The Triumph of These Tired Eyes Chapter Twenty-Five, a Harry Potter + Avengers Crossover fanfic

The thing about physical ailments- cuts, bruises, broken bones, and the like- was that, depending upon the severity of the wound, they hurt like a son of a bitch when first inflicted; whether it be a burning in one centralized point or a throbbing throughout an entire limb, there was always some form of pain.

What most didn't consider, at least not until they were experiencing it themselves, was that the healing hurt just as much as the inflicting, most noticeably in broken bones. As bone knitted itself back together, a dull ache radiated perpetually from the point of injury, continuing throughout and often after the healing process; sub-acute pain is what it was called.

What Harry had learned these past few months was that the same could be said for internal pains as well. Draco and Luna's death's had been like a badly broken bone, a fractured radius perhaps or a shattered kneecap; he hadn't even begun to heal from either before he was blindsided by the knife in the ribs, the bullet to the gut that was Loki's death. It would be months, maybe even years before the ache of healing began to show any sign of receding.

The first few weeks following Harry's return to Midgard were…quiet. After the first night, in which they all raged and cried over yet another loss, Blaise, Hermione, Neville, and Ron continued on with what they'd been doing before his return; helping sweep up the last of the rubble from Hogwarts' halls, visiting what remained of their families and friends, and sometimes stopping to have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry, on the other hand, kept himself locked up in Grimmauld Place, he didn't lie around all day soaking in his misery, but rather helped Kreacher around the house or browsed the collection of obscure books in the Black family's library, but he moved with all of the life of an Inferius. Without the fire that lit his green eyes or the confident strut to his step, he was near unrecognizable. It didn't take long for his friends to realize that he wasn't getting over the successive losses he'd endured, he was only bottling up his anger and grief and putting up a façade of normalcy; a tactic they all knew would only end in disaster.

They all put forth their own efforts to coax him from the house, ranging from subtle bribery to outright begging, but in the end it was the Daily Prophet that did the trick. Hermione liked to keep up with the news and so an owl dropped off a paper every morning for her to read over tea and toast. She knew Harry had been actively avoiding any mention of the wizarding world since returning so, usually, she tossed it after she was through, but a commotion from Ron's bedroom drew her away from the dining table before she had a chance.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, still sleep rumpled and half conscious, a few minutes after her hasty departure, after gulping down what was left of her cooling tea and pouring himself a new mug, he found the paper beside her plate of toast folded neatly in half and sitting face up so that only the attention grabbing headline and first half of the text could be seen. It was another hatchet job about Harry's sudden disappearance immediately following his defeat of Voldemort, but it wasn't the reporters disparaging remarks that caught his attention, but rather the date at the very top of the page: June 10th. It had been two months since the end of the war, two months since he'd lost Draco and he hadn't paid his grave a visit since the day he was put in the ground.

The though sent an unexpected lance of disquiet through Harry. Three months ago he didn't go a day without seeing Draco at least thrice, oftentimes more, but somehow he'd managed two whole months without the blonde.

Harry set aside the paper and made his way to the main staircase, he followed the sounds of muffled expletives to Ron's bedroom, where he and Hermione were battling what looked to be a fully grown doxy's nest in his armoire.

Ron was the first to catch sight of him idling in the doorway, a safe distance from the rabid little creatures; he sent a grin in Harry's direction while simultaneously batting away a doxy trying to bite at his nose.

"Come to join us in the epic battle against the doxies?" he asked. "We've got them cornered, if you're quick you might be able to help us deal the killing blow."

Harry couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice. I'll let you do the honors."

Ron took only half a second to take in Harry's uncharacteristically alert expression before he reached out and swung the armoire doors shut, effectively cutting off the swarm of doxies. "I'm sure they won't mind waiting a few minutes to meet their end. What's got you out and about?"

Harry bit his lip as Ron and Hermione joined him in the hall. "It's been two months since the war," he said.

"Already?" Hermione exclaimed. "It feels as if it was only a few weeks ago."

Harry shrugged. "It feels longer for me, a lot's happened these past few months." He hesitated for half a second. "I want to see Draco."

"Draco…" Hermione hedged. "You mean his grave."

Harry nodded.

"When?"

"Today. Right now."

"I'm all for it," Ron said. "But maybe give us a bit to get collected? Get some breakfast in you, that'll give us enough time to round up Blaise and Neville and prepare them for a venture into the outside world."

Harry looked reluctant, but nodded in acquiescence nonetheless. "One hour?"

"That'll be more than enough time. Eat some toast, we'll be ready by the time you're through."

Ron turned out to be second only to Hermione in the art of wrangling their friends from their respective bedrooms. It didn't even take a full half hour for them to change into clothes free of any revealing holes or questionable stains and convene in the kitchen.

The plot in which Draco had been buried was centuries old and home to countless Malfoys both of blood and marriage; Draco, being recently deceased, was at the very back of the land, past what felt like miles of outrageously extravagant crypts and ancient, crumbling tombs. The first and only time Harry had been here had been the day Draco was buried, and Harry had been so distraught over both his friend's death and his father's disappearance, he hadn't exactly stuck around past the actual burying part, he certainly hadn't given himself time to examine Draco's headstone up close. Looking at it now, he was stunned by how little it held; the smooth-cut alabaster stone bore only his name, the day he was born, and the day he died. There was no inscription, no loving quote to immortalize just how much he'd meant to some people, just those two, neutral lines.

Harry ran his hand over the stone's smooth face, overwhelmed by the sheer impersonality of it all. "It's just a rock," he whispered.

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt a curl of rage in his gut, the fancy slab of stone with its bland words etched into its front did nothing to sum up the man Draco Malfoy had grown to be. Draco had done too much good, sacrificed too much, to be reduced to nothing more than a boring white stone in a sea of identical boring white stones.

"I know," Blaise agreed softly, as if afraid that if he spoke to loud they might wake the plot's occupants. If only. "I've come here nearly every week since he died, and yet, no matter how many times I see this thing, I can't ever quite come to terms with the fact that this is Draco's final resting place. He was a man of outrageous tastes and extravagant gestures, I would have expected weeping angels or marble dragons eight feet long and encrusted with actual, priceless gems. Not…this."

