Chapter 49, woo! We're nearly at chapter 50. Holy crap. Also, we're back in five figure chapters again. I've clearly gone insane. Again. Yay!

Anyway, in this chapter, we see the fallout of the whole sacrifice thing, we find out part of the reason why Magneto, despite being an Omega class terrorist at one point, was kept relatively quiet (part of the reason is that he wanted to reveal mutants to the world on his terms, and still does), and why the person who did it hasn't been mentioned in the lists of the most powerful characters in this fic. There is a crucial matter preventing said person from being on those lists and that crucial matter is the inconvenient fact that said person is dead.

Also, references and self-references are made, Hagrid is perceptive and for once there isn't a cliffhanger ending. Enjoy. :P

Classhole: It's good to be back.

Harry's a bit young. I mean, on a purely physical basis he's more than aware that he would like to, ahem, get to know Carol better, for instance. Much better. Or Natasha – something vaguely complicated by the fact that she treats him like family, leaving him thoroughly confused.

But he's also thirteen, a somewhat malnourished thirteen (so therefore his development was somewhat stunted, though he's beginning to play catch up) and quite shy, so, frankly, he has no idea where to start. Even as he becomes more commanding and assertive, he tends to flounder when it comes to romance. Also, he's really quite preoccupied at the moment.

The Loki assessing Harry thing will be done soon enough, though the broad gist of it is he can perform most spells up to fourth year level with relative ease, and can pump a fair bit more power into them (for instance, in later years, he notes how overpowering quite a simple spell can prove very effective – just before he transfigures the wood of an oak tree into steel, like the match into pin trick seen in the first book, and uses it as an extremely effective bludgeoning weapon). Wandlessly… well let us say that he is alarmingly good with fire.

As for the Grey family connection, that shall not be explained for a while.

On the animagus thing, to quote Harry Dresden on the same subject to his own apprentice: "I promised your parents that I wouldn't let you melt yourself into a puddle of goo." Shapeshifting is not to be undertaken lightly, especially when you're still figuring out your own identity.

Good guess, where Draco is concerned, but not quite right.

Albus Dumbledore was enjoying a quiet evening. He had made arrangements for the refreshing of the wards, written letters to Messrs Cassidy and Worthington, requesting that they come and detailing the arrangements that would be made, financial and otherwise, for their comfort and convenience. He had also written the mass letter to the parents, which would be sent from the Post Office the next morning, the school having only so many owls to call upon at once.

After all, they only needed to send out at any one time, at most, owls announcing the results of OWL's and NEWT's, which, if there were about sixty students in a year, meant one hundred and twenty owls.

The delivery of lists of requirements for the coming year, as sent to every student in every year before the start of each of year, was also subcontracted to the Post Office. Indeed, Dumbledore suspected that that was just about the only reason the Hogsmeade Post Office was able to remain in business. After all, Hogsmeade was barely a village, and many witches and wizards owned their own owls.

He might have said that it was subsidised by the Ministry, but in his experience, the Ministry thought that money was very valuable, and therefore it was to be collected in as grand proportions as possible, stored in very safe places (such as pockets) and only used for the public benefit as a last resort.

It was one of what Dumbledore considered far too many symptoms of the sad fact that Magical Britain was in steep decline. The rich grew richer, the poor grew poorer, and the mediocre suppressed the intelligent. It was an unspoken truth that any young wizard or witch with the sense to see what was right in front of them, the means to do so and without a burning desire to serve the public/serve themselves would slip out of Magical Britain as quickly and quietly as possible, either to Europe, or more commonly, the Americas and Australia. In recent years, Japan, Brazil, the more stable parts of Africa and China were also becoming popular destinations.

Of course, this was a matter complicated by the fact that the Ministry as an institution did not like the idea of the best and brightest witches and wizards leaving. It wasn't simply the financial cost, or even the prestige cost, though Dumbledore knew for a fact that the American Ministry was in the habit of sending their British counterparts a somewhat smug monthly bulletin on just how well the émigrés were doing, and how many were flocking in every day, a habit that they'd picked up from the French.

It was a habit which the Ministry found extremely annoying, but couldn't reasonably protest, as all they would get was looks of milky eyed innocence and puzzled questions about why they didn't want to hear about what fine young people Britain was producing, people to be proud of to be sure. People, more to the point, who were leaving as quickly as they could, and going to other countries. This habit had stepped up in recent years, along with a simplification of the immigration process for European (read, British) expatriates, leading Dumbledore to suspect that Nick Fury was taking his passive aggressive revenge on the Ministry and the British Wizarding World at large.

The Chinese and Japanese Ministries were far too polite to do such a thing, but they didn't need to. Their newspapers were perfectly happy to do it for them.

In the end, what bothered the Ministry was not being in control. They considered all wanded British magic to be their domain to do with as they pleased. Dumbledore rather uncharitably suspected that they would consider all British magic, wanded or wandless, to be their domain to do with as they pleased, if they weren't all scared stiff by Arthur Langtry and the White Council, which was based in Edinburgh.

In fairness, he couldn't blame them for that. The Merlin taken as an individual was man who wielded incredible amounts of raw personal power, and the other seven members of the Senior Council were no less formidable.

Ebenezar McCoy, for instance, was the youngest and least experienced member of the Senior Council. He was also the magical equivalent of a bare knuckle brawler – and had probably started and ended his fair share of bar fights with said bare knuckles, no magic required, for that matter – was the White Council's unofficial assassin and had pulled a disused satellite out of space and used it essentially as a gigantic fly swat.

And then there was Harry Dresden.

Everyone was scared of Harry Dresden.

Even the Fallen were scared of Harry Dresden.

Dumbledore supposed that this wasn't exactly surprising, considering all that he'd done, but apparently Harry Dresden was actually a rather nice young man. Until you tried to hurt an innocent, or worse, one of his friends. Under such circumstances, he did things that made men and monsters worldwide quake in their boots, and the Ministry found the concept of him coming to Britain a terrifying one.

Apparently he wasn't all that fond of authority.

