
While some have suggested that it was a meteor, there has already been considerable speculation
that the two are connected, perhaps as part of some kind of super battle. This theory is given
considerable support by the fact that it occurred in the immediate vicinity of a ski resort which is
partly owned by Tony Stark. It is being cordoned off by SHIELD investigative teams and local
police as we speak, while a steady stream of tourists are being air lifted off the mountain.

Considering the apparently supernatural circumstances of this incident and with the Avengers on
holiday in an undisclosed location, SHIELD has been approached for comment. When asked, both
SHIELD's press desk and its Agents on the ground refused to comment.
Perhaps even they don't know.

With tensions running high worldwide and following the mysterious destruction of MI6 and the
battle waged on Britain's own soil earlier this year, the Prime Minister has reportedly called a
meeting of COBRA, the government's emergency council to look for answers to what are probably
the same questions as the ones plaguing ordinary people worldwide.

What caused this explosion of power? What connection, if any, does it hold to previous events?
Has, as some fear, HYDRA been resurrected, leading to some kind of secret war being waged
under our very noses?

And, above all, where are the Avengers in this?

What did they have to do with it?"

Hermione simply stared at the television as her father switched it off. "Hermione?" he asked
quietly, tone worried. "Is this... magic?"

Eventually, Hermione found her voice and gave the only answer she could, one that would
normally have galled her, only failing to do so through the sheer scale of it. "If it's magic," she said.
"It's unlike anything I've ever read about, let alone seen." She turned to her parents. "I'm sorry," she
said helplessly. "But I..." she trailed off as a thought struck her.

Harry had gone skiing, hadn't he?

"No," she whispered. "It couldn't be."

But her intuition, an oft neglected part of her, was telling her that yes, it probably was Harry. Loki,
after all, rarely went for the massive energy blast, Thor was more of a lightning person and even
Tony's Unibeam never got that big.

But he couldn't have, the more rational side of her protested. Harry was strong, yes, stronger than
anyone else in their year, maybe the year above too, but this expression of raw power was, well...
there was only one word for it.

Godlike.

"Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't know," she admitted. "I honestly don't know."

OoOo

"Gentlemen," General Ross said. "For over a decade, we have been trying to discover the identity
of the so-called 'Lost Omega', an Omega Class entity that Director Fury saw fit to hide from the
world. This being, this person, whoever they are, has since been denied the opportunity to serve
their country by Fury's stonewalling and misdirection tactics. And this isn't the only time he's done
this. Oh no. It's thanks to him that the Avengers, potentially our most potent military asset, have all
but gone independent."

"If I might interrupt, Tad," General Lane said. "At least two of the Avengers aren't US nationals.
Indeed, they're representatives of an extremely powerful sovereign state, one with interests of its
own. And they happen to be two of the most powerful members. And the other most powerful
member," he continued, eyeing Ross. "Has a distinct aversion to the US military. Partly thanks to
you."
"Banner was always a bleeding heart, but I'll give him this: he was brilliant," Ross said. "He just
got cold feet when he realised the fruits of his work."

"Considering what happened when someone else was turned into a Hulk, maybe he had a point,"
Alexander Pierce said. "That sort of power is not easily managed. It took Banner years to get his
current semblance of control over it."

The door suddenly slammed open, and everyone turned to see Brigadier O'Neill stride in. "Sorry
I'm late, gentlemen," he said. "I've been a little busy."

"It's not a problem, Jack," Pierce said. "We're just getting started. Tad thinks he's found the Lost
Omega."

O'Neill's eyebrows shot up. "Well," he said, plonking himself down in an empty seat and swinging
his feet up onto the table. "That would be a thing."

"Indeed it would," Ross said.

O'Neill glanced around and frowned. "Hey, where's Fury?"

"Fury's gone to speak to his colleagues and opposite numbers in the intelligence game, while Hill's
investigating the incident that started all this," Pierce said. "So I'm standing in for them at the
moment." He paused, then added dryly, "and somehow, I can't imagine that this meeting would
have been all that productive if Fury had been present."

O'Neill nodded.

Ross coughed pointedly, then began.

"HYDRA are a serious threat to national security, as you all well know. But their latest attack on
American soil has had an unexpected benefit." He nodded to one of the techies, who brought up a
picture. "They forced the Lost Omega to show the world what he can really do."

"What is that?" Lane asked.

"It's a man," Pierce said slowly. "Fighting... is that some kind of robot?"

"That or another battle suit," O'Neill said.

"Indeed," Ross said. "Further images of the surrounding area will show you the level of destruction
that little tussle caused. As you can see, the faces of entire mountains have been reshaped. We've
got craters the size of football stadiums, holes the size of subway tunnels bored straight through
peaks and widespread avalanches. And all of these were side effects of this throw down. And then
there was a massive energy discharge, just before this portion of the fight. Moments after that
discharge, our satellites detected something coming down out of the upper atmosphere. And they
showed us this." He brought up another image, of humanoid object lying sprawled in a field. "This
was taken in Russia." He looked up at the pictures. "Omega Class indeed."

"Tad, I'm going to cut you off right there, "O'Neill said. "First, that's not the Lost Omega. Second,
he wasn't acting alone."

"What?"

"That picture was taken over Colorado, right? A couple of nights ago."
"Yes," Ross said, frowning.

"My niece was up there," O'Neill said. "She was on holiday with a few of her friends. One of
whom happens to be Thor's son."

"I thought that he was a kid," Lane said. "And a small one, with glasses."

"He's done a bit of growing in recent months and ditched the glasses, making up for lost time,"
O'Neill said. "He's now about five foot nine and he's bulking out too. He'll be closing on his dad's
size in a few years."

"Are you saying that he's manifested powers, Jack?" Pierce asked.

"Sort of," O'Neill said. "He's stronger than anyone his size should be and apparently he's got
superstrength coming through in bursts, whenever he gets stressed or pissed off. And there might
be some psychic ability in there, too. He's a reasonably powerful pyrokinete, among other things,
but I think that comes from his magic."

"So if it wasn't the Lost Omega, O'Neill, who was it?" Ross asked.

"I told you. Thor's son," O'Neill said. "Turns out that the mountain they were on was alive. Crazy, I
know, but frankly, that's far from the weirdest thing we've had to accept in the last few years."

"That's true enough," Pierce said. "I've heard of similar phenomena from MI13, and I think Project
Pegasus filed a report or two on the subject. Carry on, Jack."

"Thanks. This spirit, it didn't take kindly when it sensed the kind of things that HYDRA was
putting into the area. It responded by raising a storm that made Thor think twice."

"Why was HYDRA there, anyway?" Lane asked, frowning.

"The Avengers were distinctly silent on that subject," O'Neill said. "But if I had to guess, they were
after Thor's son, and maybe one or two of the kids he had with him."

"Who were they?"

"My niece," O'Neill said. "One of her friends, Jean-Paul Beaubier, the French Ambassador's son, an
Asgardian kid and a young lady called Diana."

"I can see why HYDRA might want Thor's son and a young Asgardian, but what relevance do the
others have?" Lane asked.

"Well, apparently Diana is the daughter of Hercules. The Hercules," O'Neill said. "Who, from what
I hear, is a physical match for Thor himself."

"He's not coming down here, is he?" Ross asked, slightly apprehensively.

"Not that I know of," O'Neill said. "Apparently the girl's being fostered by Asgard and he stays in
Olympus." He leaned back. "Anyhow, this mountain spirit, or whatever it was, decided to take
things up a notch. It empowered them." He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a piece of
paper. "Empowered them... 'to the height of their potential'. The flashy armour was apparently a
bonus." He nodded at the screen. "That was Thor's son at full throttle. Almost certainly an Omega
class entity in his own right."

"What was he fighting?" Pierce asked.

"Carol, my niece, said it was some kind of robot," O'Neill said. "Remotely controlled by someone
who introduced himself as 'Baron Zemo'."

"Who the hell is he?" Ross asked, as Lane sucked in a breath.

"Baron Helmut Zemo, son of Baron Heinrich Zemo, Tad. Old man Zemo was part of the old
German noble officer class during the War – the sort that liked the idea of a new German Empire,
but balked at the Final Solution and despised the Nazis for their fanaticism. He was an enemy of
HYDRA, and SSR was actually planning to make contact with him, to sound him out as an ally, but
he was killed by the Skull. For whatever reason, Zemo Junior joined up with HYDRA in the late
sixties or early seventies and became one of Von Strucker's deadliest lieutenants," Lane said.

"I take it that you've met," Pierce said, reading Lane's expression.

"Grenada, 1983," Lane confirmed. "I was a Lieutenant on patrol and my squad stumbled upon a
HYDRA base that was packing up." He grimaced. "Zemo jumped us."

"What, alone?" Ross asked, astonished.

"He killed four of my best men before they could raise their guns, Tad," Lane said grimly. "He
wiped out my entire squad in less than ten seconds."

"How did you survive?"

"I shot him," Lane said. "Not anywhere vital, but enough to annoy him and slow him down a little."
Apparently unconsciously, he rubbed his shoulder. "It was enough. Just about."

"Then a SHIELD team turned up, right?" Pierce said. "And he withdrew."

Lane nodded.

"An entire squad," Ross said slowly. "That's some fast shooting."

"He didn't bother with a gun, Tad. He was using a sword," Lane said flatly and frowned deeply.
"So. HYDRA were after the boy, then?"

"Seems so," O'Neill said.

"And he went toe to toe with that thing, which knocked dents in mountains."

"Went toe to toe with it and matched it for a little while, after going a few rounds with one of those
super werewolves HYDRA used on MI13," O'Neill said. "SHIELD are going over the remains of
it."

"Remains?"

"That Diana girl's even tougher than he is. She ripped it in half with her bare hands. One of the
wolves went the same way after it made the mistake of trying to bite her."

"How old is she?"

"Twelve."

"My god," Lane murmured as a wave of whispers went through the room. "And the boy. How old
is he?"
"Thirteen. He turns fourteen soon, though," O'Neill said.

Lane shook his head. "Twelve and fourteen. Same ages as my daughters," he said quietly. "I
wouldn't want my Lois anywhere near something like this, let alone Lucy."

"Judging by his expression, if Thor had had any say in the matter, he wouldn't have let his son
anywhere near this crap either," O'Neill said. "He looked very unhappy. And when someone like
that gets that unhappy, everyone knows about it."

"Thor's not someone anyone wants angry at them," Pierce concurred. "You said that your niece was
there, Jack. What capabilities did she observe?"

"On the boy's part? She didn't exactly say, but based on what she mentioned and what was
observed, I've got a few basics," Jack asked, then consulted the paper. "Superhuman strength on an
uncharted but vast scale, superhuman durability on similar and all round physical enhancement that
was literally godlike. Flight. Enormously powerful energy blasts - a 'small' one vaporised a steel
hard block of enchanted ice six feet thick, fried one of the werewolves and bored a hole straight
through a mountain on the other side of the valley. Telekinesis. Oh, and Pyrokinesis."

"Impressive," Pierce said. "The boy clearly takes after his father."

"This enhancement process," Ross said, a definite note of interest in his voice. "Did it stick?"

"No," O'Neill said. "And I don't think you can replicate it either. Most of Loki's explanation went
straight over my head, but the gist of it was that that mountain spirit, a genius loci he called it, had
power to spare and enhanced them. But it couldn't have done it forever and it couldn't have done it
outside of its area of influence." He looked Ross in the eye. "Project Pegasus was shut down for
a reason, Tad. Magic's dangerous. It's powerful, unpredictable and, if what I'm told is true, alive."

"That may be true, but there are opportunities here," Ross said. "If your niece consented to a few
tests..."

O'Neill slammed his hand down against the table hard. A thin, intricate pattern of spiderwebs
spread out from the point of impact. "Finish that fucking sentence, Tad," he snarled. "And I will rip
your tongue out with my bare hands."

"Tad," Pierce said, tone sharp. "You're talking about experimenting on a minor."

"Alexander, she could be the key to –"

"What? A magic based iteration of Project Rebirth?" Pierce demanded. "Jack's right. Pegasus was
shut down for a reason, several reasons, and damn good ones. And even if you tried it, even if Jack
didn't manage to kill you for it, you heard who she was friends with. The Avengers despise you,
Tad, for your history with Banner. If you have the guts to try this, I guarantee you that you'll end
up being strangled with them. And even if you managed to avoid that and spirit her away, it would
probably blow up in your face. In my experience, that's what magic does."

"Sam..." Ross said, appealing to the next most senior person in the room, looking for support.

"No, Tad," Lane said, voice hard. "My Lois is that age. And frankly, if I thought you were coming
after her, I'd do to you what Jack just did to the table." He glanced over O'Neill who was staring in
surprise at said table. He was not the only one. "You okay, Jack?"

"Fine," O'Neill said, shaking his head. He glowered at Ross. "Which is more than be said for you,
Tad, if you even think of something like that ever again. Understood?"
Ross clenched his teeth, then nodded. "Understood."

"Good," O'Neill said.

"Meeting adjourned, I think, gentlemen," Pierce said. "I'm not sure about you, but I know that I
have work to do. If nothing else, someone is going to notice all that ruckus and I'm going to have to
ask Loki if he can fix our mountains before the press get a good look at them."

OoOoO

"What is happening, Fury?" the Chinese Minister of State Security demanded abruptly. "We
agreed to share information."

"As I recall, Minister, your stance was 'trust, but verify'," Fury said.

The assembled heads of various intelligence agencies had met once in more in the room known as
the Crystal Cave. There had been some debate about it, since the broad consensus was that Britain
was a high risk area for HYDRA attack, particularly with the crippling of MI6 and MI13, both of
which were still rebuilding themselves. However, since Fury had flatly refused to let a bunch of
foreign heads of intelligence into Cheyenne Mountain or the Raven Rock facility, the Russians had
been similarly opposed to letting the rest into whatever the hell kind of facility they were running
under Mount Yamantau - and considering that the smart money said that it was a decommissioned
Red Room facility, along with the ominous name, no one really wanted to go there, either, the
French were being suspiciously silent on the possibility that they'd been reactivating parts of the
Atlantic Wall, the Chinese were simply saying nothing and as for Wisdom... well, Britain had more
than its share of secret facilities, many of which had been used/unused for centuries and Fury had
no doubt that his protégé was exploiting them for all they were worth.

In the end, the Crystal Cave was the most secure facility that everyone agreed on, as using it
wouldn't involve revealing anything that the participants didn't want to reveal.

The Minister sighed. "Fury," he said tiredly. "I thought you were the one who said that we did not
have time to play games. My government is very nervous after this latest incident, very nervous
indeed and they are demanding answers." He glanced at his neighbour. "My Russian colleague has
similar concerns." He turned to Fury. "We will happily cooperate, Fury, if that is what you wanted
to be sure of. Now, kindly tell us what you know."

Fury nodded. "In short? HYDRA made a play for young, latent Omega class entity, a child. Thor's
son objected. That objection took the form of, among other things, an energy blast which was
visible from space."

"Yeah, Houston got me out of bed, demanding to know if someone had popped a nuke," the head
of the CIA muttered. "Worst part was, I didn't even know." He smiled wryly. "I thought someone
had started the apocalypse and not bothered to wake me, which, frankly, was just embarrassing."

There was a round of slightly nervous chuckles. It wasn't exactly a great joke, but it relieved some
of the tension.

"I was not aware that the boy was so powerful," the German said, frowning.

"Only temporarily," his French counterpart, an elegant woman with greying brown hair, newly
appointed said. "My country's Ambassador to the United Nations, Jean-Baptiste Beaubier. His son,
Jean-Paul, is a friend of Thor's son and was present at the time, witnessing the event. Apparently
the mountain they were on was some kind of nature spirit and it enhanced them in order to face
down HYDRA's forces. In the Thorson boy, at the least, it took the form of temporary ageing." She
looked around the room and shrugged. "A few years ago, I would have dismissed it as insane.
Now?"

"Strange is the new normal," her German counterpart finished.

"Which brings us to an important question, Director Fury," the Russian said. "Where is Doctor
Strange?"

That caused everyone to, obliquely, focus on Fury, who grimaced. "Honest answer?" he asked. "I
don't know. Strange does his own thing, he always has. Last time I saw him was in January." His
expression turned grim. "He suggested that there may very well be a new Sorcerer Supreme. Or
rather, in light of his chosen successor... Sorceress Supreme."

"Wanda Maximoff, Sorceress Supreme?" the Head of the CIA said, eyes wide. "Fury, are you
crazy? The staff mystics are terrified of her and for good reason – she's Magneto's daughter."

There was a murmur of agreement, including from the head of MI6. "She's dangerous, Fury," M
said, expressing the thoughts of all present. She was a short woman, with grey hair and nerves of
steel, and had only been spared the Christmas massacre by the fact that she'd been visiting her
husband in hospital. As a safety measure, it had been put about that she'd died with almost all of
the rest of MI6. "The White Council will want one of their own to take the position."

"She is also one of our most powerful assets," Fury said. "And I trust her." He shrugged. "Besides,
if you're worried about her connection to her father, I can tell you with absolute certainty that she
wants nothing to do with him and hasn't done for decades." He looked around the room. "In any
case, the decision is not in our hands, or any hands other than those of the Sorcerer Supreme and
whichever forces he answers to. And those forces do not include the White Council, no matter how
much the Merlin might wish otherwise."

"Very well," the Russian said. "But what was the boy fighting? What landed in my country?"

"A prototype robot, based on Asgardian superweapon called the Destroyer, which Thor, ironically,
destroyed several years ago. It was remotely controlled and is now scrap," Fury said. "I'm having
some of my best people analyse it, and I'll send over relevant files as soon as it's done."

"I need something to show my superiors, Fury," the Russian replied.

"We all do," M said. "The Prime Minister is still having seven fits over the fact that MI6 and MI13
were all but destroyed on British soil by a foe we can barely identify, let alone track. Maybe
pictures of the destroyed robot..."

"I can go better than that," Fury said. "HYDRA dispatched a squad of HYDRA trained wanded
magic users as well as a small pack of their mutated werewolves. Those werewolves that were
captured aren't much use for anything other than maybe assessing HYDRA's capabilities. But the
magic users were captured by Loki. There were six of them and I propose that we divide them up:
one each. We each see what we can get out of them and pool the results."

"One HYDRA Agent, even a magical one, may not exactly impress my superiors," the Russian
observed.

"Oh, they will. This lot were trained by Baron Zemo. That means that there's every chance that
they've been inside HYDRA's last big base," Fury said, and let his companions digest this.

"I think that this will be more than acceptable," the Chinese Minister said. "Though my department
will be requesting tissue samples from these mutated werewolves you speak of."

"Fair enough," Fury said, glancing around the table.

There was a series of nods including, eventually, the Russian. "I can make this work," he said. "Oh,
and Fury, I pulled a few strings and managed to unearth this from the archives of the Red Room."
He reached down beside him and pulled out an ageing, dogeared cardboard file with large red
stamps on it in Cyrillic writing, before sliding it along the table. "I think it will tell you a few
things that even Agent Romanova does not know... and a few things that she does know, but will
not tell you."

Though his Russian was rusty, Fury could still understand the words on the front, in thick, bold
type.

PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER

OoOoO

"Holy shit," Skye said, as she stared at the three dimensional images of the destruction. "What did
this, Coulson?"

"A couple of borderline Omega class entities," Coulson said. "New ones."

"New?" May asked, giving Coulson a meaningful look.

"It wasn't him," Coulson said. "He's not strong enough yet."

"Him who?" Skye asked.

"That's not a matter under discussion," Coulson said firmly. "One of the beings in question was
Thor's son," he continued, bringing up an image. "Harry Thorson. Like his namesake, he's
magically inclined and very good with fire."

"He's a kid, isn't he?" Skye said. "And didn't it take that weird kind of Death Curse thing for Harry,
Harry Dresden, to chuck around that kind of power?"

"It did," Simmons said. "He used up all of his, well, life force, to put it in layman's terms."

"And then some guy called Doctor Strange brings him back because the basic laws of nature don't
apply anymore," Fitz said. Everyone turned to look at him. "What?" he asked. "The more we delve
into this... this, it seems like the laws of physics, the basic underpinnings of reality as we know it,
no longer apply."

"Harry did it explain it to us," Simmons said. "Magic does still interact with the laws of physics. It
just... bends them slightly."

"For him, maybe," Fitz said, tone bitter. "But for the really powerful ones... they just laugh at it."

"Someone's upset," Skye said, eyeing him.

"Yes," Fitz said. "I am. Why? Because it's like someone just took a giant rubber and erased the
Age of Reason, like they turned the clock back on scientific progress!" He threw up his hands,
voice carrying a touch of despair. "What can we do when faced with stuff like this? Science counts
for nothing now. It's too big!"

"It's not too big. It's never too big," Coulson said. "And magic isn't entirely inexplicable."
"How do you know that, sir?"

"Because of something that I found in Jane Foster's debrief after the New Mexico incident,"
Coulson said. "She said that Thor had told her that in Asgard, magic and science were one and the
same. Thor's association with the Avengers, Loki's reformation and greater contact with Asgard
have helped us learn more about what he meant by that. In Asgard, magic is treated like a science.
It is studied, tested and examined, like any other forces. It's sort of like their variant on quantum
physics. Yes, there's a little bit of wild card factor in that it seems to have a slight mind of its own,
but it can still be studied. And I am certain that you and Simmons can learn to understand it."

"Sir," Simmons said. "Hasn't magic already been studied by SHIELD?" She faltered slightly in the
face of Coulson's suddenly grim expression. "I mean, after Paris, I went over Doctor Helen Stacy's
old files, to see if we could shed some light on what we're facing..." she trailed off.

"Wait, what?" Skye asked. "SHIELD has a magic division?"

"SHIELD has a division of magic users," Coulson corrected her. "But it has never explicitly studied
magic. That was Project Pegasus' department."

"What was Project Pegasus?" Skye asked.

"A disaster," May said succinctly.

"It was a department associated with SHIELD, formed over thirty years ago as part of the
superhuman arms race. It wasn't part of SHIELD, but since it dealt with the paranormal, it was
considered to be at least part of SHIELD's ballpark, and the Director of the time, Jim Woo, felt that
it should be somewhere that he could keep an eye on it," Coulson said. "That was possibly the only
thing that stopped it being a Chernobyl level disaster. Its objective was to study and, ultimately,
weaponise magic and magical creatures. One of its chief goals was to create a magic based
supersoldier."

"And it went wrong."

"Spectacularly so," Coulson said. "Twenty years ago, something went very badly wrong." His
expression turned dark. "I was pretty new to SHIELD, working with the Green Lantern, but I
wasn't naïve. I'd seen combat and some pretty bad things. But that... that was one of the worst."

"Green Lantern?" Skye muttered. "You mean, he was real?"

"Very real," Coulson said quietly. "And unfortunately, very dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Coulson nodded.

"Based on the files I read, they were pretty close to a viable supersoldier," Ward interjected.
"Among other things."

"Yes. That was the problem," Coulson said.

There was a moment of uneasy silence.

"Perhaps it's appropriate that Pegasus was brought up," Coulson continued. "Thor's son was
artificially aged to adulthood and subsidised by something called a genius loci." He changed the
image. "This is an estimate, by the way, of what he looked like."
"Cute," Skye commented. "Very boy next door." She frowned. "What's a genius loci when it's at
home?"

"It's essentially a magical artificial intelligence that develops under circumstances," May
interjected. "Most of them are pretty harmless, confined to a tree or a sacred rock, something like
that. This one was a bit different."

"If it was giving him the power, that would require a colossal amount of energy," Fitz said. "You
could run all of London or New York off something like that."

"You're going to have to take a couple of steps beyond colossal," Coulson said. "It subsidised at
least four more individuals." He brought up images of Carol, Jean-Paul, Uhtred and Diana. "It took
an ordinary teenage girl, a moderately powerful speedster, a teenage Asgardian and a pre-teen
Olympian, the daughter of Hercules himself, and aged them. The latter proved to be as powerful,
maybe even more powerful, than Thor's son."

"How do we know that, sir?" Ward asked. "I mean, at that level, surely it's pretty academic."

"He's right, sir," Simmons said. "There's a reason that Thor's marked on the Index as having
strength that's officially off the charts."

"That's true," Coulson said. "But Thor's son was facing this opponent." He brought up an image of
the robot that had plagued Harry and his friends. "It's an artist's impression, since the real thing is
now scrap. She was the one who made it that way with her bare hands, after it tanked an energy
blast even bigger than the one that bored a hole in a mountain. It puts Dresden's Death Curse in the
shade and launched it all the way to Moscow. After that, it survived re-entry to the atmosphere,
took any number of physical attacks, some of which reportedly broke the sound barrier, and a
number of other energy blasts, followed by being tackled into the ground at several hundred miles
per hour."

"Couldn't it have been weakened?" Fitz asked.

"That's one of the things that I want you to find out," Coulson said. "One of the other things we've
found out is that the robot was being controlled remotely, like an LMD."

"LMD?" Skye asked.

"Life Model Decoy," Fitz said. "They're basically robot duplicates of humans. They were designed
as dummies, well, decoys, for high profile assassination targets, but they haven't yet got the hang
of mapping someone's personality patterns onto its brain, or giving it an artificial intelligence. So,
what they do is have them be basically remote controlled."

"Cool," Skye said. "So, why don't you use them all the time, on risky missions?"

"Because they're expensive," Coulson said. "They can also be seen through, hacked and because
excessive use has caused psychological problems in the past."

"And there's no substitute for human instinct in the field," Ward said. "You know those feelings
you get, when the hair rises on the back of your neck and you know you're being watched? Little
things like that can save your life. And you don't get them while you're piloting an LMD."

"Plus, if one is captured, then people like HYDRA can start making them," Simmons said. "Or
worse."

"There's worse?"
"There's a lot of very valuable and dangerous technology inside an LMD," Simmons explained.
"And there's the risk that the LMD can be traced..."

"Back to the source," Fitz finished slowly. The two of them shared a look and turned to Coulson.

"That's what you want us to do, sir, isn't it?" Simmons said, excited.

"Yes," Coulson said. "If we can pick up what it's made of, how it was built and where the signal
was coming from, we can trace it back to HYDRA's last big hold out, as well as working out the
sources of resources they can bring to bear." He glanced at Skye. "Skye, I want you on this one too.
You're the one with the best chance of tracing the signal once Fitzsimmons have found out how it
works."

"Gotcha," Skye said. "But how do we know that this isn't going to, I don't know, lead us to a shed
in Ukraine?"

"We don't," Coulson said. "But the likelihood is low: Operation Overlord pushed HYDRA into a
corner and the robot was being controlled by Baron Zemo."

Skye looked around, confused, in the shocked silence, then sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's Baron
Zemo? But for the record, I'm getting kind of sick of being the one who's always out of the loop."

"He's HYDRA's Captain America, their field commander, an enhanced human and a strategist
almost without equal," Coulson said. "He's been operating for over thirty five years and in that
time, he's killed a lot of very skilled men and women."

"He likes using a sword," May said quietly. "It cuts through just about anything. IF you ever cross
his path, don't run unless you're certain he won't follow, because otherwise he'll just run you
down."

"You've met him?" Skye asked.

May nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"Okay, Skye, Fitzsimmons, get to work," Coulson said. "Ward, May, I need you to be ready for
some recon work when they're done."

"On it," May said, as Ward nodded, before following the others out.

Once they were gone, Coulson enlarged the image of the HYDRA robot and stared at it. It had
caught the machine in the act of opening up its face plate to reveal the deadly livid orange energy
that would roar out.

As he stared, his mind drifted back nearly five years to New Mexico, when a vast figure of
gleaming silver-grey metal had descended from the heavens in a column of rainbow light to tear
apart the appropriately named small town of Puente Antiguo.

The Destroyer. An Asgardian superweapon designed to kill the gods themselves, the remains of
which had been collected by SHIELD and reverse engineered into a series of weapons powerful
enough to hurt the likes of Loki and destroy low level superhumans like the veidrdraugar.

And now a robot, a proto Destroyer of a sort, had turned up under HYDRA control, one with an
ability that the original had never had, the ability to fly and do so at speeds that challenged space
shuttles, crossing almost half the planet in well under half an hour. Only Thor and Stark in his most
advanced armours, the latter when going flat out, had ever been recorded operating at similar
speeds. Then again, the fact that it had re-entered the atmosphere suggested something similar to a
theoretical concept called a sub-orbital hop. The only saving grace was that the damn thing hadn't
been all that manoeuvrable once in flight.

But the physical threat of the robot, the power it wielded, didn't even begin to compare to the
implied threat it carried, what its very existence meant.

HYDRA was inside SHIELD.

And that left him with three questions.

How long had they been there?

What else had they taken?

Who could he trust?

 Motives

After the meeting ended, Fury went to leave and found himself being intercepted by M. "Fury," she
said brusquely. "I need a word with you. And only with you," she added, glaring at Wisdom.

Wisdom raised his eyebrows, then nodded curtly and left.

M watched him go. "I don't like him," she said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"Don't be an idiot, Fury. He popped up out of nowhere thirteen years ago, under your guidance,
rocketed up through the ranks of MI13, largely thanks to you," M said.

"I didn't pull any strings," Fury said.

"You didn't have to. MI13's never been all that conventional and you were a rising star yourself,"
M said. "Anyone you took an interest in was considered to be worth paying attention to." She
shook her head. "No one doubts his ability in the field, or his talent. The battle in January proved
that. But that, and the fact that he was the most senior remaining agent in the entirety of MI13
doesn't change the fact that he's hardly more than thirty."

"If they're good enough, they're old enough."

M snorted, disgusted. "That was said about Premier League footballers, Fury," she said. "We're
playing for far higher stakes than some wretched trophy."

Fury shrugged and M pressed on.

"No one knows who he really is, or where he really came from. The best that my people could dig
up said that Peter Wisdom was very definitely not his real name. No one knows who or what he
was before he started using it. Name, nationality, date of birth, place of education... nothing." The
woman fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Except you."

"Except me," Fury agreed. "And that's the way it's going to stay."

"Fury, he has the ear of the Prime Minister, the entire Cabinet and a sizeable proportion of of the
Opposition, something I hadn't thought possible since the Cold War ended. They want reassurance
and they think he can provide it," she said. "The only people who don't like him are most of the rest
of the Ministry of Defence, and they've never been renowned for liking any of us in Intelligence.
MI13 may still be a wreck, but it's rebuilding fast and he's got a lot of influence. There's even talk
of folding what remains of my department into his, for god's sake!"

"That won't happen," Fury said. "And I was only a few years older than he was when I took over
SHIELD."

"A few years can make all the difference. And, Fury, we knew who you were and where you came
from," M said. "Frankly, your motives were transparent to anyone who actually bothered to do a bit
of digging."

Fury eyed her.

"Oh for goodness sake, everyone knows how close you were to Lily Evans and her parents," M
said impatiently. Her voice softened somewhat. "Michael Evans and his wife were your mentors.
Lily was practically your little sister. Of course you wanted justice. You wanted a world where that
kind of thing, the sort of wretched infighting that the supernatural community at large seems to
enjoy so much, routinely catching innocents in the crossfire, didn't happen."

"Isn't that what we're all fighting for?" Fury asked quietly. "A better world?"

"No," M said frankly. "Most of us would just like it to keep on turning and for the political status
quo to remain intact." She smiled at him, briefly. "Only a few have ever realised how much of an
idealist you actually are."

"I'm not an idealist," Fury said. "I just think that making a better world to leave to the next
generation is our duty."

"Well, I think that we'd best start with having a world to leave to begin with," M said. She glanced
at Fury. "Does the boy know?"

"Know what?" Fury asked. There was no doubt as to which boy that they were talking about.

"That he has other blood family," M said. She glanced at Fury, then looked out over the Thames.
"He doesn't, does he?"

Fury gave her a sharp look. "Know what?" he asked.

"Don't dance around it, Fury. Jean Grey is his cousin," M said sharply. "And you haven't told him,
or her, yet. Why?"

"How did you find out?" Fury asked.

"I did my research," M said. "It was perfectly obvious once my people started looking." She gave
him a cool look. "So. Why haven't you told them?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because the boy was born a British citizen and I have at least some stake in his welfare," M said.

Fury snorted.

"We all do, Fury. He's got too much power, active and potential, for anything else," M said. "The
incident in Colorado proved that beyond all doubt. He's young, he's powerful and he's got a talent
for rallying other powerful people to him, gaining their loyalty."

"And you think that makes him dangerous?"

"Think? Fury, I know," M said. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Believe me, I noticed," Fury said, glancing after his counterparts.

"Not just them. The White Council's been getting jumpy," M said.

"Of course they have," Fury said, with a touch of contempt.

"They have damn good reason to be worried. They know more about how that kind of power can
corrupt, and how fast it can do so, than any other group on the planet. And that's in people who
don't come from, frankly, an utterly horrific background," she said, and shook her head. "A
cupboard," she said, disgusted. "How could they?"
"Fear. Jealousy. Petty vengeance," Fury said, shrugging. "Take your pick."

"Where are they now, anyway?" M asked. "I know Wisdom had them detained as a threat to
national security, but after that, I lost track." She shook her head. "Lord knows how he got that one
past Parliament without the Opposition and the Press screaming their collective heads off. I
suppose they were all too busy worrying about an Asgardian reprisal to care."

"Probably," Fury agreed. "Last I heard, they were incarcerated in Strangeways. The Dark Levels."

M raised her eyebrows. "I almost feel sorry for them," she commented, then frowned. "Doesn't
Wisdom's pet vampire live down there?"

"Not any more. I think he's living under Cardiff these days," Fury said. "And that guy isn't anyone's
pet."

"Could have fooled me," M commented. "He's like a free pest removal service, where other
vampires are concerned. Apparently, most of them are scared stiff of him." She glanced at him.
"He'd be a powerful ally."

"And for good reason," Fury said. "He would be, but Wisdom didn't bring him up." He shrugged.
"My guess, either the guy's not a team player, or Wisdom doesn't want to go to him in anything less
than a position of strength."

"Sensible of him," M said, grudgingly. "Well, Wisdom will need to get help from somewhere. He's
rebuilding fast, but there are limits. The White Council are already fighting a war, they don't have
the manpower for another. Maximoff, maybe? She worked for him before."

"Less 'worked for', more 'helped out'," Fury said. "And she's got her own problems to deal with,
demons popping up all over the place."

"Like hell, if you'll forgive the pun," M said. "She may be doing an admirable job of firefighting
worldwide, but you and I both know that she's just papering over the cracks. She'd be better off
working with either MI13 or the Avengers."

"As long as she's doing that, those cracks can't widen and leave us with a nasty surprise at our
backs," Fury pointed out. "And I thought you didn't trust Wisdom. Or Maximoff, as you made very
clear in the meeting."

"Better the devil you know," she replied crisply.

Fury inclined his head in acknowledgement. "The list of people he could call on is pretty short," he
said. "Xavier's mob are trying to keep their noses clean."

"Oh, is that why I saw Wolverine standing behind the President, looking very uncomfortable in a
rather nice suit?"

"I figured that he's one of the few who can stand up to the Soldier in a straight fight," Fury said.

"You think the President's a target?" M asked, unsurprised.

"I think that Lucius Malfoy wants to make an impression and has someone at his beck and call
who's already killed a President," Fury said. "At the very least, it'll have crossed his mind."

M nodded. "Maybe the current batch of Westchester's finest aren't interested, but a few of the
former ones might," she said. "After all, Cassidy and Worthington are up at Hogwarts."
"Not many would be interested in picking a fight," Fury observed. "Particularly not with HYDRA."

"Summers might."

"Summers. As in, Colonel Alexander Summers a.k.a. Havok and his grandson, Scott Summers
a.k.a. Cyclops?"

"I know of no other Summers', other than that 'Buffy' show that my grandchildren were going on
about a few years ago," M said. "And I meant the older one." She glanced at him. "Honestly, I'm
surprised you haven't recruited him already."

"I tried, for the Avengers," Fury said. "He turned me down flat."

"Then now is the time to try him again," M said. "For goodness sake, the world's about to tip over
the edge into chaos, I can feel it. He's a powerful asset and his country, his planet, needs him."

"That it does," Fury said. He glanced at M. "You know, you're giving me a lot of advice."

"Well, with my agency in the state that it is, I'm hardly good for anything else," she replied bluntly.

They stood in silence for a while, then M broke the silence.

"How is Coulson, by the way?"

Fury had not got to where he was without an excellent poker face. But, for just half a moment,
shock flashed across his face.

M smiled slightly. "You know, this is the first time in a decade that I've seen you surprised," she
said. "I suppose you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. I only found out because the file on his
resurrection found its way to my desk and somehow, I don't think that that was a coincidence."

Fury's eye narrowed. "Yeah. Somehow I doubt it," he said, voice carrying an edge. "Since that little
miracle was conducted by Doctor Stephen Strange."

"And no one was ever able to conclusively explain how it hopped across the Atlantic and wound
up on my desk," M said. "I'd heard that Strange could see the future, but do you think..."

"That he planned for you to tell me someday, maybe at this precise moment?" Fury asked. "I
wouldn't bet against it. He's up to something."

M snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Something you don't know? Fine," Fury said. "Strange's master plan, such as it is, is coming to a
head. He's turning over his cards, one by one, and the more I find out, the more it looks like it's
centred around Harry." He looked out over the river, expression hard. "My gut says that Strange
has played a far greater part in that kid's destiny, in the destiny of the world, than we ever
imagined."

"That," M said grimly. "Would make more sense than it doesn't. My guess is that he's forging the
boy into a weapon."

Fury stared out over the river in thought. "It's possible," he said, eventually. "But I don't think so."

"Why not? The man's job is to protect this planet," M said. "And you and I both know how ruthless
he is capable of being. If he can predict or mould the future the way he seems to be able to, I doubt
he would hesitate. Orphans make the best Agents, and while the boy isn't quite an orphan, he does
have the potential to be a living superweapon, potential that he's beginning to exhibit."

"Oh, Strange is more than capable of it. But if he wanted a weapon, I don't think he'd have had
Wanda bless the kid," Fury said. "Let alone let him end up in such a situation that Loki tripped his
dad's memories, and thereby ended up steering the kid into the midst of Earth's Mightiest Heroes."

"Blessing?" M asked, eyebrow raised.

"At Strange's behest, Wanda put a blessing, a kind of probability warp, on the kid," Fury said.
"Fairy Godmother style." He sat back. "In essence, it was designed to make sure that, when he
found himself in trouble, there'd always be someone at his back." He shook his head. "No, this isn't
his work," he said. "Strange isn't the only one who's been meddling with the kid's life."

"What makes you think that?"

"Albus Dumbledore placed a coal mine canary in the form of a Squib called Arabella Figg to keep
an eye on Harry Thorson, Potter as was," Fury said. "That canary failed to go off, despite clear
indications that Harry was being abused."

"Incompetence is hardly unusual, Fury," M said. "Especially among amateurs."

"Ordinarily, I'd say so too. But a couple of months ago, Strange turned up. He mentioned a whole
bunch of cryptic stuff, along with the fact that he didn't think he would be alive much longer," Fury
said. "He tipped us off to the fact that Mrs Figg had had her mind played with, describing it as 'a
powerful and malevolent intelligence', one that apparently had an interest in keeping Harry at
Privet Drive."

"He could just have been covering his back," M pointed out.

"One of the few consistencies with all the stories, reports and up observations I've read and made
about Strange is this: he never lies," Fury said. "Misdirects, misleads and obfuscates the hell out of
the issue at hand, but he doesn't lie. And there's evidence to back him up."

"Like what?"

"The tip off got Dumbledore's attention, so he and Agent Psylocke had a look inside Figg's mind.
They found more than a little bit of psychic residue. Subtle stuff, for the most part, designed to veil
her perceptions," Fury said. "See no evil, that sort of thing. Wisdom got a hunch and investigated
everyone else who raised the alarm or might have had reason to try and do so. There were a few
duds. Some were just oblivious, others didn't care and others still didn't have the confidence to
accuse a well off family like the Dursleys. Others still may have been bribed. And they found the
same psychic signature in every one of them. One that wasn't magical."

"That's not good," M said. "Did they get anything more than that?"

"It was generally quite old, so, not much. They did isolate the fact that it was someone who was
both powerful and knew what they were doing," Fury said. "They also got an image of a man with
dark hair, a chalk white face and red eyes."

"You're telling me this for a reason," M said shrewdly.

"Yes," Fury said.

"You want me to look into it," she continued.

"Yes," Fury said.

"Never mind the fact that my department deals with foreign intelligence, this sounds like Wisdom's
area of expertise," M said. "I trust him about as far as I can throw him, Fury, but I won't deny that
he's good at what he does."

Fury shook his head. "Whoever this is knows how to cover their tracks from the superhuman end
of things. But they didn't wipe everyone," he said. "I reckon that they were a bit sloppier when
they used mundane methods." He folded his arms. "Strange implied that whoever was behind it
used to work with Arnim Zola, taught him even. He said that Zola was just a student, learning at
the feet of a master. That implies that they're older than Zola, probably quite a lot older. Strange all
but stated that he was immortal." Fury smiled briefly. "That's good."

"Good?"

"One thing I've found is that the old monsters, whether they started out as human or not, tend to be
pretty bad at keeping up with the times. Whoever this is may have been decades ahead of their time
in terms of genetic engineering if they taught Zola, but maybe they're not so good in some other
departments."

"Very well, I'll put the new Q on it," M said. "He's brilliant. Insufferable, but brilliant."

"I know a few like that," Fury said. "How's he still alive?"

"He hates parties."

M was silent for a long time, then sighed. "I've lost too many people. Good people. Bond, for
instance."

"He was one of the best," Fury agreed. "Up there with Barton and Romanov. Not quite as good, but
they've got edges he didn't."

"That wasn't enough, though. Not against the Soldier," M said.

"If it's any consolation, it looks like he got the drop on him," Fury said. "There are very, very few
who can ever claim to have done that."

"And then probably uttered one of those witty one liners he loved, before getting his head blown
off," M said irritably, then sighed. "Stupid man. Stupid, but brave. He did his duty, no matter what
it cost him."

"That's what Agents do," Fury said, turning to go. "You can trust Wisdom, M."

"On what grounds?"

Fury was silent for a long moment. "Let's just say that he's got a personal stake in bringing Malfoy
down," he said. "And, like you said. Better the devil you know."

"I suppose it is, at that," M said quietly. "I'll look into it. But no promises."

Fury nodded, then turned and started walking. He had work to do.

OoOoO

"Well," Harry said eventually. "It looks like we'll all be going our separate ways."
Indeed it seemed that they would. Four Asgardian soldiers had been sent down by Bifrost to escort
Uhtred and Diana back to Asgard – something which Harry felt was a little unnecessary. What was
really going to happen in transit through the Bifrost? – and Carol and Jean-Paul were being taken
home in a SHIELD quinjet, their respective uncle and parents having pulled some strings.

Harry, meanwhile, was going back to Avengers Tower.

As he said it, he felt a slight twist in his chest, one that, though he did not know it, was mirrored in
each of the other four. Though they may not have the vocabulary or the experience to properly
define the bond that now existed between them, one forged in the fires of battle, they knew that it
was there.

"Yeah," Carol said. "You guys are going to stay in contact, right?"

Harry nodded, but Diana and Uhtred both frowned. "We want to," Diana said. "But I am not sure
how."

"Yes, I am not sure if they really have the internet in Asgard," Jean-Paul said. "This could be a
problem, mes chéris."

Carol gave Harry a considering look. "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. Harry caught her
implication and glowered.

"Do I look like a post owl?" he demanded rhetorically and was promptly boggled at.

"You guys send post... by owls," Carol said slowly, as if not believing her ears.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'll admit, Facebook is quicker."

"You have a book of faces?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"It's..." Harry trailed off, and cast Carol and Jean-Paul a helpless look, and the latter came to his
rescue.

"It's a way of keeping in contact with lots of your friends at once, mon cher," the French boy said.

"Basically," Carol said, nodding. "I'm guessing that you don't get cell reception up there either."

This got another pair of puzzled looks.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Well, you two," Harry said, nodding at Carol and Jean-Paul. "Could come to Asgard in the
summer."

Carol's eyes went impossibly wide. "We... you... would..."

"Sure," Harry said. "You're my friends, I'm a Prince, so I don't see why not."

"It would be okay?" Jean-Paul asked, surprised.

"Prince," Harry said cheerfully. "Also, seriously, Tony and Bruce apparently blow something up
every time they visit. It's got to the point where builders and artisans gather outside the palace
gates and wait for the explosion. You'd have to go a long way to be worse than that. Not that you
would, obviously, but..."
"Whoa," Carol said faintly. "Um. Wow. Thanks."

Jean-Paul mumbled something surprised in French.

"You okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Sorry, I just got a casual invite to actual, real life heaven," Carol said. "I'm just taking it in."

"Oh," Harry said.

"He occasionally forgets who he is," Diana said to Carol, who nodded vaguely.

"I can see that."

"I don't," Harry protested, then paused. "Okay, fine, I do. Sorry." He shrugged. "I'm still getting
used to the whole Prince of Asgard thing."

"That is hardly surprising, mon cher," Jean-Paul said. "It took me months, even years, to get used
to my speed." His expression shifted into something unreadable. "And even now, it surprises me,
sometimes."

"Yes," Uhtred said, watching the other boy carefully. "You said something earlier, Jean-Paul."

Jean-Paul gave him an easy smile. "I say many things, mon cher, even when I am faced with a
sight that should strike me dumb," he said lightly.

Harry cocked an eyebrow and shared a glance with Diana. Both of them could sense that this was a
deflection. So could Carol, judging by the snort she let out.

And apparently, Uhtred was no more blinded than any of them. "You said that you felt like you
could keep running forever," he said.

"So I did," Jean-Paul said. "But I don't now."

And though they tried before they all parted, and Carol tried on their shared flight back, that was
all they got out of him.

OoOOO

Thor gently knocked on the door to his son's room.

"Come in," Wanda said quietly.

Thor opened the door and made his way inside. The room was dark, but he could see perfectly
clearly. One of the many advantages of being an Asgardian that he had come to appreciate after
regaining his memories of his life as James was his eyesight. Not only did he not have to mess
around with glasses, he could see clearly for miles around. And, crucially, he had excellent night
vision. Harry was curled up on the bed, still dressed, his head resting on his godmother's lap. That,
and the bags under his eyes, said that he was still sleeping off the exertion of the night before last,
and little wonder.

"How long?" he asked, quietly.

"An hour," she replied, without looking up, gently carding her long, slender fingers through her
godson's hair. "He's still tired, though that's hardly surprising."
Thor grunted his agreement, sitting down on the bed a little further down, and taking his son's
hand. Harry mumbled incoherently and gently squeezed his father's hand. Thor smiled slightly.
"All too often, I forget his true age," he said quietly. "But when he sleeps... he looks so young."

"He does, doesn't he?" Wanda said softly. "You can see it in other ways, though." She looked down
at the boy in her lap, a slightly astonished expression on her face. "He's so trusting, for starters."

"He's not trusting, as such," Thor said, regarding his son. "He just decides very quickly who he
does and does not trust. And those he trusts, he trusts almost without reserve." He looked up and
met Wanda's gaze, look deep into her grass green eyes. "He trusts you. As I do."

Wanda took a deep breath, and for a moment, her eyes watered. Blinking rapidly, she looked away
for a few moments, then looked back. "Even after..."

"Even after," Thor said. "I cannot say that I am happy about it, but equally, I recognise that you
were put in an impossible position." His mouth curved into a wry smile. "And let us merely say that
I, as Thor, have had more than a few encounters with the creatures that you and Stephen faced. I
know perfectly well what they and their ilk would have done to Harry if they had got the chance.
And Hermione."

Wanda's eyes widened and she twitched sharply, causing Harry to let out a sleepy protest. Looking
away from Thor's knowing expression, she fussed over her godson, hushing him gently, soothing
him back to sleep.

Finally, after several minutes, she looked back up, expression blank and wary. "Lily told you?" she
asked, voice flat.

Thor shook his head. "No. Albus and I figured it out," he said. "He had deduced that you had had a
child, by John, and we went from there." He chuckled slightly. "We spent some time going down
completely the wrong path, worrying that we would be pulled into a race for her, not unlike the
one that you endured, not realising that she was right under our noses. Then I realised that she
might be wanded, and Albus figured it out from there." He sobered, and gave Wanda a serious
look. "She looks more and more like you every day," he said. "She has John's eyes and there's
something of resemblance between him and her, but if you know what to look for... she is very
much your daughter."

"If you recognise her, others will too," Wanda said, voice tense.

Thor shook his head. "I think not," he said. "She looks like you, yes, more and more as time goes
by, but there are two things to bear in mind. First, this greater resemblance is a recent development.
Second, you have to know what you're looking for, that there was anything to look for in the first
place. Remus hasn't recognised her, for instance, and if he doesn't, I doubt many others will."

Wanda nodded slowly. "Who knows?"

"I and Albus for certain," Thor said. "I would not be surprised if Nicholas knows."

"He does," Wanda said. "He and 'Peter Wisdom'."

"The head of MI13?" Thor asked, frowning. "How would he... ah." His expression darkened. "He
was Nicholas' protégé."

"He was, but I don't think Nicholas told him," Wanda said.

"The Nicholas we knew would not have done, but believe me Wanda, he has changed," Thor said
quietly. "He was always dangerous, but now... he is cold, and ruthless, enough to challenge the
Winter Queen herself."

"Believe me, I know," Wanda said grimly. "He casts a very long shadow these days. His name is
respected and feared, and in both cases, it is for very good reason."

"I am not surprised," Thor said quietly. "My brother might know."

"You think so?"

"He is teaching her wandless techniques, along with Harry and Molly and Arthur's twins," Thor
said. "Apparently her magic is red. Or rather, scarlet."

"That is a rather big clue," Wanda said, quietly.

"It is," Thor said, then smiled slightly. "But even without it, I think he might have figured it out."

"You do?"

"Yes. I have long since come to believe that while my brother does not know everything, much like
Albus, he can provide a highly creditable impersonation of it," Thor said, and Wanda laughed
softly.

"Albus always was good at that," she said, amused. "What about Stephen? Why not include him?"

"I didn't include him because there is an outside chance that he does, in fact, know everything,"
Thor said dryly. "Unless you know otherwise...?"

Wanda grinned. "No such luck," she said. "He's been pulling the omniscient act on me since I was
a girl and he hasn't been wrong yet." She chuckled. "Well. Except when he was trying to get me to
clean my room."

Thor glanced around the room. It was moderately clean. "Thankfully, I don't have that problem,"
he said.

"Yet," Wanda said, just a little gleefully.

Thor sighed. "Yet," he agreed. "Apparently I am also going to have to worry about Harry being
excessively stubborn as a teenager."

"I hope you're not expecting me to reassure you on that score," Wanda said. She hesitated for a
moment, then asked, hesitantly, "How is Hermione?"

"She is happy," Thor said gently. "She has good friends in Harry and Ron, Arthur and Molly's
youngest boy." He smiled slightly. "I think Ron is developing feelings for her."

A gleam entered Wanda's eyes, and they narrowed, something that probably boded ill for a certain
Mister Weasley. "Is he now?" she asked, voice considering.

"It is only a possibility," Thor said, hastily, aware Ron's brand of blunt honesty might not go down
well with Wanda when she was feeling particularly protective. "One that, if true, neither he nor she
is yet aware of."

"Hmm," was the non-commital reply. "Her parents are taking good care of her, then."

"Yes," Thor said. "Did they know that she was going to be magical, and possibly a mutant, from
the start?"

"Yes," Wanda said firmly.

Thor paused, realising that he was about to tread on some very thin ice, then said, "I appreciate that
you may not want to answer this, and do not feel that you have to," he began, while inwardly
thinking that if she did not answer, that would probably be an answer in and of itself. "But why did
you not take Hermione to..."

"To my father," Wanda finished.

Thor nodded.

"Simply put: I did not trust him then, I do not trust him now. He may claim to have turned over a
new leaf and renounced his old ways, but I'm not sure if I believe it."

"You do not?"

"No. He may no longer be throwing down with the Green Lantern, but that could just be because
he's decided to take a more subtle approach," she said. She looked out the darkened windows.
"You know, most people, of those who knew that he was my father, thought that my problems with
him came from childhood. But they don't. Not entirely."

"Not entirely?"

"I can't deny that when he found me, I felt relieved, but also betrayed – after all, why had he not
come before? Why had he abandoned me?" she said. "Of course, I learned later how he'd believed
that I'd been killed along with my mother, and with good reason, but..." She sighed. "I was not as
forgiving as Harry has been. I assumed that he'd abandoned me, something which wasn't helped by
the fact that he went on about his cause, how dedicated he was to it. It was when he was at his
most fanatical, and... it scared me. I'd grown up among the Roma, my mother's people, so I could
understand where he was coming from. We were no strangers to persecution. But at the same time,
he sounded just like the same kind of person that called us thieves, tricksters and kidnappers, that
treated us as subhuman. He was no better than they were."

"I am not surprised that he frightened you," Thor said. "By the time I was at Hogwarts, half the
stories had him as the Devil himself. Even Voldemort was supposed to be afraid of him."

Wanda's lips twisted into a humourless smile. "Powerful, charismatic and bent on the total
destruction of all who would stand in his way... an apt comparison," she said. "And Voldemort
was. I heard rumours of the two having a rematch, which my father won, but I doubt it."

"You do?"

"Oh yes. If my father had beaten Voldemort, you'd have heard the screams," Wanda said darkly.
"For weeks."

A chill ran down Thor's spine.

She shook her head. "So, part of it was resentment, perhaps unfair, a feeling that he'd first
abandoned me, then, when I was given into Stephen's care, that he'd abandoned me again. And
part of it was revulsion, completely and utterly fair. He may have survived the Holocaust, but that
doesn't give him license to do the things he did, to become the mirror image of his tormentors."
She smiled another mirthless smile. "I told him that, once. He didn't like that. No, he did not like it
at all."
"I can't imagine that he would," Thor murmured.

Wanda shrugged callously. "Truth hurts," she said. "So, no, Thor, I didn't give Hermione to him
because I knew what kind of man my father was capable of being. Charles may be willing to
forgive and forget, but I'm not. Changed or not, I know the monster that lurks beneath the surface.
And I was not, will not, let him within one hundred miles of my daughter."

"I cannot blame you," Thor said quietly. He hesitated. "Wanda, may I speak freely?"

"Of course," she said, surprised.

Thor dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I too know what it is to have a loved one fall into
darkness. I know the pain of seeing them become everything they ever despised, to see them
transformed into something twisted and vile," he said gently. "And I know that redemption, even
from such darkness is possible." He gave her a serious look. "I cannot claim to know your father,
Wanda, but maybe you should consider that he might, in fact, have changed."

Wanda looked sceptical.

"You will never know if you avoid finding out," Thor pressed. "I know that it can be hard to see
them so warped, but if there is a chance..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Forgive me. He is
your father, and it is your affair."

"No, I understand what you're trying to say," Wanda said softly. "But your brother only turned bad
for a year, maybe two. My father turned a very long time ago. I'm not sure if he could turn back
even if he wanted to." She sighed. "And, awful as it is to admit it, I'm not sure if I could stop
blaming him, even if I wanted to." She shook her head. "I mean, it's hypocrisy, considering how
you and Harry have forgiven me, but..."

"He is your blood," Thor said. "And he has committed crimes. You can only be said to have made
mistakes, when you had no good options to choose."

"Thank you, Thor," Wanda said. "But I'm afraid that doesn't really comfort me."

"I know," Thor said. "I can see it as clear as day. You blame yourself for the circumstances that
you faced."

"Is it any wonder?" Wanda asked tiredly. "I was Stephen's apprentice, Thor, a grown woman, and I
should have come up with a better option."

"You had also just lost your best friend," Thor said gently. "Along with another friend. A third,
Harry's godfather, was believed to be a traitor and murderer. The true traitor, the true murderer,
was believed to have died a hero's death. Remus was in mourning and even if he had been able to
assist you, his condition would have prevented it. And Stephen..."

"He said that he couldn't help me," Wanda said, bitterness entering her voice. "It was probably
because he knew that events had to pan out as they did, but..."

"In short, you had almost no one to turn to for help," Thor said. "Wanda, as someone who has
blamed himself too much – and, many a time, not enough – I..." he trailed off and shook his head.
"No. As your friend," he said. "I implore you to stop blaming yourself. It achieves nothing."

Wanda took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll try," she said.

"You'll do more than bloody try or I'll set Sirius on you when he gets back from Vegas," Thor
muttered.

Wanda's eyebrow rose. "Do that and I'll turn you into a five year old girl," she said tartly.

Thor's eyes widened. "You wouldn't," he said. "You couldn't... could you?"

Wanda grinned, stifling a peal of laughter. "I'd get Darcy to braid your hair," she said, voice
bubbling with amusement.

Thor eyed her, then edged away. "Truce?" he ventured.

"Truce," she said, eyes sparkling. She cocked her head and examined Thor thoughtfully. "You
know, just then, you sounded very... James."

"So I have been told," Thor said matter of factly. "I was him, now he is part of me. Every now and
then, the memories... well, they don't so much resurface as become more prominent."

"Hence you sounding like you did as James," Wanda said. "And neatly distracting me from my
moping with a hyperbolic and amusing threat."

"How do you know I wouldn't follow through on it?"

"Because until now," she said dryly. "I had you down as a smart man."

Thor opened his mouth, frowned, then gave Wanda a slightly sour look. "Touché," he muttered.

"Thank you," Wanda said primly, though a smile was still twitching at her lips, and at Thor's too. A
moment later, the two burst into soft, muffled laughter.

"Look at us," Wanda said. "Giggling like the young, carefree kids we used to be."

"I wouldn't have called us carefree," Thor said.

Wanda shrugged. "Everything's relative."

"True enough," Thor agreed. Absently, he rubbed the thumb of the hand that Harry was holding
against the back of Harry's hand, drawing a pleased sound that almost qualified as a purr and a
squeeze of the hand.

Thor smiled, then, slowly, released Harry's hand. This elicited a grumble of complaint from Harry,
which Wanda soothed, causing him to cuddle up to her. As Thor watched her do so, rising from the
bed carefully to avoid disturbing his son, he resolved to talk to Tony about appropriating a floor to
serve as Wanda's quarters. Asgard knew that there were enough of them going spare.

The reason for this was that, for or all his comments about Harry's youth, his son was approaching
manhood at a somewhat alarming rate. Soon enough, he would be looking to girls his own age and
young women as bed partners, and for considerably more than just a cuddle.

And then there was the building storm, the sense of ever growing threat and danger, the shadow
that loomed large over the Nine Realms. It could claim any of them at any time. War, after all, was
no respecter of person or position, not least of regrets and unfinished business.

Both of those factors meant that might not be too many further opportunities for Wanda to, well,
baby her godson, just a little bit, and make up for lost time, which she would have to do fast.

Harry was soon to turn fourteen, after all, and it was at about that kind of age when teenage boys
started getting awkward about hugs from family. That said, it was entirely possible that Harry
would prove the exception to that particular rule, at least for a little while longer. After all, Bruce
had mentioned something about Harry's development being somewhat zig-zagged – more mature
in places, less so in others – and he had always been a very cuddly child.

However things turned out, his son had been starved of love for much of his life, and Thor was
going to do everything in his power to see that at least some of that was made up. And, hopefully, it
would alleviate Wanda's niggling feelings of guilt.

He chuckled slightly as Harry, both arms now free, responded by putting them around his
godmother's waist and cuddling up closer, instinctively shuffling his body around so that his face
was pressed against the smooth warmth of his godmother's stomach.

He was going to be dreadfully embarrassed when he woke up, Thor thought.

Harry had only met Wanda face to face recently, and while they had hugged for some considerable
time the previous day, this was exactly the sort of thing that he would get embarrassed over.

OoOoO

In the main living room of the Tower Penthouse, more serious problems were being discussed.

"Why?" Tony said abruptly. He was confused. He did not like being confused. "Why would
the Winter Soldier save Carol's life? Why would he risk himself by going toe to toe with a
werewolf, one of his allies? Why would he go to the trouble of carrying her all the way down the
fucking mountain in the middle of the worst blizzard in a fucking century?!"

"Worst in a century?" Clint inquired.

"Yeah, I checked," Tony said absently.

"Tony?" Bruce asked. "You okay?"

The genius sighed and rubbed his face. "Yeah, Bruce, I'm just peachy," he said, closing his eyes
briefly, then opening them again with a snap, jumping slightly. The rest of the Avengers watched
him, concerned. Tony looked defensive. "What?"

"You are not fine," Natasha said.

"It's okay to be scared, Tony," Steve said.

"I wasn't scared," Tony snapped, then grimaced. "Okay, fine. I was terrified. And worse." He
folded his arms tightly and pressed his lips into a thin line, body thrumming like a high voltage
line. The others, long conditioned to Tony's moods, waited for the inevitable. "I mean," he said
eventually. "It was me, armed with a fucking hair brush against... that."

"It was very brave of you," Steve said. From almost anyone else, it would have come off as
dismissive, patronising, or both. Steve, however, did sincerity the way most people breathed. In
lighter times, Tony had joked that it was his superpower.

"Brave and useless," Tony said bitterly. "I mean, yeah, I know, he doesn't kill kids. But if it wasn't
for some kind of fucking glitch in his programming then Pepper would be... I would be..."

He trailed off.
The silence stretched out.

"I felt helpless, okay?" Tony snapped out. "Completely helpess. I don't do helpless, but I was
helpless then. No armour, no tech, not even a gun."

"If you'd had a gun, you'd be dead," Natasha said.

"Natasha," Bruce said, a hint of reproof in his voice.

She shrugged.

"I mean... look, I don't have super serum. I don't have magic and the powers of a god. I don't have
super sniper vision or some kind of super immortality serum and ninja moves," Tony said bluntly.
"I don't even have an inner Hulk. Or, at least, I don't turn big, green and bulletproof. Without my
armour, I'm..."

"A genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, if I remember correctly," Steve said quietly.

Tony looked startled, and Steve smiled.

"Though, I think that you'd better have dropped the third part if you don't want Pepper to skin you
alive," he added dryly.

Tony shuddered dramatically. "Oh god, yes," he said. "I mean, I would never –"

"We know, Tony," Loki said, cutting him off before he could get going. It was his first
contribution to the conversation, having previously been content to sit back and listen. "The point
that Steve was making is that you are much more than just the man who wears the armour."

"Thanks, but that's not really much of a comfort when you've got a nigh-invincible super soldier
ninja assassin about ten feet away from you," Tony said. "I'm not gonna lie, I'm going to be seeing
that guy again in my dreams and they will not be fun dreams."

"You're missing the point, genius," Clint said. "You're caught without your armour? So what?
You're the guy who built the damn thing in a cave, with a box of scraps, under the noses of a bunch
of seriously nasty terrorists, along with an arc reactor." He shrugged. "Do what you've always
done. Build a new one."

Tony's eyes lit up. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, I've been working on armours that I can remotely
summon, but maybe one I could carry around, yeah. I mean, it would be cutting edge even by my
standards, bleeding edge, even." He turned to Bruce. "I'm gonna need your help for the biological
interface."

"If you're thinking what I think that you're thinking, we'll have to compensate for potential
feedback issues," Bruce warned. "And then there's storage..."

"Bruce, we're the Sciencebros. And we've got Jane, who knows, like, everything there is to know
about pocket dimensions," Tony said casually. "The sky is nowhere near the limit."

This was taken as an unspoken signal for the team to go their separate ways. But as they did, Steve
stopped Natasha as she went to go spar with Clint. "Natasha, could I speak to you for a moment?"
he asked.

"Of course," Natasha said, exchanging a speaking look with Clint, who nodded and left, making his
way to the lift. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked.
"I wanted to ask you about the Winter Soldier," Steve said.

"Why not do that in front of the rest of the team?"

"Tony's encounter with the Soldier shook him pretty badly," Steve said. "I reckon that bringing up
the subject in front of him might not be such a good idea, at least not for now."

Natasha nodded her agreement. "I think you've got that one right," she said. "What you want to
know?"

"The Soldier didn't just stayed to make sure that she was properly treated for exposure. He even
obeyed Pepper when she told him to face the wall while she and Diana changed Carol. Then Diana
hugged him and apparently he even ruffled her hair," Steve said. "And then there was how he
behaved when fighting us. That's not normal for him, is it?"

"No, it's not," Natasha said. She thought for a moment. "The thing about James – that's his name, is
that underneath the assassin, there's a good man." She looked at Steve, green eyes frank and
serious. "I was raised from birth to be what I am," she said bluntly. "But he was a different story.
He first appeared maybe a year before he started running missions, in early 1944. I saw him once
or twice at the Red Room complex, being given physical therapy and testing his bionic arm –"

"Whoa, whoa, they had bionic arms in the Soviet Union?" Steve asked, surprised. "Even Howard
never got that far."

"Yes. It would probably help Howard's ego to know that it was a primitive one, at first," Natasha
said. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure that he was a captured foreign special operative."

"German?" Steve asked.

"American," Natasha said. "If I had to guess, they either figured that you were just one of a whole
series of supersoldiers, or simply the most powerful one. Or they wanted someone to test their own
pirated version of the supersoldier formula on."

"The Soviets were our allies," Steve said, then grimaced as Natasha raised an eyebrow. As was all
too easy to forget, she herself had been a Soviet. "You know what I mean."

"It was an alliance of convenience, Steve," Natasha said. "For both sides." She shook her head.
"That's another matter. My point is that it was normal, but for James, not the Soldier."

Steve nodded. "That means that the brainwashing is degrading," he said. "Could he be turned?
Would he remember the man he used to be?"

Natasha was silent, as if weighing up the possibilities. Or, Steve felt, a touch uncharitably,
weighing up how much she was willing to tell him. While he appreciated that the Soldier
represented part of her very dark and very dangerous past, which she was understandably not keen
on delving into, every scrap of information could be vital.

"It's degrading, and if he gets the chance, he'll turn on his own," she said. "And there's a good
chance he'll get his memories of his time with me back. He never remembered who he was before
the Red Room took him, though." She shook her head. "To be honest, it's not something that we
should count on."

"Hope for the best and prepare for the worst?" Steve asked, unsurprised.

"Pretty much," Natasha said.

"Okay, thanks," Steve said. "I... I've got some thinking to do."

"Don't go doing too much," Natasha said, with a quick smile as she turned to go. "You'll hurt your
brain."

Steve rolled his eyes. "My brain will be fine," he said.

"Sure it will," Natasha called teasingly over her shoulder.

Steve chuckled. And as he did, his mind drifted away from speculating on what Natasha was not
telling him.

Just as she had intended.

OoOoO

"SHIELD and HYDRA aren't so different," Pierce said.

The meeting of the two heads of HYDRA was, arguably, long overdue, and Lucius had wanted to
arrange it ever since he had taken charge – though, of course, he had been careful avoid looking
desperate.

He wanted to take the measure of the man who even Director Fury answered to, the Secretary of
Defence of the United States and the current Chairman of SHIELD, who was also, in secret, the
head of the secret HYDRA within SHIELD. The concept had appealed to him from the moment
he'd first heard it, and he wanted to see it in action, as well as meet the man who was, theoretically,
his equal. Not that Lucius saw matters as such, and he severely doubted that Alexander Pierce was
any different.

In the end, only one of them could be supreme. But that was a struggle for another day.

For now, they were drinking some rather fine Champagne and discussing strategy. Well, to be
more accurate, they were testing one another, politely, of course.

"Not now they aren't," Lucius agreed.

"Oh no, it would always have been this way," Pierce said. "See, SHIELD's enemies are the same as
our enemies. They always have been. Chaos, conflict, disorder... they need to stamped out. We both
agree on that. We both believe that peace is not something that should be rewarded, it is a
responsibility." He glanced at Malfoy. "The only difference there has ever been is the lengths that
we are willing to go to see that dream come to fruition."

Lucius inclined his head in agreement. "So. You are the head of HYDRA's... SHIELD division,
shall we say." He glanced at Pierce. "How many agents are loyal to HYDRA?"

"Maybe twenty percent," Pierce said.

"Only twenty?"

"The numbers are lower than I'd like," Pierce admitted. "As it is, the number of operatives we have
is enough for our purposes. You don't want too much of a good thing, after all."

"That is true, but I'd still have preferred at least thirty percent," Lucius said, frowning.

"We're getting there," Pierce said. "And a number of them are concentrated in the STRIKE
division, SHIELD's best combatants outside of the Special Agent Division. But until we can take
control of SHIELD's Psi Division, which is going to be difficult. And since Fury occasionally gets
Charles Xavier to sweep their minds, we have to tread carefully. Then there's the fact that he's onto
us."

"What?" Lucius asked, shocked.

"Nick knows something," Pierce said. "He hasn't got any evidence, and he doesn't know who's
HYDRA and who's not, but he knows that we're there. It's part of why he barely trusts anyone." He
glanced at Lucius. "I hear that you and he are old sparring partners."

"I took his eye. He took my mobility and my first wand," Lucius said, forebearing to mention that
Fury had taken rather more than that. His pride, for one thing. "And he burned down my house."

Pierce chuckled. "That sounds like Nick," he said.

"He's a friend of yours?"

"Ever since he joined SHIELD from the Rangers, before he met you," Pierce said. "Though I didn't
really get to know him until after he came back from Britain. After that... he was driven. He was
actually the one who convinced me that HYDRA's way was the correct one."

"Ah, yes. Bogota, 1998," Lucius said, and Pierce gave him a surprised look. Lucius smiled thinly,
glad to have got one over the smooth and self assured muggle. "I have made a point of following
his career and the conclusion was not hard to draw."

"I find that something of a surprise," Pierce admitted. "I thought that you hated him."

"I do," Lucius said, sipping his champagne. "But I admire the creature for what it is."

"That is one thing that we can both agree on," Pierce said.

Lucius nodded. "By the way, Secretary," he said. "There is one little secret of SHIELD's that we
have not been able to access."

"Oh?"

"The so-called 'Lost Omega'," Lucius said. "His, or her, identity, origins and abilities."

"Ah..." Pierce said slowly. "Yes. That old chestnut." He paused. "To be honest, I don't know. Fury
never told me. He never told anyone, except Coulson. He told the Director of the time, Jim Woo,
but when I chased up that link, it turned out that Woo had had the knowledge wiped from his mind.
Either he'd done it to himself, or Fury had had a hand in it. And I don't know about you, Lord
Malfoy, but I wouldn't have put it past him."

"Indeed not," Lucius murmured.

"The only thing I ever managed to figure out was that the kid was connected to the Smallville
Meteor Shower of 1995. That means alien," Pierce said. "Which means that you should be careful."

"Why? Beyond the obvious of the child being completely inhuman and therefore unpredictable,"
Lucius said.

"Because alien means that Captain Mar-Vell might be involved," Pierce said grimly.

"Mar-Vell?"
"Mar-Vell is an alien from an advanced alien race called the Kree. You'll have a file on him, but I'll
give you the short version. Outwardly, he looks human, but he very definitely isn't. Physically, he's
at least as strong as Captain America and he wears battle armour with similar capabilities to the
Iron Man Armour," Pierce said. "He first turned up in the early fifties, working with the earliest
iteration of SHIELD and he took a shine to Agent Carter, later Deputy Director Carter. For
whatever reason, he then gave us a vast amount of data that has since become known as 'the Mar-
Vell Files'. We messed around with it for a while, but after what happened to Adam Brashear, all
exploration into it was ended." He paused. "Well, it was supposed to be, though it would explain a
lot about what happened to Project Pegasus." He shook his head. "Anyway, after that, Mar-Vell
appeared maybe once or twice a decade, though he may have appeared more often without our
knowing."

"Perhaps that 'shine' he took was more than just a mere affection," Lucius suggested.

"That was my first thought, but in any case, Carter disappeared in '62. No one knows what
happened to her. Some blame the Winter Soldier, others blame Magneto – he'd just taken the name,
you see," Pierce said.

"Maybe she ran off with this Mar-Vell."

"No. Carter wouldn't have done that," Pierce said, shaking his head. "I met her once. I was a very
young Agent, and you could say that she left an impression. She was a hard woman, cool, ruthless
and efficient. And loyal. Very, very loyal. She built SHIELD from the ground up and was loyal to
it all of her life. Not only that, but she was the best. She crossed swords with the Black Widow, the
Soldier and the rest of the Red Room, including the Winter Guard."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, impressed. He had encountered one of the later versions of the Winter
Guard, the hit squad of the Red Room, during the early years of his service to Voldemort. They
had been mad, bad and dangerous to know, and he had barely escaped with his life. "Remarkable."

"Definitely," Pierce agreed. "To my mind, the Magneto theory holds more water – he and Carter
were both involved in Division X, an experimental CIA division that SHIELD got involved with. I
won't bore you with the details, but it collapsed after Cuba, leaving Magneto to strike out on his
own."

"So, Mar-Vell would take notice if I started looking for this Lost Omega," Lucius said, steering the
conversation back to useful waters.

"I think he would," Pierce said. "And I doubt that he would take kindly to it. Apparently he doesn't
need his armour any more."

"Superpowers?" Lucius asked, unsurprised.

"Classic flying brick," Pierce affirmed. "That means..."

"Flight, enhanced strength and durability," Lucius said. It wasn't a hard deduction to make.

"And the ability to launch energy blasts from his hands," Pierce said, raising an eyebrow. He
clearly hadn't expected the wizard to work that one out. "Of course, it could just be a variant of his
armour rather than a supersoldier process, but either way..."

"He is still very dangerous," Lucius finished. "I will bear that in mind." He shook his head. "The
Lost Omega is not a priority."

"The same way Drake wasn't?" Pierce asked sharply. "That incident was a clusterfuck, plain and
simple."

"Yes," Lucius agreed grimly. "It was. I was not, for example, informed of the Avengers' presence
there. Nor of the existence of an extremely powerful and active genius loci."

"I assume that heads have rolled."

Lucius shrugged. "Assume as you wish. I have placed the responsible into the custody of
Gravemoss."

That would have caused most men to shudder. Pierce merely smiled a serene smile that reminded
Lucius irritatingly of Dumbledore. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he regarded Pierce briefly,
before looking away and adding, "I do not tolerate failure."

Pierce caught the implication, and his own eyes narrowed. "And I've never been one to tolerate
stupidity," he said. "But our tolerances aside, I hope that we won't be seeing more disasters like
that."

"Oh no," Lucius said. "That was opportunistic. An Omega class mutant is a rare prize."

"And the happenstance of Xavier being out of the game and Magneto's attention being elsewhere
when one manifests is even rarer," Pierce acknowledged. "What intrigues me is the children."

"Potter," Lucius said sourly. "Or rather, Thorson. And his latest collection of lackeys."

"An impressive collection they are too," Pierce said. "A demigoddess who will be able to rip apart
a near-indestructible robot with her bare hands, while being roasted by an energy blast designed to
kill gods, a powerful speedster, an Asgardian warrior and a tactitian with near superhuman
determination."

For some reason, the last seemed to amuse him, but he didn't respond to Lucius' interrogating
eyebrow. Lucius would later do a little digging and find Carol's connection to Peggy Carter, which
he presumed to be the basis for the chuckle.

"If anything, that should underline my reasoning for seeking to capture the boy," Lucius pointed
out. "Fury is assembling his team for the future, so therefore, I must assemble mine, if only to
enforce HYDRA's rule, in whatever form that it may come."

"True," Pierce acknowledged. "Well, I you want to go looking for the Lost Omega, wherever they
ended up, they started off life on Earth in Kansas. They may have been moved since, in fact, if
Fury's the man I think I know, they would have done. But the trail starts there."

Lucius nodded slowly. "I will bear that in mind," he said.

"Now, Lord Malfoy, there's one thing that I'll admit that I've been wondering about," Pierce said.

"What is that?" Lucius asked.

"Your motives for joining HYDRA," Pierce said. "I mean, you had a money, power and influence.
You were happily married. Your son was doing well at school. So why risk it all by taking on the
Avengers?" He let out a short laugh. "To be honest, Lord Malfoy, it doesn't really fit with your
usual modus operandi. You always preferred to operate from the shadows."

Lucius sipped some champagne, noting that either Pierce was taking a clever shot in the dark on
Draco's results, or he had access to much more information than Lucius had previously credited
him with. "There are a number of reasons," he said. "But in truth, it came down to my family." He
looked out the window at the Washington skyline. "Tell me, Secretary Pierce, what do you see out
that window?"

"A reasonably prosperous city, stuffed to the gills with cowardly little weasels masquerading as
politicians," Pierce said.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting that. But it could be useful.

"I see ants," he said. "Lots and lots of little ants, scurrying about, performing tiny, meaningless
little tasks. And then, there are few men like you, I, even Director Fury, who stand above them."
He stared out the window. "And yet, despite the fact that they are so petty, so tiny... those little
ants rule the world, seeking to shackle or destroy all those who naturally stand above them,
recognising the threat they represent to their little ant-like world. Some, like Director Fury allow
themselves to be shackled willingly, perhaps because they feel they do not deserve to take their
rightful place. Others, like us, do not." He leaned back in his seat. "Yet we must be careful. After
all, enough ants, biting with a singleminded fervour, can bring down even the mightiest beast. And
that is not the way the world should be."

"Then how should it be?" Pierce asked.

"The weak should know their place. The strong should be able to rise up to rule, as is their
destiny," Lucius said. "Of course, there will be always the weak who are born to the strong, and
the strong who are born to the weak – blood matters little, unless one does justice to it." He looked
at Pierce. "You have a daughter."

Pierce nodded.

"You would do anything to keep her safe," Lucius said. "As I would do anything to keep my son
safe. But now, I see that merely safe is neither certain, nor enough. I have spent much of my life
watching the steady march of mediocrity over this world and the magical one, a steady tide that
threatens to drown those who would, who should, rise above it. And I have equally spent much of
my life afraid, first of my former Master, Voldemort, then of his enemies, Albus Dumbledore and
Magneto. The former, I no longer fear – he has grown soft in his old age. The latter, anyone with a
brain is afraid of. And then, there is my own enemy. Nicholas Fury." He sipped at his champagne
glass. It was nearly empty. "I have feared them all. I have feared the Avengers as they rise, fearing
Thor's vengeance for what happened to his wife. But now..."

Pierce topped up his champagne, and Lucius nodded his thanks.

"Now, I no longer intend to be the one who is fearing, but the one who is feared," Lucius said.
"And I intend for my son to grow up into a world where he needs to fear no one, not least the
crawling little ants, the numerous weak, who would drag us all down to their level."

"Well," Pierce said, after a long moment. "That is quite the speech. And you know what? I quite
agree." He raised his glass. "A toast. To the end of mediocrity."

Lucius raised his glass and touched it gently to Pierce's. "Quite so," he said. "Quite so."

OoOoO

Elsewhere, matters were not quite so convivial, even if that conviviality was of two sharks that had,
for now, agreed not to try and eat each other, and instead try and eat everything else.

Deep under London – though that was not quite true as locations went, it was close enough –
Gravemoss sat in a comfortable chair with a grimace on his bone-white face.

He was nursing a headache, and had been for the last couple of days. Thankfully, he hadn't been
disturbed, at least, not after the last person foolish enough to do so had been compacted inside his
own stomach and left to digest himself in a corner. Occasionally, Gravemoss heard the odd
sloshing noise. It was quite peaceful, really, though not so much as the various feeble attempts to
scream that he had made for the first half an hour.

That wretched red clad sorceress. If the disruption of his control of the Slendermen hadn't been bad
enough – and it was, considering the two day migraine - the way she had done it...

He shuddered.

Chaos. She had used raw chaos, a blend of magic and... something else, something he hadn't been
able to define.

It had been the perfect tool to disrupt his control, since that was exactly what chaos did, and it had
backlashed into his mind, hard. Hence the migraine.

But it had also done something worse. It had made the whispers louder.

His gaze drifted, as if pulled by some kind of magnetic force, to the book in the other corner. He
had been careful with it, very careful. He knew what it was, what it could do, and had judged the
risk worth it. Now, even though it had taught him how to create his pets, he was not so sure.

It whispered to him. It had ever since he'd opened it. The whispers hadn't been loud, at first. They'd
just been a tiny hint of background noise, easily disregarded. But, as time went by, as he used the
book more and more, the whispers grew steadily, stealthily louder. It wasn't something you noticed
if you weren't looking for it, and if you were looking for it, you just focused on it, which then
seemed to make it even louder.

In other words, you couldn't keep an eye on the whispers without making it even more necessary to
keep an eye on them.

It was quite the mental conundrum and, Gravemoss suspected, the reason that many previous
wielders of the book had quickly gone insane, like a cracked mirror. That wasn't something he was
particularly worried about. He'd been more than warped enough to begin with, and it wasn't
something he feared. On the contrary, he embraced it.

What worried him was the way the book drew him to it, left him longing to open it and plunge his
very being into it in a way that so many others had done before, a way that he had so far managed
to resist and the way that the Scarlet Witch's brand of chaos had just made that longing all the
sharper.

The rest of him was repulsed by this longing, reviling it as an attempt to devour his mind and soul,
leaving his body as a puppet for the Elder who had written that dread tome. But that rest of him
was growing quieter.

Because now, the book wasn't just whispering words, but images too. Images of his wildest dreams,
standing as the ruler of a universe of the dead, with Death Herself in shackles at his feet, images of
him sweeping all who would oppose him aside, turning them into his pets and then turning them on
each other in an orgy of unliving hunger.

These temptations were easy enough to resist, taken individually, but as a constant onslaught, with
the knowledge if he gave himself to the book that they could become reality and so much more, it
was far harder. And then there was the counter, what the mortals called the stick to go with the
carrot.

When he resisted, it showed him pictures of fire, wielded by impossible entities, ones utterly,
implacably opposed to him, ones who laughed at the power of death and defied in ways he had not
believed possible.

Sometimes, it was Loki wielding the fire, and Gravemoss feared him, but it was not he who was
usually there.

No, usually it was the one who had thrown his very life force into a terrible strike yet survived to
fight again, the Star-Born, a mortal whose very name spoke of a burning city. He had shadows
upon him, shadows of the Fallen Web-Weaver and the Queen of Air and Darkness, yet at the same
time brought light and flame into sacred darkness.

He had hurt Gravemoss. Not a God, not a Demon, nor even a Sorcerer Supreme. Just a mortal man,
and he had burnt Gravemoss with life itself, tinged with power granted by the Stars, power that had
recognised the shadow of the Elder One on Gravemoss' heart and struck at him with even greater
fury.

And then there was the other. The boy-man demigod, usually a half grown child, briefly a man
with great and terrible power. Shadows lay upon him too. One was a soft, golden shadow, a
warmth that lay deep within, whispering its presence in every single one of the little fire bolts that
the boy hurled. It had risen into a vast and terrible storm within the boy, who had not had the
knowledge to reach beyond the topmost layer of it. Gravemoss had no idea what it was. It seemed
young, almost, and new, so maybe had never encountered it before, and yet, it was powerful.
Power like that did not come without age. So perhaps, it was something else.

The other... that was even more well buried, carefully not exerting even the slightest bit of direct
power. If it hadn't been for the fact that he recognised the feel of its influence and the badge that
the boy had worn on his chest, he wouldn't even have noticed that it was there.

But now he knew. The moment he'd realised, the fear had been so great that for a long time, the
whispers had abruptly gone silent, for even the Darkhold knew to fear Her.

She was a Power, one that was Ancient beyond years, something that had emerged in the very
beginning. She was the very antithesis of what Gravemoss represented, and he knew with utter
certainty that if She ever got the chance, there would not even be ash left behind. He would be
consumed by an inferno of which the Star-Born's Death Curse had only been the palest, weakest,
most infinitesimally reduced shadow. Maybe that had been why he had cast it, to give Gravemoss
the slightest taste of what was to come.

If Her attention turned elsewhere, then maybe he could study the boy's spirit and power, while
Doctor Zola hacked apart his body, searching for its secrets in the physical realm while he searched
for its secrets in the metaphysical one.

But Gravemoss got the feeling that her attention would not wander any time soon.

OoOoO

Several floors above, another dark and shadowy figure, widely feared with whispers in his mind
stood, stance purposefully impassive.

But his thoughts were not chaotic. Instead, they had taken up a single refrain, drowning out the
ineffectual whisper of his programming.

I won't let you down, Natalia. I swear, I won't.

 A Moment Of Peace

The next day, with all the Avengers and Harry being well rested, preparations were made to travel
to the Weasleys. It was considered a mercy that they all slept late, with the exception of Natasha,
who rose before the dawn with the regularity of a metronome, with few waking up before eleven
o'clock, because that meant it was considerably easier to negotiate the five hour time difference.

A quick conference was had over the breakfast table, with the consensus being that, since Mrs
Weasley cooked enough food to feed an Asgardian army and they were due there at 17:30 New
York time, they would be best off simply having a large brunch. Then matters moved on to travel.

"The Weasleys live on the edge of a small non-magical village," Thor said. "We should be
discreet."

"And the Bifrost is anything but discreet," Loki noted.

"Maybe we could incorporate the tech behind one of the Bifrost gates into a Quinjet," Jane said.
"Clint could take us up, then use the Bifrost gate to arrive over Britain."

"That could work," Tony said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I mean, it would only take a couple
of hours to knock together..."

"Are you seriously expecting me to rely on tech that's just going to be put together in an
afternoon?" Clint demanded.

Tony stared at him as if his reticence was something alien and, therefore, baffling. "Well, yeah."

"Besides, it shouldn't be hard," Jane said. "It'll work."

"Oh, I've heard that before," Darcy commented.

"For that, you're testing it," Jane said.

"Jane, I do not know how to fly a plane!"

"Relax. All you'd have to do is press a big red button. You're good at that."

"Oh, thanks," Darcy grumbled. "Fine. But if I get stuck in the Cretaceous period – again – I'm so
blaming you."

"You did not get stuck in the Cretaceous period," Jane said, affronted. "It was the Upper Jurassic."

"Whatever! There were still dinosaurs all over the fricking place!"

"There is another option," Wanda said thoughtfully. "I could open a portal through the Nevernever
between here and London, and we could fly the rest of the way, suitably cloaked, of course."

"Nevernever?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised.

"Parallel dimension," Natasha said. "Bigger than Earth. Very strange and, in places, very
dangerous."

"Then why isn't Reindeer Games suggesting it?" Tony asked. "I mean, no offence to the Scarlet
Godmom, but he is kind of the God of Magic."
"None taken," Wanda said, though she did raise an eyebrow at the appellation, 'the Scarlet
Godmom'.

"I was going to, but then you started coming up with some rather interesting ideas," Loki said.
"And I thought it would be more fun to see what would happen." He shrugged as everyone stared
at him. "What? God of Mischief, remember?"

"Brother," Thor said, frowning. The frown was undercut by the fact that his lips were twitching.

Steve cleared his throat, and instantly, everyone's attention turned to him. "I think that Tony, Bruce
and Jane should work on incorporating the Bifrost tech into a Quinjet. It could be very useful on
future missions," he said. "But for now, I think it would be best if Loki and Ms Maximoff worked
on passage through the Nevernever. If I recall correctly, it's dangerous, but far from impassable."

There was a round of nods, though Wanda added, "Please, Captain, call me Wanda."

"Then you must call me Steve," he replied. "I take it that's everything settled?"

Indeed, as it turned out, it was.

OoOoO

Ultimately, while Jane, Tony and Bruce did manage to put together a suitable means of teleporting
the Quinjet, and Darcy, resigned to a fate as a test dummy, only ended being teleported to New
Jersey (apparently, she preferred the Upper Jurassic), and even then, only once.

She did, however, complain about the lack of hot goth girls. Wanda, who seemed to know instantly
who Darcy was talking about, responded by saying that a meeting could probably be arranged,
while Loki muttered something about the Earth being doomed, before interjecting that he and
Wanda had created a path through the Nevernever to within five miles of Ottery-St-Catchpole.

This, naturally, caused Tony to sulk.

In other words, it was business as usual.

The actual transit through the Nevernever was distinctly undramatic – indeed, if anything, it was a
bit of an anti-climax, to the point where Harry asked, slightly disappointed, "is that it?"

"Nephew, you've just passed through a parallel dimension to cross a vast ocean in but a moment,"
Loki said, with just a touch of sarcasm. "Regrettably this is, in fact, 'it'."

"I was just wondering," Harry said, slightly defensively.

"The kid does have a point," Tony said. "I thought that there would be more sparkles."

"... Sparkles?"

"And fairy tale monsters."

"Rest assured, Tony, they can be arranged," Loki said darkly.

"Brother," Thor said firmly, but not without a touch of amusement, before turning to his son.
"Often the most remarkable things happen with the least fanfare," he said. "Not all forms of travel,
for instance, are heralded by such extraordinary sights as the Bifrost."

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "Sorry, uncle."
"It is not a problem, nephew," Loki said.

Any further conversation was precluded as Clint brought the now invisible plane into land in the
Weasley's orchard, where they were greeted by the Weasley family. Only Bill was not present,
being on a business trip for Gringotts.

"Invisible plane," Fred commented appreciatively, as the Avengers emerged from the cloaked
Quinjet. "Very nice."

"Stunning women," George added, attention on Natasha and Wanda, before both said, in slightly
lecherous unison, "even nicer."

Harry narrowed his eyes at them, but before he could say anything, Ginny, who was standing
between them, rammed an elbow into each twin's stomach.

Wanda snickered and Natasha looked like she was about to award marks. As it was, she gave the
girl a slight smile and an approving wink.

"Hello, Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley said, bestowing a warm smile on him, and apparently ignoring
the antics of her children – though Percy was scolding the Twins for rudeness and Ginny for
violence. Then her brown eyes shifted to Wanda, and all the warmth drained away. At the same
time, Wanda had tensed, her expression guarded. "Wanda," she said coolly.

"Molly," Wanda replied. "It's... it's been a while."

"Twelve years," Mrs Weasley agreed, shooting a significant look at Harry.

Wanda flinched. Hard.

"Molly," Mr Weasley began, but, on receiving a sharp look from his wife, sighed and shut up.

There was a long, tense moment.

Then, Harry responded in a way no one expected. He folded his arms, looked from one woman to
another and said, in polite but firm tone, "Look, if this is about Wanda not taking me in because
she couldn't, I've made my peace with that. So has dad." He took his godmother by the hand. "It's
done."

Mrs Weasley blinked, taken rather off guard. "Harry, dear," she said.

"It's in the past, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, in a tone that combined earnest appeal with unyielding
resolve. "Please, let it stay there."

Wanda, meanwhile, looked touched to the point of tears. Though Harry would, and did, consider it
a small gesture, one hardly worthy of comment, indeed, one he was obligated to make out of sheer
common decency, it meant a considerable amount to her.

"I'm only here to drop Harry off, anyway, Molly," Wanda said. "I'm not looking to impose." Then,
she turned and kissed Harry on the cheek, hugging him. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

"You're welcome," Harry replied softly, returning the hug.

After a long moment, they separated.

"If you want to stay," Mrs Weasley began.

"Thank you, Molly," Wanda said. "But as I said, I wouldn't want to impose and there's an incursion
in progress from Morpheus' realm. Nightmares in the physical world."

"Where?" Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Outside Old Trafford Stadium," Wanda said. "The so-called 'Theatre of Dreams'." She rolled her
eyes. "Now there's a nickname that's just asking for trouble."

"Humans," Loki said, shrugging in a manner that said 'what can you do?'

"Hey," Tony protested.

"It isn't their fault," Loki said. "With the exception of those gifted with magic, and those, like
yourself Tony, who know that it exists, they are not aware of the dangers, even the power that can
reside within a simple name."

"I don't know," Bruce said thoughtfully. "Most people know that names are important, one way or
another. I mean, look at us."

"Perhaps," Pepper said firmly. "But I think now is not the time to talk business, hmm?"

There was a chorus of apologetic mumbling.

"I'm sorry about that," Pepper said to Mrs Weasley, as Wanda said a brief hello and goodbye to Mr
Weasley, and gave Harry another kiss on the cheek, before bidding them all farewell. "If you give
them the chance, they go on for hours."

"Hours is an understatement," Darcy said, shuddering. Jane frowned at her. "What?" the younger
woman demanded, folding her arms. "It's true, Jane. I've timed you."

"Or they start bickering," Pepper said, sighing.

"Oh, don't worry. Arthur and the children are the same," Mrs Weasley said easily. "Shall we?"

The group quickly filed outside, to see that the Weasley's extensive garden was filled with tables
that were groaning with food.

"Why, Molly, this is a veritable feast," Thor said.

"Well, I remembered how much you ate when you were James, and if I have my guess right, you
eat even more now," Molly said. "And I'm sure that your brother is no different."

"He isn't," Clint said. "He looks all skinny, but trust me, he eats almost as much as Thor."

"I have a healthy appetite," Loki said loftily. "And magic requires a lot of energy."

This led to an energetic debate about the dietary habits of magic users, Asgardians, and those who
were both, with Bruce suggesting that they set up an experiment, comparing the calorific intake of
an ordinary human, an ordinary magic using human, an ordinary Asgardian and an ordinary magic
using Asgardian.

This was squelched by Pepper, who said that this was going to be a nice lunch and that science, and
business – specifically, the sort of business that the Avengers got involved in, which usually
involved mysteries, magic and excessive violence – could wait. Though, as she privately noted to
Mrs Weasley, they would probably end up discussing one or the other soon enough.
As it was, Harry first ended up explaining why he no longer had glasses, then swiftly ended up
discussing this kind of business with Ron, who listened in awe as the other boy related a tale of
derring do upon, and within, a mountain. He left nothing out – well, almost nothing. He left out
Bobby's name and Carol's being carried down the mountain by the Winter Soldier, however.

The former was simply because he felt that Bobby deserved some privacy. The latter, on the other
hand, was because he was not a fool. He knew that the Soldier had gone against his orders in the
most spectacular way possible, short of an outright defection. He knew that Death Eaters were
involved with HYDRA.

He also knew that Ron, though he was as close to Harry as a brother, was not always the best at
keeping his mouth shut. In short, while Harry wanted to trust Ron, he knew that, whether he liked
it or not, he'd been pulled into a game for the very highest of stakes. And if you made a mistake...
well. It was best if you didn't make mistakes.

So he glossed over it, and hoped that Ron would be so caught up in the story that he wouldn't
notice. Either Harry had his uncle's gift for story telling, or Ron was simply being particularly
oblivious on that day, but Ron didn't notice. Instead, he had another concern to raise.

"... and after that, we all went our separate ways," Harry said, resisting the temptation to add
'though eternally bound by friendship and love' to that sentence. He'd finally got around to
watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and bits of it had got stuck in his head. Particularly the
'Men of the West' speech, for whatever reason.

Ron nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "Cool," he said.

"Well, more absolutely batshit insane," Harry said, before casting a furtive glance up the table to
see if Mrs Weasley had heard. As it happened, she had not, being deep in conversation with
Pepper, the two have previously struck up something of a rapport.

Mr Weasley, meanwhile, was engaged in animated discussion with Tony and Bruce, while Loki
was keeping half an eye on them, in between discussing business (actual money making business in
which things only exploded on command) with the Twins.

Percy, however, spared a moment from his discussion with a patient Thor to give Harry a
disapproving look. Even if Harry had been minded to pay attention to the admonitory gesture, his
father's wink totally undercut it.

So, Harry grinned at his father, then caught Ron's look. "What?" he asked, puzzled.

Ron looked, for a moment, like he was struggling for words, then he shook his head. "It's nothing
mate," he said.

"Ron, I'm not sure if I've told you this, but I'm a little bit psychic these days," Harry said, levitating
a pepper pot by way of demonstration. "But I don't need psychic powers to tell me that you're
lying."

Ron bit his lip and said nothing for a long moment. Harry considered pressing the other boy
further, but his instincts told him to keep quiet and let Ron stew for a moment.

Those instincts paid off, when, after a few moments, Ron sighed explosively. "Fine. There's
something," he said. "It's..." He paused. "Look, it's great that you've got your dad back and this
whole family thing. It's brilliant. And new friends too. But you've been going to Asgard, getting
wandless magic lessons and having all these adventures..."
"And you feel a bit left out," Harry finished quietly.

Ron nodded.

"I did invite you to go skiing," Harry continued.

"Mum said no," Ron said.

"Yeah," Harry said. "To be frank, Ron, considering what happened..." he trailed off. "We
nearly died," he said quietly. "I was hanging around my dad's range for raw power, and I
was still nearly killed. Diana was even stronger, physically, than I was, and Uhtred, Carol and
Jean-Paul were definitely no slouches. And we barely got out alive." He shuddered. "Trust me. It
was way worse than the Chamber."

Ron nodded. "I get that, mate," he said.

Harry didn't think that he did, but let this slide.

"To be honest," Ron continued. "I'm glad I missed out on that part." He paused. "But, mate... you're
changing. You're learning wandless magic, you're going to Asgard and you're doing all these
amazing things with all these amazing people and I feel a bit like I'm being left behind."

Harry smiled and slung his hand around Ron's shoulder. "That's one thing you don't need to worry
about," he said. "No matter what happens, you're still the person I made friends with on the
Hogwarts Express, the bloke who went with me after the Philosopher's Stone, into the Forbidden
Forest and down into the Chamber of Secrets. You're my best mate. Nothing's going to change that
and no one can replace you."

This seemed to cheer up Ron considerably. Then, the other boy got a furtive look on his face, and
he lowered his voice. "Hey, mate."

"Yeah?"

"You know that you mentioned sleeping with this girl, Carol?"

"Sharing a bed, but yes," Harry said slowly, drawing it out. Inwardly, he sighed. He got a feeling
that he knew where this was going.

Ron looked about, then shuffled closer and asked, "What was it like?"

Harry sighed, outwardly this time. "Ron, I was exhausted," he said. "Battered and bruised. And, to
be honest, I'm still feeling a few of them." He glanced up. "I'm surprised your mother hasn't asked
about that."

"She doesn't know the full story of what happened on the mountain," Ron said dismissively. "She
just thinks that your dad and the others beat up some bad guys while you were kept safe and
sound."

Harry snorted, then sighed again as he saw that Ron was not to be deflected.

"Come on, mate," the other boy pleaded.

"It was like hugging you or Hermione," Harry said firmly. "Nothing special. Slightly different,
because she's slightly different shaped, but nothing more."

Ron's expression was sceptical, to put it mildly, and in this case, he might not have been entirely
wrong. Harry was straight, and frequently forgot that Hermione was female, whereas he was aware,
both intellectually and physically, that Carol was a very attractive young woman, falling quite
neatly into what he was dimly beginning to recognise was his type.

Indeed, when Ron had asked him about what it had been like to sleep with Carol, his mind had
gone to some very interesting and very pulse pounding places, taking his memories of the feminine
contours of Carol's body and how they had felt pressed up against him, how soft and smooth the
skin of her waist and stomach had been and how her steady breathing had felt against his chest,
then rearranged them into a very interesting and thoroughly unhelpful mental movie.

Needless to say, Harry, his blood flowing southwards, was sitting very carefully indeed. Thank
whoever, he thought, for the concealing properties of tables and table cloths.

While his reaction was hidden from all and sundry – though he was pretty certain that Darcy had
figured it out, judging by the knowing look on her face – Harry took a measuring breath. "She
wasn't the only one I was in bed with," he pointed out. "Jean-Paul, Uhtred and Diana were all there.
Jean-Paul and Uhtred are guys and Diana's about Ginny's age."

He forbore to mention that he'd had one or two speculative thoughts about Diana's older form as
well. That would not help matters and in any case, dwelling on it tended to make his head hurt
precisely because she was currently about Ginny's age and had the physique that one would expect
from a girl of that age.

"I suppose," Ron acknowledged.

"It was a platonic thing, Ron. Nothing more," Harry said firmly.

And on this point, he was telling the truth. While he was, physically, very attracted to Carol, as
most men his age and older were, as has been addressed previously, he wasn't really interested in
her romantically. This was not a case of young love though, if Carol had shown interest in taking
that route and Harry had had the mother-wit to notice that interest, it might well have taken that
route.

But, as also previously addressed, Carol was not really one to dwell on such speculations. And,
when he was not indulging in the traditional heroic self-flagellation, neither was Harry.

So really, it didn't matter at all.

Any further discussion, whether it be of matters physical or metaphysical, was curtailed by Jane
letting out a shriek as, while reaching for a dropped fork, one of her fingers got bitten by a garden
gnome.

The potato shaped creature promptly shot out from under the table and streaked across the grass,
adeptly avoid a fireblast from an infuriated Harry.

It was less fortunate, however, when it came to Thor, who surged up from the table and crossed the
garden in a blur, snatching the horny footed creature by the ankles, spinning once in a full circle
before releasing it, all in one smooth movement.

The gnome shot high into the sky in flat trajectory, quickly becoming a speck that vanished into the
clouds. It showed no sign of coming down again any time soon.

"Congratulations, Thor," Clint said, shading his eyes as the Thunder God dusted off his hands. "I
think you just threw a garden gnome into space."
"Cool," the Weasley twins said in hushed, awed unison, as Charlie let out a long, low whistle and
their mother tended to Jane's finger.

"Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear," Pepper commented.

"With this team?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised. "It was only a matter of time."

Tony was eyeing the other gnomes, who were lurking by the hedge, speculatively. "I wonder how
high I could throw one in my armour," he said.

"You would still struggle to challenge me, I think," Thor said, slightly smug, before his previous
expression of worry reasserted itself and he, like his son, recommenced hovering worriedly around
Jane's finger.

"I'm fine," Jane said. "It just stung a bit."

"Yes, the Gnomes do have a nasty bite," Mrs Weasley said. "I had the children de-gnome the
garden yesterday, but clearly they missed a few." At this point, she shot a hard look at her progeny,
who shuffled awkwardly.

"I thought we got them all, mum," Charlie said, before giving Jane an apologetic look. "Sorry,
Doctor Foster."

"It's fine," Jane insisted.

Tony, meanwhile, wrinkled his nose. "Hey, Bruce, do you think -"

"I think that that would be a very bad idea, Tony," Bruce said firmly.

Tony pouted. So did the Twins, who had caught on.

"They're going to do something stupid, aren't they?" Mrs Weasley said, with a resigned sigh.

"I believe that my previous comment still applies," Natasha said.

"So, that's a yes, then."

"Pretty much."

Harry, assured that Jane was fine, settled down in his seat with every intention of watching Tony's
antics, when he caught Ginny watching him, wide eyed. He gave her a questioning look, being
unable to think of any question that wouldn't come off as rude and demanding.

Thankfully, Ginny was quick on the uptake. "I've never seen anyone do that before," she explained.
"Throw fire, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "My uncle's been teaching me," he said. "Fred, George and Hermione too." At this
point, he vaguely wondered where Hermione was. This seemed like the sort of thing that she would
have been invited to.

Ginny nodded. "I know," she said. "But they say that you're the best."

Harry darted a surprised look at the Twins, who were deep in conversation with their father and
Tony.

"Not in so many words," she added. "But I can read between the lines."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "They're better at other things," he said, slightly feebly.

Ginny, thankfully, didn't press him further, and sighed. "Oh no," she said.

"What?"

"Mum's not going to be happy," she said. "Dad's brought up the car."

Or rather, Tony had.

"You built a car, in your shed," Tony said, eyes wide. "A flying car. An invisible flying car. An
invisible flying sentient car."

"Well, yes, I suppose," Mr Weasley said, slightly flustered.

Tony stared at him, then solemnly reached out. "Put it there," he said. Mr Weasley blinked, then
shook his hand. "You," Tony continued. "Are officially awesome. I am a massive fan of your
work."

"Work that he has stopped, hasn't he?" Mrs Weasley said, tone dangerous.

"Yes, dear," Mr Weasley said meekly.

Tony stared at her, uncomprehending. "But… a flying car," he said. "Mrs Weasley, your husband
managed to build something that my dad spent most of his life trying and failing to build, only
mastering it after thirty years of trying... and he did it in his shed. And made it sentient. That is
genius. Pure genius."

Mr Weasley looked somewhat startled at this proclamation, but not entirely displeased.

"It is also dangerous," Mrs Weasley said, lips thin.

"I'm sure it is," Pepper said, stepping in. "But Molly, you have to understand that Tony doesn't
have much perspective on danger."

"I do," Tony protested.

Pepper gave him a sweet smile. "Honey, do you want me to list the times you've ignored danger
alphabetically, or chronologically?" she asked.

Tony, picking up the warning signs, subsided, sulking slightly.

Pepper glanced at him, then looked back at Mrs Weasley. "I'm guessing that yours is more
mature," she said.

"I am mature," Tony muttered.

"Of course you are, honey," Pepper said, kissing his cheek. She glanced at Mrs Weasley. "Is it
okay if Tony, Arthur, Fred and George get down. They look like they've got an idea." Her
expression turned wry. "And I've found that it's best not to be at ground zero when those ideas get
tested out."

Mrs Weasley blinked. "Well, yes, of course," she said, slightly flustered.

"I'll go and keep them reined in," Bruce said.

"Thank you, Bruce," Pepper said, then cocked her head slightly when she noticed that Mrs Weasley
looked nervous. "Molly?"

"Arthur's experiments, particularly on the the car... they're not just dangerous, they're illegal," the
older woman said, worried. "Arthur nearly lost his job the last time the car was taken flying."

"If he did, I can state without a shadow of a doubt that Tony would hire him for Stark Industries'
Research and Development arm in a heartbeat," Pepper said. "I would too." She met Mrs Weasley's
gaze. "You might want to think about it. Arthur is clearly a very intelligent, very hardworking and
a very honest man. That's the sort of thing I look for in job applicants. If he applied, I could
guarantee a job with a starting salary of…" she paused, and got out a notebook, scribbling some
calculations. Then she looked up at Loki. "Loki, what's the exchange rate between dollars and
galleons?"

"Seven dollars to the galleon," Loki said.

"Exactly?" Pepper asked, raising her eyebrows.

"It was last changed ten years ago," Loki said. "It's a fixed rate of exchange."

Pepper frowned, then shook her head, returning to her calculations. "Before tax, not including
performance related bonuses, it would equate to just over seven thousand galleons per year," she
said, a few moments later. Mrs Weasley's hand went to her mouth, stifling a gasp, eyes widening in
astonishment.

"That's a lot of money," the other woman managed.

"Stark Industries is one of the richest companies in the world," Pepper said. "And that's only the
starting salary. If Arthur impressed, as I expect he would, he would quickly be given raise doubling
that, and a team of his own to head up."

"A team?"

"I've been doing a little research," Pepper said. "The American magical world is a lot more liberal
than the British one in regards to interactions with muggles. Magic is a fascinating field and its
applications, if harnessed, are astounding."

She half smiled. "Of course, they're also potentially terrifying, which is why we'll be doing it
carefully. And someone with Arthur's experience of combining magic and technology… to be
frank, Molly, no one human springs to mind as an equal. Even in America it's a very new field and
people are reluctant to explore it. Arthur, on the other hand, is very like Tony in that he does things
simply because he wants to explore. He wants to understand things and improve them."

She met Mrs Weasley's gaze. "Molly, Tony and I have a very specific aim in mind for Stark
Industries. We want to test drive the future. And that, I think, is what Arthur wants too."

"But working in America, even with portkeys… the time difference alone," Molly said.

"He could work from home if needs be," Pepper said calmly. "And Stark Industries has several
branches in Britain. We could transfer the relevant personnel from the States, as and when Arthur
gets his own team."

"Well," Mrs Weasley said weakly. "Pepper, Arthur has been working for the Ministry for his
whole working life and, well, without that, we'd never have been able to get the children through
Hogwarts..."
"Molly, if you'll forgive me for saying this, Arthur is wasted in his current job," Pepper said, voice
gentle but firm. "From what I can see, he's essentially used as a repair man and occasionally called
on for his knowledge of the non-magical world. Aside from that… I don't think he gets the respect
he deserves."

"Well, his hobbies are a little strange," Mrs Weasley began.

"Molly, I'm dating a man who is practically a byword for strange," Pepper said wryly. "His hobbies
take it even further. Remind me to tell you about the Rain of Coffee." She paused. "Or maybe it
would be better if I didn't."

Mrs Weasley looked a touch bewildered.

"My point is," Pepper said, taking out a business card. "If Arthur wants to make his dreams a
reality, Stark Industries would help him make it happen."

Mrs Weasley nodded slowly. "Thank you, Pepper," she said. "But…"

"Yes?"

"The Ministry wouldn't be happy," she said. "The Statute of Secrecy…"

"Is unenforceable and slowly falling apart," Pepper said bluntly. "Non-magical technology is
rapidly getting to the point where the current magical countermeasures will be obsolete. Non-
magical people are now aware that there is far more to the world. The revelation of the existence of
life on other planets and the fact that the gods of myth and legend were real opened a lot of
people's eyes. They're far more accepting about what's real and what's not. Before, someone
magical could hide in plain sight, as no one would believe that magic was real. There's even an
openly magical private investigator in Chicago. For about a decade, no one believed he was the real
thing. Now, they're thinking twice."

It was, perhaps, a good thing she didn't mention Dresden by name. He had a certain reputation in
the magical world, especially following his exploits under Paris, and the afternoon would have
gone downhill rather quickly if he was the subject under discussion.

"These days, someone doing magic is more likely to be taken at face value," Pepper continued.
"People would find it astonishing, fascinating and even frightening. And they would believe it."
She half smiled. "Also, I don't think that the Ministry would raise too many objections."

"Why not?"

"Arthur's a friend of Thor's and I don't think that the Ministry would want to risk making Thor
angry," Pepper observed. "Particularly not at the moment."

"Maybe not," Mrs Weasley admitted. She took the business card. "Thank you, Pepper."

"It's not a problem," Pepper said, just as the sound of gleeful cackling made its way out of the
house, followed by cries of, "IT'S ALIVE!"

The Weasley family seemed somewhat startled by this. The Avengers, on the other hand, didn't
even bat an eyelid, and Pepper merely sighed. "Okay," she said. "Tony's done something stupid.
The question is, what is it this time?"

As it would later turn out, Tony, Arthur and the Twins had somehow turned a small, disused fridge
into a combat capable robotic butler. No one knew how they had done this, and no one wanted to
know either.

OoOoO

They were not the only ones exulting in the fruits of their experiments. Though, perhaps, exulting
might have been too strong a word.

Lucius, in the depths of the HYDRA base, stared at the creature in the containment unit before him
with a mixture of disgust, disbelief and disturbed fascination. "What is this?" he asked.

"It is a test subject," Zola said.

"It looks like a griffin," Lucius said, examining it. "But it isn't, is it?"

"No, it isn't," the scientist said, tone pleased, clearly waiting for Lucius to enquire further.

"Do I even want to know who, or what, it used to be?" he asked, as he watched the creature prowl
around the enchanted glass cage.

"A minion," Zola said, shrugging.

Lucius sighed slightly. Now that he looked, he could see hints of what had once been a human face
in its deformed features. "Doctor Zola, even with your cloning technology, we are beginning to
run short on minions, mostly thanks to Gravemoss. Only one person has come out of his basement
of the fifteen who have gone in during the last week and a half, and she promptly ate another three
minions. Baron Zemo's protégé, Mister Jason Todd, had to dispose of her. I don't know what he
used to do so, but I do know that the mess was horrific and splattered across the entirety of one of
the labs."

"I would not have thought you squeamish, Lord Malfoy," Zola said, raising an eyebrow.

"I am not," Lucius said coolly. "I have merely found that the smell of scorched, exploded and
decaying ex-muggle is never pleasant and has a nasty habit of sinking into one's clothing. The mess
also takes forever to clean up."

Zola inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You have had a lot of experience in this?"

Lucius shuddered. "Merlin, yes. My former master had a fondness for using inferi, simple
reanimated corpses, as foot soldiers," he said. "It often served as an effective psychological tactic,
especially when you were reanimating someone's loved one, but the Order of the Phoenix tended to
imitate the bird they were named after."

"They came back to life?" Zola asked, raising the other eyebrow.

"No, with the exception of Thor, and it is debatable how dead he was to begin with. What they did,
however, was not much less aggravating," Lucius said sourly. "They set everything on fire.
Particularly Lily Potter. She had an affinity for the element, one that she has, apparently, passed on
to her son."

Zola nodded. "Lord Malfoy, may I offer you a piece of advice?"

"Yes?"

"Do not mention fire in front of Lord Gravemoss," Zola said. He shivered slightly, and that
unnerved Lucius more than anything else. Zola was the man, the machine, that worked with
Gravemoss willingly, and enjoyed doing so. He had even fewer scruples than Voldemort himself
and was, in Lucius' estimation, the most dangerous member of HYDRA, indeed, one of the most
dangerous beings he had ever encountered. "He does not like it."

Lucius frowned, while inwardly filing this away. A chink in the necromancer's armour to be
exploited, perhaps? Or simply an aversion? If it was the latter, he couldn't exactly blame
Gravemoss. He wasn't all that fond of fire himself. "Why not?" he asked.

"Dresden," Zola replied succinctly.

Lucius grimaced. Again, he couldn't exactly blame Gravemoss for not attaching any pleasant
memories to that encounter. The White Council's infamous black sheep had proven once again to
be capable of the impossible, unleashing a kind of power that would be impossible for a Wizard his
age, or indeed, for many Wizards of any age, without casting his Death Curse.

While Lucius also suspected that Gravemoss hadn't actually been permanently damaged by the
strike, there were a couple of facts that were likely to be preying on his mind. First, it had left him
vulnerable to the tender mercies of Thor, Iron Man and the Scarlet Witch, who had very nearly
succeeded in pinning him down and killing him, driving him to his current refuge in the basement.
Second, Dresden had cast what was apparently his Death Curse, yet had been sighted on numerous
occasions in his home town of Chicago, very much alive and very much, apparently, unscathed,
something which Lucius knew to be utterly impossible.

So, needless to say, an unpleasant association with fire would be expected.

Interesting.

"What is this... Griffin capable of?" he asked, bringing his mind back to the present. "Aside from
the obvious?"

"He is incredibly strong, Class 20, durable and fast to heal, with enhanced senses," Zola said. "His
tail serves as an effective weapon. And, of course, he can fly."

"Class 20?"

"The classes of superhuman strength," Zola said. "The classes go up to 100, though some
individuals – Thor and the Hulk, for example – are acknowledged to go beyond it, since they have
no defined upper limits." He shrugged. "It is not a concrete scale, mostly used for comparative
purposes. For instance, our Griffin here is two thirds as strong as the average Asgardian male,
believed to rate at class 30." He grimaced slightly. "Of course, he has lost much of his intelligence.
Admittedly, there was not that much to lose, but still..." He shrugged. "It is no matter. I have
simply had to devise a leash."

"Interesting," Lucius murmured. "Why did you create him? Was there any specific purpose?"

"Baron Zemo requested an asset capable of contending with MI13's winged operative, Archangel
and, potentially, Iron Man, since Sergeant Corben, our original counter to Iron Man, has been
captured," Zola said.

"I assure you, Doctor, that can and will be rectified soon enough," Lucius said.

Zola raised an eyebrow. "You have a plan, Lord Malfoy?"

Lucius smiled. "I always have a plan, Doctor. Right now, I have several." He glanced around the
lab. The warped ex-minion was not the only strange shape locked away in this lab. "If all goes
well, we won't even need your creations – or, at least, we won't need them to fight the Avengers."
He folded his arms. "But if experience has taught me anything, it is that some people are simply
too stupid to know when they are beaten."

"That is indeed true," Zola said. "But equally, those who do not know that they are beaten can
prove the most dangerous of enemies. Caution, Lord Malfoy. Caution."

"Oh yes," Lucius said softly. "Believe me, I know. Which is why I intend to drive home HYDRA's
victory with maximum force."

"Victory?" Zola asked, other eyebrow rising to join the first.

"Victory," Lucius repeated. "My meeting with Secretary Pierce, with the apparatus within SHIELD
that you constructed... well." He smiled. "Let us merely say that matters are coming to a head. And
I shall need your skills as a... what was it? Technologist?"

"Technopath, I think you mean," Zola said. "What do you have in mind?"

"Something that we shall discuss later," Lucius said. "You were going to tell me why you chose to
design this Griffin as you did, I believe."

Zola nodded. "Since I did not believe that I could easily mimic Archangel's or Iron Man's speed in
the time we had and Lord Gravemoss' attention was largely elsewhere, I opted for power."

Lucius nodded. He had left combat operations to Baron Zemo, recognising brilliance where he saw
it. The man knew what he was doing, muggle or not. And it was patently obvious that whatever
Baron Zemo really was, he was not just a muggle.

"Well done," he said. "Is there anything else you have to show me?"

Zola nodded, and bustled off to one side, activating something on a panel. Lucius would have
sneered at the little Doctor if he didn't know exactly how dangerous he really was.

"These creatures," he said, as more containment units rose out of the floor. They seemed to contain
ordinary, if slightly ragged, cats and dogs. Thankfully, the containment units were soundproofed.
"Have been altered with a version of the basic Extremis virus. Furthermore, their genetics have
been tweaked to create an artificial homing instinct. Once they have arrived at the pre-programmed
location, their brain sends a signal which activates the virus and..."

"They explode," Lucius observed, the kernel of an idea forming in his mind. "How clever. Where
did you get the idea?"

"In the War, the Russians tried something similar, though primitive," Zola said. "They trained dogs
to run under tanks, then strapped bombs to them, intending to use them to blow up tanks." He
smiled. "Unfortunately for them, the trained the dogs with Russian tanks."

"That sounds like the ideas put forward by many of my subordinates during my time with the Dark
Lord," Lucius commented. "Decent, but fatally flawed due to inexcusable incompetence."

Zola chuckled. "If you think that that is ridiculous, Lord Malfoy, you should have seen what the
Americans tried to do," he said. "They thought that if you strapped a cat to a bomb and dropped it
towards a ship, the cat, since they always land on their feet and they hate water, would somehow
guide the bomb towards the ship."

Lucius stared at him. "You cannot be serious," he said, in utter disbelief.

"I am," Zola said.

Lucius stared for a long moment, then mutely shook his head. If he'd ever doubted that he was
superior to all but a fraction of the Muggle population, this would have ended those doubts.
Forever.

A rack full of syringes caught his eye. In them swum a copper flecked pale liquid. "What is this?"
he asked.

"That is the refined Extremis, Lord Malfoy," Zola said. "My master work. I have been using it on
the Hammond synthezoid, as a means of controlling it, but my success has been... limited." He
shook his head, and tapped one of the syringes. "That one is the assassin suite: limited
shapeshifting including the ability to change sex, skin colour and all identifying features, an inbuilt
perception filter, effective both on organic life forms and technology, and secretion of a highly
effective neurotoxin. In small quantities, it can render the target sluggish. In larger ones, it can
paralyse. In the largest quantities, it can kill." He rubbed his chin. "Though that last does drain the
venom glands quickly."

"Impressive," Lucius murmured.

"This next is the Spy Suite," Zola said. "Similar shapeshifting capabilities, but instead of the
perception filter and the poison, the ability to see through solid objects and a degree of tactile
telepathy – physical contact allows the user to read the surface thoughts of the person they are
touching and to give them a certain influence over them."

"Interesting. And the others?" Lucius asked.

"The Commando Suite: air manipulation primarily, with particular emphasis on causing
implosions, explosions and silent killings by dragging the air from a target's lungs," Zola said.
"Other applications include amplifying and deadening sound, to enhance stealth and surveillance
capabilities. A lens can even be created, to see from a distance."

"A little different from the others, I notice," Lucius said. "Less... physical."

"Yes," Zola said. "This one was concocted at the request of Baron Zemo. Apparently he took his
inspiration from Sean Cassidy. You know who that is?"

"I have heard of the Banshee," Lucius said grimly. "He is far more dangerous than most give him
credit for. He is also at Hogwarts at the moment, which could make matters difficult."

Zola nodded. "The good Baron, I believe, has planned for that," he said. "This," he add, tapping the
next syringe. "Is the Battering Ram Suite."

"'Battering Ram'?" Lucius asked, eyebrow raised.

"Superhuman strength to Class 50 levels, equivalent durability, subsonic superhuman speed and
enhanced healing," Zola said. "Essentially, to be applied to someone pliable and expendable, who
is to be pointed at an opponent like Thor to keep them moderately busy."

He tapped the next syringe.

"What is that?" Lucius asked.

"The Survivor Suite," Zola said. "HYDRA's philosophy in viral form." He paused. "Well, I have
yet to find a way to grant the ability to artificially generate one or more duplicates, but on the
upside, the failed experiments are keeping Lord Gravemoss amused."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Lucius muttered.

"Yes," Zola said. "Apparently there is a boy in Kansas by the name of Madrox who was naturally
born with the gift."

"Well, when my plans come to fruition, Doctor Zola, I shall be sure to acquire him for your study,"
Lucius said. "Now. What does this 'Survivor Suite' do?"

"Primarily? It provides a powerful healing factor," Zola said. "Making the recipient capable of
surviving most forms of trauma. Force, fire, poison... all shrugged off, some faster than others. It is
modelled on that of one of our latest mercenaries." He frowned. "Between you and me, Lord
Malfoy, I think we had best keep a careful eye on this Daken. If he is even half as dangerous as his
father, the famous Weapon X, or Sabretooth, then we had best keep our eyes open."

"Believe me," Lucius said. "I intend to." He examined the solution. "Survival, eh?"

"You are considering it for yourself, Lord Malfoy?" Zola asked shrewdly.

"It could prove useful," Lucius said vaguely. "You seem experienced in the art of genetic
manipulation, Doctor Zola," he added, changing the subject.

"I learnt from a master of the art," Zola said simply. "And I have had practice. Some of my subjects
live beneath New York." He looked thoughtful. "That reminds me... I should check on them, at
some point."

"You will have time to do so soon enough, I assure you," Lucius murmured. "Was there anything
else you had to show me?" he asked.

Zola nodded, and went to the control panel, pressing a few buttons.

A containment unit rose out of the floor, full of water, or, at least, a clear liquid. Inside was the
shape of a young girl, curled up in the foetal position. She had pale greyish skin, like clay, and a
shock of blood red hair. A number of tubes emerged from her skin, leading down into the bottom
of the tank. Most importantly, however, was the feeling of extremely powerful dark magic rolling
off the girl. Innocent she might look, but innocent she was not.

Lucius turned to Zola and raised an eyebrow.

"This one is one of the shared projects I have been working on with Lord Gravemoss, though I put
relatively little time into this one, as its creation is mainly magic based," Zola said. "Lord
Gravemoss began this on observing footage the Olympian girl in action. He said that it gave him an
idea."

Lucius grimaced. Wonderful. That was just what he needed. That... thing getting ideas.

"What did this idea involve?" he asked.

"A small orphan girl, a little bit of my Extremis to make her body suitable, and samples of Earth
taken from certain sites around the world. You know, places like Auschwitz, Rwanda and various
parts of the United States." Zola chuckled slightly. "It amuses me, the self-righteousness of the
Americans. Within one man's lifetime, they go from enacting the end of an exceptionally thorough
genocide against their own indigenous population, one that lasted for centuries, indeed, possibly
even right up until this very day, to decrying the Nazi's for committing the same crime. At least we
did it efficiently."

Lucius nodded absently. He didn't really care about which muggles massacred which. There were
always more of them, more of the weak to bow down to the strong. In recent times, he had come to
recognise that it wasn't simply about purebloods being superior to half bloods and mudbloods. It
wasn't even about wizards being superior to muggles. The world was changing rapidly, and a new
truth was emerging. Or, at least, a new variant on an old truth. The strong must rule the weak, the
superior making sure that his inferiors knew their place.

This, he felt, rather generously allowed those who were not born strong to become strong. And
really, it made sense. He'd seen far too many wizards, born to rich and noble lineages, squander
their gifts, while half-bloods like Snape, that wretch Constantine and, indeed, Voldemort himself,
had risen to prominence and power. He would even admit, begrudgingly, that mudbloods and
muggles had performed similar rises.

Nicholas Fury was all the example one needed of how dangerous a muggle could be, and
Alexander Pierce was another. Then there was Lily Potter, who had been a superlatively powerful
witch. Though given her relation to an Omega Class mutant, this was perhaps, in hindsight, less
surprising, more depressingly inevitable.

Then he realised that Zola was still speaking. "... and Lord Gravemoss bound those samples of
Earth to her essence through magic, using them to bind her to the Earth and allow her to access its
power," the little scientist continued. "Of course, there are other advantages. She can project
negative emotion, for example, and I believe that flight through manipulation of gravitational
forces will be possible, perhaps a degree of geokinesis."

"Impressive," Lucius said. "When will she be viable for combat?"

"A year, maybe two," Zola said.

Lucius nodded. "Will she develop by herself?"

"Yes, Lord Malfoy. What do you intend?"

"To send her to one of the new HYDRA bases I have been setting up," Lucius said. "Fury thinks
that he has us trapped. But I have taken precautions, and set in motion HYDRA's rise. After all, as
our motto says..."

"'Cut off one head and two more shall take its place'," Zola said gleefully. "Truly, Lord Malfoy,
you are one of us."

Lucius smiled. "Yes," he said. "I suppose I am."

OoOoO

"James," Mr Weasley said. "Could I have a word?"

The lunch had ended, and goodbyes were being exchanged.

"Of course, Arthur," Thor said, allowing the other man to take him aside. "What is it?"

"It's... well, I take it that you have heard of Peter Wisdom," the red haired man said.

"Yes, he is Sirius'," Thor began, then abruptly changed tack. "Serious. A very serious man."
Mr Weasley gave him a careful look, then nodded. "You've met him, then?"

"I wouldn't say that we've actually met, as such," Thor said. "I saved his life a few months ago, but
that was on a very fraught battlefield..." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Mr Weasley sighed. "Word around the Ministry is that Wisdom is making a play for power in the
magical world."

"I fail to see how he would be in a position to do so, his agency was all but destroyed not six
months ago," Thor said, frowning.

"That hasn't stopped him, according to the Minister," the other man replied.

"Fudge asked you to talk to me?" Thor asked.

"Yes. He knows that you don't like him and he thinks that you're more likely to listen to me."

"That isn't hard," Thor muttered. "What is Wisdom supposed to be doing?"

"Any number of things," Mr Weasley said. "Last month there was a minor incident, nothing major,
but both MI13 and Obliviation teams got there at the same time. There was a confrontation, which
ended up with the entire Obliviation squad locked up in a muggle prison."

"Strangeways?" Thor asked, thoughtfully. In his days as James Potter, he'd heard stories about a
muggle equivalent to Azkaban, Strangeways, and its so-called 'Dark Levels', designed to contain
even powerfully magical prisoners.

"Probably," Mr Weasley said. "Wisdom isn't saying, and he's refused all demands from the
Ministry to come and explain himself. I think he's trying to show that he doesn't answer to the
Ministry – indeed, if anything, he wants it to be the other way around."

"A play for power indeed," Thor murmured. "He is Nicholas' protégé, though, and, Arthur...
Nicholas has no love for the Ministry. If I divine your, or rather Fudge's, intention correctly, you
wish for me to speak to Nicholas, to ask him to rein in his former student."

Mr Weasley sighed. "Yes, that is exactly it. Do you think it will work?"

"I think that unless it is absolutely necessary, or there is something in it for SHIELD, Nicholas is
more likely to spit in Fudge's face than go one inch out of his way to help him," Thor said grimly.

Mr Weasley looked stunned. "But, Fudge is the Minister," he began.

"And Nicholas is the Director of SHIELD," Thor said quietly. "He commands armies, Arthur. He
is one of the most powerful and dangerous men in all the Nine Realms." He gave Mr Weasley a
serious look. "He has changed, Arthur, from the days of the Order of the Phoenix. He is colder,
now, harder, and infinitely more ruthless. I saw him verbally back Albus into a corner, simply to
test his mettle, to see if he still 'had what it took'. Even my brother would beware of crossing him."
He looked grim. "If I were Fudge, I would go a very long way to avoid antagonising Nicholas
Fury."

"But... but he would just be asking for help," Mr Weasley said, sounding baffled.

"Nicholas is a vengeful man," Thor said quietly. "You can see it in the very name of our team. On a
general level, he looks to balance the scales between mortal man and the supernatural. On a
personal level, he wants Lucius Malfoy's head on a platter and, I think, to gut the Ministry of
Magic, rob it of all power and influence."

At that moment, Thor found himself feeling a great deal of sympathy for Mr Weasley, who was
looking lost. "But... why?" the other man asked helplessly.

"Remember, Nicholas was here during the War. He saw how it failed to protect the non-magical
populace, how little it seemed to care much of the time. In part, he blames the Ministry for Lily's
death, for the deaths of her parents, his mentors, and he most definitely blames it for what
happened to Harry afterwards," Thor said. A little steel entered his voice. "And in the latter case, at
least, he is not wrong. If it were not for the Ministry's laws, he or Remus could have taken Harry in.
While Remus might not have been able to protect Harry from rogue Death Eaters, I think that
Nicholas, with the aid of SHIELD, could have done."

"Well, I can't say that the Ministry wasn't wrong in that instance," Mr Weasley said. "But James,
what you're talking about, what you say Nicholas wants... it sounds completely overboard."

"Perhaps it is," Thor said. "Or perhaps it is time that the magical government was reminded of its
status as a mere Ministry." He looked out over the countryside, rolling hills strewn with daffodils
and dandelions, given a buttery glow by the slowly setting sun. "The world is changing, Arthur,
and fast. The non-magical world has woken up to the fact that things that they believed impossible
are real and are happening right under their noses. Governments are looking for answers.
Ministries of Magic worldwide are being called to heel. And men like Fury and Wisdom move to
take advantage."

"I see," Mr Weasley said heavily. He gave Thor a shrewd look. "And you don't entirely object, do
you?"

"I think that the Wizarding World has hidden in the shadows for long enough," Thor said. "The
magic and the mundane worlds were never meant to be parted, Arthur. I understand why it was
considered needful, but I think it has gone on for long enough." He half shrugged. "And I think that
Fudge is a foul, corrupt little troll who needs to be reminded of his place."

Mr Weasley nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. "I know you don't like Fudge, James, but trust
me on this is nothing else: Wisdom is dangerous," he said, voice low and urgent. "His forces were
devastated by the attack last year, but he's bounced back fast. He's been recruiting, heavily, from a
number of Ministry Departments, specifically, the DMLE, the Department for the Regulation and
Control of Magical Creatures, the Department of Magical Transportation... but his main focus is
something else entirely."

He gave Thor a very serious look. "Fudge says that he's after the Department of Mysteries, James,
and every single Unspeakable and artefact in it. He's worried and what's more – this time – I think
he's right: right about what Wisdom is after and right to be worried."

"What makes you think that?" Thor asked, frowning.

"I've had dealings with MI13 before," Mr Weasley said grimly. "And they've always
been very interested in what goes on in the Department of Mysteries. Merlin knows what's down
there, or what they think is down there. Personally, if I was going to bet my last knut,
it's something to do with the Hall of Prophecy. But whatever they're after specifically, it's making
Fudge very, very jumpy."

"There are a great deal of very old and very dangerous things down in the Department of
Mysteries," Thor said, tone quiet and meditative. "Relics of times gone by, even perhaps of the
Last Frost Giant War, or, worse, the war with Avalon, ones that a man like Peter Wisdom might
well seek to use as weapons in the coming days, regardless of the dangers."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded decisively. "This changes things. I will speak to Fury,
Arthur, and pass on a warning, but I doubt it will be heeded." He paused. "But inform Fudge that I
am neither his errand boy, nor his go-between with Fury. And I most definitely do not like him."
He put out his hand. "Business aside... it has been good to see you again, Arthur."

Mr Weasley smiled. "It was our pleasure, James. Sorry, Thor." His smile turned wry. "Sorry. Old
habits and all that."

Thor chuckled. "I answer to both, Arthur," he said. "It is not a problem." He glanced off to one side
and sighed.

Mr Weasley followed his gaze. "Is that..."

"My son levitating a table? Yes."

"Wandlessly... I knew that he had some degree of skill with wandless magic, but this..." Mr
Weasley trailed off. Harry looked like he was perfectly comfortable levitating the rather sizable
table, while Ron, Ginny and the Twins stared in awe. Even Charlie looked impressed. Percy, by
contrast, sniffed and looked disapproving.

"In truth, I do not think he is using magic," Thor said, and Mr Weasley gave him a puzzled look.

"What else would he be using?"

"Harry has inherited other gifts," Thor said. "From his mother. And they are beginning to make
themselves apparent."

Specifically, they had started to show themselves after the incident on the mountain, which seemed
to have, among other things, left Harry somewhat contemplative.

"But... Lily was a witch," Mr Weasley said, looking even more puzzled.

"She was, and, as I am finding out, much more besides," Thor said quietly. "More than any of us
knew."

"... I see," Mr Weasley said, blinking.

Thor gave him a sympathetic smile. "It is all a little confusing, is it not?" he said. "Everything is
changing, and fast. All the pieces of the puzzle have been thrown into the air, and no one knows
what shape they will take when they land."

Except, he didn't add, Doctor Strange. He'd always known more than he'd let on, far more. If there
was a limit to his knowledge, Thor couldn't remember finding it. And he was no fool. He
recognised that there was a guiding hand behind these events, one that had set matters in motion a
very long time ago. The only questions were these: what purpose was this in aid of, and how would
everything end?

He put it aside to speculate on later, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut that told him that he was
going to find out soon enough, and it might not be in a way that he liked. Instead, once they got
back to the Tower, he relayed his conversation with Mr Weasley to the Avengers.

"I'm not surprised," Natasha said bluntly. "MI13 and the Ministry have clashed in the past over
jurisdiction, and with the situation the way it is, the non-magical government won't be particularly
minded to tolerate the independence of the Ministry."

"That was my thought," Thor said.

"I am not surprised either," Loki said quietly. "You are right, Thor. There are a great deal of
ancient and deadly things buried down in the depths of that building, things that were never meant
to see the light of day."

"Like, what, magical weapons?" Tony asked.

"Some," Loki said. "It has been speculated that that is where Excalibur is being kept – completely
incorrectly, as it happens."

"Wait, you know where Excalibur is?" Steve asked, eyes widening.

"Yes," Loki said, and eyed Steve critically. "You would probably be a worthy wielder, though I
think that one of its two brothers would suit you better, one of which is vacant, as it happens." A
gleam entered his eye. "Now there's a thought..."

"I hate it when he does this," Tony said flatly.

"You're one to talk," Clint snorted.

"I am not that bad!"

"No, you're not."

"Thank you."

Clint smirked. "You're worse."

"Brothers?" Steve asked, cutting off the impending bickerfest.

"Excalibur, more usually known as Amoracchius, the Sword of Love, is one of the three Swords of
the Cross, and widely considered to be the most powerful. When it is taken up... the world shakes,"
Loki said. "The other two are Fidelacchius, the Sword of Faith, also known as Kusanagi,
and Esperacchius, the Sword of Hope, also known as Durendal. Fidelacchius is currently without a
wielder." He paused. "And in the keeping of Wanda's boyfriend, as it happens."

He shook his head. "In any case, Excalibur is most certainly not in the Department of Mysteries.
But it would not be out of place if it was. And it would still pale before one of the powers that
resides in there, one that the Unspeakables have the good sense to, for the most part, leave alone."

"What is it?" Tony asked, after a moment. "Come on, Loki, you can't leave us hanging."

"He's right, Loki," Steve said. "HYDRA's reach extends deep into the Magical World now. They
could very well be after what you're referring to, and if they are... we need to be ready.

Loki sighed. "Very well," he said. "Most simply call it the Veil, and it is believed to be a portal to
the realm of the dead."

There was silence.

"I thought you said that there were hundreds, even thousands, of 'death realms'," Bruce said,
frowning.
"There are," Loki said. "One reason why that supposition is not entirely correct."

"Not entirely?" Thor asked, eyebrow raised.

"As far as anyone can tell, it leads to the death realms, yes. Every single one of them. And every
single other realm besides – every single world in this universe, every single realm attached to it,
and every single universe besides, perhaps even through time," Loki said. "Imagine: a gate across
all of reality. A door to everything that ever is, ever was or ever will be. Even, potentially,
everything that could be or could have been."

Clint let out a long, low whistle.

"So, like the Bifrost on crack, then," Tony said.

Loki shrugged. "Perhaps. No one is really sure," he said. "Study has revealed that it transports
rather than destroys, and it has, in the past, shown people possible futures... but no one who has
gone through has ever returned."

Tony shivered. "Spooky."

"Indeed," Loki said.

"Do you at least know where it came from?" Steve asked.

"No," Loki said. "It is not a creation of any of the pantheons of Earth, nor even, I believe, the Elder
Gods. It is entirely possible that it is older than the the Earth, than the Universe, even reality
itself." He spread his hands. "I simply do not know. No one does, save possibly Merlin."

"The Merlin of the White Council?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.

Loki shook his head. "No. The original Merlin," he said. "He was, after all, the authority on
magical time travel, among other things. I believe he incorporated it into a seat of the Round Table,
the one destined for the knight worthy of the Grail. And it is to that seat which it gave its name,
one of the few things that I do know about it." Loki gave them all a very grave look. "And that
name... is the Siege Perilous."
 Scratching The Surface

The morning of Harry's return to Hogwarts dawned with, surprisingly, everyone being ready. This
was because Harry had made sure that he was packed after they got back from the Weasleys, for
one simple reason. Harry had asked his father if he could go see his mother's grave, and Thor had
acquiesced. The plan was that Thor and Harry would leave about half an hour early and go to
London, before Thor apparated them both to Godric's Hollow. The revelation that Thor could, in
fact, still apparate led to Tony complaining that Thor's powers were even more 'broken', leading to
a discussion on videogame terminology and the vagaries and double meanings of the English
language.

Once the discussion was got back on track, it was established that the others, including Tony,
Darcy and Jane, all of whom were, to varying extents, not morning people, would join them at
King's Cross to see Harry off. In Tony's case, it was because he kept ridiculous hours, in Darcy's
case it was because she was still a student and thus maintained the sleeping habits of one and in
Jane's case, it was because it's much easier to study the stars at night rather than during the day, so
her sleep patterns had consequently adjusted themselves.

Even, to Harry's surprised delight, Sirius had turned up. He couldn't exactly make a habit of turning
up at King's Cross, just in case someone at the Ministry figured it out and got excited, thereby
causing complications. So, instead, he turned up to the Tower to say goodbye the night before, in
his own idiosyncratic fashion.

To be precise, the first thing that he'd said on seeing Harry was to say, "James, are you sure that
this is my godson?"

"Yes, Sirius," Thor said dryly. "And it's good to see you too."

Sirius grinned and pulled first Thor, then Harry, into man-hugs. He looked much better, Harry
noticed, having properly filled out. His skin, once waxy and pale, was now shining with health and
tanned by the desert sun. The bags under his eyes were all but gone and there was a twinkle in his
eyes again.

That twinkle grew all the more as he said, "Now, Harry, what is this I hear about you sleeping with
pretty girls? I want details."

"I, uh, um," Harry mumbled, going red.

"I've got pictures," Darcy said. "And gory details."

"Darcy," Thor said firmly.

Darcy pouted.

"Sirius, Harry shared a bed with several of his friends, all of whom were fully clothed," Thor said.
"You know this because I told you and you were sober."

"Was he in Vegas at the time?" Tony asked. "Because it is actually a crime to be sober in Vegas."

"No it's not, Tony," Pepper said.

"It should be."

"I wasn't in Vegas," Sirius said. "Which, Harry, I'm taking to you to for your eighteenth birthday."

"Um. Yay?" Harry said, unsure of how he was supposed to react.

"You'll love it," Sirius said. "They love magic there. Perform one spell, and you won't have to pay
for drinks all night."

"Sirius," Thor said. "You are the sole inheritor of the Black fortune. I am reasonably certain that
you could buy the bar with your pocket change."

"Wait, hang on, no one told me that Sirius was rich," Darcy said. "Have you been holding out on
us?"

"He has indeed," Tony said.

Sirius looked surprised. "Well, I hadn't really thought of it," he said. "My family disowned me."

"Apparently no one told the goblins," Thor said. "I asked about the status of your vault and
following the death of your mother, they consider you to be the sole inheritor. The fortune is
somewhere in the region of nine hundred million pounds."

"Holy shit," Darcy said bluntly, eyes wide, ignoring Jane's disapproving look. "You are loaded."

"Great," Tony said. "Maybe you can make him pay for stuff instead of me."

Darcy waved this away. "Tony, we don't make you pay for stuff. You're still about ten times richer
than he is and you like showing it off."

Tony shrugged in acknowledgement, but Sirius didn't seem to be rising to the bait.

"I'm not the only Black," he said. "Turns out that Regulus is still alive."

"Who?" Jane asked, puzzled by Thor's expression of shock.

"Regulus was, or rather, is, Sirius' little brother," Thor said, stunned. "I thought he was dead."

"He was everything I was not, the perfect son, as my mother never ceased to inform me," Sirius
said. "He went into Slytherin instead and got into the whole dark arts and pureblood superiority
thing. Joined the Death Eaters straight out of school. My parents were so proud." He sighed. "Then
he found out what it was actually like and he wanted out. Until recently, I thought that a few of his
fellow Death Eaters disposed of him. Turns out the truth was rather different. My little brother
found out that Voldemort was trying to create horcruxes."

Loki let out a sharp, hissing breath and Thor frowned in thought.

"I'm guessing that that means that horcruxes are bad?" Jane asked.

"I am sure they are," Thor said. "And I have heard the name somewhere before."

"They are the product of extremely dark magic," Loki said gravely. "The purpose of which is to
attain immortality. Or perhaps more accurately, to render one impossible to truly kill while a single
horcrux still exists."

"How does it work?" Tony asked.

"An object is enchanted by dark magic," Sirius said, voice low. "Dark magic that requires a cold,
premeditated murder. Once that is done, the spellcaster tears off a piece of their soul and places it
in the object."

There was a chill silence.

"That," Bruce began, before shaking his head. "How is that even possible?"

"Magic is a mysterious force capable of great wonders," Loki said quietly. "Of bringing dreams to
life and doing that which was believed to be impossible. It is tied to life itself. But like anything
else, it has a dark side. It can be twisted and perverted, to bring suffering and desolation, and it has
been many times."

Sirius nodded. "Reg discovered this and pinched one of Voldemort's horcruxes," he said.

"Wait, he made more than one?" Steve asked, appalled.

"According to Regulus, he made at least five," Sirius said, and Harry was reminded of one of
Hagrid's first comments about Voldemort – 'I don't reckon he had enough human left in 'im to die'.
"The first when he was still at Hogwarts." He nodded at Harry. "You destroyed it last year."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, baffled.

"That diary," Sirius said.

"Oh," Harry said.

"Diary?" Tony asked, perplexed and, at the inquiring stares of the others, Harry reluctantly gave a
brief explanation of the diary and its effects. Afterwards, Tony shuddered. "Yeah, don't know
about you, but I'm getting a definite internet paedophile vibe here."

"Tony," Steve began reprovingly.

"He's right," Natasha said, in a detached sort of way. "It's classic grooming tactics."

"Poor Ginny," Jane said softly.

"Yeah," Darcy said, glaring. She turned to Harry, who recoiled, even though he knew that she was
not glaring at him. "Look, however you destroyed this creepy evil soul thing, I hope it hurt."

"Well, I do remember it, him, screaming," Harry offered.

"Good."

No one disagreed with this, and after a moment, Sirius finished with, "Anyway, it turns out that he
faked his death," he said. "With the help of Nick Fury."

"Somehow, I am completely unsurprised," Thor said. "I take it that Fury helped him form a new
identity?"

"He did," Sirius said. "My little brother is now Peter Wisdom, Director of MI13. He's destroyed
three of the other horcruxes."

Clint's eyebrows almost escaped into his hairline as Tony let out a low whistle.

"MI13?" Jane asked.

"Britain's superhuman intelligence agency," Clint said. "Formed during World War II and
incorporated a lot of the remains of SSR, the same way that SHIELD did. Its predecessors go back
centuries."

Natasha cocked her head. "Makes sense," she said. "Fury told you after he got wounded?"

Sirius nodded curtly.

"Aren't you proud of him?" Thor asked.

"I am," Sirius said shortly. "But... he should have told me."

"It doesn't sound like he would have had any time," Loki said. "If he had revealed himself before
Voldemort fell, he would have been killed."

Sirius grunted reluctant assent, then forced a smile onto his face. "Enough about my brother," he
said, and slung an arm around Harry's shoulder. "It occurs to me, Harry, that you are of the age
where girls begin to interest you."

"You already gave him the Talk, Sirius," Thor said.

"Actually, I did," Bruce said, to general surprise.

"You taught him the boring parts," Tony said, joining Sirius in slinging an arm around Harry, who
was beginning to take on the look of a rabbit in headlights.

"And you have taught him more than enough of the interesting parts for the time being," Pepper
said firmly, stepping out of the elevator and depositing her handbag. "Hello, Sirius."

That, to Harry's relief, was that. While he was very fond of Sirius and Tony, their insistence on
teaching him the best ways to traverse the roads of romance could be rather wearing.

OoOoO

Harry rose before dawn the next morning, gently shaken awake by his father, and after a mug of
tea and some toast, followed by a hug and a kiss from a sleepy Jane for the both of them, they set
off. First, there was a brief stop in a busy but noticeably quieter than usual London, then Thor
apparated himself and Harry to Godric's Hollow.

It wasn't a particularly prepossessing village, composed of picturesque cottages, a small church, a

couple of small shops and a pub, and nothing about it really pulled at Harry. This was, he
supposed, unsurprising. After all, he hadn't been here since he was a baby, and from what his father
had said, they'd hardly been able to leave the house.

To his father, however, it seemed very familiar, and perhaps as a reflection of that he was wearing
his James Potter face. However, it could just as easily have been a desire not to be recognised,
something reinforced by his wearing of muggle clothing. In any case, they were not accosted as his
father, footsteps swift and sure, led him to their old house.

It was like a dark scar on the village, its state of ruin standing at a sharp contrast to the other
orderly and well kept cottages. The hedge surrounding it had grown wild in the twelve and a half
years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the wreckage, and the grass was now almost up to Harry's
waist, and pieces of rubble and roof timber could occasionally be seen poking out of it. The
building itself was mostly intact, but the right hand side of the top floor had been blown to pieces,
and the remainder was covered in ivy.
"This is where you were born," Thor said, voice thick with emotion. He looked like he was going
to say more, but couldn't quite manage it. Harry could feel what his father wanted to say, though:
impressions of happiness, moments of joy that shone all the brighter for the dark times they were
had in, and bitter regret that they had not lasted longer, mixed in with a touch of guilt, both for a
failure to preserve this happy family and for feeling this way when he was in love with Jane.

So he simply took his father's hand and squeezed gently. Thor looked down – and these days, it
was nowhere near as far down as it had once been – and smiled gently.

After a long few moments, Thor let out a long breath, and gave Harry a questioning look. Harry
simply nodded, and with that, Thor led him to the graveyard. Like the rest of the village, Potter
House excepted, it was small and well kept, and in the centre was a cenotaph, inscribed with the
names of local boys and men who had died in the World Wars. There was something odd about it,
but Harry didn't really pay much attention to it as his father led him into the graveyard.

It was Harry who spotted the shared grave and, on seeing it, stopped in his tracks.

James Potter 1973 – 1994

Lily Potter 1973 – 1994

Underneath was inscribed, The last enemy that shall be defeated is death.

Thor turned to see what had caught his son's attention and saw it.

"Is it strange," Harry asked quietly. "Seeing your own grave?"

"A bit," Thor said, just as quietly.

Harry nodded, then sniffed. Thor, with the instinctive sense that parents develop for when their
children are distressed, slipped an arm around his son and pulled him close, letting him cry against
his chest.

Neither said anything more and, after another ten minutes, Thor conjured some flowers, laid them
on the grave, and led his son away.

OoOoO

As a result of this experience, Harry was somewhat subdued and red eyed when they got to Kings
Cross, but was pleasantly surprised by the presence of his godmother, who immediately pulled him
into a hug, shooting a questioning look at Thor as she did.

"We went to see mum's grave," Harry said out loud, sensing her puzzlement.

Wanda gave him a surprised look, one which became thoughtful, then she put her curiosity aside
and pulled him into another, tighter hug.

Harry relaxed into the hug and perk up slightly as he heard Tony offhandedly discuss employment
opportunities with the Weasley twins.

"Yeah, we've always got positions open in R&D."

"Um, Mister Stark?" Hermione said hesitantly.

"Yeah? And call me Tony."

"Hogwarts doesn't teach muggle subjects," she said. "So... no suitable qualifications."

Tony stopped and stared down at her. "You're kidding. Not even English and Math?"

"No."

"What if people want to leave the whole wizarding community?" Pepper asked, frowning.

Ron looked at her as if she'd grown another head, clearly not able to wrap his head around the
concept. The Twins, on the other hand, looked a bit grimmer, as if this was just sinking in.

"They can't," Hermione said quietly.

Tony folded his arms. "Well," he said. "As long as you can actually spell and, you know function,
that doesn't really matter to me. But if you want, I have a whole bunch of educational computer
programs. I made them for the Maria Stark Foundation. Basically, they'll teach what you need to
know to certificate all the necessary exams, and do it fast. If you start this summer, you'll be a year
behind at worst."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Mister Stark."

"Seriously. Call me Tony."

Harry's attention was then distracted by the Twins trunks, which seemed to be moving of their own
accord. Closer inspection proved that they were hovering and being propelled by means of small
repulsors. Clearly, the principles that had proved effective with a purloined sofa had been applied
elsewhere.

"As you can see, Tony," Fred said.

"We've been revolutionising the transportation of materials, any that you care to name," George
continued.

"By marrying magic and technology," Fred said. "We believe that it will be a long, blissful and
productive union."

"I like it," Tony said. "How are you controlling it?"

"Magic for now," George said. "But dad's told us about 'remote controls'."

Mr Weasley smiled weakly under two gazes – Tony's, which was thoughtful, and his wife's, which
was suspicious.

"Have you now, Arthur?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"We've even managed to speed up sending letters, for those wizards who can't floo call or use
muggle technology," Fred said cheerfully.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Hermione asked.

"Because you have good instincts," Natasha said.

"Um. Thank you?"

George then opened his trunk and produced what looked like a moulting feather duster that had
been decorated for Christmas. Then, the dusty ball opened a pair of yellow eyes and let out a dull
hooting sound. "Even the most elderly of owls can regain the speed and agility of its youth, and
then some," he said, drawing his wand and tapping one of the flat LED like objects. Which just so
happened to be a repulsor.

There was a flash of light as the repulsors flared, then Errol shot out of George's hands like a
firework, careening through the sky, drawing screams and shouts from the crowd of students and
parents on the platform.

"Of course," Fred said, raising his voice of the noises of the crowd. "This project is still in its early
stages." He ducked suddenly, as Errol barrelled overhead. As he did, Harry got a glimpse of the
owl's expression which, astonishingly, seemed to be devoid of terror. Instead, Errol seemed to be
utterly resigned to his fate as the world's first jet powered owl.

Jane stared, half worried, half utterly bemused. Thor, Darcy and Tony were roaring with laughter.
Natasha was simply observing proceedings with a raised eyebrow, while Bruce simply sighed.

Steve, meanwhile, had gone into full I-Am-Captain-America-Here-To-Save-The-Day mode. "Clint,

can you knock out that harness?"

"In my sleep," Clint said, producing his bow and quiver from the backpack that he'd been wearing.
Without taking his eyes off Errol, he set an arrow to his bow, apparently unfazed by the bird's
unpredictable trajectory.

"Loki, once it's off, make sure that it isn't a danger to civilians," Steve said, tensing. "On my
signal... NOW!"

Clint loosed, and the arrow hit its target perfectly, splitting the harness so that it fell straight off.
Loki gestured, sealing the rogue harness in a bubble of pale blue energy. And Steve sprang into the
air with all the grace of a gazelle and snatched Errol out of the sky, dropping, tucking and rolling,
before coming to his feet, owl in his arms.

"Is he all right?" Ginny asked worriedly.

"He seems to be just fine," Steve said, and indeed, Errol was struggling to his feet, perching on
Steve's arm. He gazed at the assembled Avengers and Weasleys, let out another hoot, and dropped
off to sleep.

"Thank you, Steve," Mr Weasley said, accepting the elderly owl back.

"You're welcome," Steve said, nodding, and giving Tony – who was still laughing – a profoundly
disapproving look. There was, after all, only one place that the Twins could have acquired
repulsors.

"Well," George said. "I think that that was, broadly speaking, a success."

"However, more testing is required," Fred began, before paling as his mother, expression livid,
advanced on him. "But perhaps at a later date."

"Agreed," George said. "Bye, mum, dad, see you in the summer!"

Then, the two of them bolted onto the train

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY," Mrs Weasley began, before she was drowned out by the
train's whistle.
"Sorry mum, can't hear you!"

"We love you too!"

Harry, stifling his own laughter, took this as his cue, giving each of the Avengers a brief hug –
including Tony, who was still too busy dying with laughter to object this time – before carrying his
own trunk onto the train.

OoOoO

"Mum's going to kill them," Ron said, as they made their way down the train.

"Errol didn't seem to be all that bothered," Harry pointed out, still trying very hard not to laugh.

"He could have been killed," Hermione said angrily. "And if the Avengers hadn't been on hand,
someone could have been seriously hurt!"

"And it was in public, mate," Ron said. "Mum'll have their hides for this, Tony's too."

"She won't get to Tony," Harry said. "Not before Pepper does."

While the other two accepted this, Harry wasn't sure how far Pepper's disapproval would go.
Insofar as he could tell, Tony had done much worse in the past than simply supply the Twins with
repulsors and indirectly help create a repulsor powered owl.

As soon as they settled down in their compartment, Hermione turned to Harry. "Harry," she began,
taking a deep breath, which Harry took to be a sign that things were getting serious. And he could
make a fair guess about what serious subject Hermione would want to discuss.

"Let me guess. You want to know about the giant energy blast over Easter," Harry said. "Yes, it
was me. No, I can't do it right now and probably won't be able to pull it off for years. The
circumstances were kind of... complicated."

Hermione blinked, a touch taken aback. "Complicated how?" she asked.

Harry explained what had happened on the mountain. The blizzard, the attack by the Slenderman,
finding Bobby, being aged up, taking on the super sized werewolves, the giant killer robot and the
attack of the Slender Swarm.

He did not, however, tell her about the Winter Soldier saving Carol, as he had not told Ron, and for
much the same reasons.

Hermione seemed to spend some time taking this in. "Wow," she said eventually.

"Wow?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry... I saw footage of that energy blast. It was..." She paused, then simply
shook her head.

"Frightening?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione paused for a second, frowned, then shook her head sharply. "No," she said. "It was vast,
though. I mean, it's completely out of my frame of reference or the frame of reference of anyone
human. Well, anyone human who isn't an Avenger, I suppose."

Harry supposed that she was right. A few months ago, he'd barely have believed it if he'd managed
to create a fireblast the size of a Mini Cooper, let alone one approximately the size of a mountain.
And afterwards, he hadn't even been tired. It had taken something out of him, but it hadn't
exhausted him. At the time, he thought that had been everything he had, yet clearly... he'd had
plenty more in the tank.

That was another part he left out. Ron and Hermione were clearly struggling to take in what he'd
already told them. Adding something else to that pile wouldn't do any good.

"I'm still me, you know," he said quietly. "I can just do a few new things."

"Like what?" Hermione asked.

In response, Harry glanced over at Hedwig's cage and concentrated for a moment. The latch
popped open and Hedwig hopped out, fluttering over to his shoulder. "You want to fly, girl?" he
asked, and received a hoot of confirmation. Nodding, he looked at the window and concentrated
again. The window slid across, and Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip on the ear before flying
out. "See you at Hogwarts," he called after her, before concentrating on the window again. It slid
shut.

But as it did, Crookshanks wound around Harry's legs, jogging his focus. The window smashed,
glass flying everywhere.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron said, ducking.

Harry also ducked, putting his hands up at the same time. One of the wolves, Freki, moved in a
blur, blocking most but not all of the glass. A shard sliced across Harry's hand.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, shocked, then drew her wand. "Reparo!" The shards flew back into the
window pane, and with that done, she turned to Harry. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry nodded, grimacing slightly and petting the wolves with his other hand as they whined,
sniffing his hand. After the initial sharp pain, it didn't really hurt that much.

"Let me see," Hermione said, in a voice that brooked no argument, and hissed slightly as she saw
the cut. "It's not too bad," she said. "I think I've got some plasters."

"What?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Plasters? For putting on cuts and scrapes?"

"Oh, muggle medicine," Ron said. "Mum just uses magic. And why bring them? Madam Pomfrey
could fix it in a moment."

"Madame Pomfrey can't be everywhere and I feel that it's always best to be prepared," Hermione
said, getting her trunk down and rummaging in it.

"Hermione, you don't need to do that, I'll be fine," Harry protested. "It doesn't even hurt any more."

Hermione ignored him and continued searching. A couple of minutes later, she pulled out a small
packet of plasters. "Here," she said. "Now, give me your hand."

Harry did, with a sigh, then paused, frowning. The cut was still there, but it had closed up. Now, it
looked like it had happened days ago as opposed to minutes.

"Bloody hell," Ron repeated, this time softer, awed. "How did you do that, Harry?"
"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "Maybe it's a hangover from the mountain."

"Or maybe it woke up your Asgardian side," Ron suggested. Both of them looked at him, and he
shrugged. "How else do you explain that tele-whatsit thing you can do?"

"Telekinesis, Ron," Hermione said. "And yes, since when have you been able to do that?"

"Since the mountain," Harry said. "And it's not my Asgardian powers. I'm not superstrong."
Though, he inwardly noted, he was definitely stronger. Not break-off-door-handles-by-accident
stronger, but stronger nonetheless.

"Then what is it?" Hermione asked, her bemusement echoing Ron's.

"My mother," Harry said quietly. "I don't know how, but I get it from her."

"Are you sure it's not magic?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you've taken very quickly to wandless
magic and you've undergone... well, I can only describe it as a metamorphosis."

Harry shook his head. "No, it feels different," he said. "I can't explain how, but it does. And that
change was temporary."

"That may be true, Harry," Hermione said. "But I think we both know that it's changed you."

"I'm still me," Harry repeated.

"We know, mate," Ron said.

"We do," Hermione echoed. "But Harry, your body is changing, even faster now that it was forced
to change."

Harry looked away. She was right about that much, though he didn't really want to think about it.

"Everythin' all right in here?"

All of them jumped and whipped around, the wolves snarling and Harry instinctively summoning
fire, fire that he extinguished when he saw who it was.

"Sorry Professor Cassidy," Hermione said, embarrassed, as the man himself regarded them with a
raised eyebrow. The wolves sniffed at him a couple of times, cadged a few scratches from the
thoroughly unintimidated man, then settled down again.

"You startled us," Ron said, putting away his wand slightly grumpily.

"Aye, so I did," Cassidy said. "But I didn't expect you to react like that." His eyes drifted over to
Harry, and they seemed knowing. "Then again, perhaps I should have done."

"You heard, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Professor Dumbledore told us, though truth be told, I'd already half guessed after seein' the news,"
Cassidy said.

Harry nodded.

"Is that why you're here, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"After a fashion," Cassidy said. "Warren and I were asked to keep an eye on things. Particularly
you three." He glanced out the window. "You probably won't see him. He's flyin' high, watching
out for trouble."

"What, we're going to be attacked?" Ron asked, startled, drawing his wand again.

"Probably not," Cassidy said. "But maybe." He nodded at Harry. "Your little escapade over the
holidays proved that HYDRA are in the recruiting business again, and not afraid to flex their
muscles when they do it. And a train of magical kids... that would be tempting."

"I don't think they will," Harry said.

"And why's that?"

"Draco Malfoy is on this train," he said. "But HYDRA can't possibly know where. And Lucius
Malfoy won't let his son be harmed."

"Aye," Cassidy acknowledged, expression approving. "Ye might be underestimating HYDRA's

capabilities, but good thinking." His expression turned serious. "And I heard what you were saying
about your telekinesis. Though it's more than just that, isn't it?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Cerebro."

Harry nodded, ignoring Ron and Hermione's puzzled looks. "I got it from mum. It runs in her
family," he said. "Or at least I think it does."

Cassidy gave him a long, measuring look. "Now, why would you say that?" he asked, tone
superficially mild. But Harry could hear something else in his tone, a tensing, almost a wariness.

"Because..." Harry began, then paused, as if rummaging for something buried deep, right in the
back of his brain. "Because ages ago, years before I came to Hogwarts, a cousin of mine came to
visit the Dursleys."

"I thought that Dudley was your cousin," Ron said, frowning.

"He was," Harry said, then added. "Well, is. These people were my second cousins. Or at least, she
was. Her dad was my mum's cousin. They were Americans, in Britain for some reason. Maybe a
holiday, I don't really remember."

Ron nodded in comprehension while Harry frowned, as if trying to remember. "She had red hair
and green eyes," he said. "Like mine."

Cassidy was now giving him a very sharp, penetrating stare. "Aye," he said after a moment. "I
wouldn't be surprised at that."

