THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO IS READING THIS, AND HAS STUCK BY IT FROM THE START, AND WHO REVIEWS IT! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!

I am so so sorry. We got back from the trip a while ago (the wedding was beautiful, and NC was a lot of fun), but while we were gone my dad use my comp and accidentally downloaded a virus, and it took me a bit to get it off and dealt with. Then I got busy with babysitting and whatnot, and now, it's one in the morning on Saturday, and I actually meant to update Friday afternoon, and got caught up in stuff and forgot.

But we're here now. We're back, and we will have regular updates from now on every other week, on Fridays, until the end of Part 5.

Okay, so, about the chapter, don't hate me alright?

Enjoy, hopefully.

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Harry followed after the guard with his head up and his back straight, doing his best to keep the rage off his face, even as it churned and boiled inside him like a frothy sea of hate. With how nervous the guard himself (dressed in a combination of dark grey and dark yellow and gold) seemed, constantly looking over his shoulder at him and his back perpetually tense, he didn't think he was succeeding.

"Here it is your highness." The golden-clad man dipped his head low, not quite a bow, with a hand out towards where he had led him.

"Thank you." His words were terse and sharp, and the guard shuffled away, all but fleeing from him. He had brought him to a large set of double doors. Near-black wood with carved designs of pointless patterns all inlaid with gold. He opened them and went in.

Muhammad had woken the day before him, he'd been told, but the twins weren't expected to be up until tomorrow, and Harry couldn't bear sitting by their bedsides waiting, not with how angry he was; especially given that without Mitera, he had nothing to ground himself and hold that anger at bay except for his own self control. He would be liable to lash out, and his memories of vindictive glee and animal bloodlust made him wary of that.

Back before Mitera he had never been in a situation where that anger, that dark animal side of himself, had come out without someplace (or rather, someone) acceptable to direct it at. He had directed it at Bellatrix when she killed Sirius, at Voldemort during their battle, but it had never come out with no place to vent it. Now he knew that letting that rage take over without an enemy was like loading a gun and shooting it at random; who knew who it might hit. The events of his latest trip to the white world showed him that that part of himself, could, in fact, find itself aimed at an ally.

He could hurt, could even kill, his friends.

Which meant that he needed to calm down as quickly as possible, and he needed to find Tom.

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"The rulers of each realm holds great respect for the rulers of the others, and exceptions are made for visiting royalty that would not be made for any other." He frowned at her.

"Like what, exactly?"

"For one, you would be given access to my father, if you asked for it, so long as King Odin does not believe you would attempt to release him. If you deny your status as King of Niflheim, it may be far more difficult for you to be allowed to speak with him, as then you would be an outsider of no status." Harry sighed.

"So if I pretend to be king-"

"You are king. It's simply a matter of whether or not you acknowledge it." He grit his teeth.

"Right. Well, if I acknowledge that I'm King," He spoke the words with a hint of sarcasm and no small amount of resentment, but paused. "then Odin won't put up a fuss?"

"Precisely."

"I don't like it." He said firmly. "But if it will work... Then alright." His voice sounded defeated. She nodded, and then shared another look with Tom.

"There is... One more thing." He watched her, something like dread filling him. That feeling that something was wrong had not yet gone away. This was it. This was the moment he would have his life turned upside-down again.

"What is it?"

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The rooms they'd been given were beautiful, he supposed. All rich red curtains, dark wood furniture, and inlaid gold (very Gryffindor, only more tasteful), but he only really gave them a cursory glance. There was a square of space cut into the middle of the floor not far from what he thought was meant to be their dining table that had a pile of stones and wood in it- A hearth, he thought, for heat and cooking. A single, floor-to-ceiling window revealed an incredible view of a planet with a sky that let you see stars in the daytime, a sun that wasn't the same color as the one on Earth (it was too light), two different moons, and a landscape of a sprawling alien city and all manner of flowering foliage.

He could have cared less.

The anger was still very much present, and likely would be until he had either mediated or Tom had dealt with it, or he had been given the opportunity to unleash it on something; but now that he was behind closed doors, another emotion had creeped up alongside it. He hated himself for the feeling of mourning inside him, because it meant that he had already accepted things; and yes, there was nothing he could do about it, and so it was healthier to accept it, but-

Childishly, angrily, he didn't want to. He wanted to rage and rant and he wanted someone or something to blame. He wanted to kill something, he wanted revenge even though there was no one to seek revenge upon. He wanted to rend his claws into something with a beating heart, and see its blood spill messily across his hands.

