Chapter 36
His skin and eyes returning to their normal shade, Harry stepped through the portal and back to Midgard. He released his hold upon it, sagging with exhaustion and fighting the urge to collapse. Opening the portal had been a tremendous strain upon both his body and mind; he had concealed his fatigue when facing down Voldemort.
And what stress the opening of the portal had caused Harry, it had been tenfold on Loki; he was still unresponsive.
Harry turned to Marco. "I need to go back and tell Dumbledore that Voldemort is dead," he said. "I need you to come with me. In case you can't tell, I'm not in much of a state to fight."
Marco smiled and nodded, stepping forward and laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. His men followed suit and Harry activated the Portkey. The world spun and abruptly deposited them back on the blackened and scorched grass of the battlefield.
After taking a moment to orientate himself, Harry gazed over the mansion; it was completely and utterly wrecked. Bodies littered what once had been an exquisite lawn. All the windows in sight were shattered, and some of the walls were in similar states, leading to collapses in the roofs.
"I sincerely hope the Riddle family had insurance," came a voice from beside Harry.
He turned to Dumbledore, who smiled weakly. Harry's lips twitched. "I somehow doubt that it covers magical damage."
Dumbledore nodded, expression sobering slightly. "It is done?"
"It is done," Harry confirmed. "Voldemort is on Jotunheim. Even if he saw me open the portal, he will not be able to mirror my actions—no mortal could." He smiled. "The Ways will all be impossible for him to open, and the same is the case for almost all of the ice giants who might want to help him. Unless the Aesir deign to save him with the Bifrost, for whatever reason, he shall never escape that icy wasteland."
"Good," Dumbledore said, no remorse for Voldemort on his face. That changed as he looked to the mansion, to the bodies outside, and the others still being levitated over by the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"They died well," Harry said.
Dumbledore turned to him. "Is there an afterlife?"
"Valhalla is a myth, if that is what you are thinking of. As is Helheim. Alas, I know no more of death than any mortal man—it's where my brilliance comes to an end. I could pretend there's a Heaven if you like, though."
"That won't be necessary." Dumbledore looked back to the bodies. Death Eaters lay to one side, covered in black sheets instead of white ones, like the others were. It wasn't Dumbledore's idea, judging by the slight disapproval that leaked into his expression.
Harry glanced over the bodies, and felt nothing. He hadn't known them, whether they had been his ally or enemy.
A few Death Eaters were set apart from the rest, unmasked, their chests still gently rising and falling.
"Perhaps I should kill them," Harry said. "Knowing the Ministry, they'll get off easy, while we're arrested."
Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look.
Harry sighed. "Whatever. I suppose someone has to tell everyone how terrifying I am to fight against." He frowned. "I know you're good at mind magic. Could you alter their memories so that I'm the one who fought Voldemort, other than just being the one to heroically charge him at the end with no regard for my own safety?"
One of Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows floated upwards.
"Fine, whatever. Just say I was busy saving an orphanage of puppies from burning down or something, you glory hog."
"I am the glory hog?"
"Yes.
"Of course."
"Anyway, I should probably get going, let you find and destroy the Horcruxes."
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, and perhaps we might arrange a meeting for next week?"
Confusion flashed across Harry's face. "For what?"
"You tell me of worlds beyond ours, that you are the demigod son of the god Loki, and you expect me not to want to know more?"
"Oh." Harry frowned. "Being a tour guide is below me. You can ask Vandr—oh, sorry, I mean Ollivander."
Dumbledore started in surprise. "Ollivander knows?"
"All Ollivanders have been the same person. He's four-thousand years old—an Asgardian if you hadn't already guessed."
"Really?" Dumbledore murmured.
"Yep," Harry said. "Tell him that I'll beat him up if he doesn't tell you what you want to know; if he doesn't look intimidated, tell him that I'm sorry and was only joking."
Harry pouted at Loki's illusion. "Please?"
"I've spent years perfecting your body. Altering your endocrinal system to make you grow from human to immortal without trouble. Tweaking your metabolism and muscle growth so that you so that you remain at peak fitness. Optimising your nervous system to give you superhuman reactions. Enhancing your senses so that you will always know of any threats. Warping your mind so you can perform spells with frightening ease." Loki glared at him. "I'm not going to allow you to destroy all of my hard work by consuming copious amounts of drugs."
"Oh, come on, Loki!" Harry said. "Muggle drugs probably won't work on me anyway—I'm almost Asgardian. Wizard drugs are probably safer."
Loki arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? With everything you have seen of wizards, you honestly believe that they are capable of constructing anything safe?"
Harry frowned. "Well…probably not. But they're also too stupid to figure out how to affect hormones or anything, so it'll probably only affect my mind."
"Because neuroscience is so much easier to understand than anything else."
"It is if magic is based on belief and you believe you have a soul. Wizards probably don't believe in hormones."
"Whatever the case may be, I'm not letting you unravel my careful woven threads."
Harry yawned, stretching out on his bed.
"I could probably simulate the effects of different drugs for you if you like."
Harry shook his head. "Nah, that's gay."
Loki paused, blinked, and then blinked again. "What?"
"Well, you'd be causing pleasure to me, and you're male, so that's pretty gay."
Loki blinked again. "Okay."
"Aren't you going to argue with me about how not-gay you are?"
"Unlike you," Loki said, "I'm secure enough in my heterosexuality that I don't have to argue about it every time someone speaks about it."