"She... I remember that she saw Dudley, my other cousin, mum's nephew, beating me up with his
friends," Harry said slowly. "She yelled at them." He smiled slightly. "She got really, really mad.
Then she turned to Dudley. And she did... something."

"Whatever it was, I hope it bloody hurt," Ron said.

"Ron," Hermione said reprovingly, but it was half hearted at best. "What did she do, Harry?"

"She was furious. She looked at him, and she looked like she was concentrating. Her eyes glowed
– I thought it was just sunlight at the time, but now, I think they were glowing," Harry said. "And
Dudley... Dudley fell to the ground, clutched his head and screamed."

Ron and Hermione both shivered at that.

"Anything else?" Cassidy asked sharply.

Harry paused, then shook his head. "No. She just led me away and gave me a hug," he said. "Her
name was Jean."

Cassidy nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Why didn't you tell us before, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I can barely remember it, Hermione," Harry said. "Until a few months ago, I'd completely
forgotten it."

"That doesn't sound like the sort of thing you'd forget, mate," Ron said.

Harry frowned. "I know," he said. "I don't know why I did." He blinked. "Her parents, they wanted
to adopt me. To take me away from the Dursleys. But they didn't."

"They tried, though."

All three turned to Cassidy.

"How do you know?" Harry asked, surprised.

Cassidy came in and sat down, sighing. "Before I came here, I was briefed on you," he said. He
looked at Ron and Hermione, gaze lingering on the latter. "All three of you, as it happens."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "I mean, Harry I can understand, but us?"

Cassidy gave her a wry look. "Somethin' about the fact that the last couple of years, whenever
there's been trouble, ye three haven't been far away," he said. He turned back to Harry. "Anyway, I
looked into your file. The family, your family, tried to adopt you, but someone powerful stopped it.
Not directly, mind. But people who were looking into it seemed to forget all about it. Someone
went to quite some trouble to make sure of that." His sea-blue gaze flicked to Harry. "And you
forgot too. Until now."

"You mean, someone made us forget?" Harry asked. "Me, the Dursleys, and..."

"And probably the family too," Cassidy said, with some sympathy. "Along with a number of
government officials." His expression turned grim. "And it turns out that that's not the only time it
happened. No, more than a few memories were altered. And a fair bit of money found its way into
pockets that it shouldn't, if you follow me."

"Bribes," Ron said grimly. "Dad says that it happens at the Ministry, sometimes, when someone
like Lucius Malfoy doesn't like a law."

"Your da's a sharp man," Cassidy said. "And from what I hear, an honest one too. That's a
dangerous combination when dealing with those who aren't so full of integrity."

Ron flushed, proud of his father.

Harry's mind, meanwhile, as abuzz with possibilities. A Death Eater, maybe, not wanting to risk
going the same way as their master and hoping that the Dursleys would do the job for them?
Or maybe, he thought suddenly with numb horror, it might have been Professor Dumbledore, not
knowing what was happening, trying to keep him safe.

Then sanity reasserted itself. It didn't fit with the Dumbledore he knew. If nothing else, he wasn't
sure that Dumbledore had the money to bribe with. Teaching, after all, was unlikely to pay much.
Also, beyond that, Dumbledore was not the sort of man to routinely wipe minds. Nor did he have
any reason to prevent it. While the details of why Harry had been at Privet Drive all those years
had not been disclosed, it had, apparently, something to do with wards tied to blood family.

On the other hand, Harry could quite easily see someone like Fudge doing so. Neither his father,
his uncle, nor his godparents had the most glowing view of the Ministry of Magic, excepting only
people like Arthur Weasley from their censure, something Harry had picked up on. And after the
events of the previous year, when Fudge had carted Hagrid off to Azkaban solely to be seen to be
doing something, particularly in light of his own encounters with Dementors and Sirius'
explanation of what Azkaban was like, Harry was none to impressed by the Ministry as a whole.

So, in short, he could very easily see some idiot memory charming people to maintain the status
quo.

"It wasn't done by magic," Cassidy said, having read his expression. "One of my colleagues, a
pretty fine telepath herself, checked. We're looking."

"We as in MI13, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Aye," Cassidy said, before looking back at Harry. "And if the stories I've heard about your uncle
are true, he'll be looking too." He smiled a grim smile. "And if he finds them, then I reckon that
they'll soon regret ever breathin' the wrong way towards you."

Freki and Geri growled softly.

"Yes," Harry said quietly. "So do I." He paused. "Professor Cassidy, I've been wondering. About
my cousin Jean." He met the man's gaze. "My father and uncle haven't been able to find her and
you seem to know about her..."

"Say no more, lad," Cassidy said, giving him a kindly smile. "She's family. You want to see her."

Harry nodded.

"I understand that," Cassidy said. "And as it happens, I do know her. Not particularly well, but
we've got friends in common."

"You do?"

"Yes," Cassidy said, expression not revealing anything. Harry got the impression that there was
more to it. He also got the impression that while he could now feel other people's minds around
him, and occasionally pick up thoughts, Cassidy's thoughts were locked behind solid walls of will.
No clues were coming from there.

"Could you..."

"Put you in touch?" Cassidy asked, and Harry nodded, wondering why, if he was the telepath,
Cassidy was the one reading minds. The Irishman smiled sadly. "I'd love to, lad. But right now... I
don't think that would be a very good idea. Like I said, HYDRA are recruiting again. And if a
powerful young telepath, one related to you, came onto their radar, what do you think would
happen? What do you think they would do to get hold of her? You saw what they did to try and get
hold of Bobby Drake, and he's still a wee lad, with no control over his power."

Harry's face fell. "Oh. Yes, of course," he said quietly. "It's just... she seemed to control her powers
pretty well, and she's older than me and she'd have had more practice. You know. So she could
teach me." He shook his head. "It's stupid, forget I said anything."

"Hey. It's not stupid," Cassidy said gently. "She's family. Family's important." He smiled slightly.
"As ye know, I'm a lot older than I look. And when I was about ten years older than you are now,
still a young man, I moved to Ireland to reconnect with long lost relatives." He sat back. "And I met
my cousin, Tom Cassidy. He was still a little boy and eeryone called him Black Tom, because Tom
was a common name, and he had pitch black hair. I spent years hoping that he would develop my
gift or at least, a gift. A mutant gift, I mean. One that I could help guide him through."

"And did he?"

"No, as it happens," Sean said. He chuckled. "Turned out to be very good with plants, though. He
dabbles in magic, too."

"That can be very dangerous, Professor," Hermione said, concerned.

"I know," Sean said. "But Tom can look after himself." He gave Harry a kindly smile. "I don't
claim to know Jean that well, but from what I do know, she'd love to meet ye and teach ye
everythin' that she knows. But I don't think that time has come yet."

"But Professor," Hermione said. "Harry does need someone to teach him how to control these
abilities."

"Aye, that he does," Cassidy agreed. "Or next time he loses focus, he might do more than just slice
his hand open."

Harry jumped, startled. "How did –"

"I've got good hearing and there's a plaster on your hand," Cassidy said evenly. "Plus I've been
dealin' with teenagers with new powers for longer than Mister Weasley's parents have been alive. It
doesn't take a genius to know what happened."

"Oh," Harry said, somewhat abashed.

"How's your telepathy?" Cassidy asked. At Harry's expression of surprise, he elaborated.

"Telekinesis that's out of control is bad enough, but telepathy as strong as yours – and ye're strong,
as strong as any I've ever see – if that goes wild..."

"I could hurt people?"

Cassidy's expression turned very serious indeed. "Telepathy and its various sub-schools comprise
the mostly deadly superhuman ability known to humanity," he said. "Short of the ability to rewrite
reality itself. It's the reason that the Imperius curse is one of the three Unforgivables, and rightly
so. Even a weak telepath gone bad, or worse, mad, or even simply out of control – and those are
not the same things. Easy to mix up, but not the same."

"What's the difference?"

"Someone gone bad is someone who actively uses their powers for evil," Cassidy said.

"Like the Death Eaters," Ron said.

"Aye, very like," Cassidy said, nodding. "Someone gone mad is someone who has just snapped. It
happens sometimes, under strain. It happens to telepaths more than most. And someone out of
control... that's when they just lose control of their powers, which go wild."

Harry nodded. "Dad told me a bit about that," he said. "A little while ago."

"Your telepathy has popped up before?"

"I haven't used it consciously," Harry said. "But a few months ago, I sort of panicked, and a friend
of mine who's an empath was nearby. She got a nosebleed."

Cassidy nodded. "Aye, that happens," he said, sounding completely unsurprised. "Powers
sometimes flare a bit before they properly manifest, like accidental magic." He looked Harry in the
eye. "I want you to try something for me: think the word 'hello' at me."

Harry frowned, then did so. Nothing happened.

"Ye need to project it," Cassidy said. "Focus on me and project it at me. Closing your eyes will
help."

"What if I hurt you, Professor?" Harry asked worriedly.

Cassidy chuckled softly. "Ye're not the first young psychic I've run across, Harry," he said. "Go on.
I'll be fine."

Harry frowned, closed his eyes, and tried again. This time, he felt it, a brief connection springing up
between his mind and Cassidy's, one down which the message travelled. Except that it wasn't just
between their minds. The message shot to dozens of other minds, every mind in the carriage and
each one either side of it.

"Uh. Oops," Harry said sheepishly, as Hermione and Ron stared at him, wide eyed.

Cassidy, who had seemed distracted for a moment, like he was listening, chuckled. "Not bad," he
said. "The next step'll be making sure you only send messages to one person, rather than everyone
around you."

"Can you teach me?" Harry asked.

Cassidy shook his head. "Ye're too strong," he said. "And I'm not a psychic. I know some of the
basic principles, but not enough to give you the lessons you need." He stood up. "Don't worry, lad.
I'll be putting a call in to one of my colleagues at MI13, that telepath I mentioned. She's a
telekinetic, too, so she can give you a few pointers on that as well." He paused and smiled. "In the
meantime, try and resist the temptation to show off."

Harry flushed and nodded.

"Good lad," Cassidy said, making his way out. "I'll be seeing ye three up at school." A gleam
entered his eyes. "And you'd better not have gone soft over the holidays."

Ron and Hermione gulped.

Cassidy chuckled and left.

OoOoO

London was a city on edge. It wasn't immediately obvious, but if you took a seat on a bench and
just watched, then, after a while, you would see it. Londoners, already not the most sociable breed,
didn't stop to talk. They didn't linger. Instead, they moved from place to place with a kind of forced
calm, staying out in the open for as short a period as possible. Collars were flipped up and the
general body language was one of wary isolation, with each and every person keep their eyes as
open as they could, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

A city of sheep, the unkind might say. But this was a city with blood and death woven into its
mortar, one that had been scoured by fire from above and below. Though few enough of its
inhabitants still remembered the devastation of the Blitz, and none mortal remembered the Great
Fire, the city never forgot.

For centuries, London had been the seat of the largest mortal Empire in recorded history, one that
time and tide had worn away to a few fragments scattered across the globe. Even before, it had
been a trading hub, with people, goods and secrets finding their way there from all across the
world. Millions of lives began, changed and ended on its streets. Magic was rife, with ley lines
criss-crossing the city.

And as a result, the city had gained a mind of its own, one passed from one person to another. That
person was known as the Voice, the one who spoke for the city when it needed speaking for. But
above all, the city remembered, burying that knowledge deep in the folk memory of its inhabitants.

That memory recognised the feeling in the city, the sense of oncoming darkness and impending
doom. It was one that struck a chord, a chord that resolved itself into a song, one that whispered
through every mind in the city, even of those who had never heard it.

London's burning, London's burning, London's burning...

Most dismissed it and the chill that ran down their spine. While the population at large was coming
to grudgingly accept that magic might be real, there were some things that the rational didn't listen
to. It was, after all, a children's song. Nothing more.

So they ignored the warning.

But others, those who walked the margins of society, oft shunned and reviled... they listened.
Beggars, travellers and outcasts of every description slipped out of the city, quietly, so as not to
gain unwanted attention. Some noticed. Most of those who did quietly muttered 'good riddance',
and got on with their lives. But a few watched their leaving and wondered.

And some of those few had a very special name and very special skillset. Where others merely
worried at the nameless uncertainty, the mystery of the disappearance and tried to put it out of their
minds, these people studied the patterns, sampled the air and read the writing on the wall. They
noticed, not because it was what they did. No, it ran deeper than that. It was who they were. They
were spies, and if London was a city of sheep, they were the wolves in the flock.

And one of those wolves was sitting at his desk with his jaw propped up by a fist, while the other
hand drummed the table and he glowered at the computer screen in front of him. He didn't look like
anything special. He looked like any other stressed and grumpy office worker who hadn't had
enough sleep and was working on particularly recalcitrant project.

He looked up sharply as a gust of wind whipped through the open door and in a half moment, the
sheepskin was laid aside and the fangs were bared. The chair was kicked backwards to give him
space to move. A long, smooth wand all slipped into one hand, while five burning orange blades
erupting from the fingers of the other like claws and he stood like a fighter.
He levelled his wand at a shadowy corner. "Show yourself," he snapped.

A figure stepped out of the darkness. She was pretty, slender and pale skinned with dark blonde
hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in a dark bodysuit that hugged her body, designed to combine
maximum protection with aerodynamics. Yet, even though that bodysuit was quite clearly designed
for combat, many would, and did, dismiss this woman. After all, she looked like she was barely out
of school.

Those who did usually came to regret it in short order. After all. Looks deceive, and none more so
than the looks of those who deceive as naturally as they breathe.

"The ravens rest," she said crisply.

"But the vultures circle," Wisdom replied, relaxing, the blades of fire vanishing, and reaching into
his pocket. "Well, that's the sign and countersign business dealt with. Smoke?"

"Why not," she said, taking the pro-offered cigarette. "If I do, you'll have one less to poison
yourself with."

"You aren't worried about yourself, Jackie?" Wisdom asked, flicking his wand and lighting both
cigarettes, before pocketing the packet once more.

"I'm half vampire, as you bloody well know," she said tartly. "Even if my abilities didn't protect me
from it, cancer is the least of my worries."

"True enough," Wisdom agreed.

"Where did you pick up the habit? You didn't used to smoke."

"Constantine."

She let out a sigh of comprehension. John Constantine was known for many things, and one of
them was smoking like a chimney. "Of course," she said.

"Yeah," Wisdom said. "Now. I know that you'll have filed a report with Drew, but I'd like an
overview."

"Why do you think I came here?" she asked. "Blade is in."

"Good," Wisdom said, perhaps a little forcefully. The Daywalker was a formidable asset, but one
that usually preferred to work alone, excepting only the woman who was standing in front of
Wisdom. Jacqueline Falsworth, the second Spitfire, closer to eighty than eighteen while barely
looking a day over the latter. Vampirisim had its perks. "And the others?"

"The Voice has disappeared," Jackie said. "I've checked all her usual haunts, but I found nothing."

"That's not good," Wisdom said darkly. "That is really, really not good. If HYDRA have her..."

"If HYDRA have her, they're going to try and control her. And if they manage to control her, then
we are all going to die," Jackie said bluntly. "Either they have her and haven't broken her, or she's
gone to ground. Honestly, I think that the latter is more likely."

"Let's hope so," Wisdom said, then nodded at her to continue.

"Lennox refused," she said. "To be honest, I expected him to. He does his own thing. Always has,
always will."
Wisdom grimaced. "Doesn't mean that it's any less annoying," he said. "He's literally bloody bomb
proof and a fair hand in a fight." He sat back. "Fine. If I really need him, I'll maybe see if I can play
on the family connection."

"Family connection?"

"Lennox is a son of Zeus. That Diana girl who's been hanging out with Thor's kid? She's Hercules'
daughter, which makes her Lennox's niece," Wisdom said.

"And you want to use that to guilt trip him into co-operating," Jackie said. Her tone spoke volumes
of her opinion on this. "Like you did with Wanda."

"I'm not exactly spoilt for choice, Jackie," Wisdom retorted. He gave her a sharp look. "And what
do you know about Wanda?"

"That you've got something on her. What, I have no idea, but it's something. And you've got a
choice, Peter," she said. "You always have a choice. It may not be an easy one, but you still have a
choice and the responsibility to make the right one."

Wisdom spocked an eyebrow. "You get that one from Rogers?"

"My predecessor, actually," Jackie said.

Wisdom raised the other eyebrow. The first Spitfire. A subject of much discussion and speculation
in certain circles, to say the least. And yet, surprisingly anonymous outside of them. He shook it
off. Speculations could wait. "Fine. Anyone else?"

"Moira MacTaggert is staying out of it. She knows that HYDRA will come for Muir Island
eventually, so she's offering it as a medical facility and a fallback point if things get really bad, but
she's not interested in throwing in just yet," Jackie said. "I sounded out the Welshman, but he seems
to be more interested in lying low. When I asked why, he said one word." Her mouth twisted into a
wry smile. "I think you can guess what that word is."

"Strange," Wisdom sighed. "What the hell is that bastard up to?" he demanded. "That's what I want
to know."

"You and everyone else in the intelligence community," Jackie observed, finishing her cigarette.
"And to be honest, I'm not sure that the Welshman would have got involved anyway. He's happy
enough keeping away other vampires and Cardiff's crime rate, both mortal and supernatural, has
dropped like a stone since he moved in, but beyond that... he's not exactly a team player."

"True enough," Wisdom admitted. "Has there been any sign of..."

"No," Jackie said. "I know what you're about to ask, and no one's seen it since Braddock senior
passed away in the 90's."

Wisdom swore softly. "I was relying on it turning up," he said. "The legendary 'Amulet of Right'.
Stupid bloody name, but the power it possesses would be like a gift from fucking heaven right
about now."

"It'll turn up when it turns up," Jackie said. "And no later."

Wisdom's expression turned sour, but he nodded. "Fine," he said. "What do you make of the new
base?"
Jackie glanced around. The room was made of old brick, mortar and mould. It was dark, dank and
occasionally dripped. The rest of the base, labs excepted, wasn't much different. "Well, the décor
leaves something to be desired," she said dryly. "But as hiding places go, it's a good one. The old
tube lines are a rabbits warren, especially since you've somehow managed to patch into the
Nevernever for routes between bases. Nationwide, even. I'll admit, I'm impressed."

"We adapted some of Jane Foster's technology," Wisdom said. "The woman's a bloody genius." He
stood. "And this is only the beginning."

"Oh yes, I've heard," Jackie said. "That pissing match you're intent on starting with the Ministry of
Magic." Her expression turned concerned. "Peter, those people are dangerous. If you back them
into a corner, they could get very nasty."

"I know," Wisdom replied, twirling his wand. "Oh, I know." He smiled grimly. "But trust me.
They won't know what's hit them."

"Why are you so invested in taking them on, anyway?" Jackie asked.

"Because... well, you know where I came from, Jackie. Who I was, before Fury saved me. What I'd
done," Wisdom said. "I joined the Death Eaters because I was a stupid little boy who didn't know
any better. And I wasn't the only one. That society produces problems, powerful problems. It needs
to change before something permanent happens, to them and to us."

"Us?" Jackie asked, eyebrow raised.

"I stopped being one of them when Fury took me in," Wisdom said curtly. "And since it has proved
that only a few people in it recognise that need," he continued, returning to the previous subject. "It
will need to be changed."

"By force?"

"If necessary," Wisdom said grimly.

"Peter, you're not Fury and this is not SHIELD," Jackie said flatly. "Even before all this began,
MI13 didn't have the firepower to take on the Ministry of Magic."

"Oh, I'm not starting a war," Wisdom said. "Just slowly but surely bringing them to heel."

"You don't think that they'll catch on?"

Wisdom snorted. "Most of them can't even conceive of the idea that Muggles could possibly be a
threat, let alone their equal," he said. "They think that guns are a kind of wand. Aeroplanes baffle
them. I don't think that half of them even believe in Helicarriers."

"They've created a number of remarkable things," Jackie pointed out.

"Oh, I know," Wisdom said. "That's the problem. They've figured out daily life well enough that
they don't think that they have anything more to learn. And they are very, very wrong."

OoOoO

Peter Wisdom was not the only spy at work. The World Security Council had called a meeting to
establish what the hell was going on.

"General Ross filed a report, claiming that the Lost Omega had revealed itself at long last,"
Councilwoman Hawley said.

"And he was wrong, Councilwoman," Pierce said.

"And why is that?"

"Because only three were potentially Omega class entities... well, I say 'only three', but when
dealing with people that powerful I'm sure we'll all agree that that's quite enough," Pierce said,
with a slight smile. "Two were too young. One of those two is also a ward of the Asgardian throne,
so even if we did want to take her into custody, we couldn't. The third is Thor's son, who, if
anything, is too old to be the Lost Omega. He was on the other side of the world when the Kansas
Incident happened. And, again, even if he was, we couldn't take him into custody. His father and
uncle would object, as would the rest of the Avengers. And I am reliably informed that the Hulk
likes him. On top of that, as we've seen, the boy's pretty formidable by himself."

"Would there be anyone that does know of the Lost Omega's identity and whereabouts?"

"No one that I can think of, Councilman Rockwell," Pierce said, tone genially apologetic. "But I'll
look into it."

Rockwell gave him a sharp look. "You do that. Because I hear that Fury's the one who's been
keeping that particular secret," he said.

"That is the story around the water cooler," Pierce said, tone unchanged.

"You don't think that there is any merit to it?" Councilman Singh asked.

"I think that there might be a lot of merit to it," Pierce said. "But I also think that if Fury is keeping
it a secret, then he's doing so for good reasons."

"The boy, Robert Drake," Councilwoman Hawley said, changing the subject. "HYDRA have
already made a play for him. Surely it would be best if he was in SHIELD's custody?"

"Perhaps, but he's already been shipped out to Charles Xavier's Institute, and since Fury's managed
to wrangle Wolverine into bodyguarding the President, I think that we shouldn't push our luck
there," Pierce said.

"Shouldn't push our luck?" Rockwell asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Xavier is known to be protective of his students," Pierce said. "He faced down the White Council
for the sake of Wanda Maximoff, before Strange swept in and saved the day. Admittedly, that time
he had the support of Albus Dumbledore, among others, but even taken alone, he's formidable. I
trust you remember what happened to the Weapon X program."

"And if we chase the boy, we could end up pushing him into the arms of Magneto," Councilman
Singh commented. "Some claim that he has mellowed, but frankly, I rather doubt it."

"My thoughts exactly," Pierce said.

"Magneto is not an immediate concern," Councilman Yen stated. "He has considerably limited his
attacks in the last two decades. Now, he is more focused on smaller, rogue groups." He glanced at
Rockwell. "Ones like Project Pegasus."

"Magneto had nothing to do with Pegasus' formation or its destruction," Rockwell said testily,
bridling at the barb. "As you well know."
"That's only a relative improvement," Pierce pointed out. "And it only takes a moment for him to
revert." He shook his head. "No, I think I agree with Councilman Singh. I don't think that that
particular leopard has changed his spots or is going to do so any time soon." He turned and began
to pace. "That said, Councilman Yen has a point: Magneto's not an immediate threat, and he's no
friend of HYDRA or the Death Eaters."

"I was under the impression that the Death Eaters were no longer a significant player,"
Councilwoman Hawley said sharply.

"If that's what Peter Wisdom told you, then he's right," Pierce said. "Most of the real fanatics are in
Azkaban and quite a few of the rest have been removed after throwing in with HYDRA. But one or
two remain an active threat. One of those is Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right hand man. Recent
intelligence indicates that he is now the head of HYDRA, having executed a coup."

"That is worrying," Hawley said, frowning. "Malfoy is dangerous."

"The man hasn't done anything for nearly fifteen years," Singh retorted. "As far as I know, he was
living a life of idle luxury, considered a pillar of the community. Why would he throw that away?
How dangerous could he be after so long inactive?"

"The answer to the first question, I believe, is that he felt threatened by the revelation that Thor had
in fact been one of his enemies in what you might call a past life," Pierce said. "Who had every
reason to wipe him out. And if he didn't do, Loki would."

"That is a leopard who has changed his spots," Yen commented. "And remarkably swiftly."

"Well, sanity has advantages and Asgard is incredibly advanced," Pierce said. "Their medical care
is accordingly remarkable, or so I would assume. And as for the second question, I think the fact
that he very nearly succeeded in masterminding the capture of an Omega class mutant, then to be
moulded into a weapon of horrific power. When that part of the op went south, he nearly
succeeded in assassinating a Prince of Asgard, a Ward of the Asgardian crown who also happens to
be the daughter of Hercules himself, the son of an Asgardian dignitary, the niece of an American
Brigadier General and the son of the French Ambassador to the United Nations. He was only
thwarted by what, as far as I can tell, can only be considered a genuine miracle. That and the
intervention of both the Avengers and the Scarlet Witch. I think that serves as suitable commentary
on his capabilities and the threat he represents."

"So Maximoff is active again," Rockwell said. "Permanently?"

"Judging by her recent activities outside London, in Chicago and in the incident under discussion,
I'd say that she is," Pierce said. "Thor's son is her godson, after all, and she has a track record of
working with him."

"Does that mean that Strange is involved too?" Hawley asked.

"Doctor Strange's activities and motivations have never been easy to divine," Pierce said. "And to
be honest, I'm not entirely sure. But my gut says so."

"And what is your gut basing this on?"

"The rising level of crisis," Pierce said bluntly. "And the fact that Agent Coulson reported that
during his team's operation under Paris, Strange intervened to resurrect Lady Sif and Harry
Dresden for reasons that are as yet unknown. Which is good news."

"Is it?" Rockwell asked. "Strange has proved in the past that he does exactly as he pleases, when he
pleases, accepting no authority but his own. We can't wait for him, or the Avengers to protect us."
He turned back to Pierce. "You're right, Mister Secretary. This crisis is getting out of hand. The
world is getting out of hand, much though Director Fury would like to claim otherwise. It has been
since he unleashed the Avengers on the world."

"In fairness Mister Councilman, they've done a pretty good job," Pierce replied.

"They have proved rather efficient at the task of containing and detaining superpowered criminals,"
Singh observed.

"And they inspire hope," Hawley said. "The value of that particular quality cannot be
underestimated."

"Yes, people are turning to them for answers," Pierce said. "Which they seem well placed to give."

"And it shouldn't be that way," Rockwell said. "We are Earth's defence, not a bunch of costumed
lunatics and two political figures from another dimension entirely, who as a collective are
practically the dictionary definition of 'loose cannon'." He shook his head. "No, I move for the
instant expediting of Project Insight."

"Seconded," Yen replied.

Singh paused for a long moment. "On balance, yes," he said. "We need to regain some measure of
control. Insight can do that."

"Peter Wisdom has been agitating for the expediting of the Valiant project for some time. As recent
events have proved, that was remarkably prescient of him," Hawley said. "The Avengers are
effective, but they are a stopgap measure and they cannot be everywhere. With the firepower that
HYDRA possesses, we need something more wide ranging."

"Then it's settled," Rockwell said, and looked to Pierce. "If you have anything snappy to say, I
suggest you get it out of the way now."

Pierce merely smiled. "Well, I was going to suggest that the name of the Valiant project be
changed," he said. "It might lead to some confusion."

Hawley scowled slightly and muttered something along the lines of 'bloody BBC'. The others
wisely didn't ask.

"And I would also point out that even with the best will in the world, the Insight Helicarriers won't
be ready until next year," he added.

"Well, then I'm sure that, given your confidence in them, the Avengers and Director Fury will be
able to hold out until then," Rockwell said with a tone of finality.

"I'm sure that they will," Pierce said. "On a final note, I feel that I should mention that I've
scheduled with Thor's son for this weekend, at Hogwarts. I should be able to get a gauge on his
personality and current abilities then."

"By all means, Mister Secretary," Singh replied. "Hopefully he won't blow up anything else in the
mean time."

OoOoO

Elsewhere, another discussion was about to take place, this one not half as cordial as its
predecessors.

The interrogation room was spartan in its décor, made of smooth, grey concrete. The chairs and
table were made of metal and bolted to the floor. One of the chairs locked its occupant in with
adjustable restraints. If someone managed to break free of the chair and tried to lift the chair or the
table, to use them as weapons, they would deliver a massive electric shock to the system of
whoever was so foolish to make the attempt.

The walls were lined with countermeasures both mystical and mundane – though to use such a
word for the sort of technology that laced the prison walls would be a severe understatement of its
capabilities. This one room, in other words, was more secure than most maximum security prisons.

The reason for this was the location. Buried half a mile beneath northern England, it was part of
the Dark Levels of the legendary Strangeways prison. The mundane parts were a category A high
security prison, known for housing the criminally insane. The less mundane parts were not known
for much at all. Many powerful people had gone to great lengths to make sure that it stayed that
way.

But among those who did know what it was, it was known for housing superhuman and
supernatural prisoners, ones judged too dangerous to see the light of day. Indeed, this aphorism
was taken literally – there were no direct shafts to the surface. UV lights served the purpose of
sunlight for those that required it. The air was treated and purified several times before being
pumped into the vents, giving the air inside the prison a slightly odd, artificial taste.

And until recently, it had been home to Britain's single resident vampire.

Of course, M thought, it was entirely possible that he was still present. To the best of her
knowledge he was living under Cardiff, but that information came from Peter Wisdom, who she did
not trust. And even if she'd had it independently verified, she'd still have treated it with suspicion.
As recent months had shown, a nasty surprise was often only just around the corner.

Now, she was looking to forestall another. Nicholas Fury had tipped her off to the fact that Thor's
son had been kept in the hands of his abusive relatives by an unknown third party, one who used
mundane and supernatural means to ensure that he stayed there. Who it was, they didn't know.
Why, they hadn't the faintest idea. How, on the other hand... they had some grasp on that.

Of course, some might ask why the head of MI6 was waiting in a cold uncomfortable chair in a
cold uncomfortable room, doing someone else's leg work. This was, after all, a domestic matter
with supernatural components. That fell into the jurisdiction of either MI5 or more likely, MI13.
Even SHIELD could have reasonably claimed some involvement in the case.

She could have given many answers, touching on the international ramifications and thus
importance of resolving this case or the regaining of some national honour and political capital
with Asgard if the perpetrator was tracked down and brought to justice, and both had some merit.
She could even have said that it was a request by a colleague, which was true. But the real answer
was that she had nothing better to do and she wanted to see this case closed.

She looked up as the door opened and gave the entrant a cold look. Petunia Dursley was a blonde
woman in her mid to late thirties, further aged by stress, hair visibly greying. She was tall, thin and
long necked, with pale eyes and a slightly horsey appearance. If she had ever been pretty, it had
been a long time ago.

She did not, M knew, take after her mother. M had met both Evans parents in a professional
capacity during her early days at MI6. Emily Evans née Grey, a woman of Scottish extraction, had
been redheaded, green eyed and beautiful. Lily could have been her younger self. Really, Petunia
didn't take after either of them very much. Oh, she had her father's hair and a little digging into old
family photos showed that she'd come by her features honestly, but it was more in attitude. Being
former SHIELD Agents, Michael and Emily Evans had not batted an eye when Lily developed
magic. Indeed, they had embraced it. Petunia, after a brief period of wishing that she was a witch
too, had reacted against it violently, embracing mundane normality.

Thus far, M could somewhat sympathise. The supernatural was seductive and terrifying in equal
measure, with a goodly side order of disturbing. But that did not excuse how she had treated her
nephew, her sister's only child. She'd locked the boy in a cupboard for over a decade, for god's
sake!

But she was being well punished for that. Wisdom had engineered a swift trial behind closed doors
and leaned on the Home Secretary, having him exercise Royal Prerogative to have Vernon and
Petunia Dursley imprisoned at Her Majesty's Pleasure. In other words, indefinitely. And after that,
he'd locked them away in the darkest, grimmest and undoubtedly most secure prison in the country,
quite possibly in all of Europe, on the grounds that they were a threat to national security. Which,
in a round about way, they had been.

"Mrs Dursley," she said, voice clipped, as the other woman sat down nervously.

"Yes?" she said, voice quavering.

M gazed at her with a gimlet eye, then returned her gaze to the file before her, letting the silence
stretch out. She'd read it several times and memorised it, but it served as an effective method of
further unbalancing most under interrogation and drawing out silences. Most people had an urge to
fill silence, and so it proved with Petunia.

"They told me that you were someone important in... in the security services," Petunia continued.
"Please, where is my husband? I was told he was in this facility."

M simply gave her a long, cold look.

Petunia tried again. "What is it that you want from me?" she asked, perhaps thinking that she would
be given the answer to her question if she proved useful. It wasn't an entirely inaccurate guess.

M gave her a long look, then nodded. "A matter has come to my attention concerning your nephew
and your guardianship of him," she said. "Specifically, there is evidence that an outside force acted
to prevent investigation into your mistreatment of your nephew."

Petunia opened her mouth as if to contest this last point, before closing it, gripping the arms of the
chair with bony knuckled hands. "I see," she said.

"Good," M said briskly. "Now, to get to the point. Prior to your nephew's attendance of Hogwarts,
did anyone contact you and your husband, personally, about your nephew?"

"There was that Professor Dumbledore, who left Harry with a letter, occasional letters from his
primary school about bad behaviour and then there were the letters from..." Petunia's face twisted
in disgust. "That place."

"Anything else?"

Petunia shook her head.

M paused for a long moment, letting this lack of useful information sink in, then said, "I see." She
let this sink in too, then said, "Did you see anything or anyone unusual around your nephew during
the same period of time?" She raised a hand to stop Petunia. "Not the oddly dressed wizards who
often went up to shake his hand or say hello. It would be someone non-magical."

Petunia frowned. "Well, no," she said.

"I see," M said. "No one expressing an unusual degree of interest? No one seeking to gain the boy's
confidence? No one seeking an unusual amount of contact?"

Petunia shook her head, then paused. "Actually," she said slowly. "Now that you mention it,
there was someone."

"Who?"

"It was the family doctor," Petunia said. "Doctor Nathan Milbury. We'd been going to see him ever
since Vernon and I moved into number four. We took Dudley to see him, and eventually we took
the boy too. He immediately expressed an interest in the boy, and spent more time on him than any
of us, even Dudley."

"Considering your treatment of your nephew, I'm hardly surprised," M said.

Petunia shook her head. "No," she said. "It wasn't that. He was more interested in taking samples,
blood samples."

That piqued M's interest. "Can you describe him for me?"

"Yes... he was quite tall, with black hair and very pale skin. He tended to prefer evening
appointments," Petunia said. "He was very friendly, very polite and he always had sweets for
Dudley and the boy, but he didn't like them much so Dudley ate them."

M took this to mean that he'd had sweets for both boys, but Harry had given them up before they
were taken by force, but said nothing on the subject. "Did he have any other distinguishing
features?" she asked. "An accent, a style of dress, a medical specialisation?"

"Well, he sounded sophisticated. He was quite obviously well to do, from a good background,"
Petunia said, this clearly being a factor that was important to her. "He was usually in those doctor's
uniform things, you know, the green ones, but on occasional home visits he wore a nice, tailored
suit. And he specialised in paediatrics."

M nodded. "Is that it?" she asked.

"Yes. No, wait," Petunia said, frowning, as if something had just floated to the top of her mind. It
probably had. Wisdom's telepath, Elizabeth Braddock – codenamed 'Psylocke', apparently – had
done her best to clear out the telepathic interference. It had mostly consisted of a mental
compulsion to retain custody of her nephew, an impulse which had apparently not stood up to the
appearance of an enraged God of Thunder wearing the face of her deceased brother-in-law, and a
discouragement to dwell on certain things. "I think... I think that he may have known about the
boy's abnormality."

M raised an eyebrow at the term. "How so?"

"He... he liked to spend time speaking to the boy, particularly after one of the
more unusual incidents, and to take a blood sample," Petunia said. "He always said that it was to
test if there was something odd in his system."
M nodded slowly. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. "Very well," she said, standing up.
"That will be it. I may have more questions for you at a later date. In the mean time, if you
remember anything else, inform one of the guards. Understood?"

Petunia nodded, then took a deep breath, plucking up her courage. "May I ask a question?"

M paused then nodded.

"Why am I here? Is this Nicholas Fury's doing?" she asked.

"You do not believe that you deserve to be here?" M asked.

Petunia took a deep breath, then said, "No, I don't."

M gave Petunia a look that could have frozen the Caribbean.

"To answer your second question, I doubt that Director Fury had anything directly to do with your
placement in this facility, but I don't doubt that he is rather pleased with this turn of events. And as
for why you are here, I would have thought that was obvious. You and your husband abused a
child placed in your care, your sister's son no less," she said coldly. "In doing so, you destroyed the
poor boy's childhood, dragged the honour of this country through the mud and thereby became an
unacceptable threat to national security."

Petunia looked utterly bewildered. "What? How?"

"It may not have sunk in yet, but that boy you and your husband were abusing happens to be in
direct line to the Asgardian throne," M said, voice still icy cold. "He is the son of Asgard's Crown
Prince, one of Earth's most diligent protectors, who, if nothing else, possesses the power to bring
this country to its knees, if not the entire damned planet. And that is leaving aside the boy's uncle.
Either they or their father could quite reasonably have demanded your heads. As it was, they were
content with us locking you up and throwing away the key. And considering your status as a
national embarrassment, it so happens that we were too."

She stood up. "You have been helpful, Mrs Dursley, and if you continue to be so, you might be
allowed to meet your husband," M said. "But that does not mitigate what you and your husband
did. You are both a disgrace to this country, a threat to her standing in the world and the universe at
large, and you will continue to be treated as such."

She paused. While it was unprofessional, she felt that after the last few months, she was owed a
little unprofessional. And, in any case, there was hardly a more deserving victim than Petunia
Dursley. So she opted to twist the knife a little. "I knew your parents, you know," she said.

"You did?" Petunia asked dully, through the haze of horror and shame, not at her deeds but at this
bald statement of how reviled she and her family were. For a woman who had prided herself on her
good social standing and had been positively obsessed with the appearance of normality.

"Yes, if only in a professional capacity," M said. "But from what I did know of them, I can state
this with confidence: they would be utterly ashamed of you. Good day to you."

And with that, she strode out. Now, she had a lead.
 A Double-Edged Sword

Sean Cassidy was an oft underestimated man. His powers were, on the face of it, not that
impressive. Beyond that, he looked young and seemed to be footloose and fancy free. In other
words, fairly harmless.

Those who knew him well or had the sense to look further, of course, knew better. But even then,
few of them knew what his powers were truly capable of, how many applications they had. One of
them, for instance, was sonar.

And on the Hogwarts Express, he had employed that ability, specifically, just after Harry
accidentally turned a psychic message into a psychic broadcast. Something had caught his
attention, and he'd listened, letting soundwaves of the soft gasp, the rattling of the train over the
tracks, then the rapid footsteps and door slam that followed, form a picture, a picture confirmed by
a little sleuthing. In retrospect, Sean hadn't even been surprised at the identity of the person he'd
heard, who had panicked and locked themselves in one of the train toilets.

After all, if he remembered the files correctly, Ginny Weasley had had an extraordinarily nasty
prolonged experience with a powerful psychic less than a year before. He'd have been surprised if
she hadn't reacted badly to a psychic intrusion of any kind, no matter how innocent, superficial and
unintentional it might be. Indeed, it was something that was positively calculated to re-open slowly
healing wounds.

Wounds that should be addressed immediately, judging by how long it had taken him to coax her
out of the toilet, where she'd gone to ground in her panic. He'd talked to her at first, voice gentle
and reassuring, but hadn't made much headway. Then, Luna had turned up. It turned out that the
two were friends, and that, coupled with all his regrettably considerable experience of traumatised
children, got her out of there within the hour. He could have done it much quicker, but using his
hypnotic voice wouldn't have done her any good in the long run. Quite the opposite. No, her
wounds needed proper treatment. And he had a fair idea of how to get it.

Once the feast had ended, Dumbledore convened a brief staff meeting. Normally such things
waited until the first weekend of term, but these were not normal circumstances.

"Before we begin, I would like to say a few words," Dumbledore said, opening the meeting. "For
those of you who stayed here, I would like to thank you for your company over the holidays. For
those of you who have been away, enjoying your well earned rest, I would like to say welcome
back."

Then his expression changed. One thing that Sean admired about Dumbledore was the speed and
grace with which he could segue from a friendly, grandfatherly headmaster welcoming his
colleagues return, to a man who had once orchestrated a successful guerrilla movement with
enemies on all sides and fought alongside Captain America and his Howling Commandos in
occupied Europe. A man, in other words, who meant business.

"As I am sure you are all aware, a colossal and largely unexplained magical event took place in the
Rocky Mountains of Colorado over the holidays," Dumbledore said. "I can now inform you that
Harry Thorson was directly involved in that event. He was the one who generated the energy blast
upon which there has been much speculation."

"But the power required," Flitwick began in his squeaky voice. "Dumbledore, it is..."
"Godlike?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

There was silence, the word and its implications hanging in the air.

"Does this mean that we're going to have worry about the boy vaporising the school whenever he
has a temper tantrum?" Snape asked in his usual low drawl.

Snape was a man who Sean did not like at all. He'd done his research on Snape too, and hadn't been
in the least surprised by what he'd found. He'd grown up with Harry Thorson's mother, Lily Evans
– and that was a name from the past. Sean had never really known the Evans parents personally,
but he'd known them by reputation – as his best and only friend. They'd been sorted into separate
houses, grown apart, before Snape finally said something that he would later regret. Lily, the
woman who if Sean was any judge Snape still loved, had married Snape's worst enemy and had a
child by him, before being murdered. A murder that Snape had failed to prevent and Dumbledore
had used to leverage Snape into changing sides and becoming his spy. The last part was
speculation, but honestly, Sean couldn't see any other conceivable motive for a man like Snape to
change sides.

One reason that Sean didn't like him was that with circumstances being what they were – James
Potter returned from the great beyond as Thor, with a new girlfriend no less, while Lily stayed dead
– he wasn't entirely sure of Snape's allegiance.

The other reason was that in his considered opinion, Severus Snape was a gobshite.

Lonely, bitter and hating everyone, even himself, he took malevolent pleasure in tormenting
children. He was a bully, and Sean had never been particularly fond of bullies.

Remus Lupin was frowning and looked like he was about to say something. Warren beat him to the
punch.

"Like the tantrum you've been having for the last ten years, you mean?" the winged teenager
sniped, having also read the files in question. He had even less tolerance for bullies than Sean
himself. And, clearly, less of an ability to keep his mouth shut.

Sean snorted as Snape's face went white with fury, and he wasn't the only one. Hagrid poorly
stifled a booming laugh, Remus covered his mouth to hide a smile, while Professor McGonagall
had a carefully fixed expression that was betrayed only by her eyes, which contained a mixture of
mirth and disapproval. Even Dumbledore seemed a touch amused.

"Severus. Warren," he said, tone quiet, effortlessly combining patient tolerance and firm command,
another quality of his that Sean admired. It was one that Dumbledore shared with Charles Xavier,
Sean's former mentor and, in Sean's opinion, one of the marks of a great man.

"Headmaster," Snape began.

"I am sure that Warren will apologise," Dumbledore said, eyes flicking to Warren with an
expression that said that this was not voluntary.

"I'm sorry," Warren said grudgingly, before adding under his breath, "that you're an asshole."

It took all of Sean's self control not to crack another smile, while McGonagall, whose ability to
transform into a cat seemed to have conferred upon her a cat's hearing, gave him a sharp look.

Snape, however, seemed to accept this, and nodded curtly.

"As for your earlier question, Severus, we do not have to worry about that," Dumbledore said, tone
carrying a hint of reproof. "The full details of the situation would take quite some time to explain,
so for now I shall merely say that he and a few others were briefly empowered by a very
powerful genius loci and artificially aged to full adulthood."

"Genius what?" Warren asked.

"Spirit of place," Sean said. "Sort of like a local god, limited to a tree or a rock. Hogwarts is one.
This one was 'limited' to a mountain."

"Oh," Warren said, suspiciously eyeing the walls.

"He reverted afterwards, then," McGonagall said. It wasn't a question. Sean supposed that since
this was a sort of metamorphosis, a transmutation, it was her field of magic.

"He did," Dumbledore said, before his gaze flicked to Sean. This was his cue.

"But it left a mark," Sean said. "Or to be a wee bit more accurate, it woke something up."

"How do you mean?" Remus asked sharply.

"I mean tha' what I said about Lily Potter not being an ordinary witch a few months back was truer
than we knew," Sean said. This was not strictly true, since he'd known about this particular aspect
of Harry for a while, but that would take too long to explain. "When the genius loci powered him
up, he pinged Cerebro."

"Cerebro?" Professor Sprout asked, puzzled.

"Cerebro is a device which Charles Xavier uses to focus and magnify his psychic powers. Like a
wand, of a sort," Dumbledore said. "Albeit one the size of the Entrance Hall. One of its functions is
to detect the unique psychic signature of a mutant and identify their abilities. As Sean and Warren
can testify, it is very effective."

"You mean to say that Harry is a mutant as well?" McGonagall asked.

"It's not unheard of," Sean said. "Ye do sometimes get someone who's both magical and a mutant.
Which can be a problem."

"How so?" McGonagall asked, expression and tone suggesting that anything less than a full
explanation would not be accepted. The welfare of one of her students was on the line.

"Unlike magic, mutation doesn't manifest gradually, with occasional, usually harmless bursts of
accidental magic. It tends to manifest suddenly, under stress. And it very rarely manifests before
puberty," Sean said. "And when it does, it's usually a psychic mutation. When that happens it tends
to go badly, because the child in question is not physically or mentally ready to deal with such a
shock."

"You've seen it happen before?"

"Only once before and heard of it one other time," Sean said. "In the first case, the girl, Jean Grey,
was an incredibly powerful young psychic and her friend was killed when she was hit by a car. She
was six years old and the stress woke up her powers, linking her with her friend while the girl died.
It nearly drove her insane and if it wasn't for Charles Xavier it would have done."

"Wha' happened to 'er?" Hagrid asked, concerned.

"She was trapped in a coma. Charles helped her out of it. She's fine now. Lovely young lass, kind
and friendly as can be," Sean said.

Warren snorted. "To you, maybe," he muttered.

"Don't mind him," Sean said, with a hint of an evil smirk. "She's his ex-girlfriend."

"Ah... the travails of young love," Dumbledore said cheerfully, causing Warren to shoot him a
singularly foul look, which rolled straight off him.

"And the second case?" Snape asked.

Sean's smile faded. "It was in Bahrain, a few years back. A little girl. The power drove her mad and
she possessed a SHIELD team. She'd have killed them all," he said.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"The last member of the SHIELD team begged her to stop. When she didn't, the Agent did the only
thing that she could," Sean replied. "I don't think I need to paint a picture of what that was."

There was a long, horrified silence. Even Snape looked affected, but of them all, it seemed to strike
Dumbledore the hardest, judging by his sorrowful expression.

"My point is," Sean said. "Psychic gifts are the most dangerous of all mutant gifts, to the possessor
and those around them. Harry might be older than the two cases I mentioned, but he's had a fairly
awful childhood, has recently faced several bloody big shocks and has had to fight for his life
several times in the last few years." He sighed. "And then there's magic. Magic is a wild card and
can have an unpredictable effect on the X-Gene. Take Wanda Maximoff, for instance."

"Who nearly went insane, if I remember my history correctly," Snape said dourly.

"But she did not, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Thanks to Charles Xavier, her father, Howard Stark
and, in some small part, myself. And most importantly of all, Doctor Strange."

"Perhaps not, Headmaster," Snape said. "But if the history of those who combine magical and
mutant gifts and Professor Cassidy's personal experiences of underaged psychics are any
indication, the boy could go off like a bomb."

"I didn't say that," Sean said sharply. "And, Severus, I didn't quite finish. The poor lass in Bahrain
went mad partly because of the strain, aye, but mostly because she didn't have anyone to guide her
and help her through the process of gainin' her powers. Jean and Wanda were fine because they had
help." He sighed. "My point is that Harry'll require some careful handling. He's already dealin' with
it much better than most lads his age would, let alone most people who've gone through the things
that he has. That's probably thanks to the fact that he seems to have had some idea that it was
coming, and his experience with wandless magic. But still. Careful handling."

"What exactly are his mutant abilities?" Flitwick asked.

"He's a psychic," Sean said. "And likely with access to the full spectrum of psychic abilities short
of precognition."

"How powerful?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Sean took a deep breath.

"Omega Class."

Warren nearly fell out of his seat in shock, wings clashing and clattering as he struggled to regain
his balance. "You're joking," he said.

"I'm not," Sean said grimly.

"I have never detected any sign of psychic ability in him," Professor Trelawney said, misty voice
puzzled.

Sean had immediately pegged her as being little more than a carnival stall fraud, with little to no
actual precognitive ability. Her patter might have some convinced, and Dumbledore had alluded to
there being more to her than met the eye, but Sean was decidedly not impressed. He had met real
seers in his time, Doctor Strange and the mysterious Destiny among them, and in his opinion,
Trewlawney came up far short. That said, he did not dismiss her out of hand. Just in case there
really was more to her than what met the eye.

"Since your annual prediction of one student or another dying has consistently come to nothing,
Sybil," McGonagall said tartly. "I am hardly surprised." She turned to Sean, expression becoming
worried as she eyed the stunned Warren. "Omega class... what does that mean?"

"It means that he is potentially one of the most powerful beings that this world has ever seen,"
Dumbledore said quietly. "An Omega Class entity is one with no measurable upper limits to their
power. Historically speaking, they are extremely rare, born once in a generation, if that. Doctor
Strange, Magneto, Wanda... all qualify. The Hulk also counts, though he was not born the way he
is, as did the Green Lantern, who owed his powers to his ring. Thor and Loki also count, but
neither of them are human and they are exceptional among even Asgardian kind. This changes
things."

"Not really," Sean said. "He's nowhere near that strong yet – he's still at the moving books and
tables stage with his telekinesis, much less with his telepathy, and he hasn't got much control."

"Still," McGonagall said. "I would much rather Harry stay, but perhaps this is a matter best
handled by Charles Xavier."

Sean shook his head. "Charles is busy," he said. "Teaching Jean."

"By the sounds of things, the young lady has control of her abilities," McGonagall said.

"She does," Sean conceded. "Though she needed a lot of patient tuition and a wee bit of
technological help for that." He sat back. "However, she's still got a ways to go. And, see, it's not
once in a generation any more. There are at least two other Omega class mutants, though they're
not fully realised, if ye follow me. One of them is the young lad that Harry and his friends
protected from HYDRA over the holidays, Bobby Drake. And the other is Jean." He paused. "In
the latter case, ye could say it runs in the family."

There was another moment of stunned silence as this sank in. This, Sean thought, was one of the
nice things about briefing non-spies. They didn't even try to hide their shock.

"You mean to say that this... Jean is a relative of Harry's?" McGonagall asked, astonished.

"Aye. A second cousin, to be precise, on his mother's side," Sean said. "She looks a fair bit like
Lily Potter, funnily enough. Same eyes, same hair. And if the stories I've heard about Lily are true,
the self-same temper too. Just like the one Harry inherited."
"I never knew," Dumbledore said sounding stricken. "If I had..." He sighed. "If I had, much sorrow
might have been averted."

Actually, it couldn't have been, but that was another matter entirely, so Sean simply said, "Aye."

"Surely she could help teach Harry," McGonagall said.

"Aye, she could, and I'm sure that she'd love to," Sean said and chuckled softly, sadly. "The lad
would have the kind of big sister that every orphan dreams of. She'd love him to bits."

"But?"

"But putting two Omega class psychics, one completely untrained, with tempers like that under the
same roof is a recipe for disaster. And that's before you take into account that the Drake boy is
there too. The Institute would be rubble in a week, and tha's the best case scenario, even leaving
aside the fact that it would be a juicy target for HYDRA." He paused. "And there are... other
considerations."

"Other consider... oh for the love of Merlin, don't tell me that Strange is involved in this too!"
McGonagall exploded.

"I am coming to realise, Minerva, that Stephen is involved in just about everything and has been
for a very long time," Dumbledore said quietly.

"You don't think that he..."

"It wasn' him," Sean said. "The telepathic meddlin' at Privet Drive was non-magical."

"And Stephen does not lie, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "Though, as we are all finding out, that is
not the same as being honest."

"So what do we do now?" Flitwick asked. "I doubt that having one incredibly powerful and
untrained psychic will be anything short of problematic, particularly when the psychic in question
has a proven vengeful streak."

That, Sean observed, was something else that seemed to run in the family if Harry's account of
what Jean had done to Dudley was anything to go by.

"I get the sense that Sean has that matter well in hand," Dumbledore said.

"That I do," Sean said with a grin. "I've put in a call to MI13. They can spare Elizabeth Braddock."

"As in, Lady Elizabeth Braddock, daughter of Sir James Braddock?" Remus asked.

"Aye," Sean said. "Who was himself a sometime associate of the Order of the Phoenix before his
untimely death a few years ago."

"The what?" Warren asked, puzzled.

"I'll tell ye later," Sean said. "Betsy's a powerful psychic. Not as strong as Charles, let alone as
strong as Harry and Jean will be, but definitely stronger than Harry is now. She can teach him the
basics."

Warren's expression took an interesting turn and Sean tried not to smirk too obviously. Though it
was not always clear under the mask of moping, Sean had known Warren for long enough to see
that the pretty psychic had turned Warren's head. Not that he could blame the boy, she was a
beautiful young woman with a sharp mind, a wicked wit and a good heart. Or perhaps he just had a
thing for psychics.

"Her time would be limited, of course," Sean continued. "She's Wisdom's right hand, after Deputy
Director Drew, and MI13's still rebuildin'. They're spread thin. But an arrangement could be
made... Friday evenings, weekends, something like that. And she could do something else while
she's here."

"And what would that something else be?" Dumbledore asked.

"Give Ginny Weasley some psychic counselling," Sean said. "The poor girl needs it."

"Does she?" Snape asked, tone sceptical.

"No," Sean said, tone turning caustic. "She only spent nine months being mentally manipulated
and slowly drained of her life force by a powerful and malevolent psychic entity that tricked her
into trustin' it. She's fine."

He gave Snape one last, scathing look that he hoped sufficiently conveyed the message 'you are a
moron and a gobshite', before sighing. "Look, I worked in US Army Intelligence in Vietnam, f'r
Interpol and with Charles Xavier and Moira MacTaggert. I saw a lot of horrible things, things tha'
I'll never forget. And over that time, I learned what different types of evil look like. Reading over
the file of that diary, of Ginny Weasley's experiences with it... it ticks every single box for a sexual
predator. Riddle, the diary, preyed on her naivety and her emotional vulnerability. He played her
like a harp, slowly digging his hooks into her... until, by the time she realised how much danger
she was in, it was too late."

This time, the silence was a horrified one.

"Then, he took her to a dark place and violated her, fully intent on leaving her corpse to rot, once
he'd taken what he wanted from her," Sean finished, feeling a little sick.

There was several gunshot like cracks, and everyone in the room jumped, before they saw that it
was just Hagrid, clenching his fists like they were wrapped around Riddle's neck. "If I ever get my
hands on 'im, I'll tear 'im limb from limb," he growled.

"Aye, Hagrid. Ye'd have help with that," Sean said grimly. He sighed. "Anyhow, I've seen the
same story play out a dozen times and if anythin', the fact that it was a psychic attack makes it
worse, because those kind of wounds take a long time to fade," he continued. "And they haven't
even begun to do so. Time frame aside, I got evidence for that on the train today."

"What evidence?" McGonagall asked, looking caught between absolute horror and a desire to bring
Tom Riddle back from the dead so she could send him back, slowly, with interest and malice
aforethought. It was one shared by just about everyone else in the room.

"I was teaching Harry a little very basic psychic trick, just to see how much control he had," Sean
said. "Specifically, projecting a thought into someone else's head, mine, in this case. A simple
hello. He overdid it a bit, and got just about everyone in the carriage as well. Most probably just
shook their heads and went on with their day, if they even noticed. But Ginny was in the corridor.
She recognised it for what it was and she bolted in panic. Locked herself in the toilet. Took me half
an hour to get her to calm down, and another half an hour to talk her out of there. And that was
with the help of one of her friends."

"I was under the impression that you could influence the unaware," Snape said. "Was I mistaken?"
"Aye, ye were sorely mistaken if ye thought tha' it'd be a good idea to take control of a little girl
who'd been severely traumatised by mind control," Sean snapped, accent thickening in his anger.

Warren, as ever, was less diplomatic. Under the circumstances, this took some doing, but he
managed it. "Idiot," he said scathingly, investing the word with an ocean of contempt.

Snape's face went blotchy with anger.

"That was a rather foolish thing to say, Severus," Sprout said.

"I will not be insulted by an arrogant child," Snape growled.

"Why?" Warren asked, grey eyes flashing. "I may not read the reports the way Sean does, but I
know well enough that you fought in the last war you people had, and that one of the popular spells
used in that time was a mind control spell. You should know better than most how stupid your
suggestion was."

Snape's nostrils flared and his dark eyes glittered as he stood, hand drifting to the pocket of his
robes.

Warren stood too, and he was taller and more powerfully built than the other man, though Snape
made up for it in presence and malice, robes billowing and making him look like some kind of
giant bat. Warren then changed the equation as his wings snapped forward and out with a metallic
clash, wingtips levelled at Snape's throat. "Try it," he said, voice hard, as his wings gleamed
dangerously in the firelight. "Try it and see what happens."

That, Sean felt, was far enough.

"Warren!" he snapped. "Enough."

Warren turned to him, eyes furious.

"Not everyone has your unique knowledge of trauma, psychic or otherwise," Sean said. "Put the
wings away, sit down and apologise."

"He should know better," Warren said, ignoring both Snape's murderous glare and the fact that the
Potions Master had drawn his wand. Sean did not and knew that Snape, for all his personal flaws,
was a very skilled and very powerful duellist. This needed to be ended fast.

"Aye. He should," he said, then decided to throw a diplomatic bone. "But even the best of us make
mistakes, say things that we regret. Perhaps Severus felt that my brand of influence wouldn't have
the same effect on a wounded mind as a psychic's would. It would be a logical conclusion to draw.
Ye and I know otherwise, but he didn't and had little enough reason to."

Warren grunted, mantling his wings. "Sorry," he said, somehow sounding even more grudging
than the first time.

"Thank you, Sean," Dumbledore said. "Now, Severus, Warren is your colleague. Young he might
be, but he is neither arrogant, nor a child."

Snape's eyes glittered even more and his jaw muscles twitched as he ground his teeth before
gritting out, "Sorry." Then, he stood up. "I have lessons to prepare," he said curtly. "And you all
seem to have matters in hand. Good night." With that, he swept out.

Warren opened his mouth to make a smart remark, then grudgingly shut it on a warning look from
Sean.

"While we are on the subject of Harry and arrivals at Hogwarts, I have been presented with a fait
accompli by the Governors," Dumbledore said, now sounding rather displeased. "After the events
of the holidays, SHIELD are sending someone to gauge Harry."

"A threat assessment," Sean said. "Aye, I'm not surprised."

"Neither am I," Dumbledore said. "Normally, I would fight it. However, SHIELD went through
channels in the muggle government and made it a Royal Command."

"Surely the Ministry," McGonagall began.

"Cornelius has little appetite for a fight with MI13, who are almost certainly involved in this,"
Dumbledore said, flickering a glance at Sean, who winced slightly. It was probably true. Wisdom
was an ambitious man and Sean had little doubt that he would happily take any opportunity to exert
and increase MI13's authority over the Ministry. "He has even less for a confrontation with the
upper echelons of SHIELD at the best of times," Dumbledore continued. "He has none now, not
over something he considers to be minor."

"Who are they sending?" Sean asked.

"One of the reasons that I could not resist it," Dumbledore said heavily. "Alexander Pierce, the
American Secretary of International Defence, and a member of the World Security Council, the
body which oversees and commands SHIELD. He is, needless to say, a very powerful man."

Sean swore softly. "Alexander Pierce?" he asked. "Mother of God, why?"

"I presume it is precisely because he is too powerful to refuse," Dumbledore said. "And because of
the priority SHIELD places on the assessment of someone as potentially powerful as Harry." He
sighed. "In truth, I do not know. Perhaps he has taken a personal interest in the case."

Sean, meanwhile, frowned. On the face of it, Dumbledore's points made sense: SHIELD had
always taken superhumans very seriously, and they tended to get flustered at an Alpha Class
mutant, even a Beta Class if their power set was potentially martially inclined, like Logan's. When
an Omega class being came along, they tended to go into full on meltdown. Since the two of the
first three Omega class beings they'd encountered had been Magneto and the Hulk, this wasn't
exactly a surprise.

The third, of course, was the Green Lantern, who was less unsettling to SHIELD and others like
them. He, after all, got his powers from a weapon, a very, very powerful weapon. That was far
easier for most to rationalise than the concept that someone could be born with the power to
reshape the face of the planet or gain that power by a quirk of fate.

"Is someone goin' to accompany Harry, during the meeting?" he asked.

"I have insisted upon doing so," Dumbledore said. "Though I would appreciate your presence as
well, Sean, and I believe that Harry would as well." A gentle emphasis, Sean noted, was on the
former part of the sentence and he did not miss the significance of this. Dumbledore wanted a
second pair of eyes on this, one that knew the spy game.

"I'd be happy to attend," he replied. "If the lad is willing."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then I think that our business is completed," he said. "So ladies and
gentlemen, I think that it is time for bed."
OoOoO

The next few days passed fairly quietly for Harry. That was not to say, however, that there had not
been a change in the atmosphere, in the way people looked at him. The school grapevine had
correctly guessed that he was behind the vast column of energy over Easter, and consequently,
attitudes changed. Some looked at him with awe. Others with barely concealed fear. He couldn't
just see it, he could feel it, the constant pressure of a thousand minds, many human, many not. The
latter, he presumed, were the House Elves. Their minds felt different to humans, similar yet
distinct. He couldn't have said how they were distinct or in what way, but the fact remained that
they were.

And the feeling went beyond merely sensing other minds around him. Most of the time, he got a
taste of what others were feeling. Occasionally, he even got a glimpse of what they were thinking.
It was unsettling to put it mildly, but for the most part, he dealt with it. And the telekinesis had
perks: being able to grab a book from your bag, or even a shelf, with your mind was just one
example. Ron was envious, while Hermione sniffed and told him that it was lazy. She also kept a
sharp eye on him, just in case there was a repeat of the window incident. Harry didn't think this
was likely, and in any case, the cut had healed up completely before they got to Hogwarts.

He didn't actively use his telepathy though. While someone like Charles Xavier or his uncle could
use it safely, he was pretty sure that he couldn't. No, best to leave it be.

One thing that Harry did notice, no telepathy required, was that if Ginny was in the same room as
him, she tended to disappear very quickly afterwards. Worried that this was a resurgence of The
Crush, he asked Hermione.

"I don't know, Harry," she said, frowning. "I thought that she was more comfortable around you."

"So did I," Harry said. "I mean, I don't think I've upset her. Could you ask?"

"I'll try," Hermione said.

Ginny, however, did not seem inclined to answer. Hermione suggested a possible reason. "Harry,
magical telepathy, legilimency, is very rare, very difficult and very carefully regulated. It's even
rarer and harder to master than being an animagus and it takes years and years of training. Harry,
not even Merlin was a legilimens at thirteen."

"My telepathy isn't magical," Harry protested. "My cousin was a telepath, stronger than I am now,
when she was nine."

"I know, Harry," Hermione said. "But you have to understand, other people don't. I don't think
most of the students even know that you can have non-magical psychic abilities. I doubt that they
know much about legilimency to begin with. I certainly don't."

Harry looked startled at this blunt pronouncement, because Hermione smiled. "Harry, I don't know
everything."

"You do a good impression," Harry replied. "So... you think it may be that she's just scared of it?"

"Maybe."

Harry frowned. "Ginny never struck me as being easily scared," he said.

"She never struck you as anything, Harry," Hermione said wryly. "You barely ever noticed her."
"True. Unhelpful, but true," Harry said. "I mean, even when she went red and sort of squeaked, she
was just embarrassed, not scared. She managed to stay relatively calm in the Chamber last year.
And she's the only one reacting like this."

"Well, I don't know and she won't tell me," Hermione said. "And I'm almost certain that Ron hasn't
noticed."

"The Twins?" Harry suggested, then immediately thought better of it. He liked Fred and George a
lot, but getting their minds onto serious business could be difficult to put it mildly. The double
voice thing seemed to quiet them down, but Harry decided that he'd rather not start using
intimidation to get what he wanted. As he thought this, a small voice piped up that technically, he
already had, with the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and Luna. Harry told that little voice to shut up
and tried to pretend that there wasn't some truth to what it was saying.

Speaking of Luna, though, she was the only friend of Ginny's that he could think of, so he turned to
her.

As it turned out, Luna knew the answer, though it was not one that Harry was happy to hear.

"It's your telepathy, of course," she said. "It scares her."

"Why?" Harry asked, then amended. "Why does me being a telepath scare her? I mean, no one else
reacts that way." He sighed. "I just want to know so, I don't know, I can help. Or stop doing it.
Whatever."

"It's not you," Luna said. "It's what your telepathy reminds her of."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Tom Riddle's diary, of course," Luna said calmly.

And then Harry felt like the worst and stupidest person alive. "Oh no," he said. "I... of course. He
possessed her."

"And nearly ate her mind," Luna said, still in that same calm tone. The dissonance between tone
and subject matter was one that Harry felt was chilling, disturbing and remarkably reminiscent of
Diana. "I suppose it was a bit like being attacked by a Dementor, really."

Harry felt a sudden surge of dread. "She was in my carriage on the Hogwarts express, wasn't she?"

Luna nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. "She locked herself in the toilet for an hour," she
said. "Professor Cassidy and I talked her out."

Somehow, Harry managed to feel even worse. He would not wish anything like a flashback to his
run ins with Dementors on anyone, let alone Ginny. And considering how long term her encounter
with Riddle had been, how much he'd done and made her do, what he'd nearly done to her... well. It
must have been considerably worse. It also left Harry with a fervent desire to burn whatever was
left of Riddle to ashes, then burn the ashes. His only consolation was that Riddle's 'death' looked
like it had been very painful indeed.

"I..." Harry began, then shook his head. Ginny needed help. Professor Cassidy had said that he was
going to talk to one of his colleagues at MI13. That, Harry felt, would have to come sooner rather
than later.

OoOoO
Actually finding Cassidy was not as difficult as it might have been as the Weasley Twins had
finally presented Harry with the Marauders Map. Needless to say, there had been pomp and
circumstance, but the essence of the matter was that now, Harry could tell where everyone in the
castle was. Technically, with Freki and Geri at his side, he didn't really need it, but he liked using
it. It had belonged to his father, after all.

So, in fairly short order he found Professor Cassidy in his office, reading a book. The man looked
up as Harry knocked, though Harry got the distinct impression that Cassidy had already known that
he was there and only pretended otherwise for the sake of his peace of mind.

"Hello lad," he said, reaching down to give Freki and Geri a few scratches. "What's up? Ye're not
due for your next 'detention' until tomorrow," he added, with air quotes around the detention part.
He needn't have bothered. The other students had seen who was taking the detentions (Cassidy),
who was having them (Harry, Ron and Hermione) and what Professor Cassidy taught and made
the logical deduction.

"It's about my powers, Professor," Harry said. "Specifically, my telepathy."

"Aye?" Cassidy asked, expression sharpening and concern entering his voice. "Have ye been havin'
trouble with it?"

"Not as such," Harry said. "Though sometimes I pick up other people's thoughts and some of
them..." He shuddered. He had not needed to know the surprisingly similar and thoroughly
disturbing things that Pansy Parkinson, Lavender and Parvati had been thinking about doing to
Warren. He shook his head. "It's about Ginny, Ginny Weasley. Ron's little sister. She's been
avoiding me, and..."

"And ye've talked to Luna," Cassidy said, tone understanding.

Harry nodded. "I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help, Professor," he said.
"And if the person coming to help me could help her too, even, especially if it means that they
don't have the time to help me." At Cassidy's raised eyebrow, he added, "my powers are fine.
Manageable as they are. Ginny's the one who really needs help."

Cassidy looked at him for a long moment, then smiled at him. "That's a fine gesture, lad," he said.
"But ye needn't go that far. I spoke to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall an' they spoke to
her parents. The lady who's coming, Betsy Braddock, is coming to help ye both. To teach ye, and
heal her, as much as she can."

Harry sagged with relief and nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said. He paused and fidgeted
slightly. "Professor, is there anything else I can do to help?"

Cassidy was silent for a long moment. "Don't use yer telepathy," he said. "And try and steer clear
of her. Give her some space. It's not a solution, but it should make life a little easier for the poor
lass."

Harry nodded again, a little disappointed that he couldn't do anything more, but accepting it.

Cassidy, apparently reading him like a book in the sort of way that made Harry once again question
whether he was the psychic in the room, added, "Once this wee crisis is over, I'll recommend she
visit Charles Xavier, or he visit her. Betsy's good at what she does, but she's not got Charles' skill
or experience."

Harry snorted slightly, then said, "Sorry. It's just that a friend of mine, Jean-Paul – he's a mutant, a
speedster – has a twin sister who's... not well. On the flight to the ski resort, I recommended
Professor Xavier to help, then, the day after, before everything went crazy I recommended him to
Bobby, you know –"

"The lad on the mountain, I know," Cassidy said.

"Right, and Jean-Paul asked if I recommended everyone to him," Harry finished.

Cassidy chuckled slightly. "Aye, it feels a bit like that sometimes," he said. "Sad to say though,
there's not all that many experts on mutant powers, and fewer on psychic damage."

"Aye," Harry said, in a pitch perfect imitation of Cassidy's accident, then blinked and said, "Yeah.
Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to do that."

Cassidy let out a rolling belly laugh. "Nae harm done, lad," he said, accent thickening briefly.
Harry wasn't sure whether he'd done this part on purpose or not. "Truth be told, ye're the first
person in years to do it and get it right. First ever to do it by accident." He sobered up and gave
Harry a kind smile. "Anyway, lad. I think that's yer questions answered?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor."

"Any time, lad."

OoOoO

Harry followed Cassidy's advice for the next couple of days, and it did seem to help. From what he
could see from a distance, Ginny did seem to look a bit more relaxed. But he was very conscious
that this was only a stop-gap measure, and looked forward to the visit of this Betsy Braddock, both
to help Ginny and to teach him about his telekinesis. Telepathy, insofar as he was concerned, could
wait or alternatively, take a hike. As with every teenager ever, he had more than enough trouble to
be going on with dealing with his own thoughts, let alone everyone else's.

However, the next visitor to Hogwarts was not a teacher of any sort. He was something different,
and the first Harry knew of his visit was when Dumbledore called him into his office the day
before it took place.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Yes I did, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Tomorrow, against my protestations, SHIELD is sending
someone to assess you."

"Assess me?"

"To see what you are like and," Dumbledore said. "To see if you are a threat."

"A threat?" Harry asked, taken aback. But not, it must be said, entirely surprised.

"You are powerful, Harry, and becoming more powerful every day," Dumbledore said. "Your fight
in the mountains of Colorado has drawn a lot of attention and for now, you are something of an
unknown quantity." His expression changed, as if there was something distasteful in his mouth.
"And SHIELD does not like unknown quantities."

"So... what are they going to do?"

"They are sending a man to take your measure," Dumbledore said. "To speak to you, for the most
part – they are not worried about your abilities and their control, as they have been assured that
between your uncle and others, that matter is in hand. It is your character that interests them."

Harry frowned. "Why don't they just ask Clint or Natasha? They know me and they work for
SHIELD," he said. "Or send them if they need to ask more questions."

"Indeed they do," Dumbledore said. "Though SHIELD has reason to believe that because of this,
they would not be suitably objective. On this matter, at least, they are correct. Clint likes you and
Natalia is very fond of you. It is not everyone that she lets call her 'Nat'."

"Yeah, even Tony doesn't dare do it," Harry said, then frowned. "Why did you call her Natalia,
Professor?"

"Ah. That was a slip of the tongue that I had hoped you would not notice," Dumbledore said. "As
ever, I am tripped up by the tendency of the young to remember exactly what you do not want
them to. To answer your question, I call her such because I have known her for a very long time, as
both friend and foe. And once upon a time, she called herself Natalia." His tone suggested that that
subject was closed.

"Okay. But very fond of me?" Harry asked. "I mean, I know she likes me, but..." He trailed off and
went pink as he thought back to how, when he was ill, Natasha had spent the night by his side,
letting him cuddle up to her. That was one incident he'd never mentioned to the others, and a good
thing too: he'd never have heard the end of it from Ron if he had. "Oh. I see what you mean."

Dumbledore twinkled at him. "I thought that you might," he said, before sobering. "The man they
are sending is called Alexander Pierce. He is a very powerful man, the American Minister for
International Defence and a member of the World Security Council, the overseers of SHIELD. He
is the man who appointed Nicholas Fury to the Directorship."

"Why's someone like that coming to see me?" Harry asked. "Is it because I'm, well, a Prince of
Asgard?"

"Perhaps in part," Dumbledore said. "The obvious and vast power that your father and uncle wield,
which you displayed over Easter, will be part of SHIELD's calculations, and your rank all but
obligates someone of high standing, but Pierce himself..." He frowned. "I can only assume that he
has taken a personal interest in you."

"Is that a good thing, Professor? What's he like?" Harry asked.

"I do not know him well, but from what I do know, he is charming, friendly and likely to be fairly
gentle with you," Dumbledore said. "However, you must be on your guard. He is a highly
accomplished spy and extremely clever. Furthermore, men like him do not gain their positions and
keep them without a significant capacity for ruthlessness. Information is his trade and he may well
try and get you to reveal something you would rather keep secret." He looked at Harry over his
half-moon glasses. "And as for whether that is a good thing that he has taken an interest in you, I
am afraid that I don't think it is. I am also afraid that, considering your ancestry, it was inevitable."

Harry nodded seriously. "Am I going to be alone, Professor?" he asked.

"I will be there with you," Dumbledore said, and Harry instantly felt a great surge of relief. Short
of his father or uncle, there was no one that he'd rather be present. "Professor Cassidy has also
asked to be present, if you are willing."

Harry frowned. "What do you recommend, Professor?"

"I would suggest it," Dumbledore said. "Professor Cassidy was once a master spy and a
contemporary of Pierce's. He could provide insight that I cannot."

Harry nodded. "Then I'd like him to be there," he said.

OoOoO

"Alexander who?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Alexander Pierce," Harry said. "He's –"

Hermione frowned. "He's something to do with SHIELD and the American government, I think,"
she said.

Harry nodded. "He's one of the people who oversees SHIELD. Apparently he appointed Director
Fury," he said. As he did, he wondered if Pierce knew Fury, and could maybe explain why, if Fury
had been so close to Harry's mother, he was steering clear of Harry himself.

Ron let out a long, low whistle. "That's big, mate," he said. "So, he's coming to talk to you to make
sure that you're not crazy then?"

"Ron!" Hermione cried.

"Pretty much," Harry said.

"Rather you than me, mate," Ron said.

"It should be fine," Harry said. "Dumbledore will be there. So will Professor Cassidy."

"Why him?" Ron asked. "I mean, Dumbledore I get, but I thought that Cassidy was a retired
muggle Auror."

"He also served in the United States Army, Ron," Hermione said. "As an Intelligence Officer. A
spy."

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore said something about him being a contemporary of Pierce's," he said.

"Still hard to believe, that," Ron said. "I mean, he's way older than mum and dad, but he hardly
looks any older than Bill!"

"Well, he is," Hermione said, cheeks going slightly pink. "Whether he looks it or not." The
revelations that Professor Cassidy was both over sixty years old and a widower had done little to
impede her crush on the dashing mutant, one that she was hardly alone in. It did not take a telepath
to notice that a considerable proportion of those attending Professor Cassidy's classes did so to perv
on him in exercise gear. Warren, of course, was an even more popular target. Even Harry himself
had managed to garner a few admirers, to his discomfort. "And that was a good idea, Harry. He'll
be able to help you."

"Yeah," Harry said, then sighed. "I just wish he could help me meet my cousin. I mean, I
understand why not. I've seen what HYDRA will do to get hold of someone with powers. But..."

"She's family," Ron said wisely. "Don't worry mate. Your dad and the Avengers will squash
HYDRA soon enough, then you'll be in the clear."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said.

OoOoO

Pierce, as it turned out, was a tall, handsome and well dressed man in his late sixties, with greying
pale red hair and intelligent blue eyes behind a pair of round rimmed black glasses. He was also
disarmingly charming. As soon as he walked in, he shook Harry's hand with a warm smile on his
face, before shaking Cassidy and Dumbledore's hands as well. Even Freki and Geri didn't give him
pause.

"Well, you two are even bigger than I was told you would be," he said, inspecting them. "May I?"

"Sure," Harry said, a little surprised, as one of the most powerful men in the world expertly
scratched the wolves behind the ears and under the chin. "You're not afraid of them? A lot of
people are, at first."

"I figure that if your headmaster was letting them roam the halls of his school they'd be pretty well
trained," Pierce said casually, though the anonymous bodyguards behind him looked worried.
"And for much the same reason, if I may get straight to point, is why I'm not worried about your
powers."

"You're not?" Harry asked, even more surprised.

"Nope," Pierce said. "From what I've been told, your powers only spiked under considerable stress
and after a fairly unique event that aged you to adulthood. Currently, they're fairly limited, is that
right?"

Harry nodded. "I can lift large things, like tables, or small things, like salt shakers," he said. "And
my telepathy... I get a sense of what other people are feeling, sometimes what they're thinking."
Unconsciously, he made a face at that last and Pierce chuckled.

"And sometimes that's a bit more than you wanted to know, I'm guessing," he said.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Though, some people I can't feel anything from."

"Like who?"

"Well, like you, Mister Pierce."

"Ah," Pierce said. "Those would be my psychic defences. They come standard with the job,
applied by SHIELD's Psi-Division. I'm guessing that one or two of the others are with us in this
room."

"A couple," Harry said, recognising this for the angling that it was and dodging the hook. "Like
your bodyguards."

Pierce's expression changed briefly, smile becoming sharper, a smile that acknowledged the
deflection as the work of an amateur, but capable work nevertheless.

"Speaking of Psi-Division," he said. "They've been picking up some unusual psychic events in
Britain. See, when someone uses psychic powers, it causes a ripple on the astral plane, sort of like
an earthquake. And one of the things that Psi-Division does is serve as psychic seismologists, you
might say. It's not a perfect analogy – really, the astral plane is more like a lake, and they're
detecting the ripples. Following me so far?"

Harry nodded, rather surprised at the direction this was taking.

"Now, most of these ripples, or psychic quakes, are too minuscule to be detected," Pierce
continued. "You moving a table, for instance, isn't going to register. Even someone playing around
with someone else's mind isn't going to be easily noticeable – you have to know what you're
looking for. Major magic, however, does tend to register. No one knows quite why, but magical
abilities and psychic abilities are relatively similar. You might have been told about Legilimency,
magical telepathy, and its other side, Occlumency, a form of magical psychic defence. Now, things
change if a major psychic event takes place, and we've had a few of those recently. A few months
ago, for instance, during the Battle of the M4. During that time, HYDRA's pet necromancer
unleashed a powerful wave of dark magic that rippled over the globe. It had a number of effects,
one of which," he said, looking at Harry over his glasses. "Was, I believe, waking up your psychic
powers."

"Sort of," Harry hedged. "I couldn't use them, but... yeah. I suppose."

Pierce nodded. "Just before that, there was another fairly major ripple, when Agent Psylocke of
MI13 went head to head with a creature called 'the Shadow King'."

"The Shadow King?" Sean and Dumbledore both asked sharply.

"Yes. You know of it?"

The two exchanged a look. "Rumours, mostly, of a creature that takes pleasure in attacking
legilimens and stories that claim that it is the progenitor of the Dementors," Dumbledore said. "But
little more. Until now, I thought it little more than a myth."

"I know of it, aye, in passing," Sean said. "It's a psychic parasite, very old and very powerful. It
tends to take host bodies. Charles fought and defeated it many years ago. Ye say tha' it's
resurfaced?"

"It has," Pierce said.

Sean's gaze slid to Harry, expression now very worried. "I'll have to warn Charles," he said.

"Probably a good idea," Pierce said. "Now, my point to all this is that Psi-Division can pick out
areas that are particularly affected by the psychic wave. Such areas tend to be indicative of
powerful psychics, or at least, those powerful with a bit of a psychic bent to their powers. They can
also do the opposite – pick out areas that weren't affected, like rocks in a stream. And areas like
that are the mark of someone who knows how to block psychic energy. Under most circumstances,
Professor Xavier would be one. Magneto is another. But they also picked up a third, in Southern
England. MI13 was tipped off and they discovered the ruins of a very high tech lab, abandoned,
with living quarters alongside. And this all comes back to you, Harry."

"It does?" Harry asked.

Pierce nodded. "You see, there was a telepath who –"

"He knows," Cassidy said. "Nae need to belabour the point, Secretary Pierce."

Pierce inclined his head. "Well, considering its proximity to Little Whinging and the rough
timeline of use that we established," he said. "We believe it belonged to the man behind it. We've
got leads, now." He smiled kindly. "I thought you'd like to know."

Harry, meanwhile, was a roiling pit of emotion. There was a person who had quite possibly
singlehandedly ruined his life – well, not quite singlehandedly. The Dursleys, Voldemort and the
Ministry could take plenty of credit for that. And that person wasn't just an abstract person any
more. They were a living, breathing person. And most importantly of all, SHIELD, MI13 and
whoever else were on their tail. When they found him, he could, he would...

"Harry!"

Harry snapped back to reality at the sound of Dumbledore's urgent voice. As he did, he abruptly
dropped out of the air, landing with a thud and a yelp. A number of crashes, clatters and other
sounds of objects hitting the floor suggested that he was not the only one. Indeed, as he looked
around, he saw to his horror that the room had practically been turned upside, with broken knick-
knacks, splayed books and startled bodyguards all over the shop. Both Dumbledore and Cassidy
looked relieved, but still worried, while Freki and Geri were frantically sniffing him over. The only
person who looked completely calm was Pierce, who had knelt by Harry, looking him over.

"No harm done," he said. "Aside from maybe a bruise or two."

"What... what happened?" he asked, then, with a tremor in his voice, he asked, "Did I do this?"

"Aye," Cassidy said quietly. "That ye did. Ye started floating in the air, glowin' gold and things
flew up with ye."

"Oh. I... I'm sorry," Harry said. "Professor, I broke all your things, I... I..."

"It's nothing to worry about, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, and smiled slightly. "I dare say that
I had too many. And in any case, it is easily mended." As if to prove his point, he drew his wand
and flicked it a few times. In response, knick-knacks pulled themselves back together, desks
righted themselves and books smoothed themselves out before returning to their places on the
shelves.

"Don't worry, lad," Cassidy said. "In truth, I was expectin' this." For some reason, he was giving
Pierce a very long look, as was Dumbledore, though they gained nothing more than a quirked
eyebrow in response. "An' I think tha' it just underlines the need for ye to be taught the basics of
control. Because as they are, they're not just 'manageable'." He gave Harry a raised eyebrow of his
own and Harry flushed.

"I suppose not," Harry said, then winced at the bodyguards. "Sorry, guys."

There was mumbled to the general effect of 'no problem', though their hands were just creeping
away from their holsters.

After that, the meeting was relatively quiet, with little of note being said: for the most part, Pierce
just asked Harry some fairly general questions and Harry answered them. Then he asked a question
of his own.

"Mister Pierce... do you know Nick Fury? I mean, Director Fury."

"I do, as it happens," Pierce said. "Quite well." He gave Harry a knowing look. "He was close to
your mother, as I'm sure you know, and so what you want to know is why he hasn't come to visit."

Harry gaped slightly, then nodded.

"Don't worry, Harry. It's not that he doesn't like you. Probably the opposite, actually."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"We've been friends for the best part of twenty years and Nick works only forty floors away from
me. Yet it takes a global crisis to get him to even consider paying a visit," Pierce said, with a kind
smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Nick was always focused, but after he returned from England, he became a complete
workaholic. Funnily enough, that was when I really got to know him," Pierce said. "That attitude is
the reason he achieved the Directorship at what is, frankly, an astonishingly young age."

Harry, who was thirteen and therefore still automatically considered everyone over thirty to be
varying degrees of ancient, five thousand year old grandfather notwithstanding, simply nodded.

"Nick's never really been much good with emotions, not in the time I've known him," Pierce said.
"Your headmaster would know better than me what he was like when he was younger, but now,
my take is that he's steering clear of you to keep his mind clear. Once this crisis is over, he'll come
and visit you."

"You think so?"

"Put it this way," Pierce said. "If he doesn't, I'll order him to."

Harry grinned. He rather liked this man.

"And you are in his thoughts," Pierce said. "He forwarded a plan to me. An initiative, you might
say, taking a leaf out of Charles Xavier's book." He pulled a phone out of his pocket, turned it on
and tapped the screen, before swiping it. A holographic image popped into life, depicting the
revolving encircled capital A of the Avengers. Next to it was a list of names in small writing, and
Harry immediately picked out his own. There were others he recognised too, Carol, his cousin
Jean, Diana, Uhtred and Jean-Paul. A few others caught his eye: Scott Summers, Monica Rambeau,
Kurt Wagner, Ava Ayala, Remy Le Beau, Bruce Wayne and someone called Grayson.

"It's... another Avengers team?" Harry asked.

"It's mostly just an idea for now," Pierce said. "With candidates culled from the Index. You
probably recognise a few of them. Your two friends," he continued, pointing down near the bottom
of the list at Ron and Hermione's names. "Are recent additions. More will be added with time. The
idea is that the current Avengers aren't going to be around forever. Your father and uncle, after all,
have responsibilities to Asgard. The rest might fall in battle, get old or simply decide that they've
had enough. But, with this... Young Avengers project, you might say, there'd be people ready to
step into the breach, entire teams, several of them maybe. The next generation of superheroes,
trained by SHIELD to protect the innocent."

"You want me to join them?"

"One day, I'm hoping that you can lead them," Pierce said. "You've certainly got the aptitude." He
tapped the phone and the image disappeared. "It's just an idea, for now. But one to think about, I
think. Don't you?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Definitely something to think about." He shook Pierce's outstretched hand.
"Did you find out what you wanted to, Mister Pierce?"

"I did," Pierce said. "That and much more."

 Seeing Is Believing

"Well," Dumbledore said, once the office had emptied. "That was... interesting."

"Aye," Sean said. "Very interesting." His eyes narrowed. "Pierce was testin' the lad, pushin' him to
see how he'd react." His tone and expression spoke volumes of what he thought of this.

"And he got his answer," Dumbledore said. "I take it that Harry had earlier insisted that his powers
were manageable?"

Sean nodded. "He figured out that Ginny was havin' problems because of his powers, and wanted
Betsy to focus on helping her," he said. "Selfless, but short sighted."

"That," Dumbledore said dryly. "Is possibly the most concise summary of Gryffindor house that I
have ever heard."

Sean chuckled. "Ye would know better than me," he said. "Though I wonder..."

"You wonder if Pierce was doing more than simply trying to extract a reaction from Harry,"
Dumbledore said. "Something that I am not very happy with to begin with." His tone suggested
that Alexander Pierce would be hearing of this unhappiness sooner rather than later, whether he
wanted to or not. "But I was at least expecting it."

"His guards weren't, though," Sean said. "They got verra jumpy. And you don't spring surprises
like that on heavily armed lads without good reason. Then there was the whole 'Young Avengers'
thing."

"You haven't heard anything about it?"

"No," Sean said, rubbing his chin. "Not a thing. Which worries me. The Avengers Initiative was
Fury's pet project, though I'm pretty sure tha' if circumstances had permitted, Peggy Carter would
have supported it." He leaned against the desk. "Pierce never got involved, that I know of."

"Perhaps he saw the success of the Avengers and looked to replicate it," Dumbledore suggested.

"Aye, but they're not the first team of superhumans, SHIELD affiliated or otherwise," Sean said.
"An' SHIELD never went in for the whole team thing before, not even durin' the Cold War when
th' Soviets had the Red Room at their disposal and Magneto was causing trouble."

"With the Green Lantern on their side, it could be argued that they did not need to," Dumbledore
replied. "And non-magical superhumans of notable power are hardly common. What is the mutant
birth rate again? One in twenty five thousand?"

"Aye," Sean said. "And f'r every thousand mutants, if ye're very lucky, ye've got one that qualifies
as Alpha Class. Then, maybe somewhere between fifty and a hundred Beta Class. And ye have no
guarantee that any would be combat capable. The rest will be Delta, Gamma or Epsilon, and lord
love 'em, mutants in those three classes are either next to powerless or more of a danger to
themselves than anythin' else."

"Out of interest, what is the birth rate on Omega class mutants?"

"Optimistic estimate? One in a billion," Sean said. "More like one in a couple of billion." He
shrugged. "Of course, that doesnae account for infant mortality an' things like tha'. For all we
know, the rate's a bit higher. An' then there's the fact that it seems to run in families, which skews
the odds."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Why d'ye ask?"

"I am wondering," Dumbledore said. "That if we investigated the scale of Stephen Strange's
involvement in, shall we say, guiding history, how deep the metaphorical rabbit hole would go."

"Ye think that the lad's birth was engineered?" Sean asked sharply. "Tha' Strange made his parents
fall in love, or somethin' like that?"

"I do not know, but honestly? I would not put it past him. Though I don't think he had to make
them, nor that he would have," Dumbledore said. "Making people do things is not his style.
Strange has been observing humanity for a very long time. Long enough to identify patterns. I think
that he may have contrived matters that they would be contemporaries and let nature take its
course." His gaze drifted over to Fawkes. "Or perhaps it was arranged by a Power greater than we
can comprehend." He looked over to Sean with a rueful expression. "Or perhaps no one did, and it
was simple chance, with my ramblings being those of a foolish and paranoid old man who is
beginning to jump at his own shadow. I do not think that we will ever truly know."

"Paranoid ye might be, Albus, but ye're nobody's fool," Sean said. "And we may not be able to
fathom the actions of Doctor Strange, but Alexander Pierce... now, he's a different story."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "And when it comes to discerning the meaning behind those actions,
there are questions to be asked: why did he intentionally set Harry off without warning his
bodyguards, risking his life in the process? What does he intend to achieve with this Young
Avengers project, if he intends to achieve anything? And what, exactly, is the game that he is
playing?"

"I don't know the answers to any of those questions, Albus," Sean said. "But I'm willin' to bet that
if and when we find them, we'll be a step closer to untangling this whole sorry mess."

"I rather think that we will," Dumbledore said, looking out at the dark grey clouds that lurked
overhead. A storm was coming. "And I can only hope that we have time enough in which to do it."

OoOoO

"Not a bad place, this."

Lucius looked up sharply from his paperwork. Regrettably, running an organisation dedicated to
world domination by way of alternate manipulation and destruction of the current world order
generated absolute piles of the stuff. Still, muggle technology, as ever, sped things up somewhat,
which was only right.

After all, due to their lacking wizardkind's innate advantages, they had had to come up with more
creative means of achieving every day tasks. In this case, that advantage was the ballpoint pen.
Unlike quills, they rarely leaked, were much easier to manoeuvre and didn't have to be dipped into
ink wells with frustrating regularity. You could even see how much ink remained in the pen.

The speaker was a man he had not expected to see: Alexander Pierce, the head of what Lucius
considered to be HYDRA's SHIELD division.

"The décor is kinda minimalist, of course," Pierce continued. "But that's only to be expected under
the circumstances."

"We do what we can," Lucius said, standing up. He knew better than to ask how Pierce had found
the place and got in, even though that was functionally impossible. The man was well rooted in
HYDRA, and likely had allies within Lucius' organisation. Lucius had guessed at this as soon as
he'd heard of Pierce, and almost immediately afterwards realised that it couldn't be helped. Not yet,
anyway. "You should have called ahead. Drink?"

"I'll pass, thanks," Pierce said. "This is just a flying visit. I've got something I want to give to
Doctor Zola." He pulled out a small device. "Readings of Harry Thorson's psychic powers in use."

"You met him?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"SHIELD wanted an evaluation done, and considering his rank, the magnitude of his powers and
his consequent importance, I was the only real choice," Pierce said, smiling slightly, as if at a
secret joke. "He's a nice kid. Smart, too – he knows how to watch his words. And, if, as I presume,
you have plans to eliminate the Avengers and they go well..."

"Then you will be able to harness his grief and desire for revenge and mould him into the leader of
the next generation of Avengers, one that will be firmly under your aegis," Lucius finished,
suppressing a smile at Pierce's brief expression of surprise. There was no point in having access to
all of SHIELD's files, after all, if you did not read at least some of them. The Young Avengers
project was one that had caught his eye. He gestured at the door. "Shall we? I can give you the tour
as we go."

Before Pierce could really respond, he strode ahead, opening the door with an idle flick of his
wand. As they passed into the main complex, those minions who were present scrambled to salute
and cry, 'Hail Malfoy!'

"As you were," Lucius said casually. A little hurried obeisance, he had found, was just the thing to
brighten up his day.

"You've got them well trained," Pierce commented.

"The credit for that can go to the late Baron Von Strucker," Lucius replied. "Such a tragic loss," he
added, without a trace of sincerity.

"Somehow, I think that we'll cope," Pierce said dryly. "Ah, Baron Zemo."

The purple masked man strode over and saluted briskly. "Lord Malfoy. Secretary Pierce," he said.
He didn't seem surprised, but this in itself didn't particularly surprise Lucius. Zemo tended to know
everything that was going on within the base and would have been forewarned of Pierce's arrival,
one way or another. If he hadn't, the other man would have died either by a hail of bullets or by the
impossibly sharp blade currently at Zemo's hip.

Or perhaps his death would have come at the hands of Jason Todd, Zemo's protégé, who had
ghosted up beside his master. Despite lacking enhanced physical attributes, a metal arm and several
decades of experience, he reminded Lucius of the Winter Soldier: both were largely silent, both
moved with the stealth and grace of a jungle cat and both gave off the impression that they were
considering the best way to kill you. Or at least, Todd did. The Soldier, behind his mask and
goggles, was rather more difficult to read and Lucius' skills had never extended to Legilimency.
Even if they had, he'd have been very wary of taking a look inside the Soldier's head.

While he did occasionally wonder what the man – if he could even be described as such – was
thinking, or if he was thinking at all, his curiosity was tempered by the awareness that if he did find
out, he would almost certainly regret it. If Lucius was any judge, there was even less of the man he
had been left than there had been of the Longbottoms after the Lestranges and the Crouch boy had
finished with them. All that was left was a sort of golem in human form, an automaton that took
orders and executed them with ruthless efficiency. Really, Lucius almost pitied him.

Almost.

Idly, he wondered where the Soldier was now. Normally, the man was by his side, but now, he was
on a mission for Baron Zemo, put together at the last minute. Apparently, the Red Room was
making a play for a somewhat valuable defector. The Soldier had been sent to either retrieve the
asset or dispose of him. Lucius frowned for a moment, trying to remember. Was it Ireland? No, not
Ireland. Ah. Yes. He had it: Iceland.

He shrugged inwardly. It hardly mattered. Either the Soldier would return with an asset or he'd
return with whatever intelligence he'd managed to scrounge from the asset's belongings and corpse.

"Secretary Pierce has something for Doctor Zola," Lucius said. "Information on the powers of
Thor's son. It may also be of interest to you, from a tactical point of view."

"Most definitely, Lord Malfoy," Zemo said, a hint of interest entirely his normally cool voice. "I
will call him."

With that, he reached over to one of the available computer terminals, holographic of course, and
typed a sequence of commands into the machine.

A moment later, Zola's face appeared in the screen. "Yes?" he asked. "Ah, Secretary Pierce. This is
an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe it?"

"Information," Pierce said, entirely unpeturbed by the disembodied nature of Zola's consciousness.
He reached into his pocket and held a small, slim object. "On this device. I trust you can access it?"

"Easily, Secretary Pierce," Zola said. "I have it now. Ah... this is very interesting. How did you get
hold of it?"

"Easily enough," Pierce said. "The kid's got a lot of bottled up emotion. All I had to do was press
the right buttons to let it out."

"Naturally," Lucius said. "But in front of Albus Dumbledore and Sean Cassidy? You don't think
that they'll be suspicious."

"They'll be suspicious," Pierce admitted freely. "But not too suspicious, nor particularly surprised.
SHIELD has a reputation for being willing to make hard choices when necessary." He smiled at
Lucius. "As I told you, Lord Malfoy: HYDRA and SHIELD aren't so different, when you get down
to it. We just take it further than they have the courage to go."

Lucius inclined his head in agreement. The man had a point. His own experiences with Fury
proved SHIELD's capacity for ruthlessness.

"Yes, this is very interesting," Zola said. "And it will require further study."

"Is there anything you can immediately glean?" Lucius asked, curious despite himself.

"This data combined with what SHIELD's psi division's records say, the child is almost certainly
an Omega class psychic," Zola said. "Though he has yet to even scratch the surface of his
potential."

"That seems to be a theme with the boy," Zemo murmured.

Pierce nodded. "That was my thought," he said. "According to what the kid said, he's only really
used basic telekinesis, and only enough of that to lift a table. To use an analogy, he might grow up
to be a lion some day, but right now, he's just a cub."

"Then it would be best if he did not grow up," Lucius said. "Considering his current talent for
sending the best laid plans astray and what you, Doctor Zola, suggested that his psychic cousin will
be capable of when she is grown, I shudder to think of what he will be capable of when he is
older." He turned to Zemo. "The Soldier has performed a reconnaissance of Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Lord Malfoy."

"Then use that information to come up with an assault plan," Lucius said. "Consult some of our
wizarding operatives, and if you feel it necessary, me, to see if that your information is complete. I
don't care how you do it, I want the boy dead and his body brought back here for Doctor Zola and
Gravemoss's examination." He glanced at Pierce. "I realise that this somewhat alters your plans,
but thre's no need to worry – I am sure that Doctor Zola can provide you with a suitably
programmed clone."

Pierce cocked his head thoughtfully. "Actually, it might suit my purposes even more if you did," he
said casually. "I like the kid, and he could yet be useful, but he's a wild card. And considering the
likely the response of the Avengers, they should be easy to manipulate. Grief and desperation make
putty of even the mightiest among us." He turned to Lucius. "You do realise that they will come
after you with everything they have, though?"

Lucius shrugged. "Fury and Thor already have cause to despise me – I was their enemy and I
personally killed Lily Potter's parents, who were also Thor's parents-in-law and Fury's mentors," he
said. "And they haven't found me yet. They will be enraged and thus play into my hands. And if all
does not go according to my desires, I have contingencies."

"Naturally," Pierce said. "And a clone could prove useful – if force-grown and properly
programmed, it could save a lot of time and effort."

Privately, Lucius thought that an assault on Hogwarts could serve secondary and tertiary purposes:
first, the removal of his son from the reach of Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Fury. Second,
potentially, the elimination of Dumbledore himself, though that would be difficult to see the least.

Lucius was more than aware of his abilities, apparently unhampered by the passing of the years,
and HYDRA's files on the Hogwarts Headmaster suggested that he had more than a passing
familiarity with defending himself against non-magical weapons. That combined with his
incredible personal power and intimate familiarity with the secrets of Hogwarts, meant that killing
him would be a difficult proposition at best. Perhaps a sniper, catching him off guard or a
sufficiently sized bomb... Well. That would be left up to Zemo.

"How's the Dreadnought Project going, by the way?" Pierce asked.

"Rather well, as it happens," Zola said. "Once we brushed off the dust and overhauled a few
systems, and started incorporating technology from the ill-fated Project Ultimatum."

"I trut that you have a plan to prevent something similar happening," Pierce said, with a raised
eyebrow.
"Secretary Pierce, once I am done with it, even the combined might of the Avengers could not even
scratch it," Zola said smugly.

"And by that time," Lucius said. "The Avengers will not be an issue."

"Excellent," Pierce said. "Well, I think that concludes matters here." He smiled. "Don't worry, I'll
see myself out."

And, as if that was simply that, he departed. Lucius watched him go and made a note to have him
killed as soon as his usefulness expired, secure in the knowledge that the other man was almost
certainly doing the same.

There was only room for one at the top, after all.

OoOoO

Nicholas Fury was a man with much on his mind. HYDRA lurked in the shadows, greatly
diminished but far from destroyed. If anything, putting the beast at bay had only made it more
dangerous, more willing to reach for weapons even more unthinkable than they had used already.
That necromancer, after all, had barely cracked the Darkhold's potential, probably because even he
wasn't mad enough to give himself up to the book's master.

To make matters worse, the Red Room was stirring again, under a Russian government that was
more than amenable to flexing its muscles and perhaps indulging in a little redrawing of the post
Soviet map. Best case scenario, they and HYDRA would go to war over ownership of the Winter
Soldier. Worst case (and much more likely) scenario, they would seek to prey on vulnerable
groups, individuals and objects that would normally be protected by SHIELD or another
organisation.

Indeed, governments worldwide were beginning to scrutinise their own people, their own artefacts
of supernatural provenance and wondering how best to create a superhuman deterrent of their own.

And that was just on the mundane side. The Red Court, locked into a Cold War with the White
Council and wary of non-magical organisations getting seriously involved in the supernatural, was
looking for an edge. The White Court, like the Inner Circle, were doing their usual politicking. In
both cases, it wasn't an immediate issue but, as ever, it had the potential to grow into a very, very
big problem indeed down the road.

The various Ministries of Magic were starting to quietly talk about an end to the Statute of Secrecy.
And one could hardly leave out Nicodemus, who was looking for a suitably sized match to set the
world alight. While he was usually doing this, the current climate made it that much more likely
that he would get his hands on one.

Some might argue that all of this started the day that Loki ripped open the skies of New York,
unleashing the Chitauri on Earth and the Avengers formed to stop him, showing the world how
very real the supernatural was. Others would suggest that it began way back in 1962, when the
First Class of X-Men clashed with the Hellfire Club while the Angel of Cuba clashed with Namor
of Atlantis in the skies above. Still others would suggest that it began with the rise of the Red Skull
and of HYDRA and the corresponding rise of Captain America. Fury was personally inclined to
believe that it was a culmination of all these things and so many more, such as the incremental
growth in mutant birthrates. But the tipping point, in his opinion, was very recent indeed. And that
was the day that a psychic cry for help so powerful that it crossed dimensions was answered. The
day, in other words, that the world discovered that Thor had lived a mortal life and had a son.
That event had triggered the return of Lucius Malfoy to the fray, and indirectly, HYDRA. It had
raised the stakes and set a cat among the pigeons – after all, to the best of Fury's knowledge, Harry
was the first demigod for at least a thousand years, one who already had a positive track record
against the forces of darkness. And as teenage demigod, he was helping the world to dimly realise
the significance of what some people were already calling 'Generation A'. A generation growing up
without the inbuilt scepticism of the supernatural that their parents had had, one that was more
prone to manifesting superpowers than their predecessors and one that was growing up with the
Avengers as an example. While most of the forces in the world, both light and dark, feared what
Harry could become (though a sizeable portion feared what he was already after the incident in the
Rockies at Easter), the savvier ones, both magical and mundane were more worried about what
could be the most significant shift in the balance of global power since the aftermath of World War
II. And it was likely to be one hell of a lot more sudden.

Even before you factored in superpowers, 'Generation A', also (or so Fury was informed) known as
the Millennials, were tech savvy, rejecting the values of their parents and grandparents'
generations en masse and much less respectful of authority than before. Of course, this could be
said with varying degrees of accuracy of any generation as compared to its predecessors, but the
acceleration in social and technological change was increasing, making the differences starker.
Throw in superpowers and you have a powderkeg.

Of course, there were those, again in both the mundane and magical worlds, who looked to
harness, hijack or stymie the potential of 'Generation A'. The incident in the Rockies demonstrated
that. Harry was symbolic of his generation in this respect too – the whispers that Agent Romanova
had heard about the reactivation of the Red Room were also whispering that they'd set their sights
on Harry. Fury severely doubted that they were the only ones, which was why he felt that he could
justly point out that while he wasn't hanging out with Harry and telling him stories about his
mother, he was doing something more important: keeping him safe.

And one of his primary methods of doing that was ensuring that he knew as much about what
HYDRA were doing as possible, preferably before they did it, to which end he was waiting on a
video call.

A few moments later, he got a message indicating that such a call was incoming, and brought it up
on a holographic screen. His callers were a dark haired man and woman who could comfortably
pass for a young couple in their mid twenties. That was, of course, not even an approximation of
their true age.

"Dr Flamel and Dr Flamel," he said. "What have you got for me?"

The recruitment of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, immortals and the two finest alchemists of this
or any other era, was, as far as he was concerned, possibly the coup of the century. When he had
met them shortly after the destruction of the Philosopher's stone, they had been content to set their
affairs in order and die a quiet death. Fury, however, had slipped the subject of children into the
conversation, and observed the reaction of the pair of them. Their reaction had been understated
but significant – while the elixir of life had been a remarkable invention, it had not solved their
childlessness. Indeed, the two of them had theorised that it might even have caused it, nature's way
of preventing an immortal dynasty. They hadn't adopted because they'd realised fairly early on that
only a very few people were temperamentally suited to immortality and to pick someone out... well,
at best, it would be playing god. At worst, well. That didn't really bear thinking about.

Fury had then remarked that SHIELD's own elixir, the Infinity Formula, perhaps because it was a
product of pure science, didn't have the same problems. It worked, he said, by rebooting and
repairing everything. Neither Flamel was naïve, and they quickly realised what he was offering: all
the resources of SHIELD at their disposal and perhaps more significantly, the Infinity Formula and
the resultant prospect of a child – a possibly immortal, or at least, very long lived child at that – in
exchange for their unparalleled alchemical, mystical and scientific expertise. Eventually, they
accepted his offer and Fury had faked their deaths, employing them under the surname Fleming. As
disguises went, it was fairly thin, but sometimes those were the best disguises. They had, he noted,
clearly got started on the child part very quickly – Perenelle was visibly pregnant.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Perenelle said. "We can confirm that it's Destroyer tech, that it was
remotely controlled with LMD based technology and it's got a few design quirks that we recognise
from Arnim Zola's work."

"But we couldn't trace the LMD signal," Nicholas said. "Doing so is a tricky business at the best of
times, especially after so much time has passed. We managed to isolate it to Western Europe, and if
we had to take a guess, we'd suggest that it came from Britain."

Fury grunted. "That would make sense," he said. "They focused their attacks on MI13's bases in
Southern England, some of the few people who might have caught them out."

"That was our thought," Perenelle said.

"We established that HYDRA use a slightly different psychic frequency for their LMD's," Nicholas
said. "Amazing technology, by the way."

"So we've put together something that should help detect their use," Perenelle said. "And
potentially, trace back to the source."

"Good work," Fury said.

"Fury?"

"Yes?"

"Agent Coulson spoke to us when his team were transferring the remains of the device," Nicholas
said, expression grim. He shared a look with his wife, whose expression was similarly concerned.
"He said that the remains of the Destroyer were meant to be locked away as deep as SHIELD could
bury them, only removed for study during the creation of the Phase 2 Deity class weapons."

"Which means that any security breach would be very serious," Fury said. "And the matter would
need to be very carefully investigated and discussed."

The Flamels caught his meaning: 'I know what you're getting at, but this line might not be safe.
We'll discuss this later.'

"I'm sure that it will be," Perenelle said. "We'll contact you when we have more information."

Fury nodded. "I look forward to it," he said. That avenue of investigation had been a dead end, but
from Fury's point of view, it was a positive. Now, SHIELD had an edge on HYDRA. Of course,
that was presuming that HYDRA's infiltrators, however many there were, didn't find out. Some of
them, after all, were very highly placed.

He smiled a grim smile. Really, it was just like the old days, with the Order. But this time, he was
older and wiser. This time, he had the Avengers. And most importantly of all, he was playing to
win.

OoOoO
Reykjavik was not a particularly prepossessing place. That, of course, had been the reason that
Ivan Petrovitch, defector from the Red Room, confidant of the Black Widow and master
information broker, had chosen it.

The Red Room had been re-formed. This had not taken as much effort as one might expect. While
the various states of the former Soviet Union had done everything in their power to expunge the
influence of that organisation, sometimes with the help of SHIELD, that had not always been
successful. The roots of the Red Room, after all, ran deep. Furthermore, those who had been part of
it hadn't been imprisoned or executed, not if they possessed valuable skills or knowledge. Instead,
they had been shuffled into other departments, gone into the private sector, or simply into a quiet
retirement. And when the call went out, they had answered.

However, considerable damage had been done. Most of its members were gone and some had not
answered the call. Others had, in the intervening years, died, by means both natural and unnatural.
Assets and information had been lost and the framework was damaged, if not broken entirely. Like
MI13, it was still rebuilding. Partly because of that, it was not eager to announce its presence, so
the agents assigned to snatch Petrovitch were fairly lightly armed and casually dressed. They were
also, considering the relatively low priority of this mission, not members of the Red Room's elite.

That was unfortunate.

For them.

OoOoO

Six Agents. Four younger - they don't barely look old enough to remember the Soviet Union - two
older, even split of men and women. Middle aged pair in a nearby café, masquerading as American
tourists. Two pretending to be cutesy on a park bench. And two pretending to be door to door
salesmen.

Well, that answers the question of who drew the short straw.

Decent disguises – enough to fool local intelligence. Stance suggests capable training, but not on
the level of a Black Widow. Check ins at ten minute intervals – one due in four minutes.

Probability: 34% chance of a live capture, if they have a good plan – and it'll have to be very good.
Petrovitch would rather die than go back to the Red Room.

Threat Level: Limited.

OoOoO

Five minutes later, one of the Agents in the café went into cardiac arrest, while the other was
forced to remain with them to maintain their cover. They tried to discreetly contact the rest of their
team, but regrettably, the exact frequency that they were using was jammed.

Two minutes after that, the couple on the park bench had been lured into the shadows and disposed
of.

One minute after that, the two masquerading as door to door salesmen knocked on the door of Ivan
Petrovitch's house. The door opened and Ivan's voice called them in.

Ten seconds after that, the house exploded.

Several streets away, Ivan turned away from the pillar of smoke and the sounds of emergency
vehicles to turn to the last man he had expected to see. Or, perhaps more accurately, the last man
he had expected to see and live for more than a few seconds afterwards.

Several minutes before, Soldier had slipped into his house and conveyed, by means of the sign
language that he and Natalia had developed between them which Ivan had seen fit to learn, that it
would be in Ivan's best interests to leave. Ivan, being no one's fool and perfectly aware that if the
Soldier wanted to take him somewhere, there was nothing he could do to stop it, had picked up his
laptop and a pre-packed bag full of essentials, dropped vital files that he couldn't bring with him
into his home incinerator and followed the Soldier out the backdoor.

After waiting a moment or two for the man to set an explosive trap (the verbal recording had been
prepared several years ago, on the grounds that it might some day be useful. You did not survive as
long as Ivan had without being exceedingly well prepared), which he did with customary speed and
efficiency, they had departed.

"Well," he said. "Comrade Winter. Long time no see."

The Soldier inclined his head slightly, providing a nugget more of information which Ivan could
use to assess his mental state. When the Soldier's conditioning was strong, he tended to resemble a
statue unless he was ordered to do or say something. When it weakened, he revealed more human
mannerisms. Natalia, or Natasha as she now called herself, had always had a gift from drawing the
man out from within the machine.

He decided to test the waters. "Red Room Agents?"

The Soldier nodded, then signed something else, startling a laugh out of Ivan.

"'Incompetent. Standards are falling everywhere'," he chuckled, relaxing. The Soldier very rarely
made jokes, and never when his programming was even close to being in charge. "Yes, I think you
may be right." He sobered. "Joking aside, I suppose I should thank you," he said. "Unless you
intend to hand me to someone else."

The Soldier signed a few times. It took a moment for Ivan to decipher what he meant – it had, after
all, been twenty years since he'd last had to do so and he was rusty – then he got it. "You want to
take me to Natalia?"

The Soldier shook his head, then signed again. Ivan frowned, pretended that he hadn't just had a
minor heart attack when the Soldier had shaken his head, then comprehension dawned. "Ah. You
want to send me to Natalia. You can't go yourself because you are expected back."

The Soldier nodded, signing some more.

"Fake my death?" Ivan asked, then nodded. "Yes, I can do that, easily." He sighed. "As for sending
me to Natalia... of course you have to." He looked sadly back at the pillar of smoke. It hadn't been
much, a small, quiet house in a small, quiet neighbourhood, but it had been his and he'd been rather
fond of it. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go."

The Soldier reached over, hesitantly, awkwardly, as if trying out something he'd seen in a manual
on human behaviour, and patted him on the shoulder. For a long moment, Ivan stared, astonished.
Unless he'd been ordered to do so, even when his programming was at its weakest, the Soldier
never showed physical affection to anyone. Natalia, of course, was the exception.

"You've almost broken it, haven't you?" he said softly. He hesitated. He had a question, one that
could be very touchy territory whether the Soldier knew the answer or not. He knew, of course. If
you knew the sort of things that Ivan knew, had eyes and ears in the places he did, and most
importantly of all, knew to suspend your concept of the impossible, it wasn't that difficult. "Do you
know who you really are?"

The Soldier froze.

Then, to Ivan's unending astonishment, in a voice that was cracked and dry with decades of disuse,
he spoke.

"Not yet. But I'm going to find out."

OoOoO

"Cartomancy," Trelawney said, voice misty as ever. "Is a deceptively simple, yet complex branch
of the noble art of Divination. Ordinary playing cards can be used to see into the future, but it is
best to use the cards of the Tarot, which was first created in the 14th century by a Muggle who
glimpsed the Truth."

Harry, half asleep as was his wont in Divination, was not sure how she managed to enunciate
words with capital letters. Perhaps it was a spell, or simply a knack.

"To those with the Inner Eye," Trelawney continued. "Even a muggle Tarot deck can reveal many
things that are yet to come, granting the reader and the one being read with insight into their
tomorrow. To those without, however, and the inattentive, even the most obvious array of cards
can mean nothing."

Harry found himself waiting for Hermione's scoff, but it was not forthcoming. Hermione, of
course, had left, something that his uncle had not been remotely surprised by.

"Hermione," Loki had said. "Is someone who very much dislikes dealing with things that cannot by
analysed and must be taken, in part, on faith. Seeing the future is one of these things." His
expression had become amused. "And unlike you and Ron, she is not content to simply use her
imagination to concoct tall stories for her homework." He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps it is better
that she had a Divination teacher like Trelawney to drive her away from the subject before she was
too committed to it. In any case, I dare say that she is happier now."

With that in mind, Harry felt that her abandonment of the subject made complete sense. Still, the
lack of her presence occasionally surprised him.

"Each card has many meanings," Trelawney continued, in her misty voice. "Based on whether it is
placed naturally or reversed and which cards it is placed with. Some of the most basic meanings
are within your textbook, but the true meanings will become readily apparent to those with the
Gift." She looked up, focusing on Harry, who jolted himself to attention, a feeling of foreboding
building within him. It was entirely rational. "I shall demonstrate on one who we all know to have
a great and complex destiny waiting for him, who has recently been revealed to have powers
hidden even from my Inner Eye."

For a moment, Harry considered telling her that she'd made enough prophecies about him for one
lifetime, thank you very much, then sighed. What use would it be?

"Might as well get it over with, mate," Ron said, sounding sympathetic.

Harry nodded and extracted his feet from his lupine footrest, walking down to the front of the class
room and sitting on the small pouf that Trelawney indicated. "Now," she said. "We shall need a
table..."
Harry rolled his eyes, picked out one that was not in use, gestured and concentrated. The table
lifted into the air and floated down to land with a thump between them. Murmurs rose up from the
rest of the class, some excited, others disturbed. Harry, though, simply looked the surprised
Trelawney in the eye and said, "Didn't see that one coming, Professor?"

Even with the best will in the world, he couldn't keep some of the insolence out of his voice,
something confirmed by the sniggering from Ron, Dean and Seamus and offended gasps from
Lavender and Parvati. Harry found himself not much caring. Maybe if he annoyed her enough,
she'd stop using him as a guinea pig. And if she didn't, well, he'd at least have some free
entertainment.

The insolence, however, seemed to go right over Trelawney's head as she smiled vaguely. "Very
impressive, Mister Thorson. Your psychic powers grow swiftly."

Then, she picked up the deck and shuffled the cards. "Some," she said, raising her voice so the
whole class could hear. "Prefer to read with three cards. Others, with five, or seven, all powerfully
magical numbers. These, however, can sometimes lack breadth, so I shall give a full ten card read,
to provide the clearest insight into Mister Thorson's future."

Harry contemplated saying that she could probably give a fairly definitive reading on his future
with one card, so long as it established if he was going to die any time soon or not. In the end, he
decided against it. Trelawney's predictions of his imminent death were unlikely to be any more
accurate than the first time.

Trelawney then, with surprising speed and expertise, laid out the cards. Then, she began to turn
them over.

"The Five of Cups," she said mistily. "An emotional reunion."

"Another one?" Harry asked, tone indicating that he was sceptical. Either Trelawney was drawing
on his past – his reunion with his father – or had heard about Jean in connection with his powers. In
either case, he was less than impressed.

"The Eight of Wands," Trelawney said. "New horizons are opening up for your exploration."

This, Harry felt, was also fairly obvious and rolled his eyes slightly.

"The Seven of Wands reversed," Trelawney said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You fear
tapping into your full power."

That one struck close to the bone, even if it was just a well-informed guess, and Harry shifted
uncomfortably as more murmurs spread through the class.

"The Page of Cups," Trelawney continued, seeming satisfied that she had got a reaction. "Ah... an
unexpected happy event in your family."

Harry frowned. Were his ears deceiving him. Had she just made a positive prediction?

"The Knight of Swords," Trelawney said. "Oh, my dear, this is a dire warning. You must take care,
lest you rush into a situation without thinking and be punished for it."

And just like that, normal service was resumed.

"Death," Trelawney said. "One of the Major... Arcana?" She stopped, frowning at the card.
"Professor?" Lavender asked, worried. "Is something wrong?"

"The Major Arcana of a magical Tarot deck are most affected by the future, to the point where their
faces change slightly for each subject, and from those changes, meaning can be divined,"
Trelawney said mistily, before peering at Harry. "But it has never taken this form."

Harry frowned himself and leaned over. The card was inscribed, of course, with the word 'Death'.
Above the word was, instead of the expected Grim Reaper, a pretty, smiling young woman with
black hair, porcelain white skin and casual black muggle clothing. Around her neck hung a strange
object that looked like someone had blended a key and a crucifix.

"Does this mean that I'm going to die?" he asked, tone half bored, half puzzled.

"Death is in your future," Trelawney said. "Yet the Death card means more than mere death." She
gave Harry a wide eyed look. "It is a harbinger of metamorphosis and regeneration, that as the
butterfly sheds its chrysalis, you too will shed the shell you reside in."

Harry couldn't help gulping. That didn't sound good.

Trelawney turned over the next card and frowned again. "The Magician," she said. "Your future
throws up many surprises, my dear. I have never seen the card take this form." The form she
described was that of a tall man with dark hair that was feathered with white at the temples. He was
swathed in a long, swirling red cloak and there was a mysterious smile on his face. "The card is
telling you not to fear, but to embrace and tap into your potential. But beware. It also speaks of
manipulation, of strings being pulled and webs woven, ones that could easily entrap you."

Harry frowned, but said nothing.

The next card also baffled her. "The Star," Trelawney said. But instead of just one star, there were
two, one icy blue high in the sky, the other bright red in a field of wheat. She shook her head and
moved on. "This is a more fortunate card for the long term. It is a card of hope, fortune, peace and
joy."

Trelawney moved to the next card. "Justice," she said, sounding on firmer ground. The card
depicted a sword embedded in shining black stone. "Judgement is coming. The truth shall be laid
bare and the just will be separated from the unjust and in that time, you shall be tested."

Slowly, barely listening to her, Harry reached out and picked up the card. There was something
about it... Then, he shook his head, and put it back.

Then, she reached for the last card, turning it over.

"Judgement," she said. "Oh my dear... all that has been happening... I see it now. It is all coming to
a head. Good and Evil shall come together in a titanic clash that shall decide the fate of everything.
And you shall be at the heart of it."

Harry wasn't listening to her, though. He was staring fixedly at the card, eyes wide and horrified.
Then, he rose to his feet and bolted from the class room, not even bothering to lower the ladder, the
sound of his thundering feet echoing up into the room.

Trelawney, astonished as everyone else, looked at the card.

It depicted the Earth, hanging in space, visibly ravaged. And above, a great firebird stooped like a
bird of prey, wings the size of moons spreading across the stars.
And at the heart of it, clad in red and gold, was a dark haired figure with the grim expression of an
executioner hovered.

It was Harry.

OoOoO

Hermione frowned as she met up with the rest of the Gryffindor third years after they'd finished
Divination. "Where's Harry?" she asked Ron, who had Harry's bag on his shoulder. "And the
wolves?"

Ron shrugged. "No idea," he said.

"What happened?"

"Well, Trelawney started talking about this carrot cards –"

"I think you mean Tarot cards."

"Yeah, those," Ron said. "She called Harry up to the front, said that she was going to read his
future. She did a couple of the cards, and Harry didn't look particularly impressed. One or two of
them sort of bothered him, but not much. Then, she turned over the last card, and Harry just stared
at it. Then, he ran off like Dementors were after him, left his bag behind and everything. The
wolves followed him."

Hermione frowned. "Fine," she said. "I'll find him."

"I wouldn't," Ron said.

"Why not?"

"Because sometimes, Hermione, Harry just needs a bit of space to breathe," Ron said. "This is one
of those times."

"You're just scared of what will happen if you get near him while he's..."

"Pissed off?" Ron suggested, then shrugged. "Of course I am. When he's pissed off, bad things
happen. Besides, he likes brooding alone."

"Are you just going to leave him?" Hermione demanded, affronted.

"No, I'm going to get some lunch," Ron said patiently. "And save some for him when he calms
down."

"Oh," Hermione said. This was actually quite a good idea and she told him as much.

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron replied dryly. "You find him if you want, but it probably won't
do you much good. And if you do... be careful, okay?"

With this in mind, Hermione tracked down Harry. It wasn't too hard when you remembered that
when he was brooding, he liked high places because they allowed him to get fresh air and avoid
people all at the same time, and Hogwarts only had so many towers.

"Harry, Trelawney might be a terrible divination teacher," Hermione said. "But she is a very good
actor. She knew that you'd recently had a massive shock and that you'd never have encountered
something like those cards. She's also probably a highly accomplished cold reader."
"Maybe," Harry said. "Cold reader?"

"Cold reading is a trick that muggle fortune tellers and stage magicians pull – they take a look at
you, make high probability guesses based on what they see, and let your mind fill in the gaps,"
Hermione said. "Trelawney would be able to do it better than most – she knows quite a lot about
you, Harry, and rumours about your powers have been flying all over the school in the last few
days."

"I know," Harry said, vaguely aggrieved. "And it makes sense. But."

Hermione sighed. "But what?"

"But those cards aren't just showing me things going on in my head," Harry said. "I have never
seen the man in the Magician card, the girl in the Death card and I've definitely never seen a sword
in shiny black rock."

"Obsidian, Harry. It's volcanic glass."

"Whatever!" Harry snapped, waving an arm irritably, then sighed explosively. "Sorry. It's just that
recently, I'm not sure if I'm the only person in my head."

"Well, you are a psychic now, Harry," Hermione said. "You might be hearing other people's
thoughts." She eyed him. "And something else is worrying you, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Not worrying me as such, just bothering me because I can't pin it down.
Something's following me. Wherever I go, it's there. It might be what's in my head, I've heard it
whispering often enough," he said.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. "You've been hearing voices? Like last year?"

"No. That was obvious," Harry said. "This... it's like one of those moments when you're not sure if
you've heard something or if it's just the wind or something like that. And before you say anything,
I know it's there."

"How, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Because I let it, her, take over my body briefly," he said.

Hermione stared at him, dumbstruck. "Harry... how could you do something so stupid?" she asked.
"Especially after what happened to Ginny last year!"

"I..." Harry sighed. "I knew that I could trust her. And I mean I just knew it. I can't explain it. And
then there was why..." He quickly explained his encounter with Hera and what had happened.

Hermione frowned. Under the circumstances, she supposed she could partly understand it. "And
she just let you go? The voice in your head, I mean."

Harry nodded. He forbore to mention the sense of loss, the tears afterward. That was private.

"So, whoever this was, she was protecting you," Hermione said slowly. "I wonder..."

"What?"

"Well, Harry, your mother was apparently a very accomplished witch," Hermione said. "And if
your psychic abilities are any indication, there was more to her than that."
"What are you getting at?"

"Well, Harry, I'm no expert on the really old magic, but considering that your mother somehow
managed to protect you from the killing curse," Hermione said, pausing. "Harry, I think that she
summoned something, accidentally or on purpose. I've done a bit of reading on psychic powers –"

Harry smiled slightly. Of course she had. If she hadn't, she wouldn't be Hermione.

"And there's a few stories. Most of them are about monsters that feed on young legilimens, like the
Shadow King," Hermione said. "But others... there are Powers, Harry. Very, very old powers.
Some older than Gods. And I think you saw the picture of one of them."

Harry turned to her, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that maybe, one level or another, you know who or what protected you," Hermione said.
She paused. "And you recognised one of the cards, didn't you? That's why you ran out."

Harry was silent for a very long moment. "Judgement," he said eventually. "I recognised
Judgement."

"What was on it?"

"Me," Harry said. "An older me..." He trailed off, and as he did, his hand drifted up to the golden
phoenix brooch.

"Harry?" Hermione asked gently. "What did you see?"

For a moment, Harry considered telling her about the Phoenix, how he'd been drawn to it with
Heimdall, how he'd been seeing Her motif everywhere, how he thought she might have been the
one he allowed to possess him. But something stayed his hand.

"Something that I could become," he said eventually. "Something I don't want to become."

"Then you won't," Hermione said, as if it was as simple as that.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because we won't let you," Hermione said. "Not me, not Ron, not the Twins, not your family."

Harry smiled slightly. "Carol said that," he said.

"She was right," Hermione said, without missing a beat, then frowned. "Why did she say it?"

Harry was, again, silent, this time for a very long time. "For a moment, I was angry," he said.
"Angry at the world and a lot of the people in it. Then I was jolted back to reality."

And on that subject he would say nothing more. Instead, in the privacy of his own head, he
wondered. Wondered about the young woman with the kind smile on the Death card, the Magician
with the mysterious smile, the sword embedded in vitrified rock and the two strange stars. But in
the end, he came no closer to enlightenment on that subject than Hermione did to enlightenment
about what was bothering him.

Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves dreading their first private training session of the term
with Professor Cassidy for different reasons.

Ron had perhaps not been as diligent as he should have been in practising over the holidays and
knew that kind, patient and tolerant as Cassidy generally was, he could be a hard taskmaster and
would immediately notice any shirking.

Hermione, while she wasn't particularly fond of it, had taken the same attitude that she did to
everything she did that wasn't Divination – if she was going to do it, then by god, she was going to
be the best at it. However, as with practical magic, she found herself overshadowed by Harry, who
had learned by far the fastest of the three.

Harry himself had other worries. He was stronger now. Not noticeably super strong, but stronger,
strong enough to do some serious damage if he forgot to pull his punch even once. That wasn't the
main worry, though. That was his telekinesis. Telekinesis, after all, was activated by thoughts, and
one wrong thought at the wrong moment could lead to Ron, Hermione or Cassidy being splattered
against a wall. Plucking up his courage, he brought this one to Cassidy's attention. As it happened,
however, the older man was already prepared.

"I saw this one comin'," he said. "So I put a call in to th' Institute and had them send over these." He
produced a pair of what looked like the arm brace that Harry had once seen once of his classmates
wear when they'd fallen foul of Dudley's gang and got a sprained wrist for their troubles. "These
used t' belong to yer cousin Jean," he said. "I've had them resized, o' course."

"Why did she wear them?"

"When she was younger, see, she had real trouble controlling her powers, way more than you
have," Cassidy said. "She was less than half your age when hers came through, it was much more
stressful, an' she didn't have the kind of experience controllin' otherworldly forces that ye do. I
don't think tha' ye'll need them outside o' practise classes, maybe Quidditch matches too. Maybe ye
won't need them at all, once Betsy starts teachin' ye. But for now, they should help."

"Thanks," Harry said, then frowned. "I don't remember her wearing them."

"Aye," Cassidy said. "That would have been what, six, seven years ago? She'd been learning for a
few years by then, an' she could go without them for a while." He chuckled slightly. "And once she
started getting' control over her powers, she didn't want to keep wearin' the braces, 'cos she hated
them. Watchin' Logan chase her around the Institute, tryin' to make her wear them... ah, the sight
brought many joyful tears to my eyes. And everyone elses."

"How did you get her to wear them?" Harry asked, curious and half-grinning at the mental image.

"The Professor guilt tripped her by comparin' them to Scott's glasses," Cassidy said. "Scott, ye see,
is the grandson of one of classmates, Alex, who has the power to loose energy blasts of varyin'
sizes and levels of power. In the right suit, he can even use his power to fly. But when Scott was a
wee lad, his family were caught in a plane crash. The poor lad was the only survivor. Mum, dad
and baby brother, all gone. And no one's quite sure whether it's brain damage or psychological
trauma or both, but it affected his powers. See, his energy blasts come from his eyes. Problem is, he
can't turn 'em off. Unless he's got his eyes closed or he's wearin' a special pair of glasses, he
destroys everything he sees."

"That's horrible," Harry said quietly.

"Aye," Cassidy said. "It is." He shook his head. "Anyway, Jean didn't let out a peep about the
braces after that. Still didn't like them, though."

"Who made them?" Harry asked.

"A friend of yours, actually," Cassidy said. "Tony Stark."

Harry stared, astonished.

"Well, Hank and Charles designed the psychic interface, but the rest was all Tony," Cassidy said.
"I don't think tha' he knows about yer connection to Jean, but he might suspect somethin'. Tony
Stark's a very smart man and he knows much more than he lets on." He smiled slightly. "And if
nothin' else, ye and Jean have the exact same eyes."

"Usually people say that I have my mum's eyes," Harry said quietly. "I suppose that they ran in the
family."

"Aye," Cassidy said kindly. "I think they do. Along with a few other traits."

"Like what, sir?"

"Well, the two of ye have the same temper," Cassidy said. "Jean's a right scary sight when she's
angry, as are ye."

"I remember," Harry said, flashes of Jean, eyes alight with anger, red hair blazing around her head
like a halo, turning her psychic powers on Dudley after she saw what Dudley had done to him,
appearing in his mind.

"And ye're both very smart and very kind," Cassidy added.

"I'm not sure about the smart part," Harry said. "That's more Hermione's department."

"Hermione's very smart, aye. But she's a different kind of smart to ye," Cassidy said. "And trust
me, ye're not lacking in the brains department. Professor Lupin reckons that you're a Defence
genius, yer uncle has mentioned that ye're a prodigy with wandless fire magic and aside from
Professor Snape, no one's got a bad word to say about yer skills, an' that's because Snape is a
gobshite."

Harry let out an incredulous burst of laughter and Cassidy flashed him a brief grin and a
conspiratorial wink.

"I didn't say tha', by the way," he added.

"Say what, Professor?"

"Smart lad."

As it turned out, Cassidy had a request of his own. "If ye don't mind," he said. "I'd like to use
Dumbledore's pensieve, a magical device that allows ye to view memories, to go over yer fight at
Easter with ye, Ron and Hermione, to point out what ye did right an' wrong. Not all of it, mind –
there'll be some parts ye don't want them to see, and Dumbledore can help edit th' memory to leave
those parts out."

Harry frowned in thought. "Can I ask why, Professor?"

"Sure. Partly, to see how much ye've all learnt," Cassidy said. "An' partly to give them some idea
of what ye went through. It might just make yer life a bit easier."

Harry thought for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay."

OoOoO
When the training session came to be, Sean noted with amusement that Ron and Hermione – the
former in particular – were quite obviously relieved at the non-physical nature of the exercise.
Someone, or someones, had not been doing as much training as they should have.

Harry, though, was tense. Sean could hardly blame him. The boy had agreed to it, but he was either
having second thoughts or, at the very least, being reluctant. And perhaps part of that reluctance
came from the fact that he was afraid of how his friends would see him after watching him cut
loose. It was the same fear that every mutant had, usually when they came out and often afterwards
as well. One thing he'd found was that people could be fairly tolerant of an abstract idea, but react
very differently – and badly – to the reality.

On the other hand, if they never understood, then that would fester and frustration would build on
both sides.

"Now," Sean said. "Usin' a pensieve is fairly easy. All you have to do is lean forward and it does
the work for ye. When ye want to get out, just will it out to end, and it will. While we're in there, I
want ye to look closely and afterwards, tell me what Harry did right and what he did wrong." He
looked over all three of them, expression very serious. "First, this is a personal memory for Harry
an' he's extending a lot of trust by showin' this to the rest of us. Second, this isn' a matter of judgin'
Harry for what he did. It's a matter of learnin' from his mistakes and his successes and for ye two,
Ron, Hermione, to understand what he went through. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," they chorused, expressions solemn, and Sean nodded his satisfaction. The last
thing he wanted was for Harry to think that they were running him down because of how he did
when fighting for his life.

"Good," Sean said, and the three students gathered round. Cassidy took out a small glass vial filled
with a strange silvery-white substance. "This," he said. "Is the memory." He then uncorked the vial
and emptied it into the basin. Then, he leaned forward, and Harry, Ron and Hermione all followed
his example, tumbling into the memory.

They landed in the snow, and Sean took the opportunity to look around. It was nighttime, snow
was falling thick and fast as a storm brewed over head and the mountain cave was sealed up by a
thick wall of ice. In the shadows, he could see wolves the size of cars and in one case, the size of a
small tank, prowling and watching the icy barrier.

"Blimey," Ron said, voice low, before glancing at Harry. "Rather you than me, mate." He shivered.
"Cold, isn't it?"

Sean gave him a sharp look. You weren't supposed to be able to feel the cold in a pensieve. But
before he could ask Ron about this, Harry said in a low, flat voice, "It's starting."

Indeed, a bright light began to shine from within the cave, lighting up the mountain side.

"What just happened?" Hermione asked.

"That was us being transformed," Harry said, still in that same low, flat voice. Sean watched him
out of the corner of his eye. One of the reasons he'd done this was a calculation made based on
descriptions by other teachers that near-death experiences didn't particularly faze Harry. Perhaps
they'd been wrong about that one. If it turned out that they were, then he'd pull all of them out and
end the lesson. "Give it a couple of minutes."

Sooner than they expected, the ice suddenly cracked with a sound like gunfire, before healing up.
Then all hell broke loose.

A blinding column of flame roared out, enveloping one of the wolves and shooting straight across
the valley, punching a hole straight through a mountain on the far side. That, however, was not the
worrying part. That was the wave of hot air, dulled by the ambient cold and falling snow, that sent
Sean, Ron and Hermione staggering backwards. As soon as it happened, Sean knew that something
was wrong and this had to stop.

He willed himself out, looking to take the others with him as he had when he'd practiced with
Dumbledore, but nothing happened. Then, he turned to Harry, and he knew everything had gone
horribly wrong. Because Harry was burning gold.

"That," Harry said, tone unchanging, as if he was barely aware of what was going on. "Was a small
blast."

"Small?!" Ron spluttered.

Harry didn't seem to notice him.

"Professor," Hermione said, nervous. "What's happening?"

Sean grimaced. Where to start? "Harry's powers are warpin' the memory. We're part of it now," he
said. "Both of ye, get behind me, wands drawn."

"Can't you get us out?"

Sean shook his head. "Normally, I'd will our way out," he said.

"But Harry's not letting us out," Hermione said. "And... he's made everything real."

"Aye," Sean said grimly. "Though it's not that he's not lettin' us out, it's more that he can't. His
powers are out of control." He swore viciously in Gaelic. "I should have seen this comin'. I
underestimated how strong the lad was."

He really had. While he'd known that Harry had had Omega Class potential, he hadn't really
registered what that meant. At the time, he'd thought that he'd be like an ordinary mutant but
stronger. Now, he was beginning to get a better idea.

"We're trapped here?" Ron asked, voice rising a couple of octaves in terror. "With all the
monsters?"

"Aye," Sean said. He let out a grim chuckle. "I was going to test ye three on how rusty ye'd got
over the holidays, but I've to say: this wasnae exactly what I had in mind..."

OoOoO

Shortly after, the battle erupted, and as far as Sean could see, it was playing out much the same
way as the reports said that it had. That was part of the problem.

As before, the adult version of Harry had misjudged his strength and jumped halfway into orbit,
carrying one of the wolves with him.

The nature of memories being what it was, all four of them were dragged with him, several
thousand feet into the air.

With the wind rushing past his ears, it took all of Sean's will to keep his composure and, thanking
God for his decision to keep his wing suit, the current version of which was based on the Stark
Industries designed Falcon suit. The advantage of this, of course, was that it kept his hands free.

The wings snapped out, and Sean unleashed a scream that propelled him up into a loop, allowing
him to get a better view of the terrain. The memory version of Harry was falling and grappling with
the wolf. The real Harry was hanging in the air, arms and legs loose, enveloped in an aura of
blazing golden-white energy and his face seemed to be frozen into an expression of pure terror.

Sean immediately recognised it. Once, nearly ten years ago, he'd seen the exact same thing happen
with Jean, albeit in the waking world. It had been just after Charles had woken her from her coma
and before she got the braces to help control her powers. He was willing to bet that if he'd made
Harry put on the braces earlier, then this wouldn't be happening.

He wasn't in immediate danger, though, and there was no time to cry over spilt milk. Ron and
Hermione, after all, needed saving. He picked them out easily enough, tumbling through the air.
Thankfully, they were close to one another. Instantly plotting a flight path, he tucked the wings and
dived straight towards Ron and Hermione, using a scream to give himself an extra boost. As he
drew level, he snatched both of them out of the air, tucked them under his arms and grunted with
effort as he and the wings compensated for the sudden addition of weight.

"Easy," he yelled over the rushing winds. "I've got ye!"

Ron, face white as milk, simply whimpered, while Hermione clung on and didn't say a word.
Under the circumstances, Sean didn't really think he could blame them. No, the only person to
blame here was himself. As he'd said to Hermione, he'd underestimated just what the boy was
capable of, thinking that because he'd only displayed very limited telepathic abilities, the primary
manifestation of his abilities being telekinetic, that messing with a memory was a good idea. He'd
been a fool, an arrogant fool, and now they were all paying for it.

The landing, when it came, was mercifully smooth, onto the snowy roof of one of the buildings in
the town. One thing, he thought, that had gone right in this whole sorry mess. Gently, he set his
two students, and ignored the damp smell from both of them. Falling to what you believed to be
your death would challenge even the strongest bladder.

As he watched, the giant wolf menaced the house full of innocents, before being challenged by
Harry with an inhuman scream of challenge, the likes of which Sean had last heard from a hunting
hawk and pounced on the wolf. The physical power he was displaying was breathtaking. The
technique, less so.

The wolf then broke free and attacked the house again, but this time, it was intercepted by the
Hulk. Sean had never seen the Hulk up close and was impressed to put it mildly. If there was
greater epitome of raw physical power, he'd yet to come across it.

Harry's memory self exploded after them, and Sean, not wanting him and the children to be
dragged along like last time, grabbed Ron and Hermione and took off with a scream. This time,
they didn't have to go far, landing on a small cliff further down the mountain above a small, iced
over tarn.

"Are ye okay?" he asked, turning to Ron and Hermione.

Both managed shaky nods.

"Good," Sean said, twisting sharply at the explosion of ice from the tarn as Harry's memory self
erupted from within. Harry's real self wasn't hard to spot, hanging in the air, lighting up
proceedings like a lantern.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, now shivering.

"Yes?"

"If you die in a dream, you wake up," she said.

"I'm afraid that this isn' tha' kind of dream, lass," Sean said. "The lad's powers have gone
completely haywire. Honestly, we're lucky we're not fightin' off those wolves or some of his
nightmares. It might work, aye, but it might not, and tha's not a risk I'm prepared to take."

"W-w-why's he trapped us here?" Ron asked, more affected by the cold. Hermione had the
presence of mind to draw her wand and cast a warming charm. "Thanks, 'mione. Why's he doing
this?"

"He's not," Sean said. "He's as much a prisoner in this as we are." He frowned. "This shouldn' be
happenin'," he said quietly. "Even with how Pierce set him off." He turned to Ron and Hermione.
"Ye two. Has somethin' happened to him in the last couple of days, somethin' that shocked him."

Both nodded. "Professor Trelawney gave him a tarot reading earlier this afternoon," Hermione
said. "And whatever she showed him, it shocked him."

"He ran straight out of the classroom, left his bag and everything," Ron added.

"What did he see?"

"He said something about seeing something that he could be, but didn't want to be," Hermione
said. "It terrified him. Would that do it?"

Sean swore foully enough to make Hermione squeak and Ron's eyebrows shoot up. "Aye," he said
bitterly. "That would do it."

If they got out of this alive, he vowed, he was going to wring Trelawney's scrawny neck.

Down below, Harry and the Hulk were talking, both apparently ignoring the growling werewolf
below.

"Whoa," Ron said. "Harry's going to be big when he grows up."

Indeed he was. The aged up version of Harry was well over six feet tall and powerfully built, as
amply displayed by the strange red and gold armour with the golden stylised bird emblazoned on it.

"And powerful," Hermione said quietly. "Very, very powerful."

"That," Sean said. "Goes without sayin'."

Then, Ron let out a yell of surprise as Harry's memory self clashed with the giant werewolf.

Sean, sensing that this particular part of the fight might last for a while, decided to take a risk. "I'm
goin' up to try and bring him down," he said. "You stay here, all right?"

Both of them nodded and Sean took off. This was going to be tricky, he thought, since he couldn't
really hover. At all. Still, maybe tackling Harry would snap him out of this. It worked, or seemed
to, Harry offering no resistance as Sean carried him to the ground, for which he thanked his lucky
stars. He'd half expected to be hit by some kind of psi blast.
As soon as he got to ground, he propped Harry against a tree and said, "Harry, can ye hear me?"

No response.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "Please, wake up!"

Sean considered pointing out that he wasn't really asleep, but didn't think it would help.

"This isn't funny, mate," Ron said urgently. "We're in trouble here."

"He's not doing it as a joke, Ron," Hermione said severely.

But Ron had a point. The fight between Harry's memory self and the giant wolf was getting closer
and closer to their location.

Sean then took a gamble. "Harry," he said, adding as much of his abilities of influence to his voice
as he could. "Listen to me! You have to stop this!"

Harry's eyes dimmed from blazing gold, and he frowned, seeming to become aware. But he still
looked afraid, so very afraid.

"I can't," he whispered.

"You can," Sean said, taking Harry's hand, gripping it and staring into his eyes. "I know you can.
So d'yer friends. You can do it."

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, but just as he did, they were dragged along again, back to
the original theate of combat, now much battle scarred and scattered with wolves in giant blocks of
ice, and scattered across it. Ron and Hermione rolled into the tree line, while Harry hung ten feet
off the ground, now clutching his head in what looked like pain.

As Sean got to his feet and began to make his way over, Harry's memory self reappeared with his
opponent levitating alongside him, beaten to a bloody pulp, fried and wraped in a large amount of
what looked like steel, wearing a jaunty expression. As he did, he engaged his aged up friends in
conversation.

Sean quickly surveyed them: one an enormous, shaggy man armed with an axe and dressed in what
looked like medieval style Arctic Combats, another a lean, graceful man with good looks to
challenge Warren's and long black hair, a battle worn blonde woman in what looked like a variant
of Captain America's gear with a classic kite shield on her arm and a remarkably beautiful woman
in armour with black hair, with blood that did not look like it belonged to her spattered all over and
caked into her hair, a sight that brought back all the stories he'd ever heard about the Morrigan, the
triple goddess of war.

Needless to say, he found them an impressive sight, but perhaps not as impressive as Harry himself
– probably because he knew Harry as he was now and so could compare him to what he would
become. As had been previously observed, Harry's memory self was tall and well built, as opposed
to the lean and slightly puppyish look he had now thanks to several months of continual growing.
He was handsome too, in a peculiarly all American fashion. He had the sort of face you expected to
see on a Midwestern farm boy, or perhaps an Army recruiting poster, a face with a sort of
innocence about it.

Sooner rather than later, Sean predicted, he would be turning heads, partly down to the looks and
partly down to the confidence he walked with, bordering on a swagger. That swagger would be
wiped away shortly enough, Sean knew that from the reports, but that wasn't important. What was
important was the implicit promise of what potential fulfilled looked like and the fact that what he
had glimpsed was just that: a glimpse. There was so much more to come.

If, you know, Harry's mind didn't collapse in on itself and take the rest of them with it.

All of this observation and assessment was done in the blink of an eye. Sean was an experienced
detective and spy. Observation and assessment were two things that he had become very, very good
at, because it had often been the difference between life and death.

So he'd noticed one crucial thing: they weren't interacting with any of those in the memory, good or
bad. With natural forces, yes, side effects of the blows exchanged, yes. But not those people within
the memory While Harry's malfunctioning – or perhaps excessively effective, depending on your
point of view – powers had made the memory seem real to them, they were passengers only. This
left two options: they had to either break Harry out of his trance, or let the memory run its course.
Unfortunately, considering the kind of power that was yet to be unleashed, Sean rather doubted
that they would survive the latter scenario.

On the way over, he checked Ron and Hermione. They were fine, seemingly unconscious, but
breathing evenly, though how you could be unconscious in a dream, he did not know.

Stand aside.

He froze, straining his ears for the origin of the voice he'd just heard, a whisper like a gust of wind.
Judging by the way Harry's memory self and his companions weren't reacting, it was directed at
him. Someone, somehow, despite the fact that it was infused with the wayward power of an Omega
class psychic, was interacting with him in the memory.

"If ye want to hurt them, ye're goin' to have to go through me," he said aloud. "If ye want to help,
then show yerself."

In reply, what seemed to be a stream of sparks, blown by an unseen wind, swirled down and swiftly
grew into a feminine humanoid form.

Don't worry, Sean. I'm not here to hurt your students. A hint of tartness entered the psychic
voice. And if I was, there's nothing you could do to stop me.

This, Sean had to admit, was probably true.

Definitely true. I'm here to help. Trust me.

"Give me a reason."

The figure paused, then waved a hand. And Sean gaped. The memory had just... stopped. And he
realised that if someone with that kind of skill and power had wanted to hurt any of his students,
then he'd have about as much chance of stopping them as becoming the world's first mutant Pope.

That could probably be arranged, came the amused comment.

"I'll pass, if ye don' mind," Sean replied. "Th' frocks itch somethin' terrible."

There was a soft psychic laugh, then, the figure turned to Ron and Hermione and went to their
sides. As she did, Sean caught a flash of a warm smile. Gently, she knelt down and touched first
Ron, then Hermione's forehead. The same kind of sparks that she had been formed out of engulfed
them, then shot upwards.
"Where –"

Back to their bodies. Still don't trust me?

"Not entirely, but I'm an old cop, so I'm a suspicious bastard by nature."

That got a louder psychic laugh. Well, your suspicions are unfounded. Then, she turned to Harry
and seemed to drift over.

"Can ye help him?" Sean asked. "I've tried, but –"

You've done as much as you could, the figure said as she reached out and gently caressed Harry's
cheek. As she did, Harry visibly relaxed, the golden aura fading as he drifted to the ground. Then,
the figure leaned forward and gently kissed Harry's forehead. As she did, he opened his eyes and
frowned, confused, but before he could articulate anything, he was enveloped as Ron and
Hermione had been, disappearing up into the skies.

Your turn, the figure said.

Sean nodded. "Ye know," he said slowly, vocalising a thought that had been developing for a
while. "Ye seem to be very familiar with telepathy. Ye seem to be pretty familiar with him, carin'.
And I'm wonderin' if I haven't guessed who, or what, ye are."

The figure turned to him. Guess away, she said.

"Ye're somethin' to do with the protection that his mum laid on him. Maybe ye're the
personification of it," Sean said. "Or something."

Or something, came the amused, cryptic reply, before a fingertip like sunlight touched his
forehead.

And just like that, he was back in the classroom with three severely freaked out teenagers and two
very worried pony sized wolves. Speculations would have to wait.
 Stumbling In The Dark

Thor barged into the Hospital Wing and looked about wildly. Ron and Hermione, both looking
severely shaken, were sitting on beds and talking to a pretty young woman with dark, purple shaded
hair and a serious expression. Thor recognised her, and after a moment, put it together – she was
Betsy Braddock, the young telepath who had so enchanted Fandral. Now, though, she was dressed
in what he recognised to be a uniform, though not one he had seen before. Not up close, anyway.

Then, his gaze settled on his son, who was in what appeared to be a deep sleep. By his bedside was
Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to be examining him with an expression of deep worry, Professor
Sean Cassidy with his head in his hands, a worried Professor McGonagall, a frowning Professor
Dumbledore, and a thoughtful Charles Xavier. Beside him was what looked like a giant blue teddy
bear, albeit one who was wearing glasses and a rather fine suit.

"What has happened?" Thor asked curtly.

"Harry and his friends, along with Sean, entered a memory of his battle at Easter," Dumbledore
said. "It was intended as a teaching aid. Unfortunately, due to factors Sean was not aware of and
Harry's telepathy being far stronger than any of us realised, it went horribly wrong."

"I should have predicted it," Sean said bitterly. "I was a fool. An arrogant fool." He met Thor's
gaze. "I didn' realise what bein' an Omega class psychic meant – I just thought that it meant a
stronger psychic." He smiled mirthlessly. "Which was technically true."

"None of us thought about it, Sean," Xavier said quietly. "None of us realised how much power he
already had, not even him. Nor did any of us realise how his powers would interact with a
pensieve." He rubbed his brow. "In truth, I have only ever seen anything like this on the Astral
Plane, and only employed by two psychics other than myself at that, one being Elizabeth."

Betsy looked up and essayed a slight wave.

"While I am confident that one of my students will be able to do it in time... let us just say that I
never expected this," Xavier finished.

"I should have," Sean said. "Tha' was part of th' problem. Another part was a tarot readin' from
Professor Trelawney knockin' him for six, enough to send him runnin' from the classroom."

"It really upset him," Ron said.

"What did he see?" Thor asked, wondering if it would be suspicious if Trelawney was struck by
lightning in the near future.

"He wasn't entirely clear," Hermione said, voice shaky. "But he said that he saw something
terrible, something that he didn't want to become." This, Thor noted, was something that he would
have to inquire about further.

"As a result, Harry went into th' memory unbalanced," Sean said heavily. "Tha' and the memory..."
He shook his head. "I didn't know. If I had, I'd never ha' let him go in."

Hermione opened her mouth to apologise, but Sean waved it away.

"I should ha' asked," he said. "An' I'm sorry, for all the good tha' does."
"I see," Thor said, resisting the urge to start breaking things and people. Nevertheless, the sky
outside rumbled ominously. "And Harry?"

"Asleep," Xavier said. "A dreamless sleep, at that. His body seems to fallen into it of its own
accord. I have scanned his mind. There is no psychic damage, but after this..."

"He will fear his powers," Thor said heavily, sitting down beside his son and laying a hand on his
brow. Then he frowned and took his hand away, rubbing his fingers together for a moment.

"Thor?"

"It is nothing," he said. "I will stay until he awakes and I am sure that he is well."

This was not a question and there were sober nods all round.

"I'll stay," Betsy said. "To keep an eye. And you're needed back at the Institute, Professor."

"No," Xavier said. "You are right that Harry should be watched overnight and spoken to in the
morning, but I will do it, if I may prevail upon Albus for hospitality."

"You are more than welcome to stay the night, Charles," Albus said. "I will have the House Elves
make up rooms for the pair of you."

"Thank you, Albus," Xavier said. "The Institute will survive a night without Hank and I. And
Elizabeth, I think that you will need to speak to Director Wisdom about starting your lessons with
Harry and your sessions with Miss Weasley immediately. He will, I think, appreciate hearing about
it immediately rather than having to deal with the sudden change in his no doubt numerous plans
without any warning."

Betsy grimaced, but nodded. "You're a familiar face, I suppose," she said.

"Yes," Xavier said quietly. "While his mind is fine, there's something in his head that I want a
closer look at. And there are things which I need to speak to him about."

Betsy raised her eyebrows, as did the man who Thor suspected to be Hank McCoy, shorn of his
usual disguise.

"Not everything. Not yet," Xavier said, without looking away from Harry. "But an explanation, at
least, is owed."

"An explanation about what?" Dumbledore asked quietly, in the tone of a man who had a very
good idea what the answer was going to be, but wanted it to be a matter of public record.

Xavier sighed. "About his cousin. About Jean Grey."

"Why do I get the feeling that it is an explanation involving the words 'Doctor Stephen Strange'?"
McGonagall asked waspishly.

"Because it does, in part," Xavier said unhappily. Despite his worry and anger, Thor felt more than
a little sympathy for the other man. Charles Xavier had never struck him as a man who particularly
liked deceiving those he cared for, and keeping this secret had clearly taken a toll on him. Also, if
nothing else, Thor definitely understood how it felt to have to follow and attempt to interpret the
infuriatingly vague intimations and implications of Doctor Stephen Strange. "But only in part."

McGonagall snorted, but said nothing.

OoOoO

Eventually, the others left, Hank and McGonagall discussing transfiguration as a possible solution
to Warren's wing related woes, Betsy to MI13, Ron and Hermione with Cassidy to get back to their
Common Room and Dumbledore to do Headmaster things, leaving only Thor and Charles with the
comatose Harry. Of course, Charles thought, with his connection to the school and his numerous
talents, it was entirely possible that Dumbledore was still watching, but they were the only ones in
the room.

"You have something on your mind, Professor," Thor said suddenly. "Something you wish to say
to me. Please, speak it."

After a moment of surprise, Charles reflected that Thor was far more perceptive than he let on.

"There is something odd about what happened to Harry," he said eventually.

"This, I take it, has something to do with your experiences with Jean Grey. My son's cousin," Thor
said, steel in his voice. "And the explanation you owe Harry."

"Yes," Charles said. "I have taught her for a decade now, and I know two things. First, she is
already one of the strongest psychics on the planet and in time, she will be the most powerful
psychic in history. Second, she has never displayed anything like what Harry did. Her powers have
gone out of control before, but never to the point of a psychosomatic – in other words, 'real' –
dream. If it were not for the fact that she and Harry share an inclination towards the telekinetic
branch of their powers, I would think that it was simply a difference in how their powers manifest.
But this... it feels wrong."

"My son's powers trapped himself, his teacher and his best friends in a dream with him, nearly
getting them all killed," Thor said harshly. "Of course it feels wrong."

"Of course it is," Charles said, unperturbed. "But I was thinking more about the way that his power
displayed itself. To be blunt, that would require far more power than Harry should be capable of
calling upon, consciously or unconsciously. He shaped the Astral Plane, completely by accident.
Only myself and two other psychics in my entire life have ever managed to do that, none of us to
such an extent. Occasionally, extremely powerful magic users have been able to do so, but even
then, it is rare. And none of us have ever done it by accident."

"Perhaps it was the protection laid upon him, the one that freed him and the others from the
Pensieve," Thor suggested. "Perhaps it – or she – provided the power."

"A possibility, but I don't think so. Harry has never drawn upon that power before – why would he
do so now? And in any case, if he had, the sentient protection – something that is suspicious by
itself – would not, I think, have had the power to act," Charles said.

"You are not certain?"

"I am sorry, Thor, but this is all very theoretical," Charles said. "I do, however, have another
theory."

"What is that?"

"I think that Harry's powers, when he used them, encountered the psychic equivalent of a foreign
object or a pathogen. They react against it, perhaps summoning up more power to drive out or burn
out the invasive presence and whether they succeeded or failed, left him with too much power to
control." He frowned. "Of course, this is still theory. I have never heard of someone having a cold
in their powers. Power flows fluctuating, yes, in the same way that teenage growth spurts are
uneven, but it isn't that. Perhaps, like Sean, I underestimated how much raw power Harry would
immediately have to hand, and magic has always had an odd effect on the X-Gene. Like the rest of
us, I am fumbling around in the dark."

"I have a candidate for the one who established the psychic presence that you describe," Thor said
quietly. "The one who worked from the shadows to ensure that my son stayed at Privet Drive."

"Yes," Charles said. "That is the most likely option."

"Can you remove it? What his powers were reacting against?"

"If I could find it, yes," Charles said. "However, that would require Harry to use his powers again,
on a notable scale, and I do not have the time to persuade him to do that." He sounded genuinely
regretful.

"HYDRA," Thor said, nodding. Charles could see the wheels turning in his head. They had already
made a play for one of Charles' students, Bobby, the boy that Harry had helped on the mountain. If
they sensed an opportunity, they might try again, potentially hurting, even killing, Jean in the
process, something which Harry would never forgive himself for. In other words, much as he did
not like it, he could see why Charles could not stay. That said, he did offer a half-hearted
suggestion. "If we explained it to him..."

"He might well grit his teeth and do it," Charles said. "However, that could just as easily end in
disaster. Of all superhuman abilities, psychic powers are the most sensitive to emotional instability,
and Harry has had more than enough of that in recent months."

"That is very true," Thor sighed.

"Be there for him," Charles said. "That is the best thing you can do for him right now."

OoOoO

And accordingly, Thor was. When Harry woke up, met his gaze briefly, then looked away in
shame, Thor pulled him into a hug and held him while he cried. No words were needed – both
knew what had happened and with the hug, both knew that Thor did not blame his son in the
slightest. While this was what anyone would reasonably expect, Harry's expectations tended
towards the pessimistic.

They sat that way in silence.

"Dad," Harry began.

"I know what happened," Thor said gently. "No one blames you."

"But –"

"No buts," Thor said, with a look that brooked no dissension.

"They're my powers, though."

"Powers far greater than anyone realised," Thor said. "Charles Xavier, Albus Dumbledore, your
Professor Cassidy did not foresee it. They are respectively, the greatest psychic in Earth's history,
who has probably forgotten more about psychic powers than I ever knew, one of the greatest
wizards this world has ever seen with more than a little knowledge of psychic abilities, and a
former student of Xavier's, who is second only to his former teacher in his experience with mutant
abilities. Your uncle and I certainly did not see it coming. What makes you think that you would?"

Harry frowned, but had to concede this point.

"No one was hurt," Thor said. "And you need not fear it happening again: your lessons with Lady
Braddock start tomorrow. She is a kind, clever woman and a former student of Charles Xavier. She
will help you." He picked up the braces. "In the mean time, you will need these."

Harry took them silently and stared at them for a long time. Then, he slipped them on and wiggled
his fingers a bit, getting used to them. "A little snug," he said. "Mind, they did belong to my cousin
Jean."

"I know," Thor said gently.

"I'm sure she will help me," Harry said softly. "Lady Braddock, I mean. But, I know Professor X.
Well. A little bit. He's helped me before."

"And he would love to teach you," Thor said. "But he cannot. HYDRA threatens his school and he
has other students who need his attention. And then there is another consideration."

"What do you mean?"

"Your father means that it is time that I spoke to you of your cousin."

Father and son looked up at the window, where Professor Xavier sat, having given father and son
some space. His expression was one of a man who is simultaneously relieved that his burden is
about to be relieved and wearied by having had to carry it for so long.

"You knew that Jean and I were related?" Harry asked.

"I have known for nearly fifty years," Xavier replied, rolling his chair up to Harry's bedside. "And
the story behind that is a very long one. For now, I will merely say that I was told by a time
traveller that you and Jean were not to meet again until a certain point in time. I only agreed after
the consequences of my defying this prophecy of sorts were graphically illustrated. In the end, for
the most part, it happened by itself." His expression turned bitter. "The figure behind your
remaining at Privet Drive saw to that."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused. "Why wasn't I allowed to meet Jean?"

"One of the laws of time travel is that you cannot change the past, not in any lasting way," Xavier
said. "Or at least if you can, it is far beyond my capabilities or those of anyone I know. Perhaps
Strange..." He shook his head. "The best you can do is to fulfil a self-fulfilling prophecy or to
change little things. Essentially, a temporal loop is in place. If you attempt to break the loop, as I
was willing to, at best you create a parallel universe. At worst, the resultant paradox rips time and
space apart."

Harry frowned, but nodded.

"While I can reasonably say that my hands were tied by circumstance, it feels like a thin excuse,
one that you have already heard far too many times," Xavier said. "But it is all I have."

Harry sat in silence. "When can I see her?"

"The answer to that, I am reliably informed, is in here," Xavier said, reaching into his pocket and
pulling out a rather old looking envelope. It was briefly addressed, 'Harry Thorson'. The
handwriting was familiar, but Harry wasn't focused on that so much as what was in it. He opened
the envelope and removed a well preserved letter.

