Right after the rest of the Avengers have left on their swanky fighter jet, all ready to unleash hell on some probably-at-least-vaguely-innocent wizards and one really-not-innocent-at-all Norse God, Director Fury shuts them in the lab with what remains of their kit to "continue playing". He leaves shortly after, not without stationing a couple of agents outside, and Banner can almost feel his heart sinking as Tony turns to him, grinning wildly.

'I know I'm going to regret asking,' he begins, 'but what's the plan?'

'Why would you think I have a plan?' replies Tony, all wide-eyed innocence. Banner sighs. He was right; he's already regretting asking.

Fifteen minutes later, the lab is empty, the guards unconscious, and Tony and Bruce are on a Stark jet, heading straight for London.

'Drink?' asks Tony, swiping a bottle of something lethal from the bar. Brue declines. Tony shrugs and takes a swig, not even bothering with a glass. Bruce sighs and goes back to staring out of the window at the blanket of white cloud beneath them, waiting. Evening comes before they land, the sun streaming through the glass and making Bruce screw up his face at the glare. He doesn't look away though. A slightly drunk Tony hasn't moved from his seat for the whole journey, squinting at his laptop with fingers flying over the keys. Bruce has a strong suspicion he's hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database again. The jet touches down at a small airfield a few hours out of London, and Tony doesn't speak to Bruce until they've been on the road for over an hour, ignoring every single one of Bruce's (admittedly few) questions. Bruce is starting to wonder (worry) if Tony's whole plan is just going to consist of the Hulk, when the silence is broken by a businesslike Stark turning to him and raising his eyebrows expectantly. Bruce sighs.

'What?'

'Well, Bruce, I'm very glad you asked me that. It's time to make our super awesome plan to save the wizards!'

'Oh.'

'I am not feeling your enthusiasm.'

'Yay,' says Bruce half-heartedly.

Tony beams.

XXXXXXX

Harry takes off after staring at the glowing cube for thirty minutes and gaining nothing more than a headache. A couple of spells later and a blonde, brown-eyed, 40-year-old man is leaving the hotel in Janus Street, walking down to the park. The grass under his feet is thin, the ground muddy, and the trees are shedding their leaves, but the air is a little clearer here, the noise of the traffic a little more subdued, and Harry can breathe easily, safe in the knowledge that no one will recognise him out here. His mind wanders as he strolls over the railway bridge and past a couple of boys kicking a ball around, their crumpled jumpers lying on the ground for goalposts. Inevitably his thoughts come back to the cube, and it's in the middle of trying to remember whether he'd turned it left before pressing Sowilo that the boys' ball comes sailing over straight towards his head. Years of Auror conditioning makes avoiding random projectiles almost second nature and he waves away the apologies and thanks that come as he throws it back in the general direction of the kids. He wonders if Dudley and his friends ever played like that, and then snorts as he tries to imagine it.

He wonders what ever happened to Dudley Dursley. Whether he has a job, a wife, children of his own. Harry wonders about trying to contact him when he gets home, and then realises that he doesn't care enough.

Best to let sleeping dragons lie.

The sun is setting by the time he starts to think about heading back. The boys are long gone as he passes their makeshift pitch, and the common is empty apart from some dog walkers. Ron and Hermione had been talking about getting a dog. They were probably freaking out about where he was, Harry realises, and he suddenly feels horribly guilty that he's causing them all this grief, yet again, because he was too stupid and stubborn to let well alone. It's been two days, by his reckoning, although it feels like it could have been two years, so much has happened. Hopefully Daphne will have had more luck with the cube than him, and Loki's apparently a Norse God – this runic stuff should be second nature to him, if he's all he claims to be. Harry really doesn't know about him; his speech and mannerisms are unfamiliar and his magic is like nothing Harry has ever seen, and that puts him on edge. He's not to be trusted, but he's stuck with them, and the question of why bothers Harry more than he cares to admit. He swings into a small corner shop and buys a couple packets of biscuits and some cans of coke for Daphne and Loki. Concern for the fact that they've been working all afternoon, yes, but also a wish to see the look on their faces as he presents them with the cans. He remembers the first time Ron had a fizzy drink, how it had spurted everywhere and how the expression on Ron's face had made Hermione laugh so hard she'd gone completely silent. The memory makes him smile as he walks through the reception and up to Daphne's room, cancelling the charms as he goes.

XXXXXXXX

Loki watches Daphne pace in front of the window from his position sprawled across the little sofa in her room. Even looking at her being stressed is giving him a headache. She's turning their runic cube over and over in her hands, squinting at it in the dying light.

'Stop. Pacing,' he grinds out, and she glances over at him, a vaguely apologetic expression on her face.

