Thank you my dear reviewers, and readers!
(this chapter has been beta'd by La Tigra)
Another week, another chapter.
First off, the winner of last week's contest, is Philip! Congrats my friend!
Philip's summary reminded me of those old comic books. I just couldn't help but pick it. :D
That aside, you may have noticed that we had a different cover picture for the last week, and that it's changed again. Both of the pictures are Mirthful Malady's doing, and they're beautiful. She (it is she, isn't it?) has made quite the collection of fanart for this story, and there are links to all her pictures on my page. You should take a look at her tumblr. She's made a lot of art for Welcome to Night Vale also, that's all very nice.
Night Hawk 97 has also drawn a very beautiful sketch of Harry's animagus form, for which my page also has a link.
All this art makes me feel so loved. :D
Moving on, we'll be having a break from the contests this week (perhaps next week as well), while I work on Philip's prize for the previous contest.
Now then, I don't have much else to say at the moment, except for a thank you to those who've gone and followed me on tumblr.
So let's get to the chapter already!
Enjoy.
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Tony Stark may have reminded him of Draco back when he thought the blond was a prat, all cocky and arrogant, strutting around like the world owed him for his existence; though he was still a nice change from Fury. They were like night and day, Fury, with his no-nonsense, somber attitude; and Stark with his loud, sarcastic commentary that didn't seem to take anything seriously. But Harry was happy with the change, as it allowed him to relax and focus on what lay before him, rather than having to bear the brunt of Fury's presence and that heavy one-eyed stare. It made him less nervous, even if he was still very much confused.
The room he'd been led to was wide and long, though the ceiling was only a foot or so higher than the one at home. It was lined with windows secured in metal frames, and filled with so many computer screens, glowing tables, and other fancy equipment, Harry was hard-pressed to honor his newly made decision not to go near them. The last thing he needed was to touch something and have it blow up because he didn't know what it was, or what he was doing.
Agent Coulson remained near the door when they got to the lab, watching them silently, and vigilantly. Harry thought he was probably there to make sure no one told him what the hell was going on, since he didn't have 'clearance'. He was nice enough though, so Harry was fine with him being there. Stark looked up from some sort of clear glass screen that might have been a computer with all the charts and things swirling about on it and beeping, and grinned at him as soon as he was through the door.
"So, you're the so-called magic man, come to spell away all our problems?" His tone suggested he was a skeptic when it came to the existence of magic, and he looked at Harry as though the animagus would be a great source of amusement. It reminded him uncomfortably of the way Moo would look at him before doing something that was guaranteed to piss him off, and it set him on edge.
"Actually, I'm just here to puzzle out the runes on something." Stark cocked his head to one side, and there was a split second in which his amusement vanished, and he stared sharply, making Harry feel like something in a petri dish before he came forward and offered him a hand, grin returned to his face full-force.
"Tony Stark. Genius Mechanic." He blinked, (for some reason thinking that title felt more... humble than it should have) and followed Stark's lead in his own introduction.
"Harry Black. Rune Apprentice." Stark raised a brow.
"Apprentice?" Harry shrugged.
"Officially anyways."
"He's closer to a master." Stark's eyes flicked to Bruce.
"Underachiever?"
"Too humble." The Doctor replied, currently looking and poking at a screen of his own. Harry flushed.
"M'not." Stark rolled his eyes.
"Whatever half-pint. You gonna wave your magic stick and help us or what?" Harry's brow twitched irritably. Stark was only an inch or so taller than him. He really had no room to talk about size.
"I'm not short."
"Are too."
"Are not."
"Are too."
"Are not."
"Are too."
"Are no-" Bruce coughed, bringing them out of it. Harry flushed with embarrassment.
"Where is it?" He asked instead of getting into it more. With all the mystery, he was rather interested in seeing what all the fuss was about (and getting away from the billionaire). Stark pointed to a table on the other side of the room, and an object resting atop it. Harry went for a closer look.
It was a scepter of some sort. Long, twisting and elegant. He could count at least four different metals in it, each a different shade of color. The top part of the handle was like a metal ribbon, wrapping around one of the inner pieces just before the head of it. The head was comprised of two separate and wicked looking blades, one with an internal jagged edging. Nestled between them, and clearly the centerpiece of the whole thing (that looked more like a work of art than a weapon), was a flat blue gem the size of his palm that glowed softly. Its shape was like a water-smoothed river rock. More fascinating to him than that, were the tiny rune inscriptions along the edges of both blades, and all down the main shaft. They were small, intricate, and nearly invisible; certainly not noticeable from a distance.
Gods above, it was beautiful.