His hands curled into fists as he tried to snap that thought away glamoured claws cutting into the skin of his palms and making his own blood slide down and drip from his knuckles but he hardly noticed. There was another door in the room, an open one, that he went through to find a hallway. There were several doors in it, each one, he knew, leading to a separate bedroom. There were two that were different, two pairs of double doors as opposed to singular ones. The first set, in the center of the hall, he opened, and within found a large room with a big, circular, inlaid pool and benches. It took him a moment to realize it was a communal bathing room (something they had encountered once in China), and he shut the door. A numbness was starting to creep over him as he turned to the last set, at the very end of the hall. He didn't want it, but it was better than the bloodthirsty wrath threatening to overtake him.

He marched to it, and opened it with single-minded determination. It was another bedroom, meant for him, he knew, as a 'King'. There was a huge bed, the mattress (or what counted as a mattress) flush against the floor without a frame, and a large fur spread out over the top of it. Muhammad was on it, back turned to him and fast asleep. He had expected that. Eir, the head medical woman, had told him that while Moo had been the first to wake, he was likely to take the longest to fully recover, and he would spend a great deal of his time over the next few days in the land of dreams.

There was another large window, or more precisely a set of glass doors leading to a balcony. They were open, and he went to them, looking out, the wind rustling his hair. A serpent was curled up near the golden banister, its head up and looking out over Asgard. It turned to look at him, and he closed his eyes, the mourning sadness gripping him fully now, squashing what little hope he had that his recent trip to the white world had not been real, but just a horrible dream of his own making. He shuddered.

For the serpent, which should have been a startling blue, was black, and its eyes, which had always been a glowing yellow-

Were vibrantly, hideously, red.

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"As King, there are certain things I am required to give you, one of which is a personal attendant."

"You mean a servant." She nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to Tom. His own widened.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I assure you, she isn't." Tom said with a droll tone.

"Why him?" He growled. "Of everyone you could pick, why does it have to be him?"

"I have to forge a connection between you and your attendant, and it is far easier to re-forge a broken connection than to create one from scratch. Given your entering into Asgard, where the barrier between the dead and the living is far stronger than on Earth, I cannot create a connection for you where none has ever been. I do not have the strength to reach through far enough to do so." He ground his teeth together.

"And how exactly is this supposed to work? He's dead, isn't he? Wouldn't he be no better than a ghost?" Tom looked down at the table he sat at, something like guilt on his face, and Hel grew still.

"I can put him within a new body, so that he might have a physical form with which to better serve you." His eyes widened.

"You can bring him back to life? You could recreate his body?" She shook her head.

"I can bring him back, yes, but only by putting him in a body that is already free of a soul, not by recreating his old form. A body whose soul has recently died is an empty vessel. If unharmed, and compatible, I can keep the body alive and put a new soul into it." The breath came out of him, and he grasped the table for support. Oh Mitera no. No no no. He suddenly understood what felt so wrong, so horrible- His heart clenched and he felt as though he was going to be sick because he knew, just knew-

"Who?" He asked, almost silently.

"I would have you know that I-"

"WHO?!" He leapt to his feet, screaming the word with such intensity that it filled the space between them like a clap of thunder.

"The serpent." The serpent. Bile rose in the back of his throat/ He hated the way she said that, and he hated how he knew exactly who she spoke of.

Metis. His Metis was dead. Hel had killed her to bring Voldemort (of all people) back from the dead, and she had the gall to speak of Metis as though she were nothing more than a simple animal-

As though she was not an intelligent being. As though she was not his friend. As though she had not stayed faithfully by his side since he bought her, calling him her brother, making him laugh with her silly antics, giving him someone to talk to when he felt alone and listening obediently to his problems, even following him into battle because she feared for his safety and wasn't willing to let him fight without her because she loved him as much as he loved her.

