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Part Two: Gifts Not For Giving

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Gift Not For Giving

Harry wakes to an overwhelming sense of confusion.

The last thing he can remember is an explosion so loud it was silent, starting in his chest and spreading through his limbs like fire.

Oh, and the unshakable certainty that he was about to die. Which to be frank, is probably where the root of all his confusion stems from. Because, yeah… he feels alive. As opposed to being dead. Which he probably should have been; shots to the chest like that-

Holy shit.

Shots to the chest. He'd been shot in the fucking chest. His heart stutters momentarily and in a sudden onset of panic, his hands fly up to his ribcage.

He feels…

Nothing.

Nothing but soft fabric and the slight hardness of the buttons on his shirt. Which feels dry, and not sticky, like he'd imagine a shirt soaked in blood would. A cautious venture at the skin beneath his shirt tells his that there is nothing there but unmarked skin. Warily, as the idea occurs to him, he opens his eyes. His ocular sense confirms the observations his tactile senses have found. His chest is unharmed. No bandages, no blood- not even any damage to his shirt- which is the same one he'd been wearing when they'd gone to meet Malfoy. He can tell by the small ketchup stain beside the third button that he'd managed to hide from Hermione.

How is he even alive? Hermione may have spoken tentatively about the possibilities that he couldn't die, and they'd known about his accelerated healing for a while now, but it wasn't exactly a theory anyone was particularly interested in testing. In fact, Harry had considered the idea ludicrous, and quite frankly, impossible. And sure, he had fallen all that way with no parachute and managed to survive, but he'd kind of pinned that down to some unconscious actualisation of his magic that had realised death was imminent and proceeded to prevent it. But this… he'd been shot. Harry knew he'd been shot; he'd felt it. Felt the bullet tear through his flesh like it was butter mixed with concrete. He'd felt the jarring pain on his tailbone when he'd fallen. There was no mistaking the sensation of being shot, nor the absolute truth that he was about to die.

So why was it that he was lying here, with his clothing stubbornly insisting that he was not in fact dead, and- perhaps more importantly- had never been shot at all?

Was this… was this magic? Had someone used magic on him? Made it like he'd never been shot at all?

He sits up, inspecting his chest more thoroughly this time; fingers fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt in his anxiousness. He pushes away the shiver of power he feels as his thumb brushes against the Hallows pendant. His skin is clean and unmarked- well, except for the usual scars and marks- those he's used to.

It was as if nothing had ever happened to him.

He didn't know of any spells that could do that. And even if Hermione had managed to cast one- which was unlikely- it didn't explain why he was wearing the same shirt as before…

He stares suspiciously at the fabric of his button-down, thoughts racing through his head.

There was the ever increasing likelihood that he'd never been shot at all. It was certainly possible; magic was more than capable of convincing you that untrue things were in fact true. Things like someone being shot, for instance. High-grade illusions like that were uncommon- most wizards preferred to do the real thing- but they weren't unheard of.

But who would even do that? The only person on this Earth that he knew definitively had the ability to use that kind of magic was-

Sirius.

Which was a ridiculous idea. There was no way Sirius would do that. His godfather may have been getting cabin fever before Harry's disastrous foray into the Department of Ministries, but he wasn't mad. He certainly wouldn't shoot him. Or pretend to shoot him. Besides that, how would he have even discovered he and Hermione had ended up here? It had been coming up to two decades since he'd seen his godfather fall through the Veil; there was no guarantee he was even alive still and their initial searches for him had turned up empty-handed.

It had to be someone else; someone not on SHIELD's radar. Or, someone who was on SHIELD's radar, just as much as SHIELD was on theirs. None come to mind, but that's hardly surprising.

And why? Why pretend to shoot him and then leave him to wake up of his own accord?

Harry flops back down onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling, his confusion returning in full force. The ceiling stares back impassively. It's an old fashioned, deep red coloured wood; completely and radically different from the impeccably plastered white ceilings of the Tower (in a way, it reminds him of Grimmauld Place, but warmer, with less cobwebs and lacking the absurd levels of melancholy and depression the house seemed to unknowingly induce). In fact, he can't imagine Tony ever owning a property with such ceiling décor. Which meant he probably wasn't in any of Tony's extensive list of properties.

