November 1984
"Happy Birthday!" Harry said, bounding into the white hospital room. Remus, followed at a more sedate pace, carrying an enthusiastically decorated red and gold cake. He set it down on the night table with a sigh. He'd always found St Mungo's a particularly depressing place, even before the night he had brought Sirius here, almost three years ago. A couple of cards had gathered on his nightstand, a photograph of Harry and an old one of Sirius and James, but Sirius was the same, fingers fiddling with the trailing threads of his white robes, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips, dark hair falling past his handsome face, a little paler and gaunter than before.
Harry placed his card on the nightstand and clambered onto the white sheets, unphased. He was dressed in his festive best- custard yellow robes and a shiny red party hat Remus had found in a muggle convenience store, though he had not been able to cajole Remus into wearing the same.
"Can he blow out the candles?" Harry asked as Remus took his customary visitor's seat, conjuring a little tray for the cake in his lap.
"He may need a little help," Remus said, smiling as Harry seemed to take the admonishment very seriously, holding Sirius's hand and teaching him how to blow out the candles. His 'instruction' knocked out half the flames alone, and Remus quietly extinguished the rest with a spell.
"Good job!" Harry said, patting Sirius on his waxen hand as Remus cut three pieces of cake, setting aside the third one to feed to Sirius. He put the card on Sirius's night table next to the other two with a grimace. Twenty-five. Ten years since they had taken their Owls, sauntering out to the beech trees in the spring sunlight. Three years since he had pulled Sirius's broken form out of the death eaters' lair, just fending off a half-mad Crouch. Lucky, they'd said. Not lucky enough.
"Remus?" Harry asked, looking up from the cake he was munching on.
"Yes?" Remus asked, a little apprehensively.
"What if a giant goes to the hospital?" Harry asked.
Remus blinked, pausing with the spoon midway to Sirius's mouth.
"I don't think many giants go to St Mungo's," he said. "They mostly live by themselves in the mountains."
"Oh," Harry said. He considered this, tugging on the elastic string of his red hat. "Do house elves go to St Mungos?" he asked.
"I- I'm not sure," Remus asked, a bit ashamed for not knowing. "Why do you ask?"
"Malfoy has a house elf," Harry said, scowling. "He's a mean git."
"Harry," Remus said warningly. He glanced at Sirius, and spooned out another bite of cake.
"But he is," Harry protested. "He broke a vase and lied about it and then Dobby had to iron his fingers."
Remus winced. Damn those awful Malfoys, and damn Loki for making Harry go over there and witness such things.
"I'll talk to Loki," he said. "You're not going back there."
"But what about Dobby?" Harry asked.
"I'll… talk to Loki about that too," Remus said lamely. He doubted the man would care, but Harry nodded, the frown disappearing from his face.
Remus glanced across, at Sirius's limp hanging hair. Harry had edged forward and was quietly telling him a story. From what he gathered, it involved Harry and Ron Weasley flying all the way to space on their broomsticks. Sirius was gazing vaguely in his direction; the healer said he probably didn't understand what was said but it was difficult to tell.
Remus stood up, casting a scourgify and a dusting charm on the cards; the healers never seemed to do that. He dusted the curtains too, and cast a preservation charm on the remainder of the cake.
Harry was squinting into the air as he spoke, and Remus frowned. His own baseline vision was a little different from a human, non-werewolf man, but he suspected Harry had inherited at least some of James's nearsightedness. The way he squinted across the room to see… Hopefully the oculist would sort it out.
"Boom!" Harry exclaimed, clapping Sirius's hands together. "And then we went a zillion times faster to hyperspeed!"
Remus smiled faintly. It was something the marauder would have enjoyed, he thought; a half-mad concoction of an imaginative five year old. Actually, some of the stories Sirius had told weren't much different, and at a rather older age too. He glanced back at the photograph, James, looking out into the distance, saying something somber until Sirius cuffed him on the head and they both exploded into silent laughter. An afterimage flitted through his mind; a white figure on a dark rug.