Really, Dumbledore was quite tempted to hire him as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, just to see Fudge's reaction. Maybe he might be able to induce an aneurysm. Or a panic attack. Or maybe it would scare seven kinds of crap out of Fudge, which Dumbledore would find immensely interesting from a scholarly standpoint, as thus far, he had only discovered five kinds of crap.

On the other hand, the job was quite obviously cursed and Stephen appeared to have earmarked Dresden for the Sorcerer Supreme after next. Wanda, naturally, would be his direct successor.

The Sorcerer Supreme. That was another thing the Ministry didn't like, since they couldn't control it. Dumbledore recalled the story of one Minister in the 1820's suggesting that maybe, since Doctor Strange was apparently a British citizen, he should work for British interests. Magical British interests, of course.

As Dumbledore recalled, that Minister had been summoned to Strange's London apartments (he'd moved to New York in the sixties, on the grounds that he blended in better there. Having visited Strange's New York residence in his usual garb and not seen one batted eyelid, Dumbledore thought that he might have a point). The Minister in question had entered as haughty as the Pureblood Lord he was, and had left half an hour later, a pale, cringing wreck who gibbered at the sound of bagpipe music and vomited uncontrollably whenever he heard the words 'authority', 'theoretically' and 'parsley'.

Stephen, needless to say, had a twisted sense of humour, and unsurprisingly, no one had ever raised the idea again.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, and then picked up his latest book. The Sword In The Stone, by T.H. White. He'd seen Harry reading it one afternoon, and inquired about it. He'd found the premise interesting and acquired a copy of his own, and now he was rather enjoying it.

One might think that as Headmaster of a school under threat by HYDRA, he shouldn't be relaxing. Instead, he should spend every waking moment worrying about the threat. Dumbledore would reply that such a thing was pointless, since HYDRA were in no state to attack any time soon, and in any case, to worry so much would only lessen his ability to protect the school. He was an old man and had long learned that sometimes, it was best simply to relax.

Then there was a loud crash down below, a swift clacking sound up the stairs, followed by a thump as whatever had apparently bulldozed its way through the gargoyle met the spell enhanced door. This thump was followed by loud, frantic scrabbling.

Dumbledore put down the book, drew his wand, stepped off to one side, granting him the greatest angle from which to attack and the most difficulty for any attacker to immediately turn and face him (the door opened into the room for specifically that purpose), and flicked his wand.

The door opened, and not half a moment later, one of Harry's enormous wolves burst in, with what looked like a vaguely motion sick raven clinging onto its back, looking frantic.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Good evening," he said dryly. "Would you like me to make you some refreshment, or will you take it yourself? Considering what you've done to my poor gargoyle, I think I would prefer the former to the latter."

"You gotta come with us," the raven said, stifling what sounded like a nauseous and faintly avian belch.

"What's wrong?"

The wolf whined, and rocked from one foot to the other, clearly impatient to be getting going.

"Stop it!" the raven snapped, irritated. "I'm trying ta get my brains back in one place, no thanks to you."

The wolf growled, a more than slightly disconcerting sound when emanating from an animal larger than some cars, but settled down.

The raven took a deep breath. "The kid's upset. I mean, real upset," he said. "He… found out some things that maybe he coulda been told a little more subtly."

"What things?" Dumbledore asked. "And where is he?"

"The library," the raven said, just as Fawkes let out a mournful call. The raven shot the Phoenix a slight glare, then ignored him. "And… well, I'll explain on the way."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then let us waste no time."

He strode through the castle at a pace that belied his age, repairing the groaning gargoyle with a flick of his wand and not a single break in step, long legs eating up the distance at speed.

The wolf – which one, he didn't know – was trotting alongside him, matching his pace, and the raven explained exactly what had happened.

In short, Harry had, with the help of another, apparently utterly oblivious student, stumbled upon the fact that the Norse and Germanic peoples, even a few of the Saxons, had sacrificed human beings to his father.

"We wanted to ease him into it," the raven explained. "'Cos goldilocks and Loki were pretty freaked out by it. Hel, it was the reason that goldilocks stopped coming to Midgard in the first place."

"But you did not have the time to explain this," Dumbledore said, with a sigh.

"Right. And…" the raven shuffled its feet, then let out a squawk as it nearly fell off, then admitted, "We ain't that good with upset kids. And we like him."

Dumbledore got the – correct – impression that this wasn't something that happened often. "I will do what I can," he said.

"Good," the raven said.

The rest of the journey was passed in silence, and it wasn't long before Dumbledore entered the library. There he found Harry curled up in a chair, looking small and miserable. In front of him was, Dumbledore saw, a rather gory account of a Norse Sacrifice. A rather hapless looking Ravenclaw student was hovering nearby, a boy who looked rather bothered by what he'd unleashed.

Dumbledore recognised this student. It was not every young wizard that lived next door to the Antichrist.

"Mr Thorson. Mr Device," he said. Normally, he would have used Harry's first name, but he got the feeling that he needed to get Harry's attention if he wanted to help him, and in any case, it would not be fair to do it in front of another student. Harry was the only student whose first name he regularly used for a number of reasons, and Dumbledore suspected that it would be considered a mark of favouritism that Harry would not need to be saddled with at any time, least of all this one.

Both boys looked up, eyes widening, then Harry shot a glare at the raven that had gone to fetch Dumbledore that said very clearly in embarrassed and indignant tones (metaphorically speaking), 'what did you go get him for?'

The raven decided to reply verbally, as raven body language is somewhat limited. "You need help, kid," he said. "Also between gol – Thor and your uncle, your family has gone way over its brooding quota."

Adam Device (presumably, Dumbledore thought, his parents had named him as a way of saying 'thanks for not ending the world') shuffled his feet and looked awkward.

"I think you had better go, Mr Device," Dumbledore said kindly. "I need to speak to your fellow student and his talking ravens. Twenty points to Ravenclaw for keeping Mr Thorson company."

That was a sentence he'd never thought he'd say. The closest the wizarding world had got to talking birds in recent history was when the Marauders had enchanted all the post owls they could lay their hands on to swear loudly at random intervals, using a spell based on a captured Jarvey.

It had been very inventive, though at least one owl had met a sticky end when it had called Aberforth 'goat-fucker' several times in a row.