He took a deep breath, and, setting his bag down, reached out a hand to just a bit above it. He let his own magic flow, reach and pool in his palm. A green glow gathered there, and he let it trickle downwards to touch the scepter. The moment his magic touched it, he shivered. The feeling it gave him was not unlike being near a dementor; cold and harsh, and wrong. It wasn't dark or black, or wild magic. It was something else, something that resembled pure, manipulatable power, which called to the darker parts of his mind, and was something he was entirely unfamiliar with; only that cold edge giving it any sort of 'flavor'. He sent a questioning nudge towards Mitera, but she gave him nothing. He took a deep breath, steadying his suddenly racing heart, and pulled his hand away to take some parchment from his bag. He flicked his fingers from the spear to the page.
"Persigno." Black lines of ink curled over the paper, lining themselves out into exact copies of the rune configurations on the weapon, but without the magic to make them anything but symbols. Then he sat down at one of the tables in the room, and studied.
It was runes within runes, all set into lines rather than any proper design. That sort of set up was old, and not so often used these days; since placing them in configurations of geometric patterns was more effective, based as it was on the structure of wards and athrithmantic values. His eyes flicked over the symbols, carefully examining each one and comparing them to ones he knew. Most of them were familiar; those that were being Norse (twisted as they were to blend into the others). But there were at least four different rune types mixed in, besides the, rather simple, elder-futhark, and while he recognized two of them as Arabic and Egyptian, and one of them was similar enough to old Indian runes to puzzle out (they were a bit more boxy than he had ever seen them), the last mix was entirely unknown to him.
He sighed, and took out more pages to write down what he could find out. Maybe, if he figured out what all the rest did, it would give him a good enough idea of what it did and how it worked as a whole, that he wouldn't need to know the last set of symbols. That process wasn't all that different than what Bill did when he was called in to break down old wards.
He hoped to would be enough. He had this nasty feeling inside that this was extremely important.
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"Bloody fuck!" He hissed.
"Something wrong midget?" He jerked at the sound of Stark's voice. He had been so focused on his task, he had almost completely forgotten where he was, or that there were other people around him. Hermione would have been so proud of his ability to focus.
"Um, yea. I just... I didn't quite realize what I was looking at until now." Bruce walked over.
"What do you mean?" Bruce spoke up.
"Well, remember how we talked about configurations? How they make the runes stronger; more effective?"
"Yea."
"Until now, I thought this was what's called a strip sequence. The basis of a strip, is that it's not a configuration, but it's made around the edges of an object. So because of that, it's less effective."
"But this isn't a strip?"
"No, but it looked like one. Then I saw this. You see here, at the ends of it? I didn't notice it at first." Harry pointed to a spot on the page. Bruce looked carefully at it.
"It looks like, it turns and doubles back on itself?"
"Yea. That's called a chain sequence. Making chains of runes is sometimes even more effective than using proper configurations, if you do it right, but it's not usually done, because it's so bloody difficult. Even I struggle with them. And this one, it's perfect. Every rune, every mark, every line is perfectly placed. Whoever made this is incredible." He couldn't hide the awe in his voice. "I'd love to pick their brain. I mean, it's a horrible artifact, but the skill involved in making it..."
"Have you figured out what it does?" Coulson piped up. The three of them jumped. The Agent was so quiet, they had all just about forgotten that he was there at all. Harry looked at him, feeling a bit guilty for forgetting about him. He was like a piece of furniture almost, once you got used to him, you hardly noticed him.
"Nearly. There's one last set of symbols I'm not too sure of, but I have an idea of how it works as a whole, yes." Coulson nodded, and put a hand up to the radio in his ear to speak quietly.
"Fury will be down to speak with you shortly."
"Um, alright. You realize of course that I'm not done yet, don't you?" Coulson smiled kindly.
"The director likes to keep track of progress."
"Alright then." Stark rolled his eyes.
"You mean he likes to check up on people." Coulson's eyes fell on the billionaire with the same sort of air about him, that Harry sometimes had about Muhammad; that feeling of being fond of someone who was more often irritating than not. "As if we're all entirely untrustworthy."
"You are entirely untrustworthy." Coulson pointed out.
"That's not the point. The point is that he's more paranoid than anyone has a right being. Like every single human being is going to turn out to be a crazy murdering psychopath planning to bring down Shield."
"Not every human being." Coulson responded, straight-faced. Stark gave him a deadpan look.
"No of course not." He offered sarcastically. "Not every person, just eight out of ten."
"Exactly." Stark threw up his hands and huffed.
"You're impossible. Screw it. I have work to do." The way Coulson grinned when Stark turned his back made Harry think he had said that specifically to cause the reaction it did. When Coulson met his eyes and winked he knew for certain that was the case. He smirked.
Fury came in then, all dark intimidation and thinly veiled threats of violence, and the satisfaction Harry had felt at Stark's expense seemed to instantly evaporate from the room. He wondered how people like Fury and McGonagall managed to carry so much of an aura of professionalism around them that just the thought of acting like anything less than professional himself was blasphemy.
"Sir." He stood respectfully as the director came in, and Fury dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"Mr. Black. Agent Coulson says you've made progress."
