THANK YOU TO EVERYONE READING THIS!
Okay, so yes, we are a week late. Unfortunately, last weekend our internet got cut off, and when we finally got it back up it was Tuesday, and I was so busy I had no chance to update. Then I got sick, so between constantly moving around, and feeling like shit, this is the first time I've had both the time, and the energy, to fire up my crappy laptop long enough to update.
I will try to still update next Saturday as I would have if I had managed last Saturday's update. If I'm going to be late again, I'll make a post on my Tumblr about it to let you guys know.
Now then, aside from that, I wanted to apologize to Philip. If any of you remember, Philip was the one to win my summery contest, and request a one-shot from me. It was forever ago, and I still haven't posted the one-shot. I promise I've been working on it, it's just proving a more difficult subject than I was expecting, and because real life, and this fic, take priority, I haven't been working on it very often.
But I WILL get it done. I promise. It just might take be a bit. I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't forgotten about it.
Now, onto the chapter.
Enjoy.
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"But why? Thor uses magic all the time. He has that hammer of his doesn't he? Flying around and summoning bolts of lightning to attack..."
"It's not the same thing, at least not to the underdeveloped minds of the Aesir. What Thor uses is elemental battle magic, and he uses it only in conjunction with his weapon when facing an opponent too powerful for him to defeat with brute strength alone, and then only very sparingly. The incident on Midgard was not a usual situation. The flying is a type of travel-based magic. Both are perceived as being perfectly honorable. Illusionary magic, or destructive spells, on the other hand, are both believed to be cowardly, and magics such as healing or scrying are considered women's work. It is not seen as... Proper, you could say, for a man to use them. Or to be more accurate, it is not proper for a warrior to use them, as even shieldmaidens are looked down upon for utilizing such skills." Harry scowled.
"That's stupid!" He declared firmly. "In a fight you should use every advantage you can. And the more people who can heal the better! And scrying is... Actually, I'm not sure I know exactly what that is...?"
"It's a divinatory brand of magic that allows one to use a mirror, bowl of water, or fire, to spy upon current events, and, sometimes, gaze into the past or future, if one has a talent for it."
"That would be so useful though! You could spy on an enemy's movements and plans and be able to plan against them better as a result! Why on Mitera would the warriors think that was cowardly?" Loki's lip quirked.
"That one isn't so much about cowardice as it is about fairness." He explained. "Asgardians for the most part, believe that having too much knowledge of one's enemy's plans is tantamount to cheating, so to speak. This is the very same reason why we have no spies, and why spies found amongst our own ranks are so heavily punished, even more so than simple traitors." Harry threw his hands up in frustration.
"But that's so- so-"
"Imbecilic?"
"Yes!" The god chuckled.
"Believe me, I quite agree with the sentiment. Unfortunately you'll find that a people who live as long as we do tend to grow attached to tradition and become stuck to our ways." Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"At least you seem to have some sense."
"I'm not an Aesir though."
"No, but you were raised as one, and that tends to count for something." The trickster hummed but said nothing. At least he was not growing offended like he would have a couple months ago.
"So, how do your illusions work exactly? I know it's not the same as a glamour, and some of them are actually semi-solid constructs, or at least, they appear so." Loki batted his eyes playfully.
"My dear wizard, are you trying to learn my secrets?"
"Maybe." He answered with a playful grin, making the god grin back at him. "It would certainly be something that would come in handy." Loki hummed again, his face growing abruptly serious and considering. He tended to do that, flipping through moods very quickly. After the past couple months, with a few dozen visits between them, he had learned when to try and coax the god into a better mood, and when to sit quietly. This was the latter.
"Do you know where the main library is?" He suddenly asked the animagus.
"It's on the... Eighth floor? Near the guards' largest bathing room."
"Yes but it's the ninth floor, Harry."
"Oh, right."
"There should be a section there near the back on ethereal magical constructs. Tell Embla what you're looking for and that I sent you. She should be able to give you the right book. You can ask about the subject again once you've read it." He nodded, smiling. For the most part, Loki was the one in charge of when they saw each other and what they talked about. There were occasional exceptions of course, but Harry did his best to let the god maintain control over this aspect of his life; especially since it seemed to bring him some peace to do so. It meant that he took longer to have his questions answered, but it wasn't like he was in too much of a hurry; and this way, at least, when his questions finally were answered, they were more likely to be answered truthfully.
"I'll make sure to read it quickly then." The trickster laughed.
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Embla was a tall, thin woman who reminded him of his Aunt Petunia, only with black hair rather than blonde, and dark tan skin. She was the librarian, and was, thankfully, much nicer than Madame Pince had ever been. He had, after one of the guards told him so, realized that any rooms he wasn't meant to enter would be both guarded and locked, and whoever was stationed there would let him know he was out of bounds. As such, he'd finally begun wandering freely, and had even, cautiously, joined the twins one day when they decided to pull a prank.
They'd figured out how to turn some of the guards' golden armor (which was very charm-resistant) red, and make their hair grow out and change to look like a lion's mane (all temporary of course), and had done so in respect to their former Hogwart's house. Odin had borne witness to it, and, rather than grow angry as Harry had warily expected him to, he had laughed delightedly, and then looked sort of stuck between amused and sad.
Harry had wondered if he was thinking of Loki back when the trickster's pranks were relatively harmless.
Outside of that, he mostly explored on his own, and it was during one such exploration that he had found the library; an enormous room filled to the (very high up) ceiling with books and scrolls. It was, easily, three times the size of the Hogwart's library, and made the founder's one look like an amateur's meager book collection.
