Not the Fools' Weapon
Or, how Thor was sent to Midgard over the matter of a strange energy outburst and ended up fighting a Wizarding War
Disclaimer: It should be painfully obvious that I don't own Harry Potter or any of the Marvel Cinematic Universe
A/N: Contains minimal references to Thor: Tales of Asgard, but you don't need to have watched that to understand.
The counterpart to this little story, titled Welcome to Midgard and written by the amazing of untold secrets, is essentially the companion story of how Loki found his way to Hogwarts.
Part I: Arriving, acclimating, and ally-making
The gleaming halls of Asgard were magnificent in the waning light, the sunset floating off the shining metropolis like beams of spun gold. Thor kneeled, grim-faced before the throne upon which the All-Father sat. There was a solemn silence that descended in the room; Odin's face stoic, Thor's mouth twisted in a grimace and Frigga sitting beside her husband, impassive expression that contradicted her wet eyes.
Nothing had been the same since Loki left. There was this twisting, gnarled and gaping hole where his presence had once been. It would have been difficult to imagine missing his sharp remarks or teasing smiles back before everything had been shot to Hel but Thor could feel it now, the disparaging knife in his heart at his brother's absence.
"What it is you wish me do, father?" he intoned, glancing up at Odin's lined and harrowed face. His father hadn't said a word since that fateful day on the bifrost, hadn't even made a mention that something was wrong. Thor supposed this was how he coped.
Odin shifted in the throne. "Heimdall tells me there had been a disturbance in the roots of the world tree."
"Truly?" Thor's mouth twisted in a scowl, his fist tightening around Mjolnir's handle. "What could have caused such a thing?"
The All-Father's glare was fierce. "Think boy; what else could it be?"
The realization came crashing upon him like the Ocean's thunderous waves and something twisted painfully in his gut. "Loki," Thor whispered, his voice hoarse. He bowed his head, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.
"His…," Odin broke off, a growl catching deep in his throat before composing himself, "stunt on the bifrost has cost us dearly."
Thor remained silent. He still remembered the way Odin had looked at his brother, the way Odin had shaken his head and said, 'No' with that same impassive and disappointed look. He wondered sometimes, if Loki would've let go if Odin had said something other than that one fateful word before he remember that it would do him no good to linger on the past.
He turned his gaze and attention back onto Odin. His Father suddenly looked much older than he had ever before, his face gaunt and stretched. Odin heaved a sigh. "Thor, you would do well to uphold your duties. The energy surge has concentrated on Midgard and its people are ill-prepared for such a phenomenon." Odin narrowed his eye, and Thor resisted the urge to shiver, glare back or some combination of the two. "I would have you visit the world of the Midgardians, Thor, since you happen to be so fond of them."
Thor winced. The comment stung, as if in some way Odin was blaming him (as he should) for the events that had occurred. "I will do as the All-Father commands," he said instead, ducking his head and stifling the enraged roar that threatened to escape. "When will you have me go?"
"The sooner the better. Midgard is in potential danger," Odin said and it was as much of a dismissal as it sounded.
Thor rose, bowing once before the All-Father and once before Frigga, and started for the door.
"Don't presume to visit your… friend, Thor," Odin called after him. "You are to have no distractions, understand me?"
He didn't turn, only nodded jerkily and stalked to his quarters, Mjolnir thrumming dangerously in his hand. 'Don't visit Jane,' Odin should've said instead and made it all the plainer still that he did not approve of her. Thor grit his teeth, thinking of Jane's smile when she looked to the stars and wondering just when he'd get to see her again. (He'd made a promise after all) Perhaps he could convince Heimdall to look away for a few chance seconds.
Suddenly, the gleaming golden halls of Asgard weren't so appealing anymore. Asgard was nothing but shining, nothing but surface appearances and bluster; Thor wasn't quite sure that he wanted that anymore.
He clutched Mjolnir tighter still and made his way out of the grand hall.
Outside, the night was cool and the stars bright. Funny, he couldn't see the night sky without thoughts of Jane flooding his mind any longer. Thor was not usually a sentimental man, but the way that this one human – someone who had less than a century in this world, someone who had so little time to do anything at all – could look to the sky with such wonder captivated him.