Harry finished the story, wrapping up with much gesturing and explosions and Remus checked his watch. Almost time for the oculist.
"You ready to say goodbye?" he asked, and Harry nodded, sliding off the bed and letting go of Sirius's hand. "Bye Sirius!"
Remus gave a half-hearted little wave, glancing away from Sirius's empty gaze.
It was overcast in Diagon Alley when Remus apparated in, gray and white clouds advancing across the blue November sky.
They were making good time- Harry's appointment was in thirty-five minutes, just enough to be there half an hour early. Remus took hold of Harry's hand as they navigated the crowd. It wasn't school season, but the alley was still surprisingly busy for the middle of a weekday. He spotted Mrs. Weasley leaving Gladrags with a couple of her younger ones and waved.
"Am I gonna get glasses?" Harry asked as they wove through the crowd.
"You might," Remus said, putting a hand on his shoulder as he suddenly slowed his pace. "Remember how you had trouble seeing the page the other day?"
"Oh," he said, twisting the string of his red hat.
"I think that your father got his around this age," Remus said, and Harry's frown lifted a little.
"What color were they?" he asked.
"I'm not..." Remus frowned, trailing off. Was that a light in the sky, arcing above the building ahead? There was a crowd gathered around Quality Quidditch; peering through the store windows; a new broom was out. The wind was picking up; he tightened his grasp on Harry's hand as someone brushed past them, the hairs on his arm prickling. Strange…
The building exploded in cascade of bricks.
He felt himself flung backwards, his hand losing Harry's in the hail of glass and dust, his back colliding with a stone wall hard enough to reverberate through his skull. He staggered forward, dull pain shooting down his spine- Harry, where was Harry? People were screaming; hands rushed past him and his back pulsed hot and red and he couldn't see Harry; he pushed past a woman with blood streaming from her hands and a man on the ground with a broken wand, shouting, trying to see through the haze of dust. He was choking, falling and catching himself on the wall, familiar nausea rising in his throat be okay please be okay His ears were ringing- was that laughter? Another building shook and began to topple.
"Harry?" A pale white figure on a dark rug, with gray vacant eyes like all the color had faded from the world…
He crossed the storefront quickly in a panic and then crossed it again, unable to move slowly- he had to be around here somewhere unless he had gotten scared and run or- please be okay please be okay please be okay The image of a lithe man with straw-colored hair bending over a body, he shot back- a child was crying- but it wasn't Harry, a blue trainer on the ground- he swerved, the world coming in glimpses and fragments against his chest- the shattered remains of an apothecary stall, beads spilled across the cobbles, wood blowing through the air.
please be okay
Someone was shouting quite loudly and persistently, carrying above the ruckus, glass blew through the gaping storefront- someone shoved past him and he stumbled. His heart was still and frozen in his chest above a yawning precipice.
There- a red glimmer under a pile of bricks and broken glass, the color of Harry's cardboard hat.
Remus let out a tortured sound that was half a gasp and half a growl and tore through the pile, extracting a black haired too-skinny five year old kid by his wrists. He pulled the boy into his arms, inhaling heavily, too overcome even to sob.
He turned to apparate but it didn't work and he thought he felt a pulse but it was hard to keep his hands steady so he wasn't sure and the angle was bad...
"Stop, 'm okay," Harry said, squirming.
Someone ran past them; a young man, bleeding from his face.
"Shh," Remus said, feeling some of his sanity trickle back in. He loosened his grip a little. He was bleeding a little. Harry looked okay. How…?
"What happened?" Harry asked, blinking, as Remus scanned the alley.
"We're under attack, somehow," Remus said, glancing around. Where were their assailants? Got to get out. He turned towards the edge of the alley, the direction of the crowd, keeping his grip on Harry's breathing, shifting form. Another arc of red raced over his head and he dove into a protective crouch, but wherever it hit there was no following explosion. He risked a glance back toward where the spell had come from- there was no one on the roof, but there was a flash of movement above- where? Ahead of him was a massive pulsing crowd, shouting and shoving as they poured down the alley toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Another light flashed from the sky, splashing harmlessly across the surface of Gringotts and he tightened his hold by reflex as the crowd surged around him, nearly pushing him to the ground.