He had borrowed a couple rune books, and though reading them was slow going (because they were written with elder-futhark in what he thought was old Norse, and he would have to translate the sounds and then read his translation aloud so his necklace from the shaman would make him perceive the words as English, which didn't seem to work with most cuss words, words that were titles or names, or words that had no accurate English equivalent), they had, thus far, been extremely rewarding. A lot of the parts of the scepter that had once confused him were beginning to make much more sense. He was thinking of maybe returning to Bogdon once he was back on Earth and taking a second look at it.
A lot of the runes though, were focused on ward construction. Some of it was absolutely genius, and, where before his ward work had been, while not mediocre, hardly professional, the things he was learning were improving it. It was helped even more by the fact that a lot of the symbols and ward structures didn't even exist on Earth. He had so many ideas about how to improve some, or combine them with Earth wards and runes...
The books were a rune master's (or a cursebreaker's, or a ward builder's) wet dream.
He shook his head, bringing himself back to the here and now. Embla, just as Loki had said, knew exactly what book the god wanted him to read (he got the feeling they had been friends once, and that Loki used to spend a great deal of time in the library). She led him through the towering dark wood shelves towards the back of the giant room. They passed by one of the outer walls, with its floor to ceiling windows, and for a moment Harry looked out over the landscape. The sun shone down on the city, making it glitter, and reflecting off the water. The rainbow bridge, still a few months away from being finished, stretched out to a large, oddly shaped building he had yet to visit but wanted to. Beyond that was the sea (and Thor had assured him that, yes, it was the ocean and not a lake), beautiful and expansive. He longed to go to it, itched to transform and swim through the depths, but he hadn't.
At least he would get to transform soon, for the first time in several months. The second moon (the other blue one) had waxed and waned through fullness with nothing for the twins, which meant the third, red moon, which only grew full every three months or so (an event they had arrived just after), was the one their curse had bound itself to whilst here. They had wolfsbane, and Harry planned to change with them.
They had even, carefully, brought up the issue with Odin, telling him about werewolves and assuring him they would be safe with the potion, but still desired a bit of space for that night. He had been, oddly, fascinated, first asking many questions about werewolves (they had kept Harry's animagus form quiet for now), and then told them he would have a guard fly them out to the forest to the North, near those mountains in the distance, where they would be free to run and hunt and play as canines to their hearts' content.
"Here it is." The wizard jumped. He had gotten so caught up in his thoughts (again) that he hadn't even noticed they had stopped walking. Embla took a small, thin book with a dark purple cover off a shelf above them that was almost out of her reach (and certainly out of his) and handed it to him with a smile.
"Thank you." It was worn at the corners, and there was golden runic lettering embedded on the cover. He would be spending more time translating, it would seem.
"Of course. Is there anything else you were looking for?" He thought about asking for a book on shielding spells, but just shook his head. He had enough books to study right now. He would wait until he finished what he had.
"No thank you ma'am." She smiled at him, and he was left alone. He hummed, and began considering the pros and cons of remaining there to work, or going back to their rooms.
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It had become something of a hobby of his to watch the warriors train. There was a large yard of sorts just outside the palace where they exercised and sparred. Some of them practiced sword movements, and others took up bow or spears and practiced their aim, shooting and throwing at large wooden targets, respectively. Though he had never joined them, choosing to keep his own work-out and sword movement practice to his own quarters, he still liked to watch. It was interesting.
And he, admittedly, had a slightly ulterior motive.
His eyes scanned the groups of warriors, looking for a woman with long black hair dressed in brown leathers and red cloth. Sif was a sight to behold while she trained. Her sword movements were smooth and graceful with the ease of years (possibly, heck, probably centuries) of experience. None of the men who came against her in spars stood a chance, though some lasted longer than others. She was powerful, and incredible, and he was sure he would never stand a chance if he tried to fight her.
Also, she was very beautiful to look at.
High spots of color appeared on his cheeks as his eyes scanned the men and few women below him, seeking her out. It wasn't as though he was stalking her. He didn't follow her around or anything. He just knew she spent some of her mornings here, and he liked to watch sometimes.
"You never join us." He jumped with an embarrassing yelp and twisted around. The very woman he had been searching for stood there. She chuckled at him, and his face flamed. Sif smiled and walked up to stand beside him, crossing her arms and resting them on the barrier wall. She smiled at him, and then looked down over the yard. "Why is that?"
"Huh?" She smirked slightly, looking faintly entertained.
"Why do you never join us for training?" She repeated. "You are a warrior yourself are you not?" He shifted nervously, and then copied her posture, looking out over the warriors at practice with the hope that not looking directly at her would make him less anxious.
"Well," He swallowed. "You're all a lot older and more experienced than I am." Her possible age was something that tended to make him feel very uncomfortable with his crush in mind. "I figured I'd only manage to make a fool of myself." It was the truth, somewhat, and slightly less embarrassing than admitting that he liked watching her train because he thought she was pretty. He was getting good at that, he realized; revealing one truth over another, or half a truth in order to hide things. It was better than lying outright (which he still sucked at) at any rate.
"Is that all?" She smiled at him. "You could have asked for help, you know."
"Help?"
"With your training! Lack of experience does not mean you are weak. There is no shame in being young." She smiled gently. "Experience comes with practice. With help from your betters and many spars. Real battle, as well, but spars will do for peacetime. I would be more than happy to help you better yourself." He cleared his throat.
"You don't think I'd make a fool out of myself?"
"Of course you will." He choked. "But no one will laugh at you for it, and if they do, they will not laugh with malevolence." He looked down, frowning. That wasn't very comforting, and this also wasn't the sort of conversation he had expected. "It would please me greatly to help you train." He looked at her in surprise.