The bifrost was shimmering like the rest of Asgard but not in the golden, cold, and solemn way, but with a glimmer to it that bespoke of magic. Thor had often wondered how his bro – how Loki could've spent his whole life with naught but magic on his side (didn't he appreciate the warrior's way; the feeling of flesh against your weapon and a thrill coursing through your veins?), but now he supposed he could understand the appeal of something as ancient and amazing as the bifrost.
He shook his head and walked with heavy steps towards Heimdall – perhaps he was thinking too deeply into things after all.
"Heimdall!" he cried, voice reverberating in the still air. "I require your assistance!"
Heimdall loomed out of the darkness, shining helm towering over even Thor, sword clutched in his hand like a beacon in the darkest of night. "What is it, son of Odin?"
Thor took a step forward. "My father wishes for me to return to Midgard."
"Does he wish the impossible?" Heimdall raised a hand to gesture at the splintered edge of the bifrost around them. An unspoken word passed between the two of them and Heimdall didn't mention the cause.
Thor clenched his jaw. "My father," he repeated, "wishes for me to return to Midgard."
Heimdall heaved a sigh. "If you have a way of making that possible, I would like to know."
There was a pause as Thor stood his ground, eyes narrowed and fingers digging into his palm. Heimdall did not waver, the long sword still clutched in his hand as he eyed Thor with something unreadable in his eyes.
At last, the gate-keeper waved a hand for Thor to step within the observatory. "There is a way, but you must be prepared for it, son of Odin."
Thor raised an eyebrow and followed Heimdall into the large golden observatory. "Who do you take me for, Heimall? Am I so craven?"
Heimdall's expression didn't change but a lesser man would be rolling his eyes. "Are you prepared for the possibility that you may not return?"
His first instinct was to scoff, to say that there was nothing mighty Thor could not do. Then he remembered Odin's punishment, still so recent and fresh in his mind, and the way he felt so powerless when stuck on Midgard with nothing more than the clothes on his back and what little wits he had left. The humans advanced quickly, growing in as little as a few thousand years, leaving him baffled in the wake of their electronic devices and tall looming buildings.
It was slightly terrifying.
But when the All-Father commands it, so must the son(s) follow.
Thor nodded grimly. "I am not afraid of the human's world, Heimdall."
Heimdall seemed to regard him with a glimmer of new respect in his eyes or perhaps it was pity. "Then follow me." He gestured towards the raised dais in the middle of the room.
Thor stepped on, trying not to let the apprehension show on his face.
Later, he would describe the sensation much like he described the punishment Odin had given him, a whirlwind of confusion and electricity and a bubbling fear that rested in the pit of his stomach. Normally, travel by the bifrost was pleasant, like melting away in a spring after a day's hard work. Now, it felt like he was being squeezed in a tube – shoved and pulled from all directions, lungs compressed to the point where he could barely breathe – until finally landing haphazardly on the other end.
He landed in the middle of a strange, twisted street. The buildings were old and crumbling, some falling into each other in disrepair. Thor glanced around him and found no humans meandering the roads as he expected; the entire area seemed deserted. He frowned, turning around in a slow circle as he surveyed his surroundings. The night was dark and full of tension; Thor could feel the bifrost's latent energy humming in the sticky humidity of summer's air. The nearest building was styled in a way that was different from the ones he had become almost accustomed to on Midgard. It was made of wood and barely three stories high, lopsided in a way that did not look at all possible. Thor narrowed his eyes and stalked towards the door.
Inside, it looked to be some sort of bar, not quite so different than those he frequented back on Asgard. The patrons... were not unlike those at Asgard either, come to think of it. Clothing on Midgard was nondescript, plain in ways that Asgardian garb wasn't, but these people did not dress like the average Midgardian. When he had come back into his inheritance with Jane, he had felt out of place in the heavy armor and scarlet cloak. Now, he barely stood out in Asgardian leathers amongst the multicoloured cloaks and robes of these strange humans.
