"I know Vanaheim doesn't really have much in the way of libel laws, but can I challenge this guy to single combat or something?" Harry asked, over breakfast the next morning. The Daily Prophet had come in, and its editor, Barnabas Cuffe, was taking a heavy hand with his "editorials" that were right below the fold on the first page. He didn't care for Harry, it seemed.

"Sirius might be able to, but you're not old enough," Ron answered, in between mouthfuls of breakfast sausage. He'd managed to retain a lot of the legal research they'd done to try to save Buckbeak a couple of years prior.

"He'd have to claim Sirius as his guardian, which probably means he couldn't live on Earth," Hermione corrected. "Pepper might be able to challenge, and appoint a champion? I'd have to look it up."

"What's he even saying?" Dean checked, leaning over to read the paper. Harry just passed it to him. "Oh. Everything Snape's been accusing you of for years. Fame-seeking. Recklessness. Too bad what's-her-face got that job as anchor at WHiH. She liked you."

"Yeah, and she's been bugging me all summer to get the Avengers on her show," Harry groaned. Christine Everhart aka Rita Skeeter really had held up her end of the bargain on positive press the previous year, but it had always been temporary while she tried to get on a major cable news network on Earth.

"Sturgis Podmore," Dean chuckled, having flipped to the next page in the paper. "Man, some of these Vanir names."

"That's one of mum's friends!" Ron recognized the name. "What's he in the paper for?"

"Arrested breaking into a Ministry secure records room," Dean summarized. "Couple weeks ago. Paper says it's where they keep maps to all the Night Roads they know about."

"Why would that information be secret?" Harry wondered.

Hermione explained, "Probably because they can't really put wards on all the Night Roads, at least on ones that don't have any good places to anchor them. They don't want random Vanir just wandering onto other planets, and maybe leading marauders here."

"Time for classes," Neville warned them, trying to stay on task as a prefect. "First years! Follow me to herbology class. Hermione will lead you to your next period after that."

For each of their first few classes, the goal of their professors was to instill in them that they'd be having major tests at the end of the year. The results of these exams would determine whether they were allowed to continue taking the subjects their last two years, where each class would become much more open-ended. By sixth year, anyone still in a subject was expected to have all the standardized knowledge, and be ready to do more self-directed work. Dumbledore offering Dar-Benn for use as a resource wasn't unusual: there were going to be a lot of independent research papers in their futures.

The defense seminar was the outlier. Since it changed teachers every year, a student could theoretically fail all their fifth-year exams and at least keep taking defense. Though apparently some of the defense teachers liked to give more open-ended work to the upper-years, if their specific application had enough depth.

Mordo's definitely did, and he figured even fifth-years were ready for that kind of lesson. When they had class with him on Monday afternoon, he was quick to confirm, "I do not have enough time to explain all of the threats of the universe to you. I could speak to you all day, every day, for the entire year and barely scratch the surface. In the grand scheme of things, the horrors of the Dark Dimension are quaint. And I don't think simply telling you will result in understanding. Clearly, your best and brightest thought that they could come out ahead in a complex deal with the Dread Dormammu, as if he, in his timeless realm, didn't simply foresee getting a better offer.

"I do not know what information your school library holds, though I'm assured it is vast. Thus, I will provide you with subjects to learn, and you will report back with what you have found. We will then practice what there is to practice that might save you from the hosts of the beyond. Or at least buy you a moment to flee.

"I am here, in part, to try to 'sell you' on considering joining the sorcerers of Earth upon graduation. We do need trained hands to shield the planet, which is a nexus that draws the worst attention from beyond. You may consider it far away from your concerns, if you are Vanir. But should Earth fall, how long do you think it would be before whatever conquered it began to slide through the Night Roads into the other Realms?

"However, I am, personally, here to convince you to stay in Vanaheim. Already, I have seen so much wasted magic. This world is so ripe with energy that you use it profligately. Such excess on Earth would weaken the walls of reality and steal resources that could be used to much greater purpose. I am here to observe you all and determine whether you can be judicious in your spellcasting. My planet does not need more thirsty mouths to drink at the well of magic. Unless you are an asset, I will not recommend you to Kamar-Taj.