"Look!" Harry shouted, and Remus turned and saw a cloud breaking apart. No, he realized, not a cloud at all- winged horses, camouflaged against the clouds, ridden by shimmering, white-cloaked soldiers. He growled, shifting Harry to one arm and drawing his wand. Harry looked up excitedly.
Out of a nearby building spilled dozens of green-cloaked figures before them who paused, mounting broomsticks, then suddenly the sky was filled with green as the newcomers swarmed the Abraxans. There were scores of them; more than the whole auror force surely; more than had ever fought on either side of Voldemort's battles, Remus thought.
Wards mushroomed through the air and the crowd resumed its retreat, Remus pushing forwards doggedly, Harry's quick breaths pressing against his chest. Spells flashed above- red and green and others he didn't recognize at all. A figure dropped, falling from its broomstick and, without thinking, Remus shouted "Immobulus!"
He checked behind him to confirm the rider had, in fact, been incapacitated and rushed forward, trying to find space in the crowd as muted shouts rose above them.
He held Harry tightly, pressing his head down to avoid spellfire. They were almost at the edge- where the entrance to Diagon Alley had once stood, someone had blasted a hole in the Leaky Cauldron wall and the crowd was streaming through, ushered by two more soldiers in green. A crash sounded through the alley and Remus glanced back- for all that they seemed to be mitigating the damage, for all that their troops outnumbered the enemy, they could not seem to get above the Abraxans, could not halt the rain of spells.
We're going to lose, Remus thought.
And then another building began to topple and the crowd broke and surged, and something hit him in the head, hard. He clutched the boy to his chest and was borne aloft breathless and dizzy as the crowd rose, spilling into the street. A hundred cracking fireworks of people, blinking in and out around him. A purple figure reached out a hand and they were gone.
Seven Months Earlier
The map in the center of his desk was sculpted with perfect accuracy, from the curve of the Pyrenees that rose above the table to the dip of the frozen blue channel. Red pins had been stuck into the landscape over Northern France and Southern England, more gathering by the day.
Loki sat down in the chair and the wooden walls around him faded out as he closed his eyes, perusing images. A brick wall, a bit of starry sky, a swing, swaying in the breeze.
He had used an old standby and placed small bits of magic across the magical settlements of Britain; extra eyes, though he could sense through them as well. It didn't cost too much of his focus, and he had plenty of magic to go around, these days.
He flashed through them quickly now- a clay roof, shattered glass, seagulls, a rhododendron bush. He saw the inside of a dark room; Harry's probably. Those lacy drapes had probably been there since before Lupin's time. Lupin himself was sleeping fitfully, his head in the crook of his arm.
He saw the inside of Dumbledore's office, a wrinkled hand smoothing the edge of a faded parchment on old Asgardian weaponry. He hardly slept at all, these days.
Lucius Malfoy was walking on the edge of Portsmouth, his black boots raising clouds of sand.
"...a waste of time, with their scouts equipped with Foe Glasses," he said.
"I agree," Longbottom said. He looked out past Malfoy, his uniform muddy, every bit the commander, up until his earnest face. The last few years had brought a few shadows there, or perhaps some of Russia was etched into his skin, even as it was erased from his mind.
Loki wondered sometimes what were the effects on a person. Had he truly walked away unscathed? Or did the memories linger somewhere beneath the surface of his dreams? It was an unknowable thing- you couldn't obliviate yourself.
Malfoy finished saying something and Longbottom shook his head in response.
Loki changed the pattern of the tracker and Malfoy stiffened, covering it with a velvet sleeve.
He paused for a moment to conjure a silver teapot and fill it with a working.
The image changed as Loki continued his check of Portsmouth, but the battle seemed to have well and truly wound down. He moved onto the Hogsmeade trackers, then London. Was that an enemy agent, crouching to write on the wall in the dark?
"I was just about to contact you."