"It would?" She smiled brightly at him.
"Of course!" His stomach fluttered and he looked away again. Oh this was bad. Very bad. And good too. Just the idea of being physically close to her, sparring with her, made him nervous and uncertain and excited and strangely fluttery. But he only ever saw her up close, spoke to her, when he followed Thor to meet with her and the warriors three like he was a puppy with no where else to go. Then, he was often too nervous to speak directly to her very much.
Fandral constantly gave him smug and amused looks, the knowing bastard. He took back any thoughts he might have had about liking him. The charismatic womanizer was an absolute menace.
He bit his lip, considering. Then he shook his head. Wasn't it sort of disrespectful to consider the offer only in regards to the fact that a woman he fancied was making it? What if it wasn't Sif? What if he wasn't attracted to her? How would he treat the offer then? Well, working on his hand to hand and weapons combat would be helpful. It was always good to be as strong and as skilled as possible, so that you were well prepared for any opponent; and he could use his free time to learn how to incorporate magic properly with anything she taught him (since, with the way Asgardians viewed most magic, he couldn't do that during training). Maybe he could even duel with Moo like they used to, or the twins. He had never dueled them before, and if he fought them both at the same time, well, two opponents at one time would either exhaust him enough to ensure he slept well, or hone his skills even more extensively. All in all, perhaps it could help him work himself up to a level where he and Loki, or he and any Aesir really, would not be so unevenly matched.
"Alright," He said, almost shyly. "But my brothers and I are taking a trip into the forest in a few days, so it will have to wait until after that." She smiled, looking a little curious but not prying, and nodded.
"Of course, we wouldn't want you to have your pride broken before then." She sauntered off before he could reply, and he stared after her, gaping.
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"So, we good to go?"
"Yup."
"Ready as we'll ever be."
"Got your potion?"
"Yes mum. Ow!"
"Don't be a smart ass George."
"Muhammad, you sure you'll be alright?"
"I'm perfectly capable of living alone for a couple days."
"You know what I meant."
"It'll be fine, idiot. I'll lock him up in your room if he becomes a problem." Harry nodded, and hefted his rucksack over one shoulder. Tom would be staying there with Moo, and having him where Harry couldn't keep an eye on him made him just as nervous as having him around did. He was comfortable enough to, occasionally, chat with him (mostly about Tom's more extensive magical knowledge), and to no longer feel dread when he had the man-turned-serpent wrapped around his waist, but that didn't mean he trusted him much yet, if at all.
"Alright then. The guard that's taking us is supposed to be waiting on the ground floor just outside the main throne room." The redheads each nodded, and off they went. The two of them flanked him as they walked, each hunched over slightly, the closeness of their transformation turning their normally blue eyes into matching sets of amber gold. They tensed with every person they passed, and Harry kept his hands on the arms closest to him. They looked haggard on top of the stronger wolfen instincts, with dark circles under their eyes, and paler skin than usual; it made their freckles stand out, and caused them to appear ill.
They had grown snappish and less playful the closer to the full moon they came, and Harry had even caught them arguing with each other once; a sight he had never thought he would see. They had even slept in separate rooms that night, though they had both apologized profusely the next day, and been even more inseparable ever since. It was different than what he remembered of Mooney. The older werewolf had only ever seemed very tired around the moon. He had a bad feeling about this whole thing, though, to be fair, his only involvement with a transformed werewolf had been that disastrous episode at the end of his third year, when Remus had forgotten his potion and Harry had nearly found himself as a canine's lunch. It had been a rather terrifying experience for a thirteen-year-old.
They made it down to the bottom floor without incident, all things considered, and soon met up with a beast of a man with cropped blond hair and laugh lines. He was dressed much like the other guards, but had no spear or helmet, and, with the way he grinned at them, he was perhaps either more friendly or less professional than they were (or maybe he was 'off-duty' and just doing this as a favor to Odin).
"Hello there." He greeted them.
"Hello." The twins offered weak smiles, but didn't speak. "You're the one who'll be flying us out then?" Harry still didn't know how they were doing that. He kept imagining brooms in his head, but didn't think that was accurate.
"That I am." He said cheerfully. "You're all ready to go?"
"We are, yes."
"Good, right this way then." He turned and started walking, a sort of skip in his step, and the three followed after him bemusedly. He led them off through the city a ways, to one of the small waterways, and then down a set of steps to a dock. Harry could see a gold and white boat (a little different from the ones he usually saw) sitting in the water at the bottom. It was like a tiny futuristic version of a viking long boat without any oars. It even had a sort of crest at one end that twisted into an artistic image of some kind of animal; though he couldn't tell what it was supposed to be.
"I thought we were flying?"
"We are." Confused, he traded looks with Fred and George, but they continued down, and, when the guard clambered in, the three followed him carefully into the boat. Harry had been on a ferry once, but never a small boat, and he didn't really care for the way it rocked and made it feel as though he were standing on something unsteady. He had to unfurl his tail to keep his balance, which meant he had to try not to stand too close to the unnamed guard. The Aesir gestured for them to sit, and they did so quietly, settling themselves onto benches on either side of the boat, with Harry sitting across from the redheads. The guard went to the front, where there was a sort of poll with an odd circular handle (that reminded Harry a little of the shape of Hermione's old time-turner) sticking out of the floor of the craft. He took it in both hands, twisted and...