How odd.
Thor frowned (and that seemed to be the perpetual state of his expression now) and walked up to the barman. "Do you serve ale here, my fine man?"
The barman looked up. "Oh, o'course, sir."
"A pint then."
The barman nodded and turned to the cups in the back. Thor sat down at the nearest table.
When the drink came, Thor emptied half of it and slammed his hand down on the table. Some of the patrons in the half-empty bar turned to look before averting their gaze. That was the other strange thing, the few people that were present were skittish, eyes darting around the room fearfully and hoods pulled up high. Thor was not often called an intuitive man, but he had seen enough combat to know the look of a country at war and these people had it.
There was clearly something wrong and damn it all if it didn't have to do with the strange energy outburst that Odin had spoken of.
"Excuse me," he called, walking back up to the barman. The old man gave him a strange look. "Who is your master of arms here, sir?" Evidently, Midgardian culture had changed greatly over the past couple of years because the barman merely gave him another strange look. Thor hadn't realized how different things were, even after his brief stint on Earth a couple of weeks ago. "Who should I speak to concerning matters of this area's security?" Thor tried to word his question in a way that hopefully did not sound too strange.
The strange look did not subside but the barman opened his mouth to answer, "Eh, you'd wan t'speak t'Albus Dumbledore then."
"And how can I contact this Albus Dumbledore?"
"Jus send 'im an owl, I reckon," the barman said, "or go up t'Hogwarts yourself."
Thor nodded. "Thank you good sir."
Walking out of the bar, he wondered just who Albus Dumbledore was and where this... Hogwarts, was. He headed to the nearest inn to rest for the day and recuperate for the future. Perhaps contacting this Albus Dumbledore character would shed some light on whatever it was that terrorized these people.
A few days later, Thor had figured out (after spending another day just wandering the streets and observing the few people that meandered about) that this strange race of people communicated via owl. It was one of those customs that hadn't seemed to have changed since the last time he had visited Midgard althought Thor wondered why anyone would use an owl when ravens were smarted and eagles were faster. Still, it made more sense to him than Darcy's precious miniature devices.
He had sent a brief message through an owl to the man named Albus Dumbledore.
If anything, you could say that the Midgardians were quick to respond. No more than a day after he had sent the owl off, a knock sounded at the door to the inn where he was staying.
Albus Dumbledore was wearing bright clothing, a purple robe decorated with green stars, and his long white beard so so long that he tucked it into his belt. Any other man who was not used to the Wizarding world would've thrown him strange looks but Thor Odinson was not any man. In fact, to Thor, Albus Dumbledore's apparel was not that much stranger than those who sat on the high council in Asgard.
"Greetings!" Thor boomed as he opened the door. "Are you Albus Dumbledore, sir?"
The lavishly dressed man nodded, his blue eyes twinkling beneath the half-moon glasses. "I am. And you, sir?"
Thor grinned. "Thor Odinson of Asgard," he proclaimed before sobering and beckoning the man into his room. "If you are someone who holds power in this realm, I have much to tell you about your safety."
Albus Dumbledore had a strange look in his twinkling blue eyes as he stepped in. "I am, if I may say, of relative importance and have relative influence, yes."
"I come to you from another world," Thor began, forgetting for a second how close minded Midgardians were and how little they believed in the worlds beyond their own. He stopped, cutting himself off and surveying the man who stood before him. This time, he had landed in a part of Midgard that was almost familiar to him and perhaps had forgotten everything he recalled from his previous visit. Hopefully, that was not a grievious mistake.
Albus Dumbledore, fortunately for him, belonged to the rare group of men who did not sneer at things he did not recognize. "And does your world have advice for us?"
A sudden smile bloomed across Thor's face. "Indeed we do, good sir. Have you been experiencing strange surges in energy lately?"
"Nothing I've noticed; I'm afraid many of our resources lately have been focused on keeping Lord Voldemort at bay." A small frown appeared on the old man's face.
"Lord Voldemort?" The name was unfamiliar to Thor.