Rage overtook him- A deep, all-consuming fire he was far too familiar with; his magic springing to life within him like boiling water, threatening to overflow from its pot. He roared like a beast and leapt at her, intending to rend the flesh from her bones and tear her limb from bloody limb. He wanted to see her guts ripped out and strewn upon the ground- He wanted her to screech in agony- He wanted- He came close, vision overtaken by a red haze, claws extended and ready-

And he passed right through her, as though she were not there.

It was reminiscent of going through a ghost- only worse, like having a bucket of the coldest ice tossed over his head (and he felt the cold down to his bones like a dementor, in a way that ice alone, which did not bother him, would not have done). It was a nasty shock to his system, and the rage was flushed away with such violent force that he found himself left gasping on the floor trying to take in breaths that wouldn't seem to come properly because he was certain he wasn't getting enough air-

"Calm yourself Harry."

Fuck her- couldn't she see he was trying dammit?

"I truly am sorry, Harry. I did not kill her, I promise you that. The travel through use of the tesseract was simply too much for her. She was dead the moment you touched it." Was that supposed to make him feel better? An angry sob broke through his gasps for air.

"Am I just supposed to walk around-" He coughed, and had to swallow down the rising vomit. "-with her corpse inhabited by that arse and pretend she's not dead?" He snarled at her, rolling onto his stomach and moving up onto his hands and knees, staring at her with eyes filled with betrayal.

"The introduction of a new soul will change the body. She will not look as she once did, and that, I think, will make it easier to bear." And for the very first time, he truly understood that Hel was not human. She did not know what it felt like to lose someone, because, all those who died were there with her. She did not lose anybody- she couldn't. Her voice was calming and apologetic, but there was sympathy there where there should have been empathy, because she did not understand-

He hated her. In that moment he hated her and wished the pain of loss upon her- Wished for her to be forced to suffer.

Because Metis was dead, and yes, he had the ring, but it wasn't the same (no matter how much he had tried to trick himself into thinking it was when he had called on Sirius) and he didn't even know if it would work with an animal-

And she was dead, she was gone and he couldn't have her back-

And he hated himself a little too, because he felt relieved that it had been her, and not Moo or one of the twins.

He felt relieved that, of the lot, she was the one to die.

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Harry curled against Moo's back, his claws digging into his brother's shirt. Muhammad had woken long enough before to see the changes in the snake, and long enough after Harry arrived to see the devastation on his face. They knew each other well enough by this point that the Arab man hadn't asked, but had offered him a place in his bed for the night; something he did only very rarely outside of those situations where there weren't enough places to sleep for him NOT to share. Harry knew there would be questions in the morning, after shared cigarettes in early morning light and comforting silence where they sat close enough to touch without doing so, but he was thankful at the moment for the quiet and the dark, and the warm body he lay against that moved as it breathed and from whence he could hear a gentle bu-bump-bu-bump-bu-bump that reminded him his Arab brother was alive and breathing and okay-

And he needed that, because just the thought of losing Moo, or the twins, was too much for him to bear just then.

He breathed in the scent of tobacco and not-quite-clean-but-almost clothing, and was able to calm himself enough to slip into light sleep-

Even despite the dark presence he could feel at the very corners of his mind.

Hel had told him, that without Mitera (who had grounded him, and who was not present now because she was the Earth and he was no longer on Earth), he risked losing control of his rage and the darker parts of himself. Tom, as his 'servant' (and no matter how ironic he found it to think about the Dark Lord himself forced into following his orders like a house elf, he hated thinking of anyone that way), could use their connection to take her place until he returned home.

He had not meant to lose himself in his anger so much as to actually try to attack Hel, and that he had, frightened him. If he would attack her, what was to stop him from attacking Moo or the twins or some poor innocent Asgardian when he got angry enough? It was the last thing he wanted; but he absolutely despised the idea that he and Tom were connected.

Again.

At least the former Dark Lord had been kind enough (and wasn't that an ironic thought? The Dark Lord- the bane of his existence for the majority of his life- being kind?) to pull his mind as far from Harry's as he could. He was more aware of him than he had been of Mitera, but he knew that would fade with time, and eventually, he would even be able to trick himself into believing the connection wasn't even there.

Or so he hoped.

And if that failed, well, he could always push for their original deal- for her to take his title away once he had managed to help Loki.

Because if he was no longer the master of death, then there would no longer be any reason for Tom to be kept alive.