Well, Dumbledore said sticky… while the resulting splatter had taken several hours to clean up, occasionally they still found bits of it wedged into buildings.

Still. Exploding, swearing owls were not the issue here, he thought, as Adam Device hurriedly gathered up his stuff, said a hurried thank you to Dumbledore, a hurried apology to Harry, then exited stage left, thankfully not pursued by a bear.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said, casting a privacy bubble with flick of his wand, in case any inquisitive students sought to eavesdrop. "Your raven told me that you were rather upset."

"They're not my ravens. If they belong to anyone, they belong to my granddad," Harry said flatly. "Professor."

"They care for you, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

The tone was slightly spiteful, but under the circumstances, Dumbledore was quite happy to let it pass. "They did," he said calmly. "But I would like to hear it from you."

Harry was silent for a long moment, then eventually said, "People sacrificed to my family. Little things, like beads and jewellery and food. Then bigger things. Like animals. Then even bigger things. Like people." He met Dumbledore's gaze, and there were tears in his eyes. "How could that happen? How could they let it happen?" he demanded, getting to his feet, the famous Evans temper rising within him like a thunderstorm and making Dumbledore very glad that he'd cast a privacy bubble. "How could they?!" he screamed, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks as the floodgates opened. "Why did they?!"

The wolves let out whining sounds, and one tried to put its head on Harry's lap, then freezing in place as Harry turned a furious glare on it. Dumbledore felt a pulse of energy and the wolf was pushed away by an invisible force, to a yelping whine of dismay as it was sent spinning across the library floor.

"Harry!" Dumbledore snapped, and Harry turned the glare on him. Emerald green flecked with growing gold met diamond blue.

Then, after a long moment, Harry sagged and mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

"It is not me you should be apologising to," Dumbledore said, tone still slightly stern, but not unkind.

Harry nodded, "Sorry, Freki," he said, sounding ashamed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Freki simply chuffed as if to say, 'hurt me? As if', then trotted over and laid his head on Harry's lap, giving him a soulful look that said, 'I'm not hurt physically, but I need lots of scratches to make me feel better. Hint. Hint.' Harry chuckled and started scratching. The other wolf, presumably Geri, let out a solicitous sound and then let out a pleased rumbling sound as Harry paid him attention too.

As he did, Dumbledore caught the eye of the raven that had come with him, the one he presumed to be Huginn, as he seemed to be the brains of the outfit. Huginn gave him a slow nod, and there was respect in those avian eyes, a look that said, 'nicely done'.

Dumbledore inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement, then turned back to Harry.

"Harry, I have no doubt that none of your family knew what was happening. Often, what is done in the name of a person, or an idea, is completely contrary to what that person would want, or what that idea represents," he said gently. "Your family was not the reason for these deeds. They were the excuse."

"Yeah, look at it from these Norse guys point of view," Huginn pointed out in a reasonable tone. "They're dealing with these apparently all-powerful beings who seem to look out for them and do them a good turn. They live in a feudal system, where a lord protects his people and rewards them for good service. In return, they offer up taxes and tribute and do things for him. Now, these Norse guys want to give something as tribute. And what's more precious a gift than a life?"

"At first, it's mostly animals and occasionally a King," Muninn chimed in. "Either to bring back the sun, improve a failing harvest, or some mishegoss like that, and mostly to the boss as well, just because. And it was mostly willing, anyway. Kings are meant to become minor gods, which is bullshit, and maidens become Valkyries, which isn't always bullshit. But then, when these guys see your dad and uncle first hand, they get thinking. The old sacrifices aren't enough. And what better way to enhance your god's status by killing non-believers?"

Huginn took up the narrative now. "When your dad found out," he said. "I'll give him this much credit – he was an arrogant jackass, but he was absolutely horrified. He wasn't against cracking a few skulls, killing in heroic battle and all that shit, but this was a whole different story. This was murder. He mostly abandoned Earth after that."

"And granddad and uncle Loki?"

"Your granddad never really noticed. He was more occupied with keeping an eye on Laufey and Surtur and keeping peace in the Nine Realms. Plus, the Kree and the Skrulls were fighting, again, and he got called in to mediate. And then there was that whole thing with the Nova Corps and Krypton picking a fight with each other over jurisdiction. Not a smart move for them or the rest of the galaxy," Huginn said, with an avian shrug. "The specific stuff a few mortals did to each other on Earth, as compared to what he had to deal with in Asgard, when they already killed each other so regularly, meant that the whole sacrifice thing mostly passed him by," Huginn said. "But he would have put a stop to it, all right."

"And Loki?"

"Well… let's just say that he made his opinion on human sacrifice known. And funnily enough, not many people sacrificed to him after that," Huginn said.

"Not for long, anyway," Muninn added.

Harry looked puzzled.

"It's kinda hard to sacrifice people when you don't have hands," Muninn explained bluntly.

"Apparently it was symbolic, you know? His exact words were, 'since your hands have been dipped in innocent blood, they are stained. You shall be relieved of that stain. Permanently'," Huginn continued. "He was consistent about that, wasn't he?"

"Oh yeah," Muninn said. "He tried to cut his own off. Now that's dedication."

Harry's eyes widened to near impossible extents. "He… he what?"

The ravens shared a look.

"When what he did during his invasion sunk in, he went a little crazy."

"Er. Crazier."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, he sorta spiralled into… what do Midgardians call it? Depression? Suicidal tendencies? Something like that."

"Goldil – Thor managed to stop him. You'd never think something so big could move so fast…" Muninn said thoughtfully.

"Anyway, him, your grandma and the boss managed to convince him that he wasn't in his right mind when he invaded. Still culpable, but less than if he'd been sane. So the hands stayed."

Harry stared at them in total horror.

"What?" Huginn asked. "Did you think it was all sunshine and roses, kid? Your dad and his brother have been in some pretty dark places. Sometimes, they were dragged there by monsters, down into the dark. Sometimes... they did the dragging to themselves." He shook his head. "No, kid. Every life story's got its shadows. Look at Sif - she's been eaten alive by freaking Fenris, and that's just for starters! Even your dad has some really fucking deep shadows in his past. Some of them as bad as your uncle's."

