Author: Black Knight
Author email: JonathonCottrell@aol.com
Category: action/adventure/romance
Rating: R, Harry and the gang are all teenagers now, and will be acting accordingly
Summary: Harry finds something out about his past, the reason Voldemort wanted him killed as a baby, assassins are hired, and a young red haired witch has her dreams come true.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Spoilers: first 4 books of Canon
Authors notes: Sorry, sorry, I know, it took ages to update, more than two years, I actually forgot about this fic, that's my excuse, I forgot about it, it took a review from someone to remind me about it.
AN2: Names and places of Norse godliness are as true as I could ascertain from multiple mythology sites.
Chapter 4-Awakening
In the hour of darkness a blind man is the best guide.
In the age of insanity look to the madman to guide the way.
The Daily Prophet's headline for that day was about an unidentified man found with his heart cut out in the wizarding area of Manchester.
A ritual murder dedicated to the old gods, according to the article, that are believed to have died out since you-know-who's defeat by the boy who lived.
Enough of that, they always managed to put a reference to him into their articles, as if he was the cause of all this, hell, it would have been just as bad if Voldemort had never fallen, at least he'd bought them a respite from all of this.
Harry wasn't the only young person working here, apparently his uncle didn't mind using child labor, his secretary had only just turned sixteen, and he had some other fifteen year olds working the night shift for some extra cash.
He was on his lunch break, doing the crossword in the daily prophet and wondering what a seven-letter word for tidal wave that has an 'A' near the end could be.
"Tsunami, of course"
Filling in the squares he utters a curse as the small black and white squares re-arrange themselves, creating a whole new cross word, the letters he's just filled in taking up residence in different places on the grid, the T and M moving to create the word MOUSETRAP, and the other letters doing the same, filling in blank spaces for the new clues that replaced the old ones.
Now looking for a five letter word for 'person who expects to find logic in a daily prophet crossword' using the 'M' from MOUSETRAP as the first letter
Do you think they're trying to tell me something?
Before he can write the answer in, the clock chimes once, signaling the quarter hour and the end of his tea break, meaning he had top get back to work.
Not that it was that hard anymore, the boxes seemed to be getting lighter everyday, and they could be, Vernon was always complaining about how his suppliers were trying to screw him, maybe they had just started to use second rate materials, something not as heavy as steel.
That and he'd stopped getting shocked from them as much.
Another few hours of this and he gets to grab a bite to eat during lunch, and he's one clue away from finishing the bloody crossword at the end of it, two clues if you use the other set.
Another four hours of carrying boxes from off the back of a lorry into the warehouse, stacking them carefully onto pallets, large trays of wood that make it easier for forklifts to move them about.
After loading enough onto the pallet, he wrapped it up in a clear strong plastic to stop the boxes from falling of when moved deeper into the warehouse.
As the last of the boxes were unloaded from the truck, just half an hour before the end of his shift, as soon as he had the driver was pulling the sides of the lorry shut, jumped into the cab and drove off, looking glad to go.
So is he really, glad to be able to get out of here to somewhere, anywhere else.
-*-
"Where is he now Volva?" Sjah asks the old blind woman
"I cannot tell, sometimes he is everywhere, and at others, he is nowhere" replies the hunched over figure of the oracle of souls
"What? How can he be everywhere and nowhere?" asks Mephisa, her blades flashing silver in the moonlight as she plays with them
"I do not know, all I can tell you is what I feel, I can also tell you that I have felt this once before, with Aegir, before he joined their ranks"
"Aegir? The brewer, our charge is ascending?"
"More like reawakening, the power I feel when I can feel him is very familiar, a warrior soul, a champion, you would do well to feel cautious Sjah"
"Is he that dangerous, that I need to be on guard"
"Not yet, but he will be, soon"
-*-
A Brief history of the divine, By Edwin Golgothan
'Finally past goblin rebellions, thank god'
Many muggle religions state that their prime divinity created the universe, however, whether or not it in fact was created by a divinity is as yet unknown, but seeing how the average god would be hard pressed to make a cup of Tea properly, I find this belief doubtful.
Harry was reading the fifth year history of magic book, after just receiving it by hand, or claw if you will (Fawkes had delivered it) that morning, along with the rest of his school supplies.
Only two weeks left before school starts again, and it had never looked so long.
Uncle Vernon had stopped having him work, ever since one of the boxes of drill parts had arrived slightly the worst for wear, he blamed the damages on Harry.
*
One of the later Norse gods, Aegir was also a powerful wizard, who somehow earned a place amongst the divinity, probably by the potent beer he made, strong enough to get the gods drunk.
His hall was a sanctuary, where none could come to harm, Loki, a giant who became a god when Odin shared a blood oath with him, took advantage of this many times, insulting the other 'true' gods.
Aurvandil, a great warrior and close friend of Thor, was also the husband of a healer witch known as Groa.
On a side note, the muggle author J.R.R. Tolken used Aurvandil as his inspiration for Earendil
Not bad for religious history
After reading everything there was in the 'A' section, and having nothing better to do, Harry decided to sleep, rationalizing that he's too tired to really concentrate, and he'd be able to take more in, in the morning
*
A dark night, a cold wind, a flash of lightning.
Atop the mountain, overlooking the land below, the forgotten one watches over the sleepless spirits, the last of the divine power left in the seven worlds.
His brother was growing stronger, about to awaken from the sleep of Ragnarok, the frost giants had left long ago, leaving the sleepers to their rest, bored with tormenting them with nightmares that they could never awake from.
Here in Breidablik the others now sleep, awaiting the ascension of mortal man.
He fingers the mistletoe dart hung on a cord around his neck as he thinks, wondering if the time is right for the storm to awaken, if mankind need the guardian again.
Remembering the words of Urd, Skuld, and Verdandi, when one is ready to awaken, the storm shall shake the world, and blood of innocents shall be spilled in the name of life.
As the rain hammers against the silver tiles of his hall, Balder, god of light and destined overseer of his brethren after the twilight of Ragnarok strides towards the ashes of his brothers pyre, and parts the ash.
'Pray that the time is right, I have been alone too long'
"Mjollnir, I send you to your master, return to the one who's soul you were forged for"