"Yes sir." Harry gestured over to the scepter, still on the table. "So far as I can tell, all of the runes revolve around that stone in the middle. Nearly everything I've figured out so far are guide runes and amplifiers. That stone, whatever it is, is where the real power comes from. It has a lot of magic in it. Old magic. Much older than the spear."
"How much older?" Harry looked up at him.
"The magical school I went to was built over a thousand years ago. Over the years, the magic has changed and taken on a life of it's own, just a step or so away from being sentient. The magic in the stone feels similar. I couldn't give you an exact date for it. The spear, by comparison, looks to only be, maybe, ten years old at the most. There's no long-term sustaining or wear-resisting runes on it, but it's in pristine condition, so it couldn't be very old. It might have only been made in the past couple months, even." Fury nodded.
"The power is in the stone then?"
"Yes sir." He brought over his paper with the runes recorded on them. Fury looked down at it, and Harry felt very small standing next to someone nearly as tall as Severus, despite the fact his father never made him feel small (or at least not for as long as Harry had felt comfortable in calling him that). He pointed to several sections in the rune chain. "These here, are what you'd call spider runes. We call them that because they create a web, that is, they create connections, first between the object and its' master, then between the master and other people, and maybe even farther, between those people and other people and so on, depending on the strength. I'm almost certain this is how it was used to take over someone's mind. The connections it made are mental. I haven't quite figured out exactly how they work, but I have an idea of how to break the control now." Fury's eyes turned sharp.
"How?" He barked, his voice not quite rude, but still very much an order to give the information.
"Well, it depends on where your man is on the web. If he's nearer the edges of the stone's influence, then all you'd really have to do is hit him really hard on the head, enough to knock him out. It would jarr the control enough that he'd be able to break it on his own. This is assuming he hasn't been trapped under the control for longer than a month. This kind of thing grows stronger over time, so if he's been under longer, then it'll be more difficult." Fury nodded, and there was a sort of easing in him, a relief, that told Harry this had probably happened only recently.
"And what if he's not at the edge of the influence?" Hill asked, and Harry looked over at her, somewhat surprised, since he hadn't actually noticed her come in with Fury. Did she follow him everywhere? Like a shadow?
"Then it would be more difficult, same as if he's been under longer."
"How difficult?"
"Well, it would require magical intervention. There's some potions that might work, if it's not too strong, but still outside the realm of mundane correction. Um, if it's worse, you could try a magical flush, which just about any mediwizard, uh, a magical doctor, that is, can do. But if it's really bad, you'll need a legilimency master. I'd suggest that as a last resort though, because that wouldn't really be a pleasant experience for your man, and you are a government agency that has to worry about keeping certain things secret."
"And what, exactly, is a legilimency master?" Fury asked, looking both genuinely curious, and suspicious.
"It's someone who's a master of legilimency, which is, at the most basic explanation, the mental art of using magic to enter another being's mind. That's why I said you should use it as a last resort. A master would be able to go in, and, for the most part, avoid anything that wasn't connected to the control they would be breaking, but that doesn't mean they might not see something you or your man wouldn't want them to. It's an invasive process, and it can be painful, which is why it's illegal to use legilimency on someone without their consent, or the consent of a government agency for an emergency purpose. Someone under another's control isn't able to give consent in this case, so their next of kin, or whoever's listed as being in charge of them when they can't make their own decisions, would have to do it in their place." Fury stared harshly down at him.
"I didn't realize magical people could get inside someone's head." Every word was punctuated as though he were threatening Harry.
"Most can't sir. It's estimated that less than a few hundred people in the world are able to do it, most of them mind healers, er, like therapists, and none of them can do it without being noticed. If someone used magic to get inside your mind, you would feel it, magic or no magic." He looked a bit more at ease at that.
"If we find it necessary, is this something we could commission you to do?"
"No sir. I'm afraid, while I'm skilled enough at the opposite, that is, at protecting my mind from intrusion, I've never learned legilimency." He paused. That wasn't really the truth. Severus had taught him how to do it during their travels. It would be more accurate to say he didn't have the mentality for it. He could enter another's mind just fine, only, he didn't like to. It was too much of an invasion of privacy for him to be fully comfortable with it. It was why he could never be considered a master of the art. He hated using legilimency, and had, no matter the situation, only used it during lessons with Severus, never outside of that. "However, my father is a master at it himself, and if you were to ask him directly, should the need arise, he might be willing to help you. I could ask him to brew the potions also, to try those first, since he's a potion master by trade." Fury nodded.
"I'll let you know if it's needed. Could you contact a, mediwizard, also, if needed?" Harry nodded.
"Actually, I know how to do a flush myself if you need," It was one of those few healing-based areas of magic he was actually capable of. "but I could make a call or two as well, just in case." Fury nodded.
"Good. Continue working on the scepter. Let me know what else you find."
"Yes sir." As often as he found himself saying that today, he almost felt like he was back in school.
"Stark, how's your end going?" Harry noted, for the first time, that Stark was looking at him with an expression that was almost impressed.