Curious, he sits back up, glancing around the room he's in cautiously. He's in a bedroom- probably about as large as the one he's been living in at Tony's- with three large bay windows, detailed with timber the same warm colour as the ceiling. The room is bright and lavish and richly furnished. Beside his bed is an ornately carved duchess in walnut, with wooden flowers embracing the mirror, and plush cushions are gathered artistically in the window seats. The far wall is covered with books- most of them leather-bound and expensive looking and absolutely perfect for Hermione. An equally expensive looking settee sits in front of it, facing the window. Its upholstery matches the light, earthy green paint of the walls.

It's a nice room, but tells him absolutely nothing about where he is. And nice isn't enough to make him want to stay there.

He stands. His legs don't shake at all- which is comforting- and the only unsteadiness he feels is the momentary blackening of his vision as his body grows accustomed to the change in altitude. He walks over to the windows. White light streams in through lace curtains and he draws one aside to peer outside.

Trees. Lots and lots of trees, tall and proud and green. The house (which Harry suspects might be a mansion if this room is anything to go by) is the in middle of a bloody pine forest. Which is new; Harry's never seen a mansion in the middle of a forest before. It actually sounds pretty cool; he wonders if the tree's loom over the building, tall and sombre. He tugs on the window latch experimentally- it doesn't budge.

A shame. He would have liked to have been able to open it.

"I see you're awake."

Harry yelps in fright, turning around so quickly he whacks his hand on the edge of the window. He scowls, shaking his throbbing knuckles. A man stands on the other side of the room, holding a book in his left hand. He smiles in amusement at Harry's misfortune, his green eyes sparkling. His long pointed face is handsomely expressive, and his dark hair is combed backward as if to bring attention to it, but there's an undercurrent to his thin-lipped smile- hidden away in his eyes- that makes Harry think that part of it is just a mask to hide dark thoughts.

"Who are you?" Harry tries his hardest not to sound rude, but it's a close thing. He can feel the magic seeping off the man's skin from the other side of the room; chances are he was the one that had 'shot' him, and that didn't leave him in a particularly generous mood.

"An impartial observer."

"Er… right." Because of course, all impartial observers shoot people in the chest and kidnap them.

The man smirks and lounges on the settee, his book opening on his lap, though he doesn't deign to look at it. He looks long and thin, stretched across the furniture like that.

"Sit." The way he phrases it makes it less of an offer and more of a demand. Harry has the sudden impression that this man is used to his invitations being taken as orders. For a moment, he's tempted to rebel, but the man's smirk isn't really something he wants to go up against. He moves forward and sits in the armchair that faces the settee. The condescending smile turns into one of approval.

"Why am I here?" It seems the most obvious thing to ask, after the man had side-stepped his earlier question.

He closes his book, his gaze turning intense, "Because I needed to know something. Among other things."

Harry leans backs in his chair. It is shamefully comfortable; "You couldn't just ask?"

A tic of the head, as though conceding some unsaid point, "This was more convenient."

"You shot me."

He snorts, "I created the illusion that I shot you." Yeah, and it was one convincing bloody illusion.

"Everyone must think I'm dead!"

He shrugs with his face, "Your point?"

Harry wipes a hand across his face in frustration. This man was obtuse to the point of being obnoxious, "SHIELD thinks I've been shot. Hermione thi- oh fuck Hermione!" He jumps up, all but running over to the door. Hermione, Hermione, he had to get back to Hermione; Merlin she thought he was dead she'd be worried sick-

"Sit down."

Harry freezes. He's not entirely sure if it's an involuntary reaction to the sheer threat in the green-eyed man's voice, or the faint tendrils of magic seeping off him that stops him.

"Your friend is intelligent; she knows you cannot die. They know you are missing."

"That doesn't really help!" He turns around, whatever had been holding him in place disappearing easily enough. The stranger is suddenly close enough for him to touch, and his eyes have an intensity to them that's more intimidating than anything Harry's seen for a long time.

"You are unharmed. They are aware you are not dead. It could be worse. Now, sit down."

Harry complies, but he'd like to make it known that he's unhappy to do so. Between one blink and the next the stranger is back to lounging on the settee as though he hadn't just threatened to shoot him again with his eyes alone. Harry glares and is completely ignored.

"You used magic on me!" Inwardly he winces at how petty he sounds. As if he had been much better in his own universe.

He huffs an amused laugh, "Which time? When I shot you, or just a moment ago?" Harry frowns at the acknowledgment of his questionable actions.

"Both."

"So? I used magic on you. You are not defenceless- you have enough power to have superseded my own, but you did not. And you are untouched; so why the indignance?" Harry sorely wants to tell him it's because he'd shot him, but he doesn't want to make the conversation run around in endless circles. But he still wants answers. Badly.

"What do you want with me?"