"If there was ever any doubt you weren't from our world, it is gone now," Albus Dumbledore muttered, then looked up. "Lord Voldemort is a serious threat to the Wizarding community. He has instigated a war that has most wizarding folk cowering at home. No doubt you've noticed the lack of wizards on the streets?"
Thor frowned. "Truly? Then he must be dealt with. Tell me more."
They spent the rest of the day talking of recent events and Thor finally got an understanding of why everyone he had come across lately had the skittish look of frightened deer in their eyes. They were all afraid to say his name, this Lord Voldemort, preferring the moniker of You-Know-Who. Inwardly, Thor admitted the genius of such an exotic sounding name – it easily struck fear into the hearts of the common people.
Albus explained the threat that Voldemort posed and Thor proposed battle strategies and offered information of the recent enegy surge that had flooding Midgard.
"Is it only concentrated in this area?" Albus asked, when Thor told him of the All-Father's warnings.
Thor nodded. "My father says that this area seems to have a peculiar affinity for Asgardian energy."
"Ah, then it must be the magical community." The comment spun the conversation into a study on the wizarding world. Thor could hardly believe his ears. And entire society based on magic and the waving around of wands as if they were wooden swords? Loki would've loved this, a small voice whispered from the back of his mind, but Thor pushed it away. It was no good to linger on the past.
When Albus's words ran dry, Thor sat silent.
"I would like to offer you my assistance in this matter," he said after a moment's hesitation, voice solemn. Thor Odinson was not a man who shyed away from danger, nor was he a mand who would deny a people in need. The All-Father had commanded, after all, that he protect Midgard from the threat of the energy surge and while that did not seem to be a forthcoming problem, there were other threats looming on the horizen. Lord Voldemort was apparently the breed of man who would go to the ends of the Earth for power and Thor didn't like the idea of the enemy having access to the surplus of Asgardian ambient energy.
Albus's eyes did not widen but they did shine with a sort of hardness in their icy blue depths. "Would you, Mr. Odinson?"
"My honour would not allow me to forsake you."
At last, a small smile grew on the old wizard's face. Albus's expression softened with the change. "Then we would be glad of your help, Thor. May I ask you a question?"
Thor inclined his head.
"In some parts of this world, not so far from the British Isles in fact, some men speak of a Thor and an Odin and of adventures in all the nine realms. Would these stories perhaps have some truth in them?" Albus's tone was light but there was something strange in the way he asked the question, his voice almost hungry.
"Perhaps," Thor agreed, "if indeed such stories have survived through the years since I have been on...," he hesitated, then decided that Albus Dumbledore might not be a trustworthy man but one he could trust, "Midgard."
Albus reached into his wide sleeve and pulled out a slip of paper. "Read it and when you have memorized the words, burn it," he instructed, handing it to Thor.
The Headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix is located at number 12 Grimmauld Place
Thor clenched the slip of paper in his fist and nodded.
"Then I will see you exactly a week from today, Mr. Odinson," Albus stated.
Thor nodded.
With another small smile and the prevailing twinkle in his eye, Albus Dumbledore stepped through the door and promptly disappeared.
Part II: Adventures, attacks and an alarming death
Number 12 Grimmauld Place was everything its name suggested. Thor stepped into the parlour, nose wrinkling slightly at the damp smell. His feet plodded on the rotting wooden boards, causing loud creaks to follow him whereever he stepped. The hall was empty.
Thor ventured furthur into the house, on the lookout for any of the residents.
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Albus appeared by his side. Thor did not allow himself to jump but his eyes still widened in shock.
Albus smiled. "I trust you found your way with ease?"
"Indeed I did," Thor replied, glancing around the house. "Is this your keep?"
"Is it where we conduct our business, yes," Albus explained, extending a hand to lead the way further inside. "At the moment, the Order is away. I haven't summoned them yet as of now." Albus turned his twinkling yet piercing gaze on Thor. "I intend to show you the ways of the wizarding world; I am certain you will be a great asset to us, Mr. Odinson."