Neville laughed tremulously. "Too right you are," he said. "Draco was…he was something else."

"I believe the word you're looking for is prat," Ron said, his face was soft and yet the tiniest bit broken despite the strength he seemed to exude constantly nowadays. "I suppose he was all right these past few years, but Merlin he was a frightful, little beast when we first met. I swear I could always see up his nose he had it stuck up so high, and the way he always called us by out last names: Potter, Longbottom, Weaslebe, it drove me mad."

"He was a bit of a handful in the beginning, wasn't he?" Hermione agreed. "He changed so much since that first night on the train. I can still remember how easily he flung around insults like mudblood and blood traitor, and yet in the end he died protecting those very sort of people."

"Hey now," Ron said warningly, reaching out to swipe away a tear from her cheek, "none of that. This isn't going to be another pity party, I've decided this is to be a celebration."

"A celebration?" Neville repeated curiously.

Ron held up one finger, signaling for them to wait where they were, then ran off in the direction of the cemetery; when he had cleared the gates there was the distinctive crack of apparation, then silence.

Harry, Neville, Blaise, and Hermione exchanged looks, confused as to where he'd run off to; they weren't left to wonder for long, however, it wasn't even five minutes before Ron was jogging back through the winding rows of tombstones. When he was only a few feet away, the four teens noticed the two bottles tucked close to his side.

"Like I said," he proclaimed, collapsing into the grass among his friends and holding up his newest acquisition, two full bottles of firewhiskey, "this is to be a celebration. Hermione, could you…"

Hermione drew her wand and transfigured a handful of pebbles into five slightly warped glasses, Ron filled each nearly three quarters of the way and passed them around their little semi-circle.

Harry had never had anything stronger than a butterbeer, but he knocked the drink back as if he'd done it a thousand times before and immediately held out his glass for another.

"Do you remember fourth year," Ron said after they'd each finished off their glasses and went for refills, "and those awful robes Mum gave me for the ball? The maroon ones with the lace on the cuffs?"

"How could we forget?" Neville laughed.

"Draco made a big deal about teasing me about them on the train, but a few days before the ball he gave me a new set, these great dark blue ones he told me would bring out my only remarkable feature." He tapped the side of his face, beside his dark blue eyes.

"I hadn't even noticed," Blaise murmured.

"He didn't make a big fuss about it," Ron shrugged. "You were right when you said he was a man of extravagant gestures, but he made a point to be discreet about it because he knew I would be uncomfortable with that sort of thing.

"I had my reservations that first year, but as we got older Draco proved time and time again that he was a great friend and the best of men." He held his glass up. "So here's to Draco, may he be causing all sorts of grief on the other side."

"To Draco," Hermione smiled, raising her glass to stand alongside Ron's.

"And our Loony Luna Lovegood," Neville said as he and Blaise lifted their glasses. "Thanks to her, I look at the world differently now, and it's all the more beautiful for it."

Harry hesitated only briefly before moving to add his glass to the collection; the sunlight streamed through them at just the right angle so that they cast a soft amber glow over Draco's grave. "And Loki," he whispered. "Who taught me how to love, how to be brave and strong and good, and how to triumph no matter the odds."

The four glasses clinked softly together, then Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Blaise tossed back their drinks and set them aside, none of them went for refills.

"It's hard to imagine I'll ever be happy again," Harry said contemplatively. "Not after all that's happened."

"You will be," Blaise assured, "one day."

"But it's not going to happen overnight," Neville said. "Or if you keep yourself locked away in Grimmauld Place with just the house elf and the four of us for company. You've got to try, mate."

"And that doesn't mean popping into Diagon Alley during rush hour," Ron added. "You just need to get out of the house more, go on some walks, Mum's been dying to have you over for dinner for the longest time now."

"Dinner…I could do dinner."

Ron grinned. "That's a start."

"I was also thinking about maybe tracking down the rest of my siblings," Harry said hesitantly. "I've met Hela and Sleipnir, it'd be nice to get to know the others."

"Hogwarts would be a great place to start looking, the library at least," Hermione suggested. "I don't think McGonagall would have a problem letting you use it."

"We've gotten pretty good at research what with the Horcruxes and the T.A and the Triwizard, this should be a breeze."

"You think?" Harry smiled.

"After all the hell we've been through?" Ron said. "An easy time is the least the universe owes us."

"I can't disagree with you there," Harry laughed ruefully. "So dinner with your mum tomorrow, and then a meeting with McGonagall."

"And maybe Remus as well," Neville recommended. "He's asked after you, but we told him you were going through a rough time and he promised to give you some space."

Harry nodded. "Weasley's, McGonagall, Remus," he listed. "I can do that."

"It'll be hard getting back into the swing of things," Hermione told him. "But it'll get easier the more time that passes."

"In three words I can sum up everything that I have learned about life," Blaise said. "It goes on."

Hermione looked stunned. "Was that Robert Frost?"

The dark skinned teen shrugged. "I like poems."

Harry's second laugh was infinitely happier than his first. "I'd almost forgotten, I introduced Blaise and Draco to a few muggle authors back in fifth year. Blaise took a shine to Frost and the like, and Draco, though he never would have admitted it, loved the Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit was his absolute favorite, though, read it in Defense when we were supposed to be reading up on magical theory." He turned his suddenly brilliant smile on Hermione. "You've read them, right? I'm sure you could guess who his favorite character was."

Hermione thought for only a half a minute before a smile stretched her lips. "Smaug?"

Harry nodded. "I suppose he felt there was a likeliness between the two of them, though I, personally, couldn't see it."

"Of course you couldn't, you always had the habit of seeing the best in people, us especially, and Smaug wasn't the most honorable of characters."