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He sat still on a chair between the pair of sleeping redheads, staring at the creme-colored wall without really seeing it, and feeling rather numb. Tom, thankfully, had remained in their rooms, either intelligent enough, or in tune with their connection enough, to know he needed keep his distance. Muhammad had come with him, but had fallen asleep again, in the chair next to him; he was still weary from their journey through to Asgard. His head had fallen onto the animagus' shoulder, and with every exhale on Harry's part, the dark brown locks of his hair shifted. Harry watched the motion absently, wondering when his brother would next shave his head; he never seemed to let it get very long at all before he sheared it down to peach fuzz.

Eir, the kind Asgardian healer that she was, had left them alone, since she had no other patients to tend to. She had even forced the usual guards out of the room, though Harry was sure they were just outside the medical ward's doors. As such, it was just the four of them. He was grateful to her for that, happy she was not like Madame Pomfrey, who probably would not have let them sit there in the first place, and would never have left them alone.

Tom had, temporarily, he said, cut off his ability to feel anger at all, and without that burning fire in him he just felt empty; as though he were dead within. He knew better than to trust it though. He was not often in the habit of lying to himself, and he knew it was only a matter of time before whatever emotional dam he had constructed came crashing down; but he would cherish this numb peace while he had it. A groan caught his attention, and he turned to see George twitch and his face scrunch up.

"George?" He groaned again, and blearily opened his eyes, only to hiss at the light. Harry, not knowing how to adjust the lights here (and unsure if a simple nox would have any effect) reached out a hand to cast a shadow over his face and shield his eyes. The redhead blinked several times.

"Fred?" He asked in a hoarse voice.

"He's still asleep, but he's fine. He should wake up any time." George hummed, and after several minutes managed to open his eyes all the way. Harry carefully dislodged Moo from his shoulder, and stood to help his brother sit up.

"Thanks." George smiled a little at him, and looked around him to spy his twin. He stared for several seconds once his eyes found him in the next bed, sniffed the air, and then seemed to decide Harry's claim of Fred being just fine was trustworthy. He stretched, pops sounding through the air as his back readjusted, then sighed. "What happened?"

"The travel was a little rou- rougher than we expected." A ball of hurt was working it's way up his esophagus, threatening to lodge itself in his throat. George finally looked properly at him.

"Harry?" He said quietly, his voice oh so kind. "What's wrong?" He reached out a hand to grasp the animagus' own, and it was too much- the dam inside him finally shattered. He tried to respond, but a sob came out instead, and before he could do anything else George had pulled him onto the bed and he was crying into his chest. It made him feel pathetic (he was twenty-years-old for Mitera's sake. He wasn't a baby anymore), but he clung to the redhead with desperation all the same.

Gods above, why couldn't he just catch a break for once?

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He was more thankful than he would have willingly admitted when both redheads were awake and they were all secluded back in their rooms, hidden from any prying Asgardian eyes. One of the others had pulled thick curtains over the large window in the common area, and someone had lit a fire in the hearth. There had been food waiting for them on the table when they returned, and pitchers of various drinks, several of which were clearly alcoholic; another thing he was secretly thankful for. He wasn't a drunk, and he didn't plan to become one, but the warm, loose feeling being drunk offered was far preferable to mourning. It brought back memories of Moody, and his father (who he already missed), and that bar in Canada, and those seedy placed Muhammad liked to drink at, and Tony- All pleasant memories for him.

They sat on the floor around the hearth, eating out of bowls and drinking together. The others were talking, the twins telling some kind of story and Moo chuckling at them here and there- Harry wasn't really paying any attention to the words, but it created a sort of hum in the air around him that was better than silence. He knew they were doing it intentionally, trying to distract him or make him feel better without making it completely obvious; or something of the sort.

It did make things a little better.

Harry, for his part, was trying to distract himself as well, and instead of dwelling on Metis, was thinking about the days to come.

He and King Odin had not spoken long; he'd gotten the feeling the man was busy. All the same, he had, at the time, managed to suppress his anger enough to bring up the subject of Loki. Odin, he could tell, had been wary about allowing him to visit Loki while he was stuck here (and he was stuck here, with the tesseract being locked away and the rainbow bridge being their only way out and still months away from full repair, he'd been told), but he had, more or less, said he would allow it, once Loki had been sentenced.