"Matches up with what shortstuff here said about that stone. There's all sorts of energy coming off that thing. Some minor gamma rays, nothing serious, some radiation, also nothing serious, and plenty of thermal and electromagnetic energy. That stone isn't affected by the temperature of anything around it. It doesn't change, just stays a few degrees above room temperature. When you look at it under a thermal camera it shows these little strings of energy connecting from the stone to those marks on it. Runes or whatever they are. Right now it looks to be stable, almost like it's sleeping. Really different readings from what the base monitors got when it was in use. It's signature is similar to the tesseract, enough for it to interfere slightly with the doc's work on tracking it. We won't be able to get a hit until tomorrow. I'll keep looking at it, but unless you want the metal compositions, and the weight, and sizing, there's not a lot more I'll be able to get from it." He nodded.
"Find whatever you can. We'll prepare barracks for the three of you for the night. Let me know when you've figured the rest out, Mr. Black."
"Yes sir." And then he was gone again, and, like before, Harry instantly felt lighter. He pondered on how it was that a muggle man managed to intimidate him more than Voldemort ever had.
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He didn't have his huge book of runes from the keeper's library on him, which may well have had the unknown runes in it, but he had a smaller one on obscure runes. In his book he found a series of ancient Norse runes that had long-since fallen out of use and were rather different from the normal elder-futhark. However, they looked similar to the ones he didn't know, so he started comparing them, trying to puzzle out their meanings like he has with the other ones. Agent Coulson was still guarding the door, or rather, guarding them, forcing Harry to withhold his questions. Didn't the man ever have to eat? Or go to the bathroom? He was like a statue, standing there unmoving the whole damn time.
Then something strange happened. Something popped up on the lit table he was working on, and he realized, for the first time, that it was a computer too. He looked up and around, and his eyes met Stark's. Stark nodded discreetly, and turned away from him. He glanced at Coulson. The agent was watching his brother as he moved about poking one of the computers (Harry still didn't know what he was doing, since it didn't really look to have anything to do with the scepter, and the only hint he had was when Stark had mentioned a 'tessa-something' while talking to Fury). He swallowed and looked back at the little screen, cautiously pulling his magic as tightly up inside himself as he was able. He had never used a computer, but he had been watching them mess about with them during the last few hours enough to know to poke the little folder that had come up in order to open it.
A number of files popped out, and Harry started to read.
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The only reason he managed to get away with reading all the files he knew Stark wasn't supposed to give him, was because there was a strange machine inbetween his table and where Coulson stood, and he would pull away after a few paragraphs to doodle on some paper so it looked like he was still working. For a while, he read the events in disbelief, and then, with a grave feeling in his chest. Stark had no reason to feed him a bullshit story, and some of the things the files showed the muggle's confusion on, Harry understood as various forms of magic he was both familiar with, and not.
At least now he had an idea on who might have made the scepter.
Still, Loki and Thor? As in the actual fucking gods of chaos and thunder from thousands of years ago? The same ones? It was a little hard to believe, but it wasn't really any stranger than anything else he'd seen. All 'normal' rules were more or less useless when magic came into play. He turned his attention back to the spear's runes, more motivated than ever to figure them out. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to know, but he couldn't.
He caught that Stark had a propensity for mischief and breaking the rules like the twins did, and that that was probably why he had given him the heads-up on the real situation, but that didn't mean they wouldn't both get into so much shit if anyone realized what he'd done. So instead Harry would have to keep quiet, close the files, and work on his job.
Even though he kind of wanted to rip someone's head off for being stupid enough to mess with that tesseract thing, especially after they had realized how far above them it was. Yet, at the same time, he could almost understand, because the muggles didn't have magic, so they had to look elsewhere to solve their problems.
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"So, how do runes work, exactly?"
"Hmm?" Harry looked up from his work, momentarily distracted.
"Runes, how do they work?" Stark repeated, more slowly with an irritated tone. The part of Harry that was every bit the son of a Marauder filed the information that Stark didn't like to repeat himself, away with the utmost care. He considered the question itself seriously, however.
"Runework, is using written, carved, engraved, or burned symbols to channel magic in various ways, through the power of old languages." Stark looked blandly at him, and Harry sighed.
"Because that makes everything perfectly clear." He snorted, and Harry took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to...
"Language was born from magic." He started. "Back when humans were only just learning, the individual magic of those who had it was what guided them into forming words. Different areas and different people had differing magics, and that's what led to different languages. Because of that, the languages of the time were magic in and of themselves. As time passed, and more languages were created, the magic was watered down considerably. That's why modern languages are nothing but words. But the older a language, and its' writing system, are, the more magical they are. So they can be used to channel magic in various ways that can't be accomplished just with spells alone, and that's how runes work; using the writing systems of dead, or old, languages to guide infused magic into specific actions, that, unlike spells, can be carried out even after the person creating them is dead."
"But how does it do that? How does magic work?" Harry scratched his head.