They were moving. They were rising, slowly, and then more quickly, right out of the water. Harry's eyes widened. They kept going up, until they had cleared the top of the higher buildings of the city, and then the man pushed the lever forward, and with a jerk, they were zooming off. Harry had to dig his claws into the seat to keep from flying off at first. He let out an excited whoop and then a laugh, leaning over the side to watch as they flew over the city, and then away from it, with a bright grin on his face. When he looked back up, even the twins were smiling, looking a little more at ease than they had they had the last couple of days.
"You know what I miss?" He called to them over the rushing sound of the wind, catching their attention. "Quidditch!" And he did. It had been a few years since he had flown on a broom just for the sake of a good game of Quidditch. He missed being up in the air just for the feeling of freedom, his eyes scanning the skies for a glint of gold, and whooshing after that tiny little ball. And, even though he didn't care for attention, he liked hearing the roar of the crowd as they won, and the feeling of his heart lifting and bursting in his chest with pride at a victory that had nothing to do with bloodshed. George laughed cheerfully and Fred smiled, saying:
"Maybe once we're home you can come 'round to the burrow for a pick up game. We can get Bill and Fleur out, and Ginny and Dean both."
"I hear Fleur's good on a broom. Never heard much about Dean though." His twin commented.
"I've never seen him fly." Harry told them, being a little more acquainted with him, as an ex-roommate, than his brothers were. "Maybe we could call Tonks over too. She was on the Quidditch team when she was at Hogwarts I think. Her name's on one of the trophies." He'd polished them more than a few times in detention, during his early Hogwarts years.
"Do you think Mooney can fly?" George asked. Harry shrugged.
"Don't know. All the same, I'm sure if we ask enough people over we could manage to get some good numbers. Might have to cut down the number of chasers or have only one beater per team, but we could manage." They didn't really talk much after that. Harry watched the scenery fly by, and Fred leaned his head against his twin's shoulder and fell asleep. George looked lost in thought for awhile, and then began nodding off, his eyes opening and closing and his head dipping forwards and then jerking back comically as he tried to remain awake. The guard appeared content to remain quiet outside of his occasional humming of a cheerful tune.
Below them, the world changed from glittering colors of bronze and gold, to swirls of green as they moved away from the city. Harry could see the mountains more clearly from up here. They looked enormous. Eventually they got far enough that he couldn't see the city at all, though the palace was still visible in the distance, a golden mountain all its own. It was all breathtaking to behold, and very peaceful, but eventually the flight itself, with its monotony (rather different than a broom, which was more exciting), lost his interest.
Not long after that, even the King of Niflheim found it hard to keep his eyes open.
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Harry was shaken awake some hours later by a bleary-eyed Fred, just as they began to descend. He looked around him. They were nearly at the foot of the mountain now, and, when he looked South, the palace was nowhere to be seen. They must have gone pretty far, but Harry was pretty sure their path had been straight, so, if he had to, he could probably (maybe) lead them back, though it would take a while.
They landed in a big clearing of tall grass. There was a circle of large thin stones carved with runes and pictures, some of them broken. It appeared as though it was almost an old shrine or something, and reminded him, distantly, of stonehenge... He looked closely at them, at least until they were close enough to the ground that the guard (Harry realized he still didn't know his name, or, for that matter, the names of any of the guards) motioned for them to jump out. Harry dropped the short distance to the grass first, and approached the stones a little as his brothers made their own way onto the ground, not having as far to drop as he had, the tall bastards.
"I'll return to this spot for you in three days!" The guard hollered.
"Thank you!" The man grinned, and then the boat was rising back into the sky again, and quickly flew off. It was just the three of them now. The first thing Harry did was kick off his boots so he could feel the grass beneath his bare feet, and then, when he was sure the guard was long gone, he pulled off his glamour band, and sighed in relief, allowing his tail to brush along the ground. Fred chuckled at him, still looking haggard, but less stressed now that they were away from the halls of Asgard's palace and the people within them.
"Enjoying yourself little brother?"
"You have no idea." George smiled at them, and sat down on the ground, his back leaning up against one of the stones outside the circle.
"So," He started. "What's the plan for while we're out here?"
"Well," Harry came and sat near him, digging his toes into the ground a bit. "The moon's tonight, so I figure we can make a small camp and get our things squared away to start with. When night gets closer you two can take your potion, and then we can leave the camp and hike a ways away for the transformation. In the morning I'll lug you two back, and we can camp for the next couple days or so while you recover."
"Sounds simple enough." Fred nodded, looking pleased.
"Sounds boring." George corrected, and his twin rolled his eyes at him. Harry shrugged, but said nothing, and George let out a long-suffering sigh. "Well, then, I suppose we'd best get started. Should we just set up here?"
"Yes." Harry paused. "But over there near the edge of the forest, so we're not in the circle of stones." Something about camping in the midst of them made him uncomfortable; like the idea of goofing off in a church or a temple. It wasn't a matter of religious belief so much as respect. The 'shrine', or whatever it was, felt as though it had once been sacred to someone, and he wouldn't turn up his nose at that even though they were just stones to him.
"Sounds good to me." Fred smiled at him, and together they moved and went about getting things ready.
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Harry had dug a pit, and George had successfully found a river nearby with stones to line it with. Fred was the one to fill it with wood, though he didn't light a fire (they wouldn't need one until the next day), while Harry and George went about setting up the tents. Harry had two of them that stayed in his pack all the time (he hadn't really meant to bring them to Asgard with him). They weren't wizarding tents, but he had been working with one, and had managed to make it larger on the inside like he did with the pockets of his cloaks, and, more recently, his jeans and trousers. The twins would use that one after the moon, so they could sleep together like they normally did. Harry's tent hadn't been magically altered, and so had only just enough room for himself.