If it had been Loki in my place, Thor thought grimly, he would not trust this man so readily. Still, Thor trusted his own judgement and his gut was telling him that there was danger on the horizen and Albus Dumbledore was a man who could - or at least had some inkling of how - to prevent it. "I am glad of that," he said instead, grinning broadly.
"Tell me," Albus began, "how much do you know of magic, Thor?"
Thor laughed then and the sound of it bounced throughout the old house, echoing through the halls. "We are old enemies."
He spent the next few days practicing with the strange wooden wand Albus had brought him. It was flimsy and short and Thor almost splintered it on many occasions. It wasn't easy, spells hitting the walls and leaving black scorched marks whenever he misaimed (which was often. Thor wasn't used to aiming so delicately, preferring to sweep his attacks and use his might.), but it was enlightening. He missed the solid feeling of Mjolnir in his hand, but knew that a weapon of such destruction in such a small and confined area was just asking for more trouble than the spells.
Still, Albus was patient and Thor found weaving magic and playing with spells to be far more enjoyable than he had once thought. Magic wasn't about waving the wand and saying a few words, it was about willing the things around you to come to life. Often times, he felt that same tugging sensation in his gut when intoning a spell as when he called lightning forth with Mjolnir.
(Perhaps Loki was right, his little brother with his sharp green eyes and sparks flying about his hands like a lifeline. Perhaps they were all wrong after all.)
Albus introduced him to Minerva a few weeks later, after he had gotten the basics of Midgard's strange magic under control. Minerva was truly a sight to behold as she tranfigured the old wooden desk in his room into a sleek honey badger, then a screeching eagle, next a slithering snake, and finally a roaring lion. Thor grinned and asked her to show him how it was done. Thor could appreciate the raw beauty in transforming one thing into another.
Still, his favourite branch of magic was the combat magic, bright bolts of fury that raced across the room whenever he so uttered a word. Such simple things, words were, yet they could do so much. After a week of training with Albus, Thor weighed the thin wooden stick in his hand and perhaps it was a bit more heavy with consequences. Mjolnir could hammer a man into submission, could strike him down with impunity and lighting, but could his trusty hammer ever kill a man dead on the spot? Could it cause a man to scream for hours and hours and lose his mind? Or control a man's will like controlling a pupper on a stringt? Mjolnir couldn't cast the Unforgivables and as soon as Albus explained them, Thor realized why they were titled as such.
Lupin came the day after and taught him the beasts.
Then Diggles, Sinestra, Jones.
Each one was introduced to him and taught of the runes (which were familiar letters, at least) and of divination and hexes and curses and potions. The only one who stayed a good distance away from him and eyed him with a strange sort of contempt was Severus Snap but Thor paid the man no mind. (In truth, whenever Snape opened his mouth it was to snap off some quick retort and that reminded him far too easily of his brother.) The children came too and eyed him strangely until he laughed and joined them in their jests. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was soon brightened with the sound of laughter. He listened to it and thought it the strange sort of laughter that rang most true in the midst of a war.
Thor kept returning to combat magic and soon proved himself adept at it. Albus smiled and told him he learnt faster than expected. Thor laughed and merely replied that it was nothing for the warrior who must learn to be quick in battle.
Magic was... not so much the fools' weapon as he had thought.
When Albus returned with a blackened hand and broken ring, Minerva was the first to rush to his side, quickly followed by the other order members. Thor stood aside, mouth tilted in a frown. Albus was not a foolish man so whatever had happened to him must've been dangerous.
"It's alright," Albus was saying, waving them all off with his good hand. The other hung limply at his side, blackened and withered and useless. "Severus attended to the injury."
There was then nothing more to be said about it and everyone left the issue. Thor didn't press, knowing that Albus had things under control. In the few weeks he had known the old wizard, he had realized that Albus Dumbledore was a man who loved to plan ahead and knew everything about everyone so that he could keep them pressed under his thumb. It wasn't unlike Odin in a way.
Albus would be fine.
Halfway through summer, Albus brought a boy with him to headquarters. The boy was of average height, with a slender build and messy dark hair. Round spectacles perched on his nose. Thor was in the kitchen when Albus came, boy in tow.