"It just... Does. I don't think I can explain it properly. You don't have magic, so you can't feel it the way I can... If you want the science behind it all, that's not really my specialty. Maybe I can find a book or something on it for you, when I'm finished here." Stark pursed his lips, looking frustrated, but nodded. Harry shifted a bit as Stark went back to his work, moving over to the other side of the lab in the process. A thought occurred to him, and he came near Bruce, who was working at a computer just a pace or two away from Coulson. The agent was within earshot, even though Harry lowered his voice. "Bruce?" He asked, glancing at Stark to be sure he couldn't hear them.
"Hmm?" The doctor looked up from the screen he was fiddling with.
"How does Stark even know about magic?" It was something that bothered him a little, all these people knowing. The director, and some of his agents, he could understand. Higher-ups in government agencies, and those they felt needed to know, were often made aware of the magical world. But Stark didn't seem to explicitly work for Shield, so he wouldn't be someone that was usually authorized to know. "Did you tell him about it?" He hoped not. His lack of knowledge on the Union's secrecy laws meant that Bruce, as a 'squib', could be in trouble if he had.
"No. I..." He shifted. "I told the director about you, when I saw the runes on the thing. I thought you could help, and... When I said you were trustworthy, and might be able to figure out how to break the mind-control, he jumped on it. He told the whole team, so they would know some of what to expect, and you would be able to do your stuff with them around."
"Team?" Coulson cleared his throat, giving them a gentle, but warning, look. Bruce bit his lip.
"Sorry, I can't- You don't have-"
"Clearance. Right." He smiled warmly at Bruce and patted his back. "It's fine." Coulson nodded at them with his little smile that had yet to go away the entire time Harry had been there, and Harry returned to his own workstation just as Stark came back around to their side of the room.
Stark didn't work for Shield, and likely had no magical relatives. Back in England, that would mean he would never have qualified to be told about magic, or shown it (though of course, there were ways around that, as Harry's adoption of Bruce proved).
Harry felt a stirring of unease about it all. Just how loose were America's secrecy laws?
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They had all been working mostly in silence for a couple hours after that, occasionally sharing quiet, stilted conversation with one another, when the doors opened and a redhead came in. Harry recognized her from one of the files. Agent Roman-something or other. Something Russian maybe. She was taller than Hill, taller than Stark actually, by a couple inches, and had more curves than Hill did. She wore the same tight black uniform, and her hair was such a fiery coloring (as frizzy and curly as Hermione's hair, though shorter in length) that she wouldn't have looked out of place among the Weasleys. Her jaw was smaller than Hill's, and her cheeks and overall features more rounded. Her eyes, though, a hazel in color, were much more fierce. The way she carried herself made him wary of her. She swung her hips a bit when she walked, but her movements were like his own when he was hunting deer.
He was more concerned, however, with the three containers she carried, and the smells that came from them.
"I brought food." Stark came over immediately with a grin.
"My angel!" She handed him one of the containers with an air of amusement at how he was practically salivating. He took it from her and carried it back over to his area of the lab, clearly not in the mood to waste anymore time with not eating. Bruce smiled as he took his own box, and nodded at her in thanks. She dipped her head, and then it was Harry's turn. She looked him up and down, and he grinned at her.
"Thank you. I was starting to think Shield planned to starve us."
"You're welcome." He offered a hand.
"Harry Black." She took it lightly.
"Natasha Romanoff." It felt a bit awkward then, as Harry was unsure of what to say, and she made him more than a little nervous (she was very pretty, and there was this... aura about her that was... concerning), so instead he simply nodded at her and took his food back to his table. She spoke quietly to Coulson for a moment, and then he left, and she took up his post, though she grabbed a chair and sat down near the door as opposed to standing; crossing one leg over the other and putting her hands properly in her lap. She didn't say anything else to them, but Harry didn't think they would forget she was there, as they had with Coulson.
He also didn't think Stark could get away with anymore leaks of information under her attentions.
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They managed to work for a few more hours, and Harry slowly but surely made progress, starting to understand the finer workings of the scepter. Then a man showed up to speak with Agent Romanoff, and she told them they were done for the day, and that she'd show them to their barracks. They followed her through the halls, and Harry found their rooms weren't so far away, so he didn't have to keep track of as many halls as before, though they did go down one level. Stark whistled a tune the whole way while poking around on a phone, or what Harry thought was a phone. It was annoying, but it kept them from falling into an awkward atmosphere, so Harry let it go.
"Here you are. They're all next to each other. Doctor, you're in the middle, Stark, yours is the one to the left, Mr. Black, you're on the right. Someone will bring dinner down." Stark nodded absently, and disappeared behind one of the three identical metal doors, not bothering to look up from his phone. Harry smiled nervously.
"Would it be alright if Bruce and I eat together?" She looked carefully at him.
"Not alone, no, but if you don't mind me joining you, that would be fine." Harry nodded.
"That's alright with me. Bruce?"
"I don't mind."