He hid his pack in it, and then Fred went about setting up small notice-me-not charms around their campsite, to keep animals away. They weren't effective enough to keep out an Asgardian or some other sentient being, but given how far from the city they were, Harry didn't think that was something they needed to be concerned about. He wasn't that worried about privacy. The flying boat made a sort of slight buzzing noise that he was sure (with his powerful hearing no longer hindered by the glamour), he could catch from a distance, and besides, he planned to go back to wearing his glamour band once the day when the guard would return came. Outside of that, there wasn't all that much of a need for privacy.
They had brought some food with them, a bit of jerky and some bread and vegetables. They would hunt during the night, and Harry could catch more food as needed. He had already asked Thor about wildlife before they left, and had been happy to learn that they did, in fact, have deer and moose in Asgard; with any luck, he could find some to kill.
The sun was starting to turn red and orange by the time they were ready to leave, and Harry took a great breath of the smell of pine and oak and clean air, and sighed heavily. The twins each pulled out a potion of a thick murky brown substance, gave each other a glance, and knocked them back like vodka shots. The potion looked disgusting, and, from the faces they made, probably tasted disgusting too. Fred even turned a little green and shuddered.
Harry was never more thankful for not being a werewolf.
He couldn't become one either. One of the side effects of being an animagus was cutting off the mental space the wolf would occupy. Which meant that instead of changing them, a werewolf's bite and venom acted as a deadly poison to animagi. Of course, since werewolves felt no need to attack animals (they didn't even hunt animals naturally, only humans and other sentient beings), an animagus could just transform and they would be safe enough.
Although that information wasn't exactly well-known. There were books on the subject that mentioned it, of course, but only the unbiased ones, which were both few and far between, and also not well-read.
They walked for some time, slipping through the trees, which, once he was paying attention, Harry realized were enormous. They may have smelled like oak and pine, and something he couldn't place, but their size more resembled redwoods (or so he thought, as he'd never seen such trees in person before). There was plenty enough space between most of the trunks to accommodate his large animagus form without him scraping against the bark, or having to stick to thinner areas (like he did with the forbidden forest), and yet, above their heads, the branches all brushed against each other and tangled up enough to block out most of the light. Several times they had to walk around or climb over, or even under, large roots that had broken up through the ground.
When they were far enough away from camp that Harry was sure was suitable (and close enough still that he believed he could find his way back), they stopped, settled themselves on the ground, and waited for nightfall. The twins looked tense, and lost in thought, and so neither one spoke, and Harry, worried and still having that odd feeling that something was amiss, allowed the silence to remain.
He sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back against a tree, his claws digging and playing with the dirt absently. He let his mind wander, and found himself thinking about Earth, and those he had left behind there. He missed his father, and Bruce, and Teddy most of all. He missed the dour potion master's looming protective presence, his sound advice, the quiet talks over tea, even the occasional scolding. He missed his adoptive brother's curious questions about the magical world, his calm demeanor, the hugs he sometimes offered, and how good a listener he was. And though he had spent very little time with him, he missed his godson's tiny hand around his finger, his broken wobbly voice, his excitable playfulness, and the way his eyes and hair would change color with his mood.
He also missed Mooney and Tonks, and the Malfoys and Weasleys and Dursleys (all of whom he had not seen for some time even before his trip away from his home planet), and Logan, Tony, Storm, the other Avengers he didn't know so well yet, even the Director, with his hidden sense of humor. He even missed his old Hogwarts friends; Blaise and Neville in particular.
There was a whimper, and he opened his eyes, pushing his melancholy aside for the time being. The sky had grown black above his head while his eyes were closed, and he was thankful for his sharp eyes; the way he could see in the dark. Fred was shivering like he was cold, and there was a pained look on George's face. It was time. Harry stood, and began pulling off the Asgardian clothing he wore. He'd chosen the simplest ones he had for the trip, and had his armor on underneath. Across from him, the twins were shakily stripping down to nothing, not wanting to tear apart their new clothes either.
With the snap and crack of bones, the groan and squelch of shifting organs, and a scratchy sort of sound, Harry stood in beastly form, towering over his brothers. They had a moment to gape upwards at him, their heads tilted all the way back and the both of them having to take a few steps away just to see him fully. Harry supposed he was an impressive sight to behold in this form.
As a Mishipeshu, the lean muscles he had developed over the years through his training were especially visible, rippling under coal and silver colored scales and a thick mane the blue-tinged black of a raven's feathers. His horns (long, thick, and curved back over his neck to protect it), and the large spikes on his back (beginning at the base of his neck and continuing all the way down to near the tip of his tail), gleamed white in the darkness. His eyes were large and a brighter green as a feline than as a man, shining when the light hit them the way cat's eyes were wont to do. Enormous paws with toes tipped by vicious-looking claws, and a mouth full of deadly teeth completed the picture of a dangerous unearthly beast. He was frightening to look at, he knew that. He had startled himself the first time Sirius had had him change form in front of a mirror (he had had to use a growing charm on it, and Harry had felt very cramped in that room), having only been able to see hints of his reflection in water before then. He had grown since then though. He was more the size of a small house than the Hagrid's-hut-size he used to be. He probably wouldn't get much bigger though, if he grew at all from this point.
The moment of their awe at Harry was broken as Fred groaned and bent down, his arms wrapped around himself, and George kneeled next to him, an arm around his twin's shoulders, his own face scrunched up in pain. He grunted, looking to be in just as much pain but handling it better. Harry made a small uncertain croon. Something didn't feel right about this. Wasn't the potion supposed to reduce the pain of the transformation?
