Chapter One Hundred Three: Three Hours in-between (Hour Two)

Dumbledore left them to go speak with Remus…and Fudge…and Snape…and McGonagall. Tonight was keeping him busier than he had been for a very long time—perhaps since the last war.

He left Loki, Thor, and Sirius to themselves, to regroup at the Hospital Wing. The unfortunate thing being: he couldn't afford to go to the Hospital Wing just yet. Not with his barriers even now crumbling (because he didn't have the energy to support or to sustain them). He needed to get away from people, and that meant giving Sirius a friendly reminder as to the part of his narrative that might have been forgotten about. The brainwashed, dangerous part. The part where he tried to take over the world.

He pulled them into one of the many empty classrooms lining the hallway. This one had not seen official use in quite some time: the broken lock of the door ensured that it remained abandoned, until such time as someone saw fit to have it fixed. Which, in true Hogwarts fashion, translated to "never".

"Why are we stopping here?" asked Sirius, in evident bewilderment. "The Hospital Wing is—"

"Trust me: I am well-acquainted with the location of the Hospital Wing," Loki snapped, straightening his back, and Sirius re-evaluated the situation. Okay, this wasn't just Harry-as-Loki, as he'd seen back in Grimmauld Place. This was somehow…a step further? Still in between, but much more on the "Loki" side of things? Well, he'd had to deal with him often enough when he'd been a full-fledged god instead of…whatever he was now. Sirius could handle this.

He thought.

"Look, Loki, you're one of my best friends, and I trust your judgement, and all, but, you know, you still need to rest, and get checked over by Madam Pomfrey. And I know your brother is worried as—"

"That is not the matter at hand," Loki said, holding up a hand for silence, but not looking. If it were possible to forget how much you hated politics and courtly airs, Sirius had done, in Azkaban.

"Well then, Your Grace, what are we doing?" He was smart enough not to say "my lord", hinting at Voldemort's sometimes similar behaviour, when Loki was already worked up about that, amongst many other things.

"I am running out of time," he said, showing it by not beating around the bush, as he likely would otherwise have done. "Do you recall that I made brief mention of an entity who…brainwashed me, and sent me to take over your world?"

Sirius glanced at Thor, wondering what this had to do with anything, but, yes, that sounded vaguely familiar, if completely irrelevant. He recalled that this was the straw that broke the camel's back for Remus. That was when Remus would have broken the promise, but for…extenuating circumstances. That entire conversation was hard to forget.

He was distracted by Loki almost falling into a seat at one of the desks. He looked pale and…exhausted, but he turned to face Sirius, with great composure, nonetheless.

Show no weakness, Sirius thought, with some vexation.

"One matter that it seemed…better to delay mentioning, was the lingering effect that that has had on my mind. These events will not happen for twenty years, yet. I know not what manner of connection binds us still, only that he used an artefact known as the Mind Stone to invade my mind in the beginning. He has left holes in my mind…places where thoughts fall through. But that is not all."

Sirius bit his lip to keep from asking, in the beginning? And how did anyone invade the mind of a god—especially one as elusive and slippery as his old friend? But he at least understood the relevance, now.

"Regardless, Thor could easily confirm that that connection lingers, even now. Perhaps it is fitting that I share a lingering bond with two…supervillains, as you would call them. Perhaps I deserve it. That is neither here nor there. What is relevant is that, that first time, I brought an army to conquer your world, and it took a team of superheroes to defeat me. Thor was one of them."

Sirius managed to fight off a laugh, one of those horrible, hysterical laughs that had convinced the Ministry that he was a remorseless murderer. Of course, he had trouble seeing his old friend in such a light, either, but he saw how grim Ron looked, standing off to the side, and decided that the entire thing was probably true.

"'Superheroes'? 'Supervillains'? Like DC Comics, or something? Was Wonder Woman there? She's my favourite."

Loki frowned, unfamiliar with what he was talking about, but could sense Sirius grasping for levity in this situation. He ignored the interruption, knowing that Sirius needed the reprieve. Perhaps he did, too.

"It requires the use of magic to maintain these barriers I have erected to keep him out of my mind. Everyone knows that all your barriers fall when you are asleep, leaving you defenceless. I do not have sufficient magical energy to sustain them, for the moment. I would prefer not to…go crazy and try to take over the world, here. There is less opportunity for collateral damage, at Grimmauld Place."

Sirius nodded. "I wouldn't mind if you tore the whole place down, although I think even you would have some trouble with that."