As far as Harry knew, the king and his council were going over just how long he was to be imprisoned (and they had firmly decided upon imprisonment, because no matter what his actions, Loki was a prince, and so they would not execute him, if only so that it didn't make Odin look like a heartless bastard that would take the life of a member of his own family; or so Harry thought), and his sentencing would be in just a few days; an event Harry and his brothers were given permission to attend. Depending on what sort of imprisonment he would be given (Harry had not realized there were different kinds, as his only experience in prison time came from what little he knew of Sirius' period in Azkaban, and that one time in second year when the Minister had hauled Hagrid away for a few months because of the chamber), there would be different restrictions around how and when and how often Loki could be visited; and so Harry would have to adhere to whatever rules were in place for such things, and if he was only allowed a limited number of visits over a period of time, he would also have to concede the fact that he may not be the only one who would wish to see the god.

But as it was, the mere fact that any visits from him at all, would be allowed, was something of a victory. One he hated to admit, he would likely not have achieved if he was not 'King' of Niflheim.

After the sentencing, Odin had said they could (as there was no other choice) remain as guests of Asgard until the rainbow bridge was fixed, at which time they would speak on it, to determine if they would be staying longer or leaving then (whether Odin would be willing to keep them around or kick them out). Until that time, they were pretty much free to do as they pleased, within reason.

The only real question was what did they want to do?

Harry, quite honestly, had no idea.

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The palace of Asgard had more than one throne room. It, in fact, had four. The first was an enormous chamber on the main floor, used mostly for special events, just as holidays, crownings, royal birthdays and weddings, and the like. The second and third were both slightly smaller rooms, on either side of the castle, on what was either the fourth or fifth floor. One was for the King to meet with important guests or visiting royalty on the day they came to Asgard; a greeting room, basically. The other was meant for those commoners who came and wished to give their grievances or praises or ask for advice to/from the king. The fourth was the smallest, and it was basically a courtroom. It was where criminals were brought to plead their cases (when they were given the opportunity to), and it was where sentencings were given.

Thus, that was where Harry currently found himself, two weeks after their arrival in Asgard, standing near a wall with his arms crossed, with a black snake sheepishly curled near his feet. He felt a strange combination of sad, irritable, and triumphant. Tom had given him back his ability to anger, and he was... Displeased that the former Dark Lord had accompanied them (he insisted that, as Harry's attendant, he was meant to go with him everywhere that he could), but at least he wasn't trying to strangle him...

Yet.

He had a twin on either side of him, both with uncharacteristically severe expressions on their faces, each keeping one suspicious eye on Tom. Moo stood a few feet from them, leaning back against the wall casually (as though he spent every day in the court of an alien ruler), and eyeing the other inhabitants of the room with dark, narrowed eyes. King Odin sat upon his throne, a large contraption of gold, his wife, Queen Frigga (who Harry had yet to properly meet) was in a smaller chair at his side. There were several guards at various posts throughout the room.

Thor was nowhere to be seen.

The large black doors at the end of the hall opened up, and Loki was led in, no longer gagged, but with his arms and legs bound in thick, rune-covered chains that jingled together like tiny bells with each step; far more effective restraints than what the muggles had put on him. Where before he had been a prisoner of his own free will (even if not all the Avengers and Shield had realized that), now he was trapped whether he wanted to be or not.

Harry watched the guards lead him up to the throne, holding the ends of his chains like the leash of a dog. It was better than leading him in by the arms, but Harry still bristled at the sight.

He was almost happy at how pissed off he could get about it.

He gave Odin a hard look, and took great pleasure in the fact that the King both noticed, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat (he was being vindictive, but he didn't care, and besides, how many people could say they were able to make Odin squirm with just a look?). Then he turned his gaze elsewhere, and found his green eyes meeting a set of similar coloring. Loki seemed almost relieved to see him, and he recalled their harsh landing in Asgard. Had the god been worried about him?

Then the guards, and Loki, stopped, and they let go of him, allowing him to stand on his own, and the trickster was looking up at his father. The King of Asgard looked weary, but strong, and stared down upon his younger son with disappointment and anger. Loki glanced away from him, meeting Frigga's gaze instead.