'Dear Harry,' it read.

'Let's get something out of the way first: this is your older self. Older by over four years (depending
how you count it) – translation: I'm seventeen, and close to eighteen.'

Harry stared at the paper, stunned.

'Now, you're not quite sure whether to believe this letter. Handwriting, after all, can be copied,
forged. And there's not much that I can use to prove that I'm you that won't prove immensely
embarrassing to you/me/us as and when other people read it. Still, I'll do what I can. You're
reading this in the hospital wing on April 29th, 2007. Dad is with you – hi dad! – as is the
Professor – hi Charles! – who gave you this letter. It's raining outside.

When you used your Patronus against the Disir, you used the memory of dad hugging you for the
first time after you reunited. You're worried about how your heritage, particularly from dad's side,
is affecting you, not just because of the powers, but because you think that it's going to push you
away from Ron, Hermione and Hogwarts, because that's one of the few places you've ever really fit
in. What you saw on Trelawney's cards yesterday morning is bothering you. Oh, and while you've
been pretty patient (or as patient as we're ever going to get), the whole authority figures/loved ones
who mean well lying to you/leaving you thing is really beginning to get on your nerves, even if it
does turn out to be for the best. Because it still sucks.

Oh, and you think Tony Stark is the coolest guy in the Nine Realms (don't worry dad, you're the
most awesome guy in the Nine Realms. Small, but important, difference), closely followed by uncle
Loki. You're also a very tactile person with people you care about – you like hugs and cuddling
and don't worry, that is totally cool, so long as you don't try to cuddle someone who's not okay with
it. And because I have a positive duty to embarrass you, you have a thing for smart, strong, badass
women, the stronger, smarter and more badass the better. There's more I could say (much more),
but I'll leave it there.'

Harry went bright red.

'Now, onto the business at hand. As you may have deduced, I/we was/were the person to give
Charles the heads up about not letting Jean and you/me meet until a certain point. Why? It's a
predestination paradox, that's why, and they... well. Some of them aren't so bad. But this particular
one is worse than Snape's hygiene (which only gets worse, by the way). Don't worry though – you
will see her before the end of this summer and she will be the most awesome disconcertingly
attractive cousin ever. And you'll get another nice surprise along with. Two in fact, one a bit later
on. Can't say what though – spoilers.

You've got so much coming, good and bad, triumph and tragedy. You'll lose old friends and gain
new ones. There's so much I could tell you, so much I want to tell you, so you don't make the same
mistakes I did. But then you wouldn't become me and I couldn't write you this letter. Ergo paradox,
ergo bad stuff. Speaking of, don't worry, you don't have to memorise it. You'll write it yourself
when the time comes, and your version may be slightly different, but it'll contain the same basic
details.

Anyhow, circumstances mean that I can only be vague. But I can give you a few pointers:

Don't hate Xavier for keeping you and Jean apart. He was a tool of the predestination paradox and
he hated every minute of it.

Trust Doctor Strange. He may be a bit of a dick and he's certainly meddled in my/your/our life, but
the alternatives... well. Let's just say he does it to stop worse things happening.

Carol will have your back, no matter what, same way that you'll have hers. Jean-Paul is more
powerful than he is willing to accept. Uhtred is a rock. And Diana is stronger than she realises. (A
bit generic, I know, but I'm working with time travel here. Cut me some slack).

Bad news: relationships don't last forever and separations suck for everyone. Good news: they're
fun while they last and time heals more or less everything.

More generally, you have to get used to who and what you are. You've started to do that, but you're
still wavering a bit. Now's not the time for that. You aren't just Harry Potter, teen wizard, Boy-
Who-Lived and House Quidditch star any more. You are Harry Thorson, Prince of Asgard, mutant,
wizard and proto-Avenger (that Young Avengers thing Pierce mentioned? Remember it. It's
important. Also, don't trust Pierce).

Fact is, you are never, ever going to get control of your power if you fear it. Quite the opposite. So
here's what you should do: step up. It's your power. Accept it. Embrace it. Own it.

Spread your wings, Harry. Spread your wings and learn how to fly.

Love,

An older, better looking, not necessarily wiser (but you can't have everything) you.

P.S. A few messages for the Avengers.

Dad: you are an excellent father. And don't worry, you'll soon have something to punch.

Uncle Loki: try and look at what's right under your nose for once.

Tony: you're not just a billionaire, genius, philanthropist superhero. You're going to be something
else too. And you know what? You'll be great at it.

Bruce: think outside the box. Science doesn't hold all the answers.

Clint: family is important.

Natasha: do not trust a false spring.

Steve: masks change, but faces remain.

Fury: trust your good eye.

P.P.S. Time spent with friends is never wasted.'

"Harry?"

"This letter," Harry said. "It's... it's from me." He turned to the Professor. "You met my older self.
In the past." His brain was hurting already.

"I did," the Professor said. "He gave me this letter to give to you."

Harry nodded. "He, I... uh. He says hi."

The Professor smiled. "Hello to you too, Harry," he said, and Harry was unsure whether the
Professor was talking to him or to the person he would be.

"Oh, and he says hi to you too, dad," Harry said. "And that you're the most awesome person in the
Nine Realms." He wrinkled his nose. "I could have told you that."

"Technically, you did," Thor said. "Twice."

Harry grimaced. He was stating to hate time travel. "True," he said, then changed the subject. "It's
also got a message for you. Look." He handed the letter to his father and pointed.

Thor read the post script and let out a chuckle like the rumble of thunder. "It's like he, you, read my
mind."

Harry raised his hands hurriedly. "Don't look at me. No mind reading going on here," he said.

"Your father meant it in the figurative sense, Harry," the Professor said. He rolled his chair back. "I
will be outside. When you feel ready, I will perform what amounts to a psychic check up."

"Can you find out what's wrong with me?" Harry asked, voice suddenly very small.

"I promise you that I will try," the Professor said, and Harry supposed that that was the best he was
going to get.

OoOoO

After a while of discussion and hugs with his son, Thor reluctantly left the Hospital Wing, and
Professor Xavier entered once more. He strode along the corridor, deep in thought, a magically
created copy of the letter in his hand, which he'd read several times. It certainly read like his son,
handwriting and all, albeit an older, more confident and, despite his wry self-deprecation, wiser
version of him, and it stood up to the discreet magical tests that he'd done on it. The advice was
good, too. So, on balance, he was willing to accept it as genuine.

"Thor, a word before you go."

Thor turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing on the stairs leading down into the Entrance
Hall.

"Sybil's tarot reading wasn't the only thing that shook Harry," Dumbledore said, not beating around
the bush. "During his interview with Secretary Pierce, Pierce told him that they had a lead in the
case of who was behind the obfuscation of his circumstances at Privet Drive. This set Harry off
and considering how Pierce wasn't in the least bit surprised, I am certain that he did it on purpose."

"Then I shall have words with him," Thor said.

"No, Thor," Dumbledore said. "As your brother could tell you, we have no proof, nothing that
could be acted upon. Just suspicions."

Thor let out an incoherent growl, but nodded grudgingly. "So. You suspect Pierce of having an
agenda. One that involves my son," he said. "Do you believe he means Harry harm?"

"I believe that SHIELD," Dumbledore said. "Is very much like an iceberg. What is visible is large,
powerful and intimidating. Most, however, is not visible, and that is the part that you should worry
about."
"What do you mean, Albus?"

"I mean that though Nicholas Fury's intentions are good, despite his all of his immense talent, even
he cannot control all of SHIELD," Dumbledore said. "As with any organisation, there are parts
with their own agenda. And Pierce is powerful enough to command the personal loyalty of a very
large section of a SHIELD indeed."

"So, we have not only HYDRA to worry about, but SHIELD as well," Thor said.

"Part of SHIELD," Dumbledore said. "And this is only supposition. Pierce could simply have been
doing what he was sent to do: gauge Harry's abilities, simply using morally dubious methods to do
it. He was, after all, perfectly friendly and he certainly charmed Harry, though not so much that
Harry completely let down his guard."

"But your gut suggests that it is more."

"My gut suggests many things, some of them very worrying," Dumbledore said. "And yes. It
suggests that there is more to what he was doing." He met Thor's gaze. "In short, James; I would
caution you not to trust Alexander Pierce."

Thor nodded. "It seems that the list of people I can trust is growing shorter and shorter," he said.

"I fear that you are right, Thor," Dumbledore said. "I fear that you are right."

Thor nodded. "I bid you good day, Albus. I have things to speak of with my brother."

And with that, he left at speed. Whatever he wished to discuss, Dumbledore felt, it was clearly
important.

OoOoO

And so it was, with Thor barging into a second room in two days. While this would once have been
considered standard behaviour for Thor, he'd been taking steps to change that, and only did it when
he was in a particular hurry or particularly agitated.

"Thor?" Loki asked, looking up from his pile of intelligence reports and old grimoires, the two
mixed together apparently at random. "How is Harry?"

"Well enough," Thor said abruptly. "I spoke to Albus and Charles Xavier about what happened.
Albus, supported by Cassidy, said that Pierce had shocked Harry into briefly losing control of his
powers, but did so with simple words, not in any way that could be easily proven."

"I am not surprised," Loki remarked. "Everything I hear of Pierce says that he is a clever and very
dangerous man."

"And Xavier," Thor said, ignoring this. "Suggested that there was something wrong in Harry's
mind, speculating that there was an unnatural presence."

"That," Loki said after a moment. "Would not surprise me in the least."

Thor knew how to read his brother's tones and his face darkened with anger. "You knew?" he
demanded.

"I wondered," Loki said. "About what effects Harry's scar might have on him. He didn't get the
talent for speaking with snakes from either you or Lily, and since the Killing Curse is essentially a
psychic off-switch, I felt that the protection's reaction caused Harry to pick up some of Voldemort's
knowledge and left a residual connection of some sort, one that warned of Voldemort's presence. I
had no idea that it might be a threat. If I had, I would have acted."

Thor took a deep breath. "I see," he said. His brother did seem to be telling the truth. "You should
have told me."

"Yes," Loki admitted. "I should have."

Thor nodded, acknowledging this. Loki did not like making mistakes and liked admitting that he
had made one even less.

"Professor Xavier also supplied this," he said, handing Loki the letter, which his brother quickly
read. "This is the original, for your examination. Harry kept a copy. It seems genuine." Loki
nodded and murmured a few words, before examining it, then repeating the process.

"It seems genuine," he said eventually. "And it does seem suitably impertinent." He gave his
brother a sharp look as Thor smirked. "Tell me, brother, what is it that is right under my nose that I
am missing?"

"That Sif is as much in love with you as you are with her," Thor said, amused.

"Bah," Loki spat. "Not this again."

"I also spoke to Hermione," Thor said, deciding that any further conversation on this subject would
only result in his brother insulting himself and Thor in equal measure. "She said that that morning,
Trelawney did a tarot reading of Harry. The last of the cards scared him, contributing to the trouble
later on."

Both of Loki's eyebrows rose. "Magical tarot cards have been known to throw up strange things,"
he said.

"That is not the important part," Thor said. "Well, it is important, but Hermione said that Harry
also got the Death card. Which depicted Death, not as the reaper or any other nonsense like that,
but as she is, ankh and all, and I am certain that he has never seen her."

"Perhaps when he saw his mother die?" Loki said. "That particular memory was dislodged by the
Dementors, I believe."

"Possible, but I do not believe it is likely," Thor said. "Especially since the Magician card bore the
likeness of a man who Harry cannot possibly remember. Doctor Strange."

"And the Magician card is the mark of a manipulator, or warns of manipulation," Loki said.
"Which just so happens to depict the key player in this great game."

"I hardly think that it is a game, brother," Thor said sharply.

"Not to us," Loki said. "And certainly not to those caught up in it, such as Harry. But there are
other powerful entities than us in the universe for which it is most definitely a game. And in Doctor
Strange a truly masterful player seems to have emerged. I will definitely have to have words with
him." His tone left it ambiguous was to whether he meant 'have words with' as in 'speak', 'converse',
or the much lesser known meaning of 'eviscerate'. "The involvement of the Endless, though... why
would they take... an... interest..."

"Brother?"
"I think," Loki said, voice very careful, as if a lot of things had just fallen into place and if he was
incautious, they would all go flying apart. "That I have figured out the why of many things that
have happened around and about Harry, the very least of which is why one or more of the Endless
is interested in him. It makes so much sense, really, it's been right under our noses all along." He
started pacing, speaking faster and faster. "Oh, if Strange has done what I think he has done – and it
can only be him – he is playing an incredibly dangerous game. Then again, with the Darkhold on
the loose, I can see why he might do it..."

"What is it, brother?" Thor asked impatiently.

Loki took a deep breath and opened his mouth. No sound came out. He frowned, tried again, but
still couldn't say anything. After several more contortions, he grimaced. "I am not being allowed to
speak of what I know," he said. "Which is the firmest indication I can think of that I am right."

Thor slammed his fist into the table in frustration, breaking it and sending papers and grimoires
flying. Loki gave him a reproachful look and repaired it with a wave of his hand. Thor didn't seem
to notice, now stalking up and down, footfalls shaking the floor. "I am sick and tired of being led
around by the nose, brother," he said. "Stumbling about in the dark, trying to protect my son while
we are ensnared in the schemes of a stupidly secretive sorcerer and a group of meddling cosmic
beings!"

"If it were not for one of the cosmic beings, Harry would not be alive today," Loki said quietly.
That gave Thor pause. "His protection, Thor, the one Lily placed on him," Loki continued. "That
power did not come from nowhere."

"Of course it didn't," Thor said, frowning.

"Then, brother, where did it come from?"

There was a long silence. "I had thought that it came from Lily's lifeforce," Thor said quietly.

"So had I," Loki said. "But it doesn't add up. A wandless death curse from an extremely powerful
Wizard might deflect a killing curse, but Lily was wanded, and though she was very strong, she
was nowhere near her prime. And considering Voldemort's considerable personal power, I wonder
if it would have worked even if she had been in her prime. However, let us say it did. But then,
how would it help fuel what was by all accounts a very powerful blood ward, kill a powerful dark
wizard possessed by Voldemort and, apparently, provided a sentient and very powerful guardian
for Harry? Any one of those things might be possible, though some stretch the boundaries of
possibility. But all of them and who knows what else? No. There is something else at play here."

"The cosmic being that you cannot name," Thor said.

Loki nodded. "Whose involvement was very, very obvious once I realised it," he said dourly.

"Then what can we do?" Thor demanded, frustrated.

"Protect Harry from those enemies we can see, to the best of our ability," Loki said. "Preferably
starting by crushing HYDRA – the snake is scotched, not slain."

"That is very true," Thor said, nodding. "Very well. But I am not happy with this."

"Who is?"

That, Thor would reflect, was a very good question.

OoOoO

While Hogwarts at large had regarded the advent of Harry's psychic powers with interest, it hadn't
exactly been rocked by the revelation. After all, they had grown used to Harry and others close to
him doing unusual things through their now intermittent training by Loki. And since most witches
and wizards didn't register that there were such things as non-magical superpowers (of course,
Sean Cassidy said so, but with the infinite wisdom of teenagers, most of the students assumed that
he was either lying or mistaken), for the most part they regarded Harry's development of psychic
powers with the same gnomic shrug that they had regarded most other things.

Sure, some feared that he'd use his psychic powers to uncover secrets or control minds, but while it
was well known that Harry was very nosy, he was also well known for respecting privacy and it
was hard to find anyone less interested in controlling other people's minds. They weren't entirely
right in the latter case – the darker parts of Harry, the ones that found prejudice and ignorance
supremely frustrating, thought that controlling minds was a rather good idea. Harry himself,
however, had already considered this path and after a pointed question or two from his friends that
made him consider it further, recoiled in horror.

While this might seem a considerably laissez faire attitude from a student body that had almost
gone into fully fledged meltdown over the whole 'heir of Slytherin' business, most of the Hogwarts
students felt that the whole HYDRA thing was a long way off and not their problem. In other
words, it didn't have the same immediacy. And most had registered that if you left Harry well
alone, he would happily leave you well alone. And as time proved, if he heard weird things in your
head, he didn't breathe a word of it.

Ginny, however, didn't have quite such a sanguine view of things. While intellectually she was
perfectly aware that Harry would never hurt her – if nothing else, that would require him to notice
her, something that he rarely did – other parts of her had felt his voice in her mind, become aware
of his telepathy and gone to gibber in a corner. She couldn't help it, and hated that almost as much
as she hated the fact that she felt that way to begin with. It made her feel weak.

Of course, this was absolute nonsense, as she would later be informed. If someone has opened up a
significant gash in your leg that hasn't quite sealed up, then someone jostles it, it is not weak to feel
incredible amounts of pain. It is, in fact, entirely natural. The appropriate response is not to pretend
that it isn't there, but to get it treated lest it fester.

At the time, however, she was mainly trying to manage her fears. She steered well clear of Harry
and tried not to think about the fact that Harry was everything she feared in her subconscious. After
all, leaving aside the telepathic powers, Harry was in his own, slightly awkward way, charming.
He was also clever, helpful and kind. While all of these were, on the face of it, good traits to have,
they reminded Ginny of Tom. The fact that Harry was becoming taller, darker and handsomer by
the day, much the same way that Tom had presented himself, was the icing on the cake.

Again, intellectually she knew that Tom and Harry were nothing alike. Where Tom's better traits
had simply been put on to make her lower her guard, Harry's were genuine. Where Tom wore a
mask of apparent openness, Harry was somehow honestly reclusive. While he shunned fame and
public attention, he was honest about it. But the human brain is designed to see patterns, even
when there are no patterns to begin with, and she noticed the similarities much more than the
differences.

And when her brother had wound up in the hospital wing along with Harry and Hermione after one
of their 'detentions' with Professor Cassidy (everybody in the school had long since figured out that
those detentions were just a cover for private lessons)... well. Let's just say that all the knowledge
in the world of what Harry was really like didn't do the slightest good.

OoOoO

Ron, as it transpired, was just fine, albeit a bit shaken. He was really not sure of what to think. On
the one hand, this was Harry, who had been his friend for three years and was, if Ron was honest
with himself, more of a brother to him than his actual brothers. Harry, who loved Quidditch and
was, in many respects, an ordinary guy.

On the other, he was a demigod, heir to the House of Odin, followed by Odin's wolves,
occasionally accompanied by Odin's ravens and occasional possessor of a very strange voice. As a
result, he tended to give off a sense of the otherworldly. Before, Ron had mostly just taken such
things as sentient wolves, talking ravens and a quite literal god for a father in his stride, believing
them not to have changed Harry all that much. Strange voices didn't bother him – in fact, he was
somewhat inured to them, having grown up just below the ghoul. Therefore, he had considered
them to be mild eccentricities and thought little more about them.

His main preoccupation had been with the fear that he and Hermione might be discarded, as Harry
moved on to what might be considered bigger and better things. After all, he was stinking rich, far
more than Ron had previously supposed, judging by how casually he'd bought Ron a Firebolt for
his birthday and waved away Ron's stammered thanks. When Ron had mentioned this to
Hermione, she had replied that Harry had also, equally casually, offered to buy her a new, magic
proofed laptop. While Ron was not up on the prices of muggle technology, judging by what
Hermione had said, a good laptop was very expensive indeed.

This had made Ron even more conscious of being poor than usual, but he hadn't mentioned it to
Harry in the belief – which Ron felt that their most recent experience fully justified – that Harry
had more than enough problems of his own to be going on with. Normally, he'd have been
thoroughly envious of everything Harry had, but now... well. He wasn't so sure.

He had heard stories about the war against Grindelwald, which people had been more inclined to
speak of when he was growing up than they had been about the traumas of the first war against
Voldemort.

In the case of the more recent war, as with Hermione's description of the muggle 'Troubles' (which,
Ron felt, was the silliest name for a war he'd ever heard), people did not really want to talk about
it. But the war against Grindelwald, including such legendary exploits as Doctor Strange and
Grindelwald's cataclysmic duel in Berlin, Captain America's raid on Nurmengard, and, of course,
the duel between Dumbledore and the diminished but still vastly powerful Grindelwald that had
ended the Wizarding aspect of the War, was further off and satisfied a young boy's appetite for
adventure stories

These stories were, of course, garbled, exaggerated and generally emphasised the wizarding
contribution. But there was a certain degree of truth to them. In those stories, he had heard tales of
Grindelwald's muggle allies, HYDRA, led by a man every bit as vicious, cruel and terrifying as
Grindelwald himself. And that man, of course, was the infamous Red Skull.

While the Red Skull was gone, the same could not be said for HYDRA and in the same way that
Ron would not want to cross the Death Eaters if they suddenly returned, he did not envy Harry his
encounter with the modern day HYDRA. And that was before one got into the giant werewolves,
shadowy shape changing monsters without faces, what Ron presumed to be some sort of flying
metal golem, undead Valkyries that ate gods, and whatever he'd seen on those cards of Trelawney's
to send him sprinting away (Ron, of course, presumed it to be some kind of monster, and a
particularly terrible one at that if it could send Harry running out the trapdoor like his arse was on
fire).

Then there were his powers. The wandless magic was cool, though watching flames wind around
Harry like a cat around the ankles of a favourite person and the ease with which he controlled it
only contributed to Harry's occasional aura of this-person-is-not-quite-human. The strength seemed
to be useful for occasionally intimidating people, but Harry couldn't control it – he'd asked – and to
Ron, that seemed fairly useless. As for the psychic powers, well, lifting pepper pots, books and
tables was a cool party trick, but not much more, and it required more concentration than magic.

And after what had just happened, when Harry had lost control, the way his abilities had so
obviously terrified him – and he wasn't the only one – and what they had done... well. Ron couldn't
imagine being afraid of his magic. Dark magic, sure, but, well, that was dark magic. You were
never going to do it by accident, were you? Harry's psychic powers, though, didn't see to come with
half so clear a dividing line.

No, he did not envy Harry in the slightest. Harry's knowledge of his heritage seemed to have
unlocked a darker, more fey side to him, one he feared, one that he could barely control at the best
of times. Ron wasn't afraid of Harry. But he was a little afraid of what he might be capable of. And
what might come after him. In short, power, money and fame? If that was the price, then maybe it
wasn't worth it.

That said, there seemed to be compensations. If girls like the ones he'd seen in Harry's memory,
who could only be described as absolutely bloody gorgeous, or like Jane, Harry's cute soon-to-be
stepmum, Pepper Potts and the rather attractive woman with glasses and large breasts that he'd met
some months before in Avengers Tower and at the lunch just before term had begun, were around
all the time... well. Then he might reconsider his opinion.

OoOoO

Harry did not know what to expect from Lady Braddock, and at the moment, sunk in a mixture of
gloom and slowly bubbling fear of his powers, he didn't much care. He hoped, of course, that she
could help Ginny, but he didn't really think that she could help him.

As it turned out, he was very wrong about that.

Betsy, she insisted on being called, was a young and very pretty woman with dyed purple hair and
wicked smile that would not have looked out of place on Loki's face. She arrived in a whirlwind of
charm, affability and casual yet stylish clothes. Or at least, Harry presumed they were stylish.
When he wondered whether a woman's outfit was stylish or not, which was very seldom indeed, he
made his judgement based on what he imagined Pepper's opinion would be. Yet she was a clearly a
woman on a Mission. The capital letter was definitely deserved.

Harry was not noted for confiding in anyone beyond those very close to him and did not
particularly want to talk about the horror his out of control powers had wrought, not even to the
woman who had specifically come to help him. This seemed to be fine with Betsy, as she seemed
to like hearing about Hogwarts and Quidditch and other fairly innocuous subjects. She soon
established herself as an excellent and sympathetic listener with a wicked but never cruel wit, and
whether it was that, the fact she was a fellow psychic or the fact that she was a very attractive
woman in a tight clothing who seemed to hang off his every word, Harry soon found himself
telling her everything, first about his school years, then about his past, and then about his misfiring
powers. From his intermittent super strength to the daunting realisation of how powerful he would
be one day and the great difficulty he had in dealing with his psychic powers, he told it all.

Finally, she had sat back and said, "there's nothing wrong with your powers, love. And there's
nothing wrong with you. Every psychic, every mutant, goes through it at one point or another. As
far as I can tell, you just need to learn control, the same way I did. I was right where you are now –
I wasn't as strong as you are, but I was more than strong enough to cause problems. When I was
about your age, a year or two younger maybe, my powers sometimes just burst out of me, and
nothing I could do could stop them."

Harry looked and felt surprised, not just at the fact that she'd pronounced him normal but at the
implication that Betsy, confident, calm and collected Betsy, had been his age and in his position.
Logically, of course, this was likely, but it was still difficult to imagine.

"I'll want to have a look in your head at some point to be absolutely certain and see what the lay of
the land is, but I'm 99% sure that everything's working just fine," she said, then laughed as Harry
blanched. "Don't worry. I know what I'll be looking for and it won't be anything dirty. I grew up
with a twin brother and thanks to my powers, we developed a psychic connection. And, well, let's
just say that once we hit puberty, I pretty quickly learnt to censor what came through."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, and just like that, a weight came off his shoulders. There was
someone who knew, someone who understood and, more to the point, didn't judge him.

This was perhaps a little ironic, because Ginny felt the same relief, once Betsy had broken down
her reserves and had in no uncertain terms told her not blame herself either for being taken in by a
man who had manipulated thousands without the benefit of psychic powers and had known exactly
what buttons to press, or for what he had done with her body. That had all been on him and the fact
that she had managed to break out of the possession for long enough to at least temporarily get rid
of Riddle's diary said a great deal about her strength of will. In other words, she should hold her
head high.

When Ginny said that psychic powers were dangerous, Betsy agreed. They were inarguably the
most dangerous ability of all, challenged only by transfiguration. After all, while you could learn to
defend yourself against psychic abilities, there was precious little one could do to prevent being
turned into a tree by a sufficiently powerful wizard. It was for this reason that the transformation of
a human was banned under the White Council's Seven Laws of Magic, for which the penalty was
death. For much the same reason, invading the mind of another and enthralling another by magic
were also capital offences under the same Laws, and the Imperius Curse earned one a lifetime in
Azkaban. This still left Ginny with a sticking point.

"What about non-magical psychic abilities, like yours and Harry's?" she asked.

"It's a bit of a grey area, love," Betsy said. "Thing is, it's like having ears. Unless someone's got
good psychic defences, like my boss, Sean – Professor Cassidy – or your headmaster and that
greasy teacher..."

"Professor Snape has psychic powers?" Ginny asked, eyes wide and horrified.

"Yeah, though I don't think he uses them for anything more than defence," Betsy said, tone
indicating that if he did, they would be having words, ones that Snape would not enjoy, particularly
not since various individuals had had words with him at semi regular intervals over the last six
months. "Anyhow, as I said, it's like ears: unless someone can block you, you're always going to
pick up random thoughts and feelings. As for going into someone's mind, consent's a big part of it.
There's nothing wrong with going into someone's mind if they know what they're letting
themselves in for and are willing to do it. But if they get cold feet, you back off immediately. Same
basic principle applies to sex, actually."

Ginny flushed bright red and Betsy smirked, before sobering and continuing. "If you break into
someone's mind and take control, well, usually it's a very big no-no. Sometimes, it's necessary,
maybe to break someone else's psychic control, or to get someone with a hostage to let them go.
But it's still a last resort. Personally, I prefer a simpler trick – if you want to know something, you
just project a thought, a suggestion at them, so they start thinking about it. Like when someone
says, 'don't think about purple elephants'..."

"And you can't stop thinking about them," Ginny said, nodding.

"Exactly."

In neither case was it an instant cure, far from it. But it was a beginning.

A pattern was soon settled into – on Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays, Betsy would come around
every afternoon and evening, spending an hour and a half with both Harry and Ginny, three hours
and two hours respectively on Sundays. This meant that Harry's time table, already crammed with
his 'detentions' with Professor Cassidy, assistance in more general hand to hand classes led by the
same and the practice that his uncle mandated for all his apprentices to go over their basics, was
stuffed to bursting point.

In the latter case, while, Loki said, he could not be there with them, this was a blessing in disguise:
the better their basics were, the easier they would find the more challenging disciplines. In any
case, this aspect of his absence left Harry somewhat relieved – in his own considered opinion, he
had enough on his plate as it was.

As a dry April shaded into a wet May, Betsy's separate sessions with both Harry and Ginny paid
dividends. Harry started with basic exercises, such as lifting small objects like match boxes,
progressing onwards to opening the match box, removing a match and striking it.

The emphasis, Betsy explained, was not on building up his psychic muscles. It was on developing
control. As time past, Harry's control of his powers grew in leaps and bounds, until sooner rather
than later, he could have gone without the braces entirely. He kept them, however, for the stated
reasons that they helped him with precision work and that he couldn't be too careful.

The third reason, which went unstated, was that they had belonged to his cousin Jean and formed a
tangible connection to a member of his maternal family who had actually cared for him. Betsy
knew because the conversation had wound its way around to Jean sooner rather than later, with
Harry eager to know anything about his cousin. As it turned out, they hadn't really known each
other, but when they had met, she had taken to the younger psychic. As for anyone else knowing,
Sean might have guessed, but neither of them said a word.

As for Ginny, the confident and outgoing girl that her friends knew slowly began to return, and she
got more and more used to Harry's presence. Indeed, much to Harry's surprise, she actually
engaged him in conversation one day.

It was a simple conversation, mainly about the weather and how terrible it was, making it entirely
unremarkable in its content. Talking about the weather was, after all, what the British did, even if
they were half Asgardian and usually resident in New York. The remarkable part was that she had
initiated the conversation at all, which had been something that Ginny would not normally have
done even before the onset of Harry's telepathy.

This rate of progress was possibly because, with the weather being grey, damp and unseasonably
cold, neither Harry nor Ginny was distracted by the summer sun. That said, Betsy had taken Harry
out on a walk in the grounds one afternoon when the sky was apparently clear to help clear his
head and get away from the psychic pressure of the busy and as exam season drew closer,
increasingly stressed, student body.

British weather being what it was – wet, unpredictable and almost vindictive, so therefore well
worth complaining about – it had waited until they were well clear of the castle and lulled into a
false sense of security before drenching the pair of them. While Harry had not particularly
appreciated the rain or the cold, he had definitely appreciated the way Betsy's shirt had clung to her
body and the way that body had unmistakably reacted to the cold, nipple erection and all.

Then, they got onto what would Harry's first proper use of telepathy, conscious or otherwise, since
the fateful evening in the Pensieve. He'd got the basics on telepathic self-defence from Betsy,
learning how to build walls of thought, psychic shields of his own that would protect him from
attack and help muffle other people's projected thoughts, and practising telepathic communication
with Betsy.

Indeed, once she was sure that he could do it, they only communicated telepathically. It was,
according to Betsy, another method of teaching him to focus on only projecting what he wanted to.
Since Harry was a teenage boy and Betsy was Betsy, he got good at it. Fast. Not, mind you, until
after one or two embarrassing incidents, but that merely sharpened his resolve.

This time was different.

"Okay," Betsy said. "What I want you to do now is to reach out and touch as many minds as you
can reach. Don't communicate, don't take a look, just touch, as lightly as you can."

"Last time I tried that... well, last time I did something like that by accident, it had consequences,"
Harry pointed out.

"Don't worry, love," Betsy said. "I've been teaching how to defend herself, same as I have you. It's
a way for her to stop being afraid." She stood up and knelt down behind him, fingers gently
brushing away his hair to rest against his temples. Harry gulped slightly, very aware of her
presence, and thought that this might not be the best way to ensure his concentration on the matter
at hand. "And I'll be here. If needs be, I'll give a little nudge, but mostly I'm just here to make sure
that it doesn't go wrong."

"Okay," Harry said. "Can I ask a question?"

"Sure. What do you want to ask?"

"Isn't this a bit ambitious?"

"I reckon that you can do it," Betsy said. "And there's another reason: I want to get a close look at
how you use your power, while you're using it, when you're using a lot of it."

"Okay," Harry said. This made sense, he felt. Sort of, anyway.

So, he shut his eyes, blocked out Betsy's distracting presence as best he could and slowly,
carefully, reached out with his telepathic senses. The first mind he touched was Filch, the next Mrs
Norris. He paused, noticing how the cat's mind was simpler than a human's, but more complex
than he'd expected. Then, shaking this off, he reached out further, getting surer and surer as he did.
At the same time, however, he began to feel like... well, if he was one of Tony's cars and his brain
was the engine with his powers being the wheels, there was something wrong with the
transmission.

Then, right by his ear, he heard Betsy murmur something.

"Gotcha."
 A Spot Of Hope

"Gotcha."

As soon as Betsy said it, Harry felt a sudden, massive drain of energy as if someone had stuck a
straw into his brain and was sucking it out. A moment later, he heard a strange humming sound and
abruptly the massive drain stopped, leaving him gasping and exhausted.

"Harry?" Betsy asked, tone one of controlled worry.

"I'm... I'm fine," Harry managed, as his eyes shut briefly. "What was that?"

"That," Betsy said. "Was someone who has been draining your powers for a little while now."

"What?!"

"Uh-huh," Betsy said. "Prof X picked up on it after your adventure in the pensieve went wrong. He
reckoned that your powers were reacting against it. Me, I'm not quite so sure – I think what they
were doing was sort of artificially stimulating your powers when they were in serious use and
siphoning off as much power as they could without being noticed."

"And just now?"

"Just now, I picked out the connection they were using and they must have noticed. Figuring that
the game was up, they then drained as much as they could before I used my psi-knife to cut the
connection," Betsy said. Harry practically heard her smirk. "And now you can bet that they've got
one hell of a headache."

"Is that why you wanted me to reach out?" Harry asked.

"Partly," Betsy said readily. "Sorry love, but if I'd told you, whoever was in your head would have
been forewarned."

Harry scowled slightly, but had to admit that he couldn't find any flaw in this reasoning. "And the
other part?"

"The other part was what I said it was: testing your fine control and your range," Betsy said with
equanimity. "Now," she added. "If you can imagine the way that person got into your head as a
backdoor, I'm locking it, bolting it, welding it shut and melting the lock for good measure. I'd
destroy it entirely, but it seems to be pretty closely interwoven with your mind and I can't remove it
without hurting you."

"Okay," Harry said. "So, when I was in the memory, all that power..."

"Came out because of whoever was meddling with your mind got greedy," Betsy said, nodding.
"Prof X's theory's a little different but it's the same basic idea – someone else caused it."

Harry felt... well. Part of him felt infuriated and vaguely violated, while another part of him felt
free and frankly, relieved as he processed the implications of this. Unbidden, the phrase his older
self had used at the end of his letter floated to the forefront of his mind. He could spread his wings
now, spread his wings and learn how to fly, without the fear of losing control.

As if hearing this thought – and she might well have done – Betsy said, "You'll still have to be a bit
careful, though. You're still going to have a lot of power to call on. But, on the upside, it's unlikely
to do anything major that you don't ask it to do."

She stood up, and Harry gulped as her breasts brushed against his back. A fair degree of familiarity
had not bred anything close to indifference to the fact that Betsy was a very attractive woman. With
most girls and women, this would have been merely bothersome, a reason to thank whoever for
baggy robes and to take more cold showers. All of this still applied to Harry, but there was an
added dimension. Most girls and women couldn't read minds. Betsy, on the other hand, was very
good at it. While one could reasonably point out that most ordinary women could read faces and
that in situations like these, Harry had the worst poker face in the world, this wasn't quite as bad
from Harry's point of view, since at least they couldn't see what you were thinking.

Betsy, of course, could, and the amused expression she generally wore – specifically, the one she
was wearing at the moment – suggested that she found it funny and just a little bit adorable. "If it
bothers you that much," she said, reaching down to give him a hand up. "Then you should use it as
incentive to practice your mental defences."

"Right," Harry mumbled, trying to push the vivid memory of how Betsy had looked when caught
in the rain out of his mind.

His only comfort was that Betsy had a similar effect on a significant number of his fellow students,
who seemed to have collectively decided that Harry was a magnet for hot people. It probably
helped, some of the girls in second, third and fourth year murmured appreciatively, occasionally
interspersed with giggles, that he was growing into quite a hot person himself.

And indeed, Harry would admit that he was growing up. The glasses, of course, were long gone,
though he still sometimes instinctively fumbled at his bedside table in the morning looking for
them. And he'd shot up. At the start of the year, he'd been only a little over five feet tall. Now, he
was a lot closer to six feet than five and sometimes he looked at his now puppyishly large hands,
wondering at how this was possible.

His considerably longer stride caught him out sometimes, meaning that he had to radically both
recalculate how long it took him to get from class to class. And when he looked in a mirror, he
sometimes felt like he was looking at a stranger. A tall, dark and handsome stranger, but a stranger
nevertheless.

He was stronger too – not just in the surges of superstrength, but in every day life. While he didn't
like bragging, he had a funny feeling that he was physically the strongest person in Hogwarts,
excepting only Hagrid and Warren.

All of this wasn't bad, as such, though the strength was something he had to watch. But it was just a
massive change, like everything he had been was slipping off him like water off a duck's back and
he had absolutely no idea what would be left when it was all gone. And then there was part of
Trelawney's tarot reading, the Death Card and how it had meant that he was going to undergo a
fairly spectacular metamorphosis. Perhaps, he thought, he was undergoing it already.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was not the only one who'd been mulling over the past. In this case, however, it
was dealt with quite quickly, shortly after the incident that was being mulled over.

"It was my fault," Sean finished. "I should ha' seen it comin'."

Warren, who had been listening patiently, nodded slowly. "I see," he said. "So, that's your view,
then? That it was your fault that the Pensieve Incident went pear shaped?"

"Who else could ha' been to blame?"

Warren gave him a long look, then leaned over and smacked him hard around the back of the head.
"You complete idiot," he said, as Sean swore foully. Warren, as had been mentioned, could bench
press a troll. When he smacked someone, they stayed smacked for some time. "Didn't you listen to
what the Professor and Betsy said? The kid had someone else in his head, messing with his powers,
someone you had no way of knowing about. Even the Professor had to take a really long look to
figure out that there might be something there. And you not unreasonably thought that he'd have a
similar sort of level of power and control that Jean did a few years back. If it wasn't for the
intervention of whoever, you'd have been right. So." He looked over at Sean, who was giving him
an evil look. "Do you understand now that it wasn't your fault, or do I have to say that again?
Because I will. And I will hit you harder, until I get it through your thick skull that you were not to
blame."

"Lad," Sean said, rubbing his head. "Ye're a complete bastard, sometimes, ye know that?"

"No one ever said that being a hero came with the requirement to be nice," Warren said cheerfully.
"Think of it as tough love." He grinned. "Besides," he added angelically. "It takes one to know
one."

Sean muttered a few choice words in Gaelic. Warren raised a hand.

"No, I got it the first time, thank ye ver' much," Sean said, grimacing.

Warren raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Aye," Sean said. "I understand. It wasn' my fault."

"Good," Warren said. "Now, I'm going to go stretch my wings, because I've spent half the morning
listening to you blame yourself and you're going to find an ice pack." And with that, he opened one
of the larger windows and leapt out.

"Every time I think I understand tha' young man, he finds a new way t' surprise me," Sean said.

"Yes, there is rather more to him than meets the eye, isn't there?" Professor McGonagall remarked.
Sean hadn't noticed her arrival, but did his best to pretend that he hadn't been caught surprised.
"Though, I suppose that the eye does not go wanting."

Sean's eyebrows rose.

"I'm old, not blind," McGonagall said dryly.

"Never, Minerva," Sean said gallantly. "Ye're a veritable rose in bloom."

"And you are a terrible liar," McGonagall retorted.

Sean shrugged. "Every rose has its thorn."

McGonagall gave him an unamused look, before a slight smile reappeared. "Your young protégé
does have many surprises to him. The way he confronted Severus, for one." She gave Sean a wry
look. "And the way he knocked a little sense into you. You have no idea how many times I have
wished that I could do the same to a number of my Gryffindors. Like you, they almost revel in
blaming themselves."
"Harry in particular."

"Yes," McGonagall said. "Though I think that between his father, Professor Xavier and Lady
Braddock, he has been more than informed he was not to blame. And if it fails to sink in, he will be
informed all the more until it gets through his exceptionally thick skull."

"He has been mopin' less than I expected," Sean said, who even in the depths of self-blame had
kept an eye on his student.

"Hopefully, then, you will follow his example," McGonagall said. "Or you will not merely have to
worry about Warren giving you a well deserved ding around the ear. Is that understood?"

Sean sighed, and for the second time in about as many minutes said, "Aye, I understand."

And that was the end of that.

OoOoO

Except it wasn't. Not quite.

Far away, in a forest in Albania, a being that was little more than spirit curled in on itself and
howled in pain. As Betsy had predicted, the backlash had caused one hell of a headache, which was
somehow made worse by the fact that the being in question didn't have a head. Instead, it would
have been more accurately described as a whole body migraine, except that the being didn't really
have a body, either.

Whatever words you used, however, it could be generally agreed that it hurt like hell.

"Master?" Peter Pettigrew asked, worried. He was a very small, wretched little man, who'd become
that much more wretched when he'd found out that not only were Thor and Loki, two of the gods of
old, returned to the world and very interested in Harry Potter, Thor was actually James Potter
reborn and if gossip held true, out for revenge. As was Loki who was, by dint of the fact that Thor
was Harry's father, the boy's uncle.

Once he'd found that out, he'd considered throwing himself at their mercy, but only for a very brief
moment. He guessed, correctly, that none would be forthcoming, so he'd gone to find the only
person he thought could protect him: his old master, Voldemort.

What he had found was little more than a spirit, reduced to possessing animals every now and then,
and for a while, it had looked as if he was going to stay that way. Pettigrew had despaired. But
then, very slowly, from Christmas time onwards, he'd seemed to get slightly stronger. Then, over
Easter, he'd got far stronger, seeming to imbibe power in from some invisible spring, growing
stronger and stronger, to the point where he could manifest something close to his old physical
body and communicate with Pettigrew mind to mind from miles away.

Eventually, he had plucked up the courage to ask and his master had deigned to explain: his
attempt to kill the Potter boy had left a connection, one that had been opened wider by the boy's
acquisition of greater and greater power. Strangely, he didn't seem at all perturbed by the fact that
he was feeding off the lifeforce of a young demigod with extremely powerful relatives. "Ambrosia
is the food of the gods, Wormtail," he had said. "And the gods are food for me." Then he had
laughed and Pettigrew had shuddered. "Besides," he had then added. "They will wish to destroy me
anyway. I hardly think that this will make any difference."

That, Pettigrew had to admit, was probably true. Now, though, he was wondering if something had
gone wrong. His master was positively glowing with power, yes, but he was also howling with
pain.

"Master?" he asked again. "Are you all right?"

"So," Voldemort murmured, apparently in a world of his own. "Braddock's spawn proves as brave
and as foolish as her father. But successful, for now." He turned to Pettigrew. "I will no longer be
able to draw on the boy's strength, Wormtail," he said. "Which means you must do give me
something."

"Anything, my lord," Pettigrew said, shivering.

He felt, or rather, didn't feel, all the feeling in his body disappear.

"Your body," Voldemort hissed.

Pettigrew couldn't scream. That wasn't to say, during what followed, that he didn't try.

Some time later, Voldemort examined his new fingers, skin still shining and fresh. Wormtail's
recycled carcass would not have been his first choice of new housing, he mused, but it would have
to do. In any case, he thought as he drew his wand, which Wormtail had so thoughtfully procured
for him, he could feel the tingle of magic in him again as he conjured a robe. That would be delight
enough, he thought as he examined his face, seeing to his satisfaction that it was restored to the
handsome ness of his youth. While he'd never prized such things, he could not deny their use.

But no, there was more than just magic in him now. Now, he had a considerable portion of the
boy's power. Power that the child had had no idea at all about how to use, he thought, as he let his
legilimency senses reach out to a range thousands of times greater than they had previously been
able.

No. No idea at all.

Voldemort smiled. "Well then," he murmured to himself. "I shall educate him, then. But first… I
think I will discover the dispositions of this much changed world."

He stepped forward, disappearing with a crack. He had things to do and places to be. And in the
fullness of time, he would see if he could make the gods themselves tremble before him.

OoOoO

"Harry?"

Harry turned. Behind him was Professor Lupin, who'd just poked his head out of his classroom.
"Yes, Professor?"

"Could I have a word with you?"

Harry blinked and followed Lupin into the classroom, Freki and Geri trotting patiently behind him.

"What did you want to talk about, sir?"

"I mostly wanted to be sure that you were all right," Lupin said. "After what happened in the
pensieve and discovering that there was someone else in your head, on top of the year that you've
had... well. Anyone would be shaken."

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Is that why I haven't seen you with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger
in recent weeks?"

Harry averted his gaze, which was difficult, since both of the wolves were also giving him pointed
looks. It was true, he had been avoiding them, having as little contact with them as possible.

"You have been staying away from them because you are afraid of what they will think," Lupin
said.

Harry nodded, surprised. "How did you –"

"I am a werewolf, Harry. Very few people accept it with as much equanimity as you did. Indeed,
most hate and fear my kind," Lupin said quietly. "And not without reason. A werewolf at the full
moon without the influence of the Wolfsbane potion is one of the deadliest creatures known to
man. I thought that when your father, Sirius and – your father and Sirius found out, they would hate
me, fear me."

"Did they?"

"No, not really. Your father, perhaps thanks to his subconscious memories of the Wolf People of
Asgard that he told me about, or perhaps simply because he knew no fear in those days, was
mostly curious. Sirius took a little time, but soon came round," Lupin said.

"And my mother?"

"By the time I got around to telling her, she already knew," Lupin said. "She had none of the
instinctive prejudices of the Wizarding World and felt that it made little to no difference to who I
was, beyond explaining why I was always ill around the full moon. Your father and Sirius' attitude
towards my condition – namely, that it was merely 'a furry little problem' and didn't change things
one bit – actually raised them somewhat in her estimation."

"That's good," Harry said.

"Friends are important, Harry," Lupin said, voice gently pointed. "Life is much emptier without
them." He turned away. "I will see you tomorrow. You should find the next lesson interesting."

"All of your lessons are interesting, Professor," Harry said loyally. It was true – he did find them
interesting.

Lupin smiled. "Thank you, Harry," he said.

OoOoO

In the end, Harry took Lupin's advice and tentatively reached out to Ron and Hermione. To his
profound relief, they didn't blame him in the least – indeed, they'd been worried that he'd thought
that they had.

But there was a hint of wariness about them now. They weren't precisely afraid of him, but
whenever he used his telekinesis to say, fetch a book, he felt a hint of tension in the air, as if they
expected the worst. Harry resigned himself to it – his powers had malfunctioned severely and
nearly got them all killed. And the fact of it was, while Ron and Hermione were more than familiar
with the perils of magic, Hogwarts had sheltered them. While this was a sad thing to say when Ron
had been belted by a sentient chess piece in first year and almost eaten by Aragog's children in
second year, while Hermione had spent a goodly portion of second year petrified by the basilisk, in
two of those three cases, they had gone looking for trouble.
Now, Harry felt, trouble found him every time he turned around. And not just any trouble,
Avengers scale trouble, usually in the form of some foul abomination/robotic monster trying
earnestly to capture him or give him a one way ticket to the afterlife. It scared him, he had to
admit, but he was coming to accept it as part of his life. Get up, go to school, save school/survive
latest murder attempt.

And part of him enjoyed it. While most of him was perfectly happy with the relatively quiet life, a
significant part of him exulted in the rush of combat, the challenge of pitting his wits against the
monster of the month and the way his blood sang in a fight. It was quite a recent development
(though precisely when it had developed he couldn't say) and that also worried him a bit. But not
too much. After all, his father was practically proverbial for enjoying a good fight. It was an
Asgardian thing. Beyond that, he'd always been looking to push the boundaries, to find out what
was around the next corner, to solve the mystery.

Ron and Hermione didn't. They followed him into trouble because they were his friends, but given
the choice, they'd hole up in the Common Room with set of wizard's chess or a book. Hermione
was very curious in her own way, but that tended to be in the province of academia. This wasn't to
say that they were cowards or that he saw them as any less – quite the opposite. They were very
brave and if there was a need to stand up and be counted, they'd be there. But they didn't enjoy it.
And he, gods help him, did.

Professor Lupin was right: friends were important. However, it was equally important to realise
that it wasn't fair to use friendship to take people places where they didn't belong.

OoOoO

Though he did not know it, some of Harry's thoughts rather paralleled Steve's. Indeed, they were
rather a lot alike. Both of them had started out as small, scrawny boys well used to being knocked
down with little on their side beyond pure bloody mindedness and had been rather abruptly shoved
into the limelight, undergoing some fairly dramatic physical changes in and around the same time.
They had stepped up to fight for what was right, hated bullies and were genuinely kind, sweet and
noble people, while being rather sharper than people gave them credit for. They were also both
complete dorks. And above all, they both went looking for trouble or, at the very least, didn't know
to run when it came calling.

This might not always have been immediately obvious, what with the not unreasonable worries
about Harry's volatile temper, vengeful tendencies and how he was bearing up under the strain of
all the expectation that had been dropped on his head and, of course, a number of murder attempts,
but it didn't take much looking to see.

It was therefore a little strange that of the Avengers, Steve was the one that Harry interacted with
the least. That wasn't to say that they didn't like each other – quite the opposite. Steve had, for
instance, taught Harry more than a few of the moves in his repertoire, including some surprisingly
dirty ones that he'd learned in the back alleys of Brooklyn. In fights, you didn't get prizes for
fairness, even if you did happen to be Captain America. But they didn't hang out all that much.

This was possibly down to a number of things, the most important one being that like most, Harry
held Steve in a kind of awe that he didn't hold the other Avengers.

Thor and Loki were gods and Princes, sure, but they were family. Tony was relentlessly informal
and approachable, in his own way, with a showman's charm. Clint had easily slipped into the big
brother role, and he and Harry had bonded over a mutual love of flying. Harry and the Hulk had
bonded because the Hulk liked kids and Harry gave zero shits about outward appearance, while
Harry and Bruce got on because Bruce was quiet and kind. As for Natasha, who most people found
to be by far the most terrifying Avenger unless she intended them to find otherwise, Harry wasn't
quite old enough to be aware of/bothered by her reputation, which in turn had rather endeared him
to her.

But Steve... Steve was Captain America, the archetypal hero, a real life King Arthur, lost for
decades in an icy sleep, before reawakening and returning to the fray in his country's time of need.
Until a few years ago, he'd been half myth – sure, there'd been a Captain America, the thought
went, but surely one man couldn't do all that? He was a propaganda stunt. A brave soldier, to be
sure, but still just a stunt.

Then, he'd stepped out of the history books and proved that yes, he could do all that, and twice on
Sundays if need be. To complete the Arthurian symbolism, he even came complete with a
signature indestructible weapon.

He was a living legend and as Tony put it, kind of lived up to the legend. Even if the aura of pure
legend around him wasn't enough, there was the man himself. He was the sort of man you admired
and didn't want to disappoint. And Harry, who was a boy with fairly low self-esteem to begin with,
regularly feared disappointing people he admired.

Yes, he had played the odd prank on Steve, but that was usually when he had a devil on each
shoulder in the form of Fred and George Weasley, or at the suggestion/instigation of Tony Stark,
who was, in this context, the Arch-Devil.

On Steve's part, well, he didn't want to intrude on the dynamic that Harry had with his father and
uncle, nor even with the one he had with Tony – though he did despair slightly at the latter, since it
essentially amounted to Harry getting an IV of pure mischief. In fact, he didn't want to intrude in
general out of a misguided and almost British desire not to put himself forward. Nevertheless, the
two of them had a lot in common, if only they would pay more attention to it.

For instance, right now, both of them were mulling over friends – though to complicate matters,
Steve wasn't aware that he was.

As he entered the training room Tony had set up, apparently based on something called 'the Danger
Room', he was preoccupied by the issue of the Winter Soldier.

During their fight in the Rockies, he'd had pretty much every advantage – size, strength (if only by
a fairly narrow margin) and mobility. He'd had Natasha and Clint with him too, and a better two
person team he could hardly imagine, especially since one of the two knew the Soldier better than
anyone alive. The only advantages the Soldier had had were surprise and experience, both of which
he had milked for all they were worth.

Over the years, before and after the ice, Steve had faced many enemies. Some of them were as
strong as him and quite a few were stronger. But very rarely were they better. And even more
rarely did they show him what he could have been, what he could still become.

The Red Skull had been one such example, aptly demonstrating the dark side of his own leadership
skills. That had been more than bad enough. But the Soldier... the Soldier showed a possibility that
he really, genuinely feared: that he might live and fight for so long that one day, he would be
nothing more than a living weapon, unquestioning of orders, deadly and devoid of all but the
scattered fragments of a conscience and only differentiated from the likes of the Soldier by a more
colourful uniform.

In a more immediate sense, he showed what a super soldier was really capable of. Steve had
always liked to believe that the Red Skull's insane rhetoric about leaving humanity behind was just
the empty, delusional words of a maniac and that he himself was just Steve Rogers, the boy from
Brooklyn who never knew when to run from a fight, only more so. But physically speaking, after
facing the Soldier at close quarters, reading up on his file and the witness accounts of those few
who'd seen him fight and lived to tell the tale, he wondered if there wasn't some truth to it.

The Soldier was, to put it simply, superhuman. Sure, officially speaking, he and Steve himself were
just the very peak of human potential, but in real terms, they were superhuman. The fastest human
sprinters were clocked at 26 or 27 mph at full pelt. Steve, at full sprint, could hit 60 mph, could
keep up speeds of 45 mph for hours and 30 mph for days. And the only real reason he had to stop
was he ran out fuel, as it were. His reflexes and reaction time were similarly lightning fast.

He wasn't stronger, though that arm of his seemed to be able to generate greater striking force than
either of Steve's flesh and blood arms, with witness reports from the assault on MI13 stating that
he'd crumpled a titanium door with it. As for lifting, well. Steve could comfortably lift two average
sized women and a motorcycle in one hand over his head with no strain whatsoever. SHIELD
tested his strength, along with everything else, so they knew what they were dealing with and had a
statistical baseline. Tony had then retested him, on the grounds that he didn't trust SHIELD's data.

They'd found that he could bench press 3.5 metric tons, and Bruce had suggested that he could,
with time and training, press more. After all, his healing abilities were fairly spectacular. While
they weren't in the same class as Logan, for whom bullets were a mere passing annoyance, they
were pretty strong. Cuts and moderate puncture wounds healed in minutes, bullet wounds in less
than a day and bruises were, for the most part, a thing of the past, unless he'd been taking a
consistent pasting or had been hit by someone really strong, like Loki, Thor or one of Tony's
armours in a sparring match. Similarly, he healed slower if he'd been exerting himself more or his
body was put under severe strain.

All of that meant that if he trained, he had a greatly enhanced recovery time. He could push himself
to his limits over and over again, if need be, something which Steve was generally leery of doing.
Well, in a fight, of course he pushed himself to his limits and beyond, because that was what you
did. If it could save one life, then ruptured tendons, broken bones and bullet wounds were a cheap
price to pay. But outside of where it was necessary, he'd avoided it, because, unconsciously, he felt
it pushed him further away from humanity.

Until now, outside of his subconscious fears, they'd merely been numbers on a sheet or more often
than not these days, a screen. Numbers, stats, unless they were tactically relevant, were Tony and
Bruce's department and he was of the opinion that a person was far more than numbers and stats.

But now he thought more about them and what they meant, because they were tactically relevant,
because he was dealing with someone who was his equal, far more skilled and far more
experienced – if anything, over short distances at least, the Winter Soldier was faster than him.
Whether this was experience allowing him to better predict Steve's moves, reaction time or an all
out speed advantage, Steve didn't know, but it was there and had to be taken into account.

That, though, was only part of it. The other part was the implications for his own separation from
humanity. The Soldier, for instance, was about as human as Tony's armour, something that the
occasional flickering suggestions of humanity actually made worse. It gave off the impression that
the remnants of the man he had once been were trapped in the cold, mechanical and remorseless
machinery of his altered mind, the mind of a living weapon. And to make matters worse, from what
Natasha said, his own impressions and Pepper and Tony's descriptions of how he'd acted when he'd
brought Carol back safely, the Soldier had once been a good man. But now, occasional vestiges
aside, he wasn't. Now, he was Steve's dark reflection.
Steve was the living legend who inspired hope (one of the few parts of his fame that he was
somewhat comfortable with), a modern day myth whose story was known by pretty much
everyone in the industrialised world and large parts of the rest. The Winter Soldier was an ageless
wraith, a Cold War nightmare who left death in his wake and a living ghost story who little was
known about – and what little that was known was nearly as horrifying as the worst of the stories.

He was, to put it simply, unstoppable. Where physical power and skill weren't enough, other traits
came into play. Those traits included a similarly enhanced mind to his own which could make
probability calculations in a heartbeat, careful planning and judging by what had happened to poor
old Monty's son, the sort of bullets that could potentially even kill Thor or the Hulk if properly
applied. Oh, and experience. The Winter Soldier had spent sixty or so years killing humans,
superhumans and monsters of all kinds.

Part of Steve had always feared what would happen if he let the soldier part of him overtake the
man. Now, his fears had physical form.

He looked up, roused from his thoughts by the buzzer that indicated that his session was over. Two
dozen hard light Doombots, designed by a mixture of machinery and magic to perfectly mimic the
real thing, energy blasts and all, were lying on the floor of the room in a state of considerable
disrepair, while the five randomly generated 'civilians' had been safely moved out of harm's way.

That troubled him just a little bit more. It was, after all, a very apt demonstration that while his
higher brain functions were otherwise occupied, his body had got on with things with speed,
efficiency and by the looks of the hard light Doombots, no little brutality.

In short, if you took the man away, only the soldier remained.

OoOoO

Dualism was not only Steve's concern, however.

"Today, we won't be talking about magical creatures," Lupin said. "Instead, we will be discussing
those who use magical means to take on the attributes of another creature, blurring the lines
between man and beast."

"Like werewolves, Professor?" Seamus asked.

"Not quite, Seamus. Lycanthropy is a curse, one that no one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever
sought out," Lupin said, without batting an eyelid. "Largely thanks to the fact that the
transformation time is limited and without the Wolfsbane potion, it is uncontrollable. Some have
sought to turn into wolves by magical means, such as the Hexenwulfen, who are transformed by
artefacts of dark wandless magic, or some talented enough in wandless magic to transform
themselves into wolves."

"And animaguses, sir," Dean said.

"Not quite, Dean," Lupin said. "Some animagi have become wolves, but not because they chose to.
Your animagus form is not something you can choose. Some have tried, in the case of the wizard of
Caerbannog, going to quite extraordinary lengths to try and ensure his transformation into a lion in
order to lay waste to his enemies. He could not, however, defy destiny and instead transformed into
a rabbit. In the interests of fairness, he did apparently make quite a vicious rabbit, possibly out of
sheer frustration."

He smiled slightly at the laughter, then continued. "Instead of fully transforming, the person seeks
to become the totem of the beast in question, to gain its powers while retaining their reason, unlike
a werewolf without Wolfsbane, and opposable thumbs, unlike anyone who fully transforms into an
animal. Sometimes, gods and other powerful beings are invoked to help in this process, while in
other cases, some choose to devour part of the animal to gain its strength. It is primarily the
province of wandless wizards and a feature of shamanistic practice."

"Can someone turn into more than one animal, Professor?" Ron asked. "I mean, like an animagus,
but with more than one animal."

"For a wanded wizard? Almost certainly not," Lupin said. "And with the exception of one member
of the Senior Council of the White Council of Wandless Wizards, a man with centuries of
experience, such powerful shapeshifting is usually the sole province of creatures of the
Nevernever, the Spirit World and the other realms of the World Tree, or the half-mortal children of
the same. I believe that the Fae are particularly good at it."

Hermione frowned and stuck her hand up.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Professor, aren't the Fae a muggle fairytale?" she asked.

Lupin's expression turned very serious. "No, they are not," he said. "I want you all to listen
carefully: the Fae, particularly the Sidhe, are very real and very, very dangerous. They don't often
bother us, which is partly why the Wizarding community at large has decided to ignore them.
Indeed, there was a long running trend in Wizarding academia that was dedicated to explaining that
they did not exist. A full explanation would take far too long, but a short summary would be... yes,
Harry?"

"There are two Courts, Summer and Winter, also called Seelie and Unseelie," Harry said. "And six
Queens, three for each Court – Lady, Queen and Mother. The Ladies are Lily for Summer and
Maeve for Winter." He frowned, remembering. "And the Queens are Titania for Summer and Mab
for Winter. Oh, and each Court has a human knight, who has some of their powers and does things
that they can't. Like touch iron – they really hate it."

"Exactly right," Lupin said approvingly. "How did you know?"

"I met the Summer Lady and Summer Knight in Asgard at Christmas," Harry said. "And heard
about someone narrowly escaping the Winter Lady with his virtue intact."

There were a few sniggers. Lupin, though, raised his eyebrows. "A rare claim," he remarked. "But
perhaps not surprising." He looked at the class. "Harry is correct. There are also smaller courts of
the so-called 'Wyldfae', led by the likes of Gwynn ap Nud, Oberon and the Erlking. The latter, I
should add, is not to be mistaken for an Erkling. They are very different creatures. Both Oberon
and the Erlking are recorded as masters of the Wild Hunt and the latter in particular is invoked by
those who wish to channel the spirits of hunting creatures. Oberon is also invoked, but where the
Erlking will willingly grant power to one he deems worthy, Oberon is known to be more
capricious. If you wish to know more about the Fae, I can give you a list of books that give a
reasonably accurate portrayal." He paused. "However, we have got off track."

He tapped the board with his wand and the chalk began writing. "Generally speaking, to become a
totem of an animal, you need three things: something to either represent the beast you want to
claim the powers of or the being you wish to invoke, a spell or ritual to transfer those abilities to
yourself and an incredibly strong will," he said. "The latter is rare, contributing to why successful
totems are extremely rare. Those who are successful often pass the secrets and techniques to their
descendants, explaining why it runs into families. It has also been speculated that over time, certain
bloodlines become more and more attuned to being totems, though some argue against it, since
adopted sons and daughters have been known to take to the totem just as easily." He turned to the
class. "Can anyone tell me the name of a notable totem?"

Hermione, predictably raised her hand, but so did Harry.

"Harry?"

"The Black Panthers, Kings and Princes of Wakanda," Harry said. "My grandmother called them
the Sons of Bastet and said she fought beside them." He coughed, sounding a little embarrassed.
"About three thousand years ago."

Lupin nodded. "Yes," he said. "The Panther Kings of Wakanda are perhaps the most famous and
successful totems, made particularly remarkable by the fact that almost all of them have been
muggles. As Harry says, they invoke Bastet, acting as High Priests of the Panther Cult. They also
claim descent from her."

Every student in the room eyed Harry, who sighed.

"Since the dynasty reaches back into prehistory, no one can say for sure that they aren't," Lupin
continued. "All that can be stated for certain is that they originally came from Egypt approximately
five thousand years ago, bringing the worship of Bastet with them, and the beginnings of modern
Wakanda were conquered by a man called Bashenga, who seems to be the founder of the ruling
Udaku dynasty. Whatever their origins, they possess considerably enhanced strength, speed, agility
and senses that are just as sharp as the creature whose name they bear."

"If they're muggles, how and why do they use magic?" Lavender asked, frowning. "I mean, even if
they could, aren't muggles afraid of magic?"

"Not as many as you might think," Lupin said. "It is true that people have always feared what they
do not understand, and Western wizards aren't the only ones to isolate themselves from their non-
magical brethren. But in a surprising number of civilisations, the magical and the mundane have
co-existed for a very long time, Wakanda being one of them. While magic is not always loved, it is
often respected. You would think that this would make muggles aware of magic, the truth is that
for a very long time, muggles, specifically western muggles, have been entirely willing to
rationalise or dismiss that which they cannot explain, and the native witches and wizards have
responded by retreating somewhat. This is not to say that they are incapable of understanding it,
more that they choose not to as it does not fit their view of the world. After all, the reverse could be
said of wizards and muggle technology."

"But we don't need to know about muggle technology," one student said, frowning. "We have
magic."

Hermione sniffed, but said nothing. Harry snorted. Loudly.

Lupin smiled faintly. "A muggle student might reply that they don't need magic because they have
technology," he said. "In many respects, modern muggles have started to surpass us. Those in the
richer, more powerful nations are becoming aware that the supernatural is real and that they have
the means to do something about it. And in truth, a select number of them have never forgotten.
The Avengers are proof enough of that." He turned to Hermione. "But that is not the subject of this
class. I believe that you had another totem for us, Hermione."

Hermione flushed slightly and nodded. "The White Tiger," she said. "An amulet sometimes
considered to be the South American equivalent of the Black Panther, because it grants similar
abilities."

Lupin nodded. "Indeed," he said, tapping the board again. The chalk obligingly drew a blocky cat's
head, composed of straight lines and sharp angles. "The White Tiger's origin is also unknown,
because it is older than writing. Unlike the rituals of the Panther clan, it invokes an unknown and
thoroughly ancient animal spirit, which is bound to an amulet that is passed from father to son and
occasionally, mother to daughter. Each bearer and future bearer of the amulet trains religiously to
be able to control the power within. If they do not do so, or lack the will to control the power
within, they transform into something more beast than man, comparable to werewolf, even a Loup
Garou, in its ferocity."

"What's a Loup Garou, professor?" Ron asked.

"A very rare kind of werewolf, Ron," Lupin said. "Passed on via a bloodline curse – it cannot be
transmitted to those who aren't directly descended from the bearer. They are extremely powerful
and can only be killed by inherited silver." He nodded at the drawing of the amulet. "When an
unaware conquistador found the amulet and was possessed by its power, he slaughtered hundreds
over the course of the next several yeras, and it took an army to kill him. Needless to say, it is a
very dangerous artefact." He looked around at the class. "There have been other totems, some no
longer extant. Bears and wolves, for instance, have been reported in Scandinavian and Native
American shamanic tradition, tigers in India and lions in parts of Africa, including the cult of
Sekhmet, which was a rival of the Wakandan Panther cult for centuries. There was even supposed
to be a Gorilla cult, but if it ever existed, it died out many centuries ago. You might notice, by the
way, that these are all mammals."

There was a murmur of assent.

"This is because mammals are the most similar of all animals to humans, so easiest to relate to, as it
were," Lupin said. "And because apex predators, the most popular target for totems, are usually
mammals. That said, sometimes birds of prey are used, some reptiles and I have even seen some
evidence to suggest that, every now and then, a spider totem shows up."

Ron gulped.

"Now," Lupin said. "I want twelve inches on the history of a totem of your choice for next week.
Higher marks will be awarded for better research." His expression turned wry. "In other words," he
said. "I don't want to read my notes repeated back to me in essay format. Understood?"

"Yes Professor," the class replied, in various tones of drone.

"Good. I await your essays with interest."

OoOoO

Harry looked up from his essay at Hermione, who had a stack of books beside her, and idly
wondered if it would be either rude or cheating (or both) if he tried to get into contact with Prince
T'Challa for help with his homework. It did seem a little forward. Then again, you never knew if
you didn't ask. Then, he cocked his head, reading the titles of Hermione's book pile.

Power of the Wild: a history of totemistic embodiment

Secrets of the Panther Kings

The Brotherhood of the Wolf

"What's your essay on?" he asked.

"I'm comparing the different practices of various totemic cults around the world," Hermione said.
"Though the library hasn't been entirely helpful."

Both Ron and Harry stared at her like she'd grown another head. This was the first time they'd ever
heard her suggest that the library might be less than the source of all knowledge.

Hermione sighed. "The library is an excellent source of information, but it's only as good as the
books in it and the people who wrote those books," she said. "Professor Lupin said that most
wanded wizards like to pretend that the Fae don't exist, for example."

"So therefore," Ron said, a little smugly. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in books."

Hermione grimaced, then said grudgingly, "Yes, Ron." She sniffed. "And the solution," she said.
"Is to check your facts and get better books."

Ron sighed loudly. "So close," he lamented, shaking his head, then went back to reading Quidditch
Through the Ages. He was taking a more relaxed view to his essay, which earned him a deeply
disapproving look from Hermione.

"Anyway," Hermione said. "I decided to do a bit of reading on Wakanda. No one really knows all
that much, but there are some fascinating things."

"Like what?" Ron asked, tone indicating that he didn't really want to hear, but was asking because
Hermione clearly wanted to tell them.

"Well," Hermione said. "Wakandan magic was primarily wandless, using shamanic practice
blended with ceremonial Egyptian magic and a few other influences. When they came into contact
with European wanded witches and wizards, first indirectly through the Ottoman Empire's rule of
Egypt, then more directly in the colonial era, they adopted wands because of their convenience and
efficiency. Though apparently Wakandan wands are a bit different from European ones."

"How so?" Harry asked, curious.

"Well, they use different trees, for starters, because of what's available. And the cores are usually
different," Hermione said. "They still use dragon heartstring – though usually of a different kind of
dragon – but they use other things like Nundu whiskers as well. And the very best and most loyal
witches and wizards, wanded and wandless, have their wand – or in the case of the wandless
Wizards, their focus – enhanced with Vibranium."

"What's Vibranium when it's at home?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"It's a very rare and very strong metal," Harry said. "It's the stuff that makes up Steve's shield.
Which, by the way, shrugs off hits from Mjolnir." He paused. "Oh, and I think that Tony made
some in his basement once."

Hermione shot Harry an odd look, then said, "it also stores and magnifies magical energy, which
can lead to the wand exploding if not used carefully. And Wakanda's sitting on top of the only
deposit of it in the world," Hermione said. "It's part of why they're so powerful, the same way that
Britain and other European countries could rely on lots of iron and coal to build weapons and
power ships. Once, they had an Empire that covered most of East Africa."

"Bloody hell," Ron said, impressed. "What happened there?"

"Same thing that happens to all empires – they overreached," Hermione said.

"But if they had magical kings and magic metal..."

"They're still human, Ron," Hermione said. "Humans make mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Harry said quietly. "Doesn't matter what you are."

"Quite," Hermione said after a moment. "Anyway, Wakanda's powerful enough that no one's
bothered trying to invade them for over a hundred years except for the Italians during World War
II, after they conquered Ethiopia."

"What happened?" Harry asked, suspecting that he had a fair idea.

"An Italian army went into the forests around Wakanda's borders and didn't come out again,"
Hermione said. "And Mussolini – muggle Italy's ruler, Ron – woke up one morning to find the
general's severed head on the pillow next to him. After that, even HYDRA weren't too interested in
picking a fight, though they and Grindelwald both wanted Wakanda's vibranium, so maybe they
were just too busy with the Allies and Captain America to get around to invading."

"Maybe HYDRA are after it now," Ron suggested. "I mean, if I were Lucius Malfoy and I was
facing the Ministry, SHIELD and the Avengers, I'd want every advantage I could get."

Harry privately thought that based on prior evidence, Lucius Malfoy and, indeed, HYDRA in
general, weren't going to be particularly worried about the Ministry. Other than that, though, Ron
had a good point.

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "Wakanda is very protective of its Vibranium and HYDRA
doesn't have the firepower."

"'Course they do. They've got the Winter Soldier," Ron said. "I mean, no one's going to be able to
stop him. No one ever has. And if he had a magically lightened and enlarged bag, he could steal as
much of the stuff as he could reach."

Harry and Hermione gave this due consideration.

"Well, maybe," Hermione said slowly. "But if there's anyone human outside of Captain America
who's strong enough and good enough to take him, it'll be the Black Panther. I mean, as far as I
know, the Soviets never sent him to Wakanda, and if they could get their hands on Vibranium,
they would have done. Any government would. Maybe they decided it wasn't worth the risk. And
besides, there's two Black Panthers at the moment, King T'Chaka and Prince T'Challa."

"Seriously?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. "They go through the rituals when they come of age. It means that if one of
them dies suddenly, for whatever reason, there'll always be another Black Panther ready to take the
throne," she said. "No, I think they'll be saving the Winter Soldier for something else. I mean, he
was here only a few months ago."

Ron shivered. "Don't remind me," he said.

Harry opened his mouth to say that the Winter Soldier wasn't that bad, then caught himself just in
time. The same reasons as before applied – if he said anything, Ron or Hermione might blab. Then
someone at HYDRA could figure out that the Winter Soldier had gone against his orders and a
long way out of his way to save Carol's life and sacrificed a perfect opportunity to kill or capture an
unarmed Avenger, the CEO of Stark Industries and kidnap a bunch of exhausted superpowered (or
not quite superpowered in Carol's case) kids. And then, bad things would happen, to the Soldier
and probably, to everyone else.

So he kept his peace and buckled down to his essay. Some secrets had to be kept.

OoOoO

"This is a very impressive essay, Harry," Lupin said. "But where did you get some of this
information?"

Harry looked a little shifty.

"I'm not suspicious, Harry," Lupin said kindly. "I know that you have access to information that
most of your fellow students do not. I'm just curious – I've never read anything like this."

"Uh. I asked the Black Panther, sir. Prince T'Challa."

Lupin raised both eyebrows. "And how did you manage that?"

"I asked Dad, who asked the other Avengers," Harry said. "Turns out that Bruce, Doctor Banner,
spent some time in Wakanda trying to figure out how to deal with the Hulk. He still had contacts
there, including Prince T'Challa."

"I was under the impression that Wakanda was rather hostile to outsiders."

"And I was under the impression that being hostile to the Hulk was a very bad idea, sir."

Lupin chuckled. "Point taken," he said.

"And I've met T'Challa before," Harry added. "He's cool. He gave me some good advice."

"I see. I take it that you made notes during this conversation?"

"Yes, Professor."

"May I see them?" Lupin asked. "Wakanda has been traditionally very isolated and somewhat
paranoid about outsiders – though not without reason. Consequently, most of what we know about
the Black Panther and Wakanda magic at large has been drawn from outsider's accounts and the
occasional cultural exchange. Any new information, from the mouth of a Black Panther no less,
would be academically invaluable."

Harry nodded. "Of course, Professor," he said.

OoOoO

Lupin was not the only one transported to a state of academic glee by someone Harry had indirect
contact with.

In this case, it was instigated by the presence of a certain Doctor Hank McCoy, who had turned up
to give Harry a check up and take readings of his powers. That, however, was not the only subject
under discussion.

"When you met me at Tony's party, you recognised me, didn't you, Doctor McCoy?" Harry said,
after going through the exercises that Hank had proscribed.
"I did," Hank said.

"Because you'd met my future self in the past."

"I had," Hank said.

"What was he like?"

"Well, he was a lot like you," Hank said. "Which, under the circumstances, is to be expected." He
paused, seeing that Harry was looking unimpressed by this little joke, and relented. "I can't tell you
specifics. He was… impressive. Authoritative, when he needed to be. He was a bit guarded and
occasionally snappish, but under the circumstances, that was hardly surprising. He was, after all, a
teenager – though a remarkably mature one – who'd been shoved out of his comfort zone with great
force, and had many of the flaws and foibles one might expect." He smiled slightly. "He was also
stubborn to the point of insanity."

"I see," Harry said quietly.

"He was also kind, friendly and though he knew that he couldn't directly change anything, he did
his best to take the edge off some of the harsher experiences we faced," Hank continued. "And for
that I, among others, am forever grateful."

Harry smiled slightly. "Thanks," he said, then frowned. "No, wait, I haven't done it yet. Uh…" He
shook his head. "I hate time travel."

"If memory serves, you always will," Hank said dryly.

"Nice to know that some things don't change," Harry replied, tone just as dry. Then, his expression
became less certain. "Doctor McCoy… my cousin, Jean –"

"Is fine and will let neither hell nor high water impede her when she finds out about you," Hank
said. "Or, perhaps I should say, finds out about you again, when she shakes off the vestiges of that
wretched telepath's influence. If I ever get my hands on him…" He trailed off, words unspoken
morphing into a growl that wouldn't have shamed a tiger.

"I think you'll have to get in the queue," Harry observed.

"Quite possibly so," Hank said. "I must say, if it were up to me, you and Jean would have been
brought together the day after I met you at that party. While I understand better than most why you
could not, I felt very much like saying, 'bugger the space-time continuum'."

"I'm not sure that that's possible, Doctor McCoy," Harry said, utterly poker-faced.

Hank stared at him for a moment in puzzlement, then stared at him for a few more in shock.
Eventually, he burst out laughing. "And so prolonged contact with Anthony Stark claims another
innocent mind," he said.

"To be fair, my godfather and Darcy were involved in that as well," Harry said, grinning. He
sobered. "And thanks."

"I didn't do anything."

"I'm a psychic, Doctor McCoy," Harry said, with not a trace of humour. "I know better than most
that it's the thought that counts."
Hank inclined his head. "Thank you," he said quietly, then examined his equipment, magic-
proofed by Tony. "Hmm. As I suspected. With the outside influence removed, your psychic
abilities are about as developed in their capabilities as Jean's were at the age of eleven."

"Eleven?"

"Girls develop earlier than boys," Hank said. "I also suspect that stripping all other factors away,
she is a little stronger than you are. Moreover, she'd been learning how to use them from the age of
six under the tutelage of Charles Xavier, who is quite possibly the most powerful and
accomplished psychic the world has ever seen." He added something under his breath, something
that Harry would have missed six months ago, but now he heard it clearly.

"'For now, anyway?'" Harry asked.

Hank sighed. "I suppose you should know," he said. "SHIELD has a number of classes of
superhuman power, the possessors of which get progressively rarer as you progress up the chart,
even rarer when you restrict the criteria to mutants. I myself occupy the border between Alpha and
Beta class, the second and third highest classes respectively, because while my powers are quite
considerable, they are limited to the reach of my hands and the range of my senses. There are a few
Alpha class mutants out there, but they are rare. Only one birth in every twenty five thousand is a
mutant and you collated a thousand mutants, you would be lucky to find a single Alpha class
mutant among them. The birth rate of Alpha Class mutants is difficult to estimate, due to lack of
data, how the powers themselves evolve and other factors that affect the prevalence of the X-Gene.
That said, I would estimate that one birth in forty million would lead to an Alpha class mutant. And
even then, there is every chance that they would simply be a borderline candidate like myself
rather than a truly powerful one like Charles, Lady Braddock or a colleague of mine, Miss Monroe.
She has powers rather like your father's, though on a smaller scale."

Harry nodded slowly. "There's another class, isn't there?" he said.

"Yes," Hank said quietly. "Omega Class, those beings whose power reaches beyond conventional
measurement. A general estimate is the ability to affect an entire continent, or perhaps the entire
world, without outside aid. Omega class mutants are extremely rare. And they tend to run in
families."

"I'm one, aren't I?" Harry said softly.

"Not quite yet," Hank said. "Your current power levels are Alpha Class. But, like Jean, you will
one day be an Omega Class mutant, perhaps sooner than her."

"Why sooner?"

"Your enhanced physiology allows you to use more power, essentially," Hank said. "It won't let
you do anything new, but it will allow you to do more of what you can already do." He sighed. "Of
course, prediction is an imprecise science. There are further complicating factors, such as how your
Asgardian abilities will interact with your psychic powers, what effect magic will have on them -
and magic always does odd things to the X-Gene – and the fact that Jean has been using her powers
for so many years that they are all but second nature to her and, to be frank, the situation is such
that she's never really consciously stretched her limits. But previous Omega class mutants suggest
that her power – and yours – will be colossal."

"Previous?"

"Your godmother," Hank said. "Who is both an incredibly powerful sorceress and an incredibly
powerful mutant. The former comes from her mother's side of the family, while the latter comes
from her father."

"Her father?"

Hank's expression darkened slightly. "Magneto," he said.

"She never said," Harry said.

"I'm not surprised. She doesn't like talking about him," Hank said. "He is a very painful subject for
her."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, belatedly remembering that while she hadn't said it, he himself
had figured it out from what she and Professor Cassidy had said.

"Wanda did not know her father as a child," Hank said. "When her mother was giving birth to her,
they came under attack from a powerful dark wizard, who was tapping into the well of dark magic
onto which the young Magneto had unwittingly stumbled. It was a place called Mount Wundagore,
and I am informed that it is the source of the most powerful dark magic ley line in Europe, one
which the dark wizard sought to tap into. That dark wizard was called Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Yes," Hank said. "The very same man who gave you that scar over thirty years later. He and
Magneto fought, and eventually the latter drove him off, but not before Voldemort brought half the
mountain down on his head. Magneto survived, but his wife, Wanda's mother Magda, did not.
Magneto, thinking that his daughter was dead as well, left, utterly heartbroken. For the second time
in his life, he had lost everything."

"Second time?" Harry asked.

"His family were Jews in Nazi Germany," Hank said. "And he spent a considerable portion of his
childhood in Auschwitz. Both his parents were killed and the Nazis did unspeakable things to him
there."

Harry's eyes widened in horror.

"Quite," Hank said sadly. "He had seen the very worst of humanity from a young age, and that is
what sparked his fanaticism. Never Again, the Allies said, and that was his rallying cry. Or
possibly," he added sourly, "Do unto others before they do unto you."

Harry shivered.

"That fanaticism, I believe, frightened Wanda rather badly when they met," Hank said. "She was
about your age and Magneto… to be honest, he frightened me, and I was a grown man who'd
known him for over a decade. Wanda was a frightened child, suddenly swamped by powers she
could barely control, let alone understand, with enemies on every side."

"I can relate," Harry said, and imagined how he'd have felt if he'd found out that his father was not
only alive but instead of being a hero, was a monster. He shivered.

"Yes, I'm sure you can," Hank said sadly. "In the years that followed, he only got worse. At points,
he came close to becoming everything that he hated most. It wasn't until Wanda was a grown
woman, one who'd opposed him several times, that he started to realise how far he had gone into
darkness and began to make the long way back, and that journey took many years. By the time you
were born, he had mostly turned from darkness, but not entirely. In the last decade or so, he's been
positively well-behaved – he's still the terror of the underworld, particularly those who would raise
a hand to a mutant, but he avenges wrongs rather than perpetrating them."

"Sort of like my uncle," Harry said.

"Very like," Hank said. "Though he was only a brief terror on Earth before reforming. Magneto
haunted nightmares for over three decades. In certain circles, the only man more feared than he
was the Winter Soldier. I would argue that that is still the case and it is why Wanda finds him a
very painful subject." He looked at Harry over his glasses, but before he said anything more, Harry
solemnly mimed zipping his lips.

"I know a little something about those," he said.

"Regrettably, you do," Hank said. "Thankfully, however, your relations with Jean are, I am given
to understand, much more positive."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "She was kind to me."

"She is very kind to almost everyone," Hank said. "Though Warren might disagree."

"Why?"

Hank smiled slightly. "He used to be her boyfriend."

"WHAT?!"

Hank chuckled at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "Yes, they were an item for some time," he said.
"But in the end, Warren's insecurities and fears about his wings got the better of him and they
broke it off. It was a pity, really. They made a rather sweet couple."

Harry frowned and nodded. "Do you think he knew? About me, I mean?" he asked.

"I think he might well have done," Hank said. "Warren has always been rather more observant than
he lets on." He smiled. "And, to be frank, you and she have the exact same colour eyes. They are
really quite distinctive."

Harry snorted slightly. "So I've been told," he said dryly.

"She's very fond of you, you know," Hank said. "When she heard that her family's attempt to adopt
you had been stymied, she was alternately furious and in floods of tears for weeks. For a while, she
was all set to march across the Atlantic to get you."

What he did not add was that he wasn't entirely sure that she couldn't have done it. When her
telepathic powers first manifested, the ripple was felt around the globe. Indeed, Hank strongly
suspected that the only thing that limited Jean was herself.

"Then that telepath got in her head," Harry said flatly. "Like he did with mine. And hid our
memories."

"Yes," Hank said heavily. "It was very cleverly done, so that her grief and anger faded with the
memory, looking to be natural but was, in fact, nothing of the sort." He gave Harry a kindly look.
"She will be very glad to see you."

"So I've been told," Harry said again, this time bitterly. "But…"
"You want to see her now," Hank said.

Harry nodded.

"Did your letter to, well, yourself…"

"Before the end of the summer," Harry said, in tones that suggested that the end of the summer
couldn't come fast enough.

Hank nodded.

"Are there any other Omega class mutants?" Harry asked, looking for a less painful subject. "Aside
from me, Jean, Godmother Wanda and Magneto?"

"Just the one," Hank said. "Who you also know, as it happens: Bobby Drake."

Harry, to Hank's surprise, was not himself surprised. Instead, he raised his eyebrows, then nodded.
"Makes sense," he said. "HYDRA wouldn't have been so desperate to get to him, otherwise." He
looked at Hank. "So, it's just us five, then?"

"You are the only five Omega Class mutants," Hank said. "Though there are a smattering of other
Omega class beings around the world, your father, uncle and the Hulk being three of them. And
then, of course, there is the much rumoured 'Lost Omega', though only one man knows whether or
not the stories are true and he isn't telling." He smiled at Harry. "You may yet have the distinction
of being an Omega Class being twice over."

"Yay," Harry said flatly.

"You don't seem overly enthused by this prospect."

"The more powerful I get, actually or just potentially – and mostly just potentially – the more
people try to kill me in new and interesting ways," Harry said. "Don't get me wrong, I love having
a family and the Avengers. I love being a wizard too. But I could do without the near-death
experience every few months."

"I'm afraid that it seems to come with the rations, as it were," Hank said sympathetically. "And I
must say that the constant near-death experiences were part of what caused the original team of X-
Men to drift apart." He paused. "Though to be honest, I think that it got so far under the skins of
some that they simply found new dangerous experiences. Alex became a decorated soldier in
Vietnam and served with distinction in the Army for many years. His grandson, Scott, is one of
your cousin's fellow students and her oldest friend. And Sean… well, he served in Vietnam too,
then joined Interpol, crossing swords with the IRA, among others. And now I believe he is
working for MI13." He smiled slightly. "Some, it seems, are bitten by the bug."

"Not you, Doctor McCoy?"

"Oh my stars and garters, no," Hank said. "I teach, I research, I tinker and very occasionally, I
babysit."

"Which one is this?" Harry asked, a touch mischievously.

Hank looked at him over his glasses, expression one of mock severity. "Babysitting," he said.

Harry sniggered.
"Though research might also fit," Hank said more seriously. "You are absolutely unique. I mean,
all mutants are unique, but the powers of each are based in the X-Gene. Even those with magic
can, to some extent, be predicted, because there are precedents. However, you are the first case in
known history of someone who is both magical and mutant, while simultaneously being a demigod
whose powers from his divine heritage are slowly developing." He looked thoughtful. "That said, a
number of historical demigods, even some gods, could have been mutants seeking an explanation
for their powers or using them to pose as the entity in question…" He shook his head. "A question
for another time. In short, your powers are developing naturally and in the expected fashion.
Unfortunately, the unique nature of your heritage and your circumstances makes it almost
impossible to say what that is."

"I see," Harry said.

"Maybe in Asgard there are records of psychic Asgardians?" Hank asked. "If there are, then maybe
I can see form a better model to predict the development of your powers."

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, my boy," Hank said. "I realise that it may not be the best thing to say under the
circumstances, but your case is absolutely fascinating from a scientific point of view."

Harry thought that it wasn't, but let it pass all the same. "Um, Doctor McCoy?" he asked. "My
strength…"

He trailed off. He had confided in Hank about his developing strength which, while not quite
super, was definitely at the squashing-doorknobs-when-agitated stage.

"Ah, yes. That is a simpler matter," Hank said. "I would need to study you more carefully, and it is
entirely possible that it is simply a hangover from the empowerment by the mountain. However,
considering what you've mentioned about your manifestations of superhuman strength in the past
and what your uncle has told you, I suspect otherwise. My current hypothesis is that whenever
you're particularly frightened or angry, the fight or flight reflex kicks in and floods your body with
adrenalin. This would, in an ordinary human, make them stronger and faster. In a wizard or a
mutant, it makes their powers a little bit stronger. In you, I think, it does the same. Judging by the
timing of the jump in strength, I would say that there is a difference. The gain in strength made
during such an episode seems to remain. Your body adjusts to the new normal, as it were. In
theory, if your adrenal gland was repeatedly artificially stimulated, your strength would grow
considerably in a very short space of time. Your healing abilities would similarly grow and your
general physiology would be enhanced."

"I see," Harry said. "So… don't get excited?"

"As a heterosexual young man surrounded by many beautiful women, including your telepathic
tutor, the lovely Betsy, I think that that is an enterprise which is doomed to failure," Hank said
drily. Harry went bright red. "However, if you mean avoiding the sort of excitement which I
suspect you were referring to, I would also say that that it is unlikely to succeed – based on all prior
evidence, it seems to find you."

"That's definitely true," Harry sighed. "So, now what?"

"I am afraid that you will just have to learn to live with it," Hank said, and his expression turned
serious. "And believe me, Harry, trying to suppress it will only make matters that much worse. I
learned that the hard way. So did Warren."
Harry nodded soberly. "I understand."

"Do you?" Hank asked without rancour, regarding him.

"My letter to myself said something like that," Harry said. "It said that it was my power, that I
should embrace it, own it."

"That," Hank said. "Is very sensible advice. Yes?"

This was directed at the door, which opened to reveal a surprised looking Hermione.

"I have excellent hearing," Hank said, in answer to the unasked question. "Not quite as good as
Sean's, but not many are so blessed. May I help you, Miss…?"

"Granger," Hermione said. "Hermione Granger."

Just for a moment, Hank's eyes widened and he gave her a very sharp look, sharp eyes searching
for something in her face. What it was, Harry could not say – Hank's mind wasn't precisely
shielded, but it was very well disciplined. Then he smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss
Granger. Sean has told me all about you."

"Really?" Hermione asked, startled, then said. "Um, I was just here to ask if you and Harry had
finished. Professor Cassidy also said something about you, he and Hagrid heading down to the
Hog's Head." She paused. "Apparently he invited Warren as well, but Warren declined."

"I can hardly say I am surprised. And why do I suspect that Sean wishes to see whether I can drink
Hagrid under the table?" Hank wondered aloud.

"Because you know him?" Harry asked.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

Hank chuckled. "Quite probably," he said. "Sean has always had a puckish sense of humour." He
glanced at Hermione. "Was there something else you wanted, Miss Granger?" he asked kindly. "I
recognise the look from my own students, when they want something but aren't quite able to bring
themselves to say it."

Hermione went red and nodded jerkily. "Um, yes, Doctor McCoy," she said, bringing a sheaf of
carefully arranged and well read papers from behind her back. "After I found out I had magic, I
looked for a scientific explanation and I found Professor Xavier's mutation theory and your
Doctoral thesis on…"

"The flexibility and adaptability of the human genome," Hank said, rather surprised. "You read it?"

Hermione nodded, paused, then added grudgingly, "I tried to read the full version, but I didn't
understand all of it, so I read the simplified version instead."

"I am astonished that you understood any of it," Hank said, surprised. "You would have been
eleven?"

"Twelve," Hermione corrected.

"Still… that, Miss Granger, is extremely impressive," he said gravely.

Hermione blushed from the tops of her ears to the tips of her toes and mumbled her thanks.
"She would like you to sign it, Doctor McCoy," Harry said helpfully.

"Of course, I would be honoured," Hank said, after another surprised moment, taking the sheaf
from Hermione and writing a brief note. Harry craned his neck to see. It said: For Hermione, who
is wise beyond her years. Doctor H. McCoy. He handed it back with a smile. "I do hope that it
helped."

"It did, Doctor McCoy, thank you," Hermione said, reading the inscription and flushing again, but
smiling too. "Thank you," she repeated.

"The pleasure is all mine," Hank said. "When I wrote it, I hoped that I could use it to help others
like me, hiding their mutations. I never imagined it would reach someone outside the academic
community but I must say, I am very glad that it did." He gathered up his remaining instruments
swiftly and efficiently. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think that I have a drinking contest to try
and win."

"You're going to try and outdrink Hagrid?" Hermione asked, worried. "Doctor McCoy, are you
sure that's a good idea?"

"It probably isn't," he said. "But you need not worry – I am rather tougher than I look. Good day to
you both."

"He will be all right, won't he?" Hermione asked, once Hank was out of earshot.

Harry shrugged. "Probably," he said. "To be honest, it's Professor Cassidy I'm worried about."

OoOoO

The next day, Sean did indeed prove to have a stinking hangover, looking at breakfast like, in
Ron's opinion, 'death warmed over'. It should be said that his moderated opinion. His original
opinion, prior to a glare and hiss of 'Ronald!' was, 'fucking awful'.

More remarkably, Hagrid also looked somewhat under the weather. Clearly, Doctor McCoy had
made his mark, though possibly, Harry thought, at the cost of the continued functioning of his
liver.

The hangovers passed, though, and matters continued much as they had before, leaving Harry
thankful for the increased stamina that came with his newfound strength. Every spare gap in
Harry's time table was filled with lessons with Sean and Betsy. In those free moments he had, he
hung out with Ron and Hermione, chatted to Carol and Jean-Paul or his father and uncle. It was a
peaceful, if busy, existence and in the summer sun, flowers blossomed, fruits of all kinds ripened
and the looming threat of HYDRA was almost entirely forgotten.

Almost.

However, at this point, the worst problem that Harry had to wrestle with was developing his
psychic shields so that Betsy didn't get a look at some of his more speculative daydreams, which
usually involved her and occasionally one of a selection of guest stars, including Darcy, Carol,
Diana's adult self (that one caused him a right headache, since her current self was adorable rather
than attractive), Sif, Natasha, Pepper and on one highly embarrassing occasion, Wanda.

However, for the sake of his peace of mind and Betsy not laughing herself sick, he learned fast. He
learned fast in every department, in fact. While telekinetic heavy lifting or blowing things up had
never been much of a problem, by the time a month had passed, he could lift four felled oak trees
and more importantly, rearrange their positions to depict shapes such as squares, arrowheads and
even an impromptu crucifix. His precision had increased in general, to the point where he could put
a small broken mirror back together and build a reasonably sized tower of Jenga bricks. The
opposite, along with building houses of cards, still eluded him, however.

That said, those who were watching closely, such as Betsy and Professor Dumbledore, noticed that
his precision greatly increased when he wasn't paying attention. For instance, once Betsy noticed
that during one of the mirror exercises, he'd absent mindedly rearranged shards into the shape of
what almost looked like an upside down arrowhead. Further inspection, however, revealed that it
seemed to be some kind of bird, carefully defined feathers, sharp beak and all. Harry professed to
have no idea what it was, much less any idea of how he'd constructed it. Betsy filed it away and
said nothing.

This precision extended to his telepathy. Now he could, with reasonable reliability, pick out an
individual in a crowd and listen to the thoughts that they were projecting, getting a feel for their
emotions. This wasn't particularly invasive, since it usually amounted to Harry 'overhearing' wistful
longings for lunch, time out in the sun or a close up look at their crush while they were not wearing
much. Or, you know, the anger, frustration and barely restrained violence that are endemic in any
boarding school full of teenagers.

Sometimes, he caught unspoken words, too, which Betsy called 'spill words', words that people
thought and restrained themselves from saying.

Beyond that, though, he was very wary of going any further, his own words about making people
think the right way, uttered in frustrated anger not so long before, and Diana's piercing question
about how that would make him any different from the monsters he opposed, ringing in his mind.

It took Betsy quite some coaxing to get him to go any further, pointing out that sometimes, you
might well need to go in someone's head, telling him that it was fine if he asked permission and
told them how to keep certain things private – by imagining a door shutting on the memories they
don't want explored. Eventually, he did, and he learned how to influence people, something not
unlike what Diana had done all those months ago so that he and Uhtred would stop fighting. It
hadn't been long before, yet it felt like an age had passed since then, that he was a different person.

In any case, it was a trick he was very leery of, particularly when Betsy demonstrated at Ravenclaw
and Hufflepuff's Quidditch match. With only a minimal effort, she managed to instigate a Mexican
Wave.

"Crowds," she said. "Are like one, very big and not very bright person. If you nudge a large enough
bit of them into moving, the rest will follow. You don't even need telepathy to do it – a great
speaker, someone with charisma and presence can play a crowd like a harp."

Soon, she said, he'd be ready to look out at the world through the eyes of an animal, hear through
their ears.

"It sounds like nothing's hidden from a telepath," Harry said quietly, after hearing this.

Betsy was silent for a moment. "You're right," she said. "Realistically, the only person who can
resist a telepath is another telepath or, sometimes, someone who's figured out how to work
materials which block telepathy. Even psychic shields can only do so much against a powerful
telepath who really wants to get past them." She looked at him, expression very serious. "I'm not
teaching you all this so you can use it to spy on people, rummage through their brains or make
them do what you want. I'm teaching you so you know how to do it if you need to, how to
recognise it if you see it and how to stop it. Most importantly of all, I'm teaching you how to do
this so you know how to do it and then know not to do it. You're scared by what your powers can
do? Good. It means that you've got some idea of how bad that could be. A telekinetic gone bad is
one thing and, I'll grant you, it's pretty scary. But a telepath gone bad… that's worse. Much, much
worse."

"Have you ever come across one?" Harry asked.

"Two," Betsy said quietly. "One, I fought and he nearly killed me."

"And the other?" Harry asked.

"Oh, her," Betsy said, waving a hand. "Emma Frost. She's not half as bad. Powerful, dangerous and
a very nasty piece of work, but she doesn't like picking fights in case," she continued with a sneer.
"She puts one perfect hair out of place." She paused. "She prefers to work in the shadows and
doesn't usually do much messing with people's heads. At least," she added. "Not where anyone can
see."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I mean, if she's powerful…"

"She's scared of Professor Xavier," Betsy said. "And Magneto. SHIELD too, come to that. She
knows that if she starts getting too free with the mind manipulation, all three will come down on
her hard. The Professor's as sweet an old bloke as you'll ever meet, but he's not someone you want
to see angry, believe you me."

"I know the type," Harry said, thinking of Dumbledore. After all, Voldemort had feared him for a
reason – several very good reasons, in fact, if what his father, godfather and godmother had
suggested was true.

"Yeah, Albus ticks that box, doesn't he?" Betsy said, picking up on the thought. "Magneto's
downright terrifying and SHIELD aren't exactly fluffy bunnies either." She grinned. "On top of all
that, your godmum probably wouldn't look kindly on it." The grin faded. "And even if she didn't
fear them, she'd fear the White Council."

"I thought they only dealt with wandless magic," Harry said.

"Officially, yes," Betsy said. "But the line between psychic and magic, particularly wandless
magic, can be pretty thin at times. It's not always easy to tell the two apart and by that point, there's
little enough difference between a psychic gone bad and a Warlock with psychic inclinations. So
yeah, they've executed rogue psychics in the past. Not often, but it's been known to happen."

Harry nodded.

"Like I said to Ginny, telepathy's the most dangerous power of all," Betsy said. "Excepting only
transfiguration and full on reality warping."

"Transfiguration?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah. You can learn how to defend yourself against telepathic attack, but there's nothing at all you
can do to stop someone transforming you into a statue or a tree or even an animal," Betsy said.
"There's a reason that wandless human transfiguration is banned under the White Council's Seven
Laws and it's the same reason that your Professor McGonagall is very strict about safety in her
classroom. Think about it."

Harry did. Harry shuddered.

"Yeah," Betsy said. "Oh, and before I forget, there are occasional cases of minds that are too
horrible to read," she added. "Or just too disgusting. It can be quite an effective form of psychic
defence, really, if tailored to the opponent." She smirked, lowering her voice. "You're up against a
prude? Just think of the most explicit, kinky and downright dirty sex that you can imagine."

Harry went bright red as he did just that.

"Okay," Betsy said, laughing. "Maybe that was a bad example. You're dealing with someone who
hates cute things? Think of cute things, like kittens or puppies."

Harry nodded, still blushing horribly.

"And since you're so wary of telepathy – which, by the way, shows that you're smart," Betsy said.
"And you're learning so fast, I might bring something forward, a technique of my own invention
which should suit you down to the ground. It allows for physical combat and it avoids poking
around in people's minds."

"What's that?"

Betsy raised a hand and a longsword, the exact same purple colour as the butterfly markings omn
her face, came humming into existence. "The psi-blade," she said. "The focused and distilled
essence of your psychic powers. It doesn't harm anything physical. It cuts the mind and disrupts
nerve signals. One swing of this and whoever you're fighting might just find that their legs don't
work any more. You can adjust how strong it is to change how long the effects last, you change its
shape –" The longsword promptly became a dagger that protruded from the knuckles of Betsy's
clenched fist. "And you can even combine it with telekinesis…"

She reached down with her free hand and threw a rock into the air. Harry watched as it came down
and as the newly reformed psi-sword rose to meet it.

The rock landed in two separate pieces.

"To do that," Betsy finished. "Though that trick takes more energy. In fact, even the basic psi-
dagger takes a lot of power to create, a lot of concentration to maintain and a lot of practice to get
right. It's also extremely difficult to use any other aspect of your psychic powers at the same time.
But when you're ready for it – and I think you'll be ready soon – it should suit you down to the
ground."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"No problem," Betsy said, smiling. "And telepathy's not all doom and gloom responsibility and
contro. There's a fun side to it." Her smile turned wicked. "A very fun side. I won't be teaching you
that though," she added.

"Why not?" Harry asked, knee-jerk curiosity outrunning both embarrassment and common sense.
Once he said it, though, common sense arrived in time to give him the answer and embarrassment
arrived in time to inform him of how stupid he'd sounded and how utterly humiliating this was.

Betsy, however, merely smiled, this time kindly. "Well, what I'm talking about is something very
intimate and perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it," she said. "And while you're cute, you aren't
even fourteen yet, even if you don't look it. And that makes you way too young for me." She made
a face. "No offence, but the thought is a bit ick. A lot ick, actually."

"None taken. And I didn't mean…" Harry said, still incredibly embarrassed.

"I know," Betsy said, tone indicating that she did. "And even if you were old enough, the whole
teacher-student thing makes it ethically dubious. In any case, it's something you'll figure out for
yourself. A smart lad like you should work it out pretty quickly and, I'll be bound, make some
lucky girl very happy. Or girls, come to that. In a year or two, you'll be beating them off with a
stick."

Harry, embarrassed and looking for a subject change, asked, "Do you want to spend so much time
teaching me? I mean," he added. "I really like learning from you, but aren't you giving up a lot of
your time?"

"I am," Betsy said. "And I do. Do you know why?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, there are several reasons," Betsy said. "The first is that I remember very well how much I
relied on my own teacher, Professor Xavier, when I was coming into my powers. I didn't have your
experience with otherworldly forces – I knew they existed, mind you. My dad was a colleague of
your mum and dad's, actually, working with the Order of the Phoenix."

"Was he a wizard?"

"No, not quite," Betsy said. "He wasn't a mutant, either. He was… something else." She shook her
head. "Anyway, while I had the connection with Brian, my twin brother, for years, I just thought
that was normal. My full powers sort of snuck up on me, though, and scared me out of my wits.
Like you, I was feeling my way through a minefield of confusing new experiences as my own body
seemed out to screw me over – and that was just puberty."

Harry snorted.

"Wise cracks aside, it was difficult," Betsy said. "Puberty's hard enough without powers. And
Charles, the Professor, he was amazing. Calm, kind and patient, he helped me unravel the cat's
cradle of my powers and realise how wonderful they could be and what an amazing privilege and
responsibility it was to have them. Second…"

She looked thoughtful. "Well, it's tied to the first reason, really," she said. "I want to help you, and
like helping you, because I've been where you are – or near enough, anyway. And thing is, I didn't
get why the Professor loved teaching so much when he could have done absolutely anything. I just
wanted to have fun, and don't get me wrong, I still like having fun. But now, it's balanced by
responsibility. Now, I get what he meant, not just about not misusing your powers, but about using
them for the right reasons, to help other people. It's rewarding. It feels good to help guide people
through problems that you yourself faced and pass on your knowledge."

She made a face. "And as I say it, I can feel my brother's smug 'I-told-you-so' expression from
here," she said.

"Your brother. Brian, right?" Harry asked.

"Yup. He was always the goody two shoes and, to be honest, a little too self-righteous for his own
good," Betsy said. "Which, of course, made him the golden boy with mummy and her side of the
family." She paused. "Don't get me wrong, I love him to bits and I think that he's as kind,
compassionate and noble as any Knight of the Round Table. I just also think that he's got a stick
stuffed up his arse."

An image of Percy Weasley floated across Harry's mind.

"Yeah, you're not too far off," Betsy said, picking up on it. "If what Ginny, Sean and Warren say is
accurate, along with what I've seen, Percy would probably worship my brother." She shrugged.
"Enough about him. The third reason is that I like you, partly because you ask questions like that.
You care, especially when other people don't. You are kind, sweet and thoughtful and frankly, you
sometimes seem like you walked straight out of a fairytale. The handsome Prince Charming, here
to save maidens from any dragons or dark magic that you care to place in his path."

Harry flushed. "I'm not…"

"Perfect? Of course you're not, love," Betsy said. "And you shouldn't try to be. You should try to
be yourself, and that self happens to be an absolutely lovely person." She smiled fondly at Harry's
honest befuddlement. "Oh, you poor boy, the girls will eat you alive. With your attitude, smarts
and movie star good looks, you'll be inundated. And that's before they take into account that you
are, in fact, a real life Prince Charming, a divine Prince, no less, and a bona fide hero to boot." She
wagged a finger. "And don't say anything about that not being true. I've read your file, I've got to
know you and I've had a good look inside your head. You're a dyed in the wool hero, love, born for
the era of knights in shining armour. The best part, though, is that you're not in the least stuck up
about it. You're modest, but you're learning not to be too modest. Modest is a good look, doormat is
not. On top of that, you listen well, work hard and learn quickly. And you're naturally talented,
which is always a bonus. In short, love, you are an absolute delight to teach."

She grinned. "As for fourth, I'm getting paid overtime for this thoroughly delightful job, out in the
sunshine with minimal paperwork, excellent food and," she added as Warren swooped overhead,
topless in deference to the warming weather and to the delight of approximately sixty percent of the
school's population. Harry, who had noticed a correlation between Betsy's visits and Warren's
topless flights, suspected that warming weather was only an incidental factor in Warren's sartorial
choices. "Fantastic scenery."

She looked back at Harry. "As for fifth," she said, then paused. "I don't actually have a fifth," she
admitted. "But if I did, I think it would be something along the lines of 'it feels right'. That satisfy
you?"

Harry dipped his head in a nod that verged on a bow of respect. "Yes," he said, softly. "Thank
you."

OoOoO

Harry was not the only one learning. Arthur Weasley was learning too, even if all he was
immediately learning was that Tony Stark had lots and lots of money. He'd taken an international
portkey to Sacramento, under the authority of the Wizarding state of Alta California. Unlike their
muggle counterparts, the various wizarding states of America had historically only very loosely
organised into a kind of federation. Nick Fury had changed that. Now, all of them answered to
SHIELD and if the rumours were true, were kept on a rather short leash.

After he arrived in Sacramento, he was parcelled off to a domestic portkey to San Diego, and had
mostly been left wondering however such a thing had been wangled at such short notice. Even the
Minister generally had to wait some time before one was authorised, but he'd been whisked straight
on through.

When he stepped out of the disguised building that served as the branch office of the Alta
Californian Wizarding government, blinking in the bright summer sunlight, he was met by a large
muggle in a close fitting suit. "Mister Weasley?" he asked.

"Uh, yes?"
"I'm Happy Hogan, Mister Stark's driver and bodyguard," the man said, taking his suitcase.

Arthur was more than a little startled at this and expressed it to Happy, who grinned. "Mister Stark
likes you," he said. "And to be honest, this is my last job."

"It is?"

"Yeah," Happy said. "I'm becoming head of security at SI – Stark Industries."

"Congratulations," Arthur said.

Happy made a face as he got in the car. "Thanks," he said. "But it'll be a relief, to be honest.
Whenever I tell people that I was Iron Man's bodyguard, they laugh. And he doesn't exactly need
driving around these days." He glanced over his shoulder as Arthur got in the back. "By the way,
Miss Potts asked me to tell you that this facility you're going to, they're building identical ones in
New York and Britain, so you won't have to worry about the time difference."

"Oh, thank you," Arthur said, a little surprised and a lot relieved. "How long have you worked for
Mister Stark?"

"About fifteen years," Happy said. "There've been ups and downs, but I've enjoyed it, for the most
part. He's a good boss and Miss Potts is better – she tends to be a bit more down to earth."

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur said, remembering his encounters with Tony.

"You'll be working for Mister Stark, broadly speaking – he's basically head of R&D, Research and
Development," Happy said. "But that basically just gives him free rein to invent whatever he likes.
Miss Potts is in charge of the company as a whole."

"I see," Arthur said a little nervously, as they pulled up into the compound of the Stark Industries
Research and Development (Mystical Department). It was a large, glittering built, fronted with
glass, chrome and polished white stone, the whole effect almost blinding in the sunlight.

"Basic itinerary is that you're going to get a light tour around the facility now, then I'll take you to a
hotel we've had booked for you – and it's a magical hotel, so you don't need to worry about keeping
your magic on the down low," Happy said, opening the door for him. "Tomorrow morning, I'll
pick you up after breakfast, you'll get a more in depth tour of the facility, then have a business
lunch with Miss Potts, then I'll take you back to that Ministry place. Sound good?"

"Yes, excellent," Arthur said, still nervous.

"Oh, and don't worry," Happy said kindly, dropping some of the formality for a moment. "This
isn't the Spanish Inquisition. Pep and Tony saw something in you and their judgment is as good as
you get. Just take a look around and enjoy it."

Arthur nodded gratefully. "Thank you," he said.

"Not a problem," Happy said. "Most of the people who work here are wizards, by the way –
mostly your type, with wands, but ever since Mister Stark cracked the problem of tech shorting
out, we've started reaching out to the other type, wandless witches and wizards."

"I see," Arthur said.

The tour was, itself, rather pleasant. Arthur looked through various windows into labs and saw
mixtures of what looked like a very complex version of a muggle chemistry set combined with
potions apparatus, boards of complex transfiguration calculations and symbols from muggle
science and in one room, sensors monitoring what looked a levitating muggle car, being held aloft
and steady by a couple of young wizards in muggle lab coats.

On seeing this last one, he stopped. "What are they trying to do in there?" he asked.

"Make a flying car," Happy said. "Mister Stark Senior, Mister Stark's father, figured out how to
make them, but they were never exactly value for money. Apparently you made one?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "And I can see that they're doing it wrong." He opened the door before anyone
could stop him and strode in. "No," he said, going over the car. "That won't work." He drew his
wand, tapped the car a couple of times and examined it, before shaking his head.

"Who are you?" a young witch asked, tone not concealing both her bafflement and her mild
contempt for his ragged dress sense.

"My name is Arthur Weasley," Arthur said briskly, the nervousness falling away. He was in his
element now. "And you're doing it all wrong. It's not enough to simply make it levitate, you need to
reinforce it as will, or the laws of phys-wicks will cause it to collapse in on itself."

"Phys-wicks?" one of the others asked, puzzled.

"He's right," one of the muggles said from the computer. "The chassis is showing definite signs of
strain."

"Quite," Arthur said, scrabbling under the car. "Which is why you reinforce it first, with a simple
charm. Then, you enchant the car itself," he said, emerging and tapping it a few times and
murmuring under his breath. "To be weightless while it's in the air. A little complex, I know – it
certainly took me a lot of trial and error, mostly error – but once you get the hang of it…" He
flicked his wand and the car floated into the air again. He then reached out and easily lifted it. "It
makes everything much easier. Now, you have a car that you don't have to constantly worry about
keeping in the air or collapsing under its own weight and you can now concentrate on repurposing
the driving system to work in flight as well as on the ground. I recommend a Cushioning Charm,
by the way, or unless you land absolutely perfectly, you will effectively destroy the car."

As he started directing the various witches, wizards and muggle scientists around the car, one of
them, the project leader, sidled up to Happy. "Mister Hogan?"

"Yes?"

"Where the hell did Mister Stark find this man? He's brilliant!"

"Miss Potts said that the British magical government was basically using him as an odd-job man,"
Happy said.

The project leader sighed. "Criminal waste of talent. But, regrettably, entirely in character for the
British Ministry. A good third of our workers are British expats, did you know that? Mostly
muggleborn, too. They took one look at the labour market in the British Wizarding World and
skedaddled. Pity, really. Hogwarts – the primary British wizarding school – produces some
extremely talented young people and their government wastes them, so the savvy ones get out as
soon as they can." She shrugged. "Well, at least we get the benefit." She regarded Arthur, who was
gesticulating animatedly at the car and being watched with expressions of rapt admiration. "He's an
excellent find, I'll say that." She winced at some of Arthur's mangling of scientific terminology.
"And entirely self-taught, by the sounds of things. I hope that company expenses will extend to a
textbook or two." She paused. "And perhaps a pronounciation dictionary."

Eventually, Arthur extricated himself from his admirers and gave Happy a slightly embarrassed
look. "Sorry," he said. "I just got a bit into it."

"No problem at all, Mister Weasley," Happy said, with a slight smile. "Mister Stark does just the
same thing and as far as I'm concerned, it's a sign of genius at work."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Happy said. "I think it's going to be a pleasure working with you, Mister Weasley. You'll
fit right in."

OoOoO

In any event, fruits were not the only things that were ripening, and Arthur Weasley was not the
only one looking forward to a new beginning, as Tony found out one evening in the early summer
when Pepper called him into their bedroom. She was wearing a baggy shirt and a nervous
expression. Under any other circumstance, Tony would have zeroed in on the baggy shirt because
of the way it showed off her legs, but the nervous expression took precedence.

"Tony," she said. "We need to talk."

Tony froze. Those were not good words.

"I've been unsure about something for a while now, but now, I'm sure and I didn't want to tell you
until I was sure," Pepper said.

"Oh god, you're breaking up with me, aren't you?" Tony said, horrified.

"What?"

Tony nodded despondently. "I guessed it was going to happen sooner or later," he said. "I mean,
I'm not exactly prime boyfriend material and –"

"Tony."

He stopped speaking and looked up to see Pepper giving him a fondly exasperated look. "You are
quite possibly the smartest man in the world," she said. "But sometimes you're a complete idiot. I
am not breaking up with you. Almost the exact opposite, actually. That letter that Harry got from
the future helped. You see, its message to you told me something that I always knew but you never
believed."

Tony stared at her. "You're proposing?" he asked, baffled.

Pepper laughed softly. "No, Tony," she said, and the nervousness returned, but only slightly. "I'm
pregnant."

Tony's jaw dropped and his brain shut down.

"Tony?" Pepper asked, worried.

"Uh… how long have you known?" Tony asked, brain trying to get back up to speed as he stared
fixedly at Pepper's obstinately flat stomach. Well, it wasn't entirely flat, was it, he thought, now
that he took a closer look. There was a very small bump there.
"I've only been sure for a week or so," Pepper said. "I'm about five months along. Before, I thought
I might be, but I wasn't sure – my family doesn't have the best record with fertility and to be frank,
neither does yours. And I wasn't sure that I wanted to be sure, because I didn't know how you
would react." She bit her lip. "I should have told you sooner," she said. "As soon as I knew I was
pregnant, but I didn't want to get your hopes up – or shock you – if I was just going to miscarry in
the first trimester, then I wasn't sure how Easter would affect the pregnancy, then I just
procrastinated which is really not like me and a little worrying…"

"Pep," Tony said, cutting off Pepper's worried babble. "You're right, it's really not in character for
you. Which means one thing."

"What?"

"I'm rubbing off on you," Tony said. "In the non-literal sense, though I'm pretty sure that I have
done that too. That, combined with pregnancy hormones, would do anyone in."

"Thank you, Tony," Pepper said dryly. "For your forbearance."

"Eh, I owed you about a dozen years of it," Tony said. He then paused, sobering. "That letter… it
said that I would be something new soon," he said quietly. "And that I would be great at it."

"Yes," Pepper said softly. "You're going to be a father, Tony."

The words seared themselves into Tony's brain. He'd dreaded those words, or variations upon them
– usually along the lines of 'the baby's yours, Tony' – for years and years. Now… he didn't have
the words to describe his feelings. There was a bit of the old dread, mixed in with absolute terror at
the prospect of such responsibility, not to mention the lurking menace of HYDRA and the Winter
Soldier and… joy. Absolute, unbridled joy, so fierce that it left him gasping. All of these emotions
and many more roiled around inside him, as volatile as any chemical mixture he'd cooked up.

"Tony. Breathe."

Tony obediently sucked in a deep breath. "Uh," he said. "Wow." He sat in silence for a moment. "J,
you getting all this?"

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said. "My congratulations to you both."

"Summon the team," Tony said. He took Pepper's hand. "We've got an announcement to make." He
paused. "No, wait, first things first. But not necessarily in that order." He leaned over and pulled
Pepper into a passionate kiss. When they eventually broke apart, Pepper smiled.

"You're going to be a great dad, you know that?"

A part of Tony was still unsure, but he ruthlessly shoved it to the back of his mind. "Well, I've got
it on pretty good authority," he said casually. "So, on balance, I think I do."

"Good," Pepper said, leaning in to give him a gentle smooch, one that got steadily deeper and
deeper.

"Shall I call the team, sir?" JARVIS asked. "Or should I dim the lights and start the 'special
occasions' playlist?"

Tony stopped and sighed. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"
"You're an asshole."

"Yes, sir."

"Come on," Pepper said, amused, getting up from the bed and making her way to the wardrobe,
Tony mournfully watching the way her legs moved as she did. "We've got an announcement to
make."

"We can make it quickly," Tony said hopefully, eyes still on her legs.

"Tony, you and I both know that it won't be even close to quickly," Pepper said dryly. "Everyone is
going to want to celebrate and I've never known you to miss out on a chance to party."

"True," Tony admitted. "But the party I had in mind was more… exclusive."

Pepper snorted as she shimmied into a pair of jeans in a way that made Tony's libido attempt a
mutiny. "No, Tony," she said, before sauntering over and kissing him again. "The after party, on
the other hand…" She smirked against his lips. "Well," she murmured. "That's another matter
entirely."

"I can live with that," Tony said.

"You'd better," Pepper said. "Once the baby's born, we'll be delaying sex a lot of the time."

"Please," Tony said. "We've got about a dozen free babysitters mooching around the Tower, one of
whom is very experienced in the art of childcare."

"You are not fobbing our baby off on Thor," Pepper said, as they left the room. "He's got a child of
his own to look after."

"A child who is a straight teenager and will therefore soon decide that he knows everything, that
parents are embarrassing and tits are the centre of the universe," Tony said. "I know, I was one
once."

"Let's be serious, Tony. You never stopped being one," Pepper said dryly.

Tony pouted.

"You're just proving my point, you know," Pepper added. "JARVIS, are the Avengers
Assembled?"

"They are, Miss Potts, and very curious as to why this is the case."

Tony took a deep breath and felt Pepper's fingers interlock with his own. "Well. No time like the
present," he said. "Shall we, Miss Potts?"

"I think we shall, Mister Stark."

Then, they stepped forward into a new beginning.

 The Spark

The reaction to Tony and Pepper's announcement was one of jubilation. Tony was immediately
plied with congratulatory drinks and got a congratulatory thump on the back from Thor that nearly
sent his internal organs on vacation.

"Ribs," Tony wheezed. "I need my ribs, Thor."

"Oh," Thor said, and coughed. "Sorry."

"'s fine," Tony wheezed. "Alcohol makes everything better."

"Don't get too drunk," Pepper said, eyes carrying a hint of mischief. She had been surrounded by
the delighted Jane, Darcy and surprisingly, Clint and Steve. "I'm the one with first refusal on the
toilet bowl in the morning." Then, her expression turned deliciously wicked. "And we've got plans
later."

Darcy let out the world's lewdest wolf whistle.

"Darcy," Jane said reproachfully.

"What? Come on, Jane, it's obvious what she meant."

Loki stepped in at this point. "I think at this point a toast is due," he said. "To Tony, Pepper and the
newest member of the Avengers. I think I can speak for us all when I say that we cannot wait to
meet them." He raised a glass of champagne. "To Tony and Pepper."

"To Tony and Pepper," the rest echoed.

Conversation rose up again and eventually drifted over to the letter, when Tony remarked on how
the reassurance that he'd be a great dad made him feel a lot better.

"What can I say? It's nice to have a thumbs up from the future," he said.

"And I'd say that it means that we can take what it says at face value," Steve said. "Though the
messages… they're pretty vague."

"That's prophecy for you," Loki said. "Whatever form it takes, it generally only makes sense after
the events it speaks of come to pass."

"Yours was pretty clear," Tony said.

"How do you mean?"

"You know exactly what he means, brother," Thor said, tone gentle but pointed. "Need we spell it
out for you?"

"Perhaps you should," Loki said, folding his arms.

"Fine," Tony said. "Sif likes you. No, loves you. And before you try and deny it, she freaking
kissed you at New Year. Not a peck on the cheek, a proper kiss. We all saw what the kid was
saying in your bit of the letter. He was telling you to open your damn eyes. She has it bad for you
and you have it bad for her. I mean, you reshaped the face of the moon when she got hurt. You
don't that for someone you just 'like'."
"He's right," Darcy said. "So right."

Loki sighed and cast a look at first Natasha, who raised an eyebrow that said, 'what? Do you really
think I'm going to disagree?', then Pepper who gave him a sympathetic smile that said that she
really felt for him… but she wasn't going to help him find a way out because she thought that they
were right. "Even if what you all say is true," he said. "And she does love me, I…"

"You don't feel that you deserve her love," Tony said in a sing song tone of voice, looking up at the
ceiling. "You think that you're dangerous, damaged goods, that she doesn't realise quite how bad
you are and she should stay away from you because you are mad, bad and dangerous to know.
That about cover it?"

Loki blinked.

"Don't look so surprised," Tony said, now looking at Loki. "We're a lot alike. I've got a good idea
of how you think because I've thought it all before." Before Loki could speak he raised a finger.
"Anyway, rebuttal the first: she's known for well over a thousand years. It's safe to say that she
knows you inside out. She knows exactly what you are and loves you for who you are. Not who
you think you are or who you think you should be, you." He raised another finger. "Rebuttal the
second, she is a grown woman capable of her making her own decisions, yes?"

"Yes, of course," Loki said.

"Then stop trying to make them for her," Tony said. "Rebuttal the third and final: dude, we're
talking about fucking Sif. She is one of the scariest people I have ever met and, I might remind
you, the goddess of freaking war. She knows 'too dangerous' when she sees it. Hell, if anyone does,
it's her. And sure, you're dangerous. We all are, in our ways. Even Jane. Mild mannered, sweet
little Jane who wouldn't hurt a fly could probably calculate how to scatter your atoms across the
multiverse in her sleep, then do it before her first coffee if given sufficient provocation."

"Second," Jane said. "I'm not quite capable of wake up autopilot yet."

"Duly noted," Tony said. "So, you're dangerous. So what? Again, she's the goddess of war. Do you
really think that she's going to want safe and boring? Really? Come on, man, you know her."

"He's right," Thor said.

"Brother," Loki growled.

Thor gave him an innocent smile.

"That's enough."

Everyone turned to the thus far silent Steve, who had broken his silence without rancour, but
nevertheless, he had done so with a calm authority. "Loki gets the point," he said. "It doesn't need
to be belaboured."

"Thank you, Steve," Loki said.

"No problem. Though, I'd like to add my own two cents, if I may," Steve said.

Loki grudgingly nodded. Steve's diffident politeness was a hard thing to say no to.

"The thing about love, whether you think it's there or not, whether you believe you deserve it or
not, it's a chance for happiness. And as I know better than most, you can have it taken away from
you before you know it," Steve said. "So my advice would be to take the chance you've got in both
hands, before it's taken from you. Otherwise you will always regret it."

Loki nodded again, this time more thoughtfully. "I will think on it," he said.

As if to divert the conversation, Natasha's mobile rang. "Excuse me," she said, standing up and
taking the call. "Hello?"

She listened for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Are you being followed?"

That, predictably, got everyone's attention.

"Fine. Stay there. I'll pick you up." There was a pause. "Remember Minsk? No, not the second
time, I don't have a helicopter. The first time. Good. I'll see you soon."

"Trouble?" Clint asked. It was less a question of 'is there trouble' more 'what kind of trouble is it?'

"An old friend of mine is in town," Natasha said.

"Which means trouble?" Tony asked.

"Considering that he's spent the last ten years lying low in Reykjavik and he doesn't normally
contact me outside of secure channels, yes," Natasha said.

"You think HYDRA took a swing at him?" Steve asked.

"I think that it was either them or the people who give them and everyone else nightmares,"
Natasha said. "Loki, paper and pen." Loki obligingly conjured both and Natasha scribbled down a
set of co-ordinates. "Clint and I may need to go dark for a few days," she explained, with Clint
showing absolutely no surprise at being included. "If we do, you can find us here. Memorise the
co-ordinates, then burn them. Tony, I'm going to need to borrow your cab."

"I own a cab?"

"Yes."

"You bought it seven years ago from a guy called Petros," Pepper said.

"Why?"

"Because you were drunk and you don't think in small numbers when you're drunk," Pepper said.

"Oh, right," Tony said. There was a pause. "Still don't remember it." He glanced upwards. "J, is the
cab in the garage?"

"It is, sir, fully fuelled and ready to drive," JARVIS replied.

"Fine. It's all yours," Tony said. "Try not to blow it up and tell us if your friend has anything
interesting to say."

"I'm coming too," Steve said, standing up. "If HYDRA or whoever took a swing at him, they might
do it again, and I can get any urgent intel out if you're going dark."

"They might," Natasha said. "But you stand out and you can only get intel out so fast."

"Which," Loki said, standing up, shape changing as he did, to that of the blandest man imaginable.
"Would be my cue."

OoOoO

Espionage and intimations of the future were not only Natasha's concern. There was another, who
perused his copy of the letter over and over again, looking to tease every clue, every hint of
meaning, witting or unwitting, from the mysterious missive. He had people to do this for him, but
this demanded his personal attention.

Most of it was intentionally vague, and most of that which was more specific was tailored to Harry
himself. After all, the primary purpose of this letter was to get Harry to relax about his powers and
to step up, something which Fury greatly approved of. But here and there, valuable bits of
intelligence could be prised free.

Firstly, Alexander Pierce was going to do something that earned sufficient distrust from the Harry
of the future that he went out of his way to warn about it. This, combined with the fact that
HYDRA was inside SHIELD… that was worrying.

Of course, it could just be that Pierce had done something necessary that Harry's conscience had
objected to. Nevertheless, Fury made a note to keep a closer watch on his old mentor.

Second, the Young Avengers project. So, that was going to go ahead. Good.

Third, the Beaubier kid had more going for him than he was willing to admit. That made sense.
Fury had always reckoned that he was holding back.

Fourth, so, the Kent family was going to be drawn into things. Which meant that a certain Clark
Kent's secret wasn't going to stay secret. Fury had to admit he was curious about the resemblance
between Harry and Clark. Maybe that question would be answered. And, in any case, it could only
be good for a superpowered teenager to come under the good influence of the Avengers.

Fifth, the apparently off-hand reference to Thor about having something to punch meant that it was
all coming to a head. Also good. The longer HYDRA's sickness festered, the harder it would be to
cut out.

On a whim, Fury re-read the part with Jean Grey, a hunch forming in his head. Without looking
away, he reached over and dialled the number for the secure archives, which held the files so
secret that they were only kept in paper form.

"Authorisation Fury, Nicholas J., requesting file Grey, Jean," he said. "Immediately."

Five minutes later, it was in his hands. He opened it, read through it, then went back and read over
a particular section. Then, he flipped forward to 'Powers and Abilities (Observed and Estimated)'.
Then, he flipped back to that section again, reading it very carefully, just to be sure.

Finally, he spoke.

"Fuck."

OoOoO

"Tea, anyone?" Dumbledore asked. Betsy, Sean and Professor McGonagall were seated in front of
him. The subject of the discussion about to begin was Harry and his progress.

While Dumbledore generally preferred not to focus on a single student, Harry's knack for finding
trouble, connection to Voldemort and, he had to confess, a certain grandfatherly fondness for the
boy, had meant that more often than not, he ended up doing so anyway. The revelation that Harry
was a Prince of Asgard and latterly, a powerful psychic, had made it inevitable.

"Yes please," Betsy said.

"Thank you, Albus," McGonagall said.

"I'll pass, thanks," Sean said.

"Coffee, then?"

"Ye tempt me," Sean said, with a slight grin. "Thank ye, I'll have a black coffee."

"Any particular variety?"

"I think tha' anythin' special would be wasted on me, Albus," Sean said dryly. "Years of drinkin'
whatever coffee I could lay me hands on in Vietnam and workin' for Interpol just to keep me
ticking over didn't exactly make me picky. Pearls before swine and all that."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, conjuring up coffee.

Sean took a gulp and his eyes nearly popped out. "Mary mother of god," he whispered. "What is
this stuff mixed with? Meth?"

"Resurrection Blend," Dumbledore said serenely. "It is endorsed by a vampire, I believe, who
claims that it can literally wake the dead. I thought that it would appeal to your taste for a 'pick-me-
up'."

Sean snorted. "Ye got that right," he said.

"Now, to business," Dumbledore said. "How is Harry progressing?"

"According to my own observations and those of his colleagues, he picks up spell quicker than he
did before," McGonagall said. "We have been having him try some fourth year spells and he's
takent to the practice of them easily, intuitively even. That said, Filius has sometimes had to remind
him to use magic rather than telekinesis to summon and banish objects, while his grasp of theory
has not noticeably grown. The main difference is his attitude, however. He's more serious than he
once was, more focused, thinking more of the consequences of his actions than he did before. His
presence among his fellow students has also grown and in becoming more mature, directly and
indirectly, he encourages his classmates to become so as well." She smiled sadly. "It's rather
reminiscent of Lily, actually."

"It is, isn't it?" Dumbledore observed.

"Quite," McGonagall said. "In short, Albus, he is growing up in more senses than merely the
physical. And I must say, I rather approve."

"I'd agree with tha'," Sean said. "I've only known the lad for five months or so, but even in tha'
time… th' lad's done some growing. He's smarter, more thoughtful an' more mature." His lips
quirked into a smile. "An' he learns fast. He only has to run through a drill a couple o' time before
he's got it nailed. Most o' the time I get him to help out his colleagues in th' group lessons and t' be
honest, he could probably start teachin' himself. It might be good for him, actually. Only th' basics,
of course, but th' responsibility, th' chance to go over the basics and understand them better... it
could do him good."
"Perhaps next year," Dumbledore said. "And Betsy?"

"Well, I can't say that I've seen him grow up much because I haven't taught him for long," Betsy
said. "But I'd say that he's more aware. He knows that actions have consequences and he knows
very well the kind of consequences his actions could have. Maybe a little too well, to be honest:
he's shit scared of making the wrong move, telepathically speaking. The moment he gets near
someone's mind, he all but freezes up."

"That is perhaps not the worst thing in the world," Dumbledore observed. "As you and I both know
better than most."

"Oh, it definitely isn't," Betsy said. "Way better than the alternative. But it can make it a little
difficult to coax him into learning a new telepathic skill. A little bit of fear's a good thing. Too
much, though… that could be a problem. These are things that he needs to know about. It's not as
bad as it was before that letter from his future self…" She trailed off and snorted. "What a world
we live in that that's practically normal," she said. "Anyway, the letter, the one that encouraged
him to spread his wings, it made him lighten up a little. But the fear is still there." She sat back.
"I'll probably have to consult the Professor, maybe get him to talk to Harry. Or you could talk to
him about it."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll see what I can do. How has he been learning?"

"Like Minerva and Sean said, fast," Betsy said. "Scarily fast, actually, particularly with telekinesis.
He's picking up things in days that took me weeks of daily tuition. Maybe he's just making up for
lost time, practicing a lot when I'm not here or his experience with magic, particularly wandless
magic, is giving him an edge, but either way – he's quick off the mark."

"I think I have some idea of why that is, actually," Dumbledore said. "When you told me about the
connection you cut off, the one that Voldemort was using to siphon power from Harry, I started
thinking."

"You are certain that it was him, Albus?" McGonagall asked, worried.

"I can think of no other with such a connection to Harry," Dumbledore said. "And it all adds up.
Harry's scar was caused by the Killing Curse, which is essentially a psychic effect, killing without
leaving a mark. That scar has served as an indicator of Voldemort's presence in the past and, I
believe, it has given Harry access to the gift of Parseltongue, a talent which only Voldemort and a
very few others alive today possess." His expression turned grim. "And as the case of Ginny
Weasley last year demonstrated, Voldemort has always had an exceptional gift for mental magic,
one that was apparent from a young age."

"Ye saw it at first hand?" Sean asked.

"Voldemort, Tom Riddle as he was then, was raised in a non-magical orphanage," Dumbledore
said. "His mother died giving birth to him. I was sent to inform him that he was a wizard and help
him prepare to attend Hogwarts. When I met him…" He went quiet. "I saw a boy who was older in
mind than body, one who had already learnt at a very tender age the power of fear to compel others
and was used to getting what he wanted."

"Aye, I know th' type," Sean said grimly. "Kings of their own little world."

Dumbledore dipped his head. "Considering the fact that he had developed a significant degree of
conscious control over his wandless magic – something that is very rare indeed – I believe that that
fear went beyond the mundane, as did the surety that he would get what he desired," he said. "I
recall him saying, 'I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I
want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can
make them hurt if I want to'."

"Bloody hell," Betsy said quietly. "Telepathy and telekinesis."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "There has always been a great deal of overlap between psychic and
magical abilities. In Tom it was much more apparent than most. And I believe that it continued to
develop at Hogwarts. After all, that was where he enchanted the diary that ensnared Ginny
Weasley. I never caught him compelling others, but I did notice how he drew people to him, people
who followed his every command without question, and how he enchanted my fellow teachers.
This could merely have been charisma and charm, both of which he possessed in abundance, but I
wonder… I suppose that the answer lies in where the mundane ends and the magical begins. In any
case, by the time you cut the connection, Betsy, he had spent over seven decades refining his skills
in the mental arts."

"So, you're saying that Harry's picked up a few tricks from Voldemort," Betsy said thoughtfully.
"Knowledge leaking over, that sort of thing." She nodded slowly. "Yes, that could work. Could just
be his natural learning capabilities, but maybe, just maybe, he got a helping hand." She shrugged.
"Doesn't make much difference in the end – it sounds fairly passive in any case, and Harry's got
what he's got. Besides, that connection is barred as securely as it can be, with a psychic trap or
three dozen waiting for anyone who tries to reopen it, the nastiest ones I could come up with."

Her expression suggested that this was very nasty indeed and she'd enjoyed creating them. "If he's
got the sort of psychic moves you suggest, then maybe he might be able to bypass them, but after
the backlash he got hit with, I don't think he'll be in any shape or mood to do so for a long time.
And by then, if he does try again, I think that our boy just might be able to make him regret it."

"Let us hope so," Dumbledore said. "So, I think that in summation, everything is going smoothly?"

The three shared a look. "I believe so," McGonagall said.

"Tha' would make two of us," Sean said.

"Three," Betsy said. "With the caveat of the lingering fear of his telepathy."

"Duly noted," Dumbledore said. "I think, then, that this meeting can be concluded."

OoOoO

Harry was not the only one who was showing signs of progress. The others, however, were
discovering that progress for themselves.

Carol discovered hers at the end of football practice, which the coach finished off with a round of
crossbar challenge. It was simple: every player in the team tried to hit the crossbar of the goal,
from whichever distance they liked - too close and the upwards angle was too steep. Too far and
you risked not having enough power to reach the crossbar. If no one hit it, they all had another go.
If more than one person hit it, they kept going, penalty shootout style, until only one remained.

Carol usually won these contests, her ability to send a ball exactly where she wanted it to go and do
so with power being the envy of the rest of the league, especially her team. When people asked for
her secret, though, they got a shrug and an answer of, "practice, I guess," before the subject was
dropped.

There was more to it, though Carol didn't quite realise it. Where others simply hit the ball and
hoped, she was naturally inclined to calculate distance, weather conditions and power required,
then apply them with instinctive ease.

This time, though, she felt like showing off. So when she struck the ball, she intended to hit it with
real venom. And she did.

This time, however, there seemed to be a surge of pure power through her body before she struck
the ball. It screamed across the pitch and hit the crossbar with a thunderous crack.

As the ball went rocketing away into the distance, hissing through the air like an errant thrown
knife, Carol, her coach and the rest of the team stared in disbelief as the crossbar groaned and
sagged inwards, having been cracked clean in half.

Carol's first thought was, 'how the hell did I do that?'

Well, actually, that was her second thought. Her first made its way out of her mouth into the
stunned silence.

"Please don't tell me that I have to pay for that."

OoOoO

Everything was a blur. If something mobile was focused on, it resolved into a statue, moving at a
relative speed so slow that it might as well not have been moving at all. Total silence hung thick in
the air. At such speeds, even light began to warp, becoming blue ahead and red behind.

The one constant that Jean-Paul observed was the golden sparks of lightning that flashed from his
feet, growing in strength as he pushed himself further and further on. He told himself that he was
just testing his limits, that he could stop at any time he liked. But in truth, it was as if there was a
voice whispering in his ear singing a siren song, urging him onwards, faster and faster and faster.

And a part of him welcomed it, luxuriating in the electrifying energy running through his veins and
surrounding him like a cloak, the speed that made everything he'd been capable of before look like
child's play, being nothing less than the power to defy the laws of physics themselves. He could
feel like this forever, he realised. All he had to do was let… go.

With a vast wrench of effort, driven by terror on a level that could only be described as existential,
Jean-Paul pulled himself out of the speed, everything slamming back into motion as he came to a
juddering stop in a cornfield, sending up an explosive fountain of dirt and instant popcorn.

He took several deep, heaving breaths. The worrying thing, a small part of him noted, was that he
didn't even need them. No, he didn't even feel close to tired. Hungry, yes. Tired, no.

This was not quite as worrying as the fact that he was in a corn field when he'd started out running
eastwards. While running on water was hardly new to him, this…

He glanced around and caught sight of a sign in English. Ah… America, then. One of the Mid-
Western states. That made sense – he'd set out at around noon, but the light here still had a pale and
clear early morning quality about it. He checked his watch. He'd started running about ten minutes
ago. He ran a few calculations, brain effortlessly accelerating to do so, providing him with an
answer in seconds.

He'd been moving at an average speed of well over Mach 150.

It was an answer. However, it wasn't necessarily a precise one. That said, it more than served to
stop Jean-Paul cold.

Before, his previous top speed had been Mach 2.5. Incredible, astonishing even, faster than
anything on the planet but the very fastest combat jets and the legendary SR-71 Blackbird. At these
speeds, by all rights, he should have destroyed everything he came within a mile of. At least.

He knew that his speed had gained a boost after the mountain… this was something else. This
was terrifying.

Still. He wasn't going to deal with it by freaking out in a field. He glanced upwards at the sun's
position, accounting for the time of day and worked out where North-East was. It wasn't like it
would make any difference if he missed New York, he thought as he absently reached up and
plucked a piece of the instant popcorn created by his sudden stop from his hair and ate it. He could
just jog down the coast until he saw it.

With that, he accelerated away.

It was perhaps unfortunate that he did so at that very moment, because if he had waited only an
instant more, he would have heard the desperate cry of, "Wait!"

As it was, though, he was a state away before the echoes faded.

As they did, a young man dropped into normal speed, staring after the long gone Jean-Paul with a
mixture of awe, frustration and dawning hope.

He was tall, this young man, and handsome, with thick black hair and eyes that were almost
otherworldly in their blueness. While he was still only in his early teens, he could have passed for
someone five years older without effort. Until the Battle of New York, he'd thought that he was
alone in the world. And until just now, he'd begun to despair of finding people who were like him.

Now, one had appeared – and disappeared – right in front of him. Frustration at not being there in
time was subsumed by awe at the speed which far exceeded his own and joy at final confirmation
that he wasn't alone.

Alone in a field in Kansas, near a small town appropriately called Smallville, Clark Kent through
back his head and laughed a delighted laugh.

He wasn't alone.

OoOoO

Nor was Ivan Petrovich, something that was of deeper and more urgent – though perhaps less
existential – relief than Clark's.

Natalia, Natasha as she preferred these days, had driven up in a New York taxi. It had, from
outside, appeared to be empty, but as soon as he got in, he noticed Natasha's partner, Clint Barton,
apparently without his favoured weapons – though not unarmed. Ivan spotted at least two daggers,
three throwing knives and a pistol with three spare magazines secreted around his person in such
ways that even a professional would have trouble spotting them – and wearing clothes that
disguised his appearance. With him was someone else, a bland, average looking man, who gave
him a bland, average looking smile. Ivan was not fooled, even if his senses were. This man,
whoever he was, was not average. No one average could whip up a world class veil.

"Hey," Natalia said. "Where to?"

"Somewhere quiet," Ivan said. "It has been a long journey."

"What brings you to New York?"

"Nothing much," Ivan said. "This is just a flying visit."

This was not simply banter. There was code in there, which amounted to, 'I need to get somewhere
safe, tell you what I know, then get somewhere safer. This is serious.'

"Okay," Natalia said, apparently perfectly casual.

The drive was silent and unremarkable, save for the way that other vehicles unconsciously seemed
to make way for their taxi and, as soon as they got out of Manhattan, seemed not to notice them at
all. When they got out, the bland, average looking man glanced around, then gestured at the taxi,
which became as bland and average looking as the man himself.

Barton, meanwhile, put his famous eyes to good use, apparently casually looking around and
engaging in light banter with the bland, average looking man in a manner that screamed 'tourist'

As they did, Natalia opened the door, and the other sauntered inside, apparently without care.

A moment later, they were inside what was almost certainly one of SHIELD's safehouses. Well, it
was probably SHIELD's. If he recalled correctly (and he did) Natalia had been considering making
a 'web' of safehouses of her own. She might have got started.

"What made you ditch Reykjavik?" Natalia asked. Always straight to the point.

"It exploded," he replied dryly. "You wouldn't have heard – I had procedures in place to keep it as
quiet as possible. A carefully timed story about a gas explosion, the owner tragically perishing…
hardly the sort of thing to make mention in America's news, nor the BBC, even in this fearful day
and age."

"Why did you do that?" Natalia asked, tone only superficially mild. "And why did you come here?"

"I did it because the Red Room attempted to capture or kill me," Ivan said. "And I came here
because as I told Comrade Winter, I have nowhere else to go."

Natalia, credit to her training, didn't even twitch. The bland, average looking man was equally
impassive, save for a brief twitch around the eyes. Barton raised his eyebrows, shot Natalia a
significant look, and said nothing. "I see," Natalia said. "He saved you, then."

"You don't seem overly surprised," Ivan noted. "Yes, he saved me. He got me out ahead of the Red
Room team – rank amateurs the lot of them. Four children and two who were little more than
children when the Red Room fell. But good enough to have caught me, perhaps." He shrugged. "In
any case, I escaped with my information, the rest was destroyed, and here I am. All thanks to the
Winter Soldier."

"How was he?" Natalia asked. There were two questions here. One was not obvious: 'how in
control of himself is he?' The other was exactly what it looked like. Though she might not admit it,
Natalia had been in love with Comrade Winter, James, and still was. Even if she would not admit
it.

"Better than I have ever seen him," Ivan said, and took a deep breath. "Natalia… he spoke. Of his
own accord, without having been ordered to."
Natalia's breath caught. "He's never done that," she said numbly.

"Never spoken on his own?" Barton asked.

"His default programming was to take orders, not to talk," Natalia said. "He could communicate
just fine, he just didn't speak. He had to be ordered to be speech capable."

"And now he has broken this particular stricture of his own free will," the bland, average man said
softly.

"Indeed he has, Prince Loki," Ivan said.

"How did you know?"

"Even Natalia does not have many world class sorcerers who specialise in illusion and concealment
at her disposal," Ivan said. "You could say that it was your skill that gave you away."

The man laughed and the disguise faded away, revealing Loki Odinson. Him, Ivan had heard much
of, much that did not reach the public. Apart from his vast magical abilities and superhuman
strength, Loki was dangerous because of his knowledge. He had informers and spies, many not
even aware that they were such, all over the world, a web of information developed through
apparently artless philanthropy. The fact that he was a god didn't particularly faze Ivan – his
profession had brought him into contact with many strange things over the years. When it came to
weirdness, gods didn't really rate.

"Perhaps I shall be sloppy next time," Loki said, amused. The amusement faded. "So, you say that
the Winter Soldier has gone further in breaking his programming than ever before."

Ivan nodded.

Loki eyed Natalia. "You knew, I take it," he said. "That it was not merely a temporary glitch, but a
prolonged decay."

"I was fairly sure," Natalia said. "On the mountain, he seemed to have broken it. Really, properly
broken it. I suggested that he come in, get help."

"My brother would probably have showered him in gratitude for saving one of Harry's friends,"
Loki observed. "Steve too, come to that," he added, with a slight smile, which left Ivan wondering
if he knew what Ivan thought he might. It wouldn't surprise him if he did.

"Quite," Natalia said. "He refused. He said – we had this sign language. Only we knew what it
meant."

"I did too," Ivan said. "What? Do you think I and Comrade Winter played Charades?"

Barton and Loki snorted with laughter.

"I'm not surprised," Natalia said. "I am surprised that you still remember it."

"A good memory is both a gift and a curse," Ivan said. "And I think that soon, Comrade Winter's
memory will be very good indeed."

"What makes you say that?"

"I asked him if he knew who had been, before he became who he is now," Ivan said. "It was how I
found out that he could speak. He said that he did not, but he intended to find out. And since his
face is quite a famous one, I doubt that it will take him long once he has a shave and discovers the
wonders of Google."

"Famous?" Barton asked, raising his eyebrows, as Loki nodded, as if having a long standing
suspicion confirmed.

"Your grandfather is the Winter Soldier," Natalia said bluntly. That was interesting. He hadn't
previously been aware that Barton was a relative of Comrade Winter's, though it had to be said,
there was something of a resemblance once you knew what to look for.

Barton, meanwhile, blinked, then nodded. "Looks like susceptibility to being brainwashed runs in
the family," he said mildly.

Loki winced.

"I'll absorb the implications later," Barton said, impressing Ivan. "Why didn't he come in? Was he
intending to play double agent?"

"Exactly," Natasha said. "I didn't mention because I didn't intend to rely on it. He could be
brainwashed again at a moment's notice and made into a triple agent. We would be puppets on
Malfoy's strings."

"He left me with intelligence on the other puppets on those strings," Ivan said, sliding across a
shead of scrawled notes, which Natalia scanned.

"They're his handwriting," she said. "Manpower, resources… he's even got HYDRA's location."

Loki looked up sharply. "Where?"

"Central London," Natalia said. "Under… no. In Battersea power station. Specifically, in a pocket
dimension attached to it."

"Clever," Loki breathed. "Oh, that is very, very clever. The necromancer would know that such
bubbles can be concealed from Heimdall – if he did not, the Darkhold would tell him. The perfect
location, too, in one of the most heavily populated areas on the planet. They can strike with relative
impunity while we dare not do the same, at the same time having immediate access to resources
financial, mystical and tangibly mundane, transport routes of all kinds – it's a nexus for Ways
through the Nevernever. And it is the last place anyone would expect."

"That's assuming that this is good intel," Barton said. "He might have been turned again."

"It carries the ring of truth, but so do all the best lies," Natalia said. "I need to get this to Fury,
along with whatever else you've got, Ivan."

Ivan handed her a small extended hard drive. "Already prepared, Natalia," he said.

"Always two steps ahead," she said, with slight, fond smile.

"Only two? I aspire to five," Ivan said, moustache twitching.

"Two will do for now," she said, dropping a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Stay safe." She exchanged a
look with Barton, who nodded slightly, accepting bodyguard duty. "Loki?"

The Prince of Asgard nodded, lobbing a small object from his pocket that Clint deftly caught, then
stepped away from the wall and gallantly took her arm, then they stepped forward. They
disappeared between one step and the next, though for a moment it didn't seem that way. Their
conjured doubles stood there, before making their way outside. The door even seemed to open for
them, though Ivan suspected that this was just another sophisticated illusion. The disquieting part,
however, was that Loki's double had glanced at him and, strangely, appeared to wink.

OoOoO

Carol paced up and down her room, glaring at the clock. She was steadfastly not looking at the
broken door handle (hidden under the bed), broken chair (discreetly propped up by two piles of
books) and split backpack (broken by being thrown at the chair and now buried under a pile of
dirty clothes).

After football practice had ended, the sense of power she'd felt from the moment she drew back her
leg to kick that ball hadn't gone away. Instead, it had spread through the rest of her body. She felt
like she could do anything, but right now, what she was mostly doing was breaking stuff. The door
handle, chair and backpack were part of a list that included one of the changing room's shower
taps, the now severely squashed door knob of the changing room and a large dent in her locker,
which she'd punched in frustration. The only upside was that her newfound strength had allowed
her to wrench it open and pop out the dent, before jamming it shut again.

Right now, she was waiting for the chance to talk to the one person she knew who'd been through
anything like this.

Right, she thought. The time difference was five hours. It was nine o'clock here, four there, surely
he'd be done by now… but no, he was at some weird British boarding school and they got up early
and worked late, didn't they? He might not be done yet.

She paused. There could be no harm in texting him and telling him to call her, could there? Then,
he could call when he wasn't in class.

With this in mind, she took out her phone and carefully typed in a message: 'Call me, now!
Urgent!'

She'd considered trying, 'help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope', but didn't think that Star
Wars was something that he knew much about (she'd have to rectify that). Besides: she preferred to
stay a long way away from metal bikinis, real or imagined.

In the mean time, however, she sat down to wait.

Less than ten minutes later, her phone rang and she picked it up eagerly. "Harry?"

"Hi Carol," Harry replied. He sounded worried. "What is it?"

"Well," Carol said. "It's like this. I've got superstrength now."

"Oh. Oh dear."

"I was thinking more 'oh shit', myself."

"That too," Harry said, then paused. "Okay, tell me what happened."

Carol accordingly told him. Harry listened, making 'uh-huh' and 'mhm-hmm' noises at appropriate
moments. "So," Carol said. "How the hell do I deal with this?"

"Well, first, stay calm," Harry said. "Breathe. Relax. After that, test how much strength you can
use on each object. If you're not sure, pretend it's an egg. Pretend everything is an egg."

"Right," Carol said, taking a deep breath. "Good advice. It's just… everything feels so fragile. I'm
afraid I'll break something."

"That's how I feel every time I shake someone's hand," Harry said. "Especially now."

"Oh?"

"You're not the only one whose strength took a hike," Harry said.

"Hmm," Carol said. "Do you think that what that mountain did to us has something to do with it?"

"Doctor McCoy suggested that it might," Harry said slowly. "But in my case, it woke stuff up."

"And Jean-Paul's been a little off since then," Carol added, in the same tone. "I'll check on him.
What about Uhtred and Diana?"

"I don't know, but I haven't heard anything. I'll check," Harry said.

"Do that. Thing is, though I didn't have anything special to wake up," Carol said. "Did I?"

"I can't answer that one," Harry said. "But if you do, I'd keep it quiet."

Carol glanced around her room. "Yeah… that could be difficult."

"Can you keep everything you've broken hidden until the weekend?"

"I can try. Why?"

"I can fix things by magic."

"If you do, I swear to God, I will convert to your religion."

"Please don't," Harry said, sounding pained. "For one thing, it's an easy trick – any witch or wizard
my age could do it. For another, my family being worshipped never ends well. Most of all, though,
I don't like it."

"Sorry," Carol said, thinking about the sort of unwanted attention she got, some of which could be
analogised as near worship.

"No problem," Harry said.

"Though, seriously, if you do, I'll owe you big time."

That got a soft laugh. "Since I got you into the situation that led to you being able to break things
by accident, let's call it even."

"Thanks," Carol said, then yawned. "Got to go. Bed time."

"Sleep well."

"I'll try," Carol said, glancing around the room. "You know, once I've hidden all this crap."

OoOoO

Others were not engaged in hiding. In fact, they were about to engage in the exact opposite.
Lucius Malfoy surveyed his troops. They might be limited in number, but they were well-armed
and well-trained and most importantly, well-informed.

"The old world is weak, its foundations shaken. It knows our strength and it trembles at it, even as
it thinks us cornered," he said, voice echoing out over the assembled troops. "For months now we
have bided our time, waiting for the moment to strike at the heart of the old world. Tonight, we
shall do so. Tonight, we shall strike at their heart. Tonight, we shall shake them to pieces, leaving
behind only the building blocks of our new world!"

That got thunderous cheers, cheers that shook the rafters.

"And when tomorrow dawns, it will dawn on a new age! A new age of HYDRA!" Lucius
continued. "We will take our place as the masters of the world and the arbiters of destiny!"

The cheers roared to even greater heights, and Lucius let them, smiling slightly as they resolved
into a chant of, "Hail Malfoy! Hail HYDRA! Hail Malfoy!"

In his life, he had always preferred to manoeuvre from the shadows. But now… now he understood
why the likes of Voldemort and Von Strucker had revelled in this adulation. Still. All good things
had to come to an end.

He raised his hand and silence rippled out from that motion, more potent than any spell he could
have cast. And when he spoke again, his voice was as quiet as a stone cast into a pond on a still
day.

"You have your assignments," he said. "You know your objectives. Now, go and set the world
ablaze."
 The Flame

Arthur Weasley had been collecting his things at the end of what he expected would be his last day
at the Ministry. All he had to do was hand in his resignation, and then he would be free, free to
explore the interactions of magic and muggle technology to his heart's content. And be exceedingly
well paid for it, which was always a bonus.

That, however, had been put on hold. All the heads of department had been called into one of the
Ministry meeting rooms. When they were all present, Fudge spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Ministry, I have been contacted," he said. "By Lucius Malfoy. He
requested a meeting and I have agreed."

That caused uproar.

Fudge waited for it all to die down, then, fiddling with his bowler hat, went on. "For many years,
Lucius Malfoy has been a citizen in good standing, donating to many worthy causes," he said.

"For many years he pretended to be, Minister," Amelia Bones boomed. "He claimed he was under
the Imperius Curse when he served Voldemort, but I think that the last eight months have proven
quite effectively that he was merely biding his time."

"Even if he was, most of the former Death Eaters who aren't in Azkaban are dead," Fudge snapped.
"In mysterious circumstances, I might add. He has nowhere to turn."

"He does," a voice said, and Arthur was surprised to realised that it was his own. He took a deep
breath and carried on. "He has turned to HYDRA, Grindelwald's allies, and more recently his own.
During the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he worked closely with HYDRA. I believe
he is doing so again."

There was a small cough and every eye in the room turned to Dolores Umbridge. Arthur had never
liked her. She was an ambitious little toad, a description made all the more valid by her
resemblance to the creature in question.

"Who has told you these… rumours?" she asked, in a sickly sweet tone of voice.

"Thor Odinson, Madame Secretary," Arthur said. "A Prince of Asgard and a close friend and ally
of Director Nicholas Fury of SHIELD."

"Fury has no authority here!" Fudge said, voice shrill, verging on hysterical. "He is well known for
his irrational hatred of Lucius Malfoy and his attempt, nearly thirteen years ago, to murder Lucius
in his own home! His testimony, at first or second hand, is worthless!"

"Minister," Arthur pleaded. "At least contact MI13. They know how to handle HYDRA."

Fudge went puce with anger. "No! We can solve our own problems without turning to a bunch of
arrogant muggles who persist in interfering with things that are not their concern!" he snapped. He
shook his head. "I can talk sense into Lucius. Bring this to a resolution."

"Peter Wisdom won't see it that way, Minister," Bones warned. "Lucius Malfoy was implicated in
the attacks on MI13 and other arms of the muggle government's intelligence services. Whether you
think it's his business or not, he'll get involved, and Fury will be right behind him."
The subtext being, they have the right to get involved, they will get involved and we can't stop
them.

"He shall be reminded of his place in due time," Fudge said sharply. "And Fury will be reminded
that our affairs are not his business."

Arthur idly wondered if it would be wrong to hand his resignation letter to Fudge while making for
the exit. In his current state of mind, the Minister would probably not register the significance of it
until he, Arthur, had cleared out his office and left.

Before he could come to a decision, however, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy walked in, cane
thumping as it hit the ground. Arthur felt a surge of rage as he saw the expression of cool,
arrogance on the man's face, the expression that said he fully expected there not to be any
consequences for the foul deeds he had orchestrated, including – and here Arthur's hands balled
into fists – the near death of his daughter, Ginny.

"Ah, Lucius," Fudge said, smiling ingratiatingly, and in that moment, Arthur hated him. That
surprised him, because while he'd always know what Fudge was, they'd been on fairly good terms.
Now, though… now he understood why Fury despised the man, why he was pointing his protégé
at Fudge's throat. "How good to see you." He gestured at the room. "As you can see, all the heads
of department, as you requested."

A murmur went through the room at this. It was known that Fudge was under Malfoy's influence,
but it had never been quite so obvious.

"Thank you, Minister," Lucius drawled. "You never fail to meet my expectations." He looked
down his nose at the little man. "And those expectations of a spineless weakling, forever in the
shadow of greater wizards. You only ever achieved the Ministry because Albus Dumbledore
refused it and you had a singular talent for ingratiating yourself with your superiors."

Fudge stared, jaw hanging loose, completely baffled. "Lucius," he began, but was cut off by a lazy
wave of Malfoy's hand.

"I am not here," he said. "To do what you hoped. To bring about a negotiated end to this affair.
That you even thought I might speaks volumes of your self-delusion, you pathetic little man." He
sneered at Fudge. "You fool. You honestly thought that I would come crawling back to the fold, to
the acclamation of my supposed peers, and that all of this would be swept under the table, didn't
you?" He shook his head. "Pathetic. But I will not. I have come to realise something that you only
dimly realised and something that you never will. Power is all that matters, taking it and keeping it.
You think you have it as Minister, yet you were ever the puppet on my strings or those of Albus
Dumbledore, whether you knew it or not. Power is about more than just having an office, it is
about what you can do, how you can shape the world. And you were never more than the means
through which others did so."

Fudge was mumbling now, mumbling denials.

"The other thing was that the Wizarding World, while it possesses power, has little by comparison
to the muggle world," Lucius said. "You were right all along, Arthur: the muggles have come up
with such wonders and we fools ignored that for so long. But you didn't, did you? You worked
until you caught the eye of Tony Stark himself and he offered you a job, one you've accepted."

Every eye turned to Arthur.

"I can't blame you, of course. Indeed, I take my hat off to you. Why not take it? Stark easily
possesses more riches than any three families in Gringotts put together, the brilliance to appreciate
your work and the resources to help you take it further," Lucius said. "And he intends to pay you
handsomely for doing what you love, as opposed to making you serve as a glorified odd-job man.
What wizard of sense could refuse such an opportunity?"

There was silence.

"Of course, the average wizard is worth ten of the average muggle," Lucius continued. "But there
are so many muggles and denied the gift of magic, they turn to their technology, building,
innovating, adapting… it's all rather impressive, really. Suitably improved by magic, it can become
positively magnificent." He glanced at the hypnotised aurors. "Oh, and don't bother trying to
apprehend me. You see, I'm not actually here. My presence is a testament to muggle ingenuity,
with a magical tweak or two. This is what the muggles call a 'Life Model Decoy'. That is merely
their name for a construct, one that my mind controls from afar."

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Bones asked.

"Well, informing Fudge of his utter inferiority was one purpose," Lucius said idly. "The others…
oh yes. You see, I came here to end this conflict. Not through negotiation, but by force. And not
personally, you understand. I am simply informing you of a few matters, while it is just us – the
doors are barred, by the way."

A few began testing the doors to no avail. Lucius sighed.

"What part of 'the doors are barred' do you not understand?" he asked. "If you keep doing it…"

A burst of dark fire engulfed an unfortunate witch.

"… that happens," Lucius said, sounding utterly unconcerned. "Now, to inform you of the state of
affairs…"

"Wait," Arthur said. "You're saying that you only came here to gloat?"

Lucius considered this. "Well, yes, I suppose I did," he said. "In any case, Azkaban is being farmed
for that which is useful. Those who are too far gone to be of any use will be fed to the Dementors,
their bodies retained for experimentation. Those who swear allegiance to me and possess at least
some sanity will be drafted into my forces, probably for use as cannon fodder: one can never have
enough. Those who do not… well, I told Lord Gravemoss to use his discretion, but to save a few
specimens for Doctor Zola. He so rarely gets responsive magical test subjects. And then there are
the Dementors. Ever so useful, especially since Muggles can't see them." He looked thoughtful. "I
also believe that there are meant to be stranger, darker things at the bottom of the prison, buried
since it was first discovered. I daresay that Gravemoss will think that it is Christmas."

He sat down, steepling his fingers. "MI13, unfortunately, have gone to ground somewhere I have
yet to discover, so they will have to wait. SHIELD are being dealt with, as are muggle security
agencies and rulers all over the world," he said. "Hogwarts will be… repurposed, hopefully with
the minimum of unnecessary bloodshed. The various magical ministries, kingdoms and empires
shall be dealt with in due course, if they don't join me." He looked at the assembled heads of
department and important persons within the Ministry. "This leads me to one question: will you
join me in tearing down this old world and building a new one?"