"Ask him about Gorr sometime," Muninn suggested.

"No, don't ask him about Gorr. Ever," Huginn contradicted sharply, belting his fellow raven over the head with his wing and glaring. He looked at Harry. "Trust me, you don't want to know. And your uncle's..." He shook his head. "Which is all before you take into account the past of the whole dynasty. That's a whole lot worse."

Harry was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I think I should keep looking, then."

"Harry, are you sure?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"You're gonna go some dark places, kid," Huginn warned.

"You think this is dark?" Muninn said. "The other stuff is just as bad. If not worse."

Harry looked up, and his expression was calm and determined. "Then I'll just have to take a light, won't I?" he said.

OoOoO

Fury sat in the back of the Quinjet, elbows on his knees, thinking. Thor, Clint and Natasha were all sitting across from him, Thor having eventually elected to leave without dropping by his son, on the advice of Natasha.

"You can't hover around him all the time, Thor," she'd said. "Or you'll smother him. You can contact him by phone or fly over if you really need to talk to him, but I wouldn't recommend phone calls more than once or twice a week, nor flying over more than twice a month."

"I don't want him to feel alone," Thor had replied, sounding somewhat upset.

"And he won't," Natasha had said, perfectly calmly. "Harry's perfectly self-sufficient. He's had to be. I know that want to be with him all the time, but if you try, you will smother and overwhelm him. You want him to look forward to your visits, not set his watch by them."

Thor had sighed and reluctantly – very reluctantly – acquiesced, and then taken the Quinjet back in order to have some company.

In the light of what Harry was discovering at this very moment, it was quite possibly a very good thing that he did.

"Thor," Fury said suddenly. "Mjolnir can be wielded only by someone who's worthy, right?"

Thor looked a little surprised, and nodded. "Yes, it is enchanted by my father to be so," he said.

Fury nodded. This tallied with all SHIELD's intel on Mjolnir, which was, admittedly, fairly limited. All they really knew was that it was a damn big hammer that happened to be practically indestructible, able to be summoned by its wielder and it was a method of focusing Thor's powers and transferring them to its wielder. It had, so far, only been lifted by Thor and Steve, the latter of whom had, totally unaware of the significance of being able to lift it, used it as a doorstop.

"Would it be possible to work out a spell to find others who are worthy?" Fury asked.

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Theoretically," he said after a moment's thought. "Though even as James, that sort of thing was not part of my field of expertise." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Fury was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Do you remember Alan Scott?"

"You mentioned him once or twice, as did Stephen and Wanda," Thor said. "I got the impression that he was a powerful ally of SHIELD's."

"He was a Special Agent," Fury said. "An elite Agent of SHIELD, codenamed Green Lantern. He was SHIELD's most powerful asset and often served as our direct countermeasure to Magneto."

Thor's eyebrows shot up and he let a low whistle of awe that was very reminiscent of James.

"Yeah, he was Omega class," Fury said. "In his prime, he was possibly the only person on the planet capable of stalemating Magneto in a straight fight."

"Was?"

"He retired in 1998, to spend more time with his family. As he pointed out, everything had gone quiet. The Smallville situation had ended the year before –"

"Smallville situation?" Thor asked.

"Classified," Natasha said. Thor scowled. "Seriously," she said. "Even I don't know much about it. The only person alive who knows the full details is Director Fury."

Thor gave Fury a hopeful look. Fury glared and said nothing. This, he would later think, was a mistake, if an understandable one. Thor sighed. "Very well. Carry on."

"Everything had gone quiet," Fury said. "SHIELD could handle all the routine stuff, and Alan promised to come out of retirement if the world ever needed him. He was a candidate for the Avengers Initiative." He sighed. "He was killed during the Battle of New York. A couple of his kids are magical, maybe as a direct result of him wielding the ring. SHIELD's funding their way through Hogwarts."

"And his power is needed?" Thor asked.

"The Darkhold's on the loose and the Winter Soldier is strutting up to Hogwarts, bold as brass," Fury said. "We've never needed it more."

Thor grimaced. "I think it would be best if we didn't reveal that little fact to my brother until after this emergency is over," he said.

"Yeah. Can't have one of our most powerful assets crushed by guilt," Fury said calmly. "He'll have plenty of time for that later."

Thor frowned at this callous assessment, but said, "You need a wielder. And the ring…"

"Chooses its wielders," Fury said, nodding. "I've got two of my best people on it. All they've managed to figure out is that it is pure magic and that the wielder needs to have great strength of will combined with a vivid imagination."

"Then why not give it to Tony?" Thor asked. "He sounds perfect."

"Tony is too much like your brother for me to have any comfort in handing him the key to that much power," Fury said flatly. "He's an emotionally damaged genius with a latent messiah complex. He's like Dumbledore and Loki that way. He's also like Dumbledore and Loki in that he knows his limits and is very careful not to overstep them." He shook his head. "He wouldn't take the ring. His dad studied it in the eighties, looking to replicate it, so he knows exactly what it is, exactly what it does and exactly how dangerous it is."

"He would if he thought he needed it to save Pepper," Clint said, breaking his silence.

Fury inclined his head in acknowledgement. "He would," he agreed. "But he's not exactly my first candidate."

"Who is?" Thor asked.

"Captain Rogers," Fury said. "But Captain America has incalculable value as a symbol, a symbol of hope. And that's what the world needs right now, not just another superpowered guy weighing in as part of a big superpowered fight."

"Jordan could do it," Clint said, a touch of mischief in his voice. Natasha snorted.

Fury gave him a glare that could have melted diamond. "Hell. No," he ground out.

"Jordan?" Thor asked.

"Hal Jordan," Clint explained. "He's a particularly talented Air Force pilot that I used to work with. Good guy. Probably insane, but a good guy." He turned to Natasha. "Remember?"

"I remember. Director Fury remembers," Natasha said, voice as dry as the Sahara. "Agent Sitwell remembers, if the twitch he gets every time he sees a bungee cord is any indication."

Clint sighed happily. "Yeah… they were good times."