"Thor, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Thor Odinson, a new member of the Order," Albus said bluntly.
Thor turned and gave the boy a slight incline of his head. "A pleasure."
The boy glanced up with slight shock in his eyes. Albus chuckled. "You'll find that Mr. Odinson is from a place where you name isn't as well-known as you're used to." Relief broke across the boy's face faster than ripples across a pond.
Still, Thor wasn't so much paying attention to Albus's words or the boy's expression. Harry Potter's eyes were so green, so bright.
Later, when Albus left and Harry stayed, Thor smiled slightly at the boy who was no older than 16 years and wondered how many horrors he would have to face in this coming war. "What did Albus mean when he talked of your name?" he asked.
Harry sighed, sounding resigned. "You really must not be from around here. Er," he broke off, chewing at his lip, "I'm kind of, uhm, famous."
"What for?"
Harry's face suddenly seemed years more than his age. "It's stupid really." He sighed, carding a hand through his hair nervously. "When I was little, Voldemort killed my parents," he started. Thor frowned in sympathy and noted the way he boy didn't refer to the Lord as You-Know-Who like the rest of the Order. Harry continued after a moment's hesitation, "Voldemort tried to kill me too, but I didn't actually die, dunno why, but I'm apparently the only person who's survived to Killing curse. They call me the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."
Thor placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. He had faced many things in his long years of life but Odin, stoic and fierce, and Frigga, warm and gentle, had always been by his side. "I am truly sorry."
Harry smiled slightly and shook his head. "Stupid reason to be famous, really. Who wants to be known for being an orphan?"
Silence descended upon them like a heavy veil, but it was not of the awkward kind. Thor stared at this youth who was not truly a youth. How terrible the war must be for these children. "I've been on many adventures myself when I was a child," Thor reminisced, half to himself.
"What did you do?" Harry asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
Thor grinned. "Many places. To the icy world of the giants, to the fire world of the dwarves; in fact, there was once I came here, many years ago."
Harry laughed lightly. "That's well travelled."
"Indeed, child," Thor chuckled. "I have plenty of stories to tell."
Harry snorted. "I know what that's like. Y'know, I think I have a record or something for the most visits to the Hospital Wing. Our nurse, Madame Pomfrey, says I've exhausted the potions cabinet."
"My own father used to warn me of being foolish on adventures," Thor said, remembering Odin's stern face. "My brother was often the one to talk us out of trouble and soothe my wounds." He sobered at the mention of Loki and Harry seemed to notice.
"Yeah, my friends are usually with me."
"You must have good friends then," Thor stated, recalling young Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley from earlier, "to be by your side."
"Course," Harry smiled wistfully. "They're the only ones who really know me, y'know?" He sighed. "I just wish that people'd stop treating me weird just because I'm famous. I'd rather have a mum and dad than have my name be known around the world, truth be told." He looked up, laughing slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm dumping all this on a complete stranger. You must think I'm crazy."
Thor smiled. "I've seen many things myself. And I know what it's like to lose family. You aren't alone and there is no need to apologize."
Harry closed his eyes, seemingly taking Thor's words as an invitation to continue. Thor didn't mind; he enjoyed understanding the young children in this realm; they would be the warriors of tomorrow. "My godfather died last year," he said and his tone was casual but tight with emotion. "I keep blaming myself. I wanted to save him, but I ended up causing his death instead."
Even Thor knew when it was that he shouldn't ask in case he reopen wounds that had barely healed. "Don't, Harry," Thor said instead. "I had a friend once, we were very close. Whenever my father and I had a disagreement, he would provide council." Thor thought of Algrim and fought the rising grimace. "He betrayed us, because of my own foolish mistake. I lost my brother much in the same way." Thinking of Algrim was at least less painful than thoughts of Loki.
Harry glanced up slightly at him. "I'm sorry."
"You have your own worries, don't trouble yourself over mine," Thor replied, still lost in thought of Loki and strangely of that once misadventure they'd had. (I hope we never have to make such a choice again. It was almost ironic. Poetic. Whatever it was, it hurt.) "Your eyes," he started before he could help himself, "they're quite a prominent shade of green."