"Now, since it seems most potentially relevant, let us begin with enough primer on the Dark Dimension to give you room to research before the next class…"

It was an intense period. He called on all the Earth students that had been going to "summer camps" the most, often even if their hands hadn't been raised, putting them on the spot. Harry got more questions than anyone, and had to admit not knowing the answer a few times. When the period finally ended, Mordo motioned for Harry to stay behind for a moment.

"Do you understand why I'm putting you on the spot, Potts?" he asked.

"I've had the most time to learn this stuff, and I'm the most likely to need it?" Harry figured.

"Partly. But also because you, more than any of them, have received privileges at a young age. The youngest sorcerer to receive a sling ring. Given license to use magic in front of any cameras the public can turn upon you. So much rides upon your shoulders, to make certain that sorcery, if it must be revealed, does so to acclaim rather than fear and hatred.

"So it is my intention to push you as hard as I can within the relative safety of this school to make sure you don't, in the real world, break."

Harry didn't love it. This kind of attitude was why Mordo was Parvati's least favorite Master of the Mystic Arts. But he got it. "To whom much is given, much is required," he echoed Fleur's father, from earlier that year.

"Precisely. Now, on your way," Mordo dismissed him.

Not much else happened for the next few weeks, other than getting back into the swing of classes and giving Hedwig a workout. With friends across four worlds, Harry was sending letters like never before. It was easy enough to send letters directly to Fleur and Thor, and he even sent a couple of short letters to Loki and Fandral to see if they wanted to be in touch.

The mail to Earth was a little more complicated. He'd worked with Tony before leaving for the year to train JARVIS on his handwriting, and set up a simple set of rules for his email account. He'd send a packet of letters to Aunt Pepper, she'd pass them under a camera, and they'd automatically get converted to text and emailed to the correct recipients. It was a lot easier than worrying that various Avengers would have to explain why a snowy white owl kept showing up wherever they happened to be. When she was ready to send return mail, Pepper could just run a routine to print out any emails from his preferred contacts and add them to the stack.

There was a high variability in responsiveness.

Fleur matched him letter for letter, though she might take a day or two to send a response; her combat magic apprenticeship was time-intensive. Thor was really enjoying having pen-pals, so was also fast to respond, though he cautioned that soon he would begin his campaigns across the Realms and might be out of touch for weeks at a time. Fandral, despite being a talker, was not much of a writer, and merely sent short responses, mostly with updates on the forging of Harry's sword. Loki seemed to be fighting his urge to appear too cool to write. His first responses were on the order of, "Thank you for your letter. I appreciate the effort expended in writing it," but as the house arrest wore on him, he began to actually respond to pointed questions with florid descriptions of his boredom.

Pepper was the most used to communicating with him by irregular letters, and continued her usual style of asking him about classes and probing for whatever the new crisis was. Tony mostly didn't reply (maybe hadn't even read any mail that wasn't time-critical), still head down on his armor-designing obsession. Rhodey's emails were intermittent, with vague things like, "Weather was surprisingly nice in Libya," that made it clear he was all over the world doing the peacekeeping that Tony wasn't since becoming an Avenger. Happy sent him a bunch of ideas he was considering, in his new role of head of security for Stark Industries. Bruce was barely checking his secure email box. Of the Avengers on SHIELD assignments, Steve was the most verbose, glad to have someone interested in long-form mail responses of the sort he was used to. Clint wasn't very responsive, and Natasha was mostly interested in providing advice on his conversations with Fleur.

And he could easily just talk to Sirius on the magic mirror.

"It's still a mess out here, pup," his godfather explained, his background a beautiful mountainous region of the planet with looming stone sculptures behind a small village. "We haven't actually seen any Death Eaters on the field recently, but they must be helping the… attackers." He still hated calling them marauders, since that was the nickname for his and Harry's father's gang at school. "Portals don't really provide much of an advantage in response speed when both sides have them."

"Guess you're not mass producing these mirrors any time soon?"