George suddenly jerked forwards with a choked scream. Beneath his bare skin, Harry could see his spine moving; lengthening. A moment later, the same began to happen to Fred. Their spines continued growing, and, with screams of pain from each of them, sharp enough to pierce his gut like blades, said spines broke bloodily through the skin of their lower backs and grew into bony, fleshy tails. Harry was on his feet, body coiled like a spring.
This was wrong. Mooney had transformed so quickly that night. It had happened in moments, as quick as an experienced animagi's transformation. This was too slow. Something was wrong. Harry shifted on his paws, and took a step forward, leaning down to make his head level with them. He didn't know what to do. What could he do?
They fell to their hands and knees, each crying out in agony as their teeth fell out to be replaced by a canine set, as their nails were ripped from their fingers by the claws growing in behind them. For the first time since his encounter with the Alu, Fear's cold, spindly fingers wrapped tightly around Harry's heart and squeezed. He watched the process, horrified, certain he was going to watch his brother's die tonight.
He continued to watch, feeling helpless with terror freezing the blood in his veins, as their bodies slowly grew and changed, as their bones moved and altered and realigned into new forms, as their jaws lengthened into canine snouts and their noses turned black. It was all so slow, and painful, the air filled with the sound of their whimpers and groans and screams. The fur came last, and they both screeched in voices that were not quite human, and then, finally, mercifully, it was over.
They lay on the ground, panting, and Harry paced around them, nervous and worried and fearful. He made noises at them that were not quite meows, but similarly pitiful. They didn't look like Mooney had, or like they had in that one Mitera given vision of the one as a wolf biting the other to infect him (it was so long ago, he couldn't quite remember who had been changed first).
Normally, werewolves appeared just as they were, combination wolf and man, with canine faces and bodies that had limbs which were too long for them to pass as real wolves. They still had fingers and thumbs, and odd feet shaped similar to a dragons. You couldn't mistake a werewolf for being anything other than what it was.
But Fred and George, at the moment, with their transformation complete, just looked like particularly large (horse-sized, really) wolves with auburn coats of fur, each of them a slightly different shade (Fred's fur was just a few shades darker than than his hair, but George was even darker than that, a little closer to brown than his twin). Harry sniffed at them, and whined. They had collapsed to the ground and were breathing heavily, but not moving. Fred whined back at him but did nothing else, and, with no understanding of anything else he could do, Harry circled them several times, and then lay down and curl his body and tail around them, enveloping the smaller (and wasn't it ironic that he was the bigger one now, when as a human, they were much larger than he was) beasts protectively. When he settled his head down just outside his tail, they were completely hidden from view.
He kept his eyes open, and his ears perked upwards and attentive, looking after his family, and ready to defend them if needed.
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He remained awake and silent for a long time. The forest was fairly quiet. Occasionally a breeze rustled the leaves above their heads, or he would catch birdsong. An owl, or something similar, swooped overhead once, and another time, he heard the crunch of leaves and dirt as something moved through the forest. He never saw it, but it had that smell to it that prey had, and was similar to a deer, but not one. He wondered what it was doing moving around; most prey animals slept at night.
Eventually something moved against his side, and he shifted his head to look. Amber eyes met his as George raised his head, his fur shaggier than Fred's, and caked with dry blood from their earlier transformation. He chuffed at Harry, and Harry chuffed back. The wolf licked his scaly flank and then panted at him, revealing tongue and teeth in a laid-back canine grin. He was telling the animagus he was okay, and Harry felt relieved. Then George turned away from him, sitting up a bit, and began licking his twin, grooming him and trying to wash the blood off of him with his tongue.
Fred slept on for a time, and Harry continued to guard them. When he did finally awaken, he returned the favor George had offered, and started licking the blood away from the darker wolf's fur. Neither one seemed concerned with the change from earlier, or their new un-werewolf-like bodies, but Harry wasn't entirely sure their potion had worked properly. He didn't know if they were in their right minds enough to even notice something had gone wrong.
His own worries would just have to wait until the next day, after they had changed back and been given a chance to rest.
Once they were clean enough (there was still dried blood on their legs and tails, but neither one looked bothered by it), both canines got up, and Fred jumped away, yipped, and dipped down on his forelegs with his bum in the air, tail wagging; the universal canine language for 'let's play'. George looked inclined to humor him. He jumped after him, and they began something that was part tag, part wrestling, part random skipping about. Harry stood up, and followed leisurely after them as they went. They never strayed too far from where he was, and, when he changed direction, they kept their game following his path.
He was, strangely enough, reminded of baby ducklings trailing after their mother. Which of course, made him the mom. He shook his head.
Well, it wasn't the worst thing he could be.
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The twins eventually calmed down, and after wandering for a time, Harry's posture had notably changed as he began hunting. The wolves, seeming to understand, had stopped playing, and their steps had grown noticeably lighter and more careful, their ears up and alert, and their noses sniffing the ground in search of prey. Harry didn't know if the twins' human minds were working right and they were hungry, or if the changed bodies also meant changed instincts, and they were legitimately hunting like regular wolves.
He hoped it was either the former, or that he was the one to catch their food, because wolves ate their prey alive, and he didn't want to witness some poor creature being consumed whilst still breathing. He himself tried to take down his prey as quickly and efficiently as he could, killing it in the moment he caught it, or snapping its neck shortly thereafter.
Eventually he caught a scent.
Or rather, Fred and George caught a scent, and, a moment later, he caught it too; proving their sense of smell was better than his. Just a while after that, however, when they had tracked whatever it was for a time, he found he had better hearing, when he caught the far off shuffling of the animal they were following before the two wolves appeared to.