"Loki."

"Hello mother." Harry studied him carefully. His tone was one like arrogance, but he was apologizing to her with his eyes. Harry could see his regret so clearly in them the god may as well have been waving it around like a sign. "Have I made you proud?" Frigga, though, he didn't think could see it.

"Please, don't make this worse." Maybe she could though, because he watched her nod, ever so slightly, almost unnoticably, with forgiveness on her face.

"Define worse." The bitterness in his reply was not so faked, and he met Harry's eyes again for a moment just before Odin called out.

"Enough. I would speak to the prisoner alone." Frigga held herself up stiffly and walked immediately from the room without argument, though he could see she did not want to. Harry looked up at Odin with a challenge in his eyes. The King had given him leave to be here. Odin met his challenge unwaveringly, and the guards shifted uneasily. He bit back the growl rising in his throat, but still didn't leave until Loki gave him a small, hardly noticeable, nod.

Fine then, it would seem that he would find himself waiting outside. He and his brothers marched out in silence, Tom sliding along on his belly behind them. The door shut with a sense of finality behind the serpent's tail, and Harry didn't hold the growl back this time.

The guards near the door took a step back.

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They waited in the hall in silence, and it was not long before the doors opened again and Loki was led out and down the hall. He didn't look up at Harry when they passed, and the animagus' eyes narrowed at his downcast face. He made to turn immediately into the throne room after they were down the hall and George stopped him with a hand on his back.

"Take a breath, Harry. You're letting Loki's memories get to you." He blinked, opened his mouth to reply that the redhead was wrong, and then stopped.

Was he?

Was he letting the things he had seen in Loki's mind color his perceptions and emotions? He had heard of such things, and certainly...

Back when they had been travelling, and Severus had taught him how to do it, there had been a memory he'd seen in the man's mind of a time when he was young, and his father had forced him to sit at the table all night because he wouldn't eat his peas. He'd fallen asleep face-first in them. He couldn't have been more than six or seven at the time of the memory.

Before seeing it, he had never minded peas. Sure, they weren't on his list of favorite foods, but he hadn't disliked them. Yet, afterwards, he had made a point of it never to eat anything with peas, feeling disgust at the very sight of the little round green vegetables.

Perhaps Loki's memories were getting to him.

And, certainly, the situation with Metis and Tom and Hel was not helping his temperament.

With that clarity, Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed his anger as far down into the depths of his mind as he was able, using his occlumency to help him. Then, mind calm and clear (or as close to such as he could currently manage), he entered the throne room.

"My apologies." Was the first thing out of Odin's mouth as he came near. "I did not wish my wife to witness his behaviour, and I could not ask her to leave and allow you to remain." Harry nodded politely.

"I understand. I apologize as well, for my defiance. I don't take my actions being guided by outside forces well, and I'm quicker to anger than I'd like." Odin chuckled.

"You and Thor must get along well then." Harry grinned.

"We do actually." Odin smiled amusedly, and Harry felt the last of his anger dissipate. The god-King looked so... Old, and tired. It brought Dumbledore to mind. Dumbledore, who had been a political war leader, and manipulative as a consequence, but who, in the end, had only been trying to do the best he could. Dumbledore, who had made foolish mistakes, but had only been an old fallible man, not an evil tyrant. Odin, Harry thought, was trying his best. He just wasn't going about it the right way. The old King's smile faded, and he regarded Harry seriously.

"You told me before that you wish to be able to visit Loki in his imprisonment."

"I do."

"But you did not tell me why." It wasn't a question, not exactly, but the wizard knew an answer was still expected.

"You know that I am-" He hesitated. "King of Niflheim." Odin dipped his head. "Then you should realize, also, that Niflheim still has its Queen." Odin sat up straighter on his throne.

"Hel?" There was something like wariness in his tone.

"Yes. She believes that her father is not beyond saving, and she has asked me to make an attempt to... Get through to him; to save him from himself."

"And do you think you can do it? That you can succeed where I, and my wife, and my eldest son, have all failed?" There was both disbelief and hope in his voice. Harry considered the question.

