Hermione returned to the back garden of Number 12 just in time to see Sirius speaking reassuringly to Loki, while Harry and Draco walked back towards the house. Evidently, she had missed whatever procedure Draco had come here to perform. Shoulders squared, she marched straight up to the blond wizard and presented him with the jar containing the petrified cybernetic creature.

Draco accepted it with a small nod, slipping the jar into a deep pocket in his robe. "I will see what this reveals, and inform you of the results," he said—not to Hermione, of course, but to Harry. "Your patient should recover; his magical core is intact, if a bit...unconventional," he continued, face inscrutable. "Rest and food he should have in abundance, and moderate exercise as his body heals. When the accidental magic begins, owl me."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.

Draco's eyebrow shot up. "Already?" he inquired. "Was it our kind of magic?"

Harry frowned briefly, then shook his head. "I don't think so."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "He may display other kinds of magic. When it starts to be familiar, owl me."

Despite the vagueness of these instructions, Harry accepted them. "Thank you, Draco," he replied, automatically extending his hand.

To Hermione's everlasting surprise, Draco reached out just as automatically, shaking Harry's hand firmly. "I'll be in touch." With that he turned quickly back towards the house, and disappeared inside, heading for the Floo.

"Well, that went well," Sirius commented as he ambled up to where Harry and Hermione were standing on the porch. Harry's mouth twitched in a half smile, but Hermione just shrugged.

"Loki will recover, that's the main thing," Harry said, laying a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"I don't like how evasive Draco was acting," she said. "There is something he isn't telling us."

"I know," Harry agreed, "but if Ron trusts him, he must be good at what he does. That's all I need, really."

Hermione said nothing to that, but rather turned to look at Loki, who was still lying prone in the garden, head propped on the stone. "Make sure Loki has hope, Harry. I can't pinpoint exactly why, but I believe he will need every bit he can muster." Shaking her head as if to clear a thought, she sighed. "I'm going back inside. I need a bite to eat, and some time to think."

Harry and Sirius watched her go, before making their way across the garden to where Loki was now sitting up, long arms crossed in front of him, elbows propped on his bony knees. He was staring vacantly ahead, and for the first time since he'd arrived at Grimmauld Place, Harry thought he looked more tired than ill. His face, still human-looking under the effects of the glamour charm, was drawn, but whether it was with tension or exhaustion was not clear.

"So, Loki," Harry began, "from the looks of it, there is good news: you should make a full recovery."

"You implied I had already performed magic, why?" Loki demanded.

Harry dropped onto the chilly ground with a sigh. "Because," he explained, "there have been times when you seemed to be exhibiting accidental magic."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" he muttered into his hands.

Sirius came and sat on the other side of him, and shot Harry a look of curiosity.

"Because," Harry admitted, "I wasn't sure that's what it was. I'd never heard of a wizard throwing off waves of cold when he was angered."

At this, Loki's shoulders slumped. "Oh, that," he moaned, voice muffled by his arms. "That's not magic. That's just my...heritage." The last word he spat out hatefully.

"I don't believe you've mentioned this...heritage...before," Harry said carefully. "Maybe if I knew more about it, it would help me recognize what's magic and what isn't."

"My blue form," Loki said dully, "is because I was not born of Asgard. I was stolen as an infant and raised there, but I don't...I didn't belong there."

"Where were you born?" Harry asked quietly.

Loki sat silent for a long while, until Harry and Sirius thought he had decided not to answer. When he did speak, his words were hollow and detached. "Long has Asgardr held a grudge against Jotunheimr, and rightly, for their king was slain there, his body never found. A new king, his son, came into power then, and his name was Odin. Odin took for himself a wife of Vanaheim, a woman comely and wise, and named her Queen. In time, Queen Frigga gave birth to a son, golden-haired with a shining countenance, and the child was the sum of their joy.

"In that happy time, the Jotnir began again to wage war against Asgardr, and Odin went in battle to confront their ruler, Laufey. The battle was won, and Laufey fled, leaving the Asgardians to depart with their slain. As they departed, Odin heard a sound that did not belong on a battlefield: the wail of a newly-born child.

"Through the snows of Jotunheimr, Odin followed the sound, until he came upon a bundle of rags, frail and sickly, whose cries had now diminished to a whimper. Scooping up the bundle, Odin was astonished to see a Jotunn child, smaller than it should have been, even smaller than his own child had been at his birth. Unable to slay such a pitiful thing, even out of mercy, Odin took the child home and gave it to Frigga as her own. The child was raised alongside the prince, to be his peer in all things.

"The child was never told of his birth, nor anything about him save the lie that he was their son, as much as the golden child was by birth, and a true heir to the throne of Asgardr." With this, Loki fell silent once more.

Harry and Sirius exchanged a look, before the latter gave the young man a gentle clap on the shoulder. Loki stiffened at the touch, but said nothing. "Oh, lad," Sirius said, voice full of grim understanding, "nothing complicates life quite like family."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "And what would you know about it?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. "Me? I completely failed to be anything my family wanted of me. Had the audacity to sort into the wrong house at school. Spent all my time with Muggle-borns and blood traitors. Did absolutely nothing to uphold the mores and modes of the most Noble and Ancient House of Black," he recited. "The litany of my crimes was a thing to behold, let me tell you. My dear departed mother, long may she rot, told me herself, many times. The only thing good enough for me was excommunication, although I'm sure some of my uncles and cousins would just as soon have had my head."

At Harry's wince, Sirius grimaced apologetically. "I suppose Bellatrix did manage to do that, in one version of events. At any rate, I'm lucky to be alive at all, and it took an act of divine intervention for me to outlive the people who hated me most in all the world. The only reason I stood to inherit at all was that my father held out some clearly insane hope that I'd be returned to the fold before he died. Which, of course, I didn't, but he had the great foresight to perish before my mother, leaving me in place as heir, and her powerless to do anything about it. Not that I wanted anything to do with it all, but there you are."