Thor looked vaguely intrigued. "Would this Hal Jordan be able to wield the ring?" he asked.

"Yes. God knows what he'd do with it," Fury muttered.

Thor gave him a puzzled look. "I don't know. That's why I was asking you," he said, tone perfectly bemused and perfectly innocent. Only the gleam in his eye told Fury that he was being messed with.

Clint started snickering and Natasha smiled slightly. "Dresden could do it," she said.

"He could," Fury said slowly. "But the funny thing about Harry Dresden is that you can tell where he's been because it's always on fire."

Natasha gave a tiny shrug, as if to suggest that while this was probably true, they might not exactly be in a position where they could afford to be choosy.

"So you want my brother to see if he can use magic to find someone worthy," Thor said. "Why did you not ask before?"

"Because Strange has been dropping cryptic hints for the last few months when we've been consulting him that it'll be important," Fury said. "And I was hoping that this time, for once, he would say something useful," he added sourly.

"I can almost guarantee that it will fail, but I will ask him," Thor said. "In my experience, the worthy person either becomes worthy or turns up exactly when they are needed."

Fury gave him a long look. "Please tell me that magic isn't that much like a story book," he said eventually.

"Why shouldn't it be? People, whether human or Asgardian, think in patterns," Thor said. "And magic is heavily affected by perception, particularly that of those who wield it. In turn, the stories are usually based on actual events, meaning that they are merely copying the patterns, meaning that it is a constant circle, with the stories reinforcing the patterns and the patterns reinforcing the stories. And so magic, which is ever so slightly alive anyway, operates on patterns one would expect in a story book. Quite simple, really."

Everyone stared at him. Even Natasha looked surprised.

"I do occasionally listen when my brother waxes philosophical, you know," Thor said dryly. He glanced at Fury. "Have faith, Nicholas."

"As a general rule, I don't believe in generally having faith," Fury said. "I believe in having faith in something. Such as a damn powerful weapon."

Thor shrugged. "A wielder will come forth, Nicholas," he said calmly. "When they are needed."

OoOoO

With that line, the conversation was ended. Dumbledore left and Harry pointed out to Huginn and Muninn that they had a job to do and would presumably know if he needed their help. When they didn't leave, he promised to bring them a bag of marshmallows each next time he came to Asgard if they did as he asked.

He'd then added that he didn't intend to do any further research tonight. The revelation of the sacrifice thing needed… absorbing. And it was getting late in any case.

And did he say that he was bringing two bags of marshmallows each to Asgard on his next visit?

On reflection Harry thought he'd never seen anything with feathers move that fast in his life. There'd even been a small sonic boom.

Another reason he didn't want to do any more research was because he had a letter that was burning a hole in his pocket (not literally, though he had no doubt that the author was capable of making it do so).

So when he got back to the Common Room, he settled down by the fire and opened Wanda's letter, settling down to read it. He fully intended to re-read it later, as he had done with her first letter. It was a tangible connection to someone who loved him, and Harry wasn't ashamed to say that he treasured it.

Dear Harry, it said.

Thank you for deciding to forgive me. I was afraid that you wouldn't, if only because I thought that I didn't deserve it. As your mother often noted, self worth wasn't always one of my strong points.

So you've met Charles? That's good. He's a very kind man and he helped me out a lot when I was your age. In fact, it could be said that he saved my life. You see, my powers aren't simply magical. I am also what is known as a 'mutant'. In many ways, it's like magic – a twist of genetics that allows the person who has it to do things humans can't. Though it tends to be much more specialised.

Charles' power, for instance, is telepathy, on a truly enormous scale. My father can manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum – he mostly uses it to control metal. My own power is probability manipulation. I can make things that are unlikely happen by increasing their probability. While this sounds fairly harmless, and it was to begin with, it spiralled out of control. The laws of reality bent and warped around me and I was being driven insane.

My father took me to Charles and your own headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who worked night and day to save my mind and my life. They preserved both, but they couldn't find a permanent solution, until Doctor Strange stepped in. It was Strange who found the solution and saved me, but if not for Charles and Albus, I wouldn't have been in any state to save. They saved me as much as Strange did.

What I'm saying – in a somewhat rambling fashion - is that Charles is a good man. And, most crucially, as he may have told you, he is a teacher. He has helped mutants, the occasional witch or wizard, and the even more occasional person who happened to be a bit of both, control and understand their powers for over forty years. And unless I miss my guess, now is about the time that powers from your father's side of the family would start coming through. If they haven't yet, they will soon.

And you may find them frightening and hard to control. If you need a sympathetic ear, I am always here. But if you need help beyond that, and you feel the need to turn to someone outside your family – I have no doubt that your father and uncle would be your first port of call, and rightly so – for help, Charles is the expert and he will be more than happy to help you.

Like Albus, who is in many ways his mentor, he has never turned away anyone who needed his help, so don't be afraid to ask. Don't be afraid to ask anyone if you feel that you need help, ever. Because I promise you, you'll always have someone to turn to, even if, for whatever reason, the only person you can turn to is me.

Now, I have twelve years of inquisitive godmothering to catch up on, so I want to know everything. What's your favourite food, who your best friends are, what spells you struggle with… everything that you can tell me, I want to hear it. If there's ever anything you want to get off your chest, or you just want someone to listen, I'm here for you. Never forget that.

Of course, I should add that everything that you really don't want me to hear on grounds of embarrassment, I'll probably hear from your father and godfather, but I promise not to tell if you won't.

Oh, and yes, I was at the battle. As you may have heard, I left the Wizarding World in part because I was disgusted by it, and in part because I was sick and tired of losing people I cared about to war. So you may wonder why I changed my mind. The answer is that Director Peter Wisdom, head of MI13, Britain's SHIELD, is a persuasive man. And some things are worth fighting for. Your future is one of them.

With Love,

Wanda

P.S. Your father told me that you have an email address. Do you want to talk that way instead? Mine's WandaScarlet at gmail dot com.

Harry smiled slightly. No matter what revelations were to come, he wasn't going to face them alone.

He went to get out some parchment from his bag, then he paused.

