Harry blinked. He blinked again. He blinked a third time, just to make sure that what he was seeing was real.

He was no longer walking to the Floo across the Hall of Research, paperwork for the Department of Mysteries, Death Arch Research Division under his left arm, but was now standing in the middle of… New York. In what felt like an alternate universe (he had already been in many of them, and they always felt a little different, just like now). He was also standing in a charred circle with runes burnt into the ground.

And there was a random maniac standing close by, laughing like your stereotypical mental villain. With a golden horned helmet. And armor. And a nice, shiny, pretty scepter. Harry wanted it.

How did he always end up in these situations, Harry wondered, not paying the slightest attention to the raving gold-horned lunatic. Then he heard shouting from other people, and tuned into the conversation that now sprang up between helmet-head and a team of six people - or at least four men, a red-headed woman, and either a robot, or someone in mechanical armour.

"Brother, what have you done!" shouted a blond man in armour. With a big-ass hammer that buzzed with magic. Harry firmly clamped down on the kleptomaniac tendencies that the DoM cultivated in its members, for their trips around the world. Or worlds. This man did not seem insane, and so liberating him of his possessions would not be excusable. The others had no possessions on them that were near anything as interesting, though one man was armed with a bow and arrows, the woman had multiple various weapons stowed away on her body, there was something off about the shortest guy, and the other blond had a very shiny, and very American-themed shield.

"How many times must I repeat myself to you, Odinson! And now that I have summoned Death, I can finally be rid of your and all your pestilential friends! In seconds, I will order him to kill you, so savour your last moments of your lives. After you are dead, I will be free to do whatever I like, for I am now the Master of Death!" raved the lunatic.

The six opposing him turned to scrutinize Harry, disbelief etched into their faces. Harry, in all his jeans-and-jumper clad glory, stared at the lunatic, unsure of what part of him screamed 'unstoppable force of nature that is ready to obey every order given'.

"Excuse me, Mr Horns, but I am afraid you have the wrong being. I am-" Harry paused, thinking on how he would introduce himself this time, "-Mr Sirius Granger, second-rank Agent at the Department of Extreme Kleptomania, manager of the Useless Items and Miscellaneous Storage Section, head of the Sub-Department Catalogue and Examination of Artifacts. May I enquire as to your identity?" He grinned. Taking and combining the names of friends was one of his favourite ways of creating aliases. And he had described his job very well, if he said so himself, even if he hadn't used the official names for the department.

Everyone gaped at him, but the lunatic took the cake. His jaw had dropped so low, Harry wondered if the guy was a snake hybrid.

"What are you doing here, you mere mortal! How dare you rob me of my victory! How dare you ruin this moment?" Loki started to splutter incoherently, so Harry raised an eyebrow and threw an invisible Stunner. Wandlessly and silently, just as he learned in fourth year in preparation for the second trial. He obviously wouldn't provide any good information. Or be useful to anyone. That much overplayed melodrama was grating on his nerves, anyway. No one could actually speak like that, could they?

The robot? The man? It was still unclear to Harry, which it was. Anyway, whoever it was, asked, "Did you just knock out Reindeer Games with an eyebrow?"

"Yes." After a short pause, where everyone just stared at him, Harry continued. "I will now take my leave. Croaker wanted these reports in my hands, as soon as I could get them to him. Have a nice day." And Harry disapparated across worlds, to deliver those reports to the grouchy Head of Department. With the scepter, summoned a split-second before departure, clutched in his hand.