"I have an idea!" Thor said, suddenly. He seemed rather pleased with himself on account of this. Loki turned to him, and made a visible effort not to roll his eyes.

"What idea is this, oh brilliant one?" he asked, with surprising patience, considering how close to the edge he clearly was.

"Do you recall the night that I nearly died?" Thor asked, with an almost cheerful eagerness.

Loki sighed. "Could I forget? That was a memorable day, on many counts."

"But I did not die. You did something…lent me your lifeforce, Mother said. Do you still have that ability?"

Sirius stood up straighter, understanding it first.

"Ginny would not be alive now, had I not," said Loki. Exhaustion showed through in his voice. Sirius didn't think he'd ever heard Loki tired, worn out, at anything less than a high, sharp clarity of mind.

"Would it be possible for you to borrow energy, instead of giving it?" asked Thor. Loki blinked, and considered the idea. He tended to forget that Thor was not actually stupid, and he tended to forget that he tended to underestimate him. Sometimes (rarely, it was true, but sometimes), he had very good ideas.

"Might you not borrow enough energy from me to sustain your magic until your disappearance would no longer be as suspicious?"

When Dumbledore would not notice that he had not come to the Hospital Wing, and begin to wonder whither he might have gone?

"Does it use magic?" asked Sirius, voice sharp.

Loki paused, considering. "That is never how it seemed to me," he said. "Magic to channel my life force into its intended recipient, but Ginny had no magic to spare. The transference is never an equation. Very well, then, Brother. I am willing to try your plan."

"Out of desperation," Sirius added, on his behalf.

"Only from desperation would I be willing to risk connecting my brother's soul with such a threat. The danger is minimal, however. Don't look so alarmed, Thor."

Thor shifted on his feet, but walked over to stand next to his brother, who, for at least the third time that night, opened his sixth and seventh senses.

He reached for an almost familiar connection, a bridge, and closed his eyes to minimise distractions. He knew how it felt to channel lifeforce into another. But it was only with his seventh sense wide open that he realised just how much of his own energy he'd drained, tonight. No wonder he was exhausted: he'd almost drained all of his reserves, and his last few spells had been drawing upon his lifeforce. But he didn't dare to take too much energy.

It reminded him rather of the length of mind-twine he'd taken from Moo—from Crouch. Neither was a physical substance, but this had more give and stretch to it, more like water or goo. Which perhaps was fitting, given its originator.

Almost immediately, he felt slightly more awake (perhaps as if he'd just been jolted with actual electricity), and he broke off the connection, finding that his mind seemed clearer, now, thoughts easier to connect. He was less as he had been after the Quidditch Match of Doom, or his first encounter with dementors. Fatigue was held at bay.

"Thank you, Brother," he managed to say. There was still too much of pride about him (arrogance) to make the words ever easy to say. "That was a good idea. I should not be surprised that you have those, any longer. I have too often underestimated you. And perhaps underappreciated you. I would be ungrateful to ask for a better older brother, even had I a conception of what that would mean."

"Don't get all sappy on us, Loki," said Sirius, with a kind of sarcastic mockery that he'd come to associate with Stephen.

"I am never sappy," said Loki. "But rarely ever grateful, either. Shall we continue to the Hospital Wing, then?"

"I don't suppose we have much choice," said Sirius, glaring at the floor, which, to Loki's knowledge, had done nothing to offend. This was going to be a very long night, indeed.

"'Safer this year', they said!" Madam Pomfrey cried. "Safer than what, I'd like to know!"

She was doing her usual routine examination, trying to find any and all injuries sustained during the Third Task, and…afterwards. Fawkes had healed his leg, and that was the only injury of consequence. But he knew better than to argue with Madam Pomfrey, particularly not with Mrs. Weasley looking over Madam Pomfrey's shoulder, as if she didn't trust the old Hogwarts nurse to do her job right. Loki had no idea how to deal with any of their attention.

He almost knew how to handle the Twins, for no other reason than that they were pranksters. He didn't know them all that well, but there was a sort of connection between them, nonetheless. They were sort-of adopted family, too. That helped.

He scanned the room around Madam Pomfrey's bustling: Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Fred-and-George Weasley, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Cedric, being treated for Blast-Ended Skrewt burns (or rather, waiting for his dosage of pain remedy to wear off), Sirius….