"But Draco was," Harry said firmly. "I was never blind to his faults; he was arrogant, bossy, and he took so long in the bathroom, but I was able to overlook all of that because there so much good in him. The same for all of you as well; Blaise is stuck up, sometimes I wonder if Neville loves his plants more than us, Hermione is a know it all, and Ron is the very epitome of Gryffindor, but I couldn't have asked for better friends."

"And you wouldn't have found any if you had," Ron said, but a soft smile adorned his face, betraying just how much Harry's words had touched him.

"I know I don't say this as often as I should, but I love you guys. Thank you for being with me through everything, the good times and the bad."

Hermione laced her fingers through Harry's. "It has been our genuine pleasure."

They left Draco and the countless generations that had come before him not much later, though they swore to return often. Ron left behind the second, unopened bottle of firewhiskey, while Harry used Hermione's wand to leave his fallen friend a gift of his own.

It was a chunk of obsidian that stood no more than thirty centimeters high, it was rough, and uneven save for the face, which had been sanded and smoothed until its surface was flat and glossy. It was there Harry carved the words that burned ice white in the stone, a marker better suited for Draco than the impersonal slab of alabaster that served as his grave marker.

So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.

Returning to the Burrow was so much easier than it had any right to be. The last time Harry had been in the cozy, magically fortified house had been the week of Bill and Fleur's wedding, what felt like a lifetime ago, but the moment he stepped through the doorway, the smell of Mrs. Weasley cooking, the sounds of Fred and George and Ginny getting up to some sort of mischief, and the sight of Mr. Weasley and Bill and Charlie and all of the others waiting with wide smiles and cheerful greetings made him feel as if he'd never even left.

"It's so good to see you, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed when he ventured into the kitchen to greet her. The warm, motherly hug she engulfed him in had him wondering how he had gone so long without one and vowing to himself he would never again go more than a few days without one of Molly Weasley's hugs. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

"Grimmauld Place for the most part," Harry told her. "I've been working through some things and needed a bit of quiet."

"I'd say you could have done that just as well here but..." A crash from the living room followed by Fred and George's gleeful hollering proved the point she hadn't even felt the need to put to words. "Were you able to work through everything you needed to?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm getting there."

Mrs. Weasley nodded understandingly. "Well, if you ever need to talk, no matter when or where it is or what it's about, we'll always be here for you, Arthur and I. I like to think we've been through enough that I can start calling you one of my boys."

"Thank you," Harry murmured, squeezing the older woman's hands in his own.

"Think nothing of it, love. Now, would you mind helping me set the table? Dinner's just about finished."

Harry had always loved meals with the Weasleys if only because of how different they were from mealtime at the Dursley household, everyone was knocking elbows with their neighbors, reaching around and over each other to reach the dishes while a thousand and one conversations were carried on along the table. It was chaotic, but at the same time, there was a sense of order to it, some degree of control that saw the entire meal pass without any serious accidents or messes occurring.

Once everyone had had fourth and fifth helpings of dessert, they settled down in the living room to listen to the wireless while their food digested. Harry wound up sharing a couch with Bill and Mr. Weasley, who he quickly got to work catching up with.

Bill and Fleur had finally settled into their home, a cottage near the coast of Cornwall; with the war over and the wizarding world finally settling into a state that vaguely resembled peace, they were considering making moves to start their family. An idea Mrs. Weasley was thrilled to hear, no doubt.

Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, had returned to his job at the Ministry. He professed to having missed the easy routine of it during the war, but, at times, the changes made to his department and the Ministry as a whole post-Voldemort often made him wonder if he'd be better off retiring a little early.

"The Minister, for example," Mr. Weasley huffed. "He's been breathing down my neck about you since the day I returned."

Harry's brow furrowed, he'd never met the newly appointed Minister of Magic or really even heard of him until he'd been appointed. He was just another puffed up politician who'd hidden himself away during the war while his predecessors were hunted down and killed during Voldemort's coup. "What's he breathing down your neck about me for?" he asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer.

"No one forgot about your announcement in the Great Hall, you know the one about you being the son of a god and all. Some just passed it off as another one of your ego trips, but, Merlin knows why, even more actually believed you."

"Beheading one of the worst Dark Lords we've seen in centuries after beating him to a proverbial pulp, both physically and verbally, probably had something to do with it," Bill said drily.

I suppose the Minister found out that you and Ron are pretty good friends and figured I'd know how to get in contact with you. He's been heckling me since he came to the conclusion, even threatened to see me fired if I don't start complying, I've half a mind to take him up on the offer."

"That isn't right," Harry frowned. "You've spent too much of your life working for the Ministry, they can't just kick you to the curb because you're not giving them what they want. If you leave, it'll be on your own terms. I'll talk to the Minister, set him straight and make sure nothing like this happens again. It's high time I've put this matter to rest anyway."

"What do you intend to say to him?"

Harry shrugged. "I think I'll just wing it. I've always been inordinately good at improvised speeches."

"You can be pretty persuasive when you want to be," Bill agreed. "But the Minister is a whole other breed of man, his kind are notoriously difficult to reason with."

"Then, I'll just have to switch my tactics up a bit. Either way, I'm sure I'll be able to get my point across." Harry's smile was tinged with something sharp and fueled by a fire none of his friends had seen since before the war's end. "I'm persuasive like that."

Flynn McTaggart had been in politics since his early twenties; he'd been in the business of dealing with crooked politicians, incompetent Wizengamot members, and elected officials more interested in public opinion and remaining in office than actually improving their world for thirty-three years. He liked to think he'd met every sort of man there was and found himself uncowed by each one of them.

But then came Harry Potter.

The boy arrived at his office sans an appointment, but his assistant (bless her poor, soon to be unemployed soul) had been too intimidated by his mere presence to deny him entrance to the Minister's office and only meekly followed behind him to announce his arrival.

McTaggart was taken aback by the unexpected visit, he'd been trying to arrange some sort of meeting with Potter since he'd realized he had the father of one of the boy's closest friends working as one of his Department heads. However, none of his efforts had yielded any results.