"You have a very powerful gift." The man remarks, ignoring his question. His eyes are suddenly trained on his chest, where Harry's pendant lies exposed. He stiffens defensively at the unfettered intensity of his gaze.

"It can't be given."

"But it could be taken?"

"Maybe... I'd really rather you didn't." His eyes break away from the pendant, and he laughs. It seems unhinged; as does his grin.

"And do you think you could stop me if I was so inclined to try?"

"Uh… also maybe?"

Nutjob gives him a distinctly Malfoy-esque sneer, "Harry Potter. First and final Master of the Deathly Hallows and completely unwilling to use them. What a formidable picture you paint for the world."

Harry can think of nothing effective to say in reply to that. He knew his name; fuck, he even knew about the Hallows and yet Harry knew absolutely nothing about him. What was he supposed to say in response?

"… What are you going to do to me?" Batshit-Crazy huffs a laugh.

"You mortals always think I'm out to take things from you." Mortal, he called me a mortal. That was probably an important element of his identity… Thor sometimes referred to them as mortals; maybe this man was like him?

He shrugs casually, though his mind is racing, "To be fair- you did kidnap me, after shooting me- pretend or not- in the chest. Actions like that normally have people thinking you're up to no good."

"Point." Fruitcake comments, leaning back in his chair, "Would you laugh if I said it was a joke?"

"Um… Probably not."

Screwball sighs heavily and runs a long-fingered hand through his hair, "My genius is lost on this plane of existence."

Is that what you're calling it?

"So- ah… Who are you, again?" The sharp gaze that seems completely incongruous with the rest of Barmy's actions settles back on him. At least the soft smile on his lips doesn't seem too foreboding.

"I suppose you wouldn't know… I'm surprised they haven't lauded my defeat enough times for you to recall it by heart."

The clues lock into place. Oh shit. Suddenly the insanity makes sense.

"You're Loki."

"Got it in one!" He crows, jumping up from his chair to pace the room.

"You're Thor's brother. You're supposed to be dead."

"See, thing with supposed to, is that it's not compulsory."

Wut.

Loki laughs heartily at the dumbfounded expression that must be covering his face.

"You're a criminal. The invasion killed hundreds of people!"

Loki shrugs, unaffected.

"They told me you were insane."

He laughs at that, "Oh did they?" He draws in close enough for Harry to pick out each of his eyelashes, "And do you agree with their assessment? Now that you see me here in the flesh?"

"Well if you are sane, you're not really selling your argument."

Loki draws back, laughing delightedly and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. That comment could easily have gone either way. He sits back down, drawing a knife from a sheath in his belt.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The Asgardian snorts in a very ungodlike fashion, "Why would I want to do that?"

Harry's eyes stray over to the door that he knows will never open for him, "Well, you don't have the best of track records."

He grins- all teeth- and lies back down on the furniture, "At least I have one. You have nothing, Harry Potter. An immortal who's only companion is mortal, and has proved to be far more useful than you're likely to be."

Harry bites back a scathing retort and Loki's eyes widen momentarily before turning smug. He can tell he's laughing at him.

"You fear them." Harry can't stop himself from fidgeting and the Asgardian laughs in disbelief, latching onto the truths he'd managed to uncover, "You fear the Hallows. You fear what they represent; what they mean for you." Harry returned the unblinking stare defiantly (defensively).

"You fear the fates that will befall those around you." The sneer turns vicious as he picks apart the fears Harry had never dared to speak aloud, "But most of all- most of all you fear its power. So you've been ignoring them. You act as though that pendant is nothing more than a piece of silver. As though they could never be anything more. As though you could throw them away when the moment's right."

Harry flinches. Loki leans forward and there's nothing he'd like more in the world right now than to be able to look away.

"You are pathetic Harry Potter. Power like yours cannot be thrown away. The Hallows are tied to you. To lose them would obliterate you."

"You think I don't know that?!" The angry words escape from his mouth before he can tamp them down. He stands again to hide his trepidation in the sullen movements, "You think I haven't been plagued with that knowledge the last fifteen years of my life?"

Loki sits back again, the picture of nonchalance, "And yet you have done nothing."

"I did! The first thing I did was try and get rid of them." Loki scoffs in contempt, "And when that didn't work the first fifty times, I researched the Hallows for years! I found nothing. The Hallows were just a story; their creation was never legitimately documented. No one ever bothered to speculate over what their joining could mean! What was I supposed to do?"

"Accept them. Discover their power on your own terms."