"Fine then." She followed them as they both went into Harry's room, and he looked around at everything. It was bare, so far as rooms go. There was a small bed, a table with a few chairs, a light, and an open door revealing a little bathroom with the basics. There was no closet or drawers, or anything that suggested these rooms to be meant for long-term use. That comforted Harry a little, since the arrangement suggested they weren't expecting them to stay for very long.
"Homey." Bruce commented, settling himself down on the little bed. Harry didn't really agree, since, to him, homey was more defined as welcoming than small. Still, he tossed his pack on the floor and flopped tiredly into one of the chairs and rubbed at his eyes. His various bracelets and bands and beads clinked together, and he eyed the glamour band distastefully. He resented, just a bit, the necessity of hiding his true form. True that he had grown past the point of physically or magically noticing the glamour, but mentally, he was nearly always aware of it. His resentment wasn't helped much by the fact that his best memories often coincided with times in his life when he had gone long periods without it. Still, he couldn't afford to take it off here, not with so many people around and so many things going on. He didn't know much of anything about Shield, and they were a muggle organization besides. He had no idea how they would react to his appearance; if it would be similar to Mahdi or Muhammad, who didn't care at all, like the twins, who had demanded information, or if it would be like what he expected of the magical government back in the U. K., with the possibility of him being locked up sooner than anyone asking for his side of the story. Of course, that last bit was somewhat up for debate now, given his defeat of Voldemort. Between his taking down of a Dark Lord, and the manner he had behaved while doing so, combined with his having stopped paying attention to the Daily Prophet since beginning his travels, he no longer knew where he stood in regards to the magical public in his homeland.
Did they worship him still, as they had in the beginning? Or did they fear and hate him, as they had when learning he was a parselmouth, or after Cedric's death?
It was something he suddenly found himself concerned with, that would bear looking into when he was given the chance.
"-arry. Harry!" He looked up.
"Hmm? Sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment."
"Our food is here." Harry blinked.
"Oh?" Was he really so out of it that he hadn't even noticed anyone come by? He must be more tired than he realized. But he hadn't really done much that day, in regards to physical activities. He supposed it must be the stress of the situation at hand.
He put it all out of his mind and sat down at the tiny circular table with Bruce and Romanoff to eat. He was a little thankful when he noted she had a box of food of her own this time, since it would have been a bit awkward if she just sat there watching. Not that it wasn't still awkward, as they all sat in silence for several moments.
"So," Bruce, it seemed, grew tired of the atmosphere. "How's Severus and Muhammad?" Harry was thankful for it.
"Well enough. Father tells me he's pleased with the potions lab the house has, and Moo likes going up to the roof to smoke, since his floor has direct access. It's certainly a big change; settling down like this, but I think they're happy with it. They both have more freedom now too. We all do. Since we can go off on our own longer if we need, without worrying about the others going anywhere." Bruce nodded.
"And you? How are you liking New York? Not getting antsy?" Harry shook his head.
"No. I thought that I might, but I've been fine. New York's a little like a giant stew pot with everything in it. There's all sorts of things and people here, I feel like I'm travelling again just by walking down a few streets."
"You travelled?" Romanoff cut in, looking interested.
"For a couple years, yea. Russia, China, The Middle East and Africa. We passed through Texas, went to Nevada and California when we first came here, and then to Canada for a bit. I owned a house here in New York though, so we decided to settle for a while."
"You've been to Russia?"
"I lived there, for a time, before we started travelling. A year or so." She smiled.
"I was born there." He grinned.
"Were you? I wasn't sure. Like I said, there's so many people in this city. I can't always tell who was born in another country, and who was born here. But I did recognize your name as being Russian." She nodded.
"Yes. I haven't been back in years though, and I'm not really Russian anymore." Her smile faded away, and they were sent back into awkward silence for a moment. Harry understood, more than he might have a couple years back. He may have been born in England, but the magical world had put him through his paces so much, he tended not to think of himself as English anymore, though there were still times when he felt pride for his home country. But if he wasn't English, then what was he now? Did his time in Bogdon, and with Mahdi, make him Russian, or Arabic? Or did him living here make him an American now? Or was he still entirely British, no matter what he thought about it? Did Romanoff ever ask herself the same questions?
Looking at her, and the confidence she held herself with, Harry didn't think she was really the sort to doubt herself, but then, he wasn't always the best judge of a person's character. His early interactions with, and beliefs about, Severus, were a good example of this. Besides that, he was no stranger to the masks people hid themselves behind, and one often had little way of separating the mask of a person, from the reality of them.
They ate the rest of the meal in silence, their one attempt at conversation having gone down the drain. When they were done, there was a moment of twiddling thumbs and gathering up waste before Harry recalled something.
"Oh! Bruce, I nearly forgot." The doctor looked on in question as Harry rifled through his pack until he had found the little bag he had opted to bring only on a whim. He tossed it at him. "Here. I made them for you. I thought they might be a good 'just in case' sort of thing. They alter with size." Bruce peered into the bag and shuffled a hand about inside. Then he blushed.