Why not. It was quicker after all, even if he hadn't yet got the hang of 'touch typing.

He reached into his pocket and got out his phone and opened it up, accessing the email app. On cue, the virtual keyboard popped out, and Harry began to type.

Dear Wanda,

To answer your last question, yes I would like to talk this way. Hegwig's getting a little tired with all the back and forth, and she's not in a very good mood at the moment. Dad needed to borrow her urgently, and she was out hunting. So he used a summoning spell on her. You can imagine how that went…

OoOoO

The following month was a quiet one, as Harry slowly got back into the ordinary rhythms of going to school. It was almost normal, if you excepted the fact that some of the students were trickling away, being taken home by their parents. Harry suspected that the brief presence of the Winter Soldier on the grounds had something to do with it. That aside, he had a few new problems.

One of these was, briefly, some students treating him with something approaching reverence, but this was swiftly punctured by the Twins mercilessly parodying this tendency, bowing and scraping in an exaggerated fashion in Harry's presence, loudly announcing things like, "Move along, move along, God's late for Transfiguration," in the corridors and saying, "What is thy bidding, my master?"

Harry wasn't sure if they'd watched Star Wars, and wasn't sure how they'd have managed it in any case, but equally, he wasn't sure that they hadn't.

One of the other new problems was fitting two pony sized wolves into the average classroom. The issue of them entering the classroom quickly became a non-issue as even Harry was unable to make more than one of them stay outside at a time, and after seeing one of them yawn, displaying a large collection of enormous and very sharp teeth, no one felt particularly inclined to try. In the end, a compromise was struck. One wolf would follow Harry inside and stand watch, while the other would stand watch outside and act as an impromptu draft excluder. In the case of Divination, owing to the small nature of the classroom, it would also act as an impromptu sofa for Harry and Ron.

Speaking of Divination, no one was entirely sure how either Freki or Geri (they alternated) got into the attic. They were quite simply at the bottom of the ladder one moment, and at the top the next.

Everyone put this down to the wolves being magical wolves, and didn't comment on it.

Most of the teachers were ambivalent to them. Professor Binns, as was his wont, completely ignored them, Snape kept half an eye on them at all times, Professor Lupin was interested by them and Hagrid loved them.

"These are fine boys yeh've got 'ere, 'arry," he said appreciatively, after giving them both a professional examination. "Perfectly healthy." Then he chuckled as Freki gave him an enthusiastic lick. "An' friendly too." He glanced back at his hut. "Fang don' like 'em, though."

"I'm not exactly surprised," Harry muttered. Fang was something of a coward, and was, by comparison, about the size of a small Labrador. Since he was a fully grown boarhound, a relative of the old English Mastiff, i.e. the sort of dog whose ancestors had in times gone by eaten Romans, Lions, Christians and anything else that was too slow or too stupid to run away, this said a lot about how large the wolves were. So under these circumstances, his attitude was perfectly understandable.

Hagrid chuckled again. "Aye, I'm not either," he said. Then he gave Harry a sharp look. "I hear that ye're somethin' of a vampire expert."

Harry sighed. "Uncle Loki talked to Professor Lupin over Christmas and got a few books for me from the libraries of Asgard, and marked out a few passages," he said, in the tones of someone who had explained this many times, but since he likes the person that he is explaining it to, he is making an effort to moderate his tone. "Like a dutiful nephew, I read them."

Read them, he thought with just the tiniest bit of guilt as he began to explain, and used them to show off.

OoOoO

"Today," Professor Lupin said. "We will be studying vampires."

This caused the entire class to perk up. Vampires had the draw of the mysterious, the dark and the vampire, seductive even in image.

Also, they were interesting.

"There are many breeds of vampire," Lupin continued. "One muggle author compared them to diseases for the sake of humour – some kill you outright, others just make you walk funny and avoid fruit."

That got a smattering of laughter, and Lupin smiled briefly. "He wasn't wrong." He turned to the board and tapped it. Words began to appear. "So we will be focusing on the three most powerful and widely known breeds. The European Revenant, the Mayan Blood Demon and the Western Anthrophage. They are usually divided into Courts – Grey, Red and White, if only for the sake of shorthand. There's also a fourth Court, the Black Court. However, that one is both a shadow of its former self and a subset of the Grey Court." He turned to the class. "Can anyone tell me a unifying characteristic of all the courts?"

Ron's hand went up uncertainly. "Yes?" Lupin asked.

"Well… they all eat people?"

"Indeed they do, though the Red Court have also been known to feed on cows, starting the legend of the Chupacabra," Lupin said. "If it is sentient and has blood in its veins, any of the Courts can feed on it. Anything else?"

Hermione raised a hand. "They're all ruled by Kings," she said confidently. "The White King is currently Lord Raith, the Red King calls himself Kukulcan and the Grey King is…"

"Dracula," Lupin said. "Vlad Tepes. Son of Vlad Drakul, called the Son of the Dragon and the Impaler. An elder vampire of the Grey Court with all the powers of an Ancient of their kind." He looked around. "Now, which is the eldest breed?"

"Red," Hermione said, at the exact same instance as Harry said, "Grey."

"Two differing answers," Lupin noted. "May I have the reasons for each?"

Hermione, who had the determined look of someone who would prove they were right and heaven help whoever got in their way, said, "The Red King goes back beyond recorded history, with estimates suggesting that he is anywhere between ten and fifteen thousand years old, though some have said he could be as young as six thousand. The Grey Court was only recorded first during the time of the Trojan war."

"Excellent, Hermione," Lupin said, and Hermione smiled. "And Harry?"

"Beyond human recorded history, yes," Harry said, with the air of someone laying down an ace. "But Asgard's history goes much further. The Red King is ten thousand years old. The first Grey Court vampire was called Varnae, born over seventeen thousand years ago on the lost continent of Atlantis. He fought my father, my grandfather and great uncles, and my great-grandfather at different points in history."

Hermione's jaw was hanging loose. Whether this was at Harry knowing something she didn't, or her and by extension her beloved books, being proven wrong, was debatable.