"What terms? I can feel it. I can feel them; every waking minute of the day, I can feel their presence-"

"And it scares you." Loki is sneering at him and Harry is wishing for nothing more than to wipe the look from his face. He is not weak.

"You don't know what it's like! They're cursed. Evil. It's like a taint spread across the back of my mind, waiting to spread its fingers. I can't escape it."

A muscle around Loki's left eye twitches minutely, "And has it ever occurred to you that they only feel this way because their magic is different?"

"They're cursed! The first two Hallows were made to bring their masters to Death as quickly as possible; no good comes from their use. Death follows them, and the invisibility cloak can only spread so far."

"You cannot live in denial for all eternity. They've marked you as different; better."

"Just see me try."

"Your friends will age whilst you remain youthful. They'll die-"

"I know." Harry interrupts, almost guiltily. He scuffs his feet as though they could wipe the reality away.

"And you are content to live as though you are truly no different from them."

He looks away, eyes burning, "Yes."

"You're lying."

"And what else am I supposed to do?!" He explodes, arms spreading out of their own accord. His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the room, "Think of myself as better than everyone else? Forget that all life is sacred because mine will never end?"

"Death will follow you whether you accept it or not. You must know this."

He laughs, long and hard and desperately. Thoughts of Ron and his family fill his mind.

"Don't you know, mate? It already has."

"Then you see my point."

"I couldn't! To do that… to do that…"

"Would mark you a freak." He flinches again, because the cold and emotionless words hit far too close to home. He'd never been able to escape his uniqueness, not even in a world filled with the extraordinary.

"I accepted death." He breathes, facing Loki with a pleading expression, "All those years ago I stood before a psychopath and I let him kill me. And now I cannot die. I am the universe's unending joke." He swears bitterly, his body spinning about violently as though throwing something at the wall. If he weren't so concerned about Loki possibly following through with the threats his eyes had spoken of before, he probably would.

Silence reigns in the room and Harry glares furiously out at the benign lace curtains and the forest of green behind them. And he'll never admit to the way they blur dangerously the longer he stares, or the way his eyes burn and his throat closes convulsively before he can pull himself back under control.

"You can't reverse what has been done and you shouldn't fear the Hallows' power." Comes Loki's level voice minutes later, slow and sombre.

"How can I not?" He turns around, holding his head proudly though he knows his eyes are desperate, "I didn't ask for this. I didn't seek it out. I didn't-" he bites his tongue before he went on a rant, "Mastery of the Hallows is a curse, for those who had accepted their mortality. And now that it's lost I just want it back."

I don't want to be alone the rest of my 'life'.

Loki sneers viciously and Harry is momentarily convinced the god is channelling Snape, before he remember he had no reason to know who that was, "Spare me the pity party, boy. It does you no favours; presented with the opportunity, you preferred that I didn't try to steal the Hallows. Despite all your posturing and bemoaning, you'd rather keep them then have them gone. And yet you refuse to use them."

Harry stares at the Asgardian for a long moment, "How could I possibly pass this curse onto someone else and keep a clear conscience? Even if I could give them to someone willing; they're so open to abuse."

"And that's your greatest fear, isn't it?" He laughs, contempt shining through his eyes, "That's why you refuse to use them though it makes you weak. That even you- the great Harry Potter- could grow addicted to their use. How very noble of you."'

Harry turns away again, shielding himself from those eyes. They're far too sharp for them to lead to anything good. There's not exactly he can say in reply to it anyway.

"And when someone dies of your inaction? Would you deign to use the wand then? Without practice it would be like performing open-heart surgery with a hammer. Objects that powerful require repeated… applications to perform with any kind of finesse. To not touch it could be damming those closest to you to die from your negligence when others come after you power.

"And they will. Mark my words, there are whispers of your presence spreading already. They will come, and people will die and it will be all your fault."

In the corner of his eye, the carved duchess begins to rattle ominously.

"Control yourself Harry Potter." Loki snarls from right behind him and he jumps violently, "I will not have your magic acting like a bratty child in my sanctuary."

Harry flushes, throwing a glance at the other man, "I-" he breaks off, looking at the ground, "Sorry." Loki snorts derisively.

"You wouldn't be having such a problem if you used your magic more often. And I'd imagine it'll be getting worse. All that untapped energy, Potter. Rushing through your veins… It needs an outlet."

Harry sighs heavily, staring out the window. Loki was right about that at least. Unused magic could easily turn volatile and ultimately, violent as it eagerly tapped into one's emotions. It wasn't so bad yet, but without a wand he could use and only so much skills at wandless magic, he was a ticking time bomb.