But he was nothing if not an opportunist, and so hid his surprise with natural born ease and graciously gestured for Potter to be seated.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Potter?" he asked, once the young man had settled down in the seat directly opposite him. "I'm sure I could get someone to wrangle us up a plate of biscuits if you're feeling a bit peckish."

"Spare me the pleasantries, McTaggart. I'm not here to share biscuits or make small talk," the boy drawled. "You've been harassing my family, I've come to put an end to it."

"I…excuse me?" What family of Potter's had he been harassing? What family did Potter have for him to harass?

"Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects and previous Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. You've been badgering him for quite some time about a meeting with me, even threatened to see him dismissed from his job a few times. I'm here now so speak, but make it quick, I've not got all day."

McTaggart spent a full thirty seconds gaping at the boy. Yes, he'd been vying for a meeting with Potter, but as he had yet to procure any form of confirmation he hadn't actually thought about what he would say to the boy when they did meet. "I just…The claims you made during your final duel with You-Know-Who," he eventually managed to string together, "are they true?"

Potter raised a brow at him. "Of course they are. I'm no liar."

"But how? When?"

"Well, you see when a man and a woman love each other very much, or in my parent's case, thought each other wildly attractive, they-"

"That's not what I meant," McTaggart snapped, momentarily forgetting his befuddlement. "There hasn't been evidence of the presence of the gods here on earth in thousands of years. Why is it now that they've decided to come to Earth and…procreate?"

"I must confess that I know very little about the circumstances surrounding my conception. My father was never very forthcoming when it came to the reasons as to why he was on Midgard and what it was that drew him to my mother. I always chalked it up to chance and her being in the right place at the right time.

"You're wrong, however, in assuming this is the first instance a god has walked the earth this millennia. They've come to Midgard every now and then for various reasons, I suppose they just got better at hiding who and what they truly were."

"How have we never known what you were? The world has only ever known of you as the son of James and Lily Potter."

Potter shrugged "I never wanted you to know."

"Your actions say otherwise," the Minister pointed out. "If you hadn't wanted us to know about your lineage, you wouldn't have announced it before a captive audience. Why now?"

"The war was ending, Voldemort was to be dead soon, I guess I was done hiding. It's exhausting keeping a secret of that magnitude. Besides, I'd told most of the Order a few months beforehand, they even met my father, and with that many people…that many mouths, it was bound to come out eventually. I wanted it to be on my own terms."

"They met your father?"

Harry nodded.

"I would like to meet him as well."

"No."

"It would go a long way in proving the validity of your claims," McTaggart protested.

"You need no other proof than my word."

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but I do. It would be unreasonable for me to accept you only at your word. Perhaps you would allow us to run a few tests, take a few samples."

"No. I'm not some lab experiment for you to toy with as you see fit," Potter snapped. "I did not come here to prove anything to you, I came to put an end to your constant harassment of a man who is very close to me. I have done my part, I've given you the information you asked for, and so I believe it is past time I took my leave." The young man pinned the Minister with a poisonous green stare. "You will pursue this no further," he said. "Swear it."

"I will do no such thing!" McTaggart exclaimed.

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff burst from between Potter's lips, he shook his head at the older man and slowly rose from his seat, pushing his long sleeved shirt past his elbows as he did. A deep, frostbitten blue began creeping up his fingers, past his wrists and over his arms until it disappeared beneath his sleeve. The Minister was too transfixed with the unholy transformation to even think to draw his wand when Potter began moving in his direction, a predatory prowl in each step.

"Did you ever wonder why Bellatrix Lestrange never spoke the last few years of her life?"

McTaggart blinked at the non-sequitur but silently shook his head. He let out an agonized gasp when Potter pressed his index finger into the flesh of the inside of his wrist, it burned and darkened beneath his touch.

"Frostbite," the boy said quietly, almost reverently. "My touch is so cold, it freezes your flesh and the nerves beneath it. I got my hands around her throat and held on just tight enough so she wasn't quite choking; the cold did irreparable damage to her vocal chords, would have killed her if Voldemort hadn't come to her aid the very moment he did.

"I was fifteen. Imagine what I could do now, so much more powerful and positive that no one will be coming to your aid."

McTaggart yelped when Potter grabbed onto the base of his little finger, the skin immediately began to blister and blacken.

"I could destroy your hands, finger by finger until there was nothing left but blackened, useless stumps…Or," Potter released his hold on McTaggart's finger, and seated himself on the edge of his desk, "you could swear to end your search for the truth of my lineage and you can live to keep your fingers another day. Swear an Unbreakable Vow, right here, right now, and you'll never have to see me again." He flashed a deceptively charming grin. "Not unless you want to that is."

"Who will be our witness?" McTaggart whispered.

Potter's head tilted in the direction of the door leading out into the reception area. "Your lovely assistant will do in a pinch."

And that she did. It wasn't even five minutes before they settled on the exact wording of their oath, called in the Minister's assistant, and had her perform the vow for them. The moment it was done, Potter flashed him another of his deceiving smiles and sauntered from the room, happy as a clam and without a trace of blue to his fingers.

McTaggart sat back in his seat with a heavy sigh. Thirty-three years in politics and he had never met a man quite like Potter. He could only hope he never would again.

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place in unusually high spirits, it seemed threatening the life and well-being of high ranking government officials was the perfect anti-depressant. It was likely because of his good mood that he didn't even bat an eye when Hermione accosted him the moment he stepped through the doors with news that he had a visitor.

"I'm sorry," she fretted as she followed him down the hall to the library. "I would have turned him away, but he just looked so happy and I didn't have the heart. I can tell him you're not up to it though, if you'd like, I don't want to force you to do anything before you're ready."

"It's fine," Harry said placatingly, "I planned to write him asking him to come over tonight anyway. This just saves me the trouble." He stopped in front of the closed library doors. "Would you mind giving us a few minutes? I want some time to catch up."

"Of course," Hermione gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Just give a shout when you're through, I want to hear all about how your meeting with the Minister went."

Once she had left in the direction of the kitchen, Harry pushed open the thick oak doors and entered the library. Remus was seated at the table closest to the door, flipping through a thick text, but, the moment Harry entered the room, he was on his feet.