"Hey! I just like arguing!" Harry said. "I'll have you know that I actually hate gays, just like I hate all other immoral things—it's all part of being a god, you see; I have to turn them to pillars of salt and crucify them and so on, just like it says to do in the Bible." He paused. "Do you think Jesus was a wizard? I already pulled off the walking-on-water thing, except with running."
Loki sighed and shimmered out of existence.
"Fine, I sound a bit crazy anyway." He turned to the naked half-Veela beside him. "Am I crazy?"
She didn't respond. Probably because Harry had Stunned her for talking too much.
Harry frowned. "Perhaps I am crazy," he said. "Should I see a therapist? What would I be diagnosed with?"
'Everything.'
For a moment, Harry considered protesting, but then shrugged. "Not everything—maybe nearly everything." He paused. "Yeah, antisocial personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, psychopathy, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder—do you count as another personality?"
'I like to think of myself as an independent being, personally.'
"Don't we all, Loki? Don't we all?" Harry stood from his bed, yawning, and strolled across the room. He flung the closet open and searched through, deciding that a toga of bed sheets probably wouldn't be formal enough to wear; people tended to be rather prudish about such things.
As an afterthought, Harry awoke the half-Veela that he had brought home after Marco's party last night. Marco had probably hired her to seduce him—probably so that he wouldn't attempt to sleep with Maria, or something, or as a reward. Harry didn't really care.
She blinked blearily. "What happened?"
"After our amazing sex, you were talking too much, and I was tired, so I Stunned you."
She stared at him, mouth wide open.
"Yes, yes, I know that I'm amazingly attractive." He winked at her. "Now, you're going to tell everyone you know that I was amazing in bed, a completely selfless lover and that I definitely didn't break any of your bones accidentally." He walked over to the door and flung it open, then looked back, flashing her a grin. "Or else."
With that, he slammed the door behind him and practically bounced down the stairs. He had dealt with Voldemort yesterday, and so he was in a good mood.
Harry moved through his apartment—he did actually have one, even if he normally stay elsewhere when he was in Italy—and into his dining room, and then promptly remembered that he would have to make any food himself and it, therefore, wasn't worth the effort. And thus the reason he preferred to stay with the Aureliuses.
'How did you manage to become so lazy?'
'You raised me; it's your fault.'
Loki sighed woefully. 'I have failed as a parent.'
'I'm sorry, but you can't be my parent, despite what I told Dumbledore' Harry said. 'I need to remain an orphan; girls dig that stuff and people can blame my rude arrogance—not that it's arrogance seeing as I'm actually better than everyone else—on it.'
'Woe is me.' Loki sighed dramatically again. 'However shall I live with the knowledge that you, the only person I have talked to in a decade, would choose being an orphan over me?'
'Just don't cry or I'll have to laugh at you.'
After a few moments considering what to do, Harry decided that it would be best to go to Hogwarts, to get breakfast, and settle both of the matters he sought to talk to Dumbledore about.
He couldn't apparate there, and hated doing that anyway. Luckily, Dumbledore had deigned to give him a Portkey "for emergencies." What matter could be graver than Harry being too lazy to cook anything and wanting to check what state his reputation was in?
He fished the Portkey out of his pocket. It was in the shape of an actual key. Harry took a brief moment to wonder what it might unlock before saying, "Sherbet lemons."
What could've only been seconds later, but felt like an eternity, he returned to reality, standing just outside Hogwarts' wardline. After glancing to Hogsmeade in the distance, he moved towards Hogwarts instead—they would still be serving breakfast at this hour.
The front door was unlocked, much to his disappointment. He had been looking forward to dramatically kicking or blasting it open. Instead he walked through like a normal person, and walked down the corridor, also like a normal person.
When he reached the Great Hall, he threw the doors open with superhuman strength. They crashed against the walls, not killing or seriously injuring anyone, and successfully drawing everyone's attention.
"Lord Voldemort is dead!" he bellowed. "Slain by my hand!"
No one moved. Everything was silent.
Harry scratched his head awkwardly. "Dumbledore's already told you, then?" He stared around the room; there were noticeably fewer people than usual. "Has everyone already left because of the national holiday in my name?"
Dumbledore coughed awkwardly from the end of the room. "The end of breakfast nears and most have already left. It may be better to discuss the other matter in private."
Harry glanced to his watch, and then remembered he didn't have one. "Of course. Feel free to applaud anyway." A girl at the Hufflepuff table began to clap but abruptly stopped when no one else joined in.
Harry winked at her before moving over to the Gryffindor table, scooping some food onto a plate, and then wandering out of the room. As he expected, it didn't take long for Dumbledore to catch up to him; the man was surprisingly quick for his age, whatever might it be.
"I am yet to tell them of Voldemort's demise. I want to speak to the Ministry and the Wizengamot before I do that," Dumbledore said. "I assume that you are here for a reason, Harry."
Harry chewed on a piece of bacon, idly picking up another from the plate floating in front of him as he walked. "Yeah, I needed to ask you to make sure that the Ministry of Magic doesn't come after me for whatever reason they might want to—war crimes and so on." He swallowed a mouthful of food. "Oh, I also wanted breakfast and to ask you for another secret and probably illegal Portkey."
"To where?"
"New Mexico. My imaginary friend tells me that a god will crash there in a while and I need to be prepared for it so that I can kill him." He paused and then scowled. "I mean prank him, apparently. Excuse me for thinking that anything involving molten lead and cereal is an assassination plot."