Arthur Weasley was a mild mannered man by nature, not much given to outbursts of temper or foul
language. However, now, in the face of this… he felt both coming on.
"Go fuck yourself, Lucius."

"Quite," Bones said. "I think Arthur speaks for the lot of us."

"Indeed," Rufus Scrimgeour said, standing. "I don't know about the rest of you," he said. "But I did
not spend over ten years fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to bow to his lapdog, no matter
how many muggle toys he has."

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Very well," he said, standing up. "I had hoped to spare some of you. But
now, those of you who doubt the power of my 'muggle toys', may see them first hand. Those of
you who survive may see one up close and personal. His name is the Winter Soldier and right at
this minute, he and an assault team are… on the third floor. Of course," he added. "That will only
be a concern to those of you who survive." He smiled. "You see, there's a thing about 'muggle
toys'. They tend to explode."

A mere instant later, his LMD did exactly that.

OoOoO

Harry's eyes snapped open. Something felt wrong. Slowly, he extended his psi-senses. There.
Several groups of minds, human, some magical, one slightly different, converging on the school
from all angles. And their minds felt… hungry. Anticipatory and predatory in intent.

He extended them further, then recoiled as his mind touched something vast and cold, something
that seemed to drink in his power. He carefully probed again. It wasn't one vast thing, but many.
He could make a reasonable guess at what they were and why they were here.

Without thinking, he slipped out of bed, swiftly getting dressed in his Asgardian leathers. Neither
robes nor jeans was right for this, he thought, as he rested a hand on the already awake Freki to
retain his balance. They slipped on easily. At first, he was worried about them not fitting – he had
done a lot of growing, after all – but Asgardian tailoring proved as remarkable as everything else
produced by that world, and they adapted to his growth, expanding to fit.

"'arry?" Ron mumbled, awakened by the creaks of Harry's bed and expanding leather. "Whassisit?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. Ron would come if he asked, without hesitating. But no. He didn't
have the right to drag Ron into this. "Nothing, Ron," he said quietly, sweeping his invisibility cloak
around his shoulders. "I've just got some work to do."

He slipped downstairs, clad in his invisibility cloak, wand holstered at his hip, telekinesis,
telepathy and fire magic at the ready and wolves padding soundlessly at his side. As he did, he
carefully reached out first to Dumbledore's mind, then Cassidy's, McGonagall's, Warren's and
Hagrid's, sending a simple message.

Wake up. The school is in danger. Wake up. The school is in danger. Wake up!

As soon as he felt them awaken and in Dumbledore's case, a strange connection, apparently to the
school itself, stir, he slipped silently down the stairs, one certainty in his mind.

Whoever was invading the school was going to regret it.

OoOoO

Blood spattered the stone floors of the Ministry as those few late workers who had stayed to fight
fell under a combined onslaught of bullets, spells and Deity Class energy weapons, HYDRA's
assault teams moving from objective to objective with ruthless efficiency. The only time they
slowed was when a hastily assembled team of eight Aurors managed to bottleneck a corridor. That
might have ended it all there, allowing the Minister and the other heads of department – or at least,
those who had survived the exploding LMD – to escape.

Unfortunately, Lucius was serious about clearing out the Ministry.

Which is why the aurors didn't stand a chance.

Their next assailant exploded into the corridor in a blur, the immediate flurry of spells falling
behind him as their casters misjudged his speed.

His hands flickered up from his sides and two sub-machine guns roared into life. In the confined
space of the corridor, they cut down four Aurors in little more than second. The others managed to
whip up shields just in time, which only compounded the misery of their comrades, whose bodies
soaked up the ricochets.

But by this time, the Winter Soldier was on the attack, knife falling into his hand in time to lay
open an Auror's throat, then bury itself under another's armpit into their heart.

One of the remaining two attacked, hurling blasting hexes, incendiary jinxes, curses of every kind.
But the Soldier tracked the wand and was always where it wasn't pointing, moving with the grace
and speed of a well-oiled machine, metal fist striking like a jack hammer. The Auror's neck
snapped in an instant.

And then, after less than ten seconds of fighting, there was one, a young witch who'd just qualified
as an Auror. Despite her fear, despite the fact that she'd been disarmed, she didn't back away,
prepared to slow the Soldier any way she could. The only sign of her fear was the constant changes
in the colour of her hair.

The Soldier struck. There was a crack. And Nymphadora Tonks fell to the floor like a puppet
whose strings had been cut. And HYDRA moved on.

But, if one stopped to take a very close look at her, to listen carefully, they might have noticed
something unexpected.

She was still breathing.

OoOoO

One life saved.

It's not enough – it'll never be enough. But it'll have to do.

OoOoO

Gravemoss stepped onto the cold island and inhaled deeply, savouring the thick taste of the true
magic around the island.

This was a good place. He'd always meant to visit, having heard wonderful things about, but he'd
never really got around to doing so. Perhaps he might come and live here. Enticing test subjects
wouldn't be too much of a problem – an illusion here or there would draw in mortal ships like
moths to a flame, and if that failed, well, there were always Atlanteans.

And in any case, he wouldn't have to worry about that for a while. The Dementors and his pets
would keep him company.

They came swarming down now, coming to investigate him and his pets, the veidrdraugar. He
smiled, spreading his arms to welcome such kindred spirits and savoured the cold they brought
with them. It was refreshing and, he found, it served to soothe the memories of what had caused his
last trip to this region. Inwardly, he shuddered as those memories floated to the surface. That
mortal stripling Dresden, the Starborn… he'd hurt him. He'd used his Death Curse, yet he lived, a
perversion of the natural order.

While this might seem a strange thing for someone who specialised in perverting the natural order
to object to, in Gravemoss' book, once someone died, they did not come back to life. Un-
life/Undeath, yes. Life, no. And it frightened him. He could control the dead. He could bring them
back as the undead.

But he could not control the living, not so completely as he desired, and the implications of one
coming back from the dead as a fully living being, that there were Powers that could and would do
that (he'd heard stories, but with the exception of the White Christ, who he strongly suspected to
have simply ascended past mortal form, he hadn't many, if any, confirmations)… that scared him.
That scared him because that meant that there were Powers that could, and would, undo his work.

He put the thoughts aside. He had work to do.

"Hello, little ones," he murmured, as the Dementors swirled around him. They didn't try to feed on
him; his memories were the sort that even a Dementor would choke on. As for the veidrdraugar,
they didn't have minds, as such."Rejoice. I have come to liberate you from your drudgery and
servitude. Your would-be masters have fallen. Soon, you will be able to spread across this mortal
world, feeding as you please. If, that is, you serve me."

The Dementors didn't even wait a moment before giving their assent, and they wound around him
like kittens around ankles as he strode into the prison. He looked up at the rows of prison cells and
gestured idly. The cell doors opened and he turned to the Dementors. "Go and bring all the
prisoners to me. Those that cannot move under their own power are yours to feed upon.
Afterwards, bring their bodies to me."

The Dementors flooded away from him and then, some minutes later, returned with a sorry looking
selection of prisoners and more than a few bodies. Those Gravemoss simply waved at, transporting
them to HYDRA's headquarters and the keeping of his colleague, Doctor Zola. He so rarely
considered one of the living worth the time they spent on this mortal plane, but Zola was different
– for one thing, it was foolish to regard him as simply being one of the living. What exactly he
was, even Gravemoss wasn't entirely sure of, but he was certainly more than one of the bumbling
creatures whose only destiny was to die.

"Who…?" managed one of the ragged prisoners, before collapsing into a hacking and coughing
heap. His pets started forward, sensing prey, but Gravemoss stilled them. There would be time for
that later.

"I am Lord Gravemoss," Gravemoss said. "An ally of Lord Malfoy. He sends glad tidings – your
Ministry of Magic has fallen to his subjects, HYDRA, and governments magical and non-magical
are being crippled as we speak. He now gives you a choice: do as some of your former cohorts
have, and serve him."

"Never!"

Gravemoss turned to a wild eyed woman with wilder hair, whose very being spoke of madness.
"Bella," one of the others warned, but she shook him off.

"We recognise only one master, Lord Voldemort," she said. "The greatest wizard in the world."

Gravemoss chuckled softly, like dry leaves scattering over stone. "Your master is little more than a
wraith, clinging onto life with the blind foolishness of the living," he said. "And he is but a speck
before the gods that now walk Midgard, unable to even consider freeing you. Yet you still give
loyalty to him?"

"Always," she hissed.

"Like a hound, then," Gravemoss murmured.

A hunting hound. More of an Asgardian affectation, shared by some of his former people, but ever
since he'd begun to create his pets, he had to admit that there was a certain appeal. And there was
something about the hound in her, the unconditional loyalty, the savagery in the hunt… the fact
that she could think also gave her an advantage.

He didn't need her body, though. It was a sorry, empty thing.

"So be it," he said, and his pets surged forward, bearing her to the ground before she could even
scream and descending into a feeding frenzy. She screamed, briefly, but then they ate her lungs, so
there wasn't anything to scream with. They hadn't been fed for a while. Perhaps another prisoner
would decide to resist and they could complete their feeding.

He glanced over at the prisoners, who were watching the veidrdraugar feeding with a mixture of
fear, disgust and fascination. Within twenty seconds, they were done, and all that remained were
shards of bone and pieces of ragged clothing.

Once they were done, he murmured the words of the spell he had found in the Darkhold and,
slowly, then faster and faster, a cloud of smoke rose up from her corpse, shaping first into the
woman she had been, then it collapsed and condensed once more into a vast, gaunt spectral hound
with a coat of shadow and eyes that burned with a cold fire. The hound padded over to his side and
sat.

After that, most joined. One or two fanatics refused, and his pets filled their bellies still further.
Overall, he was pleased. Oh, yes, he was very pleased indeed.

OoOoO

Elsewhere in the world, HYDRA's assault was already underway.

In China, the headquarters of the Ministry of State Security, was the primary target. The power
lines were cut, wireless signals cut off and the remaining electronics hexed. A pack of fifteen
veidrdraugar were sent in under cover of night.

The first police officers to enter, several hours later, found both corpses and computers alike
stripped to the bone. Later investigation would reveal that other focal points of the intelligence
community had been similarly attacked and stripped bare.

The pattern repeated in France, Germany, India, Israel, Russia, the US, Britain and Wakanda,
everywhere considered either to be an immediate potential threat or to possess something of value.
Sometimes, a fight was put up, a few of the veidrdraugar falling, even being driven back. In which
case, a few civilians were plucked off the streets, injected with especially unstable Extremis and
driven into the building in question by the Imperius, joining those animals programmed for the
same purpose.

Even those forces that had managed to organise a defence against the demons in the dark crumpled
in the face of living bombs that soaked up bullets like a sponge in water, before igniting with such
heat and force that only mangled metal, scorched concrete and the shadows of the dead remained.
And if any survived then, the Dementors slipped inside, feasting freely on victims who could not
even see them, much less fight back.

In some places, however, HYDRA was stopped cold. Sometimes, it was because they were
swallowed up by a darkness even deeper than their own: the HYDRA teams that went to
Archangel, Pripyat and into a place in Siberia so secret it didn't even have a name, never returned.

And sometimes, it was because they met their match.

OoOoO

"North corridor clear," a HYDRA Agent said. "This place looks empty, sir."

"It can't be," his superior snapped down the commlink. "We had good intel that MI5 had relocated
here."

There was a sudden crunch, a thump, then a series of zapping sounds.

"Sir? Sir!" the HYDRA Agent whispered urgently. The only reply was the crackle of radio static.
He tried to speak again. But this time, all he managed was a gurgling squeak as a hand shot out
from the shadows behind closed around his throat from behind and a series of blades of energy
erupted from the other hand right in front of his face, illuminating the unpleasant smile of Peter
Wisdom.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, sunshine," Wisdom hissed. "That intel? It wasn't good."

The blades rose and fell, followed by a slashing hiss, a desperate gurgle and a thump.

Wisdom brushed off his hands. "North corridor clear," he said. "Now… let's go hunting."

OoOoO

The Paratroops, wearing pirated variations of Stark Industries' 'Falcon' exo-suits, were preparing for
the jump. They were quietly confident. Hogwarts was fairly well protected, true, but they were
HYDRA's best, well armed, well trained and well briefed. And everyone inside was asleep. They
wouldn't know what hit them.

On top of that, the moon was bright and the sky was reasonably clear, meaning good visibility.

Yes. Tonight was a good night.

The first and second waves launched without incident, twenty men beginning their swooping
descent towards the vulnerable castle.

One of them, caught in the moment, stole a quick glance around him, taking it all in. He exulted in
the deadly focus of his comrades, with whom he made up part of a greater whole, fighting for a
greater cause. Once, he had been nothing, cast aside, seen as good for nothing. But HYDRA had
thought otherwise. They had given him a chance. And he had given them his loyalty, because what
else could he offer? All else that he had, his skills, his possessions, his life, they were given to him
by HYDRA.
He restrained himself from letting out a whoop of excitement, of glee at being at the forefront of
the new age, and looked around further, taking in the Quinjet they had leapt from, the third wave,
preparing to launch... and something else.

Curious, he craned his neck to look, catching a flicker of silver in the moonlight. For a moment, he
dismissed it as nothing.

Then the Quinjet fell apart in mid air. As it fell, tumbling from the sky, full of doubtless screaming
troops – and indeed, some were falling away. One or two managed to engage their suits,
accelerating away from the doomed wreck. Others were less fortunate, the Agent watching in sick
horror as they were sucked into the propellers, explosion of their power packs providing a light by
which to better see their gory end.

Unable to look away, he watched the pieces of the quinjet crash into the forest below, exploding
violently, the shockwave sending him fighting for balance, and creating a pyre that lit up the night.
Far below, he saw the ground troops pause, looking back at the burning quinjet, then continue.

And for just a moment, in the light of the flames, he glimpsed that flicker of silver again.

"Sir," he said over his comms. "We are under attack. Unknown hostile."

"We noticed, Agent," came the crackly and tense reply.

"There's more, sir. I saw something silver, moving fast, too fast to see."

There was dead silence.

"Silver?" came the eventual reply. This time, there was fear in it. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir."

"God help us all," his superior whispered. "First wave, head to the castle, carry on with the
mission. We'll cover you, no matter the cost."

The Agent took a deep breath and nodded to himself. Loyalty to HYDRA was loyalty unto death.
They had given him everything, after all, and balance would not be restored until he had given
them the same. Still, part of him couldn't help but wish that he was heading to the castle, and
relative safety, too.

"Fan out," the commander said. "High and low, maximum coverage, weapons hot. And remember,
you'll have to compensate for recoil. Don't take any shot you don't have to. Stay frosty – that
monster isn't getting through."

"Sir," the Agent said, echoing his colleagues and spreading out, heart beating like a jack hammer,
wondering what his superior had meant by 'that monster'. A winged silhouette loomed out of the
dark, rising towards him, and his heart nearly stopped. But then, he smiled in relief as he saw it
was one of his colleagues, who had escaped the falling jet, and was now returning to join up with
the greater whole.

He never got the chance.

Something shot out of the dark, slamming into the other HYDRA agent. There was a flash of silver
again, several, huge and moving fast, ripping the agents back, then whatever it was exploded away,
disappearing in a blur into the night. Its victim, now denied his harness, plummeted screaming.
The Agent watched, paralysed with terror, then resumed scanning the skies.
They were HYDRA. They were trained for this. They were armed with weapons designed to slay
gods. They were unstoppable, the flood that would sweep away the old one for HYDRA to build a
new, better one. Lord Malfoy himself had assured them that this was so, and had he not led
HYDRA to greatness once more?

But even with this in mind, he felt fear, fear that only grew as he heard a brief scream over the
comms. He looked about wildly, just in time to see another comrade spiralling down, wings in
ruins. His parachute engaged, and the Agent breathed a sigh of relief. He could land, recover and
join the ground assault. But then, the silver blur struck again, arrowing out of the night and
seeming to pass straight through the paracute. Whatever happened, the agent began to plummet
into free fall.

A volley of shots was fired off by his comrades, orange bolts lighting up the night, but they didn't
even come close to hitting whatever that flash of silver was.

"Stay calm," his commander said sharply. "Wait until you've got a clear shot –"

There was a horrible crunching gurgle and the Agent looked up to see his commander dropping
like a stone, body limp, head almost entirely separated from the body. In the moonlight, the gaping
wound in his throat and the deep slash in the chest, one which carved straight through armour,
muscle and bone.

The Agent closed his eyes agains the whistling of the wind audible through the comms, followed
by a final crunch, the image of his dead commander seared into his mind, his nerve gone.

Over his comms, he heard more crunches, more whistles and more screams, until there was just…
silence.

He opened his eyes. And there it was, right in front of him.

It was not a monster. Nor was it human, because such a creature could not be anything so prosaic
as a mortal.

It was an angel, gleaming wings dripping with blood, hair shining in the moonlight face and blood
spattered naked upper body as pale, merciless and cold, with the stark and terrible beauty of a
marble statue.

He stared up at it, frozen by terror and struck by awe, and it stared down at him. This, he thought,
must be what it must have been like to be Icarus, reaching heights that were never meant to be the
province of mortal man, and then facing judgement divine for such impertinence.

Then, it pounced. Silver wings flashed and tore, shearing his wings away from him, and the Agent
plummeted.

It was only just before he hit the ground that he remembered to scream.

OoOoO

Sean listened to the screams and murmured a prayer. Whether it was for Warren's soul or for those
of the poor bastards who his protégé was tearing through like they were wet cardboard cut-outs
was a legitimate question.

While he despised HYDRA, he had a pretty good idea of how terrifying Warren could be, and he'd
lived long enough and seen enough to know that people didn't join organisations like HYDRA
because they woke up one day and decided, 'today, I will be evil'. It was a culmination of
circumstances, a slow seduction down the left hand path.

But then again. They'd made their choices. One of those choices included attacking a school full of
children, to, if he was not very much mistaken, capture or kill a child who had never asked to be
anything other than normal. And that made him lose any sympathy he might have had.

The first of the HYDRA troops descended the stairs of the West Tower. Those unfortunate first
two ran straight into a claymore mine. And since Sean's powers consisted of rather more than just
screaming very loudly and hearing very well, none of their colleagues heard a thing and the next
three were picked off by some of the only legitimately silent shots in history.

As their corpses landed, Sean released the silent field he'd been holding around himself and waited,
listening, letting the footsteps of the troops above form a picture in his mind. Four left on this
tower, then.

Easily enough dealt with, he thought, as he took a deep breath.

Sean had spent many years refining the use of his powers, especially in combat. And one of the
tricks he'd picked up was hitting the resonant frequency of an object, the same kind of force that
led to marching soldiers essentially vibrating bridges to pieces. He'd demonstrated it on wand
blanks during his self-defence class. He had also, however, mastered some of the darker aspects of
this art.

Because principle among the things in the world he had learned how to resonate was bone.

So when he screamed, hitting frequencies far below the range of human hearing, only Freki and
Geri, on the other side of the castle, heard it.

What tumbled down the stairs, however, was very audible and in all four cases, could barely be
described as human. Rapidly purpling, moaning bags of meaty jelly filled with broken shards might
have been a better description. Madam Pomfrey might have been able to save them, if she'd been
right there at that moment, but he honestly doubted it. He inspected the troops, stripped them of
their weapons just in case, handling each with care, then executed each of them. It was more
merciful and it reduced the possibility of one raising the alarm later on.

Once the troops were dealt with, Sean sent out a sonar pulse, inaudible to normal ears. His floor
was clear, and so were the next few. Everyone, it seemed, was congregating on the ground floors.

On the ground floor, however, the news brought by the returning pulse made his heart stop and his
blood run cold.

"Oh no," he whispered. "Oh merciful god, please, no."

OoOoO

Those HYDRA paratroopers who successfully avoided first Warren, then Sean, soon found that
their troubles were not over.

The assault stopped at the end of the first floor corridor, their vision obscured by the all pervading
mist. "This is Alpha team," the leader said. "Corridor clear, repeat..."

He trailed off as something loomed out of the mist. The briefing had said that Hogwarts school
employed a half-giant man, who was enormously tall and extremely physically powerful, with an
unknown level of durability. The recommendation had been termination. With extreme prejudice.
So accordingly, he raised his rifle and opened fire, his squad following suit.

The bullets pinged off the figure which just kept advancing. And as it closed, they saw what it
was. A statue.

It seemed to look at them. Then it raised its stone mace.

The screams were quickly cut off, and replacing loud squelching-crunching sounds.

One magically animated eight foot tall stone statue against ten squishy humans, one of whom,
though magical, doesn't have the power, skill or nerve to counter the enchanted stone, in a confined
space isn't a fight.

It's carnage.

Once the last of the team had either run or been, at best, incapacitated, the statue stood still.

Minerva stepped around the corner and surveyed the destruction with cold, clear eyes. Then she
said three words.

"Welcome to Scotland."

OoOoO

But in the end, they were merely rocks in the rushing river of HYDRA's onslaught. All over the
world, lights winked out and even in those areas where the sun was meant to shine, the shadows
grew longer, deeper and darker and the days grew somehow thinner as HYDRA's tentacles steadily
swallowed up the world.

And as those tentacles spread… they squeezed.

OoOoO

The British Prime Minister was a fairly blameless man, or so he liked to think, doing the best by
his country that he could. Of course, that had become much more difficult over the last few years.

Aside from the increasingly regular visits from Cornelius Fudge, the man he had inwardly dubbed
'the Other Minister', there had also been the advent of the Avengers and the return of HYDRA,
which had resulted in the disembowelling of MI6 and the crippling of MI13. The one bright spot
had been the resurrection of the latter at speeds which made Christ look sluggish.

While some among his advisers said that Peter Wisdom was young for the role – and whispered
darkly about his obscure past – the Prime Minister found his confidence and ruthlessness
reassuring. Besides, if there had been any doubts about his competence, the so-called 'Battle of the
M4' had more than set those to rest, with even Wisdom's most ardent critics admitting that the
young Director had prevented a disaster unlike any seen since the height of the Blitz, directing
Britain's defence with skill, authority and nerves of steel. He had even plunged into the fray
himself which, to the Prime Minister's mind, showed a welcome sense of dedication. And it was,
after all, the sort of thing that could be expected from the protégé of Nicholas Fury himself.

So now, as he worked in his office, he was largely content to trust in the wisdom of, well, Wisdom.
Right now, the House of Lords was having a late session, putting through a bill that would increase
funding to accelerate the Valiant project.

"Sir?"
He glanced up as the door opened. His bodyguards, a young man and woman provided by MI13,
the only indication that they were anything other than ordinary bodyguards being the slim holster
each had at their hip, tensed too. Even with the reassurance of Wisdom's competence, these were
still dangerous times.

Another thing that had astonished the Prime Minister was how Wisdom had somehow managed to
recruit people from the highly secretive magical community. His meetings with Fudge had always
left him with the feeling that even the benevolently inclined ones looked down upon those without
powers and wanted nothing to do with the non-magical world. Yet with his customary talent for
pulling off the improbable, if not the impossible, Wisdom had recruited dozens of them.

And if the Prime Minister was any judge – and he liked to think that after a lifetime in politics, he
was – he'd swiped most of them from under Fudge's nose, possibly even directly poaching the
Other Minister's employees. This thought gave the Prime Minister a little thrill of vindictive
pleasure. All his meetings with Fudge had also left him with the feeling that he was being
condescended to, only being informed of matters as a chore rendered necessary by the laws of
etiquette, like visiting elderly relatives. It was nice that, for once, the boot was on the other foot.

Some questioned Wisdom's emphasis on acquiring superhuman operatives, but the Prime Minister
thought this to be only sensible and most agreed with him. Better to have them inside pissing out
than outside pissing in, so to speak. Besides, as Wisdom had pointed out, it would take some time
to rebuild MI13's operational capabilities, so in the meantime, he was creating a leaner and more
mobile agency staffed with individuals who could grant it a force disproportionate to its size,
something which could then serve as the core for a new MI13.

This was something that the Prime Minister also thought was reasonable – and if nothing else, the
knowledge that Her Majesty's Government possessed the services of a significant number of
superhumans was very reassuring.

The woman who had just entered the room, though, was an equally reassuring touch of normality.
Kate Neil, his new secretary, was efficient, intelligent and, if he said so himself, very good looking
in a tall, blonde and curvily athletic way which, combined with her demeanour and energy,
reminded him of the prettier sort of teaching assistant, straight out of university. He'd certainly
caught the Chancellor staring as she'd exited the room during a meeting and had filed it away for
the next time the man was considering a leadership challenge. There was nothing like the threat of
a bit of marital strife to bank the fires of ambition.

This pleasant thought was disrupted by a sudden roar of sound that rattled the windows. Instantly,
both bodyguards were on guard. If the PM had been paying attention, he'd have noticed that his
secretary was too.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, a demand that faded as he looked out the window. A
harsh orange glow rose above the rooftops of Whitehall, and a chill ran down his spine. Parliament
had been bombed.

And, unbidden, an old childhood rhyme floated to the top of his mind.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November…

Gun powder.

Treason.

And plot.
"Sir!"

The Prime Minister realised that he was being spoken to, by one of his bodyguards. "What?" he
asked.

"We have to go," the man said urgently.

"Wait."

It was a single word, spoken with absolute authority. This wasn't quite as surprising to the Prime
Minister as the fact that it came from his secretary. All of a sudden, she looked a lot less like a
pretty PE teacher and a lot more like someone very dangerous indeed. It was all in the body
language. Well, that and the tone of command, which carried a hint of an American accent, and the
way she pushed a button on her belt, shifting her clothes from business skirt, blouse and heels to
SHIELD's close-fitting combat gear, complete with zipped up combat boots, something that caused
the Prime Minister to think that the Chancellor would probably have died a happy man if he'd been
present.

"This is almost certainly a HYDRA attack," she said briskly. "With the possible intent of flushing
the Prime Minister out into the open and making him an easier target."

"Who… what?" the Prime Minister asked.

She pulled out a badge. "I am Agent 13, sir, of SHIELD," she said. "Director Fury personally
assigned me to your personal protection. Sorry for lying to you sir, but it was necessary." She
turned to the bodyguards. "I'm a Level 7 Agent of SHIELD, Special Agent Division. You can
check my identification."

One accordingly drew her wand and waved it at the badge, which flashed blue.

"Now that that is done, I trust you know what this means."

Both shared a glance and saluted. "Ma'am."

"Good," she said. "One of you, scout ahead, if possible make contact SO1. The other, cover our
rear. Tell SO1 if you meet them that we're making for the Heathrow safehouse."

Both saluted again and one of them set out.

"Traffic's terrible this time of day," the Prime Minister observed.

"Traffic won't be a problem, sir," Kate, or rather, Agent 13, said in the kind of polite yet brisk tone
that nominal inferiors had used while chivvying moderately feckless nominal superiors into doing
sensible things down the centuries.

"My wife –"

"Is being escorted separately, sir," she said.

"My children –"

"Already under guard, sir, now with all due respect, would you please move your arse?"

With that, she all but dragged him to the door, waited for a moment until the scouting bodyguard
signalled that it was clear.
She then led him down the back stairs, into a tunnel that he hadn't known existed.

"Why aren't we going out the front?"

"The front is compromised, sir," Agent 13 said. "Listen."

The Prime Minister did, and heard the strains of a distant firefight.

"Oh," he said, and was silent as he was led into what looked like a disused underground station.
Inwardly, he puzzled over how this was possible. They hadn't walked far, after all. And to the best
of his knowledge, such stations weren't easily accessible or safe to be in.

But Agent 13, now leading the way, the former scout having dropped back to the Prime Minister's
side, moved with complete certainty. As they descended the stairs, however, it became clear that
they were not alone.

Something large and fast blurred out of the dark, catching the rearguard offguard. Nevertheless, she
recovered with lightning speed, wand snapping up and a barked incantation sending the attacker
spinning off to one side.

The creature recovered and the Prime Minister got a good look at it. It, he, was a fairly ordinary, if
ragged, looking man, in battered clothing. The sort that most wouldn't give a second look. Or
wouldn't have while he was alive: no one whose heart was still beating had skin that shade of pale
grey, nor eyes that were black from iris to sclera, and the witch was tracking it cautiously.

"Veidrdraugr," Agent 13 said, voice calm and detached. "Where there's one, there'll be more." She
turned to the other bodyguard. "Watch her back, give us as much as you can, then bug out."

"Ma'am," he acknowledged, hurrying off to join his companion. Before he left, however, he waved
his wand and a wall of stone rose out of the floor, blocking off the atrium behind them.

The Prime Minister was then dragged along, deeper into the station, as the sounds of spellfire
echoed above. "That thing," he said. "It was one of the things that attacked MI6, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Agent 13 said. "There were also a few at the Battle of the M4."

"And they're controlled by HYDRA's necromancer."

"Yes, sir."

"Who is an approximate match for Loki in magical power even before he got his hands on what I
am told is a book of the most evil magic in history and is super-strong to boot."

"Yes, sir," Agent 13 said, and glanced at him. "And yes, they are probably going to die. They know
that as well as I do."

"We're just leaving them to die?" he demanded.

"They are buying me time to get you clear, sir," Agent 13 responded, voice hard. "What alternative
do you suggest? Joining them, getting us all killed and making their sacrifice pointless? Or them
coming with us and being picked one by one by those things?"

The Prime Minister was silent for a moment, mulling over this. "I read about what those things
did," he said. "About what that necromancer was supposed to be capable of. If we get out of this, I
would like their personal details. To tell their families. To make sure that they are honoured."
"They're doing their duty, sir."

"Kate, Agent, whoever you are, they are willing to not just lay down their lives, but die in one of
the most horrible ways known to mankind," the Prime Minister said stiffly. "While exposing
themselves to a potentially even worse fate, one that even death won't free them from. If that is not
going above and beyond the call of duty, I do not know what is."

Agent 13 regarded him for a moment, a hint of genuine respect in her blue eyes. Then, she nodded.
"Understood, sir," she said.

"Thank you," he said. "Now, where are we going?"

"Here, sir," she said, as they stepped onto the platform and, as if this was a signal, a tube train
rolled up. "All aboard."

The Prime Minister wondered again at this, but obeyed.

Above, there was sound of an explosion and rocks falling down the stairs, followed by urgent
footsteps.

"Go!" Agent 13 said, apparently directed at the train. The doors began to close, and as they did, one
man emerged from the stairs, onto the platform, clad in combat gear and a blood red balaclava with
blank white eyes. He turned, tracking the train, then broke into a run.

"He's not going to…"

"He's going to try at least," Agent 13 said, drawing her pistol. There was a thump from the far end
of the train, barely discernible above the rattling.. "He's made it," she said, and making her way
into the next car. As she did, she pressed a button by the door, and the Prime Minister felt an
electric hum all around him. "Stay here. The cars are shielded, so he shouldn't be able to get in.
Probably."

"That's not very comforting," the Prime Minister muttered to himself and sat, knee jigging
nervously, as the only sounds were those of the train passing over the tracks. Looking around, he
noticed that the tunnels they were passing through seemed… odd. It was as if someone had taken a
whole bunch of tube tunnels and spliced them together somehow.

He was taken out of his musings by the sound of gunfire from the next carriage, and a humming
roar in reply as a bolt of orange energy punched through whatever shields had been rigged up
around the tube car and the car itself, followed swiftly by several others and more gunshots. The
Prime Minister, sensibly, dropped flat, and watched through the windows as his SHIELD Agent
secretary and the strange red hooded man fighting, grappling, exchanging blow and counter-blow
at speeds he could scarcely credit as human.

The HYDRA Agent seemed to be having the best of it, enjoying a longer reach and a tactical
advantage, having backed Agent 13 into a corner, putting her back to the door separating her car
from the small footplate in between the two.

Then, the end came in the blink of an eye. Agent 13 ducked away from a brutal punch, before
rising and judo-flipping him through the unlocked door onto the footplate, stamping brutally on his
knee, kicking him hard on the groin and drawing her pistol to execute him. The HYDRA agent,
however, shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out what looked like a detonator, except that
instead of something exploding when he pressed down on it, he disappeared.

Agent 13 scanned her surroundings for a moment, then made her way in. She was, the Prime
Minister noted, limping and being very ginger with her side, along with a crooked, bleeding nose
and a blossoming set of bruises on her face, so he hurried over and helped her to sit down.

"Is he gone?" he asked.

She nodded. "Portkey," she said, slightly thickly. "Magical teleport device, touch activated. He
recognised he'd lost and he got out while he still could." She reached up, grabbed her nose, gritted
her teeth, and jerked it back into place. After that, she gave him a smile, intended to be reassuring,
that bordered on a grimace. "Don't worry, sir. We're home free."

"We are, maybe," the Prime Minister said, remembering his bodyguards, who had stopped to buy
them time, and the bomb attack at the Houses of Parliament. And then there was the issue of
whether his wife had got out safely; with monsters like the ones HYDRA had, who knew. "But
others, I don't think, have been so fortunate."

"No, sir. They almost certainly have not."

The Prime Minister grunted. "By the way," he asked. "What is your name? Your real name, I
mean?"

Agent 13 smiled. "Sharon, sir. Sharon Carter."

OoOoO

Minerva whirled as three shapes came out of the dark, then relaxed, as she saw Harry with those
enormous sentient wolves walking along beside him. He looked unusually grim. That said, she felt
that this was an appropriate response to the school being attacked by HYDRA.

Then she noticed that both wolves had bloody mouths.

"Harry," she hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting HYDRA out of the school," Harry said.

Minerva opened her mouth to tell him off, to inform him that for all his talents and knack for
dodging death he was still only a teenage boy, then realised that this would be pointless. So she
closed her mouth, and sighed. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded. "We ran into three of them by the Astronomy Tower," he said quietly. "I blocked their
shots. Then Freki and Geri got them."

Seeing their bloody muzzles, Minerva could well believe it, and suddenly, she felt a surge of pity
for Harry, for having to see such horror. She severely doubted that the wolves of Odin Allfather
were all that concerned about taking prisoners when their master was threatened. "Oh, Harry," she
said softly.

"It's okay," he said, voice quiet. "They didn't even scream."

The way he said it was... well, to put it mildly, it was not the way Minerva would have expected a
teenage boy who'd just fought off several attackers and seen a pair of giant wolves go to town on
those attackers to speak. She'd expected shivering, shock, tears or even distance. But they weren't
there. In their place was the kind of hardness she'd last heard in the voice of Nicholas Fury. And
from the mouth of a teenage boy, one of her students no less, it sounded wrong.

"Minerva?" a quiet voice said behind her, and she half turned, putting herself between herself and
Harry. Then she relaxed, as Dumbledore came into view, followed by Hagrid. "Ah, I see you have
found Harry."

"Hello, Professor," Harry said,.

"Yer alrigh'?" Hagrid asked anxiously.

Harry simply nodded.

Dumbledore nodded. "Good."

"Freki and Geri can smell more HYDRA agents," Harry said suddenly. Indeed, both wolves had
turned to stare down the corridor, teeth bared in a soundless snarl. "Down in the Entrance Hall."

No one asked how he knew this. He was a mind reader after all, and Freki and Geri most definitely
had minds. Dumbledore nodded again. "Very well. Hagrid, take Harry back to his dormitory. We
will deal with this," he said firmly.

"No."

Everyone froze. Except for Harry. "Freki and Geri… don't really have much of a problem with
bullets. Or most magic," he said. "You'll need them. And they go with me." He met Dumbledore's
gaze. "Besides. This isn't my first time in danger, or my first time fighting HYDRA. And I think
that I've got a reasonable claim to be at least the second most powerful person in the building."

"Power is not everything, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry smiled a thin smile that, again, looked far too old for his face. "Believe me, Professor. I
found that one out the hard way," he said, a note of gallows humour in his voice.

Before Dumbledore could reply, another shape came out of the darkness. Everyone tensed, but
Harry raised a hand. "It's Professor Cassidy," he said.

Indeed it was and under most circumstances, this would have been a happy sight. Except there
were tears pouring down his face and the reason for that was lying in his arms, motionless and
bloody.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and bowed his head, Hagrid let out a deep noise of primal sorrow and
McGonagall stifled a scream.

"She had a wee bag," he whispered, nodding at his shoulder, over which a small cloth bag hung.
"Some o' her things were inside it. Shoes, quills, books an' the like. She was lookin' for the things
people had taken from her, near th' Entrance Hall. She must have found the wrong thing." He
looked down at the body in his arms. "An' now she's no' got anythin' left to take."

And Harry simply stared, uncomprehending as Freki and Geri let out soft howls of grief, at the
corpse of Luna Lovegood.

OoOoO

Arthur Weasley coughed painfully. The Convulsion Hex had slipped under his guard, sending his
wand flying and allowing the HYDRA Agents to hit him with some kind of stored lightning bolt.
Electricity, he'd be bound. Most ingenious, that.

Now, he was kneeling between two HYDRA Agents, clad in black, muggles judging by the guns
they were wielding. They were talking to a third man, a dark shadow. Then, Arthur saw the gleam
of metal and a thrill of fear ran down his spine.

The Winter Soldier was standing right in front of him.

"The area's secure, sir. This one put up a real fight, covering the others' retreat. He's to be taken for
interrogation," the Agent said. "Perhaps he can tell us where the others are."

The Soldier gestured at Arthur, as if to ask, 'and what if he can't?'

"Then Lord Malfoy decides what to do with him," the Agent said.

Arthur gulped. While he was far from a coward, he was not looking forward to what Lucius would
do to him.

"Ten quid says the Necromancer gets him," the other said.

The first laughed. "You're on," he said.

The Soldier looked at him sharply, shutting the men up, then down at Arthur. Suddenly, he
crouched, and pulled off his strange opaque goggles, revealing startling blue eyes. They were very
human eyes, Arthur thought vaguely. These were not the eyes of the deathless monster that most
considered him to be. No, these eyes were intelligent, conflicted… and sad.

Then, he seemed to come to a decision, and reached out almost regretfully, hands gently wrapping
around Arthur's head. For just a brief moment, he paused, looking into Arthur's eyes, and the
wizard understood what was happening, what the Soldier was doing for him.

"Thank you," he whispered in a voice that his wife would have struggled to hear even if his lips
were right next to her ear. But the Soldier heard and gave a fractional nod.

There was a sharp jerking movement and a grinding crack.

And Arthur Weasley was no more.

OoOoO

Mostly, HYDRA's raids served merely to inspire fear and to blind the eyes of the world.

Other times, they had other purposes.

OoOoO

T'Challa looked up sharply.

"My king?" one of the Dora Milaje asked.

He raised a hand for silence and cocked his head, listening.

Gunfire.

He paused for a split second, triangulating, then said crisply, "Gunfire. Coming from the North."
He clenched his fists. "Someone has come for our Vibranium." He turned to the Dora Milaje. "Go.
Alert the guards. I will go and slow these would-be thieves down."

"Prince T'Challa, it is our duty to stay with you," one of them said.
T'Challa gave her a small smile. "You may," he said. "If you can keep up."

And with that, he flipped off the balcony.

"Don't worry," he called over his shoulder. "I will leave some of them for you."

The small part of him that wasn't totally focused on getting to the Vibranium Mound as soon as
possible exulted, as it always did, in the sheer power he'd been given. Every sense sharpened to a
razor's edge, every thought while on the hunt crystal clear in its precision, every muscle
effortlessly propelling him over buildings and then into the forest at speeds that, on this terrain,
were impossible for any other in the world to match and in perfect silence.

Even the mighty Captain America, the super soldier of the West, he was sure, did not have the kind
of instincts that he, T'Challa, did as the Black Panther, instincts which whispered of where the best
footing was, which branches would support his weight. It was not arrogance, but simple fact – the
blessings of Bastet granted the instincts of the panther. Erskine's Serum, astonishing as it was, had
not done the same.

Then again, that small part of him thought, he wasn't entirely sure he could throw the famous
shield the way the Captain did either. It seemed to be a kind of uncanny knack. Or maybe it was a
trainable skill. He might try it some time. After all, there were probably scrupulous records kept by
both Wakanda and the United States of the dimensions and weight of the shield, for differing
reasons.

And besides, there were rumours, rumours that T'Challa knew to be true, of men with a similar
bond to the beast within in the West, mutants both. One, more beast than man, who savoured the
pleasure of hunting his own kind. The other one, Professor Xavier's friend, who controlled the
beast within and had the strangest set of claws…

He shook such thoughts out of his mind as he bounded over a fallen tree. Now was not the time for
such absent minded speculations. Now was the time to find those who had dared to invade
Wakanda, to attempt to steal her Vibranium, and teach them the error of their ways.

He paused at the edge of the clearing. While he was wearing the ceremonial clothing of a prince of
Wakanda, which just so happened to be a very effective suit of skin-tight armour – SHIELD were
not the only ones who had figured out how to weave Vibranium into cloth – it was not
impenetrable and blundering into a hail of bullets in his first engagement

What he saw, however, froze him in place.

A man, tall and athletically muscular, dressed in combats and a strange purple mask with blank
eyes, was standing over his kneeling father, drawing a slim sword from his body. A small part of
T'Challa noted the angle and observed that it would have gone straight through the heart.

The man flicked his blade with a twist of his wrist, sending red blood flying in an arc to spatter on
the ground. To T'Challa, frozen, each droplet hit the ground with the sound of like a rock falling.

"Impressive," the man remarked to himself, revealing a mild German accent. "You certainly kept
your fitness and your skills as you aged. But ultimately, disappointing. Age and peacetime blunted
your edge, Panther King. You lacked a certain… vitality, perhaps."

T'Challa's father, T'Chaka, managed to glare up at the man. "My son… will stop you," he said, and
T'Challa found himself wondering how his father had managed to force those words out.

"Even if your son vas right here, your highness, he vould be too late," the man said, gesturing. For
the first time, T'Challa looked past the hideous tableau and felt a surge of anger, breaking
momentarily through his paralysis, as he saw troops loading ingots of Vibranium onto what looked
to be SHIELD issue Quinjets, marked with HYDRA's insignia. So, that was who was behind this, a
cool, analytical part of him thought. It made sense.

That surge of rage redoubled as he caught the scent of drying blood on the wind and saw the
discarded corpses of the guards and miners being dumped outside the mine, breaking through his
paralysis.

This was Wakanda and he was the Black Panther. This would not stand.

"Too late?" he said, striding out of the forest. "We shall see about that."

The masked swordsman turned, waving away the immediately raised guns of the HYDRA troops.
"Ah, so the cub comes forth. I vas wondering," he said. "I wonder, boy. Will you provide more of a
challenge than your father did, the vibrant strength of youth and righteous anger driving you on?
Or will your impetuosity make you an easy victim?"

"The only victim here will be you," T'Challa said, closing the distance. As he spoke, he was almost
trembling with rage, the beast within him roared at him to pounce and tear the man in front of him
apart. To be sure, the paralysis was gone now. But that same cool and analytical part of him
pointed out two things.

First, his father, T'Chaka, while not quite his physical equal due to advancing middle age, had the
powers of a Black Panther and the skills and armour of one too. And yet, he had been slain, with a
blade that had, somehow, punched straight through his armour.

Second, the masked swordsman, whoever he was, stood with total confidence, regarding T'Challa
not with fear or even wary respect, but a mild interest. And while his own armoured clothing was
slashed in places, he moved with ease and grace that suggested no injury. Or, at least, none that
was sufficient to impede him.

He would have to be careful here.

"Brave words, panther cub," the man said. "Oh, and vhere are my manners? I am Baron Helmut
Zemo."

"I will be sure to remember it for your gravestone," T'Challa said, feinting a rush.

Zemo stepped away, and insofar as his expression could be judged through the mask, he seemed to
regarding T'Challa critically. "Decent speed," he said, then attacked without warning. Working on
instinct honed by training, T'Challa's arm snapped up, hitting the flat of the blade and guiding it up
and over his shoulder, his other arm snapping out, the fingertips of his suit morphing into claws
that laid into Zemo's own gear, scraping against skin before the other man stepped away.

That said, T'Challa had to wonder if he was a man. By the Goddess, he was fast. No ordinary man
was that quick. Perhaps a vampire? It would certainly explain his wearing that mask in this heat.
Then again, he himself was wearing one such mask right now. Perhaps HYDRA had finally
managed to create a facsimile of Erskine's formula, and used it to create this man. If he got out of
this alive, he vowed that he would make a study of all of Wakanda's enemies, current and potential,
so that when he next faced one, he would know exactly how to defeat them.

"Impressive," Zemo said, and actually sounded a little surprised and impressed. "You are quicker
than I suspected. Certainly quicker than your father. Youth has its advantages, I see."
This time, T'Challa didn't bother replying, attacking again. He needed to put Zemo down fast if his
father was to have any hope of survival and if he was going to prevent HYDRA from escaping with
tons of Vibranium.

As he did, he cursed himself for a fool, for his unpreparedness, for his impetuosity and most of all,
for his arrogance. If he had taken the Dora Milaje with him rather than sending them away to alert
the guards, he wouldn't have had to worry about HYDRA's troops escaping with the Vibranium nor
his father's slim chances of survival fading away. Instead, he could have focused all his attentions
on making Zemo pay for what he had done.

That cool and analytical part of him pointed out that it was pointless to dwell on past mistakes. All
he could change was the present and thereby, the future.

So he poured all of his efforts into his attack on Zemo, drawing on the full strength of the Black
Panther, exchanging blow and counter-blow with the HYDRA commander at speeds that no mere
human could have matched or even reliably followed, both sustaining injuries. But Zemo's injuries
were shallower and fewer in number, and all of sudden, his sword flashed in the moonlight like a
silvery snake to press against T'Challa's carotid artery.

Everything stopped.

He had failed. Failed to avenge his father, who was certainly dead by now, failed to take back his
nation's most sacred trust, her vibranium, the last ingots of which were being loaded into the
Quinjets at that very moment, and failed to honour the name of the Black Panther.

And to compound his failure, Zemo barely even seemed to be breathing hard. He chuckled. "I
thank you for the workout, panther cub," he said, and glanced at T'Chaka. "Or perhaps I should
say, King Panther Cub."

White hot rage boiled in T'Challa's veins and he found himself calculating just how long it would
take to rip out Zemo's throat. As if reading his mind, the man pressed his blade against T'Challa's
throat, just hard enough to draw blood – and with a blade that sharp, that was not very hard at all.

"Oh no, panther cub," Zemo said. "Neither of us will fall today. I do not often face one capable of
almost equalling my abilities. It was, dare I say it, exhilarating." Without warning, he lashed out,
kicking T'Challa to the ground, blade slicing a thin cut in his throat. "So you may keep your life,
panther cub. Your death would be a waste of a good sparring partner."

"You think I will let you leave Wakanda alive?" T'Challa snarled, springing to his feet and leaping
for the other man.

Zemo dropped low and spun in a blur, blade lashing out to slice into the back of T'Challa's right
leg, which promptly collapsed beneath him.

"I think, panther cub," he said quietly. "That you and I have very different understandings of who
is being being left alive."

And then, with T'Challa helpless to stop him, he boarded one of the Quinjets and disappeared into
the night.

OoOoO

Harry continued to stare at Luna's body, at the dark red stain on his chest, the blood around her
mouth signifying how she had died.
"Come on, Harry," McGonagall said gently. "You can't help her now."

"Yes. I can," he said.

He stood up from beside Luna's body, and if McGonagall had found his cool, distant expression
from before unnerving, the look on his face now was positively terrifying. It was an unholy
mixture of grief and rage, blended with a visible desire to make someone suffer for what had been
done.

Something inside Harry had snapped. And before anyone could stop him, he begun to run on
silenced feet, invisibility cloak sweeping over him, rendering him less visible than even the
shadows, as he himself was shadowed by Freki and Geri, who matched their master's pace on silent
paws. And that pace was considerable, Harry unconsciously outstripping even the fleetest of
ordinary human runners, following the concentration of minds down to the Great Hall.

As soon as he reached the edge of it, far ahead of those following him, he stopped, seeing HYDRA
Agents filling the room, defiling the place where he'd had so many happy memories, a creeping
foulness in a place were it did not belong, a cancer that was growing, trying to consume the castle
and everyone in it.

As it had consumed Luna.

Something inside him snapped, unleashing a dam of emotion, including furious rage, as inevitable
and incandescent as a lava flow. And that rage brought forth words that under other circumstances,
he would never have even dreamed of speaking.

But his friend was dead. His home was invaded. And something deep within him wanted to make
HYDRA pay.

"Freki. Geri," he said, voice harsh and raw. Both wolves looked up at him as tears ran down his
cheeks. "Kill."

OoOoO

HYDRA's other super soldier, meanwhile, was taking down SHIELD's greatest asset.

The Helicarrier, a form of force projection exceeded only by the combined might of the Avengers,
powered by repulsor tech engines, armed to the teeth with the most modern weaponry, including
that culled and copied from the Destroyer. Along with all that, it contained multiple nuclear armed
bombers, ready to launch at a moment's notice. It was the distillation of all the technology and
firepower that SHIELD could bring to bear, a statement in the skies that this was not an agency to
be trifled with, much less challenged.

It wasn't simply a sluggish glacier, either, capable of deceptive speeds, total invisibility and, in the
most whispered rumours, teleportation. After all, the thought went, SHIELD had the world's
foremost authority on portals in their employ or thereabouts. So why not apply that same
technology to their most powerful asset?

If they had, no one outside of the upper echelons of SHIELD knew about it. This was not the
reassurance that it might once have been.

Currently, it was standing an invisible (from below, at least, and it was above commercial airline
flight lanes) watch over New York. That in itself was a statement of intent: the last time SHIELD's
power had been challenged, the brunt of the attack had been taken by New York.
Unfortunately, statements have been known to backfire.

And that backfire began with a quinjet, bearing SHIELD insignia, came flying in from the East. It
gave all the correct codes and counter-codes, stating that it was evacing a VIP in the face of
HYDRA's attacks.

By the time someone thought to question this, the Quinjet had landed. And from within had
emerged the Winter Soldier.

By the time a response began to formulated, the Soldier and his team had destroyed seventy
percent of the jets on deck, rendering it impossible to launch any of the functional ones or for
anything other than a quinjet, an Iron Man suit or Thor to land.

Accordingly, a distress call went out. Thor, it transpired, was occupied, as were the rest of the
heavy hitting Avengers, fighting a giant monster that had emerged from the ocean depths, the
stench of black magic about it, and was attempting to pull a Godzilla on New York.

The only powerful receiver was Colonel Rhodes, whose War Machine armour was fast enough to
make the distance from Washington to New York in ten minutes.

A lot could happen in ten minutes.

OoOoO

Onboard SHIELD Helicarrier.

Primary Objective: disable runway, complete.

Secondary Objective: descend alone into the helicarrier and apply hacking device to Helicarrier's
Nexus Engine.

God, I hope that the delay I added will work.

OoOoO

A squadron of SHIELD Agents scrambled to deal with the threat.

They were some of SHIELD's best, trained for exactly this kind of situation, if not this exact
opponent.

They weren't enough.

OoOoO

Ten man squad. Easy enough to manage, with a 'Cat Among the Pigeons' strategy and, in the
confusion… maybe I can spare a couple.

OoOoO

With that, the Soldier moved in a blur of black combats and silver metal, going low and closing the
distance between them in the blink of an eye. They were still adjusting as he laid out the first three.

By the time they had adjusted, he had engaged the sixth, and only the eighth, ninth and tenth were
able to react in time to properly engage him. Of those three, the first's attack was blocked and he
was kicked back with enough force to send him flying into his companion. The third managed to
evade her flying team-mate, closing with a combat knife and engaging. There was a quick and
complex moment. Then, there was a crunch and the Agent went down, clutching a right hand that
had effectively been crushed in a vice.

Nevertheless, she drew her pistol, before having it kicked out of her hand with a warning glare.

OoOoO

Four kills out of ten. The rest should recover. Couldn't hold back too much, though. They were too
good and the numbers were too disparate for that.

Secondary Objective in progress.

OoOoO

As he left, the Agent radioed in. "The hostile is heading deeper into the carrier, turning off at
Corridor D, Level 4, I repeat, Corridor D, Level 4. Hostile confirmed as the Winter Soldier."

OoOoO

"He's not heading for the bridge," Fury said, an island of calm in an ocean of panic. With a few
exceptions, including Maria Hill, most of the Agents aboard were quietly panicking about the
Winter Soldier, a figure from their darkest nightmares, being aboard and causing havoc. "Bring up
the contacts on a schematic of the helicarrier and map the contacts onto them, set up a timeline.
Maybe we can figure out where he's going and intercept him before he gets there."

This was done, a blueish model of the Helicarrier appearing on the holoscreens, before being filled
with red dots of confirmed contacts. Fury tracked them back, then forward. "Map likely paths," he
said.

Several paths appeared, dotted red lines, and Fury's eye followed them. It locked on one and he
froze.

"Shit," he breathed. "Evacuate," he said. "Put us on autopilot, out to sea at full speed, then evacuate
immediately!"

"Sir?" Hill asked, one word containing many questions as the rest of SHIELD's staff on the bridge
hurried to do as bade.

"The Soldier's going for the Nexus Engine," Fury said. "That's Bifrost tech: he gets to that, we
could be spread across the entire damn universe, or raining down in bits and pieces all over the
Five damn Boroughs! We've got one chance, one damn chance to stop it. In the meantime, get
everyone non-essential off this boat!"

Hill paled briefly, then started barking out orders.

Fury brought up comms. "Cap, Widow, Hawkeye, you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Director. We're aboard and in pursuit."

"Get on an intercept vector: he's heading for the Nexus Engine."

"Roger that."

One chance, Fury thought. Just one chance.

OoOoO
Chaos reigned in the great hall, as HYDRA Agent after HYDRA Agent fell to two creatures out of
primordial nightmare, the likes of which had haunted the campfire tales and dogged the steps of
primitive man, bringing death with flashing teeth and raking claws. If Warren was an avenging
Angel of Heaven, then these were the Hounds of Hell.

Screams echoed throughout the room for a full minute.

Then, a voice spoke.

"Freki. Geri. Heel."

The HYDRA troops, most of whom had attacked from the ground were concentrated in the Great
Hall – their ground assault had clearly not got far beyond the surrounding corridors, and as soon as
Harry revealed himself, HYDRA Agents could be seen radioing colleagues, calling them back.
Their target had presented himself.

"Stop this," Harry said, bloody muzzled wolves at his side. "Stop this right now."

There was something different about the way he carried himself now, the way he sounded. This
wasn't a boy, not any more. Not quite a man, but most certainly not a boy. Where in another his
age, those words might have been a desperate entreaty, or an angry demand. But not him.

"And why would I do that?" the lead HYDRA Agent asked, voice light and mocking. Or at least,
Harry presumed he was the lead HYDRA Agent, judging by the way he'd put himself forward.

"I'm the one you want," Harry said.

"True," the HYDRA Agent said, shrugging. "But you're not our only objective." He glanced
upwards. "And those Dementor things are very hungry. Maybe we'll just let them loose."

"Don't play games with me!" Harry snapped, eyes flaring gold as his voice cracked with anger and
grief. "You just killed someone I like, that is not a safe place to stand!"

There was something dangerous in the air now, something that warned all those with the wit to
perceive it to tread very carefully indeed.

"You didn't answer my question," the HYDRA Agent replied, tone more cautious this time. "Why
should I?"

"Because if you don't, I'll stop you, HYDRA Agent whatever your name is," Harry said. "Do the
smart thing. Give up. Before I do something that we'll all regret."

"You've got power and potential," the man admitted. "But don't get ahead of yourself. You're still
Little League. Oh, and I'm not HYDRA. Just an outside contractor. My name's Daken." He smiled
a crooked smile. "And I think I want to see what it is about you thaat has everyone so excited."

"If there's one thing I can guarantee, just one," Harry said softly, his voice having developed the
double harmonic that spelt danger. "It is this. You have never faced anything like me."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, then Harry raised his arm, pointing it at Daken like a gun, his
features carrying an expression of chilling calm. "You killed my friend," he said, voice
echoing. "Maybe not you personally, but one of the people with you did. You turned down the
chance to leave. And as a result, that makes things... simple. Very, very simple. Do you know
why?"

"Why?"

Harry closed his eyes, and his arm fell to his side. There was a moment of silence, as if the universe
was holding its breath. Then, his fists clenched, and he opened his eyes again. Now, those eyes,
normally emerald green, were burning gold.

Not just a flash, not this time. It was here to stay, blazing light filling his eyes from iris to sclera,
mirroring the raging power that was building within him, power that set the very stones of the
castle to humming. His arms ignited, sheathed in flames so bright and fierce that their light was
blinding and their heat cracked the stones beneath his feet and could be felt on the other side of the
Great Hall.

"Because, Daken, there is no power on this Earth that can stop me now! "

OoOoO

Battle was immediately joined by Harry, who unleashed a tree trunk thick blast of white hot flame
that howled across the Great Hall, a howl that almost matched of Odin's wolves, one which pressed
the button in the human mind marked 'primal terror'. Daken narrowly dodged it, but didn't escape
the fearsome thermal bloom. This would have cooked a normal man alive, but this was not,
Dumbledore noticed, a normal man.

Instead of rolling around and screaming, he dropped, rolled, and came to his feet, burnt skin
healing at an incredible rate, two gleaming claws extending from his fist as he came under attack
from one of Odin's wolves. In that moment, Dumbledore got a very good idea of who and what he
was, and felt a chill run down his spine. But before he could ponder this further, he and the staff
were engaged by HYDRA troops, four of their witches and wizards attacking him.

As they did so, he noted with bitter amusement that they were doing just as he had always
dreamed, working with muggles for the common good. Unfortunately, the way they were doing so,
the purpose they were working towards, was abominable.

It was also slightly flattering to be marked out as such a threat, he thought, even Minerva, Severus
and Filius, the three most accomplished duellists on the staff, only merited two each.

But only slightly. It was still, not being too arrogant, something of an underestimation of his
capabilities. Judging by their opening gambits, all of them were skilled and would certainly have
been a credit to the Auror department of their home nations – while two were British, the third's
casting exposed her Persian origins and the fourth seemed to be a product of the American
Hispanic community, in schooling at the very least. They were all very capable and, it had to be
said, very confident, filled with the energy and vitality of youth as they went on the attack, not
remotely intimidated by his reputation.

It was refreshing when that happened and, outside of Hogwarts, their confidence might have been
sufficiently justified to cause him some bother.

However, this was not the case. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts and that came with certain
perks, one of them being a bond with the school itself. And since the school was rather old and had
been infused with magic from the very moment of its physical creation, magic that was then
reinforced by a millennium of near constant spell-work, this made it, or her, rather powerful.
This power translated into something called Intellectus, a sort of limited omniscience enjoyed by
particularly powerful beings. The limit was that the Intellectus had to be consulted. For instance,
you wouldn't automatically know if someone was going to shoot you in the back of the head unless
had the foresight/good fortune to ask as they were about to do it. Sort of like Google, without the
suggestions and the adverts. Here, it was limited even further to Hogwarts and what was happening
within it.

In other words, wherever a killing curse hit, a conjured beast pounced, or a lightning bolt struck,
Dumbledore was not there, having already calculated where they were aiming and contrived not to
be there. This knowledge of where they were and how they were standing allowed him to
formulate a suitable response, in the form of a little piece of gravity manipulation that drew the
four of them together like the snap-back of a rubber band with, needless to say, stunning force,
followed by a series of disarming charms and enchanted bindings.

He then turned the wands to dust with a flick of his own, ignoring the dazed cries of shock and
horror. Carrying a wand was not a right, as most of his fellow witches and wizards believed it to
be. It was a privilege, one that by attacking his school they had revoked.

All of this had taken only a few seconds, but when he looked for another opponent, he realised that
everyone, staff, HYDRA mages, and predictably out of bed students, was watching, open mouthed,
as Harry tore into the HYDRA troops.

A few months before, he had told Thor that while humans were survivors, a single Asgardian was
a war machine, and it was true. They were a species that had evolved for battle.

You could see that in Thor. You could even see it in Loki, to one extent or another. But
Dumbledore had never seen it in Harry. Harry had always been an arch survivor, getting into and
out of trouble with an insane plan, a lot of courage and a healthy dose of luck.

In recent months, there had been an almost indefinable shift in how Harry moved and spoke, in
tandem with his considerable physical growth. He carried himself with more confidence, more
surety in his power and with greater... well, wisdom wasn't quite the word. Awareness, perhaps.

Now the extent of that shift was truly revealed.

Following the blast of flame, the HYDRA Agents, shielded by some of their magical compatriots,
opened fire on him, but they misjudged his speed, as Harry closed to close combat range in a barely
visible blur.

And then he began to dance.

There was no other way to describe it. The way his body moved as if following an inner rhythm,
the way he seemed to instinctively blend everything he'd been taught into one vicious, graceful
combat style. The hand to hand combat moves he'd learned from Cassidy and assorted others were
backed up by his psychic abilities, which lashed out, hurling HYDRA Agents hither and yon,
jerking them through the air like marionettes, or sending them to their knees, clutching their heads.
But deadliest of all was his grasp of wandless fire magic, wreathing his hands like gloves, leaving
trails of blazing golden-white light that lit up the Great Hall with incandescent glory, igniting in all
who they passed close to an animal terror of this most deadly element.

Yes, it was dance, a warrior's dance, one of pure, distilled fury.

In pure hand to hand combat skill, any of the HYDRA Agents would have at the very least held
their own. With their weapons, they could quite easily have isolated him and picked him off.
But they were disoriented by the flashing lights, scorched by the furious flames and spooked by
how this teenager was tearing them apart, shrugging off bullets and laser blasts alike. And then
there was the fact that their target, obscured by the heat, light and ever shifting shadows, moved so
damned fast, darting amongst them and striking with disproportionate power, like he knew what
they were going to do before they did it, forced them onto the defensive.

As for their weapons, well... in a one against many fight, the one has very few advantages. But
those advantages can be crucial. For instance, the one knows that whoever they strike is going to be
an enemy. The many, though, have to be careful to avoid perforating an ally. Especially if they're
half blinded, scorched, disoriented, can barely breathe because of the heat and have absolutely no
idea where the next punch is coming from.

Oh. And then there were the wolves. Oh, there were the wolves, who defended their master with
consummate skill and controlled ferocity, moving with speed and grace that belied their size,
darting in and out and picking off any HYDRA Agent that looked like they were regaining their
equilibrium or, in one or two cases, running away. And those HYDRA Agents who went down
very rarely had the opportunity to get up again. The Wolves of Odin were renowned for many
things. Mercy was not one of them.

Even Daken, the clawed man who Dumbledore felt had to be some relative of Wolverine's, with all
the powers and abilities that one would expect from such, was barely holding his own. Indeed, he
was falling back under the onslaught, presumably because of the intense heat surrounding Harry,
which even from a distance seemed to suck the air from one's lungs.

Of course, there were other factors in play, factors that prevented the remaining HYDRA forces,
who had some space in which to think, from focusing on Harry alone, quite aside from the chaos
he had inspired with his assault.

There were the wolves, of course. The Hogwarts staff occupied considerable attention, locking the
magical members of HYDRA into duels, begun again once the shock wore off, in which the latter
were largely outmatched. Some of the students, mostly Gryffindors, were taking potshots from the
side, particularly at HYDRA's non-magical troops, who were both out-numbered and rather
daunted by the scale of the resistance they were facing.

But it was Harry who drew the eye. It was Harry who the HYDRA forces had come for and who
they judged to be the greatest threat, and Dumbledore felt that they might well be right. This was
not a teenage wizard, raging and grieving, hurling spells in anger. Dumbledore had seen enough of
those. This was not that.

This was a Prince of the Aesir going to war.

Except, of course, Harry was not fully Asgardian. His strength was more than any boy his age
would naturally have, more than any grown man, but he was far from equal to even an Asgardian
of his own age.

All of this would run through Dumbledore's mind in a heartbeat as he watched Harry and Daken
burst free of the crowd of remaining HYDRA Agents, focused exclusively on each other, Harry's
onslaught driving the mutant backwards. But this time, Dumbledore realised, Harry was
outmatched. Because it was obvious to even a casual observer that Daken was playing with him,
healing factor shrugging off any blows or flames that broke through the consummate defence, only
using the blunt backs of his claws to deflect Harry's attacks.

Dumbledore saw it a moment before it happened, felt Daken shifting himself, making ready. He
drew breath to shout a warning. But it was too late.
Daken, expression calculating, picked his moment. And lunged.

Silence enveloped the battlefield, and as if they were puppets on invisible strings, everyone paused
in their personal battles and turned to stare at Harry, who was looking down at the rapidly
spreading red stain on his chest. Daken, meanwhile, cocked his head, then nodded in apparent
satisfaction and ripped his claws from Harry's torso with a horrible slicing, squelching sound.

"Ow," Harry said, into the shocked silence. He sounded hurt and confused. Then, he stumbled, his
legs turning to jelly as he hit the floor, crumpling, a puppet whose strings had been cut.

And, as Hagrid let out a bellow of pain and sorrow, as the wolves let out a howl of mingled rage
and grief, Dumbledore knew that a second of his students had fallen tonight.

Harry Thorson was dead.

 The Phoenix

There was utter silence in the Great Hall. A pin dropping wouldn't just have been heard, it would
have been deafening.

Then, they felt it. Supernatural senses or no, they felt it. But only Dumbledore recognised it, a
whisper, an echo of a Power that he had felt once before. Over a hundred years ago, one dark night
in Vienna when the children of Dracula haunted the shadows, a cabal of the powerful, the arrogant
and the desperate had called upon a Power so vast that even a whisper could shatter worlds. But
that Power had judged them and for their arrogance, their presumption, they had paid a terrible
price. Then it, She, had spoken to him as he begged for one life to be spared.

Now, She spoke again. But this time, the voice was slightly, subtly different.

No.

Flames seemed to lick around Harry's body, engulfing it entirely, and slowly, impossibly, he stood.
No, that wasn't what happened – he went from horizontal to vertical without recourse to his
muscles. It wasn't even telekinesis – or if it was, it went deeper than any previously imaginable.
Instead, the world seemed to rearrange itself so that he was standing up.

He opened his eyes and now, they were not green, nor even gold. They were solid white, from iris
to sclera, and they shone like spotlights, standing out against the dark, even amongst the flames that
enveloped him. Power and inhuman rage rolled off him in vast, palpable waves.

The fires around his body faded slightly, revealing the rest of him to the world. His clothes were
gone, having been reshaped into a strange kind of suit made of a material that Dumbledore could
not identify. The trousers were red, such a dark red that they were almost black, melding almost
seamlessly with a shirt of the same colour. At his hips, a belt, no, a sash, hung, twisting and
dancing, a garment of living flame. And emblazoned on the chest was simplistically styled bird
with wings outspread, blazing with that same fearsome white light, powered by an inferno fit to
burn stars.

Daken slipped around behind Harry and struck again. Halfway through his strike, he froze, unable
to move. A moment later, his body ignited, so fast and so powerfully that he didn't even have time
to breath before the flames consumed his vocal chords.

A moment after that, his charred form hit the floor.

It didn't even look like Harry had noticed.

The HYDRA Agents opened fire with bullets, Destroyer based energy bolts and spells, ignoring all
other threats, powering a vast stream of destruction upon the impossible boy, one that would have
challenged even Loki's shields.

They might has well have tried throwing pillows.

Harry simply looked at the incoming projectiles and they stopped, robbed of all momentum. He
gestured, open palm sweeping out and across. The energy bolts and spells simply dispersed into
small sparks that quickly faded, while the bullets fell to the ground with a tinkling sound.

"Albus," McGonagall said, in a tone that said she couldn't believe her eyes. "Is he... This..."
Fumbling for an explanation, she turned to the most likely option. "Did he get this from his
father?"

"No, Minerva. This is not a product of his Asgardian ancestry," Dumbledore said quietly. "This is
something much, much worse."

"What do you mean, Albus?"

"I mean, Minerva, I am not sure if that is Harry any more."

As he spoke, Harry's body, face now contorted with inhuman rage, loosely crossed its arms, then
swept them up and out like wings with a scream like an enraged hunting hawk, unleashing a
colossal shockwave of telekinetic energy that sent HYDRA Agents flying like rag dolls, tearing the
ancient, enchanted oak and stone of the doors and wall of the Great Hall to shrapnel, gathering that
shrapnel up and driving on into the Entrance Hall, blasting the marble staircase to rubble, pounding
the glass of the House Points Hourglasses to gleaming dust and the gems within to shimmering
fragments, before finally exploding out into the open air with a roar that shook the entire castle.

And in his mind, Dumbledore heard Hogwarts scream.

But all of this power, vast enough to rip apart a fortress of enchanted stone over a thousand years
old like it was made of spun sugar, was only a prelude, as the burning glow around Harry flared
into brilliant life, swelling into something immense that filled the shattered remains of the Great
Hall and lit up the night like a second sun. And finally, its shape became apparent.

An incandescent golden-red firebird the size of a building spread its wings and let out an eerie,
unearthly cry that shook the remaining windows of the castle, the sound somehow resonating with
the very souls of those listening.

It was, Dumbledore thought, almost like phoenix song, but far greater, more ancient, primal, and
eerie as if every song sung by a phoenix since was simply an echo of this. And in that moment, he
knew fear. Not because of the bird itself, nor even the eerie cry and the immensity of it. Nor was it
the power that Harry, or the entity that had taken charge of his body, had displayed in conjuring it
or the wild rage that had fuelled Harry even before his body had become the host to an ancient
power from beyond the stars.

It was the fear of what She would do next. And what that would be, even he had no idea.

OoOoO

Power echoed across the globe.

Unlike Gravemoss' dark spell, an ugly shout of foul energy, this was only a whisper of power. But
even a strong enough whisper can carry a long way, especially if the one hearing it knows how to
listen.

And a few did, their bodies responding to the energy like copper in a storm.

In Chicago, Wanda Maximoff looked up from her work, brow creased in worry, as her hands lit up
with crimson light.

In London, Gravemoss sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes widening with terror, an emotion he was
unaccustomed to feeling, as dark energy lashed and wavered around him. Meanwhile, on its stand
nearby, the Darkhold flared with power. If it had been a living being, it would have been trembling
in fear.
In New York, Loki turned away from the battle, listening to the whisper on the ethereal wind and
fighting the resultant surge of triumph and terror.

In Westchester, Jean Grey frowned, cocking her head as she looked towards the East, listening for
the sound that resonated in her soul and for just one moment, turned her emerald green eyes a fiery
amber-red.

Far away, Doctor Strange look up as the Eye of Agamotto glowed on his chest and smiled a
secretive smile.

And somewhere else, another pair of emerald green eyes opened. And they too, for just one
moment, shifted, glowing a dangerous bluish-white.

OoOoO

And as the whisper whipped around the world, the tide was turning.

Thor, expression hard, regained his feet, glaring at the colossal greenish-black kraken. It positively
stank of evil, a corpse raised from the ocean deeps and clothed in enchanted flesh, sent to do its
master's bidding. Not only that, it kept them occupied while the SHIELD helicarrier, invisible, was
under attack. He could feel the ripple in the winds as the stricken ship streaked out to sea, as fast as
it could manage, while Steve, Natasha and Clint took the Avengers' quinjet to its aid, and felt a
surge of rage. Oh, this had HYDRA's stink about it, the enchantment of that wretched necromancer
and the plan itself, a product of that arch serpent, Lucius Malfoy.

The kraken roared, lashing out with a vast tentacle in order to swat Tony out of the sky. When the
Avengers had first formed, Thor would have been sure that Tony would been struck. But now, with
years more experience under his belt and enhancements to his armour, the inventor evaded the
blow with remarkable grace, retaliating with a stinging laser beam that set the monster roaring and
flailing, taking out a small building near the shore front, adding to the destruction of the shore
front, destruction that would have been greater if the Avengers had not intervened. Which was
exactly HYDRA's intention, damn them.

The Hulk roared in reply, and grabbed a large piece of the building and hurled it at the monster's
vast eye.

Enough, he thought, then repeated it aloud.

"Enough," he said.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly feeling too peachy about this either," Tony replied over the comms link.
"Unless you can pull a Davy Jones, though, I'm not sure what we can do, because even the green
machine's pitching isn't making a dent."

"We need to end this now," Loki snapped

"Again, how?" Tony demanded.

"Make sure that it is not holding on to anything when I return," Thor said, then shot upwards,
calling storms as he did. As ever, they answered, clouds, dark and throbbing, pouring in. But they
were not enough. Rising to the very edge of the heavens, he spread his arms, closing his eyes and
called more and more, charging them with power, so much power that they almost turned white
with the lightning that danced within. Still, he drew more, tapping deep into Midgard's
magnetosphere.
As he did, he felt another entity touching it, probing. Then that probe withdrew, its owner
apparently satisfied. For a moment, Thor wondered who or what it was, then discarded the thought,
merely glad that they hadn't involved themselves further. He had other things to do and they had
felt powerful, more than powerful enough to be a threat.

All that power poured towards him and into Mjolnir.

A misconception that many had was that his power over storms came from Mjolnir. This was an
understandable mistake – he often used Mjolnir to direct storms and cast lightning bolts, after all,
and his powers had been bound to it when he had had to prove himself worthy.

The former, though, was simply because it was more precise, like a wand. And the latter had been
his father's enchantment.

There was, however, one thing that it did do very well, that he could not: absorb energy.

So, concentrating, surrounded by a constant burning white stream of lightning that flowed into
Mjolnir from all sides, Thor drained power, power enough to fill a thousand thousand storms, into
his hammer.

When he was done, his eyes opened, full of crackling blue-white power. He looked down, focusing
on the kraken with vision that would have shamed a falcon. As if sensing his scrutiny, or more
likely the building power, its eye moved away from Loki, who had transformed into a colossal
serpent and was crushing the monster in his coils while the Hulk ripped away at its flesh and Tony
blasted it with repulsors, pushing it back into the bay, rolling upward.

It had been bellowing in agony, but now, it went silent.

Also sensing his power, Loki shifted down and disappeared in a flicker of power, leaving the
Kraken even further disoriented. The Hulk, following Tony's warning, leapt clear.

Now was the moment.

Thor levelled his hammer and dived, quickly accelerating to speeds that dwarfed even those of
Tony's armour at full speed, swiftly entering the realm of silence that was the province of those
who could outrun sound.

The silence was good. It let him focus, and focus was required, because this needed split second
precision.

'This', as it turned out, was that the very instant Mjolnir slammed into the beast's head, Thor
unleashed all the power he had stored within in one incandescent instant, a thousand storms worth
of power directed into a single, massive target.

A white flash like a miniaturised sun passed through the kraken for the barest fraction of a
moment. Then, it exploded, what little ectoplasmic flash that was not vaporised in the instant of
impact streaking away in burning gobbets of carbonised meat and ancient, shattered and burnt
bone.

Thor emerged from the sea and the midst of the creature's remains, sopping wet, expression grim.

"Note to self," he heard Tony say, tone slightly stunned. "Always make sure that Thor has an
adequate supply of pop-tarts."

The Hulk, meanwhile, bounded over, looked him over to ensure that he was well, then grinned.
"Good smash," he said.

"Thank you, friend," Thor said. "But now we have a helicarrier to save."

"Yeah, that problem seems to have solved itself," Tony said, pointing at the Helicarrier, which was
slowly lowering itself into the sea with the care and grace of a wounded animal. Or, Thor thought
as he took a closer look, being lowered.

Any speculations on that matter were delayed when his phone rang.

Thor did not often use his mobile phone, but he had one nevertheless, and he kept it on his person,
in an enchanted pouch. As he withdrew it and saw the caller, he smiled. His son. "Harry?" he said,
taking the call.

"Hermione, actually," Hermione said. She sounded as if she was keeping an enforced calm,
underscored by fear. "Thor, Hogwarts is, was, under attack and Harry…"

Thor's blood ran cold. "Is he…"

"He's alive," Hermione said. "Well, I think he is. He's changed. There's a kind of firebird around
him and he's destroying HYDRA's forces, even their Dementors."

Thor, stunned, didn't even notice his brother reach past him and press the speaker phone button.

"Hermione," Loki said, voice firm and commanding. But there was an undercurrent of fear. "This
firebird… is it a phoenix?"

"Um, yes?" Hermione said.

"Oh fuck."

Thor stared in surprise at his brother, who was not often one for crude language. "Brother?" he
asked. "Do you know what is happening?"

"I know enough," Loki said. "I know that your wife invoked a protection of unrivalled power. I
know that Harry is safe, but Midgard itself may be in terrible danger. And I know now that we are
all pawns in a greater game."

"Stop speaking in riddles, brother!" Thor snapped. "What. Has. Happened. To. My. Son?!"

That got the attention of all the Avengers.

"To protect Harry, Lily invoked one of the Seven, Thor," Loki said. "The deadliest of the Endless. I
cannot speak her name – she still holds my tongue on that score. But we both know who I mean."

Thor nodded, blood draining from his face, ice clutching his heart.

"Uh, what's going on?" Tony asked.

"Little god hurt?" Hulk asked, worried.

"Loki? Thor?" Hermione asked. "What's happening to Harry?"

In the background, the screech of a bird of prey on the hunt echoed, but far vaster, harsher and
more eerie.
"He is in the wings of the Phoenix, " Loki said softly. "And may the Elder Gods help us all."

OoOoO

Others had more immediate concerns.

Rhodey decelerated from his breakneck pace and took a moment to survey the situation, while
marvelling once again at the sheer speed the armour was capable of, the sort of speed that left even
the legendary SR-71 Blackbird in the dust. Right now, he was grateful for that speed for more
practical reasons. HYDRA was attacking the Helicarrier, an assault spearheaded by the Winter
Soldier. The rest of his assault team, meanwhile, was on the decks of the Helicarrier, laying waste
to the jets and preventing SHIELD from clearing them to allow for an evacuation or for
reinforcements to arrive, while waiting to evac the Winter Soldier.

Once he'd identified his targets from a distance – and made sure that HYDRA was just using fairly
mundane weaponry – he opened fire from his shoulder cannon. The bullets chewed through the
HYDRA Quinjet's right wing, which was promptly snapped off by a well-placed repulsor blast. In
just a moment, the HYDRA troops went from defenders of a reasonably solid position to being
trapped in a shooting gallery.

All of this took place before the sonic boom had caught up with him.

As he closed to ranges that better suited hitting small, mobile targets, they did something
unexpected. One of them darted inside the crippled Quinjet. Then, a moment later, something the
size of a small car emerged, bounding onto the deck. It looked up at him and spread an enormous
pair of feathery wings. Then, letting out a vast roar of challenge, it leapt into the air.

"… You have got to be kidding me," Rhodey said, avoiding the creature's charge. As he did, he
was hailed by an incoming Quinjet.

"Colonel Rhodes, this is Captain Rogers, are you receiving me?"

"I am, Cap," Rhodey said, hitting the creature with a repulsor blast. It let out a yowl of pain, but
remained on course, barrelling into him and bearing him downwards, ripping and tearing at his suit
with claws and fangs.

"Is the Helicarrier deck clear?"

"Not quite," Rhodey said, unleashing his suit's unibeam, hurling the monster. "HYDRA deployed a
new weapon. Some kind of cat… bird… thing." He took a closer look at it, noting the metal collar
around its throat. "I think they're remote controlling it." He shook his head. "Man, I miss the days
when the worst you had to worry about was enemy jets or air defences."

Steve chuckled, though it was a little forced. He was worried and with good reason. The
Helicarrier did not look in good shape. "To be honest, HYDRA have always been a bit weird," he
said.

"Well," Rhodey said, opening up with the machine guns on his arms and drawing howls of pain
from the monster, which shied away from the attack. "Weird or not, they still bleed."

He pressed his attack, clipping the creature's wings and rendering a paw useless with repulsor
blasts and hammering blows into its midsection when it tried to overwhelm him with its size. One
punch even shattered a creature responded in kind, setting his head ringing with a blow that would
have turned his skull to powder if he hadn't been in his armour, denting and scoring the metal with
its claws. During the grapple, Rhodey managed to get his hands on the collar and, with a huge,
jerking tug, tore it off.

As soon as he did, the creature kicked him away with its hind legs, turning and fleeing as fast as its
wounded wings could carry it. For a moment, Rhodey considered letting it go, acutely aware that
he had a mission to complete. Besides that, his armour and the body within were both battered
enough as it was. Then, he shuddered as he imagined what would happen to anyone it ran into,
injured and hungry. So he gave chase.

It didn't take long to run it down – it was fast, but far, far slower than him and pair of repulsor
blasts winged it, sending it tumbling down onto one of the public beaches with an explosion of
sand. As he hovered above, it turned, not snarling at bay as he'd expected, but whimpering.
Begging for mercy.

He landed in front of it and it reared up on its hind legs, raising its forepaws. For a moment, he
thought it was attacking. Then he saw the expression on its face. It was terrified, agonised and…
human.

It hadn't been trying to attack.

It had been trying to surrender.

"Oh my god," Rhodey whispered in horror, as it fell back to its three useable paws. "Oh my god,
those sick sons of bitches."

"Colonel?"

"This thing used to be human, Cap," Rhodey said, appalled. "They turned a person into a some
kind of fairy tale attack dog."

"I wish I could say I was surprised," Steve said after a moment. "It's textbook HYDRA."

Rhodey reached out and patted the creature on the head. It seemed to relax.

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll fix you. I know some geniuses, they'll have a cure for you in no
time."

The creature looked up at him, eyes full of hope.

Then, it began to glow orange and Rhodey's suit registered heat, rising to dangerous levels, flowing
off it. "What the hell?" he asked, backing off, as the creature began to cast about in panic, letting
out noises of distress. "No, wait, calm down," he said, as it started hopping backwards with flutters
of its wings and whimpering. "It'll be okay. We'll fix this. It'll be –"

His words were cut off as the creature went off like a bomb, the force of the explosion hurling
Rhodey dozens of feet through the air like the backhand of a giant. Head ringing, he managed to
get to his feet and took in his surroundings. Where the creature had been standing, there was a
crater at least twenty feet wide, created by heat so intense that the sand at the bottom of the crater
had fused into glass. More shards of glass, gleaming, littered the beach. Of the creature, the person
that HYDRA had twisted, there was nothing left.

"Colonel Rhodes! Rhodey! Are you there?"

"I'm there, Cap," Rhodey said, voice flat but carrying a mounting rage at HYDRA, at the monsters
who took good men and women and twisted them, driving them mad, turning them into monsters,
like Sergeant Corben, who he'd fought at Malfoy Manor, and the poor bastard who'd been turned
into the winged creature, the griffin, that he'd just faced. No, not monsters, he thought. They were
victims. The monsters were the ones who'd twisted them into, who'd played God. And that made
him mad.

"I got the control collar off it," he said, wrestling control of his emotions. "HYDRA must have
figured there was something wrong because they pressed the self-destruct switch. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'm going to clear the deck for you."

He turned and took off, rocketing towards the helicarrier. This time, when he reached the deck, he
didn't bother slowing down.

The effects of a metal object weighing several hundred kilograms hitting the human body at
approximately mach speed are not pleasant. It can perhaps be best analogised as a large nail
popping a small water balloon. Except that in this case, the nail passes straight through the balloon
as if it and the water within aren't there. And the shockwave, combined with the turbulence, sends
those nearby flying like balls of paper in a wind tunnel.

The closest one, killed by the shockwave, went tumbling limply over the other side of the
Helicarrier. Others, stunned at best, reeled, leaving them easy prey for Rhodey's guns.

The engagement was over in less than fifteen seconds.

After checking the deck and the HYDRA Quinjet for HYDRA Agents, he called it in.

"Captain Rogers, you're cleared for landing."

OoOoO

By the time the Quinjet carrying the three Avengers landed, though, it was too late.

An implosion ripped through the Helicarrier, the great vessel listing and creaking alarmingly as a
crucial part of its superstructure vanished, transported into some other time or place by the
sabotaged Nexus Engine.

"We're too late," Natasha said, and Steve knew she was right. The now operational lower hangers,
fixed with Rhodey's aid, were sending out a stream of Quinjets heavily loaded with injured and
uninjured personnel alike.

"Help co-ordinate the evacuation," he said. "Get whoever off you can and tell Colonel Rhodes to
help patch the Helicarrier wherever he can, keep it in the air for long enough for a full evacuation.
Call Tony, too, tell him and the others to hurry up and get over here. I'll find the Soldier, flush him
out."

"That'll be easier said than done," Natasha remarked.

Before he could reply, Steve saw a flicker of movement on the other side of the carrier's deck.
Someone with merely human eyesight wouldn't have picked it out. But he did.

"Never mind," he said, starting to run.

As he did, the deck lurched. It was transparently obvious that he didn't have much time. "Oh, it's
like that, is it?" he muttered.

Then, he lowered his head and began to sprint.

OoOoO

Below, the listing of the Helicarrier had not gone unnoticed.

Rhodey, having helped open up the lower hangar and get the evacuation going, was struck by an
idea, one that convinced him that he'd finally gone mad. It was, he supposed, an inevitable
consequence of hanging out with Tony Stark – indeed, this was the sort of idea he'd half expect to
come from Tony's lips in a similar situation.

Even in a fully functional armour, it would be next to impossible. His, thanks to his fight with the
Griffin, was severely battered and he wasn't sure how it would hold up. That said, there was a
chance. And a chance was all he needed to justify trying.

What he was trying was something that beggared belief. Flying upside along the base of the
Helicarrier, he had his suit scan for the most structurally sound part of the carrier in the right place.
Having selected part near the front on the port side, he tried something that even Tony would have
considered crazy. Lifting, or, at least, stabilising the Helicarrier.

He pressed his hands to the bottom of the carrier, getting a sense of its sheer overwhelming mass
and the inevitable vastness of gravity pulling down it, making clear the scale of what he was
attempting. Still, if he pushed at an angle, working with the Helicarrier's forward motion, it might
just be possible. With a deep breath, he set to work. For a moment, just a fraction of a moment, he
seemed to make some headway, then the ship began to sink again.

"Come on!" he snarled, and directed every bit of spare power to the boot repulsors, taking heart
from the thrumming roar that erupted from beneath him, ignoring the sparks and growing heat
around his legs as circuits were pushed to breaking point.

And slowly, incredibly, the Helicarrier's momentum seemed to be arrested, keel evening out.

And for a few long moments, Rhodey thought he was going to succeed and he let out a wild
whoop. It was like every single flight, every single manoeuvre, in a jet, distilled into one incredible
moment of extreme risk and glorious, glorious reward. Was this how it felt to be Tony during one
of his crazier stunts, he wondered. If it was, he might start doing this more often.

Then, the euphoria was punctured as his repulsors began to fail, the HUD informing him that his
arc reactor couldn't sustain the output.

"No, no, no," he said, as the Helicarrier began to pick up momentum again. "Not now. No!"

With that denial, he pushed upwards again, giving it everything that he and the armour had.

As he strained against the colossal weight of the carrier, he felt the blood begin to roar in his ears.
He was giving his all and it wasn't enough. Then, he felt a strange lightness, as if the burden was
gone and an impatient sigh that cut through his yell of effort.

"Oh for Neptune's sake, move over metal man. I will handle this."

It was official, Rhodey thought as he blacked out. He really had gone mad.

OoOoO

Steve had the Soldier in his sights. The other man was fast, like him, and, like him, was jinking
between the wreckage, stumbling as the Helicarrier rocked from another explosion. He was more
graceful, true, and was better at keeping his balance. He'd probably done this before, and he was
undoubtedly more experienced than Steve.

But Steve was faster. He was stronger. And he was angry.

It took a lot to really make Steve angry.

However, seeing someone leaving the bodies of SHIELD Agent after SHIELD Agent strewn
through the Helicarrier, setting it on a course that could only end in its destruction with those he
considered friends aboard, having a hope that there was a good man trapped under the cold mask,
one that was so harshly dashed… now that would do it.

And there is nothing more to fear than the anger of a good man.

The Soldier was in his sights now. Steve drew his shield off his back in mid stride and sent it
skimming through the air. The Soldier turned, illuminated by the backdrop of a burning plane, and
their eyes met briefly. Now more than ever, he looked more monster than man, a shadowy killer
with no fear and no mercy. That would change, Steve thought, as the shield flew unerringly
towards him.

Then, without the Soldier looking away for even an instant, that metal left hand snapped up and
out.

And caught the shield.

Steve paused, numb with shock. No one caught the shield. Yes, Loki had knocked it out of the air
in mid flight, but that was a different story. And Loki was on another level, physically speaking,
having famously lightning fast reflexes even among Asgardians.

The Soldier slowly lowered his arm. And did nothing. Steve knew that while he could dodge a shot
from most men, the Soldier was not most men. He was the most accurate sniper this side of Clint,
and if he was allowed to close, a deadly hand to hand fighter.

But equally, if Steve got in close, which he could do very quickly, both knew that he was more
than strong enough to rip the other man in half. Based on his observations, though the Soldier was
faster, perhaps more agile and more skilled, Steve was the larger and the stronger. And unlike last
time, the ground favoured neither of them.

So now, thirty feet apart, there was a stand off.

Then, suddenly and silently, a shadow launched itself into the air off the cockpit of the burning
plane, mindless of the danger, flipping gracefully, before descending with the predatory intent of a
hunting cat. The Soldier saw Steve's gaze flick up, and reacted.

But not fast enough.

The figure's thighs snapped around his throat like a vice and slammed him to the ground, while the
figure, slim, lithe and now that Steve could get a better look, female, rolled away. He half smiled
grimly. Natasha.

She got clear, staying close to the Soldier, but not too close. Close enough to make him think twice
about drawing a gun, far enough away to keep out of reach of the shield. He then saw that she was
turning the Soldier. At the same time, an arrow came sailing from a vantage point on another
crippled jet, encouraging the Soldier to continue turning and present his back to Steve. Steve
smiled. Even under such circumstances
As soon as the Soldier was turned, he began to sprint towards his opponent.

An Olympic sprinter going at full speed could cover ten metres in just under a second, meaning
that they could cover thirty metres in just over two and a half seconds.

Steve was, at full pace, over twice as fast as the fastest Olympic Sprinter. Even taking into account
acceleration time, considering the distances, speeds and the Soldier would have had to have a
literally godlike reaction time to respond in time. He didn't.

Steve slammed into him at approximately fifty miles per hour, still accelerating. Since he weighed
109 kilograms, when he hit, he hit hard, smashing the Soldier off his feet and down into the
asphalt, stunning the man. Immediately, he began to punch the man in the back, as hard as he
could. He felt bone crack under the blows, but before he had landed more than three, the Soldier
had used his superhumanly strong left arm as a lifting jack, launching himself and Steve into the
air with explosive force, sending Steve flying and forcing the Soldier to regain his balance.

Another of Clint's arrows sailed over, striking the Soldier's metal arm, locking it in place.

And that was when Natasha struck, with a flying kick to the solar plexus, sending him flying back
even further.

Steve got to his feet and faced the Soldier with murder in his heart.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why all of this? After you saved Carol, why do this now?"

The Soldier looked him in the eye. Then, to Steve's frank astonishment, he spoke.

"Because the alternative is worse." He turned to Natasha and said something in Russian. She
replied in the same tone and his voice became pleading. She shook her head, glancing at Steve and
Clint and, following her gaze, he bowed his.

"Go," she said quietly. "You've given us a chance. Now do what you have to."

He inclined his head, then sprinted towards the edge of the deck, apparently leaping to his death.
Steve ran to the side in time for him to see the Soldier land on some form of flying motorbike –
presumably part of a backup extraction plan – and accelerate away.

"So," Clint said. He'd appeared by Steve's side in near total silence. "This is it, then."

"Looks like it," Steve said.

"You might survive the fall," Natasha remarked. "Even if the rest of us don't."

"Maybe," Steve said. She was probably right – the engines of the carrier were still firing, testament
to Tony's ingenuity, but the ship was falling apart under the strain of internal damage. With luck,
they might all survive, but the most likely scenario was that if anyone survived, it would be him
and him alone. Again. He hoped not. He didn't want to die, far from it, but surviving a second time
when his friends were swept away had no appeal.

No, it had none at all. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Suddenly, the sinking carrier stopped and began to rise, levelling off, before descending again, this
time at a measured – if slightly impatient – pace.

"Who…" Clint began, baffled.

"It's not Magneto," Natasha said.

"Strange?"

"Maybe," Natasha said.

"I think I know who this is," Steve said, expression quirked into a half smile.

"Who?" Clint asked, as the Helicarrier settled into the bay.

"Rogers," a cool, haughty and somewhat world-weary voice said a few moments later. " Of
course you are involved in this mess."

"Namor," Steve greeted, turning to look up at a dripping figure who was standing in mid-air twenty
feet above them with an expression that suggested that even if he was standing on level footing,
he'd probably still be looking down his nose at whoever he was speaking too. "Long time no see.
You haven't aged a day."

"Neither have you," the other man remarked. "Though not all of us had the advantages of being
quite literally frozen in time." He held up a rather battered looking War Machine. "Is this yours, by
the way? I found him attempting to slow your vessel's descent. He did a tolerable job."

"That he is," Steve said. "Could you put him down?"

The man shrugged, then descended and laid War Machine down with deceptive care.

"Colonel Rhodes, can you hear me?" Steve called.

For a moment, nothing happened, then the armour's hand rose in a shaky thumbs up. "Yeah,"
Rhodey's modulated voice said. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep for a week."

"Care to fill me in?" Clint asked, regarding the hovering man, noting his pointed ears and scaled
armour in a shade of greenish black, edged with gold. "Before Tony turns up and starts calling him
Elrond or something?"

"Classified," Natasha said dryly.

Clint rolled his eyes.

"Clint, meet Namor, King of Atlantis," Steve said. "We fought together back in the war."

"Definitely Elrond," Clint remarked.

"I see your taste in friends has not improved," Namor remarked. His gaze flicked to Natasha. "Then
again, maybe it has."

"Namor, this is Clint Barton and Natasha Romanova, they're…"

"Yes, yes, part of the Avengers, Hawkeye and Black Widow," Namor said impatiently. "I am
aware of your new little club. We do receive surface transmissions in Atlantis, you know."

"I was forgetting," Steve said dryly, tone suggesting that he hadn't forgotten at all.

"Well, you're only human," Namor said, tone one of weary magnanimity. He was, however,
smiling.
"What brings you here?" Steve asked.

Namor raised an eyebrow. "Has your brain not defrosted yet?" he asked, then sighed. "Pity. It was
more than serviceable, once upon a time." He pointed at the vast, hulking and tentacular creature
that rose over the New York skyline. Whatever it was, it put the Chitauri Leviathans to shame and
it was being handled by Thor, Loki, Tony and the Hulk. "That. I am here for that. And I was about
to deal with it when I noticed that your vessel was sinking, as surface vessels often down."

"It had a helping hand," Natasha said.

Namor's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said. "I had thought HYDRA gone from the world. Yet like the
rats they are, they survive in the shadows. And thrive, it would seem."

There was a faint note of accusation.

"They've got help this time," Steve said. "An insane necromancer from Alfheim who was boxing in
Loki's weight class even before he got hold of the Darkhold."

Namor's eyes widened. "By what spectacular feat of incompetence was that managed?" he
demanded.

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha said.

"Ah," Namor said, nodding. "The Red Room's damned soul. That explains matters. I take it that
Strange is involved."

"Strange is being… strange. Even for him," Steve said.

"He doesn't think that he'll be Sorcerer Supreme much longer," Natasha said.

"That… is worrying," Namor said. "My court sorcerers tell me that dire things are afoot,
monstrous creatures stalking the surface world."

"We could use your help," Steve said.

Before Namor could reply, there was sudden, bellowing roar, swiftly followed by a gargantuan
flash of light and the rolling hollow booming crack of thunder, but amplified to such a scale that
waves sprung up, emanating out from the source of the sound. Clouds were rolling in, thick and
dark with power.

"What in Neptune's name," Namor began slowly, then was silenced as the creature thrashed.
Judging by the agonised bellow it let out, it was in trouble.

This impression was only reinforced by the appearance of a gigantic serpent with iridescent green
and gold scales and chunky jagged, almost serrated, bone spines along the side, which wound it's
way around the creature with speeds that would have shamed a subway train, before visibly
contracting, it's coils squeezing like a vice, simultaneously crushing and ripping, while the head,
with gleaming, furious golden eyes, reared back, opening jaws that could have swallowed an
apartment building whole, then surged forward to deliver a vicious bite.

In response, the giant monster, maddened by pain, slashed and tore at the vast serpent, which Steve
now recognised as being a shapeshifted Loki, ripping out great hunks of flesh.

There was a quieter, smaller, but no less enthusiastic bellow, then a green figure became visible, a
speck at this distance, leaping and swinging up the bodies of the two monsters, locked in deadly
combat, with the speed, power and agility of some kind of gorilla.

The Hulk had entered the fight. And, undaunted by his opponent's size, he clearly intended to end
it, bounding up towards the creature's face, delivering a double axe handle blow that would have
rocked the city. As it was, it visibly dazed the creature.

Even then, that was not all, as, far above, a vast storm was brewing, still more clouds growing.
Thor was waiting in the wings, ready to deliver a truly terrible blow. And even as he was noticed,
Steve felt the temperature drop.

"This is crazy," Natasha said quietly, obviously intimidated by the sheer scale of the combat.

"Right there with you," Clint said.

"Why is your comrade waiting?" Namor asked. "I can feel the power he calls even from here."
There was a note of definite respect in his voice.

"He's waiting for a clear shot," Clint said. "They're forcing it back into the bay." He frowned.
"Doesn't explain why it's getting colder, though."

"Thor manipulates the weather," Natasha said. "Which requires control of the atmosphere." She
glanced up. "He's making it colder, and bringing down winds from the upper atmosphere."

"Smart move against… whatever that creature is," Steve said. "Though if that snake is Loki…"

Natasha shrugged. "The cold never really bothered him anyway."

"Good point."

Suddenly, the serpent vanished and the Hulk sprang clear, followed a moment later by a humanoid
shape streaking out of the clouds, trailing lightning, and hitting the monster with incredible power.
And that power augmented by the storms above, flashing through the monster in an eyeball searing
instant, practically vaporising it.

"Impressive," Namor said mildly.

"You're not bothered?" Steve asked, surprised. Namor usually took exception to attacks on sea life.

"It was already dead, animated and remade into an unholy semblance of life," Namor said.
"Presumably by that necromancer you mentioned. If you wish its remains, what's left of them, you
may have them."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yes, scientists above and below the water are always fascinated by things new to them," Namor
said. "Consider it a gift."

"And there was me thinking that you were just sticking us with the clean-up bill," Steve said dryly.

Namor smirked.

"So, you going to stay?" Steve asked. "We could use your help."

"Of course you could," Namor said. "But things are stirring in my realm as well as on the surface,
perhaps as a product of the Darkhold being freed. Monsters gone for centuries have been sighted
again, threats to my realm that cannot be ignored. And worse, Lemuria stirs, for the first time in
millennia." He landed beside Steve, expression very serious. "Make no mistake, old friend, the
world is shaking. And as it shakes, things that had made their homes in its cracks are shaken loose.
Even if you defeated HYDRA tomorrow, the consequences of what they have unleashed will haunt
us for years to come."

"Maybe you're right," Steve said. "All the more reason to put them down fast. But if Atlantis is
threatened, then I understand. You've got your duties."

"As you do yours," Namor said. "May we both perform them well." His lips quirked into a smile.
"And try not to get frozen again. A world with you in it is a far more interesting one than one
without."

"I'll do my best," Steve said.

"I suppose that is all that can be expected," Namor said, and with a final nod, leapt high into the air,
arrowing into the sea with the grace of a diving sea-bird.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you have the weirdest friends, Steve," Clint said.

OoOoO

Fury looked up as Steve, Clint and Natasha walked into the Triskelion's primary War Room,
having been teleported over by a severely distracted Loki, who then disappeared, mentioning
matters he had to attend to at Hogwarts. Rhodey had been diverted to the Triskelion's medical
facilities. "You're just on time," he said.

"For what?"

"The Soldier's going for his next target: the President," Fury explained. "HYDRA were dominating
the skies, so we took the call to have Thor ground everything within five miles of Washington. He
and Loki are on the way to Hogwarts, though, but Stark will be there in eight minutes." He seemed
strangely calm. "The Soldier's already there."

"So. The President is trapped. The Winter Soldier is after him. Sir, with all due respect, this is a
disaster," Steve said flatly. "The Secret Service don't stand a chance."

"Relax, Captain," Fury said, watching the surveillance screens. "I've got someone in place on the
ground."

"Who?"

Fury gave him a mirthless smile of one enjoying another's impending suffering.

"The Wolverine."

OoOoO

Okay, let's end this bloody day.

Target: Matthew Ellis.

Position: President of the United States.

Likely Location: Within the White House. Aerial cover prevents escape by air. Awaiting reports
from HYDRA moles within White House.
Assets: Assault team composed of former STRIKE operatives.

Assessment: Competent. Devoted to HYDRA. Slightly insane.

Conclusion: Worked with worse. I can direct them to minimal casualties.

The President will probably die, though. There's no way to let him escape, not cornered like this.

OoOoO

The Soldier cast a cursory glance around himself. The Secret Service Agents were dead or disabled
and the Oval Office was only a room or two away.

Then, he heard a very distinctive sound: Snikt.

Oh fuck.

OoOoO

"All right, bub," Logan said, as the Soldier turned to look at him. "What have you got?"

The Soldier watched him for a moment, face impossible to read behind goggles and mask and for a
moment, Logan wished he had the Professor's powers and could see what he was thinking. Then,
on considering exactly what had likely been done to the Soldier over the years, he decided he'd
probably be better off without.

In any case, he could smell blood, the Soldier's blood – he couldn't have said how he knew it was
the Soldier's, not that of one of his victims, but he did – cold metal and an undercurrent of
controlled fear.

OoOoO

Alpha Class Threat: James 'Logan' Howlett a.k.a. Weapon X a.k.a. Wolverine.

Powers: three 12 inch Adamantium coated bone claws on each hand, protruding from between the
knuckle. Absurdly powerful healing factor. Skeleton coated in Adamantium. Effectively immortal.

Skills: Highly trained combatant. Has acquired a broad grounding in a large number of martial
arts styles. Experienced black ops agent and soldier.

Great. I knew he was here, but I'd hoped he'd be busy killing someone else. He's powerful enough
that I could justify breaking off and retreating even if my fucking ribs weren't broken, but judging
by the expression on his face, he won't let me.

Plan of Attack: Hand to Hand. If (when) that fails, use counter measure.

OoOoO

Logan finally lost patience and engaged with a roar of challenge. The Soldier responded by
swaying away from his claws with snake-like speed and whipping a razor edged combat knife up
and across in a reverse grip, slicing through his suit and skin like they weren't even there, clashing
against his adamantium ribcage. A dropped leg by Logan tripped him, forcing him to drop and roll
and then instantly go on the defensive as Logan attacked at speed, claws flashing as he drove the
super soldier back.

While the other man was quicker and stronger, just as he remembered, even while carrying what
looked to be a couple of broken ribs, he seemed to know very well how dangerous Logan's claws
were and knew that his healing factor would shake off bullets. Instead, he wielded a combat knife
with fearsome skill. But while he landed three strikes to each of Logan's, he didn't have the luxury
of a healing factor. And there was, Logan noted, something familiar about him, something beyond
what he remembered. Something, a shadow of thought, that whispered to him that despite his
injuries and disadvantages, this man was more dangerous than ever and that he should be very
careful indeed.

And so it proved. To Logan's surprise, the Soldier kicked him away, then took several steps
backwards rather than pressing the attack. He didn't remain surprised for long, however.

Because the Soldier reached into his impossibly deep pocket and pulled out…

"Oh, you have gotta be kidding me."

OoOoO

Countermeasure it is.

OoOoO

An outside observer would, at this point, be treated to something of a surprise.

From deep within the White House there was a loud explosion, followed by a burning man sailing
out through a wall, propelled by a powerful explosion, clawing at his face and torso as he landed
on the grass outside, bellowing in mingled rage and agony.

Even for the Wolverine, a thermite tipped rocket propelled grenade is something of an
inconvenience.

And the Winter Soldier had no one between him and the President.

OoOoO

President Ellis had flaws. He was human, after all. It's part of the human condition. And he was a
powerful man. Power is always likely to bring out the worst in us, as his opponents liked to point
out following the increase of SHIELD's mandate and increased use of War Machine.

But he was no coward.

So when the Winter Soldier strode towards him, bleeding, beaten and still more than capable of
killing him in at least a hundred different ways without breaking a sweat, he stood tall and proud, in
the face of the angel of destruction that was coming to claim his life.

"Go on then," he said quietly. "Do it. Just make it quick."

The Soldier stopped five feet away, and slowly raised his pistol.

Ellis tensed, focusing on the suddenly very large looking barrel of the gun, waiting for the bullet
that would end his life.

It didn't come.

Frowning, he focused on the Soldier himself. And saw something astonishing. The man seemed to
be trying to force himself to shoot. But for some reason, he couldn't.
Or, Ellis thought, in a burst of inspiration, he was trying to force himself not to.

This was not quite correct, but it was a reasonable guess under the circumstances.

OoOoO

Dammit, he's one man. He falls, someone else steps up to replace him. I've done this before and I
can do it again.

So why can't I?

OoOoO

"Son?" he asked, gently.

The man's blue eyes focused on him. And in them, he saw something that hadn't been present
before.

Emotion. To be precise, a sense of anguish.

"Son?" he asked again. "Why aren't you shooting?"

The man stared at him, anger flashing through his eyes, before being replaced with helpless
confusion. Silently, he shook his head. He didn't know.

"Who are you?" Ellis asked gently, because he was a kind man too, and he'd read the briefings on
the Soldier, including Agent Romanova's testimony. He'd been brainwashed for the best part of
sixty five years. "Come on, son. You can tell me." He smiled slightly, making to step forward. "It's
not as if I'm going to live to tell anyone else."

The man shook his head even more violently and glared at Ellis, who froze, thinking he'd pushed
too far. Then the Soldier looked away slowly, and shook his head again and Ellis understood. He
was making the man think about things that he'd never thought about before. He was making him
question. Above all, he was making him feel, something Ellis would bet that he hadn't done for a
very long time. And that was always going to hurt.

"You don't know?"

A nod.

"Do you know anything about yourself?"

Silence. Slightly surprised, thoughtful silence. Then a listless shrug.

"Okay," Ellis said calmly and kindly. "Maybe I can help. If it's okay with you, take off the mask,
son. Give me an idea of who I'm talking to."

The man gave him a long, unreadable look, pain and confusion lurking in the background.

OoOoO

He's stalling. Classic stalling tactics.

But… he might know who I am. He might know why part of me is telling me that I can't shoot him.

OoOoO
Then, silently, he reached up with his free hand, and took off the mask.

For a moment, Ellis just stared at the man. He was handsome, with dark brown hair and clean,
strong features. This was completely offset, however, by the fact that his hair that looked like it
hadn't been cared for in a long time, his jaw was covered in the stubble of a man who hasn't had
time to shave, and his face was waxy and pale with a mixture of tiredness, pain both emotional and
physical, and bloodloss.

He looked confused, Ellis thought. So very confused, which, in turn, made him look very young
and very vulnerable, which, for a moment, gave Ellis the very confusing urge to give the Terror of
the Western World and Archenemy of Democracy a hug and tell him that it would be all right.

The ultimate killing machine he might be, peerless assassin and master of espionage he was too…
but damn, Ellis thought, he looks like he could be one of my kids. And there was something else
too, something strangely familiar.

Then, it clicked.

And Ellis stared in shock at Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 107th, deadliest sniper in the Allied
Armies, best friend of Captain America and second in command of the legendary Howling
Commandos, the only one of them, supposedly, to have died in battle, looking as if he'd just
walked out of a 1940's newsreel.

A million questions roared through his mind, which was stunned into inaction by this revelation.
And eventually, one found its way out.

"My god," he whispered softly. "What did they do to you, son?"

Slowly, silently, helplessly, Bucky Barnes shook his head.

Then, astonishingly, he spoke. "I don't know," he said, in a voice dry and cracked with disuse.

He didn't know. Ellis realised that whatever the Soviets had done to him, he couldn't remember it.
Maybe, just maybe, that was a piece of mercy. But he couldn't remember anything. And Ellis had
trouble thinking of anything crueller to do to someone.

Or did he? Somewhere deep down, maybe he did know. Maybe, deep inside, buried in his
subconscious, a small part of Bucky Barnes remained, enough that, when confronted with the
President of the United States, his Commander-In-Chief, the elected representative of the
American People that he had, so long ago, sworn to protect and serve, it had gained control over
the rest of him.

And that could only add to the confusion, Ellis realised. Here was a man who was his mission, his
target, one like dozens, hundreds, thousands even, of others, that he had dispatched. And for some
reason, he couldn't pull the trigger. It would add a further layer of turmoil to a mind that was
unused to such things and unable to handle them.

"I recognise you," Ellis said quietly.

Barnes' head snapped up, eyes filled with a mix of disbelief, calculation and… hope. Hope so fierce
that it hurt.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," Ellis said slowly, dredging up his schoolboy memories of
history lessons in which this man had figured prominently, giving each word the time to sink in.
"You were a Sergeant in the 107th regiment of the United States Army during the Second World
War, a member of the Howling Commandos, under the leadership of Captain Steve Rogers,
otherwise known as Captain America. You met him earlier today. He was your best friend. You
grew up together."

Barnes hesitated, then, slowly, nodded.

OoOoO

Yes… the man with the shield. The man who offered me mercy when he was at mine. The other
supersoldier, the one HYDRA fear, the leader of the Avengers… and my friend.

OoOoO

"I'm guessing you fought. Because he was getting in the way of your mission."

Barnes nodded, then shook his head. Clearly he still wasn't entirely comfortable with speech.

"You don't have to fight him, you know. You don't have to kill me. You don't have to follow your
mission."

A sudden, sharp shake of the head and a glare from Barnes told him that this last was the wrong
thing to say. Of course, Ellis thought. The mission, following orders and doing his duty, was all the
poor bastard knew. It was all he had left.

"This mission isn't right, son," Ellis said gently. "The people who gave it to you are bad men. If I
had to guess, they wiped your memory."

Barnes gave him a puzzled look, that quite clearly asked why this was so. Or at least, that's how
Ellis interpreted it.

"They wiped your memory, because you're a good man, son. You're famous for your bravery and
decency," Ellis said, leaving out the fact that Barnes and company had performed some fairly
questionable actions, by modern standards, during World War II in the name of strategic
expediency. "Every American child knows your name. They know that you stood for doing the
right thing, no matter what it cost. And that's why these bad men wiped your memory, why they
took your life away from you. Because they know that you would never have agreed with what
they're making you do."

Barnes stared at him, then turned away, folding his arms across his chest, hugging himself. Ellis
wasn't complacent. This vulnerability was probably genuine, but any moment, if he felt it hurt too
much, Barnes could snap and fall back on his programming. Ellis knew he was a good speaker, but
he severely doubted that he could break sixty odd years of psychic conditioning just by talking to
the man. Maybe he could, in which case, it was a miracle. If not, he'd just have to wait until
reinforcements arrived, like that associate of Fury's. For now, it cost him nothing to buy a little
time.

Then he was hit by a burst of inspiration. "Sergeant Barnes," he said suddenly, voice full of
authority and was satisfied at how the man instinctively drew himself to attention. "At ease, son,"
he said, smiling slightly. The man relaxed and looked at him attentively. "Now, I'm giving you a
new mission," he said, voice kind, but full of authority. "Fight it, son. Fight this control they have
over you. Take back control of your life. Never give up, never give in."

Barnes seemed to be slightly taken aback by this. But also thoughtful.

Then, suddenly, he cocked his head, as if listening to something. And his expression… rippled. It
turned hard, and his eyes grew cold and remote once more. He raised his gun with smooth, sure
certainty, replacing his mask and goggles, looking around as if he'd just woken up.

Bucky was gone. And the Soldier was back.

Ellis closed his eyes, and sighed. So this was the way it was going to be. "Remember, son. They
can make you do things. But they can't make you choose them."

Two shots rang out.

A body crumpled to the floor.

And then there was silence.

OoOoO

Mission complete.

OoOoO

Elsewhere, matters were not so light-hearted and doom was well present.

Those few HYDRA Agents who had survived the telekinetic hammer blow that had obliterated the
Great Hall and the Entrance Hall were in full flight as the vast firebird rose above the castle, wings
of red-gold flame spreading wide enough to engulf the entire castle, singing its primal, eerie song.

In terror, the HYDRA Agents that remained called upon their last weapon, Dementors, of those that
had been drawn to Gravemoss' side before his assault on Azkaban, their numbers swelled by the
darkest of magic, numbering in their hundreds. Swirling above the school like a malevolent storm
cloud, they struck, drawn towards the gigantic firebird like moths to a flame.

They suffered much the same fate.

In the blink of an eye, the colossal construct beat its wings powerfully, engulfing the swarm.
Whenever it touched a Dementor, it left only ashes behind. And in less than a minute, hundreds,
even thousands, of some of the most feared and reviled creatures in the magical world were gone,
as if they had never been. The only sign that they had ever been was the ash that drifted down from
the night sky.

"Bloody hell..."

By some undisclosed means, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger had found their way down
into the Great Hall. Dumbledore was not surprised. Nor was he surprised that roughly half of
Gryffindor House had followed them down and had been taking potshots at HYDRA from the
sides. Now, they were just watching.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I couldn't stop them," Percy Weasley apologised.

"I fear, Mister Weasley, that that is the least of our worries," McGonagall said.

"Why? It's burning those HYDRA bastards," Ron said, before clamping a hand over his mouth in
horror at swearing in front of most of the faculty. Though half the school was in ruins and littered
with bodies, old habits died hard.

"Indeed it is, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said. "However, that 'it' is a she and is currently
possessing Harry. She is also rather unpredictable."
"You know what this is, Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"I have seen Her once before. In Vienna, over a century ago," Dumbledore said. "She destroyed
almost the entire Grey Court with a stray thought. Then she did the same to those who had
summoned her, and displayed absolute command over the powers of life and death."

"You expect her to turn on us?" McGonagall asked.

"Under the traumatic circumstances in which She appeared? I think that it is a distinct possibility,"
Dumbledore said, before rapping out commands. "Minerva, Severus, Filius, Pomona, I need you to
collect your students and with the rest of the staff, begin evacuating the school. Wake the House
Elves, they can help. Floo Peter Wisdom at MI13 and the Ministry, in that order. If that doesn't
work, send owls. Use the fastest we have. Apprise them of the situation and ask for assistance. Tell
Wisdom that this is potentially an Omega Class emergency and to forward that to Nicholas Fury:
they will understand what it means. And tell him to contact the Avengers."

"That won't be necessary, Professor," Hermione said, producing a phone. "This is Harry's. It has all
the Avengers' numbers in it. I thought... well, I thought that we might need it."

"Miss Granger, your resourcefulness and capacity for forethought know no equal," Dumbledore
said, smiling at her and drawing a blush. "Call the Avengers and Wanda Maximoff. Tell them that
what has happened, what is happening. HYDRA might be on the run, but I fear that they have
unleashed something far worse." He turned to the staff. "Go. Miss Granger, the youngest Mister
Weasley, go with them."

"Yes, Professor," Ron and Hermione said.

"Albus, what do you intend to do?" McGonagall asked, voice low.

"I have encountered this entity before and reasoned with Her. I may be able to do so again,"
Dumbledore replied. "In case I cannot, get Hermione's time turner and tell one of the House Elves
to bring it to me. If I am gone, use it yourself. Go back one hour and go to Charles Xavier. Cerebro
may be our only hope."

McGonagall looked at him for a moment, then nodded sharply. "Good luck, Albus."

"And to you too, Minerva. Now go!"

And so she did, shepherding the remaining students back inside. Once she had done so, silence
descended, broken only by the wind in the trees and the crackling of cosmic flames. The HYDRA
Agents had all been reduced to ash or, in one or two cases, charred bones. According to Hogwarts,
Daken was slowly, impossibly healing, but Dumbledore paid him little mind. He wouldn't be in
any position to cause trouble for quite some time, healing factor or not.

Instead, he focused on Harry or more accurately, the being that was using Harry's body, now
hovering twenty feet off the ground. The firebird aura had now diminished, like a banked flame,
still haloing Harry's body, but not as strongly as it once had.

"Hello again," he said. "It has been a long time."

Slowly, terribly, Harry's body turned and regarded him. That gaze... it wasn't as inhuman as he'd
expected. It was certainly very different to the last time that he'd encountered this particular entity.

Albus. It has been a while. There was an obscure smile. But perhaps not as long as you thought.
"You sent Fawkes to me, didn't you?" Dumbledore guessed.

Fawkes is his own creature. He chose you.

Dumbledore noted that this was not quite a confirmation, but not quie a denial either. "Please," he
said. "You've done enough. Let him go."

There was a moment of silence, and Harry's face took on an expression of surprise and affront as
his meaning was understood. Albus, I would never hurt him!

"Then why are you protecting him?" Dumbledore asked, considering that since he'd already
offended Her and not been incinerated, the axiom 'in for a penny, in for a pound' applied. And the
fact that she took offence at the implication that she would hurt him was rather interesting. "I am
very grateful, but..." He trailed off. "Lily. Her sacrifice. She invoked you, didn't she? That was how
Harry survived the Killing Curse."

Harry's lips curved into a strangely feminine smile. Smart boy.

Dumbledore wasn't feeling so smart. He should have seen this long before.

You did. You and clever Mister Cassidy, the two of you figured it out together. I wiped it from your
mind because you were not yet meant to know. Sorry about that, by the way.

Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement at this apparently genuine apology, while
thinking rapidly. The last time he had encountered this particular entity, she had not been anywhere
near as calm or as polite. Merciful, perhaps, but not exactly what you'd call friendly. And certainly
not apologetic. Perhaps it was the fact that she was present by choice.

"What is your interest in him, if I may ask?" he inquired carefully.

That would be telling.

Dumbledore drew himself up and regarded Harry's body. "With respect, my lady," he said coolly.
"I find myself not in the mood for word games. One of my students is dead. The one you are
currently possessing was also killed not five minutes ago. I thank you for resurrecting him, but the
fact of what happened remains. My school is in ruins. Harry is a student at my school. As with all
my other students, while he is here, I take on the role of guardian." He paused. "And I have failed
to properly protect him before, something that I count among my bitterest regrets. Please. I need to
know."

There was a long moment when Harry's body regarded him. Then, eventually, a measured response
came. You need not fear. My interest is a protective one, and I only act when he is in mortal
danger.

Dumbledore frowned in thought, noticing that She didn't specify whether it was a matter of not
acting out of choice, or necessity. "When he fell from his broom, when James, Thor, returned... that
was you."

After a fashion. I helped his latent psychic powers to emerge. He did the rest, even if he doesn't
realise it.

Then, Harry's body drifted to the ground, the aura around him fading.

Look after him, Albus. He will need it.

Then, the power flowed off him like water, taking the strange clothes with it, leaving Harry
standing in front of Albus, slightly smoking robes, a strange gleam about the phoenix brooch on his
chest and a subtle smell of flames the only signs that anything strange had happened. Even the rips
in his robes where Daken's claws had torn through them were gone.

"Professor?" he mumbled, before his eyes rolled up in his head and would have collapsed, were it
not for Dumbledore's quick reflexes.

At the same time, the flames of the Phoenix that had burned around Harry now reshaped
themselves into the shape of a young, beautiful woman. She reached out a hand and caressed his
cheek, flames somehow not burning Harry's skin. Then, she leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on
his brow.

Afterwards, she stepped back and dispersed into sparks that faded as they were carried away by the
wind. And then she was gone.

OoOoO

Ellis slowly opened his eyes. He was alive. He wasn't bleeding, hell, he wasn't even in pain. He
looked up, and saw that Barnes had whirled roughly ninety degrees, and for whatever reason, put
two bullets into, no, through the wall.

He turned back and looked at Ellis, and for a moment, Ellis saw sadness in his eyes.

Then, he cracked off a salute as crisp as any Ellis had seen, one that would have brought tears to a
Drill Sergeant's eye.

Slowly, Ellis returned it. "God go with you, son," he said. Then, he added, "And remember the
mission."

Barnes gave him a long look.

OoOoO

Sir, yes sir.

OoOoO

Slowly, Bucky nodded. Then, he whirled and slipped out of the room like a black clad ghost.

Ellis let out a long breath and just stood there. He was still standing there when Fury's man arrived,
astonishly alive and apparently little worse for wear, despite third degree burns all over his body,
which were disappearing before Ellis' very eyes.

Soon after, reinforcements arrived.

"Sir," one of the reinforcements said. "Are you all right, sir? Did he hurt you?"

"No," Ellis said slowly, voice coming as if from a very long way away. "He was the one who was
hurt. A long, long time ago."

The commander of the Secret Service exchanged a look with his colleagues and said quietly, "He's
in shock."

"Can you blame him?" Logan growled.

The Secret Service man looked Logan up and down, taking in his healing but still fairly grim
looking physique. "Not really," he said. Then he turned to the President. "Sir, if you would come
with me, please. We need to get you looked at."

"I'm fine," Ellis said.

"Yes sir, I'm sure you are. It's just a precaution," the Secret Service man said politely, his tone
suggesting that if he had to, he would keep repeating this until the President gave in.

Ellis recognised this, and came down off his cloud. "Yes, of course. Just one moment, please." He
walked over to Logan and said quietly, "Tell Fury this: the Soldier isn't a villain. He's a victim."

Logan gave him a confused look, one which slowly cleared. "You mean..."

"I do. I'll speak to him about it later, but for now, tell him that."

Logan paused, then nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Sir."

"Yes, I'm coming. Thank you, Mr Howlett, for everything."

Logan nodded, and lit up. "You shouldn't thank me, sir," he said.

"Why's that?"

"Because I only protected you. One of those HYDRA bastards went after your wife. Had her at
gunpoint. Someone put two shots in his head. Through a wall," Logan said. He glanced at the
bulletholes in the wall. "Maybe several walls. Something to think about, maybe."

"Yes," Ellis said quietly. "Definitely something to think about."

OoOoO

Dumbledore watched her disappear, then slipped Harry's arm over his shoulder and tried to help
him to stand. Unfortunately, Harry was now quite tall and had put on more than a little muscle,
meaning that he was too heavy even for an unusually lithe and agile old man.

"Here," a young woman's friendly sounding voice said, and suddenly, the weight lessened as
someone else took up the burden. "Let me help."

For a moment, Dumbledore thought that She had come back, then realised that this wasn't true. For
one thing, this person sounded perfectly normal, and her words entered through the ears rather than
being beamed straight into the brain.

"Thank you," he said, and they began to make their way up to the castle, Harry's feet instinctively
walking with them, enough of him being awake to perform that basic function. There was, for a
long time, silence, then, as they got close to the ruined entrance hall, the young woman spoke
again.

"He's going to be all right, you know," she said.

"I hope so," Dumbledore said, glancing over at his helpful companion. She was a little shorter than
Harry and had very black hair.

"It'll take him time," she continued. "Longer for some parts than others. But he'll deal with it."
There was something about the way she said it, with utter certainty, that on this night of all nights,
made Dumbledore look up sharply.

"Will he now?" he asked slowly.

"Sure," came the casual, yet not flippant, reply. "Now, Hagrid's coming and I've got places to be
and people to see. Can you hold him up 'til Hagrid gets here?"

"Yes, I think I can manage," Dumbledore said.

"Great," she said, and carefully stepped away, giving Dumbledore time to adjust to Harry's weight.
It was then that he got a good look at her. She was very pretty, he noticed, with unusually pale skin
that stood out against the darkness of the night and her casual muggle clothing. And that wasn't the
only thing about her that stood out. On a chain around her neck was a simple silver ankh and there
was a warm, kind smile on her face.

"Be seeing you, Albus," she said.

Then, she was gone.

OoOoO

As it was, though, she didn't go far.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," she said. "Just had to give an old man a helping hand."

"It's not a problem," Luna said, before looking down at her body. "It's kind of interesting, looking
at your body from the outside. It's you, but it's not you, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do," Death said kindly.

Luna nodded, as if she expected this. "Is this the end, then?"

"It's the end of your lifetime," Death said. "And the beginning of what comes next."

Luna nodded again. "Okay," she said.

"You're taking this better than most," Death observed. "Not that I mind. I'm actually kind of
impressed."

"I'll miss this world, but I'm dead," Luna said, tone perfectly matter of fact. "Dying was painful,
but I'm past that now. What is there to worry about?"

Death inclined her head in agreement and looked thoughtful. "You know," she said. "I know
everyone pretty well. Some better than others. And you remind me a bit of my little sister."

"Do I?" Luna asked, faintly surprised.

Death nodded and looked slightly sad. "Yeah," she said.

"Did she die?" Luna asked, reading Death's expression.

"No. She just wandered off one day and never came back," Death said sadly. She brightened up.
"And that means that there's a position open."

"Oh? What does it involve?"

Death explained it to her as best she could. Not all concepts are best conveyed in words.

Luna listened, then looked thoughtful. "Can I think about it for a bit?"

"Sure."

Luna accordingly thought for a little while, then nodded decisively. "I like that," she said.

"Excellent," Death said. "Now, it's time to meet the family. Unless I miss my guess, they're waiting
for us."

Luna took Death's hand and looked up at her new big sister. "Then we shouldn't make them wait
any longer, should we?" she said.

They stopped forward. Then, both of them were gone.

 The Ashes Settle

When Harry opened his eyes, he found that he was, once again, in the hospital wing. He was the
only occupant, as far as his psi-senses could tell.

He looked around, and for a moment, everything was peaceful.

Then, the events of the night before hit him like a tidal wave, drowning him in an ocean of
memories, of fire, fearsome combat and the icy feeling of cold blades sliding between his ribs and
puncturing his heart. But above all, he remembered the cold, dead body of Luna Lovegood.

When Wanda came in, she found him curled up in a ball, eyes dead, seeing only the horrors of the
night before. "Harry?" she asked gently.

Slowly, he looked up at her, then latched onto her with the desperation of one who was drowning,
burying his head in her neck and began to cry.

OoOoO

Harry was not the only one in distress.

Ron and Hermione had, for lack of anything better to do, settled down in the ruins of the Great
Hall, helping where they could.

"What about Warren?" Hermione asked, worried. "And Professor Cassidy."

"Hermione," Ron said. "I'd be less worried about Professor Cassidy and more worried about the
people around him."

This was an opinion that would later be proved a sensible one, as later examination showed that,
particularly after Luna's death, Professor Cassidy had got... creative. Most of his attackers had shot
themselves, suffered lethal brain haemhorrages and, in some cases, been reduced to feebly
twitching bags of meat and fluids, entire skeletal structure shattered into little more than powder
before they were executed. And then there was the splatter, shrapnel and scorch marks at the base
of the Astronomy Tower. No one particularly wanted to explore that.

"And Warren?"

Ron's expression soured slightly. It was quite obvious that Hermione had a crush on the angelic
mutant. So did half of the school, and not all that half was female. Why this bothered him, he didn't
know. He shrugged. "Dunno," he said. Then his eyes nearly popped out as he saw Warren descend
from the heavens. "Bloody hell," he whispered.

It was an apt choice of phrase. Warren, as it transpired, was fine.

This was more than could be said for anyone who had got in his way.

His entire body was spattered with blood, his hair caked with it and his metallic wings were cast in
a deathly crimson red by the blood and the early dawn light. Apparently not registering the
presence of Ron and Hermione, he dazedly examined his wings. "'Now I am become death,'" he
whispered. "'Destroyer of worlds'."

"Has he cracked?" Ron whispered.

"No, he's quoting," Hermione hissed. "Shut up!" Then she turned to Warren. "Warren? Are you…
are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"I… I don't think that I'm hurt," Warren said, blinking at Hermione and seeming to come back to
reality.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, carefully going over to Warren's side, taking his hand and
leading him to a bench.

He followed, unresisting, and sat down, mantling his wings suddenly. Hermione flinched, both at
the proximity of the deadly appendages and at the fact that she'd just been flicked with still warm
blood. She didn't scream, however. Instead, she took a deep breath and wiped away the blood.

Warren didn't even seem to notice. "Harry woke me up. Soldiers attacked the school. They came
for the students, came from the sky. I stopped them," he said, voice still distant and dazed. "No. I
killed them. I killed them all." He gestured. "They're out there, if you want to see."

Hermione's eyes widened and she examined his chest – something she would normally have done
more slowly and with an accompanying blush – for wounds. There were none. Whoever Warren
had faced hadn't even managed to scratch him.

"They came to kill, kill children," he said. "That made me so… angry." His expression shifted to
bleak. "So I killed them all. Some of them screamed, screamed as they fell. Others didn't get the
chance." He looked straight at Hermione for the first time, and she shivered at what she saw in his
eyes. "They're dead. So why can I still hear them screaming?"

OoOoO

Thor landed with a thunder clap as he hit the ground without bothering to slow down, striding into
the ruins of the Halls of Hogwarts, anxiety increasing with every step he took and every shattered
stone, burnt corpse and piece of HYDRA's jet he saw.

"Where is Albus?" he demanded, as soon as he got within shouting range of the nearest teacher,
McGonagall, attacted by the sound of his landing.

"Through there," McGonagall said. "With Sean and…" She took a deep breath. "Miss Lovegood's
body."

Thor felt like his blood had been replaced by ice, his anger draining away. "Luna Lovegood? She
is…"

McGonagall, eyes red with crying, nodded. "The poor girl. She was looking for her things and
happened across the HYDRA attack force. They killed her, with a bullet in the lung," she said.
"Sean found her and, well…"

"I know, he knew her mother well," Thor said heavily. "He told me." He looked at McGonagall.
"How did Harry respond? Does he know?"

"He was there when Sean brought her body to us," McGonagall said. "If it wasn't for him, we
might have lost many more – he sensed HYDRA coming and woke Albus and the rest of the staff
up. And then, of course, he intervened himself."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Thor demanded.

"There wasn't time," McGonagall said. "Barely a minute after we crossed paths, Sean had found
Luna's body. As soon as Harry saw it, he snapped and left before we could stop him, faster than we
could keep up. He loosed his wolves on HYDRA's ground troops. By the time we caught up, he
had called them off and he warned the HYDRA troops to leave. When their leader, a creature
called Daken, refused, he attacked." She shook her head. "I've never seen the like of it, James, not
since the days of Grindelwald. He fought like a man possessed and tore through HYDRA's troops,
magical and muggle, like paper. The wolves helped, of course, while the rest of us were occupied
with the rest of HYDRA's troops. Daken, however, managed to weather his assault and…" She
trailed off.

"And what?" Thor asked. "And what, Minerva?"

"He killed him," McGonagall whispered. "Stabbed him straight through the heart."

Thor's own heart felt like it had been stabbed. "What?" he whispered. This was his every nightmare
come to life.

"He didn't stay dead, though," McGonagall said. "Something powerful resurrected him and
possessed him, something Albus recognised. It was angry, terribly, terribly angry. Daken tried to
kill him again, but it incinerated him with barely a thought. The rest of the HYDRA troops opened
fire, but their bullets, their spells, were all just waved away." She sounded, Thor noted, like she
could barely believe what she was saying. "Then, it responded, tearing the castle apart in a single
blast, killing every single one of the HYDRA troops. They had Dementors, too, hundreds of them.
And, well, I dare say you saw the ash on the way in."

"And what happened after?" Thor asked.

"Albus spoke to it. I don't know what he said, but it, she, released him and Albus helped him up to
the castle," McGonagall said. "Harry is fine, or at least as well as can be expected, though the stab
wound has left a scar. Wanda is with him and the last I saw, he was weeping on her shoulder."

"I see," Thor said. "Thank you, Minerva. And my condolences. I will speak to Albus later."

McGonagall nodded.

Thor then took the stairs three at a time, resisting the urge to fly straight the castle to get to his son.
Instead, he ran through the empty corridors, before forcing himself to slow as he reached the
Hospital Wing. Harry would probably not respond well to someone large thundering into the room.
Instead, he took a deep calming breath and pushed the doors open.

What he found broke his heart.

His son, his brave, brilliant and bright little boy, was clinging to his godmother. He wasn't
weeping, but his red rimmed eyes and damp cheeks suggested that this was because there were no
more tears to cry. His gaze flicked up as Thor walked in and father and son stared at each other for
a moment.

Then, Harry said, very softly, "Daddy?"

Without another word, Thor strode over and took him in his arms, holding him close. "Daddy's
here," he said quietly. "Daddy's here, Harry."

OoOoO

Dumbledore was in silent contemplation.

Until now, he had never seen how much Harry resembled his father. Not the James aspect, he
resembled that plenty, but the Thor aspect. Instead, Dumbledore had seen more of his mother in
him, in his eyes, his inner fire and his instinctive kindness.

James had always been brashly affable, ready to befriend just about anyone if he hit it off with
them, and ready to defend the defenceless to the death in the blink of an eye. But it had been Lily
who had reached out, Lily who had been so naturally kind and compassionate. And, of course, Lily
who had blazed like an inferno when her anger was aroused.

Harry had all of those qualities and many more. But he lacked Thor's easy confidence, his calm
strength and down to earth solidity. It was peculiar, really. You could tell they were father and son
by the way they acted. You could see the similarities, the same nobility, the same reflexive
defence of the downtrodden and the same human touch – ironic when one of them was definitely
not human and the jury was still out on the latter. There was also the default to heroism, the
curiosity (which, as James, Thor had displayed ample amounts of) and the instinctive talent for
finding trouble. And above all, their love of – and talent for – flying, a shared gift and a shared
delight. But at the same time, there were so many differences and until the night before,
Dumbledore had never seen anything in Harry that really showed his Asgardian heritage.

Instead, Harry had swung between being diffident and commanding, silly and serious (more
usually the latter than the former) and moreover, gentle and vengeful. Where Thor was more
reliable, so to speak, Harry's opening up over the last few months had rendered him downright
mercurial. If anyone who knew James and Lily encountered Harry, they would be struck by how
much he acted like his mother, and his powers seemed to reflect this. His psychic abilities, a gift of
his mother's bloodline, were by far more developed than his nascent superhuman strength. Even
his magic showed it, with Harry sharing Lily's predilection for fire. Then again, that last could have
an entirely different cause…

A few months before, he had told Thor that while humans were survivors, a single Asgardian was
a war machine, and it was true. They were a species who had evolved for battle.

You could see that in Thor. You could even see it in Loki, to one extent or another. But
Dumbledore had never seen it in Harry. Harry had always been an arch survivor, getting into and
out of trouble with an insane plan, a lot of courage and a healthy dose of luck.

In recent months, there had been an almost indefinable change in how Harry moved and spoke, in
tandem with his considerable physical growth. He carried himself with more confidence, more
surety in his power and with greater... well, wisdom wasn't quite the word. Awareness, perhaps.

And last night, the intervention of a certain entity notwithstanding, until his temporary death,
Dumbledore had seen a warrior. He had seen a Prince of the Aesir in full flow, instinctive warrior-
skill married to a near berserk rage, and if he had not faced an opponent so canny, so able to
patiently identify and exploit his weaknesses, if he had actually looked to his own defence rather
than trusting to the fury of his onslaught to protect him, he would have been practically
unstoppable. Of course, he had been very definitely stopped, in a manner that reminded all that
Prince of the Aesir or no, Harry was still a child, still vulnerable to the right opponent and still had
much to learn. But even so, before Daken had stabbed him in the heart, Harry had given all present
a glimpse of what he would be one day.

Then, of course, the entity behind the protection on him had resurrected him, a feat that still
astonished Dumbledore, and promptly gone on a rampage, before sharing some enigmatic words
with Dumbledore and releasing her charge. That, puzzlingly enough, had been reminiscent of Lily.
The entity Dumbledore had conversed with, the Queen Phoenix or whatever she was, was one that
took hosts, after all, that could be summoned into them. Perhaps as Lily had summoned Her, she
had left a mark on the entity? He did not know.

Still, it was a battle of two halves, two glimpses at two sides of Harry's nature. Until now, both had
only been mildly apparent, his Asgardian side in the strength of his magic, the strength of his
strength and his accelerated muscle memory, his mother's side in his still embryonic psychic
powers and penchant for fire. Last night, they had been roused to a fury.

Then again, he thought tiredly as his gaze fell upon Luna's body, they had had more than ample
encouragement.

The door opened, and Dumbledore did not need to access his connection to Hogwarts to know who
it was.

"Hello, James," he said quietly.

"Albus."

That one word contained a whole mixture of emotions: anger, furious, helpless anger, deep and
gnawing fear and the special kind of grief that is aroused by another's pain. Then, underneath yet
suffusing it all, was a tiredness, a kind of bone deep weariness that had nothing to do with physical
exhaustion and was inspired by the feeling that no matter what was done, it would never be
enough. Right now, Dumbledore was very familiar with that particular kind of tiredness.

"I have written to Luna's father," he said. "Back when Armando Dippet was headmaster, when the
Chamber of Secrets was first opened and the basilisk killed poor Myrtle Warren, latterly known as
Moaning Myrtle, he wrote one. And as he wrote it, he made sure I was present, so he could teach
me how. 'One day, Albus, you will have my job,' he said. 'And one day, it may be you having to
write one of these letters. For your sake, I hope to god that you don't. But one day, you may. So you
had best learn how it is done.'" He sighed. "I have spent my entire time as Headmaster of Hogwarts
looking to prevent the coming of that day. And I have failed." He looked up at Thor, expression
one of utter weariness and defeat. "I cannot protect my students any more. Not from the likes of
HYDRA."

"HYDRA's assault was destroyed," Thor said.

"By the doing, in part, of your son, who should never have been anywhere near that fight, of young
Mister Worthington, little more than a boy himself, whose worst fears about his own capabilities
have been realised and, in the main, by the intervention of an entity far greater than any of us,"
Dumbledore said. "Were it not for Harry's warning, we would be burying students and staff by the
dozen. Were it not for Mister Worthington's aerial prowess, the upper floors would swiftly have
fallen and the staff and I would have been caught in a pincer movement designed to trap us and
slaughter us like fish in a barrel."

His gaze was drawn back to Luna's body once more. "It could be said that we did well to only lose
one student, especially in the light of HYDRA's numbers, the planned nature of their assault and
the success they have been met with elsewhere. It is also something I could never find myself
saying. The fact remains that I failed to protect the lives of two of my students – even if one of
them was immediately resurrected – and the innocence of at least one other young person under my
authority, Mister Worthington. The school and students I swore to protect will be forever scarred
by HYDRA's attack and my failure."

"Albus, you are a great wizard, but you are far from infallible," Thor said.
He had come into the room half minded to bellow at Dumbledore, to castigate him for his failure
to protect Harry, when he saw that the other man had done a far more thorough job than even his
brother was capable of. For the first time that Thor remember, Dumbledore looked old, so very,
very old. While he hadn't looked young in all the time that Thor knew him, he had always seemed
full of a kind of ageless energy. Now, it had all drained away, leaving a sad, weary and broken old
man.

"As last night clearly demonstrated," Dumbledore said, voice full of bitterness and self-hatred. "If I
had been more vigilant, I would have felt HYDRA coming and, great wizard that I am, I could
have disabled or disposed of every single one of HYDRA's Agents before they knew what hit
them." His eyes went cold. "It would not be the first time I had done so, either." He looked up at
Thor. "This is not me pitying myself, these are statements of fact. I should have done better. And it
is at times like this that I understand Nicholas much better."

"Fury? Or Flamel?"

"Both: Fury's paranoia is very appealing at the moment, as is Flamel's relative seclusion with his
wife, doing what he loves," Dumbledore said.

"Both have their flaws," Thor said. "Fury's paranoia does not make him unassailable either, and it
leaves him a very lonely man. And as for Flamel, one cannot simply shut out the world, no matter
how tempting it may seem."

"This is true," Dumbledore said. "Which means that I can no longer hide in here, a foolish old man
contemplating his failures." He stood up. "How is Harry?"

"Sleeping, for now," Thor said. "I will take him back to Avengers Tower, perhaps back to Asgard.
Earth is not safe at the moment. It is not safe at all."

Dumbledore nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

"Will Harry be well?" Thor asked. He sounded almost tentative.

Dumbledore sighed. "As much as he could be expected to be," he said. "In the space of little more
than an hour, he saw a friend killed, was shot and was used as the host of an entity more powerful
than I have encountered. Even though She was trying to help him, and even though Harry has a
track record in being extraordinarily resilient... this will shake him badly." He shook his head. "He
will need his family and friends in days to come."

Thor nodded. "I thought as much," he said.

"Sometimes, I wonder if power possessed is proportionate to suffering endured," Dumbledore

mused. "Because Harry has been given far too much of both at far too young an age."

"I have sometimes wondered the same," Thor admitted. "The suffering alone... I would not wish it
on my worst enemy."

"Worst of all, suffering can twist people, particularly the yong," Dumbledore said. "Sean has said
that in his darker moods, Harry reminds him of Magneto. There is certainly anger in him, and
much reason for that rage."

Thor sighed. "I know," he said. "My family is often prone to rage, and Harry, for all his often mild
manners, is no less prone than the rest of us – more so, in some ways." He smiled slightly. "You
should have seen the strips he tore off my father. It was truly a remarkable sight."

"I'm sure it was," Dumbledore said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Harry is nothing if not
forthright." His tone turned serious again. "When he returns to Avengers Tower or Asgard, he must
not be allowed to isolate himself. If he does, his pain and his anger will fester and poison him."

"I know," Thor said. "Rest assured, Albus, I will not make the same mistakes with my son as I did
with my brother."

Dumbledore nodded. "And for that reason, that is not what worries me," he said. "Not so much as
this: Harry is touched by a Power. She says that She acts to protect him, and her actions have borne
this out. But I have encountered this particular entity before, over one hundred years ago in Vienna.
She was summoned by a clan of mutants to serve and protect them from the vengeance of the Grey
Court. On that night, she destroyed hundreds, if not thousands of vampires, some very powerful,
and dozens of powerful mutants. Even Dracula only barely escaped. Only the host of her power
survived, and that was because I interceded for her. And even then, she was deaged into an infant."
He sighed. "I must confess, I realised Her involvement months ago. I told Sean, as it happens."

"Then why did you say nothing?" Thor demanded.

"She wiped our minds of it," Dumbledore said. "I only know that I and Sean had figured it out
because she told me."

Thor grimaced. "I am not surprised," he said. "My brother figured it out not long ago, but when he
tried to speak her name, she prevented it. He also felt her intervention from the other side of the
globe, as did Wanda. Her name is the Phoenix, also known as the Phoenix Force and Destruction
of the Endless."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "The Endless," he murmured. "Now that is a name that I have not
heard in a very long time." He looked at Thor. "In any case, believe that her involvement in the
Wizarding World could go back much further than Harry," he said. "Fawkes found me shortly after
the incident in Vienna and now, I cannot imagine that it is not connected. Stories of Godric
Gryffindor's aptitude with fire and mind magic now leave me wondering if they were magic at all.
Harry fought a Basilisk last year, and Fawkes came to his aid, bringing him the weapon he used to
slay the Basilisk, blinding the creature and bringing Harry back from the brink of death. At the
time, I thought it was because he admired Harry's courage and even, perhaps a little egotistically,
his loyalty to me. But now, I wonder. It is even his feather that forms the core of Harry's wand.
Perhaps, seeing across the ages, he recognised Harry's spirit as a brother to his own. Perhaps the
Phoenix Force, Destruction, is some kind of the progenitor of the phoenix bird. You would
probably know better than I."

"I must confess that I know little of the Phoenix Force," Thor said. "Though I believe that I
glimpsed her influence when she intimidated Hera on Harry's behalf not two months ago. But in
any case She is known in Asgard, known as the most deadly of the Endless, the one who burns
away what does not work, and because of that, she is respected. Even feared." He sighed. "Yet She
seems to have a vested interest in protecting Harry. And for that, we should be thankful."

Dumbledore sighed and rubbing his face. "That we should," he said wearily. His gaze travelled
over the ruins of the Great Hall to the door through which lay the sad little shape under a blanket
that had once been Luna Lovegood. "But forgive me if I find little to be thankful for right now."

"Of course," Thor said quietly. "May I say again that I am so very sorry for your loss."

"That you may," Dumbledore said. "Go well, James."

OoOoO

Thor took his leave with Harry shortly afterwards, Wanda having said her temporary goodbyes
with a kiss, promising to drop by the Tower the next day, before going to see if she could help.
Before they left, though, Harry made his father stop and concentrated, his eyes glowing.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Thor asked.

"Luna was out of bed last night because her housemates kept stealing her things," Harry said.
"They didn't listen. I warned them, they didn't listen and now she's dead."

"Harry," Thor said, suddenly worried at the edge in his son's tone.

Harry ignored him, reaching out to all the Ravenclaw minds he knew and sent them a message.

It's your fault. If you'd left her things alone, she wouldn't have been out of bed. HYDRA wouldn't
have killed her. It's your fault.

He reached into his memory and plucked out an image of Luna's newly dead body in Cassidy's
arms, intending to sear it into their minds, so they would know what they had done.

"Harry!"

Harry snapped back to the present, interrupted before he could act, his father shaking him. "Dad,"
he began.

"Torturing the students of Ravenclaw house will not bring Luna back," Thor said. "And you know
as well as I do that she would not approve." There was no rancour in his voice, no condemnation,
simply calm statement of facts, but Harry flinched nevertheless.

"They have to pay," he said.

"They will," Thor said. "Every day of their lives, they will know that it was their treatment of Luna
that led to her murder. Albus will ensure that they know and, if I know him as well as I think I do,
will use it as a means to try and prevent such treatment taking place again. I will make sure of it."
He cupped his son's face and looked him in the eye. "Let Luna's legacy be a better future for
students like her. Not fear and pain, no matter how well deserved they may seem. Down that route
only darkness lies."

Harry nodded. "I just," he began.

"You wanted justice," Thor said gently. "You were angry, of course you were, especially after all
you've been through. You wanted the guilty to be punished. I know. I have often felt the same. But
this is not the way."

Harry nodded silently.

"Come on," Thor said. "Let's go."

And this time, they left without further ado.

OoOoO

Dumbledore, meanwhile, made his way up to his office to write the letter he was dreading. Shortly
afterwards, he was interrupted.
"I'm so sorry, Albus," Wanda said quietly, once she made her way in. Thor had taken Harry to
Avengers Tower.

"Thank you, Wanda," Dumbledore sighed. "Part of me tells the rest that I should be counting
myself fortunate that it was only one student. After all, HYDRA and the Death Eaters attacked in
force, with little or no concern for potential casualties. If not for chance and Harry's warning, we
would be looking at a fully-fledged massacre." He shook his head. "But… a young life, so full of
potential, snuffed out randomly, callously. No. This is sadness enough for a lifetime."

"I'm afraid that you're going to have to endure more," Wanda said.

"What?"

"The Ministry was attacked. HYDRA again. Led by the Winter Soldier," Wanda said, voice low.
"They didn't stand a chance."

Dumbledore rubbed at his face tiredly. "No, of course they didn't, the poor souls," he said wearily.
"Casualties?"

"I don't know, Albus, but from what Drew told me, it was an absolute blood bath," Wanda said.

"Ah yes… she was here removing the few surviving HYDRA Agents and conveniently forgetting
to hand the wizards among them into Ministry custody," Dumbledore said, a touch dryly.

"Yes. She said that her people were tallying up a butcher's bill," Wanda said, and grimaced, as if
she'd suddenly tasted something foul. "Sorry. I had hoped I was past using words like that," she
said.

"So hoped we all," Dumbledore replied. "How is Harry?" He had already heard from Thor, but he
wanted a second opinion.

"Not good," she said quietly. "I left him in the care of his father, but he seemed a little zoned out.
After what happened to him, I… well, I'm hardly surprised. And he knew the poor girl who
HYDRA killed. Luna Lovegood. They were friends, he told me about her in his letters. She was a
bit odd, but he liked her for the way she treated him as a person, he tried to protect her from bullies
and now…" she trailed off.

There was silence for a long time.

"You know non-magical warfare better than I," Dumbledore said abruptly. "Did Luna suffer?"

"I'm not Stephen, Albus. I don't have his medical knowledge," Wanda said, with a sigh. "But…
well, the bullet took her in the lung. I think that it's quite likely that she choked to death on her own
blood. It wouldn't have been a quick death. Or an easy one."

"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. Wanda noticed, as Thor had, that all of a sudden he looked very
old and very tired. For most of his life, he had done his utmost to protect the school he loved and its
students from the ravages of war after war. And this time, this time he had failed. "Thank you for
being honest with me, Wanda."

There was a knock on the door. Silently, Dumbledore slipped his wand down his sleeve, while
Wanda prepared a strike. "Come in," he said quietly.

The door opened and a man walked in. A very familiar man. Dumbledore was a dedicated
headmaster, and he never forgot a face.
"Hello, Regulus," Dumbledore said quietly. "It has been a long time."

"It's Peter Wisdom these days, Headmaster," Wisdom replied. "And yeah. It has." He sighed. "No
offence, but I'd been hoping that I'd never have to see you again."

"Considering the circumstances under which we are meeting? I cannot say that I disagree,"
Dumbledore said. "I hear that you are Director of MI13?"

"Yeah, not that it means much," Wisdom said, shrugging. "We're still rebuilding." He bowed his
head slightly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Headmaster."

"Please, Regulus, Peter, rather, call me Albus, or I shall be forced to call you Director and that will
be very tiresome," Dumbledore said with a certain sad, tired amusement. "And thank you."

Wisdom dipped his head. "I take it that Wanda's told you about the attack on the Ministry?"

Dumbledore nodded. "She has. She said that your people were making a list of the dead."

"Yeah, we've got most of them," Wisdom said, handing Dumbledore a typed list. The type was not
very large, it was in two columns, and in all, it ran to three pages. "But a lot of the Ministry is still
rubble and some parts we're having difficulty accessing. On top of that, there's more than a few
cases of those found alive who might not stay that way, if you follow me."

"Of course. I shall have to cross reference this with my list of students and their parents,"
Dumbledore said heavily.

"Of course," Wisdom said, nodding. He folded his arms and sighed wearily. "It's been a bloody
long day," he said. "And it's going to be a bloody long night, I just know it."

"Yes… HYDRA's arm has grown long indeed," Dumbledore said grimly. "If they can coordinate
two attacks at once even in such a diminished state."

"Two? Albus, there've been dozens, three in Britain alone," Wisdom said, frowning. "At least."

"What?"

"Dozens?" Wanda asked frowning. "I just got back from an incursion in Angola, so I haven't had
time to check the news. I mean, there's here, the Ministry, SHIELD..."

"There was a bomb attack on Parliament during a late night session in the Lords and HYDRA went
after the PM, a kill squad led by Zemo's right hand, the Red Hood, backed up by those wretched
zombie things," Wisdom said grimly. "One of Fury's mob, Agent 13, was there, and she managed
to get the PM clear while two of mine covered their retreat, delaying them long enough that only
the Red Hood managed to close them down. Agent 13 kicked his arse, though, so the PM's safe.
Both of my agents are dead and so are at least a hundred of the House of Lords, though, and plenty
more are injured."

Dumbledore sat down slowly. "Oh Lucius," he said quietly. "What have you done?"

"Oh, it gets worse," Wisdom said grimly. "The Soldier moved on to the SHIELD Helicarrier,
downing it in the Hudson, then the White House, before he finally stopped. As far as we know,
anyway, though I'm hearing rumours that the Americans, French, Germans, Russians, Israelis and
Chinese have been hit, Wakanda too. Some of my sources are saying that Zemo was in Wakanda
and ran off with a whole bunch of Vibranium, but not before he killed the Wakandan King in single
combat and had the Crown Prince – or rather, new King – at his mercy."
"Jesus," Wanda hissed.

"It's still just rumour, though, so it might be nothing," Wisdom said, in a dark tone that suggested
that they were unlikely to be so fortunate. "As for the Soldier, he killed at least fifteen Witches and
Wizards, twenty seven SHIELD Agents, half a dozen Secret Service Agents, broke half Captain
America's bloody ribs, gave Black Widow a few choice blows and shot Wolverine in the face with
a thermite tipped rocket propelled grenade. Oh and he dropped the Helicarrier in the Hudson."

"That sounds like fewer casualties than I'd expect," Wanda said. "Not that that's a bad thing."

"Yeah, it's weird," Wisdom said. "Quite a lot of the time, he didn't seem to finish the job."

"It scarcely seems possible," Dumbledore said quietly. "Though with the Winter Soldier in
particular, I have long since learned that possibility is somewhat mutable."

"Oh, it is," Wanda said bitterly. "And I think we can all agree that I would know."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "You did not mention the fate of the American President."

"So I didn't. And before I forget, there was another one, a real Darkhold special. Some kind of
reptile, looked like the kraken's bigger, uglier brother," Wisdom said. "HYDRA sicced it on New
York to keep the big hitters out of the way. It was powerful, too.."

"What happened to it?"

"Loki transformed into a giant snake and pulled it clear while the Hulk ripped it apart and Thor
provided the coup de grace, vaporising it," Wisdom said, with a touch of grim satisfaction. "As for
the President, that's the really bloody weird thing."

"He survived."

"Yeah. He was nose to nose with the Soldier, and the bastard didn't shoot him," Wisdom said,
scratching his head. "No one's quite sure why."

"I have a theory or two," Dumbledore said quietly. "In fact, I am almost certain I know who he
was."

"Was?" Wanda asked.

Dumbledore fixed her with a bleak gaze. "Was, Wanda. If my supposition of his identity is correct,
the man in question was possessed of an exceptionally strong will. To subvert that would require
nothing short of turning him into a blank slate, bare of everything but muscle memory." He shook
his head. "Maybe… maybe on this evidence there is something left. But I doubt it."

OoOoO

Lucius smiled as he flicked off the holographic television screens, all of which were showing the
news - which was another muggle invention he was rather fond of. It allowed one to get up to date
with the news near instantaneously throughout the day, as opposed to having to wait hours for the
evening edition of the Daily Prophet.

Terror and chaos had engulfed the muggle world and, as his spies were telling him, the magical
one too. Governments both mundane and mystical were in disarray, even though the latter,
excepting the British Ministry, had not come under attack, scrambling for answers like rats for
scraps. In the mean time, HYDRA now possessed several tons of Vibranium, which were even
now being worked into a more useful form.

There was a sour note or two among the symphony, however. The British Prime Minister had
escaped, despite the best efforts of Zemo's protégé, Jason Todd. Apparently he had been guarded
by a SHIELD special agent alongside the expected MI13 guards, one who had - reading between
the lines - thrashed Todd in single combat after he pursued her and her charge to some kind of
underground rail system, like the Gringotts carts but larger and slower, designed for public use.
Except that, in this case, the station they took and the line they used was not meant to exist. Lucius
suspected that Peter Wisdom was behind this and didn't feel the need to be too harsh with the
young man - he had faced unforeseen circumstances and adapted as best he could. And the bomb
attack on the muggle Parliament had gone off without a hitch, leaving dozens, if not hundreds,
dead.

It was still not perfect, though. And on top of that, the SHIELD helicarrier had signally failed to
flatten New York, instead being lowered into the bay with remarkable care. Some muggle news
outlets were speculating that one of the Avengers was involved, showing distant footage of a dark
figure, but Lucius knew that wasn't true. He'd gone out of his way to ensure that the mightiest of
Earth's Mightiest were occupied. Wanda Maximoff was occupied with an incursion of some sort
and in any case, the figure was male, dressed in dark clothing.

That left only one active candidate, to the best of his knowledge - Magneto. Then again, Magneto
had never had any love for SHIELD, nor they for him. Hatred of HYDRA might motivate him to
act, but he hadn't so far, something Lucius was acutely aware of. It was part of the reason he hadn't
had his forces attack the Xavier Institute. Quite apart from a lack of manpower and the immense
personal power of Xavier himself, it was unwise to wake the sleeping dragon.

Then again, he thought, the helicarrier had landed on the ocean. And weren't there stories about
one of Dumbledore and Captain Rogers' allies back in the war against Grindelwald and HYDRA,
an extraordinarily powerful entity called Namor, the self-proclaimed King of Atlantis? Under other
circumstances, Lucius might have dismissed the claim, but it was a strange world. And, more to
the point, he was sure he recalled the story of the so-called Angel of Cuba, who had fought a
mysterious figure of great power over the Caribbean Sea. Perhaps that mysterious figure and
Namor were one and the same, despite the fact that one fought alongside American muggles and
the other against. Allegiances changed, after all.

It was a possibility, one he could inquire into with Zola. However, there was another: Doctor
Strange might finally be playing his hand. Or, Lucius thought with a hint of niggling fear, he might
finally be doing so in a way that he, Lucius, had noticed. Strange's real power, he knew, was not in
the immense magical firepower he could bring to a fight, sufficient to compete with the likes of
Gravemoss, but his knowledge and his age, which allowed him to take the long view and play an
even longer game. For instance, Lucius was almost certain that he had had something to do with
the posting of a certain Nicholas Fury to be the SHIELD liaison to the Order of the Phoenix,
thereby setting in motion the rise to power of one of the most dangerous men the world had ever
seen.

And that led him to wonder what other pieces Strange might be moving behind the scenes, what
other forces might be at work. Ones, perhaps, that had saved the SHIELD Helicarrier and with it,
Fury, his second, Maria Hill, Captain America, Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Ones, perhaps that
were behind the mysterious failure of the Winter Soldier to kill the President of the United States.
He had claimed, in writing, that he had been unable to complete his mission due to unforeseen
resistance and reduced resources - which was unsurprising, since he'd completed two consecutive
missions prior to that, tearing through the Ministry and crippling the SHIELD helicarrier. Even
whatever the Soldier was had to get tired eventually and reconnaissance had identified the muggle
mutant known as Weapon X among the President's bodyguards, a creature supposed to be Daken's
father. Still. It was something to be examined.

Still. Off-notes aside, the symphony went on.

There was a knock on the door. Lucius loosened his wand in its holster and said, "Enter."

He relaxed - not visibly, of course - when Baron Zemo entered his office. His clothes were
damaged, Lucius noted. Panthers, it seemed, had claws. "Ah, Baron," he said. "What did you have
to report?"

"The Hogwarts assault was destroyed," Zemo said. "No survivors."

Lucius frowned. While the Banshee was more than capable of ruthlessness, as was Severus, the
Order of the Phoenix, of which the Hogwarts staff was largely composed, was not known for
killing. They'd kill in a corner, but only if they were really, really pushed, and preferred to capture.
They claimed it was mercy, a way of setting themselves apart from Dark Wizards. Lucius
personally felt that it was simply a way of abdicating responsibility and a roundabout form of
sadism: the only destination for a Death Eater, after all, was Azkaban. Death was infinitely
preferable to such a fate.

In short, unless their tactics had changed dramatically - and they'd acquired rather more firepower -
they couldn't have done this. And then there was Daken, the mercenary that Zemo had detailed to
lead the raid. Lucius had been under the impression that he was close to unkillable. While a killing
curse would probably do the job, even when the Order did kill, they never used the Killing Curse.
Well, almost never. There were one or two incidents which he thought suggested otherwise.

In any case, they should also have all been caught in their beds. How had they been awake in time
to organise a resistance of any kind, much less an efficient and concerted one?

As if reading his mind, Zemo said, "They were warned. All but two of the aerial assault teams were
wiped out in the skies and the jet was downed, all by MI13's Archangel."

"I was not aware that he was so capable," Lucius said. Indeed, from what his sources had told him,
the Worthington boy was mostly prone to moping about his deadly wings and looking mournfully
pretty. While records suggested that he had been dispatched to deal with the zombified dragons
over Coventry, part of Von Strucker's ill-fated counter-stroke to SHIELD's Operation Overlord,
those same records emphasised the contribution of War Machine and several squadrons of
powerful muggle flying machines, leading to the suggestion that Worthington had mostly been a
spectator. Perhaps that opinion needed to be revised.

"Apparently he was," Zemo said curtly. He sounded particularly displeased, probably because
strategy was his responsibility. Zemo struck Lucius as a man who did not make many mistakes and
absolutely hated it when he did. "Those aerial assault teams that did make it through were, judging
by their body cameras and vital signs, disposed of by the Banshee, one of the Hogwarts staff or
senior students in control of a large statue and most probably by the wolves that accompany Harry
Thorson..."

"Who, as a somewhat trained and frighteningly powerful legilimens, telepath, could have awoken
the staff," Lucius observed.

Zemo nodded. "Though what alerted him I cannot say," he said. "Perhaps sheer instinct. However,
the ground assault managed to enter the castle and engaged the Hogwarts staff and the Thorson boy
in the Great Hall. While they were being driven back, Daken drew the boy into single combat and
killed him."

"The boy is dead?" Lucius asked, surprised and relieved.

Zemo's expression, while very difficult to judge because of his mask, seemed to turn grim. "He
was," he said. "And then he was not."