"Hey, cub," he said, moving to wrap Harry in a hug. "I'm sorry for dropping in without warning, I know I should have waited for you to contact me, but when Hermione finally told me you were in the right headspace to see me I couldn't wait a moment longer."

"It's all right, Moony. I'm sorry for shutting you out for so long, I've had a rough few weeks and just needed some time to get my head on straight."

"Don't apologize, we all had our different ways of coping." Remus leveled him with a playfully stern scowl. "Just don't do it again."

"Yes, professor."

A wide smile spread across the man's face. "Speaking of which, guess who will be returning to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Art's professor."

"You?" Harry exclaimed. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Slughorn decided he'd had enough adventures these past few years to last him the rest of his life, so he decided to step down from his position as Potion's professor. I suppose Severus didn't want to see another 'imbecile' in his lab and so wasted no time in reclaiming the post, leaving the DADA positon up for grabs."

"I envy the lucky bastards you'll be teaching. You were by far the best DADA professor we had."

"Well, since you never technically graduated Hogwarts, we could always make arrangements for you to return and finish your education. You likely wouldn't be the only one going that route as not a lot of learning occurred last year."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I'll have to think on that, it'd be nice to have a bit of normalcy and routine again. But how does McGonagall intend to handle this upcoming year? It's like you said, not a lot of learning occurred last year, but there were still classes, things just got a bit hectic with the influx of refugee coming in. Will she require everyone to retake the previous year or will she bump us all up and hope for the best?"

"Neither, on the first day of term, everyone, barring the first years of course, will take the final exams from the year before. So seventh years will take the sixth year finals, sixth years will take the fifth, and so forth. If you pass majority of your tests you will be allowed to move on to the year you're meant to be in, if you fail you'll be required to repeat the previous year."

"That's a good system," Harry commended. "I was never McGonagall's biggest fan, but it seems as if she's got everything well in hand."

"This might be the calmest year Hogwarts has had in a while."

"Especially if I decide not to attend."

"You did have the unfortunate habit of attracting trouble," Remus agreed.

"How is that a habit?! I didn't ask for trouble to be attracted to me, if I'd had my way I would have gladly spent all seven years under the radar."

"Now that's a lie and you know it."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But the point still stands, trouble was attracted to me not the other way around."

"Oh really?" Remus arched an eyebrow. "Is that why Ron told me the reason you went out today was to confront the Minister of Magic about harassing Arthur Weasley? That is the definition of asking for trouble.

"That was different. He was threatening to fire Mr. Weasley if I didn't talk to him. What would that make me if I just let that happen? I couldn't just ignore him, so I went to put an end to it."

"And how did that go?"

"Pretty well, all things considered," Harry said, maybe just a touch defensively. "He wanted to know about the whole being descended from a god thing, so I told him. He wanted to collect samples of me and meet my father, and I denied him. He tried to kick up a fuss when I demanded he swear to quit trying to figure out everything about me, but I'm a persuasive guy, he did it in the end."

Remus shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask what you did to persuade him, that may make me an accessory to the crime when the Aurors come for you, and they will come. How's your father by the way? Did you ever find out where he'd disappeared to?"

The smile Harry had been sporting since he'd first arrived melted off his face with a startling quickness. "Uh…yeah, I did. He was on Asgard the whole time, there's a lot to it and I'm not really up to recounting the whole thing again, but, long story short, he's…he's dead."

Remus looked stricken. "Oh cub, I'm so sorry."

Harry smiled wanly at him. "It's all right, I'm healing. Ron and the others have been a great help, and just talking to you has already made me happier."

"I'm glad to hear it." Remus took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "And if you ever need anything, I'm here for you."

"It seems I have a lot of people willing to drop everything if I need them," Harry noted. "I never would have thought it true, but the thought alone helps a lot."

"It's always good to be reminded of the people who love you."

Remus hung around for a few more hours in which he and Harry caught up on what they'd missed out in the others' lives. When it began growing dark, Remus decided it was time to head home, promising he would stop by again within the next week or so for dinner and to catch up with everyone else.

Hermione and the others must have heard Remus leaving as, the moment the door closed, they were trouping down the staircase.

"Remus is gone?" Neville asked, poking his head around the corner leading into the entrance hall.

"He left in a hurry, but he promised to visit in a few days," Harry said. "Sorry for monopolizing him."

"It's fine," Neville waved him off. "I'll see him when he stops by next. Right now I want to hear all about how your meeting with the Minister went."

The five friends returned to the library where Harry spent the next half hour detailing his conversation with McTaggart. They were all, understandably, awed by the tale he spun.

"I still don't understand this whole Frost Giant thing," Hermione said. "So you can summon this second form at will with just a thought?"

"I can't summon it fully just yet, the furthest I've gotten so far is halfway down my chest, but I get tired if I hold it for too long."

"Is that all you can do with it?" Blaise asked. "Turn your skin blue and freeze people with your touch."

"I've seen Frost Giants form rudimentary weapons from ice, but I haven't quite got down the logistics of that one yet."

"It'll just be another thing to add to the list of things we need to research," Hermione said. "Harry's Frost Giant abilities and where to find his sibling."

"I've actually been thinking about that second one a bit," Harry said hesitantly. "And I've come up with a conclusion you may not like."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she gestured for him to continue speaking.

"I don't think we'll find either of my brothers' whereabouts in a book in Hogwarts' library. If it were that easy, Dad would have found them a long time ago. Only a few people know where they're being kept, the main two being Odin…and Frigga."

Ron groaned in exasperation. "You want to go back to Asgard, don't you?"

"It might be the only way. I've spoken with Frigga, she knows me and who I am now, with my father dead she may be feeling a bit more willing to share the secret of their whereabouts."

"I can see the logic behind what you're saying," Hermione frowned. "But I really don't like the thought of you going through that portal again. What if you stumble again and end up on Jotunheim? Or somewhere worse this time? We only just got you back, Harry."