Conspicuously absent: Percy Weasley, who was one of the Tournament Judges. He was with Minister Fudge, who was to award the Cup in a great ceremony, which would now be canceled, doubtless, in light of recent events. Ludo Bagman and Madame Maxime were with him; Karkaroff, an ex-Death Eater, of course, had fled rather than face Riddle's wrath. Ah! There were the Diggorys! He'd thought that they were among the conspicuously absent, for a moment, there.

Madam Pomfrey was still bustling about, still fretting, keeping up a constant murmur about dangerous Tournaments and fragile students. He scowled. His mind was fragile, but he was, otherwise, perfectly fine.

He made the mistake of saying the last part aloud. "I will be the judge of that," said Madam Pomfrey, firmly, before she resumed her fussing. There was no stopping her, he supposed.

Ron stood by as a sentinel, and Sirius kept a sharp eye on Madam Pomfrey, as if worried that she'd try to harm him. As if she even could. Hermione, by contrast, was staring intently about the room. She lingered by the open window, and, with a start, he realised that she was surreptitiously examining the Map. Huh. There was dedication, and then there was an absurd amount of dedication. Hermione was verging on the latter.

He withdrew his gaze, as if Skeeter were watching his area of focus and could read his mind. Maybe she could. There were wizards who could do that. Dumbledore and Riddle came to mind.

Pomfrey finished her examination, and said, "Take these potions, and go right to bed. This one's for the pain, and this one's a Dreamless Sleep Potion; they do exactly as their name suggests."

He thanked her, took the tray with its potions back to his bed, and promptly set the tray aside, and waited.

"Aren't you going to take those potions, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley began, almost immediately.

"No," Loki said, voice flat. But she had been kind to him (although rather unfair to Hermione), so he came up with an excuse. "I need to know what's going on. What became of Crouch? What became of Moody?"

"Over in the bed with the curtains drawn," said Forge, jerking his head in that direction.

Ah. That would explain why he hadn't noticed. He rather envied Moody, who could hide behind the curtains with no complaints or raised eyebrows.

"And Crouch?" he asked. He knew the rumour mill was swifter here in Hogwarts than almost anywhere else. He didn't doubt that they somehow knew whom he was speaking of.

"He's being guarded by McGonagall. Fudge'll want to speak with him; that's what Dumbledore's busy with, now. And Remus went off somewhere to do something so top secret it hasn't reached the ears of Hogwarts's best gossips," said Gred, with a regretful shake of his head.

Although they were incorrigible pranksters who planned on opening their own joke shop, he trusted their word. Mostly because he could tell when people were lying. Most people. But including them.

He didn't know Bill or Charlie well enough for them to initiate any sort of conversation. Bill had either been recruited by Hermione, or was just trying to figure out what she was doing. She had better not have told him about the Map.

Charlie stood even further to the side, as if wondering what he was doing here at all. He seemed to be trying to bring himself to go over and speak with the Diggorys.

Loki shook his head, and leant back against the pillow. Ginny stared at him, with wide eyes slowly narrowing.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, with something that might be mistaken for a smile. Her eyes narrowed further, her face settling into a truly alarming stormy glare.

"Is that all you have to say?" she demanded. He recoiled, not expecting any such outburst from her. He looked from Hermione, still engrossed in watching the window and Map, to Ron, standing guard at the side of the room, who seemed perplexed at his predicament. No help in either corner. Bother. Sirius had the gall to look amused.

"What more do you require of me?" he demanded, trying not to sound too confused. Ginny was Ginny, and thus inscrutable. Her eyes narrowed still further, and he had the sense that he'd made some sort of mistake, although, once again, he couldn't discern what, for the life of him.

Molly had wandered off to heckle Madam Pomfrey, and Arthur had gone to pay his respects, or to congratulate Cedric, or some such. Ginny seemed to feel this was sufficient distraction, because she leant forwards, and said,

"Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?" She sounded on the verge of tears, and her tone was not at all similar to how people would sometimes say similar things in jest. She meant it.

"Ginny, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, and Sirius made a concerted effort not to laugh. Ginny thought he was laughing at her, and whirled around to glare at Sirius, who looked quite taken aback, taking an actual, literal step back, and folding in on himself slightly. Loki didn't blame him in the slightest. Ginny might have only been fourteen, but she was clearly going to grow up to be more than a bit alarming. Scratch that. She was already more than a bit alarming.

"Please," she begged, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I know you're not—not my Harry," she said, barely blushing through her concern. Fear? "You're being ever so polite, and so very distant, and you barely said a word to anyone else since you've arrived. You're not Harry."