Loki opened his eyes. Malfoy was in the doorway, darkly attired, blond hair falling in one long sheet past his shoulders, fingers curled around his silver walking stick. He looked clean, an administrator returning from the battlefield.
Malfoy glanced at the door, then walked inside, taking a seat.
He hadn't fought in the wars, not since that night.
"Where's Longbottom?" Loki asked.
"On his way," Malfoy said.
Perhaps it was Loki's imagination, but he thought Malfoy was a little sharper; a little quieter and quicker to anger since that night two years ago, and though he'd been cleared of all traces of mental control, a part of Loki didn't wonder if somehow, something had gotten to him all the same. There were many ways to break a man.
A dry black street, shimmering with evaporation off the muggle cars; a swinging gate, a tabby cat.
"Are you sure it's alright to be meeting now?" Longbottom asked, coming through the open doorway and closing it behind him. His hair was wet, his face scrubbed and shaven, though there were dark circles under his eyes. He spotted the chair and poured himself a cup of coffee, then a second one.
"I'm monitoring the situation," Loki said distantly.
Longbottom nodded, dragging his chair up to the table.
"How was Caen?" Loki asked.
Longbottom exchanged glances with Malfoy.
"We were winning," Longbottom said, frustration in his voice. "And then all at once they disappeared. Portkeyed out."
Portkeys were an unusual wrinkle- Loki was still getting accustomed to planning strategies against an army that could, at any moment and with very little fanfare, disappear. At least they couldn't portkey in the same way.
"What about Portsmouth?" Loki asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer. Bricks, cobbles, broken glass…
"Fought them off, but we lost a lot of men," he said.
Loki shifted, tapping his silver teacup against the table.
They should be doing better than this. After all the years of fighting, they should have bested the French in any battle he cared to name, let alone such small ones. It was irritating. He hadn't accounted for the sheer dominance the French had over the skies. Their leadership was also impressive, for a country well-accustomed to peacetime. He had seen through his eyes the near victory over the enemy in Essex, one moment fighting, filling the air with spells, the next melting away.
Still. He wasn't concerned, not yet. There were other avenues to try.
"Have you gotten ahold of any Abraxans?" Longbottom asked, turning to Malfoy.
"A few," Malfoy said, lifting his cup. "The operation is… delicate."
"Probably won't have time to train them, anyways," Longbottom murmured.
The winged horses complicated things- their hides and wings were resistant to most offensive spells, and the ones that they had were… flawed, to say the least.
"Loki?" Longbottom asked, and Loki brushed the dilemma aside.
"If you can't stop them for portkeying out, you should attack somewhere else that means something to them," Malfoy said.
"Easier said than done," Longbottom said. "We can't get close, not without the scouts bringing the whole damn army on our heads."
"What about the dolmen doors?" Loki said.
"What about them?" Malfoy asked.
"If you found them, you could portkey into the heart of France, take them by surprise," Loki said. "Their scouts would be utterly worthless."
"It's been done before," Longbottom said. "But not since the time of the Mongols. An enemy getting to the doors is like… like ripping the heart out of a country." He looked up from his coffee cups, his eyes serious. "There's no overcoming it."
"Lefevre's not stupid," Malfoy said. "There will be wards on those doors going back to the time of Flamel, if not Merlin. And there are dozens of facsimiles throughout the land."
"All the same," Loki said, letting his mind flash to sand, mountains, Hogwarts castle. "Keep a wary eye."
"We need another strategy," Malfoy said..
"Yes," He looked into the deep crests of the map, the swirls of the clay sea, the lapping waves of the real one. "Play cautiously for now. If you see a fight you can win, take it."
"Is that all?" Malfoy said, and Loki nodded, looking outward. Evergreen forest, chalky cliffs…
Malfoy nodded, and let himself out.
"For what it's worth, Minister, I think we'll do it," Longbottom said, pushing in his chair and picking up the two empty coffee cups. "They're not a match for us, or you."