"I won't stumble, I wasn't expecting it that first time, but I'm better prepared now. I traveled through that portal two times afterwards and ended up fine both times. That was a one-time fluke."

Hermione didn't look the slightest bit convinced.

"All right, how about this," Harry sighed, "I show you where to find the portal and how to use it without stumbling, and, if I don't return in one week, you can come after me."

Hermione exchanged glances with Blaise, Neville, and Ron. "Three days," she countered. "I'll give you three days before I go through that portal. I will tear down all of Asgard and all of Jotunheim if that's what it takes to find you. I don't intend on going to anyone else's funeral, Harry, least of all yours."

Harry instructed his friends on how to use the portal that very night, even going so far as to take them to Stonehenge so that they could see exactly where it was located, but he didn't actually leave for Asgard until the following morning.

He didn't bother walking down the mountain this time, he felt comfortable enough with his location to apparate to the bottom, though he still chose to make the hour long journey through the forest at its base.

It was harder getting into Sleipnir's stable's this time around, not only because it was the middle of the day, but because whatever celebration the Asgardian's had been partaking in had ended, the grounds surrounding the palace were no longer crawling with drunken revelers. It was inconvenient and required Harry to be a bit stealthier than he'd been last time, but he still made it to Sleipnir's stable without being stopped or spotted even once.

Frigga must have had some sort of ward up to alert her when someone, or maybe even Harry exclusively, entered the stable, as he had barely been there for a quarter of an hour before she joined him, looking completely unsurprised by his presence.

"Haraldr," she greeted as she reached out to run a small hand through Sleipnir's mane. "You're back far sooner than I thought you'd be."

"Am I?" Harry asked. "It's been some time for me. After learning of my father's death it took a few weeks to regain my composure."

Frigga's face softened with sadness. "You look well," she murmured. "I'm happy to see you. I have a gift for you, two actually."

Harry perked up in interest when Frigga handed him two bundles of cloth, both tied neatly with a sturdy string.

"I found these in the rubble the day after Loki's death. I didn't know what they were until I met you and learned who you were, I intended to give them to you that night, but you left in such a hurry."

Harry's heart stuttered when he unwrapped first his wand, then the dagger Loki had gifted him when he was only eleven. "Thank you," he whispered, just the slightest bit choked up. "I never thought I'd see these again."

"The knife is an Asgardian weapon. Did Loki give it to you?"

Harry nodded. "It was a gift, he taught me how to fight with it that same year."

"It's a beautiful weapon. I never asked, but how long was Loki in your life? How long have you known of him?"

Harry took a moment to compose himself before answering. "He's known of me since the moment I was born, and he's been watching over me ever since."

"So long," Frigga breathed. "We never…we never even noticed. Though now that I know of your existence, some of his strange behavior these past few years makes a little more sense."

Harry shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I find myself in trouble far more often than I'd care to admit, Dad was always there to get me out of some tight spots. I believe one time he jumped out of the palace window in his haste to reach me."

"Yes, I remember that day quite vividly. What of the most recent time? He stormed from the hall in the middle of planning his brother's coronation and he didn't return for some time."

Harry frowned, there was only one instance in which she could be referring to. "There was a war," he said. "I was injured pretty badly in one of the battles, Dad came to my aid, as always, and when I was better he decided to stick around for a bit, make sure I didn't get into any more trouble."

"We were so blind," Frigga lamented. "So foolish. How did we never suspect?"

"If Dad doesn't want you to know something, you never will."

"But why? Why would he hide you from us?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Look where you're standing right now, look around and give me one good reason why my father should have told you about me."

Frigga looked confused for a moment, but then realization dawned and her face crumpled. "This is never what we wanted. Things just got out of hand."

"Of course they did, things of this nature always do, which is why there is no reason you should even be mildly surprised he kept this from you."

"We were foolish."

Harry shrugged. "Even the best men usually are at at least one point in their lives, you and my grandfather just had a few more of those moments than most."

"Will you forgive us for taking that away from you?"

"At this point I'm not the one you should be seeking forgiveness from, it was my father and my siblings who were truly wronged," Harry paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. "I do know, however, of one way you could perhaps begin to make amends."

Frigga frowned. "How?"

"I've met two of my siblings thus far, Hela and Sleipnir. I wish to meet the others."

"And the only way you can do that is if I tell you their locations," the woman completed for him.

"Exactly. Dad said Jormungandr is somewhere on Midgard and Fenris is here on Asgard. I need exact locations."

Frigga seemed troubled, as if she were at war with herself oven whether or not she should reveal the long kept secret. It didn't take long for her to lose the battle. "It's been a very long time since Jormungandr was cast into the oceans of Midgard, I no longer know where he can be found."

"You would think someone would have seen some sign of a serpent large enough to encircle the world in the centuries he's been on Midgard."

A small smile touched the corners of Frigga's lips. "Ah, but he is a son of Loki," she said. "And, just as you told me, if he does not wish to be found, he won't be. On the other hand, I am certain Fenris is exactly where we left him."

"Here on Asgard?"

"Not in the city," Frigga corrected. "Further, much further. He's on the island Lyngvi found in the center of the Amsvartnir lake. The lake is just off the shore of Varinheim."

"How can I get there?"

"It's nearly on the other side of Asgard, a full two day's walk from here," Frigga explained. "You would have to travel through the Forest of Ida and the Asgard Mountains, which will be nearly half the journey. After that, you'll have entered Varinheim, it's mostly woods and marshes so keep an eye out for anything wanting to eat you. It'll be another day's walk before you reach the shore of Amsvartnir."

"And Fenris will just be waiting there on the island?"

"He's bound to a rock by an unbreakable chain, he will not have gone far."

Harry felt a flash of anger at the thought of his brother, chained to a rock like the wild animal he resembled, unable to run and stretch and hunt. Was he even able to catch his own food?

"Has anyone visited him? Has he seen anyone since you tore him from his home and chained him to that forsaken island?"

Frigga didn't say anything, but her solemn expression spoke volumes. Harry forced himself to turn away from her, focusing his attention on stroking a hand through the mane of an unusually docile Sleipnir.