Soon they were moving more slowly, and the canines split from him, each moving to a side, ready to box whatever it was in. Harry slunk close to the ground, moving smoothly. A bit of magic, a simple trick he had learned in D. A. when discussing survival spells, and the shadows rose up a bit to meet him, clinging to him like dark cloth, and blending his large body in with his surroundings. As long as he kept his movements slow, and remained upwind, their prey wouldn't even notice him until it was too late.
Finally, he slipped around a tree, and caught sight of them. It was a small herd of what he thought were meant to be the Asgardian equivalent of moose. They were roughly the size of small elephants (which would do well, given his own mass), and looked like a cross between a moose and a horse, with longer faces and tails than he was used to seeing on the former. There were three bucks with large tangled antlers that looked more like twisting white vines than what they actually were. There were four cows, and two small ones. Two of the bucks were awake, heads and ears up as they kept watch over their families, but the rest were laid out on the ground, asleep.
Harry eyed one of the cows. She had an ashy tone to her brown fur that made him think she was older, and so he immediately chose her as his prey. He circled the resting herd, going unnoticed. There was a sound across the clearing, and two of the cows' heads came up, both bucks looking in that direction. It was one of the twins, Harry knew, and he no longer had any time.
He sprung from his hiding place, exploding out of the shadows like a beastly wraith. The herd was up, panicking, the situation exasperated when the wolves jumped out, trying to catch their own meal. The cow tried to flee, but she was too slow getting to her feet. Harry tackled her and she crumpled beneath him. His claws clunk to her flank to keep her in place, and he snapped his jaws tightly around her neck.
Coppery blood filled his mouth, and it was over as quickly as it had begun.
He looked up to find Fred and George whining, and looking rather put-out, or as much so as a pair of canines could. They hadn't been able to catch any of the others. They were all gone. The animagus wasn't all that surprised. They were inexperienced, and he could still remember the first few failures he'd had in the forbidden forest, when he first got it into his head to go hunting. He chuffed at them, catching their attention, and tore off a large chunk of meat for himself. Then he took several steps back and began to eat, making it apparent they could have what they wished.
They were very pleased about that.
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He managed to lead them back near enough to the camp after their meal that he wouldn't have much trouble getting them there come morning. They were tired, following him lazily and often making noises or yawning. It made him think of two little kids complaining about being tired. They were like puppies!
After they stopped and settled, he wound up wrapped around them again as they slept, and, eventually, he fell asleep too.
He awoke many hours later to a particularly annoying bit of sunlight that was determined to stream through a tiny opening in the branches above just to hit his eyes. At some point his brothers had turned human again, and he sniffed at them, nudging them with his big nose. They were out cold, and filthy with mud, and blood both from their transformation, and their messy eating.
In the end he had to change back and levitate them back to camp. He settled them into their tent, covering them up with a blanket (they were nude still), and, after some hesitation and a few protective spells, left.
He went back to where they had stripped first, gathering up their clothes (they had hidden them in the roots of a tree, and they were a little muddy now as a result, but otherwise undamaged), then back to where they had eaten. He'd pulled what was left of the moose-creature into a tree, and now he pulled it down, cutting out what meat was left (the wolves had primarily favoured the organs), and, on a whim, the fur as well, to take back to camp. It would be enough for a couple of meals, but they (he) would need to hunt again before the guard returned.
They hadn't moved by the time he got back, and the camp was left undisturbed, so he set about building a fire, pulling out a camping pan and some of the vegetables and bread they had brought (he would need to see if he could find some edible berries or something soon) and making them some breakfast.
He wondered if he could go tree-climbing later and get his hands on some eggs.
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They woke in the afternoon with the sounds of groaning, and the occasional wince, their muscles sore and their bones in need of popping. George (still nude), stuck his head out of the tent, blinking rapidly with his face flushed. He winced at the light, and all around looked much like he had a hang-over.
"Hey." His voice cracked a little, and Harry handed him a canteen of water. He took a swig, and then disappeared inside, presumably to offer some to Fred. A moment later he popped back out to give it back. "Thanks."
"No problem. How're you feeling?"
"Like I got runover by a Hippogriff. What happened?"
"You can't remember anything?"
"No. Was it a bad batch of wolfsbane?" Harry shifted.
"I don't know. You didn't attack me though. We'll talk about it later. Just get some rest for now." George nodded, not arguing, and went back in the tent, zipping it closed behind him. They didn't come out again until the next day (which made him nervous about their health, because they should have at least needed the loo before then), though Harry did open the tent to give them food a couple times (he did, in fact, upon getting bored, go and hunt down a bird's nest and some eggs, and they tasted fine, if a bit off). He spent most of the day watching over the camp, and working on translating one of his library books. He even meditated for a couple hours; the peaceful quiet of the forest being so relaxing he nearly fell asleep in the process.
He set up a caterwauling charm before going to bed, and slept soundly that night with the knowledge that no one would be able to enter the clearing at all without it waking him.
He was happy when morning came and he exited his tent to find the twins awake and sitting cross-legged near the fire-pit, chatting quietly between themselves. He stretched with a grunt, grabbing their attention, and went to sit by them. Fred circumvented that plan by grabbing him by the tail (did he not realize that hurt?!) and tugging him to flop to the ground between them. He hissed at him grumpily, but the redhead only chuckled at him.
"So." George looked expectantly at him. "What in Merlin's name happened?"
He sighed, starting to get uncomfortably accustomed to strange occurrences and the constant upturning of both his life and things he saw as fact, and set about telling them.