"Correct," Lupin said. "Fragmentary records mention the existence of Varnae and his kind as far back as 9,000 years ago, though their numbers seemed to rise and fall on a regular basis, possibly as a result of Asgardian purges." He gave Harry a long look. "Do those Asgardian histories of yours say what happened to Varnae? A creature of his power does not disappear lightly. Yet he did, being last recorded marauding during the Black Plague."

Harry shrugged. "I didn't get that far," he said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Professor."

"No matter," Lupin said, smiling slightly. "You have already expanded our knowledge. It would be a little harsh to complain that it hadn't been expanded enough."

OoOoO

"Hermione's not very happy with me right now," Harry said glumly.

"I'm not surprised," Hagrid grunted.

Harry gave him a surprised look.

"'arry, yeh've always been a talented lad. Ye're the best flyer I've ever seen, better even than yer father, which we both know is sayin' quite a lot," Hagrid explained. "Professor Lupin raves about yer work in Defence."

Harry blinked. He couldn't exactly imagine the calm and collected Lupin raving about anything. Seeing his expression, Hagrid amended his words.

"Well, 'e was as excited as 'e ever gets, and 'e says that ye're the best in the school. Ye've got a knack for it. Professor Flitwick thinks that ye're damn good at Charms, even if ye're not the prodigy, yer mother was, and Lily was a phenomenon at Charms, the same way your dad was at Transfiguration. Speakin' of Transfiguration, ye're pretty good at that, too," he said.

"But I'm terrible at the theory," Harry said, frowning.

"Maybe," Hagrid said. "But when it comes to practical spellwork, practical anything, ye're quicker than Hermione is. Now, Hermione, she's brilliant at theory. Absolutely brilliant at it. She remembers everythin'. She's good at spellwork because she learns, she practices and she works at it. You pick it up, just like tha'. And ye're more powerful than she is. Ye always have been."

"What are you saying, Hagrid?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I'm sayin' that ye're good at just about everythin' that ye turn your hand to," Hagrid said seriously. "Ye'd even be pretty good at Potions if Professor Snape didn't hate yer father and take it out on ye." He rubbed his chin. "Though 'e's got reason enough for tha', I suppose."

"I heard," Harry said quietly. "Dad admitted that he bullied Snape when they were at school."

"Nah, it's not tha'," Hagrid said. "Believe me, Professor Snape gave as good as 'e ever got."

"Dad didn't mention that."

"Because 'e feels guilty, especially after all that ye went through with them Dursleys," Hagrid said. "And doesn' want to look like 'e's makin' excuses."

Harry nodded slowly. "So what was it?"

"Yer mother," Hagrid said. "She and Professor Snape were best friends all the way 'til third year or so. They grew up together an' all. Then, they began to drift apart. She was Gryffindor, an' 'e was Slytherin, an' back then…" he looked grim. "Things were getting' dark. You-Know-Who was powerful and gettin' stronger every day. Sooner or later, even at school, ye had to pick a side." He shook his head. "They were bad times, 'arry."

Harry absorbed this. "So, mum and Snape drifted apart in third year?"

"Nah. Well, it started then," Hagrid said. "They still got on, if only because they both hated your dad." He chuckled. "Or at least, Lily said she did. I think that she liked 'im more than she would admit." He sobered. "It 'appened in their fifth year, just after they'd done their Defence OWL. Yer da an' Sirius decided that they wanted to 'ave some fun with Snape."

Harry looked vaguely disturbed.

"Aye," Hagrid said heavily. "It wasn' their finest hour, though both of them 'ad good reason ta hate him, and 'e 'ad good reason ta hate them. Like I said, it was a bad time."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Yer father humiliated Snape, and yer mother came over and gave 'im a piece of 'er mind," Hagrid said. "Snape then said somethin' 'e shouldn' have done."

"What?"

"'e called her a mudblood," Hagrid said grimly.

"WHAT?" Harry yelled furiously, hands clenching into fists and a dangerous gleam entering his eyes. The wolves, sensing their master's anger, began growling.

"Easy," Hagrid said. "Snape paid for it. I don' think 'e really meant it, but Lily didn' forgive him. An' frankly, I think tha' was the right thing to do. She'd been turnin' a blind eye to a lot of what Snape 'ad been doin'. She turned 'er back on 'im, and yer father put 'im in the hospital wing for most of a month. Of the two, what yer mum did hurt 'im more. Much more." Hagrid sighed. "After tha', yer da started growin' up, and yer mum started payin' more attention to 'im. They started datin' officially in seventh year, though they were damn close in the second half of their sixth year."

"And Snape?"

"'e slipped inta the Dark Arts," Hagrid said. "Yer mum 'ad been the only thing holdin' 'im back, but I think 'e would have gone tha' way even if they'd stayed friends. It woulda just taken longer." He looked thoughtful. "No one's real sure why 'e became Dumbledore's spy, or when. But I think it was when 'e heard that yer mum was in danger."

"Was he… in love with her?" Harry asked, somewhat nauseated.

"Probably still is, to be honest," Hagrid said, shrugging. "I think tha' she was the only person who ever cared for 'im, 'cept for his own mother. And yer mum was very lovable. Yer father wasn' the only one who fell for her. 'e was just the one she chose."

"Is that why he hates me?"

"Yes. Ye're the spittin' image of yer father Harry, but yeh've got your mothers eyes. An' her smile," Hagrid said. He smiled slightly. "Yer mum had a smile that could light up a midwinter's night. So do ye." He gave Harry a sad smile. "When ye're movin', ye look jus' like her."

"Sirius said that," Harry said quietly.

"Well, I'm na surprised," Hagrid said, smiling. "They were close. After yer mum and dad got together, yer mum always treated 'im like an annoyin' little brother."

"I wish I remembered her more," Harry said quietly. "I only remember... seeing her murdered."

Freki whined and leaned against him in an attempt to be comforting. Unfortunately, he leaned a little too much and knocked Harry backwards, whereupon he tripped over an apparently surprised Geri and fell flat on his back, laughing. "Be careful Freki," he admonished the wolf. "I'm not as strong as dad."

