A/n: A long awaited update. Nothing important of note really happens in this chapter, it's more of a setup as to what our characters are going to do next.

Also, there's something I kind of wanted to point out. I received a PM that went something along the lines of:

"It's lame how Harry is just moping around at his current job. Why couldn't he have found a better job in the Muggle world? It doesn't makes sense."

Like I've said before, this story is just something randomly thrown together for fun. It's not something to be taken seriously. I'm not going to try to explain and make sense of everything in this story, and you shouldn't either. But, for the sake of that question, it's quite easy to fill in the blanks.

Just because Harry left the wizarding world, it doesn't mean they no longer keep an eye on him. There's still the possibility of him becoming a scientist and engineering a deadly virus, or for him to gather the required skills, funding and followers to become a terrorist. So, in order to prevent those outcomes and more, they're still "cock-blocking" him.

.

.

.

Chapter: 4

It's been a long time since I've last set foot in the Ministry complex. More than a decade, I reckon; I would never forget the compulsory visits, the weekly check-ups on my well-being and daily-doings; like an overprotective father of sorts, and me, the compliant teenage daughter. It was a cycle I was too happy to break, and yet, here I am, back again.

How cruel of fate.

Stepping into the underground structure, we were greeted by the usual mad scurry of the faceless ministry crowd; the familiar jostling and perpetual rush of its occupants, the blind pushing and nudging of those completely oblivious to their surroundings, save only their destinations in mind.

There were little that paid heed to my arrival, and that lasted shortly until we marched deeper into the heart of the Ministry. The number of curious onlookers grew, as hushed whispers and dozens of pointed fingers were directed towards our strange group. Yet as attention drawing as I, and the five accompanying guards were, Sif was the most out of place – in her impressive piece of Asgardian armor, along with her gigantically held blade, she couldn't have been any more incongruous.

The Aurors might have confiscated my wand, but they seemed almost afraid to approach her for the same reasons. Instead, she marched silently beside us, a most peculiar sight to behold. I knew she had many questions of her own, but the situation was slowly unfolding, and we were not granted pause, so she remained quiet, her thoughts left only to herself.

We were escorted deeper into the Ministry complex, and as I found my eyes trailing towards my following companion, I couldn't help but to quickly become enthralled by her own; they were of hazel steel, features of hardened apprehension; a sort of wariness and equal preparedness. They darted restlessly across our surroundings, a rising uneasiness she couldn't suppress. It wasn't of fear, but we were all strung thin, I didn't blame her, I wasn't given a chance to explain our current predicament. I knew she was ready to fight her way out of the Ministry if needed be, I just hope it wouldn't come to that.

I wondered what went on currently inside her head. It must have been most bizarre, to be attacked by hooded figures with wands and managing to disarm them, only to surrender afterwards and following them into an unfamiliar world – one of sorcery and magic. She managed to keep her composure, but alongside the wariness, I also noticed the marvel and wonderment in her features.

I wondered too, if there is magic in her world. I know it is unlikely, but then again, they are the ones with Sa… Sav-… fucking Night Elves I mean.

We reached one of the lower levels before coming to an eventual stop. Dozens of empty courtrooms passed us by before we were led to an unused waiting room of sorts. We were told to wait inside while they gathered the required members for my hearing. The doors closed with a loud clang as they left, and we were suddenly alone once more.

"Son of Pot… I have many questions, and no idea where to start," she said after a long moment of silence, her voice echoing softly across the tiny room. "But what I have noticed, is the uneasiness, the fear they have for you."

It wasn't as much an accusation, as much an uncertain confirmation.

I nodded.

Her brows furrowed. "I have fought in many wars, and I have faced down giants twice my size. In my many years of combat, I've seen and experienced most forms of fear, but none quite the way their gaze fell upon yours." She paused, and I noticed the softening of her stare. "And that is which perplexes me the most, beyond your decision to spare those who attacked us, beyond where we are, and the reasons of which we're here."

"Above all, I do not understand," she said, "of the reasons behind their stares, of which as though you're the person responsible for all the misery in this world. Because they surely do not befit someone so willing in saving my life."

"I… well," I stuttered, I never once had the luxury of having such a conversation with someone outside the wizarding world who knew not of my identity. It was disconcerting, to say the least. "I'm… prophesied to become the Dark Lord. The eventual destroyer of my world and the next."

It sounded even stupider than it was.

I expected a multitude of different reactions, but I was not expecting her to laugh, but she did – exploding in a bout of hearty laughter. When she eventually regained her composure, she turned back towards me with a wide grin. "That might be the most preposterous tale I've heard in a long while. Even more so than Thor falling in love with a Midgardian woman!"