"You need to use the wand. If not for your benefit, then for the benefit of others."

A muscle in his jaw clenches uncomfortably. Loki was the god lies, mischief and- most importantly- manipulation. His words were there to lure him, Harry was sure of it. To what ends, he wasn't so confident on, but it was a game that he was sure he would inevitably lose; especially if he chose to follow the fallen Asgardian's advice. He wasn't even sure if an avoidance tactic would work; for all he knew, Loki was acting this way knowing Harry would discount his 'advice', and walk straight into some well-planned trap.

Times like now, he rather wishes he had the stereotypical Slytherin streak of cunning, if only to keep his head above water.

But at least for now, he could maybe redirect the conversation in tamer territory. Territory that hopefully had some benefit to himself.

"How-" he turns around to face the dark-haired Asgardian; he stands only a foot away from him and Harry takes an involuntary step backwards. Loki watches him with expectant eyes, "-How do you know so much about me anyway? Our universes are strangers."

"I've been keeping tabs on you and your kind ever since you appeared."

"My kind… you mean you knew about the criminals too?"

"I've known about the Veil for a long, long time; your lot has been popping up for centuries. Some of your kind were… glorious." His face takes on a wistful cast, "I took one under my wing once- centuries ago now. He proved to be the most diligent of disciples. Others... they were rabid, and they were exterminated. I never bothered myself with them."

The gears whir through his mind at the first real information he's hear about the Veil since they arrived here. Loki said people had been sent through both ways, which confirmed the possibility that they could return to their own universe with minimal trouble. The relief is palpable.

"Do y- do you know what happened to it? Why we can't find it?"

Loki says nothing and Harry resists the urge to hit something in the sudden surge of frustration. Loki held all the cards, it would seem, but was unwilling to deal any of them out.

"Please." He pleads, knowing already that it will fall on deaf ears. Manipulators did not get by, by being distracted by puppy dog eyes.

Loki smile is small but amused at the obvious ploy, "Information comes at a price, boy."

Harry frowns in annoyance. The phrase brings with it the unwelcome reminder of his childhood at the Dursley's, "I'm not a boy."

Loki laughs spitefully, "Please, to me you are less than a boy; an infant. To be called higher than such is a compliment."

Well it didn't bloody feel like it.

He tries for a different angle, "Where did it come from? Do you know?"

"It's a relic of the beginning of all things."

That stumps him for a moment. Is he talking about the beginning of the universe? Because if so, that's some pretty hardcore stuff. Shit, it would mean he'd travelled through something that was literally as old as time itself, which was a concept far larger than anything the human brain could comprehend, "You mean, like the big bang?"

"Like the big bang." Loki accedes, a smirk tugging at his lips. Harry senses there's far more to it than just 'the big bang'. Not for the first time, he wishes Hermione was here. She would have been able to make more sense out of Loki's borderline obtuse answers. And would probably manage to ask the right kind of questions too.

"Are there other ones? Veil's for different parallel universes? Is Earth the only one with such?"

Again, Loki doesn't reply. Harry grits his teeth. Information about the Veil was obviously only going to be fed to him on a case by case basis. That was going to prove annoying. He chooses another topic.

"Where am I?"

Loki stares at him blankly. Harry knows better than to try legilimency on him, but it's sorely tempting.

Abruptly, the Asgardian moves away. Harry watches the movement in confusion.

"I must go." The taller man offers in explanation, the tone of his voice effectively ending their conversation. If one could call it that.

"What about me?" Harry asks, anxious, before the Asgardian can leave, "Am I free to go?" Loki laughs loudly on his way to the door and turns to face him when he reaches it.

"I tell you what," he smirks, eyes glittering with amusement, "If you manage to get out, you're more than welcome to leave."

And with that, he walks through the door as though it never existed.

A/N: So, going for the Loki Pre-shit going down in Thor; I always figured him as one of those characters that absolutely refuses to admit they're wrong, and can't help pushing the limit of... well anything; including destroying an entire planet, like he tried in Thor. To be fair to him there, he had been raised his entire life to hate Jotunns just as much as Thor, and the entire time past Odin going to sleep, I got the overwhelming sense that all Loki was thinking was- "well, shit. I got this far, can't really stop myself now though". Was that me? Maybe it's just me...

And of course in the Avengers, there's the general consensus going around that Loki was conducting the invasion under duress/something rather similar to the imperius. Sooo yeah.

Anyway, let me know what you think! Love to hear your thoughts!

Ciao!