Harry seemed to jerk back in shock and a slight scowl settled on his face. "Everyone says that to me. 'You look exactly like your father," he said as if quoting someone with the air of having repeated it a thousand times, "but you have your mother's eyes'."
"No," Thor replied, his mind miles away to his childhood when Loki would stare up at him with similarly bright jade green eyes and the way his brother would just smile. He missed those carefree days. "No, they remind me of my brother's."
Harry's scowl faded to an expression of disbelief before breaking into a smile.
Thor spent the next year alternating between raids on Death Eater camps and planning with the others at headquarters. Outside of the relative confinement of number 12 Grimmauld Place, Thor was free to swing his hammer, free to punish (with impunity) those who deserved it. Against Mjolnir, the mortal Death Eaters stood no chance. Even so, Thor took the opportunity to practice his magic, shooting off red jets of light with his wand but dodging more often than shielding. Soon, rumours of lightning crashing across the sky sent Death Eaters scrambling to safety.
In between his visits to the outside world, he often frequented a nearby forest to train. It wouldn't do after all, for Thor Odinson to regress in his skills simply because he had taken on the new hobby of magic, after all. Luckily, the original issue of ambient Asgardian energy was not so much an issue any longer. The thought lingered in the back of Thor's mind but he paid it no attention for the time being. Voldemort, clearly, was the larger threat here.
Headquarters was surprisingly cheery for a group of people who were the only defenders against the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. News of happenstances at Hogwarts came few and in between but from what little he heard, Thor assumed they were enjoying themselves at school. Hogwarts was at least away from the fighting and the fear that Voldemort had created for now. It was relatively safe in the protection of Albus and the rest of the faculty who were in the Order.
Thor could breathe a little easier knowing that fact.
Of course, the stasis of relative peace would not last.
Albus Dumbledore died at the end of the year and after that, all hell broke loose.
For the next year, the Order was wrought with the tension of the events that had transpired.
They left headquarters, each going to their own abodes for fear of the traitor returning. Severus Snape had fled from the Order and had taken refuge in the newly Death-Eater-swarmed Hogwarts and his name was cursed to hell and back.
Minerva was away at Hogwarts as well and she regularly reported back with news of more and more cruelty. Whenever one of her letters detailing how the Carrow scum had whipped another boy or how they used some poor child as a Cruciatus target, Thor's fist curled tighter still and he longed to be able to go to Hogwarts and show them just what Thor Odinson could do.
Still, a small voice in the back of his mind (that sounded suspiciously like Loki) told him to hold back, that Harry was doing something, that Albus maybe had everything neatly planned out down to the detail of his death even, that Thor shouldn't go storming in with nothing but a hammer in his hand and a roar on his lips. The idea had merit. Albus knew absolutely everything that was going on. Harry wasn't at school either, off with his two friends on some trip in the wilderness, looking for something that Albus had presumably entrusted him. Minerva was just as clueless as he was on that issue, Albus having given Harry and Harry alone the task and the decision of who to trust it with.
Thor wasn't a man who was prone to sitting down and waiting for things but this time, he recognized the need of staying put, of not recklessly charging in. (The last time he had done that, a war had been started with Jotunheim. The situation wasn't nearly as dire now but he'd still rather not risk anything.)
So he waited with Mjolnir clenched in his hand more often than not, going off to combat the snatchers to bide his time and staying away from Voldemort's general activities.
He still trained in the forest and occasionally made lightning flash across the sky when he came across a particularly vicious group of snatchers. Once, he had even come across a werewolf in the forest who had tried to take a bite of him and gotten a bit of steel hammer instead. Thor didn't take kindly to werewolves, especially not the ones who preyed after small children for amusement. He had heard stories of Fenrir Greyback.
The old werewolf went down faster than Thor had expected, by a stunner. Greyback didn't hold a candle to his namesake. He would've sent the man off the Ministry except for the fact that Voldemort controlled the Ministry and so instead, Thor left the man bound to a tree with a warning.
No matter if the man went free. Thor would come back to collect eventually.