He hadn't imagined he'd ever be faced with so many reasons to hate his family.

Harry managed to cut the supposedly two day journey nearly in half by apparating back to the cave in which the portal he used to travel between worlds was located. Though he still had to pick his way through a series of winding valleys cut between the peaks before making his way down the slope of the mountain into Varinheim.

The journey through the marshes took closer to two days than it did one, fortunately he'd saved enough time apparating across the mountain rather than traversing it by foot that he still had almost a half day before he was required to return home. Another plus was that he didn't run into a single creature interested in taking a bite out of him, the most fearsome creature he came across was a scaly little thing that resembled a hairless bush baby with ears nearly as long as it was. It ate a few pieces of the dried meats Frigga had supplied him with as sustenance for his journey right from his hand, before scrambling off into the foliage.

Nonetheless, it was a great relief when he broke from the thick trees and knee deep marshes onto the rocky shore. The island was barely visible from the edge of the lake, an indistinguishable smudge in the distance, but there was no boat in sight, only a few pieces of driftwood and a handful of loose rocks. He drew his wand, reveling in the feeling of his magic coursing through this familiar conduit once again, and transfigured one of the many pieces of driftwood into a rudimentary boat. He climbed into it with the slightest bit of reluctance (the last time he'd been on a boat, he'd been attacked by an army of corpses) and pushed away from the shore.

Harry used a mild wind charm to propel the boat across the eerily still waters, the mist out in the middle of the water was so thick he wondered if he was going in the right direction up until the moment the boat collided with the shore. The bow crumbled upon impact, but he paid it no mind, allowing the boat to revert back to the piece of driftwood it had previously been.

Lyngvi was basically a floating mass of trees; it was nearly identical to Varinheim save for the fact that it lacked the mainland's overwhelming amount of swamps. Harry was certain he would have spent hours stumbling around it's dark forest, searching for a brother who may not want to be found, fortunately Frigga had given him exact instruction on how to get to him.

Some of the landmarks had been weathered away and destroyed by time, but there was still more than enough left for him to find his way to the clearing in which Fenris had been bound. There wasn't much to it; it was only fifteen meters in diameter with an enormous rock taking up most of the space in the center, the trees all around the edge of the clearing bore impossibly wide and deep gouges. Harry lingered just outside of the clearing, only a meter or so away from the shredded trees.

"Hello?" he called nervously. "Uh…anybody home?"

Silence.

Was he in the wrong place? There was no way Fenris had moved, Frigga had assured him that he wouldn't have been able to break the chain that bound him to the rock, the very same rock he was staring at now. But it had been centuries since anyone had visited the island. Maybe Fenris had found some way to slip his bonds.

He took a step to the left intending to encircle the clearing at a safe distance and get a look at it from all angles when something caught his eye. At the base of a rock was a silken rope, no wider than two of his fingers, it was dirtied and brown but still bore a distinctive shine to it.

Harry took a step closer, squinting his eyes to see better through the mist. The bit of rope gave the tiniest of twitches, the only warning Harry had before a blur of matted fur and jagged teeth leapt over the boulder and crossed the clearing in two huge strides. The coil of rope pulled taut just as the wolf reached the first ring of trees, his powerful legs were crouched low so that his maw was only inches from his face, his lips pulled back revealing enormous incisors dripping with saliva.

"Er…hello."

The enormous wolf released a growl that seemed to rumble the earth beneath Harry's feet.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're Fenris. It's a pleasure."

A warm puff of air pushed his hair away from his face and sent a globule of drool flying only centimeters past his cheek.

"I'm Haraldr, Harry for short, we're sort of, um…brothers."

Fenris didn't so much as twitch at the confession.

"We share the same father, Loki. I know it's be a few years-er centuries but you remember him right?"

Harry was beginning to wish he'd come into this with more of a plan; his fairly painless first encounters with Hela and Sleipnir had left him with the misguided belief that things would go just as smoothly. He hadn't considered that Fenris' forced isolation would have made him infinitely more hostile and reluctant to trust strangers. He'd been able to convince Sleipnir that Loki hadn't abandoned him, that his mother had had just as much say in their separation as he had, with very little effort, but Sleipnir had grown up fairly pampered, Hela had her own realm for Merlin's sake; Fenris was bound to a rock in the middle of an isolated island far away from any form of civilization. He was bound to be far more resentful than any of his other siblings.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "I didn't really think this through all that much, I was just really eager to meet you. Dad told me about you and the others years ago, and I've wanted to meet you ever since. I'll admit, I could have planned our first encounter a bit better." He rubbed sheepishly at his neck, jostling the braided chord around his neck.

Fenris' gaze finally left Harry's face and flickered down to his chest, where his shirt was peaked from a slight protrusion.

Harry immediately tugged the necklace over his head and held it out for Fenris to see, this was the first time he'd removed the necklace, made of hair taken from Sleipnir's mane and a fang Fenris had lost when he was just a puppy, since Loki had gifted it to him on his seventeenth birthday.

"This was a gift from our father," he explained. "Apparently it was the first tooth you'd lost as a pup. He held onto it even after you were taken away, kept it hidden and safe for centuries."

Something flickered in Fenris' eyes, he let out a deep snort, almost mocking, then took one step back, then another, and then he began folding into himself, shrinking, shedding in a way all too reminiscent of Remus' monthly transformations from wolf to man. In seconds, a man, hulking and muscular and naked as the day he was born, towered above him.

"Oh wow, I forgot that that was a skill you possessed," Harry floundered, uncharacteristically at loss for words. "I I just assumed you would be like Sleipnir who's a horse all the time, but-"

Fenris made a sharp noise, somewhere between a snort and a growl that shut Harry up immediately. He had never been so out of his depth.

"Haraldr," the only-sometimes-wolf said. "Son of Loki." He spoke slowly, clearly unused to speaking or perhaps even using his human vocal chords at all. His voice was the same deep rumble as his growl. "How many centuries has it been?"