"It's more of an art than anything. I've been trying to show other people how to do it, but even I can't get them to work most of the time. James and I got lucky getting these two to work as well as we did, and we had several failures on the way. The few I've gotten working, I've given to Dumbledore… for business I'm not really supposed to tell you about."

"Really?" Harry looked disbelieving through the mirror.

"Compartmentalization, or something," Sirius shrugged, not seeming to like it any more than Harry. "Secret stuff that he's trying to keep to as few people as possible, so the Death Eaters don't find out what he's up to. It's the kind of thing he handled during the last war."

"Ugh, so much spy stuff. Most of the people I talk to on Earth can't tell me much of what they're up to because it's also spy stuff."

"Yeah? You're talking to all of them? Natasha? Did she ask about me?"

"Don't you need to find a nice Vanir woman to carry on the line of Black so Tonks and I don't have to do it?" Harry fired back.

"That wasn't a no," Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

"Fine, yes, she did mention you. In passing."

"I've still got it! Oh, hey, since you know the Lady Sif, now, maybe you could put in a word for your old dogfather with her, too?"

"It probably would help Thor if she was into someone else," Harry rolled his eyes. "She's kind of intense though, the little I talked to her. And, you know, the whole Aesir/Vanir lifespan thing. Also… why am I your dating service?"

"I've been too busy to meet anyone, and pretty much anyone available in my social circles is too young, damaged goods for some reason, or could be a secret Death Eater sympathizer."

"Oh no! He's an old maid by thirty-five!"

"An old mister, thank you!" Sirius joked back. He glanced off of the mirror and said, "Looks like we're moving out, soon. Not really sure how I got tapped as a war leader, but I guess someone has to open the portals. Before I go, you're sure you're not having any trouble with Madam Umbrage?"

"No. She's been around, but seems to just be lurking and watching so far. Hasn't bothered me. I have to meet everyone in the library, anyway, so I'll let you go. Bye!"

It turned out Harry spoke exactly too soon.

It had been over two years since the Nidhogg serpent attacks, and they were gradually getting out of the habit of going everywhere with at least one friend. Harry had stayed back to talk to Sirius while the rest of the study group went to the library, so he was on his own as he made the trek downstairs to meet with them. And that was how Dar-Benn managed to catch him alone and corner him for a conversation on the way.

He wasn't sure if it was just luck on her part, or if she'd somehow planned it.

"Harry Potter," she said, sliding up next to him as he stepped off the stairs onto the floor that housed the entrance to the library. She towered over him in a way that was unsettling, given how small she looked at a distance in her big pink combat robes. She was probably taller than Pepper before adding the stompy kree Accuser boots. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

It was phrased as a question, but she'd somehow used her height and casually-wielded warhammer to herd him into an empty classroom almost before he realized he was in danger. Fully dodge-rolling under her arm would have been just rude enough in what didn't seem like an active combat situation that he'd missed his chance.

"We got off on, as I believe is the expression, the wrong foot. A dancing aphorism, perhaps? Could we, instead, restart our conversational dance?" She'd managed to stand just far enough inside the doorway to make it feel like she wasn't blocking it but was definitely blocking it.

"You trying to get me sent to prison was a dancing mistake?" he asked. "Er. Ma'am."

"I am an Accuser. Our job is to present the strongest possible case for justice. It wasn't personal."

"Even if that case means ignoring facts and speculating?"

She gave a predatory smile, likely trying to look like a friendly one, but it stayed far from her eyes. "I understand that the planet on which you were raised has a quaint idea that goes 'innocent until proven guilty,' while my people found such a statement led to many criminals running free. A simple cultural difference. The Nine Realms seem more accepting of false negatives than false positives. But, surely, there are men walking free at the highest levels of your government that would have been punished under my system? We must agree on that."

"I guess you did meet Malfoy," he admitted. It was probably safe to throw a little shade, as long as he didn't formally accuse the man who still got away with being an openly-secret Death Eater. And maybe she hadn't figured it out and could bother him.