"To be fair, sir, sometimes family is part of the problem. I don't mean any offence by that, I assure you, it's just... From my perspective, there's a lot of emotions running between the lot of you, as I would expect from any family. Sometimes, it takes an outsider with no emotional connection to the situation to help things. At any rate, chance of success or not, I still intend to try." That was true enough, even if Harry was hardly as emotionally disconnected as he was trying to make it sound. Odin stared hard at him for a long moment, and then dipped his head.

"Perhaps you're right." He said quietly, and then cleared his throat. "Loki has been sentenced to imprisonment in the dungeons. He is to remain there either indefinitely, or until he can prove himself worthy of release, though he believes he will be there the rest of his days. I will have a guard show you where it is in a few days. You are free to visit him in the evenings on any day you so choose, but only the evenings."

"That's more than acceptable, sir." Odin nodded sharply.

"If you can help my son, I will be in your debt." Harry didn't really know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

He had a feeling he would have his work cut out for him.

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It was the very next day that Harry finally saw Thor for the first time since their arrival in Asgard. They had thus far remained in their rooms (though the lot of them were beginning to grow antsy, and Harry in particular knew he was soon likely to feel too confined to allow the status quo to continue on), and so hadn't been outside to seek him out, and the god of thunder himself hadn't bothered coming around.

Until now.

There was a knock on the door, and when Harry came to answer he found the large blond man standing in the corridor outside and looking almost sheepish. He smiled nervously at Harry, and the animagus waved him inside. He studied the god of thunder while the man looked around at the room with absent curiosity. He was used to seeing Thor dressed in his black and silver armour with that Gryffindor red cape hanging from his shoulders, but at the moment, while he still wore armour, it was not as thick as the usual set, and there was a light green cloak settled around his shoulders. His hair, typically swept back, was left to hang loosely around his face and upon his shoulders, and it had a light waviness to it it did not normally possess. All in all, Harry thought his current dress was meant to be more casual.

"How can I help you, Thor?" It was early morning still, and the others either hadn't yet woken, or had thus far remained in their rooms. He kept his tone civil and distant, unsure where exactly he stood with the god before him at the moment. The thunderer turned fully to look at him.

"You never told me who you were." He said simply. "That you were Niflheim's King." Harry was silent a moment.

"It isn't a title I care for, nor is it one I feel has any real bearing on Earth, or, for that matter, on who I am." He wasn't willing, for politics sake, to admit he hadn't known (lest that find its way back to Odin and make things difficult for him), but his answer was still truthful, and it looked to be enough for Thor.

"We are still friends then?"

"As long as you want us to be." The thunderer grinned, finally looking at ease.

"Aye. I want us to be." Harry relaxed a little, and motioned the blond to take a seat in one of the dining chairs, setting into one himself. Thor set himself down, and his face became grave again.

"You told me on Midgard you felt as though Loki was not completely lost."

"I did."

"You meant this?"

"Yes." He nodded slowly, leaning back in his seat and causing the wood to creak a bit.

"My father tells me you intend to save my brother from himself, to help him where we have not been able to."

"I intend to try." He stressed the last word, and Thor sighed.

"I am not certain it can be done." He said softly. "I have long held out hope of regaining the brother I once knew, but I no longer believe..." He trailed off, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He should tell him, he really really should, but Loki didn't want him to and-

He paused.

It wasn't as though he had promised, nor had he really kept it as secret as Loki had wanted him to do. Severus, Moo, the twins, Tony, and Logan. The lot of them knew the truth. He had told them all. Surely then, Loki's own brother deserved the same courtesy?

He frowned to himself. Why had he felt compelled to obey Loki's wishes at all, for that matter? His eyes narrowed, a suspicion creeping up on him, and he pushed aside any thoughts of secrecy.

"There's something you don't know." Thor frowned at him, and he went on to explain the mind control, and how Loki hadn't been working entirely of his own volition, finding himself hesitating here and there in spite of himself. By the end of it, the god was sitting straighter, true hope shining in his eyes, and also confusion.

"If my brother was controlled, why then has he not spoken out? He has allowed himself to be caged and punished, why?"

"I don't know yet, but I think you should keep this to yourself." Thor bristled.