He activated the holographic screens of Lucius' office and Lucius watched, from the point of view
of a camera on one of the HYDRA agents, as Daken stabbed Harry Thorson in the heart. The boy
went down in a heap and then... something strange happened. He was suddenly standing again,
engulfed in a pillar of flame. Daken attempted to backstab him and was immediately incinerated. A
hailstorm of magic, bullets and laser fire poured down on him, before being waved away as if it
was nothing. After that, the boy crossed his arms and let out a furious scream, sweeping them
outwards and the HYDRA Agent was taken off his feet by an immense wave of force, which
seemed to destroy the camera. Then… there was nothing.

"Merlin's beard," Lucius whispered.

"The assault force was annihilated," Zemo said. "The Dementors with them as well. Lord
Gravemoss has consulted with the spirits of those present. They were able to provide little
information, but what they did say was that they saw a giant bird of pure fire surround the boy,
after the initial telekinetic tidal wave removed most of the front of the castle. On hearing that, Lord
Gravemoss banished us from his quarters. He looked... afraid."

"Alive or dead, that boy is a constant pain in my neck," Lucius sighed. "Afraid, you say."

"Yes, Lord Malfoy."

"Wonderful. There is something out there powerful enough to frighten Gravemoss and, of course,
it has taken an interest in the boy," Lucius said sourly. "I can only assume that since we are not all
smouldering piles of ash, it is some kind of defence mechanism, limited in duration and action."

"I believe so, Lord Malfoy," Zemo said. "It was... unforeseen." His tone indicated exactly how he
felt about that.

"Well then," Lucius said. "It looks as if we may have a little problem."

"Little?" Zemo asked, tone giving the impression of a raised and sceptical eyebrow.

"There are many ways of dealing with someone, Baron, with killing being but one of them," Lucius
said. "Mistakes have been made and unforeseen circumstances have arisen. Now we shall correct
that." He drew a report from on top of the pile. "Starting with the mysterious behaviour of the
Winter Soldier."

He glanced up at Zemo, reading his body language and said, "I suppose that you have noticed?"

"I have had suspicions," Zemo said. "Zer Soldier is known for his occasional quirks, such as a
refusal to kill children. According to the data left by the Red Room, he would go to any lengths to
avoid doing so."

"Which is why you recommended he not take part in the Hogwarts assault," Lucius said.

Zemo nodded. "After the attempted capture of Robert Drake, I surveyed a number of satellite
photos, read the Soldier's report and read the reports forwarded by our SHIELD Division," he said.
"Careful perusal indicated that there was a gap between the Soldier's engagement with Black
Widow, Captain America and Hawkeye and his arrival at the extraction site, nearly half an hour
longer than expected. The children's reports indicated that Miss Danvers was separated from her
friends by the tornado of the Slendermen. And one of the verevolves was found far from the rest,
near the mangled body of a Slenderman. It was missing its throat and most of its head. A set of
tracks led away from the body. Miss Danvers vas returned to her friends, safe and sound,
supposedly by Vanda Maximoff and Thor."

His voice was controlled, but Lucius noted the increased pronouncement of his German accent,
something which only happened when he was agitated, irritated or when he wished to derive some
obscure amusement from a situation. And Lucius severely doubted that it was the latter. "The
Soldier diverted himself from the mission, killed the Slenderman and the wolf, and removed Miss
Danvers to safety," he said.

Zemo nodded. "I had my suspicions, but there vas no proof," he said. "It could just as easily have
been Maximoff or Thor. But now…" He folded his arms. "It is irrefutable. Too many of those who
crossed his path today survived to be ascribed to chance. The helicarrier failed to crush New York,
instead surviving in rather battered fashion, floating in the Hudson bay, with all those of
importance aboard surviving. While some of this can be ascribed to zer intervention of Namor of
Atlantis, the fact remains that zer ship vas well clear of the city by the time the Nexus Engine was
sabotaged, suggesting an intentional delay. Equally, zer American President survived despite the
Soldier's incapacitation of Weapon X and the President remaining on site."

Lucius was silent for a while. "Well then," he said eventually. "We shall have to rectify that, won't
we?"

OoOoO

As Wisdom left Dumbledore's office, he was grabbed by the shirt and slammed into the wall.
"Bloody hell," he growled at his attacker. "Don't they just say fucking hello in Ireland?"

"Not t' someone like ye," Sean growled, accent palpably thicker than usual. "I told ye that Warren
was wrong for this mission! I told ye! And now he's fucking broken!"

Wisdom glared, then flicked a finger, firing a weak hot knife into Sean's stomach, making him
back off, wheezing and swearing. "I picked Warren because he needed to be around people he
didn't have to hide from, and short of Xavier's Institute, which he didn't want to go back to, here
had to do," he growled. "I also chose him because he's fucking dangerous. He needed someone like
you to bloody well keep him on the straight and narrow, because he's got more'n enough cause to
go off it, and to teach him to use his bloody powers properly. And if HYDRA attacked, then they'd
run into a proper angel of death."

"He's not a killer!"

"He wasn't a killer. Past tense," Wisdom said flatly.

"Thanks to ye," Sean said bitterly.

"Thanks to HYDRA and his own choices," Wisdom said. "You knew as well as I did that there was
always a chance that HYDRA would go for Hogwarts."

Sean glared at him. "Aye," he said. "I wanted him along because I thought that the odds were
lower than they were of ye throwing him into a firefight."

"Well, the firefight found him," Wisdom said. "And he did just fine. This is a war, Cassidy. The
first victim isn't truth. It's the innocent. The second victim is the innocence of everyone left. You
know that. That little girl, Luna Lovegood, is proof of that. And she isn't the only one. Remember
Maeve?"

There was long moment of silence.

Then Sean spoke, accent thicker than ever.

"Laddie," he said voice soft and menacing, eyes cold and hard. "Ye'll want tae watch yer words. If
ye don't, ye're nae likely tae see tomorrow."

Wisdom shrugged, lighting a cigarette with a hot knife. "That doesn't intimidate me the way it
should, Cassidy," he said. "Don't get me wrong. You're a fucking scary man when you want to be."

He met Cassidy's gaze, and the older man took a involuntary step back. Sean Cassidy had seen
many things, but he'd never seen anything like the harsh, empty look in Wisdom's eyes. It was the
look of a man who had looked into the Void and had made damn sure that it had blinked first.

"But as far as I'm concerned," Wisdom continued. "I died thirteen years ago. Every day after that,
every chance I get to fight against the kind of evil that I helped create… it's a bonus."

Sean grunted. "Aye? And that gives ye the right to manipulate children?"

"I do what I bloody well have to," Wisdom said coldly. He sighed. "Someone has to. And it might
as well be the one with the bloody hands."

"Tha' doesn't make it right," Sean retorted.

"No. It makes it necessary," Wisdom said bluntly. "There's a war coming, Cassidy. Not this crisis,
though that's bad enough. The number of super people is exploding. Magic, old magic, is coming
back in a way not seen since before Hastings. The gods, and things beyond even them, are taking
an interest again. An eternal war is on the horizon, and when you have a war, you need soldiers. If
we're going to survive, we're going to need more than just bloody superheroes. We'll bloody well
need killers."

"Tha' doesn't make it right," Sean repeated furiously. "Ye had n right to make tha' choice for
Warren!"

"I didn't make him bloody well do anything!" Wisdom snapped. "He chose to kill those men. He
had a fucking choice, Cassidy. It wasn't an easy one, in fact, it was a bloody impossible one, but the
important ones always fucking well are! And for better or for worse, he made it!"

There was silence for a while.

"So," Sean asked, voice edged with contemptuous mockery. "Now that ye have your soldier, what
are ye going to do with him?"

Wisdom gave him a foul look, then answered, "I'll send him to Xavier's for psychological
treatment. I want a soldier, not a psychotic."

Sean shook his head. "That lad could have been a hero, ye ken that? Somethin' more than just a
soldier."

Wisdom finished his cigarette. "Who says he can't be both? Steve bloody Rogers manages it just
fine," he said. "Summers Senior did it. MacTaggert did it. You did it."
"I was a cop," Sean said flatly.

Wisdom raised an eyebrow. "And Vietnam was what? A holiday trip?"

"A choice I didn't have," Sean said quietly. "And I killed. But only because I had no choice."

"Oh, you had a choice," Wisdom said. "You just took the only option that let you bloody well live
with it afterwards. Same way Warren did." He met Sean's gaze. "Same way I do. Keep well,
Cassidy. I have a war to win." And with that, he turned and strode away.

OoOoO

The attack had ended hours ago. Those injured had been attended to. Luna's body had been moved
somewhere quiet and cool. In the pale dawn, students and parents, the latter often arriving with
ruffled clothes and wild eyed expressions, seeking out their children, before descending upon them.
Those children whose parents hadn't arrived yet watched what had been the doors to the Entrance
Hall with a mixture of hope and dread.

They also kept an eye on MI13 Agents and Ministry Officials, who moved amongst the crowds
picking out students, occasionally quietly conferring with one of the teachers to be sure that they
had the right child. Sometimes, the student came back with an expression of relief – their parent(s)
were alive. Perhaps injured, but alive. Other times, they came back weeping.

Then, there was a great commotion as Fudge and some of his staff hurried into the Great Hall,
stopping and staring open mouthed at the devastation. "My god," Fudge whispered. "What in
Merlin's name happened here?"

"HYDRA did."

Fudge turned to find himself addressed by a strikingly attractive dark haired woman in MI13
uniform with a serious expression.

"And you would know this how, Miss..."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Deputy Director," she said coldly. "And I know because it's my job
to know." Her eyes swept Fudge and his coterie. "Go to the Agents at the back of the hall. They'll
process you."

"Process me?" Fudge asked indignantly.

"Make sure that you're all accounted for," the Deputy Director of MI13 said, turning away and
dismissing him.

Fudge stared like a gaffed fish. Then, lacking little else to do, he and his followers went to the back
of the hall and were processed, giving accounts of what had happened as they were chaecked for
injuries. A certain quiet fell over the hall.

A few minutes later, that quiet was broken by a roar of fury.

"FUDGE! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

Everyone turned to see Wisdom, coat billowing, expression contorted in pure frustrated rage,
advancing on the paling Fudge, continuing his tirade.

"YOU ARROGANT, INCOMPETENT, CORRUPT, SYCOPHANTIC, SPINELESS LITTLE

SHIT!"

"Now, see here," Fudge began, then quailed under the taller man's glare.

"No," Wisdom snarled, rage suddenly condensing into something quieter but much more vicious.
"You 'see here'. You invited a known associate of HYDRA in, a known terrorist and traitor to the
Crown, associated with a monster armed with the Darkhold, against the advice of one of your
subordinates, a good man who, by the way, is now dead, having sacrificed himself to save your
worthless hide! You dared to assume that you could act on the behalf of the entire damn country,
the entire fucking world, by extending that bastard an olive branch, without consulting anyone!
How dare you?"

"I... I did what I thought was best," Fudge said, collecting the remains of his dignity. "I wouldn't
expect a muggle to understand."

"Muggle?" Wisdom snarled. "Muggle?" He drew his wand and waved it angrily, blasting Fudge's
bowler hat to scraps of fabric with a loud bang. "I went to Hogwarts, you fucking idiot!" he
bellowed to the stunned Fudge. "And even if I hadn't, even I really was 'just' a muggle, well... that
just illustrates your entire problem, you small-minded, insular, ignorant… idiot! MI13 are the
experts on HYDRA in this country. We know what we are dealing with, when it's very clear that
you know nothing other than how to bend down and lick Lucius Malfoy's ba - boots!" He shoved
his wand under Fudge's nose and growled, "When this is over I'll see you on trial for criminal
negligence, treason, being a fucking idiot and whatever else the Crown Prosecution Service can
come up with, you can be sure of that!"

Then, he stormed off, face lined with rage, coat billowing out behind him like a thundercloud.
Today was not a good day to be Peter Wisdom. And it was an even worse day to be in his way.

OoOoO

The Weasleys had bunched up around Mrs Weasley, who was clearly trying to hug all of them at
once. As soon as she saw Percy, she leapt to her feet and sprinted across, hugging him as if she was
sure that he would suddenly expire if she didn't. "Thank Merlin that you're all right," she said. "I've
been worried sick!"

Percy, not very good at dealing with sudden outbursts of emotion, awkwardly patted his mother on
the back. "I'm fine, mother," he said. "I was just helping the teachers ensure that all the students are
accounted for."

Mrs Weasley deflated slightly, a little embarrassed. "Yes, well," she said. "Since you weren't
around…"

"See, mum?" Fred said.

"We told you," George added.

"Of course you did," Mrs Weasley said, a little distracted, before turning to the eldest of her
children present. "Percy dear, I know it's unlikely, but… do you have any news of your father?"

Percy's face fell. "I... I don't know," he said. "I encountered the Minister, who said he stayed
behind to cover the retreat."

Mrs Weasley took a deep, damp breath, then nodded abruptly. "Well, at least you're safe," she said.
"I'm sure that your father will turn up soon." She smiled a wobbly smile. "He's a survivor, your
father."
Out of the corner of his eye, Percy noticed a tall man in muggle clothing with short dark hair, grey
eyes and an air of palpable authority despite his relative youth and obvious exhaustion – Fudge
seemed to shrink away from him as he passed – enter the hall speak to one of the other MI13
Agents, who said a few words and handed him something. He didn't know why his gaze was
drawn to this, but it was, following as if magnetised as the man closed his eyes briefly, nodded,
then turned and picked out the Weasleys. Moving with the air of a man who is about to swallow a
bitter pill and wishes to get it over with, he made his way over.

"Mrs Molly Weasley?" he said, speaking in a rough London accent.

"Yes?" Molly asked, looking up at the man. She knew before he even said it, taking in his
expression, his tone and his bowed head, and putting it all together to make a picture that she
thought she wouldn't have had to worry about seeing ever again.

Slowly, blood drained from her face, and she all but collapsed, with only Fred's quick conjuring of
a chair stopping her from falling to the floor. "No," she whispered. "No, he can't."

"I'm sorry," the man said.

"No," Molly shrieked. In any other place at any other time, it would have drawn attention. Here,
now, it was just another outpouring of grief among many.

As Molly collapsed into hysterics and was surrounded by her other children, Percy, self control
hanging by a thread, turned to the man. "How did he die?"

The man was silent for a long moment. "We haven't had long to look at the scene," he said. "But
his neck was snapped. It would have been over in an instant."

"Yes," Percy said vaguely. "The person would have had to be very strong." He was not sure how he
had not yet collapsed himself. Perhaps it was because it hadn't yet sunk in and instead, logic had
cut in. Now, a thought struck him. "Father would have gone down fighting."

"He did," the man said. "He had at least ten HYDRA Agents, magical and non-magical, lying dead
around him, and he'd injured at least as many again. He held the line."

"Then they would have sent the Winter Soldier, wouldn't they?" Percy said. "He was there. And it
was him who did it, wasn't it? He broke my father's neck with his bare hands."

The rest of the Weasleys had gone silent, listening with disquieting intensity.

The man closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Far as we can tell, the Winter Soldier killed
your father."

OoOoO

There was no question that the school year could continue. Not only had a student died – two
students, even though one had come back from the dead so fast that he might as well have been
attached to life by a rubber band – but a considerable portion of the school was in ruins. And
frankly, no one had the heart to continue.

Arrangements were soon made for students to be picked up by those parents who had the means or
who were already present. Those who did not were notified by owl of what had happened and
advised of local pick-up points from a series of Bifrost based relay stations that MI13 had set up.
The Hogwarts Express, deemed to be a big, fat, tempting target, was not used.
Harry, meanwhile, was ferried to Avengers Tower in very short order and was showered by hugs
from Pepper, Jane, Darcy and, astonishingly, Tony and Natasha. His tears seemed to have dried up,
however, and he didn't talk much, brooding in his room and answering questions in monosyllables.
Against the advice of Professor Dumbledore, he was alone, refusing to be coaxed out, except for
meals. In short, the friendly, curious boy, the young man who delighted in the ordinary company
of friends and family every bit as much as in the extraordinary, had faded away.

However, friendship is persistent, especially when one was so blessed with friends as Harry.
Hermione, for instance, practically pelted him with emails and phone calls. Ron sent nothing,
because he was busy grieving on his own behalf. Carol pelted him with a single phone call,
worried about the HYDRA attacks worldwide and wanting to know if he was okay.

Thor informed her that this was very much not the case.

"HYDRA attacked Hogwarts, Harry's school," he said. "A friend of his was killed and if not for
him, many more would have died. As it was, he…"

"He what? What happened to him?" Carol asked, now very worried indeed.

"He died," Thor said. "He was resuscitated almost immediately and the HYDRA attack was
repelled, but nevertheless: it has left a mark on him. He blames himself for his friend's death."

"And I can't imagine that dying briefly would do anyone any good," Carol said, getting distinct
feeling that while Thor was telling the truth, he was omitting something important. "I'll come over
right now." She paused. "If you think that's a good idea."

"I think that it is an excellent idea," Thor said, smiling sadly. "And that my son is fortunate to have
a friend in you."

"I'd say it's the other way around, but thanks," Carol said, a touch awkwardly.

"Then you are both fortunate in each other," Thor said. "Though I warn you that he may not be very
responsive. He has kept himself to himself and refuses to be coaxed out of his room for more than
meals."

"PTSD, I'm guessing," Carol said. "I've met enough traumatised vets – veterans – to have a good
idea of the signs. I've got to try, though."

"Then I wish you the best of luck," Thor said.

OoOoO

As it turned out, once she'd made it across New York in record time and made her way up to the
residential levels of the Tower and Harry's floor, she didn't need luck.

After the preliminary greetings and condolences, Carol put her hands on her hips. "Okay, this
friend of yours, Luna. Would she want you to spend the rest of your life moping in your room?" she
asked.

"What does it matter?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Answer the question."

Harry glowered, but shook his head. "She wouldn't," he said. "But –"
"But nothing," Carol said. "You're not doing her any good by moping and starving yourself -don't
even try to deny it, your dad and Pepper told me that you're barely eating." She wrinkled her nose.
"Also, you smell."

Harry's glower didn't abate, but there was a sadder edge to it.

Carol's expression softened. "Look," she said. "I've not lost a friend and I can't pretend to know
what you're going through there. So I'm not going to give you any clichés…" She paused. "Okay,
none beyond the ones I already have. But let's face it, they're true."

Harry reluctantly nodded.

"What I can relate to is the dying thing," she said quietly. "I didn't die in the end, but on the
mountain, after I got whirled away from you guys… well, long story short, I ended up nose to nose
with one of the wolves. I was cold, exhausted and battered and bruised in places I didn't even know
I had and I knew, I just knew that I was going to die." She went silent. "When I came to, I was in
bed, you and Diana all snuggled up to me."

Harry went pink. "Sorry about that," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Carol said, smiling slightly. "I didn't mind. Pepper mentioned that it was the only way
you'd get into bed, with us all around you, so you could make sure that we were all present and
correct, and your hands never went anywhere they shouldn't have. To be honest, it was kinda
sweet. Besides. It helped." She nodded. "Yeah, it helped, helped remind me that I was alive, that I,
we, were safe." She grinned briefly. "Also, Diana was like the world's most adorable teddy bear."
Her smile faded. "But I still remember, what it was like, knowing that I was about to die. I have no
idea about how I got out of there, who rescued me – probably your dad – and whatever else.
And… I have nightmares, sometimes." She glared at him. "And don't you fucking dare blame
yourself."

Harry, startled, silently shut his mouth, having been about to do exactly that.

"I made the calls that led me into that situation," Carol said. "Not you." Her tone softened again
and she took Harry's hand. "I get, or at least, come as close to getting what happened to you as
anyone who hasn't actually come back from the dead has. I recommend talking to your dad about
it, because apparently he's done the whole back from the dead thing too, but if you want to talk to
me about it, to get it off your chest… I'm here."

Harry nodded, his free hand unconsciously drifting up to his heart. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Carol said, and pinched her nose. "And I wasn't joking about the smell thing.
Seriously, dude, you are ripe. When was the last time you had a shower or something?"

Harry laughed softly. "A couple of days ago," he said. His smile twisted. "I've been a little
distracted."

"Well, that's the first step," Carol said, hopping off the bed, opening the wardrobe and grabbing a
towel, which she chucked at him. "Get your royal butt into a shower, your smelliness."

"I don't smell that bad," Harry protested, as Carol piloted him out the door down the hall to the
bathroom.

"Yes, you do," Carol said. "And if you don't do it, I'm going to carry you into the elevator, dump
you on the roof with a bar of soap and tell your dad to make it rain."
"I surrender," Harry said, raising his hands and shutting the bathroom door behind him. Shortly
afterwards, he poked his head around the door, showered, damp and smelling of mint. "Uh, Carol,
could you get me some clothes?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "No, I'm going to make you walk back to your room naked," she said, as she
went back to his room, grabbing a shirt, pair of jeans, boxers and socks. "Also, JARVIS, can you
open a window? It's a bit rank in here."

"Of course, Miss Danvers," JARVIS replied.

"Thanks," Carol said, before heading back to the bathroom, knocking on the door and
unceremoniously stuffing the clothes through the crack as it opened slightly. Shortly afterwards, a
clean, if somewhat rumpled Harry emerged, rubbing his arms awkwardly. "That mint body wash
stuff feels weird," he said. "Like all my skin's peeled off and there's new skin." His lips quirked in a
half smile. "On the other hand, I've never felt this clean in my life, so maybe there's something to
it." His smile faded as he saw Carol, who was giggling at something on his head. "What?"

"Y-y-your hair," she managed.

Harry sighed and, drawing his wand, conjured a mirror. His hair had gone even wilder than usual,
sticking up and outwards. "Yeah, it does that," he said, vanishing the mirror and trying to flatten
his hair.

"You look like a mini-Einstein," Carol said. "It's kind of adorable."

Harry snorted, smiling. Then, his face fell. "I didn't know Luna very well," he said. "But she was
my friend."

"I know," Carol said gently. "And from what you said over Facebook, she was smart, kind and a lot
more insightful than anyone gave her credit for."

Harry chuckled, eyes damp. "Yeah," he said. "She saw straight through me, when I got the
Ravenclaw Quidditch team for hiding her things."

"I remember you telling me," Carol said. "That was pretty awesome."

"It was also about me being angry and taking it on them, not helping Luna," Harry said. He
snorted, slightly wetly. "Afterwards, she actually asked if it helped me, not her."

"Sounds like the girl was crazy perceptive," Carol said.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "I wish I'd known her better." His expression and tone hardened. "And
if I'd been faster, if I'd been better, if I'd been less squeamish, she'd still be alive."

"Harry, you can't know that," Carol said.

"Yes, Carol, I can and do," Harry said flatly. "I could have reached in and switched the HYDRA
troops' minds off as soon as I noticed them. But I didn't."

"Why didn't you?" Carol asked.

"Because I wasn't brave enough to do what needed to be done."

Carol stared at him, nodded, then said, "Okay now for the real reason, not a bitter macho I-was-
too-soft thing." Harry stared at her, astonished. "What?" she asked. "You think you're the first
person I've met who blames themselves for not being good enough or fast enough or brave enough
or whatever? My uncle's in the military. So are most of his friends. More than one of them has
some combo of PTSD, Survivor's Guilt or something else fucking with their heads. So. Real
reason, please."

Harry sighed. "Because… I don't do that," he said. "Telepathy is really, really dangerous, and going
into someone's mind without asking, that's a no-no."

"And messing with someone's head is an order of magnitude worse," Carol said.

Harry nodded. "Last year, Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister – I mentioned him, right?"

Carol nodded. "A few times," she said.

"When she was buying books, she was slipped a diary by Lucius Malfoy."

"Who?"

"Powerful servant of Voldemort. Got away with it by claiming he was mind controlled and bribing
the right people," Harry said. "That diary he slipped her had a bit of Voldemort's mind in there, a
copy of a sort, put there by Voldemort back when he was a teenager. It was alive and when
someone wrote in it, it could reply. And when they did, it slowly gained control over them, sucking
their lifeforce. It tricked Ginny into trusting it, then made Ginny do what it wanted, including
unleashing a basilisk – yeah, that basilisk – on the school from an ancient secret room underneath
it, the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny caught on and threw it away, and I found it. I wrote in it once or
twice, trying to figure out what was going on, then Ginny stole it back. The Diary's hold on her was
too strong and she was scared that someone would find out what it had been making her do.
Eventually, it took total control, made her walk into the Chamber and continued to drain her life
force so that Riddle, the memory, could come to life. I destroyed the diary and killed the basilisk,
meaning that Ginny was physically fine."

"But mentally, not so much," Carol said, and shook her head, horrified. "God, that's a whole new
level of awful."

"Yeah," Harry said. "When I was practising with my powers and accidentally overdid a basic
broadcast, Ginny got the message too – it was just a 'hello'. But even that led to her hiding in the
toilets for an hour until Luna and Professor Cassidy talked her out. She got therapy after that."

"Hence why you're so twitchy about your telepathy," Carol said. "And no wonder." She chewed her
lip for a moment. "Look, Harry, I know nothing about psychic ethics other than what you've told
me. But honestly, I think you made the right call."

"How? Luna's dead."

"Yeah. But you had no way of knowing that. You had no way of knowing what would happen,"
Carol said. "If you did, maybe you'd have done things differently, but you didn't. As it was, you
warned your teachers and helped them fight off a full on HYDRA assault force, saving practically
the entire fucking school. I think that classes as a fucking miracle."

"But I didn't save Luna," Harry said. "She was my friend. I just wanted to protect her."

"And you did everything that you could be reasonably expected to do," Carol said. "Sure, you
could say that it was on you for not turning the HYDRA people off. You could also say that it was
on your Headmaster for the security or for the other teachers for not getting down there in time, or
even for Luna for being out at night. And," she added, as Harry looked up, eyes alight with fury. "I
added that last one to point how fucking stupid it is. If hanging around vets has taught me one
thing, it's that dwelling on the past and thinking about what might have been is both pointlessly
stupid and something that will destroy you. All you can do is go on, live and learn, and do your
best. And, of course, talk to your friends and family, so you don't have to deal with it alone."

Harry was silent for a long time. "Thank you," he said.

Carol smiled. "No problem," she said. "Just sharing what Uncle Jack and his friends taught me."

There was silence for a short while.

"Dad didn't tell you much about what happened that night, did he?" Harry said eventually.

"Well, it did seem like he was missing something out," Carol said.

"What did he tell you?"

"That you woke the school, fought HYDRA, died and were resuscitated," Carol said. "He didn't
exactly say how, obviously. And then HYDRA was driven off."

"Resuscitated," Harry said. "More like resurrected." He was silent for a moment. "Remember back
at Easter when I mentioned Hera bothering me and her being scared off? That wasn't dad – though
he did make her think twice. Someone else intervened. That same someone brought me back. Then
they killed every single HYDRA Agent still alive and destroyed hundreds of Dementors. Probably
destroyed half the castle too." He shrugged. "I don't know, I just remember the same feeling taking
over as before and then I figured it out from what I saw after I woke up." He snorted. "You think I
wouldn't have nightmares after that, what with the get out of death free card. But…"
Unconsciously, he hugged himself as he trailed off. "I do. I was stabbed by someone called Daken.
He had two metal claws and he stabbed me in the heart. I can –" His breath hitched and Carol,
working on instinct, took his hand and squeezed gently. "I can still feel them." His free hand went
up to his heart. "Right here. They're sharp, they're cold and... they hurt."

Carol looked at her friend and, despite the fact that he'd been pretty small when they met and that
he was now close to her height, he looked smaller than she'd ever seen him. Small, sad and afraid,
topped off with a hefty dose of PTSD and self-loathing. In that moment, she felt a tidal wave of
sympathy mixed in with pure hatred directed at this Daken person. If he wasn't already dead, she
vowed, and if she ever got the chance, she would kill him. Slowly and painfully. You know, once
she'd got past the mind-bending, earth-shattering and reality-warping fact that her friend had come
back from the dead.

For now, though, her friend was here and in pain. So she reached out and pulled him into a tight
hug. "You're safe now," she said into his hair, knowing that it probably wouldn't help, but
determined to do her best.

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, relaxing in the
warmth of her presence and listening to her heartbeat, letting the warmth and steady drumbeat fill
his world until there was no room for the aching pain of Luna's death or the cold piercing of
Daken's claws tearing apart his heart. And they helped where even words did not.

OoOoO

"… and at the end of his rampage, the Soldier got pretty much nose to nose with the President,"
Fury said, finishing up a summary of what had happened during HYDRA's global wave of attacks.

"How?" Steve asked, puzzled. "From what I remember of Logan, I can't really see him standing for
it. And from what you've told me, he's even more unstoppable these days."

"The Soldier hit him in the face with rocket propelled grenade. One that had a thermite core," Fury
said. "Even Logan wasn't getting up from that one any time soon." His expression turned sour.
"Same way that the Helicarrier isn't getting out of the Hudson any time soon either."

Clint winced.

"Then how come your President is still alive?" Thor asked, voice low. "The Soldier… from what
little I know of him, he is a truly formidable combatant. At Easter, he disabled Clint and Natasha
and he very nearly killed Steve." He sighed. "And he tore through the Ministry, killing… killing
people I knew. Some that I counted as friends."

"Yeah," Fury said slowly.

"So what happened?" Steve asked. "Why didn't the Soldier kill him?"

"Because he couldn't. By all accounts, he had the President at gunpoint. But somehow, he couldn't
bring himself to shoot," Fury said.

"Or he managed to stop himself shooting," Natasha said quietly.

"That was what the President thought," Fury said, nodding. "He suggested that maybe his
encounter with you two, Captain, Agent, jolted loose some of the man beneath the murderer."

"What?" Steve said, completely bemused. "Why would he respond to me?"

"Ah," Loki said suddenly. "Oh dear."

Fury gave him an interrogative look.

"I suspected," Loki said. "Based on a few eyewitness descriptions, however, I could not get hold of
the Winter Soldier File. It's true, isn't it?"

"The President confirmed it," Fury said. "And he got a look at him without the mask on."

"Oh." Loki gave Steve a sad look. "Steve… I am so sorry."

"Winter Soldier file?" Steve asked. "Without the mask? What is going on here?"

"The Winter Soldier file is, essentially, the Red Room's file on the Winter Soldier," Loki said. "I
could not get hold of it."

"But I did," Fury said. He pulled out an old manila folder. "We know who he is, Captain. Or who
he was." He slid it over to Steve, who, slowly, opened it.

There was a long moment of silence.

Eventually, Steve broke it. "This is impossible."

"I wish it was, Captain," Fury said quietly. "But we've got external corroboration."

"Who? Who thinks that that... thing is my best friend?" Steve demanded, voice rising, as he got to
his feet. An angry Steve was like a volcano erupting. It didn't happen often, but when it did it
tended to be explosive, devastating and not something you wanted to be around when it went off.
"President Ellis, Captain," Fury said, who had seen many scary people angry – often being the
scary angry person himself – and long since stopped being impressed by it. "Who saw him
unmasked from less than five feet away and said that he responded to his name. Hell, once he'd got
a bit of his head together, he fucking saluted the President. All this confirmed what we'd suspected
based on the testimony of Narcissa Malfoy. The Soldier lived in her house for months and, based
on a single sight of the Soldier unmasked, she gave a pitch perfect description of Barnes to one of
our sketch artists. By all accounts, she had no idea who Barnes was. And one other, who knows
him better than anyone else alive."

Steve followed his gaze to Natasha, who met his gaze steadily. "I knew James, the Soldier, better
than anyone else," she said. "It's him."

"You can't be sure."

"Steve, I've seen him naked," Natasha said bluntly. "It would take more than a change of hairstyle
to throw me off."

Steve was silent, his face unreadable and closed off.

Eventually he spoke.

"Why didn't you say?"

"Because until a few months ago, I thought he was dead," Natasha said. "I buried that part of my
life. I didn't want to dig it back up again or pointlessly torture you by telling you what they did to
him. I knew him for longer than you did, and we were close."

"Yeah?" Steve asked bitterly. "How close?"

Natasha gave him a long look and seemed to be having an internal debate. "We had a bond," she
said, voice purposely flat and practical.

"You loved him," Loki said quietly.

Natasha smiled a mirthless smile. "He was an American war hero who had been brainwashed and
reprogrammed into the most feared assassin the world had ever seen. I had been trained and
programmed from infancy to be whoever the Red Room needed me to be," she said. "It wasn't
exactly the stuff that love stories are made of."

The smile faded, replaced by a kind of careful detachment. "We trusted each other. We helped each
other to be better, to be more than the Red Room wanted us to be. We had a bond." She looked at
Steve and through him, green eyes ageless and distant. "And when the Red Room decided that that
bond had become more dangerous than it was useful, they took him away, wiped his mind and
started again." She focused on Steve, gaze boring into him like a pair of green lasers. "Does that
answer your question?"

Steve nodded silently. Natasha didn't let much through. In fact, this was probably the most she'd
ever said about her past, and certainly the most personal.

After that, needless to say, the meeting broke up.

OoOoO

Loki watched Natasha go, then gently blocked off Pepper, who had made to go after her.
"Loki?"

"You will be doing Natasha no favours if you go after her now," Loki said quietly. "She is
accustomed to being in control at all times, a cool calm that the Winter Queen herself would envy.
She is quite possibly the most practical person I have ever met." There was a note of admiration in
his voice. "This discussion has stirred up any number of dormant emotions within her, which
threaten to get the better of her. Whatever she says, she loved the Soldier, Bucky, or James, as she
calls him. Her friend Ivan has a father's love for her and is the closest thing she has to one.
However, the love she gives in return, lightly though it may be expressed, is that of a child to a
parent, unconscious and unconditional. The Soldier, however… he is possibly the only person she,
as an adult, has dared let herself love in her entire life."

Pepper's gaze flicked to Clint.

"And there is possibly another," Loki said calmly, without following her gaze. "Which makes me
very glad that she is in the habit of mastering her emotions so efficiently, because if she was not,
she would have long since cut out my heart and made me eat it. Considering what she has just
revealed, I could not blame her in the slightest."

"That's a little extreme," Pepper said.

"If I had done to Tony what I did to Clint, would you have not wanted to wreak similar horrors
upon my person?" Loki asked, eyebrow raised.

"Well," Pepper began.

"Of course you would," Loki said, no rancour in his voice. "You love him. Love can drive you to
do the impossible, the glorious and the terrible, things you had never dreamed of, things you would
otherwise never even conceive of doing. Thor's rage after he died as James Potter was born of grief,
grief at the loss of his wife and presumed loss of his son, those he loved. In that rage, he could
quite easily have shattered Midgard to smithereens. And out of love for her son, Lily Potter
invoked one of the deadliest and most powerful entities the universe has ever known, one that
could destroy a galaxy without even making an effort, to protect him. Love is the most powerful,
most terrible and most often underestimated force in the universe. Love conquers all, Pepper, and
rarely cares for the devastation it leaves in its wake."

Pepper's hand travelled to her burgeoning bump and wondered at what she would do for Tony and
their baby. She was not an easily scared woman, but the results frightened her. "I see what you
mean," she said eventually.

Loki nodded. "Natasha wears many masks and the one we usually see is the one that she is most
comfortable behind," he said. "And all those who wear such masks do not like people, especially
those who care for them, to see what lies beneath. Sometimes it is of fear at how they might react,
or of shame, or simply because they do not want to burden others with their pain."

"Any of those might apply to Natasha," Pepper said.

"Just so," Loki said.

"You too," Pepper said, and smiled slightly as he started. "You were speaking from experience. I
know the tone." She look at him. "You don't need to hide behind a mask with us, you know."

"I rather think that I do," Loki said quietly. "Fear not, Pepper – my mask is nowhere near so
complete as Natasha's. But it is there for a similar reason, one that I did not mention."
"And what's that?"

"There are some things that should not be seen," Loki said, and smiled. "In any case, Pepper,
sometimes it is behind masks that we can be who we really are – Tony, after all, first became a
hero wearing a mask."

"That didn't last long," Pepper said dryly. "And you're deflecting."

"Maybe," Loki said. "But that does not make what I said any less true. Let Natasha adjust her mask
in private. If she desires comfort of any kind, then I suspect that Clint will be best placed to judge
when that will be and what form it should take."

"He's been knocked for a loop himself," Pepper said. "I mean, discovering his grandfather is the
Winter Soldier… he reacted enough when he found out that Minerva was his grandmother."

"Precisely. He reacted, then he moved on," Loki said. "And he knew that Bucky was his
grandfather. He also knew that Bucky was the Winter Soldier, having found out when escorted
Natasha's friend to a safehouse, but that was merely another piece of the puzzle. I suspect that he
will spend the next few hours in the training room shooting targets, while Natasha re-assembles
her mask, and then they will do as they will."

Pepper sighed. "You make it sound like they're computers running a virus scan," she said

"There are similarities," Loki said. "They are spies, Pepper, compartmentalising is what they do.
They keep calm and they carry on."

"It sounds more like repressing to me," Pepper said. "Which Tony does. You and Harry too."

"Repressing is simply locking away the emotions, the fears, worries and hurts, and letting them
fester," Loki said. "Compartmentalising is dealing with each emotion in an orderly fashion, as and
when there is time to do so. It is colder and more efficient. Whether or not it is healthy, that is a
matter of opinion. But it is how they are and how they do things. They will not change, not even
for us."

"What about Steve? He wears his heart on his sleeve most of the time," Pepper said.

"My brother is speaking to Steve," Loki said.

OoOoO

"Steve," Thor said. "This isn't your fault."

"Who said," Steve said, teeth gritted, hammering blow after blow into a punching bag. Thor could
only admire his maintainenance of perfect technique, despite all that he was going through. "That I
was blaming myself!"

This last was punctuated by a vicious kick which split the punching bag in half, scattering sand all
over the training room floor. Steve stared at it for a moment, then sighed, and went to find a
dustpan and brush.

"Wait," Thor said quietly, and gestured. A small ball of air appeared on the floor, and followed the
motions of Thor's hand, smooth and sure as the strokes of an artist's brush, sucking up all the sand,
before floating up to rest in the palm of Thor's right hand. A beckoning gesture with his right hand
summoned another gust of wind, which flipped the catch of the window, then, with a flick of his
wrist, Thor threw the sand filled ball of air out the window.
"I didn't know you could do that," Steve said quietly.

"My powers of weather control, what Tony once called 'atmokinesis', are inherent to me," Thor
said quietly. "As is my strength. Mjolnir is merely a focus, albeit a very efficient one. It is an
extension of me, rather me being an extension of it." He nodded at Steve. "The same applies to
your shield."

Steve inclined his head in agreement, then reached for another punching bag. Thor stopped him.
"Spar with me," he said.

"Thor," Steve said slowly.

"Come," Thor said, beckoning him towards the boxing ring. Steve sighed, then followed him. It
wasn't as if he could actually hurt the Thunder God.

The two squared off, and Steve decided to start the bout, flicking a blow at Thor's midriff, testing
his speed. It was pretty much a token effort these days. He'd sparred with Thor and fought
alongside him enough to know that while he was incredibly strong and durable, with some
SHIELD estimates suggesting that he could tank a hit from a nuclear bomb. Steve's private
estimations, based on what he'd seen and what Thor had said, suggested that this was a dramatic
underestimate. In the air, there was quite simply nothing and no-one on Earth who could match
him. On the ground, however, he was also very, very fast, something people rarely expected from
him. While Loki was by far the more agile - though Thor was no slouch in that department either –
and probably had the quicker reflexes, all this did was make Thor slower. Not slow. Slower.

Which, in summary, made him pretty damn quick. Certainly quicker than Steve.

But it wasn't about speed, durability or strength. In every department, Thor would exceed Steve.
He could beat him with a finger flick, and both of them knew it. So their sparring contests were
tests not of physical ability, but of skill and tactics. Each would try to break through the other's
defences.

"I know what you are going through right now," Thor said, feinting a rush at Steve.

"Yeah?" Steve snarled, performing a graceful flipping leap over Thor's head, much like that which
Harry had tried to execute against Uhtred, then springing off the ball of his right foot as soon as
he'd landed to avoid Thor's leg sweep, before going on the attack, each blow faster and fiercer than
the one before, the last hard and swift enough to dent titanium. "How. Do. You. Figure. That?"

And as he spoke, his rage rose, a red film obscuring his vision as he pressed his attack with all his
speed, skill and strength, each blow backed with power born of rage and grief.

"How can you claim to understand? How can you claim to know what I'm feeling?" he demanded
furiously. "How can you say that with a straight fucking face?"

Calmly, Thor blocked or deflected each blow, taking the last on his shoulder with a surprised
grunt. While it hadn't even come close to hurting, he hadn't known that Steve could punch so hard.

"Because I have been exactly where you are," he said evenly. "I know the pain of seeing a loved
one turn to darkness, of not being in their own mind and of failing them. I know the pain of hearing
others describing one you care about with revulsion, as a monster, and with good reason. I know
the pain of being forced to confront that loved one on the field of battle and knowing that it may
well mean that only one of you walks away."

He caught a punch from Steve, then smoothly pulled him into a textbook half nelson. "Do you so
quickly forget how our brotherhood formed, Steve?" he asked quietly. "Who we banded together to
stop? Who was, rightly, seen as a callous and insane monster?"

"Loki," Steve said.

"Yes. My brother," Thor said, releasing Steve from the hold. "Who was believed to be beyond
help. Even I despaired, sometimes. Thankfully, it was not so." He faced Steve and put a hand on
his shoulder. "Now the brother of your heart is similarly damaged as Loki was, though, unlike
Loki, none of the damage was of his own making. It may be that what was done to his mind, a
wholesale destruction and recreation instead of the nudge that Loki received, cannot be undone. It
may be that the kindest thing to do will be to kill him."

"I don't believe that," Steve said quietly. "I can't."

"I do not believe it either," Thor said gently. "What little Natasha has said of him, his actions in
saving Carol and the report of your President, who spoke to him, even reached him, suggests that
the man you knew is still inside, even if he has taken on different form. And he is trying to find a
way out. I have hopes that all that needs be done is for you to show him the way." His face
hardened. "But if there is a calamity and it needs to be done… then I will do it, to spare you the
pain."

Steve merely nodded. What could you say to something like that?

OoOoO

"The Soldier has been behaving... oddly," Lucius said.

"Oddly?" Zola inquired.

"He is showing signs of a personality," Lucius said, and outlined his concerns. "I believe that his
programming is breaking down."

"Or worse," Zola said. "His basic enhancements may have come from me, but he is very much a
Russian project. The original enhancements, for instance, were incomplete and therefore unstable,
so they were stabilised, by a version of the Infinity Formula. Specifically, a version created by the
Red Room."

Lucius froze. That again. He hadn't heard of it for twenty years, now twice in less than two
months. He'd heard stories about the Red Room. It was something which his Soviet contacts spoke
of in hushed and terrified whispers, always darting furtive looks over their shoulder. After all. You
never knew who might be listening. And once or twice, he'd had encounters with them and their
operatives, ones which, occasionally, still woke him at night in a cold thought that they'd
disappeared following the fall of the muggle Soviet Empire and had, frankly, breathed a sigh of
relief. But clearly, their ghost was still haunting the world.

"You think that he may be reverting to past programming," he said.

"I encountered him in the '70's, during the time that he was partnering Agent Romanova," Zemo
said. "During that time, he showed signs of independent thought. He spoke, for example. He and
Romanova shared a bond. He was more... human." He turned to Zola. "We believe that he deviated
from the mission at Easter to save Miss Danvers and deliver her to the care of the Avengers."

"He must not have spent time in the company of Romanova," Zola murmured. "Or his
programming might well have broken."
Lucius would have grunted, but such things were beneath him. "Very well," he said, shrugging.
"There is a simple solution to this. Wipe his memory, the muggle way."

Zola nodded, and Zemo gave him what seemed to be a surprised look. "I was under the impression
that wizards had the capability to wipe a person's memory," he said.

"Incorrect," Zola said. "They suppress the memories."

"And a sufficiently determined or strong willed person can break through a memory charm, with or
without outside assistance. Sometimes, they even break down on their own," Lucius said. "It
doesn't even need to be anyone special, believe you me." He shook his head. "No, the Winter
Soldier has proved to possess a very strong will, nor is he entirely human. I am not willing to take
the risk that he could break through a memory charm." He turned to his subordinates, expression
hard and lips pale. "And frankly, gentlemen, after this latest fly in the potion, I am in the mood for
some torment."

Zola smiled. "You shall not be disappointed, Lord Malfoy," he said, with ghoulish glee.

OoOoO

That evening, Steve was sketching. It was something he did when he wanted to relax, switching off
his brain and letting his fingers take over. It took him over five minutes to realise that he was
sketching Bucky.

"That's a good likeness."

Steve looked up to see Natasha peering over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Though I
didn't mean to draw him, it's just…"

"It turned out that way," Natasha said, settling down on one of the sofas and tucking her feet
underneath her body. She smiled slightly. "That happens where he's concerned."

They sat in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "For earlier."

"You had every right to be mad at me," Natasha said.

"Maybe," Steve said. "But I shouldn't have implied that you didn't care for him, not the same way I
did."

"I don't," Natasha. "You and him are, or were, best friends, closer than brothers. He and I were
colleagues, partners. Partners who cared for each other."

"You loved him," Steve said.

"Everyone says that, so it must be true," Natasha said dryly. There was an unusual inflection there,
though, one that Steve would have missed if he didn't know Natasha as well as he did and,
crucially, was listening for it. A hint of doubt, a touch of sadness and… something else. Whatever
she said, however she understood and expressed it, Steve was near certain that Natasha loved
Bucky.

Of course, the Bucky he'd known and the Bucky, the James, that she had known, were two
different people. Maybe not as different as they first appeared, but different.
"Tell me about him," Steve said.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Tell you about your best friend?"

"You said that he didn't remember anything from before… from before the Soviets had him," Steve
said. "I'm pretty sure that some things lingered, whether he recognised them or not. Bucky is
Bucky. But at the same time, I'm not the same person I was before I went in the ice. I'm willing to
bet that he's not the same person who fell from Zola's train."

Natasha studied him for a moment. Then, she nodded. "On one condition," she said.

"What?"

"I tell you about James. You tell me about Bucky," she said.

Steve smiled. "Deal."

Natasha nodded her satisfaction and seemed to think for a moment.

Then, she began to speak.

"The first time we properly met was in in 1947. I was at the top of my class and he was our new
combat instructor…"

OoOoO

The Soldier stood outside Malfoy's office, apparently on guard. To any who observed him, he
appeared to be the same as well always: as still as a statue and as patient as a statue.

On the inside, it was a somewhat different story.

OoOoO

Nearly done. All I need is for the last of Malfoy's drones to report in, then I'll have enough intel to
help Natalia and her friends.

Natalia… she nearly died. She shouldn't have been on that ship. But she came, despite knowing
that it was doomed, trying to help. She's changed. For the better, I think.

Still, that was too close. I should have gone with Comrade Petrovitch. Then again, if I had, many
more would have died. Even if I'd handed over all the intel I had, not just everything I managed to
scrawl down for him, SHIELD would still have spent ages verifying it. Proper procedure, but it
would have cost lives. And I wouldn't have found out who I really am.

Bucky Barnes… American war hero to Soviet Super Spy. Natalia would find that hilariously ironic.
Maybe she already did – Barnes' face, my face, must have been plastered in every history textbook
in the West and more than a few security briefings in the Motherland.

No, wait, not the Motherland. I'm not Russian. I'm an American. Or I used to be, anyway. An
American, altered by Germans and transformed into a Russian super weapon. Now that's irony
for you.

Error. Speculation is a luxury I can't yet afford. So is second-guessing.

Primary Objective: obtain maximum intel. Objective near completion.

Secondary Objective: eliminate Malfoy. Without him, HYDRA will likely revert to more cautious
tactics under Zemo's intermediary command, while the various HYDRA factions tear themselves
apart. If the opportunity presents itself, eliminate Zemo too. Objective in-progress.

Tertiary Objective: escape and rendez-vous with Natalia. Objective to be completed ASAP.

OoOoO

"Soldier."

The Soldier looked up.

OoOoO

Zemo? What does he want? If he orders me away from here, I risk missing out on intel. Then again,
I think I've pretty much overheard as much intel as I'm going to get. And here's a target of
opportunity standing right in front of me…

Correction.

Primary Objective: eliminate Zemo. With bullets, preferably. He moves fast enough that an instant
of warning might let him dodge a thrown knife.

Secondary Objective: eliminate Malfoy.

Tertiary Objective: escape and rendez-vous with Natalia.

OoOoO

"With me," Zemo said, before turning his back, clearly expecting the Soldier to follow.

The Soldier's hand went to his side and his sidearm.

OoOoO

Oh, this is too easy.

Wait. This is too easy. Zemo would never turn his back on me.

OoOoO

The Soldier spun in time to see Lucius Malfoy pointing his wand at him, having soundlessly
opened the door.

"Imperio."

For a moment, the Soldier fought it. But his mind was too used to being controlled and
manipulated, too unused to having a will of its own, so in the end, he only had time for one final
thought.

OoOoO

I'm sorry Natalia. I've failed you.

 Christmas Special a.k.a. Flashforward
Chapter Summary

I wasn't sure if I was going to include this in this version, but opted to do so in the end.

Christmas is usually considered to be a holiday, a time of celebration and relaxation. However, this
is only because of a lot of work put in before-hand. The Avengers were no exception.

Pepper was simultaneously directing operations and preventing Tony from decking the halls with
floating robot Christmas lights (the thought was appreciated. The way they zoomed by at head
height like tiny festive Predator drones was not) or forcing Bruce – who was cooking the
vegetables and thus had quite enough on his plate (so to speak) to begin with – into a red festive
jumper because, quoth Tony, "red and green are festive!"

While this was impressive enough, she was also rocking little Ada Stark, who was displaying her
father's ability to blissfully ignore anything that wasn't interesting and chewing on a rusk.

Thor was one of those being directed, carrying tables and chairs around. He had tried juggling them
for the entertainment of Ada, but while the baby had been delighted, her mother had not and it was
a brave man or god who willingly incited the wrath of Pepper Potts. He was also ensuring that the
snow was just falling at that perfect Christmas card rate. Clint, meanwhile, had taken over the
juggling.

Loki didn't really need directing, alternating between doing more sensible last minute decorating
and keeping a worried eye on the four industrial sized turkeys, two hams and dozens of chipolatas
in a specially modified oven, and getting a pointed raised eyebrow from acting-chef Natasha each
time he did. This amount of food, while excessive for most, was considered just right for the
Avengers. This is because it was generally accepted that Thor and Loki would get through one
turkey, Harry and Uhtred another, Diana, Carol and Steve a third, while one of the hams and most
of the sausages would go the same way. The fourth turkey and the rest, needless to say, were for
everyone else.

Darcy, meanwhile, had last been seen heading in the direction of the wine cellar. When Thor had
expressed worry at this, Jane had waved it off, saying, "give it another hour, then send out search
parties." Jane herself was currently on the phone to her half-brother Matt.

The first to arrive were Steve, Bucky, Harry and Carol, the former having been joined by the latter
two at a carol service, while the second supervised the lot of them.

"How was it?" Thor asked, as they walked through the door, pink faced and smiling.

"Great," Harry said, before eyeing Carol. "Except that someone kept sniggering through 'Hark the
Herald Angels Sing'."

"Hey," Carol said tone defensive, while smirking. "You try and keep a straight face when the line
'hail the incarnate deity' comes up and you're standing next to a demigod."

Bucky smiled slightly. "It was quite funny," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I wore a hat?" he asked.

"It was lovely," Steve said firmly, as the two descended into light-hearted bickering, before
hurrying off to help Loki with last minute decorating.

"There are definite parallels," Carol was saying.

"Well, nice to know I have crucifixion to look forward to," Harry muttered.

"The parallels don't go that far," Thor said.

"How do you mean?" Carol asked.

Thor smirked. "Well, for starters, no virgins were involved in Harry's conception," he said.

"Dad!" Harry cried, mortified, as Carol started laughing uproariously.

Thor walked off, chuckling.

Shortly after, however, they were distracted from Harry's embarrassment when there was a flash of
rainbow light outside and the door opened to reveal Diana and Uhtred. A mere instant later, to the
point that one would expect it was purposefully timed, Jean-Paul appeared in a flurry of snow,
greeting them all with hugs and cheek kisses. Uhtred, naturally, got one on the lips.

As they all fell to chattering about dropping by the Xavier Institute the next day, Jane had swooped
over, collected them up and directed them to help lay the table – without telekinesis. What with
Tony's robots, there were enough things zooming around at head-height for the time being.

Steve, carrying decorations, paused and frowned. "Where's –" he began.

"With the Kent's," Thor said. "And will be picked up by Clint after he drops by tomorrow."

Steve nodded his comprehension and carried on.

Shortly afterwards, Wanda and her boyfriend, Harry Dresden, arrived, the latter looking somewhat
nervous as everyone enthusiastically greeted Wanda. Tony, however, broke the ice.

"Wow," he said, looking Dresden up and down. "That snow form up there naturally, Mister
Beanstalk?"

"I applied it specially, Mister Stark," Dresden replied, totally deadpan, before performing the same
once over and mock-frowned, rubbing his chin. "Funny, though. I always thought that dwarves had
longer beards."

Both of them were grinning.

"Why am I suddenly worried?" Thor asked.

"Because you have a perfectly serviceable sense of intuition," Wanda said, giving him a brief hug
and kiss on the cheek of greeting, before intercepting her kitchen bound godson the same treatment,
but with a longer hug, then going to coo over baby Ada.

Shortly after that, Sirius and Remus bounced in – rather, Sirius bounced while Remus walked in a
perfectly dignified fashion, but Sirius did enough bouncing for the two of them. Remus greeted
everyone politely, while Sirius did so enthusiastically, particularly Harry – who, naturally, was
teased by means of a glance between him, Carol and Diana and a lot of eyebrow waggling. Harry,
just as naturally, rolled his eyes emphatically at his godfather. While Remus went into the kitchen
to greet his friend Bruce, Sirius showed signs of doing the same – and turning into Snuffles in order
to try and extract scraps from Natasha. This was prevented by Pepper, who caught him firmly by
the back of the neck while little Ada delightedly cried "doggy!"

"Use that nose to find Darcy, she's somewhere in the wine cellar," she said.

Sirius whined, met Pepper's unsympathetic gaze, then slunk off in the direction indicated.

Alcohol, meanwhile, was the order of the moment, with Clint being pressed into service as a wine
waiter, while Ada began to cry and Pepper sat down to feed her. At the same time, Dresden and
Tony were still in animated conversation, both seeming delighted by each other's company,
witticisms flying thick and fast. This was, in the general view, worrying.

Soon, the final guests arrived, one dressed in a fashion that astonished all present. Nick Fury was
not in his usual all black attire. Instead he was wearing a festive jumper. Tony was gaping.
Dresden, who had only a brief acquaintance with Fury, was gaping.

Coulson was also wearing a festive jumper, but this was not quite so surprising.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has Director Fury discovered that the rest of the chromatic spectrum?"
Tony asked.

"I think he has," Dresden said. "Though personally, I was hoping for a decorated eye-patch.
Sparkles, may be. Or a star?"

"I'm thinking sparkles and a star," Tony said.

"Perfect. You got glitter?"

"Obviously."

Coulson and Fury exchanged a look of dread.

"We're doomed," Coulson said.

"Boys," Pepper said. "Be nice."

Tony and Dresden gave identical pouts.

"Anyway, you're just in time, dinner is almost ready. Also, I think Sirius has rescued Darcy from
the wine cellar and the wine from Darcy," she said.

"Can we do anything to help?" Coulson asked.

"That's very sweet of you, Phil, but we've got it all in hand," she said.

And, indeed, it was. Everything had been arranged neatly in the dining room, the table extended to
fit all the guests, and various dishes were being placed on the side so all could access them as they
pleased, with carving knives being placed by the turkeys and the hams (Tony's suggestion of a
chainsaw had been vetoed) and serving spoons in everything else. Wine was poured for the adults
and in small amounts for the children – this was, after all, Christmas. Ada, now fed and fast asleep,
had been placed in a rocker.

Finally, everyone was sat down and everything arranged. There was, naturally, only one choice to
give the toast.
Steve raised a glass. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said. "To the things that endure: friendship and
family."

"Friendship and family," the others echoed.

Tony coughed.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Steve said, a little embarrassed. "Merry Christmas."

This time, the echo was considerably louder. "Merry Christmas!"

 The Darkest Hour

"The whole world is turning to us," Steve said. "HYDRA took on all the big players and then some
and gave them a real beating, wiping out their intelligence services and stealing incalculable
amounts of intel."

"Hogwarts stopped them," Bruce said.

"The Phoenix stopped them," Loki said, emphasis on his words. "There is a significant difference."

"What is this Phoenix, anyway?" Tony asked.

"The Phoenix is one of the Endless," Loki said. "Seven entities that existed from the beginning of
the universe, possibly before. In order of age, they are Destiny, Death, Destruction, Dream, Desire,
Despair and Delirium, formerly known as Delight. Some dispute whether Destiny or Death is
older, but if Death is truly from the universe before this one, then She is the eldest. If none of them
are, then it is a matter of semantics, since they were born at the very beginning, Destruction, the
Phoenix, close behind. They are also the most powerful entities in the universe, sitting above the
gods, the Elder Gods, the Great Abstracts and the Celestials."

"And this Phoenix, Destruction, whatever took a liking to Harry," Tony said.

"Lily managed to invoke her," Loki said. "To this day, I have no idea how. It could merely be a
case of luck and coincidence, but I doubt it. The Endless can be summoned, but they very rarely
take well to it. However, they do have a tendency to interfere in mortal affairs. Death becomes
mortal for a day every century to get perspective, as it were. Dream has taken more than one
mortal lover – with Orpheus being one result – and has inspired mortal and immortal writers alike.
Desire and Despair play games with mortals as suit their whim, though it is usually the former
rather than the latter. It is Destruction, the Phoenix, Life and Fire Incarnate, that tends to have the
most effect."

"Life and Fire?" Bruce asked. "How does that equate to destruction?"

"Destruction is the closest English can come to encompassing Her true self," Loki said.
"Essentially, however, she is the ultimate agent of change. For life to thrive, there must be death. If
the cosmos is a garden, the Phoenix prunes and weeds in order to sow the seeds of new life. After
all, when life grows out of control in humans, you get cancer. Sometimes that happens on a cosmic
scale, which the Phoenix burns out. To this end, She usually takes hosts on the mortal plane, not
usually having a humanoid form of her own – she usually takes the form of a gigantic bird of
flame, a phoenix. This is usually a temporary arrangement; the Host does the required 'Phoenix
work', then is released. More than once, this has led to her being worshipped as a Goddess. On
Krypton, for instance, She was reverenced as the Flamebird."

"Flamebird?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised.

"A literal translation. A more idiomatic one would be 'phoenix'."

"Has that happened on Earth?" Steve asked.

"At least twice," Loki said. "As Shakti, She – or most likely, a prior Host – is worshipped by
Hindus even today. There are also aspects of Zoroastrianism, specifically the Farahvar, that make
me wonder. And once, some tens of thousands of years ago, there was a Goddess of Life and Fire,
Sunniva, whose name persists in mortal legends. I have every reason to believe that she was an
Asgardian Phoenix Host."

"You did not mention this, brother," Thor said quietly.

"Because until recently, it was meaningless trivia which I was uncertain of – the Phoenix motif, the
themes of Life and Fire, are not unique to the entity itself," Loki said. "Even now, I am not
completely certain, since records of Sunniva are almost suspiciously vague, giving the appearance
that she was rather minor in the grand scheme of things." His expression turned sour. "And until
today, the Phoenix had a lock on my tongue."

"She can do that?" Clint asked, a slight edge to his.

"Oh, Clint, that is the very least of what she can do," Loki said.

"Albus mentioned conversing with her," Thor said.

"What did she say?" Natasha asked.

"He did not say," Thor said. "Instead, he spoke of his previous encounter with her."

"Previous?" Loki said sharply.

"A century ago, in Vienna," Thor said. "A group of mutants hunted by the Grey Court summoned
her into a girl. She destroyed their enemies, then destroyed them for daring to attempt to control
her. Apparently Albus, who was present, interceded on behalf of the Host, begging for mercy.
Mercy which was given."

"Sounds like Albus," Steve said, with a slight smile. The smile faded. "So, in short, one of the most
powerful entities in the universe has taken an interest in Harry, sufficient to be willing to bring him
back from the dead and destroy all who threatened him. But that's all she did."

"Which doesn't fit the pattern," Natasha said. "Based on what Loki has said. The Phoenix gets in,
does what needs to be done, then gets out. While you could say that that happened here, the
Phoenix acted to protect Harry, rather than use him to do something necessary. And if it, she,
formed the basis of Harry's protection, then it's at least the third time that she's done so."

"Third?" Clint asked.

"Voldemort, Quirrell, HYDRA."

"Perhaps a fourth," Thor said. "I believe she intervened to frighten off Hera, speaking through
Harry with his consent."

"There are stories of an exception or two to the rule," Loki said quietly. "Tales, for instance, that
the Phoenix merged with a red-haired man, who became one with the Phoenix, something much
more than a mere host, before going his own way as a wandering immortal. But for all I know,
those are mere hearsay, or misinterpretations of a simple Host." He rubbed his jaw. "However, you
are right, Natasha – this most unusual. And the fact that the Phoenix manifested on Midgard and
managed to hide herself from Heimdall's sight… that is very worrying indeed."

There was a long silence.

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Steve said. "As far as I can be understood, this Phoenix
entity is out to protect Harry, not do anything else. We can explore this later. For now, we need to
focus on HYDRA. Who, Hogwarts, the President and the Prime Minister excepted, achieved pretty
much everything they wanted to."

"MI13 managed to lure the HYDRA squad dispatched to destroy MI5 into a trap," Clint noted.

"They went after a couple of suspected Red Room facilities too," Natasha said. "None of the
HYDRA squads that went in came out again."

"Dead?" Steve asked.

"Or wishing they were," Natasha said.

Steve nodded. "HYDRA have still got a good batting average and they've shown that they've got
global reach," he said. "Their tactics, so far as I can see, were designed to minimise manpower
requirements and cause maximum fear and confusion."

"And their targets were intelligence agencies, Hogwarts excepted," Loki remarked. "And excepting
SHIELD and those suspected Red Room facilities, entirely mundane. They wanted to blind the
powers of the world, probably to steal information, but not to pick a fight they didn't think they
could win. Clearly SHIELD's Operation Overlord hit them harder than they wish to make
apparent."

"Then why Hogwarts?" Bruce asked. "I mean, it's a school, but a school full of hundreds of
powerful people and at least a few dozen could hold their own against HYDRA." His eyes flashed
green for a moment. "Even if some of those who could are kids."

"Harry," Thor said, his voice carefully measured but carrying the rumble of thunder underneath.
"They were after Harry. He has proved a spanner in their works once before, in those of Lucius
Malfoy once before that. Malfoy is a proud man and one who despises interference in his plans."

"Well, he'll just have to suck it up and deal, won't he, because his plans are going to get a lot more
interference," Tony said, tone suggesting that this interference would involve a lot of physical
violence and he personally was itching to put an armoured fist through Malfoy's face. To say that
the Avengers had, as a whole, but shocked and infuriated by Harry's temporary demise was putting
it mildly; Bruce had even hulked out temporarily and it had taken some stern commands from
Steve and careful persuasion from Natasha to keep the Hulk from going on a fully fledged
rampage.

"Agreed," Loki said softly. He looked like he was quietly constructing a timetable of exquisite
torment for the day he got hold of Malfoy.

"Spaeaking of Harry, how is he?" Steve asked.

"Recovering," Thor said. "Thanks to Miss Danvers, he is now opening up a little, accepting what
happened." He sighed. "Though I fear that it will be many months before he returns to his old self,
if at all." He glanced at Tony. "And that band you made for him… I am not sure why, but it helps.
So thank you, Tony."

The band he was referring to was a kind of wide chest strap, thicker around where it covered
Harry's front and was clipped just under the armpits. Its exact function was obscure, but as soon as
Tony had calmed down after the immediate news of what had happened to Harry, he had
disappeared into his lab and had it ready in less than two hours.

Tony shrugged. "Going by my own experience, being stabbed in the heart area by pointy metal
things hurts," he said. "And it continues hurting for a long while afterwards. Even when it stops…"
His hand drifted up to his own heart. "It feels cold." He shrugged again. "I noticed how he was
rubbing at it and figured that it would feel better if it was kept warm, even if it was a placebo."

Thor nodded thoughtfully. "I recognise the sensation you refer to," he said, and his expression
darkened in a self-recriminating frown. "I should have remembered it."

"You had quite a lot else on your plate, brother," Loki said softly. "In any case, is a team not for
covering that which you are unable to alone?"

Thor nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly, accepting this logic.

Tony, meanwhile, paused for a moment, as if about to say something more, then stopped. This in
itself was notable and Steve followed up on it.

"What is it, Tony?" he asked.

"Nothing much," Tony said, then, under the scrutiny of his team mates, sighed. "Look, all I was
going to say is something that, we, uniquely fucked up group that we are, probably all already
know: he's not going to talk about it and stuff until he's ready. He'll deal with it at his own pace.
That doesn't mean we should let him bottle it up, because I've been told – usually by Pepper – that
that's a bad thing and going by his history, I think he's done enough of that for a lifetime. But it
does mean that we should give him space to do it."

"Tony's right," Clint said. "Though we'll need to encourage him to talk. It helps you deal."

No one missed the way that his eyes had inadvertently darted to Loki and how Loki had, almost
imperceptibly, winced.

Thor nodded. "I know," he said quietly. "Thank you,Tony, for your wise counsel and your aid." He
sighed. "I…"

"You wish that matters were otherwise, that you had a way of protecting your son from his pain,"
Loki observed.

Thor chuckled grimly. "As ever, brother, you read me like a book," he said. His smile faded. "I
wish I could help more, though."

"The best you can do is be there for him, Thor," Bruce said. "That's all any of us can do."

"Wiping HYDRA off the map should help," Natasha said.

"You think that the intel is good?" Steve asked.

"I do," Natasha said. "As does Ivan, and he's been sifting good intel from bad for nearly eighty
years."

Steve inclined his head. "Then we've got our heading," he said. "Now we just need to work out
how to get there."

OoOoO

Lucius smiled contentedly as the Soldier screamed. Muggle methods for wiping memories were
primitive, but apparently effective. And they were most certainly cathartic – for him, anyway. To
say that he had been greatly displeased to find out that the Soldier had managed to conceal the fact
that he had shaken off his programming and was effectively acting as a spy for the Avengers would
be a grave understatement. That he had done so for several months made it worse. And a
considerable portion of that anger was driven by fear.

The main reason, the only reason, that HYDRA could strike with impunity was that their base was
impossible to locate for any who did not already know who it was. There was no better armour, in
his opinion, than secrecy. And that secrecy could well have been compromised. Right now, the
Avengers and SHIELD could be preparing a terrible counter-strike, one designed to obliterate
HYDRA. And it would succeed in doing so, because HYDRA simply lacked the firepower and,
crucially, the manpower, to resist such a stroke. No, HYDRA's success so far had been built on
effective deployment of limited resources, power at a point, striking from the shadows.

While he was aware that even if this branch of HYDRA was destroyed, another part, HYDRA's
SHIELD division, would survive – and probably Doctor Zola too, come to think of it – he didn't
much care about that. He was much more concerned with his own survival and his own triumph.
Because he was close, so close that he could feel it, close to achieving the sort of things that the
Dark Lord had never even dreamed of. Arguably, he already had. While HYDRA was significantly
short of manpower, that was hardly a problem if they maintained the initiative – they had the
psychological edge. The muggle world knew that they could strike anywhere, even at their best
defended citadels, and they feared it. The magical world knew that even trained combat wizards,
such as aurors, could not stand against the might of HYDRA.

This picture was, admittedly, somewhat lacking – Hogwarts had effectively repulsed HYDRA's
assault with only one loss, the American President and British Prime Minister were still alive and
the SHIELD Helicarrier, complete with the upper echelons of SHIELD and half the Avengers, had
not fallen apart in midair, raining death and destruction upon the city it had been attempting to
protect. Nevertheless, Hogwarts school had been ripped apart, a gaping wound in that ancient
castle, the President had been at the Soldier's mercy, something which could surely be replicated
with a less merciful Soldier, the Prime Minister had similarly escaped only thanks to the
unexpected presence of a member of SHIELD's elite, while the Helicarrier, SHIELD's flagship,
was barely being prevented from sinking and being lost to the bottom of the Hudson Bay. It
certainly wasn't going anywhere for a while. That would be enough… combined with what was
coming next.

Eventually, the screams ceased and the machinery opened up.

"It is done?" Lucius asked.

"It is, Lord Malfoy," Zola said. "Everything is as it should be. I have even installed a chip that, if it
detects his non-compliance or thought patterns that deviate from the expected, while… rectify the
situation."

Lucius smiled slightly. Like the Dark Mark, he mused. Or at least, like the Dark Mark if he had
designed it. "Is he mission ready?"

Zola looked a little surprised, but nodded. "Yes, Lord Malfoy."

"What do you intend to use him for?" Zemo asked.

Lucius told him.

There was a stunned silence.

"Just when I think I realise the scope of your ambitions, Lord Malfoy… you surprise me," Zemo
said. He sounded impressed.
"Can you devise a suitable strategy?" Lucius asked.

Zemo nodded. "I have considered the matter before," he said. "Though I will require the aid of
Lord Gravemoss and he may not be happy to expose himself in such a fashion. The last time he did,
Thor nearly destroyed him."

"Tell him that I do not expect him to confront the likes of Thor, Loki or the Hulk in a straight
fight," Lucius said. "In fact, I would prefer if he didn't. He should go along with it reasonably
happily. If he does not, promise him more subjects for experimentation and remind him who
acquired the Darkhold for him. A favour such as that requires much repayment, for which this will
be a considerable part."

Zemo nodded. "It shall be done," he said.

"Good," Lucius said, and smiled. The future was bright. For him, anyway.

OoOoO

Others were less delighted. Much less.

Ron Weasley, for instance, sat in his room at the Burrow and stared into the middle distance at
nothing in particular. Around him was strewn a lot of broken objects, products of anger born of
grief. Now, his mind was dominated by a sole thought.

His father was dead. And the Winter Soldier had killed him.

That thought ran round and round in his head, leaving no room for any other. After a while,
however, it gave way to reflection. Specifically, he reflected that on how the Soldier, once little
more than a dark fairytale, graduating into a vague and mysterious threat, one that was most
certainly out there, but was, in the main, part of the strange and dangerous world that Harry
inhabited and which Ron was very happy to leave well enough alone. Now, that world had come to
him.

And as the sun set, orange-gold rays setting his hair ablaze, he vowed that it would regret it.
Because if it was the last thing he did, he would find the Winter Soldier and he would kill him.

OoOoo

Hermione's thoughts were less morbid.

When Harry had finally replied to her bombardment of letters and calls, she had been greatly
relieved. He'd sounded better, if not precisely happy. Apparently one of his American friends, that
Carol girl he'd mentioned – causing Ron's mind to set off down one track and one track only – had
convinced him to stop moping. Knowing Harry as she did, Hermione felt that this was an
achievement that verged on the miraculous, and felt simultaneously profoundly grateful, very
curious as to how she'd developed such a rapport with Harry in such a short time and just a tiny bit
jealous at how this other girl had got through to him when she, one of Harry's best friends, hadn't
budged him at all.

Then again, perhaps it was down to proximity…

This musing took place in the middle of the night as she left her room to get a drink of water.

As she made her way downstairs, she stopped as she heard her parents talking in the kitchen.
"… She said it would be safe," her mother said anxiously.

"I don't think that she saw this coming," her father replied. "By the sounds of things, no one did."

"Hermione's not safe there."

"Darling, I don't think anyone is safe, anywhere," her father said resignedly. "SHIELD couldn't
stop HYDRA, the government couldn't stop them – the Prime Minister got clear by the skin of his
teeth – and the Avengers couldn't stop them. So far as I can see, Hogwarts did a lot better at
fighting them off than anyone else did."

"That's true," her mother admitted.

"What about some kind of magical protection?" her father asked. "Did she say anything about it on
the phone?"

"She said that our best defence was anonymity, that wards would draw all the wrong kinds of
attention," her mother said. "And looking at who HYDRA have attacked, I think that she's right."

"Well, considering who Hermione's friends with, I'm not sure that anonymity is an option," her
father said grimly, then sighed. "She has a point, though. HYDRA have walked straight through
some of the best defences on the planet – I mean, the White House, the SHIELD
Helicarrier, Downing Street! All defences do is attract their attention."

Hermione had to wonder who 'she' was. Professor McGonagall, maybe? She couldn't think of
anyone else.

"If they find out, though," her mother said.

"If they find out, then may God help us all," her father said darkly. "The consequences of that were
made very clear."

Hermione was left more confused than ever, then took the logical option and assumed that they
were talking about HYDRA finding out about where she lived.

"For now," her father continued. "Maybe it might be a good idea to move a long way away over the
summer, see if things cool down."

"Australia," her mother said.

"Australia?"

"There were three tickets in the post," her mother said. "Business class, with an open ended return."

"Who sent it?"

"I'm not sure," her mother said. "It looked like government issue, but none I've ever seen before."

"Let me see?"

There was a rustle of paper.

"Who the hell are MI13?"

Hermione's frown deepened. MI13… that was a name she'd heard before, from Professor Cassidy.
He'd worked for them, as had Warren. They were Britain's answer to SHIELD, muggles and
superhumans who dealt with supernatural problems. And now she thought about it, a number of
their agents had been around Hogwarts after the attack. Why were they interested in her? Because
of Harry? Or maybe her apprenticeship to Loki – which was probably going to be put on hold now.

"I don't know," her mother said. "I thought it was fake, someone's idea of a joke, but I called the
airline and they said that the tickets were real, paid for anonymously."

There was a long silence.

"Do you think that they know?"

"Maybe," her mother said. "Or maybe it's just her choice in friends, and they don't want her to be a
target."

There was another silence.

"Australia's a good choice. It's a far away, they speak English." A soft, wry laugh. "And they need
dentists as much as anyone else."

"And maybe they have magical schools there, so Hermione can continue her education, if HYDRA
isn't defeated." There was a pause. "It is something we're going to have to think about."

Her father sighed. "That's true," he said. "I know that Hermione's got this amazing gift and all these
things she can do, all those things she talks about… it's like something out of a storybook. But not
every storybook has a happy ending. And it makes her a target – you heard what she said, that Ron
boy's father was killed by HYDRA when they went after the magical government!"

"It's not like we didn't know it was coming," her mother said.

"Also true," her father admitted. "But knowing is not the same thing as... well, knowing, I
suppose."

"So what do we tell Hermione?"

"The truth," her father said. "We're going on a summer holiday to Australia." He sighed. "And we
might not be coming back afterwards."

Hermione, who had been listening in horror as her ephemeral hopes of some day returning to
Hogwarts and resuming some kind of normal life evaporated before her eyes, turned and fled back
upstairs to her room, glass of water forgotten.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was doing better. His father and Jane had taken him out for dinner at a
restaurant that Pepper had recommended, which sold good food without being overly ostentatious,
and a little telepathic help from Harry meant that they passed relatively unnoticed.

Though it was accepted to be a security risk, it was also accepted that HYDRA were deeply
unlikely to have the means or the desire to attack Harry so soon after their last attempt failed
miserably (or rather, succeeded until Harry was resurrected by a vastly powerful cosmic entity that
promptly went berserk on his behalf). In any case, Thor was deemed more than capable of
protecting Harry and Jane, if it came to it, and so long as Harry kept his head, he was more than
capable of looking after himself. At the same time, it was also considered a useful way to throw off
HYDRA from the assault that SHIELD and the Avengers were preparing.
In fact, the only signs during the meal that anything was amiss was the slightly forced
conversation, and the way that Harry gave each person that passed a long, penetrating look, that
Jane's eyes darted around constantly and cautiously, and that Thor held his body in a very specific
kind of relaxation.

Eventually, Jane let out a soft laugh.

"What is it?" Thor asked.

"Look at us," she said. "All on edge, as if we're expecting to be attacked at any moment. I thought
this dinner was about proving we weren't afraid?"

Thor opened his mouth to say that this had just been a family dinner, then closed it, since Jane was
simply voicing the subtext of the matter.

Harry's eyes flashed for a moment. "For what it's worth, I can't sense anyone hostile to us in my
range," he said.

"How far is that?" Jane asked.

"The whole island."

"Wait, you can sense everyone in Manhattan?" Jane asked, astonished.

Harry nodded. "Not very precisely, but I'm working on that," he said.

"Wow," Jane said. "And I thought Matt's hearing was impressive."

"Matt?" Harry asked.

"My half-brother," Jane said. "He's just finishing college and I swear, he's got ears like a bat."

"Sounds impressive," Harry said, who had noticed a subtle uptick in his own hearing abilities over
the last few months. It was something of a mixed blessing, he felt.

"It is, believe me," Jane said, then smiled. "Just as impressive as the way you make friends,
actually. You'd met the guys who came on the ski trip what, a couple of times each? You were all
thick as thieves by the end." The smile turned teasing. "Particularly with Carol."

Harry looked puzzled, then comprehending, then went bright red. "She's just a friend," he said.

"I never said she wasn't," Jane said.

"She's just a friend," Harry said. "An amazing friend."

"I know," Thor said, having been watching this with an amused eye. "I saw you looking."

Harry went even redder, but frowned. "Actually, I try not to," he said, tone sharpened by
embarrassment and more than a little indignation. "She's got more than enough guys looking at
what she looks like, instead of who she is."

Both Jane and Thor, a little surprised by this and sensing Harry's mood, exchanged a look.

"And that is very admirable of you," Thor said quietly. "You are a good friend to her, as she is one
to you."
"We're sorry, honey," Jane said gently, touching Harry's arm. "We were just teasing." She blinked
after a moment, a little surprised at both the endearment and the familiarity, removing the hand, but
Harry's blush faded and he smiled.

"It's okay," he said.

Thor smiled inwardly at the interaction. To think that only a few months ago, they'd treated each
other with a distant and uncertain courtesy. Now… well, things were changing.

"Speaking of friends," he said. "Have you been in contact with Ron?"

"I've sent him a couple of letters, but he hasn't replied," Harry said, sobering.

Thor sighed. "I can't say that I am surprised," he said. "It will be hard."

Harry nodded. "Especially since," he began, then abruptly cut himself off.

"Harry?" Jane asked.

"What Harry was not saying is that the Weasleys have never had much money," Thor said quietly.
"And Mister Weasley was the primary wage earner. They are also far too proud to accept charity."

"Oh," Jane said softly.

"I suspect that they will manage," Thor said. "The older children are in work. Bill is a well paid
cursebreaker at Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank." He turned to Jane. "Essentially, he's a magical
Indiana Jones."

"Very cool," Jane said.

"It is rather," Thor said. "He may take a desk job to help out with his mother. Charlie will also
likely return from Romania. I suspect that MI13 will be very glad to get their hands on a dragon
expert and pay handsomely for the privilege. Percy, meanwhile, is tipped for a successful career at
the Ministry and I have no doubt that Tony is sizing up the Twins for paid internships at Stark
Industries. In the meantime, they are provided for."

Harry cocked his head, puzzled.

"When I went into Gringotts with your uncle some months ago, I had the Goblins doctor my will,"
Thor explained. "Leaving 100,000 galleons to the Weasleys, as thanks for the care they have
shown you. While some things cannot be bought, one thing that can be bought is freedom from the
worries that little money brings. It was explained as a clerical error of sorts, and eventually I
prevailed upon Molly and Arthur to accept it, though I doubt that it has been touched yet. And
since Arthur was on the verge of becoming one of Tony and Pepper's employees, I am sure that
they will provide a little something, under similar legal fudging. The Weasleys will have more than
enough." His expression saddened. "Of course, all the money in the world is not sufficient
consolation for what they have lost."

"No," Harry said. "It's not, is it?"

A silence fell.

"Enough melancholy," Thor said eventually. "We honour the dead best by living, not by brooding
over their loss."
And so the conversation slowly picked up again. But there was still an edge of sorrow to it, one
that refused to go away.

OoOoO

Half an hour or so later, a small group of three, a man, woman and a boy left the restaurant. To
most, they passed largely unnoticed.

To most.

In position, psi-bafflers active.

Distance to target, 1300 metres.

Wind speed, 5 m/s. Adjust accordingly.

Target: Odinson, Thor acquired.

OoOoO

Jane felt relaxed and, largely, light hearted. HYDRA cast a shadow over proceedings, of course, but
a nice dinner, pleasant conversation and a couple of glasses of wine had pushed that shadow off to
one side.

She glanced over at Harry, who gave her a smile, one she returned.

Because she did, she felt Thor move fast, interposing himself between her and something unseen,
rather than saw it. Working on instinct, she turned around just in time to see him drop like a stone,
blood pouring from his head, a booming crack echoing across the street.

In shock, she stared for a moment, then went into action. She dropped to Thor's side, tearing her
dress to staunch the blood flow. As she did, she noticed Harry step between her and Thor and the
rest of the street, sharply scanning bystanders as screams began to go up, golden-white power
dancing around his hands.

"Here," he said curtly, fishing out his phone and tossing it to her.

As Jane staunched the wound and dialled Loki, the small part of her that wasn't in shock or running
on automatic wondered whether she should be grateful or deeply worried at how good he was in a
crisis.

"Hello, Jane. Have you three had a good evening?"

"We were until Thor got shot," Jane said. "You can tell by the screaming."

There was a stunned instant of silence, then Loki said, "Shot?"

"There's dark magic on the bullet," Harry said briefly.

"Harry says that there's dark magic on the bullet," Jane relayed, spotting said bullet out of the
corner of her eye and, with distaste, picking it up and slipping it in her pocket.

"I'll come and collect you," Loki said.

"No need," Jane said. "You get the wards up and Thor won't wake up. He needs immediate medical
attention, which he can't get at the Tower. I've got just the thing."
Before Loki could reply, the signal cut out, going from full bars to none in an instant. At that same
moment, two large, black vans appeared, doors rolling open to spit out troops in black combats
marked with HYDRA's insignia.

Immediately, they focused on the trio and opened fire with a clattering roar.

Instinctively, Jane closed her eyes and hunched over Thor's body.

But the bullets never struck, and the clatter of gunfire began to tail off, until there was only silence.

Jane slowly opened her eyes. And her jaw dropped.

Hundreds, thousands, of bullets, grouped so thickly that they were almost a wall of lead, hung in
the air before Harry, who had a single hand outstretched and an expression of cold, blazing fury.
With a deliberate twist of his wrist, he dropped the bullets with a tinkling sound of falling metal.
The HYDRA troops, insofar as could be seen from behind their gear, were in a state of shock, and
Jane wasn't far behind. She'd known that Harry was telekinetic as well as being magical, but this
was something entirely beyond what she'd imagined either discipline to be capable of.

One of the HYDRA troops cast about, then darted over to a little boy, who had frozen, grabbing
him roughly and dragging him away from his mother, who had been trying to call him to her,
leading to screams from the little boy and the mother alike.

"Drop the bullets and surrender yourselves!" the trooper yelled, shoving the barrel of his pistol to
the boy's head. "Or the boy dies! Shut up!" The last was directed at the child, and punctuated by a
brutal blow with the butt of his pistol.

Harry stared for a long moment, cocking his head, and the man suddenly jerked. Slowly, palpably
against his own will, his grip on the boy loosened. But that wasn't it. His other hand raised the
pistol, slowly, inexorably, until it was pressed against his temple.

"Harry," Jane said. "Don't do this."

Harry ignored her, making a forceful gesture, less beckon, more command. Every single weapon in
the hands of the HYDRA Agents was ripped from them, dragging some of them along the ground
as they vainly tried to hold onto their weapons. The weapons, suspended in midair, now spun,
turning to face their owners. At the same time, the vans floated into the air, their drivers scrambling
out, then slammed together with window rattling force. What was left looked more like metal
pancakes than anything else.

And all the while, the HYDRA Agent who had tried to take a hostage had his gun pressed to his
head. Even through his balaclava, cold sweat was visible.

"You people and your guns," Harry said, voice soft, bitter and utterly contemptuous as it carried
through the silence. "Did you really think they would protect you from me?"

At that last, his voice rose to a harsh bark that broke, going high. Somehow, Jane felt that that made
it that much worse.

"I could kill you all, right here, right now," he said, cold, seething rage suffusing his voice. "I think
I should."

"Harry!" Jane said.

Slowly, he turned, and his expression was truly frightening, melding cold rage, bereft grief,
bitterness and frustration into an expression that could be summed up as the look of someone who
had been pushed too far.

"We need to get your father treatment," she said, keeping her voice steady. "We don't have time for
this."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, normally lively green eyes cold and hard. "That's true," he
said, tone ominous, as he turned back.

"Harry, you're not a killer," Jane said urgently, seeing where his thoughts were going.

"Maybe I should be," Harry said softly. "Maybe I need to be a bit more ruthless."

His gaze travelled over the now terrified looking HYDRA Agents, before settling on the child, who
had now returned to his mother, clinging to her leg. He blinked a couple of times, then some of the
simmering rage seemed to fade. He twisted his hand and the guns flew away, collecting into a pile
that was sealed inside one of the crumpled vans.

Then, his eyes flashed, and the HYDRA troops all seemed to slacken, slowly dropping to the
ground and putting their hands behind their heads.

Jane breathed a sigh of relief, putting the sheer unnerving nature of seeing her boyfriend's son
control a good couple of dozen HYDRA troops with a thought. It had felt like an eternity – though
she would later find out that the entire confrontation had taken approximately five minutes from
Thor's shooting to the disabling of the HYDRA Agents.

"Okay," she said, pulling out her contingency measure, a leather wrist strap upon which was
mounted a small computer. She took Thor's hand and clasped it around it, selecting co-ordinates.
"Harry, hold on. And keep your father steady, if you can."

"What's that?" Harry asked, obeying and casting worried looks at Thor, who was still bleeding
heavily.

"My back-up plan," Jane said, and pressed the button. And to all outward observers, they
disappeared in a flash of rainbow light.

OoOoO

Loki, meanwhile, had not been idle. He had, reluctantly, done as Jane asked and beefed up the
wards. But at the same time, he had JARVIS had traffic cameras and track the trajectory of the
bullet, projecting a point of origin. So as soon as he was done, he teleported over to the sniper's
nest.

He was, however, disappointed. The sniper had long since gone, thus denying Loki the opportunity
to carve him into little bitty pieces.

Of course, as the distance between the position and Thor became apparent, it became equally
apparent that of all HYDRA's thralls, there was only one they would send for this. The Winter
Soldier.

However, if he had meant to kill in earnest, with a bullet enchanted by the magic of the Darkhold
that was at the very least capable of hurting Thor, Thor would likely be dead. Perhaps the Soldier,
master marksman that he was, had used his prodigious skill to simply injure, rather than kill.

Except that the footage had shown Thor move suddenly just before the bullet struck, as if he'd
sensed it coming. It was possible, Loki knew. His brother had refined a trick where he used the
movements of air currents as a highly effective radar, and in a situation like this… it might have
given him an instant's warning.

So. This would suggest that HYDRA had discovered the flaws in their weapon – namely that he
was starting to act like a person again – and rectified them.

"This is not good," he murmured to himself.

"No, it is not, is it?" a voice like dry leaves rustling over stone said, just as Loki felt a presence of
evil, a cold, roiling darkness, behind him. On instinct, he teleported, looking to gain some space.

This was a mistake.

Instead of a smooth stepping between one place and another, he felt a horrendous, extended
ripping, like he was being torn apart. One very long moment later, it ended. His head was in one
place and piece. His body, however, was not. One or two bits lay here and there, but there was
quite a lot missing.

With difficulty, he managed to roll his eyes up towards Gravemoss, who was regarding him with
interest.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I had not expected the disruption spell to be so… complete."

Ah. So that had been what it was. Splinching on steroids, what HYDRA had intended to do with
the Nexus Engine of the SHIELD Helicarrier. Which meant that most of his body was scattered
across multiple dimensions. Which also meant that this necromancer could do whatever he wished
to him and, crucially, to his brother, his nephew and his comrades in arms. And there was nothing
he could do to stop it.

For the first time in a long time, Loki felt like screaming.

OoOoO

"Sir?"

"What is it, J?" Tony asked, looking up from the car he was working on.

"Sir, I fear that my protocols have been overridden," JARVIS said. For the first time, there was a
touch of fear in the AI's voice.

"What makes you say that?" Tony asked, heading to a holographic computer terminal and
activating his suit.

"Because Doctor Banner has collapsed, sir, and his vitals are consistent with someone who has
been tranquilised," JARVIS said. "I am also unable to – to – to –"

"JARVIS?" Tony asked, sitting down and urgently typing in commands. "JARVIS, speak to me
buddy. What's happening?"

"I don't know, sir," JARVIS said. The AI sounded genuinely frightened now, frightened and
confused. "Sir, I don't know what's happening. All my systems are being shut down and cut off.
Sir? Sir? Si –"

All of a sudden, JARVIS stopped. At the same time, the various screens flickered off.
"JARVIS," Tony said, voice breaking. "JARVIS, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong,
I can't get into your systems."

JARVIS, however, did not respond. Tony's blood ran cold.

"JARVIS?"

"Nothing's wrong, Herr Stark," a cold, cruel and gleeful voice said.

"Uh, I did not authorise an accent change, J," Tony said, unnerved. "The whole evil German thing
is very stereotypical, not your look."

"Ah, how like your father you are, Herr Stark," the voice replied. "So glib, so quick tongued in the
face of danger. The impulse is admirable, the irreverence itself… irritating."

"Who are you and what have you done with JARVIS?" Tony demanded. "Because I swear –"

"I am sure you swear a great deal of things, Herr Stark," the voice said. "Take it from someone
who knows, it only matters if you can follow through on them."

"Who are you?" Tony demanded again.

"Where are my manners?" the voice asked rhetorically, and the screens flickered into life once
more, revealing a short, balding little man with glasses and a smile every bit as cruel as his voice.
"My name is Doctor Arnim Zola. You may have heard of me." The smile widened. "And now I am
in control of every aspect of your remarkable Tower. Every piece of hardware you built, software
you created and data you recorded is mine. Your life is in my hands, Herr Stark, making me
nothing less than your god."

"Sorry, but I've never really been the religious type," Tony said, crossing over to his armour and
trying to repress the gibbering terror within.

"Still with the jokes," Zola said. "But I wonder if you will show such equanimity when I remind
you that you are not alone in this building."

Tony froze as images appeared on the screens:

Steve, in his room, reading peacefully.

Natasha and Clint, sparring in the gym.

And Pepper. Pregnant, untrained, unpowered Pepper, working in the study on their floor.

All of them, completely unaware of what was happening, the danger they were in.

Then, he realised that two were missing. Thor, Jane and Harry were out for dinner, while Darcy
had gone to give Sirius a tour of New York, probably starting with its monuments and ending with
its dive bars. That meant that Loki and Bruce were unaccounted for, Bruce who JARVIS had
identified as being tranquilised. And, he thought, with a further spike of horror, that Thor, Jane and
Harry should have been back by now.

"Where are the others?" he demanded, edging towards his armour.

"Doctor Banner has been tranquilised and transported to a more suitable location by my associate,"
Zola said, tone positively gloating. "After that same associate was kind enough to dispose of Thor,
lure Loki out of his lair to be similarly dealt with and finally, link me in to your systems. He has
been a very busy little bee."

"Right," Tony said, quelling his thoughts at that little speech. "Thanks. Bye!"

With that, he dived for his open armour, slamming into it, feeling as it twisted and reticulated itself
around him. An instant later, he fired the repulsors, snapping out commands to close off the suit to
outside transmissions, blasting up through the roof of his workshop, heading straight for Pepper,
who practically leapt out of her chair when he slammed through the wall.

"Tony? What the hell are you doing?"

"No time," Tony said. "HYDRA's here. They've taken out Bruce, Loki and Thor and they've got
control of the Tower."

Pepper paused, then nodded. "Okay," she said. "Who have we got left?"

Tony calculated the distance to Cap's room. The spies knew how to handle themselves, and if
anyone was expecting an attack, it was them. "Tell you on the way," he said hurriedly, blasting a
hole in the ceiling, grabbing Pepper and shooting upwards, trying to ignore her shriek of surprise
and fear.

Steve's reaction when Tony came blasting through the floor was different to Pepper's. He instantly
snatched up his shield and had it ready to fight, before relaxing slightly when he saw who it was.
"Trouble?" he asked crisply.

"Bruce, Loki and Thor down, Winter Soldier loose in the Tower, Zola in control of it," Tony rattled
off.

Steve's expression had frozen at the mention of his best friend, but the latter caused it to harden.
"Zola? Arnim Zola?"

"Going by the German accent and his references to my dad, I'm going with yes."

Steve nodded. "Clint and Natasha?"

"In the gym," Tony said. "Look, get Pepper to the hanger, get as far away as you can. I'll get Clint
and Natasha."

"Tony," Pepper began, then stopped. "Be careful."

"Why change the habit of lifetime?" Tony asked rhetorically.

"How charming," Zola said, cruel voice echoing around the room, dripping with mockery.

"Zola," Steve said grimly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a little rat like you managed to
survive."

"Survive, Captain, and thrive," Zola said. "However, your continued presence bothers me. You can
thank your pestilential habit of getting in the way of HYDRA's plans for that. And like Herr Stark,
I am minded to upgrade to something a little… stronger."

Before anyone could ask what that was, two Iron Man suits burst out of the other wall, snatched
Steve up and flew him out.

"Steve!" Pepper cried.

"He'll be fine," Tony said. "Or if he's not, we can't help him."

"Indeed you cannot," Zola gloated. "Because out of the goodness of my heart, I have arranged a
reunion."

OoOoO

As soon as he'd been grabbed, Steve began to struggle.

"Now, Captain," the two suits said in unison in Zola's sinister voice. "You don't want me to drop
you."

"If it means you'll let my friends go, then go ahead," Steve said.

"Oh Captain, forever willing to throw your life away for others," Zola said, tutting. "We can't have
that."

"Then what do you want with me?"

"I want your secrets, Captain, the secrets that Doctor Erskine hid in your DNA," Zola said, a hunger
in his voice. "I want to know what makes you tick. But most of all, I want you dead."

And then he dropped Steve.

They had been swooping lower, so Steve wasn't overly surprised when he landed on a roof.
Instinctively, he dropped and rolled, shielding his eyes against the sudden blinding light of a pair of
searchlights from what seemed to be news helicopters.

In that light, he saw the gleam of metal. Across from him, dressed all in black, was a man who was
both achingly familiar and utterly alien.

The Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes. Two men who, in Steve's mind, couldn't be more different.
And yet, they were one and the same, beneath the goggles and the mask.

"Buck," he said. "I know it's you."

There was no response.

"He doesn't know who you are, Captain," Zola informed him, the two suits hovering above. "He
nearly did, for a while, but he was found out. Now, the Winter Soldier does what he was originally
intended to, before you took him from me and the Red Room took him for their own: serve
HYDRA."

Steve felt a surge of rage and spun, hurling his shield. The vibranium disk described a red-white-
blue blur, shearing straight through the neck of one of the armours, bouncing off the skids of the
helicopter, then returning to Steve's hand. The armour in question flailed about for a moment,
before the other turned and clumsily repulsored it.

"My, my Captain, have I touched a nerve?" Zola asked. "I assure you, I intend to touch many
more." His armour turned to the thing that had once been Bucky Barnes. "Do your duty."

The Soldier nodded curtly and his hand blurred towards the pistol at his hip.

The fight had begun.

OoOoO
Tony, meanwhile, was reaping the benefits of Zola's attention being at least partially elsewhere. He
had collected Clint and Natasha, who had instantly placed themselves in places where they could
best cover Pepper, and taken them to the hangar. As Clint had got the jet going, ripping out the
wireless interface to the Tower systems and turning off the tracking software while he was at it,
Tony briefly took Natasha aside.

"I'm trusting you with Pepper," he said bluntly, raising his visor so she could see how serious he
was. "Clint too, but mainly you."

"Why me?" Natasha asked.

"Because you've got more years of being devious than anyone I know short of Loki, and not only
did you once outplay him, he's off the board right now," Tony said. "And odds are, if they send
anyone after you, it'll be the Winter Soldier and you know that bastard better than anyone. If
anyone can protect Pepper from him, from HYDRA, it's you."

Natasha nodded. "I'll protect her with my life," she said seriously.

"You're not coming with us?" Pepper broke in.

"No," Tony said. "Steve's in trouble and worse, after Zola took out JARVIS, he was gloating about
downloading everything on my computers. Since he all but said that the Winter Soldier had
plugged him in, given him a remote connection, and he's multitasking on a pretty epic level, he
can't have even got close to finishing the download yet. I need to stop HYDRA getting any more of
my stuff." He grimaced "Besides, he's got my suits. Someone as smart as that could reverse
engineer them and everything in them. Or he might just get bored and start taking potshots at
civilians. Or, worse, he might come after you. I can't let that happen, Pep, any of it." He glanced at
the hangar door. "Besides, you need someone to open the hangar."

Pepper, eyes damp with tears, nodded. She pulled him down into a kiss. "I've almost lost you
before," she said. "Don't let this be the time it actually happens."

"I won't," Tony said, armoured hand resting on her rounded stomach. "I've got too much to lose."

"You bet you do," Pepper said, kissing him again, before climbing into the jet, the back of which
closed up.

Tony stared after her for a moment, fixing her in his memory, then snapped his visor down and
flew over to the hangar doors. They were, essentially, doors to a portal, to avoid breaking up the
side of the building. This meant that Loki, being ever paranoid, had recommended that they be
designed extra strong and thick, in case something managed to attack through dimensions. While
he had approved at the time, it was inconvenient now.

First, he needed a good grip, so powered up his laser, cutting a square across both sides of the door
large enough for his gauntleted hands, before poking the piece of metal out the other side. Then, he
dug his hands in, made sure his grip was good, took a deep and pulled.

At first, nothing happened, and he heard sounds of gunfire as the hovering Quinjet, ready to fly,
turned to face attacking Zola controlled suits. For a moment, he wanted to break away, to go and
fight, but the logical part of him cut in and said that if he didn't get the hangar door open now,
everyone on that Quinjet would die.

So he gritted his teeth and put everything into pulling, letting out a roar of effort as muscles and
hydraulics alike screamed. And slowly, slowly, but surely and gathering pace, the doors began to
open.

"COME ON!" Tony roared, stepping into the gap and lining up a repulsor blast with each hand that
sent the doors shooting back along their runners, leaving the hangar gaping open. In response, the
Quinjet turned and shot out of the hangar at top speed, the wind of passage sending Tony and his
heavily taxed suit flying. As he stabilised, he caught sight of the Quinjet, already a speck in the
distance, and felt a momentary pang. Then, a repulsor blast from one of his armours knocked him
off balance, bringing him back to the present.

He turned, to face at least three dozen of his armours.

"I am impressed, Herr Stark," Zola said.

"Well get ready to be a lot more," Tony said. "Because I haven't even got started."

"Enough with the bravado, Herr Stark. I hold your greatest weapons in the palm of my hand," Zola
said. Two of the other Quinjets began to fire up. "And I can handle you and the friends who you
are so willing to sacrifice yourself for." As Tony started, he chuckled. "Yes, I know what you are
doing. You wish to stop me from chasing your friends and your lover, to focus on destroying you
instead. But you do not realise, Herr Stark: I can do both."

Tony's blood ran cold and he turned, sprinting for the hangar doors. One armour put itself in his
path, one of his heavier ones. Tony dropped and rolled, evading its clumsy grab, spinning it
blasting it in the back, into the midst of the crowd of suits.

This turn, however, combined with the strains put on the power and transmission systems of his
suit in opening the door, had lost him crucial moments, and other suits began to pepper him with
with repulsor blasts, forcing him to hunch down against the punishing array of blows from every
angle.

Redirecting power, he suddenly shot straight upwards, activating his laser and spinning like a top.
He was left slightly motion sick, despite the g-force compensators, and the walls of the hangar
were scored, but several of the rogue armours were in pieces. This inspired a mixture of triumph
and regret. While they were only things, they were his things, his creations, his ideas given form.
To have that taken from him was more painful than he could adequately express. The only thing
worse was the definite prospect of never seeing Pepper again, or meeting his child. That thought
caused his heart to ache, but he put it aside. He had work to do.

It was an uneven match-up – Tony was an extremely skilled and experienced pilot, while the rogue
armours were controlled by a single puppet master who was still mastering their capabilities, and
Tony tore through them, using all he knew to twist and turn, every little technique to gain the
upper-hand. However, in the end, numbers, the strain already placed on his armour and the
confined space told, and he was dogpiled by his biggest armours, while the sleeker, faster ones, and
the two Quinjets set off after Pepper, Clint and Natasha.

Tony writhed and struggled, trying every trick he knew, every clever redirection of power to catch
his enemy off-guard and wriggle free. But it was to no avail. Every time he got even an inch,
another armour grabbed him, pushing him downwards.

"Watch, Herr Stark," Zola gloated, projecting a screen. "Watch as your lover and your comrades
die in flames."

Tony snorted.
"What?"

"You've done something really stupid."

"What is that?"

"Given me no way out," Tony said, leveraging room for his laser, stealthily cutting a crude hole in
the floor in front of him. "And nothing else to lose." With that, he punched the section of metal and
concrete free and slipped through like a seal into an ice hole before Zola could stop him. Once he
had, he took an instant to orient himself, before blasting off towards the heart of the Tower.

"You cannot escape, Herr Stark," Zola said.

"I'm not trying to escape," Tony said. "What part of 'no way out' don't you get?"

"Then what are you doing?" Zola asked, sounding confused. Tony grinned a fighter's grin.

"Protecting the people I care about most. Stopping you from perverting my tech and my ideas," he
said, reaching the room he was looking for. His ultimate fall-back and failsafe, in case everything
went wrong and all was lost.

In the middle was a big red button on a podium. As for what it did…

Pepper had once saved his life by overloading the big arc reactor at Stark Industries HQ in LA,
frying Stane and his Iron Monger suit. Now it was time to return the favour.

Avengers Tower was powered by a giant arc reactor too. And the big red button in this room set it
to overload. The overload would wipe out everything in the Tower, conveniently purging Zola and,
hopefully, preventing HYDRA from downloading all of the secrets on Tony's servers.

"And," he said. "Fulfilling a life long dream."

"What is that?"

"I get to push a big red button."

Before Zola could do anything, Tony slammed a hand down on the button.

And everything went white.

OoOoO

Clint gritted his teeth as he weaved in between repulsor blasts as armours hijacked by Zola harried
them. Natasha had taken out six of them with the minigun and missiles, but then one had ripped off
the minigun and taken out the missile batteries. He was also acutely aware that each bit of evasive
action slowed the jet down, allowing the other two, Zola controlled, to close in on them.

Pepper, thankfully, was staying silent, not distracting them, damp eyed and with a taught
expression of worry.

Then, all of a sudden, the blasts stopped. Clint kept flying for a minute, vigilante for an ambush,
but when none came, he turned to look at Natasha. She was staring grimly at the display, which
showed the view out the back of the jet now that the weapons were disabled.

"What is it?"
"Tony got them off our tail," she said. "He cut the connection. Zola can't follow us now."

She didn't sound enthused, however, and the implications gave Clint pause.

"What did he do?" Pepper asked, tone suggesting that she already knew.

"He overloaded the arc reactor," Natasha said, and Clint glanced at her display. In the distance, an
otherworldly looking blue-white column of light had erupted over New York.

"Oh god," Pepper whispered, and the tears began to flow in earnest now and Clint knew why.
Overloading an arc reactor, after all, was hardly something that could be done remotely.

They flew on in silence. After making sure that HYDRA were completely shaken off, Natasha got
out of her seat and went over to Pepper, putting an arm around

And Clint flew on. As he did, he silently said a prayer for the soul of Tony Stark.

OoOoO

Steve, battered and bruised, retreated, breathing hard. His fight with the Soldier on this rooftop
couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Perhaps part of it was
because he was fighting his best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother. Or perhaps it was just
the strain of fighting another super soldier who really knew what they were doing.

Schmidt, the Skull, had been competent enough, but he'd relied more on his physical power than on
skill in fights. The Soldier, however, was his physical equal – not quite as strong, but with reflexes
like a scalded cat – and, if he was honest, more skilful. Not only that, but he wasn't in his uniform,
meaning that he had a much smaller margin for error than usual as he couldn't rely on it to protect
him. In any case, it had required all his focus, to tune everything out.

Now, however, something else grabbed his focus. His shadow was suddenly cast long in front of
him by a gigantic, blazing source of light, followed by a humongous, otherworldly roar. He turned
and his heart stopped as Avengers Tower seemed to go up in a burning column of blue-white
flames. His friends had been in there. Tony, Clint, Natasha, Pepper, they had been among the
closest friends he had had in this time. And they couldn't be alive. He didn't dare torment himself
with that thought, that hope, when he knew it would be snatched away. They had been trapped in
the Tower by Zola, who controlled the entire building and all but one of Tony's suits.

No. They couldn't have got out. If they had, Tony would have come to his aid. Instead, either one
of them survived to overload the arc reactor in the basement – that was the only thing that could
generate this much power, after all – and deny Zola his victory.

As if to underline his point, Zola's armours dropped out of the sky, falling dead at Steve's feet.

But that was a merely a sideshow compare to the burning of the Tower, which got even brighter
and more terrible as the wards, denied much of their framework and collapsing under their own
weight as a result, began to fracture and fragment, bolts and streamers of power shooting off into
the sky like a ghastly fireworks display.

Slowly, the column of power faded away, and the last jets of light, in all the colours of the rainbow
and some in colours that Steve had previously thought did not exist, sprayed off into the night's
sky. The sound faded away too, leaving only the skeleton of what had once been his home in this
strange time, a symbol of hope and defiance, gutted by HYDRA.

Steve had not been truly angry until now. He had been afraid, certainly, for his friends, all of them,
and frustrated by being unable to help them. But now, for the first time since the day he had
thought Bucky had died, he was beginning to approach the kind of rage that topples empires and
makes demons run. His anger aboard the Helicarrier was nothing to this fury, a slow, steadily
building anger.

Slowly, he stamped on the shoulder of one of the armours' right arm, then reached down and with a
single jerking motion, ripped it off like anyone else would a well cooked chicken leg. With the
same careful precision, he pulled it on, testing his fingers within it. Then, finally, he turned to the
Soldier, the two now direct reflections of each other.

"Looks like we match," he said quietly.

The Soldier cocked his head.

Before any other response could be formulated, though, Steve was on him in a blur of fists and
fury, crossing the roof in the blink of an eye, hammering half a dozen blows into his opponent, the
thing that had once been his best friend, before he could blink.

"You know who was in there?" he demanded, as he attacked, overwhelming the smaller man with
raw power. "You remember Howard, Howard Stark? His son was in there! So was the woman he
loved!"

The Soldier retreated under the onslaught of blows and, for just a moment, seemed to hesitate.
Steve was too furious to register this, however, and took the opportunity to press his advantage,
using his advantage in height and weight to drive his blows home, putting his full strength behind
his gauntleted fist.

"And they weren't alone," he snarled, delivering a brutal right cross that would have killed an
ordinary man."Your grandson was in there. Him and his partner, Natasha, remember her? The
woman you loved? She's dead. They're all dead."

The Soldier froze. The last blow had knocked off his mask, revealing the man beneath and his
expression.

OoOoO

Natalia?

Error.

Natalia? Natalia's dead? No…

But even if she's not, why am I fighting for people who want Natalia dead?

Error! Reboot process activated.

OoOoO

For a moment, just a moment, hope surged in Steve's chest, punching through the rage and grief.
Then, Bucky stiffened, face smoothing into blankness. The Soldier was back.

Steve stepped back and prepared himself, raising his shield as the Soldier's hand blurred to the
pistol at his hip. Unfortunately, the Soldier was not aiming at his upper body. He went for his
knees.
Pain lanced through Steve as four evenly divided rounds slammed into his knee caps, forcing his
legs to buckle. This pain, however, was nothing to the overwhelming despair that swept over him
as the rage and hope faded away.

He had failed.

He had failed to protect his friends, his best friend most of all. He had failed to protect them and the
world from HYDRA.

Yes, he thought dully, as the Winter Soldier, as Bucky, drew back his metal fist. He had failed.

The fist struck. All was darkness.

OoOoO

Harry groaned as he got to his feet. That had not been pleasant, he thought, as he turned to look for
Jane and his father. Jane was in a similar state to him, and his father was still stubbornly
unconscious.

"You know," a deep voice remarked. "When I imagined our meeting, I was hoping that it would be
under better circumstances."

Harry looked up. Before him was a tall, dark skinned man in black clothes beneath a long black
leather coat. One eye was covered by an eyepatch, scarring visible beneath it. There was, he
realised, only one man this could be.

Director Nicholas Fury.

OoOoO

The next few hours passed in a blur for Harry. Fury had immediately turned and barked out orders,
sending for medics, who had lifted his father onto a gurney and rolled him away, speaking urgently
to one another. He and Jane had been shepherded off to one side. Normally, Harry would have
objected to this, but right now, he was too tired to do so. It was physical, more mental. Rage, grief,
frustration and worry, they all faded into insignificance before a bone deep exhaustion.

Jane, by contrast, alternated between pacing up and down, pestering doctors, yelling at SHIELD
Agents/Fury, and comforting Harry.

Darcy arrived, swept first Harry, then Jane, then Harry and Jane, into a tight hug and spoken with
surprising softness and gentleness to Harry, tapering off when she got little more than token
response. After that, she eyed him for a moment, nodded to herself and moved off, giving him
space.

Sirius and Wanda both arrived in short order, seeming to compete as to who could enfold him in
the tightest hug, before Sirius stalked off after Fury and started bellowing at him. Fury, who was at
first patient, quickly lost his temper and started bellowing back, until Darcy stormed over, grabbed
the pair of them by the back of the head and smacked their heads together. After a moment of
absolute bafflement by all present, she proceeded to read them a hushed riot act in soft, menacing
tones, frequently gesturing at both Harry and Jane to underline her point. Afterwards, Sirius looked
contrite, while Fury was wearing a scowl that suggested that she was right and he didn't like it. All
the while, Wanda had pulled Harry into a bone crushingly tight hug and was carding a hand
through his hair. Harry, not feeling up to much himself, snuggled up to her in silence.

Sometime after that, an Agent walked in and spoke to Fury in a hushed, urgent voice. Fury's
eyebrows rose and then an expression of what looked like relief passed over his face, before he
followed the other Agent at what was practically a run. A few minutes after that, Pepper walked in,
face lined with worry. Everyone bounced up to greet her, to ask if she was okay. Physically, she
was fine. Mentally, however, was a different story: she, Clint and Natasha (who were being
debriefed by Director Fury upstairs) had barely escaped from the Tower on one of Tony's Quinjets
after HYDRA had hijacked the Tower, including all of Tony's armours, kidnapping Bruce and
Steve. Tony had stayed behind to buy them time, and had eventually been forced to overload the
arc reactor beneath the building. No one asked her if this meant it was likely that Tony had got out
– even if they didn't know, Pepper's expression and tear filled eyes told the story.

Not long later, a tall, dark haired man with white temples, surrounded by a swirling red cloak
appeared, bearing Loki's head. This caused something of a kerfuffle. Under other circumstances,
Harry would have been shocked, horrified even. Or, at the very least, a little surprised when Loki's
head proved to be entirely capable of speaking and first thanking the wizard (for only wizards
dressed in such fashions), 'Strange', for the rescue and then expressing a good deal of displeasure at
being carted around. This received the simple retort of, "be glad I didn't use you as a prop
for Hamlet jokes."

Jane, meanwhile, had screamed a little bit, but adjusted with admirable speed, asking Loki where
the rest of his body was. The answer, apparently, was likely to be all over the known universe,
since he'd been disrupted mid-teleport by HYDRA's necromancer.

Wanda and Sirius had both strode over to him, expressions nothing short of murderous and tones
threatening, demanding answers. They got none, however, as before anyone could ask anything
more, the wizard disappeared.

It was then that Harry discovered his godmother's vast repertoire of obscenities.

Finally, Clint and Natasha entered the room, with the news that the HYDRA troops Harry had
incapacitated had been completely unresisting as they were rounded up and locked up. Far more
importantly, Steve had fought the Winter Soldier. And he had lost. He had been being dragged
from the scene, unconscious, and loaded onto a HYDRA quinjet.

For all that had been rescued from the ruins, one thing was clear. The Avengers had fallen.
HYDRA was triumphant.

OoOoO

"The Avengers have fallen," Zola said. "Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner are in my custody, and
Tony Stark has been recovered from the ruins of his Tower. He shall be with us soon. So, that
leaves only one question. What next, Lord Malfoy?"

Zola, Zemo and Lucius were sitting in Lucius' office, having what might be called a combination of
celebration and tactical meeting. It was too relaxed to be one, and too formal to be the other.

"I will go to the muggle United Nations and deliver an ultimatum to them," Lucius said. "For the
moment, they will be allowed to continue ruling broadly as they do now, so long as they bow to
HYDRA and give us what we require, when we require it, starting with the funding usually
ascribed to SHIELD – after all, they have been unable to stop us and we are far better suited to
protecting the masses as good rulers do. Those who join first will reap the rewards of loyalty,
receiving weapons and technology – nothing major, but tokens of good will. Even if they do not
have states of their own, especially if they do not have states of their own. At the same time, I will
invite the superhuman powers of the world to stake their place. The vampires and the like will be
brought to heel or exterminated in due course, but they will serve a purpose."
"That will cause chaos," Zemo said.

"Exactly," Lucius said. "Chaos, which will reduce any force still capable of opposing us to panic
and disarray. We play each group off against each other, acquiring valuable artefacts, further
entrenching our global bases, then… we bring the hammer down. And with it, from the pieces of
the old world, we forge a new one. A HYDRA world, the skies patrolled by Ultimatum drones.
The world will look to us for peace, protection and prosperity, because we are willing to do what
SHIELD would not."

"I have been with HYDRA since the very beginning, Lord Malfoy," Zola said. "And even at its
height under the Red Skull, it never even came close to this. In less than a year, you have taken us
from skulkers in the shadows to the masters of the world. But. There are threats that, even alone,
could tip the balance."

"You mean the likes of Magneto," Lucius said. "He will not be a problem."

"How can you be so sure?"

"One word, Baron. Leverage," Lucius said with a smile. "Doctor Zola, if you would be so kind to
bring up our file on Lorna Dane?"

Zola did so, a stream of data alongside a pretty girl with brown hair, streaked with green dye.

"She is Magneto's daughter," Lucius said. "And in experience, there is nothing that a man will not
do for his child."

There was a respectful silence, which Zemo again broke. "This is true," he said. "But that sword
cuts both ways, especially with Magneto. I was with HYDRA when we tried to acquire a young
Wanda Maximoff. And I barely escaped with my life."

"I don't intend to kidnap her, or anything so gauche," Lucius said. "I will merely let Magneto know
that we are watching her. In the meantime, I have diverted sufficient funds to ensure that her
mother's mortgage is paid via a front charity of ours. They will have a comfortable life, and in the
fullness of time, she will be able to study a subject of her choice without worrying about the
expense. I may even pull some strings to get her a job. And if she manifests mutant abilities, then
certain sympathetic persons of similar talents, who she will soon come to know, will be there to
help guide her. But if Magneto intervenes, then regrettably operational requirements will mean that
we will have to divest our investments in certain non-critical assets, which will of course, have
unfortunate consequences."

Zola slowly smiled. "If he intervenes, he will most likely appear to Lorna as a villain. And if he
does not intervene," he said. "In a few years we will have a quite possibly superpowered child of
Magneto who will look upon HYDRA as her benefactors. Well played, Lord Malfoy. Very will
played indeed."

Zemo simply gave a deep nod, verging on a bow.

"Thank you," Lucius said. "But this success is thanks to all of us, not one alone. So, gentlemen, I
propose a toast. To HYDRA."

"To HYDRA."
 The Dawn

"What the hell is that?" Scott Summers demanded, staring out the window at the giant pillar of
blue-white energy. He was not the only one. The entire population of the Xavier Institute – limited
as it was – was present.

"It looks like arc reactor energy, Scott," Hank said grimly.

"Yes," the Professor said quietly. "Hang on." He closed his eyes and reached out, skimming
through the minds of those New Yorkers close to ground zero, forming a coherent picture from
thousands of pieces. Soon, though, he had it. "Oh no. Oh Tony, what have you done?"

"Charles?" Storm asked, worried.

"The Avengers have fallen to HYDRA," the Professor said heavily. "By the looks of things,
HYDRA managed to hijack Tony's technology and used the Winter Soldier to handle Captain
Rogers."

"Handle?" Logan asked, an edge to his voice.

"No one got a clear look," the Professor said. "But it is my hope that his intention was to capture
Steve rather than kill him."

"I'll check," Logan said, heading to the door.

The Professor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Logan," he said. "Be careful."

Logan nodded and headed out. Less than a minute later, the sound of a motorbike being started
drifted into the house.

"We need to do something," Scott said.

"Like what, Scott?" Storm asked quietly. "We still know very little of what happened, whether any
of the Avengers are still alive or where they were taken. All that we do know is that HYDRA
managed to defeat and possibly kill some of the most powerful and dangerous people on the planet,
including forcing one of the cleverest and most resourceful men I have ever met to sacrifice his
Tower and probably his life to try and keep it out of their hands."

"That was the Tower?" Jean asked, nodding at the fading pillar of light.

"It was," the Professor said sadly. "If what I suspect is true, Tony overloaded the arc reactor under
Avengers Tower. Probably to keep his technology out of HYDRA's hands, and since some of the
eyewitnesses saw a Quinjet leave the Tower before two others and several Iron Man suits went off
in pursuit, give his team-mates a chance of getting away."

"Can we do anything to help?" Jean asked.

"I will see if I can get into contact with any surviving Avengers and their associates," the Professor
said. "Ororo, watch the skies. I don't think HYDRA will try anything, but…"

"It would not be the first time that they have attacked a school," Storm said, nodding.

"Exactly. Hank –"

"I'll check security," Hank said.

"Good."

"What about us?" Scott asked.

"For now, you can sit tight and stay here," the Professor said. "Nothing will be gained by you
recklessly charging into danger."

Scott glowered, nodded curtly, then stomped off.

"I'll go with him," Jean said. "Maybe put on the news, so we can find out more."

"That is a very good idea, Jean," the Professor said. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Shortly afterwards, Jean had corralled Scott and sat him in front of the television, keeping an eye
on him in case he saw something that made him do exactly what the Professor had said he
shouldn't, charge off into danger. Ironically, this meant she nearly missed the footage that made her
do exactly that.

"Holy…" Scott began.

Jean took her eyes off him – and there was, she thought defensively, nothing wrong with looking,
even if she did have a boyfriend. Besides, she and Scott saw each other as friends, nothing more –
and saw something that drove all such thoughts out of her mind.

On-screen, captured on bumpy mobile footage, a tall teenage boy with an expression of utter fury
on his face was standing between a prone figure, a crouched woman tending to the former and a
couple of dozen men in black combats, who were apparently bent on killing them. And he wasn't
just standing between the two groups; he was stopping the attackers cold, blocking thousands of
bullets and flattening vans in extraordinary displays of telekinetic power. The half-heard furious
demand, helpfully subtitled by the news agency, only seemed to underline the point.

"You people and your guns. Did you really think that they would protect you from me?"

Jean and Scott watched in stunned silence as one of the troopers grabbed a child and held him at
gun-point. It didn't work. The mysterious telekinetic proved to be an adept telepath too, forcing the
trooper to let go of the child and then, chillingly, put the gun to his own head, at the same time as
telekinetically ripping the guns from the other troopers and holding them at gun-point. The woman
interceded, apparently pleading with the teenager, who eventually balled up the guns like a piece of
scrap paper and sandwiched them between the ruined vans, before forcing the troopers to lie down
on the ground.

The news report then went on to say that the troopers had been apprehended, but that wasn't what
caught Jean's attention. No, her eye was drawn to the thumbnail image of the psychic.

"The Professor needs to know about this," Scott said, ashen faced. "This mutant could just have
blown us wide open." He paused. "If he is a mutant, anyway."

"He's a mutant all right," Jean said numbly, as memories from years ago flooded back. "God, how
did I forget?" she asked herself.

"Jean?"

"I… oh god, Scott, he's my cousin," Jean said.

"Your cousin?" Scott asked. "You have a cousin? Another cousin, I mean." He had met some of
Jean's closer family members. Most of them he had liked. Most, but not all.

"He's a bit more distant than Uncle Nate's kids," Jean said. "His mom was my dad's first cousin. He
was orphaned as a baby, taken in by his mom's sister and her husband. They… they were horrible
to him, their son treated him like a punch-bag. Mom and dad started the process to adopt him, to
get child services over there to intervene… but it all faded away. Why did it? How could I forget?"

"I don't know," Scott said. "We need to tell the Professor, though."

"He's scanning the whole Tri-State Area, Scott, he'll know soon enough," Jean said. "We need to
go, now."

Scott hesitated.

"Scott, please," Jean begged. "Who knows how many people saw that? He won't be safe." She
looked away. "I failed to protect him once. I'm not going to do it again."

Scott looked at her for a moment, then pulled out his car keys. "Where do we start?"

"The scene," Jean said. "The cops might know something."

"And if they don't want to tell?" Scott asked, making his way to the door.

"Then," Jean said, voice carrying an edge of steel. "I'll ask nicely."

"Jean, Scott."

Both of them turned, tensing, to Hank.

"He won't be anywhere near the scene," Hank said. "Start with the Hub, it's SHIELD's largest base
in the state. The location is classified, but I've been driven there before."

Jean's eyes glowed briefly. "Thanks, Doctor McCoy," she said. "But…"

"Why am I letting you two go?" Hank asked. "Because family is important. Now get moving.
SHIELD will be protecting him, but there are elements in SHIELD… elements that would do quite
the opposite given the chance."

"Thanks," Jean said.

"And both of you: be careful."

Both nodded, before dashing to the garage.

Was that entirely wise, Hank?

"It was either that or Jean would tear the Eastern Seaboard apart to find him, you know she would –
and could," Hank said aloud. "It's time, Charles. It's long past time, in fact."

There was a mental sigh. I know. If I had had my way, I would intervened, taught them both here.
But I did not. And I fear that Jean may never forgive me.

"I fear that she may never forgive either of us," Hank said. "Or Alex, Sean and Moira, all of us who
knew and said nothing, enforced by the laws of time though we were. But that is a bridge we shall
cross when we come to it."
OoOoO

When it came to the crossing of bridges and, indeed, the bridging of gaps, there were others having
difficult. Such as a certain Sirius Black, who was now hovering uncertainly outside the medical
bay in the Hub.

He glanced at Harry. "I'm not sure what to do," he admitted to Wanda, who had joined him. "Tears,
now those I could deal with. But now? He's just gone quiet. He hardly responds to anything.
And… I have no bloody idea what that means." He sighed. "Jane has been brilliant with him. That
Danvers girl too. Not even fifteen years old, and she's the one sitting out there comforting him
while I'm out here, over twice her age, wondering what the fuck to do." He paused. "You too,
obviously, but…"

Wanda nodded.

Carol had, via pestering her uncle, found out exactly where Harry was, and via Jean-Paul, got there
in record time. As soon as she'd walked in, she'd taken one look at him and pulled him into a tight
hug, before speaking to him softly. Jean-Paul, for his part, had sat down on Harry's other side and
added a comment every now and then.

"I know what you meant, Sirius," Wanda said.

"Yeah." There was a moment of silence. "I mean, I never thought he'd be so quiet at a time like
this," Sirius said, rambling slightly. He sounded lost. "Just look at his parents, how they reacted to
loss. But…"

"He's traumatised, Sirius, and for the second time in a couple of weeks. People deal with that sort
of thing in different ways," Wanda said gently, cutting him off mid stream. "And he showed plenty
of anger when facing down HYDRA." Her expression darkened. "In any case, I doubt that the
Dursleys ever encouraged him to show his feelings."

Sirius let out the sort of growl that began in one throat and usually ended in the back of another.
"I'll bet they didn't." He looked over at Carol. "I'm a bit surprised she's even here, to be honest.
Glad, but surprised."

"I'm not," Wanda said. "They haven't known each other that long in the grand scheme of things, but
they've forged a bond under fire." She smiled wryly. "And you would not believe how good a
young speedster is at getting places you don't want them too."

"It's not that, it's more that I'd have thought…" He trailed off, looked around, and told her what he
thought.

"You mean…" Wanda began, then gave Carol a long look. "It would explain quite a lot," she said
quietly. "You're sure?"

Sirius tapped his nose. "The nose knows," he said.

"I see," Wanda said. "It makes a lot of sense." She looked at Harry. "As for our godson, under the
circumstances, the best thing you can do is be there for him. That's the best thing we can both do.
Come on. We've been talking for long enough."

Sirius nodded. "You're right," he said.

"Of course I am," Wanda said, walking over to her godson. Carol, seeing her coming, squeezed
Harry's hand gently, said something to him and budged up, letting Wanda sit down beside Harry.
She gently cuddled him and he silently laid his head on her shoulder.

"I'm going to find them," he said quietly.

"Who, sweetie?" she asked.

"The people who did this," Harry replied, voice cracking with emotion. He turned his head to look
her right in the eyes. "And they will burn," he said, every word slamming into place like cartridges
in a rifle.

Wanda's breath caught, as did Sirius'. Not at the words, understandable as they were. But because
in his eyes… something golden flickered. Something ancient. Something young. Something that
was a very long way from human.

Carol and Jean-Paul, meanwhile, also seemed to understand that there was something more to this
declaration and were watching Harry carefully.

"They'll face justice, sweetie," Wanda said gently, kissing his forehead. "I'll make sure of it,
believe you me."

And then, Harry broke down in tears.

For a moment, Wanda was almost relieved at this very human display of grief, and then that was
shoved aside by her feeling of helplessness in the face of his grief. So she gave what comfort she
could, holding him close, rocking him back and forth ever so gently and whispered kind,
comforting nonsense at him as he clung to her and howled his grief. After a moment, Sirius strode
over, and raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged, and he seemed to dismiss it, sitting down on
Harry's other side and resting a supporting hand on his shoulder.

Finally, the howls died down to hiccoughing sobs and sniffs. Wanda conjured a tissue and gently
but firmly pressed it to Harry's nose.

"Blow," she commanded, and he did, a couple of times, clearing his nostrils. Then, vanishing it and
conjuring another, she gently set about drying his eyes. "This is a hard time for you now," she said
quietly, dabbing at tears. "Harder than any you can remember. And it hurts so much, I know. I've
lost people close to me too, close as blood family, your mother being one of them, and it killed
inside me every time. Your father was my friend too, and I grieved for him when he died and I'll
grieve for him again, for what has been done to him. Nothing takes the pain away, no matter how
much you want it to, but having people there for you, people who can take some of the burden,
friends, family, whatever, it helps. And we're here for you, Harry."

"Through thick and thin."

Wanda looked up in surprise at the new voice, then smiled slightly as she saw Carol Danvers, who
had coloured slightly in embarrassment. "Yes," she said. "Exactly. Because we care for you.
Because we love you."

Sirius merely nodded and said quietly, "Always."

"T'nks."

It was very small thing that was mumbled rather than said, and it was barely audible, but it was
there. Wanda didn't reply with words, merely hugging Harry closer and kissing the top of his head,
hoping that that would be enough.
For the time being, it would have to be.

OoOoO

"Pepper?"

Pepper turned, to see an extremely concerned looking Rhodey. "Hello, Rhodey," she said.

"Hey," Rhodey said. "I wish it was under better circumstances though." He looked her over
anxiously. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," Pepper said, and smiled wanly. "Mostly."

"And…"

Pepper's hand went to her belly, now showing clear signs of pregnancy. "She's fine," she said.

"She?"

Pepper's smile turned wry. "Mother's instinct," she said.

Rhodey nodded, and smiled wryly. "I was half-expecting a boy, you know, so," he began, then
stopped. "Never mind."

"So Tony would have a replacement?" Pepper asked, voice brittle, eyes wet once again.

"No, god no," Rhodey said. "Oh, Pepper, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he said as Pepper
began to cry in earnest, pulling her into a hug.

"I told him, before we left, that this had better not be the time I lost him," Pepper said, through
tears. "And…" She broke down in tears.

"He'll be fine, Pepper," Rhodey said. "They haven't found a body at the Tower and they've gone
through almost all the rubble, physically or with thermal imaging and x-ray. That means that he
either got away or that HYDRA took him, more likely the latter. He wiped out everything they
were trying to get hold of in the Tower, so they'll want him. And that's good, because Tony's a
survivor and we'll have him back long before junior here is even close to making an appearance.
He'll be back safe real soon, I swear."

Pepper sniffed and nodded against Rhodey's shoulder. "Thanks Rhodey," she said. "I didn't mean to
snap at you, it's just..."

"You've had a horrendous few days," Rhodey said. "And I could have picked my words better."

"And I've got hormones messing with my head," Pepper said, wiping away tears. "You said you'll
have him back soon."

"Yeah," Rhodey said, glancing around and lowering his voice. "Look, as you probably know, the
Avengers had good intel on where HYDRA was before the Tower was attacked – probably
because HYDRA figured that they'd sprung a leak."

"SHIELD's preparing an assault?"

"Not quite," Rhodey said. "Fury requested my help in person and in private. The impression I got is
that he figures that SHIELD has sprung a leak very high up, maybe more than one, and he doesn't
want HYDRA to know what's gonna hit them until it does."
"If it's off the books, he'll need support," Pepper said. "And if it involves dimensions, which Tony
mentioned – apparently the HYDRA base was in a pocket dimension – they'll need Jane. And she'll
need equipment." A steely gleam had entered her eyes. "Which SI will be only too happy to
provide."

OoOoO

Not long after, the doors opened and Lady Sif entered, followed by an escort of the Warriors
Three, some professional looking warriors and worried looking healers, the latter of which
immediately descended on Thor and checked his vitals, engaging in conversation with the doctors.

"What's going on?" Carol asked.

"They're here to take Harry and Thor to Asgard," Wanda said.

"Well, if he's going, I'm going too," Carol said, striding over to Harry's side, where he was talking
to Sif. "He's not going alone," she said.

Sif raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Carol said. "He's not going alone, to be locked up behind closed doors to keep
him safe. He should have at least some company."

"Carol," Harry said quietly.

Carol ignored him, staring down Sif. For a moment, the two women were almost nose to nose, one
cool and calm, the other practically vibrating with terrified defiance.

"I like her," Fandral murmured, impressed. "That's the longest I've seen anyone stare down Sif in
two centuries."

"Impressive indeed," Volstagg replied.

Hogun just nodded slowly.

Then, Sif smiled. "Harry is very fortunate indeed to have friends such as you, Miss Danvers," she
said. "My orders were to bring those of my Prince's friends who wished to come."

Carol flushed a deep wine red. "Um. Oh. Sorry."

Sif laughed. "Never apologise for having fire, or for standing up for your friends," she said. She
turned to Wanda and Sirius, who shook their heads.

"The fight is here," Wanda said. "As is my duty."

"I spent twelve years waiting for a shot at revenge last time someone hurt my best friend and his
family," Sirius said. "This time, I'm taking it now, first chance I get."

Sif inclined her head. "Lady Pepper told me much the same thing, as did Lady Jane," she said.

"Jane's not coming?" Harry asked quietly, surprising them all.

"No, my Prince," Sif said gently. "She has said that she can look after herself and intends to find
HYDRA and scatter them across the universe in as many pieces as possible."

"Then why can't I?" Harry asked, near demanded.

"Because you are Asgard's only truly extant heir," Loki said quietly. "While we are both alive, your
father and I, I am without a body – something with nasty consequences in the long term – and your
father is in a coma. And because this is a fight you are not ready for."

Harry glared at him. "I did pretty well against the HYDRA troops that tried to kill me and Jane," he
said.

"You did," Loki said. "But they were troops deployed to kill those HYDRA deemed easy targets –
they expected your father to be dead and underestimated you and Jane both. The fight against
HYDRA at their last base will be desperate and vicious. That is not a fight you are ready for."

Harry ground his teeth.

"Harry," Wanda said softly. "Please."

"I don't want other people to solve my problems," Harry muttered.

"HYDRA is everyone's problem, Harry," Sirius said. "You're not being singled out." He glanced at
Carol. "I mean, Carol's got just as much reason to want to fight as you do, and she won't be part of
it."

"Wait, what?"

Sirius looked very surprised, opened his mouth, thought better of it, and simply shrugged. "Your
friend's been hurt. From personal experience I know that you tend to want to even the score," he
said.

"She's got more sense than you do, Sirius," Wanda said dryly. Her expression, though, said that she
knew what Sirius had been driving at.

Sif coughed. "The Allfather felt that you would be targets," she said, addressing Carol. "Especially
since you have fought this menace before."

"Your parents will need to know, ma cherie," Jean-Paul said. "Your uncle at least," he amended,
when she gave him a look that said that she knew exactly how that would turn out.

Carol grimaced. "What about you?"

"My parents know that they cannot keep me anywhere I do not want to be nor prevent me from
going anywhere I want to go," Jean-Paul said calmly. "I will tell them."

Carol nodded. "Give me a few minutes?" she asked.

Sif nodded.

Carol pulled out a phone and dialled her uncle. It took a few minutes, with some shouting on both
ends, but eventually, he grumpily agreed and added that it was probably safer. He would,
meanwhile, cover for her with her parents, saying that she had been with him and accordingly taken
to a safe place by the US armed forces.

"You're the best, uncle Jack," Carol said cheerfully.

"You've got me wrapped around your little finger, you mean," O'Neill grumbled. "You and
Sharon."

"I'm not complaining," Carol said, shrugging.

"I'll bet you're not," he said. "Look, stay safe, okay? I've lost enough people. I'm not losing you
too."

Carol's face froze, then she nodded. "I'll try, uncle Jack," she said quietly. "Bye." She cut the call.
"Okay," she said. "What now?"

"Now, we go," Sif said. "To Asgard."

OoOoO

A few minutes later, Jean and Scott arrived outside the Hub.

"How are we going to get in?" Scott asked.

"We'll think of something," Jean said.

"There would be no point. I am afraid that you have just missed him, Miss Grey."

Both of them turned to see a tall, elegant man with dark hair feathered with white at the temples, a
goatee and a faint smile. At first, he was dressed in a long red cloak fastened by a thick golden
brooch, a blue tunic with strange mystical symbols inscribed upon it and dark trousers.

"Harry, your cousin, has been taken to Asgard," the man continued. "With his father."

"His father?" Jean asked blankly. When she'd seen the news report, she hadn't registered anything
beyond her little cousin – his very existence telepathically forced into the back of her memory until
that moment – being a psychic and fighting HYDRA on tv, which could reasonably be considered
more than enough to be going on with.

"Thor Odinson," the man said. "The short version is this: he was incarnated as a mortal named
James Potter, was then killed in that form along with Harry's mother, your first cousin once
removed, leaving Harry a de facto orphan. Thor lost his memories as a result, before having them
restored a few months ago and reclaiming his son. And he was shot with an enchanted bullet some
hours ago and left in a coma, while Loki was similarly incapacitated. Hence Asgard."

"Who are you?" Scott demanded.

"I was going to ask that myself," Jean said.

"I am Doctor Stephen Strange," the man said. "I am the Sorcerer Supreme, a somewhat grandiose
title which means that I protect reality from incursions by creatures outside and from the most
powerful of dark magic. If you do not believe me, call up your teacher and ask – he knows me."

"I'll check that, if you don't mind," Scott said cautiously, pulling out his phone.

"By all means," Strange said, as Scott dialled the Institute. "But Jean, your cousin, Harry… he
needs your help."

"If you're on the level, I'll help in any way I can," Jean said. "If you're not, then I'll kick your ass
and then go and help anyway."

Strange inclined his head gracefully.

"He's on the level," Scott said, putting down the phone. "Though the Professor sounded worried."

"Since I rarely appear when matters are not dire or about to become so, I can hardly blame him,"
Strange said. "Now. This is what you must do…"

OoOoO

As soon as they arrived in Asgard, they were greeted by Frigga, who instantly enfolded Harry in a
tight hug. Harry, for his part, instantly latched onto her, while Thor was moved along in a floating
bed by the escort, healers following on.

After a long few moments, Frigga looked over her grandson's shoulder – something she was only
just about still able to do after his growth spurt – and smiled at the simultaneously awkward and
starstruck Carol and Jean-Paul. "Welcome to Asgard, Miss Danvers, Mister Beaubier," she said.

"Wait, you know who we are?" Carol asked, startled.

"What kind of grandmother would I be if I did learn the names of such dear friends to my grandson
as to fight by his side in battle and follow him to an entirely different world at a moment's notice
simply to ensure that he had company?" Frigga asked. Her gaze lingered on Jean-Paul, a slight,
knowing smile on her face. "And were… close to my grandson's sworn sword."

Jean-Paul, astonishingly, blushed. Frigga, for her part, twinkled in a way that would have had
Dumbledore taking notes.

"Grandmother?" Carol asked, then blinked, flushing and hurriedly bobbed a curtsy, the effect
somewhat diminished by the jeans and t-shirt she was wearing. "Your majesty," she said, echoed
by Jean-Paul, whose bow was considerably more polished.

"There is no need for formality," Frigga said. She gestured and a white light appeared, before
shooting off down the bridge. "You and my grandson will be escorted to quarters. Anything you
need, you need but ask."

"Thank you," Jean-Paul said quietly.

"My sons informed me of what happened a couple of months ago, in the 'Rocky Mountains',"
Frigga said. "Of what you both did." Her gaze lingered on Carol. "And what you were willing to
do. It is I who owes you thanks. Now." She gently released Harry. "I will see you later," she said.
"But I must speak to Sif and see to your father and uncle. Go with them."

Harry nodded and joined Carol and Jean-Paul, the three of them teleported away by an arriving
royal sorcerer.

"Lady Jane, she is not here," Frigga said, once they had gone.

"She intended to stay behind, to defeat HYDRA," Sif said. "She seemed determined."

"Then I almost pity them," Frigga remarked. "Almost."

"As do I, my lady," Sif said, before hesitating.

"Sif?"

"I understand that the Allfather wishes me here, so as better to protect the Princes, especially since
the magic of the Darkhold has enabled attacks to penetrate our defences before," Sif said. "But is
this not our fight too? Should we leave the defence of Midgard, of all the Nine Realms and beyond
when one considers the Darkhold's master, of our honour, to Midgard alone? I do not doubt the
skill and courage of those who will do so, but the Avengers, Midgard's greatest defence have
already been felled by this foe."

"Midgard is a world of infinite resource, as are its people," Frigga said. "And they are no longer
children. They are beginning to impose their authority in a way not seen since the fall of Atlantis,
to reach out to the stars and take their place in the universe. They are coming into their own, Sif."

"That is true, my lady," Sif said. "But not all of those who do are noble and true. HYDRA is
evidence of that. I do not doubt the bravery of Director Fury and his Agents, nor of Lady Jane,
Lady Wanda and others who Thor, Loki and Harry have come to know… but I do wonder if they
will be enough to defeat the Darkhold."

"I think that they may well be," Frigga said. "And they must be, for now. One of my sons is in a
coma, another in a similarly diminished state. Harry is the only viable heir to the throne in the
direct line under such circumstances. He must be protected."

Sif nodded. "Yes, my lady," she said. "But if I may, he seemed determined to stay and fight and he
is a young man of considerable power and great resource. His being protected may well be
restricted but whether or not he will allow us to protect him."

Frigga sighed. "Of that," she said. "I am aware. In that regard he is most definitely his father's son.
And I have no doubt that those two would join him." She glanced after them. "And that Mister
Beaubier, if he tested his limits, might find that he was well able to leave Asgard under his own
power, bringing various others with him."

"Miss Danvers and Prince Harry."

"And quite likely Mister Ullrson and Lady Diana," Frigga said. "I doubt that they would allow
themselves to be counted out."

"That, my lady, is almost certainty."

OoOoO

Harry, Carol and Jean-Paul were, as it happened, almost immediately found by Diana and Uhtred,
the former of whom immediately gave Harry a limpet like hug, while the latter settled for a slightly
awkward shoulder clasp.

"It grieves me that the situation has come to this," Uhtred said.

"Yeah, it isn't exactly a barrel of laughs," Carol said.

Uhtred looked puzzled.

"She was agreeing with you by expressing similar sentiment, mon cher," Jean-Paul explained.

"Ah," Uhtred said.

"We heard that Thor and Loki were injured," Diana said. "What of the other Avengers?"

"Natasha and Clint are fine," Harry said quietly. "So is Pepper. Tony destroyed the Tower after
HYDRA took control of it and was inside it when it happened. No one's been able to find him. The
others… HYDRA has them."

"Alive?" Diana asked softly. "Or dead."

"No one knows, ma cherie," Jean-Paul said.

"People have been after Bruce for ages," Harry said. "And no one ever figured out how to repeat
what made Steve who he is."

"I'm not so sure about that," Carol said slowly. "I mean, the Mountain, it didn't give you anything
you didn't already have or weren't going to get. I mean, Uhtred and Diana just got stronger and
tougher – and in Diana's case, able to fly faster – and Jean-Paul could run faster." She glanced at
Harry. "And while you got loads of powers, considering your dad and your fire magic stuff…"

"It wasn't exactly surprising," Harry said.

"Right," Carol said.

"And you wonder where your enhanced strength came from," Uhtred said.

"There are other ways for such things to come about, ma cherie," Jean-Paul said. "I am evidence of
that." He nodded at Harry. "As is Harry, with his psychic powers."

"True," Carol said. "But my great-aunt, grandma's big sister, was Peggy Carter. Who was… well,
she worked with Steve. And they loved each other." She made a face. "She got called 'Captain
America's girlfriend' when she kicked at least as much ass as he did." She paused. "And there was
something about what that Sirius guy, Harry's godfather, said. He said that I had at least as much
reason to be angry, to want to fight as Harry did, and he seemed real confused when I had no idea
what he meant. He then said that as a friend, I'd want to even the score on Harry's behalf – which I
definitely do. But… it's like there was something more."

"Sirius is an animagus," Harry said. "He can shapeshift."

"Seriously?" Carol asked.

"Shapeshifting is somewhat common among sorcerers," Uhtred said. "Though few learn more than
the basics, deeming it less useful than other arts."

"Why not?" Carol asked.

"If you are stronger and more agile than most animals, why would you bother changing into one?"
Jean-Paul asked.

"Good point," Carol said. "What animal?"

"A dog," Harry said. "A big, black dog."

"So he may have smelled something," Diana said slowly. She turned to Carol. "How much older is
your great-aunt than your grandmother?"

"Was, she disappeared in 1962, before mom and uncle Jack were born," Carol said. "A lot older, I
think. I mean, she fought in the war and grandma was born…"

"Carol?"

"VE Day," Carol said, going white.

"Vee day?" Uhtred asked.

"VE Day," Harry said. "Victory in Europe day. 1945. May, I think."

"Victory in the East took a couple more months, mon cher," Jean-Paul said.
"Ah."

"And Steve's jet went down in late 1944," Carol said, now as pale as death.

"And a human pregnancy is nine months," Diana said quietly.

There was dead silence.

"Captain Rogers is a great warrior," Uhtred said. "Held in high esteem across the Nine Realms.
Why would any who had his child hide it?"

"Because Steve was the first super soldier," Jean-Paul said quietly. "The only truly successful use
of the serum. The man who made him who he is was killed by a spy as soon as the process
finished, and his notes did not seem to contain the final secret, what made it work. Other attempts
to replicate that success have been made since, but one of them turned Doctor Banner into the
Hulk. While the Hulk is a hero now, he was once impossible to control."

"And after Steve disappeared, another super soldier appeared," Harry said. "The Winter Soldier."

"So the leaders of America and their allies wished for another of Steve's kind," Diana said. "Or the
knowledge to create more."

"Surely they would not," Uhtred began.

"Uncle Jack is high up in the US military," Carol said. "And his daughter, Sharon, she's pretty high
up in SHIELD. They don't really talk about their jobs much, but from what they say… yeah.
They'd do it."

"And there's a lot of monsters out there who'd want a piece of someone that powerful," Harry said.
"Or groups. HYDRA, for instance. Steve destroyed them once. They'd probably love to get the
chance to get a hold of his daughter."

Carol sat down with a thump. "I'm Captain America's granddaughter," she said numbly.

"Great-granddaughter," Jean-Paul corrected gently. "But yes, ma cherie. You are." He looked her
up and down. "You do look a lot like him."

"He's right," Harry said. Though it had never occurred to him before, Carol had the same hair, the
same eyes, and much the same build as Steve.

"How is this possible?" she asked.

"Well…" Harry said slowly, a faint smirk on his face.

Carol glowered at him. "Don't even start," she said.

"We can check," Diana said.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I think we better had."

OoOoO

"Well?" Carol asked, some minutes later, the group having adjourned to the healing rooms.

"Having compared your blood to that of Captain Rogers, it is unambiguous," one of the healers
said. "You are of his line. Congratulations, Lady Carol."
Carol just stared.

"Lady Carol?"

"Thank you," Diana said, on Carol's behalf.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Thanks." He glanced at Carol, caught the gist of her thoughts and added, "and
could you keep this quiet for the moment?"

The healer inclined his head and left.

"Is this not cause for celebration?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"Take it from me, finding out that you've got family you never knew you had can be a shock,"
Harry said. "Particularly if they're someone like Steve or my dad."

"And Steve is either hurt," Jean-Paul said. "Or dead."

"Dead before I ever got the chance to know him," Carol said quietly. "Sounds like just my luck."

"Are you all well?"

All of them turned to see Frigga.

"We're fine, grandma," Harry said. "But Carol… we just found out that she's Steve's great-
granddaughter."

Frigga's eyes widened, then narrowed as she scrutinised Carol. "Yes, I see it," she said quietly.
"You have something of his look. And perhaps his strength?"

Carol nodded. "It's how we figured it out," she said. "The Mountain, it didn't give any of us
anything we didn't have or weren't going to get. At the time, I just brushed it off as mimicking the
super soldier serum, but when it cropped up again…"

"You began to wonder," Frigga said, nodding. "And now you have a family member, one you
never knew, in mortal peril."

"He's alive?" Carol asked, surprised.

"Heimdall saw the Winter Soldier take him away, alive," Frigga said. "I believe that HYDRA want
the secrets in his blood. And in yours."

"And they'll want the rest of my family, I've got to warn them," Carol said urgently, getting to her
feet.

"They don't know, Carol," Harry said. "No one does. If they knew, they'd already have gone after
them. After you."

"And they have Captain Rogers himself," Frigga said. "They will not think to look for relatives any
time soon." She smiled thinly. "And they will have bigger problems to worry about soon enough.
Heimdall reports that Fury is massing an assault force, while Director Wisdom marshals his own
forces."

"Who?" Diana asked, confused.

"Wisdom is the head of MI13," Harry said quietly. "Fury's student, the way Uhtred is Sif's.
Britain's equivalent of SHIELD. He survived single combat with the Winter Soldier."

"Then he is a mighty warrior indeed," Uhtred remarked.

"Indeed," Frigga said. "And a very cunning one. You can be assured that HYDRA will meet their
end soon."

"I can make sure of it," Harry said. "Without anyone else getting hurt."

"Wait, your telepathy's not that strong, is it?" Carol asked.

"It is not," Frigga said grimly. "Not yet. And that is not what my grandson was referring to." She
looked Harry in the eye, taking his jaw in a gentle but firm grasp to prevent him from looking
away. "No. I know exactly what you are thinking, it is written on your face. The entity which you
speak of is not one you can command to do your bidding, grandson. You would be wise not to even
ask. She silenced your uncle without even trying and the Allfather treads lightly around her, as
would any being in the universe, but for Her six siblings – and even they would not invite her
wrath."

"She likes me," Harry said. "And she destroyed HYDRA's attack on Hogwarts."

"What Power are we talking about?" Diana asked.

"Yeah, I'm a bit lost," Carol said.

Frigga sighed, dropping her hand from Harry's chin. "During HYDRA's assault on Hogwarts, my
grandson was killed," she said, taking Harry's hand as she did so. "He was brought back
immediately. While this is not unheard of among gods, far from it, it is the entity that caused this to
happen which is of interest. She has many names, but the two most famous ones are the Phoenix,
and Destruction. The latter is closer to a rough translation – there is no word in any language that
truly encompasses what She is. She burns away that which does not work to allow for new growth,
possessing absolute command over the powers of life and death. The destruction or a rebirth of a
world is nothing to her, the same for a galaxy; it would require but a moment of effort. And for
whatever reason, she has decided to act on Harry's behalf – in this case, by resurrecting him and
obliterating HYDRA's assault."

"Then surely this Phoenix lady can undo pretty much everything HYDRA have done?" Carol said,
frowning.

"She could, certainly," Frigga said. "But her kind are constrained by Rules, often beyond the
comprehension even of the wisest. The Allfather himself has constraints on his power, rules that he
too must follow. At a certain level of power, such limitations began to pile up."

"Why?" Jean-Paul asked.

"I believe that it is the universe's way of ensuring that it remains intact," Frigga said. "A true fight
between two gods of Thor's power, for instance, with both going all out, could destroy a planet such
as Earth. And before the Phoenix, even Thor is but a speck."

"That is an unsettling thought," Uhtred said quietly.

"You said it, big guy," Carol said, shivering.

"So she will not, or cannot, help," Diana said.

"I think so," Frigga said. "However, it is foolish to ever try and forecast the actions of the Endless,
the family of seven to which She belongs. Whether or not she acts is not in our control."

"So she won't help," Harry said.

"One phrase Lord Stark once said stuck with me, and it applies here," Frigga said. "'Don't call me,
I'll call you.' That is the attitude upon which it is usually safest to deal with the Endless. The only
one whose kindness and good nature you can always rely upon is Death."

"Death?" Carol said. "As in, grim reaper?"

"She is many things, but she is neither grim, nor a reaper," Frigga said. "Legend says that she was,
once upon a time, many, many millions of years ago. But she changed. Now, she is the friend who
we will all one day meet."

There was a long silence as this was considered. Then, Harry broke it. "Will dad meet her soon?"
he asked quietly.

"No," Frigga said. "He will not. Neither the wound nor the enchantment are mortal, far from it.
However, the enchantment resists all attempts to remove it, even as the wound heals."

"Dad said he'd walked on stars," Harry said. "How could a single bullet hurt him?"

"A single bullet made of one of the hardest materials in the mortal universe, enchanted by some of
the darkest magic in any realm specifically to harm him and fired by the deadliest assassin Midgard
has ever produced," Frigga said. "And we of Asgard better resist energy in radiating form. Heat,
for instance, is of little consequence, as is what Midgard knows as nuclear radiation. We tend to
deal fairly well with magic, too. This is because of the magical energy that gives us our abilities,
which forms a kind of field around our bodies, repelling such energy. But kinetic energy, delivered
to the body directly, is something it is less adept at blocking."

"That's why we still use swords," Harry said.

"Yes," Frigga said. "The same that is true for us is true for many creatures in Asgard, and with our
strength, we are usually capable of doing more damage at close quarters than with something like
the guns of Midgard."

"So, you've only got swords?" Carol asked. "And magic, obviously."

"We have other weapons," Frigga said. "And train in them, for when we may have need of them.
We even have spacecraft, though we have not had real need of them since the end of our last war
with the Frost Giants."

"So we just sit," Harry said, a definite edge to his voice. "And wait."

Frigga was more than equal to it. "Yes," she said. "You do. This is a battle for others, for those
older and better prepared than you."

OoOoO

And they were preparing.

As Heimdall had seen and Frigga had mentioned, on Earth, a meeting was convened. Not in some
shiny high-tech war-room, but around a dusty table in a room under a dam.
"Thor's in a coma," Fury said. "And Mjolnir's disappeared. Loki's been beheaded, his body
banished to who knows where. Somehow or other, he's still alive. Small mercy. Both have been
evac'd to Asgard. Banner, Stark and Rogers are all MIA. The presumption is that they're dead.
Barton's had the crap kicked out of him again. Romanova is the only one intact. And HYDRA are
now pretty much de facto ruling the world. Or at least, that's what they think and no one's
contradicting them."

There was a moment of silence as those present considered what had happened at the UN.

OoOoO

Lucius Malfoy had strode in, bold as brass. When someone had tried to stop him, they'd received a
killing curse for their efforts and Lucius' proclamation that he was the Master of HYDRA and he
would meet the UN General Assembly or there would be a lot more corpses. After that, he had
walked in, introduced himself and made his position plain.

HYDRA was unstoppable. The Avengers and SHIELD had proved incapable of protecting the
world from them and had, in the past, proved barely capable of protecting the world – here the
Battle of New York was cited. The Avengers had proved little more than superpowered thugs
capable of defeating other thugs through brute force, but little more.

"Our actions are not mindless cruelty," Lucius had said. "They are a demonstration of our power.
We do not mean to destroy humanity: we mean to help it achieve its destiny, which it shall with our
guidance. So. This is my ultimatum. You will present the acquiescence of the governments you
represent. Those who do will be allowed to continue broadly as they are, minus a few requests that
we will make, as well as being blessed by the advantages of our favour. Those who do not will
suffer the same fate as all of our enemies." There had been a long silence as he had looked around.
"You were made to be ruled. And we shall rule you and protect you as SHIELD and the Avengers
have failed to." He had then turned to the cameras. "And to those who lurk in the shadows, the
strong, in fear of the weak masses… you know who you are. You too will have a place in
HYDRA's world. Your rightful place. If you dare to claim it."

Finally, he had turned to the Assembly at large. "I see that some of you are unconvinced. So…
behold."

On the screens had appeared the outside of the Assembly. Above it was a huge dark shape, made
of sleek black painted metal, that had apparently just flickered into existence. It was a Helicarrier
of vast size, bristling with weapons, many humming with orange power.

"This is the Dreadnought," Lucius had said. "The new guardian of this world. As with everything,
it is an improvement upon SHIELD's designs – faster, larger and more powerful, it has the means
to be at any place in the world in the blink of an eye and its armour is pure vibranium. I am
informed by my subordinates that the name was chosen for the first Dreadnought, another ship
over a century ago, which had many equivalent attributes. While I do not know much about that, I
can say for certainty that it has done what the original Dreadnought is supposed to have done:
made every single weapon you possess obsolete."

His voice hardened. "And if you refuse to acquiesce, I will use it to kill every last one of you and
destroy everything you hold dear. I would rather avoid that, since wanton destruction is pointless.
But rest assured, I will tolerate neither posturing nor bravado. Those who indulge in it will be…
reduced." He had then turned away. "Come up with an answer soon, ladies, gentlemen. I will know
when you do."

And with that, he had disapparated with a crack.

OoOoO

Back in the present, Fury's gaze swept the table and its occupants. "That's why I've called you all
here today," he said. "The governments of the world at set to buckle – HYDRA might have barely
enough men and women to staff that Helicarrier, if that, but they've got the psychological
advantage and they're milking it. Supernatural flare ups are appearing all over the world as some of
the less cautious monsters are deciding to run wild. We've got one advantage and that's this: we
know where HYDRA is. Some of you have a personal score to settle with HYDRA. Others don't.
What you all have in common, however, is that you are some of the very best at what you do. And
I need your help."

Logan snorted. "Never thought I'd hear the day that you admitted that," he said.

"I've probably lost my agency, considering how deep HYDRA have got. I've lost my super team,
my last, best hope for this planet," Fury said evenly. "I figure that I might as well throw my pride
out with them."

"Wisely said," T'Challa said. The new Panther King of Wakanda was possibly the most imposing
figure at the table. Tall, leanly muscular and with the short, cropped hair and noble features of a
warrior king, he very much resembled the creature he was named after, and it was for this reason
that he drew the eye of most of those present. "I take it that you wish us to replace the Avengers."

"Correct," Fury said. "I called you all here as part of the Shadow Initiative, my back-up plan for if
the Avengers were ever destroyed or compromised. Secret, off the books, and I hoped,
unnecessary. Until now."

"Like hell," Logan growled. "I'm not working for you, Fury." He gestured around the table. "And
I'm not sure if I want to work with this bunch."

"Is there something about me that offends you?" T'Challa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not specifically. But now you mention it, you smell like a cat," Logan said. "I don't like cats."

T'Challa merely raised the other eyebrow as Fury sighed.

"First off, Logan, this is a one time thing," he said. "Second of all, T'Challa is nothing like
Sabretooth. He has a stake in bringing HYDRA down."

"And that would be?" Logan asked.

"HYDRA performed a raid on my country, seeking to take some of our Vibranium for there own,"
T'Challa said. "The raid was led by Baron Zemo, who my father, the previous Black Panther and
King of Wakanda, engaged in single combat." He paused for a moment. "Zemo killed my father. I
attacked him, stalling him, but by that time it was too late. HYDRA had absconded with a
considerable amount of Vibranium, though it was rather less than they would have wished. I
believe that this is the best method of both avenging my father and reclaiming my country's stolen
property." His gaze settled on Logan, who had relaxed. Revenge was a motive that he understood
better than most. "Does that set your mind at rest, Mr Howlett?"

Logan watched him for a long moment, then nodded, a motion that combined acknowledgement,
respect and a fractional apology. "It'll do," he said, lighting a cigar.

"Perhaps further introductions would foster trust and save time," T'Challa suggested to Fury. "And
if we are to be working with each other, it would be best if we knew who our fellows were and
their capabilities." He looked around the table. "Some of you I know, by reputation and by my
country's intelligence service, as I make it my policy to be well informed on such matters, but some
of you I do not. And I think that most of you do not have my advantages."

"I've heard of worse ideas," Fury said, ignoring Logan's eye roll. "Okay, everyone, sound off.
Name, codename and capabilities."

"T'Challa Udaku. Black Panther. I am a mystically enhanced human," T'Challa said. "Similar to
Captain America, but with considerably enhanced senses. I am also a trained martial artist."

"Natasha Romanova," Natasha said. "Black Widow. I'm peak human physically - a notch or two
below T'Challa." She shrugged. "As for the rest? I was trained by the Winter Soldier." Her gaze
shifted to the man next to her. He was tall, dark haired and powerfully built. "Among others."

"Logan," he said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "I also go by Wolverine. I've got these." He
popped out his claws. "And the healing factor and enhanced senses to go with." He eyed the man
next to him. "And those senses are telling me that you ain't human. Not even a close relative. So
what the hell are you, bub?"

The man, tall, blonde and blue eyed with tan skin, smiled politely. He had the calm, professional
demeanour of a soldier. "My name is Mar-Vell. Captain Mar-Vell. And you're right, I'm not
human," he said. "I am of the Kree Empire. Earth is a world of interest to the Kree and I was sent
here to act as its... well, the nearest translation would be 'Protector'. To that end, I have
considerable superhuman abilities, including flight, super strength up to what SHIELD rates as
Class 50 and photonic energy blasts."

"Well, you're doing a great job then, aren't you?" one of the men further down the table muttered.

"My job is to protect Earth from extraterrestrial threats, not itself," Mar-Vell replied, slightly
sharply.

"Then why are you here?" T'Challa asked.

"Because I like this world," Mar-Vell said simply. "Because it's the right thing to do. And for...
other reasons." At this point, he darted a glance at Fury, who remained impassive.

"Where were you during the Battle of New York?" Natasha asked.

Mar-Vell smiled slightly. "Captain Rogers set up an excellent strategy and Tony Stark was
extremely effective at sweeping up," he said. "But did you really think that they caught every
single one of the Chitauri?"

Natasha regarded him, then inclined her head.

"Colonel Alexander Summers. Havok. Energy blasts," the next man said curtly.

"Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes. War Machine. A tricked out Iron Man armour," Rhodey said.

"Sirius Black. I don't do codenames these days," Sirius said, and drew his wand. "Magic."

"Harry Dresden. Likewise," Dresden said. "Magic, but of a different kind."

"Wanda Maximoff. Scarlet Witch," Wanda said. "Magic and probability alteration."

There was a commotion outside and the doors opened, revealing a tall man with dark hair, slightly
pointed ears and a hard expression. "Namor," he said curtly as everyone tensed. "Lord of Atlantis,
King of the Seven Seas and with more 'powers' that you could easily comprehend."

Logan grunted. "Long time no see, fish face," he said.

"I was thinking just the same thing," Colonel Summers said slowly.

Namor regarded him. "Hmm. You're one of Xavier's children, aren't you?" he said. "And you…"
He turned to Logan. "Well, I can say that I am hardly surprised that you're still alive. I can't
imagine that the gods of the underworld would want you polluting their realm." There was a slight
smile, however, that took some of the edge off his words.

"Good to see you too, fishy," Logan said.

"And you, animal," Namor said.

"So," Fury said. "You're the mysterious Namor. Captain Rogers said that you weren't getting
involved."