Loki stared at her. He hadn't thought that she, of all people, would notice. Particularly not with Hermione otherwise occupied, unable to call attention to any differences in his behaviour. The only other two who might notice in this room were Sirius and Ron, and neither of them would have revealed him. His gaze flicked over the two of them, again. Sirius had developed an odd, mature solemnity to his air, all responsible caution and vigilance. Ron was trying his hardest to see without being seen, and failing spectacularly, as only he could. It would help if he fidgeted less. But he also had a sort of aura to him that called for the attention of others— regal bearing, an air of command. How Loki had missed it before third year, he didn't know. Probably hidden under his self-delusion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he repeated, a second too late. And then, to make up for it, he added. "If you were right to be suspicious, don't you think Ron or Sirius, who know me best, would have noticed? Hermione I'll grant you; she seems otherwise occupied. I'm only tired, Ginny."

And he was. He was so tired that it hurt. But he could go a long time without sleep; this he knew from experience.

Her gaze tried to soften, in defiance of her current sentiment. You could see the battle waged across her face, but her resolve won out.

"Is that right?" she asked, and he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, which was, of course, tangled, but not to the bushy point of Hermione's impossible hair. He withdrew his hand, and looked back at her.

"It's exactly right, Ginny," he said. But he was too tired to lie, too tired to be credible, too tired to fight. Perhaps that made him weak. He was, furthermore, rather…gratified, by Ginny, of all people, noticing the difference.

He realised that he had not asked for Luna to visit. He did not particularly want to see her. She was fun, and fascinating, and her ideas had more merit than her classmates gave her credit for, but tonight was a night of cold, harsh, indisputable realities, not of dreams.

The window slammed with a loud bang, and everyone started, save for Thor, Sirius, and Loki, all for rather obvious reasons. All for the same reason. It was not sufficient distraction to dislodge Ginny, who reached out for him.

"Sorry, everyone," said Hermione, hiding something in the pockets of her robes, and coming over to sit at Loki's bedside.

"How are you doing, Harry?" she asked.

"Do you expect me to say that I am doing well?" he asked, with narrowed eyes. Thor at last came over, in case there be need for intervention. To protect Hermione, who did not know.

Something clenched in the vicinity of his stomach, and Hermione, flush with victory, did not notice, but Ginny did. Just as she'd noticed that he, usually the first to start at loud noises, had barely moved at all since he'd lain down.

"He hasn't drunk any of his potions," Ginny said, with narrowed eyes, "and he's acting funny."

"He's had a rough night," Hermione said, in her most soothing voice. "Give him space—"

"No!" cried Ginny, throwing off the hand Hermione tried to grab her arm with. Hermione blinked, and took a step back, stunned.

Ginny reached out a hand to him, and he stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. His mind filled with white noise. He shook his head and pressed a hand to his temples. He was faintly aware that everything hurt, and remembered that he'd been put under the Cruciatus. He didn't even think he'd remembered to mention that or the Imperius Curse in the summary he'd given Dumbledore. With his main weapon rendered useless, the Sword of Gryffindor, and the presences of Sirius and Thor, were the only reassurances he had.

"Harry, please," Ginny begged, and he noticed her hand, still outstretched, and thought of Mother.

He understood what an outstretched hand meant. It was always a gesture of assistance, a forging of bonds, but then, too…it signified a choice. A choice between proud independence and humble dependence. A choice between inner strength, the resolution and conviction that you could make it alone, and a willingness to take risks, to form bonds. He thought, in a brief moment, of all that he'd decided about forging bonds, of his own arrogance and ingratitude, but it was still almost a reflex, by now, to take her hand, staring at his own as if they'd acted of their own volition.

"I'm fine, Ginny," he said, and somehow, he mustered up a smile for her, even as a part of him wondered why he bothered.

He realised, belatedly, what memories might have been brought to mind by his abnormal behaviour, memories of days spent in a haze, coming to in unfamiliar surroundings, unsure of how she had come to be there.

"It's alright," he said, Harry said, leaning halfway out of bed to place an arm around her and draw her closer, as she began to cry.

He'd made her cry again. His record with her wasn't very good at all, was it?

"You're a noble prat," she said, through her tears, as Hermione looked on with something between smugness and surprise. Raised eyebrows, combined with a smug smirk? Hmm. Ron nodded in his direction, a nod of acknowledgement, as if he understood more than Loki did of proceedings. Which he probably did, between Hermione and Jane.

In a moment of impartiality, perhaps caused by Sirius, with his grin and his hands in his jeans pockets, he hated them all. That was, he decided, the meaning of family.