Freki simply let out a cheerful bark and panted, before picking up a small log, dropping it at Harry's feet and looking hopeful. Harry grinned, picked the log up, lobbed it into the air, then flicked his wrist as he whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The log, instead of dipping, increased its trajectory under the influence of the spell and went zooming off into the distance. Freki let out an excited bark and raced after it at speeds that would have shamed a Formula One car. Geri looked like he wanted to join his brother, but knew that he had to stay.

Looking back on the incident, Hagrid wasn't entirely sure that the wolves hadn't contrived it on purpose.

But musings on that would have to wait until later, because the conversation drifted back to Hermione. "What were you getting at about Hermione, Hagrid?" Harry asked, as he accepted the damp log and threw it, enchanting it once more.

"Hermione's a brilliant witch, 'arry. She works hard a' it, but in a lot of things, ye're as good as she is or better, without even really tryin'," Hagrid said gravely. "An' that bothers her. But she has ye beat in theory, every time, an' she's happy enough with that. But, Harry, yesterday, ye beat 'er at 'er own game. She's a proud girl, an' something like tha's got ta smart."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "I didn't mean…" he began.

"I know ye didn'. Ye just wanted to impress Professor Lupin, yer dad's friend, and maybe get one over Hermione fer once, which I can't blame ye for wantin' to do," Hagrid said calmly. "But it gave 'er a nasty shock."

"So… what should I do?" Harry asked, feeling at a loss.

"Let 'er be for a bit," Hagrid said. "She'll be fine soon enough."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said. Then an enormous winged shadow passed overheard and Harry looked up sharply, shading his eyes. The being casting the shadow was flying out of the sun, so only the outline was visible, but it looked human and male, insofar as he could tell. "What's that?" he asked.

"Tha'," Hagrid said, looking up and waving, receiving one in response. "Is Madame Hooch's new assistant."

"What?" Harry asked astonished.

Hagrid paused. "Well, tha's wha' 'e is officially," he said. "'e's 'ere to protect the school. And so's 'is mentor." He stood up with a grunted. "C'mon, 'arry. You migh' as well meet yer new teacher."

"Who? And what are they teaching?"

"I don' remember," Hagrid admitted, looking over at the gates, by which a slender man of above average height with a shock of red hair that stood out against the winter landscape like a flame, patiently waited. "But I do know 'is name. Sean Cassidy. Professor Sean Cassidy."

And in the next chapter, chapter number 50, we meet the Merry Mutants (kudos to anyone who catches that reference), and the plot can really pick up. Maybe I'll do a special Omake for the occasion. Or something else…

Yes, Alan Scott is dead. If you may remember all the way back at the beginning, Loki was challenged by a bunch of students whose parents died at the Battle of New York. One them was the child of a man named Alan Scott.

For those who do not know, Alan Scott was DC's first Green Lantern, with pretty much the same abilities and possibly more (creation of any construct that he can imagine that are as strong as his will, energy manipulation including gravity, heat, light and radiation, phasing, flight, teleportation…) , but his power came from a magical power source, and instead of a vulnerability to the colour yellow, he had a vulnerability to wood. Whether or not this is better is up for debate.

I'd had vague plans to add him (or rather, his ring) in for a while, because of the magical origin (which, by the way, no longer includes the Guardians, because there is no Oa in this universe. As previously stated, all cosmology is Marvel save for Krypton and the rest of its solar system. And that is dead. Very, very dead).

But now he (or rather, the ring) has a role in the plot. He was extremely powerful and if still alive, he'd be something of a gamebreaker. Or, well, he wouldn't be, but it would make the forces of good a little too powerful a little too soon. The ring isn't finding a permanent bearer any time soon, however, so don't get your hopes up about seeing Hal any time soon.

Before anyone asks who Gorr is, let us merely say that he is something powerful, sadistic and evil on a scale that would make Gravemoss envious. Think about that for a moment. He's something from Thor's past that our favourite Thunder God isn't particularly eager to remember. Comics fans will recognise his name from his canon counterpart, but should bear in mind that as nearly everyone else, he will be somewhat retooled. For one thing, this version works, or worked, for Thanos.

So, the cracky humour has been put off. Again. Sorry. It might turn up next chapter.

A note on the martial arts choices: all of them are designed to either redirect the opponent's strength, or fight dirty. Spies don't play nice, and I don't see why Harry should.

I've had a few people suggesting that they want me to pick up the pace and I intend to do so.

Now before anyone says, 'then why are you introducing more characters?', Sean and Warren's reintroduction was inevitable. After all, Dumbledore's going to want someone who's moved in similar circles to the Soldier to help protect the school, preferably also one who's good with kids. Logan would be a no-brainer, but he's staying in Westchester because of what happened to Xavier – he's in a coma after the backlash from what Gravemoss did hit him through Cerebro. Also, Fury has other plans for Logan. Sean's the next best option.

Speaking of Sean, I'm also altering his powers ever so slightly – in this verse, they're more like Black Bolt's, being a touch psionic, and the scream being 'quasi sonic' in origin. Why? Because while I'm no physicist, my brain hurts at the idea of ordinary sound waves being able to make someone fly in the way that Sean does, let alone be formed into a shield. This doesn't make him any more powerful than he is already (which is actually pretty powerful), it just makes them slightly less logic bending.

As for Warren, he can empathise with Harry on the whole hated and feared angle, as well as flying and a fear of developing abilities you can't control. And, on a lighter note, dealing with unwanted attention. Warren wasn't called Angel/Archangel just because of his wings: he is famously ridiculously good looking.

Also, he's a connection between Harry and someone else who's a little different: Luna Lovegood, who'll be getting a fair bit of screen time. We'll also, accordingly, see more of Ginny. She's sort of got over her crush, however, it really didn't help that Harry's been revealed as actually being a literal Prince Charming.

And, I've got a request: I'd like to know how you got interested in this fic, whether it was simply browsing and having it catch your eye, being recommended by a friend or finding it recced on a site somewhere. Why? Because I'm curious and I want to know what's being said about my work, good and bad. It's the only way I can improve.

Okay, so I have an ego, which I take care to regularly have deflated. Heaven forfend that I turn into Steven Moffat, full of my own self-importance.