"If my brother is innocent-"

"He is only innocent of the crimes he committed on Earth, and that control only works if there's some motivation. He IS power-hungry, no matter the rest, and, as I understand it, there was some sort of confrontation that led to him winding up outside of Asgard in the first place. Whatever he did then, that was by his own power." The wind seemed to come out of Thor's sails then. "Your brother is every bit the conniving Slytherin-" The god gave him an odd look and he reiterated. "-he's sneaky and self-serving, at least so far as I've seen and heard. Until we know what his play is, what he's planning and what he's after, we're better off keeping him in that cage." His tone softened. "We don't know what he would do if he was let out, if it would be a good thing, or a disaster, and we need to know before we allow that to happen. I understand, truly. He's your brother, and if one of my own brothers was locked in a cell I'd do anything to get him out. But we need to be cautious." They stared at each other for a few moments, and finally, Thor nodded, teeth gritted angrily but shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Very well." He bit out, looking away.

"Thor." The god looked back at him. "You can still help, you know."

"How?"

"He's your brother, isn't he? Remind him of that fact. Visit him often, speak to him. Don't bring up the invasion or his wrong-doings or try to convince him to change, but talk to him. Talk about things you used to do together, places you've been and memories you've shared. Talk about your day and the women you like, whatever. Treat him now, as though he's still the Loki he used to be, even if he isn't." Thor frowned.

"And what good would come of this?"

"He would know you care, that you love him, and that can mean far more to a person than you might think." Harry, of all people, understood that much. With the way the Dursleys had once been, the day he had met Hagrid, and felt as though, for the first time, he mattered to someone, had been like finding a diamond the size of a fist in his yard. It was one of his happiest memories; certainly powerful enough to power a patronus or two.

"If you believe it will help him, then that is what I will do."

"Good."

It wasn't much, but it was a start towards helping him, and it certainly made Harry feel much less guilty now that he knew.

Even if it was probably going to piss Loki off when he found out Harry had told.

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He breathed in the water with relish, laying on the bottom of the full bath (that was really more of a pool) with his eyes closed. The water was so clean and crisp that it didn't even have a 'taste' to it. It seemed like a rare thing nowadays for him to just enjoy water like he used to. Without a constant natural source of it nearby, like the lake at Hogwarts, there just wasn't any way for him to ease himself that way. He was stuck using occlumency as a surrogate, almost. But it wasn't the same, and water like this wasn't the same as the lake or the ocean.

There were some days he wished he could go back to Hogwarts, every once in a while. Days where he missed that lake, and the merpeople. Days where he missed hunting in the forest, and speaking with Firenze or Bane in the clearing. There were even days when he missed things from farther back, like his close friendships with Hermione and Ron, or playing Quidditch, or even the time when Voldemort was an enemy, not his damned pet.

And really, he missed being able to transform almost whenever he pleased. He ached to be a Mishipeshu again. It felt as though it had been ages since the last time he had been given the opportunity to transform, and he ached for it.

But their home in New York wasn't big enough for that, and he hadn't been able to risk it during the invasion, or at Stark tower, and certainly not here. He really shouldn't even risk taking the glamour off, like he had done for the moment, but he wasn't willing to go on wearing it without end, and he had scanned for observatory and spying spells and magics, and found nothing.

He snarled in frustration, the sound not carrying far in the water; where everything was muffled even to his sensitive ears, and scraped his claws against the marble beneath him, making angry gouges in the stone. His eyes opened, and he noted the blurry form he could see above the water, looking down at him. He let his body drift upwards until he broke the surface and the form became clear.

"Need something Moo?"

"There was a guard here." He frowned.

"What for?"

"He came to inform you that Loki can begin having visitors starting tomorrow afternoon." Harry sighed.

Well, there went his relaxation time.

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It made me really sad to have Metis die, but I have a plot-based reason for it I'm not yet willing to properly explain here, so I'm afraid you'll just have to wait. Poor Harry. I tend to be mean to the characters I like.

Other than that, things seem kind of grim right now, but they're going to get better, and then worse again, and then they will steadily climb.

Also. I finally have a sort of legitimate plan to make the Harry/Sif pairing work. And, speaking of pairings, I'll be setting up the poll for the second male/male pairing right after I post this, so go on ahead and vote. I plan to keep it up for a month or so, and then it's going down.

I'll see you guys next time. Gotta go.

Sincerely,

Mr. Hate