The spiralling staircase outside the minister's office curved and descended for stories, the smooth wooden banister curling for stairs upon stairs falling into darkness. Loki took them quickly, passing through the sublevels quickly- Support Staff, DMLE, Accidents and Catastrophes, Creatures, Co-ops, Transport…
There was a grand set of doors, leading to his training barracks. He crossed the hall- it looked like a city today- and took a second staircase to an ancillary room. It had a doorway with a glass window, with a sign taped to it that said Muggle Affairs.
He knocked.
"Come in," a voice called, and he entered, though he had to shuffle inside. The entryway was cluttered with piles of books. He ran his hand over a spine- Thermodynamics in Real Time. It hadn't been there last time he'd visited. In fact, the whole stack was new.
He pushed past the books into a kind of laboratory. Wires crossed the room overhead, clothesline-like, clipped with fabric swatches. A human-sized clay figure slumped in the corner, wearing red goggles and a gray vest with the Hydra label stripped off. Every available surface was cluttered, a silver cauldron brushed up against a phial on a bunsen burner, which burned carelessly close to a wicker basket piled with bars of different precious metals.
"I see you're making good use of your extensive budget," he said, hefting one of the ingots.
"Oh, I wouldn't touch that, if I were you," an absent voice said.
He glanced up.
The speaker was a woman in bright orange robes and safety goggles that flashed over her eyes.
"They're rather… volatile," she said, and Loki carefully replaced the bar. He had learned to trust Lovegood's judgement in such matters.
"Have you progressed on the vest?" he asked, nodding to the gray one on the figure.
"Oh yes," Lovegood said, looking up at the lines. "Yes, we're working to synthesizing the metallic components. We should have it in a couple of years, perhaps two."
"And the goggles?" Loki asked, suppressing his impatience with difficulty. Two years was a trice; a moment to one such as him.
"There is a factor we still don't understand," Lovegood said. "Arthur has commissioned more books. Did you see them? They're quite lovely."
"I need something now," Loki said. "Or the French will start tearing chunks out of London as well as the countryside."
"As I told you, I do not deal in war," Lovegood said, a faint chill entering her voice.
"Then what can you give me?" Loki said, crossing his arms.
Lovegood rooted around the laboratory, filling the blue phial and adjusting the wicker basket before pulling something out of a drawer.
"I have this," she said.
"What is it?" Loki asked, turning it over in his hands. It looked like some kind of fabric bundle.
Lovegood's eyebrows rose above the level of her goggles.
"It's a parachute," she said.
Loki stood on the edge of a precipice, in the tower that was his office. Where his wall should have been was a rift in the air, a place where the room did not so much end as fall off into another piece of the world, a tower in a town on a little island in the sea.
The whitecoats swept above him in a horde, throwing stunners and Confringo's, bright orange bombardment spells that consumed the air in their path. The green troops cast more slowly, golden sparks their opponents couldn't seem to see. A couple of green bolts flitted through the chaos, but most glanced off ineffectively. The killing curse required too much mental energy for most soldiers to cast at all, let alone repeatedly on command.
He did not feel the wind, but he could see soldiers straining to keep an even keel as they cast. Petrificus Totalus. Unwieldy, dangerous if misspoken, but it was the best they had.
At the head of their formation, Longbottom pulled downward- getting closer to the town, almost level with Loki's own vantage. They were moving in a new formation, trying to stay directly below the whitecoats, even as they were forced below the level of the building. He craned downward to see- the tower on which his spell rested was the tallest in the town, hardly four stories high- and the air around it was filled with broomsticked soldiers. The enemy commander was just above them now, directing a volley of spells downward, weakening hastily cast shields.
Another wave came half a moment later and bolts of red-orange came raining down; one of them hurtling towards his building, a tongue of fire rising up to fill his view with a roar. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of a green parachute amidst the inferno, floating on the wind. Then the spell blinked out.
A/N: And here we are again- next chapter should have a lesser gap, I believe, though I want to get some of the later stuff sorted out first. Heartfelt thanks to Prevaricator's Penchant for working over this chapter with me, and to Blue Jay and TheTzip for prereading! Let me know your thoughts with a review!