"These are, um..." Harry chuckled.
"Yea. I figured it would be good though, so that, well, you know. Since last time-" Bruce cut him off, looking greatly embarrassed.
"I appreciate it. Thanks Harry. I'll wear them."
"Good. Let me know if they're uncomfortable, or if you ever need more."
"I will." He probably wouldn't, but Harry would accept his answer for the time being, and just ask about it every few months or so.
"Goodnight then."
"Night Harry."
"We'll talk later, alright?"
"Yea." He waved a hand and slipped out the door and Harry found himself alone with Romanoff, who raised a brow. He laughed a bit nervously and she left, giving him a soft goodnight that he returned. He sighed, relieved to be alone, and started getting ready for bed. He considered asking Stark to use his phone in the morning, so he could let his father know he was alright. He decided on a smoke before bed, and hoped Bruce actually liked his gift.
Afterall, size-altering underwear would help a lot in not having to deal with a naked hulk.
Since doing so was a rather uncomfortable experience.
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He discovered himself in the old clearing. The one with the trees all around and the creek and pond nearby; where he used to talk to Firenze and Bane. He knew at once however, that he was not really there, because everything was white, and there was a sort of fog that kept him from seeing too far; when he looked up, there was no sky.
He was reminded of his trip to the place that had looked like the train station, on that night he had tried to put behind him. When he sat down in the white grass, and turned his head to look beside him, he was hardly surprised to see his mother there.
She was beautiful. No pictures he had seen did her any justice. Her red hair was so vivid a shade of brick red, so contrasting with the world around him, and her eyes. They were not the same green as his own. They were lighter, almost turquoise, but they shone just as bright. He picked out the features they shared, his eyes darting around her face like a starving man given a steak. She smiled at him, and something painful sprung up from his chest and caught itself in his throat. He choked on the word and had to fight back tears.
"Mother."
"Hello Harry." He threw himself at her like a child, and she let him cling harshly to her and breathe in the smell of lavender and grass, old books and ink. It reminded him a little of Luna, and a little of Hermione, and wasn't anything like he'd imagined, but instead so much better. She rubbed his back and his hair and he slowly managed to get ahold of himself. He had never realized, never expected, that this moment would matter to him as much as it did.
Because he had never met her like he had met Sirius. Never seen her or touched her or held her. He felt like his heart was breaking and being healed all at once, and he sucked in a deep breath and gathered up control of himself, so that he could pull back and look at her. So that he could take as much of her in as possible in whatever time he had to do so.
"You're so big now. I look at you and I still think of that tiny little babe I could hold in one arm, and of when my belly was swollen up like a balloon and you would kick me from inside." There was so much joy and pride in her voice, Harry couldn't help but to grin.
"You're not as pretty in your photographs." She laughed, and the sound was so wonderful to him.
"James always said the same thing. Severus too." Her smile calmed some. "I'd like to thank you, Harry, for looking after him as you have. And he for you if I could. You two needed each other, even if it put James in a tizzy." Harry chuckled. "Don't you worry about him though. I think I managed to yell loud enough to put him in his place." She looked so pleased with herself, he couldn't help erupting into laughter. She laughed with him though, and the combined sound was like music. Though his was deeper in tone, they had the same laugh. When they calmed he just looked at her for a moment, not really sure what to say. He'd thought about it often as a child; about what he would say if he ever saw his parents again. But now that he was here, and she was sitting before him, he just couldn't think of the words.
"Is it nice over there?" He found himself asking, and she nodded.
"It's wonderful."
"What's it like?" She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering him.
"It's a little like living in your best memories, all of them, all at once and all the time, but it's a bit different too, almost like still being alive, in a different place. It's hard to explain, but one day, when you've grown a long white beard you can see for yourself." He crinkled his nose.
"I'm not too fond on looking like Dumbledore." She laughed.
"Long white hair then. You can be like an old-man-Rapunzel." Harry snorted.
"How about I just get lots of wrinkles instead?" She giggled.
"Yes, I think that would be just fine." He grinned, and her expression softened. "I just wanted to tell you, Harry, that no matter what, I will always love you, and that I'll be here when it's your time." He swallowed.
"I love you too." She looked up, and then back at him.
"I have to go now Harry. I promise we'll see each other again. You take care of yourself, and remember to always do what you feel is right, no matter what anyone else has to say about it." She looked fierce then, and Harry wished he could have had this woman there by his side all through his years at Hogwarts; looking after him.
"Yes mother."
"Good boy." She smiled at him, and ran a hand down his cheek. He closed his eyes as she did so, and when her touch left him and his eyes opened, another was in her place.
"Hello Hel."
"Hello Harry." She ran a hand through his hair like she had the last time he'd seen her. He thought on how different and how similar it was compared to his mother doing so, now that he had something to compare it to. His mother's hands were warm, where Hel's were cold, and Hel splayed her fingers, which were longer, a bit more. Yet there was the same feeling of love associated with the gesture that made him smile.