I sensed a little bit of shade being thrown, but I kept my thoughts to myself, not that she seemed particularly interested in sharing that story. I sighed, "I- is it really that funny?"

Her brows cocked in my direction, her entire posture as though waiting for the revelation of my joke, as though I wasn't being serious at all. Unfortunately, reality was a lot harsher in my case, if not, I wouldn't be stuck here in my current situation. I shook my head. "I wasn't joking, the prophecy, it-…"

"The prophecy?" she interrupted, "even if true, you would allow the words of another to dictate your life?" There was no mistaking the fires of remembrance behind her hardened glare. "We have our own prophecies too, Son of Pot. From the Ends of Asgard to the Falling of Yggdrasil. From the visions of coming darkness and the drowning of lives."

She chucked unexpectedly, but not out of amusement, instead of own experiences passed. "Each of those were prophesied to be our final ends. The end of our age, the twilight of gods, they say. Except we've faced each and every single one of those adversaries head on, and we never faltered in our determination."

She smiled, and it was genuine. "Because, Son of Pot, prophecies are nothing more than cautionary presages of events to come. They are nothing more than heeded warnings, and not promised assurances. I believe a person's destiny can only be dictated by oneself, and it lies upon whether you're simply going to lay down your arms and die, or to pick up what remains and fight till your very last breath."

"Prophecies are different in my world," I replied, "they are common occurrences, and those properly verified, have never been wrong. Not even once. Especially those of grave importance such as my own." She didn't look convinced, so I explained further. "You see, there were three other dark lords prophesied before me, and each were monsters of their own kind. There were non-believers of course, until all three waged their own wars, and countless lives were lost."

"But…" I sighed. "As devastating as they were, none were prophesied to… well, end the world. Except for me."

She was still unconvinced. "I do not believe in fate, Son of Pot. If we were acquiescent to our own foretold deaths, Asgard would have fallen over centuries ago."

"That may be so," I said, "but this is not Asgard."

"Then someday, Son of Pot." She gripped onto my shoulder reassuringly, "Not today, but someday, you'll understand."

She is like a goddamn beacon of optimism. However, before I could reply, the doors swung open and the Aurors returned. We were asked to follow, and were led down long corridors and past dozens of unmarked doors and hinged torches before coming to an eventual stop in front of a heavyset door.

The head Auror motioned towards the entrance, "Courtroom Seven."

I took a step forward, and as I did, the two Aurors behind raised their wands – and the darkened corridor was instantly engulfed by a reddened luminescence - as readied wands pointed in the direction of my female companion.

"Not her," they said. "Only you."

She did not even flinch in the face of their sudden hostility.

I however, was scared shitless.

I saw her fingers inching towards her sheathed blade, and I quickly stepped between her and the two Aurors. "Wait! Wait the fuck up," my voice was a little squeaky, but in my defence, it was fucking terrifying standing between the two parties.

I turned to her first, "It is okay. You can wait here."

"I do not like this."

"Don't worry, they just want to… talk to me," I said, "I just need to clear some things up and we can be on our way. It's something I have to do on my own."

"Still, I do not like this."

"I know," I sighed, "I do not like it either."

"If you are not out in ten minutes, I'm going in on my own." She said in a dead serious monotonous voice, "And I'll kill whichever spell caster that stands in my way."

I gulped nervously, I certainly hoped she was joking – though she probably was not. But still, she took a step back, and allowed me to return my attention towards the enclosed courtroom.

For a moment, I wondered if I was supposed to knock. So, I stood awkwardly outside until the iron locks started to shift on their own – the gears turned, and the entrance was revealed in a gust of heated air.

Like the gaping jaw of an untamed dragon. It was all-fucking-terrifying. I entered, and the jaw- I mean doors, were shut behind me.

My soft footsteps echoed loudly across the vast chamber, my only visible path a direct line towards a single erected chair by the center of the room. I headed in its direction, noticing the many chains and casted charms around the piece of seemingly innocuous furniture. It resembled a medieval torture device of some sort, or perhaps something from a set of a bondage flick.

Not that I was judging.

"Harry… Potterson."

I jumped at the creepy voice, and for the first time, noticed the shadowy figures that stood behind the opposite podium. There were at least a dozen of them, shrouded in darkened robes, like a satanic cult of some sort, and me their poor human sacrifice. The ambience was already spot on, they were only missing a few pentagrams and ominous music. At least I wasn't drenched naked in chicken blood, so I had that going for me… at least.