"You might be surprised how many in this world's leadership don a mask and thus escape even accusation for their actions," she agreed. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now! I'm tasked with security for this school, and I think it is clear that you are the most likely to be… taken away with no warning."

"Happens just about every year," he nodded.

"I have been working with your runes professor to make devices that could alert us quickly if a student leaves the premises. It can be activated by you, as well, if you feel that you are in danger."

"Panic button. Makes sense, I guess." He didn't love the idea of carrying around a device that let administration know where he was at all times, but it wasn't like he was regularly out of bounds or anything. And it probably wouldn't work through his cloak. Honestly, he probably should give Dumbledore a chance to examine and replicate the Map at some point.

"Excellent. With your cooperation, I'm sure other students will be pleased to join." She fished a small, rune-etched copper necklace from a bag and handed it to him. "Now, if you could simply sign that you've consented to tracking."

He took the form she'd presented on a large clipboard, plenty of spaces for him and other students to sign. The text at the top seemed like he was just accepting delivery, but he had enough recent legal experience to wonder if it wasn't the tail end of a contract that he wasn't reading. Also, "I'm not supposed to sign anything without my lawyers. And I'd need a guardian to countersign anyway."

"This is no more than signing up for clubs, which I understand you do with regularity," she waved off, thrusting a brass pen into his hand.

Already wary, he noticed that he felt a short bit of pain from the pen hitting his hand that seemed excessive for even the slap of metal into a palm. He touched the nib to the back of his thumb while looking like he was about to sign, and wasn't at all surprised to see a blood-colored dot of "ink" appear.

"Pretty sure blood magic is definitely illegal in most situations," he quipped, already tumbling low to get past her, evidence in hand.

"You can't take that!" she insisted, baring her gold-accented teeth in anger at her ruse being so immediately seen through. She was very fast, which Harry made a mental note of, but even carrying a bookbag, a blood magic pen, and a contract clipboard, he was faster. And just far enough into the door to not look like she was blocking it was far enough that a small teen with enough incentive could dive past.

By the time she'd spun around and chased him into the hallway, he was gone.

Harry watched with relief as she charged around the corner that made the most sense to her to have lost him so quickly. She hadn't even thought to check for invisibility. He moved carefully for several seconds just in case she came back and listened for footsteps, then made for the nearest secret passage that went upstairs.

She hadn't beaten him to Dumbledore's office, or hadn't guessed that would be where he'd go. Which was amusing, since he was carrying the tracking necklace, but she'd probably need help to find it. Maybe she'd gone back to her office to attempt that. "I need to speak to the headmaster. It's not really an emergency, but I might have to fight a kree in a minute," he told the gargoyle. Fortunately, the man seemed to be in residence, as the stone guardian moved aside a moment later.

"I assume this isn't histrionics?" Dumbledore asked, as Harry exited the stairs into his tower room. He, as Sirius had pointed out, definitely had a few hand mirrors sitting across his desk that were similar to Harry's communication device. He looked as if he'd been in the midst of coordinating with his spies.

"Sorry, sir, but I figured I shouldn't give my blood and signature to a lady that's already come after me once." Harry proffered the pen, tracking necklace, and clipboard to the headmaster.

"Oh, dear," he said, inspecting each in turn. "I gave permission for Bathsheda to help with these charms, but they were simply to be handed out, not signed for in blood. These pens are only legal in very particular contract situations, and you are correct to be wary of it. The pen retains enough blood even after signing that magic could be performed with it. That's why most that sign such contracts often enough to require blood signatures provide and retain their own pens. And I strongly suspect that there is a missing cover to this page that grants permission to the holder for use of the blood. My, my, my."

"About what I figured," Harry agreed. And he jumped to the conclusion, "She'd need a blood mage to help her, right? So she probably has one in mind."

"Or, charitably, thinks that specialty is more common than it is and expected to be able to convince one to help," the headmaster agreed. "I shall, of course, dispose of this." He took a small golden bowl from a shelf, disassembled the pen, poured Harry's blood into the bowl, casually ignited the fluid with a flick of his wand, then cast a powerful cleaning charm into the body of the device. "There, at least now one avenue for attacking you is handled."