"You brought me here in my sleep." He accused, and thought there might have been amusement in her strange green eyes.
"I wished to speak with you."
"Is it time for me to do your favor?"
"Nearly, yes."
"Is that why I'm here?"
"Yes." She dipped her head. "Tell me first, what you are up to, on Earth." He tilted his head, an idea starting to tickle the edge of his mind but still remaining just out of his conscious grasp.
"I've been asked to study the runes on this weapon, that was used by someone they believe is Loki the god of chaos to control someone's mind, and help to counter it. There's Thor too. Are they real?"
"They are." His idea gained more flesh to it.
"It was their own fault I think. He came here to steal what they call the tesseract, which I guess is this really powerful magical artifact. Apparently it was them messing about with it that caught his attention in the first place."
"Not his attentions, no." Harry frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"He's but a string on a web, but not the spider." Harry sat up straighter, his eyes sharpening, pupils slitting in his intensity.
"Are you saying he's under the same control as the agent?" She met his gaze.
"I am unaccustomed to involving myself in the workings of the living world. It is outside the realm of my station." She looked almost sad at that. "That is why having a master is so helpful, for you are of the living world, and able to change and alter it, and involve yourself in ways I cannot." She was changing the subject, but her words confirmed his question all the same. He almost felt bad at the thought that he was trying so hard to cast off the title.
"Maybe there's a way I could be Master of Death, without the agelessness and inability to die that seems to come with it." She looked at him carefully.
"Perhaps. If I could find some way to change the station to your liking, would you be willing to remain in it?"
"Maybe. I wouldn't mind it for a while. Not all my life though. I think I'd probably get too old, or too tired for that. So someone else would have to take over at some point." She hummed, appearing thoughtful. "But you still have a favor to ask me, and I'd like to get back to that right now." For the first time, she looked away from him, and out towards the white trees. There was a moment's silence before she answered.
"Loki is my father." He blinked. "Or he was my father, before I became death. Though our connection is no longer the same, and it has been centuries since I have found myself able to speak with him, I still care deeply for him. I would like you to keep him safe, to protect him, if you can."
"Isn't he a god? I don't imagine there's much he can't protect himself from, that I would be able to." She looked at him again.
"It is not a physical thing he needs to be protected from. It is himself. If given the chance, he will destroy himself, slowly but surely. I cannot promise you it will be an easy task, and it may well require you to leave behind much." There was a desperate look to her now. "But I do not wish for him to fall into ruin." He watched her for a moment, and then it was his turn to look away.
"I can't promise I'll succeed, but I do promise I'll try." The promise felt binding, like a noose around his neck, but Hel was smiling when he looked back at her, and she leaned forwards and kissed the top of his head. He recalled Sirius doing that once.
"That is all I ask of you Harry. Thank you."
And then she was gone, and he opened his eyes to a dark metal ceiling, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
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It was Agent Coulson who brought them breakfast in the morning, and led the three of them away to the lab. Most of the food he'd eaten here was plain, but acceptable enough to sate his hunger. It was the constant environment of metal and glass that was already starting to wear on him. There was nothing natural here, no physical connection to Mitera. Still, he put it to the back of his mind and got to work. Stark seemed to yawn every few minutes that morning, and easily drank five cups of coffee before he was properly awake. Harry used a cancer stick to wake himself up, and though he got some looks for it, no one said anything or asked him to stop. Bruce was the only one who seemed wide awake, but he had always been a morning person, much like Severus, who, while not quite cheerful in the mornings, was in his best mood when the sun had only just risen.
Then it was back to work, Coulson babysitting them all the while and again falling into the background like a piece of furniture. Harry wondered if Romanoff would take over again that afternoon as she had the day before, or if someone else would. He wasn't sure which of the two he would prefer. Romanoff intrigued him, but made him nervous at the same time.
Still, he had other things to focus on. His eyes roamed over the rest of the symbols, things beginning to come together like the pieces of a puzzle. More and more, he started to properly understand what he was looking at. It was near lunch time when the last piece finally fell into place.
"How strange..."
"Find something midget?" Harry glared at Stark, and then decided to ignore him in favor of agent Coulson.
"Could you let Director Fury know I've finished?" Coulson nodded, and began speaking into his radio. While Stark spluttered at his dismissal in the background, Harry looked away from his papers, and at the actual scepter.
He had never seen anything that worked so unusually before, and he was starting to rethink his desire to meet its' maker; especially now that he was aware it wasn't Loki who had created it.
He wasn't sure he wanted to meet someone capable of enslaving a god.
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I'm sleepy…
This chapter didn't happen exactly how I thought it would. Tony is being much less annoying than I initially predicted, and Lily kind of came out of nowhere.
See, this is why I can't plan my stories, because when I'm actually writing, the characters just take everything over. And people say authors control what happens… Psh. Sure we do.
So I think we're done for now. Imma go sleep.
See you all next week.
Sincerely,
Mr. Hate