Loki said nothing, but the quality of his stare had changed, shifting from hard anger to something more contemplative, if a bit skeptical. Harry, too, was watching him closely, though with considerably more surprise. "I'd always wondered how you'd been blasted from the family tree, but still managed to get the house," he said after a moment's pause.

"Pure-blood family tradition," Sirius replied with a scowl. "As backward about women as it is about Muggle-borns. I didn't get it for the longest time, but Lily set me straight as soon as she found out what most people expected of her, once she and James were engaged. You've never seen anyone so full of righteous fury," he said, shaking his head in amazement, even after so many years.

"I wish I could have," Harry muttered quietly.

"I know, pup," Sirius commiserated. "I know."

Loki watched this interchange without a word, but when the conversation had fallen into an apparently permanent lull, he quietly cleared his throat. "I believe," he said, half to himself, "that I require nourishment. Perhaps," he continued, almost looking at the pair of them, "perhaps we should retire indoors."

Harry turned his attention to the young man, and a small almost-smile made a brief appearance on his face. "Of course," he said, rising to his feet and offering a hand first to Sirius, who took it and stood, and then to Loki, who did not.

Sirius's bark of laughter startled him enough that when the older man grabbed him by the forearms and hauled him bodily upwards, Loki didn't have time to resist. "Come on," Sirius chuckled, steering him back towards the house, "let's go see what else we can find in the larder."

When they made their way down to the kitchen, it was to find the table laden, yet again, this time with sandwiches in addition to pasties and biscuits leftover from the earlier meal. Ron had apparently arrived while they were outside, and helped himself to whatever the he could find. Hermione was seated at the far end of the table, hands warming on a cup of tea, obviously deep in thought.

As the three of them settled down around the table, Ron looked up from his plate, giving a rough nod towards the platters of food between them. "Tuck in," he said between mouthfuls, "there's plenty." He eyed Hermione's plate, as if to determine whether she'd actually eaten or just moved bits around, and sighed. "At least have something, Hermione," he grumbled, half to himself. "Untouched tea isn't going to sustain you, you know."

"Sorry," she replied automatically, lifting her fork to spear a bit of potato that was falling out of a half-eaten Cornish pasty. "I was thinking."

"That I've come to expect," he responded gruffly. He watched her carefully for a moment as the rest of them loaded their plates, nodding with satisfaction as soon as both she and Loki began eating in earnest.

The room was heavy with unspoken thoughts, enough to bother Harry. "What's going on?" he asked, once it became clear that neither of them would bring up the topic by themselves.

"Mum," Ron said tiredly, setting down his sandwich. "She's been all out of sorts lately, and now she wants everyone home for the holidays. I think it's too much for George to manage on his own, and I'm planning to help where I can, but…"

"...but she wants everything to be perfect," Harry supplied, with a knowing sigh.

"Right," Ron affirmed, "and George and I will be busy enough just managing Mum, without having to worry about the cooking and decorating and everything. And I hate to ask you, considering you have guests for the foreseeable future."

"I'm sure I can do something," Harry reassured him, "even if I can't be there myself."

"And why wouldn't you go yourself?" Sirius queried defensively. "I would trust Molly to know I'm alive, and I know her—she would take Loki in just as readily as she did you."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Ron said. "Since Dad died, she's not been entirely right, you know. I'm afraid that something so unexpected would...cause problems." Ron's frown was skeptical, but his eyes were full of sorrow. "I don't want to risk it."

"It's really that bad?" Sirius asked sympathetically. "Merlin, I hate to think of it. Molly was...well, so solid." He scrubbed the back of his neck in consternation. "I don't want to put you to any trouble, Ron—you or your family—but I have to confess, I'd rather be anywhere than this house during any holiday."

"Would she recognize his Animagus form, Ron?" Harry inquired.

The red-headed man frowned in thought, rubbing his scruffy chin. "I'm not sure. She might. What she recognises is so unpredictable. She might be too busy to notice...then again, she might see it straightaway."

The rest of the table sat for a moment in gloomy thought. Hermione, in the meanwhile, was looking back and forth between Loki and Sirius. "What if," she hazarded, "you went in disguise, too, Sirius?"

The older wizard raised an eyebrow at her. "That is what we're talking about, isn't it?" he replied, working to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Loki is going to be wearing a glamour," she explained. "Why couldn't Snuffles wear one too?"

Sirius leaned back in his chair, giving the young witch a long look. "It's possible," he admitted, "thought I don't think I could hold the enchantment myself. I was always good at Transfiguration, but working Charms on yourself is another matter entirely."

"You wouldn't have to," Hermione replied. "I could do it."

At this, Loki turned his full attention on the witch, the first time he'd done anything but sit passively by while everyone else spoke.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked.

"It needn't be too extensive," she explained. "Just a small change would be enough to explain away any similarities, if Molly did start to recognise you."

"Well," Sirius nodded, "if that's settled, then we can all be there to help you, Ron." He caught everyone's eye around the table, and no one seemed opposed. Loki gave a little shrug, Hermione simply nodded, and Harry looked relieved.

Ron gusted out a tired sigh. "We do have a few weeks, but it's good to know how much help we'll have." He shot a grateful look at the four of them. "Thanks," he said.

A/N: I'm back! FINALLY! Summer as a freelancer + parent was a lovely challenge to my writing time, but now school is back in session, and I am back to my regular schedule. With any luck, that will mean a chapter every couple of weeks or so.

Speaking of posting: There is a poll on my profile, in case you want any input into the next WIP that I'll be dusting off from the shelf. If you do, go vote!