I wasn't able to make out any of their faces, until one of them stepped forward to the podium. The man pulled his cloak backwards, and I recognized the portly features of Cornelius Fudge. I knew him from the many times I've visited the Ministry during my younger days, but he was older now, and a lot more wrinkled than before.

For the Minister of Magic himself to attend my hearing, the situation felt almost dire. Yet, I do not blame them. I understood their consternation. The trace charm left on me had not detected a single casted spell for almost an entire decade – until late last night.

They must all be apprehensive of my reasons and motives. I had to tread lightly, so as much as I wanted to, I wasn't about to call them a bunch of creepy looking Satanists.

I knew the Ministry had records of all my casted spells, and it was apparent Lumos was all I've casted – a mere lightning charm, as harmless as can be. I needed to convince them my intentions were nothing more than a necessity for light. But the whole situation with Sif and the three Aurors she overpowered, well, that was a completely different and more so complicated situation.

"Investigative hearing on the twenty sixth of December," the Minister started to say in a pitchy voice, as the figure beside him started to take notes. "Interrogator: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic. The offense committed by the defendant is – illegal usage of magical abilities, on the morning of December twenty six – refer to defendant's trace charm for detection of casted charm."

"Harry Potterson," Fudge looked up from his notes, "do you understand your charges?"

"Yes," I nodded, "but there is-"

"Make note that the accused understands his own wrongdoings."

"Wait, what?"

He raised an eyebrow in slight disdain. "Are you denying that you, knowingly and deliberately, in full awareness of the severity of your actions, produced a lighting charm in a Muggle inhabited apartment complex, in view of another-…"

He paused, before leaning forward to take a closer look at the parchment. "Asg-… Asgardian?"

He turned to the aide by his side and harshly whispered, "What in Merlin's hat is an Asgardian?"

The younger wizard shook his head furiously, seeming equally confused.

Trace charms are able to detect those in vicinity of a casted spell, which in turn, dictates the level of severity between a spell casted in front of Wizards, and those in view of Muggles. The trace charm it seemed, also had the ability to detect, and differentiate between us and Asgardians. I guess that reaffirms what she was saying; she wasn't a crazy person lying about a portal from another world.

I wasn't too sure whether to be relieved or astounded.

"Never mind that," Fudge said suddenly, before turning his attention back towards me. "You have received stern instructions from the Ministry that you are not allowed to learn nor cast magic, am I right?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you have agreed to those terms, in exchange for being released into society and not kept under Ministry watch, am I right?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then why did you-"

"Without it, a person would have died. I did it to save her life."

This time, I was the one who interrupted him, and the whole room exploded in a flurry of tensed discussion. When the commotion eventually died down, I could sense the disbelief and doubtfulness of all those in attendance. Me, the prophesied Dark lord of all people, trying to save a life. It was laughable.

"Explain yourself," Fudge commanded.

"A person was bleeding out, and as you may see from my educational background and records, I had the knowledge and ability to save the person's life. But there was a blackout in my building, and I couldn't see the wound. The person was losing a lot of blood, and the situation was too dire to find another source of light, so I casted the spell, and that was it."

The room erupted once again in a flurry of activity, until Fudge screamed at the crowd to quieten themselves. I was told to wait while they engaged in private conversation.

A long ten minutes passed before Fudge returned to the podium.

"Mr. Potterson," he said to me with a smile, as though we were friends and there was nothing wrong in this world. "We will not be charging you."

That was too fucking easy. I knew he had something else in mind.

"We believe you meant no harm, but of course, we need to set an example of sorts. We can't have the rest of the underage society following in your footsteps now, can we?"

I knew it.

"So, what we propose…" he was trying to stifle his giggle. "Community service."

Fuck.

"In the Wild Lands. There is an infestation of sorts."

Fuck fuckity fuck.

Community service meant a lot differently than they did in the Muggle society. For them, it is an actual public service of sorts, either mandatory or voluntary. For us however, public service is something else entirely, a conscription of sorts, where willing (or unwilling) wizards are sent to rid the uninhabited Wild Lands of unchecked magic. It might sound simple, yet it is anything but; there is nowhere in this world more dangerous than the Wild Lands; it is where dark magic and creatures corrupted by those, roamed free.

It is all becoming clear now.

Fudge's plan is to send me on a suicide mission. Even the most experienced of Aurors are afraid of venturing into the Wild Lands, much more so than a wizard barred from learning and casting magic.

And from the look on Fudge's cake-like face, it is not just a matter of simple insect infestation, it's most likely dragons.

Definitely dragons.

Fuck.

.

.

.