"And Dar-Benn?"

"Will likely plead unfamiliarity with our culture, as is her way. I would eject her, but the Ministry has asked in no uncertain terms that I keep her here and give her some small measure of authority to keep her from once again becoming their problem. You handled this well enough. Continue to avoid her as you are able and be wary of any additional schemes. For some reason, she seems fixated on you, despite having no reason for it."

Harry sighed, "You sure you don't want to give me a less frustrating quest for the year, sir?"

The old man made a "who, me?" face, but admitted, "This is not the challenge I expect you to have to face this year, though more experience dealing with adult foes that must be outmaneuvered politically rather than fought in battle is a valuable lesson."

"Can you tell me about the real challenge? Does it have anything to do with all those communication mirrors?"

"Well spotted, though perhaps a certain Black gave you enough clues?" The headmaster considered for a moment and then agreed, "I think I can perhaps provide the framework of what I suspect, though, at this point, it is scant. You might have noticed, as I have, that you have a certain tendency regarding Infinity Stones."

"That the Norns make sure I lay hands on one every year?"

"Quite. I have also come to the conclusion that the shadowy figure behind Voldemort and the Death Eaters must be trying to obtain them. Perhaps all of them."

Harry nodded along, realizing that made sense. "He already had the yellow one, but keeps losing it. He's after the orange one, but seems to have given up for now. And he tried to get the Tesseract a couple of months ago. I guess he either doesn't know where the green one is, or doesn't think he can get it. How many even are there?"

"Six, if the legends are to be believed. Therefore, I have been trying to get ahead on the two whose whereabouts remain unknown. I believe I have traced the legends of another to an ancient temple on a planet with a most unusual hydrology. It becomes flooded for centuries, and then, owing to some complex geological properties, experiences a brief period where the waters recede. And that process is beginning. Sometime in the next few months, it will likely become possible to search the planet's surface for the stone hidden there.

"I have been establishing a route to the planet, staffing it with observers, and researching what I can to narrow down the search. Once it is possible, we can keep it out of his hands."

"No faith in the Norns that it'll just fall into my hands in the spring as usual?" Harry joked.

"Fate helps those that help themselves. I would much rather we simply walk away with it long before there is any opposition than to have to fight through enemy forces to obtain it."

"Respectfully, that's not how my life works, sir. But thanks for trying. Do you have any idea why I have to touch all of these things?"

"The whims of the Norns, I'm afraid," the old man hedged. Harry's scar itched, now having enough experience with Dumbledore for his supernatural empathy to kick in. He was hiding something. Clearly noticing Harry come to that realization, the headmaster explained, "I do have some information, but please allow me to hold onto it for the time being. It is a secret I have kept closely since before your birth. Know that I shall tell you once I believe it is more useful to you than the risk entailed by our enemy somehow learning it."

"Fine," Harry huffed. "But can you tell me where you're staking out? And who's watching it right now? I might be able to… you know… tune my whole Heimdall sight thing to have an extra set of eyes on it. And give me an idea of where I'll inevitably be going."

"Your… Heimdall sight thing?"

"Oh! Did I not tell you? Heimdall touched the Soul Stone too, a long, long time ago. He gave me a little advice on how I might figure out seeing across the universe like he can." Harry kept his face blank, allowing the old man to pick up how it wasn't fun to learn important stuff late.

"Astonishing," Dumbledore nodded, clearly believing him. "Of course, do not share the details, but I suspect our enemy will learn the location regardless of how secret it is kept, and, you are correct, that kind of vision would be a profound advantage. Very well, the planet's name is Morag, and, tonight, Arthur Weasley is on duty."

"Thank you, sir. Hopefully I can get it to work."

The Norns seemed to be willing to throw Harry a bone every now and again (or were worried about his campaign to show up and yell at them). That night, he dreamed of Arthur Weasley sitting on a shore that was at the crest of a slowly-emerging mountain, a vast world of water spreading away in every direction, and dense clouds bleeding into a permanent red sunrise at the horizon.

His year's challenge was slowly rising from the depths.