'Sorry,' she offers, 'I'm thinking.'

Loki sighs.

'You can think just as well sitting down,' he replies, although it comes out far less biting than he intends it to. Daphne gives him a rueful grin.

'I actually can't,' she confesses, and Loki suppresses a groan. Daphne laughs, still walking up and down the length of the room.

'I know, I'm sorry.'

With what seems like a huge effort, she stops pacing, and conjures a chair to slump down in.

'Better?' she asks, smiling slightly.

'Much. Thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

It's at this point that Harry strolls in, carrying a plastic bag which contains some biscuits and some weird metal cylinders. Daphne forgets the cube for a second as she turns her attention to examining the strange cans, munching on her second biscuit as she does so. They look very familiar, but she can't think where she's seen them before.

'What are these… things?'

She flicks her gaze up to see Loki regarding the biscuits and cans with a mixture of wariness and disgust. Harry is valiantly trying to hide his smirk.

'No biscuits on Asgard then?' he says casually, lips twitching.

'This is food?'

Harry catches Daphne's eye and she stifles a giggle. He starts to laugh, but then hastily turns it into a violent coughing fit as Loki turns round to glare at him.

'I do not care for your mortal sustenance,' he announces haughtily, sitting back into the sofa and crossing his arms, his expression one of total superiority.

Daphne chucks a biscuit at him.

Harry takes one look at Loki's appalled face and cracks up, snorting into his—Coca Cola! That's what the cans are! And she'd seen them in Muggle Studies, when Professor Burbage (poor Professor Burbage) brought them in. They were rather nice, she thinks, and carefully takes one, remembering the strict instructions not to shake them. Harry raises an eyebrow at her, and she imitates Loki's superior look, carefully opening the can without spilling a drop. Harry looks rather disappointed, and her smug feeling just increases.

'Have you guys managed to get any further with that thing?' Harry asks, gesturing to the cube languishing on a corner table. Daphne grimaces.

'Not really. Turns out that all our runes are very different from his,' and she jerks her head in the direction of the sulking Norse god, 'so all we've got to rely on is my Runes NEWT.'

'And?'

'And luckily for you, I got an O. There's a sequence of turns and tracing that's pretty complex, but does explain how you managed to get here by just fiddling with it and generally being an idiot.'

'Hey!'

'Oh, don't pretend you weren't. And stop sulking. Both of you,' she adds sternly in Loki's direction.

'I am not sulking,' he seethes, and Daphne can't stop herself from grinning at him.

'Oh, you so are.'

'I am not.'

'Are too.'

'Am not!'

'Are—'

'If you've quite finished,' interrupts Harry, with that vaguely uncomfortable look that seems to be turning into his default facial expression, 'can we get on with what Daphne's found out?'

'Well, that was sort of it, actually. I mean, other than Borrowmere's Law, whereby it could probably be triggered with a surge of magic equal to what would be expended bringing us back, but that's unlikely to happen.'

Harry's face falls.

'It's really complicated,' says Daphne defensively, 'and I didn't see you trying to help with anything.'

Harry has the grace to look ashamed. Loki just looks smug, again, and Daphne gets the feeling that he really doesn't like Harry for some reason.

'And all you did was complain,' she continues in his direction, '"I'm bored, stop pacing, I've got a headache…" You can go, you know, you don't have to stay here with us.

Loki glares at her, and several pieces fall into place. 'You're here for the cube.'

Loki grimaces. 'As soon as you are able to return home, of course, Witch of Midgard.' His tone is almost chivalric, but a flash of irritation still crosses Harry's face.

'There's always something,' he mutters, and Loki glares at him. Daphne does too, almost surprising herself.

'Okay, look, Potter, they might not have taught you this up in your ivory Gryffindor tower, but almost everyone has ulterior motives. Selflessness – true selflessness – is not only ridiculously rare, it is also quite frankly a naïve move—'

'Believe it or not, Greengrass, I am actually not as naïve as the Prophet would have you believe,' bites out Harry, and Loki stares out of the window, bored again.

'Well, you're doing a fabulous job of acting like it,' she snaps in return, and Harry looks like he's gearing up to say something truly nasty, when Loki holds up a hand, and suddenly neither of them can speak.

'Look,' he says quietly, pointing out of the window. Two black vans are pulling up at the side of the hotel, and even as they watch, several people jump out and split up, clearly heading round the back.

Daphne and Harry glance at each other, negotiate an unspoken truce, and move closer to the window. Getting out of the second van are a couple of other agents and a men in a painfully American costume.

'The Avengers,' mutters Loki in a tone of complete loathing. 'They've come for us.'

Oh, for Merlin's sake…