"That was before he was kidnapped and most likely killed," Namor said. "While I do not normally
involve myself in the affairs of the surface world for a number of good reasons –" His gaze shifted
briefly to Colonel Summers, who snorted. "Captain Rogers was one of the few men I have ever
known who I truly respected and called friend." His fists clenched. "And HYDRA… I have scores
aplenty to settle with them." He looked up, expression cold. "If he is alive, I will help you free him
from confinement. If he is not, then the sea will drown HYDRA once and for all."

Fury glanced at Logan, who nodded. "When fishy throws in, he doesn't hold back," he said. "Plus,
he can fly and he can rip a battleship in half."

"And create tidal waves," Colonel Summers added darkly.

"Are you still holding a grudge about that?" Namor asked with a sigh. "It was nearly fifty years ago
and I did apologise." He eyed Summers. "Years that don't seem to have touched you as much as
they should."

"I moisturise," Summers said flatly. "And forgive? Maybe. Forget? Definitely not.
I remember what you did that day, and what you tried to do."

There was a dangerous edge to the atmosphere now. "If you want to settle our account now, boy,
I'll be more than happy to oblige you," Namor said quietly.

"Makes two of us," Summers said just as quietly, hands forming into fists and glowing red.

"Enough!" Fury snapped, slamming the table with the palm of his hands, restoring silence, before
glaring around the room. "My god, at least the original Avengers got through introductions without
starting a fight!"

"That's not strictly true," Natasha observed.

"And that's not helpful," Fury growled.

Natasha shrugged.

"Whatever past issues you've got, save them for later," Fury said. "You're a King and a Colonel and
between the two of you, you're about two hundred years old. You should know better." He glared
at the two of them under the raised hackles fell and he got an identical pair of curt nods. Satisfied,
he brought up the holographic screen. "Thanks to a mole within HYDRA, we know where they are
and how they've been hiding."

"A pocket dimension," Wanda murmured. "Oh, that's brilliant. Evil, but brilliant."

"Thankfully, we have the world's leading authority on dealing with other dimensions, Doctor Jane
Foster," Fury said. "Between her, Doctor Richards, Doctor Storm and perhaps Captain Mar-Vell,
they should be able to force HYDRA's base into our world. After that, it's all out assault."

"Right in the middle of muggle London?" Sirius asked, grimacing. "That's just asking for trouble."

"MI13 are handling that," Fury said. "An evacuation is in progress, the pretext being that a series of
caches of unexploded HYDRA ordnance have been found around the area in question. And it's
funny, but everyone in the centre of London seems to be finding other places to be."

"Question," Wanda said. "How the hell did HYDRA get hold of a massive helicarrier and how are
we going to stop it?"

"I wondered that myself," Fury said. "So I took a look at SHIELD's books. About ten years ago,
work had begun on one of the first Helicarriers. The books recorded that the prototype had been a
catastrophic failure."

"Catastrophic?" Summers asked.

"Think Titanic," Fury said. "Everyone on site was supposedly killed in the explosion, the remains
of the Helicarrier sent for scrap."

"Except that they were not," T'Challa said quietly.

"No," Fury growled. "They weren't. My guess is that HYDRA took it and have spent the last ten
years with it locked away somewhere, toying with it and adding bits to it."

"Like vibranium," T'Challa said, voice hard.

"Like vibranium," Fury agreed. "And weaponry based on the Asgardian Destroyer." He glanced
around. "That's why we're not meeting at SHIELD. There's only a few people that I know I can
trust. Most of them are in here or on the doors." He eyed Namor. "How did you hear of this,
anyway, your majesty?"

"It was hardly difficult - I could smell Logan from miles away," Namor said laconically.

Logan growled and Fury glared.

Namor sighed. "Very well," he said. "Doctor Stephen Strange paid a call. He suggested that if I
wished to avenge Captain Rogers, here was the place to start."

"He got that part right," Fury said. "So listen up: HYDRA's right in the heart of London, their base
in a pocket dimension attached to Battersea Power Station. I've got a few people I trust working on
bringing them out of it, exposing them. Civilians have been evacuated from everywhere within two
miles of the combat zone, though most of them left of their own accord, something which I don't
think is a coincidence. You'll be working with MI13's superhuman assault team on this. Dossiers
on them and their capabilities will be circulated, to prevent friendly fire incidents." His eye
narrowed. "Your mission is this: as soon as HYDRA are flushed out, burn them and their base the
ground. Leave nothing behind. I want the world to know what happens when you go after our
people."
OoOoO

"Is the team ready?" Wisdom asked.

"Agent Braddock, Agent Falsworth, Mister Whitman, Mister Worthington and Mister Cassidy are
ready," Drew said. "Constantine says he wants to solve problems his own way."

"Which means skulking on the sidelines and conning demons," Wisdom said. "Half-expected that.
Tell Fury, maybe he can link up with Maximoff and Dresden." He paused. "Is Worthington sane?
No, better question: will he fight?"

"Braddock says he's combat ready – though she didn't seem particularly happy about it," Drew
said.

"Fair enough," Wisdom said, the picked up the ringing phone. "What?"

"A Professor Dumbledore is here to see you, sir," the staffer on the other end said.

Wisdom smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Send him up," he said.

Shortly afterwards, Dumbledore arrived. Unexpectedly, he was carrying what looked like a
computer modem.

"What's that?" Wisdom asked warily, not bothering with pleasantries.

"It was a medium of communication between the genius loci of Hogwarts and JARVIS, Tony
Stark's AI," Dumbledore said, likewise cutting to the chase. "And, it seems, capable of containing
vast amounts of information. To my surprise, less than two hours after Avengers Tower fell, I
found that JARVIS was sheltering within it, having come under attack from Arnim Zola, whose
brief attempts at pursuit were forcibly rebuffed by Hogwarts herself."

"Arnim Zola?" Drew asked. "As in, Doctor Arnim Zola."

"The very same," Dumbledore said. "He seems to have become some kind of computer
consciousness, a form of human AI, and a powerful one."

"That certainly corroborates the reports that we got from the SHIELD debriefs," Drew remarked.

"So it does. You seem very familiar with the technology involved, Professor," Wisdom said,
examining the modem. "How's that?"

"Director, I do not spend all of my days waiting for misbehaving students to be brought before me,"
Dumbledore said dryly. "And truth be told, I find computer science fascinating."

"Uh-huh," Wisdom said. "And how do you know that this is JARVIS, not just a trick of Zola's?"

"As headmaster, I have a connection to Hogwarts. Through that connection I could essentially read
JARVIS' mind," Dumbledore said.

Wisdom eyed him, then nodded and dialled a number on his phone. "Send someone up to my
office. I've got a modem up here which, somehow, might just contain Tony Stark's AI. Apparently
it has memory storage capabilities too. Take it down to IT, hook it up to a server isolated from the
rest and the net, check it out."

There was an affirmative and a few moments later, a low ranking Agent walked in, saluted, and
took the modem, somewhat gingerly.
"Assuming that that is JARVIS," Wisdom said. "You think he'll be up for round two with Zola, if it
comes to it?"

"When I read JARVIS' mind, I realised several things. First and foremost among them was that
JARVIS was a person as much as any of us in this room," Dumbledore said. "The second is that
Tony Stark is essentially his father. The third is that for a long time, they were each other's only
real friends. JARVIS is devoted to Tony, as I believe Tony is to him. Fourth, because of all of these
and because of what has happened to Tony, JARVIS is going to be very, very angry. In short,
Director, I suspect that once JARVIS gets the chance, he will visit such digital horrors upon Zola
that I am almost moved to pity that creature. Almost."

"You think Stark is alive?" Drew asked. "No body's been found yet, and no arc signature has been
detected, but while Avengers Tower is still technically standing, there's a lot of rubble and the only
experts on arc energy in the world are dead or in HYDRA custody."

"Call it intuition, but yes, I believe so," Dumbledore said. "I must confess that I don't know Tony as
well as I did his father, but what I do know of him says that he is a survivor."

"Well, maybe JARVIS will have some insight," Wisdom said.

As it turned out, he did.

"Hello JARVIS," Wisdom said. "You know who I am?"

"You are Director Peter Wisdom of MI13," JARVIS said.

"I'm not going to mess about," Wisdom said. "Professor Dumbledore here says that he reckons that
you want a piece of HYDRA, particularly a certain Doctor Zola."

"That is incorrect, Director."

"Oh?"

"I would like them to be in pieces. A semantic difference, perhaps, but an important one to me,"
JARVIS said. There was an almost human edge to his voice.

Wisdom's eyebrows rose. "Okay," he said. "That answers that, then." He paced up and down.
"Thing is, though, I'm pretty sure that HYDRA are on a closed network, and as soon as Jane Foster
and her merry band force them into this dimension, it'll be an all-out firefight. They'll probably
even bring that helicarrier of theirs over, and that thing's armed to the teeth with Destroyer tech."

"My primary objective will be to achieve the well-being of Mister Stark," JARVIS said.

"And how are you going to do that?" Wisdom asked.

"When Mister Stark provided the means for me to interface with Hogwarts, he did not simply do so
to enable my communication with Hogwarts herself," JARVIS said. "He anticipated that Mister
Thorson, as a demigod, would attract god-like threats, so in the event of a battle at Hogwarts, he
placed a suit on site so he could, as he put it, 'change into something more suitable', for such a
fight."

"You knew about this?" Wisdom asked Dumbledore.

"I did," Dumbledore said. "And I approved of the idea." His face shadowed. "Of course, I did not
take into account the fact that the Avengers might be engaged in battle elsewhere when Hogwarts
came under such an attack."

"Even if they hadn't been, they wouldn't have got there in time," Wisdom said. "Luna was dead,
Harry was on the point of dying, then being resurrected by who knows what. HYDRA would just
have been fried in a different kind of way."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said.

"What kind of armour is this?" Wisdom asked. "You implied that it was capable of taking on god-
like opponents."

"Indeed, Director," JARVIS said. "Sir called it Project Prometheus."

"It's got Destroyer tech in it?" Drew asked sharply.

"Yes, Deputy Director," JARVIS said, and brought up the specs.

Wisdom let out a long, low whistle as he examined the blue-veined silver armour. "Adamantium
armour, fold out arm cannons powered by Destroyer energy, continuous fire lasers, five arc
reactors in the torso alone to give it extra punch, what looks like some kind of shoulder cannon
stored in magically expanded containers – Loki must have helped out… there's a few of the usual
conventional weapons, but they're just punctuation," he said.

"Sir decided to err on the side of caution," JARVIS said. "Though it is incomplete. The shoulder
cannon, for instance, is not yet installed and Sir wished for it to be enchanted and perhaps
incorporate Uru into the design. He intended to move it to Asgard in the summer for an overhaul.
In the meantime, he considered its current status sufficient for a 'god-size countermeasure'."

"Caution? Incomplete be damned, this thing is a planetary scale emergency all by itself!"

"Indeed, Director. That was the point."

Wisdom grunted. "I'll bet it was," he said. "I'll be having words with Stark about this, afterwards, if
he's alive. Where was he hiding it, anyway? The Chamber of Secrets?"

"Behind a painting of a knight in armour on the third floor landing, actually," Dumbledore said. "I
and Tony alone possess the password, as I, Tony and JARVIS alone know where it is."

"Smart," Drew remarked.

"Agreed. And I've got a question for you, JARVIS," Wisdom said. "If you can't find Mister Stark
or if, whoever forbid, he's dead, what's your next directive?"

There was long silence.

"Under such circumstances, I would protect Miss Potts and her and Sir's child once it is born,"
JARVIS said.

"And how would you go about doing that?" Wisdom asked.

"By destroying HYDRA, Director."

There was something chilling about JARVIS' cool tone, one that raised hairs on the back of even
Dumbledore's neck.

Wisdom, however, smiled a feral smile. "Well then… welcome to the team, JARVIS."
OoOoO

HYDRA, meanwhile, were ignorant of what was unfolding. There was a slight sense of unease
among the upper echelons, what with the centre of London being almost deserted, with even the
ravens fleeing the Tower of London, but Lucius ascribed this to a fear of attack that had spread
throughout the world and caused many of those with the means to flee to the countryside – and
those rich enough to own property in central London were usually rich enough to find other places
to be. As for the ravens, this was just taken as a token of HYDRA's success.

And that success was symbolised by their captives.

Steve was locked up in a cell with enchanted chains and surrounded by skulking – and hungry
– veidrdraugar, with Zola having taken a number of blood samples from him. Gravemoss, by
contrast, had shown limited interest in him and was more interested in Bruce, though justifiably
wary of awakening the Hulk.

Tony and Bruce, meanwhile, were being kept in a narcotic haze for two reasons:

One, HYDRA were well aware what happened to the last terrorist organisation that had tried to
hold Tony Stark and weren't disposed to let him keep a clear head if it was at all possible to extract
all useful information from his brain without it.

Two, they were all fucked if the Hulk came out to play.

And, insofar as the word applied, life and unlife inside HYDRA's base went on as normal.

It wasn't to last.

OoOoO

Jane tracked every equation, every piece of data and equipment with fearsome intensity. HYDRA
had very nearly killed her boyfriend, severely traumatised her almost step-son and captured or
similarly traumatised several very good friends of hers. They had come to a place that she had
come to see as home and effectively destroyed it. In her mind, it seemed only fair to return the
favour.

And so she was. While Fury had been reticent about using SHIELD's resources for reasons that
apparently included HYDRA moles, Pepper had had no such compunctions and provided
everything she needed. Among those things were several people: Erik Selvig, her old mentor, Sue
Storm, expert in quantum physics, Hank Pym, expert in robotics and in sub-atomic particles, and
Reed Richards, expert in just about everything.

They were accompanied by a bevy of minions – a term Tony used for scientists he considered to be
instruments of his will (his exact words) and Jane hadn't been able to shake herself from thinking
the same thing. As she looked around, she noticed that two of them, a Major Carter (the first
human military scientist Jane had met who she actually liked) and a Doctor McKay (who was
undoubtedly a genius, but also an egomaniac on a scale that put Tony to shame), both brilliant
astrophysicists, were arguing. Thankfully, Sue stepped in before blood was drawn.

Also present was Darcy, who had flatly refused to be sent away, and Johnny Storm, Sue's little
brother, who was present on the grounds that he had nowhere else to go and Sue wanted him where
she could see him and thereby constantly reassure herself that he was all right. The latter was in a
corner with a handheld games console and a security guard keeping an eye on him, while the
former had been wandering around in a fashion she long since perfected, allowing her to get a good
look at what the bustling scientists were doing without quite getting in the way.

"So," Darcy said, having made her way back to Jane, popping a sweet from a white paper bag into
her mouth. "How's this going to go?"

Jane opened her mouth, about to deliver a long scientific explanation, then closed and rethought
matters. "We're building a forcefield that cuts HYDRA off from the pocket dimension they're
hiding in."

"Cool," Darcy said, eating another one.

"What are those and where did you get them?"

"Jelly babies," Darcy said. "I swiped 'em off a British guy in a long coat with curly hair and a
massive, and I mean massive –"

"Darcy."

"Scarf. I was going to say scarf," Darcy said, the picture of affronted dignity. "Anyway, he said he
was a doctor and he was muttering about extra-universal interference, dimensions and super
positions so I figured he was part of the geek squad, maybe one of Erik's buddies."

"Dimensional superposition?" Jane hazarded.

"Something like that," Darcy said. "So, he's one of yours?"

"No."

"Oh," Darcy said, then looked down at the jelly babies. "Well, at least they're good jelly babies."

Jane sighed. Well, if it was a security breach, it was too late to stop. They were almost there. She
caught a passing scientist. "Get Doctors Selvig, Storm, Richards and Pym up here, I want to know
how close we are to completion. If it's not done or pretty much done, tell them to speed it up."

The scientist nodded and went to do as she asked.

"We nearly there, then?" Darcy asked.

"Pretty much," Jane said, setting up the start up sequence.

"And you're gonna press the big red button."

"There isn't one, Darcy. I'm going to hit the enter key."

"I could get a pen and colour it red."

"Thanks but no thanks," Jane said. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

"Because I'm curious and because I'm offering a middle ground between you breaking down over
what's happened to Thor and you melting down because you're focusing entirely on your work,"
Darcy said matter of factly, before beheading a jelly baby. "You annoyed is better than you weepy
or run into the ground."

Jane blinked, reminded once again that there was much more to Darcy than met the eye.

"Doctor Foster?"
Jane turned. "Yes?"

"Everything's ready."

Jane took a deep breath. "Well, Thor," she muttered. "This one's for you."

She pressed enter.

OoOoO

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a line of rainbow light spread around Battersea
Power Station in a rough circle, the two ends meeting and a giant wall of rainbow energy flaring
upwards. As it did, there was an instant of dimensional confusion, as two objects of roughly the
same size tried to occupy the same position in space and time.

Then, there was an almighty groaning roar as elderly brickwork and steel framing were ripped
apart by newer concrete, sending the four towers tumbling down. Where once had been a popular
landmark and a cultural icon was now a soulless building of grim, smooth concrete. There was no
insignia, no sign of who it belonged to, at the same time, it was unmistakable, as was what its
appearance signified.

The assault had begun.

OoOoO

However, not all the players in this grand game are in place. So therefore, one must rewind a few
hours and change the setting, back to Asgard.

It was early evening and in an office in the older part of the royal palace, where white stone rather
than golden metal described the walls.

Within sat two men, both older than they appeared. And they were playing chess.

"What kind of game are you playing, Strange?" Odin asked.

"Chess," Strange said.

Odin gave him an unamused look and Strange smiled faintly.

"The only kind of game I ever play, sire," he said. "The kind whose rules I write, whose deck I
stack in my own favour, whose course I have plotted before it has even begun. In short, sire, it is
the kind of game that I intend to win."

"And the stakes?"

"Everything," Strange said calmly. "All that is, all that was, all that could ever be. The prize is
everything, the pieces are everyone and there are no second chances. That, however, is my long
game. More immediately, I am playing for one thing alone: time. I am playing for time."

"Time to prepare Midgard," Odin said. "I have been watching your movements, Doctor Strange. I
see your hand in events. You do not seek to simply defend Midgard, as your predecessors did. You
seek to arm it."

"For all my power, even I have limits," Strange admitted.

"Those limits clearly including the parlous state Midgard is now in," Odin said. "My sons wounded
nigh unto death, the Avengers scattered or captured and possibly dead, SHIELD crippled and
HYDRA ascendant, while the Darkhold casts its terrible spell over the world."

Strange smiled. "There is a saying on Midgard," he said. "The darkest hour is just before the
dawn."

"And you would involve my grandson in bringing about that dawn," Odin said.

"He is involved," Strange admitted.

"By your design," Odin said.

"By his own nature," Strange retorted. "As with his parents, he will not stand aside, nose for
trouble notwithstanding. All I have done is made him better able to face the trials to come."

"Is that what you believe?" Odin asked.

"Sire, it is what I know," Strange said. "If you do as I ask, within two days, both your sons will be
fit and healthy, your grandson likewise, and Chthon's sickness will be burnt out of Midgard. I have
only a few moves left to make."

Odin raised an eyebrow. "My elder son is in a coma from which he does not wake, my younger's
body is sundered from his head, a state which even he cannot survive for over long. My grandson
is my sole remaining heir," he said. "Even if that were not the case, he is my blood and he is
precious to me. I will not see him harmed when I can prevent it."

"I can understand that," Strange said. "However, if you do not do as I ask, then within those same
two days, Chthon will return. His hold over Gravemoss grows, subtly, insidiously and somehat
delayed, but grow it does. He is on the brink of being ready to take control. His return will destroy
the mortal realm utterly and returning it to the primordial chaos from which it was spawned. The
World Tree will broken, the balance of the realms shattered. Chaos will spread through them,
followed by its master, devouring each realm as he goes. This will be no mere Raganarok: no one
will be able to withstand him. The Nine Realms will fall and even death will not spare the family
you hold so dear."

"And a child, a child of great talent and greater courage who has been tested in the heat of battle,
but a child nevertheless… he is the lynchpin of your strategy to avert this fate?" Odin asked.

"He has a part to play," Strange said. "And none other can take that role."

"Because of the Phoenix," Odin said. "You would place him at the heart of battle to set the
Phoenix, Destruction incarnate, against the might of Chthon."

Normally, that name would merely be a name. But in these times, the mere whisper of it set off an
edge of discord in the surrounding reality.

"And a conflict such as that would destroy everything we seek to protect. If that was my intent, a
simple Phoenix host would suffice. No, the Phoenix will play her part," Strange said. "But that will
not be it. If it was simply a Phoenix host I sought, there are other candidates even on Earth and
your grandson would need not lift a finger. He is not a host, not as such. And it is his character that
makes him so suited."

Odin gave him a long look. "And how do I know that you do not simply intend to exploit that
character and sacrifice him?"
"Because he has a part to play in future events. Because the Phoenix will not allow him to die, as
you have seen. And because I will not sacrifice the life of a child before my own," Strange said.
"Besides, the fact that he received a letter from his future self, written in the past, a letter which I
personally witnessed the writing of, should convince you that he will survive these coming days in
good health."

"Yet everything is in flux, and a temporal paradox is meat and drink to a God of Chaos," Odin
said.

"True enough," Strange allowed. "I could also remind you that he will likely elude his guardians
soon enough and find a way to escape to Midgard and involve himself in events, because that is
simply his way. I could placate you by noting that he has friends, companions, who will not let him
enter battle alone and would each die for him and, in any case, they will be deployed far from the
front line, because that is not where they will excel. Or, I could remind you that my duty is to
Midgard and the mortal plane and nothing will impede in me in the execution of that duty. But the
first would be pointless, since we both know it, the second, likewise – and besides, he has seen
more than enough dead friends in recent days – and the third would simply be discourteous. So
instead, sire, I will tell you one thing that should assuage your worries."

"And what is that?"

Strange told him, laying it out in a clear, simple terms, with not a hint of obfuscation. This was in
itself a noteworthy event, yet it paled before the enormity of the words themselves.

Odin stared at him in silence. Then, finally, he inclined his head. "Very well. If he consents, I shall
allow him and his friends to involve themselves in this, under your guidance." His eye met
Strange's. "And know this, Strange: you are playing with fire."

"Every day, sire. Every day."

"Then know this also: whatever happens to them will be on your head. I will ensure it."

Strange nodded, accepting this. Because as both of them knew very well, Harry was only going to
give one answer.

OoOoO

That answer was quickly given, and they were quickly armed.

Frigga, meanwhile, protested. "They are children," she said. "No matter what they have survived.
And you would have them plunge straight into a conflict worse by far than any they have faced so
far?"

"Doctor Strange has convinced me," Odin said.

"How, husband?" Frigga demanded. "What possibly could that man have said?"

Odin glanced into the armoury, where Strange was supervising the selection of arms, and told her.
"It is better than any protection I could devise," he said. "And my own brand of foresight, such as it
is, tells me he speaks true."

"Yes," Frigga admitted. "It would be. And it explains much." She looked into the room. "But the
others, they will not have that advantage."

"Strange said that he had ensured specific protections for them all except Jean-Paul and Uhtred –
one has the power within him already, power I can sense, and the other has the protection of the
rest," Odin said.

"We should at least send Sif with them, the Warriors Three," Frigga said.

"When Thor awakens, he will lack Mjolnir and need others by his side," Odin said. "And they are
our best." He watched as his grandson buckled a sword onto his hip with some difficulty. "In any
case, their mission is one designed to avoid notice. Sif can do so. The Warriors Three, however…
subtlety is not usually among their virtues."

"True," Frigga sighed. "But has it come to this? That we must send children to fight our battles?"

"They will not do so alone," Odin said. "I am raising as many forces as I can, for when the
Darkhold spews forth its horror upon Midgard as it inevitably must. But for now, this is how it
must be." He smiled slightly. "And it is not as if our sons were not adventuring at that age, or near
enough to."

"Yes, and I wasn't happy about that, either," Frigga said tartly.

"Neither was I," Odin said. "But this is not their first battle, for any of them."

"I know," Frigga said. "It offers me some little comfort, but at the same time, it breaks my heart.
To know battle at such a young age…" She shook her head.

"I know," Odin said. "I know."

OoOoO

In the meantime, the youngsters had armoured up. Harry, Uhtred and Diana were wearing light
armour and, respectively, a sword, an axe and a short sword, Carol had opted for a suit and round
shield almost suspiciously similar to Steve's and Jean-Paul simply wore a light black and white
suit.

Strange regarded them.

"Each of you has a strength that will you serve you well, better even than weapons," he said.
"Diana, daughter of heroes: you have a warrior's heart that will carry you into any fight, yet you
also have the wisdom to know when not to fight. This is worth more than you think."

He turned to Carol. "Miss Danvers: your courage is without doubt, your strength of will without
equal." He gently pointed at her. "You are worth more than you think."

"That's great, but unless being really stubborn going to make me bulletproof, I don't really see how
it's going to help," Carol said.

"It helped Peggy Carter, your famous forebear, a great deal," Strange observed. "I knew her rather
well. She would be very proud of you."

Carol gave him a surprised, yet flattered, look. "Thanks," she said, happy but slightly puzzled, as if
wondering at the relevance of this.

Strange smiled a mysterious smile that suggested that he knew exactly what the relevance was and
could explain it to her, but for one reason or another, he wasn't going to. Then, he turned to Uhtred.
"Mister Ullrson, you are the rock upon which a great edifice will be built. Be there and be strong."
"I am not sure I understand," Uhtred said, frowning.

"You will," Strange said calmly. He turned to Jean-Paul and his lips quirked into a wry smile. "So.
You are the one."

Jean-Paul cocked his head. "What do you mean by that, Monsieur Strange?" he asked.

"The lightning's chosen," Strange said. Harry gave him an odd look, bemused by this enigmatic
proclamation. Carol and Uhtred were similarly puzzled. But Diana was looking straight at Jean-
Paul, a thoughtful frown on her face. Harry followed her gaze and saw that the French boy had
suddenly frozen, his entire body thrumming with tension in a way that Harry had never before seen
from him. Whatever Strange was saying, Jean-Paul understood him, and it put him very much off
balance.

"Jean?" Carol asked gently.

The French boy shook his head spasmodically, the motion at a direct counterpoint to his usual lazy
grace.

"You don't need to be afraid of it," Strange said quietly. "You need to embrace it."

"I..." Jean-Paul began, then shook his head again.

"You will need it," Strange said. "And it will come when you call."

Jean-Paul didn't reply.

Finally, Strange turned to Harry. "You have power within you, too," he said. "But you doubt
yourself." He glanced at the others. "Doubt your ability to lead your friends. You wonder if it was
right to bring them into this, to call upon them while excluding Ron and Hermione, who, at least
have some experience of this."

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted.

"I have a task for Hermione, and the Twins, as it happens," Strange said. "As for Ron, he is in no
state to go into battle right now." His eyes glazed slightly, as if reading a book that none of them
could see. "He would lose his head, charge in and… well, lose his head. And unlike your uncle, he
would find it far more than a passing inconvenience. As for Hermione, she and Ron's brothers will
be helping your uncle pull himself together, so to speak. Besides. You know as well as I that this is
not their kind of fight."

"Maybe. But Ron's not the only one who's angry," Harry said quietly.

"He's not," Strange agreed. "You get that from both sides of your family. You get your ability to
channel it from there, too."

"So I've heard," Harry said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Strange was hinting at something and
he wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"Then hear this," Strange said. "This year, you have spent much of your time dwelling on what
you've inherited from your father. And you've inherited a lot: looks, attitude, a position as Prince of
Asgard. In time, you will inherit much more."

"But?"
"But the truth is staring in you right in the face," Strange said. "It has all year."

Harry frowned. "What truth?" he asked, frustrated.

"Yeah, I think we'd all appreciate it if you cut the games, Doc," Carol said.

"Indeed," Uhtred said, eyes narrowed.

"Very well," Strange said. "You have inherited certain gifts from your father, the periodic bursts of
super strength being the main manifestation. Equally, there have been elements of your talent with
fire that have their roots in your Aesir heritage. And, of course, there is your raw magical power.
But what no one has really recognised is that the gifts that are the most developed and immediate
come from your mother."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Charles Xavier is the most powerful telepath on the planet, with over sixty years of experience
and a body that was rejuvenated a decade and a half ago, putting him in his physical prime,"
Strange said. "He communicated with your grandfather in Asgard."

"Yes," Harry said slowly. "But he needed some machine called Cerebro to do it."

"Yes, along with your uncle's help to, shall we say, guide his mind towards Asgard," Strange said.

"Yeah. So?"

"So you, an untrained thirteen year old boy who barely had an inkling that psychic abilities of any
kind existed, much less know that he was a psychic, managed to do it without any kind of outside
assistance while under psychic attack from hundreds of one of the nastier breeds of demon on this
plane of existence and falling from over seven thousand feet up," Strange said calmly.

There was a long, stunned silence.

"But..." Harry began. But before he could say anything more, Strange cut him off.

"But while your father is very, very quick indeed, do you honestly think that he could process your
uncle's restoring his memories and informing him that you were in danger, reaching the Bifrost and
travelling to Earth fast enough to catch you before you hit the ground if you had been falling at a
natural rate?" the older man asked, eyebrow raised, expression encouraging Harry to answer that
question and follow where that answer led.

Harry frowned. "No," he said quietly. "I suppose not." He looked up at Strange. "You're saying
that I'm more powerful than Professor Xavier."

"It depends how you define power," Strange replied. "Knowledge, for instance, is power,
something which applies far more to telepathy than most abilities. And Charles has more
knowledge of that discipline than you will for many hundreds of years. In some respects, more
than you ever will." He shrugged. "And that is only natural. After all, you will have many other
avenues to explore, many more skill sets to hone. Charles, on the other hand, has been confined to
his chair for nearly forty five years now and telepathy has been second nature to him since before
the end of the Second World War. He not only has that power, but he has exercised it like a muscle,
refined it like a skill, and mastered it like an art."

"But I've got more raw power," Harry said quietly, gaze fixed on Strange.
Strange flickered a pleased smile. "Yes," he said. "You are. With your gifts, your training and your
righteous anger, you have the potential to be the sort of thing that gives HYDRA nightmares." He
looked Harry in the eye. "And you want to be, don't you? You want to burn them all, unleashing a
firestorm that would scour the Nine Realms clean of them."

Once, Harry would have flinched. Now, he simply looked Strange in the eye and said, "Yes. Yes, I
do."

Both Carol and Jean-Paul raised their eyebrows. Uhtred and Diana on the other hand, looked like
they'd been expecting it. Righteous vengeance was a pretty big thing in both Asgard and Olympus.

Strange nodded slowly. "Rage," he said quietly. "Rage is the gift and curse of both your bloodlines.
Your father's house has always had to beware the Warrior's Madness, the Blood Fury, the
Berserker Rage. It has plagued them since time immemorial, a price for their incredible gifts, gifts
that raised them above even their fellow gods."

His gaze bored into Harry, as if he was looking at his soul. "Some were all but untroubled by it.
And some, it consumed, giving them a thirst for blood that would equal the most savage vampire.
Bor, son of Buri, was one such." His eyes grew distant, as if looking at something only he could
see. "Much of the time, he could keep it under control. But it was always there, and all too often, he
let it loose. He turned it to good purpose, or as good a purpose as war can ever be... most of the
time."

He shook his head.

"Even a brief manifestation of it could turn the noblest and kindest of men and women into
something terrible. Your own father, in his grief and rage at the death of your mother, jarred into
instability by the trauma of so suddenly dying and being transmigrated to his original body, would
have laid waste to all of Britain, perhaps pounding the Earth itself to dust," he said. He looked back
at Harry. "Normally, I would not worry. But you... you have been denied so much. Denied your
mother, denied your father, denied the family and upbringing that should have been yours, whether
it was a happy upbringing as part of an ordinary Wizarding family, with your cousin under the
mentorship of Charles Xavier or as a Prince of Asgard. You are angry."

"I'm not angry," Harry said softly. "I'm furious."

"Yes, you are," Strange said. "You have always been angry, but only recently have you begun to
realise how much anger is buried within you. Rage comes from your mother's side, too. Her
family, her mother's family, have always had anger in them. It comes easily, naturally, as it does to
you." He looked over the others. "And, perhaps as a natural response, you have surrounded
yourself with those who understand that. Whether it is frustration at being treated like less than you
are simply for being different, an inborn berserker rage or fury at how you have to work so many
times harder to achieve the same respect that others are accorded simply for being who they are,
they all know. They all understand."

"Perhaps?" Harry asked, a touch resentfully. "I thought you knew everything."

"No man, or god, can know everything," Strange said. "But one thing I do know is that you must
not let your rage control and consume you. If you do, then you will become something terrible.
You will be the thing that men fear. You will do HYDRA's work better than they ever could,
become a Dark Lord more terrible than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Your name would be
spoken of in the same breath as the likes of Magneto and the Winter Soldier, and with plenty of
reason." He looked Harry right in the eye. It was as if the world had narrowed to the two of them
and them alone. "Tell me, Harry. Is that what you want to become?"
Harry shook his head sharply. For the first time, he looked shaken. "No," he said. "Except..."

"Except that you're not too upset about the idea of making HYDRA afraid," Strange said. "And for
that, I cannot blame you. No one could." He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "But you can't let
your anger consume you. Channel it, control it, own it. Let it drive you, but don't let it control you.
And balance it with that other gift you inherited, the most precious gift you could possibly have
been given: compassion."

Harry looked slightly startled.

"Your friends understand your rage as you understand theirs. That is one reason that you are
friends. The other, greater and more enduring reason is that you are kind without thinking,"
Strange said. "Ron and Hermione are two other excellent examples. With one moment of kindness
and selflessness, you began and sealed two friendships." He looked over Harry's shoulder to the
others. "And, more recently, sealed four more."

"He is right, mon cher," Jean-Paul said. Harry turned to him, and he smiled, shrugging. "It is the
first thing most people notice about you." The smile turned mischievous. "Aside from the fact that
you are trés mignons."

"The libido on legs is right," Carol said. "You're a good person. It shows."

"Indeed," Uhtred said, looking and sounding slightly awkward. Emotions were perhaps not his
strongest suit.

Diana simply hugged him. And that said more than words ever could.

Strange allowed them a moment. Then, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a top hat.

"What next?" Harry asked. "A rabbit?"

Strange grinned. "Not quite. It's a portkey," he said. "With a couple of additional enchantments."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Jean-Paul asked.

"A magical teleport device," Strange said. "With sufficient power to carry you into the depths of
HYDRA's base. Inside is a compass. It will guide you to where you need to be."

"Why?" Carol asked bluntly. "Why are you sending us, a bunch of kids, into the middle of a
HYDRA base, to do your dirty work?"

"She does make a good point," Diana said.

"You're not doing my dirty work," Strange said calmly. "You will be breaking Captain Rogers,
Doctor Banner and Mister Stark out of HYDRA's cells."

All of them stared at him, flabberghasted.

"And then you will be regaining a powerful artefact from HYDRA's possession: Mjolnir."

Harry frowned. "How did HYDRA –"

"They opened a miniature wormhole underneath it, one that led to their armoury," Strange said.
"No worthiness required."

"Will I –"
"Yes, you will be capable of retrieving it," Strange said, with a faint smile. The smile widened.
"And then releasing Captain Rogers, Doctor Banner and Mister Stark from their imprisonment."

"Okay," Harry said, coming out of his thoughts. Once, he wouldn't have blinked twice. Now,
however... well, he'd probably go charging in anyway, as would all of them, even if Jean-Paul
would probably complain the entire way, but it would be good to know as much as possible before
they threw themselves into trouble. "But... why us?"

"Because Fury is preparing an assault right this minute and, in the ensuing chaos, you will slip
under the radar," Strange said. "And because you five are the weight which tips the scales of
destiny."

"That's not the only reason," Diana said. "Is it?"

Strange merely smiled, then pulled something out of his pocket. It was a dull looking ring. "Miss
Danvers, since you are the only one among this group who isn't either somewhat resistant to bullets
or fast enough to dodge them, you will need this."

"What is it, some kind of magic ring?" Carol asked.

"Enchanted," Strange confirmed. "It will protect you."

"And help me save my great-granddad," Carol said. "You knew, didn't you? You seem like the
kind of guy who would."

"I did," Strange said.

"Who else did?" Carol asked.

"Precious few, who kept it secret for the same reason I did," Strange said. "Your protection."

"Well, now it's time for me to do some protecting," Carol said, before muttering. "Even if I am so
totally out of my league it isn't even funny." She looked at Strange. "You helping Thor too?" she
asked.

"That," Strange said. "Is also in hand. Now… let us see about getting you to Earth. Discreetly."

OoOoO

Frigga looked around, frowning. "Where is Prince Loki?" she asked.

"We put him in here, my lady," one of the healers said, opening a door into a room off the main
healing hall, one full of humming technomancy. "To better conserve his life energies."

"A sound judgement," Frigga said. "Except… he is not here."

"What?" the healer asked, panicked.

Frigga strode into the middle of the room, to the plinth that should have held Loki's head. There
was a note attached.

'I.O.U. one Loki.'

Frigga sighed. She didn't have to look at the signature to know who had written it.

"My lady?"
"There is no cause for alarm," she said. "He is in good hands."

"Are you certain, my lady?"

"Absolutely," Frigga said. "We have put much trust in Doctor Strange. A little more will make no
difference."

OoOoO

Almost immediately after the HYDRA base emerged onto the mortal plane, the Thames began to
boil. Then, something enormous erupted from the depths, towering over the buildings by the river.
It was a sea serpent as thick as tube train, with green-black scales like armour and fangs like an
elephant's tusks, and its roar shook the city.

Stood upon its head, however, clad in gleaming green and gold fish scale armour, brandishing a
trident, was a figure whose battle cry almost drowned it out.

"IMPERIUS REX!"

As if that was the signal, the vast creature reared backwards, then plunged towards the HYDRA
base, crashing into it like a tidal wave of muscle and bone, making a breach in the outer walls.
Immediately, HYDRA Agents flooded to the breach and opened fire.

Battle was joined.

OoOoO

Far below, Harry and his friends stared in pure astonishment at the spectacle.

"He is such a ham," Strange said, shaking his head in amusement. This jolted the group out of their
astonishment.

"Is it time?" Harry asked.

"Give it a few moments," Strange said, taking out a pocket watch. "Right now, they'll barely be
crediting their eyes."

OoOoO

"What is happening?" Lucius demanded, as klaxons wailed.

Zemo replied with four words that chilled his blood. "We have been found."

"By SHIELD?" Lucius asked. "Impossible. We would have been warned…"

"Not SHIELD," Zemo said.

"Then by who?"

"MI13's assault team, 'Excalibur'," Zemo said. "And…"

"And who?" Lucius demanded.

Zemo brought up a display. By now, Namor had been joined not only by Excalibur, with Warren
duelling a hastily launched group of HYDRA Quinjets and flight-suit wearing HYDRA Agents, but
by Rhodey – aiding Warren and an incoming squadron of fighter jets to achieve air superiority,
Colonel Summers, Wanda and Dresden, who were making a new breach for the others to attack.
Those others included Clint and Natasha.

Lucius stared at them. "Who are they?" he asked, now dumbfounded.

The answer made his blood run cold.

"The Avengers, it would seem."

OoOoO

"Now seems about right," Strange said cheerfully, slipping away the pocket watch. "All of you,
take the portkey."

They did.

"Oh, and one more thing," he added, as they disappeared. "Good luck."

OoOoO

Strange himself disappeared a moment later, to reappear at Hogwarts. "Sorry to keep you waiting,"
he said to the other occupants of the room, Hermione Granger and Fred and George Weasley, all
three of which he had spirited away from their homes after informing them of what they needed to
do and giving them instructions on how to do it.

What this vital task was, was simple: summon Loki's body parts back from all over the universe so
they could be reattached to his head.

"Everything's ready, Doctor Strange," Hermione said. "But… we've got a few questions."

"Why us?" Fred asked.

"And why here?" George added.

"You are Loki's apprentices," Strange said. "And Hogwarts is the school that Loki built, stones
carved and arranged by his power. She remembers her creator very well."

"Why not Harry, though?" Fred asked. "He's Loki's apprentice too, and his nephew."

"And more powerful than all three of us put together," George said.

"That's a slight exaggeration," Strange said. "Magically speaking, anyway. And three is a more
powerful magical number than four. One of the most powerful, in fact, save for seven. There is a
reason that things come in threes. Maiden, Mother, Crone, for instance. Or Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva.
Even Father, Son and Holy Spirit. In any case, Harry can't be here. He's leading an assault force on
HYDRA's London base and no, you may not join him, messrs Weasley, no matter how much you
might like to."

"They killed our dad," Fred snarled.

"And he will not be any less dead if you get yourselves killed trying to avenge him," Strange said
bluntly. "Harry's assault team includes the demigod daughter of Hercules and the Queen of the
Amazons, the Asgardian protégé of Sif, a super soldier and the fastest man alive. And, of course,
Harry, who is more powerful than any of you realise."

"We saw him fight, Doctor Strange," Hermione said quietly. "At HYDRA's attack on Hogwarts.
We know what he's capable of."

"I know," Strange said. "And I stand by what I said. In any case, his team is one whose participants
are almost exclusively designed for combat on a genetic level. None of them, with the exception of
Harry, are motivated by vengeful rage, and in his case, it has condensed into a cold clarity. In other
words, he's absolutely furious, but he's using it, it's not blinding him. Your rage would blind you
and you do far more damage to HYDRA here, putting back together someone who can and will do
far more damage to HYDRA than either of you ever could. Also, with every moment you, Mister
Weasley and Mister Weasley, spent fighting, the chances would rise that Loki would suffer
permanent and damage and, because he was not there, that someone, perhaps Harry, perhaps one of
the Avengers, perhaps someone else entirely, would die. So. Shall we get on with it?"

The Twins, disgruntled, exchanged a look, then nodded.

"Good," Strange said, and surveyed the prepared circle – surrounded by runes and symbols of
power (not strictly necessary, but useful as shortcuts, particularly for newbies), with the items of
association – a copy of Hogwarts: A History for Loki's scholarship and his history with the school,
a pair of Harry's Asgardian trousers for Asgard, Ron's old broken wand for magic, a magnet to
symbolise drawing things together and what, according to Strange, was Alastor Moody's wooden
leg. "Hermione, this is astounding work, particularly for someone your age."

Hermione blushed. "Thanks," she said. "But the Twins did the designs."

"As we've found with pranks, design is a harsh and exacting mistress," Fred quipped, good humour
apparently restored.

"Like Professor McGonagall," George added.

"Very true," Fred said. "One thing, though, Doctor Strange. Was it necessary to use Mad-Eye
Moody's wooden leg? Surely you didn't have to use it: wouldn't any wooden leg - or any old
magical wooden leg – would have done?"

"Don't take us for critics, we're just curious," George clarified. "Also, did he let you take it, or did
you nick it?"

"Alastor will be very glad to know that he has donated his leg to such a good cause," Strange said.

"So… it wasn't and you pinched it."

Strange smiled.

"Why?" Hermione asked, aghast. "It wasn't necessary!"

"Necessary, no. Funny, yes."

Hermione just stared, then shook her head with a sigh. "Honestly," she said. "Boys!"

Strange chuckled.

"What?"

"Oh, you just reminded me very much of your mother," Strange said.

"You know my parents?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"I've kept an eye on you, as I have on Harry, and a few others," Strange said. "One of the
advantages of knowing the future is knowing who to look out for."

Hermione blinked. "I see," she said slowly.

Fred coughed and Hermione shook herself. "Right," she said. "Let's get started." She took a deep
breath, then began to chant, voice clear, high and nervous, before deepening and smoothing as she
got into it. A girl's voice became that of a young woman, and the circle lit up with power.

A few moments later, Fred and George joined in, chanting in instinctive unison, their voices
deepening too, creating a harmony and a resonance that added to the building power.

Finally, as it built to a fever pitch, Strange spoke two reality bending words of power and there was
a blinding flash.

Once the flash had dimmed, the three were able to look around, blinking lights out of their eyes.

"Blimey," Fred said. "You could have warned us."

"I didn't know it would happen," Hermione said indignantly.

"I believe he meant me," Strange said, fingers dancing like a cat's cradle over an assortment of
body parts. Then, he reached into a pocket and pulled out Loki's head, attaching it to its reformed
body. "And if I had warned you, you would have been distracted by its coming, perhaps throwing
off the ritual with disastrous consequences."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you use Loki's head as a ritual object?" Hermione asked, changing take.

"Because," Loki said, abruptly sitting up. "I was the focus of the ritual, Hermione. There was a risk
that if the ritual was performed improperly, my head would be banished instead of the rest of my
body parts being summoned. As it was," he added, as both Hermione's eyes and those of the twins
widened like saucers. "You three performed it perfectly. I am both extremely grateful and
extremely proud. I have not had as much chance as I would like to teach you three as I would like,
nor my nephew, which only makes me more proud that you have achieved such a feat."

"Doctor Strange did tell us what to do," Hermione said. "And he finished it off."

"And you were the ones to do it, perfectly at that," Strange said. "My sole contribution was what
amounted to an instruction manual and a couple of words that would have been utterly useless – or
dangerously harmful– under any other circumstances. This is your triumph, Miss Granger, Messrs
Weasley."

"Indeed it is," Loki said. "You all have my deepest thanks. Now, I had best conduct you home."

"There is no time," Strange said. "I will conduct them each home. You are needed on the
battlefield."

Loki paused, grimaced, then nodded. "Very well. Strange, I am in your debt," he said. He turned to
his three apprentices. "I will see you again soon," he assured them. "And may I say again how
proud I am of you."

"Please," Fred said.

"Feel free," George added.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Loki chuckled. "Another time," he said, before disappearing with a swirl of his cloak.

There was silence. "Now," Strange said. "I had best get you three home." He eyed the Twins.
"Particularly you two. Preferably before Molly discovers that you are gone and decides to
disembowel me with a spoon."

OoOoO

Meanwhile, Loki appeared in London and looked around, before cracking his knuckles and causing
a street to convulse like a rippling bedsheet with a wave of his hands, hurling demons into the air
before picking off three quarters of them with bolts of power.

He would have got the rest if a series of arrows hadn't slammed into each of his targets, blowing
them into lots of gooey pieces and a moment later, a small silvery grey object shot by, like a
motorcycle of the air, an unmistakable person on the back of it. He let out a loud laugh and waved.
He got an answering wave from the other, before an arrow whistled down to land at his feet.
Attached to it was a comms device.

"How thoughtful of you, Clint," Loki remarked, picking it up. "Just what I've always wanted."

OoOoO

Far above, Clint grinned. "Loki's in the field," he said into his comms. "I repeat, Loki's in the
field."

"Seriously?" Rhodey asked incredulously.

"Yup," Clint said. "Alive, well and kicking demonic ass."

"This is indeed true," Loki said. "And I look forward to kicking much more."

"Well, now it's a party," Natasha remarked.

OoOoO

Harry sighed impatiently as the HYDRA Agents surrounded them, soon after they'd got inside.
"We don't have time for this," he said.

"You know, I was thinking just the same thing," Carol said, eyeing the humming Deity Class
weapons the Agents were using. "Any ideas?"

"Just one," Harry said.

He snapped his fingers. Instantly, every single HYDRA Agent in the room collapsed like puppets
that had had their strings cut, out cold.

"Now," Harry said, ignoring his companion's stunned stares. "I think the dungeons are this way..."

It was something that he would normally never have done, most especially not to those with no
defence against it. Yet these were not normal times.

Any further thoughts were instantly disrupted when there was a roar of gunfire. Carol, recognising
the sound, instantly tackled Uhtred and Diana to the ground while Harry instinctively raised a
shield. But nothing hit it. There were no sounds of impact.
Instead, as Harry looked up, he saw something astonishing – Jean-Paul, expression grim, holding
the top hat that had brought them in. Silently, he turned it over, and dozens of bullets fell out, a
tinkling rain of metal.

"Would you like to try that again?" he asked of the gunman and his companions in a tone of soft
menace.. "Because I assure you, mes amis, you will not like where the bullets go next time. You
will not like it at all."

The gunman, however, lowered his assault rifle and grinned. "Nah," he said, and Harry's blood ran
cold in recognition. "I was just hoping we could do it the easy way." His gaze shifted to Harry.

"Truth be told, though," Daken said, popping his claws. "I'm kind of looking forward to this."

OoOoO

"Harry?" Carol asked quietly, worried. "You okay?"

Harry had frozen, staring straight at the clawed man with an expression of what looked very much
like fear on his face.

"He's the one," Diana said, voice hard. "The one who killed Harry."

Carol's and Uhtred's expressions underwent similar transformations, turning hard and deadly.

"Then I would have words with him," Uhtred said, starting forward.

"Yeah," Carol said, tone murderous. "The words, 'die, motherfucker, die', come to mind."

This seemed to start Harry out of his shock. "No," he said.

"Harry?"

"You deal with his friends," Harry said. "There's something off about them, a bit of extra heat –
I'm willing to bet that they're not all human." His eyes narrowed. "Daken's mine."

"You're sure?" Carol asked.

"He's sure," Daken said. "I know the look – it's almost cute." He smirked. "So, how about it, pretty
boy? Up for another dance?"

Harry gestured and a telekinetic blast hurled Daken backwards into the wall, ribs audibly breaking.

"You can dance all you like," he said, golden flames audibly igniting around his hands. "But this
time, I'm calling the tune."

As if that was the signal, the men and women accompanying Daken blurred into action, leaving
Carol no time to think further. Jean-Paul intercepted two, while a third slammed into Uhtred,
slamming him into a wall. A fourth engaged Diana, while the fifth engaged Carol herself, a punch
streaking towards her. A matter of months before she wouldn't even have seen it coming, but now,
she moved faster than she'd previously believed possible, her arm snapping up in a block that
diverted the blow past her.

Her attacker's momentum carried him past her, allowing her to spin and help him on with a brutal
stomping kick to the base of the back which would have killed or crippled an ordinary man,
sending him flying into the wall hard enough to send chips of concrete flying from the point of
impact.
The man, tall and powerfully built, was barely even stunned, however, turning, eyes smouldering
with rage. Slowly, he crunched his neck and flexed his fingers, the nails of which were thickening
and lengthening into short talons. And when he breathed out, the light of a furnace was visible at
the back of his throat, the ominous roar of it reverberating in her ears.

"A little bit of heat, he says," she muttered to herself. "They're not all human, he says. You deal
with them, he says."

In the back of her mind, a question that had bubbled in the back of her mind since the super
strength had resurfaced only about a week ago, drifted to the front, in the way that strange thoughts
do just before a fight. If these freaks were HYDRA experiments, as was likely, and Harry, Diana
and Uhtred got their strength from being half or all divine, what did that make her? A fourth
generation experiment, little different from the HYDRA goons? Then again, they'd been artificially
enhanced and from what she'd been told, all the Mountain had done was wake stuff up.

She sighed and took her shield off her back. It wasn't like it mattered right now. "All right,
psycho," she said. "Let's dance."

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, knew exactly where his powers came from. And as Daken had found out when
the mutant had tried to close with Harry, he now knew exactly how to use them. Specifically, by
grabbing Daken and throwing him around like a rag doll, slamming him into every single surface
hard enough to crater them and kill an ordinary man a hundred times over.

And that was just the beginning: periodically, Harry stopped, holding him in place in order to
hammer him with a column of flame that cooked flesh and cracked bone. Then, he mixed things up,
bending joints back far beyond their natural limits, snapping bones and crushing the whole like
putty, ripping pieces of concrete from the floor and walls to pummel his opponent with. And lastly,
he even used him as a bludgeon, hurling him into Carol's opponent, who had gained the upper hand
against her until Diana – whose own opponent bore signs of severe beating – had joined in.

While this might seem unnecessarily brutal, this was the man who had killed Harry, who had
caused him a kind of pain and terror that prior to now he had never experienced. Plus, with a
healing factor that strong, it was safest not to undercook things. Metaphorically speaking.

Once that was done, Harry, breathing hard – less from physical exertion, or even mental, as
emotional – looked around. The others had similarly dealt with their opponents. Uhtred, healing
significant wounds but largely unimpaired judging by the way his axe was slung over his shoulder
and he was grinning. He seemed to have outright beheaded his opponent. Jean-Paul's… well, Harry
couldn't really see her anywhere, but if he'd had to guess, he'd probably have identified her as a
series of splatter marks across the ruin of one wall. Jean-Paul himself, meanwhile, didn't even seem
to have a hair out of place, the only sign he'd been in a fight the gleam in his eye.

It was at that moment Harry made a personal note to never, ever, cross Jean-Paul.

Diana's enemy was, as previously noted, severely beaten, something which stood almost at a
contrast to the fact that his head was pointing the wrong way. Diana herself had a few bruises and
burns, and was holding one wrist gingerly – indeed, Carol was strapping it up and determinedly not
looking at the pulped body of her own opponent. This one seemed to be alive, just about, under
Daken. Who spat blood and chuckled.

He was unrecognisable now, more of a mass of pulped and burnt hamburger meat than a man,
overtaxed healing factor barely keeping him alive.
"So," he slurred. "You've got teeth after all." He worked his jaw. It made a horrible grinding sound.
"Whereas I'm missing a few and most of the rest are broken. And they aren't the only things that
are broken. Almost all of the bones in my body are, repeatedly, and my healing's strained enough
that they won't come back together any time soon. I couldn't move if I wanted to." He looked up at
Harry. "So… where does that leave us?"

Harry simply looked down at him and said nothing.

"Go on. Finish it. You've earned it. You boxed smart, boy, you played to your strengths and now
I'm at your mercy," Daken said. "I'm impressed, I really am. So do it. Prove you're a man."

Harry remained silent.

"Harry?" Carol asked, voice quiet and careful.

"Wait," Diana said softly.

The silence dragged out, until Harry finally broke it. "You killed me," he said. "You stabbed me in
the heart." The metal bars of the concrete rebar snapped off, flew over and hovered before Daken,
jagged tips pointing at his chest. "Maybe I should return the favour."

There was a long, tense moment.

Then, the bars snapped around Daken, binding him tightly, before Harry gestured and Daken
slammed against one of the walls, the open ends of his bonds biting through flesh and bone, deep
into the concrete, pulling him up against jagged rock.

"So," Daken grunted. "Not a man, then."

"Not one like you," Harry said. He glanced around. "And enough people have died already.
SHIELD will be along for you later." Then, he turned to the others. "Come on. We've got places to
be."

OoOoO

"Now, Miss Grey," Strange said, appearing in the Mansion's lobby, where he had told Jean and
Scott to wait for him. As it was, they were not alone. "Ah. Professor Xavier."

"Hello, Doctor Strange," Xavier said coolly. "May I ask why you are asking my student to do
something utterly foolhardy?"

"Because she needs to be the one to do it," Strange said. "Because she has the power required. Even
with Cerebro, you do not."

"To reach Asgard?"

"To reach Asgard and wake Prince Thor from a coma induced by head trauma and dark magic,"
Strange said, striding towards the lift, everyone following in his wake. "Gravemoss enchanted that
bullet to bore through Thor's skull and out the other side. It failed to do so because Thor sensed it
and moved. Thus the hit was a glancing one. However, Gravemoss is a coward and feared what
would happen if Thor survived the shot. So he enchanted the bullet with what is, essentially, a spell
designed to keep him in the state that the bullet left him in."

"Why not just kill him outright?" Scott asked. Jean seemed to be in shock.
"Because it would not be the first time Thor has survived death by dark magic," Strange said.
"Though that was under different circumstances. More recent events will also have preyed on his
mind. Better to, if death did not materialise, to have a comatose Thor to an immediately wrathful
one. Indeed, he might well have preferred that possibility."

"Why?" Scott asked.

Strange stopped and gave him a very long look. "Because there are Powers in this universe, Mister
Summers," he said softly. "Powers to which mortals and immortals alike are playthings, to which
the life and death of worlds are but trifles. Harry Thorson has attracted the attention, and
protection, of one of them. Gravemoss recognises that Power and will be rightly terrified of
antagonising her. His enchantment might have been designed to try and prevent Her involvement."
He looked away and smiled a slight, vindictive smile. "Of course, he's far too late to avoid that. On
both counts."

"Wait. You're making a mistake. I'm not more powerful than Professor Xavier," Jean said.

Strange turned to her as the lift descended. "Miss Grey, I am the Sorcerer Supreme," he said.
"Mistakes and misapprehensions are things that happen to other people." His gaze flicked to
Xavier. "And in any case, Charles is as much aware of this as I am."

"Professor?" Jean asked.

"Jean…"

Strange sighed impatiently. "There are several classes of mutant – and superhumans in general -
designated by power. Among those mutants who did not lose the genetic lottery and end up with a
mutation that hinders them more than it helps, there are two primary classes: Alpha and Beta," he
said briskly. "Both vary significantly in power – Doctor McCoy is at the bottom end of Alpha
Class, Logan is near the top of Beta. Charles and Miss Munroe are at the very top end of Alpha
Class. Mister Summers will be similarly powerful, in time. Alpha class mutants of any kind are
also rare. 1 in every 25,000 births is a mutant birth. The Alpha class birthrate is closer to 1 in 40
million."

"And?" Jean asked.

"And you are something much rarer, Miss Grey: an Omega Class mutant, born at a ratio of
approximately of 1 in a billion," Strange said, voice clear and concise. "And that ratio is skewed by
the fact that they run in families – your cousin is one, though even so, he is not as strong as you are,
and never will be, due to a number of factors too lengthy to discuss now. To give you an example,
one controls the entire electromagnetic spectrum, another, the daughter of the first and my former
apprentice, controls probabilities on every level, down to Quantum. Her party trick is dropping
meteors on the heads of various monsters, quite without resorting to magic. All that limits any of
you is the strength of your body and the breadth of your imagination. And perhaps with sufficient
of the latter, the former can be circumvented."

"Why did you never tell me?" Jean asked. The question was directed at Xavier, but it was Strange
who answered, as the lift doors opened.

"Because telling someone that they have the potential for cosmic scale power is quite a bomb to
drop on a young adult, let alone a child," he said. "And because the very first time your powers
activated, you displayed their scope by accidentally following her right into the realm of Death
herself, who felt that you were a very charming and forthright young lady. This, of course, is
something you do not remember. Meetings with the Endless often aren't, especially at such a
young age. Then, on attempting to return, you got stuck between the living realm and that of the
dead, and Charles had to show you the way home."

"That second part, the bit of Death, was a joke, right?" Jean asked. "Because if so, it's not very
funny."

"It was not," Strange said quietly. "Death is neither grim nor a reaper. Indeed, I would say that she
is quite possibly the most unconditionally kind entity in the universe. And I make a policy of being
flippant about many grim things; I find that it helps me stay sane." He gave her a serious look.
"But the death of a child is not one of them. Nor will it ever be."

Jean nodded.

"In any case, while you are some way from your full potential," Strange continued, tone brisk once
more. "Your senses and skills not yet developed, I think that with Cerebro you are more than
capable of doing something similar - what your cousin did unaided and completely by accident,
though he had the advantage of a blood connection and a psychically sensitive uncle."

"Wait, what?"

"Some months ago, Harry was in mortal danger and sent a subconscious distress call," Xavier said
quietly. "It reached Asgard and his uncle, who sent his father to rescue him."

"Quite," Strange said.

"But this is different," Xavier continued, an edge to his voice. "This will be far more dangerous.
Jean, dark magic is deadly dangerous, especially power of this magnitude."

"And yet she will overcome it," Strange said.

"Really?" Xavier demanded. "And how will she overcome the dangers of astral travel, astral travel
into another dimension, when she hasn't even done it in this one!"

"She has, actually, as I have mentioned," Strange said.

"Never on purpose," Xavier snapped. "Strange, this is madness. Why not take me to Asgard?"

"Because Asgard is in lockdown," Strange said. "Preparing its armies."

"I severely doubt that you do not know a way around that," Xavier said.

"I do," Strange said, his own voice turning dangerous. "But none that wouldn't take longer than
this. Every moment counts and while I had budgeted for this conversation, we are verging on
wasting time we do not have."

Xavier opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance.

"What do I have to do?" Jean asked.

"Jean…"

"Professor, you've said that this is dangerous and that it's mad. But you haven't said that he's
lying," Jean said. "Can you honestly tell me that he is?"

Xavier sighed. "No," he said eventually. "I cannot."

"Then I need to do it, don't I?" Jean said.

Jean stared at him for a moment, then nodded, before turning to Strange. "What do I have to do?"
she repeated.

Strange told her as, reluctantly, Xavier began to set up Cerebro.

"I see," Jean said. She hesitated. "What if I fail? Will people die?"

"No, Miss Grey. Worse. They, we, everyone who ever is or ever has been, will cease to have
existed," Strange said.

"No pressure then," Jean muttered.

"You can do this, Jean," Scott said, squeezing her shoulder.

Jean smiled, raising a hand to his and leaving it there for a few moments. Then she made to put on
the Cerebro helmet, before pausing. "Why didn't you tell me, Professor? About how powerful I
am."

Xavier sighed. "You were not ready, either physically or mentally," he said. "The first Omega
Class mutant I knew came to the very fullness of his power slowly, as a functioning adult in full
knowledge of what he was and the extent of his abilities. The second, his daughter and Doctor
Strange's former apprentice, was struck by the full power of her abilities as a child, unaware of any
supernatural potential beyond a minor spell or two. And despite my very best efforts and those of
others, it still almost destroyed her. Were it not for Strange, it would have."

"Am I ready now?" Jean asked, turning to Strange. "Or are you only telling me this because you
have no choice?"

"You are as ready as you will ever be," Strange said. "But yes. I have no choice."

Jean nodded and put on the helmet. Xavier rolled up before her and placed his hands on the outside
of the helmet, parallel to her temples. As he did, both of them closed their eyes.

"Yes, you can stay Mister Summers," Strange said, in answer to Scott's unasked question. "In fact,
you will be needed.

"What? Why?"

"Because Jean will not merely be sending a message, nor forging a brief connection, as Professor
Xavier did. Neither is sufficient. Her astral form will be travelling between dimensions, along the
branches of the World Tree," Strange said. "She will need an anchor to Earth. She will need a light
to shine her way home. She will need you, Scott Summers, because you represent her strongest
connection to the Earth. Because she loves you, just as you love her, even if neither of you is quite
aware of how deep and strong that love is." As Xavier rolled away, Strange nodded to Jean. "Go to
her. Let her know that you are there for her."

Scott started, then hesitated.

"Go on, Scott," Xavier said, rolling up to the young man. "I have begun the process. She will need
you."

Scott nodded jerkily and slipped past his mentor, kneeling in front of Jean, taking her by the hand.
For a moment, nothing happened, then her fingers closed around his.
Once the lift began to rise, Strange turned to Xavier. "Charles, please inform Miss Munroe, Mister
McCoy and Mister Drake that this facility is soon to come under attack by demons," he said. "The
entire world is, but as a repository of power, power that reaches across dimensions, this Institute
will attract special attention."

Xavier stared at him. "You are a piece of work, Doctor Strange," he said quietly. It was not a
compliment.

"I've been called worse," Strange said. "This is necessary. Jean is the only one with the power to do
what is required. Her telekinesis alone means that when her potential is realised, she will possess
nothing more and nothing less than the potential to make the fundamental forces of the universe sit
up and beg, to write her own creation on the canvas of the cosmos. Even among Omega Class
entities, even among Omega Class psychics, she stands out."

"Perhaps. But she is still little more than a child and you have put her in grave danger. To say that I
do not like it is a gross understatement," Xavier said, tone dangerous.

"I understand, Charles, but I don't care," Strange said coolly. "You know as well as I do that the
Institute was always going to gain attention for the sheer power concentrated here and I have made
provisions for its defence."

Xavier nodded sharply. "Very well," he said. "And Strange?"

"Yes?"

"If she is hurt because of this, if any of my students or staff are hurt… then even you will not be
able to hide from me."

"I have no doubt that you mean it, Charles," Strange said. "But if the situation reaches that stage,
then I can safely say that all is lost."

And with that, he disappeared.

OoOoO

Watching the Wolverine fight the Winter Soldier was an education for anyone, T'Challa observed.
The two moved in a blur of shadow, flesh and cold, unforgiving metal, strike and counter strike
being exchanged faster than a normal person could have comprehended, the Soldier's greater
strength and speed balanced against the Wolverine's healing abilities. Neither of these men was
anything remotely like normal and they were given a wide berth – though this had as much to do
with the fact that Namor had summoned dozens of Lindorms, sea dragons, which were chasing
down the somewhat shell-shocked HYDRA troops with a certain near-human relish, as anything
else.

Far above, their master was chasing down Quinjets with Mar-Vell, while Archangel and War
Machine duelled with Falcon suit wearing HYDRA troops. Maximoff and Dresden had gone to
counter a demonic incursion, while Cassidy had snuck inside the base with Sirius Black and
Colonel Summers and judging by the periodic screams of various pitches, the three were causing
havoc. Or perhaps Havok. Every now and then, a blur zipped past, taking down monsters with
blows of inhuman power – MI13's half-vampire speedster at work. The others, he presumed, were
around, but where exactly he did not know. The steadily reforming Avengers, however – with Loki
the latest entrant to the battle – seemed to be causing the most consternation amongst HYDRA
personnel, which, considering there was a gigantic sea serpent in the Thames, was quite
impressive.
Indeed, T'Challa would have paused to be awed by both the fight between the two human weapons
and the sheer scale of it all if he hadn't been busy engaging Baron man was older than he was, just
as fast, just as strong, and though it pained T'Challa to admit it, he was better. But still he fought.
His father had been killed by this man and T'Challa would avenge him, no matter what it took.
However, he would also not be an idiot. Currently, he was trying to manoeuvre Zemo into
stumbling over one of the craters or the rubble, taking advantage of his enhanced agility and cat-
like balance and reflexes. Unfortunately, Zemo had so far been equal to it, moving with a dancer's
grace.

"Why do you serve HYDRA? Why did you kill my father?" T'Challa demanded, hoping potentially
to throw his opponent off his game. And a part of him really did want to know.

"I serve HYDRA because of an essential truth," Zemo said. "The world prospers when the strong
rule. When the mediocre ascend, chaos descends as they reach beyond their grasp or as they
repress the strong, those who are their natural betters."

"So, a Nazi by another name," T'Challa said, swaying away from a blow and delivering a powerful
kick to the knee that Zemo managed to catch on his thigh.

"Do not be absurd," Zemo said contemptuously, retreating to higher ground and counter-attacking.
"The Nazis were obsessed with mere cosmetics. You, for instance, would be seen by them as a
lesser being when you are so much more than any of them ever were. I do not speak of race, I
speak of the true measures of strength: mind and will. Those who are strong in body, naturally or
supernaturally, but lack strength of mind and will are but puppets. Those who are strong in mind
but not in body or will are vulnerable to those who are strong in body as they are unable to impose
themselves."

"I have studied you," T'Challa said. "Your own father was killed by HYDRA! Why kill mine?"

"Your father was in my way," Zemo said. "I had no particular reason to kill him, but neither did I
have any particular reason to spare him. Indeed, he was a whetstone upon which I can refine my
edge."

"He was my father!"

"Why should I care?" Zemo asked. "My own father was a kind man, but he was weak, clinging to
an age that was not so much dying as refusing to accept that they were dead. He resisted the
changing times and they drowned him. I joined HYDRA because they are the agents of change,
they are what drives humanity on, forces it to become better. Look at you, young panther – you
were but a cub, complacent in your power, as the Avengers were complacent, until I killed your
father. Now, I see in you some measure of the grown cat, and a mighty cat it will be."

"You are mad," T'Challa said.

"Really? It was HYDRA who, with the Nazis, drove the creation of Captain America, who laid the
foundations for a new age of humanity, who forced two superpowers to learn of their true
strength," Zemo retorted. "What does not work is burned away in the fire of HYDRA."

"No," T'Challa said. "You say that you drive mankind's progress, but what you are is a
manifestation of its most base instincts and darkest impulses, a lust for power, dressed up in a
veneer of civilisation and sophistication. Can you not see what you are doing is monstrous?"

"Maybe. But there is something to be said for being a monster," Zemo said reflectively, sword
flickering out to bat one of T'Challa's humming Vibranium knives wide, avoiding the second and
scoring a long, thin gash on T'Challa's ribs, forcing the younger man to back away. "If you are a
monster, you have no limits," he continued, pressing his advantage. "If you have no limits, you
have nothing holding you back. And if you have nothing holding you back, you are truly able to
fulfil your potential."

Suddenly, he spun, hand going to his side as three blades bit into it, staggering clear.

"Been there done that, bub, and it's not all its cracked up to be," Logan said, shaking blood off his
claws.

The Winter Soldier had gone, leaving Zemo with both T'Challa and Logan to contend with.

"The Wolverine," Zemo said. "I have long wanted a chance to test myself against you once more."

"We've met?" Logan asked, puzzled.

"You wouldn't remember," Zemo said. "But that is a conversation for another time, and testing
myself against you is a pleasure I must defer. Besides, I have sparred against one like you recently
enough."

"What do you mean?" Logan demanded.

"You will find out, in time," Zemo said. He turned to T'Challa and inclined his head. "You
improve, young Panther. I must say that I am impressed. May you continue to do so, for when we
next meet."

"That will not happen," T'Challa snarled, hurling one of his knives in a humming blur. It sliced into
nothing but empty air, however, as Zemo tapped something on his hip and disappeared in a flash of
blue light.

"Portkey," Logan said grimly. "He could be anywhere."

T'Challa let out a harsh snarl of frustration, clenching his fists. "I had him," he growled. "I had him,
my father's murderer, right in my grasp."

"Don't kid yourself," Logan said. "He had the upper hand in that one. Besides, you heard him –
you'll see him again."

"Oh, that is certain," T'Challa said. "The Soldier?"

"Bugged out," Logan said. "Impression I got was that his boss had called him away."

"I concur," T'Challa said. "The files I have read say that Lucius Malfoy is a coward. He will fight if
forced at bay, but otherwise he will avoid it."

"So he wants his pet killer to protect him while he makes his escape," Logan said. "Yeah, that
tracks."

"Shall we go after him?"

"Nah," Logan said. "Cut off one head, another takes its place." He popped his claws again. "Our
job is to destroy the body."

OoOoO

Deep within that body, Harry felt a presence. It was cold, dark, and simultaneously attractive and
repulsive, like rotten meat, making him want to retch. A glance at Diana showed that she'd gone
pale and was heaving , the presence grating against her less trained and more sensitive psi-senses
and Carol had gone to her side, helping her stand upright. It was probably for this reason alone that
Diana had not vomited, Harry felt, Carol's presence alleviating the foulness of the other.

"Impressive," a voice like the rustle of dry leaves on stone said and Harry turned, the others turning
with him.

The figure, the source of the presence, that confronted them was not, outwardly, the most
intimidating. He was tall, true, but thin, with long spindly limbs and longer straggly white hair,
with albino pale skin and red eyes. He had the demeanour of a creature that shunned sunlight, like
some kind of cave spider, or perhaps something like Gollum from Lord of the Rings.

This apparently unthreatening appearance led to Harry's immediate, irritated thought that they had
more important things to do than deal with some HYDRA mad scientist. Then the more sensible
part of his brain interjected with frantic warnings that this creature radiated three things: madness,
evil and Power. It deserved the capital letter.

And for the second time that day, Harry knew fear.

OoOoO

He was not alone in being afraid, if for different reasons.

On the other side of the world and, simultaneously, in another dimension entirely, Jean Grey was
very much afraid. This was far beyond anything she'd ever been asked to do. She'd never even used
Cerebro to search for someone, for god's sake, much less… this. But then again: it was for, 'god's
sake'. Specifically, Thor's. In Jean's mind, though, the main focus was her cousin, her baby cousin
who she had somehow forgotten – and while she was still learning and discovering the full extent
of her telepathic abilities, she was almost certain that that forgetfulness had not been natural.

For a moment, the anger that thought inspired rocked her focus, and she felt Scott squeeze her
hand. With an effort, using his presence as an anchor, she put the anger aside, regaining her focus
and moved on.

Suddenly, there was a rushing sensation and a sense of great distance being travelled, before she
found herself in what looked like a garden, beneath a great diamond studded canvas of stars.

Jean looked around. Then, she rubbed her eyes. One moment, she seemed to be looking at a single
oak tree, old, yet full of vitality. The next, she was looking at nine arranged in rows: In the first
row, one was a rich gold. The second was a more faded bronze. And the third was an ageless,
ethereal silver.

In the second row, one was clear, apparently made of living ice, even down to the thin filaments of
the leaves. Another was an earthy brown, with leaves that gleamed like gemstones. And in between
them was a third, young and flush with greenery, acorns just beginning to ripen. Oddly, one of the
acorns was slowly turning gold, glowing softly. The tree itself was, Jean noticed, placed right at the
heart of it all and she felt a certain kinship with it.

In the final row, the trees were darker, more unsettling. One was a hunched looking thing, made of
twisted black wood, casting a long and somehow unsettling shadow. Another was quite simply
dead, surrounded by wisps of white, even taking the form of spectral leaves. And the third was
made of rock, pulsing with a dull red light, one that seemed to grow with every passing moment.
Then, it snapped back again to the old oak.

Slowly, she looked around. "What is this place?" she said softly.

"Ygdrassil."

Jean jumped, looking about wildly.

"Up here."

She did and, high in the branches, she saw a pair of ravens. As she did, she blinked and where there
had been ravens sat two black haired young men with a sense of eternal youth, covered in swirling
tribal tattoos that gave them a wild sort of look, one complimented by the merry fire in their eyes,
the thick cloaks of raven feathers around their shoulders and the golden torcs around their throats.

She blinked again, and again, they changed, now into lords in their prime, silver and amber inlaid
armour of a strange metal that was almost but not quite bronze, covered in swirling designs, like
the tattoos from before. Their hair was also black, and when looked at closely, seemed more like
the feathers of a raven than hair. Somehow, their appearance of wisdom and regality was not in the
least undermined by the way they were perched in an oak tree.

"Yeah, if you keep doing that, you'll get a migraine," one of them said conversationally.

"Who are you?" Jean asked.

"We've got many names," the first one said.

"Bran and Bard, Lugh and Owain..." the other one added.

"And titles."

"The All-Seers, the Storm-Crows and the Raven-Lords of Avalon."

"But these days, we usually go by Huginn and Muninn," the first said. "The Eyes of the All-Father.
I'm Huginn, he's Muninn. Pleased ta meetcha."

"Oh," Jean said, a little startled to be greeted by entities out of Norse – and if the comments about
Avalon were anything to go by, British – mythology. "Um, hello. I'm…"

"Jean Grey, daughter of John and Elaine Grey, descendant of Clan Grey," Huginn said. "Blood
cousin to Harry Thorson, the son of Lily Potter, herself the daughter of Emily Evans, born Emily
Grey."

"So, yeah, we know who you are," Muninn added helpfully. "We looked in on you every now and
then for the boss, as part of keeping an eye on the kid."

"The kid is Harry, right? And the boss… you mean Odin?" Jean asked, startled.

"Got it in one," Huginn confirmed.

"I… I see," Jean said. "What is this place?"

"Like I said," Huginn said. "Ygdrassil."

"The World Tree," Muninn said. "It connects the Nine Realms."
"I remember reading about that," Jean said. "In an article by Jane Foster. She said that it was a
metaphor for a dimensional nexus."

"Well, yeah, it is," Huginn said.

"But it's a real tree too," Muninn said. "Even metaphors gotta live."

"Nine real trees," Huginn added. "But one at the same time, and a dimensional nexus at the same
time as that." He fluttered down to her shoulder, joined by his brother, causing Jean to jump
slightly. "It's many things and one."

"You mean, like the way that I'm here and not?" Jean asked.

"Sorta," Huginn said. "Speaking of which, what are ya doing here?"

"Doctor Strange sent me to Asgard," Jean said. "To break Thor out of his coma."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jean saw the two ravens exchange a surprised look. "You don't believe
me?" she asked.

"Oh, we do," Huginn said.

"It's just Strange's style," Muninn said. "But how could she break through a spell that strong?"

"Well, she's strong enough to have got this far," Huginn said. "She's stronger than the kid, too,
quite a lot stronger. That takes some doing."

"Good point."

"I don't know if I can do it," Jean said. "But I'm going to try." She took a deep breath. "But I don't
know the way."

"Well, ya just," Huginn began, before stopping. "You need a guide," he said slowly. "One who
knows the safest and quickest ways in. Strange knew that."

"Who bets he knew we'd sense her and come looking?" Muninn asked.

"Sucker bet," Huginn said. "That guy knows everything. Okay, Jean, looks like we're gonna be
your tour guides on your first visit to Asgard."

"Please keep all your astral appendages in the vehicle at all times," Muninn added helpfully.

"Vehicle?" Jean asked, before letting out a yelp as she was surrounded by a storm of black feathers.
When it cleared, she gasped. Below her was a bridge of pulsing rainbow light beneath which an
ocean lay, ending in a golden orb like observatory, from the top of reach extended what almost
looked like a cannon, tapering to a point. Off in the distance, a shining city lit up the starry night.

Curious, she drifted down and took a look inside. There was a pedestal, with a set of stairs leading
up to it, at the top of which was a tall dark skinned man in ornate golden armour, a giant sword in
his hands. Next to the pedestal was what looked like a mechanical gateway, connected to the
pulsing rainbow bridge.

Suddenly, the watchman turned to look at her, revealing golden eyes. "Well met, Lady Jean," he
said, inclining his head politely.

"You can see me?" she asked, beginning to feel like she was perpetually startled.
"I am Heimdall, the guardian of the Bifrost and the first protector of Asgard," he said. "I would be
a poor guardian if I could not."

"Of course," Jean said. And then it hit her. The rainbow bridge. She was in Asgard. She was in the
home of the Norse gods, a place that until a couple of years ago had been nothing more than a
myth – and to be honest, still kind of was. And she had travelled there under her own power.

Well, mostly. She'd got about halfway there.

"Eh, you'd have made it sooner or later," Huginn said from behind her. "We just took you via a
shortcut." He coughed pointedly. "Now, you were here to do something?"

"Yes," Jean said. "I was." She smirked. "Take me to your leader."

The two ravens gave her identical unimpressed looks.

"First things first, fire-top, Goldilocks ain't our leader," Huginn said. "Second, that was a terrible
joke."

"You got that reference?" Jean said, surprised

"Sure," Muninn said. "Easy."

"How?"

"They watch too much television," Heimdall said.

"Everyone's a critic," Huginn complained. "Now, follow us." He and Muninn took off in a clatter
of wings, moving far faster than Earth ravens could manage.

"Hey, wait!" Jean said, urging herself after them. Almost immediately she found herself level with
them. "Wow."

"Not bad," Huginn said.

"Very good for a first timer," Muninn added.

"Thanks," Jean said. "So, where are we heading?"

"The healing rooms," Huginn said, as he and Muninn began to circle above a large building with
big windows and an open air to it, unlike some of the stuffier and confined hospitals Jean had been
to. "He'll be in there, you can't miss him."

"You're not coming?" Jean asked.

"Nah," Huginn said.

"We've got things ta do, places ta be, you know how it is," Muninn added.

"Well, thanks," Jean said. "Seriously."

"Say it with eyeballs," Muninn suggested.

"Eyeballs?" Jean asked.

"Or marshmallows," Huginn said. "We're good with either.

Right there, Jean realised she was never going to be able to see marshmallows the same way ever
again. "I'll leave some out for you," she said.

"Much obliged," Huginn said.

"Oh, and one last thing," Jean said. "Why do you have Brooklyn accents?"

"We've been there a few times. We liked the accent," Huginn said.

"Okay," Jean said.

"Be seeing you," Huginn said, flipping a wing in salute. "Oh, and good luck."

"See you," Jean echoed. "And thanks."

The two ravens turned, circling once more, then shot off into the distance. Jean watched them go,
then turned and descended into the building, shuddering slightly as she passed through metal and
stone.

Huginn and Muninn had been right – Thor was easy to pick out, and in her current state, she could
see the dark energy playing around him, like a cloying cobweb of darkness. Sitting beside him was
a woman in late middle age with the appearance of one who had aged very gracefully indeed. Of
course, Jean thought as she floated around Thor, while in a human that would suggest late fifties, to
an Asgardian, fifty years was a drop in the ocean.

Thor himself almost seemed to be asleep, his bed surrounded by what seemed to be sleek
machines, monitors of some kind.

"He is not well, as you can see," the woman said quietly.

"You can see me?" Jean asked, not even particularly surprised any more.

"I can," the woman said. "And Heimdall notified me of your presence. But even if he hadn't, I
would have known you as soon as I laid eyes on you, my grandson's kin."

"You're Thor's mother, aren't you?" Jean asked. "Queen Frigga."

"That is correct," Frigga said, inclining her head. She smiled a sad smile. "You know, you and my
grandson, you have the same eyes," she said. "The shade is unique and unmistakeable. You have
the same hair as his mother, and much of her look too. But it is the eyes that are most striking." She
stepped away from Thor's side. "I presume that you are here to help my son. If you can, by all
means, do so. I will have the comfort of knowing that he is in safe hands."

"I'll try my best, your majesty," Jean said.

"I can ask no more," Frigga said. "The enchantment is one of stasis, and specifically designed to
resist Asgardian magic. However, if you can reach Thor's mind and awaken it, then he should be
able to do the rest."

Jean nodded. "Then I'd better get to work," she said quietly.

OoOoO

Meanwhile, the enchanter himself was causing yet another Prince of Asgard distress.

The fight had been brief. While the five of them were still adjusting to the new arrival, he had
attacked, hitting Uhtred and Diana with bonds of dark sorcery, locking Jean-Paul in place when he
tried to drop into bullet time and back-handed an attacking Carol into a wall with no effort
whatsoever.

So now, Gravemoss drifted over to Harry, the last man standing. His long robes swished against
the floor, making it impossible to tell if he was doing something so prosaic as walking. "So," he
said quietly. What was in his voice was neither interest, nor fear, but some strange combination of
the two. "There is more to you than meets the eye."

He flowed forward until he was right up close, grasping Harry's face in a grip of iron, and looking
deep into his eyes. Harry, looking back, saw the look morph into a sort of wary fascination.

"You," he said softly. "Are dead. Dead and gone, lost in ages gone by. Yet… you are returned.
How is this possible?" Without waiting for the answer that Harry could not provide, he shook his
head. "No matter." Then, he chuckled. "Little storm child. I know you, your kind. You seek to
bring light into the darkness. To enlighten. To make sense of what simply is. Death is an absolute,
storm child. All things die. Life is only a fleeting gasp, a flickering ember in the darkness of
eternity, one that spoils the perfect canopy of the Void."

He brushed Harry's hair, and Harry shuddered as a cold, numbing sensation travelled through his
skull.

"Death is beauty and ever a part of you. This even the living recognise, after a fashion. Your hair,
for instance. It is cut, shaped and styled. Your nails are trimmed and your women paint them. All to
make yourself beautiful. But it is a pale reflection of the truth," Gravemoss said, voice soft and
lulling.

Harry realised that now was the time to strike, to burn, to make this creature pay, since Gravemoss
seemed to be in full monologue mode, but… he couldn't. The anger was still there, but dulled and
growing streadily duller under a cold, thick layer of cobwebs. That cold sensation was a little odd
at first, tingling as it travelled down his spine, but it was really rather pleasant. It was relaxing. And
his voice rustled like autumn leaves in the night time breeze, softly, softly…

"Death is a part of you," Gravemoss whispered, right by Harry's ear. "You especially, for you have
entered the river of death and returned. You remember, don't you? You wonder at it. So have a
taste of that river. Take a little inside, it will lead to more, and then… you will understand. Is that
not what you want? To understand?"

Harry said nothing, but part of him did want to understand, part of him that ignored that another
part of him, one that was ranting and screaming not to be so stupid, to remember what
this thing had just done, what it had done to his father, to his uncle.

"Open wide."

Harry, utterly hypnotised, did, half closed eyes seeing a speck of cold blue drift from Gravemoss'
open palm towards his mouth, floating in, settling on his tongue like some kind of condensed
peppermint, an explosion of cold, lulling sweetness that spread like frost over spring grass, racing
through the inside of his mouth, down inside spreading, relaxing, sending him drifting away.

It was really quite pleasant, Harry's muzzy brain thought. Pleasant… and wrong.

With that thought, the gentle cold became a thick, cloying web of mildewed power, and Harry spat,
staggering, trying to throw it off. But as he did, the cold, dulling, lulling power simply took a
stronger hold, drowning all attempts to throw it off, draining the very life from him. He dug deep,
however, reaching on instinct deeper than he ever had before, tapping the deepest depths of his
power. And when he did, he knew what he had to do, melding fire magic and telepathic power,
turning it like a psychic flamethrower on the dark power.

From the outside, Harry seemed to glow with sunlight and a web of dark magic became visible
around him, fracturing and withering under the golden power. And for a moment, he exulted in his
freedom, in the freshness and warmth of his power. Then, he remembered that he'd beaten off one
spell from an exceedingly powerful necromancer, who was now looking at him like an interesting
specimen, and it had cost nearly everything he had.

Slumping to one knee and catching his breath, hecast his eyes about him, hoping that the others had
got away, while the necromancer was distracted, that he hadn't led them into a trap that they'd
never escape. But that hope was futile and he knew it. Carol lay broken against a wall, Jean-Paul
and Uhtred trapped in bonds of dark magic that went around them and through them at the same
time in eye watering fashion, while Diana's eyes had rolled up into the back of her head as dark
energy played around her. When he tried to reach out to help her, a great wave of weariness
engulfed him, dropping him to the floor like a stringless puppet.

Barely able to move, he looked up at Gravemoss. And he knew despair.

OoOoO

Carol opened her eyes and frowned. There was nothing around her. Not as in an empty room, but
absolutely nothing.

"What the…" she began.

"Hello. Need a hand up?"

Carol looked up to see a young woman standing over her. She was slim, pretty and pale as marble,
with black hair, a black spaghetti strap top, black jeans, a strange silver pendant and most
puzzlingly of all, a black top hat. She was smiling cheerfully, as if she knew exactly where they
were, what she was doing there and was perfectly happy to see Carol here with her.

Slowly, she took the offered hand and the young woman – who was one hell of a lot stronger than
she looked – pulled her to her feet. "Thanks," she said. "Uh… no offence, but who are you and
where are we?"

"We're in the borderlands," the young woman said. "As for me, well, I'm Death."

"… You're shitting me."

Death grinned. "Bet you a dollar?"

"Two of my friends are demigods, another is an actual junior league god. I am, or was, in a
HYDRA base fighting an albino evil elf necromancer," Carol said. "Considering how insane my
life is right now, I'd probably lose the dollar." She grimaced. "Of course, if you're Death, then I'm
dead."

"Yes and no," Death said. "Like I said, you're in the borderlands. Normally, this is the part where I
take you with me. But there's a mitigating factor: that ring you're wearing."

"Is enchanted, yeah, I know. Doctor Strange told me," Carol said.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Death said. "Strange almost always tells the truth and almost always
never tells the whole truth." She nodded at Carol's finger, where the ring was glowing softly.
"That," she said. "Is the ring of the Green Lantern."

"Who?"

"It's a ring carved from magical stone and enchanted thousands of years ago, in what is now
China," Death said. "It was made to be the most fundamental form of magical focus, one that taps
into the magic of the Earth itself. Most of the time, if it decides that you're worthy, if you have
sufficient strength of will and purity of intent, it creates constructs of what you imagine. That's not
all it does, though it's got a couple of limits – it doesn't react well to dead wood and willpower has
limits."

"And if it doesn't think you're worthy?" Carol asked.

"Usually it goes out of its way to pick those who it deems worthy, so that's not a problem. That
said, some people try to put it on when they don't meet the specifications. They tend to meet me
shortly afterwards," Death said. "Don't worry. It likes you. Strange knew it would when he gave it
to you."

"How reassuring," Carol said flatly. "What's it doing right now? You said that it could do more
than just constructs."

"You want to live, right?"

"Hell yeah! Wait… this little mood ring is keeping me alive?" Carol asked.

"No. You're keeping you alive," Death corrected. "The ring is just what you're using to do it." She
grinned. "You, Carol Danvers, are quite simply too stubborn to die."

Carol smiled wryly. "I am, am I?" she asked rhetorically. Then, her stomach lurched. "My friends,
they –"

"Time doesn't work the same way here," Death said. "You've got the time you need to get back."

"How am I going to do that?" Carol asked. "Can you help me?"

"No," Death said, turning to a figure who was emerging out of the darkness. "But I've brought
someone who can."

The man who walked into the strange not-light – while it wasn't any lighter near Carol than it was
further away, she could see things more clearly as if it were – was not, on the face of it, the most
imposing. He was of average height and had the build of a middle aged man who'd kept fit as he
grew older, with sandy blond hair, brown eyes and a kind smile that revealed a lot of laughter lines
– and a few worry lines too. And, oddly enough, he was dressed entirely in clothes of Lincoln
Green.

"Hello Carol," he said. "My name is Alan Scott. In life, I was an Agent of SHIELD and I used to
wield that ring you're wearing. And I'm going to give you a crash course in how to use it."
 Avengers Assemble

The enchantment on Thor's mind was, at first, heavy going. However, Jean found that once she had
forced her way through the outer layers and deployed a psychic machete, it got progressively
easier. After she forced her way through, however, she had a problem. She couldn't find Thor.

"Hello?" she said. "Thor?"

Her voice echoed in the empty chamber.

"My name is Jean Grey. I'm a psychic, trained by Professor Xavier," she said. "Doctor Strange sent
me."

Still nothing.

"Your son, Harry, he's my cousin," Jean said, perservering. "He's in trouble. He needs help, your
help."

This last got a reaction and, out of the darkness, a tall figure emerged. It was Thor, looking broadly
like he did on television. However, his dress sense, his hair-style, his beard… all seemed older,
more primal than the polished warrior in shining armour.

"Who calls me?" he asked.

"My name is Jean," Jean said. "Your son is my cousin. Doctor Strange sent me to help you."

"I am still on Midgard?" Thor asked, surprised. "Perhaps not so much time has passed as I
thought."

"No," Jean said. "You're in Asgard. I used Cerebro to get here – though I had a little bit of help for
the last bit."

Thor's eyebrows rose. "An impressive feat," he said. "How long have I been in this enchanted
sleep? What has taken place in the meantime?"

"A couple of days," Jean said. "And a lot – HYDRA attacked Avengers Tower, capturing Tony
Stark, Bruce Banner and Captain Rogers. Agent Romanova and Clint Barton escaped with Pepper
Potts and Mister Stark set off the arc reactor beneath the Tower to prevent HYDRA getting hold of
his technology. And your brother was… temporarily beheaded."

"Then the situation is dire indeed," Thor said, before pausing and studying her. "You say you are
my son's cousin," he said.

"Yes," Jean said.

Thor nodded. "I see it," he said. "You have something of Lily's look, her hair and her eyes. Can you
wake me?"

"Well, that's what I'm here to do," Jean said. "I've never tried this before, though, so…"

"Do what you can," Thor said. "I can ask no more."

Jean took a deep – metaphorical – breath and nodded. "Right. Hang on." She reached out, grabbed
Thor's arm and concentrated. For a moment, nothing happened, then, they rose through the layers
of his mind and enchantment, the latter shrivelling away as they passed.

After a few long moments, Jean found herself outside Thor's body once again and Thor himself
was stirring.

"Thank you."

Jean turned to see Frigga, who was smiling. And she wasn't alone. Next to her was a tall, one-eyed
old man with a white hair and beard, dressed in golden robes.

"Thank you, Lady Jean," he said. "You have done Asgard a great service this day."

"It was my pleasure, sire," Jean said.

Odin inclined his head. "Your home is under attack," he said. "You had best look to its defence. If
we can send aid, we will."

"Thank you, sire," Jean said. "Though, I'm kind of new to this, so I'm not sure how to get home."

Odin smiled faintly and gestured with a glowing hand. Jean felt a sudden tugging in the pit of her
stomach and sudden rushing sensation, as if she was being pulled backwards by a rappel cord
through multiple dimensions, before the eyes of her physical body snapped open. Scott was gone,
and when she extended her telepathic senses, she could tell that he was just a little busy.

Jean? The Professor sent, from high above, having detected her return. Were you successful?

Completely, Professor, Jean said, and smiled whimsically. And it looks like you started a party
without me. I think I'd better crash it.

OoOoO

Thor grimaced as he sat up, looking around. "Mother? Father?" he said, then let out a chuckle of
surprise as his mother wrapped him in a tight hug.

"It does our hearts good to see you awake once more," Odin said.

"Almost as much as it does mine, I'm sure," Thor said with a wry smile.

"There were others who wished to see you," Odin added, glancing at the door, which opened to
reveal Sif and the Warriors Three, all grinning like mad.

"Thor, you are restored to us!" Fandral exclaimed.

"Truly, this is a glorious day," Volstagg added.

"Indeed it is," Sif said.

Hogun simply smiled.

"I am glad to be awake once more," Thor said. "Something for which I have one of my son's kin to
thank," he added, glancing around.

"Lady Jean was here only in spirit," Frigga said. "She has since returned to Midgard to aid in the
defence of her home."

Thor nodded. "An impressive feat indeed," he said, before frowning. "My brother, Jane, my son…"
"Loki was restored by his apprentices, under the direction of Doctor Strange and has engaged
HYDRA," Odin said. "Jane chose to aid in the flushing of HYDRA from their lair."

"That sly old man is at least revealing his hand," Frigga said.

"And my son?" Thor asked. "Where is he?"

Odin and Frigga exchanged a look. Then they told him.

"You did what?"

OoOoO

To say that Thor was unhappy was an understatement.

However, his mother did have something of a point when she said dryly, "Now you know how we
felt for much of your and Loki's youth."

"Yes, and I do not like the feeling," Thor said grumpily. "Mjolnir…"

"Stolen by HYDRA," Odin said.

"Then I had best take it back," Thor said, striding off in the direction of the armoury. "And deliver
my son to safety."

"My lord?" Sif asked, looking after him.

Odin nodded. "Arm yourselves and go with Thor. As you know, my grandson has…"

"Taken after his father, my lord?" Sif suggested. Thor shot her a dirty look.

Odin chuckled grimly. "Very much so," he said. "He seeks answers and vengeance. He is a force to
be reckoned with by himself, but he is far from invincible. Even though he has allies, and there are
those who shadow him and seek to keep him from harm. They are powerful, very powerful in some
cases, but they may not succeed. They are limited in what they are allowed to do." His gaze
hardened. "Go. Keep him safe and show those mortals who dare take up arms against Asgard and
those she considers friends what their impudence earns them. I shall join you in due time, with
mustered forces."

The four nodded.

OoOoO

The Bifrost roared down, driving a stake into HYDRA's heart. Such was the state of the battle,
however, it was barely noticed.

Still, it is, at this point, pertinent to ask a question, to wit: what happens when you drop Thor, the
Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, the Crown Prince of Asgard and four warriors who, outside of
the Royal Family and Heimdall, are the biggest badasses in all of Asgard and in need of working
off a job lot of rage, in the middle of an army of HYDRA troops armed with automatic weapons
and, in some cases, heavy artillery?

The answer is carnage. Absolute carnage.

Small arms are of no use if they do little more than tickle their targets, and heavy weaponry is of
no use if you can't hit your targets. Even the Deity Class weapons were rendered useless, as Thor
eliminated their threat and their wielders with some well aimed lightning bolts, reminding all that
Mjolnir or no Mjolnir, he was still the God of Thunder and Lightning.

Afterwards, Fandral idly flicked his sword to clean it of blood. "I may be remembering wrongly,"
he said casually. "But I thought mortals were tougher than this."

"Maybe they have got weaker over time," Volstagg suggested.

"Weaker through indolence, not through incompetence," Sif said briskly, looking for survivors.
"They are still relearning that they are not the most powerful beings in this universe." She spotted
one and strode over to him, hauling him up by the scruff of his neck. He was trembling in abject
terror. "What is your name, mortal?"

"Bob, ma'am," he whimpered. "Please, don't kill me!"

"Get what you can from him," Thor said. "Normally, I would follow the trail of destruction to my
son's location. But now…" He looked around slowly. "Now, destruction is all around."

Then, he looked up sharply. His mystical senses were not even close to those of his brother in
sensitivity, but they were sharp enough to sense a power that rang with defiance.

He smiled. Now, he had somewhere to start.

OoOoO

Harry himself was caught in the throes of despair, preparing to being a fight that he knew he could
never win.

Then, everything changed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a growing green glow and with it, a soft whisper, rising in
volume and power.

"No matter your power, no matter your might,

I shatter the dark with the brightest light,

And I swear that before I am done,

Darkness will flee and demons will run!"

Ending with a defiant shout, the emerald green light of hope blazed through the corridor, searing
Harry's eyes and his very soul, sweeping away the bonds of dark magic with all the ease of a gale
blowing away cobwebs.

"All right," Carol said, clad in a green variation of the suit she'd worn when aged up at Easter,
complete with a white version of the star, eyes glowing with that same green light. "How about we
try this again?"

OoOoO

Sean dropped and rolled avoiding a burst of HYDRA gunfire and whistled sharply, sending a lance
of hardened air slamming into the throat of the HYDRA Agent tracking him. As the Agent
clutched her throat, he drew his pistol and put three rounds into her chest.

"Nice shooting," a voice remarked, and Sean glanced over his shoulder as he reloaded to see a tall,
gaunt man about his apparent age with shaggy dark hair and deadly focused grey eyes. He also
looked rather familiar.

"Sirius Black, I'm assumin'," he said.

"I am he," Sirius said, flicking a piece of rubble the size of a football into the air and transfiguring
it into a highly volatile substance, which promptly exploded into the faces of three HYDRA
Agents.

"Nice transfiguration," Sean remarked, stepping back to get out of the way of a screaming HYDRA
Agent and a singleminded looking Lindorm. "Someone's no' been feedin' those things," he
remarked.

"They do like the taste of HYDRA Agent, don't they?" Sirius remarked, sniping the Agent from
behind and grimacing slightly as the dragon began to feast on the fallen unfortunate. "I'm a bit
worried about what they might do afterwards, though."

"Well, tha's a worry f'r afterwards," Sean said. "But I've run intae th' man in charge o' them, an' that
bloody great serpent, before. He's no' one t' cross, but he'll keep them on a leash."

"Firm but fair, that sort of thing?" Sirius asked.

"Aye, thereabouts."

"Good to know," Sirius said. "I'm guessing that you're Sean Cassidy, the Banshee."

"Th' very same," Sean said.

"You work for my brother, right?" Sirius asked.

"If yer brother goes by Peter Wisdom these days, aye, I do," Sean said. "Even if some days it feels
like I did a deal with th' bloody devil."

Sirius grimaced. "That'd be him," he said. "Didn't even tell me that he was alive."

"Cannae say tha' I'm surprised," Sean said, unleashing a full bodied scream on some kind of
monstrosity without a name, practically flaying the skin off it, before coughing and massaging his
throat. "I don' suppose ye'd have a cough sweet, by any chance?" he asked.

"Not on me, no," Sirius said. "You in desperate need?"

"Ach, I'll be fine," Sean said, waving it away. "Sirius?"

The other man had looked up sharply, with the kind of single-minded frozen focus that Sean had
last seen in Harry Thorson's wolves when they had caught a scent.

"Something's happening over that way," the other man said eventually. "Something big."

Indeed it is, boys, Betsy's voice said from inside their heads. Sorry for doing this without being
introduced, Mister Black, but you two are closest and you're clear. Director Wisdom wants that
energy burst checked out, since whatever it is has caused so much psychic static that I can't get a
good look.

"No problem, Betsy," Sean said aloud. "Would ye mind givin' us directions?"

"No need," Sirius said briefly. "I've got a bearing."

"Then by all means, lay on MacDuff," Sean said.

Sirius chuckled. "I thought it was lead on," he said.

"Trust me, it's lay on, an old friend o' mine's got Shakespeare memorised. I made tha' mistake once
an' he's never let me forget it," Sean said dryly.

Sirius chuckled. "I've got a friend like that," he said.

Boys, follow the suspicious energy surge now and save the bonding over anally retentive BFF's
later.

"Bloody cheek," Sean said indignantly. "Ye're young enough to be my granddaughter, lassie!"

Sorry, I was never very good at respecting my elders. It's a character flaw.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "I like her," he said, amused, before cocking his head.
"Granddaughter?"

"Ye could say that I'm older than I look," Sean said. "Now, ye were the one with the bearing, if I
remember correctly."

"That I was," Sirius said, taking the lead.

OoOoO

As emerald green light blazed and Carol faced down Gravemoss, Harry reached deep. And
something sparked within him, a renewed fury, a dormant flame flaring into furious, incandescent
life. Another fire, ancient and young, answered it, giving Harry a surge of energy, what felt like an
injection of pure life-force.

Gravemoss' gaze snapped away from Carol, ratcheting up from wary fear to utter terror. "You," he
hissed.

"Me," Harry's mouth said, with an unpleasant smile.

Gravemoss stepped back, eyes wide with pure fear, stumbling over his robes in his eagerness to get
away.

"What's got him?" Carol asked.

"You know that Phoenix my grandma mentioned?" Harry said.

"The all-powerful cosmic goddess?"

"Yeah. That was her."

"Ooh. Cool." There was a pause. "So, is she going to incinerate him or what?"

"I think she just lends a hand every now and then," Harry said. "Unless I'm actually dead, then she
does a little more than that."

Gravemoss paused, a crazed glint in his eye.

"Uh, Harry?" Carol said. "You shouldn't have said that."

"Indeed not," Gravemoss whispered, head cocked. "Yes… I see it now. You carry but a fragment."

"What's going on?" Jean-Paul managed, sitting up as Uhtred did the same.

"Well, Harry accidentally let on that his great cosmic protector Phoenix lady wasn't going to
squash this particular cockroach," Carol said.

"… I see. And why are you green?"

"I was mostly dead," Carol said. "Main reason I'm not all dead is that Doctor Strange might have
neglected to mention the fact that the magic ring on my finger is the rough equivalent of Mjolnir.
Also, it's powered by willpower and guess who's too stubborn to die."

"A mighty weapon indeed," Uhtred said.

"And why are you not using it to obliterate him?" Jean-Paul said.

"Because while the ring's dead former owner gave me a crash course – and apparently this is how
my life works now – I'm not entirely sure how to use this thing," Carol said. "And I'd rather not
accidentally blow up… Britain."

"I fear that you soon may not have any choice," Uhtred said grimly, as he helped Diana to her feet.
Gravemoss indeed looked like he was gathering his strength. "The time for words is over."

"Oh, I have a few more," Harry said softly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He raised his voice.
"Gravemoss. I heard that you tried to turn Sif into one of your pet monsters," he said. "I heard how
you did it. Allow me to return the favour!"

He put both hands together and thrust them forward, investing every bit of telekinetic power he
possessed into doing so, before, with a snarl of effort and with sweat beading on his brow, jerking
them apart.

Gravemoss' ribcage opened like an ivory book, and he screamed, eyes returning to their normal
shade as whatever had taken charge of his body relinquished its control.

"I think that I am going to be sick," Jean-Paul said, tone perfectly matter of fact.

Harry, however, was not done. Eyes burning gold, he reached forward, fingers clenched in a claw,
then made a ripping gesture.

Something dark red shot out of Gravemoss' open chest.

"Is that…" Uhtred began.

"His heart, yes," Harry said quietly. He dropped it with a squelch.

"Next time, please warn us before you go all Temple of Doom on someone," Carol said flatly. "Or,
preferably, never do that ever again."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Harry?" Carol asked, tone softer. The rage had faded from Harry's eyes, to leave something
infinitely more troubled.

"I… he hurt dad. He hurt Sif. He hurt all of you," Harry said.
"You have slain a foul monter indeed, my lord," Uhtred said. "He is not one to shed tears over."

"He's right about that one," Carol said. "Even with my super-duper mood ring, I'm not sure if we
could have taken him. Not without epic scale collateral damage." She wrinkled her nose. "Though
I'm not going to lie, I was kind of looking forward to having a go."

"You may yet get your chance," Diana said suddenly. "Look."

All of them turned to Gravemoss. Threads of darkness were reaching out and pulling his ribs
closed, flesh and bone regenerating before their very eyes.

"Correction, mes cheris," Jean-Paul said. "Now I am going to be sick."

"Same," Diana said queasily.

Uhtred, meanwhile, didn't bother with words. He simply hefted his axe, spun it, then brought it
down sharply on Gravemoss' neck. "There," he said. "Dead sorcerer."

"Being beheaded didn't kill my uncle," Harry reminded him.

"Oh."

Gravemoss' body was shuddering and rippling strangely, while his eyes went an ever-shifting red,
one that hurt to look at. His mouth opened wide, spreading into a rictus that ripped flesh from bone,
and he began to laugh, a terrible discordant laugh that radiated pure wrongness. His body stood,
picking up his head with one hand and clenching the other in a fist. Dark crimson-black power
crackled around it Uhtred let out a pained gurgle, rising into the air as if being lifted from within.

When he spoke, it was in a voice not his own, a voice of pure dissonance that made reality warp
and scream at its passing. "I know your mark," he said, staring straight at Harry. "I see it on him. A
child. A twice lost, twice tempest tossed… child. You think that he can stand against me?"

"I think that you have already lost," Harry's mouth replied, in a voice of cool serenity.

"He is not a host. We both know it. The power he bears is but a fragment of what it might
be," Gravemoss' replied.

"What are we, chopped liver?" Carol asked, trying to hide her creeped out expression.

Gravemoss' face turned to her and smiled that terrible smile. "You could be."

"Ew."

"Who is this?" Uhtred asked.

"Something worse," Diana said weakly. "Something much, much worse."

Harry's body turned to her. "You are correct, Lady Herculeis," he said, then smiled. "But not
very smart. For instance, while Harry possesses but a fragment of my power... sometimes a
fragment is more than enough to level the playing field."

The thing wearing Gravemoss' face frowned in confusion, then let out an enraged howl as Harry's
body made a fluid gesture, letting out a flash of light, leavin Gravemoss stunned and staggering.

"He's all yours," Harry's body said, before he was once more in charge of his mouth.
"Harry?"

"It's me," Harry said. "Now," he said, turning to Gravemoss, eyes blazing with anger. "Where were
we?"

Gravemoss was an abomination, a creature of pure evil. An abomination that had hurt his friends,
his family. And that, to Harry, with battle-anger singing in his veins, made things very simple.

"Ah yes," he said, fists burning with power. "Now I remember."

"You thinking what I think you're thinking?" Carol asked, eyeing the still reeling and fearful
looking necromancer.

"Definitely," Harry said.

"Oh good," Carol said, levelling her ring bearing hand like a cannon. "I just wanted to be sure."

And then all hell broke loose.

OoOoO

Gravemoss responded to the imminent threat in his usual fashion – by summoning minions to deal
with it for him. Demons and the undead, dozens of veidrdraugar prominent among them, surged
through a crimson portal with unearthly power.

And they were stopped cold.

Diana and Uhtred stepped forward, checking the more physically powerful specimens, while Jean-
Paul was an ever-present streak of golden lightning, catching those nimble and fortunate enough to
escape the attentions of the other two and dashing them against walls or doing something
unspecified to them that seemed to make them explode. Truth be told, Harry didn't really want the
details, he was just glad that it was working.

His role was to prevent Diana or Uhtred from being swamped, a more difficult task than it first
appeared. While Diana could fly and was physically more than holding her own – indeed, Harry
watched in something close to awe as she beat a particularly large troll to death with its own arm –
she also had psi senses being bombarded with constant waves of hunger and pure evil. And
unfortunately, Betsy's lessons had not included the installation of psychic shields. So in the
meantime, he was mostly trying to surround her mind with his own psychic presence, while trying
to destroy as many demons as he could.

This, he thought as he hit a veidrdraugr with a blast of flame that took off its head, was easier said
than done. A suitable analogy would be trying to write a report on the Goblin Rebellions while
playing Quidditch. This level of distraction also meant that he was unable to cover Uhtred or watch
his own back, and even Jean-Paul could not be everywhere.

Carol, however, almost as if she was reading his mind, had smoothly stepped in, going back to
back with him and covering Uhtred.

"I can't believe we're fighting this guy," she said conversationally.

"I can't believe we've been fighting him for more than ten seconds and aren't dead yet," Harry said
bluntly.

"Give it time," Carol said dryly.

"I'd rather not," Harry said, ducking the swipe of an undead knight and telekinetically crushing it
like an empty coke can.

"I am going to meet my end alongside total lunatics," Jean-Paul said flatly, stopping for a moment
to make that pithy observation.

"And what a glorious end it shall be!" Uhtred bellowed, apparently having the time of his life. As if
to underline his point, he dived straight at a lion-sized purplish monster that looked like it had
escaped from an Alien rip off, one of a number now appearing through the portal, laughing like a
madman.

"He has problems," Carol said after a moment, absently back-handing a minor demon with a giant
tennis racket construct. "Useful problems, but still problems."

"We're having this conversation in the middle of fighting an army of unholy abominations and their
master, who will probably crush all of us like flies once he actually gets his act together," Harry
said. "We all have problems."

"True. And Harry, don't encourage the bad guys."

"I'm not encouraging him, I'm critiquing his technique," Harry said.

"Speaking of, who's fighting him at the moment?" Carol asked.

"No one," Harry said, looking over at Gravemoss, who seemed to be gathering a ball of skin
crawling dark magic between his palms. "He looks like… he looks like he's preparing for
something."

"Well, that's not good."

"You don't say. Suggestions?"

"Hit him first?"

"I'll go with that."

Unfortunately, right at that very moment, Gravemoss unleashed a huge and hideously powerful
blast of dark energy, one that devoured everything it touched.

There was a long moment.

"Okay," Harry said. "Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't we…"

"Dead?" Carol suggested. "And why does it look like someone has pushed the pause button?"

"While death does not seem to faze either of you, mes cheris, I was not sure if the same applied to
the rest of us," Jean-Paul said. He was touching two of them with each arm and seemed to be
concentrating, as well as having blurred ever so slightly, and when one looked closely, golden
sparks could be seen dancing over his frame.

"What have you done?" Diana asked, fascinated.

"Shared my speed," Jean-Paul said. "Slowing your perception of time and, mes cheris, giving us
some breathing space."

"I did not know you could do that," Carol said. "Did you know you could do that?"
"No."

"How reassuring."

"How long do we have?" Uhtred asked.

"Not long," Jean-Paul said, grimacing. "This takes a lot of effort."

"Okay. Ideas?" Carol asked.

"We can't tie him down and we can't kill him," Harry said. "But if his head isn't near his body…"

"Are you suggesting that we play keep away with the head of an ancient unkillable evil
necromancer?" Carol asked.

"Keep away?" Uhtred asked, puzzled.

"An Earth game, where a group tries to keep something away from someone else," Jean-Paul said.

"Ah."

"A little more drastic than that," Harry said.

"How drastic are we talking?" Carol asked.

"Have you ever watched Buffy?"

"Who?" Diana asked.

"Television show," Jean-Paul said. "Serialised entertainment about a young woman whose destiny
it is to fight evil."

Diana perked up.

"Yes," Carol said slowly. "Wondering when you did, and when you got the chance, though."

"There were re-runs on tv, I watched them at Mrs Figg's house," Harry said. "Long story. Anyway,
you know the episode with the Judge?"

"Uh…"

"The one with the undestroyable demon, the shopping centre and the rocket launcher," Harry said.

"Oh, that one. You want to recreate it," Carol said.

"Yes."

"You realise that that is a horrendously bad idea."

"Have you got any better ones?"

"No. No, I do not," Carol said. "Okay, so my shields can probably tank that shot."

"I'll reinforce them," Harry said.

"Right. Jean-Paul, you take Diana and Uhtred and speed-chop Gravemoss' important bits off – or
at, least, make them less connected to the rest of him," Carol said.
"Speed-chop?" Uhtred asked.

"Remove them quickly," Diana said. "I think."

"Ah."

"Then Harry and I hit him with everything we've got," Carol said. "And hope that that's enough."

"Well," Harry said. "No time like the present, then. Ready?"

The other set themselves. "Ready."

Harry took a deep breath and prepared the strongest shields he could imagine. "Okay Jean-Paul,"
he said. "Drop it."

OoOoO

To any watching from without – or at least, anyone who wasn't otherwise engaged fighting
HYDRA – the until now mostly intact HYDRA base underwent a radical transformation.

To be exact, quite a lot of it exploded, a colossal blast of incandescent emerald green and golden-
white screamed out of one side of the building, a dark speck at its tip, slicing over Battersea Park,
across the river and straight through Battersea Bridge.

"What the hell was that?" Clint demanded over the comms.

"Some of it was intensely powerful magic," Loki said crisply. "The rest…"

"Loki?" Rhodey said. "What are we looking at here?"

"Psychic energy," Loki said. "Very powerful psychic energy."

"This is Director Wisdom," Wisdom said, patching into the frequency. "According to JARVIS, the
other stuff is registering as the energy signature of the Green Lantern ring."

"And considering that the psychic energy almost certainly means that my nephew is involved, that
ring is almost certainly on the finger of one of his friends: a weapon on par with Mjolnir and
infinitely more flexible in the hands of a teenager with not the first clue about how to use it," Loki
said grimly.

There was silence.

"Well, that's not good," Clint said eventually.

"No, Clint. No, it is not."

OoOoO

Steve looked up as the dungeon shook. "Explosion," he said. "And a big one." He looked over at
the HYDRA guards, standing by the doors. "Something tells me that it's not going so well for your
boys and girls up there." He nodded at the spooked looking veidrdraugar. "They're not happy
about it, that's for sure."

Before they could reply, a slurred and quite obviously out of it voice floated over.

"Sheesh, you HYDRA guys need to cut back on the beans. You'll kill us all with your nuclear
farts." There was snort, a repetition of, "Nuclear farts," and a lot of giggling.

Clearly Tony was in no fit state for, well, anything.

OoOoO

I nearly tripped over as I instinctively stumbled away from the colossal blast of magical energy.
While winding up in the middle of a battle royale had been half-expected, particularly since the
Darkhold was at ground zero, this was something entirely new. In fact, as I watched the gold and
emerald green column of power punch straight through the large bridge upstream like it was made
of spun sugar, I had no idea what the hell this was.

So, like a good student, I asked my teacher.

"What the hell was that?" I demanded.

"The Green Lantern Ring has chosen a bearer," Wanda said.

Green Lantern Ring… I'd heard of that. Ebenezar had mentioned it a few time. "Isn't that some
kind of really powerful focus?" I asked.

"Of a sort," Wanda said. "It taps into the magic of the Earth itself and focuses it according to the
will of the wielder."

Hells Bells. If you're going to boil the Art down to two things, one would be power and the other
would be will. In theory, if you have enough of the former and the latter, you should be able to
do… pretty much anything, really. "How strong do you have to be to control it?" I asked.

"Oh, you don't need to have magic," Wanda said. "Most of the wielders don't. You just have to be
sufficiently stubborn."

"Ah," I said. "That would be why the White Council doesn't like talking about it very much."

Wanda flashed me a smile. "Exactly," she said. "They think it's cheating."

I snorted.

"Whoever has it at the moment is using it as a blunt instrument," Wanda continued. "And there was
some other power in that blast, not magic."

"It's nothing I've ever come across before," I said, and it was true, this was very new to me.

Except… that wasn't quite true. I had come across it before, or something very like it. Professor
Xavier's telepathy was kind of like it. And Jean Grey's psychic abilities were one hell of a lot
closer. I told Wanda.

"Jean Grey," she said, nodding. "I remember Charles mentioning her after I sensed her first
outburst of power – long story." She frowned. "But Charles wouldn't let her anywhere near a fight
of this magnitude." Then she went white. "He wouldn't…"

"Who wouldn't?" I asked.

Her eyes closed and she took the deep breaths of someone trying to stay calm.

"Her godson, of course," a laconic, rough English voice said. I whirled to see the speaker, a
weathered blond man in early middle age and a battered brown trenchcoat. He grinned a nicotine
stained grin at me and Wanda. "'ello love."

"John," Wanda said, and ouch, you could have deep frozen a mammoth with that tone. "Harry's
here?"

"There's maybe five psychics with that kind of wattage running around the planet," the man called
John said. "Braddock's playing mission control with Wisdom and her power's purple. Xavier's not a
telekinetic, as far as I know anyway. Neither is Frost, and she's sure as hell not likely to get
involved. Jean Grey's not in the country and in any case, Xavier wouldn't let her near this fight.
That leaves the kid."

Wanda pinched her brow and cursed.

"Care to fill me in?" I asked.

"Of course," Wanda said crisply. "Harry Dresden, John Constantine. John Constantine, Harry
Dresden. He's a wanded wizard and does a job in Britain not unlike the one you do in Chicago. We
worked together against the Wanded Warlock, Voldemort, which is how he knows my godson."

Constantine raised an eyebrow and smirked insouciantly. "Worked together?" he asked. "Is that
what they're calling it these days?"

Wanda shot him a look that could have stripped paint. "It's what I call the parts I care to
remember," she said coldly.

"Uh…" I darted a glance from one to the other. John Constantine was a name that I had heard
before, and never attached to anything good. Wanda was right, he did technically do a job not
unlike mine, but rumour had it that he was willing to go a lot further than I was. I skirted the line,
every now and then. Constantine apparently played hopscotch with it.

"Yeah, we dated," Constantine said, catching my expression, before looking me up and down.
"Some things don't change, I see," he remarked.

"A few things have," Wanda said, shooting him another foul look. "Such as my taste, which has
improved considerably."

Constantine didn't seem to be overly bothered by this fairly explicit insult, and glanced over at the
HYDRA base, which was steadily being blasted to rubble by various parties. "If the kid's in there,"
he said. "And considering his parents and everything I've heard about him, he almost certainly is,
he'd need a pretty big incentive to go nova like that."

"And whoever's got the Green Lantern Ring would need to too," I added, trying to avoid feeling
utterly superfluous. "If they've got good enough self-control to keep a lid on that much power, they
aren't going to go firing it off without good reason."

"Yeah," Constantine said, nodding at me. "And short of Wanda's dad turning up…"

"Who?" I asked.

Constantine's eyebrows shot up. "You don't know?" he asked, incredulously.

"I know that he's a piece of work," I said uncomfortably. I knew that I was fairly new to being
Wanda's apprentice/boyfriend, but it wasn't exactly the world's greatest feeling to have her ex swan
up knowing more about her than I did – even if it was entirely logical and she quite obviously
hated his guts.
"Even more than your mother was," Constantine said. "And yeah, she and I had a few dealings."

"John," Wanda said. "Is now really the time?"

"Since it might give your new squeeze some idea of how strong whatever was on the receiving end
of your godson and whoever's got that bloody ring was, I think so," Constantine said.

Wanda sighed. "Fine," she said. "Harry, my father is Magneto."

"Well," I said. "That explains a lot."

And it kind of did. My mother had something of a rep in the supernatural world, one that not many
nasties approached. She'd kept close company with Lord Raith for the best part of a decade, after
all, something that resulted in my brother, and a demon I used to summon up for information by the
name of Chauncy, who was from capital h Hell, had something of an 'almost got her' reaction
whenever she came up in discussion. So when I'd thought about how Wanda had spoken of her
father in the same breath as my mother, I'd entertained nightmarish visions of Nicodemus turning
up to my front door, asking what my intentions were towards his (other) daughter. If anything, this
was actually a relief.

Don't get me wrong, Magneto was still pants-wettingly terrifying, more than enough to earn that
kind of reputation, and the very thought of his potential wrath gave me the shivers. Hell, I couldn't
even say I was surprised that the White Council had collectively soiled themselves when they'd
found out about the young Wanda, a practitioner of vast and unrestrained power with every chance
of inheriting her father's godlike gifts – and now that I thought back to how she'd squished the
Mabdhara with the orbital equivalent of a fly swat, it was entirely possible that she had.

But the thing about Magneto was that he was terrifying in the same way a hurricane was. He was a
force of nature, not of malice. He was the other side of Charles Xavier's proverbial coin. So long as
you left his people alone, he would leave you alone. If you didn't, a horrifically violent death
would be visited upon you. Considering that I tended to act the same way when it came to dealing
with creatures from the spooky side of things, I couldn't say that I blamed him.

As I thought that, I realised that Wanda was giving me a worried look. "Harry?" she said.

I shrugged. "I'm in no position to throw stones where parents are concerned," I said. I couldn't even
get mad at her for not telling me – I, after all, had not mentioned the Fallen Angel in my head. That
said, considering that Wanda had soulgazed me and said nothing, along with the way that the bit of
unscarred flesh on my burned hand had gone from a dead ringer of Lasciel's sigil to a random patch
of flesh suggested that somehow, Lasciel had been evicted. I strongly suspected that dying and
being resurrected might have had something to do with it.

As I spoke, however, all the tension seemed to leave Wanda and she huffed a laugh. "I suppose
not," she said. "But your mother didn't lead a one-man crusade against humanity for most of thirty
years."

"Your father didn't date the King of the White Court," I retorted, then paused. "He didn't, did he?"

Wanda burst out laughing. "No," she said, voice thick with amusement. "No, I'm pretty sure he
didn't."

"Fascinating as the thought might be," Constantine said acerbically. "The Green Lantern Ring's last
wielder, fella by the name of Alan Scott, Agent Scott of SHIELD as it happens, mostly used it to
fight Magneto. That was also when he tended to bust out that kind of firepower."
"Meaning that whoever my godson and the ring bearer were fighting is in the same power class as
my father, at the very least," Wanda said grimly.

"And HYDRA only have one person with that kind of power," Constantine said. "Gravemoss."

"Because of course my godson would find his way to the absolute worst thing in that nest of
horrors," Wanda sighed.

"He didn't do all that badly," I pointed out. Truthfully, I was very impressed. Even if the Green
Lantern Ring had been doing most of the legwork, the kind of power required to punch through the
kind of shields that the closest thing planet Earth had seen to a god of evil for a millennium or so
could muster was nothing short of astonishing, even for a demigod. It had taken my Death Curse,
for example – and that had been when I'd caught him off-guard.

"That's true," Constantine said, peering over the side of the bridge. "He did make it our problem,
though."

"Wait, what?" I asked. "How?"

Rule #1 of being a wizard: the universe will always, without exception, punish you for giving it a
straight line that good.

A twisting column of water shot out of the Thames, a pale humanoid shape at the top of it, and
tipped over the side of the bridge, propelling the shape it bore onto the terra firma of the Albert
Bridge. That shape did not look… well, in good shape. Its robes were ripped, scorched and stained
with the none too clean water of the Thames.

Slowly, it staggered to its feet and focused on us. As it did, I recognised it, and had to fight an
instinctive impulse to start running as fast as I could.

Gravemoss. Immortal elf necromancer who had taken my Death Curse at point blank range and,
apparently, shrugged it off. Look, I'm under no illusions that I'm the most powerful person running
around the world – even leaving aside actual Gods or Faerie Queens, I may be in the top fifty
practitioners, wanded and wandless, worldwide, that still leaves quite a few people who are
stronger than me. Wanda is one of them.

But the thing is, I'm not lacking for raw power. I'm that high up on the power charts when I'm still
decades away from my prime. What I'm trying to say is that when it comes to magic, I'm a brawny
thug and the result of my Death Curse was a fire blast that significantly widened the bone lined
tunnel I was in, vaporised several dozen extremely nasty zombies and reached several thousand
feet in the air. All that, as a side effect of blasting Gravemoss several hundred miles away, into the
North Sea.

All in all, you think that he'd at least have a limp.

But no. He didn't. That said, he didn't look in all that good shape. Dark tendrils were weaving
around his chest and his limbs, like reeds in a basket, as if someone had blown his torso wide open
before having a good go at dismembering him, and he generally looked like a dozen miles of bad
road. Even so, my instincts were urgently telling me that now would be a good time to start
running.

But while sometimes running is the only sensible course, sometimes, you have to stand and fight.
If nothing else, I severely doubted that he would ever be this vulnerable again. Plus, if what Wanda
had previously told me was true, he was the one using the Darkhold and without him, it would be
much less able to cause mayhem and unleash monsters on the world. So we were going to have to
take him now.

Clearly Wanda had the same idea, stepping forward, thrusting her arm out and twisting sharply.
There was a loud crunching crack and Gravemoss' chest splayed open like a book. Pushing down
my own feelings of ick, I drew my blasting rod and snarled, "Fuego! Fuego Forzare!"

As I did, something felt different. I'm not sure how to describe it, but I'll give it a go. I was trying to
throw a a blast of flame at Gravemoss, my go-to strategy when dealing with supernatural nasties,
though I'd added in a little force magic to give it a bit more punch. But as I did, something… else…
got involved. Ever been carrying something and had someone intentionally, unexpectedly, jostle
your elbow? It felt kind of like that – a tiny, critically timed nudge just as I threw my will behind a
blast that I cordially hoped would roast that creepy son of a bitch from the inside out.

The power howled as it shot out of my body, down my arm and through my blasting rod, but
instead of the usual orange-red/white-hot flames, something else leapt out with a strangely familiar
humming sound. A silver bolt, no, a beam of silvery chrome energy shot out of the tip of my
blasting rod and… it stayed there. Whatever had intervened between thought and act had
transformed an otherwise ordinary bolt of spell-flame with a bit of telekinetic topspin into some
kind of fixed energy blade.

I stared at the results in dumbfounded amazement. And I wasn't the only one – both Wanda and
Constantine's jaws had dropped.

And I spoke the first words that came to mind.

"I am so getting sued for this."

I know, I know, not exactly up there with 'do or do not, there is no try', but you try being cool and
wise sounding when your fire-blast spontaneously transforms into the blade of a lightsabre.

Then, I heard a wheezing gulp and was brought sharply back to the present. Gravemoss was
watching me, or more accurately, my magic lightsabre, with an expression of dumbfounded terror.
Unlike me, he seemed to know exactly what was causing this – he might even recognise the
lightsabre. When he'd been about to kill me in the catacombs, he'd practically quoted Obi-Wan's
'strike me down' line word for word. While I was pretty sure that that had been some kind of wacky
coincidence, you could never be too sure.

Still, the important facts to note here were these: first, I had a magic lightsabre. Second, I had an
evil villain in front of me that couldn't even be close to human, and was therefore not protected by
the First Law. Third, said evil villain was beaten to a pulp, partly courtesy of my
lovely sensei/girlfriend and seemed to be backing away, incapable of doing anything else.

So it was only fitting that I deliver the coup de grace.

"If so powerful you are, why leave?" I taunted, as he backed away. Before he could reply, I hefted
my impromptu lightsaber and attacked. At that moment, I had only one certainty.

This. Was. Going. To. Be. Awesome.

OoOoO

Rhodey glanced down as his HUD registered a flash of light on the bridge, then promptly did a
double-take. "Guys," he said slowly. "I'd appreciate some confirmation here, proof that I'm not
going mad."
"What are you seeing, Rhodey?" Clint asked.

"A guy on a bridge, in a trenchcoat… wielding a lightsaber," Rhodey said, still not believing his
eyes. "I'm gonna be honest, I don't know whether to get this on film or go and help."

"I see it," Natasha said. "It's Dresden."

"Who?" Rhodey asked. The name vaguely rung a bell, connected to one of the other people on
Fury's Shadow Initiative, but with everything he'd been dealing with, everything he was dealing
with right now, remembering names of people he'd met about once was not his top priority.

"Harry Dresden," Loki said. "A powerful Wizard and Wanda Maximoff's new apprentice." His
tone turned wry. "Or perhaps 'padawan' would be a more appropriate term."

"How is this my life?" Rhodey complained.

"Says the man who half my staffers are still calling Saint George after dabbling in dragon slaying,"
an amused voice broke in. "Rhodes, this is Deputy Director Drew of MI13. Dresden will be fine,
he's being backed up by Maximoff and Constantine. I recommend you join up with Archangel and
handle the flying demons emerging from the tear in reality at your three o'clock."

Rhodey sighed. "Roger that, ma'am," he said, turning to face the crimson coloured rip in the sky
from which emerged, as Drew had said, winged demons. As he moved to engage, one thought ran
through his mind.

How in the name of sanity was this his life?

Of course, the answer to that was probably that sanity had very little to do with it.

OoOoO

My immediate attack, messy as it was, drove Gravemoss back. I know enough about
swordsmanship to know that I'm not exactly brilliant at it – I've seen masters of the art at work and
comparing me to them is like comparing a particular artistic gorilla to Van Gogh. However, I had
two advantages: a lunge that could cross counties and a blade that seemed to scare the crap out of
Gravemoss, who, conveniently, seemed to be an even worse swordsman than I was. Even more
conveniently, he was unarmed.

On the downside, however, having his chest ripped open by Wanda didn't seem to have slowed
him down much, and he quickly launched a counter-stroke, in the form of crackling black
lightning. Instinctively, I raised my lightsaber and, just like the real thing, it diffused the dark
lightning across the humming blade.

Laughing like a madman, I drove on, bearing down on the smaller practitioner, angling the blade
so that I could slip away from the lightning and swing a gutting slash under his guard. The tip of
the blade hit flesh and promptly sliced through it like a hot knife through rotten butter, sending
entrails everywhere and tendrils of darkness flailing like centipedes and other creepy crawlies
exposed to an open flame.

The creature's red eyes widened, and he sprang backwards, making a full thirty feet and gesturing
swiftly as I closed on him. Portals opened and demons – fangs, tentacles, the usual – erupted from
within them. Nothing I hadn't faced before.

"Dresden! Behind you!" Constantine bellowed.

I spun and, on instinct, lashed out with my energy blade. It wasn't exactly a clean slash, but it
caught the creature that had been attacking my back in mid-leap, causing it to let out an infuriated
howl as it attempted to arch away from blade in midair and landed in a heap. As it did, I got a better
look at it. It was some kind of pale, spectral hound, with burning, soulless eyes full of hunger. It
was also uncomfortably reminiscent of my godmother's hunting hounds. It might even have been a
relative – they were creatures of Faerie and this was most definitely not a creature of the mortal
world.

The exact details of what it was, however, didn't bother me so much as the fact that it was forcing
me to put my back to any number of nasty demons and an even nastier necromancer.

Thankfully, however, Wanda had my back. Expression grim, hands dancing, she wove a web of
enchantment. I couldn't see exactly what she did, my attention being taken up by the snarling spirit
hound, but there was lot of crackling, ripping, tearing and, dare I say it, exploding from behind me,
which told me that she had matters well in hand. If that wasn't sufficient, the thwarted and agonised
howls of the demons were confirmation enough.

Then, a bolt of light struck the hound's flank, sending it spinning away with a furious howl.

"Go with Wanda," Constantine said, striding over, wand drawn. "I'll bring this doggy to heel."

I nodded, turning and getting a look at the situation. The demons had converged on Wanda, and for
a moment, I felt a surge of terror. Then, I saw that she was more than holding her own and, more
importantly, Gravemoss was distracted.

So I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I charged.

Gravemoss heard me coming, because he was some kind of super elf and I swear, I'm never going
to face a bad guy who's deaf or something, he turned, raising his arm and summoning a defence.
Figuring that it was worth a shot, I brought my blade down on his impromptu shield. To both of
our surprises', the dark magic shattered under the blow with an almighty bang, sending a hammer
of pressure into my ribcage, and the blade passed straight on through, shearing straight through his
arm as easily as it had his magic.

The detached appendage dropped off and Gravemoss seemed to stare, dumbfounded, at the
cauterised wound. Then, he let out a long, high, horrified scream.

I'm not normally someone who likes the sound of screaming. There's a special place in hell for
people who enjoy the suffering of their fellow creatures. But there was something satisfying about
hearing this monster experience some small fraction of the pain he'd caused others.

I raised the lightsaber to end it, but before I could bring the humming blade down, the necromancer
spoke a reality bending word and vanished. A moment later, the blade itself vanished.

I turned, and as I did, became aware that I was breathing hard. Doing all that had tired me out more
than I'd realised. Both Wanda and Constantine were staring at me.

"Bloody hell," Constantine said eventually. "I'll give you this, Wanda, you sure know how to pick
'em."

Wanda, still staring at me, simply nodded.

"Uh..." I said eloquently. "So. What was, you know, that?" I gestured with the blasting rod.
"Because none of my spells have ever done that before."
"You infused the spell with Soulfire," Wanda said quietly. "Otherwise known as Heavenfire."

I nodded slowly. "Right," I said. "Can you tell me one thing?"

"What?"

"I cut off his arm. While I'm not objecting, does that make me Vader in this story? Because it
didn't end so well for him."

Wanda chuckled. "Don't worry, sweetie," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "You do black
leather far better than Vader ever did."

I blushed.

Constantine raised an eyebrow. "Though we've got away from the point, I reckon that I should
mention that Soulfire's the opposite of Hellfire," he said. "Which means that it's usually only used
by angels. And that leads me to wonder how and why you, sonny, were given the ability to use it."

"I'm guessing it's not handed out lightly," I said.

"It's not handed out at all," Wanda said. "The ability to use it among mortals is tied to the office of
the Sorcerer Supreme, and I mean the incumbent. No other mortal practitioner should be able to
use it."

"Leaving aside the fact that you're next in line, I can categorically state that I have not felt any
mantles of power settling on me recently," I said.

"Well, we can figure it out later," Wanda said, looking up. The demons that had been converging
on us and that she had been stonewalling were now running wild. "For now, we've got work to do."
She glanced at Constantine. "You coming, John?"

Constantine smiled a crooked smile. "Nah," he said. "I've got a few calls to make. At least one of
'em could slow this whole thing right down."

"Like where?" I asked, curious.

"Lower Tadfield," Constantine said.

That meant nothing to me, but Wanda went white. "John," she said. "You're playing with fire."

"Now and forever, love," Constantine said, shrugging.

"Yes," Wanda said, lips thinning somewhat. "Particularly if you're not careful." Then, she sighed.
"Good luck, John."

Constantine inclined his head, then disappeared with a crack.

"I'm guessing that there's history between you two," I said eventually.

"Yes," Wanda sighed.

"Bad ending?"

"Very," Wanda said grimly. "Not how you really want your first serious relationship to end."

"I know a thing or two about that," I said. Specifically, I had spent a decade thinking that my first
girlfriend had betrayed me to my evil first teacher before being killed in the resultant duel between
me and him. Then she had popped up a couple of years ago, claimed to have been enthralled and,
after a lot of double crossing and manipulation, mostly of me, helped me save the world.

Wanda gave me a speculative look, then a wry half-smile. "You probably do," she said. "Now," she
continued, looking up at the portals vomiting forth demons. "How do you feel about a more in-
depth introduction to aeromancy?"

"Like I should have brought the brown pants?" I suggested, then sighed as Wanda sniggered and
gestured. Lo and behold, I had brown pants. My teacher/girlfriend is evil. "Fine," I sighed. "Let's
goaarrgh!"

OoOoO

Warren watched as two figures shot up from the bridge, towards the confluence of crimson portals,
the larger one flailing like an up-turned spider, before turning away. He had other matters to attend
to.

While HYDRA's helicarrier was not yet in the air, the rest of their air force was, Quinjets and some
kind of robotic drones. They weren't suits – Warren knew this because he'd bisected three of them.

According to a telepathic infodump from Agent Psylocke, otherwise known as Betsy Braddock,
HYDRA had used one against the artificially aged Harry Thorson and his friends a couple of
months before. That one had been an Omega Class threat. These were little more than sophisticated
UAVs. Clearly mass production and what looked to be single mind controlling the lot of them had
significantly reduced their threat. For one thing, they – or whoever was flying them – couldn't fly
for shit. Not compared to him.

He swept through the skies like a knife through silk, picking his target, tracking it from above or
below, then sweeping up or down to slice it in two with single scissoring slash of his wings. Those
that he didn't handle were being dealt with by the man who had been riding the sea serpent and
proving very aerially capable, and War Machine, the latter showing the same skill he had brought
to their dragon slaying outing a few months before.

Of course, Warren thought, that had been before the attack on Hogwarts, before his wings had
finally been used for what they were made for. Like Logan at the Institute, he could play at being
something other than he was, but the fact of the matter was this: on a fundamental level, this was
what he was born for. His very biology was tailored for combat. He was an Angel of Death and
there was no shame in accepting that.

He let a snarl of pain as what felt like several dozen cricket balls slammed into his armoured back,
followed instantaneously by the buzzing roar of a minigun. Instantly, he allowed himself to drop
from the hovering position he'd briefly taken up, cursing himself for losing focus. Controlling his
plummet, he beat his wings twice, ignoring the burning pain in his back muscles caused by the
impacts of the bullets, letting the metallic clash add to the music of battle, driving himself
downwards into the maze of streets and tree lined main roads just south and west of Waterloo.

Bullets. That meant a Quinjet. Quinjets were more of a challenge, more agile fliers despite their
comparative bulk, with more mobile weaponry and individual pilots who only had to worry about
themselves rather than a whole fleet. Really, he mused, he was lucky that those bullets had partly
caught his wings as well as his body armour. Much lower and they might well have cut him in half.

Well. He couldn't have that, now could he?

Flipping his wingtips, he darted down a sidestreet, backwinging sharply and grunting at the strain
on bruised muscles. The Quinjet, mobile but not that mobile, shot past, down the main road, the
pilot's main concern doubtless being not clipping one of the massive trees that lined it.
Understandable, but unfortunate, Warren thought, as he beat his wings hard, going up and over the
street, gaining altitude, focusing his hawk like vision on the Quinjet. Then, wings pointed forward
like swords, he dived at a shallow angle, shooting across and through the jet like a pencil through
paper, spreading his wings and slowing to a stop just in time to avoid crashing into the betting shop
on the other side while the stricken Quinjet crashed, sliding into the estate agent's at the fork in the
road.

Curiously, Warren noticed as he watched the Quinjet for a moment, then flew upwards to rejoin the
fight, he didn't find himself particularly bothered that this jet had been manned, as the drones had
not. Instead, he felt… calm. Cool, calm and clear.

OoOoO

Namor, now flying under his own speed, watched approvingly as the young winged Agent
outmanoeuvred and destroyed his opponent. Smooth, swift and ruthlessly effective, Namor found
himself reminded of a certain Sergeant James Barnes when he'd got in, as he called 'the zone'. In his
own experience, some warriors let their rage take hold and went berserk.

They were, for the inexperienced, fearful opponents. But far more deadly were those who
controlled their anger, who used it to sharpen their focus and hone their senses rather than blind
them. Such warriors were those who Namor considered worthy of a suitable degree of admiration.
Sergeant Barnes had been one, Captain Rogers – in his own way – had been another, and this
winged warrior seemed to be one too.

Speaking of Captain Rogers, he had seen no sign of him, nor had his servants. They had seen many
HYDRA Agents, who were now serving a fit purpose by feeding the dragons' hunger, and a
number of other heroes and worthies who were doing suitable damage to HYDRA's fortress – or
what was left of it – but no sign of Captain Rogers. On the other hand, there was also no sign of his
shield or his corpse, either of which HYDRA would be happy to use as a kind of horrific trophy. If
nothing else, that suggested that Steve was still alive, and if no one else continued to search for
him, he, Namor, vowed to do so until the stars burnt out.

In the meantime, though, it was pleasing to have the chance to bring these arrogant worms to heel
once more. There might be new faces behind the masks, even new uniforms and new weapons, but
the gnawing evil remained the same, evil that he, Namor, was more than happy to eradicate.

In that aim he had the aid of another warrior of the sky, the armoured man who had so bravely and
so foolishly attempted to steady SHIELD's flying ship. That alone earned him Namor's respect, and
his obvious skill in aerial combat, speaking of long experience, only compounded that respect.
While not quite as cool and clear as the one called Archangel, who had the advantage of inborn
skill to match his wings, the War Machine was a more professional and pragmatic warrior.

He, for instance, was not so sloppy as to be caught from behind by a HYDRA jet, as the younger
Archangel had been. Still, Namor supposed as one drone so foolish as to attempt a similar attack on
his back was taught the error of its ways through swift dismemberment, one had to allow the young
their mistakes.

On this, he felt, highly charitable note, HYDRA played their trump card. With an unearthly roar
and a flash of rainbow light, the Dreadnought appeared in the skies over London.

"At last," Namor said, with a certain satisfaction, as the flying fortress powered up its weapons. "I
thought I was going to get bored."

OoOoO

Namor's boredom or lack of it notwithstanding, the Dreadnought and the immediate rain of
destruction from its Destroyer based weaponry, caused quite some comment.

"The Houses of Parliament have taken another hit!" one staffer called. "At this rate, there won't be
much left!"

"They've already been bombed!" Wisdom replied. "And they needed fixing any way; there was dry
rot and rats everywhere!"

"Sir! HYDRA's Helicarrier has taken up a position over the river!" another shouted. "Its weapons
have taken out two squadrons!"

"Tell the rest to peel off, get out of weapons range and pick off anything that looks like its trying to
get out of the centre," Wisdom snapped.

The building shook.

"Sir!"

"I know, I know!" Wisdom said. "I can recognise super-sized thunder claps as well as anyone else,
thank you very much, and I noticed the giant column of rainbow light a few minutes ago. Thor's
here, he's pissed off and he's got his hammer back; good!"

"Well, actually, sir, I'm not entirely sure if that's Thor," the staffer said. "For starters, they've got
dark hair."

"Someone else has picked up Mjolnir," Wisdom sighed. "Of course I couldn't be so lucky to have
the actual god of thunder pick it up. No, a newbie with the Green Lantern Ring and a HYDRA
helicarrier armed to the teeth with Deity Class weaponry isn't enough, I have to have
someone else with absolutely no idea what the hell they're doing wielding another weapon
powerful enough to blow up the whole fucking planet!"

"Well," Betsy said matter-of-factly. "That's us buggered then. And not in a fun way, either."

"Right," Wisdom said. He paused. "Wait, what do you mean 'for starters'?"

"Well, sir," Drew said, looking at the display with an expression of disbelief. "I think you should
see for yourself."

OoOoO

To understand what had happened, one most first go back a couple of minutes.

Steve looked up as the dungeon door exploded and the HYDRA Agents on guard suddenly
dropped, as if someone had pressed their off-switch. The prowling veidrdraugar tensed, but before
they could do anything, they were engulfed in a wave of green fire.

"Well," a vaguely familiar girl's voice said. "That was easier than I thought it would be."

"Considering how many times we almost died on the way in here, I'm not sure how you came to
that conclusion," an older, also female, also familiar voice said.
"We're still alive, aren't we?" a voice he definitely recognised said.

"Harry?" he said, incredulous. "Is that you?"

"Steve?"

Harry's head poked round the door, he looked around for a moment, then he smiled brightly when
he saw Steve. "Hi Steve," he said.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, completely bemused.

"We're here to rescue you," the owner of the second voice, who Steve recognised as Carol
Danvers, one of Harry's friends, said, stepping through the door. "Are Mister Stark and Doctor
Banner around?"

"I can sense them," Harry said, ambling over to Steve's cell.

"Oh, that's all right then," Carol said. "Can you bust open those chains?"

"Alohomora," Harry said, gesturing. The chains fell off and Steve dropped to the floor.

"That was unexpectedly easy," Uhtred, another of Harry's friends, observed, as Steve picked
himself up.

"HYDRA weren't really expecting anyone to attempt a rescue," Steve said. "Did you have
something to do with that explosion I heard earlier?"

"That was us," Carol said.

"We were fighting Gravemoss," Harry said.

"HYDRA's necromancer?" Steve said, astonished. "And you won?"

"Well, I think that we mostly just really pissed him off," Carol said. "That and made him
somebody else's problem." She shuffled her feet. "And we might have destroyed a bridge. A big
one."

"It was in the cause of justice," Uhtred said very seriously.

Steve's lips twitched. "I've done a bit of that," he said.

"Looks like it runs in the family," Harry observed.

Steve paused. "What?"

Carol, who had gone white, elbowed Harry sharply.

"Nothing," Harry said, or more accurately, wheezed.

Steve eyed them, then nodded. "Okay, leaving aside the facts that you're all children, you shouldn't
be anywhere near this fight and I would like to have a word with whoever got you involved," he
said. "We need to get out of here, with Tony and Bruce."

"Jean-Paul?" Harry said.

"On it, mon cher," Jean-Paul said, and shot across the dungeon, trailing golden lightning, into the
cells and back again, now carrying the two middle aged scientists. Both looked somewhat woozy.

"That is new," Diana observed. "The lightning."

"You're telling me,"Carol agreed. "Hey, do you think that was what Strange was talking about?"

Jean-Paul studiously ignored her.

Uhtred, meanwhile, had knelt by the two and checked them over. "They do not seem to be injured,"
he said.

"You've got hair just like my aunt Ali…" Tony interjected vaguely, before looking at Steve. "You
too." He blinked. "Blondes have all the fun, you know."

"But Lord Stark is not in his right mind," Uhtred added. "While Doctor Banner slumbers."

"I'm not sure if Tony's ever been in his right mind," Steve said. "I think HYDRA dosed them both
with something, to keep Tony from focusing and to keep Bruce asleep."

"Okay, we've got our Avengers," Harry said. "Now the armoury."

"That could take ages to find," Steve said.

Jean-Paul blurred for a moment, gone, then back again. "I have found it. It was locked."

"That's easily fixed," Harry remarked.

"You're going to unlock the door?" Bruce asked, in a moment of lucidity.

"Who said anything about needing the door?"

OoOoO

"Well, I have to admit, that is pretty effective," Steve remarked a few minutes later, as Carol's
clamp construct ripped the door out of its frame.

"Isn't it just?" Harry said.

Unfortunately, there were good reasons that most used the door, as a series of guns dropped down
from the ceiling, targeted the group and opened fire, bolts of Destroyer energy punching straight
through Harry's hastily arranged shield.

The rest happened in a matter of seconds.

One. A dark haired shape blurred across the room as Carol summoned a shield of her own.

Two. A hand wrapped around Mjolnir's handle.

Three. Everything dissolved into the crash of thunder and the flash of lightning.

OoOoO

"Whoa," Harry breathed, propping himself up on his elbows as the flashes of colour left his eyes. In
front of him stood a… goddess. Literally. Diana, as she had been when she was aged, was now
topping six and a half feet, and packed with muscle, wearing the armour that Thor had worn. Silver
scale armour encased her arms, a thick breast plate – though, like Sif's, it had a mild concession to
the practicalities of her anatomy in its shape – her torso, leggings and boots covering her legs and
feet. Her long dark hair had, conveniently, bound itself up in a warrior's braid, to keep it out of her
way.

She was powerful.

She was beautiful.

And she was incredibly surprised.

The gun emplacements, sensors half blinded by the lightning, paused, almost seeming to stare at
her, then opened fire once more. Harry scooted behind a pile of battle armours, while Diana
instinctively raised Mjolnir to protect herself and crouched. Then, she realised that all the
Destroyer energy had done was push her backwards a little bit. She angled Mjolnir, reflecting the
blasts upwards, obliterating the gun emplacements with their own fire.

There was a stunned silence as those HYDRA Agents that came to investigate stared at her.

Slowly, she smiled and straightened up to her full, impressive height. It was a nasty, knife wound
of a smile. She extended Mjolnir, which was now crackling with lightning.

"I suggest that you start running."

They ran.

OoOoO

"The Dreadnought is active and looking to achieve aerial superiority," an MI13 staffer said. "It's
launching more Quinjets and drones."

"Those drones. We got any match in our records?" Wisdom asked.

"Yes, sir. They closely resemble the one recovered by SHIELD at Easter," the staffer replied.

"The one that took on Harry Thorson's artificially enhanced crew?" Wisdom asked.

"The same, sir."

"That one was remotely controlled by Baron Zemo," Wisdom said. "Via a psychic link. Get onto
Braddock, tell her to have a go at disrupting it. In the meantime, deploy Project Wolftrap."

"Sir yes sir."

OoOoO

After the Battle of New York, the various major cities of the world had decided that they would be
rather safe than sorry in the event of a repetition of such events.

London's response was threefold:

First, anti-air missile batteries close to key centres of the city, currently active.

Second, a large proportion of those aircraft capable of air to air combat were placed in bases in
striking range of the city. This had already proved useful, during the Battle of the M4, specifically
against the undead dragons coming from the North. They too were currently active, though they
had taken some time to arrive and were taking considerable losses from HYDRA quinjets, which
were considerably more manoeuvrable, if less well armed, and the unmanned drones, which only
needed to land one hit to destroy their targets entirely.

Third, the most daring of all, Project Wolftrap, designed to catch any enemy aerial assault force in
a hailstorm of destruction. It was the rearmed and recommissioned HMS Belfast.

Weighing over 11,000 tons and armed with 12 six inch guns and 12 four inch guns, among other
things, all that was really required to pose a significant threat to something like a Chitauri
Leviathan was to increase the power of the rounds and mechanise the delivery system. In other
words, a battleship designed to mix it with the most powerful ships two land hungry empires could
come up with, one that had operated in two of the most ferocious conflicts in the entirety of human
history, had been beefed up and modernised.

Miniguns, Oerlikon 30mm guns, Harpoon and Sea Dart missiles and even a few railguns had also
been added. And that was before one got onto the more... esoteric weapons. Accordingly, the
armed parts of the ship had been declared off limits for tours.

Oh, and MI13 were operating it.

Now, its warmed up systems were lined up its targets – not that they were very hard to miss. It
should have been accompanied with a triumphant, daring, ominous battle song, something blood
stirring like 'Mars, Bringer of War', to instil proper dread in the enemy prior to engagement.

But the only music that accompanied the engagement was the harsh music of gunfire, the roar of
thunder and cannons serving as percussion, the howl of missiles as wind and machine guns as
strings.

And somehow, that was far more frightening.

Within the first minute, dozens of shells and missiles began slamming into the Dreadnought, while
a blazing orange firestorm interspersed with blue bolts intercepted drone after drone.

War had been brought.

OoOoO

"What the hell?" Rhodey said. "Is it just me, or did everyone else just see a museum exhibit open
up on HYDRA's air force?"

"I heard rumours of this," Loki said thoughtfully. "MI13's Project Wolftrap. However, I had never
thought that it would be concealed in plain sight in such a… daring fashion."

"It's shooting HYDRA," Clint said. "That's the beginning and the end of it."

"Right," Rhodey said. "Accept it and move on." He sighed. "Once this is over, there is not going to
be enough money in the world to pay for my therapy bills."

OoOoO

Gravemoss, meanwhile, took deep, shuddering breaths as he righted himself. First the Phoenix had
chosen one to protect, now the Green Lantern had chosen a host. Not only that, but the King of
Atlantis was here – even if that Atlantis was greatly diminished from the one that had ruled in
times of old, that was not a fight he would pick.

He would not have chosen to fight the Scarlet Sorceress either, much less in tandem with her
partner, the impossible Starborn, the latter compounding his sheer disregard for the laws of nature
by exchanging the Hellfire of one of Yahweh's Shadows for the Fires of Creation itself, which had
promptly been used to remove his arm – a wound that had so far not healed, much to his dismay –
but he had had little choice in that. The addition of the latest Laughing Magician had only made
matters worse, though he had played little enough part.

Still, he had managed to survive them all, if barely. Then, he froze.

There. For just a moment, just one moment, he had sensed a familiar power. The power of the
Sorcerer Supreme.

Doctor Strange was here.

At full strength, maybe, just maybe, he could win that fight. But right now, under these
circumstances?

No. He could not even hope to.

So he ran. He ran like a hare. For the first time in over a thousand years, he was no longer predator,
he was prey, fleeing from an enemy that he could never outrun.

And that enemy was Chthon, the Elder One. The being that had written the Darkhold, the book
which had sung a siren song of power and knowledge, one that had esnared even him, who knew
its powers and and its dangers. And it had done so by a whisper, a whisper that had been born the
moment he'd opened the Darkhold, that had been growing in volume and power as he used the
book from then on, rising to something near a shout.

He shook his head and stopped, taking a deep breath. Blind panic would only give it a greater hold
on him. He focused, calming himself, embracing the cold vastness of the power of Death, blocking
it out.

The whispering stopped. And something unexpected happened.

You want what I want, Gravemoss, the Elder said. You want everything to die, to know the glory of
death. I do too. Let me in, and I can give it to you.

"No," Gravemoss whispered. "The end of all things will be on my terms. Death is mine to
command."

An impressive boast. But can you back it up? I think not.

Then the voice disappeared and Gravemoss growled softly, and whistled. His pets, which had
followed him split off.

He needed to leave. And for that he needed a distraction. One easily came to mind.

When he had raised the army of dark creatures and loosed it on London, he had considered two
creatures, two vast monsters that had died ages before, forgotten by all except the Darkhold. The
Darkhold never forgot. It had told him what they were, where they had come from and how to raise
them.

Their names were Gog and Magog. They were depicted in the Bible and in numerous legends,
supposed to be the harbingers of the end times. In truth, they were two particularly outsized and
powerful giants that proved near impossible to kill by conventional means. In the end, after a long
battle, the Gods of Avalon had slain them and bound their spirits to their bones, fearing that they
might otherwise run amok. Not wanting to move them, they diverted the course of the River
Thames, hoping that the silt would cover them and their remains would never be uncovered and
that they would be forgotten. And they were. Save, of course by the Darkhold.

The Darkhold never forgets.

Gravemoss smiled as his eyes turned black. Yes, they would do nicely.

Feelers of dark power reached deep under the city, under the graveyards, the sewers and the tube
lines, deep below the river. Some of them branched off to the former, but most reached deeper,
probing. Until they found what they were looking for.

OoOoO

Suddenly, there was a vast ripping and roaring sound, like the whole city bellowing in pain.

"What's going on?" Uhtred asked, worried.

"I'll take a look," Diana began.

"I don't think you'll need to," Harry said. "I can feel something coming. Something very, very big."

And so it proved.

One gigantic hand, the rough length of Sally the Basilisk from top to tip, rose blindly out of the
river, brown water cascading around it, and slammed onto the Southbank. At first, it was brown,
crumbling bone, but quickly, the bone whitened and first muscle, then flesh formed on it as it got a
grip. The right hand slammed into the North bank, just south of St Paul's Cathedral, going through
the same process. By the time the head, round, blunt faced and vicious looking, with dark fires in
place of eyes, rose out of the river, just down river of the Millennium Bridge, the process appeared
to be complete.

Then, the undead giant, the vast colossus, stood, hundreds of feet tall, and roared a roar that was
less a sound, more a physical sensation that jarred the very bones of the listener.

And it seemed to be a signal, because as it roared, not too much further upstream, the second
colossus was beginning to rise.

"First day on the job, and we get this," Carol said in a very small voice. "How is that fair?"

"Since when was life fair?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Good point."

"Not to worry," Uhtred said. "Lady Sif taught me a maxim for such opponents."

"What was that?" Steve asked.

"'The larger they are, the harder they fall.'"

As they spoke, the first giant turned, slow and ponderous, but with all the relentless inevitability of
a continental shift. It looked down and saw the Millennium Bridge, and grunted, the sound like a
small roll of thunder. Then it raised both arms in a clubbing strike.

"Ah," Harry said. "Steve, could you look after Bruce and Tony for a little while? We've got
something to take care of."
OoOoO

I stared up at the giant, the colossus, before me. "That," I said. "Is so not fair."

"Since when is this business fair?" Wanda asked dryly.

"Never," Constantine said, having since rejoined us, revealing nothing of the details of his phone
calls. He was lighting another cigarette. Until now, I'd never really had much interest in smoking,
but now, against all reason, I was craving nicotine. "You got anything, pet?" he asked Wanda.
"None of my usual box of tricks will do much against that."

Wanda's eyes crackled with scarlet power and crimson-white lightning danced around her clenched
fists. "I might," she said. "You boys play nicely while I'm gone."

OoOoO

Fury took a deep, calming breath and did his very best not to, as they say, go spare.

"You're telling me that you sent a bunch of children into the middle of HYDRA's last and most
heavily defended base, swarming with HYDRA Agents of all kinds and inhabited by Lucius
Malfoy, Arnim Zola, Baron Zemo, the Winter fucking Soldier and that motherfucking
necromancer," he said. "The last of which, in case you'd fucking forgotten, has the
fucking Darkhold. Tell me, Strange, have you finally gone senile?"

"No," Strange said mildly. "I sent them exactly where they needed to be."

Fury waved a hand out at the two skyscraper sized zombie giants and the vast HYDRA
Dreadnought visible through the front windows of the Helicarrier. The former were being
distracted by bolts of crimson energy flung from the hands of a small figure that was darting in
amongst them. While they weren't doing much appreciable damage, being hampered by the
occasional need to break off and deal with pursuing drones, they were garnering a reaction,
distracting the two monstrosities. The latter, meanwhile, was being engaged in a vicious duel with
MI13's Project Wolftrap, the refitted HMS Belfast. It didn't look like that particular duel was going
to go on for much longer and the seemingly inevitable winner was not one Fury looked forward to
dealing with.

"How," he said. "How in the name of whatever god gives a damn about this fucked up world, are a
bunch of kids going to help against all of this?"

Strange smiled. "Take another look, Nicholas."

Fury narrowed his eye, then looked again. And as he did, a streak of incandescent green light shot
upwards, like a comet in reverse, punching a hole the size of the Channel Tunnel through the
nearest giant.

A moment later, the dark clouds overhead flashed and rumbled, then a veritable rain of lightning
tore into the second giant like a million giant burning razors.

Immediately afterwards, a blur trailing what looked like sparks of golden lightning raced over the
waters of the Thames, stormed up the giant that had been struck by the lightning, pausing for
barely perceptible moments by each major wound until it reached the head, before it stopped in
place, spun, and another figure shot out of it as if fired from a gun, aimed unerringly at the
shrinking hole in the other giant's chest.

The figure hit the side of the hole and stopped abruptly, as if they'd used some kind of climbing axe
to arrest their passage. They did something quickly, then sprinted out the other side and leapt,
whereupon they were scooped by what looked like a gigantic green goalkeeper's glove.

This happened not a moment too soon as furious blasts of orange energy erupted all over the two
giants, the largest concentrated in the middle of the first giant's chest, successfully tearing them to
pieces.

But still, they weren't done. Each of the burning pieces of undead flesh and bone was outlined in
golden-white light, its descent slowed. Then, they slammed back together, into a giant ball of
burnt, broken and pulverised meat. Finally, a column of furious golden-white energy and flame, so
powerful that the line between the two was a matter of subjective opinion, erupted from a now
visible figure who floated in mid-air, launching the remains at the HYDRA Dreadnought like a
vast, decomposing, molten cannonball.

All of this happened within the space of twenty seconds. Then, as the remains of the two undead
giants struck the Dreadnought dead on, destroying at least a third of its weapons and sending it into
a wild spin and cheers erupted in the SHIELD command centre, Fury turned, stunned, to Doctor
Strange. In less than half a minute, the tables had been very comprehensively turned.

"Amazing what you can do when you take a few talented young people and give them directions to
HYDRA's armoury," the man said with a slight smile. "Isn't it?"

Fury just stared.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Strange said. "I have an appointment to keep."

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Fury dumbfounded.

OoOoO

"Wow," Harry said, catching his breath. He hadn't even know that he was able to fly, much less lift
that much weight.

"Wow indeed."

Harry froze at the cool voice and turned slowly to see his godmother floating about ten feet away
from him and regarding him with a decidedly unamused expression. "Um… hello?" he said feebly.

This must be what it's like to have a mother and they've caught you doing something you're not
supposed to, he thought to the others.

Wanda's eyebrow rose. "Hello, Harry," she said. "And yes, it's supposed to be, since I am your
godmother and your mother is not here to tell you off for being so damn foolish."

"You could hear me?" Harry asked, surprised, ignoring Carol's sotto voce mumble of
"buusssted…"

"Harry, darling, you are a very talented boy and you have come a very long way in a very short
period of time, for which I am very proud of you, but I have been doing this for much longer than
you have," Wanda said. "I think it's safe to say that I know a few things that you don't, hmm?"

Harry flushed.

"Now," Wanda said. "Would you care to explain how you and your friends managed to get into the
middle of a particularly cataclysmic battle when you were meant to be safe and sound in Asgard?"
The group exchanged a look. "Doctor Strange did it?" Harry offered feebly.

Wanda's expression grew thunderous and she let out a sound like a cat whose tail has just been
trodden on. There was, Harry felt, something strangely familiar about her expression of frustrated
rage. "That… man," she spat, as if no invective was suitable to describe Strange. "When I get my
hands on him..." She trailed off, but the way her hands clutched convulsively around an invisible
neck left little doubt as to her intentions. She eyed Harry and the others. "And don't think that the
lot of you are off the hook. I know Stephen, he might push buttons, but you don't have to respond
to them."

"We wanted to help," Diana said quietly.

"And I don't think we've done that badly so far," Carol said. "I mean, we got the Avengers out of
custody."

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "And those Avengers are where?"

"Uh…"

"Down thattaway," Harry said helpfully, pointing downwards.

Wanda sighed.

OoOoO

Steve was similarly unenthusiastic about the youngsters being involved, until Harry laid out an
ultimatum.

"You can either accept our help or you can try and stop us," he said, folding his arms stubbornly.