He was called to fight in the final battle. The Battle of Hogwarts, they would later call it.
Harry and Voldemort circled each other in the Great Hall and finally, Voldemort fell.
Afterwards, Thor sat at on one of the broken steps and mourned for the lives lost. The bodies of the fallen were around him, faces covered with white sheets. Thor had seen many battles in his long life, but the hurt of losing comrades never subsided. When Harry passed, they exchanged a solemn look.
Hogwarts was said to be the safest place in all of Wizarding Britain. The ruins of the castle un-surprisingly were not safe as its name proclaimed to be. Thor helped to rebuild in the aftermath.
"It's terrible," Minerva murmured one day, standing in the midst of the rubble.
Thor stopped in levitating a spare piece of rock and glanced at her. "Indeed."
"How many do you think died?" she asked, something terrible and unreadable in her eyes.
Thor knew the look. It was one of the commander who lost men in the war. "Many," he said, not mincing words and unwilling to lie to her, "but they did not die in vain."
She frowned.
"We will make sure of that," he quickly followed up. "We are rebuilding, are we not?"
Minerva sighed, waving a hand, "We're missing teachers. How do we rebuild without teachers to show them the way?"
"Truly? Have we lost that many?"
Minerva pursed her lips. "Horace shall not be returning next year. I'm not surprised, Albus –" Minerva broke off, a frown forming on her face, "Albus had enough trouble convincing him to come in the first place. Professor Burbage is… no longer with us so we need a new Muggle Studdies teacher as well." She sighed and rubbed a hand across her face.
Thor grimaced and gestured for her to take a seat on one of the chairs set aside for the reconstruction.
Minerva sat and continued, "I can't teach Transfigurations next year, I'm to be Headmistress. Sybil's retiring, finally, Hagrid's busy taking care of his half-brother to teach, and as for Defense against the Dark Arts…," she trailed off, seemingly unwilling to speak Severus Snape's name.
"Then you'll be needing quite a number of new professors," Thor muttered. Minerva McGonagall was a fierce woman and one not to be trifled with; he commended her loyalty to the school.
She smiled thinly. "I was wondering if you'd like to teach the Defence post?"
Thor blinked at her, shock settling in. He'd… he had always assumed he would go back to Asgard, leave as soon as the war was over and his duty was done, but…
A warrior's duty was never done and his honour was on the line. Who was he to integrate himself into all their lives only to leave just when they needed him the most? There were plenty of fighters, plenty of people to defend in times of war and he was only one in a crowd. But to teach? To rebuild when the damage was done? That was something else.
Midgard was still learning and Thor had found over the years that he quite liked it here, with its quaint magic and this wizarding community with strange but almost familiar people…
"I'd be honoured," he replied, grinning broadly.
Minerva's smile grew to something that almost reached her eyes. "Thank you," she said and Thor decided it was worth it, worth staying, just to make her smile again.
"I made a vow to help you," Thor replied. "There is no need to thank me."
Sometimes, he wondered if Albus had told Minerva of where he had come from and why she trusted him so much. This time, when she looked at him with a knowing glint in her eyes, he didn't question it. "You are leaving your home behind."
"It does not matter. I will return eventually."
Minerva's expression softened. "We owe you a great deal, Thor Odinson."
Thor waved a hand. "Nothing," he insisted, "you owe me nothing."
A slight laugh tumbled out of her mouth then. Her lips twitched. "Then you will do me one more favour?"
"Yes?"
"Clean up the rest of the hall?"
Thor laughed, the sound of it ringing throughout the broken stones and bringing the Great Hall back to life. The ceiling's clouds seemed brighter still. "You'll have to hire more people just to clean this place!"
Minerva laughed again, the sound of it joining his and breaking the solemn atmosphere.
The two of them spent the rest of the day in companionable silence.
Thor decided that staying on Midgard was perhaps not so bad an idea now after all.
("Oh, how marvelous! I am a professor here as well-of the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"...Oh, kill me now."
"You would not believe the things I've learnt, brother! And however did you get to Midgard? You must tell me everything!")