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The rest of their camping 'vacation' was surprisingly nice. The twins were oddly unconcerned about the full moon, happy with the fact they hadn't hurt anything, and content to wait until they were back at the palace with the resources of the library and many centuries older and wiser people, to go about figuring out what had happened. Harry, honestly a bit tired (and unable to express to them the full lengths of his terror of the events of the full moon), decided they were right, and set out to enjoy the peace of nature (that reminded him a little of Canada, albeit with much bigger trees) and the freedom to go about every moment of his day glamour-free, and perfectly able to transform as he wished. It was a relief for him.
He wished he could be himself all the time; that he didn't have to hide for fear of repercussions. It was an anxiety of his; the thought of being called a monster or a freak. He was sure there was a Doctor or two out there that could trace that back to his childhood with the previously-magic-hating-Dursleys, but he wasn't in the habit of psychoanalysing himself.
At the moment, though, he might have preferred being back in the palace where he couldn't afford to transform.
"No."
"Pleeeeeaaase."
"NO."
"But you're big enough for it!"
"And we've never been horseback ridi-"
"Do I look like a fucking horse to you?" His voice was practically acidic.
"But Haa~aary-" Fred's eyes were big, and he had his hands clasped under his chin like a child. His lip even wobbled.
"No."
"Why not? It's not like it would hurt anything!"
"And it would be so much fun!"
"For you two maybe."
"Exactly. Please Harry!"
"We could even pay you back later!"
"Yes! You scratch our backs, we'll scratch yours and all." Harry narrowed his eyes at them, but neither the clear threat on his face nor his mental wish for the redheads before him to spontaneously combust appeared to be making any impact. He squirmed.
"And what, exactly, would I get in exchange for humoring your irritating lunacy." Dammit but he was starting to give in.
"You've been spending too much time around Loki, mate." He glared. "Alright, alright, don't get your wand in a knot." George put his hands up placatingly.
"Well..." Fred was rubbing his chin with an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness on his face. "What do you want for it?" He sighed, and then, since it was clear they wouldn't be giving it up, gave the question some thought. What did he want? Or rather, what did they have to offer at the moment that he would be happy to take?
What could he take that might serve as a punishment?
He smirked, and leaned back a bit where he sat.
"I could use some treacle tart." He knew they'd brought some hidden away in their bags someplace. The way they looked at each other, seeming to debate if it was worth giving up, proved that to him. He would take it because it would pain them to give it up, and also because he loved treacle tart, and hadn't had it in years.
"Deal." They committed as one. He sighed.
"Alright." A moment later he transformed, and flopped to lay on his belly with a huff, looking up at the sky and feeling like an annoyed parent indulging their children's foolishness. He had spent the last few days in a similar mood (Merlin knew he loved them, but they were deeply irritating people). Weren't they supposed to be older than him?
He watched as, first Fred, then George, carefully scrambled up his side, and sat on his back. They settled themselves near his shoulders, where his back-spikes, and the spacing between them, was largest. The tip of the spikes were just against where their shoulders were, but each hunkered down slightly, and wrapped their arms around the spike in front of them, getting good enough grips that he could worry less about them falling or being impaled. It didn't look very comfortable, since there was only just enough space for each of them to sit, and their backs were curved right up against the spikes behind them. The weight of the two on his back was minimal, no worse than carrying around his rucksack as a human, but it was slightly uncomfortable. His feline body was not naturally meant to carry any weight. With a huff, he stood. They shook a little, and Fred let out a nervous chuckle. Good. He might think twice about these crazy ideas in the future.
Then he was walking, and, at times, almost jogging, around the forest for a bit, unable to believe that he was really letting his brothers ride about on his back like a horse.
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It was both a disappointment, and a relief, when the guard finally arrived to take them away. Harry had put his glamour back on, and they had packed up their tents and filled in the fire-pit. He had enjoyed their little time away from other people, but no matter how much he loved them, his brothers were starting to press his patience. There was also his worry about their transformation. He wanted to know what had happened, and he had decided the best person to ask would be Tom.
The former Dark-Lord was, though currently a snake, still a much older and experienced wizard than any of them. He had forgotten more about magical theory than Harry would ever learn. He was also the best option. Given the fact that Odin had not known what a werewolf was before they told him, he didn't see Asgard's library (which was open to the public despite being in the palace, same with the medical ward, which was many times bigger than Harry had realized when he was there) having the answers he needed. Loki might know a thing or two about the magical effects of the three moons on the environment, so he could be a good source of information too.
As it was, Harry didn't know what had happened, and, when it came to things that impacted his life, or his family's lives, the animagus did not like being left in the dark.
The guard waved at them when he arrived, and lowered the flying boat enough to be able to reach his arms out and help them climb in. Then they were off, and 'vacation-time' came to an end.
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The werewolf thing serves a purpose, but it won't come up plot-wise for a while, so I'm not going to say anything about it just yet.
Someone commented to me that there hasn't been as much direct interaction between Harry and Tom as they were expecting, and I promise it's coming, it will just come sparingly in the beginning.
Aside from that, I wanted to ask you all about something.
With the way things are going, Part 5 is shaping up to be much longer than I intended. Should I keep it going until after the events of Thor 2 as I originally intended, even if that makes it several chapters longer of a part than the previous 4, or should I break it up for the sake of consistency? I may have already come to a decision here, but I would like some second opinions.
Other than that, this chapter sees some easy interaction between Harry and Loki (I did warn you that we would jump around a bit time-wise), and the beginnings of a way for Harry to get to know Sif which I will tentatively label relationship-development. Next chapter will continue building on these things, but for now, we're done.
See you all next week,
Sincerely,
Mr. Hate