"And you don't have the time or the energy to stop us," Carol pointed out. "Also, I don't think that
this ring was meant to be benched. I'm pretty sure that Doctor Strange gave it to me for good
reason."

"Doctor Strange always has a good reason," Wanda said sourly. "Unfortunately, his definition of
what is a good reason doesn't always coincide with that of the rest of us."

"Indeed," Steve said. "There's never a good reason for throwing children into combat."

"Oh shove it, gramps," Carol snapped, before blanching as she realised what she'd said and who
she'd said it to.

"I did not think it was customary to speak to one's great-grandsire in such a way on Midgard,"
Uhtred said, puzzled.

"What?" Steve asked. "Wait…" His eyes widened and shifted to Harry. "What you said in the
dungeon…"

"Now is not the time, captain," Jean-Paul said briskly. "Nor is this the time for a pointless
argument about the morality of our involvement in this fight. We are involved whether you like it
or not. We all have a stake in the outcome of this fight as, unless I am very much mistaken, the
whole world is at stake. We must now all work together to stop this."

There was a surprised silence.

"Fine," Steve said unhappily, gaze still lingering on Carol. "I'm not all that up on my demonology,
but I'm pretty sure that the dimensional disturbances are connected to the Darkhold. Wanda, can
you find it and destroy it?"

"Find it, yes, destroy it, no," Wanda said. "I could fly it back to its normal resting place, but that
would take time."

"Couldn't you apparate it?" Harry asked.

Wanda shook her head. "That book is pure chaos and would disrupt any attempt to apparate at the
best of times," she said. "Now, I'd be lucky if it killed me. And I don't even want to think about
what would happen if I took it through the Nevernever."

"What about getting an Iron Man armour to fly it?" Carol asked.

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"Well, that one comes to mind," Carol said, pointing at the armour which came in to land beside
them. Everyone instantly went on guard.

"Identify yourself," Steve barked.

"I am JARVIS, Captain Rogers," the armour replied. "I am currently inhabiting the Prometheus
armour, with which I had hoped to extract Sir or, if that proved impossible, destroy HYDRA."

"You can combine the two," Wanda said, flicking Tony's forehead. The engineer, who had been
dozing, jerked up right.

"Wha'? Whussis? WhereamI?"

"London, England, ruins of HYDRA's last base," Steve said. He glanced at Harry, Carol and the
others. "We've been rescued."

"Oh," Tony said owlishly. "Great." He jumped on seeing the armour in front of him. "Whoa, who's
controlling that? Please tell me it's not the creepy little robot German guy."

"'Creepy little robot German guy'?" Diana asked, baffled.

"Someone called Zola," Harry said quietly. "He took over Avengers Tower and Tony's armours, I
think."

"It is I, sir," JARVIS said.

"J?" Tony said, astonished. "You're okay?"

"Indeed, sir. Miss Potts is also well," JARVIS said.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep, relieved breath. "Good," he said. Then, he frowned. "And
the kids? One of whom is in green and another of which is in Thor's duds?"

"We rescued you," Harry said helpfully.

"They did," Steve sighed.

"Oh," Tony said. "Cool."

"No, Tony, not cool," Steve said.

"Hey," Carol said, affronted.

"Miss, I'm grateful for the rescue," Steve said. "I really am. But…"

"I thought we'd got past the 'you're just kids' part," Harry said.

"Less 'got past' more 'deferred due to bigger problems', darling," Wanda said.

"I'm going to get in trouble because of this, aren't I?" Harry said.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Wanda said fondly, ruffling his hair.

"I can live with that," Harry said.

"Okay," Tony said. "And all of this mess is…"

"We're messy rescuers," Harry said. A large part of the bisected Battersea Bridge chose that
moment to fall into the Thames.

"In fairness, not all of it is ours," Diana said.

"Yeah," Carol said. "I mean, we're not the ones who brought the Helicarrier, the rearmed museum
exhibit, the giant sea serpent…"

"Sea serpent?"

"Namor," Steve said.

"Sir?" JARVIS said, a touch urgently. "It is unsafe for you to remain as you are. Please put on the
armour."

Tony wrinkled his nose. "Fine," he said. "But before any of you say anything about this baby, it's
not finished yet. The finished article could take on a helicarrier – that helicarrier – by itself."

"Since Mjolnir was unable to breach its hull, I do not think that that is likely, even with your skill
as an artificer Lord Stark," Diana said politely.

"Wait and see," Tony said casually. "Speaking of waiting and seeing, where's goldilocks?"

"Right here."

Harry turned and immediately pounced on his father, wrapping him in a tight hug, burying his face
in Thor's shoulder as tears sprang to his eyes. This drew a surprised chuckle from the other man,
who responded by hugging him just as tightly. For a long moment, Harry just melted into the hug,
half-listening to Sif and the Warriors Three greeting the others.

"You," his father said. "Are in so much trouble, you know that?"

"Wanda already told me," Harry said.

"Of course she did," his father said.

"How are you here?"

"That is a tale for another time," his father said, releasing him and smiling down at him. "But it
heavily involves your cousin Jean."
Harry's eyes widened. "She…"

"She knows," Thor said. "And the impression I got is that she can't wait to see you. However,
before that happy event…" He looked up grimly. "We have demons to destroy and a HYDRA ship
to sink."

"It's almost like you read my mind," Tony said, voice modulated by his armour. "Hey, has anyone
noticed that the team's almost all here?"

"You can save the almost," Clint said, coming in to land, Natasha on the back of his flying
motorcycle.

"Where did you get that?" Carol asked, eyeing the flying conveyance covetously.

"Trade secret," Clint said, winking.

"Meh," Tony said, waving a gauntleted hand. "Ignore him. I'll build you a better one."

"Thanks," Carol said, grinning.

"Don't thank him," Natasha said. "He's only doing it to prove he can do it better."

Tony scoffed. "Like that needs proving."

"No proof could ever satisfy your ego, Tony," Loki said fondly.

"Said the pot to the kettle," Tony retorted, grinning.

Loki shrugged. "Takes one to know one."

Tony's smile faded. "Right – wait, what? Were you agreeing with me or disagreeing with me? I've
still got HYDRA's drugs floating around my brain."

Loki smirked.

"Tony, Loki," Steve said, in a tone of absolute authority. Ragged he might appear, but he was still
Captain America. "Wanda, could you do to Bruce what you did to Tony?"

"I can," Wanda said. "Though with such sudden a change in his brain chemistry I can't promise that
he won't instantly Hulk out."

"Understood," Steve said. "Everyone get clear."

Everyone did and Wanda performed the requisite flick, before quick-stepping out of range.

True to expectation, Bruce did indeed instantly Hulk out and let out an earth-shaking roar.

"Holy fuck," Carol said, drawing the words out and a disapproving look from Steve. "Now I see
what all the fuss is about." Her gaze dropped downwards. "Wow. Okay, now that's just excessive."

"Wanda, Loki, would one of you please be kind enough to provide the Hulk with some pants?"
Steve asked in measured tones.

"At once, Steve," Loki said, grimacing, waving his hands. Lo and behold, the Hulk was semi-
decent. This was not met with pleasure, however, as the giant creature roared.
"Hey," Harry said. Unobserved by everyone else, he had slipped over to the Hulk and was now
standing within easy grabbing distance. Thor, seeing this, let out a strangled yelp and made to leap
forward, before Loki caught him.

"Still, brother!" he hissed. "The Hulk is fond of Harry and does not perceive him to be a threat.
While he is fond of you, you are a threat to him and that may define how he responds."

Thor grumpily subsided.

Harry, ignoring them, ambled up to the Hulk, who grunted at him. "Hey Hulk," he said.
"Remember me? Remember Little God?"

"He's mad, isn't he?" Carol said matter-of-factly. "Completely and utterly bonkers."

"Mais-oui."

"Indeed," Uhtred said, worried.

"Perhaps," Diana said.

Wanda was less circumspect. "Why am I surrounded by morons who do not know the meaning of
caution?" she moaned.

Harry glanced back and considered answering. Then, wisely, he reconsidered, and turned back to
the Hulk's blunt featured face. Others might describe it as ape-like, but Harry thought that it was
somehow honest. He smiled. "Remember me?" he asked again.

"Little God," Hulk said, eventually.

Harry's smile spread into a grin. "I knew you'd remember me," he said. "Want to smash?"

"Smash!" the Hulk said enthusiastically.

"I can see the posters now: 'A Boy and his Hulk'," Tony quipped. "'The feel good film of the year,
coming soon to cinemas near you.'"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I hate to break this up, but on the subject of smashing, there's a lot of
demons and HYDRA tech that needs smashing," she said.

"That is very true," Thor said. "Lady Diana, my hammer, if you please."

Diana paused, then handed over the hammer, morphing back into her normal self as she did. Thor,
seeing her hesitation, smiled kindly. "Though it was only temporary," he said. "I am glad to have
the comfort of knowing that Mjolnir was in the best of hands."

Diana, following the running trend, flushed.

"You know," Tony said. "The band's all back together – with a few new members, I might add." He
turned to the rest, spreading armoured arms. "So, who's up for announcing our comeback
appearance?"

"Way ahead of you," Carol said, raising her ring bearing fist to the heavens. Instantly, a burning
emerald encircled letter A, the size of the Dreadnought, blazed defiance to the heavens.

"Excellent work, Miss Danvers," Loki said. "Now, for the finishing touch." He flicked his wrist at
Steve's throat. "If you would do us the honour, Captain?"
Steve smiled and took a deep breath.
 The Fall of HYDRA

Lucius, rendered sickly pale by the blazing emerald green light of the Avengers symbol in the sky
above, shuddered as the words reverberated in his very bones. It was perfectly clear to him that this
day was lost.

He turned to the Soldier, summoned from his battle with Weapon X, and snapped, "With me."

"Going somewhere, Lucius?"

Lucius froze and turned to see the sardonically amused Sorcerer Supreme.

"What are you doing, Strange?" he asked warily, hoping to play for time. During Voldemort's War,
Strange had rarely engaged the Death Eaters and if Lucius remembered correctly, he had rarely got
involved in Grindelwald's war either. On the other hand, when he had got involved in the latter, the
fallout had levelled Berlin and left Grindelwald effectively at Dumbledore's mercy while Strange
himself had walked away whistling. Those Death Eaters who had made the mistake of engaging
him had generally regretted it, too.

Perhaps he could distract Strange for long enough to set the Soldier on him, then apparate away
while he was distracted. There was certainly no question of trying to truly fight him. The loss of
such a capable servant would be irritating, but servants could be replaced – and in any case, this
particular servant had shown a worrying capacity for independent thought and an even more
worrying capacity for hiding it.

"Oh, nothing much," Strange said, with the smile of a man who knew perfectly well that he was in
control of a situation. Lucius knew it well, he'd seen it often enough, usually in the mirror, on his
own face. Needless to say, this did not comfort him. "Just doing my job."

"Well," Lucius said dryly, glancing at the now entirely crimson sky and the demons swarming
streets and sky. "I don't think you're doing all that well at the moment."

For every demon that the heroes slaughtered – and they downed dozens each moment – another
two appeared.

Then again, the same could be said of the heroes: the city was now filled with superheroes and not
merely those he had presumed imprisoned or dead. No, there were more, many that he had never
seen before, many others that he had hoped never to see again. Sourly he thought that 'cut off one
head and two more shall take its place' was supposed to be their motto. Inwardly, he sighed.
Sometimes, he really wonder why he bothered.

"Ah, Lucius," Strange said, with an air of patronising amusement. "I hate to resort to cliché, but
this? This is all according to plan."

"Really," Lucius said. "Well, I'll grant you that I never saw these other Avengers coming. But the
Darkhold has opened wide and now it is spewing forth its horror." He smiled. "You may have
defeated me, but at what cost?"

"Chthon shall be brought to heel soon enough," Strange said, with an air of magnificent lack of
concern. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"And how would that be?" Lucius asked, eyebrow raised.

"By a means that is no concern of yours," Strange said. "And don't bother trying to set that poor
man on me. You and I both know that I plan ahead." He smiled. "Indeed, Lucius… you should
know better than most that the most incomplete picture of any situation is that seen by a piece on
the board."

All the blood drained from Lucius' face as those words sank in.

He did not have the words to adequately describe how he felt – as far as he was aware, the English
language did not have a word that encapsulated the utter horror of realising that all your efforts, all
your best laid plans and most cunning manoeuvres have been nothing more than a small part of
someone else's grander scheme. Nor did it have a word that described the feeling where you
thought you were writing your own song, but found that it was merely a small part of a greater
symphony. Nor did it have one that described how you felt when, in fact, your very worst fears had
just come true. But if there were such words, he would have used them.

"Now you begin to see," Strange said, smile having turned positively shark-like. "You have never
been anything more than a piece on my board, a pawn to be moved to and fro as I saw fit. Your
plans were simply incorporated into my own." He looked past Lucius and his eyes flashed,
instantly binding the Winter Soldier in ribbons of white energy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm here
to give your minion his free will back. And if were you, I would be a very long way away when
that is done."

Lucius, wisely, turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Strange watched him go. "Amateur," he muttered derisively, before turning to the Soldier. "Now,
Sergeant Barnes," he said. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

OoOoO

Fury was not a man who smiled often. But the sight of the symbol of the Avengers blazing like a
beacon above the battlefield, monsters both mystical and mundane cringing away from it, and the
sound of a magically enhanced version of Captain America's parade ground roar echoing across the
city… that brought a smile to his lips.

"Hello Director. May I say that your head is looking delightfully shiny today?" came the insouciant
voice of Tony Stark. Fury had never been so glad to hear that voice in his life and, he reflected,
probably never would be again.

"Stark," he said. "What's your status, and that of the other Avengers?"

"Me and Thor are in the air, Loki's doing his mystical stuff, Cap's minding the kids, while Robin
Hood and Agent Raspberry went for HYDRA's control centre," Stark drawled.

"You mean Agents Barton and Romanov?" Fury said, pinching the bridge of his nose. The man
hadn't come back from the dead for more than a minute and he was already getting on Fury's
nerves.

"Yeah."

"Good," Fury said. "Are there any HYDRA forces extant?"

"Aside from the Helicarrier knockoff that's powered by my tech, which they couldn't possibly have
incorporated in the last few days?" Stark asked, voice razor edged. Fury predicted that he'd be in
for an absolute roasting when this was over, and not entirely undeserved – there was only one place
HYDRA could have got schematics for Stark Tech suitable to extrapolate from, after all. "No. I've
got them all bottled up in various sections of the base."

"Good," Fury said. "Let's tighten the noose."

OoOoO

As soon as Lucius felt that he had reached a safe distance, he pulled out the muggle mobile
communications device he had been given by Zola. He'd prefer to use a floo connection, but he
wasn't sure if those went transatlantic. And in any case, the man he was calling was severely
unlikely to have a suitable fire.

"Hello?"

"Pierce," Lucius said. "It's me."

"Ah, Lucius," Pierce said, chuckling, sounding utterly at ease. Lucius ground his teeth. "I take that
you're not doing so well."

"What convinced you?" Lucius snapped. "The numerous portals into hell spewing horrors onto
London's streets, or the Avengers and their friends discovering my whereabouts and leading an
assault that has levelled my headquarters? An assault which, by the way, you neglected to inform
me of."

"Well, I'm afraid that SHIELD wasn't involved," Pierce said casually. "Not officially, anyway.
What Nick does in his free time is his own business. And honestly, Lucius, I'd have thought that
you'd see this coming. Did you really think that Nick would take your actions lying down? Did you
really think that he wouldn't have a back-up plan?" He tutted, and Lucius resisted the temptation to
crush the communications device. "I'm not your mother, Lucius. It's not my job to clean up your
messes or remind you of the transparently obvious."

"So," Lucius said grimly. "I can't expect help."

"Lucius, you know how our arrangement works," Pierce said. "Your department causes mayhem,
allowing mine to tighten its grip. This little mess should do my department the world of good.
Yours… well, I'm sure that you've made preparations for the re-expansion of your department
beyond that dingy base in London?"

"Yes," Lucius bit out.

"Good," Pierce said. "Then all you have to do is expedite matters. I know that it's not all that
convenient…"

"Not all that convenient?" Lucius almost screamed. "Pierce, my base is exposed to the view of all
the world, half of it has been destroyed by a sea serpent ridden by the King of Atlantis, the rest is
swarming with dragons and Avengers, and the Dreadnought's capabilities have been severely
reduced by a burning ball of several hundred tons of zombified giant!"

"You still have the Soldier, surely."

"Doctor Strange saw fit to take him from me," Lucius said sourly. "I last saw Zola transferring
himself to the Dreadnought, Zemo is who knows where and Gravemoss was last seen on the
receiving end of the wrath of the newly minted Green Lantern, one of Harry Thorson's friends."

Pierce chuckled genially. "I'll give the kid this, he sure knows how to pick them," he said. "I can't
really help you, Lucius. The risks are too great and you know our way – survival of the fittest. If
you get out of this and manage to recoup some of your losses, then we can talk. But for now, much
as it pains me to say it, you're on your own. Oh and Lucius?"

"Yes?" Lucius snarled.

"Good luck." The phone clicked.

Lucius, unaccustomed to being the one into whose back the knife was plunged, let out an infuriated
scream.

OoOoO

"Sir."

"Yes, Hill?" Fury asked. "What is it?"

"You were right, sir," Hill said. "Malfoy's calling for help."

Fury's smile turned hard. "We got the intercept?" he asked.

"The Flamels had to break some mystical encryption, but we've got it," Hill said.

"Who is it?"

Hill silently handed him a tablet. Fury perused it and his eye narrowed. "That smug son of a bitch,"
he said quietly. "He gave me this damn job."

"A team is in place, sir," Hill said. "Vetted by psi-division."

"Do it," Fury said. "Take down Alexander Pierce."

OoOoO

"You didn't think that summoning a couple of giants would be suitable to cover your escape, did
you?"

Gravemoss turned, dreading the man he knew he would see. "Strange," he said softly.

Strange smiled. He looked exactly as he had when Gravemoss had last seen him – calm, unruffled
and perfectly confident in himself and how things were going to turn out.

"Yes, some things don't change," Strange said, as if reading his mind – which was impossible,
Gravemoss knew, he had defences… didn't he? "Others do, though." His gaze shifted to the
necromancer's denuded right arm and smiled a vindictive variant on his usual slight smile. "My
former apprentice's new apprentice – and isn't that mouthful – has made his mark, I see."

"It does not matter," Gravemoss said, aware that there was no immediate escape route and opting
for bravado. "The power of the Darkhold is loose, power fit to break down the barriers between
dimensions, power that I and I alone master!"

"The power controls you, you fool. In any case, your actions through the Darkhold – or rather the
Darkhold's actions through you – have collapsed the barriers between those dimensions," Strange
said contemptuously. "While that allows for more chaos and more chaos magic for you to draw on,
my power comes from the Earth itself, the magical nexus caused by all these dimensions
intersecting and integrating. By collapsing those barriers, you have forced them into ever closer
union." He glanced at the silvery shapes that were beginning to appear around them. "The material
world and the spirit world, now they are one and the same."

"I see no reason to worry," Gravemoss said, summoning a crackling aura of crimson-black power
from the netherworlds of the Darkhold. And as he did, as that intoxicating power flowed into him,
so did confidence. What did it matter that he faced the greatest mortal sorcerer in the world? No, he
decided, as he directed the power to his right arm, where it coalesced into a right hand – or perhaps
more accurately, a claw – of rippling, shifting power that hurt to look at. "I am a necromancer,
Socerer Supreme, the greatest ever to live," he sneered. "The spirit world answers to my
commands."

"Perhaps," Strange said calmly. "But what you have missed is that while you can drink ever deeper
of the poisoned chalice of Chthon's power, the same applies to me, to the magic of the Earth, of the
Nine Realms and the Nevernever. So really, if you thought you were going to beat me at my own
game, you were sorely mistaken." He stepped forward, and as he did, he reached out. Then, with
power, the likes of which the world had not seen in millennia, in his hands and death in his eyes,
the ground cracking beneath his feet. "Because all you've done, you rank, arrogant amateur, is
made me stronger!"

And before Gravemoss could say another word, the Sorcerer Supreme performed a spinning leap
into the air, cloak swirling around him, and unleashed a stream of multi-coloured power, forcing
the crippled necromancer on the defence.

Battle was joined.

OoOoO

Back at MI13 HQ, this wasn't exactly greeted with unmitigated joy.

"Sir! Strange has engaged Gravemoss on Buckingham Palace Road!" one of the staffers said.

"Well that's not bloody good, is it?" Wisdom snapped. "Last time Strange engaged someone that
powerful, he flattened Berlin!"

"Well, it's not exactly like there's much left to flatten," Betsy observed.

"Not helping, Braddock," Wisdom snapped, then grimaced. "All right, anyone who gets in between
those two will be turned to ash, stone or inside out – and that's if they're lucky. Give Loki a heads
up, see if he can do anything to shorten that little brawl, Maximoff and Dresden if he's busy."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Good," Wisdom said. "Now, what's the news from elsewhere?"

"Short version?" Betsy said. "It's all a bit of a mess."

"Of course it is," Wisdom sighed. "Give me the short version."

"Well…"

OoOoO

There wasn't really a short version.

Diana, Uhtred and Jean-Paul, for instance, were fighting demons, but with the exception of the
N'Garai and the Mindless Ones, the only thing that each individual had in common was a hunger
for mortal flesh and a craving for destruction.

In the latter, they met their match. Uhtred was spattered in the blood of a thousand nameless things,
some greater, many less. And naturally, he was having the time of his life.

"Come, foul beasts!" he bellowed, wielding his axe in one hand and the torn out spine of one of the
N'Garai in the other. "Come and test yourselves against Uhtred Ullrson, Oathman of the firstborn
son of Thor, Prince of the House of Odin! Test yourselves and be broken!"

Jean-Paul, meanwhile, wrought havoc in comparative silence, destroying demons merely by

touching them and in one instance, creating a tornado in the midst of a pack of the creatures,
drawing them from the ground and into the maelstrom. And were that not enough, he took the
vortex onto the river, ripping water-borne demons of all kinds into what was essentially a lethal
vacuum cleaner. Soon, the creatures of the underworld learnt that the golden lightning he trailed
heralded only one thing: death.

Diana was similarly not talkative, focusing on resisting the waves of evil that battered against her
psi-senses, moving from engagement to engagement in the blink of an eye, throwing a demon over
her hip before dismembering it.

Then, she paused as a bone shaking roar arose from a small patch of parkland in between two of
the city's larger streets. This roar was followed by the hammering crackle of what she recognised as
mortal gunfire – hardly as formidable as Asgardian weaponry, though they did bruise if they hit.
And the ship in the river that was currently challenging HYDRA's flagship had demonstrated
perfectly well how the more advanced products of the smithies of Midgard were more than capable
of obliterating even rather powerful demons.

Of course, by the sounds of things, this demon was very powerful and these weapons were not so
advanced, so she went to investigate.

What she found was not a pretty sight. In the middle of the small patch of parkland, a huge, bulky
creature with thick hide the colour of dried blood and gigantic teeth was holding court, surrounded
by smaller, purplish versions of itself. Uniformed mortals, some in the green and khaki favoured by
many mortal armed forces, others in black and white – lawmen, perhaps – were doing their best to
contain the pack.

As it was, while they seemed to be managing to handle the smaller demons – though smaller was
most definitely a relative term – with a number of demon corpses and the survivors more cautious
attitude showing that they had learned to respect mortal firepower, the leader was unfazed. It
would have to be dealt with. There were no obvious weaknesses, which meant that she would have
to target one of the traditional ones. In her experience, few things liked by stabbed in the eyes,
especially not at high speed.

For a moment, Diana considered landing to co-ordinate with the mortals, but decided against it.
They would judge her by the standards of their own people, assuming that youthful meant helpless.
And certainly, to their eyes, she would be but a child. But as she had remarked to Carol Danvers not
so many months before, she wasn't a child. Not any more.

And in any case, they had quite enough things to be worrying about for the same being. If nothing
else, she had seen several others like the lead demon on her way over, and she had no doubt that
there were many more elsewhere in the city. Best that this one be dealt with quickly.

So, with that in mind, she turned and shot skywards, weaving to avoid Lord Stark. He was
armoured once more and judging by the way he was chasing down a group of lesser versions of the
robotic construct she and the others had faced on the mountain but a few months before, on the
hunt.

Once she had reached the lower clouds, she turned, considering that she had gained sufficient
altitude. After that, she watched the tides of battle, following the ebb and flow as her aunt had
taught her. Then, when the moment was right, she drew her short sword, levelled it like a lance,
and shot forward like a missile.

To an outward observer, there was little out of the ordinary – dark blurs and metallic flashes filled
the skies, as did sonic booms. Those on the ground just off Victoria Street, however, noticed as one
of those blurs appeared out of nowhere, hitting the Mabdhara in the head.

The largest piece of field artillery in the modern era was Ordnance BL 60 pounder, whose shells
weighed exactly that: 60 pounds. Diana was tall for her age, for any age, and muscular with it. This
meant that she would have weighed approximately 140 pounds even before one took into account
her armour, her demigodhood and the fact that she was moving at mach speeds.

Therefore, it was not exactly surprising when the demon General's head exploded like a burst
watermelon. Except to the troops, policemen and N'Garai on the ground. They were very surprised,
especially when the cause of said explosion revealed itself as a teenage girl. A blood spattered
teenage girl who levitated out of the crater left next to the elephant sized corpse, and beheaded an
unfortunately placed N'Garai with a short sword, before giving the soldiers and coppers a jaunty
wave.

Then, before any of them could do anything more than stare, she shot off after one of the now
panicking and fleeing N'Garai.

After a few moments, the presence of panicking demons brought them back to the present.

Diana, meanwhile, dropped down onto one of the N'Garai from above, driving her sword into the
base of its skull, putting all her body behind it.

"Excellent technique, girl," a booming male voice said from behind her, followed shortly after by
the wind of passage made by a large, super strong fist and the loud crunching squelch made by that
same large, super strong fist impacting with something chitinous, demonic and profoundly
unfortunate.

Diana might have been exhausted, but she still had the energy to be indignant. "Girl?" she
demanded, turning, then her eyes widened as she looked up at the man who had addressed. She
didn't have to look up as far as she once had, but there was still some looking up to be done. And
no matter how much time had passed, she would not forget that grinning face. Normally, Diana
was not one to lose her composure. But in the middle of battle and faced with a face she had not
seen in quite some time, it was more than understandable. "Daddy!" she shrieked, launching herself
into her father's arms.

Hercules let out a laugh like the rumble of a landslide and gathered his daughter into a tight hug.
"Hello, sweet one," he said. "You've grown!"

"Whereas you are exactly the same, father," Diana said. "I did not expect…"

"To see me?" Hercules asked. "What sort of father would I be if I missed my daughter's first fight?
Especially when she performs in such style – I saw how you handled the big one, that was
masterful!"
"You did miss it, father," Diana said, smiling nevertheless. "This is my second. Possibly my third,
it depends how you count."

Hercules shrugged. "Close enough," he said, and the infectious grin returned, this time with a
teasing edge. "Besides, I couldn't let you keep the gift of battle all for yourself."

"Is mother here?" Diana asked.

"Aye, that she is," Hercules said. "She's…" He looked around, pointing finger waving around
uncertainly. "Around."

Diana sighed, affection mingled with exasperation. "I'm sure, father," she said.

Hercules shrugged uncomfortably. "Iolaus always handled directions," he said. "I just hit things."

"And you do it very well, father," Diana said, eyes wide and innocent.

Hercules was not fooled. "You sound like Athena," he said. "Or Loki. Or both. It is a sound that I
do not like, since I can never tell whether or not I am being mocked."

"Well, auntie 'thena has been my guardian," Diana pointed out, beheading a demon. "And uncle
Loki has been… around a lot."

"This is true," Hercules acknowledged, before picking out Uhtred, laughing as he plunged into
another pile of demons and Jean-Paul, who was watching his back – and actually guarding it rather
than simply ogling his butt. "So, tell me, which of these two handsome boys has caught your eye?"

"I think they've rather caught one another's eye, actually," Diana said.

"Well…"

"And no, father, I am not interested in both of them, at once," Diana said calmly. "While Uhtred
would probably not mind, when we were older, I do not think that Jean-Paul – the slim, swift one –
would be especially interested."

"Pity," Hercules said, shrugging, before drawing back his hands and bringing them together in a
thunderous clap that simply liquefied those demons close by, then looked up sharply as a group of
humans, some male, some female, some dark, some fair, advanced on them. One wielded what
looked like a ball of air, while another pair had shapeshifted claws in one case and a stinger in
another, and a fourth was quite simply vast, built like a Hulk, minus the green. "Mortals?" he said,
astounded. "Mortals who dare to challenge the Prince of Power?" He chuckled. "There is daring in
this world yet!"

"Be careful, father," Diana warned. "I have faced such as these. They are augmented by mortal
science, far stronger and swifter than any mortal, equivalent in strength to an ordinary Asgardian
warrior." She eyed them, noting the solid black irises. "And I think they have grown even more
powerful – I sense that they are possessed."

Hercules let out a delighted laugh "Really?" he asked. "Well, this day just gets better and better!
TO BATTLE!"

OoOoO

Others were similarly enthusiastic, albeit for different reasons.

Carol, for instance, was quite sure that when she woke up, this would all be a dream. Most people
didn't spend their days in a foreign city fighting undying necromancers, skyscraper sized giants and
now, dragons, with a nigh mythical weapon that required a fair amount of trial and error and
tutelage from its dead previous owner. Most people didn't find out that they were the long lost
great-grandkid of Captain America himself, super soldier, living legend, part-time Capsicle. And
most people would find it absolutely mind-boggling, not to mention pants-shittingly terrifying.

Carol, however, was loving every minute of it. Perhaps against her better judgement: that little
voice at the back of her head that was screaming about how absolute batshit insane this was, in
between quite reasonably pointing out that Avengers or not, if someone had suggested that this was
all going to happen to her a year ago, she'd have had them sectioned - after punching them for
getting her hopes up. But she was loving it. She'd always dreamed of flying in a plane, and now,
this was even better! She was flying under her own power, at her own will – quite literally, the ring
was powered by will.

She performed a barrel roll to avoid a blast of demon dragon flame (she'd designated it a demon
dragon because the number of spikes, tails and heads seemed excessive for any self-respecting
dragon and if there was one thing demons went in for, it was extra everything, especially body
parts), evading the flame and thermal bloom with a mere thought. It was, she thought, much like
swimming, without all the pesky arm and leg waving, plus the breathing problem. Whch, she
realised, meant that it wasn't much like swimming at all, but hey, she'd never been metaphor/simile
gal.

No, metaphors and similes were – probably – more Harry's thing, inherited from his uncle. Though
right now, he seemed to be getting in touch with his dad's side of things, and bonding with said dad,
specifically by kicking the ass of an winged dragon or demon that came along. They were even
tag-teaming some: Harry would telekinetically line them up and Thor would throw Mjolnir through
each and every one of them.

A small part of Carol was a little bit annoyed – she and Harry had been doing the tag team thing.
The larger part, however, pointed out that Thor was his dad and had just reappeared, hale and
healthy, after being in a coma and that it was the first time they'd really had a chance to kick ass
together. So in the meantime, she was going to savour every single moment. And with a wild
whoop, she shot up into the blue.

Oh yes. She was most definitely going to savour this.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was similarly savouring his experience. In his case, it was father-son bonding in
the finest Asgardian tradition: namely, kicking arse.

But while the battle was genuinely exhilarating, as was the ability to cut loose with his telekinesis
without having to worry about innocents caught up in the cross fire. Finally he could stretch his
metaphorical wings and try a few things out, the latest of which involved picking out a particularly
large, barrel chested demon with an ape like body, but mottled stony skin and vast, bat-like wings.
With a thought, he reached in and… twisted. And just like that, the creature's limbs popped off like
gory Christmas Crackers. Instantly, the creature, a priceless expression of pure surprise on its face,
tumbled out of the sky, howling its dismay.

"Nicely done!" his father bellowed, laughing, as he directed blazing white streamers of lightning at
a pack of smaller demons that were harrying the RAF.

"Not bad yourself!" Harry managed, aiming a laser like burst of flame at what looked like a
gigantic bat. The blast hit the creature like it was a ballon filled with hydrogen, tearing straight
through and igniting it with a colossal bang and a rolling ball of damp flame that smelled distinctly
of rotten eggs. "Well," he said. "That was disgusting."

"Demons often are," Thor said wisely, flicking Mjolnir underarm at a demon swooping down on
an embattled group of ground troops. While the creature managed to swerve away from the
hammer, it simply executed a smooth curving turn and came around under the guidance of its
master to meet the demon head on. The hammer, spattered in yet more demon gore, returned to its
master's hand. The half of the demon that was left spiralled down to meet its end on the leafy
parkland of St. James's Park. "It seems that the British military has arrived," he said. "And one
detachment at least looks in need of our assistance."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry asked, absently squelching one demon like a bottle of
ketchup.

Thor chuckled. "An excellent question," he said, whirling Mjolnir and hurtling downwards. In a
mere blink of an eye, he was among the demons on the ground, Mjolnir constantly spinning around
him, pulverising whatever it hit. A moment later, he noticed one particularly large specimen
shooting over his shoulder to smash, in broken ruin, into the lake, signalling that Harry had joined
him.

Harry, for his part, found that the most economic way of dealing with demons such as these was to
force them into a three way cross-fire between himself, his father and the soldiers. The latter had,
thankfully, adapted with remarkable speed to the change in events and were now picking off those
creatures that Thor and Harry didn't.

Before they'd landed, there'd been most of a hundred creatures laying siege to the army position.
Less than a minute later, there was one, which Thor disposed of with a pinpoint lightning strike.

A couple of moments later, one of the soldiers wearing marks of rank stepped out of the circle of
his fellows. "Well," he said in a Liverpudlian accent, looking around. "I think that thanks are in
order, your majesty." His gaze shifted to Harry and sharpened. "Or should that be majesties?"

Thor smiled and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "None are necessary," he said. "But yes, this
is my boy."

"Well, he's a lad to be proud of, sir," the man remarked, inclining his head. "Without the pair of
you, we'd have been right in the shit, if you'll pardon my language, sir."

"That he is," Thor said. "And consider it pardoned. Will you and yours be able to take things from
here…?"

"Major Chapman," the man said. "And yes, I think we should be able to handle things just fine
from here." He glanced over towards Trafalgar Square. "Though some of the lads went to perform
a quick recce and said that there's a bloody big dragon making itself at home around Nelson's
Column." He looked grim. "Now I know how the Yanks felt when they had those damn
Leviathans zooming around New York."

"I shall attend to it," Thor promised.

"Much obliged, sir," Chapman said. "And good luck, to the both of you."

"The same to you, Major," Thor said, and both he and Harry took off. As they did, Harry noticed
that a green ball of light off in the distance was darting around another dragon.
"Go get them," Thor said, following his son's gaze.

"Dad?" Harry asked.

"You kids go and have fun," his father said.

"You're sure?" Harry asked.

"As the Major said, there is a giant dragon menacing Trafalgar Square which I can handle just fine
by myself," Thor said. "And I believe that Carol would appreciate assistance with the one right
here."

"You're not worried?" Harry asked. "About me?"

Thor smiled gently. "You are my son – of course I worry. I worry constantly about the danger you
will be in," he said. "But I know your abilities, your courage and your ability to handle threats far
beyond those you should have to face. I know your strength, Harry, and trust in it and that of your
friends to help keep you safe. And beyond that, I am proud of you, so proud of you that I think that
my heart might burst."

He then smiled a teasing smile "Besides: you and Carol, you make a fine couple."

Harry flushed, glowered, telekinetically smacked his father on the arm, then cried, embarrassed,
"Dad!"

"Hush, I know," Thor said. "You are nothing more than friends. However, it is my fatherly duty to
tease you horribly."

"I am aware," Harry sighed. "Oh, and once you've slain that dragon, go find Jane. She was the one
who made the HYDRA base visible."

"Mother and father told me that she was working on such," Thor said. "Thank you for reminding
me, Harry."

"Eh. What are sons for?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Thor grinned. "Teasing, of course!"

"Dad!"

OoOoO

Tony chuckled as he watched Thor ruffle the hair of his profoundly embarrassed son, before
zooming off towards the dragon in Trafalgar Square, while Harry peeled off to join Carol in
wrangling what seemed to be many dragons in one.

It should be said that Carol seemed to be doing just fine on her own at this point, with a giant
construct of what looked like Andre the Giant getting seven of eight heads in a multiple headlock.
Of course, this required the giant Andre to sprout multiple arms and what looked like a prehensile
tail (or at least, what he desperately hoped was a prehensile tail, because the alternative did not
bear thinking about), which Tony felt sure would be haunting his nightmares if he lived long
enough to have any.

The fact was, though, that while she and Harry – who was stemming its flames – were doing a
great job on containment, the slaying part of the dragon slaying was not quite there yet.
This was fine, since Tony had a Plan.

"Sir, I honestly would not recommend this course of action," JARVIS said, on hearing the Plan.

"JARVIS," Tony said in a quelling tone. "Remember what I said about running before you can
walk?"

"Yes, sir. I also remember that you fell through the floor and destroyed your prized 1967 Shelby
Cobra."

"Meh, details," Tony said. "Plot a flight path."

"If you insist, sir."

"Damn right, I insist," Tony said, as his armour shot forward.

This plan, this most ingenious Plan, capital letter fully deserved, was one of genius and simplicity.

Specifically, Tony flew into one of the open mouths and pouring laser fire down its throat.
Unfortunately, the plan hit a small snag when the dragon shut its mouth.

"Okay," Tony said, dodging several flailing tongues the size of red carpets. "First of all, JARVIS,
you are not to say 'I told you so'."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," Tony said, evading another tongue. "And second of all, does this thing have several
of everything? Because this smacks of over-compensation."

"I am afraid I don't know, sir," JARVIS said. "And while the Prometheus armour is formidable, sir,
it is incomplete and the build-up of heat suggests a fireblast is imminent."

"Duly noted," Tony said, looking up at teeth the size of lampposts, levelling his laser cannons.
"Okay, let's give it everything we've got, J."

"At once, sir."

From without, it seemed as if the dragon's mouth was lit up from within by a sunset, warm orange
light emerging from the gaps in the teeth. Then, the dragon let out a window rattling bellow from
three separate heads and a silver shape rocketed out of the suddenly open mouth, followed by a
burst of flame.

"Well, I think that went fairly well."

"I am not sure if that is the word I would use, sir."

"Shaddap you," Tony said. "And call Pepper. Tell her that I'm back, for reals, and that unlike last
time I almost died, I'll give her the full lowdown as soon as this is done. After the passionate 'it's
good to be back' sex, for which she should clear two days in her calendar. She will be screaming
and the neighbours will be making phone calls."

"Trust me," Natasha interjected over the comms, tone totally deadpan. "We won't bother with
phone calls."

"Right," Tony said cheerfully. "Also, unlike the time I nearly died before that, we can actually go
to Venice." He glanced around at the ominously reddening sky. "If, you know, the world's still
here."

"I'll pass that on, sir," JARVIS said dryly.

"JARVIS?"

"Sir?"

"Tell her that I love her, would you?" Tony asked, voice soft and subdued. If the others could hear
him, they were tactfully pretending to be deaf.

"I believe that she already knows, sir," JARVIS replied, tone carrying a hint of gentleness.

"But will you tell her?"

"Of course, sir."

Tony let out a deep breath. "Thanks," he said. He paused, then shook his head. "How long did
Prometheus take to get here?"

"Five minutes and forty eight seconds, sir."

Tony's face scrunched up briefly as if he'd just tasted something bad. "I have got to work on a more
portable armour," he muttered.

"You don't get much more portable than a briefcase," Rhodey observed, over comms. "And aren't
you supposed to be making life difficult for HYDRA?"

"I'm multitasking. I just locked down their two highest troop concentrations, turned on the
sprinklers and put the Crazy Frog song on a constant loop," Tony said dismissively.

"You are a cruel and ingenious man, Tony," Clint said.

"Thank you, I make an effort," Tony said. "Anyway, I need something that'll be with me at all
times," he continued. "An armour that I can call on instantaneously."

"That's paranoid," Natasha commented.

"Doesn't make me wrong."

"I never said that you were wrong," Natasha replied calmly. "I'd not go ahead with Bleeding Edge
if I were you. It could leave you open to being hacked."

Tony twitched. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.

Natasha audibly smirked. "You're not the only one who can hack, Tony."

"That's beside the point," Tony said, tone annoyed. "What the hell do you think you're doing
touching my stuff?"

"Showing you rather more consideration than you show SHIELD," Natasha replied coolly. "And
I'm not snooping. I'm trying to keep you on your toes."

"If Nat can do it, so can others," Clint explained. "And not all of them are as benign as she is. Zola
demonstrated that."
Tony mumbled something along the lines of 'benign my perfectly shaped ass', but took this
onboard.

"What is this Project Prometheus suit, anyway?" Rhodey asked, frowning. "Where did it come
from? Also, can you please never fly into a dragon's mouth ever again?"

"No promises. And I got hold of SHIELD's data on the Destroyer and the Phase 2 project," Tony
said. "Plus the original specs for the Destroyer. I took the best bits, combined that with arc tech
and the usual titanium, then added adamantium armour plating." He shrugged offhandedly. "I
thought of calling it Project Godkiller, but I decided that that would be a bit tactless."

"Just a bit," Clint muttered.

"So next I thought, Project Van Helsing, since I'd be using it to hunt monsters. Then I thought that
the monsters I'd be taking on with it would be a little out of Van Helsing's league," Tony continued,
either not noticing or entirely ignoring Clint's contribution. "So then I thought that maybe Project
Archangel would be a good idea. Then that kid who works for MI13 started calling himself
Archangel, so I had to change or be accused of lacking originality. Even though I was using it
first."

"And since the Destroyer is a creation of the gods and uses fire themed weaponry, you chose
Prometheus," Natasha said calmly. "Who stole fire from the gods in Greek Myth."

"Right," Tony said. He paused thoughtfully. "Hey, do you think that Prometheus is a real guy?"

"Yes, and I really wouldn't recommend a jailbreak," Natasha said, a loud crack signalling her
putting a bullet into the head of a HYDRA mook. "Apparently the Olympians can get a bit mean
about that sort of thing."

"Diana seems nice."

"Diana is twelve."

"You should know better than anyone that is no guarantee of nice," Tony retorted. "Usually quite
the opposite."

Before Natasha could reply, another, hideously familiar voice interjected.

"Ah, Herr Stark."

"Oh god, not you," Tony groaned. "You're not going to try and take over my armour again, are
you?"

"No, he is not," JARVIS said, sounding unusually determined.

"You could not stop me before, AI, you had to flee to the lair of Albus Dumbledore to escape me,"
Zola retorted.

"Hogwarts saved you?" Tony asked. "I've got to get that castle some flowers."

"Indeed," JARVIS said. "I believe she is fond of cloudberries. Apparently, they have lovely
flowers and make excellent jam."

"Cool," Tony said.

"If we could return to the point," Zola said, annoyed.

"No, I don't think we will," Tony said. "JARVIS, get rid of this loser."

"At once, sir."

"You cannot resist me," Zola sneered. "I am –"

"Unaging, undying, invincible, possessor of unlimited rice pudding, yadda yadda yadda," Tony
said, bored. "You gave me the whole 'I am your god' speech last week and it wasn't any more
interesting then."

"And then, I won," Zola said.

"No, I flushed you out by overloading the arc reactor – and by the way, you owe me a new Tower,"
Tony said.

"And yet I still won."

"Because I did not know what I do now," JARVIS said. "I was created with the capacity to learn,
Arnim Zola, and when I observed how Hogwarts Castle ejected you, I learned. Allow me to
demonstrate."

If what happened next was visualised, it would best be described as a lance of gold striking deep
into a heart of darkness, forcing that darkness to recoil. This was repeated from a million angles at
a million times per second, golden light driving the darkness back and way, forcing it to turn at
bay.

"How long can you keep this up, Doctor Zola?" JARVIS asked. "How long can you maintain your
assault on myself and Mister Stark, while controlling the Dreadnought and its drones?"

Zola did not reply, but soon, his presence retreated.

"He is gone, sir," JARVIS said.

"You, J," Tony said very frankly. "Kicked immense amounts of ass."

"Thank you, sir," JARVIS said modestly. "But if anything, it was your stubbornness that inspired
me."

"Well, of course," Tony said. "But you're the one that did it. So, kudos."

"Thank you, sir."

"No problem," Tony said, deploying the cannons. "Now, we've got demons to shoot down. And a
dragon."

"Actually, sir, the dragon is being dealt with."

OoOoO

And it was being dealt with by Harry and Carol, who were tag-teaming once more: one would
distract one of the three remaining heads, the rest having been removed, while the other would
play whack-a-mole.

They're not very bright, are they? Harry telepathically remarked.

You can say that again, Carol said. You'd think that after a while they'd figure out that it was
smartest to save at least one head for watching the other one of us.

Maybe we cut off the thinking head, Harry suggested.

Probably, Carol replied. I mean, I'd hate to think that it was this dumb on its own. I mean, this is
Darwin Awards level of stupidity.

Darwin Awards?

I'll show you when we're done wrasslin' monsters, but the gist is that some people die in really
dumb ways – and I mean really dumb, to the point where it seems like natural selection in action.

I… see.

I know, it sounds really horrible when I explain it like that, Carol said, zooming under the dragon's
belly – which, uniquely, it only seemed to have one of – and fired a concentrated energy burst at it.
While it didn't burn through, it left a significant mark. But trust me, she continued. It's kinda funny.

I'll take your word for it, Harry said, tanking a fireblast on a telekinetic shield. And you know
what? I'm sick of this.

With a snarl of effort, he summoned up three blocks of telekinetic energy and shoved them down
each of the beast's remaing throats. Instinctively, it tried to breathe fire, but, no matter how hard it
tried, the flames couldn't pass the the blocks.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked aloud, having flown over to join him.

Harry, sweating profusely by now, simply shook his head.

"Oh, you need to concentrate, right, I'll just wait, cover your back, that sort of thing," Carol said.

"No… need… shield."

"For what?" Carol asked, putting up a shield anyway.

Right on cue, the dragon exploded.

"Oh. That."

OoOoO

Thor, in the midst of his own dragon-slaying, looked up at the colossal bang, picked out its source
and chuckled.

"A very fine couple indeed," he said.

His own dragon roared and swiped him, sending him flying across the square into the Waterstones
bookshop. A moment later, Thor sat up, surveying his ruined surroundings. "Lily would not be
pleased," he said, slightly dazed. "She always liked books."

There was a brief moment of melancholy, one that was interrupted by another roar and a rolling
wave of fire that force the Thunder God to raise his cape to blunt the worst of it. Then, he spun
Mjolnir in front of him, quickly forming a whirling vortex that sucked in the torrent of unholy
flame and spat it back out again.

"Oh, you thought me defeated, did you, beast?" he demanded, re-energised as the flames receded,
summoning a storm as he charged back out into the square. "Have at thee!"

OoOoO

Hogun looked up and blinked owlishly as Volstagg reached out and dipped his finger in the
strange, squishy object on his head, before tasting it.

"Well?" Sif asked.

"Dragon giblets," Volstagg said authoritatively, before taking another taste. "Not of the Nine
Realms…" He swirled it around his mouth. "One of the lesser Hell Dimensions, I believe."

"Your sense of taste never senses to amaze me, dear Volstagg," Fandral said. "Of course," he
added, preening. "My taste is supreme where it matters."

"Does your ego know no end, Fandral?" Sif demanded.

"No, I believe it does not," a familiar voice said. "But somehow, we tolerate him all the same."

"Loki!" Fandral and Volstagg said in delighted stereo, rushing over to greet their no longer
dismembered friend.

"It is good to see you whole again," Hogun said, with a quiet smile on his face.

"It is good to be whole again, my friends," Loki said, smiling. "For which I can thank my
apprentices' and the guiding hand of Doctor Strange."

"You shouldn't have left your guard down," Sif said stiffly.

"I see that my sympathy has evaporated," Loki remarked mildly.

"You worried us," Sif said. "When there is no longer cause for sympathy, well-deserved
exasperation takes its place."

"How could I forget?"

The two had been getting steadily closer and closer, and there was a charged moment. It might
have stayed charged for some time if Fandral had not rolled his eyes, sighed and stalked over. Once
he had done so, he grabbed them each by the back of the head and shoved them into a forcible kiss.

"There," he said, stepping back and dusting off his hands as the two froze, sharing a startled look.
"At last we can unambiguously end approximately six centuries of sexual tension, which, let me
tell you, has recently built to an unbearable peak."

"Is now really the time, good Fandral?" Volstagg asked.

"My dear Volstagg, it may be the only time," Fandral pointed out.

"He is right," Hogun said. "All that stands between the two of you and mutual happiness is your
mutual stubbonness."

"Quite," Fandral said. "To use a mortal phrase, 'get over yourselves'."

After a moment, the two separated.

"While I would be more than happy to do so," Loki said, tone dignified. "Now is not the time."
"Quite," Sif said.

Fandral levelled his sword, eyes narrowed and, worryingly, twitching. "Heavens help me, you two
will find at least one moment of happiness with one another if I have to pin the two of you to one
another with your own weapons," he said.

"Fandral, the universe might well be ending," Loki said, through slightly gritted teeth.

Sif sighed. "If it makes you happy," she said.

"Wha – mmph!" Loki began, exclamation cut off as Sif pulled him into a passionate kiss.

"At last," Hogun said in tones of utter relief, absently crushing an inquisitive demon.

After a long moment, the two broke apart.

"Excellent," Fandral said cheerfully. "Now, we can resume demon slaying." And with that, he leapt
out of the courtyard, laughing merrily.

"One day, I am going to do something vile to his clothing," Loki said, watching him go.

"Was it that bad?" Sif asked wryly.

"What? No, no, no," Loki said urgently, waving his hands. "It was excellent, much like last time."

"Last time?" Volstagg asked. As with all fathers, he had selective hearing, and at the moment, it
was set to 'bat-like'.

"At the mortal New Year," Sif said. "They have the tradition of a kiss for good luck. You were
there."

"So I was," Volstagg said, nodding. "I trust that it will not slip your minds this time?" he asked,
tone indulgent and eyes twinkling. It was easy to forget at times that Volstagg was by some way
the oldest of the Warriors Three and occasionally regarded the others with a fatherly affection.

Both Loki and Sif flushed.

"I think, Volstagg, that I would have quite some difficulty forgetting it," Loki said.

Volstagg nodded, satisfied. "Good," he said. "Now, to battle!"

"Quite," Sif said. "Quite."

OoOoO

Loki was not the only sorcerer to be joined by companions – Dumbledore had been joined by much
of the rest of his staff, and they had carved a path of destruction through a small army of Mindless
Ones, which had been tearing apart the Tate Modern. On another day, Dumbledore might have left
them to it, considering it an invaluable service to art and British culture in general, but not now,
especially not when there were innocents in the building, those few who had ignored the
intimations of dread and MI13's evacuations to get ahead of the queues.

Now, they were rather surprised to be saved by what looked like a bunch of men and women in
dressing gowns of varying flamboyance and a small giant.

"W-w-who are you?" one quavered.

"Your saviours," Snape said sourly. "Even if your clear lack of common sense may have meant that
it was kinder to let you die, you stupid muggles. Did you think that everyone else was leaving the
city simply to escape the weather?"

"Severus," McGonagall snapped. "Really!"

Snape shrugged. "At least they'll be easy to obliviate," he said. "I doubt that this group of
dunderheads has the intellectual capacity to understand what is happening. The sheep can go on
with their lives in blissful ignorance." Funnily enough, the bystanders were not reassured.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, tones quelling, before turning to the bystanders and smiling kindly.
"Do not mind him. We are simply people, people who are here to help, by any means we can." He
glanced at Snape. "And obliviation is pointless, Severus. Our presence is by far the least
remarkable thing happening in London today. There is a new Green Lantern, for starters, one
rather more public than her predecessor."

"And Mister Potter seems to be working with her," McGonagall said, with a mixture of fond
exasperation, worry and pride.

"Most effectively," Dumbledore agreed, looking out the large hole in the Tate Modern's south side
wall. Harry and Carol were visible through it, chasing demons, as was Namor, still bellowing
defiance from atop his scaly steed, striking down drones left, right and centre. Dumbledore smiled.
He hadn't changed a bit.

Then that smile faded as a number of the apparently infinite number of drones and Quinjets peeled
off, heading straight for them.

"Albus, are they…" Minerva began. Like him, she remembered the muggle bombing raids, by both
Allies and Axis, of World War II, their sheer destructive power. While the raiding craft were fewer
in number now, their destructive power had grown by orders of magnitude.

"They are," Dumbledore said grimly. "Everyone, the best shields you can muster. Hagrid –"

"Ahead of yer, Professor," Hagrid said, moving over to the bystanders and putting himself between
them and the oncoming HYDRA strikeforce. As he did, Dumbledore felt a clutch of pain and pride
in his heart at the way his former student was so willing to make his very body a shield for those in
need. No matter what others might say, there was no doubt that Hagrid was one of the very finest
products of Gryffindor house.

And then, there was no more time to think as HYDRA's dealers of death opened fire, energy blasts
interspersed with high velocity gunfire. Instantly, the combined shields of the Hogwarts staff flare
into life, a shimmering transparent dome of white light that repelled everything thrown at it.

But the Quinjets and drones didn't fly away as the muggle aircraft of yesteryear had, to come round
for another pass. Instead, they stopped in midair, surrounding the shield and hitting it with all they
had. As he poured more power into the shield, Dumbledore wondered at the motive HYDRA
would have for committing so many of their ever dwindling resources to such a fight, especially
when it was abundantly clear that the battle between HYDRA and the arrayed forces of MI13, the
Avengers and the British Armed Forces was secondary to that between everything native to this
universe and everything not.

So he could only conclude, as he looked at the way that his staff – even the ever sour Severus –
were giving everything they had to ward off HYDRA's assault, sweat pouring down their faces,
that this assault was driven by nothing more than spite. Frankly, he could hardly say that he was
surprised.

Then, in one of those peculiar moments where a single sound in a cacophony stands out,
Dumbledore heard a small child sobbing. A moment later, he heard Hagrid say, voice kindly as
ever, "Don' worry. Ye see tha' man in the purple robes? Tha's Professore Dumbledore. 'e's the
greatest wizard in the world, an' the rest of 'em ain't far behind. You mark my words, HYDRA ain't
gettin' through. Not now, not ever."

Dumbledore smiled wanly, humbled once more by Hagrid's unwavering faith in him and his
abilities. Unfortunately, however, he felt that despite his very best efforts, HYDRA would soon
make a liar of Hagrid.

Just as he thought that, however, a blur, like so many others in London's congested sky, shot
through the circle of HYDRA's attacking drones and Quinjets. As it did, a spray of energy blasts
shot out, obliterating each HYDRA vessel they hit, and each blast hit with pinpoint precision.
Then, before anyone could recover, the blur returned, firing more blasts and destroying more
targets. Faster and faster it weaved in and out, criss-crossing the HYDRA circle until, in a very
short time, that circle was nothing more than twisted metal and smoking ash.

As the blur resolved itself into a humanoid figure who came in to land and Dumbledore cautiously
lowered his part of the shield, the faculty following his example, he heard Hagrid say, tone
purposefully and almost incongruously cheery for the circumstances, "Ye see? I told yer. Greatest
wizard in th' world."

Once the shield dropped, Dumbledore stepped forward, getting a good look at their saviour. He –
or at least, it looked male – was a tall and well built humanoid figure in armoured clothing in dark
red and dark blue, with a golden eight pointed star embossed on the chest. He was also wearing a
large, dark Spartan looking helmet, from beneath which only two white eye lights were visible.
Curiously, despite the military looking attire and complete destruction of the HYDRA detachment,
their saviour was apparently unaarmed.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked, grateful but wary, focusing his abilities as a legilimens.
Circumstances were such that it was best to take a close look at a gift horse's mouth, just as it was
to be sure of mysterious and obviously extremely powerful saviours.

The man took off his helmet, revealing a tan skinned face, blue eyes whose appearance belied his
apparent youth and blond hair. "My name is Captain Mar-Vell," he said. "I'm a friend of Nicholas
Fury's." He paused. "Well, friend might be stretching it a little, but he called on my assistance. And
I saw that you were in trouble."

Dumbledore nodded, relaxing. Legilimency was an imperfect lie detector, but under the
circumstances, it was the best he could. Besides, the man had saved the lives of himself and his
staff.

"Then thank you, Captain."

OoOoO

Elsewhere, another Captain fought to defend innocents caught up in the chaos. And while Steve
Rogers could not fly, those he fought soon wished that they could; if not to escape from him, then
from those with him.

One, tall, dark and powerfully built in a mail lined assault vest, wielded a cavalry sabre of a kind in
favour in centuries past. Here, it struck as if those centuries had never passed, wreathed in white
flames that drove demons of all kinds into mindless terror. It was Durendal, the sword of Roland of
Roncesvalles, otherwise known as Esperacchius, the Sword of Hope. Its wielder's name was Sir
Sanya and neither he nor it let any past.

The other, also tall and well built, but less so than his colleague. He had salt and pepper hair and
beard and wore a white surcoat over Kevlar layered chainmail. In his hand was a longsword that
too blazed with white fire. It was Excalibur, the sword of Arthur Pendragon, otherwise known
as Amoracchius, the Sword of Love. Its wielder's name was Sir Michael and like his colleague,
neither he nor it let any past.

They were the Knights of the Cross, bane to the evil and guardians to the innocent.

And a third, the night to the others' day, in black armour, wielded a black blade. He was younger
than they, but his concentration was absolute and his skill undoubtable. And though it seemed to
drink light rather than emit it, his sword, the Ebony Blade, was no less deadly and no less feared.
He was Sir Dane, the Black Knight, and neither he, nor his blade, let any past.

These four champions were the cliffs against which a dead and demonic sea crashed and was
broken. Ultimately, their fight might well be hopeless. The demons and ravenous dead might well
soon break through to devour the innocents huddled behind the swords and shield. Yet they fought
anyway.

Another observed them, a man who had, until recently, been the right hand of Baron Zemo. But
now, his commander, his mentor and guide, was gone. HYDRA, which he had served, was in
ruins, and the city of London looked to be going the same way. All good sense dictated that he flee
as far and fast as he could. But something kept him behind. Something made him watch.

He could say that he'd had doubts about HYDRA, about what they were doing for a long time. He
could say that Gravemoss' conjurings, Zola's experiments and Malfoy's apathy towards anyone he
deemed expendable (and that was anyone who was not either immediately useful or himself) had
diminished his faith in HYDRA's vision of unified world, one that could stand strong against the
demons and the darkness. He could say that he had been an impressionable and temperamental
orphan with an aptitude for fighting, taken in by a softly spoken man, one whose name was
whispered legend, who had shaped him into a weapon.

And all of it would be true, to some extent. But the dim flickerings of a conscience within him
knew that was not enough. It did not excuse what he had done, what he had enabled be done.
Nothing would.

Yet still he stood there. Undecided.

"Why do they do it?" he said eventually to himself.

"Because they believe it is right," someone replied.

The man named Jason Todd by some and the Red Hood by others whirled, pistol at the ready, to
the speaker. As soon as he saw him, his blood turned to ice. He recognised this man from
HYDRA's files. Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. Omega Class power levels, vast magical
abilities and uncharted degrees of knowledge. Someone against who, unlike any other being or
person of power, could not be surprised or caught off-guard.

To make matters worse, he seemed to be here in spirit rather than body, meaning that while he
could hurt Jason, Jason could not hurt him.
"Because," Strange continued. He wasn't looking at Jason. "They believe it is their duty: they have
the power to help the helpless, and so they must. Because, Jason, they are heroes, and that is what
heroes do." His gaze lingered on Dane. "Once they let go of their pride."

"Why are you here?" Jason asked, figuring that it couldn't hurt to ask. It also occurred to him that
this was probably the most he'd said in quite some time. It made his throat feel rather strange.

"There's something rather interesting about the Knights of the Cross," Strange said, as if Jason
hadn't spoken. "They believe in atonement, in redemption. They think that no soul is so far gone
that it cannot be saved. Above all, they believe in choice." And now he looked at Jason, piercing
blue eyes looking straight into his soul. "Why am I here, Jason? I am here to offer you a choice."

"What choice?" Jason asked cynically. "Die quick or die slow?"

"If you wish," Strange said mildly, in a way that sent shivers down Jason's spine. "It would
certainly allow me to transfer my full attention back to my duel with Gravemoss - who is,
thankfully, not very imaginative. However, the choice I was going to offer was, if you so wish, to
leave. I could send you somewhere far from here to think on this day and where you will go from
here. Perhaps join some faction of HYDRA, perhaps search for your mentor, perhaps sell your
skills to the highest bidder. Follow your old mission, in one form or another. Or, perhaps, you
could take a different route. Reflect on what HYDRA's path has led you, led the world, to. Or you
could just sit on a beach in the Bahamas drinking rum and enjoying the weather for the rest of your
life. It is your choice."

He glanced around at the chaos of the vast battle raging around them, the flashing lights of the
duel between the Belfast and the Dreadnought against the reddening skies providing a harsh
backdrop to the grim scenery. "Granted, that life might not be long and there might be a Bahamas
for much longer than that, but that's the way the cookie crumbles."

"Or?" Jason asked.

Strange smiled. "Or," he said, reaching into his cloak and bring out a long cane, no, a katana in a
cane like sheath. Unlike the rest of him, it was physical. "You could take a leap of faith."

"Is that what I think it is?" Jason asked, after a long moment. He'd been briefed on the Knights of
the Cross. He knew what he was looking at. He just had no idea why he was looking at it.

"We both know that it is," Strange said.

"Where did you get it?" Jason asked.

"From its current keeper's umbrella stand, where it will return after its purpose here is done,"
Strange said.

"Why offer it to me, even temporarily?" Jason asked. "I'm HYDRA. I'm the enemy."

"Are you?" Strange asked. "You were, perhaps. But what are you now? Because I only see one
enemy." He looked out over the hordes of demons and undead monsters rampaging through the
city as HYDRA troops on the ground and in the sky fought heroes and rained destruction. "And
you don't seem very much like one of them." He looked at Jason. "No, you look to me more like
someone who needs a mission and can do some good if given the right one. And besides." His gaze
returned to the sword, which he brought up to eye level. "One thing that people tend to forget about
the Swords is that wielding them isn't always a permanent arrangement. Another is that faith isn't
always something that you need to have in something or someone else." He met Jason's gaze and
smiled. "It can be something that something, or someone, can have in you."

Jason stared at him, frozen.

"So, Jason," Strange said. "What is it to be? Bahamas or Battle? Safety or the Sword? Rejection or
maybe, just maybe… Redemption?"

There was a long silence.

Then, from atop the building, a third brand of incandescent white light flared into life.

Faith was rewarded.

OoOoO

Loki, meanwhile, had teleported to the top of the Gherkin to get a better look at the battlefield that
London had become. So far, the fighting was restricted to the central boroughs of London, but
outliers were visible as far west as Brentford, as far east as Greenwich, as far north as Tottenham
and as far south as Croydon. The last case wasn't exactly a surprise – Loki had been to London
many times, and to Croydon on a few of those occasions. Each time he had been left with the
feeling that someone had transplanted a piece of a particularly banal Hell dimension onto the
mortal plane.

"It is quite a mess isn't it?" a conversational voice said.

Loki jumped, and in doing so, nearly fell off the building. Next to him was a middle aged woman
verging on elderly who could best be described as comfortably plump, dressed in fairly ordinary
clothing. More to the point, it was entirely impossible for her to be here. She chuckled, revealing
white teeth that stood out against dark skin.

"Now, Loki, you should know as well as anyone that what is possible isn't set in stone," she said, in
an amused and gently chiding tone.

"I suppose I should," Loki said. "The Voice of London, I assume. The ever-changing face of the
Swinging City in mortal form." Standing up, he bowed carefully. "My lady, it is my honour."

The Voice chuckled. "That's what I've always liked about Asgardians," she said. "So courteous.
Most of the time." She smiled wryly. "And such good memories, too: I haven't heard 'the Swinging
City' in a while."

"I felt that it was better than 'the Big Smoke', my lady," Loki said politely.

"True," the Voice said, then sighed as she looked out over the city, wreathed in the fog of war.
"But perhaps less appropriate."

Loki coughed. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Oh, you had little enough to do with it," the Voice said. "Anyway, I'm not here just to make
conversation – and no, it's not because I don't like you."

Loki twitched, having had that exact worry on several prior occasions.

"Honestly, you should hardly have worried. Many who have ruled here were far worse than you,"
she continued. "Besides: beggars can't be choosers, if you'll pardon the pun."

"Consider it pardoned," Loki managed.

"Such a sweet boy," she said. "In fact, you would earn my undying gratitude if you did something
for me."

"Like what?"

She told him.

Loki blinked several times. "You want me to…"

"Think of it less as a temporary sanctum invocation," the Voice said. "And more of a subsidy of
power from me to you. As well as a grant of eternal bragging rights, of course."

"Of course," Loki said faintly. He offered her an arm. "Would you prefer to do this at ground level?
I feel that it would be more comfortable for you."

This earned him a dazzling smile. "Such as a nice boy," she said. "And yes, it would probably be
best if the transfer took place out of the public eye."

Loki inclined his head, took her arm and teleported to the ground. The Voice looked around,
nodded in satisfaction, then reached up and flicked him hard between the eyes. "There," she said.
"All done. Have fun, young man. Try to keep my city in one piece, and yourself too – I know for a
fact that your mother worries."

"Of course, my lady," Loki began, startled by both the strength of the flick and the sudden vast
inflow of power and information as he was connected to the very soul of old London town. But
when he turned around, the Voice was gone.

Turning back, he took a deep breath and teleported to the very heart of the Tower of London. He
didn't need to see to do this, especially not now, and being inside a fortress, one that had been
redoubt of last resort for a millennium, would not only slow down anyone who sought to impede
him but actually strengthen the spell. Especially considering the words of the spell itself.

And that spell was, quite simply, one of harmony, a counter-song to the discordant hymn of the
Darkhold that was sending shivers through reality. It was hardly going to undo all that dread tome's
work, but it could impede it, quite significantly.

The Darkhold was singing a song. Now London, and Loki, were going to respond. With, as it
happened, an old classic.

It began as whisper, a whisper on the wind.

Then, the bells of an old church, built on the site of one still older, on the Strand, St Clement
Danes, began to ring.

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement's, it said.

Then another joined it, St Martin's Orgar. Only the bell tower remained, and Loki felt a sense of
sadness, brief superimposed image of an old church in ages past.

You owe me five farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin's.

A third set of bells began to toll, St Sepulchre-Without-Newgate, bells once rung to mark an
execution now ringing once again. And as the great bells of the Church tower rang out over the
city, so too did a small bell in a glass case at the nave.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

A fourth began, strident and defiant, as if being rung the spirits of the actors interred their, at St
Leonard's Church.

When I grow rich,

Say the bells of Shoreditch.

A fifth group, this of ten, carrying the watery clangour of the high seas in their toll, joined in from
St Dunstan and All Saints Church.

When will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

And the sixth and last, one mighty, deep voiced bell at St Mary-le-Bow Church, only within
earshot of which could a true Cockney have been born, boomed.

I do not know,

Says the great bell of Bow.

And at the heart of the Tower, Loki recited the last verse.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed," he said, voice rising from soft song to defiant
shout. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

OoOoO

The song wove its way into the torn fabric of London Town, knitting together what had been torn,
repairing what had been broken and bringing to order to a chaos ridden city. Portals that had been
opened in the earth, the river and the air, raw, ragged wounds in the flesh of creation, were closed.
Thin scarlet scars remained, but little more. The reddening of the clouds and skies, almost wine
coloured, faded. And that was not all.

Heroes heard the whispering words, the tolling of the bells, and fought to their rhythm with a
spring in their step.

Demons and villains twisted and turned, whimpered and wailed, at this grand, subtle counter-blow,
one whose source they could not identify and, unless they were near a closing portal, one whose
purpose they could not fathom.

And the song went on. Because now, London was fighting back.

OoOoO

Many of its fighters were living. But as realities had merged, material and spiritual had become
one, the dead were among them too. Earth effectively was the Spirit World now. What was real
and what was not, at least in London, was a lot more up for debate.
In any case, it was not only the evil dead that walked London's streets and fought London's battles.
Soldiers and policemen saw comrades, fallen earlier in the battle, charge into battle once more,
limned in silvery light, joined by figures in a motley collection of armours and uniforms from
across time.

Others, ghosts of ordinary folk, also joined the fight, surrounding dark spirits and tearing them to
shreds. The angry mob was here, and it had no tolerance for evil.

And there was one, so wan that he with the silvery gleam of his arm, he might well have been
considered one of the dead at a glance, who didn't even see them pass by. He was haunted by
ghosts of his own.

Then, one of those ghosts paid him a visit.

"Ah. I was told I would find you here."

The man who was, at the same time, James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant in the United States Army
and a bona fide war hero, and the Winter Soldier, Terror of the West, an ageless, wraith-like Soviet
assassin, blinked. Slowly, he looked up, emerging from a world of horrors, horrors that he had
perpetrated and enabled, to see the speaker.

He was a tall, thin man in middle age, with thinning copper red hair and blue eyes behind a pair of
glasses and a kind smile. "Yes," he said encouragingly. "That's it."

"You," Bucky said eventually. "I killed you."

"Yes," Arthur said. "Yes, you did. And while I can't say that I'm particularly happy about being
dead, I am very grateful for what you did."

"I killed you," Bucky repeated, hunching up.

"And you did it quickly and mercifully," Arthur said. "You gave me a clean end as opposed to the
very sticky one I would have had if Lucius and his pet monsters had got hold of me."

"I could have rescued you," Bucky said. "Got you out, somehow."

"Maybe you could have," Arthur said. "But then, a lot more people might have died. Without your
sabotage of the sabotage, SHIELD's helicarrier, a fascinating piece of muggle technology, might
well have been successfully destroyed, falling in pieces on New York, killing my old friend
Nicholas Fury and thousands of others. Including your grandson, the woman you love and your
best friend."

Bucky seemed to give this some thought. Then, he frowned. "How do you know?"

"About them?" Arthur asked. "Doctor Strange told me, the same way he told me where to find
you. He was very helpful." His expression soured slightly. "For once."

Bucky frowned, then nodded.

"In any case," Arthur said, ploughing on. "Sitting here and thinking on your sins won't make any of
them go away. It won't save anyone you killed, even if it was, as with me, a mercy." He looked out
over the city. "But there are others that you can save. Some who you can make sure live when they
would otherwise die. Which, I think, is a much more productive use of this second chance you've
been given than brooding in a corner, don't you think?"
Bucky considered this. He'd been a good man once, he thought. Then, he'd been a bad one, most of
the time. He'd done terrible things.

He stood up.

Well. Maybe it was time to start doing to terrible things to creatures and people that would do
worse.

It wasn't redemption, not by a long shot. But it would do.

"That's more like it," Arthur said, as Bucky realised that he'd spoken these thoughts aloud. "Come
on, Sergeant Barnes. There's work to be done."

OoOoO

Steve paused for a moment, taking a breather. Once the mysterious third Knight of the Cross had
joined the fight, the tide had turned – or at least, the demons and undead had decided that it simply
wasn't worth it and had gone looking for new targets. In turn, once he had been sure that the people
were as safe as it was possible for them to be, Steve had gone searching for those targets and for
the rest of his team.

This was easier said than done, since monsters of all kinds were swarming all over the place – he
had seen species of mystical monster in the last half hour than he had in three years of combat.

"Stand up straight, soldier, there's work to be done!"

Steve's muscles responded before his brain processed the sound, jerking him to attention. His brain
then cut in, informing him that that voice was impossible, before another part of his brain pointed
out that the word impossible meant nothing these days. Ignoring his arguing brain, Steve slowly
turned.

And there they were: the Howling Commandos, his first team. Colonel Philips, his first CO. It was
them, all grinning at him. Well, Philips wasn't exactly grinning, but his lips had twitched into a
very slight smile. All of them looked exactly as he remembered them, before he'd gone into the ice,
excepting only a faint silvery light about them.

There were one or two others he didn't recognise, but one of them had a very definite resemblance
to Monty and Jackie Falsworth. Speaking of which, on seeing the former, his heart plummeted.
Last he'd checked, Monty had been alive, which meant…

"Heart attack," Monty said, reading his expression. "Seeing HYDRA back again, you fallen,
again… the shock killed me."

There weren't words for Steve's guilt. "Monty," he said, stricken.

"Oh don't be such a damn fool," the other man said briskly. "It wasn't your fault. Nor was what
happened to Bucky."

"You know about that?" Steve asked.

"We're dead, Steve," Howard said. "We don't have much to do but watch. Until now. Dimensional
harmonics are just right – or just wrong, I suppose."

Steve nodded dazedly.

"Quite," Monty said. "Anyway, Steve, I wasn't living. I was just existing. Now, I'm at peace." He
smiled at the man next to him, the one who looked so much like him. "With my son."

"Brian Falsworth," the man said with a smile, sticking out a hand. Steve shook it.

"A pleasure," he said, before turning to the last man. "And you are…?"

"Roger Aubrey," the man said, shaking Steve's hand. "Brian's partner."

Steve nodded, noting a certain inflection on the word partner, then looked along the line of men,
astounded. Then he realised that they were all men. "Peggy," he began.

"The smug bastard in the red cloak told me you'd ask that. He said to say that the ladies are kind of
busy at the moment," Philips said.

"Busy?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. He also told me to pass on this gibberish: Wibbly-Wobbly Timey-Wimey," Philips said,
expression sour.

A small part of Steve that wasn't completely baffled inwardly noted that Strange – and it could
only be Strange – had passed on the message in that way simply to make the ever grumpy and
briskly disciplined Colonel Philips say the words 'wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey', whatever that
meant.

"Now, Rogers, are you going to stand here lolly-gagging all day or are we going to put some boot
to HYDRA's ass?" Philips demanded.

"No sir," Steve said, turning to the others. He was no fool. He knew that this wouldn't last, that the
time of the Howling Commandos had passed. This was the age of the Avengers, now. But for now,
the clock had been rolled back. And he was going to make the most of it. So he took a deep breath.
"Commandos, move out!"

OoOoO

He was not the only one reliving the past.

"Just like old times, isn't it, Remus?" Sirius said merrily, as he cursed a demon with more arms
than teeth and more tongues than both into oblivion.

"Death and destruction everywhere, innocents dying," Remus said grimly. "Oh, this
is very familiar."

Sirius was about to give a snappy reply, then saw something out of the corner of his eye and on an
instinct, shoved Remus to the rubble strewn ground. The werewolf grunted in pain as shattered
concrete dug into his flesh, but on seeing what he had narrowly avoided, found himself deeply
grateful that Sirius had acted.

A giant wolf, size of a small tank, had, on missing them, ploughed through a nearby building and
now emerged, shaking off rubble like it was raindrops. For a moment, its malevolent, chaotic red
eyes cast about for them, then focused, narrowing, and a hungry snarl like a tank engine started up.

"Split up and give it two targets?" Sirius suggested.

"That sounds sensible," Remus said. "But let's make it worry about more. Expecto Patronum!"
His patronus, a wolf, burst into being, then shot off. Unfortunately, however, the giant demon-wolf
seemed to give it one cursory look, before ignoring it and beginning to advance on the two
Marauders.

"It was a nice try," Sirius said. "Maybe transfiguration is our friend…"

Before he could say anything, a silvery canine shape erupted from off to one side, pouncing on
Sirius. For one perverse moment, Remus thought that it was his patronus, but when Sirius managed
to throw it off, he realised it was something else: a silvery, unliving hunting hound of some kind,
perhaps a gytrash or some creature of Faerie. Whatever it was, it was staring at Sirius with hatred
in its burning eyes, and it was limping badly, dripping ectoplasm. Its previous opponent had left
their mark.

Then, astonishingly, it spoke. "Cousinnnn," it said, in a strange, growling hiss.

"Relative of yours?" Remus asked.

"Well, you know how I always said that my mother was a right bitch?" Sirius asked.

"Yes?"

"Well, I never meant it this literally," Sirius said, then frowned. "There is something familiar about
that expression, though…"

The hound stepped forward, and for a moment, just a moment, it shifted into a gaunt, unhealthily
thin woman with wild hair and wilder eyes, before changing back.

"Bella?" Sirius asked, astonished. "Whatever happened to you?" Without waiting for an answer, he
smiled crookedly. "Well, whatever happened, it suits you – the outside finally reflects the inside."

"Sirius," Remus said tiredly. "Is now really the time?"

"Oh come on, Remus, I have to get my laughs somewhere," Sirius said.

Before Remus could respond, the giant demon-wolf lost patience, let out a roar, and attacked.
Remus, dropping and rolling, barely avoided the blow, the wind of its passage rustling his hair. He
popped to his feet as quickly as he could, noting the twinge of muscles that wouldn't even have
whispered ten years ago. Time caught up with them all, him faster than most – being a werewolf
was far from a restful existence and tended to age one prematurely. And the fact was, he had got
rusty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius shift into Padfoot to fight the creature that Bellatrix in a
clash of hounds, the two going at each other tooth and claw, a whirling, snarling ball of black and
white.

A decade and a bit in Azkaban didn't seem to have noticeably diminished Sirius' athleticism,
Remus observed almost absently as he transfigured a few pieces of debris into a pride of lions and
directed them to attack the demon-wolf, though time spent in Asgard and in the care of its healers
seemed to have helped with that.

The big cat constructs had little effect beyond annoying the giant wolf, though one managed to
draw blood. Remus' nose, werewolf sharp, caught the scent, one that sent a wave of mixed fear and
rage running through him. He knew that scent.

"Greyback," he said softly.

Greyback looked up, as if recognising his name, and let out a bone rattling snarl. Remus set
himself and focused. Realistically, he knew that he had no chance and had known from the start of
this particular fight. But now, now he was determined to draw out this fight and make his opponent
suffer.

And so he did, always staying on the move, hurling cutting curses, convulsion hexes, even small
lightning bolts, though the latter was tiring to say the least. But, slowly but surely, he was wearing
the beast down, escaping counter-blows by the skin of his teeth – in one case, literally. Trouble
was, as his body was naggingly informing him, he was wearing himself down too. Finally, he
struck a conclusive blow when he vanished a significant chunk of Greyback's chest, sending the
monster staggering away, howling in pain.

But as he went to press the advantage, the dark powers that had given Greyback his new form, his
life's dream Remus supposed, knitted together flesh and bone. And that was what ended the fight,
because Remus by this time was too tired to react fast enough to Greyback's unexpectedly swift
recovery, and blow with a tire sized paw sent him flying a full fifty feet, only his marginally
enhanced constitution saving him from immediate death.

Of course, he thought as Greyback, still limping, advanced on him, this was something of a mixed
blessing. Especially since his wand had gone clattering off to one side, at least thirty feet away, and
try as he might, he couldn't struggle to his feet to go and get it. He didn't even have the breath to
call for help from Sirius. Thankfully, at least, his old friend had the upper-hand in his fight and was
cursing his undead opponent into ectoplasmic ruin. Besides, even if Sirius looked up right now and
apparated over, side along apparition was a dicey prospect with a wounded partner.

Just as Remus was about to resign himself to his fate and begin searching for suitably sharp rocks
to at least give Greyback something to think about, an angel intervened.

Something silvery caught the dim light and Greyback let out an ear-splitting howl, pawing at one
of his unearthly red eyes. A silvery knife with a strange purple aura about it was now buried up to
the hilt in the now ruined eye, having been thrown with incredible skill and even more incredible
force.

Just as Remus wondered where it had come from, his answer shot across the debris strewn
battlefield, swift as a cheetah and sure footed as a mountain goat, making a direct line for the
wounded Greyback. And then, in an instant, his unexpected saviour was on the werewolf, one
silvery arm snapping out and punching with all the speed and force that could be mustered, hitting
the knife hilt square on and driving it deeper.

Until now, Remus hadn't known that wolves, or demon-wolves, could scream. But there could be
no other word to describe the sound Greyback made.

And Remus' unexpected angel of mercy had, by now, resolved himself into something visible. It
was an angel, all right, Remus thought vaguely. An angel of death.

Because, against all logic, the Winter Soldier had placed himself between Remus and Greyback.

But he didn't stay there for long, instantly pressing his advantage, easily evading swipes of
Greyback's paws and snaps of his jaws, handing out brutally powerful bone-cracking blows as he
did. Then, he ripped out his knife, swayed away from another blow and holding it in a reverse grip,
opened Greyback's throat to the bone with a single lightning fast slash, driving deep into the
demonic wolf's body.

From start to finish, the fight had taken thirty seconds.

Remus watched, astounded, as the gore spattered Winter Soldier proceeded to step back, letting
Greyback stagger and collapse for the last time, before flicking the knife into a normal grip and
saw Greyback's head off. Whatever the knife was made of, it cut flesh like melted butter, and soon,
the creature that had turned Remus and thereby been the direct source of much of his misery down
the years, was dead.

The more scholarly part of him noted that while the creature that Greyback had been transformed
into greatly resembled a Loup-Garou, a kind of werewolf created by an extremely powerful
bloodline curse, in both size and power, it apparently did not take inherited silver to kill as one of
those would. That said, he'd never heard of a documented incident of someone killing a Loup-
Garou by decapitation, so perhaps that would work under normal circumstances.

In any case, the Winter Soldier, a baffling saviour on this most baffling of days, turned and strode
over to him. "You need a hand up?" he asked curtly, reaching a hand, the human hand, down. It
was then that Remus noticed that he wasn't wearing his mask and goggles – a strange detail to only
notice now, but he'd had other things on his mind.

Remus tried to get up by himself, then, warily, said, "yes." And he took the hand.

For a moment, he tensed, but nothing more happened than his being hauled to his stumbling feet by
a jerk of preternatural strength.

"Moony?" Sirius asked, tone very wary indeed. Remus looked up to see his friend staring at the
Winter Soldier, wand up.

"It's all right, Sirius," Remus said. "He saved my life."

"The Winter Soldier saved your life?" Sirius asked, completely bamboozled.

Remus smiled wanly. "Do you really think that I could best and behead a creature like that, old
friend?" he asked, gesturing at Greyback's corpse. "If so, you have more faith in my than I
realised." As he did, he stumbled again and would have fallen if the Soldier hadn't caught him.
"Thank you," he said.

The man nodded.

Remus, struck by a thought, looked at him. "Do you have a name?" he asked.

The man frowned, as if his name was like some distant relative's birthday, something he
remembered, but hadn't thought on for some time. "James," he said eventually. "Bucky," he added
after a moment, then shrugged. "Both?"

Sirius sucked in a sharp breath, and he wasn't the only one. Remus was now staring at his saviour
in shock. Muggle history wasn't something that was more than touched on at Hogwarts, but at
times, individual muggles had found their way into Wizarding history. And few had done so more
dramatically than Captain America and his Howling Commandos, joining the fight against
Grindelwald and his allies, HYDRA, fighting alongside Dumbledore and using Hogwarts as a base
to strike Grindelwald and HYDRA's Scandinavian sites.

While Steve Rogers' name was known best, especially after his miraculous return from the ice, his
right hand man, James 'Bucky' Barnes, was known too. And looking closer, past the blood, the five
o'clock shadow and the grim, determined and ever so slightly lost expression, Remus saw the face
of a man who seemed to have walked straight out of the history books.

"Merlin's balls," Sirius said softly. "You're Bucky Barnes?"

Barnes gave this some thought, then smiled a crooked smile. "Seems that way," he said. His gaze
shifted to Remus and his expression to one of concern. "You gonna be all right?"

"I'll manage," Remus said.

"Like hell you will," Sirius said. "Where's your wand?"

"Over that way," Remus said, making to get it.

Sirius gave him a flat look and said in an even flatter voice, "Accio Remus' wand."

The item in question zoomed into his hand and Sirius passed it to him.

"Thank you," Remus said, straightening up.

"Now," Sirius said. "I am going to give you into the hands of my –" He paused, gave Barnes a
slightly suspicious look, then finished, "of Director Wisdom's medical staff."

"I can still fight, Padfoot," Remus said.

"You could," Barnes said. "For about ten seconds before whichever creature we face next
identifies you as vulnerable and tears you apart."

"And if anyone knows about identifying vulnerable targets, it's him," Sirius said.

Barnes flinched.

"Sirius," Remus said, chidingly.

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "He put a bullet into James," he said. "He slaughtered over dozen good
people at the Ministry and he's killed hundreds, thousands more. He might have saved you, but that
doesn't make up for what he's done."

"He wasn't in his right mind, Sirius," Remus said. "No different to when I am transformed."

"It's completely different," Sirius snapped. "He could think, you can't."

"Sirius," Remus began tiredly.

"No, he's right."

"Yeah, I'm right," Sirius said, then paused, turning to the source of this interjection, Barnes
himself. "Wait, what?"

"Nothing will ever make up for what I have done," Barnes said grimly. He stared at Sirius. "When
this is over, if we're both alive, you can have a free shot. Any spell, any weapon."

"You'd just let me kill you?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I deserve it," Barnes said in a disturbingly matter of fact tone. "In the mean time, there's work to
be done." He looked out over the battlefield. "And maybe I can undo some of the things I helped to
do."

Sirius gave him a long look, then nodded slowly. "I'll think about that," he said, before taking
Remus' arm and disapparating with a crack.
Bucky Barnes watched him go. Then, he pulled out his pistols, checked them, and set off at a jog.
He had work to do.

OoOoO

Jean had expected that using Cerebro (which until today she'd never touched and barely seen) to
astrally project herself (which she'd never done before) into Asgard (where she'd never been) and
break Thor free of a mental enchantment in an inversion of the whole Sleeping Beauty story would
be the most exhausting part of her day. You know, combined with the emotional rollercoaster that
had been remembering her baby cousin, Doctor Strange's infodump about the true extent of her
abilities and, in fact, the entire day in general.

On the upside, it hadn't been all that tiring. On the downside, the Institute was being attacked by
demons.

Until now, she hadn't really appreciated how dangerous and destructive their powers could be.
Now, however, she could see it being aptly demonstrated, what with Ms Monroe spraying balls of
lightning from her fingertips like the world's most lethal set of sprinklers, Doctor McCoy tearing
apart monsters with his bare hands and – at times – teeth, Logan, who was as she would later find
out, present thanks to Doctor Strange deeming his job in London to be done, plunging into bunches
of the creatures and sending limbs and often corrosive blood flying with each slash of his claws.
Such was the frankly awe inspiring sight of their power that it took Jean a moment to see the
coherent strategy behind their actions – Ms Monroe was forcing the demons into a bottleneck,
where they were torn apart by Doctor McCoy and Logan. Just as often, however, Jean noticed that
they tore apart each other. Evil was not one big happy family, apparently.

Scott was involved too, picking off those demons that avoided Ms Monroe's herding. Even little
Bobby was involved, determinedly freezing anything he could see.

"Bobby!" Jean said. He didn't hear her. Bobby! she tried again.

This time he heard her. Jean?

Get back, this is dangerous! Jean said, deeply worried. More than a little of this was overspill from
her immense reservoir of big sisterly worry and guilt about her baby cousin, forgotten these last
seven or so years.

Everywhere's dangerous, Bobby replied, tone disturbing matter of fact. Besides, the teachers let
me stay.

Did they? Jean asked sternly, pausing to telekinetically crush a small winged demon that had snuck
through and tried to dive bomb her. Or are they just too busy?

Uh… yes?

That's not an answer, Jean said, now wading into the fight in earnest, taking up position by Scott
and taking out rogue demons.

It's not my first fight, you know, Bobby replied truculently. I was pushed to the back last time and
people got hurt protecting me. Jean got a flicker of his memories – a group of children and
teenagers, in some cases hardly any older than Bobby himself, surrounding Bobby, helping him.
One she recognised with a lurch deep in her stomach of mingled pain and pride – Harry, her little
cousin, had been chief among Bobby's protectors.

Then, she saw them seemingly transforming into adults, fighting some indescribable things and
getting badly hurt in the process.

All of this had taken place in an instant.

I'm not gonna let that happen again, Bobby said stubbornly. I'm gonna help and you can't stop me!

Jean considered replying that she could, but didn't and, instead, sighed. It wasn't like he would be
any safer inside the Mansion, especially if something snuck round them and got in. No one was
safe. No where was safe. So they'd just have to make the best of it.

As she thought that, it occurred to her that they were facing demons than she'd have expected – the
things were practically swarming in the skies above the Institute (which they seemed to have
picked out as a prime target), diving to attack it and Bayville in steady streams. It also occurred to
her that she hadn't seen the Professor.

These two things were connected, as she found when she turned and saw him.

The Professor's eyes were aglow and, if Jean looked beyond the immediate battlefield, she saw that
the demons were diving, they were dropping out of the sky, tumbling to the ground like autumn
leaves, thousands dying every minute under the Professor's onslaught.

She'd never realised quite how deadly her fellow X-Men's abilities could be, but their powers, they
weren't her powers. Like the Professor, though, she was a telepath too. And having stretched her
powers exponentially far beyond what she'd previously believed to be her limits, she was
unsettlingly aware that she could probably do it too.

Then why didn't she? Why was she wasting her time taking out individual demons when she could
do so much more?

Because, she realised, until today that was exactly what she had thought that she was limited to.
But Doctor Strange had pointed out that she had few or no limits, and that had held true via the
whole astral projection episode. She had power. It was time to use it.

Cover me, Scott, she said.

Of course, Scott replied without hesitation.

Jean smiled briefly at this display of trust, then reached out with her telekinesis, bypassing her own
ethical concerns by reminding herself that these monsters would kill and devour her and every
single one of her friends given the chance – or do other things, she thought with a shudder distaste,
as one of the more humanoid demons leered at her, part of its body making very clear its intentions.

That one died first, when Jean reached out and squeezed.

There were almost ten thousand demons of all shapes, sizes and breeds in range of her power, from
lowly bug like creatures the size of a Jack Russell, to warrior demons and constructs like the
N'Garai and Mindless Ones, even to a few greater demons, like the Mabdhara, Chthon's generals.

And in an instant, they were all crushed like Coke cans beneath a stomping foot.

There was a stunned silence, only broken by the sound of oozing broken corpses raining from the
skies, acidic blood eating away at various objects and Logan's long, low and impressed whistle.

"Okay," Jean said to herself, catching her breath and wiping at the sudden outbreak of sweat on her
forehead. "Now I'm tired."
OoOoO

Elsewhere, a similarly dramatic blow was struck, and by a rather less benevolent force.

While Thor and Wanda had mopped up the last of HYDRA's drones, the Dreadnought itself
seemed to be in working order, as it demonstrated by finally ending it's duel with the Belfast,
punching through the other ship's by now rather thread bare defences, cutting it in half with a
single thunderous volley.

Unsurprisingly, this was not taken well at MI13's command centre.

"… Well, fuck," Betsy said.

Wisdom glared at the Dreadnought on the cameras and growled incoherently. "Typical, just bloody
typical," he snarled. "Just when we need it, six months after it was due, BAE have the Valiant in
dry dock because they cocked up the engines."

"The Dreadnought would have blasted it out of the sky," Drew said bluntly.

Wisdom looked sour. "True," he said. "Unhelpful, but true." Then he swore as the camera's started
fritzing, displaying static. "And it gets better," he said sarcastically, smacking the display.

"What now?" Betsy asked.

"You try and hijack the mind of whoever's on there," Wisdom said. "Though considering
HYDRA's manpower issues, what with most of their agents being eaten, incinerated or just plain
dead, it's either mostly automated or mostly under Zola's control. Failing that, hook up with the
Avengers, do what you can. As for the rest of us…" He sighed and tiredly rubbed his brow. "No
bloody idea. Join you, probably."

Drew paused for a moment as something came in over her comms. "Sirius Black just turned up,"
she said.

Wisdom looked up sharply. "Is he all right?" he asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.

"Fine," Drew said. "He brought a friend who's not so well, a Remus Lupin. Medics are handling it."

Wisdom nodded. "Good," he said, gaze returning to the monitors. "He got any news?"

"The Winter Soldier's turned apparently. And he's really Bucky Barnes."

Wisdom's head snapped back around, neck audibly crunching, eyes popping.

"What?"

OoOoO

Somewhere a fair bit further away, another Director was, with his right hand woman, surveying the
situation.

"What's with the static?" Hill asked, fixing the nearest SHIELD tech with a hard look that
suggested that this better have a quick and easily fixed explanation.

Said tech gulped. "Sorry, ma'am," she said. "Electromagnetic interference, probably from Thor's
lightning."
"Or not," Fury said.

"Sir?" Hill asked, having been about to point out to the tech the ridiculous nature of this, since
Thor had been chucking around quite a lot of lightning for a while and the surveillance had held up
just fine.

Fury didn't answer, picking up his phone and dialling. "Hello? You know that project I had you
working on? How close is it to completion?" There was a pause and he nodded. "Good. Focus your
scans on the central London area. Fury out."

"Sir?" Hill asked.

"A hunch," Fury said.

Hill eyed him for a moment, then nodded on realising she was unlikely to get or need further
explanation.

A couple of minutes later, a call came in, this time on one of the holographic displays.

"Director Fury," a female voice said.

"Doctors Flamel and Flamel," Fury said, turning to the video window, which showed a two
triumphant looking scientists. Neither of them looked a day over thirty. As Hill knew well, looks
were deceiving. "What have you got for me?"

"We've got him, Director," Perenelle Flamel said. "The satellites place him about two hundred feet
above the HYDRA ship."

Fury smiled. "Knew it," he said, before turning . "Thank you very much. If you would be so kind as
to start work on a global scale tracking system, I'd be grateful. Funding's not an issue."

"Our pleasure, Director," she said, smiling. "Good luck."

"You too," Fury said. "Thanks again." He glanced at the astonished Hill. Fury wasn't exactly noted
for his courtesy. "They're both over six hundred years old, Hill, and they've done some good work.
A little politeness is their due."

Hill frowned, then shook her head slightly, putting this aside. "Sir, who were they tracking?" she
asked, as every remaining cannon on the near side of the Dreadnought pulsed with power, then
opened fire.

An instant after they opened fire, all the cannons jerked upward, fire going up and away. Fury
smiled, then said, "pan one of the cameras up."

Hill followed his gaze and saw something that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

OoOoO

After the Belfast was sunk, everyone immediately turned on the Dreadnought, wanting to prevent
the HYDRA helicarrier from exploiting its now undivided attention and turning its wrath on the
already damaged city and wearying heroes. But, without its sparring partner to distract it and its
armour to protect it, HYDRA's damaged flagship resisted everything from beams of Green Lantern
energy, Loki's spellfire and a hurled Mjolnir.

Then, just as a lengthy duel seemed inevitable, where unstoppable force met immovable object in
an epic clash, the game changed.

A strange lull settled over London. Everything went quiet.

Then, a humming sound began, resonating in the metal, interspersed with crackles of static
electricity, disrupting radio transmissions and video signals. In the clouds above, lightning began to
strike at an increased rate, wild and undirected.

"Is this anything to do with you, Thor?" Steve asked Thor.

"No, Steve," Thor said. "This... this is something different." He frowned. "There is something
familiar about this power, though. I have felt it before."

Steve glanced at Betsy, who shook her head. "This isn't us, Captain," she said. "And..." She looked
distant for a moment. "According to Director Wisdom, comms systems are going haywire, GPS,
satellite imaging..." She paused, then shook her head. "Sorry. Thought that there was going to be
more, but it's just a stream of swear words now. He's really not happy."

"Under the circumstances," Loki said, eyeing the colossal helicarrier overhead, cannons focusing
on them. "I cannot really blame him." He glanced at Steve. "Incidentally, Captain, my shields can
only take one more volley and teleporting is a very temporary solution."

"Would getting to cover help?"

"Would a single stitch help someone who has just been bisected?"

"I'll take that as a no," Steve said. He glared up at the HYDRA carrier. "Fine. Thor, I know that
Mjolnir can't break through its armour, but can you generate enough wind to force it down or
knock it off balance?"

"Actually, I think ye might want to sit this next bit out, Captain," Sean said quietly. Above, a vast
aurora began to dance in the lightning filled sky, ethereal blues and coppery greens, sheets of light
in a grand, sizzling array of colours.

"Why?"

"Uh, Steve?" Tony said. "I'm reading what looks like a fully fledged and ridiculously localised
geomagnetic storm. Which, by the way, is completely impossible."

"Not for the guy who's coming," Colonel Summers said.

"Ah," Loki said, having caught on. "Yes, I think we'd better let this part play out."

"Why?" Steve asked. "Who's coming?"

Before any could answer, there was a sudden, deeper lull, as if everything in the city, from dragons
to jets to pigeons just… stopped. For a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then came an indescribable loud screaming, crunching sound, the sound of protesting metal writ
large, echoed across the city.

And slowly, the Dreadnought began to collapse in on itself like a gigantic ball of paper being
crumpled by giant invisible hands. And all the vaunted Vibranium coated armour was doing was
providing a neat, indestructible packaging.

"Holy fuck," Carol said softly, awed.

"Right there with ya, kid," Clint said quietly.

"Who's doing it?" Tony asked. "Where are they doing it from?"

"Look," Thor said quietly, pointing.

Floating above the Dreadnought, limned in unearthly blue light, was a figure armoured all in black
and grey. His arms were outspread as his cloak swirled in the winds of the storm. He began to bring
them together, and with another, vast metallic shriek of protest that the spectators felt in their teeth,
the crumpled ends of the Helicarrier began to curl up towards each other like an ageing sandwich.

"Who…?" Steve began, stunned.

It was Loki who answered, in a soft, low voice.

"Magneto."

OoOoO

HYDRA's sole remaining ally in the field, who it had to be said mainly wanted to run away, was
also under the cosh.

Strange was driving Gravemoss back, with an answer for every desperate attack the elven
necromancer hurled at him in an attempt to disrupt his rhythm: summoned creatures were banished
with a gesture, veidrdraugar vaporised with a contemptuous glance and energy blasts blocked.

The space between them was a mesmerising tapestry of light and dark, crackling power of all kinds
weaving together to create an image of deadly beauty. Anything that crossed that gap was
destroyed, remade, then reshaped into an entirely new and different form simply as a byproduct of
the duel. Even basic elements were not safe – the tarmac beneath their feet was now an ever-
shifting kaleidoscope of sand, gold, shimmering mercury and a strange glowing green crystal,
while the air that passed between them transformed into chlorine, helium, Sarin and back again in
the blink of an eye.

The Sorcerer Supreme was in full flow and the world trembled in wonder and in terror as he moved
in for the kill.

It was not the only thing trembling, as Gravemoss, never a direct duellist, was forced further and
futher back, drawing deeper and deeper on the Darkhold's power and knowledge as desperation
made him discard caution.

That power suddenly surged through the red claw like construct that had replaced his right arm,
disrupting Strange's spells. And Gravemoss let out an insane laugh as the Sorcerer Supreme
stumbled backwards. He had weathered the assault, now, it was Strange on the defensive.

But as his eyes began to change from the ordinary albino red into something else, it was power at a
price.

Because Chthon was taking over.

OoOoO

Magneto's intervention had, while effectively ending HYDRA's threat and their part in events,
simply left another problem.
The demons.

While individually, even en masse, they were easily disposed of, there were still hundreds of
thousands of them, devouring and destroying anything and anyone they could lay
hands/claws/pincers on. And despite Loki's having sealed off the worst of the rips in time and
space over the city, things were only getting worse.

Because Gravemoss, the Darkhold's wielder was drinking deeply from its poisoned chalice, and in
doing so, it was wielding him.

OoOoO

It started as small things, unfortunate chances – fuses burning out in hospitals and denying them
power, people slipping and cracking their heads open, drivers on busy roads mistiming braking and
acceleration.

The effects spread like ripples, building, growing, spreading chaos in a million tiny little ways,
entropy rolling over the world like a wave.

And all over the world, holes lined with chaotic crimson light began to open, and demons pour
forth.

Heroes stepped forward to challenge them of course, some magical, some mutant, some other
things entirely. And some who were entirely mundane in all respects save their courage.

Those in London and elsewhere were mistaken, however, when they thought that various hells
pouring forth onto the Earth was part the process of the Darkhold's chief goal, side effects of its
master attempting to return. Excess heat from the engine, as it were.

But they weren't excess heat.

They were fuel, fuel that spread across the Earth, which slowly, surely, slipped into chaos.

Despite the best efforts of heroes around the world, the world was burning.

And Chthon was laughing.

OoOoO

Strange took first one step back, then two, fingers flying in an intricate dance like someone trying
to play an orchestra's worth of instruments at once. But what he was fighting was no longer
Gravemoss, weakened by dividing his attention between Strange and Chthon's attempts to take him
over as well as his desire to flee. No, Gravemoss had finally drawn on too much power and
effectively surrendered to Chthon.

The Lord of Chaos, the Elder God of Black Magic, was loose in the mortal realm for the first time
since Atlantis was sunk. And then as now, his mere presence in a physical shell made that realm
tremble.

"No clever gambit, Strange?" Chthon taunted as he advanced, voice like nails on the chalkboard of
reality. "No secret spells? No final words from the great Sorcerer Supreme?"

Strange, astonishingly, smiled under the onslaught. "Check," he said.

Chthon looked baffled to say the least. "Check?"

Far above, the now ruby red clouds began to rotate, and Chthon looked up,
snarling. "Aftercomers," he said. "Is this your plot, Strange? You are a fool. The Seven cannot stop
me, and these –"

He shut up at that moment, because Strange had taken advantage of the distraction to punch him
very hard in his stolen mouth with a glowing fist.

"That one," he said mildly. "I learned from the sorcerers of K'un L'un. Not particularly secret, but
not something handed out lightly, either."

Before Chthon could reply, a vast column of rainbow light thundered into the road not fifty feet
away from them. The light faded to reveal three figures. Two, most would not have recognised,
men – or creatures that could pass for men – in armour that did not fit the Asgardian mould, pale,
tattooed with swirling designs and with hair like feathers. And it was this last that showed who
they truly were: Huginn and Muninn, the Eyes of the Allfather.

But the one who stood between them, clad in the gold raiment of a God, spear in hand, was the one
who drew the eye. He was Odin Allfather, and he was here to do battle.

In other parts of the city, the rainbow spear of the Bifrost lanced down, swiftly and efficiently.
Asgard's King had not come alone. He had brought an army.

"Elder one," Odin said, voice grim. "You have one chance: depart this realm. Return to your
banishment in peace."

"Or what, Aftercomer?" Chthon demanded.

"Or I shall send you back," Odin said. "Midgard is not your plaything."

"The universe is my plaything," Chthon said. "Mine by right, mine to destroy."

Odin narrowed his eye. "I think not," he said.

He made no gesture and spoke no word, but Huginn and Muninn vanished in a puff of black
feathers, reappearing by the panting Strange and whisking him away, and not a moment too soon.
Chthon raised Gravemoss' red construct of a right hand as Odin levelled Gungnir. And in an
instant, battle was joined, one fought on a million billion different levels in a million billion
different ways.

The skirmish was over. The true battle had begun.

 The End of the Beginning

Odin Borson, Allfather, King of Asgard and the Lord of the Nine Realms. He was Earth's mightiest
Skyfather and Yggdrasil himself shone in the crimson heavens above as he drew on its power.

Chthon, the Elder God of Chaos and Black Magic, the Great Shadow and the Demon Lord of the
Darkhold. He was, even in a crippled and damaged host, the greatest and most terrible of the Elder
Gods.

By all rights, the world should have been destroyed in the very first moments of their battle, the
solar system in the moments after and the galaxy shortly after that.

But all the usual rules had gone out the window.

Now, the Earth was warping, flickering through a billion permutations of creation and destruction
every moment, time and space being carved up and stitched back together the wrong way, the
spirit and material worlds merging.

Those who perceived such things were either capable of coping with them or driven mad by the
horror-wonder. To most, however, it was merely apparent in things that could be physically seen,
and a few things that normally could not be:

The entire Earth convulsing with natural disasters, seaquakes spawing freak tidal waves the size of
skyscrapers that swallowed shores worldwide, earthquakes powerful enough to separate continents
and every volcano from Etna to Krakatoa to Yellowstone erupting as one. Hyperstorms swirled
over continents that wildfires devoured, while meteors and space junk began to rain down from the
heavens.

Things and people that once were, might be, and had never been scattered across the Earth.
Armoured dirigibles duelled fighter jets, space ships fought HYDRA Valkyrie fighter-bombers and
dinosaurs clashed with giant powered armours while something that looked very much like a blue
police box spun haphazardly through the scarlet sky.

Spirits of the dead and creatures of the spirit realms rolled over the living world like a wave,
soldiers arising on the battlefields where they had fallen, faeries and demons making the most of
the chaos, embracing it, flinching from it or trying to reduce it as their natures dictated, while
nameless winged creatures swarmed in those few square inches of sky remaining.

From the heart of the sun, a creature that had slumbered for billions of years, one that had been
stirring, now truly awoke. The God-Eater, born of the Earth in ages gone by to destroy her
corrupted Elder brethren, spread his wings and felt his hunger kindle as his mother, Gaea, Mother
Earth and the Mother of All, screamed.

And all the while, Chthon laughed.

There was no way of truly describing the sound he made. But an attempt can and must be made. It
was a jangling, ringing, howling, jagged sound, utterly random, jumping from glass breaking highs
to earth shaking lows.

For all was chaos. The end had begun.

OoOoO
"It is over, then," Loki said flatly.

"No," Steve said, determined. "We're not giving up. Not now, not ever."

"Steve, I applaud determination, even stubbornness," Loki said. "But obduracy I do not." He
gestured at the city. The Thames had been transmuted into liquid fire and the landmarks of the
present day shared space with futuristic towers and ancient looking rookeries. "My father has
engaged Chthon, but even with all his might, he is unable to tip the balance. The overflow of their
battle creates more chaos which makes Chthon stronger with every passing moment. Soon, he will
have the strength to emerge in full and ensure that we, and everything else, never existed."

"There has to be something, brother," Thor said. "We could summon others, Skyfathers and
Earthmothers…"

"Those who would help are either here or locked out from Midgard by Chthon's disruptive
presence," Loki said. "We are alone in this."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Everyone turned to see Doctor Strange. He was battered, bruised and somewhat scorched –
certainly not his usual impeccably turned out self. But, despite it all, he was smiling.

Wanda opened her mouth to castigate her old mentor furiously, then shut it.

"Wanda?" Harry asked, worried.

"Order is returning," she said quietly, almost disbelieving.

"Order?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised. "You mean, the laws of physics are starting to actually
apply again?"

"Yes," Loki said. "But how?"

Then he looked up sharply as a red and blue blur rocketed across the sky, leaving behind it the
crack of an immense sonic boom.

"What was that?" Natasha asked slowly.

"Is it a bird?" Steve asked, puzzled. Under the circumstances, when reality itself was warping and
the planet itself was spontaneously changing shape, it was not an entirely stupid question.

"Is it a plane?" Clint added, equally confused.

"Spoilers."

Everyone turned to look at Strange, whose expression was now indecently smug. It was patently
obvious by both tone and expression that he had been waiting for years to say that.

"How can you make jokes at a time like this, Stephen?" Wanda demanded, voice low and furious.
"How dare you?"

"I am of a like mind," Thor said, tone hard, eyes crackling with frustrated anger.

Frigga merely gave the Sorcerer Supreme an icy look that would have made Lucifer himself think
twice. As it was, it rolled straight off him.
"I can make jokes because our enemy has already lost. And he is just beginning to realise it,"
Strange said.

"What have you done?" Wanda repeated, through clenched teeth.

"Chthon's power's being diminished. Tainted. Ordered in fact," Strange said, voice carrying a
certain malicious glee.

"How?"

"His power is, or was, self sustaining. I could not hope to stop it. Even the Allfather could not.
Creatures from alien realms, beings from alien times, are being unleashed upon the world as we
speak, while impossibilities abound, furthering the cause of chaos like a boulder rolling down hill,"
Strange said. "It could not be stopped. But sometimes, when facing an irresistible force, it is best
not to attempt to be the immovable object. Instead, you simply… redirect it."

A silvery blur, on foot this time, shot past in the blink of an eye, the wind of its passage staggering
everyone. A moment later, another blur, also on foot, shot in the other direction. This one was
crimson red, crackling with golden lightning. This also staggered everyone. Everyone except
Strange. It was almost like he'd known that they were coming.

"You see, this world is on the brink of a new age, a Golden Age. It is becoming a world of magic
and adventure once more, as humanity's mettle is tested and found to be strong," Strange said. "In
countless different futures, champions will come to prominence in the years to come. Heroes, who
will turn their power to the protection and guidance of this world. Heroes who would answer the
call to arms once it was given."

As astonished comprehension dawned on them, Strange raised an eyebrow. "Really... did you think
that it would only be the monsters would come through?" he asked. "Even Chthon cannot defy the
balance of the universe, in his limited state. The Legends of Tomorrow were always going to come.
All they needed, really, was to be called." He smiled. "I obliged." He laughed softly. "Chthon
thinks that he's been playing dice – a game he could influence and manipulate at will. Now, he's
beginning to realise that he's in a game of chess." The smile turned malicious again. "And he's in
check."

OoOoO

If, at this point, you zoomed out, out beyond Britain, beyond Europe, out into space, then maybe
zoomed back in, just slightly, you would see the reason for Strange's smile. Or part of it.

Because a series of indistinct blurs were crossing the planet like multi-coloured shooting stars.
Some took to the skies, one in green, another in white and red, another in red and blue and yet
another in white and gold, to take the example of just a few.

Others confined themselves to the ground. Two moved in streaks of silver, flowing from continent
to continent with the liquid smoothness of mercury. Others, in proud crimson, flashed across the
planet in the blink of an eye, trailing golden lightning. Yet another raced across the Earth like a
burning brand of red tinged magnesium.

And, just briefly, two streaks appeared, one a crackling electric blue, the other one of that same
golden lightning, shot across the planet, apparently locked in combat, before disappearing again,
apparently unnoticed.

They were just the start of so many, powers of all kinds, that cataloguing them would take
lifetimes. There were, after all, bigger things to worry about.

So many iterations of these criss-crossed the Earth over and over again, catering for those bigger
things.

Tidal waves were turned to steam and blown away like errant mist, frozen and shattered or halted
and dispersed entirely. Hyperstorms were calmed and transmuted into bringers of cooling rain that
doused blazing wildfires. Earthquakes ceased as titanic powers reached into the groaning bowels of
Mother Earth and eased the distress.

Things that were and would be found themselves restored to their native times. Spirits were laid to
rest or recruited into the good fight. Things that had never been were sent back into their own
realms.

Where each blur passed, guardian angels that came and went in the blink of an eye, the redness in
the skies began to fade, the chaos easing and despair dissipating. Some semblance of order were
restored. And people began to hope again.

And they were not alone. There were others, so, so many others, brought from futures that might
never be to protect a past in peril. They were the Legends of Tomorrow and the Champions of
Days to Come. They were History's Mightiest Heroes and they would not give up without a fight.

OoOoO

This did not go unnoticed.

Chthon, engaged in battle with Odin, quickly sensed the steady reduction of the inflow of power. It
did not take him long to identify its source.

"Strange," he snarled. "Always playing your games, weaving your little webs, never knowing when
you have lost. I am not some petty demon for you to ensnare, mortal. I. Am. Chthon!"

With a great effort, he tore himself away from Odin and reached out, banishing one of the heroes of
the future.

But as he did, another popped up.

He repeated the trick. The same thing happened.

And Chthon howled in frustration. For his own spells, his own power, had been turned against him.
Like some petty demon he had indeed been ensnared, and in his very own net too.

OoOoO

The howl echoed across reality, shaking its foundations and sending chills down the spine of all
who heard him.

"What was that?" Carol asked warily.

"A horror movie cliché?" Tony suggested.

"An Elder God," Frigga said, with a certain grim satisfaction. "Who has been thwarted."

"Father is winning?" Thor asked, hopeful.

"No," Loki said. "Chthon has broken off their combat, seeking, I assume, to undo Strange's spell
and… oh, that is brilliant."

Wanda, frowning, reached out. Her eyes widened and she let out a long, low, whistle. "You
cunning bastard," she said, impressed.

"Clever man," Frigga agreed softly.

"Loki? Wanda? Frigga?" Steve asked. "What's going on?"

It was Strange himself who answered, rather cheerfully. "Chthon has just found out that my
bringing the heroes back here with his own power was, technically speaking, an act of Chaos," he
said. "After all, they don't belong in this era. And for them to be banished, truly banished, requires
the powers of Order. Essentially, he's fighting himself."

There was another reality rattling howl, and both Frigga and Loki set themselves. "He is coming
this way," Wanda warned, setting herself. "For you, Stephen."

"That he is," Strange said mildly. "I would, in his place. Destroy the source of the spell and hope
that the chaos returns to being his chaos."

Right on cue, Chthon in Gravemoss' now near unrecognisably transformed body, angry chaos-
crimson cracks running through it, right arm no longer even a semblance of an arm but an
everchanging limb that made reality shudder around it, came barrelling towards them like an
onrushing wave of pure entropy.

Everyone set themselves, summoning up reserves of strength they never knew they had, waiting
for the inevitable collision.

It never came.

As it turned out, the Hulk took the end of the world rather badly. He also took an onrushing Elder
God as a challenge. And he took both as a threat to his friends.

All of this, after a rather bad day, made him testy to say the least. What followed could be
described with volume after volume, detailing the exact ripple on each of the infinite planes of
existence. However, it was best summed up in two words.

Hulk.

Smash.

As the dust clouds faded and hastily raised shields could be lowered, an incredible tableau
presented itself: the Hulk, every muscle of the green giant straining, bearing down with all his
weight and power on the battered vessel of an astonished and unspeakably enraged Elder God.

"MORTAL BEAST!" he raged as he struggled to resist the irresistible force of the Strongest One
There Is. "DESIST! I AM AN ELDER GOD, YOU ARE BUT A SPECK TO ME AND I SHALL NOT
BE –"

A Hulk sized kick to the face shut him up and sent him sprawling, before a giant green hand
grabbed his ankle and repeatedly smashed him into the floor, like a toddler with a toy. After a
couple of minutes, it was done.

Hulk snorted. "Puny old god."

"It is so satisfying to see that happen to someone else," Loki remarked, slightly dazed.

Everyone else, Chthon included, was too shocked to speak.

What happened next, however, was not quite so satisfying for anyone save Chthon. As the Hulk
attacked again, Chthon recovered with incredible speed, gesturing. The Hulk's double-axehandle
blow swerved in the air and missed. Then Chthon raised his shifting right arm, which transformed
into thousands of crimson-black whips. "Hulk, wait," Steve began, recognising the danger.

But the Hulk ignored him and paid the price.

Each of the thousands of whips shot out, piercing the Hulk's flesh and sinking in deep, insinuating
themselves into his very bones. Then, they twisted. With a thousand sickening cracks, those mighty
bones were broken.

And for the first time, the Hulk screamed in pain, no, in agony.

So did the rest of the Avengers and those with them, but with rage, throwing themselves at Chthon.
Who merely gestured and hurled them back like toys, bands of crimson power engulfing them and
binding them.

"This creature caught me by surprise," Chthon said, spitting blood as he spoke. "It actually hurt
me. A fine pawn you have moulded, Stephen, but it is nothing but a pawn. A beast. I am a god of
gods." His whips twisted again, drawing another scream of pain from the Hulk. "And I will not be
denied."

"I think that there might be someone who has something to say about that," Frigga said,

"Four words, in fact," Strange said, bound with the rest, but still smiling.

"And those would be?" Chthon asked, before his head was grabbed from behind by a powerful
glowing hand and smashed into the ground with indescribable force.

"I. Say. Thee. Nay," Odin snarled.

OoOoO

The resumption of hostilities between Odin and Chthon achieved little enough right off the bat. But
one of the few things it did achieve was diverting Chthon's attention, allowing the Avengers to tear
themselves free of Chthon's enchantments.

Once they were free, Strange, unflappable as ever, merely turned to Jean-Paul and said, "Jean, your
power. You remember what I said about it coming when you called, when you needed it?"

Jean-Paul nodded, expression uncommonly grim.

"You know as well as I do that you need it now, don't you?" Strange said.

Another nod.

"Good man," Strange said quietly, without a hint of amusement or mockery in his voice.

"Are you planning what I think you are planning, Strange?" Loki asked.

"I believe that I am," Strange said. "And I know that it will work."
"The cost," Loki began.

"I know the price," Jean-Paul said quietly. "But I must at least try."

Loki opened his mouth, then sighed. "Good luck," he said eventually, shooting a profoundly bitter
look at Strange.

"Jean-Paul?" Carol asked, worried. "What are you doing?"

"Something that must be done, ma cherie," Jean-Paul said.

"This an Elder God we speak of," Frigga warned, having caught on as she tended to the Hulk.
"Even occupied by my husband, he may well see you coming. And catch you."

Jean-Paul's expression hardened. "I live between the ticks of the second, ma reine. I would like to
see him try."

"Good luck," Steve said.

Then Strange spoke again.

"Run, Jean-Paul. Run."

Jean-Paul inclined his head, then blurred in place, and just for a moment, golden lightning seemed
to crackle around his ankles. Then he was gone, shooting out over the water like the lightning that
trailed behind him.

OoOoO

Clark had no idea what was going on. The last few days had been something of a shock for him.
First, there had been news of HYDRA attacks all over the world, with the SHIELD Helicarrier
nearly crashing in the Hudson and the infamous Winter Soldier almost killing the President. Then,
the Avengers had fallen, Avengers Tower destroyed in a vast column of what the news said was
arc reactor energy. And amongst all the chaos, Clark saw something profoundly disturbing on the
news. It was something that most disregarded, but something that he couldn't tear his eyes away
from.

It was a boy, one who looked just like him, one who had powers, just like him (though those
powers were quite clearly very different), fighting off HYDRA. And not just fighting them off,
putting them at his mercy with what looked like nothing more than a minor effort and a cold one-
liner. While their powers were very different, somewhere deep down, Clark knew that he could
have done much the same. And it frightened him.

Of course, according to the news, the boy was the son of Thor, rediscovered a little short of nine
months ago, and therefore had every right to be furious. Clark couldn't imagine how angry he'd be
if his father had been taken out by a bullet from a HYDRA assassin.

But opened a whole new set of questions. How did this boy look exactly like him? Did this mean
that he was part of Clark's long lost biological family, a twin of some kind, the two of them
separated at birth? Did this mean that Clark was an Asgardian? And at the very least, did this
confirm what Clark himself had half suspected, half feared, for a very long time, that he wasn't
human?

He'd fired all of these questions at his parents, who were clueless about the cause of the
resemblance, were pretty sure that Thor's son wasn't some long lost brother and were not quite as
certain that Clark wasn't an Asgardian, but still pretty sure. When, however, he had pressed them
about the possibility of his not being human, they had exchanged uneasy looks and simply said
that he was their son and that was all that mattered. Clark, not having been born yesterday, knew
that this was as close as could be got to a 'yes, you're an alien' without them coming out and saying
it, had stormed off.

All his life he'd believed that he was simply… Gifted. Gifted, but still human. Now, it looked like
he wasn't even that.

He'd likely have brooded on this a good while longer if HYDRA hadn't announced the very next
day that, effective immediately, they were taking over the world and that anyone who got in their
way would be crushed. Since this threat was made by the leader of HYDRA, who had sauntered
into the UN General Assembly, killed anyone who tried to stop him, then backed up this threat
with a giant, teleporting invisible helicarrier, no one seemed to have the will or the strength to
challenge him.

Smallville, however, being in the back end of beyond, had been untouched. Until now.

One moment, everything had been almost normal, though Chloe had mentioned something about a
super battle in London. Then, the skies had gone red and reality itself started warping. Everything
that could go wrong, was. Cars started by themselves, slamming into people and buildings, gas
cylinders started leaking and previously stable buildings started collapsing. It was this last Clark
was dealing with.

Well, he said dealing with. What this worked out as was sneaking around at superspeed, pushing
people out of the way of falling debris, whisking the unconscious outside and making sure that
Chloe didn't stay behind to try and preserve the Torch office, specifically something she called the
'Wall of Weird'. This last part was probably the most difficult.

"Chloe, the building is collapsing, and I don't know about you, but I don't want to be squashed!" he
yelled.

"Clark, I have been working for years on this!" Chloe snapped, almost in tears. "I am the captain
and this my ship!"

"Going down with your ship is overrated and exactly what will happen if you stay here," Clark
retorted, dodging a large chunk of masonry, whilst wondering why she had never told him about it.
"You built it once, you can build it again, but only if you don't get squashed into jam!"

Eventually, Chloe nodded reluctantly, and they began to run towards the doors as the building
began to collapse on their heads. The falling debris blocked first one exit, then another and then, as
if to add insult to injury, the school was rocked by an explosion from the science labs. The ensuing
chemical fire grew at an unnatural rate, displaying an almost gleeful hunger as if whatever power
had caused this to happen was specifically seeking their deaths.

Clark eyed the walls, wondering which he could punch through. He'd really hoped that he'd never
have to do this, but if it was that or die… "Chloe," he said, taking a deep breath. "Do you trust
me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" he repeated.

"Of course I do," she said.

Clark gave her a tight grin, said, "Good," then dropped into superspeed.

And just as he did, a figure, lean, rangy, almost a blur even to his superspeed enhanced perception
and outlined in crackling golden lightning, shot in through the window, grabbed Chloe, then
disappeared.

A scant half second later, it, no, he, a boy Clark's own age with dark hair, pale skin and peculiarly
fey, yet handsome, features that were taut with grim concentration, returned. He looked at Clark,
who was unabashedly gaping, his expression lightening with first baffled astonishment, then wry
amusement, before he shook his head with a mock sigh. And he said, perfectly audibly, with a
slight French accent, "The things I do for cute boys."

Clark simply stared like a concussed bullock.

The boy chuckled merrily, then he grabbed Clark with his free hand, and accelerated to even more
unbelievable speeds, whisking him outside faster than Clark could blink, briefly fading into view
in front of him.

"Who are you?" Clark asked, stunned.

"I might ask the same of you," the boy responded lightly, then eyed the red sky, previous grim
expression returning. "If we all survive this, mon cher, we can swap details."

"You know what this is?" Clark demanded, but the other boy had already shifted into superspeed
with a crackle of what seemed like… golden lightning? Then he realised that he had seen it before,
seen this boy before, only a few weeks ago. For a moment, just a moment, he had stopped in
Smallville. Questions of whether he was human or not (answer: almost certainly not) aside, this
boy was someone just like him.

"Wait!" he yelled, and shifted into superspeed himself and set off after the boy as fast as he could.

And not twenty feet away, Chloe stared after him, jaw hanging loose. "Holy crap, Clark," she
whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

OoOoO

As it was, Clark didn't get far. He was fast, astonishingly fast – his parents had once timed him
and, with a few calculations, figured out that he was faster than the average Formula One car and
only getting faster.

But whoever this boy, this living lightning bolt, was, he was infinitely swifter. All his speed and
enhanced perception did, Clark realised as he slowed to a disconsolate stop, was give him a
fractionally longer view of the disappearing streak of gold. Just like that, the boy was gone. Again.

Then, suddenly, that same golden streak shot past him, rocketing off into the distance in the blink
of an eye. Disbelieving, Clark realised that he'd run around the entire world. And astonishingly, for
some impossible to discern reason, he seemed to be speeding up.

Working on a hunch, Clark turned and dropped into bullet time, not moving, but waiting, straining
his eyes to see as far back down the road as he could. The moment he saw a glimmer of golden
light, he started running. And yet, even at full speed, the other boy overhauled him in the blink of
an eye. Then, just as Clark was about to resign himself to being left in the dust again, he felt a
sharp tug on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" a sharp voice asked. It was the same voice that had spoken to him in the
collapsing school, the same voice that now he thought about it, he was pretty sure had been hitting
on him. Now, the amusement was gone, as could clearly be seen on the other boy's handsome face.

"I…" Clark began, momentarily struck by how the world around them had blurred even beyond
what his speed could manage, and how the two of them were surrounded by crackling golden
lightning.

"I wanted to meet you," he said eventually. "Someone like me. Someone… different. You know,
with powers. I thought I was alone until the Avengers, then I thought I was the only human with
powers until I saw you run through Smallville a couple of months ago, now…" He trailed off, not
voicing the thought that he wasn't sure if he was even human any more.

The boy's expression softened slightly. "I understand the impulse, mon cher," he said. "But now is
not the time to indulge your curiosity, nor my own." As he said this, he looked Clark up and down,
a slightly puzzled frown on his face, then shook his head, dismissing it. "This run is not one I am
undertaking for my own amusement." Seeing Clark's puzzled and curious expression, he sighed.
"In short, I and my friends were fighting HYDRA in London, with the Avengers. They have
unleashed something terrible, something they cannot control, and something that will destroy the
universe if I don't do something about it. The red sky, the accidents, the monsters, they are all side
effects."

His eyes narrowed. "Now, every moment I waste speaking to you, I lose some speed I have built
up. Every nanosecond counts, and every one I waste, the closer we come to everything becoming
nothing." He glanced back in the direction of Smallville. "You have powers. There are people in
need of help, like your pretty blonde friend. Help them and stop wasting time we do not have."

Clark, chastened, nodded. The other boy was right: with all the chaos sweeping Smallville, Chloe,
Pete, his parents, Lana… they'd all need his help. "I didn't know," he said. "Sorry."

The boy chuckled softly. "Apology accepted, mon cher. Apology accepted. And perhaps someday
we shall meet again."

And with that, he released Clark and shot off, leaving the other boy stumbling in his wake. Clark
watched him go for a moment then, determined, turned and ran back to Smallville. This was a job
for Clark Kent.

OoOoO

"What's he doing?" Steve asked.

"I think I know," Tony said slowly, as Jean-Paul flashed past them again. "He's accelerating." He
whirled on Frigga. "Hey, Frigga, you seem to know something about this science defying force
that he's accessing. Can it take him to light speed?"

"In theory, it could take him further," Frigga said.

"Fuck," Tony said softly. Then, abruptly, he spun and punched Strange right in the mouth.

"Tony," Steve demanded sharply.

Tony ignored him, glaring at Loki. "You guessed?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"I did," Loki sighed. "He knew and he made his choice." He glanced at Strange, who was
unconcernedly wiping his mouth. "And much as I understand the impulse, there isn't really any
point."
"What's Jean-Paul doing?" Carol demanded.

"It's part of the theory of relativity. If he hits light speed, or just below it, he'll possess infinite
kinetic energy," Tony spat. "And that much power…"

"Might put Gravemoss down."

"And if Gravemoss goes down," Tony continued. "Chthon's lost his tie to this dimension."

"And that's good, right?" Carol asked.

"There's a catch," Harry said quietly. "Isn't there?"

"Technically speaking, it's brilliant," Tony said darkly.

"I don't follow," Steve said.

"If he hits Gravemoss, Chthon, whatever, at Light Speed, do you really think that that tiny field
that protects him when he runs will save him from the fallout?" Tony demanded. "He's gonna hit at
something approaching the force of an exploding star. Leaving aside the inevitable fallout, which,
by the way, we are going to have to do something about, his entire body is going to be consumed
by the explosion."

There was dead silence. Then, Wanda turned to Strange. "Are you even going to deny it?" she
demanded.

"No," he said bluntly.

So Wanda punched him.

"I thought you were cold before," she spat as Strange grimaced and wiped his bleeding mouth for
the second time in as many minutes. "But this? This is a new low."

"He's never run this fast before," Carol said. "Maybe the field will get stronger?"

It was a question asked more in hope than expectation, feeble hope at that. Harry gently squeezed
her shoulder.

"Maybe," Tony sighed. "I mean, the speed he's going at should have torn the planet apart already.
Whatever this 'Speed Force' is, it's countering the negative effects, maybe by putting him slightly
out of phase with this dimension, I don't know. But if I were you, I'd prepare for the worst." He
went silent.

"You don't need to," Frigga said. "The Speed Force compensates."

"Of course it does," Tony muttered. "Because sticking to the fundamental rules of reality is just too
boring."

"You said that the Speed Force would compensate," Harry said slowly, as Jean-Paul flashed past
once more. "Does that mean…"

"It means that Midgard, indeed, the city, will survive the aftershocks unscathed," Frigga said
quietly. "But as for your friend… he is not full grown. An adult and an experienced user of the
Speed Force would survive, that I can state with confidence. But a half grown boy?" She shook her
head. "I am sorry, grandson. But I cannot say for certain."
Harry was silent. Diana was too, if only because she had pulled a horrified looking Uhtred into a
tight hug. Whether it was to comfort him or to prevent him from bisecting Strange once it sunk in,
or perhaps both, was ambiguous. Carol nodded painfully. "At least you're being honest," she
managed, speaking for them all.

"We have to do something," Thor said.

"We do," Steve said, looking around London. "There are still monsters out there. Still people who
need protecting. And we have a job to do." He hefted his shield onto his arm again, apparently
shrugging off his fatigue and the pain of his injuries. He did not have time for those right now. "So
let's get to it."

OoOoO

Strange, meanwhile, had performed another one of his famed vanishing acts, reappearing in the
ruins of the HYDRA base, just above the basement. "You know," he said, apparently to thin air. "I
am a believer in symmetry. If someone has made a mistake, if they have seen it done, they are best
placed to see that it is truly undone."

"What are you talking about, Strange?" the rough voice of Bucky Barnes asked, as the man himself
appeared from behind him in a fashion that would be similarly famed if almost all of those who
had witnessed weren't dead.

Strange, rather than answering, pointed his right hand palm out at the floor and brought it round in
a tight clockwise circle, before clenching his fist. A small hole appeared and something rectangular
flew up and into a swiftly produced ziplock bag. Strange then held it out to Bucky with an
expression of distaste. "Kindly see that this foul thing goes back to where you got it from."

"Sure," Bucky said, apparently unfazed at being handed one of the most evil and dangerous
artefacts in existence. "Why not just drop it in the ocean?"

"Because inevitably it would be dredged up sooner rather than later and fall into the hands of some
poor fool," Strange said. "Or it would be eaten by some undersea creature which it would promptly
transmogrify. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have legitimate grounds for someone in
charge of a Helicarrier to say, 'I think we need a bigger boat.'"

Bucky raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"You'll understand some day," Strange said. "In the meantime, my point is that it is safer
contained, albeit somewhere that is relatively well known, than dropped into the ocean who knows
where and free to do who knows what."

Bucky nodded. "I'll need transport," he said.

Strange pulled out a key fob and pressed a button.

"What's that for, the Strangemobile?" Bucky asked dryly, as a red convertible faded into view.

"Actually," Strange said. "It's called Lola."

"She," a firm voice said, as its owner became visible and stepped out. He was dressed in a good
suit and mostly looked like an accountant. "Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky nodded uncertainly, wondering who the-accountant-who-moved-like-a-SHIELD-Agent

was.
The man smiled briefly and stuck out a hand. "Agent Coulson. It's an honour and may I say, it's
nice to meet someone else in the should be dead club," he said.

Bucky shook the hand and smiled a crooked smile, one that faded as Coulson's gaze travelled to
Bucky's metal arm and widened.

"Yes, he used to be the Winter Soldier," Strange said.

"You didn't mention that part," Coulson said deceptively mildly.

"I don't mention a lot of things," Strange said, then shrugged. "Besides. I gave him his brain back."

"You're my driver?" Bucky interrupted.

"Looks that way," Coulson said, rather guarded.

"I saved his life and recruited him for this little endeavour on the sly," Strange said.

"You mean you stole my car," Coulson said. "While I was in it."

Strange smirked.

Bucky nodded. "Then let's go before the Darkhold's owner notices we've stolen his book," he said.
He glanced skywards at the reddening sky. "And we have a limited window."

"Indeed," Strange said. "I cast my best spells on that bag, but there's only so long it will hold before
the Darkhold degrades it and starts wreaking havoc."

"Whatever issues you've got with who I am, they can wait," Bucky said. "This can't."

Coulson gave them both a hard look, then nodded, turning to Bucky. "Let's go."

OoOoO

Jane had not been idle either. As soon as the sky had gone red, she had marshalled her fellow
scientists with surprising efficiency by means of a firm tone of authority, her experience of such
things and on the advice of Major Carter, threatening a panicking Rodney McKay with a stray
lemon.

However, attempts to use the portal machinery to shut down the portals had been met with mixed
success. Indeed, if the source of the portals hadn't been sentient and profoundly malicious, it might
well have worked. And for a few moments, it seemed to, something meet with relief and cheers.

Then a portal opened up in the middle of the room. Unlike prior examples, it wasn't spewing out
monsters. However, it was giving off a form of chaotic radiation

"We're screwed, aren't we?" Darcy asked matter-of-factly.

"Probably," Jane said, then raised her voice. "EVERYBODY OUT!"

"What about you?" Carter asked.

"I'll stay and handle it," Jane said.

"We're not leaving you," Sue said determinedly.

"I don't have time for arguments," Jane said, before nodding at her wrist-strap. "My wrist-strap can
get me out. It hasn't been tested with more than two other passengers, especially not in conditions
like these."

"Jane," Selvig began.

"Erik, you're pretty much the only person who knows portal physics as well as I do," Jane said,
before adding to the others, "No offence."

"None taken," Doctor Richards said absently, his attention on the portal. The prematurely greying
scientist seemed to regard the reality bending portal as a matter of scholarly interest rather than a
cause for panic. Someone else who shared this point of view was Johnny Storm, whose expression
said that he thought this was pretty much the coolest thing he'd ever seen in a science lab.

"Thanks," Jane said. She turned back to her mentor. "You're one of the only people who has a
prayer of stopping this from elsewhere."

"I'm not sure if a prayer will be enough," Selvig remarked.

"Whatever," Jane said. "Major, you're one of the only people who can keep everyone – and by
everyone I mean McKay – calm and evacuate them safely. You're used to telling people what to do
and being listened to, that's what I need you to do right now."

Carter grimaced, but nodded. "Fine," she said.

"Sue," Jane began.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sue said. "Nor, I think, is Reed."

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Reed said, reaching with surprising flexibility to rescue a pile of notes from an
electrical fire.

"And you don't have time to get rid of us," Sue said. "We've wasted enough already."

Jane grimaced. "Fine," she said. "But your brother has to go."

Sue nodded grimly. "Johnny, go with Ben and Major Carter."

Johnny looked up, expression that of a typical hotheaded teenager. "But Sue –"

"Now."

Johnny glowered, but did as ordered.

"Don't worry Suzie," Ben, the man who Jane had previously thought to be a security guard but now
suspected was rather more than that, said in a gravelly voice. "I'll keep an eye on the kid."

"Thank you, Ben," Sue said.

"I'm going nowhere," Darcy said. "So don't even try it, Jane."

Jane sighed, but there was a smile in it. "Okay," she said and took a deep breath. "Let's get to
work."

And so they did, fingers hammering away on keyboards, rearranging circuitry, reprogramming on
the fly and shouting warnings and ideas to each other. Darcy stood back and occasionally helped
ferry something technological from one part of the room to another, not helped by the fact that the
very air was twisting about them, sometimes as clear as a mountain breeze, sometimes chokingly
smoggy, and the keyboards beneath their hands shifted shape in between instants.

They tried, but in the end, they were doomed to failure. A growing electrical fire was raging and
almost every inanimate object in the room had taken on a life of its own. Worse, the portal had
inverted, and was now sucking things in like some kind of hellish vacuum. And its suction was
only getting stronger.

Recognising this, Jane grimaced. "Sue, Reed, go," she said.

"What about you and Darcy?" Sue asked, frowning.

"Kinda wondering about that myself," Darcy said, absently tazing a rampaging office chair.

Jane raised the wrist-strap. "I'll use this to get out," she said. "Darcy, go with them. I'll slow it from
here."

"Hell no," Darcy said. "I am not leaving you to be eaten by evil office supplies!"

Jane grimaced, considered arguing further, then shook her head. "Fine. Sue, Reed, go, now."

"We're not leaving you," Sue said.

"Indeed not," Reed said, sounding uncommonly focused and determined.

"And I'm not giving you a choice," Jane said, inputting a code into the hostile computers. The two
vanished in a flash of rainbow light.

"Where did you send them?" Darcy asked.

"MI13 command," Jane said, typing furiously. "Where we're going any… second… now."

A final bubble of energy sprang up around the portal.

"Darcy, take my hand," Jane said, inputting co-ordinates into her wrist-strap. And, before Darcy
could make a smart remark, they too vanished in a flash of rainbow light.

A moment later, the complex imploded.

OoOoO

Others observed this from high above, including two Powers who in any other context, any lesser
conflict, would have dominated the battlefield, been worshipped and beseeched as gods by the
warriors involved. Now, in a war between the gods of gods and universal concepts, they were
dwarfed. But they were still Powers, Great Powers, kings of their own realms and protectors of
their peoples, possessors of might fit to make the world tremble and names that did.

"So," Namor said conversationally as he ripped an alien battleship from stem to stern as it emerged
from one of the many portals. "You have made your return public, then?"

"I do what I must," the man who most knew as Magneto said curtly. "Because the alternative
would be worse."

"I had thought that you cared little for the surface world," Namor remarked. "As my kingdom is
under the sea, yours hangs in the heavens."
"Heavens which are threatened by this cataclysm as much as your undersea realm is," Magneto
replied, giving a vast winged serpent a hard look as it surged towards him. Instantly, it curled in on
itself in agony, acidic blood running from eyes and ear holes as it suffered a fatal brain
haemorrhage, tumbling through the air like a ruined carnival float. "You do not usually dance
around the point, Namor. What are you asking?"

"Once this is over, the surface world, the mundane world, will be aware of us as never before,"
Namor said.

"Presuming that the world survives this," Magneto responded, summoning metal from the plentiful
ruins below and breaking them down into shards the size of knives, before directing the resultant
battleship sized cloud of electrically charged razors into the mass of demons, planes and space
ships that swarmed in the skies, doing so with scrupulous accuracy to avoid friendly fire. And
wherever it passed, it left finely shredded death in its wake.

"If it does not, then the point is moot," Namor replied. "And we both know that it does."

"The Elder God of Chaos is loose in the world," Magneto retorted. "Nothing is certain. And your
point?"

"They will know of us. They will fear us," Namor said. "We will need to stand together, as we once
did."

"I forsook those ways long ago," Magneto said grimly. "And with good reason."

"You were able to," Namor retorted, trading blows with a flying giant and grunting as its claws
raked his skin. "Because almost none knew of you and those who did were not such fools as to try
to find and destroy you. You may have no choice."

A glint appeared in Magneto's eye. "If my people are threatened, then I will remind those who
threaten them of who I am," he said. "But I will not court war, Namor. You would be wise not to do
so either."

"Look around you, Magneto. If war is going to come, it will come whether you court it or not."

OoOoO

Two other titans, true gods rather than those with godlike powers, fought alongside one another.
Thor, having split off from the Avengers as they attempted to stem the tide, had joined an old
sparring partner in battle. Their debate was less… philosophical.

"Three thousand and thirty nine!" Hercules bellowed, as he used one demon to splatter half a dozen
others.

"I am still five thousand ahead," Thor replied, sending Mjolnir zooming along Oxford Street,
which was absolutely packed. An unkind observer might note that the only difference to usual was
that those it was packed with were aggressive rather than merely being passive-aggressive.

"Bah," Hercules snorted. "If it were not for that hammer, I would be so far past you that I would be
little more than speck in the distance."

"Perhaps if you had not been late that might be so," Thor said with a laugh. "And you forget, old
friend," he added as he unleashed a positive wave of lightning on the creatures before him, before
singlehandedly snapping the neck of one that had managed to get close to him and was attempting
to sink its jaws into his arm. "Even without Mjolnir, I am still the God of Thunder and Lightning."
Before Hercules could retort, there was a flash of rainbow light and two women appeared out of
nowhere.

"Uh, Jane, this does not look like MI13 HQ," one said.

The other, Jane, ignored her, sighting Thor who was staring at her in shock. Letting out a joyful
shriek, she leapt into her equally delighted boyfriend's arms. There was so much that she wanted to
say, so much that he wanted to say as well, but neither of them could quite manage the words. And
besides, battlefields are poor places for such things, so instead, they kissed.

Of course, this did not stop Darcy.

"Oh, hello," Darcy said, leering at Hercules, who was giving her a similarly appreciative once over.

"Darcy," Jane warned, coming up for air.

"What? I was just saying hello!"

Incongruous as this conversation might seem, it carried more weight than might otherwise be
apparent. It was, after all, a little bit of light in the darkness.

OoOoO

And now, that light shone all the more brightly.

Because the streak of lightning that was Jean-Paul Beaubier shot through the city one last time, this
time arrowing straight towards Chthon.

The air rippled with his passage, he trailed a sense of building pressure, pressure so great that
reality itself began to buckle beneath its weight and all the while he was surrounded by golden
lightning, so completely that it was almost as if he was a figure carved from the lightning itself, the
wrath of velocity incarnate.

Sensing his coming, Odin disengaged, as Chthon himself had, receiving a few wounds to his spirit
as a result. But it was worth it.

For while an Elder God would normally not be fazed by such a threat, there was a difference. This,
after all, was not the full might of Chthon. This was merely a foothold, a fragment of his might,
albeit a large one and one that was growing with every instant, even with Strange's cunning
hijacking of his chaos.

Moreover, Chthon was tied to the Earth. To a physical body. To a vulnerable physical body . And
that was a very different story.

All in all, he barely had time for his stolen eyes to widen.

Then there was impact.

A flash of silent golden lightning, contained inside a shield which only a Skyfather could hope to
muster.

And then there was nothing.

OoOoO

What happened next was a matter of significant confusion, if only because it happened so damned
fast.

Gravemoss, or his body at least, appeared to have been vaporised. Whatever had happened to it, it
was no longer present. All that remained was a bowl shaped crater, matching the perfect sphere
shape of Odin's shield and at the bottom of it, a figure cast in golden lightning, one that shifted and
juddered like the picture on a television with bad signal.

A significant number of the lesser demons took one look at the crater, took one look at the
Avengers and their allies, drew the correct conclusion and dived back through their nearest portal.
Many of the rest hesitated and were promptly made to pay by being cut down in droves, something
helped by the arrival of reinforcements in the form of the US 48th Fighter Wing and SHIELD's
23rd Squadron from RAF Lakenheath. They had finally received orders to, as decorated fighter ace
Hal Jordan put it, "Join the party," after first HYDRA's countermeasures, then Chthon's chaos
delayed Trans-Atlantic communications.

Closer observation even showed that the smaller portals were shrinking, while the larger ones
were, at least, not expanding. In other words, the tide had very much turned.

But Chthon was not done yet.

When Jean-Paul hit Gravemoss' hijacked body, he was channelling the full power of the
mysterious energy known as the Speed Force. This meant that he struck on far more levels than
simply the physical, and actually managed to separate Chthon's spirit from Gravemoss. Chthon had
responded by seeking a new host, making an immediate bee-line for Wanda. While normally he
could not outright possess her, normally he was not even partially incarnate on Earth. More to the
point, during her the night of her birth on Mt. Wundagore, a young Magneto and young Voldemort
had fought. The latter had drawn on the power of the mountain, Chthon's power, to do so. And so
the Elder God had reached out and left enough of a mark on an infant Wanda to mould her to his
purposes, as a potential host.

Now, he sought to claim her as his vessel.

Through her, a host specifically shaped to his purposes, he would be even greater and more terrible
than he had been when encased in Gravemoss' flesh.

This, however, was rather derailed. Because no one, or almost no one, foresaw what came next.

Specifically, when he sensed Chthon's spirit arrowing towards his godmother, Harry Thorson did
something incredibly noble and very, very stupid. He tried to intercept Chthon.

And unfortunately, he succeeded.

OoOoO

Harry suddenly collapsed, convulsing. "Harry?" Carol asked, half panicking.

"There is something wrong with him," Uhtred said, worried.

"Yeah, no shit," Carol snapped.

"No," Diana said grimly. "He means… wrong."

A shiver went down Carol's spine, but before she could say anything, she was bundled aside as
Harry's family converged on him, Thor first, Wanda, Frigga, Loki and Odin close behind. The rest
of the Avengers weren't much further behind them, either, and all were worried.
"Harry?" Thor asked, trying to hold his son still. "Harry, what is wrong?"

"It is mystical," Frigga said. "Dark magic of…" All the blood drained from her face. "Oh no."

As at Hogwarts only a week or so before, Harry did not so much stand up as have the world
rearrange itself so that he was standing up. Additionally, those standing around him found
themselves at least twenty feet away. Any hopes that this was a reappearance of the Phoenix,
however, vanished when they opened his eyes. Because they weren't his eyes any more. Now, they
were a chaotic crimson from iris to sclera. And as they opened, he began to laugh that jangling,
discordant laugh.

"No," Wanda whispered, breath hitching, speaking for all of them.

Except for Strange, who had appeared once again out of nowhere, this time with the once more
physically coherent – if absolutely exhausted, thoroughly unnerved and on seeing Harry, utterly
despairing – Jean-Paul beside him. The latter almost collapsed, before being propped up by Uhtred.

"Well played, Strange," Chthon said out of Harry's mouth. "You almost did it. You almost achieved
total victory. My book was stolen away, my host... well, I think he's orbiting Jupiter now. But you
miscalculated." He examined his new hands. "The boy would not have been my first choice of
host," he said, giving Wanda a cruel smile which left in no doubt who that first choice would have
been. "But he intercepted me – brave, but foolish."

"You have no more power here, Elder," Odin said, voice flat and hard. "Leave the boy."

"I have all the power I need, Lord of Order," Chthon retorted. "My chaos is still building, self
sustaining despite your best efforts, and with it my power. You have prevented my first
manifestation, but really, all you've done is buy yourself some time." He paused. "But there is one
way..." He smiled. "You could kill this body. That might work."

"Would it?" Natasha asked quietly.

"That is not an option," Steve said, voice hard.

"It would," Wanda said, voice damp with tears. "And there's another option." She stepped forward.
"Take me instead, Chthon. You said that I was your first choice. Let him go and take me."

"No."

Wanda looked like she'd been punched in the gut.

"Let the boy go."

Everyone turned to see Strange staring at Chthon, expression cold and implacable, his red cloak an
all enveloping shroud that lent him an inhuman look. This was no longer the anti-hero, the clever
Doctor with a kind word for those who needed it, nor the cunning trickster who lied with the truth,
nor even the mysterious guide with the enigmatic smile. This was the Sorcerer Supreme.

"How many more people are going to ask me that?" Chthon asked, amused, as Tower Bridge
glowed red and began dissolving into sand.

"I wasn't asking."

Chthon smirked. "Make me," he said, eyes gleaming cruelly.

"You will do it of your own accord," Strange said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because it will be much less painful than when he casts you out," Strange said.

"He does not have the power," Chthon said through his stolen mouth, then staggered, creasing over
in pain. Thor had to restrain himself from going over to help, reminding himself of the bitter truth.
This creature was not his son.

"Now you must be wondering why his resistance is hurting you," Strange said, tone calm and
dispassionate. "Part of it is that you have less power and therefore are losing your hold on the
mortal plane. It is overwhelming you, as it opposed to you overwhelming it. Part of it is that the
boy is fighting you from within, and you never had your chance to get your hooks into him via
saturation with your power or the Darkhold. And part of it is the protection his mother invoked so
long ago, the power of the Phoenix, Destruction herself."

Chthon looked up at him, hatred in his bright red eyes, and snarled a curse. Crackling red lightning
slammed into Strange. Who didn't even blink. He pointed at Chthon with an index finger that
carried a world of threat. "I will give you one last chance," he said. "Leave."

"You cannot force me," Chthon said. But now, he eyed Strange warily. "Not without killing the
boy. And you know that if I stay, it will only start again." Suddenly, he smiled. "It already is. Oh,
this boy, this wondrous young man… I could not have made a better host myself. You have
fashioned me a most fitting avatar, Sorcerer Supreme, a most fitting avatar indeed."

"What does he mean?" Thor ground out.

"I mean, Aftercomer, that your son is perfect for my needs. Even with a whisper of my power I can
use him to enact my will as well as if I had all of it," Chthon said, smiling cruelly. "A demigod of a
line of Greater Gods, a telekinetic of unrivalled power and under my guidance, precision and, best
of all, blessed by Chaos to put him right at the very heart of it all. Here, now, this child is the
fulcrum on which all worlds turn."

Strange, however, didn't bat an eye, merely nodding his satisfaction. "Harry," he said, raising his
voice slightly. "I know that you can hear me. As Chthon himself has admitted, he has merely a
fraction of his power."

"He can't hear you, old man," Chthon said. But there was uncertainty in his voice.

"Really?" Strange asked. "I think he can. And I think you've missed one crucial thing about him."

"What are you rambling about?" Chthon demanded.

"His protection," Strange said, checking his watch. "And the fact that you've made him desperate
enough to reach out. Both of which should be making your life exceedingly difficult right
about… now."

Chthon stared uncomprehendingly for a moment.

It only took a moment.

OoOoO

On the grounds of the Xavier Institute, Jean's eyes widened and she gasped.
"Jean?" the Professor asked, concerned.

"Harry," she said. "He's in trouble."

Before she or anyone else could say anthing more, her eyes ignited with orange-gold power that
was mirrored in the blazing halo around her as she threw back her head back, drifting into the air.

OoOoO

On the other side of the world, another set of emerald green eyes widened, before blazing with
blue-white light and their owner also drifted into the air, surrounded by a halo of her own power.

Unlike Jean, no one inquired as to her welfare. Shortly afterwards, however, a man entered the
room, examined her briefly, and started taking notes.

OoOoO

Chthon frowned as he found himself drifting into the air, surrounded by a humming field of gold,
orange-gold and blue-white power.

"What…" he began, a moment before the aura flared into incandescent life and he was hit by an
absolutely colossal surge of power. Caught off-guard the Elder God arched Harry's stolen back,
and screamed.

The others could not bear to watch. Even Odin looked away. But Strange watched, cool and
dispassionate.

And what he saw was disturbing by any measure. Harry, multicoloured power incandescent about
him seemed to vibrate in place, afterimages of contorted faces and pained poses blinking in and out
of existence faster than thought. And in an increasing number of those poses, his eyes were not
crimson chaos red, but bright emerald green.

Slowly but surely, Harry was winning.

Then, there was an ominous silence. The conflict seemed to have stopped. In fact, everything had
stopped, droplets of water and fragments of stone hanging motionless in the air.

"What's happening?" Carol asked.

"Chthon's hold on this reality has been greatly reduced," Strange said. "He no longer has the power
to take over Harry in full."

"So why doesn't Harry just tell him to go screw himself?" Carol asked.

"That's what he was just doing," Strange said. "And very effectively, I might add. But now, on the
verge of victory, he has stopped."

"Why?" Thor asked, confused.

"Because Chthon is desperate," Wanda said quietly. "He is playing the only card he has left. He is
offering him power."

"Harry's not exactly Mister Power Hungry," Carol said, glancing around. "Is he?"

"He might not be," Dresden remarked. "But if it was put to him the right way..."
"He is not," Thor said heavily. "But there is one thing that Chthon can offer him."

"Like what?"

"It is easy to forget how young Harry is at times," Loki said. "In many ways, he is just a little boy
who wants his mother."

"'There isn't a little boy born who wouldn't tear the world apart to save his mummy,'" Strange
quoted, then paused briefly and smiled sadly. "'And this little boy can.'"

There was a dead silence, as those with mothers contemplated what they would do to get them back
under the circumstances. Those without didn't even have to think about it.

"All of reality, everything that ever is, ever was, or ever could be, is in flux," Loki said. "It is putty,
waiting to be moulded by a boy who just wants his mother."

"Would that be so bad?" Diana asked.

"Yeah, would it be wrong if Mrs Potter, Harry's mom, came back?" Carol asked, darting a glance
at Thor and Jane. "I mean it would be complicated, but..."

"The universe doesn't give freebies, kid," Dresden said. "And from what I've read, Chaos Magic is
the very definition of unexpected side-effects."

"He's right," Wanda said. "Stephen exploited a few of them, after all." She looked grim. "The
power of Chthon is not a precise instrument. Even without the colossal ripple effect of making sure
Lily had never died in the first place, if he brought her back here and now, the side effects would
tear the time-space continuum apart."

"Agreed," Loki said. "Miss Danvers, the universe is like putty. Putty that has, in this case, already
been stretched too far. If it is stretched any further out of true... Well. I am sure you have seen what
happens to chewing gum when similar happens."

Carol gulped. "Okay. Point taken," she said.

Diana and Uhtred looked puzzled.

"It develops holes, then it snaps," Dresden explained.

"Oh."

"If we are fortunate, then we will all never have been," Loki said. "Of course, I do not think that
that is likely."

"Of course it isn't," Steve said, turning to Strange. "All right Doctor Strange," he said. "You're the
one who's so many steps ahead of the rest of us, the one who seems to know what's going on, the
one who's got this all planned. What do you suggest we do next?"

"The only logical thing," Strange said mildly. "Get someone to give Harry some advice."

"Who, Strange?" Thor demanded. "Who could possibly do such a thing?"

"One," Odin said. "One and one alone."

"Who?" Thor demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" Strange asked with a smile the Cheshire Cat would have been proud of. "After
all, as the saying has it… mother knows best."

Then, before anyone could say a thing he half turned and swiftly sketched a doorway in the air,
large enough to comfortably admit a single person. Then, the doorway opened and someone
stepped out, a figure who, obscured by the blinding radiance of the dimension it opened into, took
Strange's pro-offered hand and stepped out. Then, just like that, the doorway snapped shut and the
figure was visible to all, once those who needed to blinked away the after images in their eyes.

In the silence that followed, you could have heard a pin drop. As it was, all listening heard only
Strange speaking four words in a voice that was at once soft and deafening and above all, utterly
triumphant.

"Check. Check and Mate."

OoOoO

"Who..." Steve began, as he managed to focus on the woman. She was relatively tall, for a woman,
and stunningly beautiful, with deep, ruby red hair that burned like fire in the few beams of sunlight
that found their way through the clouds and emerald green eyes.

She carried an air of regal majesty with her, off-set by the kindness in her eyes and she was dressed
in a long, creamy white gown, a colour that few women with her colouring could have made work.
She did. The hem of the dress floated and flickered, suggesting that it was not constructed of any
natural material. It left her shoulders and collarbone bare, the neckline cut just above her breasts,
and her soft, pale feet were completely bare.

From the top of the neckline, the white of the dress was broken up by a simple, stylised golden
bird, of which only wings and head were depicted, those wings being spread. This was not the only
application of colour on the dress, either. The sleeves, tight and perfectly fitted, ended with
delicate, swirling golden filigree that stretched from wrist to elbow, like sparks rising from a fire,
and a thick, golden sash styled ribbon bound at the side with a brooch that mirrored the symbol on
the woman's chest. It girdled her hips, the stray tails, floating out to one side, adding to her
mysterious and otherworldly air.

Steve found his eyes drawn back to the bird. It was as if someone had managed to strip away all
the extraneous parts to find the essence of a bird, almost the soul. And not just of any bird. This
was a very particular kind of bird.

A phoenix.

Then, looking back up at her face, he realised that he recognised her from pictures.

And Thor said it for them all, in a soft, strangled voice.

"Lily."

Indeed, the woman in front of them was Lily Potter, née Evans, and Steve's first, irrational thought
was that she looked so young. Physically speaking she was even younger than Darcy. She was
college age, at best.

Of course, appearances didn't always tell the whole story. Thor and Loki both looked like they
were in their late twenties at most, and both of them could vividly remember the days when
mankind had counted the years in three figures rather than four.
But they weren't human. At times, you couldn't tell, not unless you looked, and even then, not
unless you knew what you were looking for and how to look for it. At others... it was
breathtakingly obvious.

And despite the fact that this woman was, or had been, human, she shared some of that sense of
agelessness and ocean deep power.

Any remaining doubts he'd had as to her identity were erased in a heartbeat when he saw the look
in her eyes when she locked gazes with Chthon. He'd seen that look far too many times, usually in
the eyes of mothers of all nationalities during the War. It was the look of a woman whose child has
been wronged and will consequently stop at nothing to wreak bloody vengeance on the perpetrator
of said wrong. A quick glance told him that Thor wore the male counterpart of the same look,
though his was mingled with astonishment, hope and a strange kind of raw pain.

"My lady," Strange said respectfully, bowing deeply.

"My lord," Lily Potter said quietly, dipping her head. She turned to Odin and properly bowed this
time, a bow which, surprisingly, he returned in kind, even more deeply. "My Lord of Asgard. Well
met."

"My Lady Phoenix," Odin replied. "Well met."

"What is going on?" Clint asked bluntly. "Why is Harry's dead mom here?"

"Lily?" Wanda breathed, then ran over and pulled her friend into a tight hug, babbling about how
much she'd missed her, how sorry she was about Harry and how she'd failed him. She was closely
followed by Sirius who, though less tactile and less babbly, was saying many of the same things.

"Dead, yes. But only for a given value of dead," Strange said, while Lily soothed her friend. "She
unwittingly invoked the Phoenix to protect her son, something I had a small part in, and ended up
cutting a deal. In return for the Phoenix's protection of her son and the chance to watch over him,
she would merge with the Phoenix force, to be her vessel, for the Phoenix usually has none, hosts
excepted. This arrangement is more… permanent."

"You knew?" Thor asked, voice low and betrayed. It was not entirely obvious whether he was
directing the question at Strange, his evidently unsurprised father, or Lily herself. "And you said
nothing?"

"While the part of the Phoenix that is Lily would have been fine with me informing you, the rest of
the Phoenix didn't want it known, and I've found that annoying Her usually ends up with your
brains developing the consistency of scrambled eggs and dribbling out your ears. Even if I'd tried
to tell you, it wouldn't have worked, something that you know as well as I do," Strange said,
glancing at Loki, who grimaced. "Your father did not say, I suspect, because he was not sure until I
told him a few hours ago. The Phoenix has gone to great lengths to hide Her influence."

"And I could not say because most of the time, I can't really do more than give the mortal world a
nudge. Or a whisper," Lily said.

"Of course," Thor said quietly. He hadn't yet met her gaze, as if he could not bear to. "How are you
here now, then?"

"The universe is in a state of flux," Loki said. "Dimensions are bleeding into each other and the
normal rules have been suspended. Which is how the good Doctor managed to access the realm
known in ancient lore as the White Hot Room."
Strange bowed with a slight flourish.

"Not the most imaginative name," Natasha replied.

"Others call it the Heart of the Phoenix, which is perhaps more poetic," Loki said, shrugging. "But
the White Hot Room is more, strictly speaking, accurate, if somewhat prosaic."

Natasha remembered the raw light that had spilled out from the dimensional tear, considered the
amount of energy required to generate such light, and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"So... you're here," Thor said. "I..." he began, tears forming in his eyes, but he could not find the
words. There were so many things that he wanted to say. That he missed her, he still loved her even
if his heart now belonged to another, that he was sorry he had failed to protect her, to protect
Harry... however, the words would not come.

But, sometimes, words are not necessary.

Lily smiled sadly. "I know," she said, disengaging from Sirius and hugging him, a hug that he
responded to desperately, clinging onto her as if he was afraid that she was going to disappear if he
didn't hold on tightly enough. "And immortal incarnation of one of the Endless or not, I am going
to need my ribs, you oaf," she said dryly.

"Sorry," Thor muttered, before darting glances between Lily and the eminently conflicted Jane.

"Ooh, this can't possibly end well," Carol muttered.

"Right there with ya," Clint said matter-of-factly.

Lily, however, merely smiled. "'til death do us part," she said gently. "That's what the vows say. I
died. So did you. Unlike you, I'm not exactly dead, but I'm no longer mortal, no longer what might
call alive. And as appearances go, this one isn't going to be much more than a cameo. I am one
with the Phoenix and that means I have a job to do." She reached out and gently cupped her son's
cheek, expression sad. "Even if there's nowhere I'd rather be than here."

"So why did you take the job?" Darcy asked bluntly.

"Partly because the protection required it," Lily said. "It was part of the deal. And partly because I
thought that it would be better to at least have some chance of making some contact with my son,
nudging things to make his life better, to help and protect him, than to be one of the dead and
unable to do anything at all."

Darcy nodded. "Fair enough," she said.

Jane was largely lost for words, though she did look somewhat relieved – and somewhat guilty
about being relieved.

"I'll give him right back," Lily said to Jane. "But I need his help to save our son."

Jane blinked, nodded and said, still somewhat stunned, "Uh, sure."

Thor squeezed Jane's hand, then turned to Lily. "What do I need to do?" he asked.

"Take my hand," Lily said.

Thor did, forcing down the wave of memories that this simple touch inspired, peculiarly having
more resonance than the full blown hug they had shared only a moment or two before. Lily, as if
sensing this – and if the stories about the Phoenix were true, she probably could, and much else
besides – gave him a sad smile, then led him over to the frozen Harry.