"I-I don't know actually. I've not been around for very long."

"How many centuries are you?"

"Seventeen, but years not centuries."

Fenris looked surprised. "You are just a babe."

"Not a babe, Midgardian. Mortal as far as I can tell."

Fenris grunted and moved away, Harry caught a glimpse of the thin chain wrapped around his left ankle. "What is your purpose here, Midgardian boy?"

Harry bristled at the moniker, Fenris knew his name, he had just said it. "I just wanted to meet you."

The wolf man barked what could be considered a bitter laugh. "No one has wanted to meet me in many years. Centuries you say."

Harry's anger was effortlessly snuffed out by the curiosity the statement elicited. "You don't know how long you've been here?"

"I can not keep track of the days," Fenris shrugged. "There are not enough stones in this forest or stars in the sky to count how long I've been here."

"How are you still sane? How are you able to interact with me?" Harry winced, realizing how rude his questions sounded the moment he spoke them, but Fenris either didn't seem to notice or, at the very least, he didn't care.

"I sleep for years at a time. It has been long, but not so long." Fenris leaned against the enormous boulder in the center of the clearing, unabashed by his nudity. "How did you get here? Why you, why now?"

"Things have changed on Asgard."

"Is the Allfather dead?" Fenris looked disturbingly hopeful.

Harry grimaced. "No, Loki…our father is. With him dead the Allfather hasn't been keeping such a close eye on you all. I was able to convince Frigga that she could perhaps begin atoning for all the wrongs she's done you by telling me where you were."

"You've found me. You've met me. Now what?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't think that far ahead," he admitted.

"You are a fool."

"So I've been told." Harry gestured to the clearing. "May I enter? I could take a look at your chain for you, maybe try my hand at breaking it."

Fenris laughed again, this one far less angry than the first. "You believe you can break the bonds not even I could? You are so tiny."

"Anyone would look tiny when standing beside you," Harry frowned.

Fenris didn't respond, only held his bound ankle out in invitation. As Harry drew closer he began to realize that the chain that he had previously believed to have stopped and began at his ankle went much further; it was thinner and barely visible beneath the dirt caking the man-wolf's skin but it wound all the way up his left leg, around his waist and his torso, and down his right arm, before looping several times around his wrist and heading back down to his left ankle.

"Well there goes my plan of just chopping off your foot," he muttered.

Fenris snorted. "You do not think that I wouldn't have gnawed my own leg off by now if that had been all I had to do?"

"Some people are queasy about that sort of thing."

"After one has been bound as long as I have, there is very little they wouldn't do to be free."

Harry hummed in agreement and crouched down so that he could see where the chain first met the rock; it only took him a handful of minutes to realize that he wouldn't be able to break the rock rather than the chain itself, whatever stone the boulder was made from was harder than anything he had ever seen. He sent some of his most powerful spells at the rock and it didn't so much as chip.

"You are a sorcerer," Fenris observed with interest. "Like our father." He said the word father with open disdain, but at least it wasn't the full-blown hatred Harry had initially feared.

"He taught me much of what I know," Harry said, before focusing once again on Fenris. "These chains, they seem pretty snug on you now, but what happens when you shift into your wolf form?"

"They stretch,"

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder if it shrinks as well." He studied the chain with narrowed eyes, carefully feeling out every enchantment weaved around it. There weren't as many as were around Sleipnir's stable, but they were just as strong and just as old; Harry was fairly familiar with the feel of Asgardian magic what with being around his father so much, and so was able to feel out what seemed to be the Asgardian equivalent of a stretching charm, but there was no trace of anything that would allow the chain to shrink.

"I've got it," he grinned, drawing his wand. "I think I've got an idea on how to get you out."

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "How?"

"The chain is designed to stretch not shrink," Harry said, believing that to be explanation enough. "Now, I've never tried this on a person before, but, in theory, it works almost every time."

Before Fenris could ask anymore question, he pointed his wand at him and incanted "Diminuendo." Immediately, the man-wolf began shrinking until he stood nearly half Harry's height. Harry let out a sound suspiciously like a squeak when the chain didn't shrink, but remained draped loosely over Fenris' shrunken form.

"It actually worked!" he exclaimed. "Quick, step out of the chains and I'll reverse the spell."

Fenris said nothing as he stepped free from the chains and allowed Harry to return him to his normal size. He spent an incredible amount of time taking in what his arms and legs and torso looked like when devoid of his shackles, he was seemingly stunned by how bare they looked without them.

"I did not think you would be able to do it, little Midgardian boy," he murmured. Suddenly, with a sharp crack and an unexpected curve from his spine, Fenris slipped into the skin of his wolf and bounded across the clearing. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second at its edge before racing off into the forest with a joyful howl.

As the sound reverberated through the trees and tore through the seemingly endless mist, a smile, wider than any he'd felt in a long time, worked its way across Harry's face. He hadn't thought it possible, but Blaise's promise to him from a few days finally proved itselfto be true. He was capable of being happy again, things were finally getting better.

He let himself slip free from his brother's desperate grasp and dove into the abyss. Prepared to succumb to the darkness and join Harry in his daughter's realm.

Only, he didn't.

He didn't die. Why didn't he die? Why was it that he couldn't even end his life properly?

He fell.

And then he didn't. He wasn't. And suddenly the pain in his heart, in his soul became so much real, spread throughout his entire body as they tore into his mind.

Blue. Why was everything so blue?

Thor smiled at him, a beaming grin so full of teeth and…love. He had loved him, hadn't he? He'd fought beside him. Won beside him. Cherished the moments he spent beside him in his own snarky way.

Wrong. Pain. Wrong.Pain. Blue.

Thor was evil. Thor was cruel. He'd used him, scorned his weakness and his pathetic tricks when he wasn't looking and sometimes even when he was. Thor was not his brother. Thor did not love him. He did not love Thor. Thor was the enemy.

Frigga brushed soft hands through his hair, whispering words of praise and encouragement as he focused his magic, focused his mind.

So clever, she said, so powerful. My beautiful boy.