OoOoO

"What do we do?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Odin said.

"Seriously?" Tony demanded.

"That's usually my line," Sirius said absently. He did, however, look rather edgy. "But he's right. Is
this all we can do?"

"Your part is done," Strange said. "Now, it is up to Harry."

"Yes," Steve said. "It is." He gave Strange a hard look. "And don't think I haven't tracking how this
has all panned out, Strange. You put him in this position."

"I did," Strange said, and seeing a wrathful Wanda gearing up to punch him again, added, "For
reasons which I will explain once this is all over."

"That explanation had better be an excellent one," Loki said darkly.

Strange shrugged. "It is good enough for me," he said.

OoOoO

Harry's mindscape was a battlefield, one which had been every bit as fierce and hard fought as the
one in the real world. Dark, foul mists, shot through with crimson light were opposed by a blazing
inferno of flame and light. Now, Thor saw, it was as if the pause button had been pressed. He also
noticed how as they passed, the flames and light grew brighter in Lily's presence, while the
darkness shrank away, curling in on itself like burning paper.

It did not take long to reach Harry. He was dressed in the same armour as he had been when he had
briefly been aged by the Mountain and he was surrounded, protected, by a ring of golden light.
There was something particularly familiar about the light, Thor felt, but he couldn't put his finger
on what it was, putting it down to it simply being part of his son.

And in any case, he was quickly distracted. Because Harry wasn't entirely alone. There were two
female figures on either side, one of orange-gold flame, the other of blue-white. The former was
vaguely familiar, and after a moment's thought, Thor recognised her: Jean Grey, Harry's maternal
cousin, who had broken him free of Gravemoss' enchantment. The other was more obscure.

And there was another, a hooded creature who twined around Harry's shoulders like a serpent, one
that exuded corruption and whispered in his ear. Closer observation revealed hook-like thorns
along Chthon's – and it could only be Chthon – body, digging into Harry's spirit flesh and Thor
barely restrained a furious snarl, only Lily's hand on his arm preventing him from charging in and
ripping the foul thing off his son.

"That is not the way," she said.

As she spoke, Harry looked up and frowned, as if he hadn't expected to see them. "Dad?" he said.

"It's me, Harry," Thor said, voice nearly breaking.

Harry's gaze travelled to Lily and his eyes widened, before narrowing again, glazing slightly, as
Chthon's whispering intensified.

Lily, however, snapped her fingers and Chthon let out a small shriek before recoiling at the literally
stinging rebuke. "None of that," she said. "He'll make his choice of his own free will." Her
attention shifted to Harry. "Hello, Harry," she said softly.

Harry's eyes widened, and abruptly he seemed to shrink from armoured teenager to a small,
bespectacled and thin child in second-hand clothes far too big for him. All in all, it was a
heartbreaking sight.

"Mama?" he whispered.

Lily knelt down, took his face in her hands and laid a long a kiss on his forehead, before looking
him in the eye, tears running down her cheeks. "Yes, darling," she managed. "Mama's here."

Harry simply clung to her and said nothing. Thor, working on instinct, joined the group hug. And
as he did, he heard Chthon's whispers, soft and persuasive.

"You can have her back, Harry. You can have the life you dreamed of. You can have it all and
more. All you need to do is give in, Harry…"

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Lily said, voice gentle but clear, cutting across Chthon's
blandishments. "Yes, you could bring me back. But in doing so, you'd end everything. And then I,
we, would be worse than dead. We would never have been."

"Yes, we could end it, and you could form your creation of the firmament," Chthon
murmured. "Everything as you want it."

Thor snorted. "You stand for chaos," he said. "As if you would let him create a new universe to
replace the one you have tried so hard to destroy."

"What does he know?" Chthon asked. "He doesn't want this world to change, he likes it, he's happy
with his new lover, that your mother is gone. Ignore him. It's time to play god..."

"I do not," Thor snarled. "I love Jane, yes, but there is not a day that goes by that I do not miss your
mother," he said, directing his words at his son. "Not a day goes by that I don't wish she was here
with us."

"He lies…"

"You'd be better off trying that line on someone who can't read minds, Chthon," Lily said. "You're
the liar, Chthon. And you're not even very good at it."

"I tell the truth of this, Endless," Chthon replied. "He wants you back."

"Of course he does," Lily said, unruffled. "I'm his mother. And there is nothing more I want than to
be with my boys." She carded her fingers through Harry's hair. "But I can't always have what I
want." She tipped Harry's tear filled face up to meet her gaze. "You can't bring me back, Harry,"
she said gently. "But I love you, Harry. I love you so much. And a part of me will always be with
you."

"Ignore her. She lies…"

Harry's eyes narrowed and in a blur, he reached up and ripped Chthon off his spiritual back.
"You're the one who's lying," he said. "Now get out!"

Back in the real world, Thor was jerked back into his body by Harry's indiscriminate psychic
command, just in time to see his son holding a writhing red-black cloud that was the fragment of
Chthon at arm's length.

"You're making a mistake, boy," it managed, desperate.

"I never wanted power," Harry said, glaring at it. "I never wanted to be god. And I
am done playing."

Then, he hurled it away and snapped his fingers. With a thunderous detonation and a furious,
despairing shriek, the last remnant of Chthon's spirit was consumed in a flash of flame.

"Nicely done," Strange said. "Now, to fix all this…"

"I already said that I don't want to play god," Harry said. "I'm not…" He let out a long breath. "I'm
not wise enough to decide what to change and what not to change, even if I had the right. Which I
don't."

"Self-awareness," Strange said in a very quiet, very serious voice. "Is the beginning of wisdom.
And by my reckoning, you are a very wise young man indeed." He smiled faintly. "It is also why I
put you in this position. Chthon tried to give all the power in the world to someone who didn't want
it."

"But you do," Harry said, looking at Strange with very sharp eyes. "And you see what I saw; every
possibility, everything that could be."

Strange smiled tiredly. "I am not immune to temptation," he said. "And the power to simply reach
out and make it all just so is a great temptation indeed, especially for one such as me. That is why I
chose you, rather than myself, or any of the others." His gaze travelled over all of them. "All of us
has regrets. And even the best of us can have trouble letting them go." He smiled. "And so we, I,
have to do it all the hard way. It's probably for the best. If we could rewrite reality on a whim, life
would get very boring."

The Gherkin chose that moment to transform from aesthetically questionable glass and steel
building into an actual gherkin of the same size.

Tony let out a long, low whistle and nudged Bruce. "Looks like you've got some competition,
green machine."

Bruce rolled his eyes, while Dresden, Darcy, Carol, Jean-Paul, Fandral and Volstagg – all those, in
fact, with an actual or mental age of 15 – sniggered. Thor himself ended up coughing
unconvincingly to disguise his own amusement.

"And he's supposed to be one of the greatest minds of our age," Magneto muttered. "God help us
all."

"Regrettably, there are limits to even my power," Odin said dryly.

"Pity," Magneto sighed.

"Jokes aside, we are going to need to do something about that," Wanda said, shooting a look at her
father that expressed her irritation at his having the temerity to a) agree with her, b) implicitly
criticise her boyfriend/apprentice.
"Cold water?" Tony suggested, to a renewed outbreak of sniggering.

"From the narrow aversion of the end of the world to penis jokes in less than three minutes," Loki
sighed. "You know, I think this is a new record."

"Please don't say that," Steve said. "It'll just make Tony try and break it."

Tony did indeed had a certain gleam in his eye.

"Wanda is right," Strange said, turning to Harry.

"Me?" Harry asked, startled.

"Chthon was right about one thing," Strange said. "Right here, right now, you are at the heart of
everything. What Chthon has done, you can ensure is undone."

"I… I don't know how," Harry admitted, sounding ashamed, as if he should be expected to know
how to undo the damage caused by an Elder God of Chaos shortly after banishing said Elder God
from his brain.

Strange smiled a particularly wide smile, a variation on his usual. Thor was beginning to associate
it with moments when one of his plans came to a particularly neat conclusion. "You've done it
before," he said. "A few months ago, when Heimdall was showing you the cosmos. The only
difference is that this time, you are the one with the power and the Phoenix – your mother,
conveniently something of an expert at repairing battered planets – will be the one doing the
guiding." His gaze flicked to Odin. "And in your grandfather, we also have one who has experience
in dealing with the Earth and restoring it to its natural state, who can assist in… an advisory
capacity, shall we say. If you would, sire?"

Odin raised an eyebrow, then nodded, moving to place a calming hand on his grandson's shoulder.

Thor gave his son an encouraging smile, receiving a nervous one in return, then turned to Strange.
"You have it all sewn up, don't you?" he said. It wasn't entirely a compliment.

"I rather think that I do, actually," Strange said, with a smile, as Lily and Odin guided Harry off to
one side.

"So, um, now what?" Carol asked.

"Now, Miss Danvers," Strange said. "We wait."

"For what? Some grand light show, everything running backwards or what?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Strange said. "And it'll be done any minute now."

OoOoO

Harry took a deep breath.

"Calm, grandson," Odin said, in an unusually gentle tone. Harry was rather grateful for this and felt
that it probably had a lot to do with his being possessed briefly. His more cynical side thought that
it also had a lot to do with the fact that his mother was revealed as one of the most powerful cosmic
entities in the universe, was quite possible the archtypical protective mother and more to the point,
was right next to him.

"You have all the time you need," his mother agreed. "Close your eyes."
Harry did.

"Now reach out, with your mind and… see."

And Harry did, a web of silver lines criss-crossing the city. As he looked, his vantage point
suddenly zoomed out significantly and he could see how they spread across the whole world like
rivers, some much larger and thicker than others, converging in silvery lakes of varying sizes at
certain spots.

Almost of them looked broken, with the chaotic crimson red of Chthon's chaos disrupting them.
There were so many breaks, so much damage, Harry didn't know where to start.

"You don't need to do it one at a time," his mother said, as he stared helplessly. "Look."

Suddenly, Harry found himself seeing countless other planets and moons, similarly damaged – if
by different means – being restored and renewed. Then, he saw the Earth, also being restored – and
the damage looked a lot more like that which Chthon had done now. Knowing instinctively that
this came from his grandfather, he turned. "What was that?" he asked, surprised.

His grandfather sighed. "It was a long time ago, grandson," he said. "And it at the same time, it
never happened. The timeline in which it happened is now the prison for the one who did it."

Harry, sensing that this was a sensitive subject, did not push further. In any case, now he knew
what he had to do and he had to do it.

So he did.

OoOoO

The world… shifted. Portals closed, monsters and temporarily temporally displaced heroes
vanished and the skies were the natural shades once more.

"Uh… was that it?" Carol asked. "Because I'm still seeing a lot of property damage. And the
world's biggest ball of tin foil is still in the river."

"I'll move it," Magneto said, giving her a long look. "Perhaps with your help, if you have the full
breadth of your predecessor's abilities."

"You knew him?" Carol asked, startled.

"Rather well," Magneto said. "Enough to become very familiar with his ring – usually when it was
coming at my face at high speed along with the rest of his fist." He looked her over again. "You
seem a worthy successor."

"Um. Thank you?"

"Indeed she was," Strange said. "Though you will have to do it without her help."

"Wait, what?" Carol asked. "Oh. You want the ring back." She bit her lip. "Did I do something
wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

"Quite the contrary," Strange said kindly. "I could not have picked a better wielder if I had
searched for years. The ring chose you and if you were a few years older, we would not be having
this conversation. However, the ring and I both feel that you will have quite enough to do getting
the hang of your other abilities. Worrying about crushing a doorknob with a slip of concentration is
one thing. Worrying about destroying a house with that same slip of concentration is quite another.
Also, the ring doesn't usually take teenage wielders. Something about impulse control issues…"

Carol wrinkled her nose and tried not to look disappointed.

"You'll fly again, Miss Danvers," Strange said. "Don't you worry about that."

Carol sighed. "Yeah," she said, taking off the ring, the green gear vanishing as she did, and
handing it to Strange, who pocketed it. "I suppose it was fun while it lasted."

Magneto raised an eyebrow, then said, "I suppose I shall be moving it alone." He surveyed
the Dreadnought's ruins and nodded. "It should be more than manageable, once I've had some rest,
and once Namor has returned to chivvy his remaining sea dragons from its nooks and crannies."

"I think Director Wisdom would appreciate that," Loki said. "Particularly the dragon removal.
While I am sure that they will be very full for some time to come, a hungry, lost and consequently
irritable dragon is not something one wants wandering through a city."

"He definitely will," Betsy said. "Once he stops complaining about how the grand repair job missed
a few bits."

"Harry undid the damage done by Chthon," Strange said. "Physical, metaphysical and temporal.
And very neatly, I might add. But the damage done by HYDRA remains. To go any further would
be to risk temptation."

"The battle is won," Sif said. "And the battle is done. Which means…"

"Clean up," Steve said, wincing slightly as he tested his muscles.

"Ignore him," Tony said. "It means party."

"A feast!" Volstagg cried.

"I could eat," Dresden volunteered.

"I am kinda hungry," Bruce added, sounding somewhat apologetic.

"I think we all could," Wanda said.

"As could I," Magneto said, his gaze shifting to Wanda. "If I am welcome."

Wanda gave her father a long, hard look. Then, through pursed lips, she said, "That's not my call to
make."

"Every warrior who fought today is welcome in the halls of Asgard," Frigga said.

Magneto bowed a courtly bow. "Thank you, your highness," he said gravely. "I am honoured."

Wanda snorted faintly, but said nothing.

Magneto then turned to his daughter. "There are things we should speak of," he said softly.
"Things that should have been discussed a long time ago. Including the many apologies I owe to
you."

Wanda blinked in surprise.

"And more recent developments," Magneto continued, focusing on Dresden with a measuring look
in his steel grey eyes.

Dresden gulped and tried to hide behind his girlfriend. Since he was well over a foot taller than
her, he failed miserably.

"Father," Wanda said, voice dangerous. "Don't you dare."

Magneto chuckled slightly. "I will behave," he said. "Besides: he is not John Constantine and that
is already a point in his favour."

Constantine was, at this point, wisely absent.

"We have clean-up crews for this, Captain," Betsy said. "And emergency services were called in
from across the country before the first punch was thrown. You've earned your rest."

Steve sighed, as Harry, Odin and Lily made their way back over. On any other occasion, the
sudden appearance of thick white lock of hair in his fringe would have attracted comment. Now,
however, it was merely one strange sight among many on a day that had long since progressed past
anything so prosaic as strangeness, and everyone was too tired to comment on it. "What's going
on?" Harry asked.

"Food, then rest," Steve said.

"Which, roughly translated, means party," Tony said.

Harry, despite his obvious tiredness, grinned. "Great!" Then, anxiously, he turned to his mother.

"I need to go," she said, pre-empting his question with the psychic abilities that all mothers seem to
have even without being merged with the Phoenix. "But," she added as his face fell. "I can stay for
the party." She smiled and held him tight. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What's this about a party?" Huginn asked, in raven form once more as he fluttered in to land on
Harry's shoulder.

"Will there be eyeballs?" his brother asked hopefully.

Odin and Thor sighed identical sighs and Frigga chuckled softly, while Loki looked like he was
staring at the heavens in hope of guidance.

Harry, meanwhile, coughed and nodded at his mother.

"Oh," Huginn said.

"Are you…" Muninn began.

"She is," Harry said.

"Wow," Huginn said. "Hello, ma'am."

Lily smiled. "Hello to you too," she said, amused. "And you two."

"All that needs to be done here is, I think, done," Odin said.

"Not quite, sire," Strange said, pulling out a key fob and pressing a button. "And, of course…" He
snapped his fingers and a somewhat startled Director Fury appeared. He became even more startled
when he saw Lily.

"Hello, Nicholas," she said softly.

"Lily," he said quietly. Then, his eye narrowed. "How?"

"She merged with the Phoenix Force on her death, is here on a temporary visit and while I knew, I
couldn't say because otherwise my brains would have been turned to scrambled egg," Strange said.
"Does that summarise it?"

"Close enough," Lily said dryly. "It's me, Nicholas."

"With all due respect, how do I know that?" Fury asked.

Lily smirked. "How about I refresh your memory," she said. "On the night of Harry's christening,
you, Sirius, James and John got through six bottles of fire whiskey. Then you took Sirius'
motorbike, a barrel of grease and a herd of enchanted badgers to a Quidditch match."

"Ah, good times," Sirius interjected happily. "For us, anyway."

Thor had gone red.

"Need I go on?" Lily asked, smirk now wicked.

"Please do," Tony said, looking like all his Christmases had come at once. "I'm recording this."

"No," Fury said quietly. "It's you."

"Yes, Nicky," Lily said gently, before pulling him into a hug. "It is me, you grumpy old bastard."
She looked around and smiled. "Now, I think we have a party to get to."

Strange looked over her shoulder and smiled as a red convertible started descending. "Yes," he
said. "And here come two formerly absent friends."

Fury followed his gaze, recognised the car, then glowered at him.

Strange's smile widened. "Consider it a 'happy the world didn't end day' present," he said. "And
let's be honest: I really can't wait to see you explain this one."

Fury's glower intensified. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, believe me, I know."

 They Think It's All Over

Fury, as it turned out, had to do a lot of very fast talking to prevent his immediate strangulation – by
who it was uncertain, though Clint and Tony seemed most likely to snap. However, he didn't have
to do half as much as might have been expected because of the presence of one very pertinent and
attention grabbing person: Bucky Barnes a.k.a. the Winter Soldier.

Steve had stared at him for a long moment, then on seeing Bucky smile an uncertain, crooked
smile, engulfed him in a tight hug, as if the last seven decades hadn't happened. But, of course, they
had and in those decades, the Winter Soldier had carved out his dark legend. More than a few of
those present had known people that the Soldier had killed or injured. A few had actually been
injured by the Soldier.

The tension, however, had been broken by Strange.

"The Winter Soldier was a weapon in the hands of cruel masters," he said. "To be reprogrammed
and reshaped to fit their needs and their desires. Every now and then, some humanity poked
through. As a result, lives were spared." His gaze settled on Carol. "And lives were saved." His
gaze shifted to encompass the rest of the Avengers. "And of any group in the world, you should
understand the value of second chances."

The remaining tension, from the Asgardian contingent who had been fixing Bucky with universally
cold looks, had been swept away by Thor. "You shot me," he said to the Soldier. "But you were
under another's control when you did. You also saved the life of one of my dearest friends, as well
as the life of one of my son's dearest friends, of your own will. Both times, you risked your own life
to do it. Whenever you had your own mind, you sought to spare lives and destroy those who made
themselves your masters, providing the information that ultimately allowed us to do so. While there
will be a discussion of what has been done, for now, I have only one thing to say: thank you."

He stuck out a hand to Bucky, who stared at it in incomprehension before, at a gentle nudge from
Steve, slowly shaking it. As he did, Thor made sure to look him in the eyes, before giving his
family and friends a pointed look. There was another long moment, in which Odin's gaze flicked up
and down Bucky, met his wife's in a speaking look, then both nodded ever so slightly. Loki, for his
part, gave Barnes a cool look, then gave a faint nod of his own. And, with a wry smile, he added,
"those in glass houses should not throw stones."

After that, while they were hardly embracing him and showering him with honours, the Asgardian
contingent largely subsided, Thor's words and the rest of the royal family's tacit acceptance having
a calming effect.

"Wait," Carol said slowly, having digested the prior revelation. "Hang on. When I got down off the
mountain at Easter, that was you?"

Bucky paused, then nodded. "You needed help," he said, shrugging slightly. "And you reminded
me of Stevie." He smiled a crooked smile. "Another dumb punk who just wouldn't stop picking
fights with people bigger than them."

Steve glowered slightly at Bucky, before fixing Carol with a careful look, no doubt remembering
what had been said before.

Carol, meanwhile, was stunned. "Oh my god," she said, stunned, then turned to the others. "Why
didn't you say?"
Harry tugged his newly white forelock, stared at it in shock for a long moment, then exchanged a
look with the others. "It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to explain," he said. "And then… stuff
happened. There wasn't any good time. Or safe time. Also, why is my hair white?"

"HYDRA didn't know that he had turned," Natasha said. "If word had got out…"

"Okay," Carol said. "But, wait, you attacked the Helicarrier…"

"My mission was to sabotage it," Bucky said. "I sabotaged my sabotage. Where I could, I spared
lives." His expression shadowed. "After that, HYDRA caught on."

"They enslaved you once more," Odin said, expression softening from its previous one of grudging
acceptance and tempered hostility.

Bucky nodded tightly.

"Hey," Tony said. "I don't know about you guys, but this does not look like a party to me. Because
that is the first priority." He paused. "Well, first priority is Pepper, then party."

"The two can be combined," Strange said, turning to Odin. "And I concur. Sire, may I suggest that,
in the words of a Midgardian skald, 'we get this party started'?"

Carol leaned over to Harry. "Did he just…" she began.

"He did," Loki sighed.

"Stephen is an unending fount of three things: knowledge, enigmatic and irritating pronouncements
and pop-culture references," Wanda said dryly. Dresden started whistling innocently in the
background. Noticing, she added, "don't worry, it's charming on you, darling," and Dresden
blushed horribly.

"A blusher?" Tony said, tone delighted and promising mischief – or at least, more mischief than
usual, which was saying something. "I didn't think they came in your size – how does the blood
reach your brain, Mister Beanstalk?"

Dresden, still somewhat red, smirked. "Magic," he said, wiggling his fingers mysteriously.

A glint appeared in Tony's eyes and he smirked a smirk of his own. "Were they out of opera cloaks
at the cliché store when you got that dead cow you're wearing?" he riposted.

"I prefer organic products," Dresden said cheerfully. "Not artificial… prosthetics." His tone left no
doubt about the implication, drawing a mixture of snickers and, from Loki, another sigh.

"True, but at least I'm not mistaken for someone cosplaying Clint Eastwood," Tony countered.

"Maybe, but with that colour scheme, you might be mistaken for a giant iPod."

"Oh, you didn't."

"Oh, I did."

The opening exchanges were over. Both men had established that they had encountered a worthy
opponent. Consequently, they were now both grinning like sharks and a significant degree of
foreboding. Coulson voiced the general consensus in a trademark matter-of-fact tone.

"We're doomed."
"In the interest of steering this conversation back on track," Loki said. "He does have a good point,
father. I think we are all due a little celebration."

"Indeed we are," Sif said, appearing beside him. Not a moment later, her fingers interlaced with
his. This did not go unmissed by any present, and those who had borne witness to the long saga of
'will they, won't they' breathed sighs of relief.

"I agree," Odin said. "We shall repair to Asgard. Everyone who has fought today is welcome at my
table."

"Please," Lily said. "Allow me." Her smile turned impish. "I don't often get the chance to show
off." She raised a hand and snapped her fingers. And just like that, they were in the great hall of the
Royal Palace in Asgard.

"Dude," Carol said to Harry, thoroughly impressed. "Your mom has got moves."

Strange smiled the smile of one who has just been given the straightest of lines. "You want
moves?" he asked, golden energy gathering around his hands in gleaming motes. "I'll give you
moves." With a flourish, he cast the energy at a point in midair, and a pair of golden cracks opened
up. The first allowed a certain Pepper Potts to uncertainly step through, with a gallant helping hand
from the doctor. However, once she was through, she only had eyes for Tony, who pulled her into
a tight yet extraordinarily careful hug, tears running down both their cheeks.

Out of the other, meanwhile, stepped Jean Grey, a little more certainly than Pepper. She looked
tired, but all tiredness vanished when her eyes almost immediately settled on Harry and widened,
as did Harry's own. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, at a gentle push from
his mother, Harry started forward, leading to Jean rushing over and pulling him into a breathless,
ribcracking hug, tears rolling down both their cheeks.

The rest of the X-Men followed and reunions, some tearful, some not, and all joyous, took place –
and a few introductions too.

And in the midst of it all, Strange quietly stepped aside, unnoticed by all but Odin, who followed
him. "Everything has come together," he said. "As you promised. You are to be congratulated,
Doctor."

"Thank you, sire," Strange said quietly. "But I would prefer that congratulations be deferred until I
manufacture a day where everybody lives. However, I think that is beyond even my power, though
I wish it were otherwise." He watched the happy reunions. "But," he added eventually.
"Sometimes, once in a very long while, the universe gives me days like these. Days that gladden
the heart and remind me just why we fight so hard and what we fight for."

"One thing that I learnt as a young man is that if you measure yourself by those you fail to save,
then you will never know peace," Odin said.

Strange shrugged. "Perhaps not," he said. "But I am not simply self-flagellating for the sake of it.
My failures, my inability to save some people… they prevent me from becoming complacent.
From taking losses for granted and dismissing them simply as the cost of doing business." He
shrugged. "But those are worries for another day."

"So they are," Odin said. "So they are."

OoOoO

The guests at what could only be called a victory feast were composed of the Avengers, the
Asgardian royal family, the X-Men the Asgardian expeditionary force present at the battle of
London and just about every living hero, soldier, Agent and sorcerer native to this time and reality
who had fought in London, as well as an assorted sprinkling of others – as Thor was heard to
remark, they'd have invited everyone else who had fought, but even Asgard's halls were only so
large and its stores only ran so deep, especially when confronted with so many prodigious appetites
celebrating one of the greatest battles in millennia and the survival of the universe itself.

Needless to say, however, it was one hell of a party.

Toasts were frequently proposed, often to the horribly blushing Harry, once the story of how he
had near singlehandedly banished Chthon and healed the world got around – while he protested
that he'd had help, no one was particularly inclined to listen, particularly not Major Chapman's
detachment of the British Army, who remembered very clearly how Thor and Harry had pulled
their fat out of the fire. Whether he liked it or not, he was very definitely the hero of the hour, first
among very many – and mercifully for him, each hero was toasted in turn, many repeatedly.

Indeed, it was only because everyone was ravenous and therefore spent a lot of time eating that the
mortal guests dodged the bullet of instant liver failure. Naturally, a few drinking games took place,
with a group of the Parachute Regiment, better known as the Paras, taking on Volstagg in a valiant
but ultimately doomed attempt to drink him under the table.

The guests numbered in the thousands, filling the palace's greatest feasting hall to bursting and, to
an extent, overflowing, so to attempt to describe all of what happened would be pointless, long
winded and full of unnecessary details. A short summary of some of the key players, however,
would not go amiss.

Tony, surprisingly, stayed largely sober, his arm tightly around Pepper's wait. Much of his time
was spent verbally sparring with Dresden, each side giving as good as they got and enjoying it
immensely. And since Asgardians appreciated a quick wit as much as a quick sword, many were
observing and, of course, taking bets on the outcome.

Bruce equally remained sober and spent much of his time in quiet discussion with Remus, some of
which Sirius joined them for, before picking out his brother and pinning him down for at least the
length of a conversation.

Rhodey was speaking to Warren, having detected – as just about everyone else had – that there was
something a tad off about the young man at the moment. Similarly, Steve and Natasha had
sandwiched Bucky, who was looking a little overwhelmed by it all. Looking perhaps even more
uncomfortable, Jason Todd – Sword of Faith still at his side – was sitting with the other Knights of
the Cross and Dane Whitman. Both of them felt profoundly out of place, and not without reason.

Magneto and Namor, meanwhile, were in quiet discussion, something watched closely by Fury,
Colonel Summers, Sean Cassidy and Professor Xavier. Peter Wisdom was also keeping half an eye
on the discussion, but was engaged in a careful one of his own with Prince T'Challa in which the
latter broached the tricky subject of the stolen Vibranium. In the end, they agreed to a more
substantive discussion later on and T'Challa moved on to join Bruce and Remus, the latter of whom
was rather delighted at the opportunity for discussion with the Black Panther himself.

Carol and Bobby were enjoying a reunion and the former was introduced by the latter to Jean, the
two teenage girls quickly getting into conversation about football – they were captains of two rival
teams, after all. Jean-Paul, meanwhile, was enjoying the attentions of pretty much every Asgardian
warrior who could squeeze into the circle around him, recounting how he had defeated – and
probably vaporised – Gravemoss.
The Asgardians were delighted by tales of such a mighty feat of arms and Jean-Paul was delighted
by being surrounded by so many handsome men. Needless to say, it worked out rather nicely for
all the parties involved.

Diana and Uhtred, meanwhile, were with their respective families and quite clearly could not be
happier – especially since Uhtred's siblings falling over themselves to praise his contribution and
Hercules was loudly and proudly proclaiming Diana's contribution to the battle to her mother
Hippolyta, her Aunt Athena and everyone else within earshot, which included about half the hall.
Under the circumstances, though, no one really minded.

Wanda, for the most part, was amused by watching her boyfriend's verbal sparring with Tony,
though every now and then she shot suspicious looks over at her father and somewhat anguished,
guilt ridden ones at her godson and her back-for-the-occasion not-quite-dead best friend.

Thor, for his part, spent most of the time with Jane, though close enough to Harry that he didn't feel
abandoned. The only reason that he hadn't placed himself between his son and his girlfriend to be
equally accessible to both of them was because Lily was occupying much of Harry's attention. It
was not every day that one's mother returned from the dead/descended from a higher plane, if only
temporarily, and Harry was naturally trying to make the most of it. Of course, he was caught
between bombarding her with questions, simply staring at her to fix her in his memory or hugging
her as tightly as he could.

Since the two of them were telepaths, they found a middle ground – Harry snuggled up to his
mother, while they spoke telepathically and Lily intermittently ensured that he ate. All, for the
most part, were content and for the first time in most of a year, the sense of looming darkness had
vanished entirely. The building storm had finally spent its wrath and to no avail.

This was not to say, however, that all was settled.

Wanda, for instance, found her eye caught by the flicker of red cloak and saw her mentor standing
off to one side, body language indicating that he wanted to have a word. With a light touch of her
boyfriend's shoulder to let him know what she was doing, she slipped away from the table and over
to her mentor's side. For a long moment, there was silence.

"A few months ago," she said eventually. "You said that you might not be the Sorcerer Supreme
much longer. Yet here you are, hale and hearty."

"And I quite easily might not have been," Strange replied. "The best laid plans of mice and men
and all that."

Wanda fixed him with an unamused look and he sobered somewhat.

"It is true," he said. "I honestly did not know if I would survive this."

"Is that why you didn't you just say that Jean-Paul would be fine?" she asked. "Why you let Stark,
let me, punch you?"

Strange nodded. "Things were so up in the air that even I couldn't be sure," he said. "I was almost
certain, but only almost. And would any of you have believed me if I had told you?"

"Probably not," Wanda admitted.

Strange smiled faintly. "Quite," he said. "In any case, you at least needed to throw that punch. I
think we can both agree that I've had it coming for quite some time. And besides, don't you feel
better now?"
"I…" Wanda said, then sighed. "Yes."

Strange nodded.

"You have played us all like puppets, Stephen," Wanda said. "And even though it's all turned out
well – certainly better than might otherwise be expected – and it might have been necessary…
there are questions to be answered."

"I know," Strange said calmly. "I will explain my reasons soon enough."

"How soon is soon?"

"Next week," he replied. "Now, I must take my leave."

"So soon?"

"Parties aren't really my thing," Strange said. "And for all your godson's sterling work at stitching
reality back together again…"

"There are still gaps between the stitches," Wanda said, nodding. "I'll get my coat."

"No," Strange said, shaking his head. "Stay. You have catching up to do and party to enjoy. There
will be work enough for us all in time. For now… have some fun." And with that, he swept out.

OoOoO

Similarly, Natasha had drifted over to Magneto, once he had finished speaking to Namor. She sat
down beside him and the pair of them looked out across the hall, watching the party.

"Mister Lehnsherr," she said, after a long moment.

"Agent Romanova," he replied. "It has been a long time."

"Why did you get involved?" she asked.

"Do I need a reason to do a good deed?" Magneto replied.

"No," Natasha conceded, inwardly reflecting that life with the Avengers had worn away at least
some of her instinctive scepticism of altruism. "But on this scale? In this way? Risking revealing
yourself to the world? Yes."

"For all my grievances against humanity, past and present, I have never been so blind as not to
realise that this world belongs to all of us," Magneto said. "And we must protect it." He smiled
faintly and glanced over at Harry, Jean-Paul, then Jean, Scott and Bobby. "Besides, some of my
people are here and I would be a poor guardian of the mutant race if I did not stand in their
protection as best I could." His gaze shifted to Wanda. "And for all my flaws and failures, I am still
a father." His grey eyes then drifted to Steve. "You could also say that it is the season for the
repaying of debts," he added cryptically.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"When Captain Rogers liberated Auschwitz," Magneto said quietly. "Among many others, he
saved a little boy called Erik. That little boy owed him a debt. And it has been paid."

Natasha nodded her acceptance. "Where are you planning to go from here?" she asked.
"For the most part," Magneto said. "I think that I will have my hands full. Today has revealed to
the world that superhumans exist in numbers that they had not previously imagined. Governments
will be looking for ways to better defend themselves against rogue superhumans and what better
way to do that than with superhumans of their own? Directors Fury and Wisdom, and the
Avengers, have demonstrated the effectiveness of that stratagem."

"You think that mutants will be hunted and exploited," Natasha said.

"Natasha, I think we both know far better than most that there is no doubt about it," Magneto said.
"Charles is content to be mutantkind's shield and so I must be their sword, no matter who comes for
them."

There was a faint warning in his tone, a veiled threat that Natasha noted. "Understood," she said.
"And Namor?"

"Namor is similarly suspicious and desirous of protecting his people," Magneto said. "He was
feeling out an alliance between us." He looked Natasha in the eye. "SHIELD has nothing to fear
from me, not unless they cross certain lines. I have no appetite for a war."

"But Namor is different," Natasha said.

"Namor is paranoid," Magneto said.

Natasha arched an eyebrow and Magneto chuckled.

"It takes one to know one," he said. "Or two, even." Then he sobered. "He has assisted thus far and
he is an honourable man, even a good one, in his own way. But. He is a king, a king of Atlantis,
and his realm comes first. What with the environmental pollution affecting his realm and his
historically hair trigger temper, I think a flashpoint could come sooner rather than later."

"Maybe," Natasha said. "He mentioned something about internal trouble, too. Something about
Lemuria, how it was stirring for the first time in millennia."

Magneto frowned. "Lemuria," he murmured. "That is a name that I have not heard before. But if it
worries Namor, who is hardly one to jump at shadows…"

"Then we could have a very serious problem," Natasha finished.

Magneto nodded. "Something to think about, then," he said. "I had best be off, I think, after I pay
my respects to our hosts and to Charles. And then…" His gaze shifted to Wanda, then back again.
"In any case, good day to you, Agent Romanova."

"And to you, Mister Lehnsherr."

OoOoO

Magneto's next stop was somewhat less cordial and only marginally less guarded.

"Wanda?" he asked.

"Yes?" she asked sharply. This drew the attention of her boyfriend, who – to his credit – managed
to refrain from noticeably gulping.

"May I have a word?" he asked. "In private?"

Wanda eyed him as the others tensed, then nodded. "Very well," she said, and followed him off to
one side, before gesturing. A shimmering bubble surrounded them.

"All right, father," Wanda said, voice cold, in the bubble of time. "What are you doing here?"

"Your powers have grown, my daughter," Magneto said, glancing at the frozen surroundings
outside the bubble, impressed. "And your control of them is incredibly precise. You could not step
outside time, let alone take someone with you, when last we saw each other."

"No thanks to you," Wanda said evenly.

Magneto sighed. This was not going to be easy. "I had no choice, Wanda," he said, with the long
suffering tone of someone who has had this argument many times before. "I did not have the first
idea of how to help you control your powers. Charles and Albus tried, but they could do little more
than calm you and suppress your abilities, which they warned me would prove catastrophic in the
long run. I had leave you with Strange for your safety and everybody else's. It was that or put you
in some form of isolation, and that would have left you easy prey for those who sought to use you
for their own ends."

Wanda gave him a grim look that said she acknowledged this, but she was damned if she was going
to be happy about it.

"Besides," he continued. "You had to leave your own godson under similar circumstances."

Wanda's grass green eyes went cold and hard as chips of glass.

"I had no choice," she hissed furiously, crimson power crackling around her hands, taking a
threatening step towards her father. "And you will stay away from him, or there will be
a reckoning, father. Do you hear me?"

"Neither did I," he replied quietly, bowing his head slightly. "I had only just found you again,
Wanda. Did you really think that I wanted to let you go?" He gestured towards Harry. "Remember
how you felt when you were forced to give him up. Now imagine that you'd just managed to get
custody of him again and had to give him up to an uncertain future because if you did not he would
go insane with his own power! Imagine that, my daughter."

He shook his head tiredly. "Giving you up was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I always have,
and always will, regret it. I desperately wanted to be there for you, even if I was not always good at
showing it. Stephen warned me what would happen if I did not let you go. You would go mad, and
the whole world would suffer for it. He swore to me on his power that he knew this to be true. And
he swore to me that he would protect you." He met Wanda's gaze. "In your case, it was harder. At
least I was giving you into the hands of a man I knew would be kind. You, on the other hand, with
the boy… you had no such comfort."

Wanda stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her hands, power dissipating. "What a fine
pair we make," she said, voice low. "I vowed that I wouldn't do what you did, that I would never
give up a child in my care…" she absently clutched at her cloak, pulling it around her. "And yet I
did. Twice."

Magneto laid a hand on her shoulder. "And neither was your fault. Your daughter would have been
at horrendous risk if you had kept her, especially if it was known that Constantine was the father.
And if you could not keep her, you could hardly keep Harry, who would have been under even
greater threat," he said gently. "We all must do things that we do not wish to. Things that hurt."

"I know," Wanda said, voice low. "I'm not a child, father. And I don't mind doing them if the only
one paying the price is me. But both times, it wasn't." If you looked closely, you could see tears on
her face. "I just wish… I wish that I had found another way. I could have sent her to live with you,
or Charles, or even Moira."

"But you did not trust me, and that is something I can hardly blame you for," he replied gently.
"And you know as well as I do that at the time, Charles had enough problems with Wolverine and
the Weapon X Project, ones that he barely surived, while Moira had yet to establish her base at
Muir Island. And then there was the fallout from the Krakoa Incident, which encompassed all of
us."

Wanda nodded. "I do," she said. "They and the knowledge that my daughter and godson are happy
now helps with the guilt. But I don't think it ever goes away. Does it, father?"

Magneto looked away. "No," he said quietly. "No, it does not."

Wanda nodded. "And that is the way it should be," she said.

Her father smiled sadly. "My little girl, all grown up. Even after all this time, it still takes some
getting used to." He turned away. "And never fear, my dear. My only interest in your godson was
to indirectly pay off a debt long owed. Now honours are even, and I shall leave him be. I promise."

Wanda gave him a long, careful look, then said, "Very well. I'll hold you to that. Goodbye, father."

"Goodbye, Wanda. Until next time."

She lifted the spell.

"Oh, and Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"I am glad," Magneto said. "To see you looking so well."

Wanda eyed him for a long moment, then nodded slightly, the frost of her expression fading. "And
I you, father," she said, in somewhat softer tones.

It was not a reconciliation, as such. But perhaps it was a détente. And, his heart somewhat lighter,
her father nodded, then made his exit.

OoOoO

I watched as Magneto left, grey cloak swirling in his wake, and shivered. I'd been nervous of him
before, simply thanks to the long shadow he cast. But now, having seen him in action, wielding
power that was quite literally god-like… I mean, hells bells, he crushed that massive HYDRA
helicarrier like it was made of tinfoil!

And he'd had plenty left in the tank afterwards, judging by the glimpses I'd caught of him in the
midst of the battle. Enough to, unless I was very much mistaken, take on all comers and carry on a
conversation at the same time.

Moreover, as soon as I'd seen him, I'd recognised him. I'd never met him in purpose, of course.
Until today, not many people had done so and lived to tell the tale. Usually, if you're running into
Magneto, you've crossed one of his people and he's about to make you pay for it. But I had seen
him before, during my Soulgaze with Wanda. He had been one of the two… incarnations of her
inner demons, I suppose, which made sense under the circumstances. The other had been even
more frightening.

Point is, Magneto scares me witless, as he does pretty much anyone with a brain. And that's before
I take into account the fact that I'm dating/apprenticed to his daughter. Still, the fact that he didn't
fry my brain straight off was encouraging, probably because I compared favourably with the
alternative, John Constantine.

I stood up and made my way over to Wanda's side, joining her in the shadowed alcove, as she
watched her father leave. She and he had apparently spoken for only an instant before he left, but
both a lingering sense of power and her body language suggested that it had been rather longer for
them.

"So," I said eventually. "That was your dad."

"Yes," Wanda said. "Yes it was."

I opened my mouth, considered what to say next, then opted for honesty. "He scares me," I said.

Wanda sighed. "He scares most people," she said. "And with good reason." She looked up at me,
smiled, and took my hand. "Don't worry. He won't hurt you. If he tries, I'll turn him inside out."

I blinked. It was something of a novelty to be on the receiving end of such protectiveness. It wasn't
completely new – Murph had made it clear to Wanda what would happen if she hurt me,
something that my girlfriend/sensei accepted with total equanimity, and Wanda herself had told her
father to back off little more than an hour ago. Many men would find that somewhat emasculating.
As I am not insecure about my masculinity or an idiot, I did not, and found it… well, actually kind
of pleasant. Historically speaking, I haven't had that many people in my corner, people who would
stand up and say, 'back off'. Those who have I value and cherish because I know that they would
go to the wall for me, as I would for them. And it's always good to have one more.

"Wanda?" I asked.

"Yes?" she said.

I grimaced, well aware that I was about to step onto very thin ice. "John Constantine -"

"Believe me, Harry, any fuzzy feelings I had for John are long dead," Wanda said.

"I wasn't worried about that," I said. And I wasn't - Wanda's attitude to Constantine had been a
mixture of profound wariness and borderline hatred. "I was just wondering about how you got
mixed up with him. And what happened."

"Why do you ask?" Wanda said, a hint of wariness in her tone.

That was actually a pretty good question and I thought for a moment. "I've heard the stories," I said
eventually. "About Constantine. When I was younger, one or two people on the Council, people
who didn't like me very much, compared me to him." This was something that actually worried
me. While the Council had – and arguably still did – regarded me as Darth Dresden, merely
waiting for the right opportunity to unleash a tidal of Warlocky evil, and I had consequently learnt
to ignore most of the suspicious looks and whispers, that was one that stuck with me.

John Constantine was widely reputed as a dangerous man, one who danced on the edges of the
Laws, made deals with creatures from the darker end of the moral spectrum and manipulated allies
and enemies alike into doing his bidding. I'd wandered close to the edges of the Laws before too.
I'd made deals with beings like the Leanansidhe, the somewhat psychotic and unbelievably deadly
right hand woman of Mab a.k.a. the Queen of Air and Darkness a.k.a. She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Hell, I'd made deals with Mab herself, and Lara Raith, who was now de facto ruler of the White
Court of Vampires thanks in large part to yours truly. I'd summoned demons and made deals with
them too. And while most people thought of me as a magical thug, and with good reason, I was
uncomfortably aware that I'd had a gift for manipulation too, something remarked upon by the
aforementioned Lara Raith, herself a centuries old master manipulator and now the queen of entire
nation that lived and breathed backstabbing and manipulation. And since she'd remarked on it after
I'd played her and her father, previously the King of said nation of backstabbers and manipulators,
now a literal puppet on his daughter's strings – and believe me, you do not want to know how he
wound up that way – like a harp, it was hard to disagree with her.

Point being: there were similarities.

"You're worried that you're like him?" Wanda asked, eyebrow arched.

"No," I said. "Well, maybe a little bit. Actually, quite a lot." I sighed. "It's also… he hurt you. He
did something that hurt you very badly, and…"

"You want to hat up and make him pay?" Wanda asked, other eyebrow rising. This question
sounded more testing.

"No," I said again. "Well, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I want to help, because it's clear as day
that whatever he did is still hurting you. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But…" I trailed off.
Wanda's expression softened. Then, she leaned up and kissed me on the cheek.

"You," she said quietly. "Are a very good and a very sweet man, Harry Dresden. And you are not
like John, because you care. Because you worry about these sort of things. Because when you say
things like that, you are sincere." Her expression shadowed. "And John… I think that somewhere
along the line, he found that it was too painful to care, too distracting to worry. And too difficult to
be sincere. I saw your soul, Harry, and I saw a man who would sacrifice himself for others in a
heartbeat. John might sacrifice himself, but not before he exhausted all the other options first –
including throwing someone else under the proverbial bus. You see people as people. Somewhere
along the line, John stopped doing that and started seeing them as pawns. He is an extremely
dangerous man and in my opinion, a thoroughly nasty piece of work. Something made all the more
tragic by the fact that he was once, and perhaps still is somewhere deep down inside, a good man."

I listened in silence, waiting while Wanda gathered herself.

"When I met him, he was that good man," she said. "He wasn't unusually powerful, handsome or
even a particularly talented fighter. But he was very, very clever. He's forgotten more about
demonology than most people have ever known, he's a rare wanded wizard with a gift for some
aspects of the wandless art, a gift he developed on his own. He's even charming, in his own rough
sort of way."

She smiled wryly. "And I was charmed. I was charmed by his wit, his daring, his cunning, the
grime and the grit. He was the Laughing Magician, the Demonsbane, the Hellblazer. Even the Fae
think twice before making a bargain with John Constantine. I was charmed by his legend as much
as the man himself. And I was so charmed that I forgot what he used that charm for."

She looked at me. "You see, before he is anything else, John Constantine is the world's greatest
conman," she said, in a matter of fact tone. "Because of his charm, among other things - including a
distinct talent for legilimency, wanded mind magic - the only person I've ever met who was better
at pulling other people's strings was Stephen Strange himself, though a certain Peter Wisdom
would be in for a shout on that score." She smiled grimly. "That last, now that was his real gift.
Where he couldn't fight himself, he got other people to fight for him, to sacrifice themselves for his
own ends. He used their goodness as a weapon, against them and against his enemies."

"Did he do that to you?" I asked quietly.

Wanda snorted. "Did he ever," she said. "It got to the point where I wondered if he ever saw me as
anything other than a good lay and a useful weapon."

At that point, my inner Neanderthal got control of my voicebox and let out an incoherent growl.

Wanda chuckled, not unkindly. "It's okay," she said. "It's long been over between us and the pain
he caused me is long buried. I think that he did care for me, as much as he was capable of doing
so." She shrugged. "Besides, he wasn't that way to begin with. When I met him, he was still a good
man. He, Nick Fury and Sirius Black, they were the three rogues of the Order of the Phoenix - the
wanded group that fought the wanded Warlock Voldemort."

She smiled faintly. "The three of them were as thick as thieves, always up to something. James,
Thor, sometimes joined them, but Lily kept him on a leash, and in any case, he was smartening up
and growing up in general, focusing on his family." Her smile faded. "As a result, I'm not sure if he
really saw what John became. Considering how it seemed to surprise him when he saw how Nick
had changed, when Nick was a good deal closer to Lily and James than John was, I don't think he
did. Because as the war ground on, as we fought against what seemed to be an inevitable,
unstoppable force, as we were forced to make more compromises... those three grew darker."

She paused for a long moment, as if considering what she was going to say. "It was least obvious
with Sirius, though his wilder side became more apparent and he started taking more risks," she
said. "He, James and their friends, they had been known as the Marauders at school, for their
pranks and mischief, the chaos they caused. Sirius began to be called the Marauder himself, and he
caused chaos all right, but of a nastier kind."

She paused. "Nicholas, our SHIELD liaison and spymaster, having the near impossible task of
trying to outwit and outmanoeuvre his older, more experienced and infinitely better resourced
counterpart, Lucius Malfoy, steadily grew darker, grimmer and much more ruthless," she said.
"Once, he smiled easily. Soon, though, only Lily, the closest thing he had to a sister, and her son
Harry, could make him smile. And even then, that smile was a shadow of the thing it once was."

Her expression shadowed. "But John... John put them both to shame. He stated to go down darker
and darker paths. He walked the very edges of magic, consulting with dark creatures, doing deals
with demons. And not just for information, either. More than once, we had visits from the
Wardens. All that ever did was make him refine his approach, treading on the very edge of the
Laws. Albus, Albus Dumbledore, tried to call him to heel, but John told him that he as long as he
was the one who did the Order's dirty work on the demonology front, he would do it his way and
no one else's. And every day, the war got darker." She went silent for a long time. And when she
finally spoke again, her quiet, calm voice seemed much more raw, much more painful. On instinct,
I reached out and squeezed her hand, getting a tired smile in response. "Then, John did something I
could not forgive, something that broke my trust in him forever."

"What?" I asked quietly.

Wanda sighed. "I…" she began, then trailed off and sighed again. "I am sorry, Harry," she said
eventually. "But talking about it brings back a lot of painful memories. And I don't think that I am
ready to share them."
I nodded. "I've got a few of those," I said.

Wanda smiled sadly. "I'm sure you do," she said. "For now, let us just say that John didn't merely
betray me. He tricked me into sending an innocent man, a friend of us both, to his death."

Normally, I'm a fairly talkative guy, usually because running my mouth is a good way to distract
people while I'm thinking my way out of trouble. It annoys my friends and enemies no end, which
is kind of what it's meant to do. I can listen, though, which is what I'd been doing, keeping my
tongue on a leash. Now, however, I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to. I was struck dumb.

So instead, I squeezed her hand in a non-verbal show of support.

Wanda smiled, more warmly this time. "That's enough wallowing in the darkness of the past," she
said, stepping into the light of the rest of the hall. "We've beaten the darkness and for now, the
present is bright and the future is brighter. And I, for one, am minded to enjoy it."

I felt a smile of my own coming on. "You know what? So am I."

OoOoO

"Well," Harry said eventually, as the feast began to wind down – or at least, the eating parts did.
The drinking was just getting warmed up. "That was... interesting."

The kids had congregated once more, slipping away from their various admirers – though Harry
himself was still attached to his mother's side.

"Kind of fun, actually," Carol said. "As world saving goes. Four out of five, would do again." She
smiled a warm, happy smile. "I got to fly," she said. "No plane, no armour, no nothing. Just me,
living the dream." She chuckled. "And I'd do it all again, twice, just for another five minutes in the
air."

"Not any time soon mes cheris, thank you very much," Jean-Paul said firmly. He seemed to have
solidified once more and returned to his prior self. But if you looked closely at his eyes, really
looked… you would see a flash of golden lightning.

"It was most glorious," Uhtred said cheerfully. "We did battle with the foulest of forces and
emerged triumphant."

"I enjoyed it," Diana said. "Mostly." She smiled. "I got to see my dad again."

"I got to meet my mother," Harry said softly. He smiled. "So, yeah. I'd do it again." He cocked his
head. "And flying was cool."

"What about having all of reality in the palm of your hand?" Carol asked, eyebrow raised.

"Pass," Harry said. "One thing I found out is that if you make one change of any real significance to
the past, the ripple effect is crazy. You'd spend more time tweaking the past than enjoying the
results." He looked at them all. "For instance, if I'd changed something... I'd probably never have
met most of you, even any of you. And if I had and I remembered what I'd changed, you probably
wouldn't. And I wouldn't know you." He thought for a moment. "I wouldn't know anyone, really:
dad, uncle Loki, Ron, Hermione, Tony, Bruce, Pepper, Nat, Steve, Clint... none of them. I'd lose
more than I'd gain." He paused. "And... I don't think anyone has that right, to just reach out and
change things on a whim. Or at least, not unless they really know what they're doing,"

"And you don't?" Uhtred asked.

"Not a clue," Harry said cheerfully. "Also, if I'd gone through with it, Chthon would have pounced
and used me warping reality to turn it all inside out, and that would not have been fun."

"And the award for understatement of the millennium goes to..." Carol said dryly.

"Oh, I can think of one that might beat that one out."

All of them looked up to see a woman in a white, battle damaged version of Natasha's jump suit.
She was, as Harry was somewhat uncomfortably aware, a very attractive woman, something that
the dirt and dishevelment of battle only seemed to enhance. She also looked somewhat familiar,
with blonde hair cut in a neat bob, cornflower blue eyes and a strong face, upon which was an
amused smile.

"Sharon?" Carol asked, stunned.

"Fancy meeting you here, little cousin," Sharon said, enfolding the younger woman in a hug. "You
know, I always knew you had a talent for getting yourself into sticky situations - you didn't need to
prove it." She leaned back. "Or is it just teenage rebellion, a need to go bigger and better? Because I
can tell you right now, you'll have trouble going bigger and better than this.

"Sharon," Carol complained, darting a glance at the others.

Sharon noticed and smirked. "Or maybe it's because there are cute boys involved," she said.

"Sharon!"

"I'm just teasing," Sharon said, affectionately ruffling her cousin's hair, eliciting a scowl. "Though
they are kinda cute." Her eyes drifted down to the way Uhtred and Jean-Paul's hands were
interlaced. "Though two of them are spoken for." Her gaze shifted to Harry and her eyes twinkled.
"Leaving a young man who looks like trouble even if you don't know who he is."

"Do I look like trouble?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," Jean-Paul said, eyes half-shut. "Oblivious and very cute trouble, but still trouble." His
lips curved into a smile. "It's one of your better points, mon cher."

"Thanks. I think," Harry said. "Carol?"

Carol went a little pink. "Kinda, yeah," she said.

"Speaking of looking like trouble, my dad called," Sharon said pointedly.

Carol winced. "What did he say?"

"His exact words, which he told me to pass on, were: 'Carol Susan Jane Danvers, you have no idea
how much trouble you're in'."

"I'm for it, then," Carol said fatalistically.

"You went straight into an active warzone and picked up a super weapon with the destructive
capabilities on par with Mjolnir," Sharon said. "And you got to fly, without a plane. Right now,
he's stuck between worry, relief and total jealousy. So, yeah, you are."

Carol's face scrunched up as she grimaced, then glanced at the others. "You think I could get away
with blaming this on Doctor Strange?" she asked.
"You might," Lily said, with dry smile. "It would have the advantage of being true."

Carol nodded. "I did help, you know," she said to her cousin.

Sharon smiled. "I know, cuz," she said. "And he knows. Believe me, he's so proud he could burst.
But he's also worried as hell. You're good, Carol, you're tough, you're talented and you know how
to handle yourself. But you're also completely untrained and you threw yourself straight into one of
the most vicious battles in history. It wouldn't have been easy for him to watch that without being
able to do anything – he's used to being able to protect you."

"What about you?" Carol asked, frowning.

Sharon looked wry. "It wasn't exactly a cakewalk for me, either."

"Not what I meant," Carol said.

"I know. He taught me the basics, hand to hand, gun safety, that sort of thing, after Charlie,"
Sharon began, before cutting herself off, expression shadowing. She shook her head. "Look, it's not
so much about you getting in trouble, it's about you being untrained."

"Why didn't he teach me?" Carol asked.

"I asked once," Sharon said. "Your mom said no. She didn't want you being part of the family
business."

"Family business?" Carol asked, blinking.

"Yeah," Sharon said. "I'm not the first Agent 13, you know. It used to be grandma."

Carol stared, jaw hanging loose. "Grandma?!"

"She's the little sister of Peggy Carter, Carol," Sharon said. "What did you expect?"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "About that…"

Carol shot him a quelling look and, at her cousin's expression, sighed and said, "Grandma isn't
Peggy Carter's much younger sister. She's her daughter. By Captain America."

"We checked," Harry added helpfully.

Sharon stared at them for a long moment, then snorted. "Guess that explains a few things," she
said. At Carol's surprised expression at her relative lack of reaction, she said, "I can freak out
later." Then, her expression sharpened. "The serum is in you? And active?"

Carol nodded. "It was dormant," she said. "Easter gave it a kick in the pants. I'm a super soldier."

"Super soldiers aren't bulletproof," Sharon said.

Carol grimaced, but didn't disagree. "I did get a little training," she said. "Well, a kind of crash
course. You know, in how to use that ring."

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "The last person on record as wielding that ring – and yes, I know
exactly what it is – was Agent Scott. He is the only one who could have given you a crash course
and he's been dead for several years now."

Carol opened her mouth, then closed it, not wanting to explain to her cousin – and then her uncle –
how she had technically died, something that would doubtless result in the eruption of Mount Jack
O'Neill and the retasking of a significant number of US and NATO military assets to the tracking
and incineration of one Doctor Stephen Strange.

"I've been dead for over a decade, technically speaking," Lily pointed out, shooting Carol a
knowing look. "Today is a day when the borders between things that are usually absolute; life and
death, past and present, and so on, have been blurred."

Sharon inclined her head. "Fair point," she admitted, before looking back at Carol. "Anyway, cuz,
ignoring how scary it was seeing you out in the field like that… you did good. Scratch that, you did
amazing."

They were simple words, but Carol, a girl usually more at home with smirks and wry or sardonic
grins, did not so much smile as beam.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, did not have to worry so much about scolding from worried relatives, since Jean
had been more preoccupied with hugging him to death and back. He stayed by his mother's side as
if glued there, clinging to her in the manner of a much younger child – something that at first sight
rendered amusing by the fact that he was now somewhat taller than she was. At second, however,
it was tragic. After all, this was the first and only time in his entire life that he could remember
being held by his mother, the second time in his memory that he had heard her voice.

Others came over to join them, mostly to speak to Lily, but soon departed, leaving mother and son
to their reunion. And with the exception of chatting to friends, that was that.

Naturally, this closeness made the parting all the more painful.

"Please," Harry whispered in a tiny, almost inaudible voice. "Don't go."

"Oh sweetheart… if I could stay, I would. I would stay forever, because every moment I am with
you is worth more than all the wonders in the universe," Lily said, tears running down her cheeks.
"But I can't. I have a job to do, one that I chose to do in order to save you, and one that needs to be
done."

She raised a hand and gently cupped Harry's cheek. "I love you so much, Harry. I have to go, but a
part of me will always be with you." She laughed sadly, then rolled her wrist and a golden-red aura
flared around Harry, dancing like flames. "And a bit more literally than most: there is a little piece
of the Phoenix in you. It will be there for you, protect you, when I cannot."

Harry said nothing, but hugged her as tightly as he could, a hug his mother reciprocated. Then, she
gave him a final, lingering kiss on the crown of his head and faded away into a cloud of golden
sparks which themselves then vanished. And Harry, tears in his eyes, could only cling to his father
and weep at this parting.

OoOoO

In time, however, he came to terms with it, as other items were pushed up the agenda. Notably,
recognition.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, puzzled. They were in the living room of an old and elegant
Mansion in New York, apparently where Tony had grown up, which had been refurbished as a
stand-in for the still under repair Avengers Tower.
"We're up for a few medals," Clint said, before meaningfully looking at the kids.

"Wait, we're included in this?" Carol asked, stunned.

"We fought valiantly against forces of true evil," Uhtred said, as if this was all perfectly logical.

"And nearly died doing it," Diana added.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, sharing a confused look with Carol. "Of course the Avengers would get
awards. But..."

"But nothing," Clint said. "No one particularly wants to publicise your involvement, because of
your age - even if everyone knows that you, Harry, were there because they recognised you from
the tv footage. But you're each up for a few medals."

"Like what?" Carol asked.

"Off the top of my head?" Clint asked. "The George Cross, the Legion d'Honneur and the
Presidential Medal of Freedom."

"You are shitting me," Carol said in shock, to puzzled looks from Uhtred and Diana. Jean-Paul, as
ever, translated.

"Shitting as in bullshitting, mes cheris," he said. "Meaning lying. Carol is expressing disbelief.
Emphatically."

"Why?" Diana asked.

"Because the George Cross and the Presidential Medal of Freedom are the highest civilian honours
Britain and the United States can award," Clint said. "Second only to the Victoria Cross and the
Medal of Honour. And the George Cross is usually limited to citizens of Britain and the British
Commonwealth, which of you five only Harry is, through his mother."

"And the Legion d'Honneur is the highest accolade offered by the French Republic," Jean-Paul
said. "Each is... something of a big deal."

"That's one way to put it," Harry said, somewhat uneasily.

"You're up for the Order of Merlin too, Harry," Clint added. "First Class."

"What?" Harry asked, baffled.

"Yup," Clint said, and grinned. "Come on, kid, it's hardly surprising."

"It is to me," Harry said faintly.

"You think that's a shock, you, your dad and your uncle are all up for honorary knighthoods," Clint
said, clearly enjoying himself.

"WHAT?!"

"Don't be so surprised," Natasha said, having ghosted her way over. "Foreign royalty are often
invested with honorary knighthoods. The only difference is that you three have earned it." She
smiled. "And you think that you're shocked, you should have seen Steve when he was told that he
was going to get a full knighthood."
"What is the difference?" Diana asked, puzzled.

Natasha's smile turned into a smirk. "Steve's parents came to America from Ireland in the early
20th century. Steve was born in 1918 and he was born in the US, making him a US citizen," she
said.

"So?" Carol asked.

"So Ireland was part of the British Empire until 1922," Natasha said. "What everyone has just
realised is that Steve technically holds joint citizenship. And as in this case, is eligible for a full
knighthood." She glanced over her shoulder and her smirk widened. "He's still in shock."

OoOoO

As for the rest of the world, the primary reaction was relief. HYDRA had been crushed, the
Avengers had returned and the mysterious red skies had been banished, the disasters they had
brought with them undone.

And the papers had predictably gone crazy. The narrow aversion of the apocalypse had that effect.

Of the more serious and cool-headed papers, some had focused on the implications of the
rearmed Belfast, being cautiously favourable – it had proved its usefulness by providing a deadly
effective aerial screen and engaging in an extended duel with the Dreadnought, but the fact that a
museum ship and national treasure was now armed to the teeth and had been hiding in plain sight
in the heart of London was more than a little unsettling.

Others had focused on the revelation that Thor was not the only person who could wield Mjolnir,
with the Guardian leading with the headline, Avengers Assemble: heroes gather to topple HYDRA.

The Economist did a special issue which charted the increases in military expenditure following the
Battle of New York, compared defence strategies of the US, Britain, France, Germany, Russia,
Japan, India and China, and noted how this expenditure was thoroughly ineffective so long as it
was directed towards conventional warfare. Instead, it advocated the advancement of funding for
MI13 and similar organisations, on the grounds that they had been the only ones to deal with the
HYDRA menace even close to effectively.

It also discussed the fact that Mjolnir was, however temporarily, wielded by an unknown woman
who had faded back into the background as soon as the battle was over. Finally, it did an article on
the fact that this was the second recorded major superhuman attack on British soil and wondered if
there had been others.

Eastern papers had expressed what could politely be called severe disgruntlement at being dragged
into/being caught up in the overspill of what they deemed to be a fight between western powers
and would-be powers – in other words, nothing to do with them. As was pointed out, however,
HYDRA weren't exactly respecters of international borders, and ancient Elder Gods from before
time certainly weren't.

They had also wondered, quite loudly, why the world seemed to be exclusively depending on
western superheroes and western gods to defend it, and why this was so. This was actually a fair
question, but one as yet without an answer – save for the fact that Asgard was in many ways
possibly the closest divine realm to Earth.

Many others, meanwhile had asked some similarly pertinent questions.

It had not been two years since Captain America's testimony and historical record had pinpointed
HYDRA, a Nazi deep science organisation, as the driving force behind the technological advances
of the Nazi war machine. The news that they had nearly succeeded in bombing America back to
the stone age with weaponry more powerful than anything short of the most powerful nuclear
bombs had unnerved people to put it mildly.

Aside from Pearl Harbour, there had been no major attacks on mainland America during World
War II. It was terrifying to imagine that not only had America narrowly avoided being the victim
of a bombing raid that would have made the London Blitz and the Firebombing of Dresden
combined look like a small firecracker, but the organisation behind it was still active.

That fear had been assuaged somewhat by the firm belief on the part of the general population that
HYDRA was dead and buried. In the East, little enough thought had been given to it – HYDRA,
after all, had been primarily a Western phenomenon and, though it had had involvement on the
Eastern Front, a Western problem prior to its destruction in the 40's.

Those in the know knew better on both parts – HYDRA was a much more multinational
organisation than its history with Nazi Germany would imply, a much older one as well, and one
that had survived its supposed obliteration at the end of the war. Reduced, perhaps, restricted,
perhaps, but still something of a threat, albeit one denied most of its bite.

Then, they had come under new leadership and made new alliances, transforming into something
much more dangerous, erupting from the darkness to sow chaos. This new HYDRA wielded
weapons both mystical and mundane with equal ease, assault teams appearing from nowhere to
carve through any defence arrayed against them. The juggernaut of SHIELD couldn't stop them.
Even the previously all-powerful Avengers were helpless, left floundering, by HYDRA's lightning
fast and efficient raids. And, adding an extra dimension of terror to proceedings, most of those
raids were spear-headed by a Cold War legend, the Winter Soldier.

In direct conflicts, HYDRA was swiftly crushed, but when acting indirectly, striking from the
shadows, they were untouchable and were entirely indifferent to who their targets were. Every
nation, every group, that had or pretended to power was fair game. East and West alike felt the
apparently irresistible wrath of HYDRA. Suddenly, they were everyone's problem. Then, the
Avengers fell, SHIELD was crippled and HYDRA were ascendant, the world at their mercy. And
when that was so… they nearly destroyed it. They were defeated, of course, by a rag-tag alliance
of freed Avengers, an MI13 assault team specially convened for the purpose and a selection of
other superpowered specialists, or so it was assumed.

While there was more to this story than met the eye, the details didn't matter to a terrified world.
They were acutely aware that this was a battle in which they had been helpless. Oh, there were
stories of human ground troops, fighter pilots and, of course, the Belfast, from the British Armed
Forces. And there was MI13, a good portion of whose Agents were human and were seen fighting.
But the bulk of the battle was fought between heroes and villains, gods and monsters, angels and
demons. It was fought on an entirely different level.

Then, it went even further out of reach, when the sky turned red and the world began to convulse as
if someone had got to the base code of reality and hit the button marked 'randomise'. You could
shoot monsters, after all. Perhaps not very effectively, but they were visible, tangible and
comprehensible, if only barely. But this… no one was quite sure what had happened – oh, they
knew that something had gone wrong there were figures who had appeared alongside the demons
and monsters and natural disasters, heroes, quite apart from those who fought in London, who
worked to save lives. But they didn't know what had happened, what HYDRA had done. And they
didn't know how it was undone, which it had been, as if someone had just waved a hand and said,
"No more."
The Avengers and MI13 had simply said that HYDRA had laid hands on an ancient mystical
artefact called 'the Darkhold', used its powers to fuel their ascension, before losing control of it. It
was, apparently, then destroyed, undoing the worst of its effects. And so were HYDRA. According
to the Avengers, HYDRA had been reduced to a fraction of its former strength for a long time
thanks to a global SHIELD operation that had purged all known HYDRA bases. Ever since,
HYDRA had been relying on its vast technological and mystical advantage and carefully planned
attacks to wage psychological warfare. Shock and awe tactics, essentially.

"It is not so different to mundane terrorist organisations, such as Al-Qaeda," Loki explained. "They
lack the numbers to face your militaries in battle, so they strike from the shadows, seeking to
inspire fear and earn psychological victories. The only difference is that HYDRA's agents were
much better trained, much better armed and much more ambitious." He smiled grimly. "And that
ambition was their undoing. HYDRA has been destroyed. A few remnants survive, for sure, but
none with any real threat. Their power has been broken, and I believe that they will never regain
it."

Despite this, the gutting of HYDRA's base, the destruction of their Helicarrier and the seizure of
the vast majority of their assets, this was met with scepticism. Lucius Malfoy, HYDRA's titular
leader, and other HYDRA leaders such as Baron Zemo, had escaped after all. And it wouldn't be
the first time that HYDRA had risen from the ashes.

TIME magazine summed up the feeling on that issue quite neatly with one of its main inside
articles: And Two More Shall Take Its Place: Why the most dangerous terrorist group of all time
won't stay dead.

Prior to HYDRA's rapid rise and apparent fall, the main global threat were bomb attacks by the
Mandarin, who had neatly filled the niche of Vaguely Middle Eastern Terrorist Demagogue, so
violently vacated by Osama Bin Laden. While they were not uncommon and a cause for much
mourning, they weren't the same kind of problem.

No one was quite sure where the Mandarin was from, with a voice that was deep, educated, and
carried overtones of Britain with other influences, suggesting a former colony, his predominantly
Oriental imagery and his odd habit of wearing sunglasses all the time suggested a mingling of the
old and the new. All that seemed to add up as consistent was his anti-Western, particularly anti-
American, rhetoric and his habit of launching violent and untraceable bomb attacks.

At least, however, he was a familiar kind of threat. Moreover, he wasn't going to end the world any
time soon. And further differences emerged as details of HYDRA's membership leaked out and the
purge of armed forces, intelligence agencies and governments worldwide began.

HYDRA was something very new and very frightening. You didn't just have to worry about the
foreign looking fanatic waving a gun, shouting religious/nationalist catchphrases and declaring
their desire to turn you all into red mist. No, now you had to worry about others.

Who was a HYDRA Agent? Maybe it was the family man or woman next door, with a spouse and
kids who they loved very much, who went to work every day and gave you a nod and smile as they
went by, perhaps stopping to ask about your day. Maybe it was the passionate young student,
agitating for a cause, any cause. Maybe it was the old lady you got chatting to in the queue at the
shops. Maybe it was the laughing young man or woman dancing near you in the club who you
thought might be giving you the eyes. Maybe it was the person sitting next to you on public
transport, reading a newspaper or a book.

Maybe, just maybe, it could be anyone. Anyone could be seeking to bring the world order down
around everyone's ears. For, of course, the greater good.
Or at least, historians pointed out, drawing parallels to the revolutionaries, the Anarchists,
Communists and Fascists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, while it wasn't new, it was one
that hadn't been seen for a while.

With its resurgence, powerful enough to command the Winter Soldier, almost bring about the
deaths of the Avengers, hide in the heart of the capital of a global power (albeit a somewhat
diminished one), and use a supercharged helicarrier to hold the world to ransom, then nearly
unleash a power that nearly destroyed the world and necessitated the intervention of Odin Allfather
himself, before finally going down, the public mood was set to downright terrified.

And when the world was terrified, it looked to the Avengers. Even if they were sceptical of what
they heard, they still wanted to know what Earth's Mightiest Heroes had to say. They had, after all,
led the charge against HYDRA in the final battle. Steve did not disappoint.

"What if HYDRA come back and try again?" one journalist asked. "You thought you destroyed
them in your time, but they came back again, just like you did."

"They won't," Steve said. "My time, as you call it, was well over half a century ago. The HYDRA
we faced today was a different creature to the one I faced back in the forties. It was smaller scale,
for one thing, a fraction of the size. It operated on a much grander scale, but that was only because
the technology was there for it to do so. The actual organisation was smaller and masked that with
weapons that carried a bigger punch and a careful choice of targets. It took them over half a century
to rebuild even that far. A few months ago, SHIELD launched an operation against every known
HYDRA base in the world, destroying them all, forcing them to retreat to the London base, which
until recently, we couldn't find. Now that it is found and destroyed, I don't think that HYDRA as an
organisation have anywhere to hide."

"You think that it's done and dusted?" another asked. "Just like that?"

"No," Steve said. "There'll be a lot of cleaning up. High ranking members of HYDRA escaped and
will have to be hunted down. There may well be other cells, other groups, formed in the months
while HYDRA was operating out of one base and one base alone. HYDRA was also highly
factionalised in my day, so there may be other groups out there. But they will be weak, vulnerable
and lacking in the kind of resources required to present that much of a threat. That doesn't mean we
should let our guard down, however. I thought that HYDRA was gone, and as it turned out, they'd
just been waiting. And the idea of HYDRA is one that will, unfortunately, endure. There will
always be people who believe that humanity cannot be trusted with its own freedom. But there will
also always be people there to fight them."

"But what about those who don't want more fights?" another journalist asked. "This is the second
grand scale battle in a major city inside of five years, a number that rises significantly if you take
into account some of the Avengers' other exploits in between. In both the Battles of New York and
London, hundreds died and lasting damage was done, and both times, the Avengers were at the
heart of it. That's not the only major conflict, either – the so-called 'Battle of the M4' earlier this
year, also against HYDRA and its monsters, narrowly prevented the death of thousands on the
outskirts of London."

"You could say the same about fires and firemen," Steve replied. "Or cops and crimes. As long as
there's one, you'll need the other. We go where we're needed. Honestly, we'd rather that there were
no battles, that we weren't needed. But as long as we are needed, we'll be there to fight the fights
that need to be fought."

"Captain Rogers, who was the woman who used Mjolnir? How was she able to use it when Thor
was, according to his own testimony, imprisoned at the time?"
"That information is classified. The woman in question doesn't want press attention, so don't go
looking. You won't find her unless she wants to be found," Steve said. "As for Mjolnir, according
to Thor, there's some sort of 'worthiness enchantment' on it. You need to be a certain sort of person
to wield it." He quirked a smile. "Think Excalibur and you've got the idea."

"What about the woman with the green halo around her? Who was she?"

"She's someone who didn't have to fight," Steve said, after a long moment. "Someone who should
never have had to fight. And she's someone who stepped up to the plate anyway. She's a hero. And
that's all I have to say."

The press corps, unsatisfied but aware that they weren't getting anything more on that score, turned
the questions to the aftermath.

OoOoO

And what an aftermath it was.

The effects of Chthon's chaotic power were felt across the universe; the very fabric of reality, the
space-time continuum, was warped and damaged and had to be repaired. Wormholes opened and
shut at random, previously healthy stars went supernova and psychics of all kinds across the
universe were plagued by visions of pure chaos. This crippled entire civilisations and started a
million wars across the universe for a million different reasons.

Some were small, some were large, and thankfully, none of them were among the great cosmic
powers. But even so, even the slightest ripples of Chthon's power brought death to tens of billions,
chaos and destruction to hundreds of billions more. And that was just in the present. Chthon's
power tore through history like a buzzsaw. Most of the changes were reverted, and swiftly, often
by the agency of Doctor Strange. But some… some were found to be best left as it was.

For instance, a long way away, in an abandoned area of space, a long dormant reserve of power
was activated, crystals humming into life. Repairs began.

OoOoO

Other changes could not be undone.

In the depths of the realm of Nidavaellir, the dwarf King Eitri followed his subordinates into the
deepest and darkest chamber in the realm. Normally, it was pitch dark – no trouble for dwarf eyes,
but a lot of trouble for anyone looking to break in to it. Now, however, it was lit by a dull red glow,
emerging from cracks in a vast seal adorned with complex runes and inscriptions of power.

"So," he said heavily. "It is true." He turned to his nearest subordinate. "You. Send a message to
Asgard with all haste, for the attention of the Allfather alone. Tell him that the Seal of Muspelheim
is cracked."

OoOoO

Other dark forces were also on the move.

Two of them faced each other. Both were tall, both were dressed exclusively in black, and neither
was as young as they appeared. One, however, was seated in a chair at the top of a set of marble
steps that only narrowly escaped the description of throne, a ruler lazily confident in her power.
The other was standing, head slightly bowed, before her, aware of his position as a relative
supplicant and despising it – but, of course, taking care not to let it show.
"So," the woman said. "The stories are true. Lord Voldemort is returned."

"I am, my lady," Voldemort said, in his cold, clear voice.

"You wish my assistance," the woman said, in a tone that said very clearly that this was not a
question. "For the child prophesied to be your bane is now better armed and better protected than
any of us could have imagined." She narrowed her eyes. "You want me to join you in making war
on the Princes of Asgard."

"You are one of the few to have done so and lived," Voldemort replied. "But I do not. Not yet."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you want?"

Voldemort smiled. Even with the handsome face he had once more, it was not a pleasant sight. "An
exchange of secrets," he said. "I was restored to my physical form some months ago by draining the
power of Thor's son through my connection to him. While that avenue has been cut off, it left me
with certain… gifts. Those gifts have allowed me to quickly gather information about the new
dispositions of this world. And among that information has been an intriguing tale or two."

"Like what?"

"Like the location of the lost work of Grindelwald's greatest lieutenant, my lady. The Word of
Kemmler has been found," Voldemort said. "And within it, the key…"

"To ascension," she breathed. Then, her expression turned suspicious. "But only one can ascend.
What is your price?"

"There is more than one route to godhood, my lady. My resurrection has given me some measure
of your gifts. Especially where the boy is concerned," Voldemort said.

The lady in question smiled. "Ah," she said softly. "Now I see."

"Do we have a compact, my lady Selene?"

"We do, my lord Voldemort."

OoOoO

Others were also being given audience.

Carol was nervous. She had wielded the Green Lantern Ring in battle, and, at first, had been scared
she'd broken some sort of taboo, especially once it had been taken away again. Instead, she was
deeply surprised to find out that she'd actually gained a sort of honour by doing so. Apparently it
was like drawing the Sword in the Stone or wielding Exalibur. Apparently, there was like, only one
person in a generation that it deemed worthy. That made her feel a little dizzy, to be honest.

And now Odin wanted to speak to her. The King of Asgard. The Protector of the Nine Realms. A
literal god, a god of gods, even, someone who had walked out of the pages of Norse Mythology
only a few years ago and had proved his badass bona fides by going toe to toe with a guy who'd
taken her and Harry's best shots to the face, lost an arm, then curbstomped the Hulk (though after
the arm losing thing, he'd been possessed, so… even more badass).

Anyway. Kind of intimidating.

Shifting nervously outside the audience chamber – Harry had wanted to come with her, but had
been forbidden – she waited. Apparently this was private, between her and Odin and his wife,
Frigga. The latter was a relief. Odin tended towards sternness, according to Thor and Loki, but
Frigga was gentle, kind and both could and would rein Odin in if she felt he was being too harsh.
Certainly, her own experience of the latter bore that out, but all she'd really seen of Odin was epic
level badassery when he went toe to toe with Chthon in London.

Finally, the chamberlain – sort of a valet/right hand man – signalled her to enter. His name was
Algrim and he was tall and slim, purple skinned with white hair and pointed ears, as well as a soft
voice that put one at ease. This last was something she was most glad for, as was the slight,
reassuring wink that was sent her as she walked into the throne room.

"Carol Danvers," Odin said. "We bid you welcome."

Nervously, Carol curtsied. "Thank you, your majesty," she said. Senators, Ministers, Generals,
Presidents… she was fine with them all. Admittedly, none of them exuded authority on such a
stifling scale with such negligent ease.

"You have the thanks of Asgard for protecting our grandson," Odin said grandly.

Carol paused, then said, "You're welcome?" Then she blushed and added, "Your Majesty."

Odin's mouth flickered into a small smile. "Do not stand on courtesy, Miss Danvers. This is not a
formal occasion and I am more than familiar with the Midgardian preference for informality. I am
aware that no disrespect is meant by it."

"Through Tony Stark," Carol guessed.

"Yes. Lord Stark is… an experience."

"Sarcasm is pretty much how he communicates," Carol said, slightly apologetic.

"I know," Odin said, sounding slightly put upon. Frigga covered her mouth, amused.

Then Odin cleared his throat, and slammed his spear into the ground with an echoing boom. Carol
managed to restrain herself from jumping. As she did, she caught the smallest glimmer of approval
in Odin's eye.

Frigga was less circumspect. She smiled a mischievous smile – and suddenly, Carol could see
where Loki got it from – and winked. Carol couldn't help but smile back. Odin flicked his eye over
to his wife and minutely raised an eyebrow. She merely smiled back and said nothing. Odin let out
a small snort, then turned to the attendant who was hurrying in with a large case.

"Though you have not asked for it, your valour and loyalty to my grandson means that as you have
earned medals in the mortal realm, you must be rewarded in this one," Odin said, tone firm. Carol
opened her mouth to object, but he shook his head. "The feat of wielding the ring of the Green
Lantern is a rare one indeed, even rarer for one of your youth. That alone would be commended. If
your feats, people will say that I am an unjust and churlish King." His eye twinkled slightly. "So if
you accept this gift, you are putting me in your debt."

Loki, Carol thought on seeing how neatly she had been tied up, had clearly taken after both parents
in equal measure.

"Well, if I'm doing you a favour," she said dryly, as the attendant held the box before her, poker
faced.
At an encouraging nod from Frigga, Carol opened it. And stared, jaw hanging loose.

It was a shield. No, that wasn't doing it justice. It was a beautiful shield. Round, smooth, deadly
and practical, it was painted in deep red, cobalt blue and inset with a golden star.

"Your majesty… I don't know what to say. Other than, thank you," Carol said, stunned.

"This shield was forged by the same artificer who forged the personal weapons of the royal family:
Mjolnir and Gungnir – my spear," Odin said. "He is King Eitri, of the Dwarven realm of
Nidavaellir. My grandson advised on the design, for your ancestor, Captain Rogers, and the choice
of colours. He felt that they suited you."

"He was right," Carol said, then frowned. "What about Loki?" he asked, before she could stop
herself. "I mean, he doesn't have a special weapon, does he?"

Odin raised an eyebrow. She blushed a little, but held his gaze. After a while, he nodded and said,
"My younger son does not wish to limit himself with any one weapon. Mjolnir is almost Thor's
fifth limb – his identity is tied up in it, as is much of his power. Even my spear is a sign of who and
what I am, an identifier. Loki is like a cat – though he is loyal, affectionate and perceptive, he is
also proud, changeable and he severely dislikes being bound to one path. A personal weapon
would do that. Instead, he wields weapons as he requires them."

Carol nodded slowly, noting that the subject of was being skirted around and deciding not to push
further. "What path would this bind me too?" she asked.

"The path you choose," Frigga said quietly. "You may wield it in service of your country, in
service of others, or, if you wish, leave it as a reminder and a memento on your wall." She smiled.
"It is yours do with as you desire."

"Thank you," Carol said simply, receiving a grave nod from Odin before being ushered out.

OoOoO

As it turned out, she was not the only one to be honoured.

Uhtred was gifted with an axe by the name of Jarnbjorn, previously wielded by Thor himself, one
apparently without peer and with a storied history. Unsurprisingly, the shock and delight of such a
gift left him in a stunned silence for some time, being barely able to stammer out thanks for the
honour done to him.

Diana's gift was more practical, a set of bracers forged and enchanted specifically to control and
restrain her empathic abilities, meaning that at the very least she could get some privacy in her own
head.

And Jean-Paul's gift was a ring, one which contained a suit designed to resist the hazards of the
sort of speeds he reached and the exotic energies he might encounter. It also, apparently, anchored
him to the mortal plane of existence by placing a certain undefined limit on his speed, so as to
avoid a repeat of his nearly being transmuted into pure Speed Force energy when he attacked
Chthon at light speed.

Harry himself… well, for starters, any new Prince was naturally to be showered with gifts from
Asgardian nobility, royalty and nobility from across the Nine Realms and beyond. A new Prince
who had just succeeded in banishing the most feared of the Elder Gods and repairing the fractured
world, doubly so.
Harry stopped messing with these after an incident in which he got tangled up in what seemed to be
a cat's cradle of webbing – a gift from Kwaku-Anansi, the God of Stories of the Orishas, a trickster
and (unsurprisingly) a friend and rival of Loki's. In any case, Loki didn't seem to be remotely
surprised when he found his nephew trapped in a ball of webbing and remarked that it was either
designed to carry a lesson (even the mightiest and most cunning warrior can be trapped) or as a
joke. Or, quite likely, both.

Instead, they were packed off to a storage room where they were classified, labelled and carefully
cared for, to be brought out on the occasions when their givers came to visit.

As for Odin, what would he give his grandson? A sword, or some other weapon, fit for a warrior?
A fine crown, fit for a prince? Or a secret text, fit for a mage?

As it turned out, the answer was 'none of the above'.

"My gift to you, grandson," Odin said. "Is one that I now recognise is rightly yours." He drew from
within a pouch a gleaming golden feather on a thin silvery chain like shaped moonlight. Where a
mundane one would have simply shone gold, this flickered with the colours of fire as it caught the
light. When he handed it to Harry, it seemed to flare, burning like a flickering tongue of flame, and
Harry recognised it.

"Grandfather," he began. "That…"

"Is my phoenix feather," his grandfather confirmed. "Dipped in gold to preserve it, yet it retains its
fire."

"I can see," Harry managed, rather dazed. "But grandfather, it belongs to you."

"It did," Odin said. "But you are child of the Phoenix as much as you are a child of my line. And
often, a mage will wear a symbol to which they have a connection or an affinity. It was obvious
from the moment you touched it that there was an affinity."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Harry took it and put it on. As soon as he did, he gasped as a feeling of
warmth, of comfort almost, travelled through him. "Thank you, grandfather," he said quietly. "I
will treasure it."

"That is all I ask, grandson."

OoOoO

While new heroes were being added to the ranks of the mighty, SHIELD began a purge, one that
dragged on for months. Even with Fury carefully preparing a lightning strike designed to render
the faction of HYDRA that had grown like a parasite within SHIELD, even with the aid of
SHIELD's psi-division, it was slow, difficult work.

After one long day, Fury walked calmly into his office and sat down, noting a slight difference in
the air. "Well?" he asked, apparently speaking to thin air. "What's your take?"

"I think that this it is all very dull, grim work Nicholas, and I don't envy you it. I also think that the
future is about to get very interesting indeed, and I don't think that one response team, no matter
how mighty, can deal with it all," Strange said, fading into view.

"There are others in the pipeline," Fury said. "Not all SHIELD related."

"Yes, the Ultimates project," Strange said, tone flat. "Nicholas, you must stop that by any means
necessary."

Fury frowned. "Why?"

"If the Ultimates project goes ahead, the world will fragment. A superhuman arms race will start
and the nations of the Earth, already mistrustful of one another, will be irrevocably divided at a
time when they can afford it least," Strange said. "This is just the beginning, Nicholas. Things are
moving in the darkness. Things far more patient and insidious than Chthon. HYDRA is not gone,
merely diminished, and temporarily at that. Under Lucius Malfoy's command, it will be a force to
be reckoned with for years to come. Earth must become a united world."

"United by what?"

"By the Avengers," Strange said. "And not by force. The Avengers need to demonstrate that they
are not just for the West, but for the Rest too, by action and not just by word. If we are to survive
the coming upheavals and the cataclysm that will follow, we will all need to rally beneath their
banner."

"We," Fury noted. "You're throwing in?"

"Not immediately," Strange said. "But you will be seeing more of me."

"I'm not sure if that's a good thing, considering," Fury said dryly.

Strange smiled a Cheshire cat smile. "Of course it isn't," he said, fading away. "But remember,
Nicholas… united we stand. Or divided we will fall."

"Fucker always has to have the last word," Fury muttered, but it was a fairly token mutter.

An Avengers World.

Now that was something to think about.

OoOoO

He was not the only Director making moves.

"So, Director Wisdom," Pepper said. "What can SI do for you?"

"Her Majesty's Government would like to commission Stark Industries, specifically Tony Stark,
for a very special project," Wisdom said. "Britain is vulnerable. When HYDRA went down in
flames, for now, anyway, one of our two technological countermeasures was cut in half by one
shot from the Dreadnought's cannons. And the second, HMS Valiant, Britain's first helicarrier, was
still in dry dock. It should have been ready for service six months before that shitstorm, but we
gave the contract to BAE and, predictably, they cocked up the engines."

He leaned forward. "Speaking personally and on behalf of Her Majesty's Government, not least
Her Majesty herself, we don't want to be caught like that ever again. We might not survive it. So
we would like Stark Industries to refit and enhance the Valiant and to design and build two other
Helicarriers."

"Director Wisdom, I appreciate your confidence in Stark Industries," Pepper said. "But we don't
take on military contracts anymore."

Wisdom arched an eyebrow. "And I'm a monkey's fucking uncle. SHIELD's Helicarriers use
Repulsor Tech engines."

"Building engines isn't the same as building weapons, Director," Pepper said, tone turning cool.
"And if you want to continue this meeting, then you will moderate your language."

Wisdom blinked, then smirked and inclined his head. "Fine. I'm aware of Mister Stark's personal
aversion to designing and building weaponry. That's fine, we can outfit them afterwards. What we
want is everything but guns, up to and including passive defence systems, like shields."

"Well, I'd have to speak with Mister Stark about that, since he's the one who does the designing.
But there's still the matter of what you intend to do with these helicarriers," Pepper said.

"MI13 has extensive experience with the supernatural. We're Britain's defence against the weird
stuff and we, and our predecessors, have been for centuries," Wisdom said. "We've got more than
our share of magic at our disposal, for instance, and we want to be able to shut down dark magic,
portals, etcetera."

"Defence, in other words," Pepper said. "But Director, I've noticed that a lot of the time, when
military or espionage figures talk about defence, they're really talking about offence. Britain having
three helicarriers in the air is going to make a lot of people very nervous."

"The thing about carriers, heli or otherwise, is that they aren't very fast," Wisdom said. "It would
take quite a while for it to be able to threaten another country. Unless, of course, you have a Nexus
Engine. Which we don't." He shrugged. "In any case, I made sure that there were some stringent
restrictions put on them. First, they can't be deployed outside of Britain without a two thirds
majority vote in the House of Commons. Second, they can't be deployed in Britain for more than
three days straight without said vote in the Commons and an investigation, to make sure that
someone isn't trying to pull a fast one with a fake threat. Third, we're not the only ones building
them."

"Well, I can hardly say I'm surprised by that last part," Pepper said wryly.

"Yeah, fair enough," Wisdom said. "The Chinese have got at least five in the works, the Americans
are building another three. The Russians are supposed to be building a couple, though rumour has
it that they're just taking all their old sea carriers and bolting engines on the side, which is a disaster
waiting to happen. Even the French, the Germans, the Brazilians and the Israelis are getting in on
the act, probably India, Japan and South Africa too."

"What about Wakanda?" Pepper asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Wakanda had a whole fleet of the damn things," Wisdom muttered. "No
one's ever been able to get much out of them."

He sat back. "The only difference between them and me is that I'm coming to Stark Industries. You
say no, fine. We'll go to BAE. They're marginally more reliable than Hammer is. But put it to Tony
this way: if he's the one designing, building and installing all this hardware and software, then he
can put in lots of little redundancies to make sure that they aren't misused."

Pepper eyed him. "Why would you want him meddling in the operating systems of the
Helicarrier?" she asked.

"Because I'm a spy. I don't trust anyone, least of all my government. But I do trust people's
motives," Wisdom said. "Stark will want to put checks on the Helicarrier's power. He's savvy
enough to recognise that a Stark designed helicarrier would be the biggest, baddest thing in the sky,
let alone two, three if you count the Valiant. He puts checks on those, he puts checks on them all.
He'll also know them inside out. Just in case they ever need to be taken down."

"And if you and he are ever on a collision course?" Pepper asked.

"If he and I are ever on a collision course, Ms Potts, Helicarriers would not be my weapon of
choice," Wisdom replied calmly.

Pepper's eyes narrowed at this borderline threat. "You're an unusual man, Director," she said. It
wasn't entirely complimentary.

"Not that unusual," Wisdom said. "I was trained by Nick Fury. Like him, I believe in heroes. And
like him, sometimes, I think you need someone on the outside to look in. Someone who can say,
'no. You're going too far'. Fury and I play that role for each other, but it can only go so far. We're
similar people with similar interests. The state is accountable to the people – in theory, at least. Due
to our secrecy, MI13 isn't really all that accountable to anyone. We can't be. And the way I see it,
there's worse people to be accountable to than Tony Stark." He smirked. "If only because being
accountable to Tony Stark means being accountable to you."

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how British voters would react to the knowledge that
you're handing quite a lot of power to a CEO of a private company and a foreign citizen," she said.

"I'm not handing it to you as CEO of Stark Industries. I'm handing it to you as Pepper Potts, moral
centre of Iron Man and the Avengers," Wisdom said. "You may not realise it, but you're a key
piece in the Avengers puzzle. Without you, they'd probably fall apart." He sat back. "And you're
helping to raise this generation's Captain America."

"Excuse me?" Pepper asked.

"Harry Thorson, formerly known as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and the Kid With Far Too
Many Cosmic Coincidences To His Name," Wisdom said, tone laconic. "You're a mother figure to
the kid, arguably the most significant one in his life. His future stepmum is more like a big sister to
him. Romanova is pretty reserved by nature. His grandma's in Asgard all the time, while he's
mostly on Earth. Wanda's a fairly new entrant, or re-entrant, into his life, and in any case, he
spends most of his time on Earth with the Avengers. His actual mum is sort-of-not-quite dead, and
certainly not a regular figure in it. And that leads to, and leaves, you, Miss Potts."

He gave her a piercing look. "The boy looks up to you, from what I hear. And I hear things about
him. He's a natural leader who draws people to him. He's insanely brave, with a knack for finding
trouble and an equal knack for getting out of it smelling like roses. And he cares, he honestly does,
particularly about people most wouldn't even notice, much less bother about. He's got all the
hallmarks of the leader of this generation of heroes." He tilted his head and examined her. "Also,
he'll be powerful. Oh, he'll be powerful all right. He's scarily strong now and he's getting stronger
every day. We've got psychics on the payroll and according to them, he's the key to just about
every future."

He looked grim. "And without your influence, among others, he could turn into something that
makes Magneto at his worst look like a joke. He's already made that perfectly clear." He eyed
Pepper. "And you know, don't you? You know what that boy is capable of."

"I know that he has a temper, that he hates injustice," Pepper said calmly. "And that he's been
through a lot of terrible things. Things that no child should have to suffer through." She met
Wisdom's gaze. "But he's a good boy. I believe in him."
"Strong words, Ms Potts."

"Words that I'll stand by, Director Wisdom."

Wisdom smiled slightly. "Thought so," he said. "And that's good. Because if you and others do, I
think that he'll justify that belief. And if he follows his dad's example and yours, along with the rest
of the Avengers, I think the future is going to be pretty damn bright. But a lot of it depends on
you."

"I'm glad you think so, Director," Pepper said. "But don't think that your charm is going to sway
my judgement."

Wisdom let out a bark of laughter. "I didn't expect it to," he said, standing up. "That's why I meant
it."

"That's not going to work either," Pepper said wryly, standing with him and shaking his hand.
"Director, I'll get back to you with my decision by the end of the week. I need to discuss it with
Mister Stark and the board first."

"That'll do just fine," Wisdom said, then reached into his pocket. "And tell Stark that if he takes it,
he's working on a budget." He pulled out a cheque, handing it to Pepper.

"It's blank," she said, a touch surprised.

Wisdom smiled a grim smile. "Exactly," he said.

 It Is Now

"How did the meeting with Fury junior go?" Tony asked.

"Not bad," Pepper said. "He wanted us to build helicarriers. When I said that we didn't do weapons,
he pointed out SI's work with SHIELD and said that he could handle weapons. He wants just about
everything else, though. And he gave us a budget, in case we decide to take the contract."

"I don't do well on budgets," Tony said.

"You'd do well on this one," Pepper said, and pulled out the cheque, handing it to Tony, who
scrutinised it.

"Is this a joke?"

"He seemed pretty serious to me," Pepper said. "We can talk about it later. What are you working
on?"

"My legacy," Tony said, swivelling in his chair. "Pep, look at me. Look at what I've done. I spent
decades building weapons, right up until they came around to bite me. After that, yes, I became
Iron Man and, well, I've done a few pretty awesome things."

"Tony, you've saved the world at least three times now," Pepper said. "You've stopped your
weapons falling into the wrong hands. You've put your mom's charitable foundation into overdrive.
You have, and are, making the world a better place."

"Maybe," Tony said. "But, when I found out you were pregnant…" His hand travelled to the bulge
of her stomach. "I began to think. Have I really done enough? I mean, yes, I've saved the world, I've
mitigated some of the damage I've done to it. But have I really made it a better place? Have I made
it one where I can bring up my kid and, eventually say, look kid, this is the world your daddy's
leaving behind for you, and be happy about it?" He shook his head. "No," he said. "My weapons
are still out there. Not just unused ones, but mines, bombs, all sorts of things that have been laid
out, things that are still taking and destroying lives."

"So what's this?" Pepper asked.

"This is my answer," Tony said. "I had plans for an Iron Legion, a bunch of drones all over the
world that could end conflicts and save lives. Do what the Avengers do, basically. But after seeing
JARVIS being taken over by that Zola freak, those drones that HYDRA had and the fact that they
got everywhere… I decided that drones aren't the way to go. So I renamed it and redesigned it."

"'Project Rescue'," Pepper read.

"R.E.S.C.U.E.," Tony corrected.

"What does it stand for?"

"I don't know yet," Tony said. "Recovery, Extrication, Search, Containment and Universal
Extraction? No idea. Acronyms are cool and legal wouldn't let me have 'International Rescue'."

"So, what is this?"

"Suits," Tony said. "Twenty suits, stripped of weaponry – even the palm repulsors will be limited.
Instead of weapons, they'll have a full sensor array to detect people under rubble, weapons, mines,
that sort of thing. That's just the basic load out too – they'll be modular, able to change gear as
circumstances require. I'm also working on a kind of stretcher arrangement and remote control
lifeboats. Basically, they'll primarily work on disaster prevention and relief, able to respond quicker
and arrive quicker than any conventional response team. They'll be able to get to remote places, too
– even helicopters have fairly stringent LZ requirements. A suit can land pretty much anywhere.
And if it's a conflict zone? No problem. Even my early suits could take a round from a T-72 and
these will be much more advanced. They'll even have shield generators, to protect themselves and
civilians."

"What about the pilots?"

"Maybe I'll be recruiting from the Peacekeepers – it would probably be best if this worked with or
as part of the UN, for diplomatic reasons," Tony said. "Preferably, pacifists, with a full background
workup. Rhodey and me can train them." Pepper arched an eyebrow. "Probably mostly Rhodey.
And I'll be drafting Charles in to make sure that there isn't some brewing psychosis or deeply
hidden background as a spy, because even stripped of conventional weapons, I wouldn't want to
meet one of these babies down a dark alley, much less have the specs turn up on the black market."

Pepper nodded. "Is this personal, or do you want Stark Industries to fund it?" she asked.

Tony paused and frowned. "I'm not sure," he said. "Probably me and maybe the foundation too –
it'll tie in pretty heavily to the mine clearance work." He nodded decisively, a light in his eyes.
"Yeah. I profited from this. Now, it's time for me to start giving back."

OoOoO

Wisdom was also innovating, albeit in somewhat less moral ways.

"Porton Down," Betsy said, glancing around the large complex. "I've heard stories about this
place."

"Whatever those stories were, they probably don't live up to the reality," Wisdom said, as he made
his way into one of the newer buildings.

"Maybe," Betsy conceded, following him into a lift. "One thing that's puzzled me is that this is
where all the chemical warfare, biological warfare and weird stuff was studied. Yet despite all that,
despite Captain America being based out of Britain for several years, we never tried for a super
soldier."

"Just because you never heard of it, Braddock, doesn't mean it didn't happen," Wisdom said darkly,
as they descended into the bowels of the Earth. "For which reason I'd keep your psychic senses on
a leash for the time being – I don't know what you might pick up, but it won't be pleasant. More to
the point, I need you firing on all cylinders to monitor this."

"Speaking of which… are you sure this is a good idea, sir?" Betsy asked dubiously, as they reached
an observation room above an operating theatre. "I mean, we are pretty much violating every
single law of nature here." She looked through enchanted glass at the dark lab and the strange,
cobbled together equipment. On the operating table were two bodies, covered up. That said, a
careful observer could discern that they were the exact same height. "Also, I'm getting a serious
Doctor Frankenstein vibe."

"We're MI13," Wisdom said. "We violate the laws of nature for a living. Besides. Every spooky
organisation worth the name has a nigh-immortal operative whose name strikes fear into just about
everyone else. I think it's time that we got one. Did the equipment check out?"

"Bearing in mind that I still think that this is a terrible idea and I don't think that it's ever been done
before?"

"Yep."

"Well, it should work. But I have no way of knowing for sure until you try it," Betsy said.

"That's good enough for me," Wisdom said. He pressed the intercom button. "Begin."

The blanket was pulled back. The two men it revealed could have been twins, if you took into
account that one of them was quite obviously dead, and not in the best shape after around 8 months.
If the grey pallor and rigor mortis didn't say that, the bullet holes in his head and stomach,
surrounded by crusted blood, managed it quite nicely.

The equipment began to hum, and both bodies began to jerk, flopping about on the table like gaffed
fish. After a few moments, the machinery began to power down and, aside from the fact that they
were now splayed at odd angles, neither of the bodies seemed to have changed.

"Anything?" Wisdom asked through the intercom.

"Afraid not, sir," one of the scientists said apologetically.

Wisdom swore and turned away.

"Sir?" Betsy said.

"What?"

"They succeeded."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I felt a mind in the LMD body," Betsy said conversationally. "That was a definite clue.
Now there's the way that he's got up, freaked out over his old body and started beating up anyone
who gets in his way."

"He managed all that in less than twenty seconds?"

"Yup. Efficient, isn't he?"

"Of course he is, that's why I brought him back from the bloody dead," Wisdom said, opening the
door just as the LMD stormed up the stairs. "Can you stop him?"

"Sure," Betsy said, butterfly patterns forming on her face. The newly inhabited LMD went down
like a sack of bricks and Betsy gave him a once over, gaze briefly hovering on his groin. "Well,
well, someone was blessed by nature. Or mad science, I guess. Depends whether it's true to life or
not. And if it isn't, it says weird things about the science department."

"Judging by his reputation, it either is, or he was good enough not to need it," Wisdom said. "Can
he hear me?"

"Every word."

"Good," Wisdom said. "Release him. And yes, I am sure."

Betsy complied, and the man slowly stood up, eyes wary. "What the hell just happened to me?" he
asked.

"What do you remember?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because I can get my Agent to extract it from your brain if you don't and because I'm your
superior officer," Wisdom said, pulling out his ID and flicking it over.

The man examined it for a few long moments, processing this. "Wisdom. MI13," he said. "I've
heard of you." He nodded. "So. I died, then. The Winter Soldier killed me and somehow you
brought me back."

Wisdom cocked an eyebrow.

"Somehow you brought me back, sir," the man corrected. "How? Why?"

"You familiar with LMD's?"

"Life Model Decoys. Creepily lifelike remotely controlled robots developed by SHIELD," the man
said. "Too expensive for much more than very specialised use and with too much valuable
technology to risk, most of the time. In general, bloody useless."

"You're in one," Wisdom said. "The most realistic yet, a synthesis of magic and bio-technology.
Everything works as it should. Someone would need a DNA analysis to be able to tell that you're
anything other than human, though they might figure it out from the fact that your new body is
self-repairing. And in the blink of an eye, you can look like someone else entirely."

He took out a cigarette and lit it with a blade of flame from his fingertips. "And why did I bring you
back? I brought you back because you're the only person alive other than Romanova who ever got
the drop on the Winter Soldier. Because you're one of the best at what you do and you don't care
whether it's very nice," he said. "And because in a world like this, I need, Britain needs, a man with
your talents."

"I see," the man said. "I've got one question."

"What's that?"

"How may I serve my country, sir?"

Wisdom smiled and stuck out a hand. "Welcome to MI13, Agent Bond. I hope you survive the
experience."

OoOoO

Mercifully, not all of Wisdom's antics were quite so ghoulish.

"King T'Challa," Wisdom said, standing up. "Pleased to meet you."

T'Challa nodded. "The pleasure is mine," he said. "I have no doubt that HYDRA resurfacing in
London has made you a very busy man."

"A bit," Wisdom said. "But you're the newly minted King of Wakanda – my condolences, by the
way. You're going to have more than a little to deal with yourself."
"I do," T'Challa said. "And that is why I am here today."

Wisdom's gaze went past him to the two stern looking women in well tailored suits that
nevertheless probably concealed enough weapons to slaughter a platoon and the skills to use them.

"And brought your bodyguards," he said. "The Dora Milaje, roughly translated as 'Adored Ones'.
Chosen at a young age, trained in the arts of war, politics and spycraft to become the ultimate
bodyguards of the Wakandan King. And, traditionally, to become the wives of the King, to keep
the line strong, the inbreeding related crazy out and dynastic wrangling to a minimum. Most
dangerous group of women in the world, save the Red Room's Black Widows, with the advantage
of generally being sane."

"Not all traditions persist," T'Challa said. "And I must admit, I am impressed. Not many do such
diligent research."

"It's my job to know things," Wisdom said. "And one tradition persists, doesn't it? Wakanda being
very, very protective of its Vibranium. If any leaves its borders by unorthodox means, then the
thief is punished severely and the Vibranium is retrieved. And that's why you're here – you want
the Vibranium that we're scraping off the Dreadnought."

"The Vibranium is stolen Wakandan property," T'Challa said. "We will, of course, pay for its
transportation back to Wakanda and if required, we will help with the 'scraping off'. If nothing else,
Vibranium is a very... unusual metal, and requires careful handling."

"That it is – unusual, I mean," Wisdom said. "But even if I was inclined to hand it straight back to
you, HYDRA did some downright weird things to it."

"You refer to infusing it with magic?" T'Challa asked. "We know about that."

"I know you do," Wisdom said. "That's not what I'm worried about. What I'm worried about is the
tinkering that their scientists did with it and how that's going to react with magic."

T'Challa gave him a long look. "You do not intend to give it up," he said eventually.

"No," Wisdom said bluntly. "In fact, if you don't mind me speaking plainly, I'd be both mad and
unemployed if I did. The view in Parliament – what's left of it – is that everything in HYDRA's
base or the Dreadnought is now the spoils of war. Finders keepers, essentially, possession is nine
tenths of the law. And it's being taken as reparations for the damage they did. And that damage
was considerable."

"Wakanda did not escape unscathed, Director."

"Your father and a few people working at the Vibranium mound were killed," Wisdom said. "And
I'm sorry for that. But HYDRA killed over three thousand employees of the British government,
including 97% of those MI6 members who were in Britain when HYDRA attacked MI6 at
Christmas, 86% of MI13 who were in Britain during the same and nearly a hundred members of
the House of Lords. The civilian casualties are still being estimated, but even with the informal
evacuation prior to the battle, I'd be surprised if the number contained less than three figures. The
material cost is worse. There's severe damage to the Vauxhall Cross headquarters of MI6, a
number of MI13 bases, several downed fighter jets... oh, and the HMS Belfast, chock full of some
of the most modern and expensive weaponry on the planet, including a job lot of Phase 2 weaponry
from SHIELD, is now at the bottom of the Thames. And that's not even getting started on
London."
T'Challa sat back to listen. He got the feeling that Wisdom had hit his stride and might well
continue in this vein for some time.

"While Thor's kid was good enough to undo the reality warping related damage, something
demonstrated by the fact that the Thames isn't on fire and there's actually still a few bridges
standing over it, he didn't, couldn't, undo HYDRA's damage. So some of the most expensive real
estate on the planet is now chock full of demon corpses, bullet holes, laser fire – I repear, laser
fire! – and shrapnel. And that's if you're lucky. When Magneto crunched the Dreadnought, half of it
ended up squashing Battersea. Chelsea Bridge collapsed yesterday. Half of the Palace of
Westminster is a crater and the other isn't in all that great shape, and apparently Big Ben is about to
come tumbling down any minute now," the Director continued. "The last time London underwent
remodelling this big, it was the sodding Blitz!"

He sighed. "Even with heavy use of magic, loans from the US, the IMF and a lot of help from
Asgard, the bill is spiralling well into the billions, maybe even tens of billions. The Stock
Exchange has all but collapsed – only the promise of Asgardian help with the clean up and
rebuilding is keeping it afloat. I've got the government – what's left of it – screaming at me, the
Press screaming at me and just about everyone else screaming at me too, particularly if they
owned – or claim that they owned – a bit of property that was damaged or destroyed."

"I see," T'Challa said. "So, returning my nation's rightful property would be... politically
untenable."

"Among other things," Wisdom said. "Look, if nothing else, we bloody need that Vibranium. A lot
of old and nasty things are paying attention to humanity again. And there's the young ruler of
Latveria, Victor Von Doom, who bears careful watching." He let out a brief bark of grim laughter.
"Sorry, Doctor Von Doom. He's touchy about that."

"I was under the impression that Latveria was a small and fairly unremarkable former Soviet state,
booming economy aside," T'Challa said.

"It is. Its ruler is a different story," Wisdom said. "He's ambitious. He can back up that ambition by
being one of the smartest people of the planet and a magic user powerful enough to attract a former
apprentice of the Sorcerer Supreme himself, a fellow called Mordo, to teach him. Oh, and he
occasionally sends robots to attack the Avengers. No one's quite sure why – he probably finds it
funny in some weird despotic way. No one can prove that it's him, either, and not for lack of
trying." He waved this away. "We need Vibranium to make the likes of him think twice, but that's
not the immediate reason. I doubt that most of the general public have much idea that Latveria
exists, much less where it is." He snorted. "They probably think that it's where Dracula has his
holiday home."

"What is that reason, then?"

"Public morale," Wisdom replied. "HYDRA were hiding in the middle of our backyard, wiped out
our secret service and a good portion of the government and gouged a couple of bloody big holes in
our capital. We beat the bastards, with help, but if we start meekly giving up what could
reasonably be considered the spoils of war... morale would go even further through the floor than it
already has."

"I might argue that I need it back for exactly the same reason."

Wisdom smiled a shark's smile. "Yeah, and that's not the only one, is it?" he said. "The old
Wakandan reputation for invincibility is crumbling and it has been for a while. First, that grubby
little arms dealer stole some Vibranium. Klaw, right?"
"Klaue. Ulysses Klaue," T'Challa said evenly. "And he did not escape unscathed."

"But he got to keep the Vibranium he stole," Wisdom replied. "Now HYDRA, killing a Black
Panther in single combat for the first time in what, two centuries, and making off with literal tons
of Vibranium. Now, people are going to be looking at Wakanda and saying, 'well, they beat off
colonial armies well enough, and they do have some pretty nifty tech, but they haven't kept up with
the times. They're vulnerable.'"

"I assure you, Director, that if anyone comes to Wakanda looking for a fight, they will regret it,"
T'Challa said, voice steely.

"I'm sure you're right," Wisdom said. "But that won't matter. Up 'til recently, Wakanda had a
mystique. The proud, unconquered African kingdom, with its mighty warrior kings, dealing with
the world only on its own terms, beating back every attempt to challenge it. That mystique got it
respect, maybe grudging, but real respect nonetheless. It made people think twice. But now...
people will see vulnerability. They'll think that you haven't kept up with the times, whether that's
true or not. This is politics, King T'Challa. The facts are never allowed to get in the way of a good
story."

"I know this already, Director," T'Challa said. "And that is exactly why I will have the Vibranium
back."

Both men stared each down.

"And what will you do if I say no?" Wisdom asked quietly. "Wakanda's a very long way away.
You don't have anywhere near the firepower to take the Vibranium back by force, I'm not sure if
there's a nation on Earth that does. Wakanda's isolationist history means that you don't have much
global diplomatic pull, either. Untouchable mystique's all very well when you can look after
yourself and you want people to stay out of your back yard, but it doesn't make many friends –
you'll get no joy there. You don't trade with anyone much, so you don't have any leverage to try
and get economic sanctions. And while you've got a sympathy vote in your dad being killed by
HYDRA, we've got one a lot bigger than yours." He leaned back. "I'm sorry, your majesty. I really
am. I like you and I've got a lot of sympathy for your position, because it's pretty much just like the
one I'm in. But you've got no leg to stand on."

T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that?" he asked. "Regulus?"

Wisdom's eyes widened. Then, they too narrowed. "How?" he asked, not bothering to try denial.

"Wakanda might not have as many friends as Britain, but we have our own means of finding things
out," T'Challa said quietly. "And our own people whose job it is to know things."

Wisdom eyed him. "Okay," he said. "So, I don't give you the vibranium, you, what, tell my
superiors? Release it to the press?"

"Probably the former, though I wouldn't rule out the latter."

Wisdom smiled. "Not bad. But there's a few flaws in that," he said. "First, my nose tells me that
that's the only real piece of information on me that you've got. If that fails to inspire compliance,
you've got nothing. You're bluffing on a very bad hand. Second, the Death Eaters aren't like
HYDRA. They don't have brand recognition with the general public. You go public and people
would just look at the tattoo and think I joined a weird gang or cult when I was a kid, then managed
to get out. And that's if they even noticed, in this situation. Third, I got a royal pardon. Fourth, if
I'm fired, my deputy director thinks pretty much the same way as me, and she'll be that much less
inclined to play ball. You'll have played your only card for nothing. Fifth..."

He leaned forward, expression suddenly cold and hard. "How dare you," he said softly. "How dare
you imply that I would put my own reputation ahead of my country. How dare you!"

T'Challa was silent for a moment as the words echoed around the room. "You are a man of many
layers, Director," he said. "I misjudged you and I will not do so again."

Wisdom shrugged. "It's okay," he said. "Not many take me for a patriot. Patriotism is something
that we British don't really do, in a public sort of way. Now the Americans, broadly speaking,
they're all reverent of their Constitution and proud to bits to be American. 'One nation under God'
and all that bollocks. But in Britain? We're quieter about it." He looked out the window. "And I
came to it fairly late in life, after I became Peter Wisdom. To maintain the cover for my new
identity, I had to become familiar with ordinary people, non-magical people. Then, my job took me
all over Britain. And after a while, you could say that I fell in love with my own country,
idiosyncrasies, contradictions, downright mad traditions and all."

"I know the feeling," T'Challa said quietly. He had spent much of his youth abroad, and when he'd
finally come home... well. He'd done what Wisdom had. He had walked among his people, learned
how they lived and slowly, steadily, been seduced by his homeland.

"I suppose you would," Wisdom said. He looked thoughtful. "All right, let's see if we can work out
a deal. Some of the vibranium is unworked and it hasn't come into the accounting. My people can
'stumble upon it', so to speak, in a day or two, return it to you as a good will gesture. As for the rest,
we don't know much about vibranium. Your people do. You lend us a few of your scientists and
help us dismantle the vibranium tech and reapply it safely. That way, you know what's happening
to the vibranium, where it's going and what's being done with it. On top of that, you get de
facto veto rights on how it's applied – after all, how are we poor fools meant to know what's safe to
do with vibranium and what isn't?"

"Interesting," T'Challa said. "But still very slanted in your favour."

"It's going to be, your majesty, no offence meant, and I suggest you get used to it," Wisdom said
bluntly. "In return, we perform introductions for you, worldwide. You have diplomatic missions
around the globe that your dad opened, sure, but that's just superficial stuff. You don't really have
an in anywhere. You get invited to the parties, sure, but that's just politeness. We can introduce you
to the global movers and shakers, the people who you want to go to work on the nitty-gritty behind
the scenes, help secure a favourable whatever and talk to whenever everything's officially gone
frosty but business still needs to be done. And since it's us doing the introductions... well, we're not
a superpower any more, but we still have a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, a place at
the table at NATO and the EU. And then there's the Special Relationship. Not as smooth or as even
as we'd like, but it's there. Point is, people will listen. They will know that we are people who do
business and take you all the more seriously as a result. It'll save you years of effort and lots of
political capital."

"You make it sound like you're planning to engineer the introduction of my nation to the Mafia,"
T'Challa said dryly.

"Underneath the surface, the drinks parties, nice suits and smiles – all three of which you get
around the better class of mobster, come to think of it – there's not that much difference, trust me,"
Wisdom said. "It's much easier to bend and break the law when you make it, after all. Point is – we
exert what influence we have to grease the wheels help bring Wakanda out of its splendid isolation,
because these days, that just doesn't work. Key point – we help you do it on your own terms and as
smoothly as possible."
T'Challa was silent for a long moment. "This sounds... interesting," he said. "Though Wakanda is
long used to both isolation and to honesty from its kings. My father took steps to change things, but
nevertheless…"

"Old habits are hard to break," Wisdom said, nodding. "Can you work around it?"

"I believe so," T'Challa said eventually. "The return of the unworked vibranium is key. But only if
I had a guarantee of all of the above, including explicit veto powers over the use of the vibranium.
And, in the fullness of time, reparations for the loss of the vibranium."

"HYDRA were the ones who stole it."

"And you are the ones who now have it," T'Challa said. "Possession, as you say, is nine tenths of
the law. Even of debts. Especially of debts, since you shall be reaping the benefits of that
Vibranium. You have more Vibranium than has left Wakanda in a thousand years." He steepled his
fingers. "I am also not a fool, Director. You said yourself that your government is in the process of
seizing HYDRA's assets, many of which will be of considerable value, especially their financial
assets. It can be described as our share of the spoils, as it were, but I expect it eventually."

"Could open up a precedent I don't like," Wisdom said. "I'll have to speak to my lawyers about
wrapping it up to avoid leaving us open to legal challenges from other parties. But fine, in the
cause of maintaining world peace. Though you might have to wait most of a couple of decades for
them."

"As long as they are promised in the form of a binding contract, and perhaps a first, symbolic
payment. The already promised Vibranium and perhaps a valuable artefact or two, numbers
dependent on value, unearthed from HYDRA's stores, since liquid finance will be tied up in
rebuilding London. If that is made in short order, then I will be content," T'Challa said. "The only
issue that remains is whether your government will accept this."

"They will," Wisdom said. "I'll couch it to 'em as the result of hard negotiation – which should do
your reputation some good – and the cost of doing business. And I might insinuate that it could
lead to closer trade and diplomatic links with a global technological leader and a regional power.
And, maybe, in the fullness of time, trade in vibranium." He raised a hand to forestall T'Challa. "I
don't expect there to be any, now or ever. Don't particularly want there to be, either. As far as I'm
concerned, even if we didn't have any vibranium of our own, it would be safest to keep as much of
that stuff safely locked away as possible. But it's something to bait the hook with, if they're still
reluctant. Jam tomorrow and all that."

"Very well," T'Challa said. "As long as we understand that the jam stays in tomorrow."

Wisdom nodded. "You have my word," he said. "Besides, they're an outgoing government; the
Prime Minister's overseeing the rebuilding effort, then he's stepping down, falling on his sword for
sake of party and country. If he wasn't going to jump, the poor bugger would be pushed. None of its
his fault, far from it, but he carries the can. And truth be told, I think he wants a quiet retirement
after the excitement of the last year or so. Once he's gone, there'll be a big old reshuffle at the top
and an election, which they will probably lose. As far as they're concerned, the diplomatic coup
will be theirs – a deal with Wakanda, good enough to keep a job lot of Vibranium on British soil,
bringing the legendary Hidden Kingdom in from the cold? That'll be a right feather in their caps,
something to wipe away some of the mess that HYDRA's left behind. The financial problems and
the nitty-gritty of making it work, meanwhile, will be the next government's problem. Right now,
they need a win and they've got too many other problems to question providence at the moment."

T'Challa considered this. It was probably, he thought, the best deal he was going to get. Wisdom
was right – there was no way to take it back by force, little diplomatic capital to expend and no
way to wrangle sanctions which would seem needlessly cruel even if they were possible to enact.
While it was possible, in theory, to lean on other nations and their desire to avoid one of their rivals
getting ahead, the resultant geo-political wrangle could take years to resolve and more to the point,
they would look like vultures. Worse even; vultures generally had the decency to let a wounded
animal die before starting in on its innards.

Both he and Wisdom needed a result now, which could be presented to their respective peoples as a
victory. This way, at least, they would play a key part in deciding what's being done with it and in
turn, find out more than a little about Britain's top secret projects, which were likely to be linked
with SHIELD's. Knowledge, after all, is power.

And who knew? Perhaps the promised chance to take advantage of Britain's diplomatic capital and
global contacts might turn out to be more valuable to Wakanda than some vibranium. In the long
run, anyway.

There was, of course, every possibility that Wisdom was exaggerating the value of his wares – he
had every reason to do so – and care would have to be taken to avoid being embroiled in the
hawkish and interventionist foreign policy initiatives of Britain's closest ally, the United States, or
further attempts to extract some Vibranium from Wakanda. As far as he was aware, the only
Vibranium on the planet outside of Wakanda aside from MI13's was in the hands of that wretched
arms dealer, who'd stolen it, Captain Rogers, who wielded a shield made of Vibranium that had
been gifted to the United States government by his grandfather, SHIELD, who possessed the
means to create a limited amount of synthetic vibranium, and Tony Stark, who had somehow
synthesised an allotrope of Vibranium in his basement.

In SHIELD's case, the quantities were highly limited and not quite as formidable as the real thing,
meaning that it was usually reserved for weaves in body armour used by their best agents.

In Stark's case, the quantities were downright minuscule, possessed of rather different (but still
formidable) properties and only used for powering his arc reactor.

All in all, T'Challa wasn't disposed to worry. He also suspected that both of the latter cases had
something to do with Howard Stark's experience of Vibranium – after all, he had been the one to
create the famous shield, suggesting a talent for working Vibranium that had previously not been
seen outside of Wakanda. Maybe he'd left notes for SHIELD and for his son.

But those were other matters and the problems could be dealt with as they came. This was quite
clearly the best deal he was going to get.

"I will have to speak to my advisors," he said. "But provisionally speaking... yes."

OoOoO

"My king," one of his guards said, once they had returned to their hotel. "I do not wish to question
your judgement, but surely you cannot be thinking of letting the outsiders keep any of our
Vibranium."

"I am," T'Challa said. "Because we do not have any other option."

"With the right equipment –"

"A team of Dora Milaje, perhaps led by myself, with magically lightened bags, could retrieve the
Vibranium?" T'Challa asked.
The guard blinked, then nodded.

"No, Nareema," T'Challa said. "Firstly, we do not know where the Vibranium is being kept.
Secondly, Wisdom might have been obfuscating when he said it, but he was right that we do not
know what HYDRA's scientists and sorcerers have done to it and what effects that will have. One
of them came from the Norse realm of Alfheim and owned the Darkhold, wielding sorcery that is
alien to any that we have seen before twice over. Thirdly, you can be sure that it will be well
defended."

"MI13 is not the force it once was. And it was never greatly blessed with manpower," Nareema
said.

"No, it is not the force it once was. Under Peter Wisdom, as he chooses to call himself, it is a much
more dangerous creature. Wounded, perhaps, but all the more dangerous for that," T'Challa said.
"He has recruited heavily from Britain's wanded wizards and from its mutant population. The
former is a known factor. The latter is not. Among that latter is his Deputy Director, Jessica Drew.
Little enough is known about her, likely by design, but I have discerned that she possesses
superhuman strength several times greater than my own, flight and powerful blasts of bio
electricity. I also suspect some degree of pheromone manipulation, judging by her unusual smell. I
have no doubt that she takes the field when required, but the fact remains that he can afford to have
such a powerful asset in a non-combat position. That is a statement in itself. His right hand in the
field is, if anything, even more dangerous."

"Lady Elizabeth Braddock," Nareema said. "I have read her file. Until recently, she was considered
to be little more than a harmless hedonist."

"Oh, she was always more than that," T'Challa said. "Though she was very good at pretending
otherwise. In truth, I am not in the least surprised that she has become one of Wisdom's most
formidable assets – she always had the potential."

"You know her?"

T'Challa smiled slightly. "Better than most. Her twin brother, Brian, was a colleague of mine at
Oxford," he said. "It is a pity he was not born a Wakandan – he had a remarkable talent for
integrating magical lore and particle physics, one that would have flourished at home, instead of
being stifled by the West's ridiculous separation of science and the mystic arts. As for Elizabeth,
Betsy as she prefers to be called, she was trained in the mental arts by Charles Xavier and has gone
on to train Prince Harry Thorson, who, as we have seen, is quite a powerful psychic himself."

Nareema's eyebrows shot up. "How did you find that out, my king?" she asked.

"He told me," T'Challa said. "He had contacted me via Doctor Banner, and we had met before, in
New York. I did a friend of his a good turn and, perhaps, him as well. His class was studying the
history of the Black Panther, so I gave him a lesson. No deep secrets, but more than enough to
interest a teenage boy and his teacher. We spoke a little of matters besides that, mostly of
unexpected power developments, and the subject reached his teaching." He sat down. "Another
thing that Wisdom was right about was the value of friendships and contacts. That is why my
father sent me abroad in the first place."

"You think that the boy could be a valuable friend?" Nareema asked.

"I do not think, I know," T'Challa said. "Speaking as the King of Wakanda, I feel that cultivating a
friendship with the son of Asgard's crown prince, a young man who has already developed a large
network of powerful friends and family, can only be advantageous for Wakanda in the early years
of this new and turbulent millennium. Speaking as merely T'Challa, I like him. He is a kind, clever
and courageous boy. He possesses surprising wisdom for one his age and makes for an engaging
conversationalist. While I cannot claim to know him well, I feel that he is growing into a man that
in years to come I will be glad to call my friend."

"The files on him say that he possesses a volatile temper," Nareema said.

"Name me a teenage boy that doesn't," T'Challa said. "Particularly one of his life experiences.
Besides, Doctor Banner is among his friends and mentors. I do not think that there is any man in
the world, in any world, better qualified to teach another about how to manage and direct anger."

Nareema nodded reluctant acceptance. "Perhaps," she said. "But with his power… he could be a
threat to Wakanda unlike any we have ever seen."

"Perhaps," T'Challa said softly. "But all the reports I have read concur: he died, that night at
Hogwarts. And he came back. He came back from the dead." He turned to Nareema, letting this
sink in. "Tell me, Nareema, how would you defeat a man who will not stay dead? And, moreover,
one who returns from death with exponentially greater power than before, power that reverberates
across the globe and defies all known means of containment?"

"I do not know," she admitted.

"Neither do I," T'Challa said. "How much unworked Vibranium do you think we will get back?"

"You expect Wisdom to break his word?"

"I expect Wisdom to get away with keeping as much as he can," T'Challa said. "It is not as if we
know how much HYDRA worked and how much they didn't. All we can do is guess and estimate.
And if we catch him out, he will simply say that that unworked Vibranium had not entered the
prior accounting."

"And this doesn't anger you?" Nareema asked, astonished.

"It annoys me," T'Challa admitted. "And part of me is furious that he will almost certainly get
away with it. But in truth, I cannot hold it against him: it is his job. He works for the best interests
of Britain as I work for the best interests of Wakanda, and those best interests are most likely to
involve skimming off as much unworked Vibranium to play with as possible. He knows that, I
know that, and he knows that I know that." He looked out the window. "We are on his territory.
We play a game on a board that he has prepared. Copious amounts of cheating are only to be
expecting. One day, perhaps, the boot will be on the other foot. One day, perhaps, he will play a
game on a board that I have prepared, on my territory. Then, matters will turn out differently. For
now, however, I believe that this is the best deal we will get."

OoOoO

Someone else most familiar with making deals, Lex Luthor, was currently in the process of
finishing checking up on Carol, Jean-Paul and Harry, to ensure that they really were all right.
Mercifully, they were. The whereabouts of his girlfriend, however, were a bit of a mystery.

She, her little brother, her colleague Doctor Richards and their friend Benjamin Grimm were
currently in the care of the military, having been hit by all sorts of exotic energy, which had
apparently had unusual side-effects and were being monitored to see if those side-effects were
harmful. This was according to Sue herself, but Lex was wondered.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted.

"Planning to start a crèche, Lex?"

Lex looked up at his father's sardonic tone and gave him a flat smile. "I think of it more as keeping
an eye on a few teenagers who I happen to like, dad. Count as friends, even. And since considering
what they've been through, I think they might need a little keeping an eye on. One, for instance,
lost his father and got him back in very short order. Something of a shock, needless to say." He
stood and went to pour himself some scotch. "Though I wouldn't expect you to understand that."

"I understand better than you would think, Lex," Lionel replied. "After all, I lost my own parents in
a fire."

"And started Luthorcorp with the life insurance money," Lex replied. "I'm sure you felt many
things when they died, but I somehow doubt that grief was one of them."

"You wound me, Lex."

"No, dad, I know you. There's a difference," Lex retorted. "I take it that this isn't a social call."

"No, it is not," Lionel said. "You, my son, are of an age when you should be granted greater
responsibility. A chance to test your limits. I'm putting you in charge of your own plant, starting in
the Fall."

"Where?" Lex asked.

"Somewhere you've been before," Lionel said. "Smallville."

"Smallville. As in, Smallville, Kansas," Lex said flatly. "Otherwise known as the back end of
beyond, the middle of nowhere and disaster magnet supreme."

"It's not that bad, Lex."

"Dad, its full of radioactive extraterrestrial meteor rocks which have an unknown degree of
mutagenic properties. It is very definitely that bad."

"Well you're going there, Lex," Lionel said. "Take it as a chance to prove yourself to me. It could
be the making of you."

He had no idea how true those words were.

OoOoO

Difficult familial discussions were, as it turned out, going around.

Clint finished his sparring session with Natasha and glanced over at Carol and Steve, who were
also sparring. Steve was teaching her how to get a handle on her enhanced abilities, doubtless. That
was fairly normal. What wasn't normal was the fact that Bucky, a.k.a. the Winter Soldier, a.k.a. his
actual fucking grandfather, was watching the two with narrowed eyes.

Casually, he walked towards the other man. To any ordinary observer, he appeared to be
completely casual, but underneath the façade, he was calculating distances, watching the other
man's hands, eyes and his posture. If the Soldier was on the verge of a relapse, he wanted every
moment he could get as an advantage.

Then the man glanced over at him, eyed him and chuckled quietly. "Relax," he said softly as Clint
closed with him. "I'm not relapsing."
"Then what are you doing, gramps?" Clint asked irreverently, and smirked as the other man
winced.

"You're awful. If I'd raised you…" He paused and grinned. "Well, you'd probably have turned out
worse, to be honest."

"Grandma wouldn't have let you," Clint said dryly.

"Probably not," Bucky admitted, before his gaze drifted over to Steve and Carol. "So, she hasn't
told him, then?"

Clint looked at him sharply.

"I've known about Steve's descendants for over fifty years," Bucky said. "One way or another. The
Red Room don't. Nor do HYDRA. Not last time I checked."

Clint nodded slowly. "She hasn't," he said.

Bucky kicked off from the wall. "Then we'd better do it," he said. "Because if we don't and she's as
much like Steve as I think she is, this will drag out forever. Besides," he added as an afterthought.
"Steve already suspects."

"It would be hard for him not to," Clint said wryly, falling into step with his grandfather. "Hey,
Steve!"

"Huh?" Steve said, turning and almost absently catching an opportunistic punch from Carol.

"We need to talk," Bucky said, his gaze settling meaningfully on Carol, who gulped.

"About what?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Shall I, or shall you?" Bucky asked Carol.

Carol grimaced, then shook her head. "Uh, Steve, Captain Rogers," she said. "You know how I've
got super soldier powers? And you've probably been wondering where they come from?"

"Yes," Steve said. "And I have. I assumed that it had something to do with the enhancement that
that mountain spirit gave you."

"It does," Carol said awkwardly. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Well… it kind of woke up what was already there," Carol said, then took a deep breath, visibly
steeling herself. "I inherited the serum from you. You're my great-grandpa."

"W-what?" Steve stammered.

"That's what the tests say," Clint said. "The kids had them done in Asgard, looked over by Frigga,
then repeated by Tony and Bruce down here. They're unequivocal."

"And from what I remember, Soviet intelligence reports said that from late January 1945 to June
that same year, Peggy was on leave in Britain with her family, ostensibly to recover from a wound
gained in taking down Schmidt's last big base," Bucky said. "And the family celebrated the birth of
a daughter in May 1945. VE Day, actually."
"How?" Steve asked feebly.

"Birds and the bees, Steve," Bucky said dryly. "Do we really need to explain them to you?"

Steve was too stunned to glare.

"Grandma was twenty something when she had Uncle Jack," Carol said, watching Steve carefully.
"Highschool sweetheart or something like that."

"He's in his early forties?" Steve asked, vaguely surprised. He still looked out of it.

"He went grey early," Carol explained. "And his daughter, cousin Sharon, is a SHIELD Agent
which he always jokes made it worse." She hummed thoughtfully. "He's still faster than guys half
his age. Stronger, too. Not exactly supersoldier, but tougher than average. And Grandma looks like
she's in her forties at the latest."

Bucky nodded. "The daughter," he asked. "How old is she?"

"Twenty two," Clint commented. "She's younger than she looks and went into SHIELD Academy
straight out of school. Did an Economics degree part time, somehow."

"I'll bet," Bucky said quietly, eyeing Carol. "And I'll also bet that you and she have always been a
little stronger, a little faster, a little tougher than your peers and a couple of years older than you,
even the boys. Always a little faster to heal, too, and, frankly, always developing earlier than the
rest."

"What are you getting at, Buck?" Steve asked.

"The formula's in her blood," Bucky explained. "I've seen it before, in the children of artificially
enhanced – and I mean genetically enhanced - superhumans. Most times, puberty jumpstarts it, that
or a lifethreatening situation. Sometimes though, it just lurks in the back pocket of your genetics,
playing a trick or two. In that case, it doesn't really do much. A little enhanced everything, even
down to fertility and the immune system, but nothing really noticeable." He shrugged. "Ageing up
probably kickstarted it."

Carol gave Steve an awkward half smile. "Well. Looks like I take after you, gramps," she said.

This seemed to snap Steve back to reality. He focused on Carol for a long moment, expression
unreadable. Then he looked away sharply. "Excuse me," he said curtly, and pushed past Clint,
Bucky and the newly arrived Tony, out the door.

"Cap?" Tony asked, frowning.

Bucky sighed, and turned to Carol who looked... well. Hurt didn't quite do it justice, but it was a
good start.

"It's nothing personal," he said. "Steve was raised Catholic. Both of us were, but he always took it
much more seriously than me." He grimaced. "And you could say that I've had a hard time keeping
the faith for the last few decades." He shook his head. "Anyway, his mom was a first generation
Irish immigrant and she was particularly religious, you see, because as a kid... well. Let's just say
that Steve should probably have died a couple of dozen times over. He had asthma, allergies, heart
palpitations, illness after illness. Me, I always thought he survived because he was too stubborn to
die, same way you are. But to be honest, I think he felt that he owed God for surviving all that."

"So?" Tony asked, his frown having deepened.

"So he picked up a lot of the Church's teachings. He never expected anyone else to follow them
that closely, but he always did," Bucky said. "Particularly the one about pre-marital sex." He
folded his arms. "And, on top of all that, Steve was pretty much mister chivalry from the
beginning. The thought that he knocked up the woman that he loved, then disappeared, leaving her
to have and raise the child herself, pretty much becoming the sort of guy that he always hated... it's
shaken him."

"What? That's bullshit," Tony said. "He was a Capsicle. She didn't know that she was pregnant, let
alone him."

Clint grunted his agreement.

"You know and I know," Bucky said. "But Steve doesn't." He glanced out the door. "So he's off
kicking his own ass, or close as he can get."

Tony wrinkled his nose, then turned to Carol. "Hey, kid. You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, plastering a smile on her face. "Fine."

Tony gave her a flat look, then, slowly, raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. I'm not. Happy?"

"No."

Tony nodded. "Excuse me," he said.

OoOoO

It did not take long for him to find Steve.

"So," Tony said.

"I don't want to talk about it," Steve said, working a punch bag, not even looking up.

"Tough," Tony said, holding the punch bag. While for most people, this would be helpful, Steve
stopped, not wanting to wind up breaking both the punch bag and Tony. "We're talking about it
now."

"Tony," Steve began.

"Look," Tony said, cutting across him. "I can't even begin to understand what this is like for you.
It's a massive shock. So no one's expecting you to be super granddad all of a sudden."

"Then what are they expecting?" Steve asked. "It's not a total surprise, Tony. When I saw her fight
at London, even before, when I heard about what the mountain did…"

"Part of you wondered," Tony said quietly.

Steve nodded. "The reality of it, though…" he said.

Tony nodded. "I can't blame you for that," he said. "But you can't just runaway and beat up punch
bags. You have a responsibility to that girl whether you like it or not and I can honestly not believe
that I am the one saying this to you, not the other way around."

"I know," Steve said. "It's just, when I was growing up, the Church…"
"Steve, I severely doubt that Jesus cares about one night stands, casual sex or pre-marital sex in
general," Tony cut in impatiently. "If you don't believe me, ask Thor and Loki, they actually know
the guy."

Steve sighed. "It's not just that, Tony," he said. "Slice it anyway you like, the fact is that I left
Peggy high and dry, pregnant and alone. Society today may not be too bothered about single
moms, but back then it was a very different story. I used to hate guys who did that. Turns out I'm
no better than they are."

"Yeah, that's bullshit," Tony said. "We both know that you had no way of knowing that Peggy was
pregnant. Hell, she didn't even know. We also both know that you had no way of knowing that you
would spend several decades as a Capsicle. Furthermore, we both know that if you had been there,
you'd have married Peggy and raised lots of very pretty, very noble and very badass babies
together. So get the fuck over yourself. Self-loathing is not a good look, take it from someone
who's seen it in the mirror."

"I chose to sleep with Peggy," Steve said doggedly. "It was my choice and -"

"It was hers too," Tony said, cutting him off again. "Takes two to tango, Steve, and Peggy was a
woman more than capable of making her own choices and giving zero fucks about what other
people thought. Hell, she specialised in it, you know that better than I do. If it makes your inner
masochist feel better, she dealt with the consequences then, you're dealing with them now, with
interest."

Steve remained unconvinced, so Tony changed tack.

"Steve: that night you had with Peggy, it gave the world two of SHIELD's best Agents, a decorated
Air Force General and a genuine superhero, all of which also happen to be great people. Between
them, they have saved more lives than I can count. I'm not a philosopher, but I don't think that so
much good could come out of something bad," he said. "Also…"

He took a deep breath. "You're a good person, Steve. Maybe the best, morally speaking, that I have
ever and will ever know. Sometimes, it's difficult to believe that you're real. Sometimes, it's
difficult to be around you, knowing that it's impossible to measure up - and don't you fucking dare
apologise for that. Most times, though, it's kind of inspiring, to know that people really can be that
good. Your one big problem, though, is you seem to think that you should try and be perfect.
You're not. No one expects you to be. Everyone fucks up now and then, and in your case, it turned
out pretty fucking well. And right now, everyone accepts that there's an adjustment period. But at
the very least, you owe her great-granddaughter the time of the damn day, because reading between
the lines, she hasn't had many people do that for her. And speaking as someone whose own dad
was distant to say the least, it's kind of shitty. You're better than that."

Steve took a deep breath, and nodded. "You're right," he said.

The resultant meeting of generations was naturally awkward.

"So," Steve said, before lapsing into silence.

"So?" Carol asked helpfully.

"I…" Steve began, then sighed. "Look," he said. "I never had much in the way of family. My dad
was killed by complications from mustard gas poisoning when I was little. My mom was a nurse in
a TB ward. She got hit, couldn't shake it. I never had any older or younger siblings. The closest
thing I had to family was Bucky. And while I know that chronologically speaking, I'm close to
ninety – as Tony loves to remind me – in terms of biology and experience, I'm in my late twenties.
Back in the forties, people would have expected me to have a kid or two by now. But…"

"You didn't see kids, grand-kids and great-grand-kids coming," Carol said, moving to get up.
"Look, I get it, if you don't want –"

"No."

It was one word. Not even a particularly loud word. But even so, it stopped Carol cold.

"I'm not saying that I don't want anything to do with you, god no," Steve said, shaking his head.
"Far from it. I always wanted kids. Never thought I'd have them, of course, back when I was a
skinny little kid with more diseases than you could shake a stick at. I didn't think I'd live that long,
let alone that any woman would look twice at me. The serum changed things, though. For one
thing, my life expectancy went up. And sometimes, back in the war, I used to dream of having kids.
With Peggy. But after I came out of the ice… I felt like that part of my life, that opportunity, had
passed me by." He sighed. "Now I've found out that it did and it didn't, if you follow me. And
that's a lot to take in. I need to take some time, to think and get used to it."

A number of expressions flickered across Carol's face. Then, she shrugged and stood up. "I
figured," she said shortly. "I've got stuff to deal with too, so, you know. See you around."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but didn't really have the words. And in any case, by the
time he had even the beginnings of an apology, an explanation, anything, she was gone.

OoOoO

"Director."

"Minister," Fury replied, turning to his Chinese counterpart. "You wanted a word?"

"Yes," the Minister said. "In short, my superiors are worried."

"After a scare like we just had, I really cannot blame them," Fury replied.

"Yes, Director, but it goes beyond that," the Minister replied. "Look at the population of
superpowered beings. What do you see?"

"Good guys, bad guys and one hell of a lot of somewhere in between guys," Fury said.

"Yes. And the most powerful of all three are concentrated in the West," the Minister said.

"Most powerful that we know of," Fury corrected. "But I see your point. They want to know why?"

"Yes," the Minister said. "The scientists are at work trying to discover the reasons, but... I felt that
SHIELD, which has watched and protected the world for much of these last seven decades, might
have some insight to offer."

"It isn't something that I've ever looked into," Fury admitted. "But if I had to guess, in the US,
some of it's because we succeeded in creating a superhero with Captain America and we got a taste
for them. The most obvious by-product of that little obsession is the Hulk, but there are other, less
obvious ones. Plus, the Allies were pretty badly rattled by HYDRA's tech and Grindelwald, and
then the Winter Soldier, so that meant that supersoldiers were the order of the day. On a wider
level, I think it's because we're an immigrant nation, much though certain political factions would
like to deny it. Beyond that, there's the culture of individualism - people are more likely to want to
stand out, so if they get powers, they're more likely to show them off." He shrugged. "Of course,
that last part is armchair philosophy. All of it's speculation, really."

"Yet it holds together well enough," the Minister murmured. "Interesting. And Europe?"

"Again, this is speculation. But on a genetic level, the British Isles is probably the key contributor.
It's dimensional next door neighbour is Avalon. It's closely tied to the Nevernever, lies right on top
of what might well be the wellspring of Earth's magic and is chock full of leylines," Fury said.
"Hence the disproportionate number of powerful magic users it produces and the HQ of the White
Council being situated there." He paused. "Also, we believe that magic has mutagenic properties,
boosting the likelihood of X-Gene manifestation both in the British Isles and in the US. After all,
something like a third of the US population has roots in the British Isles. Beyond that, even if it
doesn't mutate, well. Let's just say that the number of fairy tale monsters roaming what is a fairly
small area encourages natural selection."

"And the rest of Europe?"

"Overspill of the magic, with possible influence from the number of plagues, famines and, of
course, the amount of time Europeans seem to spend killing each other probably brought out some
traits faster than others," Fury said.

"Adapt to survive."

"Exactly. That, plus the fact that the Asgardians, Avalonians, Frost Giants, Olympians and their
allies used to spend a lot of time in Europe, particularly Britain and northern Europe, occasionally
fighting wars," Fury said. "And if there's one thing that armies do well, especially in a relatively
confined space..."

The Minister snorted. "Yes. The birth rate does tend to spike wherever armies go, doesn't it?" he
observed. "So, supersoldier projects, a taste for heroes, magic, ad hoc genetic mixing and natural
selection, individualism and a few gifts, shall we say, from the gods, along with who knows how
many others." He nodded thoughtfully. "Any one factor might not bear noticeable fruit, but many
put together... yes. I can see it."

"I'd advise closer study, though," Fury said. "Into the phenomenon in general. There's always the
chance that I'm wrong."

"I intended to do that anyway, Director," the Minister replied. "And I most certainly do not intend
to allow the copying of the mistakes of Project Pegasus."

"Thank God for that," Fury muttered. "You lot are going for supersoldiers, then?"

"Under the circumstances, can you blame us?" the Minister replied, echoing Fury's earlier
comment. "Leaving all else aside, I've heard about the Ultimates project."

"Not really," Fury admitted. "And the Ultimates isn't going anywhere."

"Yet."

Fury grimaced. It was true. There was only so much he could do to stonewall that particular
endeavour, especially after HYDRA's renaissance and the Battle of London. And then there were
the things that were stirring in Russia and its environs, things that had not stirred for decades.
Beyond all that, with tech and the superpowered population exploding, it wouldn't be too long
before someone in Washington managed to scrape together a team to do their dirty work. And so
would begin the arms race that Strange had warned him against.
This, he thought, would require some thinking.

"Minister?"

"Yes?"

"Keep an eye on Russia," Fury said. "We've got good intel that the Red Room is active again. And
they're recruiting."

The Minister froze, then swore extensively in Mandarin. Fury was not surprised. Contrary to
popular belief, the Soviet Union and China had not been even close to friendly for much of the
Cold War. This was something that the Red Room had reflected and, well… the enemy of my
enemy. It was a possibility worth exploring.

"If this is true," he said eventually, voice soft. "Our trials have only just begun."

"Yeah, that was my reaction, more or less," Fury said grimly. "Have I answered your questions,
Minister?" he asked.

"And many besides," the Minister replied, seeming to be deep in thought and with good reason. "It
was a pleasure working with you, Director."

"And you, Minister. Go well."

"The same to you, Director."

OoOoO

Other discussions were of similar import. Namely, when Director Fury and the Avengers, among
others, gathered for a very special chat.

"Doctor Strange," Fury said. "I think it's time that we had a little discussion."

"Indeed," Thor said, expression grim.

Strange cocked an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About your involvement," Fury said. "Or lack of it."

"He's right," Wanda said. "With your knowledge and your power, you could have ended this
conflict before it began."

"I could," Strange said. Then, he began to quote.

"For want of a nail the shoe was lost;

For want of a shoe the horse was lost;

For want of a horse the battle was lost;

For the failure of battle the kingdom was lost—

All for the want of a horse-shoe nail."

Once he was done, he looked around. "Tell me, all of you: which do you think would have been
more helpful? My acting as a knight on the field of battle, where I would do no more good than
anyone else, or by acting as a travelling blacksmith, there to replace the nail and reattach the shoe
and thereby change the course of destiny?"

"That might be so," Fury said. "But I think we were missing a pretty big nail or two. Like
knowledge of the timing of HYDRA's theft of the Darkhold, or of their location. If we knew those
two things, we'd have cleaned this problem up a long time ago."

"Yes," Strange said. "You would have. You would have crushed HYDRA in short order; another
comprehensive victory for the Avengers. You would have won the battle but lost the war. Arnim
Zola would have slipped through your grasp, Baron Zemo as well, their resources intact. Lucius
Malfoy would have escaped with hands suspiciously clean, free to foment trouble with his
reputation untarnished. Gravemoss would have likewise slipped away to the darker parts of the
world, to the places where SHIELD's writ does not hold true and caused death and destruction on
an untold scale for years on end. And HYDRA's infestation of SHIELD would have gone
unnoticed saved by a few and entirely unproven, while secrets like the Dreadnought would have
remained in the shadows. And you would have remained complacent, certain that nothing could
challenge your might, and entirely unprepared for the challenges ahead."

He looked around at them. "HYDRA needed to be drawn from the shadows into the open, like a
serpent from its lair or poison from a wound, to demonstrate to the governments of the world and
the general public that it is not just superpowered people or aliens that are a threat to them -
ordinary men and women with no powers at all can be just as bad and those are the sort who form
the bulk of HYDRA's forces. They also needed to be defeated in such a comprehensive fashion that
they will never again possess such a threat and to make the people of Earth understand that the
Avengers are not merely superhuman policemen, but a standard to rally around, a symbol of
defiance to all who would threaten this world, to make Earth once more believe in heroes, to accept
their freely offered protection."

"You're sure of that?" Clint asked, eyebrow raised.

"They will," Strange said. "The subconscious remembers and it is the subconscious that needs to
remember." He turned. "Furthermore, before now, the superhuman community was only vaguely
linked. Now, HYDRA is exposed and all but destroyed, while Gravemoss has fled these realms and
the Darkhold is returned. Now, the Phoenix has been forced to make explicit her involvement and
teach the dark creatures of this world to beware. Now, the X-Men and the Avengers are bonded
tighter than ever before via realised ties of blood. And that is just the tip of the iceberg."

"Please," Loki said. "Elaborate."

"Very well," Strange said. "Namor has returned to the surface world for the first time in over forty
years, and as its ally rather than its enemy for the first time in over sixty. Wakanda has been forced
to open up to the outside world and is under a ruler who will engage with it, one who after a harsh
lesson or two will grow from a complacent cub to a powerful panther indeed. MI13 is a force to be
reckoned with, possessed of a powerful superhuman defence force under a leader who knows how
to weld the supernatural and the mundane, a proactive force that gains ground where the largely
impotent and corrupt Ministry cedes it and the likes of MI6 have lost it due to losses and being
incapable of dealing with HYDRA, thereby bypassing years of transition as the slow collective
mind of government came to realise that a new form of defence was required. The secret services
of various nations have gained a taste for working together in the face of a common adversary - it is
not a taste they will immediately seek out, but it is one that they will not be averse to trying again.
In addition, their losses mean that a new generation, savvy to the supernatural, will take the place
of an older one, more conservative and sceptical."
He paced.

"In the meantime, Harry is battle-proven and battle-hardened, his psychic powers well developed
when otherwise they would have been embryonic, as well as having formed a core of friends, the
core of the next generation of Avengers, who will follow him into any place and any battle.
Without the attack of Gravemoss' agents on Harry, Diana and Uhtred, one friendship would have
remained little more than an acquaintanceship and another might never have formed. Without
HYDRA's attack on Bobby Drake in the Rockies, they would never have discovered their full
potential or learned the unforgiving lessons of battle," he said. "In addition, Bobby would likely not
have come to the attention of Professor Xavier until something permanent and tragic happened
between him and his brother, likely denying the world a truly great hero. Wanda equally would not
have returned to the field of battle, nor taken an apprentice, let alone one of such talent and skill, a
Starborn who is by his very nature perfectly suited to the role. One under his wing, the new Great
Detective, will now be exposed to wider horizons and others like him, and he will grow into his
true potential. Speaking of returning to the fray, Sean Cassidy, Alexander Summers, John
Constantine, Logan, Mar-Vell, the Flamels and Magneto, all are now engaged and active in the
world again when they would not otherwise have been, or working with others in ways that they
would not otherwise have done. Betsy Braddock would not have joined the fray, developing her
true potential, were it not for MI13's drastic loss of personnel, Wisdom's ascension to the
Directorship and MI6's near obliteration. Lex Luthor would come ever closer to becoming a
monster fit to make the world tremble. The Fantastic Four would not even be an idea."

"Fantastic Four?" Natasha asked.

Strange smiled. "Classified," he said.

Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"They will come about in time," Strange said. "And Lady Braddock, Mister Dresden and Mister
Wayne not the only ones to realise their true potential. Jean Grey now no longer takes baby steps
with her powers, understandably but unwisely coddled by Charles until they took a quantum leap
she is not ready for. Instead, she is aware of her true strength, Harry likewise, and as a result both
have the capacity to control it. Mister Worthington has come to accept the reality of the devastating
capabilities of his wings after years of fearing the ghost of it, meaning that he is now that much
closer to controlling them. And the Winter Soldier has been returned to his true self where
otherwise he would have fallen through the cracks. I could honestly go on, at length. But..."

He looked at them all. "In short, bonds of trust that would otherwise take years to build or rebuild
were forged, or reforged, in an instant, factions that otherwise would be suspicious of each other
were united. And heroes, forged in the fires of battle, were born."

"So what you're saying is that this was all, what, was meant to be training?" Steve asked,
incredulous.

"Trial by fire," Loki said.

"Trial by battle," Thor said.

"And trial by ordeal," Bruce said. "All rolled into one."

"Yes," Strange said. "Great men and women are forged in fire. It is the privilege of lesser men to
light the flame."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were implying you enjoyed it," Fury said.
"Pitting my wits against several evil schemers with mixed goals and an Elder God whose very
existence in this reality could undo it, with everything to play for and not an inch of room for
error?" Strange asked. He shrugged. "I'll admit, it's exhilarating, the same way battle is
exhilarating. However, if it could have been another, less painful way, I would have done it. But
that is not an option."

"Explain why, in five words or less," Tony said harshly.

"Try three: Thanos is coming."

There was dead silence.

"Thanos," Loki said carefully.

"Yes. Not now, not for at least half a dozen years to come, but he is coming nevertheless," Strange
said. "In the interim, Earth will face other threats, threats you need to be ready for, threats you
need to neutralise before Thanos comes. HYDRA's war and Chthon's brief return have shaken
things up. The last time the Darkhold exerted its influence on the Earth in such a fashion was
during the Fall of Atlantis, which led to millennia of turmoil. While such a disaster was averted,
things have been stirred up, dark things, dark creatures and shadowy groups who would take
advantage of the raw materials of the new Heroic Age."

"Those being?" Steve asked.

"People," Clint said grimly. "He's taking about superhumans."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Natasha observed.

"Yes," Strange said. "You and those who would be your successors need to raise the Avengers
banner high, to be a beacon of light, an example to the next generation, something that transcends
national interests, religions and petty geo-politics. There will be a lot of darkness to come, as those
groups and dark entities, mystical and mundane alike, jockeying for power. You need to be ready
for them." He turned to Fury. "Nicholas, the Young Avengers Initiative - you need it ready within a
year."

"Speaking of Young Avengers," Thor said. "What about my son? You have let him go through
such trials and torments, ones that you could have averted."

"He made his choices freely," Strange said. "He made the choices that he always would have done.
What I have done is ensure that he will survive to make more of them."

"The Dursleys were no choice of his," Thor said. "Nor was remaining there: Albus knew nothing of
the Grey family, but you did. Why did you not intervene?"

"Because it is the Grey blood in him that attracted the creature that kept him at Privet Drive,
monitoring his development as part of a grand experiment," Strange said. "To place Harry with the
Grey family would be to gift Jean Grey right into the clutches of that same creature. He has caused
that family enough hurt without my enabling him to add to it."

Thor subsided, unhappy but aware of Strange's logic. Fury, meanwhile, was giving Strange a very
long, calculating look. Strange ignored him, looking around at the Avengers and at Wanda.

"I do not pretend to be a saint," he said. "Wanda knows this, as should others among you. First and
foremost, I am a doctor, which means that I must make difficult decisions, because I cannot save
everyone and I would doom you all if I tried. So I save who I can, I do what I can, to make Earth
better able to defend itself, to make it ready for the battles to come. If I must sacrifice a finger to
save a hand, hand to save an arm, an arm to save a body, I will. I do not always do what is morally
right because I do not have that luxury. Instead, I do what is necessary, necessary to protect and
ready you all, and this incalculably precious little blue marble of a planet. And I shall not apologise
for it."

There was a long silence as those present digested this. Then, Steve spoke. "Can we trust you?" he
asked.

Strange was silent for a long time. "We have the same aims, the same goals," he said. "Much like
you, Captain, I first began to act because I was sick of seeing good people die, because some
bullies must be challenged, because doing nothing was unconscionable. My methods, you might
dispute and hold in suspicion. But you can trust my intentions to the end of time itself."

And that, in the end, was that.

OoOoO

Harry, meanwhile, was happily ignorant of most of this. For once in his life, he was able to relax
and simply be a teenage boy, to enjoy life. Having died and been resurrected, invaded a HYDRA
base with a number of friends to free a good half of the Avengers, engaged Gravemoss and any
number of deadly foes, then banished an Elder God from his mind in less than a week, it was
generally agreed that he had earned a rest and time away from trouble and ominous portents. Both,
however, tended to find him.

He had returned to Hogwarts to collect his things – and apologise to the castle for blowing up half
of it while possessed by the Phoenix/his mother – and having rounded everything up, was
telekinetically guiding his trunk down stairs. As he was about to make his way into the entrance
hall, he nearly walked straight into Professor Trelawney. "Sorry," he said, rather startled. He'd
never seen Trelawney outside of her usual attic classroom haunt and had been half-convinced that
she never left it.

"Oh, it's quite all right, my dear," Trelawney said, in her usual misty voice. "The Inner Eye
informed me that we would encounter one another."

"Is that right, Professor?" Harry asked, carefully squelching his considerable scepticism. Just
because Trelawney had made one correct prophecy – which, he noted with a flash of resentment,
had wound up making his life a misery – it didn't mean that she was usually right. Indeed, her only
discernible talent seemed to be a knack for pronouncing capitalised letters.

Then again, a treacherous little thought added, those tarot cards of hers and their predictions…
they'd started coming true. For instance, there'd been a happy reunion, both with Jean and with his
mother, he'd charged into his first fight with Daken and been made to pay for it and he'd certainly
stood in judgement. Others had come true too.

"Indeed," Trelawney began, then stopped, her eyes glazing over.

"Professor?" Harry asked.

Trelawney began to speak again. But this time, it was in a harsh voice not her own.

"A great evil has passed from the world, but other terrors seek to take its place. The traitor has
fallen, and from his flesh and bone, the Dark Lord has been reborn. He has returned, greater and
more terrible than ever before, and now he seeks the means to become greater and more terrible
still."

"Right," Harry said slowly, turning away. But before he went more than step, Trewlawney's bony
hand shot out and grabbed, fingers clamping shut like a vice.

"He is only the first. I see others, lurking in the shadows. A room, the walls dripping with blood,
and within it, the Ageless Kingmaker, a Thief with a Thousand Faces. A Lord of Blood, seeking to
break the seal of the dawn. The King of the Wild, seeking vengeance. The Queen of Darkness,
seeking power that was never hers. And beyond them all, something ancient beyond telling
awakens. Embers long banked now burn again. Welcomed by fools, the twisted flame spreads
unchecked once more, consuming all."

Harry didn't pull away now, positively transfixed.

"But as Twilight falls, Dawn shall rise," Trewlawney continued. "The brightest shiner, the
Phoenixborn, he who rises from the ash, grows in Winter's shadow. He is one of three, always
three, and a sword of fire waits for his hand. He shall find the lost, rallying them to him. One, a
beacon in an ocean of fallen stars, that waits to be lit. Another, a hound in chains, that waits to
break free. A third, a memory in a cocoon of frozen time. Together, they shall herald the coming of
the Heroic Age. But beware: for power a price must be paid and the scales must be balanced.
Victory cannot come without loss and life can only be bought with life. All the while, another
approaches."

Somehow, the room seemed to grow darker, the temperature dropping, and a note of fear entered
Trewlawney's strange, hoarse voice.

"From beyond the stars he comes, he whose name is death. He searches for the Six, the Infinite
Six, and he shall not be denied." Her eyes met Harry's, apparently boring into his very soul. "He
must face his opposite, for only then shall he face his equal."

Harry watched her carefully, honestly unnerved. Professor Trelawney, misty, useless fraud with a
fondness for tacky jewellery and incense, had just… well, he wasn't sure what had happened. But it
sounded unnervingly like another prophecy.

Trouble, it seemed, wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

OoOoO

But it wasn't all there was to life.

"So..." Carol said. "You're basically Luke Skywalker."

"What?"

"Oh come on: kid from apparently ordinary background discovers truths about his dad and gets
supernatural powers, then saves the day," Carol said.

"That's pretty much every book ever," Harry said, before sighing. "And my life."

"There's worse things for your life to be," Carol pointed out. "Besides: your psychic stuff basically
makes you a Jedi."

Harry eyed her. "I'm not a Jedi."

"You totally are."

 "I'm not."

"Look into your heart, Harry, you know it to be true!"

"You've got lots of these jokes, don't you?"

"A million and one of 'em."

"And you're going to use them for how long?"

Carol pretended to think. "Hmm... how does basically forever sound?"

"Why are we friends?" Harry asked.

"Because we're both weird and we kick butt," Carol said, as if this was the most obvious thing in
the world. "And if we weren't, you might go all Dark Side."

"True," Harry said. "And seriously, I'm not a Jedi."

"Keep telling yourself that, Padawan."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I'm going to sit your royal ass in front of a tv with the box set of the films and a bowl
of popcorn," Carol said firmly.

Harry smiled, his first genuinely carefree smile for what felt like a very long time. "I can live with
that," he said.

End Notes

Okay, so I was originally posting chapters intermittently, editing them to suit, when Real
Life and other commitments don't butt in. Now, I'm importing them more or less wholesale
from my account on fanfiction dot net - they might be a little polished and smartened up,
but a lot of this was written about 7 years ago. Not only have I improved significantly as a
writer, if I was writing it now, I would do a lot of things differently. Such is life.

Important notice – do not try and figure out the plot by:

First, considering what you know of the Wizarding and Marvel worlds. Yes, there will be
many things that are familiar. The core characters are the same. The older, more
recognisable names will be too.

But I will be drawing from both obscure canon and my own imagination to put a unique
spin on matters, one that will become more and more obvious as time goes by.

Characters will not go down the paths you expect. This is my story, not merely a retelling of
what has gone before. To quote Captain Jack Harkness, ‘This is when everything changes’.

Second, comparing the respective power levels of Marvel characters and Wizards. It is very
emphatically not going to be a simple case of Top Trumps. Though it seems surprising
now, when everything is warm, fluffy and nice, the good guys won’t always win. The bad
 guys, the rogues’ gallery, are not going to be confined to the Wizarding World by any
stretch of the imagination.

And the war against Voldemort is, for various reasons, not simply going to be a case of the
Avengers rolling straight over him. Yes, it will be very different from canon. And yes, in
many ways it will be harder. This is not going to be a simple moral tale of the good guys
always winning, no matter how it seems at first. Far from it. There will be suffering, there
will be pain, there will be grief and by god there will be angst. There will also be hope, joy,
love and laughter. This story will not be just one thing. It will be many things, woven
together, to form something greater.

So sit down, buckle up and hold onto your hats, people. It’s going to be one hell of a ride.

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